includes :: [ fifteen screenshots ] stranger!oh sion x reader ( typically gender neutral ). getting to know the cute guy you bumped into ? i like to think sion is a cutie patootie ( he is ). flirty sion oh noooo . . . . . . . . y/n is kind of sarcastic ???? idk how to describe u oops. when in doubt avoidance is the way to go ( sion’s motto ). sion is so very dramatic ( expressive ). ooc sion. absolute, absolute crack fic it moves fast keep up. pictures from pinterest ! all mistakes are unintentional.
authors note, welcome to my first wish work . . . maybe my only wish work . . . lol. anyway i was hit with a wave of sion fever and NEEDED to get it out. so. here is massive flirt and painfully forward sion <3
summary: you have a pretty normal life as a college student. Everything changes one spring break when you visit Korea to see some family and your sister decides to drag you along to stalk the famous pop-star Jeon Jungkook, part of the most famous group in the world — the one you despise— and the one you unexpectedly keep running into.
pairing: uni student! reader x idol! jeon jungkook
genre: rom-com. annoyances-to-lovers. fluff. trynna-be-comedy. a lil angst but not really. | reader is really annoying sometimes. jungkook can be an asshole but he’s still a cutie pie. reader has a sister lowkey sasaeng but thanks to her the story has a plot!! 97line mentioned/appearance. jimin and tae appearance in the first part!!
warning!— this story contains mature content. smut (fingering, dry humping, penetration, unprotected sex, dirty talk, creampie, etc). — third part NSFW
author’s note: third and last part is here!! this one is really everything to me (and literally has everything in it. fluff, comedy, drama, angst, guy yearning, smut, more fluff) i hope u enjoy this last part!! lmk what u think<33 i changed the smut last minute cuz i didn’t like the first scene i wrote so if u see any mistakes there no you don’t!!
word count: +22k words.
part one, part two, part three.
You despised Jeon Jungkook.
You couldn’t believe he got you in this horrible situation again. It was like he was only meant to ruin your day every time you ran into him. You thought for a second that maybe you were paying for some karma. Maybe your ancestors were really fucked up and you were paying for their mistakes. It had to be some curse like that.
You hadn’t talked with Jungkook for almost half an hour. You two just walked. Or, more accurately, you walked ahead fast enough to make a point, your grip tight around your bag, your shoulders stiff, your eyes fixed on absolutely nothing in front of you, while Jungkook followed a few steps behind, hands in his pockets now, quieter than before but not exactly calm either.
The ground wasn’t a real path anymore, just uneven dirt, patches of dry grass, small dips that made walking annoying, and after a few minutes it became very obvious that there was no road in sight, no clear direction, nothing that looked remotely familiar. But you still kept walking like you knew exactly where you were going… the dirt had to find and end soon, right? And also because stopping would mean admitting you had no idea where you were going. And you were not giving him that.
The problem was… it was getting ridiculous. The silence, the walking, the fact that nothing around you was changing, just more of the same empty, half-dry landscape that didn’t look like it led anywhere near a beach. The fact that you two were covered in mud like nothing new. You could feel it building again, that frustration sitting right under your skin, mixing with everything else— your phone, the car, your sister, him— and it made every step heavier than it needed to be.
God, your family was going to kill you.
Behind you, Jungkook let out a quiet breath for the tenth time. This time, he finally opened his mouth to talk. “Are you okay?” he asked.
You didn’t even turn around.
“I’m great,” you said flatly.
There was a second of silence before he continued. “You don’t sound great.”
“I said I’m great.”
He sped up slightly, closing the distance just enough to be closer to your side instead of behind you, though you didn’t look at him. “Why are you so grumpy?”
That made you stop, imediately. You turned to look at him, disbelief written all over your face. “…Are you fucking kidding me?”
He blinked, clearly not expecting that reaction. “I just asked—”
“No, I heard what you asked,” you cut him off, your voice sharper now, everything you had been holding back finally pushing through. “Why would I be so grumpy right now? Oh, I don’t k now! Maybe because I just sank my grandma’s car and now I have to pay her like a thousand dollars for it? Because I left my sister alone in the beach and she’s probably calling the police thinking I disappeared?! Are you stupid?”
He stared at you for a second. “Okay, yes. That makes sense but I’ll pay for everything—”
“Doesn’t matter anymore! First I need to go home so I can explain them everything, if my face is not in a poster all over the city by the time we get there…”
“Look, I know—”
“No, you don’t. I just want to go home, Jungkook. I want to go back, find my sister, explain why I disappeared for hours, explain what happened to my grandma’s car, and then deal with whatever comes after that and hopefully never see your ass again because you’re becoming a problem. That’s what I want right now.”
Jungkook stayed silent for a second but then something shifted in him. Your words were mean and full of anger, it just made him feel frustrated that you didn’t understand how he could feel about it. But it also made him anger that you didn’t want to understand that he was trying his best to be helpful with you.
You just made him angry.
“…Do you know what I want?” he said. You didn’t answer. “I want to have fun,” he continued, his tone different now, more cold and heavier underneath. “It’s the first time in years I don’t have people following me, no cameras, no one asking me questions every five seconds, no schedule, no staff telling me where to go or what to do. I’m just here with you.” You held his gaze. “And I was having a good time. Actually, I was having the best time I’ve had in a long time!” You frowned and he stared down at you. “And you’re fucking it up. I just want you to stop complaining for five minutes so I can actually enjoy it,” he finished.
That landed. You didn’t react immediately. You just stared at his him, something tightening in your chest. Jungkook didn’t say anything else, just looked at you for half a second longer before turning and walking past you, faster now, like he needed to move, like standing there was making it worse.
There was another small silence after that. Then you scoffed softly, shaking your head once.
“…Wow.” You watched him go. “So this is what it is with you, huh?” you called after him. He didn’t stop. You took a step forward, your voice rising just enough to reach him. “You don’t get what you want and you throw a tantrum?” That made him stop. He turned back to you slowly, jaw tightening slightly. “I bet everyone around you just follows you around fixing everything after that, right?” you continued, walking toward him now. “‘Oh, Jungkook, I’m so sorry, Jungkook, we didn’t mean to upset you, Jungkook’, ‘Sorry we hurt your grow-up-man feelings, let us give you exactly why you asked for, Jungkook’, ‘I’m sorry we didn’t treat you like the superstars you are’”. You shook your head. “What a brat you—”
He walked back toward you before you could finish, closing the distance quickly. “I’m a brat?” he repeated. You didn’t back down. “What about you?”
You frowned slightly. “What about me?”
“For the past two days I’ve done nothing but try to help you,” he said, his voice sharper now, frustration finally showing properly. “Even when you were acting like a bitch for no reason.”
You let out a small, incredulous laugh right in his face. “Oh, you’ve been nice?” you repeated. “Is that what you think this is?”
“Yes,” he said immediately.
You nodded slowly, stepping a little closer. “Okay. So when you hit me with a door, twice, that was you being nice?” you started, counting it off on your fingers. “When you dragged me to watch you perform instead of taking me to the hospital, that was nice? When you used me to escape paparazzis and got my grandma’s car literally swallowed by the earth… that was nice?” He didn’t interrupt. You tilted your head slightly, looking at him like you were genuinely trying to understand. “I honestly pity the people around you if that’s your version of ‘nice.’”
There wasn’t a pause. He immediately shot back, the truth getting too loud and his defensive side unable to stay back. “Please, you wish you were one of them.”
It came out sharper, meaner than anything else he had said to you. And being honest, it was the first you saw that part of him, the mean part, the part you had of him in your head. The part you he had shown you wrong… Because he wasn’t wrong about one thing, he had been nicer to you than you were ever to him. He had been helpful to you. And that kind of line he said didn’t need to be loud to land exactly where it was supposed to.
You looked at him, right in the eyes. And for a second, something in your expression changed completely.
“I’d rather get a fucking concussion,” you said firmly. And then you turned to walked past him. You didn’t look back and for a few steps, he didn’t move.
You could feel it, even without turning, the pause, the moment where he stayed there, letting everything settle, letting his own words catch up to him before you heard his footsteps again, getting closer and slower this time. Not matching your pace exactly, but not lagging behind either.
Jungkook just hated when he got like that. It had been so long since someone got him this mad. But he didn’t like that you had this idea of him about being a brat, about being this person who wasn’t real and didn’t know how life was outside his little bubble. He knew he could act like an idiot sometimes, he didn’t realize of some things or sometimes it took him more time than others to figure things out but he wasn’t a bad person. And he didn’t want you to see him as one.
Specially not after the day you both had. Because even if you were back to hating him, he had seen a part of you enjoying your time with him. He noticed the way you enjoyed spending time with him. He didn’t know why you were back to disliking him like it was a daily task you needed to keep going to breathe normally.
“Okay, okay. I went too far.” He said, walking by your side and looking at you even when you didn’t try to make an effort to look at him. “There’s just one thing I don’t understand,” he said after a moment. You didn’t answer. “When we were driving earlier,” he continued, his tone different now, less sharp, more… confused and soft than anything else. “I thought you liked me.”
You let out a quiet breath, not slowing down. “Well, you thought wrong.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“What doesn’t make sense?”
He walked a little faster, moving slightly ahead of you now, turning his head just enough to look at you while still walking. “It doesn’t make sense that you are suddenly back to not liking me,” he insisted. “You were fine. We were fine. We were talking, laughing—”
“That doesn’t mean anything. I can enjoy time with people I find annoying.”
“I’m sure it means something,” he ignored your last comment.
“It doesn’t.”
He frowned slightly. “Then what is it?” You didn’t answer. “I know this wasn’t the best way to end the day but why are you acting like I’m the most annoying person again?. It’s like you just turned the switch back on. Just because you don’t want to deal with admitting to yourself that you like me even after all this,” he pressed. “Tell me why.”
“Please, don’t flutter yourself.” You rolled your eyes.
“Tell me why you don’t like me then.”
“I simply don’t like you.”
“That’s not an answer.”
You exhaled sharply. “Not everyone has to like you, Jungkook.”
“I know that,” he said. “But we were fine earlier—”
“I was fine because we were just talking.”
“So what changed?”
“Nothing changed.”
“Something had to.”
You shook your head, refusing to look at him. “I just don’t like you. Don’t try to make it deep.”
“Enough with that. Some things are deep, okay?.”
“Well, this is not. I just don’t like you. You’re annoying, you get me in trouble—”
He stopped walking forward, but he didn’t stop moving. Because he was still facing you. Walking backwards now. Trying to keep eye contact, trying to to get a better answer. “You’re lying,” he said simply.
“I’m not.”
“You are.”
“I’m not.”
“Then tell me—”
“Why do you care?” you snapped.
“Because I like you”
That made you stopped in your tracks, looking at him confused. He opened his mouth to continue but before he could say something he just fell back and disappeared.
He was suddenly gone.
What the hell?!
You blinked scared, “…What the—” A splash of water echoed. “—the fuck?!”
You rushed forward instinctively, only to stop short at the edge, a small waterfall that Jungkook fell into. Enough to hide the drop just long enough for it to be a surprise. You looked up to see the beautiful water falling in the background between some rocks before quickly staring down again to see if Jungkook was okay.
He was there in the water looking just as shocked. “Uhm…”
“Oh my God, are you okay?!” you said, leaning forward to help him. He reached up and grabbed your arm before roughly pulling you into the water with him. “Jungkook—!” The water hit you cold, fast enough to steal the air from your lungs for a second, your hands scrambling instinctively as you came back up. “I can’t swim!” you shouted immediately.
His head snapped toward you, panic flashing across his face. “What?!”
“I can’t swim!”
He moved instantly, reaching for you, trying to grab your arm to pull you closer. “Okay, okay. Relax, I got you, just give me your hand and hold on—”
You splashed him an absurdly amount of water right into his face, making him choke a little bit before he started coughing. He stared at you deadpan when he finished his almost-dying act and you started laughing, you pushed slightly away from him while you brushed your wet hair out of your face.
“Gotcha.”
He stared at you longer. “…Oh, you think that’s funny?.”
You nodded, still smiling. He imitated your smile before splashing water at you, really hard. “Hey!” You laughed again, immediately splashing him back. “That’s not fair!”
“You lied!”
“You deserved it!”
“I didn’t!”
“You pulled me!”
The argument didn’t stop, it just changed. Turned into something lighter, messier, the tension from before dissolving into something that didn’t need words anymore, just movement, splashes, half-laughing protests that didn’t mean anything.
For a moment everything else disappeared. The car, the phones, the fight, the consequences. Right in that moment it was just water, laughter, and you two…. And Jungkook couldn’t enjoy that more.
——————————
The evening eventually settled.
Your laughter fading into softer breaths, the splashing turning into small ripples that disappeared as quickly as they formed, until all that was left was the quiet sound of the waterfall in front of you and the distant hum of nothing in particular. You both ended up closer to the edge, where the ground was dry enough to sit without slipping, your clothes still damp, your hair a mess, but neither of you caring enough to fix it properly.
You leaned back on your hands, legs stretched out in front of you, staring at the sky as it shifted colors slowly, the light almost dark now, warmer, turning everything around you into something calmer than it had any right to be after the day you’d had.
For a while, neither of you said anything. And, even after that fight you had, it didn’t feel awkward at all.
“This is nice,” you said after a moment, your voice quieter than before, not sharp, not defensive anymore, just calm.
Beside you, Jungkook let out a small breath, tilting his head back slightly as he looked up too. “Yeah,” he said. “It is.”
A short pause settled between you again, but this time it stretched comfortably, like neither of you felt the need to fill it immediately.
“I wish I could stay here,” he added after some minutes. “Like this. For a few weeks or something.”
You turned your head slightly to look at him.
“Here?” you asked. “Like this exact place in the middle of nowhere?”
He shrugged lightly. “Or somewhere like this.”
“Why?”
He didn’t answer right away. He stayed looking up for a second longer, like he was actually thinking about it instead of giving you something quick or without meaning.
“I don’t know,” he said finally. “It’s just… quiet.”
You hummed softly. “You don’t get that a lot?”
He let out a small laugh, but there wasn’t much humor in it. “Not really.”
You shifted slightly, turning more toward him now, resting one arm over your knee. “But you like what you do, right?” you asked.
“I do,” he said immediately. “I love it.” There was no hesitation in that But there was something else underneath it.“I just…” he paused, exhaling softly. “Sometimes I wish I could do that and then just live normally after. Like perform, do my job, and then go back to being… a person.”
You raised an eyebrow slightly. “You are a person.”
“You know what I mean.”
Maybe you did.
“Without people following you around?”.
“Yeah.”
“Without cameras.”
“Yeah.”
“Without people trying to figure out who you’re dating, where you are, what you’re doing every second.”
He glanced at you briefly. “Exactly.”
You looked back out at the horizon, thinking about it for a second. “…Then why don’t you just do it anyway?” you asked.
He frowned slightly. “Do what?”
“Just… live your life,” you said simply. “Ignore it.”
He let out a quiet breath, shaking his head. “It doesn’t work like that.”
“Why not?”
“Because it just doesn’t,” he repeated, a little more firmly this time. “If I don’t stay low, if I don’t avoid things, it gets worse. People get more curious, more invasive. It’s not just about me… it’s everything around me too.”
You watched him for a second, then looked away again. “…But it’s still your life,” you said.
“It is.”
“So you still have a choice.”
He was quiet for a moment. “I guess,” he admitted. “But it’s not that simple.”
“Nothing is,” you shrugged.
There was another pause. He stayed more quiet, thinking what you had just said.
“What would you even do?” you asked suddenly. “If you could just— do whatever you want, no one watching.”
He let out a soft breath through his nose, thinking. “I don’t know,” he said honestly. “Just… normal things. Walk around without worrying. Sit somewhere without people recognizing me. Go somewhere random without planning it.”
You smiled slightly. “Like today.”
He glanced at you again. “Yeah. Like today.” There was something softer in his expression now, something that hadn’t been there earlier. “I just don’t want to disappoint anyone either,” he added. “Army… they gave me everything. I know I owe them a lot.”
You nodded slowly, understanding that more than you expected. A quiet settled again.
“You know,” you said, shifting slightly, your tone thoughtful now, “maybe I don’t fully get it.” He looked at you. “Your life,” you continued. “Is so different from mine— from everyone I’ve met, really. Everything you do, everything you say… it’s all important and so public.” He didn’t interrupt. “I guess I don’t really understand.”
Jungkook looked at you, a little softer. His gaze more calm and a little warmer.
“Not everything,” he finally said.
You frowned slightly. “What?”
“Not everything is like that,” he repeated, looking at you now instead of the landscape. “Not right now.” You held his gaze. “Not with you,” he added quietly. Something in your chest shifted. “I feel like I can just… be myself,” he continued. “Not BTS Jeon Jungkook. Not… all of that. Just me.”
The silence that followed was for you to get your thoughts together. But you didn’t understand exactly what his words made you feel. Maybe like you two just understood each other in a way it was almost impossible to understand.
You looked at him for a second longer than you meant to, then glanced away, your fingers brushing lightly against the ground beside you. “…And how do you like it?” you asked, softer now.
He didn’t hesitate this time. “I like it a lot. I like myself a lot with you.”
You smiled faintly. “Me too.”
He smiled. And then he shifted slightly, turning more toward you, facing you better now.
“Tell me something about you.”
You raised an eyebrow. “What?”
“Anything.” He thought for a second. “I wanna know everything about you.”
“Well, that might take a while. My life is so extraordinary.” You let out a quiet laugh, shaking your head.
“Come on, tell me.”
You glanced at him, then back at the sky. He was looking too excited to know your life like it wasn’t so normal next to his.
“Well,” you started, stretching your legs out a little more, “I’m finishing my film studies soon.”
“Oh, yeah. You told me you were a senior, right?”
“Yeah. Finally my last year.”
“What do you want to do after?”
“I’m thinking about applying to a big studio back home,” you said. “Or at least trying. See what happens. If I don’t get it I might take a different route but I’ll stay in this lane. I know before I turn thirty I’ll be making my first movie.“
“That’s not a small step.”
“I know.”
“You sound sure about it.”
“I am.”
He watched you as you spoke, something about the way you said it, no hesitation, no doubt, pulling his attention more than the words themselves. “And when do you finish?”
“Three months more to go. I’m glad I got this break because next couple of months will be really busy.” You let him know. “I have a lot of exams and I’m organizing a fundraiser next month,” you added.
“For what?” He asked, curious.
“A local cinema,” you explained. “They’re struggling, so we’re putting together this small concert thing and an after party to raise money for them.”
“That’s actually really cool.”
You shrugged lightly. “It’s not that big.”
“It is,” he said. “You care about it.”
You glanced at him briefly, then looked away again, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Yeah,” you admitted.
He stayed quiet for a second. “…Can I ask you something?” You looked at him again, pressing your lips together before nodding, a little nervous by the look he was giving you. He hesitated just a little. “Why didn’t you like me?”
You didn’t answer immediately. You knew this was coming. Although you just hadn’t planned on actually answering it. “…It’s stupid,” you said finally
“I don’t think it is.”
“It is.”
“Tell me anyway.”
You exhaled slowly, leaning back again, your eyes on the sky instead of him.“It’s my sister,” you said. He stayed quiet. “Ever since we were younger,” you continued, your voice more even now, less defensive, “when she found out about BTS… it was just—everything.” You let out a small breath. “Every conversation, every hangout, everything we did… it always ended up being about you. About your friends. About the group,” you corrected, glancing at him briefly. “And it just got worse over time.” He listened. Didn’t interrupt “I left for college and I missed her like hell but everytime I try to catch up with her… it was just always about you guys. I felt like I was competing with something I couldn’t even reach,” you added. “Like I couldn’t win her attention because I wasn’t… you.” You shrugged lightly, like you were trying to downplay it. “I know it’s dumb—”
“It’s not,” he said quietly. You looked at him. “I get it,” he added.
You studied his face for a second, like you were trying to figure out if he was just saying that to not make you feel stupid.
“I guess I just built this… resentment,” you admitted. “Like I didn’t really hate you and overtime the dislike just stopped but this feeling stayed. Not really toward you and your group, but to this idea I had of you in my mind.”
“That makes sense.”
You blinked slightly. “You don’t think it’s stupid?”
“No.”
There was a small silence. Jungkook didn’t let you feel like your feeling were stupid, even when it was almost an attack towards him
“…Okay,” you said, softer now.
Another silence followed. But it felt different, it was lighter, easier. It was like you had finally taken a weight out of your shoulders. It made you feel better. You never believed you were going to fix that resentment with the one person that made you feel it but there you were.
Jungkook smiled slightly then.
“But now you like me.”
You turned your head slowly, meeting his gaze without hesitation, your expression completely unimpressed even if there was something softer sitting underneath it now.
“You wish.”
You pushed his shoulder lightly, meant to brush him off more than anything else, but his hand came up almost instantly, catching your wrist with an ease that felt natural, like he hadn’t even thought about it before doing it. The movement stopped you just enough to pull you slightly closer, your balance shifting toward him as your eyes flickered down to where his fingers wrapped around your wrist before lifting back up to his face.
There was a second, just one, where neither of you moved. Close enough now that the space between you didn’t feel accidental anymore. His grip loosened, not letting go completely, just enough to slide from your wrist to grip your knuckles between his fingers, thumb making his way to your palm and his fingers curling more gently this time as if giving you the chance to step back if you wanted to.
You didn’t. And he noticed. The change in his expression was subtle, but there, the teasing edge from before fading into something quieter, something more with intention, as his other hand came up to your waist, steadying you, pulling you just a little closer until there was barely any space left to pretend the action was still nothing.
He kissed you then.
The kiss wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t clumsy or uncertain either, it was slow and with intention, like he was testing the moment instead of taking it, his lips brushing yours first, soft enough to pause there, to let you react, to give you that last chance to pull away. You didn’t. Your hand tightened slightly around his without you realizing, your body leaning into him instead of away, and that was all it took for him to deepen it just enough to make it real, his hand at your waist firm now, holding you there as the kiss settled into something warmer, something that carried the tension from everything that had been building between you since the beginning of the day.
It wasn’t overwhelming but it wasn’t light either.
It had weight to it, the kind that made everything else go quiet without needing to force it, the kind that made you forget, even for a second, about the car, the argument, the fact that you were literally stranded in the middle of nowhere.
His thumb brushed lightly against your side, grounding, while your free hand came up almost instinctively, sneaking to his hair to pull him closer, even though you didn’t really need to.
When he pulled back, it wasn’t far. Just enough to look at you again, close enough that you could still feel his breath, still feel the warmth of him where his hand hadn’t moved.
And for once neither of you said anything. Because there wasn’t really anything to argue about anymore… So you just smiled, and Jungkook just kissed the shit out of you again.
——————————
By the time the sun fully disappeared, the world around you had changed again.
What had looked manageable in daylight now felt different. Darker, quieter, the kind of quiet that made every small sound feel louder than it should be, your steps crunching lightly against the ground, branches shifting somewhere far enough to not see but close enough to notice. You had no real sense of direction anymore, just walking, adjusting, guessing, but somehow neither of you had stopped. Trying to find the route back became a little more of a second thing to do after the kiss— even after you two were clearly lost.
On the way, your hands brushed at first accidentally. Then not. Then fully intertwined like it had always been what you two wanted, fingers fitting together without either of you making a big deal out of it, like acknowledging it would somehow make it more real than it already was. Every now and then he’d tug slightly, pulling you closer when the ground got uneven, or you’d bump into him on purpose just to hear the quiet laugh he tried not to let out.
“If we die here,” you said at some point, putting the camera on his face before showing ahead into what looked like absolutely nothing, “I want it on record that this is your fault.”
“My fault?” he repeated, glancing at you with a small smile that you could barely see in the dark but still felt, he grabbed the camera to shove it into his face. “I want the world to see the face of the woman who got rid of Jeon Jungkook.”
“You talking in third person because your name is big is insane. And you were driving,” you shook your head, accusatory.
“You told me where to go.”
“I didn’t tell you to get us lost.”
“That’s dramatic.”
“It’s literally what happened.”
Jungkook turned the camera off before grabbing your hand again and squeeze it lightly, like he was amused more than anything. “You’re fine.”
“I’m cold, lost, my phone is dead, and my grandma’s car is gone,” you listed, turning your head toward him. “Define fine.”
“You’re holding my hand,” he said simply.
You paused. “…That doesn’t count.”
“It counts.”
“It doesn’t.”
“It does.”
You rolled your eyes, but you didn’t let go.
The path— if you could even call it that— started narrowing, trees getting thicker around you, the air cooler, and just when you were about to complain again, something appeared ahead.
A cabin.
You both slowed down. “…What is that?” you asked quietly.
He squinted slightly. “Looks like… a motel?”
“A motel?” you repeated, already skeptical. “Here?”
You stared at it for a second longer. It looked questionable. Old wood, dim lights, the kind of place that felt like it existed outside of time in the worst possible way, like it had been there forever and no one had thought to update it. Like the damn start of an horror movie type of hotel. One of the lights near the entrance flickered slightly, and you felt your grip tighten around his hand without realizing.
“This is how horror movies start, Jungkook,” you said.
He let out a small laugh. “We don’t have a lot of options.”
“That doesn’t make it less creepy.”
“You want to keep walking?”
You hesitated before looking at the building again. “…No.”
“Okay then.”
He pulled you gently forward.
Inside was worse. Not in a dramatic, haunted way but in a quiet, unsettling one. The air smelled like old wood and faintly dusty, the kind of place that didn’t get many visitors and with a lot of reasons. Behind the small reception desk sat an old woman who looked up the second you walked in like she had been expecting you.
You froze for half a second.
“…Hi,” you said slowly.
She stared at you, then at Jungkook, and then back at you. “One room?” she asked.
You blinked. “…Uh—”
“Yes,” Jungkook answered before you could say anything. You turned your head toward him immediately. He didn’t look at you “One room,” he repeated, calm.
The woman nodded slowly, reaching for a key without another word. You leaned slightly toward him, lowering your voice. “One room?”
“Well, my phone is not working and I barely have enough cash,” he whispered back.
“I have some in my bag—”
He smiled slightly, finally glancing at you. “Too late now.”
You huffed softly, but didn’t argue further as the key was handed over. “Second floor, room 7” the woman said.
You took it. “Thank you.” She didn’t respond just watched you walk away. “…She hates us,” you muttered under your breath.
“She doesn’t know us.”
“She might know you,” you shrugged. “Maybe she’s a hater.”
“Shut up,” he snorted.
The room wasn’t as bad as you expected. Still old, still simple, but cleaner, warmer, a small relief after everything else, and the second the door closed behind you, you both just paused, taking a second to know you were finally able to have some rest after the day you had.
You looked at each other. And then laughed. Not really loud or dramatic but some giggles to release something that had been building since the car, since the beach, since everything… Because what a fucking day.
“This is insane,” you said, dropping your bag on the floor.
“Yeah,” he agreed, running a hand through his hair.
You glanced around, spotting a small bathroom. “I’m washing my face.”
“Go.”
You disappeared inside first, catching your reflection briefly and stopping for half a second. Your hair messy, clothes still slightly wet, sand in places you didn’t want to think about. You let out a small breath before turning on the water.
By the time you came out, he had already found the pile of oversized shirts folded neatly on the bed. “What is that?” you asked.
“Pajamas, I think.”
You picked one up. It was huge, almost to your knee. “This is a dress.”
“Better than wet clothes.”
“Fair.”
You both changed without much ceremony, the kind of casual that felt new but not uncomfortable anymore, like the line between awkward and normal had blurred somewhere along the day.
When you finally climbed into bed, it felt surreal.
Jungkook looked at you, already thinking of settling against the pillow. “So,” he said. “Do I have to sleep on the floor tonight?”
You turned your head slowly. “Are you asking or complaining?”
“Both.”
You considered it for a second. Then shifted slightly closer instead. “I guess I can make some space,” you said.
He didn’t argue, just smiled before moving closer, the space between you two disappearing easily, like it had been waiting to.
For a moment, you just lay there. Looking at each other, talking softly, about nothing important, small things, random comments that didn’t need full answers, your voices lower now, slower, the kind of quiet that only happened when the day is finally catching up to you.
His hand brushed yours again, then stayed and then moved again, like he wasn’t sure what he wanted to do yet. It went back again, it was lightly at first, fingers tracing absent patterns against your arm, your side, not rushed, like he was testing the space again, like earlier. You didn’t stop him. Didn’t move away. If anything, you leaned into it slightly, your hand finding his shirt, gripping lightly without thinking too much about it.
“Tou’re not complaining now,” he murmured softly.
You huffed a small breath. “Don’t start.”
“I’m just saying.”
“You’re always saying bullshit.”
He smiled faintly, closer now, his voice lower. “But now you like me.”
“I don’t—”
You didn’t finish because he kissed you again.
And this time it wasn’t new, it wasn’t hesitant. It was warmer, deeper, familiar in a way that didn’t make sense yet, his hand sliding more securely against your waist, pulling you closer as the conversation faded without needing to end properly.
His kiss deepened, like he was trying to taste every part of your mouth, trying to remember what it felt like for eh rest of his life. Jungkook’s mouth was soft and he moved his lips over yours slowly, thin lips kissing you with so much desire it made you feel good.
Jungkook crawled underneath the covers right on top of you, settling himself in between your thighs. Now in that oversized shirt and his underwear, he looked soft when he pulled apart to look at you, hair a it messy. You didn't get to admire it that much though, because your stomach was dropping rapidly, your breath caught in your throat. You could feel him resting against your core; thick, heavy and rock hard. He kissed you again, lips moving slowly to your neck.
“Jungkook, we don’t have—”
“I know,” he whisper in your ear, breathless. “I know. I just… just wanna feel you— I won’t fuck you, okay?”
You didn’t have protection, it was a fair deal. But his voice, already so needy, it made you wondered how he would sound if you fucked him— No, no, you couldn’t.
“Uhm,” you nodded slightly before kissing him again. Jungkook whined in your mouth, palming his bulge over his sweatpants. He used his other hand to tease your clit over your thin panties, thumb rubbing over the bundle of nerves ever so lightly that made you start getting wet. “That’s feels good.”
“Yeah?,” Jungkook continued circling your clit with his thumb, a little harder to make you leak your juices and stain your panties. “Wanna make you feel good. That’s all I wanna do for you.” He said almost sweetly. “Wan’ me to touch you better?”
You nodded, bordering on desperate as your hips kicked up when he pinched your little bud. Jungkook groaned under his breath, bringing his now slick thumb to his lips and sucking at the digit. A sight left his mouth, hands moving to pull at the hem of his pajamas. He didn’t give time for your foggy brain to process his actions, sliding his underwear down to mid thigh and leaving you to gape at his hard cock like a woman starved. You felt your tummy itchy at the thought of him inside you. You clenched around nothing.
Jungkook was quick to positioned himself over your wet panties. And the first experimental thrust that followed was deliciously sinful. His bulge rubbing up against you made your stomach jolt. He felt so good, so big.
He kept going, grinding his length forward in lazy rolls of his hips. The head of his cock pushing against your clit in a way that made your head spin. You were already soaked, panties dripping wet to aid in the glide of Jungkook’s length. You couldn’t help the little gasps leaving your mouth as your hips bucked forward.
“Shit, shit,” he cursed, hissing a bit when the mushroom tip of his cock bumps against your clothed clit, “you’re gettin’ so wet. Just by looking at my cock ‘n feeling it rub against your pussy. You like that, huh? Like how I’m rubbing against you?”
Your cotton panties surely were all damp with arousal now, from both Jungkook and you. His pre-cum mixed with your juices, ruining your pair of panties. The wet spot forming near your slit only got darker and darker the more you allow him to rub his dick back and forth over your cunt.
You nodded, eyes getting a little tearful at how good he was making you feel and the way he was talking to you. “Feels s’good, kook. You’re s’good for me—”
“No— fuck, I like when you say my name like that. Makes me wanna fuck you right,” his voice was lower now, more lost in the desire. “Might just push in here...” Jungkook murmured as he positioned the leaking head of his cock against your covered entrance. “Fill you up full while hearing you scream my name. Sounds good, right?”
You whined, feeling your cunt clench around nothing. His hips moved back and forth, shallow thrusts against the barrier that was your panties, mimicking the real thing. Your poor clit continuously being circled and bumped against his tip was driving you crazy.
“We can’t, we can’t—”
“I know, I know,” he kissed your neck before seating, knees between your spread legs and with a perfect view of your damped panties.
Jungkook ran a rough finger over your wet panties, keeping your legs spread wide with his knees. He easily found your little hole as the cotton material stuck to your pussy, showing the outlines of your lips.
“Jungkook…”
“So pretty down here, lemme see the real thing.” He pushed your panties to the side, watching your glistening cunt looking all ready for him. “Fuck, so ready for me. Wanna do some things to ya’, you have no idea…”
Jungkook let his fingers run over your wet lips before his middle started pushing into your core, it almost made him moaned how it swallowed him greedily, like it had bee waiting to be touched like that. You clenched so needy he put another finger inside you not too long after.
“Touch me better,” you pouted.
Fuck, he wanted to kiss the shit out of you. Jungkook’s cock leaked at the sight of your pussy sucking his fingers in like that, the sight of it so greedy, stretched around his bare hand was too much. His fingers pulled back and then inserted again, and again, a messy squelch echoing in the room, gossamer swirls of your arousal coating his fingers.
His fingers buried to the knuckle suddenly. It felt so good you couldn’t hold back your little whimper, hips bucking up. You felt every line and callous of his thick fingers, cunt gripping him like she's scared he'll leave. "Mhmm.”
Your cheeks were flushed, eyes rolling back, hips just rolling when he ran a thumb over your clit once more. “Look at me. See who’s making you feel this good.” You were barely focus, stretched so good by only his long fingers. Your lashes fluttered at his command, he leaned down just a bit as he worked you. "There you go, you like getting fucked like this, huh? Imagine how full you would feel with my cock instead.” He pressed his other hand to your tummy, just over your bellybutton. “Imagine how deep I would be, pushing my way right here. So you can feel all of me—”
You moaned, shaking your head as your hips stuttered when he fucked his fingers deeper and pressed harder in your clit. He was scissoring his long fucking fingers in and out of your now sloppy little cunt, your nails pressed into his forearms, just making him moan softly of how needy you were.
“We shouldn’t—”
“Let me feel you bare, baby.”
He fell on top of you again, body leaning into yours. Jungkook’s fingers flitted over you, taking your panties off and grazing your throbbing clit before lining his leaking cock back up. The feeling of bare skin sliding against bare skin, his slick length nudging your clit and the wet sounds of each roll of your hips made your whines grow an octave higher.
You moaned softly at the fraction, leaning your head to the side to give Jungkook more access to your neck. His mouth moved constantly, licking and biting at the skin with a reckless sort of desperation. Your lips, your jaw, your neck. You could feel the precum dripping from his tip smear against your clit, making a mess of your cunt already, with the rest of the mess you’ve made. Up and down and up and down.
Your voice caught up in your throat when the tip of Jungkook’s cock caught against your entrance, not entering you, but so close.
“Kook, no—”
“F-fuck,” Jungkook voice was cracking, he was needy. He needed to feel you or he was going to die. “Baby," he pleaded raspily, sucking a pretty bruise into your neck. He liked the thought of leaving marks on you. "Let me put it in, yeah?”
“Jungkook, we can’t—”
“Just the tip,” he begged desperately. “I promise. I promise just the tip. Please, please I just wanna feel you.”
His voice, so broken and pleading, The constant pulsing in your core increased in intensity, arousal flowing out of you and covering Jungkook’s cock all over. You could feel him twitch in response. He wrapped his fingers around it, pushing it against your clenching hole. The pressure felt divine.
Jungkook whined, panting against your collarbone. “I know is so tight, trying to suck me in all the way. Ngh. Promise I just wanna feel you… I just wanna feel you.”
He was breathless, his brows furrowed in concentration. He slid a few inches forward, the heat of your cunt enveloping the flushed, leaking tip snugly. He groaned, dropping his head to your shoulder again. Eyes rolling back, your greedy hole squeezing his tip like you were begging to be fucked.
“Uhmm, Kook.”
“Y-yeah,” he stuttered sweat dripping from his forehead. “Feels good, huh? Imagine how good it would feel I sink all the way in. Could make you feel so much better, so good.”
“I wanna feel you but—”
“Then feel me.”
A large palm pressed over your mouth as Jungkook buried his head in the side of your neck, muffling his own needy, drawn out groan as he pushed his thick cock inside you all the way. The hand at your lips barely offered reprieve when you moaned, eyes clenching shut at the feeling of finally being so full and stretched open around his length. Your cunt throbbed, struggling to accommodate him as he sank deeper. The stretch was uncomfortable, but at the same time so good you were on the verge of trembling.
Jungkook bottomed out with his entire body tensing up, not giving you much time to prepare before he snapped his hips back and slowly started fucking himself into you. His strokes were soft and loving, deep. So soft they didn't match the dirtiness of his actions.
You rolled your eyes back, feeling so good it made your toe fingers clench in pleasure. You grabbed his hand to move it out of your mouth. “Fuck me harder. Just— Just don’t come i-inside.”
“Yes, whatever— whatever you want, baby.” He groaned. "Won’t come inside. Fuck, yeah," the words were coming out hot and breathy, bumping against each other on his suddenly clumsy tongue. "F-fuck, I promise, baby. I won't come. I won’t, just wanna feel you.”
You arched your back to let him hit you deeper. And that made Jungkook groan again. He leaned his forehead on yours, entwining your fingers. With his free hand he held on to your hips, keeping you firmly in place as his knees spread more your thighs to fuck you deeper.
“Gonna come soon,” you warned him, cunt squeezing him tight when you felt the butterflies in your lower tummy.
“Me too,” Jungkook kissed your lips, sweetly, needy. “Me too, I’m s’ close.”
“Don’t— don’t cum ins—”
“Yeah, yeah.” His thumb moved immediately, rubbing fast, relentless circles right where you needed it while he buried himself deep, hips rolling in short, brutal strokes that hit your sweet spot over and over. “Gonna cum inside, make you full.”
“Jungkook,” you whined, unable to actually tell him he shouldn’t.
He definitely shouldn’t. But fuck he was fucking you so good. You wanted it, you wanted it so bad. He knew it.
He slapped your clit with his finger before pressing and rubbing it harder. You sobbed, eyes rolled back as he bullied your pussy with his thick cock.
“Gonna make you feel good, wanna make you feel s’ full.”
He muffled your sobs with a messy kiss, the thumping of the headboard against the wall growing frantic as you tightened around his cock.
Your walls fluttered and squeezed around him so tightly, pulsing in waves as your orgasm crashed through you, and it dragged him under with you. His hips stutter once, twice, then slammed deep one final time as he spilled inside you. Thick, hot ropes of his creamy cum flooding your insides to the deepest.
It was messy, dirty and overwhelming, your body clenching around him as he spilled his cum deep inside you, his hips jerking erratically as he rode out his orgasm. He collapse next to the bed, taking you with him to put you o. top, weight pressing him into the mattress, his cock still buried deep inside you, still pulsing.
Neither of you moved for some minutes.
Your cheek pressing his chest, his hand slowly and softly rubbing your lower back. You could feel his cum flooding down your cunt into the length of his cock again.
“That was… wow,” he said finally.
“Yeah.”
“Should we go again?.”
You giggled, a little breathless. Jungkook smiled before taking your jaw between his fingers to move your head up to kiss you. It was slow and hot. He smiled on your mouth before pushing his hips up, cock hitting your sensitive cunt.
“Jungkook!” you whined, sensitive and a little entertained by how much stamina the guy had.
“I’m not letting you sleep so easy tonight, baby.” He squeezed your thighs, hips rolling up again to hit that spot his was bury deep inside already. “Why don’t you show me how good you’re at riding me?”
Well, it was going to be a long night—
But you weren’t complaining at all.
——————————
Morning didn’t feel real at first. It came in slowly through the thin curtains, soft light spilling across the room like nothing had happened the night before, like you hadn’t gotten lost, fought, kissed, almost died in quicksand, and somehow ended up sleeping together in the middle of nowhere.
For a few seconds, you just stayed there, eyes half-open, not moving, letting that quiet settle before your brain fully caught up. Then you felt it. His arm. Loose, warm, resting across your waist like it had been there for hours without either of you noticing.
You blinked a little more awake, turning your head slightly.
He was still asleep, face relaxed in a way you hadn’t seen yet, hair messy, lips a little part open, completely unaware of anything around him, and for a second, just a second, you let yourself look at him without thinking about what it meant. The night before had been perfect but…
“You’re staring.”
You froze. His voice was rough with sleep, eyes still closed, but there was a faint smile pulling at his lips now.
“I’m not,” you said immediately.
“Mm,” he hummed, finally opening his eyes slightly, glancing at you without moving his arm. “You are.”
“I’m literally not.”
“You were.”
“I wasn’t.”
He didn’t argue, just watched you for a second longer than necessary before letting out a quiet breath and sitting up slowly, running a hand through his hair.
“What time is it?” he asked.
You looked around instinctively before remembering. “We don’t have phones.”
“Right.”
A small silence followed, both of you adjusting back into reality a little more with every passing second.
“There was a vending machine downstairs,” you said after a moment, pushing yourself up. “I saw it last night.”
He nodded slightly. “Food sounds good.”
“Very,” you agreed. “Let’s wash up and go eat something.”
The motel looked less creepy in daylight.
Still old, still quiet, but less like something out of a horror movie and more like something forgotten, which somehow made it easier to walk around to. The vending machine was exactly where you remembered, tucked in a corner, buzzing faintly, filled with random snacks that didn’t really go together.
You stood in front of it, arms crossed. “This is depressing.”
“It’s food,” he said, stepping next to you.
“This is not food. This is barely edible.”
“Same thing right now.”
You sighed, pressing a button anyway. “If I get sick, I’m blaming you.”
“You already blame me for everything.”
“That’s because everything is your fault.”
He huffed quietly, handing you a drink. “Here.”
You took it, brushing your fingers against his briefly. “Thanks.”
You both leaned against the wall nearby, eating in that same quiet from earlier, but it felt different now. Not uncomfortable, just… a little awkward. Like something had shifted overnight, and neither of you were fully sure what to do with it yet.
He glanced at you after a moment.
“…So.”
You looked back at him. “…So.”
There was a small pause.
“Are you… going back home soon?” he asked.
You frowned slightly, a little confused by his question. “To my country?”
“Yeah.”
“Next week,” you said. “Yeah.”
He nodded slowly, looking down at his drink for a second. “I have a tour,” he said.
You blinked. “Yeah.”
You were still trying to understand where he was going with this conversation. Jungkook let out a small breath that almost sounded like a breathy laugh. “Yeah.” Silence stretched again, heavier this time. “We could,” he started, then stopped. You waited. He glanced at you again, a little more hesitant now. “…I don’t know. See each other again?”
It wasn’t fully a question but it wasn’t a statement either.
You looked at him, studying his face like you were trying to understand what he actually meant, what that would even look like outside of… this. You had an amazing day with him but, seeing him again in another setting, would that ever work?. You didn’t know. You were very unsure.
But… you liked him enough to find out.
“Maybe,” you said slowly. He nodded once, like the fact that you wanted to try was enough for him. “It might be hard,” you added. “You know. With your tour. And me not even living here—”
“I know.” There was pause. “But… yeah,” he said quietly.
“Yeah,” you repeated.
And somehow, that was all you needed to say.
You exhaled softly, pushing yourself off the wall. “We should get going.”
Jungkook didn’t move immediately. Like he didn’t want to. He didn’t, he didn’t want it to end just yet. But he knew the end was coming so he only nodded. “Yeah. Come on.”
——————————
The map from reception looked older than the place itself. Folded too many times, slightly torn at the edges, but still readable enough to guide you back, and this time, with actual direction, the walk felt shorter, easier, like the world had decided to cooperate again.
By the time the beach came back into view, the air had changed again, warmer, brighter, familiar. And without thinking, your hand found his again. He didn’t let go. For a moment, it felt like yesterday hadn’t ended. Like you were still in that same bubble, untouched, separate from everything else. You slowed slightly, turning your head toward him, a small smile pulling at your lips. He looked at you the same way. It felt easy with him, at least when he was like that.
Jungkook leaned in slightly to kiss you but then—
Voices.
A group of people passed by, not even paying attention at first, just locals walking, talking, laughing, but it was enough. Enough to break it. Immediately, his hand dropped from yours. Not aggressively but fast, really fast.
He reached up, pulling the pink hat back on, adjusting it lower over his face, his posture shifting in a way you hadn’t seen since yesterday morning. Like something had snapped back into place. You looked at him a little amused
He glanced around quickly, more aware now, more alert. “…Okay,” he muttered under his breath. “Back to the real world.”
You frowned slightly. “What does that mean?”
He looked at you then, properly, but something was different, like he had just popped that little bubble he was just in.
“You know what happens now, right?” he asked.
You stared at him, still slightly amused. “No?”
He nodded slowly, like he expected that. “You can’t tell anyone about this,” he said.
You blinked. “What do you mean?”
“About yesterday, about today… About me. You can’t tell anyone, not even your family.”
You let out a small, confused laugh. “Why would I—? It’s not like they’re going to post it or something.” you added jokingly.
“I’m serious.”
His tone made you pause. “…Okay,” you said slowly. “But I don’t get—”
“If you want to continue seeing me you have to go through the company first,” he continued, cutting you off. “If you want you can come during the next couple of weeks, you have to sign an NDA with my lawyer. Nobody can know about this and if it gets public it will be worse for you. And if it things get complicated—”
You stared at him. “Wow, wow,” you cut him off, already uncomfortable by all the things you had to do for something that wasn’t even formal. “Okay. Calm down.”
“I am calm.”
“No, you’re not. You’re making it weird.”
“I’m not making it weird, I’m telling you how it works.”
“Why does it have to be like that?”
He didn’t even hesitated for half a second. “Because I’m Jungkook from BTS and you’re just an ordinary girl.”
That hit differently. His voice more firm, more detached, like it was something common he use to say… which it probably was. You didn’t react right away. You just looked at him like you didn’t recognize him for a second. Maybe you didn’t, you didn’t know him enough anyway.
You let out a small breath, nodding slowly, like you were processing it. “Wow,” you said again, quieter this time, but sharper. “Okay.”
He frowned slightly, noticing the way your expression changed. “What I mean—”
“No, I know what you meant,” you cut in, stepping back slightly. “And don’t worry about any NDA or future complications, I don’t want to see you again anyway.”
You turned and started walking away from him
“What— Wait, wait” he called your name before stepping in front of you quickly, blocking your way. “What just happen?…”
“Move.”
“If this is because of the NDA, you have to understand is for your privacy too—”
“I said move.”
“You don’t know what people can be like. How much hate you could get—”
“And whose fault would that be?” you snapped.
Jungkook hesitated. “It’s not just that,” he continued, trying again. “I have contracts, deals I can’t—”
“I don’t care.”
“You should—”
“Jungkook,” you said, firmly. “I don’t care anymore. I don’t know what you’re trying to do but this is not normal for me, okay?” You shook your head, unbelievable. “Usually when someone likes me they just ask me on a date, they don’t call me an ‘ordinary girl’ like it’s a slur— Or try to get me to sign contracts before we even go on a date— or tell me excuses about deals and whatever to not make it a big thing—”
“You need to understand my side—”
“No, I do,” you cut him off again. “You just don’t want to date an ordinary girl…”
“It’s not that—”
“Yeah, it is. Because you’re scaring me with all this shit and you’re acting like you’re doing me a favour by even paying me attention.” There was a silence. He didn’t say anything. Because he knew it was true. You nodded before pushing him slightly. “Goodbye, Jungkook.”
You started walking away, your chest tightened. You felt so stupid. Not because of the situation— a superstar using you— but because you had thought he was actually different from the idea you had form in your head about him.
But he just showed you…
“Y/n!,” he called your name. You stopped, turning around to see him. He looked a little embarrassed, his eyes on the sand. “… I need the camera back,” he said suddenly, quieter now.
You blinked. “…Seriously?”
“I don’t want those pictures getting out.”
You stared at him for a second longer then laughed. Not amused but disbelieving. You reached into your bag, pulled it out, and threw it at his feet.
“Take it. There’s nothing in there I want to remember anyway.”
He flinched it, a little thrown off. You turned again, walking away faster this time… At least three steps before you suddenly stopped. You sighed, frustrated before turning back. Jungkook was still froze in his place. You walked straight toward him again before he could even react.
He frowned slightly when you grabbed his arm, pulling it toward you and took a pen from your bag. “What—”
“Shut up.” You wrote quickly against his skin, pressing harder than necessary. “There,” you said, letting go. He looked down. It was a long number.
“…What is this?”
“My bank account,” you replied flatly. “You still owe me 1005€. And my grandma’s car.”
You stepped back. Turned again. This time, you didn’t hesitate to walk away as soon as you could. You didn’t want him to see your eyes getting red with tears.
“Wait, y/n—” Jungkook called after you again, moving forward. “I don’t want it to end like this.” You didn’t stop. “If you just try to understand—” he continued. “The media ruins everything. You wouldn’t be free—”
You turned your head just slightly. “They don’t have to ruin everything anymore, Jungkook,” you said, finally looking at him. “You just did.”
And then you kept walking, you didn’t look back again, because you didn’t want Jeon Jungkook— the superstar, the global idol— to see you crying for him. He didn’t followed you this time, he didn’t even try again to call your name. Behind you, voices started rising. At first just a few. Then more. Recognition spreading faster than it should, people stopping, turning, pointing, phones coming out—
“Is that—?”
“Oh my God—”
“Jungkook!”
And just like that the bubble shattered completely.
Neither of you noticed the camera in the distance. The one that had been there longer than it should have. Watching and capturing everything that just happened.
—————————
Your last few days in Korea didn’t feel like a proper ending.
They felt unfinished, like something had been cut off too abruptly and your body hadn’t caught up to it yet, like you were still waiting for something to happen even though nothing was going to. You went back to your great grandmother’s friend cabin that same day with sand still in your shoes and too many things in your head, and somehow you managed to explain everything to your sister without actually explaining anything, turning the whole story into something vague and harmless about getting lost, about the car breaking down somewhere you couldn’t properly describe, about being helped by someone you “didn’t really know.” You told the same story to your great grandma. She didn’t get mad, not even a little, which somehow made it worse, because she just nodded, patted your arm, and told you those things happened, that cars could be fixed and people got lost all the time, and you stood there feeling like you were the only one aware of how much you were leaving out. Your parents just went with what your grandma said, not really having the energy to fight her.
Your sister, on the other hand, was not as understanding. She was still pissed as hell.
She wasn’t really screaming at you all the time but it was the kind of pissed that sat in every look she gave you, in the way she crossed her arms when you spoke, in the short answers and the eye rolls that didn’t even try to hide how annoyed she was. To her, you had disappeared from the beach, completely abandoned her without explanation, and somehow ended up back in the cabin the next day like nothing had happened, which made absolutely no sense no matter how you tried to spin it. You told her you got dizzy again, that you had to leave, that things just… escalated, but it sounded weak even to your own ears, and she wasn’t buying it, not really.
“You just left me there and disappeared for a day!,” she said at some point, sitting across from you with her arms crossed tightly. “Do you know how crazy that is?!”
“I didn’t just leave you,” you replied, trying to keep your tone even. “I told you, I wasn’t feeling well.”
“You were fine before.”
“I wasn’t.”
She scoffed, shaking her head. “You always do this.”
“Do what?”
“Make things complicated for no reason.”
You almost laughed at that but you didn’t because there was nothing you could actually say.
So you let her be mad, let the silence settle between you in those awkward stretches where neither of you knew how to move forward, and instead focused on everything else. The last family dinners, the small outings, the little routines that were supposed to feel normal but didn’t quite land the same anymore even on your last days.
And then there was him.
Everywhere. It didn’t matter where you went Jungkook was there
Not physically but enough to make it impossible to ignore. On screens in convenience stores, playing quietly in the background while people walked in and out like it was nothing. On posters at bus stops, his face printed larger than life, smiling like you hadn’t seen him the last time you spoke. On the radio in taxis, his voice filling the space so casually it almost felt personal. Even in places you didn’t expect, small restaurants, late-night ramen spots where someone had his music playing low enough to blend into the noise. In the purple of the city, streets full of colour with his face all over…
It was exhausting.
Not because you missed him. You didn’t, you just couldn’t escape him. Korea loved him in a way that felt obsessive and effortless, built into everything around you, and you started noticing it more now, every detail sharper than before, every mention of his name making something twist in your chest before you could stop it.
By the time your trip was coming to an end, you found yourself counting down not because you were excited to leave, but because you needed distance. Somewhere you wouldn’t accidentally hear his voice in a random café or see his face printed on a billboard like it was part of the scenery, somewhere you could go back to being just yourself without all of this attached to it.
At least back home, you told yourself, you wouldn’t have to see him everywhere.
At least there, it would be easier to forget…
On the other side of the city, in a place filled with lights and noise and thousands of voices screaming the same name over and over again, Jungkook stood at the center of it all like nothing had changed.
The first concert in Goyang had ended with loud screams, overwhelming fans, perfectly timed, the kind of performance that left no space for mistakes and no room for anything personal to slip through. He moved through it automatically, every step rehearsed, every expression controlled, smiling when he needed to, speaking when it was expected, giving exactly what the crowd came for without letting anything else show.
From the outside, it was seamless. It always was.
Backstage was different, quieter in a chaotic way, staff moving around, voices overlapping, the energy still high but shifting into something more contained, more routine. His members talked around him, laughing, planning where to go next, throwing out ideas for food like they always did after a show and haven’t done in so long. He followed along, nodding when it made sense, answering when he had to, blending into the conversation without really being in it.
“Let’s go eat,” someone said.
“Yeah, I’m starving.”
“Same place as last time?”
“Please, no.”
He smiled faintly at that, just enough to look like he was listening.
They eventually settled on somewhere nearby, nothing too public, somewhere they could go without it turning into a scene, and by the time they reached the parking lot, the noise had faded into something more manageable. He got into his own car, not really feeling like getting his driver to take him there. He just wanted a moment alone and drive around to clear his mind. A car was more private than his motorcycle this time, specially after the concert.
He closed the door. And for the first time that day it was quiet.
He didn’t start the engine right away, didn’t reach for his new phone immediately either He just sat there for a second, hands resting loosely on the steering wheel, staring ahead at nothing in particular while everything from the day slowly settled around him.
Then he reached over to the backseat and picked up the camera like it was killing him not looking at it. The same one you threw at him some weeks ago already. He turned it in his hands for a moment before switching it on, the screen lighting up softly in the dim space of the car, and one by one, the pictures came back.
Blurry ones, bad angles of him, your weird faces when he took pictures. The candid photos he took of you without you noticing him, his big smile in the ones you took of him.
“Okay, let me take another one. But smile like you’re having the best time of your life.”
He was having the best time of his life. Moments that didn’t look like anything important to anyone else, but felt… different now, sitting there in silence with no noise to cover it.
There was one where you were mid-sentence, your expression slightly annoyed, like you were arguing about something stupid. Another where you were both smiling without realizing it, too distracted to care about the camera. One where the light hit you just right, turning everything softer than it actually was. A video after video of your little walk that night.
“I want the world to see the face of the woman who got rid of Jeon Jungkook.”
He stayed on that one a little longer. His thumb hovering over the screen, not moving, not deleting, just there. It was so different, his own smile before he shoved the camera to your face and how you argued with him. He has never seen his own smile like that, so carefree, so himself, so…
Outside, someone knocked lightly on his window.
“Dude, my driver’s been honking for ten minutes. Are we going to eat or what?”
He blinked at Jimin, the moment breaking just like that, and quickly turned the camera off, setting it aside like it hadn’t meant anything. “Yeah, yeah” he said, grabbing his keys. “I’m moving.”
He turned on the engine out, the noise returning instantly, the world snapping back into place like it always did. And just like that everything went back to normal. Normal as his life could be. Or at least, that’s what it looked like.
——————————
For the second concert in Goyang, Jungkook went out with for dinner with his friends.
It was louder than usual, or maybe it just felt that way. The restaurant wasn’t anything fancy, just one of those places they could go to without turning it into a full scene, tucked away enough to keep things manageable but still busy enough that no one paid too much attention. Plates kept arriving, someone was already complaining about being starving even though they had eaten barely an hour ago, and the conversation moved easily between them, jumping from congratulating him for the concert to random jokes to things that didn’t matter at all.
Jungkook sat with them, nodding when it made sense, responding when someone addressed him directly, but there was a slight delay to everything he said, like his mind was always half a step behind the moment.
It didn’t take long for someone to notice.
“You’re quiet,” Eun-woo said, leaning back slightly as he looked at him. “What’s up?.”
“I’m always quiet,” Jungkook replied without looking up from his plate.
“No, you’re not,” his friend replied cut in immediately. “You are tired sometimes but you’re not quiet even when you’re spacing out. And this is not tired quiet.”
Jungkook let out a small breath through his nose, still not fully engaging. “I’m fine.”
“That’s even worse,” Mingyu added, shaking his head. “He said ‘I’m fine.’ He’s definitely not fine.”
His friends laughed at that, the tension easing just enough to make it feel like a joke, but their eyes stayed on him, waiting.
“…What?” Jungkook finally said, glancing up.
“Just say it,” Mingyu shrugged. “What’s going on?”
He hesitated for a second.
Not because he didn’t want to say it but because saying it out loud would make it more real than it already felt in his head.
“…There’s this girl,” he said finally.
That was enough. The reaction was immediate. “Oh, here we go.”
“Of course there is.”
“Who is she?”
“I didn’t know you started dating again—”
Voices overlapped, interest sparking instantly, and Jungkook almost regretted opening his mouth at all, but it was too late now.
“I wasn’t but—” he scratched his head, a little shy. “I met her very spontaneously and—”
“Wait, what do you— Oh my god! Is this the girl who threw up in my shoes?!”
“Dude…”
Mingyu gasped. “She is!” he whined. “She threw up in my favourite shoes, man! You’re a traitor, how can you like her? She even insulted my hair!”
“She thought it was real—”
“IT IS REAL—”
“Okay, shut up! You’re grabbing attention.” Eunwoo slapped his friend’s shoulder before looking at Jungkook. “What’s up with this girl?.”
The question settled into something lighter, easier, and for a moment it felt like just another chat, like nothing about it was different from any other night, but then his friend leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on the table.
There was a small silence before he finally let it out. “I can’t stop thinking about her,” he admitted, a little quieter this time.
“What do you mean?”
Jungkook paused again, this time not because he didn’t want to say it, but because he wasn’t sure how to explain it without it sounding like more than it was— or less than it actually felt.
“She’s just…” he started, then stopped, searching for the right words. “She’s real.” They waited “She doesn’t care,” he continued. “Not about who I am, not about any of this. She’s annoyingly honest, like— she’ll just say things without thinking about how they sound, and it’s frustrating, but also…” he let out a small breath, shaking his head slightly. “I don’t know. It’s different.”
“Different how?” his friend asked.
He looked down at his hands for a second before answering. “She’s smart,” he said. “And she’s funny, but my type of funny which is rare. And she’s—” he hesitated just slightly, then continued anyway, “—she’s beautiful.”
There was a brief silence after that. Not awkward just his friends thinking about his words.
Mingyu finally leaned back, crossing his arms. “Okay. So what’s the problem?”
Jungkook frowned slightly. “What do you mean?”
“I mean, you clearly like her,” he said. “So what’s stopping you?”
That question lingered longer than the others. Jungkook didn’t answer immediately. Because he already knew.
“Everything,” he said finally. They didn’t interrupt. “I don’t want to drag her into this,” he continued, gesturing vaguely, like “this” explained everything. “You know how it is. The rumors, the media, people digging into her life, saying things about her… she didn’t ask for that.”
“Well— yeah, that can be a reason,” his friend nodded. “But you can always keep things more private.”
“I don’t think she likes that, but even if had did I— I already…” he trailed off, exhaling slowly. “I already messed it up.”
“How?”
Jungkook let out a quiet, humorless laugh. “By being exactly what she thinks I am.” They exchanged looks, not fully understanding but not pushing either. “She doesn’t want anything to do with it,” he added. “With me.”
“That’s fixable,” Mingyu said.
Jungkook shook his head slightly. “Not really.”
“Why not?”
“Because she’s right,” he said simply. That shut them up for a second “I mean, look at it from her side,” he continued. “It is complicated. It would get messy. And I don’t even know if I could make it not messy.”
“You don’t know that,” his friend argued.
“I do.” There was no hesitation in that answer. He leaned back slightly in his chair, his expression settling into something more neutral again, like he had already made the decision even if it didn’t sit right. “It’s better this way anyway,” he said after a moment. “Even if it doesn’t feel like it right now.”
No one responded immediately. Not because they agreed but because they knew that tone in Jungkook. The one where he had already decided something and wasn’t going to change it, no matter how much he might regret it later.
“You’re gonna regret this,” Mingyu said finally, shaking his head.
Jungkook smiled faintly. “I already am.”
——————————
The next day felt heavier for Jungkook.
Not in an obvious way, not something anyone else would notice right away, but it was there, sitting in the background of everything he did, following him through rehearsals, through conversations, through the small moments where his mind drifted just enough to bring it all back again.
When his manager asked him to come in for a meeting, he didn’t think much of it at first. Meetings weren’t unusual… but the tone was.
“Sit,” his manager said, already holding something in his hand.
Jungkook frowned slightly but did as he was told, closing the door behind him before taking a seat across from the desk. “What’s going on?” he asked.
His manager didn’t answer immediately. He just slid a photo across the desk. Jungkook looked down. And felt his chest tighten.
It was the beach. Him and you.
Not blurry, not unclear… clear enough to recognize exactly what it was, exactly where it had been taken, the angle slightly off but not enough to hide anything important.
He looked back up “…Where did you get this?”
“Where do you think?.”
Of course.
“You already knew they’ve been following you for months,” his manager continued calmly. “Ever since the rumors started. They’ve been waiting for something like this and you just gave it to them.”
Jungkook clenched his jaw slightly, his eyes dropping back to the photo for a second before he pushed it back across the desk. “It’s not what it looks like,” he said.
His manager raised an eyebrow. “What does it look like?”
Jungkook exhaled sharply, trying to think of something quickly. “She’s not— It was just a mistake…”
“A mistake?” his manager cut in. He didn’t answer. “Because that’s not what they’re going to say,” he continued. “And it’s definitely not what the brand is going to think.”
Jungkook frowned. “What brand?”
His manager let out a small breath, leaning back in his chair. “Se-seril.” That got his full attention. “They’re already hesitant,” he added. “You know that. The image they want is not this again.”
Jungkook’s jaw tightened again. “It’s just one photo.”
“It’s never just one photo,” his manager replied calmly. “It’s a pattern. And right now, they think you can’t even last a week without getting involved in something— with someone.”
“That’s not fair.”
“It doesn’t have to be fair. It just has to be convincing.”
Silence settled between them, heavier now.
Jungkook ran a hand through his hair, frustration building slowly under his skin. “I’ll fix it.”
His manager studied him for a second before nodding slightly “I hope so,” he said. “Because the marketing team already made their position clear.”
“What position?” Jungkook looked at him.
His manager sighed, a short silence followed before he clearly said: “Its simple. Either the girl goes… or the deal does.”
The words landed heavier than anything else that had been said. Jungkook didn’t respond immediately. He just sat there, staring at the desk for a second longer than necessary, his thoughts moving faster than he could keep up with, everything from the last few weeks crashing into the reality of what was sitting in front of him now.
He couldn’t believe that one thing, just one small thing could get this big. This wasn’t just about him anymore. It never really had been… And suddenly it all felt a lot more complicated than it had on that beach.
A perfect day had gone perfectly wrong in all ways.
——————————
The moment you landed, everything changed.
Not slowly, not in a way you could process step by step, but all at once, like someone had flipped a switch while you were mid-flight and you only realized it once your phone turned back on and didn’t stop vibrating. Notifications flooded your screen before you even had time to unlock it properly, messages stacking over each other so fast you couldn’t read a single one completely before another one appeared, your name, your actual full name, mixed between usernames you didn’t recognize and words you wished you hadn’t.
At first, you thought it was a glitch.
Then you opened one. And everything clicked into place in the worst way possible.
The photo. That same one. You and him at the beach, close enough, clear enough, intimate in a way that didn’t need context to become something else entirely once it hit the internet. It had spread everywhere, accounts reposting it, threads dissecting it, videos zooming in like there was something hidden between the pixels that needed to be uncovered… and somehow, within hours, they had found you.
Not just your face. You, your name, your university, your social media.
It didn’t make sense how fast it happened, but it didn’t need to. It was already done.
You stood there for a second longer than you should have, still at the airport, people moving around you while your screen kept lighting up with things you didn’t want to read, your chest tightening slowly as you opened more and more of it despite knowing it wouldn’t get better.
“Who is she?”
“Where did he meet her?”
“She looks like a fan.”
“Another sneaky link.”
“His new toy.”
“New girl of the month.”
It didn’t even feel like they were talking about a real person. Like they weren’t talking about you. But they were.
And it just kept going for days.
People asking questions like you owed them answers, like your life had suddenly become public property just because you happened to exist next to him in the wrong moment. Others didn’t even bother asking, they decided things for you, built entire stories out of nothing, filling in gaps with whatever made the most sense to them, no matter how far it was from the truth.
By the time you got back to your own dorm back to uni, it had gotten worse.
Local accounts had picked it up, translating everything, spreading it further, and suddenly it wasn’t just international fans, it was people around you too. Messages from people you hadn’t spoken to in months, classmates sending screenshots, asking if it was really you, if it was real, if you actually knew him.
Even the news. Not big headlines, not yet, but enough.
Enough for paparazzi to start showing up where they shouldn’t, asking questions you weren’t ready to answer, cameras pointed at you like you had done something wrong just by existing in the same space as him.
You tried to ignore it. At least at first.
You turned your phone off for a few days, told yourself it would calm down, that it would pass like everything else on the internet did.
It didn’t. When you turned it back on, it was worse. More messages. More tags. More people.
Your parents asked what happened the first night you were back to your dorm and luckily they had found the news after landing so you were already enough far away to not see their faces— because you knew you couldn’t lie to them— , their tone careful, confused more than anything, like they didn’t fully understand what they were looking at but knew it wasn’t small. You told them it was nothing, that it was exaggerated, that people were making things up, and technically you weren’t lying— but you weren’t telling the truth either.
You didn’t know how to. You didn’t even know where to start… So you avoided it.
Went back to your classes as soon as you could, using them and work and anything else as an excuse to not stay in the internet too long, to not visit your parents because you knew they would look at you like they were waiting for an explanation you couldn’t give.
Your sister didn’t make it easier either. Her messages didn’t stop. At first, it was confusion. Then disbelief, then more crashing out feelings.
“Is this real???”
“Tell me that’s not you.”
“Why are people saying you were with him???”
“Did you meet him???”
“Why didn’t you tell me???”
You stared at the screen more than once after days of ignoring their messages and calls, Your fingers hovering over the keyboard, trying to figure out how to answer without making it worse, how to explain something that didn’t even feel real anymore now that it was out there like that.
In the end, you kept it simple:
“I just bumped into him.”
That was it. You had never lied to her before. Not like that. And the moment you sent it, something sat heavy in your chest, the guilt settling in immediately, but it was too late to take it back, and honestly— it felt easier than trying to explain everything else.
Because everything else felt like too much. Too personal, too exposed.
And the truth was, you were already drowning in it. The hate didn’t stop. If anything, it got worse for you. Comments under your posts, messages you didn’t open anymore, notifications you started ignoring completely because reading them only made it worse. People telling you to stay away from him, like you had any control over any of this now, like you had planned it, like you were trying to get something out of it. You weren’t. You never were. And yet, none of that mattered.
One night, you sat on your bed with your phone in your hand, scrolling through things you knew you shouldn’t be looking at, reading comments that blurred together after a while, all saying the same thing in different ways, all pointing at you like you were the problem.
You didn’t even know what you were looking for anymore. Maybe something that made sense, maybe something that defended you. Maybe just something different…
Instead, you found a clip.
Short and already viral inside the fandom. Jungkook. From a live he had done the day before.
You hesitated for a second before pressing play.
“…I’m just trying to live my life the best I can,” he was saying, his tone calm, chill in that way that made it feel like nothing serious was happening. He was drinking a beer, looking even more casual. “But it’s honestly so weird how Army can’t even get close to take a picture anymore because it gets out of control.”
You froze. The video kept playing, but you didn’t hear the rest because that was enough. Army. He said it so easily so naturally. Like that was all it had been. Like that was all you had been. A fan who got too close. A situation that got “out of control.” And he has said you were the one thing you had despised the most for the longest time— a fan of him.
And he knew that. And the worst thing was he probably didn’t even care.
You stared at the screen, your grip tightening slightly around your phone, something sinking in your chest in a way that felt heavier than everything else you had read that week.
Because this wasn’t a rumor. This wasn’t strangers making things up. This was him. And just like that, everything you had been trying not to think about—the beach, the conversation, the way he said he could be himself with you, the way he looked at you like you were something different— collapsed into something much simpler. Much clearer.
Jeon Jungkook was exactly what you thought he was.
And somehow that sucked more than anything else.
——————————
The post didn’t just spread. It exploded.
By the time Jungkook saw it, it was already everywhere, screenshots reposted across platforms, translations in multiple languages, fan accounts debating every word like it was evidence in something bigger than it actually was. It had the kind of tone that people believed easily: calm, polite, short, just enough distance to feel real but not enough to invite more questions.
He stared at it longer than he should have.
“It’s pretty weird for me to go online making statements but this harassment really needs to stop, especially toward my family who had nothing to do with this. The last week of last month I went to Korea to enjoy my spring break with my family. I met Jungkook at some beach in Busan. My sister is a big fan of the group so I just asked for an autograph and a picture. Respect to BTS and their craft, they’re amazing artists, but I promise I don’t know Jeon Jungkook (or any member of the group) AT ALL.”
He read it again.
And again.
And again.
Each time it felt worse.
“…Damn.”
Mingyu’s voice came from right next to him, leaning over his shoulder without asking, his phone forgotten in his own hand as he read along.
“That’s brutal,” he added, straightening up slightly.
Jungkook didn’t answer immediately, his thumb still resting against the screen like he was about to scroll but couldn’t bring himself to. “…Yeah,” he said finally, quieter than before.
Mingyu glanced at him, studying his face for a second. “Didn’t you say you liked her because she was annoyingly honest?”
Jungkook let out a small breath through his nose. “Yeah.”
“Well,” Mingyu shrugged lightly, “you got her to lie for you.”
That made Jungkook look up. “I didn’t—” he started, then stopped. Because he didn’t have a real way to finish that sentence.
Mingyu raised an eyebrow. “You didn’t?”
Jungkook ran a hand through his hair, frustrated more with himself than the conversation. “That’s not what I meant.”
“Then what did you mean?”
“I didn’t ask her to say that.”
“You didn’t have to.” Jungkook looked away, jaw tightening slightly, his grip on the phone shifting. Mingyu leaned back against the couch, watching him carefully now. “You told me she was different.”
“She is.”
“You told me she was honest.”
“She is.”
“So why is she out there writing something like that?” Jungkook didn’t answer. Because he knew. Mingyu exhaled slowly, shaking his head a little. “You know what this looks like from the outside?”
Jungkook glanced at him. “What?”
“It looks like she’s protecting you.” The room went quiet for a second. “And you’re letting her,” Mingyu added.
Jungkook frowned. “What am I supposed to do? Go online and say I lied and she did it too for me? Confirm everything they’ve been saying is true?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“Then what?”
“I’m just asking why you’re okay with this,” Mingyu said, more serious now. “Because you don’t look okay.”
Jungkook let out a short, humorless laugh. “Of course I’m not fucking okay with this.”
“Then why are you acting like you are?”
“I’m not acting like anything.”
“You are,” Mingyu insisted. “You’re sitting here pretending this is just… how things have to be.”
Jungkook shook his head, standing up abruptly, pacing a few steps before stopping again. “It is how things have to be. You know that.”
“Do I?”
Jungkook turned to look at him. “Yes, you do.”
Mingyu tilted his head slightly. “I know how things usually are. That doesn’t mean they have to stay that way.”
Jungkook let out a frustrated breath. “You don’t get it.”
“Then explain it to me.”
He hesitated. Then spoke anyway. “I have a deal on the line. The company is already watching everything I do. There are rumors everywhere, and now this—” he gestured vaguely toward his phone, “—this just makes it worse. If I mess this up, it’s not just about me. It’s the group, the brand, everything.” Mingyu listened without interrupting. “And she didn’t ask for any of that,” Jungkook added. “She shouldn’t have to deal with it because of me.”
“She’s already dealing with it, Jungkook,” Mingyu pointed out. Jungkook went quiet. “That post?” Mingyu continued. “That’s not someone who’s fine. That’s someone trying to control something that’s already out of control. She’s a girl who’s never been public like us and you just lit her on fire. She literally fell into the worst place for this— no offence to your fans, of course.”
Jungkook looked down again, his thoughts catching up to him faster now, pieces clicking into place in ways he didn’t like.
“I was trying to protect her,” he said, quieter.
“From what?”
“From this.”
Mingyu nodded slowly. “And how’s that working out?” Jungkook didn’t answer. Because it wasn’t working out, at all. Mingyu leaned forward slightly, resting his elbows on his knees. “You’ve been saying for some time you wanted to live more honestly.” Jungkook glanced at him. “You said you were tired of all the noise, all the pretending, all the things you have to be for everyone else,” Mingyu continued. “You said you wanted something real.”
“I do.”
“Then why are you doing the exact opposite right now?”
That question sat heavier than anything else. Jungkook opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out immediately, his thoughts shifting, rearranging, trying to find something that made sense. “I’m not doing the opposite,” he said finally, but it sounded weaker than he wanted it to.
“You are,” Mingyu said simply. “You’re choosing the same thing you always choose.”
“And what is that?”
“Everyone else.”
Silence settled again for a moment. Jungkook looked away, his jaw tightening again, but this time it wasn’t frustration, it was something els, something closer to realization.
“I don’t want to disappoint people,” he said after a moment.
Mingyu nodded slightly. “I know.”
“I don’t want to mess things up.”
“I know.”
“I don’t want to lose everything I’ve worked for.”
“I know,” Mingyu repeated, softer this time. “But at what point do you start losing yourself instead?” That hit differently. Jungkook didn’t respond . He just stood there, the weight of everything settling in a way it hadn’t before, all the reasons he had been telling himself starting to sound less like answers and more like excuses. “You can’t make everyone happy,” Mingyu added after a moment. “You know that, right?”
Jungkook let out a quiet breath, almost a laugh, but there was no humor in it. “Yeah.”
“Then why are you still trying?”
He didn’t have an answer for that. Not a real one. Because the truth was, he had always tried. Always balanced everything carefully, always adjusted himself just enough to fit what was expected, what was needed, what was safe. And maybe that had worked before. But now it didn’t feel right. Not after everything, not after you.
He thought about the beach… About the way you looked at him like he was just another person, not something untouchable, not something to be careful around. About the way you argued with him without hesitation, the way you didn’t soften your words just because of who he was, the way you had said things exactly as they were, even when it would have been easier not to.
Annoyingly honest, that’s what he had called you. And now you were out there lying for him…
The realization settled slowly, but once it did, it didn’t leave. “I don’t want to be that person,” he said quietly.
Mingyu looked at him. “What person?”
“The one she thinks I am.”
“Then don’t be.”
Jungkook let out a breath, running a hand through his hair again, but this time it felt different, less frustrated, more clear. “If i follow this… it won’t be simple,” he said, but it didn’t sound like he believed it as much anymore.
“It never is,” Mingyu shrugged. “That doesn’t mean you don’t have a choice.”
Jungkook looked down at his phone again, the post still open, the words sitting there like a reminder of everything he had tried to avoid.
He thought about the brand. The deal. The expectations. The image. And then… he thought about you. Walking away from him on that beach. Looking at him like you didn’t want a person like him in your world—
But he wanted a person like you in his.
“They don’t have to ruin everything anymore, Jungkook. You just did.”
He exhaled slowly. Maybe he had. Maybe he still was. But that didn’t mean it had to stay that way. He lifted his head slightly, something shifting into place.
“I need to fix this,” he said finally.
Mingyu raised an eyebrow. “How?”
Jungkook didn’t answer immediately. Because he didn’t know yet. Not exactly. But for the first time since all of this started he wanted to find out.
——————————
The days after your post, everything settled into something that almost felt normal again, or at least a version of it that you could tolerate without constantly checking your phone like something new was about to explode.
Classes went on, people eventually stopped staring as much, and the noise online shifted into something less aggressive, less suffocating, especially after your statement started circulating and people accepted the version of the story you had given them. It wasn’t perfect, there were still comments, still whispers, still the occasional message that slipped through and reminded you that the internet never really forgot… but it wasn’t the same kind of overwhelming chaos it had been at the beginning, and for the first time since you got back, you could breathe without feeling like you were about to be dragged into something you couldn’t control.
It helped that you kept yourself busy.
The fundraiser had taken over most of your time, in the best way possible, because it gave you something tangible to focus on, something that didn’t revolve around him or what people thought they knew about your life. It was bigger than you originally planned, almost accidentally so, because more people had gotten involved once word spread, and now it had turned into a full event with performances, a small stage, lights you had to coordinate, a playlist that kept changing every time someone new asked to join, and a budget that somehow still didn’t feel like enough even though you had spent days recalculating everything down to the smallest detail.
By the afternoon of the event, you were running on little sleep and too much caffeine, moving from one place to another with a checklist in your head that never seemed to end, making sure everything was set, confirming times, answering questions that could have been answered if people just read the messages you had already sent them. It was a little messy but at least it had you focus on something else, it felt productive instead of overwhelming, and for a few hours you almost forgot about everything else.
Almost.
Because even when you weren’t thinking about it directly, it was there, sitting quietly in the back of your mind, showing up in the smallest ways, like when someone mentioned music and your brain immediately connected it to something you didn’t want to revisit, or when your phone lit up with a notification and your chest tightened for half a second before you realized it was nothing important.
You had gotten better at ignoring it.
At ignoring people… him. Or at least pretending to.
By the time you finally went back to your dorm to get ready, the sun was already starting to set, the light outside softer, warmer, a reminder that the night was about to begin whether you felt ready or not. You pushed the door open without thinking much about it, already mentally going over everything you still had to do once you got back to the venue, but you stopped mid-step when you realized you weren’t alone.
Hana was sitting on your bed.
She looked up the moment you walked in, like she had been waiting, and for a second neither of you said anything, the silence stretching just long enough to feel weird.
“Hi,” you said, a little unsure.
“Hi,” she replied, just as quietly.
You closed the door behind you, dropping your bag by the chair, trying to act normal even though the tension between you hadn’t really gone away since you got back. “What are you doing here?”
“I came to see you,” she said simply.
You nodded slowly, moving around the room like you had a purpose, even though you were mostly just avoiding the conversation you knew was coming. “You could’ve texted.”
“I did.”
You paused for a second. “…Right.”
There was the silence again.
You opened your closet, pulling out something to wear for the night, focusing on that instead of her, but you could feel her watching you, and it didn’t take long before she spoke again.
“Are you going to keep pretending nothing happened?” she asked.
You sighed quietly, not turning around. “Hana…”
“No, I’m serious,” she continued, her voice not angry, just frustrated. “You disappeared in Busan, you came weird, we came back home, and suddenly the whole internet is talking about you and him, and you’re just— what? Acting like it’s not a big deal?”
“I said it wasn’t like that.”
“I know what you said,” she cut in. “I read the post.”
You turned to look at her then, your expression tightening slightly. “Then what else do you want me to say?
“The truth.”
The word hung there.
You looked at her for a second longer before shaking your head, turning back to your clothes. “I told you what happened.”
“No, you told me a version of what happened,” she said, standing up now, taking a few steps closer. “And maybe that’s enough for everyone else, but I’m not everyone else.” You stayed quiet. “I’m your sister,” she added, softer now. “I should at least know what’s real.”
You exhaled slowly, running a hand through your hair. “I can’t—” you started, then stopped, your voice catching slightly before you forced it back into something steady. “I just don’t want to talk about it right now, okay?”
She watched you carefully, searching your face like she was trying to decide whether to push more or not. “…Fine,” she said after a moment. You nodded, relieved too quickly. “But that doesn’t mean I’m just going to stand here and watch you pretend you’re okay when you’re clearly not.” That made you look at her again. “I don’t need details,” she continued. “I don’t need to know what happened or why or any of that. But you could at least let me be here for you.” Your expression softened slightly, caught off guard by the shift in her tone. “I can’t stand seeing you like this,” she added, her voice quieter now. “You’ve been… off. And I don’t like it. I prefer when you’re weird and annoying.”
You let out a small breath, your shoulders relaxing just a little. “I’m fine.”
“You’re not,” she said immediately. “And that’s okay, but stop acting like you are.”
You hesitated. Because she wasn’t wrong. And for the first time in days, it didn’t feel like you had to defend yourself or explain anything or prove something, it just felt like she was there, waiting, not asking for more than you could give.
You looked away, and you realized for the first time this was your fucking sister you were talking about. Your hands flew directly to your eyes, tears filling up in your eyes almost too fast.
“It’s just been a lot,” you admitted finally, voice breaking.
She nodded, stepping closer. “I know.”
You shook your head, still not able to see her. “I didn’t think it would get like that.”
“Of course you didn’t.”
“And now it’s just…” you trailed off, now crying. “I don’t even know what to do”
“You don’t have to do anything,” she said. “You just have to get through it.”
You let out a small, almost tired laugh. “That sounds very easy when you say it like that.”
“It’s not easy,” she admitted. “But you’re not doing it alone.”
That made something in your chest loosen just a little. You moved your hands to look at her and she was quickly to embrace you into a hug.
“I hate this,” you sobbed.
“I know,” she said softer. “I swear I’ve been fighting with all those fake armys defending your honour.”
That made you snort, specially since she said it very calm. You knew it was true.
“And did it ork?”
“Not really. And I’m actually hating Jungkook for not going online to defend a supposedly fan.” She said disgusted.
You stepped away, cleaning your tears and looking at her accusatory. “You hating that guy? Did you have an accident? Are you okay?”
“Shut up,” she pushed you slightly. Hana grabbed your shoulders so you would look at her directly. “You know I would kill anyone for you, right?. Even Jeon Jungkook of BTS if is necessary.” You looked at her, searching her face like you were trying to find any sign that she didn’t mean it but she did. “I don’t care how much I love them,” she continued, her voice steady. “You come first. Always.”
You blinked, caught off guard by how certain she sounded. You looked at her again and for a second it hit you how much you had been holding onto something that wasn’t even real anymore, something you had built over years without realizing it.
“Even those idiots?” you asked, a small smile tugging at your lips despite yourself.
She rolled her eyes. “Especially those idiots.”
You laughed then, a real one this time, the tension easing out of your shoulders in a way it hadn’t in days.
“Wow,” you said. “You hating them for me? That’s new.”
“Don’t get used to it,” she shot back. “I’m only doing it temporarily.”
“Of course.”
“But seriously,” she added, her tone softening again. “If he did something— if something happened and he acted like an idiot or something when you asked for a picture… I swear I’ll find him and kick his ass.”
Something in your chest tightened again, but this time it wasn’t heavy, it was warm. You stepped forward without thinking too much about it, wrapping your arms around he again, and she hugged you back immediately, like she had been waiting for it.
“Thank you,” you murmured.
“Always,” she replied.
“But Hana we both know you’re fainting if you ever get the chance to talk to him.”
“Yah!” she pushed you back. “You have to understand!—”
You burst out laughing. The sweet moment stayed like that for a moment longer than usual, letting it settle, letting yourself feel it without overthinking it, just laughing with your sister. Things didn’t feel as overwhelming as they had before, not with her.
“Okay,” you said, clearing your throat slightly. “I have an event to run. Let’s get ready to party.”
She smiled. “Oh, finally.”
You turned back to your closet, grabbing your outfit again, but this time your movements felt steadier, more grounded, like you weren’t carrying everything on your own anymore.
And as you started getting ready, adjusting things, checking your reflection quickly before moving on to the next detail, you realized that maybe, just for tonight, you could focus on something good.
Something that was yours. Something that had nothing to do with Jungkook.
——————————
By the time you arrived at the auditorium, everything already felt bigger than you had imagined when the idea first came to you months ago, like something that had slowly grown on its own while you were too busy organizing the details to notice just how far it had gone. The entrance was crowded, not overwhelmingly so but enough to make it clear that people had actually shown up, groups of students talking, laughing, adjusting their outfits, the low hum of anticipation filling the space in a way that made your chest tighten, not with anxiety this time, but with something closer to excitement mixed with disbelief.
Someone at the door stopped you before you could walk in, handing you a small container. “Phones,” they said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world.
You frowned slightly. “Phones?”
“Yeah, we’re collecting them at the entrance,” they explained quickly. “They’ll get them back when they leave.”
You blinked, a little confused, trying to remember if that had been part of the plan. It didn’t sound like something you would have insisted on, especially not for an event like this where people usually wanted to record things, to post, to share, but then again, the last few days had been so chaotic that you had stopped questioning small decisions like that, especially if someone on your group thought it was a good idea.
“…Okay,” you said after a second, handing yours over anyway and grabbing the little number so you could pick it up later. “Sure.”
Hana looked at you as she did the same, raising an eyebrow. “Since when are you this strict?”
“I’m not,” you replied, still a little unsure. “Maybe someone else added it.”
“Control freak behavior,” she teased.
“Please, you think I wanna let go of my new phone now that I signed for a five year payment plan?.”
She laughed, bumping her shoulder lightly against yours as you both walked inside, and whatever confusion you had about the phones disappeared almost immediately when you stepped into the auditorium.
It looked incredible.
The stage was set up better than you expected, lights moving softly across the room, the sound already filling the space as the first performers played, people gathered in small groups near the front, others sitting, some already dancing like the night had been going on for hours instead of just starting. The screen behind the stage displayed the donation count in real time, a number that made your stomach twist slightly when you saw it, not because it was bad, but because it wasn’t quite where you wanted it to be yet.
“Hey,” Hana said, nudging you. “Relax. It just started.”
“I know,” you replied, forcing yourself to look away from the number and focus on everything else. “But this better be perfect.”
“It will,” she said confidently. “Look at this place. It’s amazing.”
You glanced around again, taking it in properly this time, and she wasn’t wrong. People were there, they were enjoying it, the atmosphere was exactly what you had hoped for, easy, fun, something that felt alive. You slowly let yourself fall into it instead of standing on the outside analyzing every detail.
You stayed near the front for a while, listening to the bands, clapping, laughing when someone messed up and played it off like part of the act, talking with people who came up to you to say how much they loved the idea, how excited they were to be part of it. Hana dragged you into the crowd at some point, pulling you along when the music picked up, and you didn’t fight it, letting yourself move with it, letting go of the constant need to check everything.
For a while, it felt normal, good.
When the last band finished and the DJ took over, the energy shifted into something louder, more chaotic in the best way, people filling the space in front of the stage, lights flashing brighter now, the music heavier, easier to lose yourself in. You found yourself laughing again, actually laughing, not the forced kind you had been doing for weeks, but something real, something that didn’t feel weighed down by everything else.
And still your eyes kept drifting back to the screen. The number had gone up, slowly, steadily, but it still wasn’t enough, not yet.
You tried not to focus on it too much, telling yourself there was still time, that people were still arriving, still buying drinks, still donating, that it would get there eventually, but the thought stayed in the back of your mind, persistent, impossible to fully ignore.
“Stop staring at it,” Hana said at one point, catching you again.
“I’m just monitoring.”
She rolled her eyes. “Same thing.”
You smiled faintly, looking away again, forcing yourself to focus on the music, on the people around you, on the fact that this was supposed to be fun, not something you stressed over every second.
And then it changed. At first, you didn’t even notice it properly, just a shift in the crowd, a murmur that moved faster than the music, people turning toward the screen, pointing, reacting to something you couldn’t see yet from where you were standing.
“What?” you asked, frowning slightly.
Hana grabbed your arm, pulling you a little closer. “Look.”
You followed her gaze. The number had jumped. Not a little, not gradually. From three thousand it went straight up to fifty-three thousand.
You blinked, thinking you had read it wrong, but it stayed there, bold and undeniable, the kind of number that didn’t make sense in the context of everything you had been watching all night. “What the hell?” you said under your breath.
Around you, people were reacting the same way, voices overlapping, confusion turning into excitement, into disbelief, the energy in the room shifting again, louder now, sharper.
“Did someone mess with it?” Hana asked.
“I don’t think so,” you replied, even though you had no idea how else to explain it.
Before you could process it further, the music cut out.
The sudden silence felt louder than anything that had come before it, the crowd reacting immediately, some people cheering, others just confused, all eyes turning toward the stage as the lights dimmed slowly, one by one, until the entire room was darker than before, the only glow coming from the stage itself.
“What’s happening?” someone near you whispered.
“I don’t know,” you answered, even though the question wasn’t directed at you.
A single spotlight flickered on. Not on the center of the stage but further back, near the screen. Your breath caught slightly, your body going still before your brain could catch up, something in your chest tightening in a way that felt too familiar, too sudden.
And then you saw him. At first, it didn’t register properly, your mind refusing to connect the image in front of you with the reality of where you were, because it didn’t make sense, because it couldn’t make sense, not here, not like this, not after everything. But he didn’t disappear. He stood there, exactly where the light hit him, like he had always been part of the plan, like this wasn’t completely fucking insane.
Jungkook.
In your event, on your stage.
“Oh my god,” Hana said next to you, her grip tightening on your arm. “Oh my god. Oh my god—”
You didn’t respond. You couldn’t. Because everything that had felt under control just seconds ago had slipped completely out of your hands again, and this time, you had no idea what he was about to do— or why he was even there in the first place.
You couldn’t move. For a few seconds, maybe more, you just stood there, your body completely still while everything around you erupted into noise, the crowd reacting instantly, screams breaking through the space like a wave you couldn’t escape from, people turning, pointing, trying to get closer to the stage, and somehow, in the middle of all that chaos, he found you.
You didn’t even realize he had grabbed a microphone until you heard your name.
“Y/n,” Jungkook said, his voice echoing through the auditorium, a little breathless, a little unsure despite everything else about him looking so composed under the lights. “There’s some things I forgot to say back in Busan.”
Your stomach dropped.
People around you turned immediately, the energy shifting again, curiosity spreading faster than anything else as they followed his gaze straight to you, and suddenly you were no longer just part of the crowd. You were the person he was looking at, the one he was talking to, the one everyone was now moving around, stepping aside without even realizing it, creating a clear path between you and the stage.
“Hana—” you muttered under your breath, gripping her arm slightly.
“What the hell is happening?,” she whispered back, eyes wide, completely frozen in place.
You had not fucking idea.
Jungkook shifted slightly on stage, running a hand through his hair in a way that looked almost nervous, almost human despite the fact that he had just turned your entire event upside down by simply showing up.
He let out a small breath, then— almost as if it was instinct— he started singing.
모르겠어, 이 감정이 뭔지
혹시 여기도 꿈속인 건지
It wasn’t loud. It wasn’t one of those big, dramatic performances meant for a stage like this. It was softer, more stripped down, something that felt almost out of place in the middle of the chaos, and yet somehow, it made the entire room quiet down, the noise fading into something distant as people listened.
Won't you please stay in dreams? Yeah
저기 멀리서 바다가 들려
꿈을 건너서 수풀 너머로
You didn’t move. You didn’t react. You just stood there, your eyes fixed on him, your mind trying to catch up with what was happening, with the fact that he was here, that he was doing this, that he was singing like it was just for you even though there were hundreds of people around.
Close the door now (door now)
When I'm with you, I'm in utopia
And when he finished, the silence lasted just a second before the crowd erupted again. He smiled grateful. Then brought the microphone back up, his expression shifting into something more awkward, more real.
“Okay—” he said, letting out a small, embarrassed laugh. “That was… not what I planned.” The crowd laughed slightly, even if they didn’t know what he meant. “I just—” he started again, then paused, glancing at you, his voice lowering slightly despite still holding the mic. “I wanted to say I’m sorry, Y/n.” The word hung there. He grimaced immediately after saying it, like he regretted doing it that way, like it didn’t feel right. “Wait—no,” he added quickly, shaking his head. “This is weird.”
You let out a short breath, almost a laugh despite everything, because yeah, it was weird. And apparently, he realized it too.
Without another word, he handed the microphone off to someone near the stage and stepped down, the crowd reacting again, parting almost instinctively as he made his way toward you, people whispering, staring, trying to process what was happening just as much as you were.
Jungkook stopped right in front of you.
You just looked at him, a little weird out. He stay quiet for a second, not really sure what to say.
“What?” You finally broke the silence. “You thought you could just come here, sing one of your little songs, and everything would be alright?” you said, your voice low but sharp enough for him to hear.
He blinked. “…Yes—” he said automatically, then immediately shook his head. “No. I mean, no.”
You stared at him. “Yes or no?”
He rubbed the back of his neck, clearly aware of how that sounded. “That came out wrong.”
“You think?” you shot back.
“I panicked,” he admitted.
“You panicked and decided to perform?”
“I didn’t know what else to do,” he said, half-defensive, half-embarrassed. “I’m used to stages.”
“That’s your solution for everything?” you crossed your arms. “Just… sing your way out of it?”
He hesitated. “…Sometimes?”
You let out a breath through your nose, shaking your head. “You’re full of yourself.”
“I know,” he said quickly. “I know, I just— I needed to talk to you.”
You glanced around, gesturing vaguely at the crowd still very much watching. “Like this?”
He followed your gaze, then winced slightly. “…Yeah, okay, fair point.”
“Dude, this is weird,” you added. “You’re doing this in front of everyone I know.”
He nodded immediately. “Yeah. You’re right. Let’s—” he gestured toward the side of the stage, “—not do this here?”
You hesitated for half a second, then turned, walking toward backstage without waiting for him, trusting that he would follow. And of course he did.
The moment you stepped out of sight, the noise dimmed slightly, the walls blocking most of it, leaving behind a quieter space that felt completely disconnected from what had just happened out there.
You turned to him immediately. “What are you doing, Jungkook?” you asked, not even trying to hide it.
He stopped a few steps away from you, his expression shifting completely now that it was just the two of you, the confidence from the stage gone, replaced with something more uncertain, more… real and human.
“I’m fixing it,” he said.
“Fixing what?” you shot back. “Because from where I’m standing, you just made it worse.”
“I know,” he said quickly. “I know, I just— I didn’t think it through, I just needed to see you and—”
“And what?” you interrupted. “Apologize in front of a crowd?”
He exhaled, running a hand through his hair again. “No. Not like that. I just… I didn’t want you to think that what I said— what happened— was real.”
You frowned slightly. “What?”
“The live,” he clarified. “What I said about army. That wasn’t about you. It wasn’t— I wasn’t talking about you like that.”
You crossed your arms tighter. “You made me look like I was your fan.”
“I know,” he admitted. “And I’m sorry for that. I knew you wouldn’t fuck with that and I still did it and— I should’ve been clearer, I should’ve— I don’t know, handled it better. Everything, actually. The NDA shit I said, the way I talked to you, the way I let things go after… I messed it up.” You stayed quiet. “I don’t want to be that person,” he continued, his voice softer now. “The one you think I am. The one that made you lie just to protect me.”
That made something in your chest shift slightly, but you didn’t let it show. “You didn’t make me do anything,” you said.
“I did,” he insisted. “Maybe not directly, but I did. And I hate that. I hate that the most.” There was a pause. “And I’m sorry,” he added, quieter this time. “I’m really sorry, Y/n.”
You looked at him for a second longer, searching his face, trying to find something that didn’t feel rehearsed, something that didn’t feel like it belonged to the version of him everyone else saw.
“You really thought this was a good idea?” you asked finally, nodding slightly toward the stage.
He let out a small, embarrassed laugh. “No. Not really.”
“Good.”
“But I needed to do something,” he added. “I couldn’t just let it stay like that.”
You sighed, some of the tension easing out of your shoulders despite yourself. “You could’ve just called.”
“I tried,” he said.
You frowned. “…You didn’t.”
“I didn’t have your number,” he corrected. “I send you a dm on Instagram.”
“Oh…” That made you pause. “Well I had to delete the app” you added, your tone shifting slightly. “You know, it wasn’t really fun to go around there anymore after those leaked pictures.”
His expression softened immediately. “I’m sorry about that. You didn’t deserve any of it.”
“I know,” you said simply. You let out a small breath, shaking your head slightly. “Honestly, all this is insane.”
“I know,” Jungkook looked at you. “I’m sorry.”
“You just said that.”
“Because I am.” A beat of silence passed, softer now, less sharp than before. “And for the record,” he added, his voice quieter, “I need you to know that I meant what I said. I like you.” You looked at him. “You are not ordinary at all. You’re real,” he continued. “You’re smart, you’re beautiful, you’re funny. You’re annoyingly honest, really frustrating sometimes because you wanna argue about everything and think you know more than anyone else. And you suck at directions—“”
“I thought this was a love confession…”
Jungkook smiled. “I really like you. A lot. And I really like me when I’m with you.” You blinked, caught off guard by how direct he was being. “And I’d really like to take you out,” he added, a small smile tugging at his lips. “Properly this time. Even if I have to tell the whole world about it.”
You let out a short laugh, shaking your head. “Oh no. Please let’s not do that. You were absolutely right about your world,” you said, looking at him with a small, incredulous smile. “I fucking hate it. Everything.”
He laughed too, the tension breaking completely now. “Yeah… fair.”
There was a brief silence.
“Look, Jungkook.” You sighed. “I really like you too but I don’t think there’s a way this could work if—”
“I’ll make it work,” he said immediately, without really hearing the excuse you were trying to say. “Whatever you want, I’ll make it work.”
“But…”
“Do you like me?” he asked, now more confident.
“Jungkook—”
“Do you?”
“Of course I like you but—”
“Then that’s enough,” he said firmly. “I’ll make it work.” He said firmer. Because he will, he was going to make it work anyway with any sort. He liked you that much to just not fight for whatever was going on between you two.
“But—”
He stepped closer.
And this time, there was no hesitation. He reached for you to shut you up, his hand finding your waist, pulling you in with a kind of certainty that hadn’t been there before, not like this, not after everything that had happened.
And when he kissed you, it wasn’t rushed or uncertain, it was intentional, slow at first, like he was making sure you were really there, like he wasn’t going to mess this up again. And that made every doubt in your head disappear. You couldn’t really think of any bad thing when he was kissing you like that. Your hands moved up to his shoulders, then to his neck, pulling him closer, the space between you disappearing completely as the kiss deepened, warmer, heavier, something that carried everything you hadn’t said yet, everything that had been left unfinished before.
He let out a quiet breath against your lips, his hand tightening slightly at your waist, grounding himself in the moment, in you, like that was the only thing that made sense after all the chaos.
When you pulled back, it wasn’t by much. “Do you know how much I hate getting interrupted?” you murmured.
Jungkook smiled slightly. “I’ll learn.” He tilted his head slightly, still close. “You have to go on a date with me so I can learn what else you don’t like.”
“I don’t like you.”
He hummed, his fingers pinching your skin. “You see? Now I know you’re a bad liar.”
You let out a small laugh. “Shut up,” you rolled your eyes. “I can’t believe you donated fifty thousand. You’re insane, dude.”
“I needed to pay for your grandma’s car,” he made a grimaced. “And please stop calling me ‘dude’, I’m literally trying to date you.”
You ignored his last comment. “No, that’s totally different. This is a fundraiser, dude. You still own me for that and the $1005.”
“Well, go on a date with me and I’ll send the money right now.”
You laughed, throwing your head back slightly with a smile, pretending to think before looking back at him. “Well, if I have to—”
“Shut up, you’ll love it.” His smile widened slightly, relief clear in his expression. “Oh! And I forgot.” He grabbed some sunglasses from his jacket to put them on you. “I told you I’ll give them to you.”
You giggled, fixing them. “How do I look?”
Jungkook gave you a quick peck, his bunny smile showing. “Like a superstar.”
And just as he leaned in again—
“OH MY GOD.”
You both pulled apart instantly. Hana stood at the entrance of the backstage area, staring at the two of you like she had just witnessed something life-altering, her eyes wide, her mouth slightly open, completely frozen in place.
You blinked. “Hana—” She didn’t move, didn’t blink, probably didn’t even breathe. “This is Jungkook,” you started, turning slightly toward him, then back to her. “Jungkook, this is my sister—”
“I know— Jungkook— He…”
Then she dropped, completely. You stared at her on the floor for a second.
“…Did she just faint?”
Jungkook looked just as stunned. “…I think she did.”
You sighed, running a hand over your face. “Oh, my god!”
He started freaking too. “What should we do?!”
“I don’t know!,” you started panicking, crouching down next to her. “Call a medic or something!— Don’t make that face! Jungkook you better not be calling Taehyung and Jimin because I swear to God—”
Maybe you and Jungkook weren’t so different. After all you both were undeniably and completely idiots.
——————————
[Campus Buzz – Student Blog]
“Massive charity event ends in chaos after ‘mystery guest’ appearance.”
Attendees claim a “very famous figure” (member of korean-group BTS) appeared on stage during last night’s university fundraiser, causing a spike in donations that exceeded expectations. With phones collected at the entrance, no footage exists, leaving the internet divided between disbelief and full conspiracy mode.
[K-Pop Insider Forum Thread]
“Was Jungkook in Europe last night???”
User claims their friend attended a university event where “someone who looked exactly like him” performed briefly before disappearing backstage with a girl. No videos, no proof… just rumours. Fans argue whether it’s him or just another lookalike myth.
[Entertainment Gossip Account]
“Dispatch misses again?!”
After recent dating rumors involving BTS’s Jungkook, new whispers suggest he was spotted overseas at a private event in the University where Y/n Y/l/n (girl who was rumoured to be involved with him back in Busan) attends. No official confirmation. No photos. Just a lot of students confirming this.
[Local News Snippet]
“Unexpected donation surge raises questions.”
A student-led fundraiser exceeded its goal by a significant margin after an anonymous contribution pushed totals beyond €80,000 by the end of the night. Organizers declined to comment on the source.
——————————
weverse/twitter:
mnijungkook: this is getting absolutely crazy. with all this big rumours maybe i should start dating this person
yourname: bts lowkey flops
i might forgotten to add a lot of people to the taglist but i tried my best i swear😔🙏🏼
summary: you have a pretty normal life as a college student. Everything changes one spring break when you visit Korea to see some family and your sister decides to drag you along to stalk the famous pop-star Jeon Jungkook, part of the most famous group in the world — the one you despise— and the one you unexpectedly keep running into.
pairing: uni student! reader x idol! jeon jungkook
genre: rom-com. annoyances-to-lovers. fluff. trynna-be-comedy. a lil angst but not really. | reader is really annoying sometimes. jungkook can be an asshole but he’s still a cutie pie. reader has a sister lowkey sasaeng but thanks to her the story has a plot!! 97line mentioned. jimin and tae appearance.
warning!— this story contains mature content. smut (fingering, dry humping, penetration, unprotected sex, dirty talk, creampie, etc). — first part SFW
author’s note: so excited for this one!! literally inspired by a post @kaystrategy did about ‘starstruck’ and i was like yepp, need to write that but mature version iykyk so i hope u like this one!! inspired by the movie but doesn’t follow much the same storyline!! part two and three coming next week!! lmk what you think so far >_<
word count: +12k words.
part one; part two; part three.
Spring break, in theory, was supposed to be relaxing.
No classes, no deadlines, no professors reminding you that your “creative vision” wasn’t translating well on screen. Just a full week of nothing, which sounded amazing until you actually had it and realized you didn’t really know what to do with that much free time.
You had spent the first two days sleeping like your life depended on it, which was fair because it was actually weekend and not the start of the break. The third day was a mix of scrolling, half-watching movies, and telling yourself you should probably be doing something productive— like editing that short film you’d been avoiding or even preparing that fundraiser event you were throwing in less than two months— but not actually doing it.
And now, the fourth day, you were exactly where you started… on the sofa with your phone in hand, absolutely doing nothing.
The TV was on, mostly for background noise. You weren’t paying attention to it, not really. Your eyes were glued to your screen, thumb moving lazily as you scrolled through videos you weren’t even interested in. It was slightly embarrassing how little you actually felt like engaging with anything remotely artistic during your break since you were in film studies.
Still, every now and then, your brain would kick in automatically. You’d notice the lighting in a clip, the framing, a weird cut that didn’t quite work. It was annoying, honestly. You couldn’t just watch things anymore, you had to think about them, analyze them. Sometimes it was annoying… but you still loved it.
You shifted slightly on the sofa, pulling one leg under you, adjusting your position without looking up. That’s when the volume on the TV went up, not a lot but enough for you to notice.
“Hana, the volume.” You frowned a little, still not looking up. “Hana,” you said again, already knowing. No response. You sighed, finally lifting your eyes. There she was, your older sister, sitting on the floor, way too close to the TV, completely focused like she was watching something life-changing. You followed her gaze and immediately wished you hadn’t. “Hana— ugh, not again,” you muttered under your breath.
Of course. It had to be them.
The video showed a bright set. Clean camera angles, very readable subtitles and that overly polished interview vibe that always felt the same no matter who was in it. It was a big group. And right in the middle of it was Jeon Jungkook.
You didn’t even mean to pay attention. Really, you didn’t. But Hana leaned forward slightly, like she didn’t want to miss a single word, and that alone was enough to drag your attention along with hers.
“…And Jungkook, what does that mean to you?” the interviewer asked.
You rolled your eyes before he even answered. Still, you heard it.
“It means everything. They’re everything to us,” Jungkook said, smiling. “They’ve supported us from the beginning, so… I think we owe them a lot. That’s why we will do our best and work hard to show them gratitude.”
You stared at the screen for half a second and then scoffed when your sister murmured: “He’s such an amazing person.”
“Please.” Hana didn’t turn around right away, but you could feel she was already getting annoyed
“What?” she said.
“That’s so fake,” you added, already looking back down at your phone.
“You didn’t even watch the whole thing.”
“I didn’t need to.”
Hana finally turned, twisting around so she could look at you properly. “He is amazing. And if you knew him like I know him you wouldn’t say that—”
You let out a small laugh. “We live in different continents. You don’t know him.”
“I do know him.”
You sat up a little, resting your arm against the back of the sofa. “How exactly do you know him, Hana?”
She rolled her eyes like the answer was obvious. “I know everything about him.”
You snorted. “Everything?”
“Yes,” she insisted, counting on her fingers now like she was presenting actual evidence. “I know where he works. I know where he likes to shop. The clubs he goes to, the people he works with, the restaurants he likes—”
“That’s not knowing someone,” you cut in. “That’s having google.”
“It’s not just that,” she said, annoyed. “You wouldn’t get it.”
“No, I get it,” you said. “You’re a delusional obsessed stalker.”
“I’m not obsessed.”
“Hana, you literally know what he eats.”
“That’s public information!”
You raised your eyebrows. “Exactly my point.”
She huffed, turning back to the TV for a second before looking at you again, clearly not done. “At least I appreciate him.”
“Appreciate what? His scripted answers?”
“They’re not scripted!”
“Right. Because ‘you mean everything to us’ has never been said before.”
Hana groaned, throwing her head back dramatically. “You don’t get it.”
“No, I do. You’re mentally ill.”
“You just wait and see—” she paused, sitting up straighter, then grinned suddenly, like she’d remembered something. “Once we’re in Korea you’ll met him.”
Right. South Korea.
The trip had been planned for weeks. Your parents were excited for the trip, a place they were going back to somewhere that meant something to them. Your great-grandparents were still alive— which, apparently, was a miracle according to everyone who talked about it— and your mom had decided that this was the perfect time to visit. Which meant you were all going. Together. For a full week.
You didn’t mind it, not really. You liked traveling. You liked seeing new places— even if, technically, this wasn’t entirely new for you. You’d been to Korea before, just not recently enough to remember it clearly.
Hana, on the other hand, was treating it like the most important trip of her life. She had lists, actual lists. Places she wanted to go, things she wanted to eat, neighborhoods she needed to see. And, of course, locations, specific ones. Ones that, somehow, always seemed to be connected to them. Him, specially.
You frowned. “…met him?”
“Yeah.”
“Hana.”
“What?”
“We’re not going to just run into him.”
“You don’t know that.”
You stared at her. “Yes,” you said slowly, “I do.”
She ignored that completely. “We’re literally going to Korea,” she continued, like that proved everything. “Do you know how many places he goes to? We could go to one of them. Not, not just one, to all!”
“We’re going to visit great-grandma and great-grandpa,” you reminded her. “Not go on a BTS Jungkook tour.”
“Look if you want you can stay and play dolls with great-grandma. I’ll go meet the guys,” she rolled her eyes. “And his name is not BTS Jungkook, just Jungkook. I’ve told you this a thousand times.”
“You said we were going to hangout more there,” you pointed at her accusatorially.
“Well, of course. Dad is not gonna let me go alone to places. I need you for that.”
“You’re using me to meet these losers?.”
“They’re not losers!”
“I don’t want to met them. So fuck them and you.”
She pointed at you. “We’re literally going when they’re having their free concert. We’re meant to run into them.”
You stared at her for a second, then leaned back into the sofa again, picking your phone back up. “I’ll schedule a therapist appointment for you once we’re back.”
Hana rolled her eyes again, some way still too pleased with herself. “You’ll see. I’ll do everything on my list. First stop: Soju & Soul.”
You were going to commit murder before arriving to Korea.
‘Soju & Soul’
Somewhere across the world, in that crowded restaurant filled with low conversation and warm light, Jungkook sat at a table surrounded by people he actually knew. Which, lately, felt important.
The place wasn’t empty, it never really was those days. But it wasn’t chaotic either. Just busy enough to blend in, just quiet enough to pretend things were normal. He liked places like that. He liked places where he could sit down, eat, talk— without everything turning into something else. He used to liked it more when it wasn’t filled with people waiting for him. But he had learned to accept he couldn’t control those things. He still kept coming back time to time, he loved the food there.
Still, he noticed it. He always did.
The occasional glance from another table. Aphone lifted just a little too casually. Someone whispering and then looking away too fast.
He didn’t react, he’d learned not to.
“Are you even listening?” someone across from him asked.
Jungkook blinked, refocusing. “Yeah,” he said automatically.
“You’re not.”
He smiled a little. “I am. You were saying something about tomorrow.”
His friend narrowed his eyes, unconvinced, but continued anyway. The conversation moved on. His friends were familiar with his zone-out moments. They knew him that much already. He appreciated that. That bond, that part was real. And he held onto that. Because everything outside of it wasn’t always.
He loved what he did. He really did. The music, the stage, the connection, it meant something to him. It always had… But the rest of it? The guessing, the assumptions, the rumours, the lies… The way people thought they knew him because they knew of him. That part was harder. Not impossible. Just… tiring. And sometimes it even felt like people loved the idea of him more than anything else.
And there wasn’t much he could do about that.
After a while, he pushed his chair back slightly, glancing toward the door. “I’m heading out.”
“Already?”
“Yeah. Have to wake up early tomorrow.”
A few teasing comments followed, nothing serious. His friends were use to his busy schedule, specially those days.
He grabbed his jacket, slipping it on as he made his way toward the exit. He felt it, that shift in the room, subtle but there. He stepped outside, the night air cooler than he expected, and exhaled slowly.
Almost free…
“Excuse me—!”
He stopped before slowly turning. A girl stood a few steps away, phone already in her hand, eyes wide with that mix of excitement and disbelief he recognized instantly.
“Can I— Can I take a picture with you?”
There it was.
He smiled, soft and easy. “Of course.”
She lit up. It took less than ten seconds. A quick photo. A thank you, a gratitude for his music. Another cute smile. And then he was already walking away.
“Thank you,” she said, breathless.
“No problem.”
The next morning, it was everywhere.
A blurry picture. A headline that didn’t make sense. Speculation that spread faster than it should. Him and her standing close and smiling before the picture. It didn’t matter that it was a fan. It didn’t matter that it lasted ten seconds. It didn’t matter that it meant nothing. Because to everyone else it meant everything.
And just like that, somewhere out there, a girl who had only asked for a picture became a target. Comments flooded in. Speculation, hate, jealously dressed up as concern. Jungkook stared at his phone longer than he should have.
BTS JEON JUNGKOOK SPOTTED WITH MYSTERY GIRL
The comments were worse, they always were. It didn’t matter what actually happened, what mattered was what people thought happened. And that— That was something he couldn’t control. And something he hated.
——————————
The first thing you noticed about Seoul wasn’t the noise. It was how alive everything felt. Like the city never really paused, just shifted pace depending on the time of day. Even from the car window, as you leaned your head against the glass and watched everything pass by, there was always something happening. People walking fast like they had somewhere important to be. Small shops squeezed between bigger buildings. Neon signs still faintly visible even in daylight.
It felt… full. You didn’t hate it. You actually kind of liked it.
Still, by the time you pulled up in front of your great-grandparents’ house, you were more than ready to just stop for a second. Specially after the long hours flight. The house itself made you blink.
“Damn,” you said, sitting up straighter. “I didn’t remember being this big.”
Hana, who had been glued to her phone the entire ride, barely glanced up. “Yeah.”
You looked at it again. It wasn’t just a house. It was big, not in a flashy, modern way but in that quiet, old, this has been here for a long time kind of way. The gate, the small garden, the structure itself— it all felt solid. Lived in.
“Why does it look like we’re visiting royalty?” you muttered.
Hana snorted. “Relax. It’s just old money vibes.”
“That’s not better.”
Your parents were already getting out of the car, greeting your great-grandparents like no time had passed at all. There was a lot of hugging. A lot of talking at once. That warm, slightly chaotic energy that came with family reunions.
You followed a little slower, taking everything in. The air smelled different there. Cleaner, somehow. Or maybe you were just imagining it. Inside, it was even more noticeable— the mix of old and new. Traditional details blended with modern touches, like time had just adjusted instead of moving on.
You slipped your shoes off near the entrance, stepping inside carefully.
“Wow,” you said under your breath.
“Right?” Hana replied, already walking ahead like she owned the place.
You glanced around, fingers brushing lightly against the wall as you moved further in. There was something comforting about it, even if it wasn’t entirely familiar.
Your great-grandmother smiled at you, giving you another big hug it almost made you out of breath before she took your hand to the kitchen. She already had the table full of food ready to feed you and your sister.
Amazing. What a great start of the week.
The rest of the afternoon passed in that slow, slightly overwhelming way family visits always did. More food appeared out of nowhere. Conversations overlapped. You sat, listened, nodded, smiled when your great grandparents gave you compliment after compliment. It was nice reuniting with family. But still exhausting.
Hana, surprisingly, behaved… for about an hour. After that, she was back on her phone.
By the time you finally escaped to your room, which you were glad you had one for you, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding. You dropped onto the bed, staring up at the ceiling.
“Okay,” you said. “I need a break.”
“From what?” Hana asked, entering your room and falling into your bed like it was hers.
“From existing.”
She hummed, clearly not paying attention. You turned your head to look at her. She was now sitting cross-legged on the bed, phone in one hand, laptop open in front of her, tabs everywhere.
“Can we do something tomorrow?” you asked. No response. “Hana.”
“What?”
“Can we do something tomorrow?” you repeated. “Like— together.”
She glanced at you for half a second. “Yeah, sure.”
You narrowed your eyes slightly. “That sounded fake.”
“It wasn’t.”
“It sounded fake.”
“I said yes,” she replied, already looking back at her screen. “What do you want to do?”
“I don’t know,” you said. “Walk around, explore, get food… normal things.”
“Okay.”
Another pause. You waited but nothing. “Hana.”
“What?”
“Are you even listening to me?”
“Yes.”
“What did I just say?”
She sighed dramatically, finally closing her laptop halfway. “You want to ‘hangout’ or whatever.”
You stared at her. “Wow. You make it sound so fun spending time with me.”
“It’s not that,” she said quickly. “It’s just— Tonight it’s the free concert. I’m trying to see how I can get in.”
You sat up, already annoyed. “You’re joking.”
“I’m not.”
“Hana. You just got here.”
“And?”
“And you want to run off to a shitty concert to see some boys?”
“It’s not a shitty concert!”
You rubbed your face with your hands. “I can’t believe this.”
“They don’t do this all the time,” she continued, already grabbing her phone again. “This is like— once in a lifetime.”
“You say that about everything they do.”
“Because everything is once in a lifetime!”
“That’s not how that works.”
She ignored you. “I think I can get there—”
You rolled your eyes, thinking how irritating she was. “Hana, shut up. You’re stupid.”
She sighed, clearly over the conversation. “Look, we can hang out tomorrow, okay? I promise.”
“You said that five minutes ago.”
“And I meant it.”
You watched her for a second. Then shook your head, getting up from the bed. “Yeah. Sure.”
“Where are you going?”
“To talk to people who actually hear me when I speak.”
“That’s dramatic.”
You didn’t answer but just walked out. Your sister was a bitch sometimes. Only interested in those damn boys.
On the other side of the city, things were moving a little faster.
The room wasn’t huge, but it was filled. Managers, staff, screens displaying schedules, notes, last-minute adjustments. The kind of chaos that came before any performance, even one that was supposed to feel casual but it was in reality a big one. It was the finally damn comeback.
Jungkook leaned back slightly in his chair, listening as someone went over the setlist again.
“…and we’ll keep the transitions quick. No long breaks,” one of the staff members said. “We want to keep the energy up.”
“Got it,” someone else replied.
Jungkook nodded along, eyes scanning the paper in front of him even though he already knew most of it.
Free concerts were always different, less pressure in some ways but more in others. There were no tickets, no barriers in the same way— just people showing up because they wanted to be there. He liked that, it felt closer and more real.
“Anything else?” the tour manager asked, looking around the room. A few heads shook. “Alright. Let’s keep it clean tonight. No issues.”
Jungkook almost smiled at that. No issues, that was easier said than done.
The meeting wrapped up quickly after that, people standing, gathering their things, moving on to whatever came next. Jungkook stayed seated for a second longer, stretching his arms slightly before standing up.
“Hey,” his manager said, nodding toward the hallway. “A second?”
Jungkook followed without questioning it. They stepped into a quieter space, the noise from the main room fading just enough to make the shift noticeable.
“What’s up?” Jungkook asked.
His manager glanced at him, then leaned slightly against the wall. “That brand you mentioned a while ago,” he said. “Se-seil.”
Jungkook’s expression shifted, just slightly. “Yeah?”
“They’re interested.”
He blinked, his heart beating a little faster. “Wait— seriously?”
“Yeah. Not signed yet,” his manager clarified. “But they want to start talks. Ambassador deal.”
Jungkook let out a small breath, something between relief and excitement. “That’s—” he shook his head a little. “That’s amazing.”
“It is,” his manager agreed. “It’s big.”
Se-seil wasn’t just any Korean brand. It was selective. Clean image, high expectations, specially in the country. Not the kind of deal you got easily. Didn’t even matter if you were a big star, they were dedicated with their marketing and their reputation. Jungkook had wanted that deal for a long time, it felt like a big thing for him and his image. Specially now that he was in his lates twenties.
“Okay,” he said. “So what’s the catch?” His manager didn’t answer immediately which was answer enough. Jungkook’s smile faded slightly. “What?”
“They want you to keep a low profile for a while.”
Jungkook frowned confused. “I already do.”
“You know what I mean,” his manager said. “No rumors. No headlines. Nothing that can turn into something.”
Jungkook exhaled quietly. “…Right.”
His manager watched him for a second before continuing. “There’s been talk.”
“About?”
“You.”
Jungkook let out a small, humorless laugh. “There’s always talk.”
“Yeah,” his manager said. “But this one’s sticking, specially to the marketing team of the brand.”
Jungkook looked at him. “What are they saying?”
There was a brief pause. “That you’re getting… comfortable.”
He frowned. “What does that even mean?”
“That you’re going out more. That you’re being seen with different girls,” his manager said, keeping his tone even. “That you’re starting to act like you don’t have to follow the same rules anymore.”
Jungkook stared at him. “That’s not—”
“I know,” his manager cut in. “But that’s not the point.” Silence stretched between them. “They see a big ego,” he continued. “A wanna be playboy. Someone who thinks he’s too big now to fit the idol picture.”
Jungkook didn’t say anything. He froze for a second. “…That’s ridiculous,” he said finally, quieter.
“Maybe,” his manager said. “But it’s what’s being said.” There was another pause. “So,” he added, “we keep it simple for now. Stay low, at least for the next two weeks. Stick with the group. No good headlines, no bad headlines. Just music and how much you love each other.”
“Just for a while,” his manager said. “Until they convinced the owner of the brand. He’s an old man, needs time.” He shrugged. “You want the deal, right?”
“Yeah, yeah. I can play low. Got it.”
His manager gave him a small nod before heading back toward the main room. Jungkook stayed where he was. Just for a second. The words lingered longer than he expected. Wanna be playboy. Big ego. Too big for the idol image. He let out a quiet breath, running a hand through his hair. That was funny. How people could decide who you were without ever actually knowing you. It bothered him. But he already knew the game by now so he didn’t let it get under his skin.
He pushed himself off the wall, expression settling back into something neutral.
“No headlines for the next weeks,” he muttered to himself
He could easily do that… yeah. Of course.
——————————
You were lying face down on the bed, fully dressed in what could only be described as giving up for the day. An oversized hoodie, worn-out sweatpants, and socks that didn’t match.
You were trying to get some needed rest when Hana walked in like she was about to attend the most important event of her life. You didn’t even look up at first. You just felt it. That shift in energy. That unnecessary confidence. That very specific kind of presence that meant she had spent way too long getting ready for something that absolutely did not require that level of effort.
“…No,” you said into your pillow.
There was a silence and then... “You didn’t even look.”
“I don’t need to,” you replied, voice muffled. “I can hear the outfit.”
“That doesn’t even make sense.”
You rolled onto your back with a sigh, finally looking at her and immediately rolled your eyes. “Hana.”
“What?”
“Why do you look like you’re about to get proposed to?”
She scoffed, adjusting something invisible on her dress. “It’s called dressing nicely.”
“It’s called overdressing,” you corrected. “You’re going to a free concert, not the Met Gala. And is not even summer, you’re gonna freeze.”
She ignored that completely, turning slightly to check herself in the mirror again. “You could at least try,” she added, glancing at you. “You look like you just survived something.”
“I am right now,” you said. “You.”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re so dramatic.”
“And you’re dressed like an arab wedding guest.”
That made her pause, narrowing her eyes at you. “You need to come with me.”
You blinked. “…No, I don’t.”
“You need to.”
“No.”
She turned fully now, hands on her hips. “Dad won’t let me go alone.”
You sat up a little, unimpressed. “That sounds like a you problem.”
“It’s an us problem now.”
“No, it’s not.”
“Hear me out,” she said quickly, walking closer. “Please. Just this once.”
You stared at her. “I thought you said this was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”
“It is.”
“So go live your life. Sneak by the window or something.”
“Dad will notice and you know how it is when he gets paranoid!”
You let out a small laugh. “So your plan is to drag me into it?”
“Yes.”
“Wow. Great plan.”
She dropped onto the edge of your bed, grabbing your arm lightly. “Come on. I won’t ask you for anything else this trip.”
“You are already asking me too much,” you muttered.
“I’m serious,” she insisted. “Just come with me, stay for a bit, and then I do whatever you want afterwards. I swear.”
Now that was a better deal.
You narrowed your eyes slightly. “…Whatever I want?”
“Yes.”
You tilted your head. “You’ll shut up about BTS and Jungkook?”
She hesitated. “…Yes. For the rest of the trip.”
“What about for the rest of your life?.”
She groaned, flopping back dramatically. She covered her face for a second, annoyed with you. “Fine.”
You smiled. “…That was fast.”
“I said fine,” she repeated, pointing at you. “But you actually have to help me get in.”
“I’m coming with you and lying to our parents. I think that’s enough.”
She sat up again, suddenly determined. “Okay, change fast. We need to go now.”
You stared at each other for a second. Then you sighed.
“I’m not changing. I’ll stay in the car while you do your thing,” you muttered, standing up. She look at you unbelievably. “Let’s just go before I change my mind.”
She groaned again. “Fine, let’s go.”
The lie came surprisingly easy when you confronted your parents downstairs. It wasn’t exactly that you needed permission to go out since you were grow ups but it was mostly your dad being worried that something could happen to any of you since you didn’t know the city that well and clearly weren’t locals.
“We’re just going for a walk downtown,” Hana said casually, leaning against the door like she hadn’t just spent three hours getting ready.
“And maybe get something to drink,” you added, trying to sound normal.
Your parents barely questioned it. Which, honestly, felt suspicious.
“Don’t stay out too late,” your mom said.
“Let the girls have fun,” your grand grandmother smiled at you both before throwing her key cars to your sister.
It was like she knew you were planning something else. You nodded with a fake excited smile, already stepping outside before anything else could be added. The second the door closed behind you both run to the car your granny had give you the keys to use.
The car was… something. You stared at it for a second before getting in.
“Why is it so purple?”
“It’s vintage.”
“It’s purple.”
“Still vintage.”
“Ugly vintage.”
Hana ignored you, already starting the engine and started driving with way too much confidence for someone who definitely shouldn’t be driving that fast. You gripped the door slightly.
“I’ll drive fast. Can’t lose more time.” She warned you.
“God, I should’ve gotten my license years ago.”
You were regretting a lot of your life choices already.
By the time you reached Gwanghwamun, it was chaos. Not violent chaos just a shit ton of people. Everywhere. Lights, noise, movement, energy. The kind of crowd that made you immediately reconsider every life choice that led you there. You were a little anxious. Hana, on the other hand, looked like she had just found heaven.
“This is insane,” she breathed.
“Yeah,” you said. “That’s one word for it.”
And somehow, somehow, she found a parking spot. A good one. Close enough to see the crowd, far enough to not get stuck in it. You stared at her as she parked.
“…That was suspiciously easy.”
“It’s fate,” she said.
“I don’t think it’s legal to park here.”
She turned the engine off, already unbuckling her seatbelt and taking the keys with her. “I’ll be fast.”
“That’s not true!,” you clocked her. “And why are you taking the keys?.”
“Just in case. So you don’t leave me.”
You rolled your eyes. “If an officer comes and I can’t move the car I’m giving your ID.”
“Yeah, yeah. Just text me anything.” She rolled her eyes, opening the door. “Just don’t fall asleep or something.”
“No promises.”
You watched her step out, adjusting her outfit like she was about to step onto a stage herself. Then she walked toward the big ass crowd of people trying to get inside too. And within seconds— You saw her arguing with a security guard, probably giving her fake argument that she was a big fansite who needed to get inside to do her job.
Of course. She was so annoyingly persistent.
You immediately leaned your head back against the seat. “Great,” you muttered. “I’ll be here forever.”
You lost sight of her not long after that.
Poof! She was just… gone. Swallowed by people. Amazing.
Thirty minutes later, you were still in the car. Doing absolutely nothing.
You checked your phone. scrolled for over three hundred different videos, a lot of them being korean adds you were already done watching by the second one. You locked it. Checked it again a minute later. And repeated that a thousand times. Nothing, absolutely nothing. Your friends back home were sleeping, you didn’t have enough data anymore to put some youtube or a netflix show and you couldn’t even put music because the car was turn off.
Fuck it.
You sighed, pushing the door open and stepping out.
The air was louder out here. The music reached you immediately— distant, but clear enough to recognize the rhythm, the beat carrying through the crowd like something alive.
You stood there for a second, listening. And then, the voices felt closer. It felt familiar… even if you didn’t want them to be.
“We can go all night
Don't you close your eyes
Don't you fear the light
All night…”
You tilted your head slightly, arms crossing over your chest as you listened. You knew they weren’t bad. They were even more than okay, they were great. You could admit that. But that wasn’t the point, it wasn’t. You didn’t hate their music. You didn’t even hate him. You just hated what it did. How every time you tried to talk to Hana, your sister, she was somewhere else. How every plan somehow turned into something about them. How you always felt like you were competing with something you couldn’t even see.
It was like you were fighting for a place in her life that didn’t even have time for you.
You kicked lightly at the ground. Your phone buzzed. You glanced at it.
Hana: IM INSIDE
You: how
Hana: don’t ask
Hana: IM TRYING TO GET CLOSER
You: of course you are
Hana: watch me get front stage bitch
You stared at the screen. Then laughed quietly to yourself.
Yeah. Of course she will do that.
You looked around. Most of the nearby places were empty, everyone either at the concert or trying to get in. That meant every store was either empty or had a little to few people. Which was amazing because you were hungry as hell. And you deserved some good food after doing all that for your sister.
You decided to ignore google maps and just walk around, the view was beautiful. All the city was painted in purple— which you knew exactly why— but it was decorated so beautiful it made your irritation disappear. There was a lot of people walking around and singing or dancing or recording. The place was packed on the streets but the stores and restaurants were mostly empty. You walked a lot until you find a good spot in an alley that didn’t seemed too full.
The restaurant you found wasn’t anything special. Small, quiet, a little hidden from the main street like it didn’t really care about being noticed. It was perfect.
You stepped inside, the sudden calm almost shocking after the noise outside. An older woman stood behind the counter, looking up as you entered. You smiled, a little awkward.
“Hi.” you said, walking to her while looking at the little menu in the counter. “Do you recommend me something?.”
She smiled at you before nodding. “Sit, sit,” she said, gesturing to a table. “I’ll choose for you.”
“Well, okay. Thank you.” You sat down, glancing around. It felt… nice, simple and warm. You were hungry.
After some minutes she brought you a bowl of ramen not long after, placing it in front of you with a small smile. You looked at it. “…Wow.”
“It’s my secret recipe,” she clearly proud.
You nodded quickly. “It looks amazing.” You took the hot steam soup to your mouth, tasting the food, immediately groaning of satisfaction. “Okay— that’s really good.”
She smiled wider this time before started talking about her recipe. And you knew you were going to be there for long, long time.
You two talked about some recipes and the different things and spices you had back home and how the food felt completely different even with the same condiments. It was a long conversation. By the time you finished eating and paid, you felt lighter. Like maybe the night wasn’t a complete waste… Until you checked your phone.
Three hours. You stared at the screen. “…You’ve got to be kidding me.”
No new messages. Of course. Your sister was probably still trapped in that place doing Lord knows what. Specially with how many people were there it was going to take a lot of time for her to get back.
You stepped outside, saying goodbye to the old woman whose name you learned was Gaon. The distant sound of the concert still echoing through the city. The walk to the car wasn’t close but it wasn’t exactly far either. You took a shortcut, because of course you did. An alley, narrow but lit enough to feel safe.
At least at first.
You adjusted your hoodie slightly, hands tucked into the pocket as you walked, your mind already somewhere else. And then—
Boom!
The door flew open. You didn’t even have time to react. It hit you hard— right on the side of your head. “—shit—!”
And suddenly the ground was rushing up to meet you. Everything tilted. Your vision blurred for a second as you stumbled, then fell, the impact knocking the air out of your lungs as you hit the pavement. Pain spread almost immediately, sharp and disorienting.
Ouch.
——————————
By the time Jungkook finally sat down to eat, the adrenaline from the performance hadn’t fully left his system yet.
It never did, not right away. There was always that leftover energy buzzing under his skin, like his body hadn’t gotten the message that it was over. His ears still rang faintly, not painfully, just enough to remind him of the crowd, the music, the way thousands of voices could somehow feel both overwhelming and grounding at the same time.
The restaurant had been rented out for the night, one of those places that felt exclusive without trying too hard, low lighting, warm tones, tucked away just enough to avoid unnecessary attention. A good choice, considering who he was with.
The 97 line didn’t do subtle… or quiet. Or anything remotely calm when they were all in the same room.
“You missed a line of that song,” Mingyu pointed out, leaning back in his chair with a grin. “What happened? Got distracted?”
Jungkook snorted, grabbing his glass. “Yeah, because I’ve never done a concert before.”
“Just saying,” he added, nudging him slightly. “You looked like you were in your own world out there.”
“That’s literally my job.”
“Your job is to sing, not dissociate.”
“I wasn’t—” Jungkook started, then paused, shaking his head with a small smile. He knew they were just trying to bother him. “You guys are annoying.”
“We are making you a better idol.”
“You all should learn from me, fuckers.”
They laughed, the conversation flowing easily after that, random topics, teasing, inside jokes that didn’t need explaining. It was comfortable, familiar. The kind of environment where he didn’t have to think too much about anything outside of the moment.
Which was exactly why it ended too fast.
Jungkook checked the time on his phone, his expression shifting slightly. “…Okay, I have to go.”
Groans immediately followed. “You just got here.”
“I’ve been here for an hour.”
“That’s not enough.”
“It has to be,” he said, already standing up and reaching for his jacket. “I’m late.”
“Hybe party?” Eunwoo asked.
“Yeah.”
“Tell them we said hi.”
“You’re not going later?.”
“Not really feeling in the mood. But you know we’re proud of you.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Jungkook replied, pulling his jacket on. “See you guys.”
A few more comments followed him as he made his way toward the exit, shaking his head lightly but smiling anyway. He pushed the door open without really thinking about it— his mind already halfway out, already shifting to what came next.. and then something hit. Or really… someone.
There was a thud. A sharp, immediate sound that didn’t match anything around him.
Jungkook froze. And then looked down.
“Oh— oh my God!” he stepped forward quickly, eyes widening as he saw you on the ground. “Did I just hit you?!”
You blinked up at him, clearly disoriented, one hand already moving instinctively toward your head. “No,” you said flatly, wincing. “The door hit me by itself.”
He stared at you for half a second. “…Right. Yeah. No, no. I’m sorry.” He frowned, looking at the alley where a song he knew perfectly started getting louder. “Oh, no. That— this is not good.”
You groaned slightly, pushing yourself up just enough to sit, your expression tightening as the pain settled in properly.
“Yeah, no shit.”
Jungkook crouched down immediately, hovering like he wasn’t entirely sure where to help or what to touch. “Are you okay? That looked really bad.”
“I’m amazing,” you muttered. “I love getting hit by doors.”
He let out a breath, somewhere between concern and disbelief. “Okay, sarcasm. That’s a good sign, right?”
You opened your eyes properly now, finally focusing on him—
“…Oh.”
Holy shit.
Jungkook blinked. “What?”
You stared at him for a second longer, your brain clearly trying to catch up with your eyes. “Oh, wait. Holy shit. You’re—”
He reacted immediately, one hand coming up to gently— but quickly— cover your mouth.
“I’ll give you free tickets to the first concert of the tour if you don’t scream my name right now.”
You froze for a second at his touch before frowning, annoyed. Who the hell did he think he was? You shoved his hand away, a little harsh.
“I don’t want tickets for your stupid concert,” you snapped, your voice coming out sharper than you intended as your head throbbed again.
Jungkook blinked. “…Wow.” He leaned back slightly, studying you. “You really hit your head.”
Before you could respond, the door behind him opened again; this time slower, and a couple of his friends stepped out, immediately taking in the scene.
“What happened?”
“She got hit by the door,” Jungkook said quickly.
“You hit her with the door,” Mingyu corrected, stepping closer.
“I didn’t mean to!”
“Who does?.”
You let out a small, pained sound, pressing your hand more firmly against your forehead. “…Why is everything spinning?”
All three of them looked at you, then at each other.
“…Is she bleeding?” Eunwoo asked.
Jungkook leaned in slightly, eyes focusing on your forehead and immediately tensing. “…Yeah.”
You blinked. “What do you mean ‘yeah’?”
“Like— just a little,” he added quickly. “It’s not— like, a lot.”
“That’s not reassuring.”
“Okay, it’s a little more than a little.”
“Great.”
“You should probably sit still.”
“I am sitting still!”
There was a brief pause.
“Oh, shit,” Mingyu muttered, glancing toward the street.
Jungkook followed his gaze. And immediately understood. The music was still echoing through the area, but closer now. People moving around, voices getting louder, fans walking, wandering, noticing. And noticing them.
“Okay,” Eunwoo said quickly. “We need to move.”
“Yeah,” Jungkook agreed, already helping you up carefully. “Can you stand?”
“Define stand,” you muttered, but you let him pull you up anyway, swaying slightly once you were on your feet.
“…Okay, maybe not.”
“Take my car. They probably know yours already,” Eunwoo said, already backing away. “We’ll distract them.”
“But—”
“I’ll bring it for you,” he insisted. “We got it.”
Jungkook hesitated for half a second. Then nodded. “Okay. Thanks.” He turned back to you, steadying you as the noise around you grew just slightly louder. “Come on.”
You squinted at him. “I don’t like this.”
“Yeah, I can tell.”
“No, I mean— I really don’t like this.”
“You’ll like the hospital more,” he said.
“I doubt it.”
You took one step. Then another. And then suddenly— you stopped, your stomach making a weird noise before you turned slightly and promptly threw up… right onto someone’s shoes.
There was a very loud, very offended: “—ARE YOU SERIOUS?!”
You wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, eyes watering slightly. “…Sorry.”
Mingyu looked down at his shoes like his entire life had just ended. “These were new!”
Jungkook winced. “…Dude, I’m so sorry.”
“She threw up on me!”
“I know, I saw.”
“Do you know how expensive these were!?”
“Not the time!”
You groaned, holding your head again. “My sister’s still at the concert,” you mumbled, words slightly slurred together. “She’s gonna kill me.”
Jungkook glanced at you. “…We’ll deal with your sister later.”
“My sister’s gonna kill me.”
“Okay, yeah, that’s fair,” he admitted.
The car pulled up quickly after that, Eunwoo opened the door for him. “Go, go,”
Mingyu still looking personally betrayed by his friend opened the door for you, helping you get in. “Get in before this gets worse.”
“You have a nice hair,” you muttered to him, trying to be nice.
“Shut the fuck up,” he pushed you inside. What a weird guy, you thought. He looked at his friend. “Text me.”
“I will!”
“You owe me new shoes!”
“I know!”
He shut the door.
Finally. Silence. Well, not silence. The city was still there. The distant noise, the leftover energy from the concert, but inside the car, it felt… contained.
Jungkook exhaled, starting the engine. “Okay, here. Drink this.” He gave you a bottle of water. Or at least what is seemed it was. When you didn’t complained he assumed he was right. He glanced at you. “We’re going to—” His phone rang. He froze for half a second before answering. “Yeah?”
His manager’s voice came through immediately. “Where are you?”
“In the car. Why?”
“You need to get to the after party now.”
Jungkook frowned. “I’m on my way, I just—”
“The Se-seli director is here. With his daughters. They’re asking for you.”
He went still. “…Now?”
“Yes. Now.”
Jungkook glanced at you again. You were leaning back against the seat, eyes half-closed, clearly bothered by what had happened.
“…Okay, yes,” he said, lowering his voice slightly. “I’ll be there in as fast as I can go.”
“Hurry.”
The line went dead. Jungkook stared at his phone for a second then sighed.
“…Okay.” He looked at you again then made a decision. “I really need to go to Hybe’s building,” he said, starting the car properly this time. “It’s really close. They’ve got doctors there.”
You opened one eye. “…Real doctors?”
“…Very real,” he said, a little too quickly. An obvious lie.
You stared at him for a second, then closed your eyes again. “Okay. Just hurry up.”
He nodded, even though you weren’t really looking anymore. “Yeah, yeah.” he muttered. “I will.”
You fumbled for your phone, squinting at the screen as you typed.
You: getting food, will meet u later
You hit send. And let your head fall back again. Neither of you said anything after that. The car moved through the city, fast but controlled, both of you sitting in the same space for the first time.
——————————
The building was… a lot.
You didn’t even fully process it at first because your head still hurt in that deep, annoying way that made everything feel slightly delayed, like your brain was buffering in real time. But even through that, even through the dizziness and the lingering nausea, you could tell this wasn’t just any place.
It was big. Not just physically— though, yes, it was that too— but in presence. Glass, lights, people moving with purpose like they actually knew what they were doing, security that looked like they didn’t joke around, and just enough activity to make it obvious something important was happening somewhere inside.
You squinted slightly as Jungkook parked.
“…Where are we?”
He didn’t even hesitate. “Work.”
“…You brought me to work.” You turned your head slowly to look at him.
“I told you I had doctors.”
“In your dance studio?”
“They’re good,” he insisted, already getting out of the car and rushing around to your side.
“That’s not how that works,” you muttered, but you let him help you out anyway, your balance still slightly off as your feet hit the ground. The second you were fully upright, he didn’t give you time to question anything else, just grabbed your hand and guided you inside the elevator. You took it out of his grip harshly. “I know how to walk.”
“I was just helping,” he frowned a little offended. “Let’s go.”
The lobby was even worse, people everywhere. Not chaotic, but in that busy, efficient way that somehow made you feel more out of place than actual chaos would’ve.
You instinctively pulled your hood up a little more. “Why are there so many people?” you whispered.
“There’s an event,” he replied quickly, steering you toward a hallway before anyone could look too closely. “Just— don’t look at anyone.”
“That’s easy,” you muttered. “I already don’t want to be here.”
“Great. Perfect attitude.”
He moved fast. Too fast for you, honestly. At one point you almost tripped over your own feet and had to grab onto the back of his shirt just to steady yourself. You didn’t let go. Jungkook cleared his throat before continue walking, a little flustered by the act without you noticing.
“Slow down,” you complained.
“We can’t.”
“Why?”
“Because if we stop, people will notice you with me and will start asking questions.”
“About what?”
“About you.”
You frowned. “…Why?”
He stopped walking for half a second. Then turned to you like that was the most obvious thing in the world.
“Because you’re with me, because you have a little blood on your head. And becuase you’re… a girl.”
You blinked. “A girl?.”
“Yeah. A girl.”
Before you could say anything else, he opened a door with a code and gently, but quickly, pushed you inside. The room was quiet. Dimmer than the hallway, filled with equipment you didn’t have the energy to properly register yet. Speakers, instruments, cables, things that screamed music even if your brain was too slow to process details.
“Stay here,” he said.
You turned to him, immediately suspicious. “…Why?”
“Because—” he ran a hand through his hair quickly, glancing back at the hallway like someone might walk in any second, “—because I don’t need people asking questions right now.” He stared at you. “‘Who’s she?’ ‘How do you know her?’ ‘Why is she bleeding?’ ‘Are you two dating?’”
“Dating?” You made a face. “Ugh.”
He paused. “…Ugh?”
“I mean… Yikes.”
“You’re offended?”
“I’m concerned,” you corrected. “That anyone would think that.”
He blinked at you. Then let out a short fake laugh, shaking his head slightly. “Wow. Okay. That’s— good for my ego.”
“Bet you need your ego to get bigger, huh.” you said sarcastically. “And you’re the one hiding me,” you pointed out. “What does that say? Embarrassed of people seeing you with a non-famous person?”
“I’m not embarrassed of that,” he said quickly. “I just don’t want a scandal. I don’t want this—” he gestured vaguely at your forehead, “—turning into something else.”
You squinted at him. “…You mean like a dating scandal?”
He froze. “Well… yes.”
“Just because you’re a man and I’m a woman doesn’t mean we’re dating.”
“I know that but the media—” He groaned quietly, rubbing his face with irritation. “You wouldn’t understand. Just please stay here.”
You leaned slightly against the wall, still unimpressed. “Relax. I don’t want to be associated with you either.”
He titled his head, feeling offended. “Okay…That makes two of us.”
“Good.”
“Great.”
A pause. Then he pointed at the couch. “Sit.” You looked at it then back at him. There was a silence . His eye started twitching. “… Please.”
You rolled your eyes but sat down anyway. “Fine.”
“I’ll be back,” he said, already stepping toward the door again.
“Where are you going?”
“I have to show my face,” he replied. “Just for a bit.”
“And then?”
“And then I’ll come back and I promise I’ll take you to the doctor.”
You narrowed your eyes. “You better. I’m not planning on spending thousand of dollars in the ER if this is like America.”
“The health system—” He stopped himself. he was losing time. “I’ll obviously cover that. Just don’t move. I’ll be back quickly.”
“Yeah, you better make it quick because if you don’t I will bleed dramatically on your expensive floor.
“That’s not funny.”
“It’s a little funny.”
He shook his head, already opening the door. “Don’t touch anything.”
“Now I’m definitely touching everything.”
“I— God, why is this happening to me?”. He groaned, giving you a last serious look. “Stay.” he ordered like you were a dog.
And then he was gone.
“Woof?”
For a while, you actually stayed where you were. Mostly because your head still hurt and moving felt like a bad idea. But also because the room itself was… interesting.
Once the dizziness settled just a little, your eyes started adjusting, taking in the details properly this time. The instruments, the equipment, the setup, it wasn’t just random. It was really organized. Organized in that messy way that meant people actually used it.
You stood up slowly, curiosity kicking in despite everything, walking a little further into the room. Yeah, the place was definitely cool as hell. You ran your fingers lightly over the edge of a table, glancing at a guitar resting nearby, then at a keyboard, then at a set of headphones that probably cost more than your entire house.
“Don’t touch anything,” you repeated under your breath. “Yeah, okay.”
You touched everything… Just a little, carefully.
You were about to grab a guitar when the door suddenly opened. You froze, completely. Two guys walked in mid-conversation, not even looking at you at first.
“…I’m telling you, that’s not how it works—”
“Then explain it to me again—”
They stopped, both of them. At the exact same time, like they were doing a choreography. And then slowly turned to look at you. There was a pause. A really long one where the three of you just stayed in silence, watching each other. It was easy to recognize them, specially when your sister couldn’t stopped talking about the blond haired guy and the one that had the face of a model.
You opened your mouth first.
“…Hi,” you said.
They blinked. Then one of them, Jimin, stepped forward slightly, squinting at you.
“…Who are you?… Why are you here?”
You opened your mouth and closed it. Then pointed vaguely behind you.
“I think I’m… not supposed to be here.”
“That’s not reassuring,” Taehyung said.
“And why are you bleeding?” Jimin added, eyes widening slightly as he got a better look at your forehead.
“Oh,” you said, touching it instinctively. “Yeah. That.”
“Yeah, that,” he repeated.
You hesitated for half a second. “Well— this guy named Jungkook hit me.”
There was a dead silence.
They both stared at you, then at each other again and then back at you.
“…JUNGKOOK HIT YOU?!” Jimin screamed aggravated.
Okay maybe your word choice wasn’t the best.
“With a door!,” you explained. “Accidentally... I think.”
“Oh my God,” Taehyung whispered, like he discovered why you were there. “We’re getting sued.”
“I’m not going to sue you,” you said.
“That’s exactly what someone who’s about to sue the shit out of us would say,” he replied immediately.
“I literally don’t even want to be here.”
“That’s worse,” Jimin said. “Did he kidnap you?.”
You stared at them. “…Are you serious right now?”
“No,” they both said at the same time. Then immediately— “Yes,” they added.
You blinked, they were so in sync it looked like they were acting. “…Wow.”
“Okay, okay— sit down,” Taehyung said quickly, grabbing a chair and pulling it toward you. “We need to check if you have a concussion.”
“You’re not doctors.”
“We have phones.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“It’s basically the same thing,” he insisted, already pulling out his phone. “Wait— how do you check for concussion—”
He opened YouTube. You stared at him unbelievably. “You’re using YouTube.”
“It’s reliable.”
“It’s not reliable.”
“Would you want us to check tiktok?” Jimin asked, he was seriously intrigued. “Do you think it’s a more trustful source?”
“Shh,” his friend called. “This guy looks like he knows what he’s doing.”
The other one leaned over his shoulder. “…He’s a fitness coach.”
“He’s close enough.”
You pressed your fingers to your temple. “I can’t believe my sister is obsessed with you people.”
They both looked at you again.
“…Your sister?” Taehyung repeated.
“Yeah.”
“She’s got good taste,” Jimin added, laughing.
“She has questionable judgment,” you corrected.
“Okay, follow my finger,” Taehyung said suddenly, holding his hand up in front of your face.
You stared at it. “…Why?”
“To see if your eyes track movement.” You sighed but followed it anyway. “There. See? She’s fine.”
“That doesn’t mean she’s fine, man”
“She’s talking.”
“So?”
“So people with concussions can talk!”
“That’s not helping!”
You stood up slowly. “…You know what? I’m good.”
They both looked at you. “You don’t look good,” Taehyung said.
“I feel… okay enough.”
“That’s not a medical term,” Jimin pointed out.
“Neither is whatever you’re doing.”
They hesitated. “…Fair.”
Jimin pulled out his phone. “Look, I actually have a great medical video that we can check—”
He started looking for his Youtube history. Taehyung leaned to look at it and started making fun of the videos he watched. You pressed your lips together and looked at the door.
Okay, whatever was outside couldn’t be worse than those two idiots.
You started moving slowly to the door while they kept fighting louder. You couldn’t tell if it was a bit or they were really bickering that harsh but you honestly didn’t care enough. You just wanted to leave that place as soon as possible. It was actually angering you the fact that you probably were having a concussion and superstar Jeon Jungkook decided his work was more important than taking you to an actual hospital.
What an asshole!
“Wait— where is she?!”
You started walking faster down the hallway when you heard the scream.
You didn’t really have a plan. You just… walked around, trying to find the elevator that could take you to the reception and you could get the fuck out of that place. You walked a lot for a building space. Through hallways, past doors, following whatever felt like an exit, your head still a little off but manageable now.
Okay… maybe you didn’t have a great sense of direction.
Mmmhmmm
You frowned a little intrigued. There was music, not loud like before in the city. Not overwhelming either. Just… there, clear and close. You slowed down slightly, curiosity creeping in again despite everything.
“…What now,” you muttered.
You followed the sound down another hallway. Up a short set of stairs. Until you reached an open space— The rooftop.
You stopped just before stepping fully into view, instinctively staying hidden near the entrance. And then you saw him. Jungkook. Standing under soft lights, a mic in his hand, the city stretching out behind him like it was part of the stage. There were a lot of people around, some sitting, some standing, watching quietly while drinking. It wasn’t too loud. It wasn’t a loud song either. It was… calm. And then he continued singing, not like before. Not like the concert.
This was different. Softer, clearer. His voice carried easily through the space, smooth and controlled in a way that didn’t feel forced, didn’t feel like it was trying to impress anyone. It just… was.
You stayed where you were, not moving, not interrupting. Just watching and listening. Jungkook was an asshole. And a enormous idiot. But God, he had the voice of an angel. You understood why people listened.
Something about you
Do you feel the way I do?
There's magic in the room
Tell me, do you feel it too?…
Okay that was enough. You needed to get the fuck out of there.
People started clapping, you consciously and weirdly put a hand in your forehead and started walking again. Walking down the stairs and following some people that were clearly leaving. You moved with them to the elevator, moving your hoodie slightly uncomfortable when you noticed you were clearly not dressed for the event. It was painfully obvious you were not part of these people.
Your phone buzzed in your pants. Your sister was texting you. Already two missing calls.
Hana: HELLO???
Hana: where the fuck are you???
Hana: i swear if u got lost i will leave you here
Hana: it can’t take you so long to eat something
Shit, she was going to kill you. What the hell were you supposed to tell?
‘Hey, sis. So remember the guy you’re obsessed with? Well he hit me in the forehead with a door, lie to me about taking me to the hospital and now i’m in the HYBE building where I met Park Jimin and Kim Taehyung— they’re really stupid, by the way— And I heard Jungkook performed but I feel like I’m about to pass out so now I’m trying to get the fuck out of here. What about you?’
You: i hit my head with a pole so i just went home
You: good luck with the traffic lol
Okay, just a little white lie. She was definitely gonna kill you anyway.
By the time you made it down to the parking garage where the elevator took you, your patience was officially gone.
Not low, not running out but gone. Completely. The kind of gone where everything started to feel ten times more irritating than it actually was. The lights too bright, the echo of your own footsteps too loud, your head still throbbing in that dull, persistent way that refused to let you forget what had happened.
You pressed your fingers lightly against your forehead as you walked, wincing. “…This is actually insane,” you muttered to yourself Because it was. You had come out for a walk. That was the lie. A simple, harmless lie…
And somehow, in the span of a few hours, you had:
• gone to a concert you didn’t care about
• eaten ramen with a stranger who was objectively the highlight of your night
• gotten hit in the head by a door
• been kidnapped— yes, kidnapped— to a big ass famous building
• and accidentally met people your sister would probably sell her soul to even breathe near
You stopped for a second, staring ahead. “…I’m never leaving the house again.”
“Good plan.”
You froze. And then slowly turned around. And there he was. Leaning casually against one of the walls like he hadn’t just completely derailed your entire night, hands in his pockets, looking far too relaxed for someone who had, once again, found you bleeding.
You stared at him. “What the hell?.”
He pushed himself off the wall slightly, shaking his head. “I told you to stay in the studio.”
“Yeah,” you said flatly. “Well, fuck that.”
There was a brief pause. He tilted his head slightly, studying you. “I saw you upstairs.”
You frowned. “…Upstairs where?”
“The rooftop.” Oh. You blinked once. “You were standing by the door watching me sing.”
“I wasn’t.”
“You were.”
“I wasn’t.”
He let out a small breath, clearly choosing not to argue that point further. “Where are you going?”
You stared at him like the answer should’ve been obvious. “Home.”
“Just like that?”
“Yes, just like that.”
“You’re still bleeding.”
“I’ll survive.”
“That’s not very convincing.”
You rolled your eyes, turning slightly toward the exit again. “I’m not staying one more minute here.”
“I didn’t say you had to.”
“You literally left me in a room to go perform,” you snapped, turning back to him. “That’s exactly what you did.”
His expression shifted slightly. “I didn’t perform—”
“You were singing in front of people.”
“It wasn’t— Hah! You saw me!.”
“You told me we were going to see a doctor,” you continued, voice rising just a little despite yourself, ignoring his comment, “Theres are not any fucking doctors in here. I ended up in a studio with two guys watching a YouTube tutorial about concussions.”
He blinked. “…You what?”
“Your stupid friends found me in the studio and almost diagnosed me through a fitness coach. So yes, of course I want to leave!” He pressed his lips together, clearly trying not to laugh. “That’s not funny.”
“It’s a little funny.”
“It’s not funny,” you insisted, your head throbbing again as if to prove your point. “I just want to go home.”
There was a pause.
“I’m sorry.” You stopped for a second, because that… you weren’t expecting. You looked at him properly for the first time since you got down there. He didn’t look defensive or annoyed, just… genuine. “You’re right. I should’ve taken you straight to the hospital,” he added, running a hand through his hair. “That’s on me.”
You hesitated for half a second before looking away again. “…Yeah. It is.”
He nodded slightly. “Okay. So let me fix it. I’ll take you now.”
You let out a short, humorless laugh. “No.”
“No?”
“No,” you repeated. “I’m going home.”
“You need to get checked.”
“I’m fine.”
“You’re not fine.”
“I’m walking, talking, and not unconscious. That’s fine.”
“That’s the bare minimum.”
“That’s all I’m aiming for.”
He stared at you for a second before stepping closer, clearly trying to stand his ground. “Look,” he said, voice calmer now but firmer too, “you hit your head hard enough to bleed and throw up. That’s not something you just ignore.”
You crossed your arms tighter. “Now you care? You should’ve taken me to the hospital an hour ago. Now I just wanna go home. I’ll deal with it later.”
“I know! But now I’ll do it. And that’s not dealing with it.”
“It is for me.”
He tilted his head slightly, studying you again in that annoyingly observant way. “You’re stubborn.”
“You’re an asshole.”
“Okay, maybe I am. But you’re still injured.”
“You’re the reason I’m injured.”
“Fair,” he admitted. “But that still doesn’t change the fact that you should get checked.”
You huffed, turning away again. “I should’ve been checked an hour ago. If I have a concussion now it doesn’t even matter. I’ll probably die soon anyway.”
“That’s not comforting!” he exclaimed, panicking a little.
“It’s reality.” You let out a long breath, pressing your fingers to your temple again. “I just want this night to be over and go home.”
His expression softened slightly at that. “Then let me help you end it properly.”
You glanced at him. “…By taking me to a hospital you should’ve taken me to hours ago?”
“Yes. And then I’ll take you home. And then,” he said, holding your gaze this time, “you never have to see me again.”
You nodded fast. That actually convinced more than anything he said before. Because that was exactly what you wanted. No more chaos, no more weird situations, no more… him… and his weird dumb friends.
You looked at him for a second longer. “…Promise?”
He nodded. “Promise.”
You sighed, shoulders dropping slightly as your resistance finally started to wear down. “…Fine. Let’s go.” You pointed at him. “I swear to God If I end up back in another studio—”
“You won’t.”
“If someone tries to diagnose me with a YouTube video again—”
“They won’t.”
“If I die—”
“You’re not going to die!”
“You don’t know that.”
“I’m pretty sure.”
You exhaled sharply. “Okay. Can we just go now?” He smiled then. That stupid, soft, slightly crooked smile that didn’t match the situation at all and somehow made it worse. You knew that smiled. That bunny smile your sister couldn’t stop talking about. “…What?” you said immediately.
“Nothing.”
“Why are you smiling like that?”
“Like what?.”
“Like an idiot.”
“I’m not!”
“You are.”
“It’s just my face.”
You squinted at him. “…That’s unfortunate.”
He rolled his eyes, opening the car door for you. “Get in.”
You rolled your eyes too but got in anyway. “Drive fast.”
“Yeah, yeah.”
——————————
The hospital was huge.
In a dramatic, clean and expensive way. Bright lights, quiet hallways, people moving with purpose like they’d done the same routine a hundred times before and would do it a hundred more without thinking twice about it. The place was beautiful in a way a castle would be. You wondered how many the doctors would be getting yearly because it was insane.
You sat on the edge of the bed in one of the examination rooms, arms loosely crossed, trying not to look as tired as you felt while a doctor gently cleaned the dried blood from your forehead. It stung a little, enough to make you flinch once or twice, but nothing unbearable. Compared to the rest of the night, this was almost peaceful.
Across the room, Jungkook stood near the wall, hands in his pockets, watching in that way people did when they didn’t know where to stand or what to do with themselves. He hadn’t said much since you got there, just answered the receptionist, handled paperwork, paid without hesitation, and stayed out of the way while still very much there.
From his side, the whole situation felt like something he absolutely did not need right now.
He didn’t need his manager finding out he’d disappeared mid-event to take a girl— a random girl— to the hospital. He didn’t need questions. He definitely didn’t need this somehow turning into a headline. And, if he was being honest, he didn’t need to get sued either, because the way you kept reminding him that he had, in fact, hit you with a door made that possibility feel a little too real.
Still, he stayed. Because leaving you there alone would’ve been worse.
The doctor stepped back slightly after finishing, giving you a quick once-over. “No signs of concussion,” he said, slow and clear. “You may feel dizzy or have a headache, but that’s normal. Rest tonight. If anything gets worse, come back.”
You nodded.
“Okay.”
“No heavy activity,” he added, then paused, glancing between you and Jungkook like he was trying to figure something out but ultimately deciding not to ask. “You’re good.”
“Thank you,” Jungkook said quickly.
The doctor nodded once and left to fill some papers.
You exhaled, shoulders relaxing slightly now that it was officially over.
“…See?” you said, glancing at Jungkook. “I’m fine.”
He didn’t look convinced. “You threw up.”
“I was overwhelmed.”
“You got hit in the head.”
“By you,” you uttered .
“By a door,” he corrected.
You shrugged lightly. “Same thing.”
He let out a breath through his nose, somewhere between a sigh and a quiet laugh. “Let’s just go.”
The drive to your house was quieter at first.
You leaned your head back against the seat, eyes half-closed, finally starting to feel the weight of the night settle in now that the adrenaline had worn off. Your forehead throbbed less, but enough to remind you it was still there.
The silence started becoming a little uncomfortable after some minutes. Jungkook glanced over once at you before turning on the music. It was soft at first. Low enough to not be intrusive. You didn’t pay attention to it immediately, your focus somewhere between resting and staying awake just enough to not accidentally fall asleep in a stranger’s car.
But then you recognized it. And then Jungkook started singing.
If you wanna, if you wanna, I'll do a thing for you
If you wanna, if you wanna, I'll do the thing for you
If you wanna, if you wanna…
You opened one eye slowly. “…Really?”
He glanced at you briefly. “What?”
“You’re playing your own song.”
“And it’s good, huh?”
“Huh?” you repeated, sitting up slightly.
He shrugged one shoulder, a small smile tugging at his mouth. “I thought you’d liked it.”
You stared at him. “Lemme guess…You thought this was everyone’s dream, didn’t you?”
“What?”
“Being stuck in a car with the biggest pop star in the world while he sings his own hit songs. You thought I will be dying for this. Oh, my god. A fan’s dream come true.” He actually smiled at that, clearly not noticing you were being sarcastic and mean. You let out a small, tired laugh, shaking your head. “Well, there’s just one problem.”
“And that is?”
“I’m not your fan.”
The words landed a little heavier than he expected them to. Jungkook blinked, the smile fading just slightly, not offended, just… processing.
“What do you mean— you don’t… You don’t like BTS?” He frowned, a little hurt. “I mean, I thought you didn’t like me because I hit you with a door.”
“I don’t like you because you hit me with a door,” you confirmed. You glanced out the window, watching the city pass by. “I’m not a hater. I’m just not a fan.”
“You don’t like my music?”
“I didn’t say that,” you replied. “I like your music.”
“Okay,” he said slowly. “Then what—”
“I’m just not crazy over you. I don’t like you.”
He stared at the road for a second, then back at you. “But you don’t even know me.”
You nodded. “Precisely.”
That confused him, you could see it. “Wouldn’t that mean you should give me a chance?”
“To what?”
“To… like me.”
You raised an eyebrow. “That’s a bold assumption.”
“I think it’s accurate,” he said, a little more confident now. “If you knew me, you’d like me.”
You snorted. “Wow.”
“What?”
“That’s… very convincing,” you said sarcastically.
“It is.”
“It’s not.”
“It is.”
“It’s really not.”
He glanced at you again. “You’re impossible.”
“And you’re full of yourself.”
“I’m not full of myself.”
“You just said I’d like you if I knew you,” you repeated.
“Because you would. If you knew me you would like me.”
“For the little time that I know you— not only have you lie to me but, you hit me with a door and treat me like a dog that has to obey you. So clearly I don’t like you.” You said, annoyed.
“That makes sense, but that was because I was in a hard situation!” He tried to explain. “You have to know me more. That way you would like—”
You shook your head, looking back out the window. “Turn right.”
He frowned slightly, the fact that you cut him off— ignoring him— and just gave him instructions like he was your driver threw him off a little. You were clearly not trying to be his friend or even nice to him.
Whatever.
He looked down at his GPS. “I could go straight.”
“Turn right.”
“It’s faster if I go straight.”
“It’s faster if you listen to me.”
He hesitated for a second. “…Fine.”
He turned. You leaned back again, satisfied. “See? Not so hard.”
“I still think my way was faster.”
“Your way is wrong.”
“My way is not wrong.”
“It is when I live here.”
“You don’t live here.”
“I’m staying here.”
“That’s not the same thing.”
“It’s enough.”
He exhaled quietly, shaking his head. “You argue about everything.”
“You started it.”
“I did not start it.”
“You did.”
God, you were annoying.
By the time you pulled up in front of your great-grandparents’ house, the tension had settled into something… quieter. The music was still playing and luckily for Jungkook, it was all his new album songs— which now he knew irritated you— and that made him satisfied.
You unbuckled your seatbelt, already reaching for the door.
Jungkook spoke first. “…Hey.”
You paused, glancing at him. “What?”
He moved his head a little uncomfortable. “I just want to say I’m sorry and—”
“Noted. Are we done now?” You held his gaze for a moment, looking at him like he was an idiot.
He blinked, a little offended. “Yeah… I guess. Yeah—”
“Good.”
You opened the door, stepping out without looking back, already walking toward the house like you couldn’t get away from the him fast enough.
Jungkook watched you go for a second too long.
“Nice to meet you too,” he whispered sarcastically into the silence of the car. Then leaned back in his seat, letting out a long breath. “…What the hell was that,” he muttered to himself.
He reached for the ignition and immediately froze, something caught his eye. A van passing behind him slowly. The logo was subtle in the dark… but not subtle enough for him. It was some gossip new channel there in Korea.
His expression changed immediately, he leaned down, trying to hide.
Fucking shit.
“…You’ve got to be kidding me.” He looked again, they were turning around the zone probably looking for him. Probably had watched him leave the HYBE building or even the hospital. Fuck, maybe was the fucking doctor. “Shit, shit…”
He still had his friend’s car so they couldn’t really recognize him yet.
He sat there for half a second, thinking.
Then quickly got out of the car, moving toward your house before he could second-guess himself, knocking lightly on the window when he saw you over the curtains like a creep. You were drinking something. He knocked a little harder just as you were about to disappear inside.
You turned slowly to the window, confused before you opened it. “…What now? Go away.”
He leaned in slightly, lowering his voice and looking a little too anxious for your liking. “Look— I’ll give you a thousand dollars if you do me a favor.”
You stared at him. “…It’s not a favor if you pay for it.”
“…So is that a yes?”
You were so done with Jeon Jungkook.
A few minutes later, you were outside again, dragging the old car cover from your great-grandparents’ garage while Jungkook stood awkwardly nearby to your door entrance, glancing over his shoulder every few seconds like he expected someone to jump out at any moment.
“Hurry up,” he screamed in a whisper.
“I’m hurrying,” you shot back. “This thing weighs more than me.”
“Why is it so heavy?”
“It’s old.”
“That’s not an explanation.”
“It’s fabric from the past,” you said, throwing it over the car. “It’s built different.”
“That doesn’t make sense.”
“Maybe not for idiots.”
He bit his tongue, holding back an insult becuase you were saving his ass. You adjusted it quickly, making sure it covered enough to be convincing. From a distance… well, it worked. You both looked at it.
“…Okay,” he said. “That’s actually good.”
“I know.” You turned back to him. “Now what?”
He hesitated. Then glanced at the house and then back at you. “…I need somewhere to wait.”
You stared at him. “…No.”
“Just for a bit.”
“No.”
“Until they stop doing circles around the neighborhood.”
“No.”
“I can’t stay out here.”
“Not my problem. Call an uber.”
“They’ll probably know who I am with!”
“I already did too much for you.”
He sighed, rubbing his face with frustration. “If I ask for an uber, even a cab— They’ll see this house. They’ll make stories about how I’m dating you or someone they see me with. You know how crazy this can get? I—” He stopped himself again, knowing you weren’t going to understand. “Just tonight. Please.”
You threw your head back, groaning frustrated and already regretting even coming to Korea.
“…I can’t believe I’m doing this.” You turned toward the house, not even looking at him. “Come on. Hurry up.”
He blinked a little surprised. “…Oh my god. Thank you, thank you so—”
“Just shut the hell up.”
He obeyed, following you immediately before you could regret it.
And just like that, you let him into your house, into your room. Which, honestly, might’ve been the worst decision you made all night. You were letting Jeon Jungkook, the global superstar, spend the night in your house— Oh, you were fucked.
WARNINGS -> idol!jungkook x fan!reader, power imbalance (?), fingering, semi public sex, degradation if you squint, dom!jungkook x sub!reader, please lmk if i missed anything because this is long😭
now playing: lady in my life - michael jackson˚.⋆♪
you didn’t know how you were able to meet jeon jungkook.
was fate playing an elaborate joke on you? was it meant to be? that was what you were wondering the moment you saw him.
you had been a bts fan for years. your friends and family rolled their eyes every time you rambled on and on about song meanings, interviews, and just how amazing your bias, jungkook was. how his voice was so beautiful, how infectious his laugh was, how you could get lost in his eyes even through a screen.
though you struggled to admit it, jungkook helped cure your chronic loneliness. it was almost pathetic—weverse lives were warped by your mind into one on one conversations, your lovesick eyes gazing into the screen as you ate dinner, pretending he only had eyes for you.
two nights before you met him, you saw him at bts’ concert in your city. it was fun, the most fun you’d had in a long time. you were in the front, something you ridiculous amounts of money for. it was harmless, low stakes entertainment.
one night before you met him, you were laying in your bed, face mask on, humming the song normal as you tried to forget how perfect he looked under those stage lights.
the night you met him, you were at a club. the harsh, skunk-esque scent of marijuana filled your nostrils and bass-heavy music filled your ears. your friends were distracted, gossiping as you stared at him wordlessly.
that couldn’t be him, you thought. he had to have moved on to another city. he couldn’t still be here. he couldn’t be in the same room as you. this handsome, brunette boy in this club couldn’t be your bias.
but his piercings were too identical to jungkook’s. this man was dressed just like jungkook, and when his right hand reached up to scratch his face—
holy shit. it was him.
you could recognize those tattoos from anywhere. the ARMY, the heart, the various colorful tattoos that you recognized one by one as your eyes trailed up his arm. your mouth went dry.
you had to sit down in your friends’ booth before your knees buckled. this can’t be happening. this can not be happening. you immediately felt self conscious about everything. you didn’t spend enough time on your hair. your dress was so boring. did your makeup melt off? you really hoped it didn’t. you frantically reapplied your lip gloss just in case.
your friend tapped you on the shoulder, “are you okay?”
you tried your best to sound natural, “of course, why?”
“you look like you just saw a ghost,” she giggled.
“i’m fine,” you insisted.
she turned back to the rest of your friend group.
you glanced at jungkook again. he was with some friends, ordering at the bar. he yawned.
you looked away, staring at the wall as you yawned. you swallowed, really hoping he didn’t see that. your fingers fumbled with the hem of your dress.
you couldn’t do this. you needed a walk. “i’m gonna go… get some air,” you blurted to your friends, your voice cracking on the last syllable.
“want me to go with you?” a friend asked.
“no,” you said too fast as you got up and practically ran to the exit.
as you turned to get up, you made direct eye contact with jungkook.
he was staring. not in your direction, not at your booth. at you.
this can’t be happening.
your eyes widened. you scurried towards the door, the number of people around you getting smaller and the music getting fainter the closer you got.
you felt a big hand grab your arm. you almost gasped when you turned to him.
jungkook.
you froze like a deer in headlights, “hello?”
he looked more handsome in person, his silver lip piercings slightly reflecting the dim light. his eyes glistened so perfectly your heart ached. he was everything you thought he’d be and more.
he broke the silence, “you were staring at me.”
“no.” you lied, turning to leave.
“you yawned right after me,” he grabbed your arm again.
“i was tired,” you muttered, “who are you?”
you didn’t know why you asked that. you definitely knew who he was.
his eyes narrowed, “you don’t know who i am?”
you forced a scoff, “should i?”
he shrugged, “you stared at me like you did.”
you tried to step to the side to pass him. he mirrored you.
“i said i was tired,” you muttered.
“and i said you were staring at me.”
you huffed, looking up at him.
big mistake. he was close. your heart pounded.
his skin looked so perfect. don’t stare don’t stare don’t stare—
“what do you want?” you tried to use a demanding tone, but your voice was too shaky.
he looked at you up and down, “still trying to figure that out.”
you bit your lip. he stepped closer. you backed into a wall. big mistake.
“you know, most people just come up and say hi.”
your heart dropped.
“i-i’m not most people,” you softly shot back.
his expression shifted to something softer, more intrigued.
“you just looked…” you started.
breathtaking. divine. amazing.
“weird,” you finished.
“weird?” he echoed.
“yep.”
he stepped closer into your space. you could smell his cologne.
he had a smug glint in his eyes, “you’re nervous.”
your eyebrows furrowed, “i’m not.”
he chuckled, “you are such a bad liar, you know that?”
his eyes shifted down to your lips. your breath hitched. he brushed his thumb against the corner of your mouth, “your lip gloss smudged.”
you didn’t speak. you couldn’t.
“you say you’re not nervous,” his fingers slid from your lip to your wrist, “but why are you shaking?”
you hadn’t noticed until he said it.
“i…” you trailed off.
he grinned, and it was probably the most beautiful thing you’d seen in your life.
your breath stuttered. stupid, traitorous warmth spread through you.
“you’re weird.”
“you grabbed me first,” you grumbled.
“yeah,” his eyes flicked to your lips again, “i did.”
and then he kissed you. no warning, no buildup, he just kissed you.
none of this felt real. you wondered when you would wake up in your bed, realizing you had the best dream of your life.
you kissed him back harder than you thought you would, hands finding his face and pulling him closer. he obliged, deepening the kiss.
when he pulled back for air, he didn’t go far. his forehead almost touched yours.
“you always kiss strangers like that?” he asked.
your brain stalled. you almost laughed. if only he knew.
“do you always grab girls in clubs like that?” you muttered.
his grin didn’t falter. if anything, it softened, eyes flicking over your face like he was trying to memorize it.
“only the ones who stare at me like that.”
your heart fluttered stupidly at that.
his hands were still on your waist. he hadn’t moved them. you hadn’t asked him to. the music thumped faintly through the walls, but out here it felt quiet. too quiet. like the world had narrowed down to just this. his hands, his breath, the way he was looking at you like you were something worth figuring out.
you swallowed, your gaze dropping to his lips again. big mistake. his thumbs stilled against your waist.
“…you’re doing it again,” he murmured.
heat flooded your face. you looked away quickly, shaking your head.
“i’m not…”
“you are,” he said softly, like he wasn’t even teasing anymore.
your chest felt tight. this wasn’t how this was supposed to go. you weren’t supposed to be here, pressed against a wall, being looked at like this by someone you had spent years—
“what’re you thinking about?”
“you’re just—” you cut yourself off.
he tilted his head slightly. “just what?”
perfect. beautiful. everything.
“annoying,” you finished weakly.
he huffed out a quiet laugh, but his eyes didn’t leave your face.
“yeah,” he murmured, unconvinced. “that’s not it.”
you didn’t respond.
you couldn’t.
because the longer he looked at you like that, the harder it was to remember how to act normal. how to pretend you didn’t know the way his voice sounded at three in the morning, soft through a screen. how to pretend this wasn’t something you had imagined a hundred times before.
his hand shifted slightly, sliding a little higher on your waist. not enough to be inappropriate, just enough to make your breath catch.
“you don’t act like you know me,” he said quietly.
your stomach dropped.
“because i don’t,” you whispered.
another lie.
he studied you for a long moment, eyes searching your face like he was trying to catch you in it.
“…right,” he said finally, but he didn’t sound convinced.
your heart pounded. say something. anything.
“why did you follow me?” you asked instead.
his lips curved, just a little.
“you ran away.”
you blinked. “i didn’t run.”
“you did,” he said easily. “and you looked like you were about to pass out.”
you felt your face heat up again. “i was fine.”
“mhm.”
he didn’t believe you. of course he didn’t. you let out a small breath, your shoulders relaxed just a little despite yourself.
“i just needed air.”
“so did i,” he said.
you frowned slightly. “you seemed fine.”
“yeah,” he said, eyes flicking down to your lips again, “but then i saw you leave.”
your heart skipped.
oh.
oh.
you didn’t know what to do with that. the silence stretched again, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. it was… heavy. warm. like something was building between you and neither of you wanted to be the one to break it.
his fingers flexed slightly against your waist.
“what’s your name?” he asked.
your breath caught. this was it. this was where it became real. this was where you ruined everything. you hesitated.
his brows pulled together just a little, like that wasn’t the reaction he expected “what?” he said softly.
“i just…” you trailed off, your voice small. “i don’t think i should.”
he blinked, surprised.
“why not?”
because if you told him, this would end.
because if you told him, he might realize.
because this—whatever this was—felt too good to be real, and you didn’t want it to stop.
you shook your head, looking down.
“i just don’t want this to be weird.”
he watched you carefully, something shifting in his expression again. softer. more serious.
“it’s already weird,” he said quietly.
you let out a small, breathy laugh.
“yeah,” you admitted.
his thumb brushed lightly against your side, absentminded.
“then don’t tell me,” he said after a moment. “my name is jungkook.”
you looked up at him, surprised.
he held your gaze for a moment before one of his hands left your waist, reaching into his pocket.
your heart stuttered at the loss of contact.
he pulled out his phone, unlocking it quickly before taking your hand—gentler this time—and placing it in yours.
your fingers trembled slightly.
“put your number in,” he said.
you stared at the screen like it might disappear.
this wasn’t real. this couldn’t be real.
“…why?” you asked softly.
his lips twitched, like he found the question funny.
“because i want to see you again.”
your chest tightened.
you glanced up at him, searching his face for any hint that he didn’t mean it.
there wasn’t one. he looked… sure. like this was the easiest decision he’d made all night.
“unless,” he added, quieter now, “you’re gonna pretend you don’t want that either.”
your heart melted completely. you looked back down at his phone, your vision blurring slightly as you typed your number in with shaky fingers.
you handed his phone back to him. your fingers brushed. you almost forgot how to breathe. he glanced at the screen, saving it, then looked back at you.
“mystery girl,” he read under your contact, a small smile tugging at his lips.
you huffed out a soft laugh. “you’re annoying.”
“yeah,” he said, stepping just a little closer again, like he couldn’t help himself, “you said that.”
your heart was beating so fast it hurt.
“i meant it.”
“sure you did.”
his gaze dropped to your lips again. slower this time. more deliberate. your breath hitched.
“i’ll text you,” he murmured.
you nodded, barely. “okay.”
neither of you moved. not really. just stood there, too close, like neither of you wanted to be the first to step away.
his hand lingered at your waist for a second longer before he finally let it fall. the absence felt immediate. cold.
he took a small step back, but his eyes stayed on you.
“don’t run off again,” he said.
you swallowed.
“…i won’t.”
his smile came back, softer this time.
“good.”
and then he turned, walking back toward the door—
before glancing over his shoulder one last time like he wanted to make sure you were still there. exactly where he left you.
・・・・・
jungkook had never dated anyone like you before.
you were strange, a little evasive, but when he finally got you to open up, you were nothing like he expected.
he didn’t think about you in a normal way anymore. that was the problem. it had started as curiosity. this girl in a club who looked at him like she recognized him but refused to admit it. now it had turned into something quieter, more constant. like a habit he couldn’t drop.
you.
you, who still wouldn’t call him first sometimes but always answered immediately when he texted.
you, who pretended not to know things about him and then accidentally hummed songs from his older albums when you thought he wasn’t listening.
you, who acted shy with him like you weren’t always the one trying to get closer to him.
jungkook laid on his hotel bed, phone in hand, staring at your name.
you: are you awake?
it was almost 2 am in your time zone. why were you up? he smiled before he even realized it.
jungkook: what’s up?
there was a pause.
you: i can’t sleep
he exhaled through his nose, turning onto his side.
jungkook: come here then
another pause. longer this time. he could practically feel you thinking through the screen.
you: i’m literally across the country
jungkook: i know
jungkook: still want you here. haven’t seen you face to face in weeks
the typing bubble appeared immediately.
disappeared. appeared again.
he pictured your face exactly in that moment. how your lips would press together when you were trying not to overthink something.
you: that’s not fair
he laughed softly to himself.
jungkook: it’s very fair
jungkook: you started this. want a red eye or do you want your beauty sleep?
another pause.
you: i hate you
he smiled wider.
jungkook: no you don’t
he was right, and you both knew it.
when he flew you out for the first time, you were nervous when you saw him at the airport. you just stood there for a second too long, staring at him like you were trying to confirm he was real.
then you walked straight into him. no hesitation, arms around his neck, face buried against his shoulder like you belonged there.
“hi,” you mumbled.
jungkook laughed into your hair, tightening his hold around your waist.
“hi,” he said back, softer.
you smelled like your perfume and airport air and something distinctly you that he couldn’t describe. you pulled back just enough to look at him.
“you look tired,” you said immediately, voice slightly raspy.
“i just flew twelve hours,” he said.
you nodded seriously. “that’ll do it.”
then you reached up and fixed his hair like it was the most natural thing in the world. jungkook froze for half a second. then he leaned into your touch without thinking.
that was the first time he realized it.
you didn’t treat him like jungkook. you treated him like him.
the days blurred after that. you stayed in the city while he was on tour, slipping into his schedule like you had always been part of it.
you didn’t ask for much. you just showed up. you sat in dressing rooms while he got ready, legs curled under you, quietly scrolling on your laptop while he talked around you. sometimes you’d look up and just… watch him.
not in that overwhelming way from the club. in a soft way. like you were learning him.
“what?” he’d ask once, catching you.
you’d blink. “nothing.”
“you’re staring again.”
you’d shrug, unbothered. “you’re interesting.”
that had made him pause.
no one had ever called him that.
not like that.
after shows, you were always waiting.
not backstage screaming. just there. hoodie oversized, hair slightly messy, holding something small for him—water, food, a dumb little snack you found nearby.
he started looking for you in crowds without meaning to. and every time he found you, your face would soften like you forgot everything else existed. that expression did something to him.
every time.
you were strange in a way he didn’t know how to categorize. you didn’t fawn over him. you didn’t ask for pictures. you didn’t even really talk about what he did unless he brought it up.
instead, you talked about random things.
the way clouds looked different in each city. how you thought certain songs felt like specific temperatures. he didn’t always understand you. but he always wanted to.
one night, after a show, you were sitting on his hotel bed while he stood by the window, half-dressed.
you were talking about something ridiculous again. he wasn’t really listening to the words. just you. your hands moved when you spoke. your voice softened when you got sleepy. your eyes kept drifting to him like it was instinct.
“you’re doing it again,” you said suddenly.
he looked over. “doing what?”
you pointed at him. “that thing where you look at me like i’m gonna disappear.”
“i don’t—”
“you do.”
you both paused.
“why?”
he walked over slowly and sat beside you.
the mattress dipped under his weight. he didn’t answer right away. instead, he looked at you properly.
you blushed, breaking eye contact.
“you’re different,” he said finally.
you hummed. “that’s not an answer,” you mumbled.
he smiled a little, “it is for me.”
you shifted closer without thinking, like it was muscle memory now. “good different?” you asked.
his gaze dropped to your lips for a second before coming back up. “yeah,” he said softly. “good different.”
you nodded like that was enough. then you leaned your head against his shoulder. and jungkook thought, absurdly, quietly that he could get used to this.
you, like this. you, next to him. you, staying.
and for the first time in a long time, jungkook wasn’t thinking about what came next. he was just thinking about you not leaving.
he was falling, deeper and deeper as the months of the tour passed.
when the it was over, he didn’t even hesitate to fly back with you to your city.
it was bliss. going out on dates, tipsily stumbling into his airbnb, making out on the couch. he felt himself falling for you every time he looked into your pretty eyes. he didn’t want to push you, but he really wanted to come over to your place.
tonight, you two were out at a lounge together, a place you told him was your favorite. you wore the cutest pink top with a skirt that had his head spinning.
you had requested a private room, knowing he’d probably want privacy.
the hostess closed the door behind you, the noise of the lounge softening into a distant hum.
it was quieter in here with just the two of you. you slipped your shoes off the moment you stepped inside, tucking them neatly by the couch before settling down like you’d been here a hundred times before.
“i like this one,” you murmured, running your fingers over the soft fabric of the seat.
jungkook watched you for a second before taking off his shoes and sitting across from you.
“…you come here a lot?” he asked.
you shook your head, smiling a little.
“not really,” you admitted, glancing up at him. “but i thought you’d like it.”
something in his chest shifted at that.
you didn’t say it like you were trying to impress him. you said it like it mattered to you.
you didn’t stay across from him. you never did. after a moment, you shifted, moving beside him instead, your thigh brushing his as you settled in. closer than necessary. jungkook exhaled softly through his nose.
“…couldn’t see me from over there?” he murmured.
you shook your head, blushing softly. “i just like being closer,” you said, quieter now. your shoulder leaned into his. you didn’t move.
your hand found his sleeve again, fingers tracing lightly over the fabric before slipping lower, slower this time, until your fingers brushed his.
hesitated.
then laced with his.
jungkook stilled. your thumb moved over his knuckles, slow, absentminded, but it didn’t feel absentminded to him. nothing about you did.
you leaned in slightly, your chin brushing his shoulder as you looked out at the room, but your body stayed angled toward him.
toward him.
always toward him.
“it’s nice in here,” you whispered. your breath ghosted against his neck.
jungkook swallowed. “yeah,” he said, lower now. “it is.”
that was when you planted a soft kiss onto his neck. then his jaw. then his cheek. he turned to face you, and you captured his lips in a sweet, soft kiss. you pulled back, giggling like you were proud of yourself.
“what’d i do to deserve that?” he teased.
“nothing,” you replied, “just felt like it.”
he didn’t know if it was the drinks or the room, but something about you felt warmer. softer. his hand slid from your hand to your thigh. the skin was smooth.
slowly, as you rambled and you two drank, he drifted his fingers higher and higher up your thigh. you let him do it.
he paused when the back of his hand brushed against your panties. they were soaked through. your eyes widened.
“you’re excited.”
your eyes widened. you buried your face in your hands.
“ah-ah,” he tutted. “let me see you.”
he brought your hands down, your wide, glossy eyes staring up at him.
“that’s my girl.”
your breath hitched. he felt you get wetter. his pants were suddenly tight. he slightly pressed his fingers against your clit through the fabric. you let out a high pant.
“so sensitive,” he teased as he lazily pressed harder.
you squirmed under his touch, your hips shifting in a desperate attempt for more friction. a soft whimper escaped your lips as he continued to tease you through the fabric.
"look at you," jungkook murmured, his voice low and husky. "so needy already. i've barely touched you."
his fingers traced the outline of your panties, deliberately avoiding where you wanted him most. your breath hitched when he finally hooked a finger under the fabric, pulling it aside to reveal your glistening folds.
"all this for me?" he chuckled, his eyes darkening with desire. "you really are something else."
without warning, he slid a finger inside you, and you gasped at the sudden intrusion. your walls clenched around him immediately, drawing him deeper.
"so tight," he groaned, adding another finger. "and so fucking wet. you've been thinking about this, haven't you?"
you could only nod, your eyes fluttering shut as he began to move his fingers in a slow, deliberate rhythm. his thumb found your clit, circling it with just enough pressure to make you see stars.
"open your eyes," he commanded, his voice firm but not harsh. "i want to see you."
you struggled to obey, your heavy lids fighting to stay open as waves of pleasure washed over you. when you finally managed to focus on him, you were met with a smug, confident smirk that made your stomach flutter.
"that's it," he praised, curling his fingers just right. "taking my fingers so well."
your response was a broken moan as he increased his pace, his thumb working faster against your sensitive nub. the coil in your stomach tightened rapidly, threatening to snap at any moment.
"not yet," he warned, sensing how close you were. "i want to hear you beg first."
"please," you whispered, your voice barely audible. "jungkook, please..."
"please what?" he teased, slowing his movements almost to a stop. "use your words, baby."
"please let me come," you begged, tears of frustration and pleasure welling in your eyes. "i need it so badly..."
he considered you for a moment, his expression unreadable. then, without warning, he plunged his fingers back inside you, hitting that perfect spot over and over again as his thumb pressed firmly against your clit.
"come for me then," he commanded. "all over my fingers."
the permission was all you needed. your back arched off the couch as your orgasm crashed over you, intense and overwhelming. you cried out his name as waves of pleasure pulsed through your body, your walls clenching rhythmically around his fingers. you came hard, soaking them.
“aw, baby,” he teased, slipping his fingers out, “made a mess all in your panties, didn’t you?”
he kissed your forehead, “don’t worry. we’ll have you all cleaned up when we get home.”
you didn’t look disheveled, but there was a distinct haze in your eyes that wasn’t there before. you put your head on his shoulder, your hair brushing against his neck.
when the server came back, he paid the bill without even giving you a chance to suggest splitting, you murmuring a soft “thank you,” planting a kiss onto his cheek, something he was beginning to crave.
the ride to your house was short.
you both were slightly tipsy, but jungkook was coherent enough to drive, one hand on the wheel and one on your thigh.
your apartment was humble and simply decorated. you didn’t give him much time to look at it before you kissed him.
when you walked him to your room, he wasn’t paying attention, more focused on you and deepening this kiss.
the room had posters scattered all over the walls, typical for a young person.
until he noticed one specific one.
it was a bts poster. not just any old picture, he knew exactly when the picture was taken. he was twenty-four, and the group was about to go on hiatus. he was mid laugh, and he remembered namjoon making some joke that cracked him up. namjoon was always funny to him.
his lips lost all rhythm.
you weren’t some girl who didn’t know who he was. you were a fan.
his mind raced. did you plan this? was he stupid? the signs were right there.
his heart dropped.
you never wanted him, you wanted the idea of him. the idea of being with a pop star. jungkook swallowed.
how could he not see it? the way you stared at him in that club. your evasiveness. your nervousness.
he pulled back, your shirt slipping off your shoulder. you responded with a confused look. he just kept staring at the poster.
“jungkook, what—“ you cut yourself off when you saw what he was looking at. your smile dropped.
he looked down at you, and he saw horror behind your wide eyes.
“how long?”
“i…” you trailed off. you looked away from him in an attempt on retain composure, “i was going to tell you, b-but i got scared and…”
you kept going, but he stopped listening. he should be terrified. angry that you didn’t say what you were. storm out of your room and block you.
but your room smelled like cocoa and vanilla.
your eyes became glossy with unshed tears.
and he knew he was in too deep to stay upset.
“…i want you to know that i never cared about the money or the fame, i just wanted—“
he interrupted your trembling words with a kiss. not a normal one—one that said i don’t care. i want you.
your taste was addicting, like the fruity drink you ordered at the lounge. your lips were the softest he’d ever kissed.
he walked you to your fluffy pink bed as he kissed you like he was drinking you in. his tongue explored your mouth freely. you laid back on the bed. he crawled over you.
he couldn’t comprehend it. how could someone like you—someone so beautiful, funny, charismatic, shy, strange, stubborn, perfect—sit in your pretty little room and listen to his music religiously enough to have a poster up in your room?
he pulled back, a string of saliva the last thing that connected your swollen lips to his.
“jungkook…” you whispered.
“baby, you’ve really been a fan of me this whole time?”
you nodded, slightly dazed, “i’ve been a fan since 2018.”
that was when he snapped.
he slid your hands up and under his shirt to feel the hard planes of his torso. maintaining eye contact, you slid his shirt up further and further until he lifted his big arms and let you fully take it off.
you studied him for too long, eyes trailing his wide shoulders and muscular torso. your pupils dilatad. goosebumps crawled up his arms.
he hadn’t ever been more grateful than then that he stayed consistent at the gym.
when he got up to take off his pants, you got the memo and slipped off your clothing.
he turned back to you. you were bare, laying back against the bed. he froze. not because of your body. because of you.
you weren’t trying to be anything. you weren’t posing, weren’t hiding, weren’t performing. you just looked up at him, soft and a little shy, like you didn’t even realize what you were doing to him.
like you didn’t know how beautiful you were.
jungkook’s breath caught in his chest.
for a second, he didn’t move at all.
his eyes traced you slowly, almost reverently, like he was afraid if he rushed it, the moment would break. the soft curve of you against the sheets, the way your hair fanned out beneath you, the warmth in your gaze that was still fixed on him.
“hey,” you murmured, your voice small, a little uncertain under the weight of his stare.
that snapped something in him.
he stepped closer without thinking, slower this time, like he was approaching something fragile. something sacred.
his hand reached out, hesitating just for a second before brushing lightly against your arm.
“you’re…” he started, then stopped, his throat tightening.
he let out a quiet breath, shaking his head slightly, almost in disbelief.
“…you’re so pretty,” he finished, softer than anything he’d said all night.
his strong hands flipped you onto your stomach with ease. you let out a soft gasp.
you arched your back almost instinctively. he bit his lip, lining up.
“are you sure you want this?” he whispered.
you nodded eagerly, “i need it.”
that was when he pressed inside. you were so tight, he had to fight the urge to come right then and there.
your walls clenched around him. his vision blurred at the edges. he let out a ragged groan, the sound vibrating through his chest and into yours. he started to move, a slow, deep rhythm that stole the air from your lungs. each withdrawal was a sweet agony, each return a blissful homecoming. you could feel every thick inch of him, the vein pulsing on the underside of his shaft as he dragged against your sensitive inner walls.
he leaned over you, his hot breath fanning across the back of your neck, the silver of his lip piercing a cool contrast against your flushed skin. "fuck," he let out, his voice a low, strained rumble. "you feel... you feel like you were made for me." his hands, large and warm, slid up your back, tracing the curve of your spine before his fingers tangled in your hair at the nape. he didn't pull, just held you, a grounding, possessive touch that made you whimper.
you pushed back into him, meeting his thrusts, a silent plea for more. he understood. his pace quickened, the sound of skin meeting skin filling your room, a sound that mingled with your soft cries and his harsh breaths. the coil in your belly wound tighter, impossibly tight, a spring ready to snap. "jungkook," you gasped, his name a prayer on your lips as your fingers scrabbled for purchase on your pink sheets. "i can't... it's too much."
"no, baby," he rasped, his rhythm becoming more deliberate, more punishing. he angled his hips, and the next thrust hit that spot deep inside you that made stars explode behind your eyes. "you can take it. you will take it." his free hand snaked around your hip, his fingers finding your clit, swollen and slick from your last orgasm. he circled it once, twice, a feather-light touch that was your undoing.
jungkook knew he was wrong.
he had you bent over on your own bed, your cheek rubbing against your pink pillow as he thrusted into you again.
he looked up at your walls, several bts posters scattered throughout them. your shelf had a stack of albums. he even noticed a cooky plush on your bed.
“sweet girl,” he murmured, tattooed hand gripping your hip to get a new angle, “‘got my posters all over your room.”
a blush crawled up your neck as you arched your back further.
“i wanted this for so long,” you whined.
“i know, baby, i know,” his voice was rough with a cocky edge. he snapped his hips harder to hear the little whimper you let out. “never thought your bias would split you open like this, huh?”
you shook your head.
he picked up his pace. you let out a soft, breathy moan, fingers clutching the soft sheets, voice all sweet and trembling like melted sugar. “jungkook… right there—please…”
he tugged a your hair, “yeah? you’ve been such a good girl for me. saving this sweet pussy just for me? dripping all over my cock because your favorite finally noticed you… so fucking cute. you gonna cum for me? gonna make a mess on the dick you’ve fantasized about for years?”
his filthy words made you clench around him. your voice came out even softer, shy and adoring, almost whispering it into the pillow, “mhm… just for you.”
something in the way you said it; so gentle, so genuinely sweet and full of pure affection. hit him right in the chest. his rhythm faltered for half a second, then he pulled out with a wet sound, making you whine at the sudden emptiness.
“turn over,” he ordered, voice thick but urgent. “now. i need to see your face.”
you obeyed instantly, rolling onto your back with those big soft eyes looking up at him, cheeks flushed pink, lips swollen and parted in a little gasp. your hair was messy against the pillow, and the way you looked up at him, all shy and adoring, made his cock twitch hard.
he pushed your thighs apart and slid back inside you in one smooth thrust, groaning at how warm and wet you still were. “there she is, my girl. fuck, look at that face. so pretty for me.“
you reached up, soft hands cupping his face, voice like honey as he started moving again, deep and steady, “jungkook?”
“yeah?”
“i think i love you.”
he froze. the words hung in the air, delicate and devastating. it wasn't the breathy, sex-fueled confession he was used to, the kind whispered in the dark by girls who loved the idea of him. this was different. your eyes, wide and sincere, held no trace of fantasy. you meant it.
"don't," he warned, his voice dropping an octave, losing all its playful arrogance. he started moving again, but the rhythm was different. slower, deeper, almost punishing. "don't say that."
"but it's true," you whispered, your thumbs stroking his cheeks. "i've loved you for so long. even before this. i just... i never thought i'd get to tell you."
every word was a tiny, perfect needle, pricking at the armor he'd spent years building. he looked away from your eyes, his gaze landing on a poster of himself above your headboard—his younger, softer self staring back. the irony was suffocating. he was fucking his fan on a bed surrounded by his own face, and she was telling him she loved him like it was the most natural thing in the world.
"you don't love me," he grunted, his hips snapping a little harder, trying to force the intimacy back into the physical. "you love this. you love the idea of getting fucked by your bias."
"i love you," you repeated, stronger this time, your legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him impossibly deeper. "i love your voice. i love the way you laugh. i love how hard you work. and i love how you feel inside me right now."
he cursed, a low, guttural sound torn from his throat. he buried his face in your neck, his hot breath fanning against your skin. he was losing control. this was supposed to be a conquest, a bit of fun, a story to maybe tell the guys later if he was drunk enough. it wasn't supposed to be this. it wasn't supposed to feel like this.
"look at me," you pleaded softly, your fingers tangling in his hair. "please, jungkook."
he resisted for a moment, then slowly lifted his head. your eyes were glassy with unshed tears, but your expression was full of nothing but adoration. it was terrifying.
"say something," you whispered.
"what do you want me to say?" his voice was raw, vulnerable in a way he hadn't allowed himself to be in years. "that i love you too? i don't even know you."
"you know me," you insisted, your voice trembling slightly. "you're seeing all of me right now. this is me. this is my room. this is my heart."
he groaned and kissed you then, hard and desperate. it wasn't a kiss of passion, but of surrender. he poured all his confusion, his frustration, and the terrifying spark of something he refused to name into it. when he pulled back, his forehead was resting against yours.
“fuck,” he rasped between kisses, “i love you too.”
you pulled back. your eyes widened in disbelief, eyes wet with unshed tears, “really?”
“mhm,” he murmured, going in for another soft, wet kiss.
he pulled back, studying you for a moment. his heart ached.
"you're gonna ruin me," he admitted, the words barely audible.
"good," you breathed, a single tear finally escaping and tracing a path down your temple. "let me ruin you."
he started moving again, his pace now deliberate and intense. every thrust was a question, every drag of his cock against your walls an answer he wasn't ready to hear. he watched your face, memorizing the way your lips parted, the flush on your cheeks, the way your eyes fluttered closed when he hit just the right spot.
"jungkook," you moaned, your hands sliding down through his hair, pulling him closer. "please... come with me. look at me when you come."
he locked his gaze with yours, his hips pistoning faster, the bedframe groaning in protest. the coil in his stomach tightened to an impossible degree. "mine," he whispered breathily in your ear, the words a mix of possession and awe. "my fucking girl."
"yours," you cried out, your body arching off the bed as your orgasm crashed over you. "only yours.”
the sight of you, completely undone beneath him, calling his name with such raw devotion, was his undoing. he came with a strangled groan, his eyes never leaving yours as he emptied himself into you, marking you as his in the most primal way possible.
he collapsed on top of you, his weight grounding you both as you both struggled to catch your breath. the room was silent save for the pounding of his heart against your chest.
after a long moment, he shifted, rolling to the side but keeping you tucked against him. he looked at the cooky plushie squished between your pillows, then back at your peaceful, sated face.
he knew he was wrong. this wasn't just fan service anymore. this was something else entirely. and he was completely, utterly fucked.
“you’re not getting rid of me.”
you kissed his cheek, “good.”
author’s note: it’s finally here! this story was my unhinged baby and i’m glad it wasn’t too unhinged for you guys to like the teaser!!! i hope this lives up to your expectations and thank you for reading🤍
I saw that you’re taking requests for the boulevard is not that bad, and I thought what if the tables were turned and reader got injured? I wonder how they’d react! Maybe reader gets lost in the crowd and thinks they’re gonna leave her, but they actually notice her disappearance and look for her. They’d get worried when they find her injured and realise they actually care about her.
Thank you so much! I’m in loveeee with this story🫶🏼🫶🏼🫶🏼
Thank you for reading and requesting gorgeous! I hope you're doing well too
cw: crowd crush, rioting, police
a/n: Please do not misconstrue my participation in the marauders fandom as support of JKR. If you’re new here and want to participate in the fandom, I encourage you to do so without participating in anything that would provide financial gain to her or her transphobic agendas
part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9 | part 10 | part 11 | part 12 | part 13
rockstar!marauders x journalist!reader ♡ 2k words
You're not interviewing the boys until after the show, and you reason there's no point in hanging around their dressing room if you're not getting quotes. So, you go to the crowd.
It's a half-baked plan. You can't ask fans to speculate about an album they don't know about yet, so you figure you'll ask some questions about what The Marauders mean to them or how it feels to be here or whatever. It'll come to you. Or it won't, which would also be fine, because you probably won't get anything you can use in the feature anyway. You just need a distraction.
It does feel good to be down in the action, though. You've loved being backstage at so many shows—watching the band prepare, seeing all that goes into it, it hasn't lost its sparkle for you yet—but this is where your heart is.
It's where you started. With your shoes sticking to grimy floor, neck craning to witness the live performance of a song you've heard a thousand times on the record player in your own home. Hearing and seeing the same emotions you've felt intimately grip musicians while they play. Experiencing it, along with everyone else there, all of you losing yourselves to the sort of raw feeling only music has ever given you.
You're back in it now.
The Marauders go on, and you tell yourself you've spent enough time dissecting them. You let go. There are certain things you still can't help but notice—the fondness behind Remus' exasperation when Sirius bumps their hips together playfully, how James grins sheepishly at someone backstage when he's handed yet another drumstick—but for the most part, you just experience the music.
It goes by faster than usual. The songs are mostly the same ones you've heard at every show thus far, though the sparkle of those hasn't worn off for you either. All too soon, the boys are ending on Sweet and Easy, the crowd screaming for more even after they've repeated the riff at the end twice.
You're left buzzing, that raw feeling coursing through you, feeling the best you have in days. You figure you have some time before Lily rounds everyone up to go back to wherever you're staying tonight—you think it's still Birmingham one more day, if James' Cadbury World plans are any indication, but Lily said something about switching hotels—so you go outside to smoke with a gangle of fans.
In addition to a bummed cigarette, you get some half decent material from them. The feature isn't likely to include fan quotes, but if the band flakes on you and you need to fluff it up, these will be useable. You manage to sneak in a few questions about the direction The Marauders might go in without letting anything slip about new music, and the fans don't suspect you of knowing anything worth letting slip anyway. They just want to talk about a band they adore, and you're more than pleased to let them.
Even later, you won't know exactly how it began. The street in front of the venue has been crowded since you stepped outside, but suddenly it's crammed with bodies. You drop your cigarette on instinct when somebody pushes past you. Not two seconds later, someone going the other direction stamps it out. Voices rise, a familiar, foreboding thrum charing the air: anger.
You squash down your panic, looking for an exit route. These things happen. Riots are common at rock concerts. Back when you were going to these gigs in a more regular fashion, you would have remembered to find your way out quickly afterwards, before any could break out. You don't know who's fighting who at this one, or what side you might be presumed to be on. You should go before you find out.
The crowd is near impossible to move through. You find the venue doors locked, and your chest tightens. Any other time you'd just go, but you need to get inside to meet up with Mary, Lily, and the boys. You try to make your way around the building—weathering a few stepped-on toes, a wayward elbow, and a powerful shove.
The last one nearly sends you to the pavement. Another stranger grips you around the elbow to haul you back up, you gasping out a thanks while your ankle twinges and the man who shoved you doesn't so much as look back.
You find the side entrance you'd come in with the band, knocking on the door and trying to muster whatever professionalism you'd lost in the cigarette-smoggy mayhem a few feet behind you.
A security guard pokes his head out.
"Hi," you say. "Are The Marauders still inside?"
He huffs a laugh, already going to close the door again. "Nope."
You shove your foot in the way. Force down a wince—you must have tweaked your ankle when you almost fell. "I'm from Spellbound Magazine." You show him your press pass. "I'm with the band."
The security guard looks right past the piece of plastic, unimpressed. "The band's gone. You can catch them at another show, but not here."
A bolt of panic goes through you. You do your best to smother it. Security does this sort of thing all the time. He thinks you're someone who's not supposed to be here, so he's lying to get you to go away. You just have to prove yourself.
The guard looks down at your shoe, still wedged in the door, then at you, and you know you have a short window.
"If you find Mary—or anyone who works with the band, they'll tell you I'm with them. I came in this door a few hours ago, I just stepped outside."
"You can find see band somewhere else," the security guard says. He gives the toe of your shoe a kick—not even a hard one, but your ankle smarts and it does the trick. "Night."
The metal door shuts with a clang.
Deja-vu.
You don't have much time to think of another plan before commotion from the street catches your attention. The shouts are getting louder and angrier, and you know what that means even before the first shrill whistle pierces the air. The police have arrived.
You step closer to the alley wall, hoping to escape notice and hunker down here until someone you know eventually comes out, but it's not long before people are flooding the alley. There are so many of them you don't think they can all have been at the show. One of the fans you interviewed earlier grabs for you.
"Come on!"
"Oh, no, I—" You mean to let them pass, but the police are advancing behind, arresting those at the back of the crowd. You don't know if the same press pass the venue security disregarded a minute ago is going to make much difference to them. "Shit."
You let yourself be tugged down the alley, then propelled by the general mass of people when the one who tugged you loses their grip. You know for sure you messed up your ankle now. It throbs with every step, and it doesn't help matters that you often don't know where the next step will land, finding yourself moving left or right by the will of the crowd. Every time you try to break away, it seems like the police are right there, and so you keep moving.
Eventually, you aren't being chased anymore. Those around you disperse, going home or to whatever bars are still open. You go in the opposite direction of all of them.
It takes you longer than it should to retrace your steps back to the venue. When you knock on the metal side door, there's no answer. Not that you really thought there would be. There isn't a single light on inside or out.
It occurs to you far too late that you should have just found the bus. If you'd gone there earlier, rather than wasting your time arguing pointlessly with security…it's what a smarter journalist would have done. But the bus will be gone now. The Marauders have long since left you behind.
You're too hopeless to laugh, though you recognize the humor in it. After all your worrying about them sneaking off on you, you'd been the one to disappear. You practically gave them no choice.
You sit down on the foul-smelling concrete and try to steady yourself enough to think of what to do next. You can find them again. You might have some explaining to do, and possibly they'll be upset with you for leaving without saying anything, but if you show up at whatever venue The Marauders are playing tomorrow and catch the attention of someone you know you're sure they'll let you explain yourself. That doesn't give you anywhere to stay tonight, obviously. You'll be okay, though; sitting in this alley until morning doesn't sound particularly enjoyable to you, but you can do it. You're as safe here as anywhere, and it'll only be a few hours until the sun rises. You just have to stay awake.
The echo of a passing voice makes its way down to you, and you burrow closer to the wall to escape its notice.
"Hey? Hey!"
Your track record for successfully melting into the shadows of this alley is not a stellar one.
"Y/n!"
You look up in surprise. In the mouth of the alley, a familiar shape is jogging toward you, followed by others.
"Have you been here this whole time?" James sounds more out of breath than a short jog would do. "Where were you hiding?"
You stare up at him, sure you've fallen asleep and are dreaming. "I…"
James drops to a crouch beside you, concern written all over him even in the dark. Sirius and Mary are behind him a moment later, then Lily and Remus. They surround you, seeming perplexed when you don't stand.
"Are you alright?" asks Remus.
You burst into tears.
It's terribly embarassing, and very unprofessional, but you find that once you start crying you can't stop. You don't mean to shock them. James gets past his alarm the fastest, putting an arm around you, and Lily murmurs something that sounds like a placation.
"I'm sorry," you blubber. "I was—I tried to come back, but they wouldn't let me in, and then the cops were here—"
"We heard," says Sirius, his voice nearly as gentle as you've ever heard it. It reminds you of how he spoke to Remus after Remus got shocked by the mic stand, "about the riot. Figured you might've gotten caught up in it. Are you hurt?"
You manage to tell them about your ankle. Remus prods at it a minute—apparently, he's had enough minor injuries to be a de facto expert—and determines it likely sprained. Mary runs to get you a jacket from the bus, apparently still parked nearby after they stayed to look for you. Lily promises to make sure you always have the relevant addresses in case you get separated again, or maybe Mary can get you a press pass that looks more official somehow—but, she says, it'd probably be best if you stay nearby when you can help it in the future.
Through all of this, you're crying. You're waved off each time you try to apologize for the dramatics. James has resigned himself to sitting on the foul-smelling cement beside you so he can rub your shoulder, and Remus keeps a hand clasped loosely around your ankle while Sirius watches you with dark, serious eyes.
"You got it?" he asks when Mary comes back with your coat and you stand wobbily.
"Yeah." Your voice is a wreck. You put your coat on, and James lifts your arm, encouraging you to put it around his shoulders and let him take some weight off your ankle. You wipe your face. "Sorry for—"
"That's enough," says Remus, managing to sound more kind than stern.
You murmur anyway, "Thanks for waiting for me."
James scoffs. "You think we'd go on to the hotel without our own live-in paparazzi?" He plants a kiss on your head as you start toward the bus. "No way."
Our poor sweetheart of a reporter is just being used as Sirius’ punching bag left right and center! If you like this idea I would love to see a continuation of the angst from part 4 of the rockstar series, where reader kinda just accepts that Sirius hates her, and thinks the other boys just see her as a burden they have to deal with cause of the situation. So she just fully detaches, goes completely professional and doesn’t bother with the extra effort to be friends with them cause she’s not about to chase after them like that if they’ve made their feelings clear. I think the boys would realize in the absence that they miss her and maybe James and Remus would knock some sense into Sirius about how he’s been treating her. Also no pressure at all, absolutely love the series!!!
Babe the way I've hoardeddd this request! Thanks for the idea, hope you're okay with it being put to use much later than you originally thought <3
a/n: Please do not misconstrue my participation in the marauders fandom as support of JKR. If you’re new here and want to participate in the fandom, I encourage you to do so without participating in anything that would provide financial gain to her or her transphobic agendas
part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9 | part 10 | part 11 | part 12 | part 13
rockstar!marauders x journalist!reader ♡ 1.3k words
You don’t leave your room until after dark, when the bus loads to bring The Marauders crew to their second show of the weekend. There’s no point in it; you won’t have a good opportunity to interview the boys until after the show anyway, and you’re too tired to be around people anytime your tape recorder isn’t running. For the feature that comes out of this to be good requires some intimacy, but you can set the limit.
You do feel like you’ve achieved the exclusivity you were after. You’ve learned a lot. Not just the big stuff—not just Remus’ spells of poor health and James’ encounter with the unofficial queen of music recording—but details fans wouldn’t know just from seeing the band onstage. That Sirius is funnier than he seems. Not just the loud, showy kind, but funny in how he’ll let the others rag on him, how he’ll put on airs and allow himself to appear distinctly uncool to make his friends laugh. That Remus is not only moody and mysterious, but bashful at times. Often, he rolls his eyes to cover his blush. That James is…well, James is exactly as he appears. That’s the surprise of him. He’s really not too good to be true.
These things are already enough. They’ll be of interest to fans, invite them in, make them feel privy to something that lingers beneath the music. You don’t need the other gossip-column stuff. But what you don’t have enough of yet is what you really came along for: quotes about The Marauders’ upcoming album.
You’ve been too pliable. You let yourself get too excited about being behind the curtain. Somehow, while you weren’t looking, the curtain tangled you all up until you nearly forgot which side you were on before. The camaraderie between the boys is so easy, it’ll sweep you up, make you think you’ve known them all along, too. That’s part of the magic of The Marauders, perhaps. It worked like a charm on you.
Not anymore, you tell yourself sternly on your way down to the bus. You’re here to do a job. You’re here for yourself. There’s a wall between you and the band by the very nature of your role here, and your role is to make that wall appear transparent, not evaporate it. You won’t let yourself get so close again.
Closeness has only given you less to write about.
You return Lily’s polite nod as you step onboard the bus. Sirius is giving you some kind of look, but you pretend not to notice it poking at your periphery. You ignore too James’ patting of the extra space on his bench, passing the boys by to sit instead in an empty seat a few rows behind them. Close enough to overhear; not close enough to engage. As you should have been this whole while.
“Have a lie in this morning?” Remus asks you anyway.
“Yeah,” you reply.
James turns fully around to speak to you, folding his arms atop of his seat. “I hope you’ve rested up,” he says. “Tomorrow, we’re going to Cadbury World.”
“Oh.” It takes a second, but you find the right smile. Pleasant and distantly apologetic. “You all have fun, but I think I’m going to stay back. I have to edit this article for Tuesday.”
James looks put out. You pull out your notepad before you can linger on it.
“What’s the article about?” asks Remus. It may only be your own new wariness, but you think you detect a hint of vigilance in his tone.
You glance at Sirius on instinct to see if he’s eyeing you with the same distrust. His dark-rimmed stare is heavy, but it’s not…it’s not what you expect. There’s no accusation there. Sirius seems watchful, but not like he’s anticipating something in particular. Like he’s waiting to see what you do next.
You wonder if he thinks you’re angry with him. You’re not. You don’t blame him for thinking you’d sell James out for a story; Sirius is used to dealing with real journalists. He’s learnt to be calculating, to put himself as a shield between people like you and anything—or anyone—he wants to protect. To anticipate the worst you could do so he knows when to be ready. If you were half the journalist Spellbound thinks you are, you would have done it.
You just aren’t sure if you are that journalist. You aren’t sure if you want to be.
“It’s something I was working on before I got here,” you say to mollify Remus.
“Are you feeling alright?” asks Sirius.
You feel your brows draw in tight, forgetting for a moment to control your expression. “I feel fine, why?”
He shrugs. “You seem rather tired all of a sudden.”
You put your pleasant smile back on. Sirius frowns. “I guess all this staying up from dusk to dawn is finally getting to me.”
“Ah, yeah.” James sets his chin on his forearms, his eyes big with sympathy. “I crashed earlier in the tour, too. I think it’s a sort of hurdle you have to get over. Sorry.”
“We can tuck you in with Remus tonight,” says Sirius lightly. A pink blush blooms over Remus’ cheeks. “He’s got all sorts of methods for getting a good sleep. We’ll have you fully nocturnal in no time, babe.”
You direct your stare toward your notepad, trying to focus enough to make sense of the first sentence of the article you’re meant to be editing. “I’m not sure that will work out very well for when I eventually have to be awake during the day again.”
“Why would you ever do that?” Sirius jokes.
You’re tempted to look up and raise an eyebrow at him; you don’t. “Once I have what I need for the feature, I’m guessing Spellbound will want me working normal business hours.”
There’s a pause.
“Well,” says Sirius, “I don’t know why you’d ever work for them, in that case. They sound unhinged.”
You try not to feel anything about the obviousness of James’ upset when he asks, “Are you nearly done with the feature already?”
It’s almost laughable. As if they’ve given you near enough information to write the feature; you hardly have enough for a few paragraphs. But, it is like James to be optimistic. “Not quite.”
Sirius tsks. “Guess we’re not going to be rid of you very soon, then.”
You keep your expression neutral as you look up at him. “I’ll do my best to work efficiently.”
Dark brows descend over stormcloud eyes. “Sure you’re not feeling ill?”
“I’m fine.”
“You should come to Cadbury World with us,” says James, looking worried now, too. “You seem like you could maybe use a break.”
The useless mush of your heart softens instinctively at the earnestness in his voice. “Thanks,” you say, “but I think I ought to stay on task. We all want me to finish up and get out of your hair, right?”
Remus makes a soft sound. “No one’s said that.”
“Maybe we can do an interview after the show?” you go on. “If you’re ready, I can ask some more questions about the album. I know it’s not completely done yet, but the point of me being here is to get accounts of the process.”
“I thought we agreed you’d be taking us to dinner first,” Sirius hums, in that teasing way of his.
You don’t rise to the bait. “If you’d like to have the interview at a restaurant, that can be arranged.” You have no clue how you’ll finance it, but that can be a problem for later (and possibly for Spellbound).
It’s not just Sirius who frowns at you now; all three of the boys look at you like you’ve boarded the bus with serpents for hair.
“O…kay,” says Sirius. “We’ll see.”
“Sure,” you reply. The familiar, hard edge of determination slots into place in your middle; a welcome feeling. “We can see.”
[𝝑𝑒] :: aftercare with gentle boyfriend!caleb :: tags. fluff, suggestive/smut-ish.
caleb is nothing but sweet to you, in public and in private. but he’s especially considerate after he collapses on the bed, with both your bodies sweaty from the passion you shared. aftercare is mandatory to him—it doesn’t matter when or where you two do it.
“you okay, sweets?” caleb’s voice is a rough rumble, his voice hoarse from exhaustion.
you nod wordlessly while trying to calm down after your intense climaxes. his strong arms hold you against his chest with ease, “breathe in ‘n out, mhm, there ya go. atta girl.”
he watches you mimic his pattern of breathing and grins in response. you always blindly followed his instructions—that trust and vulnerability of yours is something he adores and wishes to keep that way. his large hand settles on the back of your head to pat your hair soothingly.
you slowly come down from your high and limply rest your head against his hard pecs.
“you did so well, i’m really proud of you,” caleb pinches your cheek like he always does, making you huff and stick your tongue out at him playfully.
your boyfriend chuckles before doing the same thing again. he can’t help it; you’re too adorable for your own good.
you shake your head and nuzzle your face into his chest. “mmmh, hurts,” you whine as you try to move your body. your hips are already sore from exertion and they ache whenever you try to move them an inch.
caleb’s eyes darken at your little whine. “hurts? where?”
he cups your face immediately to tilt your head, your eyes locking. you’re a bit taken aback by the sudden change in his tone—from laid back to concerned and protective in a split second.
“ah, no, my hips are just a bit sore. nothing out of the ordinary,” you quickly reassure your lover. you know how overprotective caleb gets, and if he had accidentally hurt you in any way, he’ll feel extremely guilty for the rest of the day.
caleb’s frown slowly disappears, but the concern still lingers in his softening eyes. he sighs in relief and a small smile tugs at his lips.
“i’m sorry, baby. i’ll make it up to you,” he croons with a breathy chuckle following right after.
his large hands, warm and callused from all that he experienced, settle on your bare hips to massage them. you hum in relief and your eyes close to enjoy the warmth spreading through your tired body.
a loud ringtone suddenly cuts through the lingering tension between you two, snapping you out of your daze. caleb faintly clicks his tongue before turning his head towards his nightstand. he grabs his phone with one hand to check the caller’s id.
the brown-haired man beneath you tenses up. you can feel it almost immediately. his other hand stops massaging your hip for a second before it continues, this time more slowly. caleb’s gaze is cold and his jaw is clenched as he tries to figure out what to do.
“not gonna pick up?” you ask curiously as you lift your head from his chest. caleb quickly tosses his phone away after pressing the red decline button. he shakes his head and that charming smile of his quickly returns to his face.
“nu-uh. no one’s more important than you,” caleb grins and boops your nose.
it’s an attempt to distract you so you wouldn’t ask any more questions about the possible caller. and it seems to work, considering you laid your head back on his bare chest, snuggling up to his bare body beneath the crumpled sheets.
you breathe in his musk and can’t help but love it. the faint traces of his cologne mixed with the scent of his body—it’s a heady combination. caleb seems to do the same, his nose buried into the strands of your hair, breathing you in. you smell like home and he loves it, lives for it really.
eventually, you decide it’s time to detangle yourself from your lover. as much as you want to keep him inside and beneath of you, you need to clean up and go to the bathroom.
caleb hisses when you try to roll over and change positions which had caused you to instinctively clench around him. he tightens his muscular arms around your waist to keep you squished on top of him, refusing to let you move.
“stay like this for a little while more, yeah? i promise i’ll let you go in a bit,” caleb whispers in your ear before his tongue teasingly licks at your lobe.
he smirks against your skin and you can feel it. you know it’s a lie—he will not let you go for the rest of the night. hell, he might even be ready to go another round.
even if he technically has to leave to take care of all kinds of things. things that will keep you safe and out of harm’s way.
anyway, caleb will deal with the consequences of skipping his duty later. for now he’ll settle to cherish this serene moment with his beloved, before reality comes crashing down again.
❕cw: pseudo-incest, degradation, choking, improper use of condoms, cum eating, handjob, mentions of p in v sex
⠀ ⠀ ⠀ ⠀⋆ 𑣿 ⠀𝒶 festering thought eats away at her heart, the feeling of forever being in the shadow of those broad shoulders.
he walks with ease, but to her, it was the same older-brother swagger he’d always carried with him. without noticing, her mouth forms a scowl, bottom lip jutting out into a sorry state. it’s noticeable enough that he turns around, boots scraping the ground in an abrupt stop. she almost slams into him, large eyes bulging from their sockets.
another degrading laugh rumbles from his chest, one that she almost mistakes for the thunder that claps from above. her hand flies out to grip onto the sleeve of his old pilot’s jacket.
“why do you look so unhappy?” he ignores the storm.
“who said that?”
“didn’t have to say it.”
she sighs, trying to push him underneath the convenience store's overhang. the pitter-patter of rain begins to lull her closer to safety, instinctively curling into his side. a warm, inviting brick wall. just the scent of him mixed with rain melting on hot pavement is enough to arouse her. the brief closing of her eyes tells him exactly what she's thinking, but he doesn't push it. not yet, at least.
“can we just get the stuff and go? i’d rather not be out in this weather.”
along with the heaps of snacks, he ends up buying tampons and condoms (which she side-eyes him for the entire ride to his skyhaven home). what she really doesn't anticipate is him pulling over on the side of an abandoned road. it's all gravel and wind against overgrown foliage during the storm that rages outside around them.
she watches him like a gazelle waiting to leap away from its attacker, licking her pursed lips as he shimmies frayed jeans down his waist. the radio hums softly in the background, sideways rain beating against the windows of his car.
"what are you doing." it's more of a statement than an inquiry, trying to keep playing at her earlier frustration with him.
he doesn't respond, just whips his half-hard cock out from his boxers, fisting it slowly. a small, barely audible moan slips from the crack of his lips, heavy brows pinning together in immediate relief. like he'd been waiting for this moment all day.
a glimmer of gold foil comes into view, tearing it open with his front teeth and unveiling it to roll it over his length. wondering how he's more skillful at putting one on than she expected (it's not as if they ever used them, save for a few instances), her pussy throbs without permission.
he's so large and thrilling to witness that it feels like a crime to do it for free. the haze of her confusion stops her from asking any more questions, just behaves as he preps himself for god knows what. there's a pull to begin taking off her own clothes— caleb's been known to randomly get in the mood without really explaining. just bends her over in the most odd places, reaches into the depths of her body, and retrieves orgasms like it's nothing.
"you're more than welcome to watch," he grunts between gritted teeth "but i was hopin' you'd gimme a hand."
body moving on it's own, her palm overrides his, second nature kicking in as her wrist flicks with practice to jerk him off. he's stiff as a rock now, hips rising off the seat beneath him to meet her strokes. the leather makes tired noises under his weight, a cocktail of growls and whimpers echoing in the confinement of the vehicle.
"why are you wearing a condom? do you plan on fucking me?" she finally asks, halfway crawling over the console.
she needs to inhale his sweat until all she can taste is him on her tongue. needs to remind herself that even when she's annoyed with him, she could shove him into her mouth all at once, like a child proving they can eat their vegetables. has to be able to bite the hand that feeds her.
it turns him on more than anything in this world— the give and take of enabling her, then backtracking to punish her. the whiplash of it all feels like physical touch to her, a gush of wetness blotting onto her undergarments.
god, when did she get on the console? why does it feel good on her knees, the squeeze of her thighs rubbing her pussy lips together so deliciously? there's too much happening all at once, overstimulation fogging her brain and the interior of the jeep as his cock twitches under her grasp.
"f-fuck, just like that, keep squeezing me. so good, jesus christ…"
"are you gonna screw me or not?" she chokes his shaft off momentarily, earning a hiss from him and a jolt of his waist. his balls turn a darker shade of red, her other hand fondling them teasingly.
"shut up." his tone is clipped and goes for her throat, death gripping her esophagus.
he can never just let her win.
“just… trust me.” if he intended his tone to come out sweet, then he did a shit job of it.
her hand stutters as it moves again, his mushroom tip beginning to leak out into the plastic that suffocates it. like clockwork, his body tightens up, gearing for climax as his breathing turns into hyperventilating. just before she moves to finish him off, he removes her hand, forcing her to watch as his cock strains mid-air with its release.
could he always do this, cum without her having to touch him to the very end? his desperation is beginning to show. deep inside she wants to take it as a victory, but even in moments like these he manages to make her feel smaller. like she was never really in charge.
“look at me.” she does, his hand moving from her neck to her chin to direct all of her attention to his face that contorts with bliss.
“caleb.” she whispers, leaning into press her forehead onto his, sweat gluing her there.
he’s moaning her name onto her lips, hot breaths mingling as condensation thickens the environment. the tip of his nose nuzzles against her own, as if to remind her that he loves her. before she can lean in to kiss him, he stills her.
“mm— take it off. the condom.” soft but enough firmness to be a command.
she wants to protest, to hop into his lap and just ride him until she dies. but his face is eerily serious, so she commits to the bit like always.
don’t roll your eyes. don’t do it.
she pinches the tip of the plastic, the cum inside hot and frothy from the erratic spasms of his cock. it slowly slides off of him, the veins under the silky skin pulsing and not letting his erection dwindle.
“why—“
“drink it.”
what.
“now.”
“dude, are you serious?”
“mhmm. been acting so needy all day. figured you could use some of my cum.”
shit. of course he knew.
why does he talk like this? why does it turn her body into molasses? it’s so evil of him to just toy around with her like this, knowing exactly how well she’ll play into his antics.
he sits back expectantly, smug and using his other hand to smack his cock onto his lower abdomen in an effort to keep it awake and ready. like he’s going to destroy her when everything’s said and done.
he will, she has no doubt in her mind.
“fine.”
thick semen travels down the used condom, but she’s tired of waiting for things, so she takes it into her mouth and pulls from the damn thing like it's a straw.
it’s bittersweet, but she’s always had an appetite for his cum, so she takes down as much as she can. it only makes her fiend for more, especially the way his warm hand slides down the back of her exposed thigh. the expanse of her calf. goosebumps betray her pride, rising with the trail he leaves behind.
his flavor is unforgiving and ruthless. when she swallows, it refuses to go down without a fight, thick globs sticking like a stubborn wad of gum. a part of her hopes it stays there forever.
realizing just how lost in the taste she is, she clears her throat as if it were just another task. a chore he’d push onto her. the blush on her face doesn’t help her case, and he does no favors by acting oblivious to it.
“impatient little thing.” he scolds, thumbing at the slit of his tip.
and as much as she hates to admit it, this is what she needed. the gelatinous slide of his cum down the back of her tongue feels like the closest thing to home. well, a second close if it weren’t for her brother being right there in front of her, brimming with all his desire for her.
“all of that and you’re not gonna tell me i’m a good girl?” waving the empty condom at him, he swats at her hand, leaving it to drop on the floor somewhere. forgotten and discarded. its purpose served. the box of condoms will collect dust in his glove box.
“i love it when you’re greedy. makes taking what i want from you waaay too easy.”
not even the lightning outside could outmatch the rage she feels coursing through her veins for this man. his love feels like a gag, one she would voluntarily choke on in any lifetime. over and over and over.
summary: looking for a decent job, you stumbled upon jungkook’s job posting on instagram, what could go wrong?
warnings: playfuldom!jungkook x fem reader, explicit sexual content, clit rubbing, pussy eating, edging, spitting, degradation, dirty talk, multiple positions, detailed smut, jk is very playful in a degrading way, oral sex, camera sex, pussy slapping, choking, praising, usage of slut, cum eating, marking, multiple orgasms, rough sex, crying, overstimulation, fingering, nipple spitting, penetrative sex, creampie.
⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂˚₊┈┈୨୧┈┈‧₊˚⠂⠄⠄⠂⠁⠁⠂⠄⠄⠂
“How about being a barista again? There’s a job opening at Moonlit Cafe down the street,” Hari suggested while you sat hunched over your laptop, endlessly browsing through job postings.
You were still a student, graduating next year with bills clawing at your throat. When college started, you wanted independence so badly it ached beneath your skin. An apartment near the university. Your own keys. Your own groceries. Your own life.
Your parents had offered to cover everything without hesitation, gentle and loving as always, but guilt settled heavily in your chest whenever you thought about it. They were already paying your tuition fees. You wanted them to live comfortably too, without worrying about whether their daughter had enough money for rent or food. So you smiled and told them not to worry, drained your savings account for the apartment, and picked up multiple part-time jobs just to prove to yourself that you could survive on your own.
And for a while, you did.
The first two years of college went smoothly enough. You found decent jobs, saved enough money to live comfortably, and even bought yourself a flat-screen TV after months of careful budgeting. Your days blurred into exhausting routines—classes in the morning, shifts at the coffee shop at night, and weekends spent organizing shelves as a bookstore assistant.
You were tired all the time, but it was a satisfying kind of tired. The kind that made you feel accomplished.
Independent. Adult.
Until the coffee shop let you go.
Budget cuts, they said apologetically, avoiding your eyes while handing you the notice. Part-time workers were the first to go.
You still had the bookstore job, but the pay barely stretched far enough to cover groceries, let alone rent, electricity, and university expenses. Asking your parents for help would’ve been easy—too easy—but stubbornness rooted itself deep inside you. There were thousands of job postings online. Surely one of them would take you.
Only they never called back.
Two months had passed, and your savings were bleeding out faster than you could stop them. Every day followed the same suffocating routine: school, assignments, cheap instant dinners, and hours of doom-scrolling through applications until your vision blurred from the brightness of your screen.
You groaned quietly, rubbing your tired eyes before glancing over at Hari, who sat cross-legged beside you on the couch with a milk tea in hand. She had shown up at your apartment earlier carrying takeout bags and your favorite boba, worry written plainly across her face after noticing how little you’d been eating lately.
“I already applied there,” you muttered with a pout, dragging your gaze back to the laptop. “But they want someone full-time.”
Hari sighed dramatically, setting her drink down on the coffee table. “You seriously need to rest. You’ve been staring at that thing for hours.”
Before you could protest, she grabbed your boba and pushed it into your hands. The cold plastic pressed against your palms pleasantly.
“Drink,” she ordered. “And let me do the scrolling before you spiral into another existential crisis.”
A laugh bubbled out of her as she pulled the laptop from your lap, and despite the anxiety twisting endlessly inside your chest, you felt your shoulders loosen just a little.
You pouted lightly, sipping your boba while Hari busied herself with your laptop. Your brows slowly furrowed when you noticed her opening tab after tab with alarming confidence.
“Why are you on Facebook?” you asked with a quiet chuckle, watching her click somewhere else before another page loaded. “And now Twitter? Instagram too?”
Hari rolled her eyes dramatically, her face illuminated by the screen’s pale glow. “Because the jobs on LinkedIn are painfully boring,” she scoffed. “There are tons of part-time job offers on social media. I swear I saw one yesterday.”
She narrowed her eyes at the laptop suspiciously, scrolling with the intensity of a detective solving a murder case.
A laugh escaped you as you leaned against her shoulder, chewing on the tapioca pearls you had missed more than you cared to admit. You’d been saving every spare dollar lately, cutting out small comforts one by one until even buying boba started to feel irresponsible.
“But you don’t even know if those are legit,” you pointed out, tilting your head at her. “The sites I applied to are safer from scams and stuff.”
“I know,” Hari replied instantly. “That’s why we’re looking for jobs with a pay-first policy if it’s online.” She clicked onto another account before adding casually, “And if it’s onsite, we’ll bring a gun in case things go wrong or something.”
You burst out laughing at that, nearly choking on your drink.
“Hari!”
“What?” she laughed too, grinning shamelessly. “I’m just being prepared.”
You shook your head at her usual nonsense, warmth blooming faintly in your chest despite the stress that had been suffocating you for weeks now. Hari always had a way of dragging you out of your own head, even if only for a little while.
The apartment suddenly felt less heavy with her around.
You were honestly relieved that semester break had finally arrived. One whole month without classes. No early morning lectures. No deadlines. No professors piling work onto your shoulders.
But instead of resting like a normal person, you had thrown yourself deeper into job hunting.
Hari hated that.
As your closest friend, she had spent the last week trying to convince you to take a break—to go shopping with the girls, take an out-of-town trip, do literally anything that didn’t involve staring at job applications until three in the morning.
You declined every single invitation.
Your friends understood your situation, but they also thought you were driving yourself insane. Which, honestly, you probably were.
That was exactly why Hari showed up tonight carrying your favorite food and overpriced boba tea, determined to drag you away from your spiral. She kept trying to tempt you into going on a girls’ trip with them, insisting that one weekend away wouldn’t kill you.
But every time you thought about relaxing, all you could picture were your bills piling quietly on the kitchen counter. So instead, you stayed curled up on the couch beside her, stubbornly searching for a job you desperately needed.
Hari was beginning to look almost as desperate as you. Maybe not for herself, but for you—for the way your shoulders had slowly grown heavier these past few months, for the exhaustion permanently shadowing your eyes. She wanted you to land a job already so you could finally breathe again without worrying about rent and unpaid bills swallowing you whole.
Which was exactly why she was now doom-scrolling through Twitter with frightening determination.
“I really don’t think you’re gonna find a job there,” you muttered skeptically, watching her open an alarming amount of random threads. “Most of those look like scams.”
“Wait, wait—look at this!”
Hari suddenly grabbed your arm and pulled you closer to the screen, quickly setting her milk tea down beside her like she was preparing for something serious.
Her eyes widened.
“Okay, this one actually looks promising.”
You leaned in slightly as she read aloud.
mnijungkook on ig posted: i’m looking for someone who can take insanely good videos and photos [of me]. i’ll somehow figure out the equipment myself..! please somehow reach out to me! lol, looking for someone to film for me, seriously. and if you’re good at editing too? let’s go on tour together
“There are so many likes and retweets,” Hari said immediately, already opening another tab to search for the original Instagram post. “This has to be legit.”
The second you recognized the username, you nearly choked on your drink.
Laughter burst out of you uncontrollably, your shoulders shaking as you clutched the cup tighter. Hari blinked at you in confusion while your eyes watered from laughing too hard.
“Hari,” you wheezed out, “That’s Jungkook.”
She stared blankly. “Huh? The boss?”
Another laugh escaped you.
Hari genuinely knew almost nothing about K-pop or Korean artists in general, and moments like this always reminded you just how different the two of you were.
Meanwhile, you had once been painfully obsessed.
You used to stay up until dawn watching livestreams, memorizing lyrics, collecting photocards you definitely couldn’t afford, and keeping up with every tiny update posted online. Back then, being a fan felt like a second full-time job.
But life eventually became busier.
School consumed your mornings, work consumed your nights, and somewhere in between surviving deadlines and paying bills, your fangirl phase quietly faded into the background. You still listened to their music almost daily, still smiled whenever one of their songs shuffled into your playlist, but you no longer kept up with every post or appearance the way you once did.
You guessed you had simply grown up.
Even so, seeing Jungkook casually asking for a videographer and editor on Instagram felt surreal enough to make you laugh all over again.
Not updated enough to know that Jungkook was apparently posting job offers on Instagram now. Or that he was even on tour.
“No,” you laughed, shaking your head as you finally calmed down a little. “That’s Jungkook. From BTS. They’re, like… insanely famous, Hari. This is probably some kind of joke or publicity thing.”
Hari’s brows knitted together in confusion before realization slowly dawned across her face. She clicked onto the Instagram profile, eyes widening at the blue verification check and the terrifying number of followers sitting beneath his username.
Nearly thirty million.
“Ohhh, BTS,” she murmured thoughtfully. “Wait—I think I’ve seen him before.” She squinted at one of the photos. “Wasn’t he in a Calvin Klein ad or something?”
You snorted. “Yeah. That’s him.”
Honestly, you expected her to laugh it off after realizing who posted it. Maybe call the idea ridiculous and move on to another job listing.
Instead, Hari clicked onto his Instagram story again with alarming seriousness.
“That means…” she trailed off.
“It’s probably a joke,” you interrupted immediately.
“This is good pay,” she said at the exact same time, eyes practically glittering now.
Before you could stop her, she pressed the reply button beneath the story.
Your lips parted slightly. You genuinely couldn’t tell if she was being serious or completely delusional right now. Probably both. But either way, you let her continue typing because there was absolutely no chance Jungkook himself would ever see it.
He probably received thousands of messages every minute. Millions, even.
The thought alone felt ridiculous.
“Whatever,” you muttered with a helpless chuckle, giving up entirely. “I’m heating up the rice bowl.”
Hari waved you off distractedly, already multitasking between your laptop and her phone like this had suddenly become her personal mission.
You shook your head fondly before standing from the couch, grabbing the takeout container she bought earlier. The apartment filled with the quiet hum of the microwave a moment later, warm light spilling across the tiny kitchen while Hari continued aggressively applying for a job that definitely, absolutely, one hundred percent was never going to happen.
-
You woke up to the shrill sound of your alarm, already preparing yourself for another long day of job hunting.
Hari went home late last night after spending an absurd amount of time DMing Jungkook and scrolling through social media for more “opportunities,” as she called them. Somewhere between laughing at ridiculous job listings and sharing takeout on your couch, the two of you ended up watching an old Disney movie to help you relax.
She still tried convincing you to go on the girls’ out-of-town trip. You still refused.
No matter how badly you wanted a break, your priorities were painfully clear right now. You needed stability first. A stable paycheck. A stable life. Then maybe you could afford to breathe.
After showering, you made yourself a decent cup of coffee and opened your laptop with a tired sigh, mentally preparing to send out another batch of applications that probably wouldn’t get answered.
Then your phone buzzed beside you. An Instagram notification lit up the screen.
You snorted softly to yourself. “This must be Jungkook,” you joked under your breath, absentmindedly opening the app.
What the fuck.
Your heart nearly stopped when you saw the message sitting in your inbox. The coffee suddenly tasted bitter in your mouth.
What the actual fuck?
“Hari!” you practically shrieked the second she answered your call. “Fuck! I don’t even edit videos! I only know basic stuff! I can’t even record properly without my hands shaking!”
You paced around your apartment while panicking into the phone, one hand gripping your hair as you reread the messages over and over again in disbelief.
Sometime after you went to the kitchen last night, Hari had apparently taken it upon herself to completely ruin your life.
She sent Jungkook your entire curriculum vitae.
Not only that—she also wrote and attached a full cover letter explaining why he should hire you.
The realization alone nearly made you pass out.
And when you discovered she had changed your insta profile picture into a formal-looking one while you weren’t paying attention?
You almost laughed and cried at the same time.
It genuinely looked like you had desperately prepared for this opportunity your entire life.
Your eyes skimmed through the cover letter again, horror slowly mixing with something embarrassingly emotional. Hari had written your entire backstory in there—about struggling financially, balancing school and work, trying to stay independent despite everything.
And then she started lying. Blatantly.
Apparently, according to Hari, you were “highly skilled in video editing” with “experience in cinematography.”
Cinematography my ass.
“Hehe… well,” Hari giggled shamelessly through the phone, completely unbothered by your spiraling. Noise echoed behind her, voices and music blending together enough for you to realize she was already with the girls on their trip. “You have to fake a few things to get accepted sometimes, right?”
“Ugh, I can’t do this!” you cried dramatically, pacing back and forth around your apartment while gripping your phone tightly. “I literally don’t know anything about filming! And what if he sues me for faking my skills? He’s famous and influential, Hari!”
Your eyes darted back toward your laptop sitting open on the table, Jungkook’s message glowing on the screen like a ticking time bomb ready to ruin your entire life.
Hari only laughed harder through the call.
“Girl, just try!” she said between giggles. “Watch a tutorial on YouTube or something. Besides…” her tone suddenly turned suspiciously persuasive, “It’s really good pay.”
“Hari!” you screamed again, horrified.
“God, I still can’t believe he actually replied to you,” she continued teasingly. “You must’ve impressed him with your amazing cinematography skills.”
You groaned so loudly you nearly scared yourself.
The worst part was that she wasn’t wrong about the pay.
Your eyes had nearly bulged out of your skull when you saw the amount attached to the offer. There were so many zeros that your brain genuinely short-circuited for a moment.
That was exactly why you couldn’t let it go.
Out of everyone who probably replied to his story, Jungkook somehow answered you.
You. The probability alone felt absurd.
Thousands of people would kill for this opportunity right now, and meanwhile you were pacing around your apartment like you were preparing for a court trial instead of a job offer.
At first, the teenage fangirl buried deep inside you nearly exploded from excitement. The situation dragged you back to years ago—staying up until four in the morning streaming music videos, binge-watching funny compilations, memorizing choreography you could never actually dance, spending money you absolutely shouldn’t have spent on albums and photocards.
Back then, BTS had practically consumed your life. But time passed.
Somewhere between work shifts, college deadlines, and trying to survive adulthood, you slowly stopped keeping up with them. You still listened to the music, of course, but you no longer knew where they were, what they were doing, or how much they had changed over the years.
Curiosity eventually got the better of you. So you stalked Jungkook’s Instagram a little.
And oh.
Oh, he had changed.
A full sleeve of tattoos now wrapped around his right arm, dark ink decorating skin that used to be bare. Silver piercings glinted against his face in ways that somehow suited him unfairly well. His frame had broadened too, shoulders stronger, body lean and built with the kind of maturity that made him almost unrecognizable from the boy you remembered.
You were used to soft brown hair, oversized hoodies, black skinny jeans, clean arms, and those wide doe-like eyes that made the entire internet lose their minds.
Now he looked mature. Sharper. More dangerous somehow.
A man instead of a boy. And annoyingly enough, it looked really good on him.
“Fuck,” you muttered to yourself, finally realizing you’d been staring at a motorcycle video he posted for far too long.
You immediately locked your phone and pressed it dramatically against your forehead.
“I cannot fangirl right now or I’m seriously gonna lose it.”
Hari kept telling you to just go for it. “You literally have a whole month off from school,” she argued over the phone while you spiraled for the hundredth time. “This is basically the perfect sideline job.”
Sideline job. As if working for Jungkook of BTS was equivalent to tutoring kids after class.
Your stomach twisted anxiously as you stared at the message again. Every second that passed made you feel like the opportunity was slipping farther away. With the amount of people probably flooding his inbox right now, there was no guarantee he wouldn’t change his mind the moment someone actually qualified replied to him.
Your eyes skimmed over his message again, pulse quickening embarrassingly fast.
mnijungkook: hey, i saw your cv ㅎㅎ you really didn’t have to explain everything, but i’m glad you did. i can tell you’re being genuine about this. even without samples, the way you talked about cinematography/editing made me feel like you actually care about it and pay attention to details. sometimes that matters more to me than someone trying too hard to look “professional”
also i get the whole semester break thing. a month is still enough time to try something fun and see if we work well together
don’t stress too much about equipment either because i barely know what i’m doing there yet lol
for payment, don’t worry. if you end up coming with me, i’ll make sure you’re paid well — probably around $20-30k usd for the month depending on the schedule + travel and hotel covered.
send me your contact info? we can talk more properly :))
Fuck.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
“I am not passionate about cinematography,” you nearly whimpered to yourself, dropping your face into your hands. “To hell with cinematography.”
The amount of lies in Hari’s cover letter was genuinely evil.
And now Jungkook thought you were some hidden creative genius with an artistic eye and a deep love for filmmaking when in reality you barely knew how to stabilize a phone camera.
You felt sick.
But then your eyes drifted back to the payment offer. Twenty to thirty thousand dollars. Travel covered. Hotels covered. Your bank account practically screamed at you to shut up and take the opportunity.
So with trembling fingers and the overwhelming sensation that you were actively ruining your own life, you began typing a reply. A reply that dug your grave even deeper.
You agreed with him. You agreed that you were a “good editor.”
You added your contact details while simultaneously praying that YouTube tutorials could somehow transform you into a professional videographer overnight.
Your fingers hovered above the send button before you forced yourself to press it.
You: thank you so much for even considering me :D i really do believe i’m a good editor, especially when it comes to making things feel natural and cinematic instead of overdone.
i’d genuinely love to work for you if you’ll have me. i’m willing to learn fast, adjust to whatever style you want, and work hard during the whole month of my semester break.
my contact details are below, thank you so much!
The message was sent instantly.
You stared at the screen in silence afterward, horror slowly settling into every inch of your body.
Yeah. You were doomed.
-
“Wow, what the hell.” Your eyes widened the second you stepped into the hotel room Jungkook had booked for you.
The past few days had moved so fast it almost gave you whiplash. After you sent your contact details, Jungkook immediately messaged you about schedules, filming dates, locations, and travel arrangements as if hiring strangers from Instagram was a completely normal thing for him to do.
Everything had already been prepared before you could even panic properly.
Your plane ticket? Booked.
Hotel room? Paid for.
Transportation? Arranged.
Food allowance? Included.
All you had to do was pack your bags and somehow learn how to film and edit professionally before embarrassing yourself on an international scale.
Easy.
“I am so spoiled,” you muttered in disbelief, slowly stepping farther into the room. It was huge.
Bigger than huge, honestly. The hotel suite looked almost the size of your apartment back home, warm lighting spilling across polished floors and neatly arranged furniture that looked far too expensive for you to even breathe near.
Then your attention landed on the large table sitting near the windows. And your soul nearly left your body.
Equipment. So much fucking equipment.
Two massive black cameras rested neatly beside a smaller handheld one. There was an iPad, a laptop, tripods, microphones, chargers, lighting equipment, and cables so intimidating they looked like they belonged inside a spaceship instead of a filming setup.
Your luggage slipped from your fingers onto the floor with a dull thud as you walked toward the table cautiously, like the devices might explode if you touched them incorrectly.
Your eyes widened even more.
For the past several days, you have been desperately teaching yourself how to edit videos and film cinematic shots. Watching tutorials until sunrise. Memorizing transitions. Learning random camera terms you barely understood.
But you had been practicing with your phone. Your fucking phone.
Meanwhile these cameras looked expensive enough to pay your rent for the next ten years.
You carefully picked one up with both hands, terrified you’d somehow damage it through sheer incompetence alone.
Honestly, you were still shocked Jungkook never asked for samples of your work.
If he had, your career would’ve ended immediately.
The only thing you could’ve shown him was a mediocre CapCut edit with dramatic black-and-white filters slapped over it to make it look “cinematic.”
You groaned loudly, dropping your forehead against the edge of the table.
“Oh my God,” you whispered into the expensive wood. “I’m actually a fraud.”
You nearly lost balance holding the enormous camera in your hands, quickly tightening your grip before your entire future shattered onto the hotel floor in high definition. “Woah, this is heavy.”
Your eyes stayed locked on the equipment nervously as you adjusted the strap around your wrist, trying your best to look like someone who actually knew what they were doing. Because if Jungkook realized how painfully inexperienced you were, he might personally send you back to your country on the next available flight.
You wouldn’t even blame him. The past few nights had been brutal.
You barely slept at all, surviving almost entirely on instant noodles, caffeine, and pure fear while desperately teaching yourself editing techniques through YouTube tutorials. Your laptop had become an extension of your body at this point, constantly running sample footage you filmed around your apartment just so you could practice transitions, lighting adjustments, stabilization, and color grading.
You even studied Jungkook’s editing style specifically.
The pacing of his vlogs.
The soft cinematic filters.
The random zoom-ins.
The casual, natural feeling of the clips.
You analyzed everything like your life depended on it because technically, your rent kind of did. You were getting paid for this. A ridiculous amount, too.
And there was absolutely no way you could afford getting exposed now.
“Okay…” you muttered slowly while fiddling with the camera settings. “This is kinda… easy?”
You said it more like a question than a statement. Still, you forced yourself to keep going.
You searched up tutorials for the exact camera model, watched setup guides, practiced adjusting focus and lighting, and filmed random clips around the room like an aspiring film student fighting for survival.
At some point, you even started taking artistic shots of your coffee cup near the hotel window. For practice, obviously.
Tomorrow was your first official filming day.
According to the schedule Jungkook emailed you earlier, you’d be accompanying him to a golf activity before the concert. He wanted behind-the-scenes footage for the fans—small moments throughout the day, casual interactions, preparations before performing.
And apparently that was only the beginning. Over the next few days, you’d also be filming soundchecks, backstage moments, errands, workouts, rehearsals, and random snippets of his daily routine while on tour.
Basically, your entire existence now revolves around documenting Jungkook’s life aesthetically.
No pressure.
You used his latest vlog as your main reference while practicing, pausing every few seconds to study angles and editing choices carefully. Honestly, the style itself wasn’t impossible to recreate. It leaned more natural than overly polished, which helped calm your nerves slightly.
The problem was you. You weren’t skilled.
And the more you thought about his expectations, the more your stomach twisted itself into knots.
But backing out wasn’t an option anymore.
Not after the cover letter.
Not after the hotel.
Not after the plane ticket.
Definitely not after seeing the paycheck.
So instead of panicking yourself into quitting, you threw every ounce of energy into learning. Practicing. Training.
Like you were preparing for the Olympics instead of secretly faking your way into being Jungkook’s videographer.
You almost had a heart attack when your phone suddenly buzzed while you were testing the cameras.
The heavy device nearly slipped straight out of your hands as Jungkook’s name flashed across the screen.
Your pulse instantly skyrocketed.
Jungkook: hey, i left all the equipment on the table in your hotel room because i had to leave early for rehearsal. camera batteries are charging already, memory cards are inside the small black case, and i think i accidentally tangled all the wires together so… good luck with that honestly ㅎㅎ
there’s also a pass hanging on the chair for backstage access. don’t lose it or my manager’s gonna kill me lol
take your time checking everything first before we head out tomorrow. and if anything’s confusing just call me :))
You stared at the message for a moment longer than necessary, a smile unconsciously pulling at your lips.
His personality somehow translated perfectly even through text messages alone—easygoing, playful, ridiculously approachable despite being one of the biggest celebrities in the world.
It reminded you exactly why he used to be your ultimate bias years ago. There was something naturally charming about him. Something warm.
You quickly typed a reply before you could overthink it too much.
You: yes! i am checking them out hehe.. the batteries are currently charging, the cards are safe, and i’m currently fighting for my life trying to untangle these wires hahaha
good luck with rehearsal!! see you tomorrow!
The second you pressed send, immediate regret flooded your body. You stared at your message in horror.
Why did I sound like that?
Your cheeks burned violently as you reread the multiple “hehe’s” and unnecessary laughter typed into the conversation like a teenager texting her crush for the first time.
You physically covered your face with your hands.
“Oh my God,” you groaned into your palms. It wasn’t like you were trying to flirt.
Or maybe… just a little bit.
Which honestly made the situation infinitely worse.
You used to be an incredibly dedicated ARMY once upon a time, and frankly, this entire situation was making your heart malfunction.
Working for Jungkook.
Texting Jungkook.
Meeting Jungkook.
It all felt unreal in the most dangerous way possible.
But you forced yourself to set the fangirl part aside before it completely consumed you. You needed to stay professional. Calm. Composed.
Otherwise, you were genuinely convinced you’d suffer a stroke before filming a single decent piece of content for him.
So instead of spiraling, you spent the entire night practicing.
Testing the cameras.
Learning the settings.
Adjusting lighting.
Checking the microphones repeatedly to make sure the audio sounded clean.
You edited random sample clips until your eyes burned from exhaustion, determined to familiarize yourself with the equipment enough to at least fake confidence tomorrow.
And somehow, by pure fear-driven determination alone, morning arrived faster than expected.
You woke up early to practice filming one last time before leaving, moving around the hotel room with nervous energy buzzing beneath your skin. You were oddly dedicated now—almost desperate—to prove that hiring you wasn’t a mistake.
After showering, you dressed carefully in clothes that screamed “professional videographer” despite the fact that you absolutely were not one.
A black long-sleeved polo, dark slacks and black shoes. You even tied your hair back neatly, staring at yourself in the mirror afterward like you were about to infiltrate the FBI instead of filming golf content.
A knock sounded at your hotel door.
“Good day, Ms. Y/N. Are you ready?”
You immediately straightened up before opening it, greeted by one of the bodyguards Jungkook assigned to escort you. His black shades reflected your visibly nervous expression back at you.
“Yes,” you answered quickly, trying to sound more confident than you felt.
Before leaving, you double-checked everything one last time—the batteries, memory cards, laptop, chargers—making sure nothing important was missing before following the bodyguard downstairs.
Outside, a sleek black car waited for you.
Your heartbeat quickened the moment you stepped inside.
You were scheduled to arrive an hour earlier than Jungkook so you could prepare the equipment and set everything up properly before filming started. Which meant you had an entire hour alone to panic in peace.
The ride itself was painfully quiet. Only the soft hum of the air conditioner filled the car while city lights blurred past the tinted windows. Your hands rested stiffly over your bag, fingers nervously tapping against the expensive camera inside while your thoughts spiraled endlessly.
You swallowed hard. “I can do this,” you whispered quietly to yourself.
Though honestly, you sounded unconvinced. The moment the golf course entrance came into view, your stomach twisted so violently you almost gagged.
Oh God. This was actually happening.
The bodyguard escorted you inside shortly after, guiding you toward the smaller private golf area before leaving you alone to prepare your setup.
The silence that followed felt enormous.
You slowly placed the equipment down, inhaling deeply as the morning breeze brushed against your face. The golf course stretched beautifully beneath the early sunlight, calm and expensive and intimidating all at once.
And somewhere in the middle of unpacking tripods with trembling hands, one horrifying realization settled heavily into your chest.
Soon, Jungkook was going to arrive.
You looked around quietly, taking in the golf course while trying to calm the violent beating of your heart.
The place felt tucked away from the rest of the world somehow—small, peaceful, almost unreal in its stillness. Unlike the massive championship courses you usually saw online, this one felt more intimate. The holes were laid out closer together across smooth fairways trimmed so perfectly they looked like green velvet beneath the morning sun.
Small sand bunkers curved around the landscape, soft hills rolling gently beneath clean white flags planted in the distance.
No screaming crowds. No cameras flashing endlessly. Just the distant rustling of trees, the muted hum of golf carts somewhere farther away, and every now and then, the satisfying thunk of a golf club striking a ball cleanly through the air.
Though, it would’ve been relaxing if you weren’t moments away from throwing up from anxiety.
Your hands were already sweaty as you unpacked the equipment carefully, trying not to look like you had absolutely no clue what you were doing. You adjusted the camera repeatedly, searching for decent angles while silently thanking every higher power possible that there weren’t many people around.
Only a few locals occupied the course, minding their own business.
Good.
Less witnesses for your downfall.
You became so focused on testing camera movements and practicing steady shots that you completely failed to notice someone approaching behind you.
It wasn’t until you angled the camera upward during practice that your soul nearly exited your body.
Jungkook stood directly in frame, smiling right into the lens. Your heart stopped.
“Hi,” he greeted warmly, amusement flickering across his face as he glanced at the camera in your hands. “Looks like you’re having fun already.”
A black sports bag rested beside your equipment now, meaning he must’ve walked over while you were too busy pretending to be a professional filmmaker to notice.
Your eyes widened instantly. “Oh my God—”
You almost tripped over your own feet while hurriedly lowering the camera, panic rushing through your body all at once.
“I was just, um—checking the angles,” you explained nervously, mentally cursing yourself for sounding so awkward. “Nice to meet you! I’m Y/N.”
You quickly wiped your damp palms against your slacks before offering your hand to him politely.
Up close, he somehow looked even more unreal. Tall, broad-shouldered, with beautiful tattoos curling around his arm, silver piercings catching the sunlight softly whenever he smiled.
And unfortunately for your sanity, he was even more handsome in person. Ridiculously so. The kind of handsome that made it difficult to think properly when he looked at you for too long.
He chuckled softly before taking your hand in his. His grip was warm.
Your brain short-circuited immediately.
Dressed in a fitted white polo shirt and black Nike shorts, a black cap resting low over his dark hair in a way that somehow made him look both ridiculously expensive and effortlessly casual at the same time.
The shirt did absolutely nothing to hide how built he was.
You could see the outline of his muscles beneath the fabric every time he moved, his shoulders broad enough to almost completely block the sunlight from where you stood.
“Hello,” he said warmly, shaking your hand once. “I’m Jungkook. Nice to meet you too.” Your cheeks instantly burned.
Seeing him through a screen was one thing. Seeing him in person felt entirely different.
He was so much more charismatic up close it almost irritated you. His bunny teeth peeked out whenever he smiled, eyes crinkling slightly at the corners while he spoke in that easy, friendly tone that made it impossible not to relax around him.
His entire aura felt bright somehow. Light. Dangerously charming.
You were absolutely screwed.
“I’ll leave the filming techniques up to you,” he continued casually, walking over toward the cooler nearby. “Feel free to film me however you want. No pressure.”
No pressure.
As if your nervous system wasn’t already collapsing in on itself.
He grabbed a cold bottle of water before offering another one toward you naturally, like this entire situation wasn’t surreal at all.
“Thank you,” you answered quickly, taking the bottle before immediately setting it aside again. “Uh—I’ll start filming now!”
You lifted the camera again with almost aggressive determination, eager to gather as much footage as possible. More clips meant more editing options later. More editing options meant a smaller chance of exposing yourself as a complete fraud.
Jungkook raised an amused brow at your sudden seriousness, his gaze briefly traveled over your outfit before returning to your face.
“You sure?” he asked lightly. “You don’t wanna eat first? I still have to stretch and stuff anyway.”
You shook your head immediately. “Nope.”
Your grip tightened around the camera slightly. “I wanna include behind-the-scenes snippets too, so…” you explained, trying your best to sound professional despite your racing heart. “This would actually be good footage.”
The determination in your voice made Jungkook smile again. And for some reason, that tiny look of approval made your stomach flip harder than it should have.
Jungkook chuckled softly. “Alright,” he said easily. “Just tell me if you need specific details or angles.”
Then he walked toward the side of the golf course to begin stretching.
You immediately followed after him with the camera clutched in your hands exactly the way you practiced all night, quickly pressing record before your nerves could stop you.
At first, things seemed to be going surprisingly well. You filmed everything.
His warm-ups were slow, deliberate—like he was already in control of everything around him.
The way he adjusted his gloves with quiet precision. The subtle flex of his arms as he set up his iron, muscles shifting beneath fabric like something effortless and practiced. The clean, confident swing of the club cutting through air before striking the ball with a sharp, satisfying sound. The soft crunch of grass beneath his shoes as he shifted his stance, grounding himself between each shot.
Then the stillness between it all.
Him sitting down beneath the shade, momentarily retreating from the sun. Him lifting a bottle of water to his lips, throat moving as he drank, the back of his hand brushing sweat away from his neck without much thought.
You practically documented his entire existence.
At one point, you even almost followed him toward the restroom before your brain caught up with your body at the last second.
You genuinely thought you were doing an amazing job.
From your perspective, more footage meant more options later during editing. You didn’t want to miss a single moment that could potentially look cinematic or useful.
But from Jungkook’s perspective… It was a little concerning.
At first, he simply watched quietly. He noticed the small mistakes immediately—the way you held the camera too stiffly sometimes, the awkward adjustments of the lens, the shaky transitions between movements.
Still, he tried convincing himself that maybe you were just getting comfortable with the equipment. Maybe you simply needed time.
But as the day continued, realization slowly settled in. Especially when he caught you aggressively zooming into completely unnecessary details before quickly rotating the lens too fast, creating footage that would probably look dizzying when played back.
Beginner.
The word settled into his thoughts almost instantly. You followed him everywhere with unwavering focus, constantly checking the framing, adjusting settings, filming from different angles even when your hands visibly started struggling beneath the camera’s weight.
By the time he returned from the restroom later that afternoon, he paused slightly at the sight of you near the equipment table.
You were rotating your shoulders carefully with a tired grimace, trying to ease the soreness from carrying the camera all day. Sweat clung lightly against your forehead beneath the heat of the sun, and your fingers looked faintly red from gripping the equipment for hours.
Still, the moment you noticed him approaching again, you instinctively reached for the camera.
“I think you have enough footage for today,” Jungkook said quietly before you could pick it up again.
His voice carried something firmer now. Your hands froze mid-motion.
You blinked at him in confusion. “Huh?” you asked, adjusting your grip on the camera. “But you’re not done yet.”
He was still in the middle of playing. There were still shots left, more footage you could take, more angles you could practice.
But instead of continuing, Jungkook simply placed the iron back onto the rack with a quiet sigh.
Something about his body language had changed. Subtle, but noticeable.
The playful brightness from earlier dimmed slightly, exhaustion settling into the slope of his shoulders as he rubbed the back of his neck.
And suddenly, anxiety crept beneath your skin.
Was he disappointed?
The answer was yes. Not angry—he wasn’t angry. But disappointed enough to realize the truth little by little throughout the day.
You don’t have any clue on what you were doing.
The way you handled the camera, the inconsistent framing, the random zoom-ins, the awkward adjustments every few seconds—it was painfully obvious that you were inexperienced.
And for a brief moment, ugly thoughts crossed his mind despite himself.
He trusted you.
Even without polished sample reels or impressive portfolios, he still chose to trust you. Your cover letter had been painfully sincere, especially the part about wanting independence. Wanting to do things on your own so you wouldn’t burden your parents. Wanting to make them proud. Wanting to stand on your own feet.
That part stayed with him longer than it should have.
A lot of people sent him impressive applications. High-quality edits. Cinematic videos. Professional portfolios crafted carefully to catch his attention. Thousands of direct messages flooded his account constantly, most of them blending together into meaningless noise after a while.
But yours stood out somehow.
Maybe it was the formal profile picture that made him laugh- looked strangely earnest among the endless stream of unserious messages. Maybe it was the desperation hidden between your carefully written sentences. Or maybe it was simply because your letter resonated with him more than he expected it to.
He understood that kind of desperation.
That overwhelming need to prove yourself to the world.
He had been independent from a young age too, forced to grow up far earlier than most people ever had to. He knew what it felt like to carry pressure so heavy it started shaping the person you became.
But still—
Maybe you lied just to get close to him.
Maybe you wanted the money.
Maybe you were just another person trying to take advantage of him somehow.
God knew he had already met far too many people like that.
But every time those thoughts surfaced, they disappeared almost instantly the second he looked at you again.
Because you were trying so hard. Too hard, honestly.
The determination written across your face all day felt painfully genuine, from the way you followed him around with aching arms to the sweat gathering near your forehead while you forced yourself to keep filming despite your obvious exhaustion.
You looked less like a manipulative opportunist and more like someone desperately trying not to fail.
Still, disappointment lingered quietly beneath his ribs. A dull ache he couldn’t quite shake away no matter how sincere you looked trying to impress him.
And instead of sending you home immediately, another thought slowly crept into his mind.
Something dangerous.
Something mean.
Something dirty enough to make his pulse slow.
He wanted to punish you for it.
Not enough to truly hurt you—never that—but enough to make you understand exactly what happened when you lied to him. Enough to leave you breathless beneath the weight of his attention, overwhelmed by the consequences of trying to fool him so boldly.
Jungkook had always been competitive for a reason.
He hated losing, hated being made a fool of.
And now that you had managed to slip past his guard so easily, there was no way he was letting you walk away untouched by it.
Oh, he was going to have so much fun with you.
“I wanna film something,” he finally said instead, voice quieter now. More serious.
Your breath caught slightly at the sudden change in tone. The warmth from earlier had faded into something calmer. Harder to read.
“Oh,” you answered softly, momentarily caught off guard. “Okay! What kind of content?”
You quickly stood up and began fixing the equipment into your bags, noticing him grab his car keys from beside his sports bag.
“You’ll see,” he said simply, before turning toward the exit.
Your own brows furrowed in confusion. The schedule he sent clearly stated golf content for today. Nothing else.
Still, you followed him quietly anyway. When he told you to ride with him instead of the escort vehicle, your confusion deepened even more, though you didn’t question it aloud. Maybe he wanted driving footage or some cinematic clips for the vlog.
That had to be it.
Your heart thumped nervously as you climbed into his car beside him, immediately noticing how sleek and absurdly expensive the interior looked. The soft scent of fresh mint lingered in the air, clean and comforting somehow.
The realization that you were sitting inside Jungkook’s car with Jungkook himself nearly made your soul leave your body.
Your hands instinctively reached toward the camera bag.
“No,” Jungkook chuckled softly the moment he noticed. “You’re not gonna film here, pretty girl.”
Pretty girl.
Your entire brain stopped functioning. Heat rushed violently into your cheeks as you slowly pulled your hands away from the bag.
“Oh,” you answered weakly. “Okay…”
You bit your lip afterward, turning slightly toward the window to hide your expression while curiosity twisted tighter inside your chest.
Where exactly was he taking you?
The moment you saw the familiar hotel building come into view through the windshield, confusion settled deeper into your chest.
You followed Jungkook quietly through the lobby, nerves buzzing beneath your skin with every step.
He had gone strangely quiet after golf. Still calm, still composed—but not as bright as before. The easy smiles disappeared, replaced by something heavier lingering beneath his expression, and it made your stomach tighten painfully.
“Uhm…” you started carefully while standing beside him inside the elevator. “Are you gonna get a few more cameras or something?”
The elevator doors slid shut. Jungkook glanced at you briefly, his doe eyes half-lidded in a way that made your throat suddenly feel dry.
“Take a guess.”
Your heartbeat stumbled. Something about his tone made nervousness crawl violently through your body. And when the elevator finally opened onto your floor, Jungkook grabbed your wrist without warning.
You gasped softly, he dragged you out impatiently, long strides carrying the two of you quickly down the hallway toward your hotel room. His grip wasn’t painful, but firm enough to make your pulse race uncontrollably beneath your skin.
By the time you stopped in front of your door, your mind was already spiraling. Jungkook looked down at you expectantly, his pupils dilated, still holding your wrist while waiting for you to unlock the room.
Did he figure it out? The thought struck so hard your chest physically tightened.
Your fingers trembled slightly while pulling out the keycard. Guilt flooded your system all at once, thick and suffocating.
You were scared.
Scared he’d yell at you. Scared he’d confiscate the equipment. Scared he’d have you booked on the next flight home before you even had a chance to explain yourself.
Completely unaware of the way his dark, playful mind worked. Completely unaware of how badly he wanted to punish you.
“Jungkook, I—”
But the words died immediately when he walked past you instead.
He took the camera bag from your hands and moved straight toward the table, pulling out the camera you used earlier before checking the rest of the equipment you left behind.
You blinked in confusion. Huh?
Jungkook grabbed another camera calmly before setting up one of the tripods with practiced ease. The way his fingers moved across the equipment was fast and precise, adjusting settings effortlessly while rotating the camera into position like second nature. His shoulders flexed beneath the white polo each time he lifted the tripod, veins bulging faintly along his tattooed forearms while he fixed the lighting behind it.
Your lips parted slightly without meaning to. He looked ridiculously good doing something as simple as setting up cameras.
“W-What are you doing?” you stammered, confused.
Jungkook glanced back at you over his shoulder while tightening something near the tripod head.
“Sit on the bed for me.”
Your stomach flipped violently. “H-Huh? I mean okay,” you answered quietly, swallowing hard before slowly moving toward the bed.
You sat carefully near the edge while watching him continue adjusting the setup.
With one hand alone, Jungkook lifted the heavy tripod effortlessly and positioned it directly in front of the bed, angling the camera downward toward where you sat.
The veins along his arms flexed again beneath the strain.
Your throat went completely dry. The room suddenly felt much smaller than before.
Hotter too.
You watched silently as he grabbed another tripod, this time placing it to the right side of the bed. Both cameras pointed directly at you now. And for some reason, the sight made your heartbeat pound harder than ever before.
He looked through the camera lens carefully, head tilting slightly as he adjusted the angle. “Lay down on the bed.”
Your eyes nearly popped out of their sockets. “What—”
“Lay down.” he commanded sharply.
This time, his tone came out firmer. Serious. Leaving absolutely no room for argument.
And somehow, the way he looked at you through the camera lens sent a sharp shiver crawling down your spine.
To your own horror, excitement slowly started mixing with the fear curling inside your stomach.
You almost wanted to slap yourself for it.
You swallowed hard before slowly slipping your shoes off, awkwardly climbing farther onto the bed until your back rested against the headboard.
Every movement suddenly felt painfully self-aware beneath the cameras pointed directly at you.
Jungkook poked the inside of his cheek thoughtfully while studying the frame through the viewfinder, eventually stepping forward again to move the tripod closer.
Before you could shift yourself lower against the mattress, he suddenly walked toward you instead. Your breath hitched the second he crouched down in front of you holding the clip-on microphone.
He leaned in close enough for you to catch the faint scent of mint lingering on him.
“You forgot these earlier,” he said lightly, though there was something mocking beneath the softness of his voice now.
“Oh,” you answered weakly. “Uhm… I was in a rush, so…” Your cheeks burned instantly from embarrassment.
Of course you forgot the microphones!
Jungkook raised a brow slowly. “You were in a rush?” he repeated with a quiet chuckle before standing back up again.
Then he walked toward the table and grabbed the smaller digital camcorder, casually aiming it toward you.
The amount of cameras pointed at you now made your stomach twist uncomfortably. Instinctively, you tried sitting up straighter, but Jungkook stopped you immediately.
“Stay still,” he said calmly. “I wanna test the cameras.”
“Test the cameras?”
“I think you need a little demo, baby.” Your heartbeat stopped. “You weren’t doing a very good job earlier.” The teasing mockery in his tone hit you like a truck.
And suddenly everything crashed down at once. Your eyes widened in horror.
Fuck.
He knew.
Of course he knew!
Heat rushed violently into your face and neck, humiliation crawling across your entire body so intensely it almost hurt. Your chest tightened painfully while tears burned behind your eyes before you could stop them.
You looked away instinctively, shame flooding every inch of you.
God, this was so embarrassing.
“J-Jungkook, please,” you stammered quickly, panic slipping into your voice. “I’m not trying to scam you or anything, it’s just that—”
He stepped closer until his knees brushed against the edge of the bed.
And somehow, that almost satisfied look on his face made your stomach twist even more.
You looked so shy. So cornered. Like a poor little thing unknowingly walking straight into his hands.
His gaze lingered on you with dangerous amusement, as though you had already become his favorite test subject for the cameras.
Dark lazy eyes dragged slowly across your body, taking their time, shamelessly roaming over every inch of you while his imagination sparked vividly to life. You could almost see the thoughts forming behind his eyes—every filthy thing he wanted to do to you, every position he wanted to bend you into, every sound he wanted to force out of your mouth while the cameras kept recording.
And somehow, what excited him even more was the thought of filming it all. Editing it afterward. Watching you fall apart for him frame by frame.
“Shh,” he murmured softly. “It’s okay.”
Your watery eyes lifted toward him immediately. “I’ll teach you how to film, hmm?” he said mockingly.
“W-What?” Your lips parted in disbelief.
Jungkook tilted his head slightly, dark eyes fixed on yours with an unreadable expression.
“Gonna show you the right angles, baby,” he cooed. “What do you think?” He smiled without humor.
The contrast made you shiver. “B-But…”
“Will you cooperate with me?” he asked, voice smooth and almost condescending, like he was speaking to a child. His fingers tapped lightly against one of the cameras beside him. “We wouldn’t want these cameras to go to waste, would we?”
Your throat tightened. Part of you wanted to disappear completely. To book the next flight home, apologize profusely, and somehow repay every expense he wasted on you.
But another part of you—the younger version buried deep inside your chest, the girl who once stayed up all night watching his videos and smiling at her screen—couldn’t let go of this moment.
Because despite everything, Jungkook still hadn’t thrown you out.
He wasn’t yelling at you.
He was giving you another chance.
And maybe that meant you still had an opportunity to prove yourself.
Thousands of people probably wanted your position right now. Yet somehow, he was still here. Patient enough to teach you himself.
Completely unaware of how dangerous that patience actually was.
Because the lessons Jungkook had in mind were nothing like the ones you were expecting.
So slowly, you nodded.
Hope flickered weakly beneath your embarrassment while your thoughts tangled themselves around one desperate need: to impress him somehow.
“Okay,” you whispered nervously. “I—I learn fast when someone’s teaching me and…”
Jungkook raised a thick brow at you. “Pretty girl’s a fast learner, huh?”
Your cheeks immediately reddened again. You nodded shyly despite the obvious teasing in his tone, unconsciously pouting a little from embarrassment.
His eyes went down to your lips, eyes darkening. “Can you count the cameras for me?” he asked a bit impatiently.
You glanced around quickly toward the setup.
The two cameras mounted on tripods.
The camcorder in his hand.
“There’s three,” you answered softly.
Jungkook chuckled under his breath. “Good job, baby.” he slowly lifted the camcorder higher, zooming the lens closer toward your face.
“Now look here.”
You shyly looked into the camera lens, your cheeks dusted with pink beneath the warm lights.
The way Jungkook stared at you through the camcorder made you shrink into yourself slightly, suddenly aware of every little movement you made on the bed.
He tilted his head slowly. “So pretty.”
Your breath caught in your throat. Heat crawled up your neck as you shifted uncomfortably against the mattress, fingers curling slightly into the sheets. The entire situation suddenly felt strangely intimate, and for a second your thoughts drifted somewhere dangerous before you quickly forced yourself to focus again.
This is just a demo.
He’s teaching you.
Nothing else.
“Open the first few buttons of your top,” he said, voice quieter now as he continued looking at you through the camcorder.
Your eyes widened instantly.
Did I hear that right?
“W-What?” you nearly choked out, pulse quickening embarrassingly fast despite how badly this entire situation could end for you.
And somehow, against all logic, excitement started curling through your stomach.
“Need you to cooperate, baby,” he answered smoothly. “Come on, do a nice show for me.”
The teasing edge in his tone made your stomach twist nervously.
You hesitated for a moment before slowly bringing your shaky fingers toward your top, feeling painfully aware of the cameras pointed at you from different angles.
Jungkook watched carefully through the lens, adjusting the focus ring slightly while observing the framing.
“That’s it.” he encouraged.
You squeezed your eyes shut for a moment, fingers trembling as you slowly undid the first few buttons of your blouse. Heat crawled up the back of your neck, burning the tips of your ears as the reality of the situation settled deeper beneath your skin.
He’s filming a sex tape.
You were so fucking stupid because instead of panicking properly, instead of running or completely losing your mind, you were following him blindly. Worse—you were getting excited.
Fuck, you should’ve been crashing out right now.
But the way he looked at you— God.
It felt like he wanted to devour you whole. His dark eyes dragged over every inch of exposed skin with quiet hunger, liquid heat pulsed embarrassingly between the gap of your thighs before you could stop it.
“Open your eyes baby, stare at the camera.” he said firmly, an obvious edge underneath it.
You slowly opened your eyes. Your cheeks were already burning, breath uneven as you finished unbuttoning the last one, revealing just enough of your chest to make your thoughts scatter. The camera lens felt heavier now, more invasive, like it was watching you breathe, waiting for you to make the wrong move.
“Hmm…touch your breasts baby, give it a nice squeeze for me.” he whispered, still holding the camcorder, directing it with the ease of someone who knew exactly what every angle captured.
Completely under his control, you obeyed, your hands moving hesitantly at first before you held yourself through the fabric, giving a light squeeze that made your breath hitch. You bit down on your lower lip, trying to stay steady, trying to keep your eyes locked on the camera like he told you, even as your vision softened at the edges and your body betrayed your focus.
The room felt smaller now. Heavier.
You were getting so wet.
Jungkook let out a low groan, eyes still fixed through the lens.
“Remove your top, wanna see your pretty nipples.”
Your ears burned red at the filthy undertone. With shaky hands, you slowly pulled your top off, revealing the white lace bra beneath. The delicate fabric hugged the soft swell of your breasts perfectly, and the moment Jungkook’s eyes settled on them through the camera lens, another wave of heat rushed through your body.
You slowly tugged at the first strap, then the second, freeing your breasts as your nipples hardened, flushed and sensitive against the cool air.
“That’s it,” he instructed, voice steady. “Roll those pretty nipples for me.”
You obeyed, pinching them gently before rolling them between your fingers. Your lips parted at the rush of sensation that followed, breath catching as your panties got more stickier with your arousal.
When your gaze dropped, you noticed the strain in his black shorts—the obvious tent pressing against the fabric. A shiver ran down your spine at the realization that despite his composed, professional expression as he filmed you, he wasn’t unaffected.
He groaned, zooming in on how you were rolling and pinching your nipples, his cock throbbing at the sight, precum leaking from its mushroom tip.
“Bring your hand to your mouth,” he ordered, directing the camera at your face. “Now, spit on it.”
You whimpered. Like a good girl, you gathered your saliva and spat thickly onto your palms, showing it to him after.
He bit his lower lip, his cock getting so hard from your submissiveness. “Good girl, now rub it on your nipples—make it nice and wet for me,” he rasped.
You rubbed the spit on your breast, the warm, sticky fluid on your nipples feeling so raw and dirty, spreading the saliva messily as he watched you through the lens with hooded eyes.
You were getting so horny, the dirty act turning you on so much that you could feel your panties sticking to your core.
“Look at you,” he chuckled, slowly reaching toward you. “I bet you’re so wet right now.”
You looked so pretty—your neatly done hair now slightly disheveled, cheeks flushed from all the things he’d been instructing you to do, pebbled nipples glistening under the camera lights. Your legs trembled slightly, aching to be touched, your lips parting every now and then as your breath turned uneven, eyes hazy and unfocused.
The sight made Jungkook’s cock throb painfully hard.
His pretty little doll.
He handed you the camcorder. “Hold this, baby. Show them who’s making you this wet.”
With shaky hands and glossy eyes, you took the camera and tried to point it toward him, your eyes rolling back when he removed his white polo shirt and black shorts, leaving him in his gray Calvin Klein boxers.
You whimpered as you could see the outline of his huge cock, precum leaking at the tip, wetting the center of the cloth.
“Your angle is wrong,” he raised a brow, noticing how your shaky hands were failing a bit at holding the camera properly.
You panicked. “I’m sorry,” you rushed out, trying to straighten it, ignoring the painful pulses between your legs—your body begging to be touched.
He chuckled, leaning over you. “It’s okay, baby. That’s why we have another camera.”
His hands came up to your cheeks, gently holding and angling your face to the right so you could look toward the second camera set up by the side of the bed. “I bet you’d look so good getting fucked from that angle,” he whispered.
His grip on your cheeks tightened slightly, squishing them just enough as the camera captured everything—the way your eyes fluttered, the way your nipples hardened under his gaze, the way your legs shifted restlessly, searching for any kind of friction.
You gasped loudly when his free hand went down to cup your pussy through your pants, your eyes rolling back as he felt the wetness through the fabric.
“Fuck, let me see how wet you are, yeah?”
With one hand, he unzipped your pants, pulling them down in one forceful motion while his other hand remained on your cheeks, keeping your gaze fixed on the camera. Your other hand trembled as it tried to capture what he was doing below.
“Capture this, baby,” he breathed, guiding your hand holding the camcorder to angle it downward, towards your wet pussy.
You almost dropped the camera when he suddenly slapped your cunt, your panties nearly see-through from how wet they were with your arousal.
“Jungkook~” you whimpered.
He sat up and held both of your legs, spreading them wider until your ankles were almost on either side of the bed.
“You’re so wet, I can see your cute little slit through your panties baby.” He chuckled, leaning down and hollowing his cheeks to spit right above your clothed clit, making it even messier.
You whimpered, your toes curling at the sensation, gripping the camcorder tightly as you felt him crouch down, spreading his spit over your panties. His warm tongue then licked along your pussy through the fabric, slotting between your folds, the wet material pressing inside your slit.
“Make sure the camera can see how good I’m gonna eat this pussy.” He whispered while looking at you, flipping your panties to the side and groaning when he saw how wet and pink you were, his jaw slackening as he took almost your whole pussy into his warm mouth.
It was so wet and messy, and you could see him through the mini screen of the camcorder, maintaining direct eye contact with the lens while eating you out, making sure to pull back your hood so the camera could capture how his lips would wrapped around your swollen clit.
He suctioned around it, spreading more spit, sucking as if his life depended on it, then moved down to gather your juices before sliding his hot tongue inside you, coaxing more from you. His adam’s apple bobbed as he swallowed, showing you how he drank every bit of your wetness.
“That feels so g-good.” You moaned, trying to zoom in on how his tongue played with your folds.
He hummed, the vibrations making you twitch in pleasure.
“Yeah? This feels good?” he asked, sucking harshly on your clit as your eyes rolled back, your release building up fast. Your pussy throbbed, your clit growing more sensitive with every passing second.
“I’m gonna-’’
You moaned loudly when he buried his face deeper, never letting go of your throbbing clit, his head moving from side to side as he groaned low against you. When he finally let go of your clit, you gasped as he gathered a thick amount of saliva, hollowing his cheeks to spit harshly down on you, then leaning back in with his tongue out to spread it in slow, kitten-like licks.
When he looked up again at the lens, you exploded, your orgasm so intense you could feel your pussy pulsating so hard you almost saw stars.
‘’Stop, please!” You whined, overstimulated as he kept licking your cunt, your legs shaking from the oversensitivity.
His chin and nose were soaked, his lips slightly red and pouty, his dark locks messy, and his pupils dilated. You gasped when he suddenly removed his boxers; his cock was hard and pretty, curving slightly upward, decorated with thick veins and a red, swollen mushroom tip.
Jungkook took the camera and angled it towards you, wide glossy eyes looking up at him weakly.
“Say… thank you for making me cum, Jungkook.” He breathed, his other hand gripping his cock as he spread the precum along his shaft.
“Thank you for m-making me cum, Jungkook.” You croaked, your legs still trembling from your intense orgasm.
He smiled proudly. “My smart girl, very good at following instructions,” he praised, placing the camcorder down beside you and angling it so it could capture how his mouth leaned down to suck your nipples, while his free hand squeezed and rolled the other bud between his fingers.
“Jungkook—” you moaned as his tongue twirled and sucked around your breast, just like he had done to your clit—messy and pouty with saliva.
He bit your nipple playfully, earning a soft whimper from you, his tattooed hand reaching down to cup your swollen pussy.
You gasped when he inserted his middle finger, your walls tightening around the intrusion.
“You’re so tight and warm.” He murmured against your nipple, letting it go with a soft pop before moving to suck on the other one.
You whimpered, your pussy growing wetter from the way he sucked and played with your nipples, the pad of his middle finger brushing against your spongy spot, making you writhe in pleasure.
“Please- too much.” You moaned, his middle finger going so deep that his knuckles were hitting your ass, his finger curling in a “come here” motion inside you, rubbing your spot deliciously as your tight hole produced more juices, the feeling of your previous release being pushed inside you making you tremble.
He let go of your nipple and leaned in immediately, pouty lips capturing yours in a hungry kiss. His tongue slipped into your mouth, messy and demanding, tangling with yours as the kiss deepened and turned overwhelming.
At the same time, his other hand moved up to your throat, fingers wrapping gently around the column of your neck, giving it a light squeeze as he held you in place.
Your lips parted in response, and he took the opportunity to push his tongue deeper, exploring every corner of your mouth, sucking on your tongue and swallowing your whines and protests.
His hard cock pressed against your inner thigh, impossibly close to your wet pussy, grinding lightly as he shifted. You could feel his precum, warm and slick, and the firm pressure of his mushroom tip against your skin made you bite back a shaky breath, a mix of pleasure and nerves twisting together inside you.
Your walls tightened around his finger, making it almost impossible for him to move it from how tightly your pussy gripped him.
He groaned, biting your lip and nudging your thighs wider with his legs, inserting another finger and making you gasp from the mix of pain and pleasure. He swallowed your moans, almost bruising your tongue from the way he was kissing you, the air in your lungs growing limited every time he squeezed your throat.
“Shh, behave for the camera.” he whispered, his thumb caressing your throat while his middle and ring fingers rubbed your spongy spot in slow circles.
Tears fell from your eyes, the overstimulation and edging making you cry from pain. You had already come, but you wanted to cum again so badly, your pussy aching and throbbing for another release, his fingers brushing your g-spot in a teasing, ticklish way, making you shake and move your legs in protest.
“Let me cum again, please, please…” you pleaded, fat tears rolling down your flushed cheeks.
He gripped your throat a little tighter, making you gasp for air. “Aww, you wanna come again?” he cooed.
You nodded desperately, moving your hips to meet his fingers. “Yes, please.”
He chuckled at you. “So polite.” he said, lazily grabbing the camcorder from the side and angling it down towards your spent pussy. “Spread wide, baby.”
You immediately held your ankles, making yourself completely open for him, desperate for release, your body aching from denied pleasure.
He angled the camera at your twitching hole, filming how your wetness dripped down the sheets. He held his hard cock, spitting down onto his shaft and pumping it a few times before angling himself towards your wet cunt.
You gasped loudly when his blunt head entered your hole, biting your lip harshly at the foreign intrusion, the stretch nearly overwhelming you from his swollen mushroom tip alone.
“So big…” you whimpered, holding your ankles tightly as a new wave of tears gathered in your eyes.
Your breath hitched, trembling as you tried to adjust, the sensation stealing every coherent thought from your mind.
Jungkook cursed under his breath, zooming in on your wet cunt to capture how your walls were sucking him in.
“Your pussy looks so good on camera baby, so tight and pretty.” He grunted, pushing halfway in and earning a loud moan from you.
His bangs stuck to his forehead, his lip ring catching the light as he bit down on his lower lip. His broad chest rose and fell heavily, veins tracing along his neck, flushed and taut with effort. Even like this, he held the camera with unnerving steadiness, like nothing about the moment could shake his focus.
So steady and professional at producing sex tapes.
When he bottomed out, you almost fainted, the stretch overwhelming—painful yet intoxicating—as he pressed fully against you. His balls settled deep, his pelvis flush with yours, the soft trim of hair brushing your clit each time he rolled his hips.
He groaned harshly. You could feel his cock throbbing inside you, his jaw clenching as your walls enveloped him.
“Relax, baby—you’re gripping me,” he groaned weakly, this time angling the camera toward your face.
You whimpered, trying to cover your face with your small hands, but he caught both of your wrists and pinned them above your head. His sudden hard thrusts made your body bounce slightly with every movement, leaving you breathless.
“Don’t be shy, baby—show your pretty face to the camera,” he drawled lazily, angling it towards your flushed expression.
“Show them how good I’m making you feel.” He grunted, rolling his hips against you. The curve of his cock hitting your g-spot perfectly, buried so deep that he barely pulled out at all—only circling his hips, grinding in a way that made it feel like he wanted to push even further. The sensation drew a sharp arch through your back.
His gaze stayed locked on you through the screen, lips parted, breath uneven—like he was caught between control and losing it. The way your pussy gripped him made his cock throb, his expression darkening with something possessive and unspoken.
“Look at you, whimpering like a pretty little slut.” he said in a condescending tone.
“I-I’m not a slut.” You pouted, your walls tightening around him at his degrading tone.
He raised a brow. “Oh really? You think a lot of people won’t agree once I upload this?”
Your eyes widened, panic flashing across your flushed face as his thrusts turned harsher and sloppier, the rhythm giving away how close he was getting. You were almost impressed that he was still managing to keep the camera steady.
“N-No, you are not gonna do that,” you panicked, your eyes wide and glossy, your small hands trying to push the camera away.
He grunted, his cock throbbing as he felt your pussy tighten around him. He shifted just enough to avoid the camera when you reached for it, tightening his grip around both your wrists so you couldn’t move.
“You like that, huh? Come on, pretty—let me film you properly.” He snapped his hips harder, angling the lens toward you while your bodies met in sharp, rhythmic collisions.
The friction made your breath hitch, your clit brushing against his pubic hair in a way that sent jolts of pleasure racing through your body. His grip tightened around the camcorder, breathing uneven as he watched you come apart through the screen, completely drunk on the sounds you were making for him.
“Moan louder.” he commanded.
You moaned loudly, your chest rising and falling as his harsh movements made your body react against him. His eyes rolled back slightly from the way you kept pulsating around him, every drag sending him deeper into overstimulation.
He bit his lip. “My dirty girl, getting fucked on film.” he rasped.
Then, abruptly, he let go of the camcorder and set it aside.
A soft sound escaped him as he pulled out, the sudden emptiness making you whimper. Before you could fully register it, he was already moving you—pulling your body forward and repositioning you in front of him.
He settled behind you, guiding you into place so that you were now facing the cameras on the tripod, your body fully on display while his broad chest and hard cock pressed close from behind.
“You see those two cameras baby?’’ he whispered behind your ear, spreading your legs wide.
“Yes.” you replied weakly.
You gasped loudly when he entered you from behind, your body settling against his lap as his thighs kept your legs spread wide, positioning you so the camera could clearly capture the way he entered you.
“Smile for them baby, need some footage from this angle.’’ He cooed softly, thrusting his hips upward while his other arm circled around your waist to keep you steady.
You moaned, trembling so badly when you saw how the lights caught both of your bodies—the glittering sheen of sweat, your smudged makeup, and his tattooed colored arms all captured in high definition under the harsh glow.
"My pretty pretty girl, should I post this? show them how I fuck?" he murmured against your skin before pressing a kiss to your cheek, his tongue brushing lightly over the dampness left behind by your earlier tears.
The tenderness of it contrasted so badly with the hunger in his voice that it made your breath hitch. His hand cradled your face carefully, thumb stroking beneath your eye as though he was soothing you and provoking you at the same time, and the way he looked at you through half-lidded eyes made heat rush straight to your chest.
He suddenly grabbed the clip-on mic from your necklace, your eyes widening as you realized he was angling it downward—towards where his cock met your pussy.
“Need to test the mic baby, let the viewers hear how much of a nasty slut you are.”
The mic was so close that every sound was picked up clearly—the wet, obscene squelches echoing as he pushed and pulled inside you, the way he dragged against your tight heat sounding even more intense through the recording. The noise alone felt almost sinful in how loud and wet it was.
“I bet they can hear how tight your pussy is.” he grunted, putting the mic closer to your cunt.
He could feel how slick everything had become, wetting his balls each time he pushed, your arousal makes each movement messier.
“Gonna cum, oh gosh.” You moaned, your body growing hypersensitive as your clit throbbed with the pressure of an approaching orgasm.
He grabbed both of your cheeks when he noticed your head starting to fall back from pleasure, forcing you to look straight at the camera in front of you. “Be a good girl and look at the lens, don’t want my content to be bad quality.’’
His other hand clipped the mic back onto your necklace before sliding down again, rubbing slow circles over your clit. You moaned loudly, your back arching as your orgasm edged closer and closer.
“Cum for me baby, show them your cute little juices.”
Your legs were shaking when you finally reached your orgasm, your clit throbbing so intensely, your limbs giving out as your body hit its peak. Your swollen bud pulsed uncontrollably in fast, erratic heart beats, your walls clenching around his cock as he was still thrusting inside you.
Your eyes rolled back into your head when you felt your orgasm stretch further from his deep thrusts, his mushroom tip brushing against your g-spot and dragging you straight into another wave. You came again, consecutively, your body twitching as overstimulation took over, your legs instinctively trying to close.
"J-Jungkook I can't anymore."
Jungkook forced your legs to stay open, his index and middle fingers spreading your pussy lips apart for the camera, showing how your clit pulsed beneath the warm lights while his cock remained buried deep inside you.
''Mhm.. spit on your clit baby, make it extra wet before I use you." he whispered.
You squirmed, obediently leaning down as his fingers kept you spread open. With trembling breaths, you gathered saliva on your tongue before letting it drip down onto your clit, both cameras capturing the filthy sight in sharp detail.
A low curse slipped past Jungkook’s lips at the view, his grip tightening instinctively as he watched you, completely consumed by the way you willingly put yourself on display for him.
He quickly flipped your body down to chase his own pleasure, entering you again and sloppily thrusting into your wet used walls, pushing your cum deeper and deeper inside you. You were so weak, your heart still racing as you weakly reached for the camcorder to film him.
When he saw what you were doing, he groaned harshly, his grip on your hips tightening so hard it bordered on bruising as he held you down.
“My smart girl, you learned well huh?” He praised you, thrusting fast and hard, the camcorder shaking in your grip as you tried to capture his deep strokes.
"Your little brain functioning well with my cock deep inside you.'' he muttered darkly, thumb brushing against your cheek as he watched your expression unravel for him.
“A-Am I doing a good job?” you asked softly, biting your lip as you adjusted the camera to capture his face this time.
He let out a low growl in response, movements losing their rhythm slightly as pleasure started pulling him apart at the edges. “Uh-huh,” he breathed heavily. “You can be my personal little porn star. You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
A loud moan escaped you at the thought, heat rushing instantly to your cheeks as you tightened your grip on the camcorder, suddenly far too eager to keep filming him.
“Gonna fuck you anytime I want,” he breathed, dilated eyes locked on you through the lens. “Film it however I like.”
With a harsh final thrust, he came inside you, grunting as he pushed through the last of it, staying buried as he finished, his body still tense with the release. You could feel his cock pulsing inside you, warm cum spilling and pooling, some of it leaking out and staining the sheets beneath you while he stayed balls deep.
The camcorder slipped from your grip, forgotten as you breathed heavily beneath him. You were completely spent, still sensitive as his hips gave a few slow, instinctive movements, as if trying to push his cum deeper despite his softening cock.
“Jungkook?” you asked weakly, fingers absentmindedly playing with the soft ruffles of his hair.
“Hmm?” he hummed against your neck, lips pressing lazy kisses there, his cock still buried deep inside you. The red recording lights on the cameras kept blinking steadily in the background.
“A-Are you really gonna post this?” you bit your lip, glancing back at the two large cameras perched on the tripod.
Jungkook let out a quiet chuckle, teeth grazing your skin in a teasing bite. “Mhm. I still need to edit it though.”
“Jungkook!” you squealed, panicking again.
He pulled back just enough to look at you, eyes dark and sharp with need, still carrying that lingering haze of desire. “Do you even know how to edit?” he asked, eyes squinting in playful doubt.
Your eyes widened. “I can edit,” you insisted quickly. “I learned a few things… I kinda know the basics.” Your voice softened at the end, almost uncertain.
A small smile tugged at his lips as he slowly pulled out, earning a shaky breath from you before he reached up to tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear with surprising gentleness.
“Hmm. Okay…” he murmured softly, lifting the camcorder slightly between you. “Edit this video for me, then.”
“What, r-really?” you blinked, surprised that he was letting you work for him.
“Uh-huh,” he said casually. “Then we’ll see if I have to keep you or not.”
You pouted instantly at that, but he was already shifting away from you, looking at the camcorder and checking the footage with the ease of someone far too experienced at this.
The screen’s glow reflected faintly against his handsome face as he replayed a few clips, brows slightly furrowed in concentration. Even now, completely relaxed, he somehow still looked annoyingly professional.
“Okay…” you mumbled softly, a little disappointment slipping into your voice before you could hide it.
He noticed immediately. Of course he did.
A smirk pulled at his lips as he lifted the camcorder slightly, teasing you with it. “Make sure you include your pretty moans, baby,” he drawled. “Or else we’ll have to retake this again.”
He stood up then, completely unbothered, removing the cameras from their tripods like the decision had already been made long before you realized it.
maybe because you’re too exhausted to hold a conversation.
or maybe it was because she’s there alongside him, sitting in the passenger seat, lifting her fingers to reach the the stereo, and turning the volume up just enough to soften the silence without really breaking it.
and a song you know too well reaches your ear.
“lonely touch, so ironic.”
you sit in the back, head propped against your hand, staring out the window at the passing trees, losing count after the first few. and the sun overhead—once shining high and bright before the nurse handed over the discharge papers—is now sinking slowly into the west, but there are no clouds, which means no grand sunset for you to admire.
there’s nothing to distract you.
“i feel enough to know what is coming.”
caleb’s grip tightens around the steering wheel. he doesn’t say anything, but every so often, you catch the slight tilt of his head towards mae, and in return, her eyes are already on him, nodding.
“lonely sun, somehow still running.”
their exchanges throughout the ride are brief, but they carry a sense of familiarity. like there was a kind of language only available to them, established long before you were ever part of the conversation.
you don’t doubt it.
they’ve known each other their whole lives. every little nod, every wink, every smile between them had a meaning, likely originating from childhood.
so you choose to ignore it, focusing instead on the way your eyelids grow heavier with each passing signal.
and even if dr. zayne had confirmed you were out for only a day, your body feels as if it had been much longer. your limbs ache with deep exhaustion, your muscles tremble faintly just from trying to remain upright, and your eyes burn, practically begging for some shut eye.
“you’re so in love, you could-”
it was still a rough twenty five minutes from the hospital to your apartment. plenty of time to let yourself succumb to the persistent whispers of sleep, and slowly enough, you lower your arm from where it props up your head and let your temple rest against the cool glass of the car door.
with the faint vibrations of the road humming beneath you and the faint lights turning on as the sky fades into dusk, the rest of the song drifts through the car, distant and muffled. you allow it to lull you away, closing your eyes with a faint breath leaving your lips.
what you don’t see is caleb’s gaze lifting to the rearview mirror, eyes settled on you with his brows furrowed and jaw tight.
and he doesn’t dare rip his eyes away until the light in front of him turns green.
the car must’ve stopped at some point.
you don’t remember when, but it did.
you barely register the sudden warmth that settles with the gentle dip of movement beneath you and the fabric by your cheek being replaced by the coolness of the glass window.
your brows knit faintly, your lashes flutter, but you can’t bring yourself to open them. not when your world feels thick, still reeling heavy with sleep.
then his cologne overwhelms you. that’s the first sign.
steady, strong hands hold you, and the shuffling accompanied by a slight grunt gives way to piecing everything together.
it’s him. caleb is carrying you in his arms.
you could recognize the scent of sandalwood and apple anywhere. you know the way his touch wraps around you, making your body respond before your mind does.
you can’t help but lean into his touch, fingers unconsciously moving to curl faintly into the material beneath them.
oh, that traitorous heart of yours.
it takes him no effort to move you out the car, suddenly feeling the cool night air, while the slam of the car door is heard. a soft jingle of keys.
you should really stop yourself from indulging in this little fantasy. you're well aware that it’s going to make your illness worse.
“caleb...?” your voice comes out barely above a whisper, sustaining the strength within you to peer at him.
those ametrine eyes you adore so much look down, landing on you with a fondness you swear has only ever been directed to you a handful of times.
“hey,” he pauses, reaching down just slightly to turn the key in the knob of your door. “i’ve got you.”
“caleb.” you try again, but this time he stops. you’re inside now.
the scent of vanilla laced with a twinge of lavender, surrounds you as he stands with you cradled in his arms.
for a fleeting moment, you debate whether pushing yourself free by jumping out of his hold was too drastic a move, especially considering your still-healing body.
the thought barely settles before his grip tightens.
as if he heard you. as if your thoughts were on display for him to see. if anything, he holds you tighter in his arms, securing you firmly against him like there was no room for argument.
“no.” he says, not even a second later.
you swallow.
for someone who is so attuned to you, who can read you like a book, know what you’re going to do without even saying it, you can’t stand how oblivious he is to the feelings you harbor for him.
or maybe he knows and he still doesn’t want you. that stupid, self-loathing voice rings in your head again.
remember your place.
“you can put me down, i promise i can walk,” you try to protest, but he ignores you. one foot already moving in front of the other, leading him straight to your bedroom.
“it’s okay,” he says your name as a whisper, and you can’t help the way your heart thumps. “we’re already here. see?"
pushing the door open, he crosses all the way to your bed, lowering you into the mattress with such tender care that the familiar ache returns for just a moment.
the sheets beneath you are cool to the touch. but his hands?
not so much.
he adjusts the pillow beneath your head, movements slow and deliberate, leaving you blinking up at him, vision becoming more detailed, and you can’t help your brows furrowing, or the pout you give him.
“are you serious right now, xia?” pushing yourself upright, already shifting as if to refuse his help. “i’ve got this. i don’t need you hovering.”
“i’m not hovering.” he replies.
you turn your head with a scoff. “then what are you doing?”
“i’m helping my best friend from face planting after she was just discharged from the hospital.”
“and?”
“and that’s not reason enough?” he sounds exasperated. you barely catch it, but it’s somehow overshadowed by the teasing undertone.
oblivious bastard.
always making you think, just for a second, that maybe you have a chance.
and you’re really trying to find reason to hate him for it. you really do.
drawing in a steady breath, you reach for the blanket at the foot of your bed, avoiding his lingering gaze.
“okay. you mission accomplished. i think i’m good for tonight. thank you for...that.” you pull the blanket up to your chest. “you should probably get back to mae.”
but the words taste bitter on your tongue.
“i dropped her off at a friend’s place for now,” he says, pausing briefly. “and don’t do that.”
“do what?”
he’s still close. close enough that you can feel the warmth of him without physically touching.
too close...if he leaned in the slightest bit forward then-
“redirect the topic elsewhere.”
heat rushed to your face and your shift away, forcing yourself to create distance. “i’m not.”
his brows knit together, and the amber in his eyes catch the faintest of light as they lock onto yours.
“you are,” he sighs. “you’ve been doing it so much lately and you think i don’t notice.” but i’m catching on is left unsaid.
you look away. he sighs.
“okay fine, you don’t wanna talk about it, so i’ll drop it,” he shifts close again. “under one condition."
you narrow your eyes, that playful banter you’ve missed lately, bleeding through. “i’m scared to even ask.”
“no, no. it’s not bad.”
he chuckles, and suddenly you’re transported to a time before any of this occurred. before the day you sat in your doctor’s office waiting a diagnosis.
you try and hang on to how light this moment feels.
“hmm,” you bring a finger to your chin, tapping it for effect. “okay, i’ll hear you out. what’s your condition, xia?”
“let me stay the night. it’s the only way i’ll be able to breathe tonight.”
you refrain from letting a huff of disbelief escape you, afraid it might ruin the moment, because it was the very last thing you expected to come out his mouth.
“yeah. no.”
“what? why not?”
“because that means you’ll be hovering, even though you just said you weren’t!” you let out an airy laugh as your features scrunch up, bringing your hands up to push his stupid face away. “besides, you have your own place, and your own responsibilities!”
“well yea, but don’t you know you’re one of them.”
a beat.
it doesn’t last a second before the resounding ache in your chest appears like a warning.
you widen your eyes and clamp your mouth shut, releasing your hold almost immediately.
when he turns his direction back to you, you hope he doesn’t catch it—don’t think he does—but the lighter part of his iris’s burn into yours, and he gives you the best kicked puppy dog eyes you’ve ever seen.
you shake your head.
“that won’t work on me, caleb.” you pull your gaze from him, but it’s so hard to avoid it when he moves along with your line of sight, doing enough to unfortunately elicit a small, growing smile from you.
“please.” he drags out the last syllable.
“no.”
“but you can’t just kick me out like i’m nothing? we’re besties, hello?” he raises the pitch in his voice to somehow mimic yours. repeating the same words you told him months ago. way before any of this.
it warms your fragile heart.
“okay, i really have to think-”
you don’t get to finish your phrase when the vibration of a phone cuts you off, and the ringtone that follows after startles you both.
your gaze drifts toward the nightstand, seeing the way it’s his phone that lights up against the dark of your room causing your eye to involuntarily twitch the moment you see the photo paired with the name on the caller id.
because of course it doesn’t take a genius to know who it was.
being ripped away from the very alternate reality you've created, you move farther from him, placing yourself deeper in your bed while he clears his throat.
“you should take that.” you say, voice slightly hoarse.
you’re suddenly very parched.
he hesitates for a moment, eyes flickering between you and his phone, but he doesn’t make a move, not right away. he just stays there as if waiting for it to ring a few more times.
it’s almost ironic—like a test crafted by astra himself.
but he fails. he always does when it comes to choosing between you and her.
because he doesn’t think to delay it any longer after the third ring.
“this isn’t over. just...let me take this and i’ll be back.”
you press your lips together, already bracing yourself for the inevitable, the confirmation that no matter what, he will always pick her first.
and you’ll have to remind yourself as you watch him walk out of your room—finger quickly sliding across the screen—that you're okay with that. because you are his best friend, and she will always be more to him.
so much more.
when the call ends, he lingers for just a moment, staring at the darkened screen a bit longer than he should’ve.
her voice still echoes faintly in his mind, assuring him that he doesn't need to pick her up. she’s already been invited to stay the night at her friend’s.
only then does he remember where he is, that he’s standing in your living room.
and for a brief second, his gaze falls upon a single wilted petal lying at the side of an old vase, sticking out like a sore thumb.
probably some flowers you had thrown out and hadn’t bothered to clean up the rest. he tells himself.
but then the rest of the realization sets in about the space he occupies. about how there’s something that feels off.
his drags his eyes around the room, slow and searching, something he failed to notice when he carried you in earlier.
your apartment seems less...inhabited compared to the last time he paid you a visit.
he swears there used to be a picture frame of you and your parents on the shelf near the tv. and the night he spent drying your hair, there was definitely a stack of books lying on the coffee table. he had remembered it so vividly. the smile you gave him when you told him how excited you were to start the series, how you rambled on about the first chapter, stumbling over your words because you couldn’t get them out enough.
he finds himself missing that.
misses how easily you used to talk to him. how often minutes would stretch into hours while conversing with him about anything and everything.
how you’d sit at the kitchen island, head perched on your hand lazily with stars in your eyes, watching as he maneuvered around your kitchen like it was his. how the corners of your eyes creased as the smile on your face grew and grew whenever he said something stupid just to hear you laugh.
and then...
things changed.
he pinpoints it back to the moment you returned from the doctor’s, brushing him off by saying all you had was some “benign” cough.
he can confirm that’s when everything shifted. that’s the moment you began pulling away.
then without much of an explanation, you got quieter.
the circles under your eyes darkened. you brushed it off as being tired.
your hacking, dangerous and violent haunt him. you said your illness wasn’t that serious?
the blood he saw escape your lips as you lied unconscious in his arms. that’s not something that occurs from just a coughing fit.
you made excuses to avoid him.
you’re already gone off to campus during the mornings he stops by to pick you up.
even now. nights spent with sleepovers you would never refuse, has you pausing before giving him an answer.
then he remembers the way you were at the hospital, pale and unconscious, appearing barely alive.
recalls the way zayne’s eyes never fully met his outside your room offering explanations that never really answered anything.
the way the nurses assigned to you quietly whisper among themselves, and careful—too careful and tactful about keeping your chart out of his reach.
and then the promise.
the way he had to wait for you to link your pinky finger around his, and still. there was something off about the way your eyes flickered, something that resembled guilt crossing deep behind your eyes.
even now, you avoid his gaze more often than not.
it doesn’t mean anything. right?
his jaw tightens as he lies to himself by reassuring that you’re just going through a rough patch, and that’s why he needs to be at your side now more than ever.
even though he knows your messages before tonight have been coming in less and less, with responses so clipped, it left him with nothing for him to continue the conversation.
like you don’t want him around anymore.
still, he tells himself that you’ll explain. or, he’ll figure it out on his own. because caleb xia is nothing if not perceptive.
especially now, when the pieces are beginning to fall into place.
because he knows there’s something zayne isn’t telling him.
there’s something you refuse to voice.
and there’s something mae is aware of, but has chose to keep to herself.
the thoughts lie heavy in his chest, but he’ll be persistent. he'll keep showing up, and he’ll keep suffocating you with his care and attention the only way he knows how.
even if it means trying to hold onto a version of you that no longer seems to exist—the one who used to look at him with tenderness he never quite knew what to do with.
then, his phone chimes, announcing the arrival of a new message, and he takes a glance, opening it.
okay, you can stay the night. on the couch - 10:56 pm. reads your text.
he exhales, shaking the thought from his head and shoves his phone back into his pocket.
already turning on his heel, he makes his way down the hall into your room, only to find you curled beneath your comforter, sleeping soundly.
seemingly untouchable and slipping farther away from him more than ever.
you wake to the kind of darkness that lingers before dawn—the hollow quiet of 3 a.m.
for a moment, you don’t remember where you are.
then the ceiling comes into focus and the faint outline of your dresser. the dim moonlight bleeding through the curtains and onto the carpet.
you rise slowly, turning your head around towards an empty room, and you can’t help but bite back the slight feeling of disappointment, remembering the last thing caleb told you before he stepped out to take the call.
despite the message you sent allowing him to stay, he probably left anyway, and didn’t bother waking you to announce his departure.
that’s fine. you think, burying the disappointment. he doesn’t need to tell me.
still. your mouth feels unbearably dry, your throat feeling lined with cotton, so you push yourself off the bed slowly, careless of the lingering weakness of your limbs.
your apartment is silent with nothing but the sound of the analog clock that sits in the kitchen.
you keep your hand trailing along the wall for balance as footsteps pad down the hallway, wanting to beeline straight to the fridge because frankly, a crisp cold bottle of water is all you can think about in an attempt to satisfy your thirst.
but the moment you reach the living room, you stop.
curled awkwardly along your couch, with nothing but a thin blanket draped over him, lies caleb.
he has one arm resting across his chest while the other hangs loosely at his side, fingers just barely brushing along the edge of the cushion, with the faint glow from the streetlight outside casting a soft sheen over his features.
he looks younger like this. like he’s at peace.
beautiful in a way that makes the vines tighten, even now.
you’re grateful for the medication dr. zayne had given to you before your release, and despite the gnawing symptoms, not a single itch for an outburst has occurred the entire time caleb has been here.
you’ll have to thank him for that later.
finally, having the courage to tiptoe over, cold water entirely forgotten by the time you near him, you move to lower yourself onto the floor beside the couch, your back resting against it.
but you turn your head in order to take him in fully. to count the number of times his chest rises and falls. even shifting your eyes to the faint part of his rosy lips as he breathes.
you let yourself selfishly admire him.
“oh, caleb,” you whisper, not even trying to hide the way the corner of your lips twitch upward. “you stayed.”
you soak him in, just as you did at the hospital, but now in darkness, with only faint trickles of light seeping through.
“do you know,” you murmur softly, “you’re going to be the absolute death of me.”
a pause.
“literally.”
you wince faintly at your words, they sound absurd when spoken aloud.
primarily because they ring true, and because there’s nothing humorous about them.
“you don’t even know—you couldn’t even know,” you drag your eyes to trace the curve of his jaw, “you’re killing me, and i can’t even bring myself to hate you.”
your throat tightens.
“because if i did—if i brought myself to hate you—maybe it could cure me and i wouldn’t have to go through the procedure...or accept death as the alternative.”
heavy silence settles between your words.
“and i wouldn’t have to forget you,” you continue more quietly, your fingertips ghosting just above his lashes, before retreating. “or wouldn’t have to let you go for good.”
he shifts suddenly, and your breath catches in your throat.
every muscle in your body goes rigid, heart pounding exceedingly loud at the realization.
he heard you.
he isn’t sleeping.
but you don’t move. you keep incredibly still, afraid of what will happen if you shifted even the slightest.
you wait.
but after a moment, all he does is turn slightly, moving his hand from his side to rest over his chest, adjusting beneath the blanket before settling again, you exhale quietly.
his own exhaustion saved you. too tired to be a light sleeper, just like he had been at the hospital. and you're grateful for that. at the fact that he hadn't heard you, that he's still in the dark.
the steady rhythm of his breathing resumes.
relief washes over you, as you sullenly place your palms to the ground in an attempt to push yourself of the floor.
finally standing upright, peering down, you hover over him.
“thank you,” you whisper after a moment. “for being my best friend. for always thinking of me. for loving me in your own special way...even if it isn’t the kind this stupid heart of mine yearns for.”
and you walk away, wiping away the single teardrop that threatens to fall.
⏾
a/n: just to clarify, this is my personal oc named caleb xia who is NOT to be confused/affiliated with the caleb xia from the game love and deepspace.
also i’ll proofread this when i wake up because i’m so exhausted
saw this picture on twitter of a buff dude with a bunch of hello kitty stickers on his arm and chest and it made me think of sion…
like sitting with him or on his lap, him holding you while you put your cute stickers on him as if to decorate him
idk where i’m going with this but i thought it was cute lol
anon you can’t just go around and say things like this to me bc i will start acting crazy
see now, i never really thought about decorating sion’s biceps or anything without stickers and stuff, but now i desperately need it.
he would have you on his lap, hands resting on your waist caressing your skin, as you place every sticker or whatever you have meticulously all over his cheeks, tip of his nose, collarbones, biceps etc etc… and while you are hyper focused on placing every little thing on him he would just stare at your face, studying your expression and your features. he would find the way you concentrate on this adorable, and wouldn’t be able to help himself but pull you into a soft kiss, distracting you from you very hard work. and when he pulls away he would see your ‘annoyed’ expression which would just make his cheeky ass grin to your face as he would take a sticker from you, and place on the tip of your nose, then pull you back into another kiss 🤩🤩 or whatever i have never decorated my bf with stickers before so i lowk #needthat
Hello!
I love your writing sm! I re-read your blog regularly and always become inspired when I do. I am here to make a suggestion for the Princess AU if you thought it would fit at all!
I read that you plan for there to be a bit more angst before 3 becomes 4 and I though of the the boys catching the Princess longing for romantic connection. She loves the friends she's made obviously but maybe during like a castle event when she see's a cute couple or happy family together she realizes she won't get to have that do to the whole non-romantic marriage situation? The idea just hurts my feelings in a good way and I wanted to share <3
Thanks so much lovely!!
cw: muggle au, arranged marriage
a/n: Please do not misconstrue my participation in the marauders fandom as support of JKR. If you’re new here and want to participate in the fandom, I encourage you to do so without participating in anything that would provide financial gain to her or her vile agendas
poly!marauders x princess!reader ♡ 860 words
The solar is full tonight. Nearly every seat has been occupied, enough that Sirius seized an opportunity to sit on James’ lap, the room humming with conversation. The King and Queen are entertaining Frank’s young son, taking turns bouncing the baby boy on their knee and encouraging him to practice his first word, “ribbitt.” Marlene has invited her girlfriend Dorcas, and they’ve sequestered themselves off by the snack table, gilded in warm lamplight as they tease each other about whether it’s rude to take the last tart. Lily is dozing on Mary’s shoulder, the other girl combing her fingers through Lily’s hair at a slow, tranquilizing place, gifted a world of their own despite the many others in the room.
As you watch, Lily’s eyes open and she tilts her face up to Mary’s, kissing her sweetly. It’s a brief whisper of a kiss, the sort that assumes there’ll be more to return for later. You can’t imagine what that’s like; to wake pillowed by someone you trust, their fingers caressing your head like you’re something cherished, and to know that a kiss is waiting for you. Your chest aches with happiness for them.
James says your name, drawing you back to the conversation.
“Hm?”
He smiles, bemused. “You okay?”
“Oh, yeah.” You glance towards Mary and Lily again, unsure how to explain your distraction. “Sorry, I…”
“Ah,” says Sirius, following your gaze to where the couple are now speaking together in low tones, their foreheads nearly touching. “Yeah, I get it. Their displays of public canoodling are terribly unseemly.”
Remus snorts. “I’ll credit that criticism when you start acting seemly.”
Sirius bats the back of his hand against James’ chest, ignoring Remus entirely. “That’s something you should outlaw when you’re King.”
“What, lesbianism?” James asks. “Seems hypocritical.”
“No, not all lesbianism. Just Lily and Mary, specifically.”
James hums, appearing to consider this. He looks at you. “Well, if they’re bothering you…”
You laugh; it breaks up some of the soreness in your chest. “No, it’s sweet. It’s not bothering me, I was just thinking that I hope one day,” your voice smalls, embarrassed, “I can have something like they do. Like you all do,” you say, directing a tentative smile at the way Sirius has begun mindlessly coiling his index finger in a curl at James’ nape.
Remus’ expression goes so tender with pity you can’t stand to look at it. Heat flares behind your cheeks, worse when a quiet, “oh,” drops like a coo from James’ lips and he curls an arm around your shoulders, pulling you closer.
You succumb to letting your head be chastely kissed and try not to want anything more.
“I’m sure you will,” he says.
And you know it’s only a platitude, but you can’t help hoping. “Do you think it could be possible for me to be with someone, even once we’re married?”
Sirius’ brow twinges, but James hesitates only a moment. “Yeah. Absolutely, if I can have a relationship so can you. It’d have to be someone who can be discreet, of course, but we’ll—that’s all stuff we can sort out when the time comes.” He kisses your head again. You think James believes what he’s saying; you wish you could, too. “We’ll find someone for you. Someone who deserves you.”
“Fuck’s sake, Jamie.” Sirius’ tone is playful. “Way to give us the impossible task. Finding the girl a partner is one thing, but someone who deserves her?”
You summon a smile for him. “I’m not picky.” Though you might be, you don’t know. You’ve never been given the option before.
“It’s not about what you want, doll. Now we’ve got deserving to consider. That eliminates most of everyone.”
“We’re going to have to beat the suitors back with a stick,” says James.
“It’s lucky you’ve started learning swordplay recently,” Remus joins in. “It’ll be useful there.”
Your mouth drops open as you turn to Sirius. “You told them about that?”
He cocks a brow at you. “Obviously. If you’re going to be swinging a weapon around in the courtyard, everyone in the castle needs to be notified. For their safety.”
You laugh, and Sirius visibly relaxes. James beams at you. You know they’re only trying to distract you, but you’re glad to have friends who care to make you feel better. Not long ago, you came to Gryffindor wary of the possibility that you were about to be married off to some old, cruel prince, only to be met with James instead. Nothing that’s happened since then has happened the way you anticipated, but you’re still leagues better off than that original fears.
You’re glad to be here, in this humming room with a fire in the hearth and love woven into the curtains. You’re glad to be among people who are so kind, who’ve been willing to accept you, who feel enough for you to want you to be happy. You’re glad to have the love you do, even if it wasn’t what you thought it was at first. Even if it means never having the sort of love you've begun to crave.
a/n: Please do not misconstrue my participation in the marauders fandom as support of JKR. If you’re new here and want to participate in the fandom, I encourage you to do so without participating in anything that would provide financial gain to her or her transphobic agendas
part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9 | part 10 | part 11
rockstar!marauders x journalist!reader ♡ 1.1k words
You stop back at the hotel for a few hours’ reprieve before you’re meant to leave for Birmingham. It’s only just midmorning, and your plan is to go back to your room and collapse into sleep. No sooner do you change out of your slacks and top than there’s an insistent knock at your door.
You know by the sound of it who it will be, though you can’t fathom why he’d still be awake now that nobody’s forcing him to be.
“Listen to me,” Sirius begins as soon as you open the door.
Your eyebrows go up. “That’s new. You’re usually trying to get me not to pay attention to what you say.”
“Y/n, listen.” The use of your name sobers you as much as Sirius’ tone. You’re not sure if he’s ever used your name before. It’s always doll, or babe, or gorgeous, or some other flattering but distanced epithet. “You leave James out of your magazine.”
You feel your eyebrows come back down. “What?”
Sirius shakes his head and steps into your room, shutting the door behind him. You’ll think later about how you let him, unhesitatingly, because even after the morning you’ve had, you trust these boys. Always the fool.
“I could see you thinking about it on the bus,” he says. “Don’t you fucking dare. This is not part of your feature story.”
Inexplicably, the realization of what you’ve missed only makes exhaustion pull at your limbs more heavily. You’ve forgotten what you’re really here for yet again. Whatever Sirius saw on your face as you listened to James was likely surprise, but it wasn’t you doing your job; it wasn’t the ambition your new (if they keep you) bosses are expecting of you.
“This is celebrity news,” you say, nearly forgetting, now, that Sirius is in the room with you.
It is, though. It’s huge. Caius Avery’s wife, taking advantage of a young musician too green to do anything about it. It’s the exact kind of sickening readers will clamor for.
“I thought you wouldn’t write anything personal,” Sirius snipes.
The implied accusation nettles; it’s essentially what you promised when Remus was ill. You meet Sirius’ eyes, guilt like a vine creeping around your ribs and up your throat. “Sirius, this isn’t the same. This is—it’s Lorena Avery.”
“Exactly.”
“What if I left James out of it? He could be anonymous.”
Sirius actually scoffs. A crude, mean thing, like he could spit if he put just a bit more effort in. “Right, who would ever figure that out? No one would be curious enough to want to know more, or to match up the timeline, or call you a liar unless you give over a source.” His gaze is as unforgiving as if you’ve already done it. “Caius Avery would sink us.”
An unexpected swell of indignance prickles under your skin. “Is that what this is about?”
Sirius blinks, his ferocity wavering a moment.
“Do you even care about James?”
It returns just as quickly. “Fuck you.”
“You’re just worried about the tour. You never stop to wonder if he might want to hold Lorena accountable, or to talk about it—”
“Oh, because that’s your aim, is it? To make James feel better?”
“This is my job!”
“He’s my friend!”
It stills you. For a long moment, you look at each other, you in your pajamas and Sirius still in the stage makeup he put on for the interview, all dark, impenetrable black. Sometimes, you think you see right through him, but now you have no clue what he’s thinking. Sirius isn’t what’s important now, though.
It’s James. James is your friend, too.
“Leave him out of it,” Sirius says again, firmly.
“Okay,” you reply. Your earlier exhaustion returns full force. “I will.”
“I mean it.”
“Okay.” Irritation needles at your tone as you brush past him towards your bed. “Can we nap before we have to get back on the bus, or do you want to stay and argue some more?”
Sirius raises an eyebrow—and you don’t know how he does this, make it seem like you’re the one impinging upon him. “I think that’ll do for now,” he says, and lets himself out.
You push out a breath, fighting down a scream. What good are you to Spellbound, if you keep unearthing stories and then not writing them? If the magazine found out you knew about this and helped to suppress it, they’d do worse than fire you. They’d blacklist you. You’d never work again.
Just like James if the story gets out.
You collapse into bed, and don’t sleep a wink.
꩜ ‧.°. 𖦹.°.‧ ꩜‧.°.𖦹 .°.‧
You’re packed and ready when the next knock on your door comes. You expect it to be Lily telling you it’s time to go, or maybe Sirius itching to guilt you some more, but you’re surprised to find Mary on the other side.
“Hi.” She offers a smile. It’s tinged an unhappy hue. “Can I come in for a sec?”
“Sure,” you say, stepping aside.
“Thanks.” Mary doesn’t go far, closing the door behind herself and leaning against the wall of the entryway. “How are you doing?”
You smile. “I’m all good. Sorry for the drama earlier.”
Her brows bend inwards. “Don’t be sorry. It wasn’t drama, and even if it was, it would have been justified. That guy was pushing it and he knew it.”
You don’t know how to respond—to thank her or to apologize again feel equally good options, though you get the sense Mary won’t approve of either—but Mary, blessedly, moves on.
“I know you’ve already had a shit day,” she says, “but I heard about what happened on the bus earlier.” Her eyes search yours, deep brown and perceptive. “What James told you.”
A hint of the nausea from earlier squeezes the base of your throat. “What about it?”
“I need to know if you have any recording of it.”
You blink. “I—no, I don’t. I didn’t even have my things with me earlier.”
It’s a relief—and a mercy, you think—that Mary takes you at your word. “Great,” she says, “thanks. So, just so we’re clear, that was all completely off the record.”
“I mean, literally.” You shrug. “I didn’t record it.”
“Right, and you won’t publish it in paraphrase either. Right?”
Mary’s tone is friendly, but there’s something beneath it that tells you she’d stop being your friend for the moment if you opposed her on this. Like Sirius, then. It had to have been him who warned her, who asked her to come in her role as the band’s publicist to negotiate with you.
It stings. Even after how you’d spoken to each other earlier, you didn’t think Sirius would have so little confidence in you.
“Right,” you repeat, feeling bound. Not conniving enough to work, not honest enough to have true friends. You’re a mess of unkeepable promises and competing desires.
“Great.” Now Mary looks relieved, too. She offers you another rueful smile. “I just have to be sure. It’s part of my job, you know?”
It’s something you ought to understand. You aren’t sure anymore if you do.
I can soo see them all going out again and having someone hitting on r, maybe when she steps away, causing the boys to get JEALOUS.
Sirius would be sooo huffy puffy, soo grumpy.
Then maybe the guy hitting on her takes it a bit too far and they can tell that she is uncomfortable and become soo protective.
OMG! protective angery Sirius!!! eeeh!
I can so see them using this as a way to get r out of the bus and into the hotel because "we can't take our eyes off of you for a second, can we?"
Aahhh! I love it so much! you're so good at setting up a story!
of course don't use this if it doesn't fit your vision for the story I just had to share my excitement!
Love you and your works <3 I hope you have a lovely day/night!
Thank you so much angel!! Love you and hope you have a lovely day/night as well <3
cw: sexual harassment and discussion of sexual assault
a/n: Please do not misconstrue my participation in the marauders fandom as support of JKR. If you’re new here and want to participate in the fandom, I encourage you to do so without participating in anything that would provide financial gain to her or her transphobic agendas
part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9 | part 10 | part 11
rockstar!marauders x journalist!reader ♡ 2.7k words
You know it’s not fair to feel like you’re being cheated on when your band—the band, The Marauders, not yours—is booked for interviews. But it’s difficult not to feel like they’re seeing other people.
And when Remus gives the news anchor the same polite non-answer he gave you about the muse behind their song Sweet and Easy, it’s difficult not to feel a bit smug.
The tour bus left at five this morning to get you all to this local television station. You were sure to remind Sirius, as he moaned and groaned about the early hour, that you never make him get up anytime before noon for an interview, and he should remember that. (Remus was deadweight on James’ shoulder, but he’s too good to tease. You let him sleep.)
All your jealousy and possessiveness aside, you are somewhat intimidated. This is a more formal interview than you’ve ever conducted and a much larger-scale production than you’ve ever been part of. And aside from you, Mary, Lily, and one woman who appears to be an assistant, it seems to be being run entirely by men.
You know how outnumbered you are in your own industry, but you’re not sure you’ve ever felt it so acutely as you are now. It’s all around you, undeniable. You wish you were someone who rose better to the challenge; you’d like to puff up and feel proud of what you’ve accomplished, and you do, some of the time, but here, with the male producers and many male reporters and male anchor asking the boys questions just this side of provocative with a conspiratorial “we all know how it is to bed women” smile, you only feel small.
“Is this how they are with you, too?” a man asks.
You look up from the monitor you’ve been watching the interview on. Lily’s stepped outside to take a call, but you and Mary are dallying in the control room (well, you’re dallying; Mary is talking shop with one of the station’s producers) while the boys are on live television in the next room.
“Sorry?” you say.
The man who’s come to stand next to you nods at the screen. You don’t know precisely what his role is, but you gather he’s some sort of coordinator, based on how he met you when you arrived and he and Mary spoke like they were already acquainted. “You’re their groupie, right?”
“Ah.” That feels rather a demotion, but you don’t see the point in explaining why a reporter is traveling with The Marauders on their tour. No need to give other reporters any ideas. “I guess so.”
“And are they always this charming?”
You huff a laugh. “Yeah, they are.”
He raises his eyebrows. “Really? There’s not an off switch?”
“Not one that I’ve found,” you say, watching as James animatedly tells a story that makes Remus flush bashfully. “I think it’s innate.”
Sirius being the obvious exception to this. Though, really, you think the charm he lays on for press is just an amplification of what he already has naturally. Even when he was grouchy and whingeing this morning, you were still a bit charmed; it’s a talent of his.
The man chuckles, watching the screen with you. “Is that how they won you over?”
You shake your head. “I’m in it for the music.”
“Right.” The shift in his tone is so subtle you can’t be sure it’s there. You might be imagining things. “So no private shows, eh?”
“No,” you laugh. You think of Remus’ fingers wrapped around his bass. Of James tapping out the rhythm to a song no one else has heard yet on his thighs. But you don’t think either of those are the sort of shows this man is referring to.
“Are you a virgin or something?”
Your head actually whips up, you’re so caught by surprise. “Sorry?”
The man’s gaze is still turned insouciantly towards the monitor. Your stomach sinks down to your knees. “It’s just the only thing that makes sense,” he says, shrugging. “I mean, how long have you been touring with them? And, nothing? Not even one of them?”
You take a breath and try to make your voice firm. “Like I said, I’m in it for the music.”
This gets you a sideways glance. You don’t like how amused it is; like this man knows something already, like he’s got you all figured out. “Do you mean to tell me none of them have even tried?”
“That’s right,” you say, forcing your own stare back to the monitor.
“Maybe you’re just not tuned into the right signals.”
You keep your mouth shut. You can argue with this guy all day, or you can let the boys finish their interview and get out of here. Even if no one in this studio knows it, you’re still a professional; you can’t afford to make a scene.
You stop breathing when the press of a fingertip begins running along the seam of your slacks.
“You’re a pretty girl,” the man says, quietly.
While the rest of your body is still, your heart has a will of its own. It riots, climbing up your throat and beating against your skin.
You’re smacked by the powerful urge to cry when you hear yourself reply, even more quietly, “Thanks.”
The control room doesn’t feel like a room full of people anymore. It feels dark and private, and the constant low murmuring feels too quiet. Something inside your head begins to thrum as the man’s knuckles stroke lazily up and down the seam of your slacks, leaving ghostlike impressions in your thigh.
You look around to see if anyone is watching, and it’s just as you do that Mary pauses in her conversation and glances over. You catch her stare. You see her dark gaze flit down to the movement of a hand, then back up to your face, and then she’s crossing the room to you.
It breaks you from some sort of petrified trance. You take a step sideways, breaking the light contact. Your heart pounds.
“Hey,” says Mary, her tone easy as she links her arm through yours. Subtly positioning herself between you and the man, whose name you still haven’t learned. “I think the boys are ready to go. Let’s fetch them.”
You look at the monitor in front of you, realizing with a shock that the interview has finished. “Yeah,” you say.
She ignores the man standing beside you as she says, “Pleasure chatting with you,” to the producer, and then the door is shutting behind you.
“You okay, babe?” Mary asks you, her voice soft but not small. A sort of whispered urgency.
You nod.
“You sure?”
“Yeah,” you exhale. “Thank you. Sorry, I sort of—froze up.”
She squeezes your arm. “Don’t apologize. Hey!” She puts on a smile for the boys, jumping up on the platform of the anchor’s desk to hug Remus. “That was brilliant. They loved you in there.”
“You must trust us,” Sirius teases. “You weren’t even out here giving us hand signals for what not to say this time.”
“I trusted you enough for fifteen minutes of freedom,” Mary shoots back. She glances around. “Right, so I’m going to find Lily, but do you all want to head out to the bus?”
“Sure,” says James.
“Perfect. Um—hey.” She grabs your wrist before you can go, looking at you seriously. Her voice lowers. “Do you want me to say anything to someone from the studio?”
You blink. “Oh. No, it’s fine.”
Mary’s lips press together, but she nods. “Okay. No detours, boys,” she says at her normal volume. “We’re leaving in five.”
“Do you think Lily gives her a script for what to say when she’s not around?” James wonders aloud as Mary strides back the way you came.
Sirius is watching you with raised brows. “What was that about?”
“Nothing,” you say. “Where are we headed tonight? Further south?”
Your diversion isn’t subtle, but no one pushes you. A kindness, considering how often you’ve pushed these boys for answers when they’ve clammed up.
“You’d think with all the research you do, you’d have gotten at least a general sense of the tour schedule,” sighs Sirius.
“Is that your way of saying you don’t know either?”
“You’ll never prove it.”
“South, yeah,” Remus confirms. “We’re in Birmingham the next three nights.”
“Ooh.” James’ face lights up. “Think Lily will let us go to Cadbury World?”
꩜ ‧.°. 𖦹.°.‧ ꩜‧.°.𖦹 .°.‧
Things calm on the bus. Remus immediately claims a bench and shuts his eyes. Whatever adrenaline perked Sirius up for the interview wears off, and he starts grumbling about getting coffee; James bounces between consoling him and trying to get you both on board with a team excursion to Cadbury World. By the time you’ve all gotten settled, Mary’s coming on with Lily.
The redhead peers over the benches, doing her usual headcount. You offer a smile when her gaze lands on you. The one she offers back is thin.
“We’re good to go,” she tells the driver, making her way back to you. Lily kneels on the bench in front of yours, laying her arms across the top. “Hi.”
“Hi,” you say.
“Do you want to go—” She points with her chin to the back of the bus, where a few empty seats remain. “—talk?”
You really, really don’t. “It’s okay,” you say. Smiling, not wanting it to seem like you’re rejecting her out of rudeness. “Everything’s good, really.”
Lily’s brows twitch into a frown. “Okay. Yeah, that’s fine.” Her voice drops to a murmur. “Just, you’re alright?”
You nod, still smiling. It’s beginning to ache a little in your cheeks.
“Mary said you didn’t want her to say anything, but if you change her mind, she could call the station. It’s not—I’m glad you’re okay, but it’s not okay. There should be consequences for someone like that.”
You don’t know how to reply. You can only look at Lily, an unwelcome pressure behind your eyes.
Her voice becomes, impossibly, softer. “She can still call, if you want. Or I can.”
“It’s fine,” you force out.
“Is everything okay?” asks James.
You turn to find him watching you with a confused little furrow between his brows. Beside him, Remus’ eyes have opened to slits. Though you can’t see Sirius without turning around, you’ve no doubt he will have been eavesdropping from his seat, too. Lily winces, her eyes sorry. You suppose this is partly your fault for not going somewhere more private when she asked.
“Yeah,” you reply to James.
“Did something happen?”
“It’s fine.”
“You’re using those same words so much you’re going to wear them out, babe,” Sirius says lightly. Now you do turn to look at him. He’s wearing the contrived sort of smirk you’ve come to recognize. “Are you sure you mean them?”
You press your lips together tightly as, to your horror, your eyes begin to well.
Sirius’ smirk drops in an instant. “Hey, I’m sorry. It was a joke.”
You shake your head, blinking. “No, I know. Sorry.”
“It’s okay.” Lily reaches down to rub your shoulder. “You don’t have to apologize, love. You haven’t done anything.”
You give a wet laugh. “Thanks. It’s really fine, it—” You glance again at James’ worried gaze, and relent. “It was just a weird interaction with one of the guys working at the studio.”
Sirius’ expression sharpens. “Weird how?”
You shrug. “Like, flirty. He just asked some weird questions.”
“Mary made it sound like more than that,” says Lily, confused.
It is getting harder and harder to keep from bursting into tears. Luckily, Mary must overhear, because she summons your well-meaning friend back to the front of the bus under the guise of needing help with something vague. She can’t save you from the scrutiny of the others, though.
“Was it more than that?” asks James.
Remus clears his throat. “Might not be any of our business,” he says, to no one in particular.
“It was…” You wave your hand. The gesture comes off less flippant than you hope with you blinking so furiously. “...hardly anything. He just touched my leg.”
You don’t particularly want to look at anyone. You can feel their stares boring into you, but you don’t meet them, looking instead at the empty seat across the aisle from you. Somehow, being frozen stiff in a dark room feels almost less vulnerable than talking about it in daylight.
“I’m sorry.” James sounds genuinely heartbroken for you.
“It’s fine.”
“And he’s still there?” Sirius peers across the bus, looking like he might shout for the driver until Remus not-so-subtly glares him into submission.
James crosses over to your seat. “Can I hug you?”
You shrug. “Sure. But it’s—James, it’s okay.” You’re startled by the strength of his arms around you, how tightly James squeezes. “I was mostly just worried I was going to ruin your interview.”
“No, I get it.” His voice sounds rough, and you realize with a painful twinge that he might be crying, too. “I’m just really sorry.”
“You wouldn’t have ruined anything,” says Remus. “Even if the interview had to stop, it wouldn’t have been your fault.”
You hadn’t even considered that possibility. Your worst-case scenario was more along the lines of making a scene in the control room, upsetting your hosts, and causing trouble for Mary, Lily, and the boys as a consequence. The idea of them halting the interview for you seems so outrageous it’s almost laughable.
“I know how it feels,” says James, “when something like that happens, and you don’t feel like you’re in a position to say anything. It’s so—it’s scary. It makes you feel so helpless.”
You pat his back. “Yeah…”
“Alright, James,” says Remus gently.
You pull back slightly. James’ eyes are wet behind his glasses. “You know how it feels?”
James smiles ruefully. You decide instantly that you never want to see anything like it from him again. “When you make a show of yourself the way we do, people think they have a right to you, you know?”
Your guts twist in a tight, uncomfortable knot. “I’m sorry,” you say. “That’s awful.”
He shrugs. “It didn’t really bother me. I’ve always been pretty touchy—I mean, you know. But we had our first big event a few months ago, and Lorena Avery sort of grabbed me, and that…”
Recognition runs cold through your bloodstream. Lorena Avery. Singer, wife of Caius Avery. Avery Entertainment is one of the biggest record labels in Europe.
Your mind goes to an image of James at his first ever industry event, wide-eyed and shining with new stardom, being introduced to big names he’d probably never dreamed of meeting and shown all the opportunity that lay in front of him and his friends. How was he meant to tell anyone if he was made uncomfortable, when The Marauders’ position in this society was so fragile? The possibility of being on the wrong side of someone like Caius Avery was a terrifying thing for anyone, let alone a band only about to embark on its first tour.
“...that was more than I could handle,” James finishes. Volumes left unsaid.
Your throat constricts, and you hug him tightly. “I’m so sorry.”
“Don’t be,” he says, choked. “It was months ago. I’m past it.”
You don’t think that’s true. You think of the rumors that began a few months back of James’ new, clandestine relationship, sprouting from the sudden shift in how he presented himself at shows. How he seemed less inclined to flirt with fans or flex his muscles for their entertainment. You think of yourself, prodding at him, teasing him about his “secret girlfriend,” and you feel sick.
“I’m only telling you so that…” James clears his throat. “…you know, or…you get that it’s alright.”
“Thanks.” Tears squeeze out of your lashes. You’re not sure if they’re for you, or James, or the whole of it all. It doesn’t matter; James hugs you tightly.
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