SUMMARY. in which you’re paired with your insufferably charming ex-academic rival turned coworker to cover a congressional scandal, and suddenly, professional boundaries becomes the only thing holding you two apart.
word count. 9.6k
warnings. rosalie being the comedic relief, emma annoying me, jealous!jungkook, alcohol consumption, making out, slight angst (if you count an argument outside the bar as angst)
note. we meet again, pookies. first off, i cannot believe we are more than halfway done with this series. i am literally sick to my stomach thinking about it. i LOVE THEM SO MUCH IT FUCKING CONSUMES ME SJHFGGDG. ok anyway onto the fun stuff: this chapter is a lot. like really. i know i say that constantly, but i genuinely don't know how else to describe the shit show that is otr 11. oc is avoidant, jungkook won't let her fall back on those tendencies, and it all comes to a head outside a bar in dc. did i mention jungkook becomes a jealous little shit? because he does and he makes it everyone's problem. basically have fun psychoanalyzing these two cause they got issues! also please don’t kill me for the cliffhanger :p also psst. psst. if you want to scream about this chapter with the rest of the otr truthers, join the dreamerverse and comment in the thread! 💓
▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။|||| snap out of it by arctic monkeys
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They should really include a disclaimer in employee handbooks. Do not make out with coworkers in elevators, or you will spend the following week perfecting the art of avoidance.
Unfortunately for you, what you’re doing is far less tactical, and more like a madwoman fleeing a persistent predator who also happens to share your access to one of the most highlighted political scandals of the year.
There’s no other reason to be avoiding Jungkook Jeon besides the mere fact that the idea of seeing him makes your legs feel like jell-o and your insides turn gooey. It also doesn’t help that he’s reduced your sleep schedule to nonexistent, since everytime you try to catch a good night’s rest, it’s somehow ruined by him.
Naturally, avoidance seems like the proper next step. And really, it’s going well for you. Minus a few non-negotiable run-ins and some other impromptu sightings, it’s really not that bad. Monday, you took the stairs. All six flights, twice. Your calves burn, but at least you’re growing muscle. Tuesday, you timed your coffee runs for when you know he’s in interviews. Except, that one time you did happen to run into him at the coffee cart, and his eyes found yours across the lawn, causing you to pivot so quickly you nearly took out an intern.
Wednesday left you with an email from Jungkook in your inbox. You had stared at the document for one minute before opening it. Lo and behold, color coded to your exact system. The one he’s clearly using to taunt you now. You closed your laptop promptly after and sat in silence for ten minutes.
Thursday, you were in the bathroom hiding when you had come to the unfortunate, cataclysmic realization that you cannot avoid someone you’re supposed to be working on a project with.
Also, you’re going mildly insane. But that’s neither here nor there.
By the time Friday morning rolls around, you’ve hardly slept or eaten anything besides a stale granola bar and Jenna’s delivery of an iced oat milk latte, extra shot, no sweetener. Not even a chocolate chip muffin has crept past your lips. It’s abysmal.
It’s just that everytime you close your eyes or take a breath, you feel the cold metal of his piercing against your lips, taste the desperation in his kiss, hear his voice dropping an octave: I’m done being good, [Y/N].
And then you’re right back to square one.
You need something stable. A reality check. A fragment of normalcy in your life so you stop replaying the one thing that makes no sense in your mind. Naturally, that means you owe Rosalie a call.
The phone rings once, twice, thrice, and you frown. You’re pretty sure France is only six hours ahead of DC. What could she possibly be doing?
You decide to wait another moment on the line, until finally, her shrill voice bursts through the speaker. “Bonjour, mon ami!”
An undignified snort escapes you. “I didn't realize we speak French now.”
“Oui, we do,” she says. If you had to guess, she’s probably lying on a couch getting her feet rubbed by the best masseuses money can buy. “I’m trying to learn French so Daddy’s okay with me moving here.”
“Rosalie, honey, you’re not moving to France.”
“Hey! Oui, I am,” You can basically hear her roll her eyes. “Enough about me. To what do I owe the pleasure of a call from you?”
“Don’t act like I don’t call you twice a week.” Well, kind of. You’ve lacked in the past two weeks. You’ve been…busy. Busy with work, busy with life, busy with Jungkook— “How’s France treating you? Are you still heading to Greece next month?”
She squeals, and then you hear a laugh in the background. Hm. Didn’t sound like her laugh. It sounds oddly like a man’s deep laugh. “Rosalie?”
“Oh, yeah, Greece,” she clears her throat. “I’ll probably still go. But I don’t know yet. Things might change!”
You sigh in relief. It shouldn’t matter this much, but hearing Rosalie talk about her frivolous travel plans feels like the universe is restoring its order. “Cool. You better bring me back a souvenir.”
Another chuckle in the background. Then comes Rosalie’s giggles to match, and now you’re furrowing your eyebrows in confusion. “Uh, Rosalie? Is someone else there?”
“What?” Her voice raises an octave, something she only does when she’s lying through her teeth.
“Rosalie..”
“About that souvenir…” she pauses like she’s trying to decide her next words. “Switch this phone call to a Facetime.”
Your finger hovers over the Facetime button. There’s a distinct possibility you’re about to witness something that will require years of therapy to unsee. But curiosity wins—it always does with Rosalie—so you tap the screen.
Her face appears, cheeks flushed, hair unkempt. Something is off.
You raise a brow. “Rosalie.”
“Hi!” She’s smiling widely. Definitely guilty.
You glance at the time in the corner of your screen. Twenty eight minutes until you need to leave for work. Whatever she’s about to show you better not require emergency emotional support or a lawyer. “I have to be at work in thirty minutes, so if you’re about to—”
She flips the camera.
And there, lounging on what appears to be her Parisian hotel bed, is a man. Fluffy brunette hair, facial structure that makes you question if bone structure can even look that good, and built like he has a personal trainer on retainer. He waves at the camera, wearing a smile that matches Rosalie’s.
“[Y/N].” Rosalie starts, “This is Taehyung.”
For a reason you can't explain, your heart drops into your stomach. Not because you're jealous—although ‘Taehyung’ is objectively gorgeous—but because you called Rosalie for stability. But now, she’s in France with a man, and you’re suddenly, horrifyingly aware that everyone around you is moving forward while you’re still stuck in an elevator, metaphorically speaking.
“Wow…” you trail off, swallowing around the lump in your throat. “Taehyung. Nice to meet you. How did you guys, er, meet?”
Her face lights in excitement. It’s been a while since you’ve seen her this keen. This openly content with someone. To be fair, though, that’s not saying a lot considering your best friend is nothing short of a hopeless romantic. She’s a bit naive when it comes to that area of life. “We met at the Louvre.”
“Oh boy,’ you murmur.
She barrels on, lost in the story. “I was looking at that headless statue. You know, the one that everyone takes pictures with, and this guy—” she motions at Taehyung, who’s still grinning like that’s a permanent fixture on his face “—comes up and starts talking about negative space. Negative space. I mean, who does that?”
“A pretentious art history major?” you joke.
It doesn’t land. She beams. “Exactly. He studied art history. Anyway, then we just kept talking. We walked through the entire Greek antique section, and then ended up at this tiny little cafe, and we’ve been hanging out ever since. That was, like, a few weeks ago?”
A few weeks ago. Your brain does the math, crunches the numbers. A few weeks ago you hadn’t kissed him in a hallway. A few weeks ago your life made sense.
“Wow, and already introducing him over Facetime?” you tease.
Rosalie shrugs, ever the hopeless romantic. “When you know, you know.”
You fight the urge to gag. “That’s quite the story. So, you’re happy, I assume?”
“Very.” She nods, eyes sparkling with adoration.
“Well, phew,” She wipes some fake sweat off her forehead. “Now that that’s over with, what’s up with you? You’ve barely told me anything about your life.”
You freeze. Right. Your life, the life that is completely normal and uncomplicated and not imploding in slow motion.
Oh, yeah, nothing’s new besides you’ve kissed your supposed rival twice, once in a hallway and once in an elevator where he told you he couldn’t stop thinking about your mouth. You’ve spent the past few days acting like a FBI agent to avoid him despite working on the same story. You may or may not be having a minor psychological break about the structural integrity of your worldview. You’re up for a promotion. You haven’t slept properly in days.
But sure. Nothing new.
“Oh, you know me,” you scoff. “Same old, same old.”
You reach for your glass of water, hand slightly shaking.
You take a massive gulp, letting it slide down your throat, when Rosalie asks, “So you’re still not fucking anyone?”
The water flies everywhere. You’re coughing, sputtering, drowning on municipal tap water in your own apartment. “Jesus, [Y/N]!” Rosalie gasps. “Are you dying?”
Unfortunately, you’re not. You are, however, experiencing what can only be described as a full-system malfunction. Error 404: Coherent Thought Not Found.
“I'm—” cough, “—not—” wheeze, “—why would you—” more coughing, “—ask me that?”
Through your distorted vision, you can make out Rosalie's face on the screen, eyebrows raised to her forehead. “I literally ask you this everytime I talk to you.”
She does ask you all the time. Usually, you have a prepared response. Something dry and witty about being married to your career or a joke about men being a distraction. Usually, you are not having flashbacks to being pressed against elevator walls with Jungkook’s hands on your face and his piercing cold against your lips.
Usually, you’re not lying.
“No, it’s just—I—”
“Okay, you’re being weird. What’s going on?” She turns to Taehyung. “Tae, is she being weird?”
“Maybe a little—”
You clear your throat. Who does this French guy think he is? “This is the most normal I’ve ever been. And to answer your invasive question—Taehyung, cover your ears—no, I’m not fucking anyone.”
“Did you need to spit water out to answer that question?” Rosalie snorts.
“My answer is never gonna change.”
You used to say these words everytime. Even as you say it this time though, you can feel the lie sitting heavy in your chest. It’s just that maybe, possibly, your answer could change. Has potentially already changed, depending on how you define the question. You’re not fucking anyone, no, but you’ve definitely thought about it in great detail.
“Mhm,” Rosalie hums, eyes narrowed into evil little slits. “I don’t know why. You need to get laid.”
“I really don’t.” How did this conversation go so awry? She’s supposed to be making you feel better, not like you just got run over by an 18-wheeler truck.
“You do, though.” She flops onto the bed, away from Taehyung’s judgemental little eyes. “It’s healthy. It releases endorphins. Helps you sleep better, reduces stress—”
“Rosalie, I swear to fucking god—”
“—improves your mood, boosts your immune system, gives you a post-orgasm glow that gives you glass skin—”
“I’m hanging up.”
“You will do no such thing.” She grins toothily. “You called me, remember? Which means you need advice, and I'm giving it to you straight.”
“What are you talking about? I’m fine.” You plaster a smile on your face that you hope will support what’s exiting your mouth.
“What about a casual fling?” Rosalie asks casually, like she’s suggesting you try a different coffee shop. “Something fun? No strings attached, no feelings, just fun. Be bold for once!”
Your body recoils. “I think I’d rather die.”
She rolls her eyes. “Oh, come on—”
“No. Absolutely not. Hard pass. I’d sooner eat glass.” You know you’re being harsher than necessary, but you need to put a pin in this before your mind returns to its spiral down the drain. Casual was never meant for you. Casual is for people like Rosalie, people who can find love with a stranger at the Louvre.
“If not for me, for your poor lady friend down there,” she pouts. “She’s probably shriveled up and dry.”
Heat rushes to your neck at the thought of Taehyung hearing this. “Rosalie,” you say sternly.
“No, you know what it is?” She leans up on her pillow. Gears turning in her peanut brain. “You’re a serial cynic.”
You blink at the screen. “I’m a what?”
“A serial cynic,” she repeats like she’s just discovered something earth-shattering. “You hate love. You think it’s bullshit—”
“I do not hate love—”
She holds up a palm, shushing you. Your lips snap shut. “You think romantic gestures are cheesy. You roll your eyes at couples. You think anyone who believes in soulmates is delusional. You’ve also convinced yourself that being alone is safer than being vulnerable.” She’s on a roll now. An avalanche of Rosalie is spewing through the phone. “You probably think I’m being naive right now with Taehyung. You probably think we’re moving too fast and it’s going to blow up in my face.”
You are thinking that. A little. …Maybe a lot.
“You don’t even realize you’re doing it, you know,” she finishes.
You deadpan. Rosalie is not the friend you’d ever expect to read you to filth. You two spend a lot of time talking about ditzy things like makeup, hot celebrities, new Netflix shows. That’s what makes your friendship so valuable. You never need to crack yourself open to look at what’s inside.
“That’s not a fair assessment.”
“Serial. Cynic.” She enunciates each syllable. “Like I said.”
You don’t respond, because your tongue is in knots and your eyes are burning.
Rosalie’s face softens. “I’m not trying to be mean. I just think it’s okay to give in sometimes. You don’t always need to have your walls up.”
She doesn’t get it.
She doesn’t get that walls aren’t optional when you’ve spent your childhood watching your parents’ crumble under the weight of bills they couldn’t pay. When everytime you said “I want this,” was followed by “we can’t afford that.” She doesn’t get what it’s like to claw your way out of a shoebox apartment, to work twice as hard as everyone else to be taken seriously, to finally build something that’s yours.
Rosalie doesn’t get that keeping your walls up isn’t a choice you made one day on a whim.
“Yeah,” you say. “Maybe.”
Rosalie studies your face, then seems to sense she’s pushed far enough. “Alright, consider it dropped. But seriously, go have sex. You deserve to be happy.”
“Noted.” You force a smile. “Now tell me more about this Greece trip. Are you dragging Taehyung along or giving him a break from you?”
She launches into a story about island-hopping and trying to convince Taehyung that Santorini isn’t too touristy, and you make the appropriate noises of interest. You laugh at her jokes, tease her about her terrible French accent. You do all the best friend things you two normally do.
But when you finally hang up five minutes later, you don’t feel lighter. You feel like someone held up a mirror and you didn’t recognize the reflection.
You peer at the time on your phone. Ten more minutes before you need to leave for work. Ten minutes to shove whatever Rosalie just unearthed back into the box where it belongs.
You’ve always been very good at that.
By the time you get to work, you don’t feel any better. You actually feel queasy (although that could be attributed to the lack of food you’ve put in your body).
The interns are clustered around the hallway, buzzing about whatever political gossip broke overnight. Sometimes, you like to eavesdrop—bad gossip is still intel, and you’re not above stealing ideas from fresh college graduates with better connections than you. But today, their voices blend into white noise, meaningless static.
All you can hear is: serial cynic. Is that really what you come off like?
Maybe Rosalie is right. Maybe you are a serial cynic, so busy building walls you constructed a prison.
But that’s not important. That would take time out of your busy workday to mull over. Therapy seems like a better place to unpack that.
You round the corner toward CNN's press room, still spiraling through this morning’s extremely unhelpful revelation, when you see him at the end of the hall.
Jungkook. Floppy brown hair, sleeves rolled up to show his tattoos, and one button haphazardly undone to drive you further to the brink of insanity. Exiting a room with some colleague you don’t know nor give two shits about.
Fuck.
Wasn;t he supposed to be meeting with his manager? Why is he in your vicinity? He’s not supposed to be free until—
Your phone falls from your hands. You fumble to pick it up, accidentally kicking it three feet forward, then lunge for it like you’re tackling someone.
Jungkook’s colleague laughs. You faintly hear Jungkook say something in response. His head swivels to peer at the commotion, and as if it’s in slow motion, a figment of your imagination, his face starts to shuffle between recognition, surprise, and amusement.
Scrambling upright, you clutch your phone to your chest and bolt. Your bag bangs against your hip, shoulder-checking an intern in the process, but you don’t stop until you’re through the CNN press room doors.
You lean against a nearby wall, breathing hard, and catch Emma staring at you. “Uh…is someone chasing you?”
“What? No, I’m just—” you pause, take a gasp of breath. “I’m getting my steps in.”
Emma looks slightly concerned. “Is the DC marathon coming up or something?”
“Yes, actually.” You have no fucking idea when the DC Marathon is. “Plus, cardio is important. Heart health and all that.”
She watches you peel yourself off the wall, attempting to look as kempt as possible. “So you’re training for it… on the way to work?”
You shoot her a pointed glare, trying to smooth down your hair. There’s no point in keeping this charade up. Your shoulders sag. “Are you done?”
“Almost.” She grins widely. “Did you at least catch who you were running from? Or should I call Rob over at security?”
You give up and shuffle to your desk beside her, dropping your bag forcefully. “Shut up. How’s your morning going?”
“Well, I didn’t just perform the 400 meter dash in the hallway, so pretty standard.” She takes a sip of her coffee, still smirking. “You good?”
“Amazing.”
“Mhm.”
Sinking into your chair, your breath finally catches up to you. At least there’s now a door between you and Jungkook Jeon. Emma’s still side-eyeing you, but surprisingly, she doesn’t push it any further. Just turns back to her laptop, fingers flying across the keyboard. It’s been nice, actually. The past few days, she's been in better spirits—less snarky, less competitive, more like the Emma you became friends with when you first started at CNN.
“What are you working on?” you ask, logging onto your laptop.
She doesn’t look up. “A piece on what it’s like to be a senator’s daughter. Trying to make them likable, but turns out Senator Brown has the snobbiest daughter of all time.”
“Oof,” you exhale. Once you were tasked with interviewing a senator’s daughter, and she spent half the time walking you through her designer handbag collection.
“It’s a nightmare.” She pauses her typing for a moment. “What about you? Still on Monroe-Delgado with Jungkook?”
The sound of his name makes your skin crawl.
“Yeah,” you reply, aiming for casual but missing by a mile. “We’ve been digging through old stuff. Financial records, timestamps, interviews.”
“Fun.” Her tone is drier than before. “Let me know if you need a third pair of eyes. I’m good with spreadsheets.”
You glance at her, surprised. “Are you a secret Excel wizard?”
She shrugs. “Took an Excel course in college. I was the only one who got an A.”
“Thanks, Ems.” Reaching out, you touch her arm gently. “I might take you up on that.”
“Cool.” She goes back to typing, and you do the same, logging into where your files live amongst various other things. The room falls into corporate silence—keyboards clacking and coffees being sipped.
You pull up your email, scrolling through the usual morning chaos. Someone at CNN sent the daily briefing. A dude from IT wants to know if you’re still having printer issues (you are, but that's a next week problem). There’s a reminder about updated security protocols that you’ll never read.
Your inbox pings loudly with the promise of a new email, piling on top of the other 20 unread messages.
Your finger hovers over the trackpad. Don’t open it. You shouldn’t open it. There is no universe in which opening this email leads anywhere good.
You open it.
Nice sprint. You remind me of Bambi.
P.S The red top looks good on you.
Your laptop slams shut with a sound that echoes through the entire room like a gunshot. Every head swivels in your direction. Emma’s fingers freeze mid-type, Paul jumping out of his desk chair.
“Everything okay?” Emma’s brows pinch together.
Your hand is still pressed flat against your closed laptop like you’re physically preventing it from opening again. “Yes. Perfect.”
Emma gestures at your desk, another remark on the tip of her tongue, but you stop her before she can get far. “It was a bug,” you say quickly. “On the screen. It was really big, actually. Terrifying.”
“But I thought we had those filters in the vents for bugs.” Emma’s voice is flat with disbelief.
Someone across the room snorts.
“No, I saw it. It was massive. Possibly the largest bug recorded in Washington, D.C.”
Emma stares at you for a long moment, then slowly turns back to her own screen. “Okay, you’re definitely acting weird today.”
“This is my normal state.”
It’s not whatsoever, but that’s no one’s business but your own.
“Sure, I guess… but this is advanced weird.” She side-eyes you wearily. “You sure you're okay?”
You grip the edge of your desk, grasping for control. “I told you, all good. Just a bug. No need to worry.”
Emma does not look convinced in the slightest, but she has the decency to drop it.
You stare at your closed laptop, heart thumping in your chest, demanding that it be heard. You peer down at the red top you’re wearing, the one you dug from the depths of your closet and threw on because it was clean. It shouldn’t matter to you, shouldn’t affect you like this. But you’re all out of whack, like someone took your internal compass and spun it until every direction felt off-kilter.
“Good morning, angels!”
Jenna’s voice bursts through the door, and you can’t help the exhale of relief that escapes you. Something else to focus on beside Jungkook Jeon.
She sweeps into the room, two drinks in its carrier and her designer bag hanging loosely off her arm. Your usual oat milk latte lands on your desk, and she takes a long sip of her own drink, eyes twinkling in excitement.
“[Y/N], just the woman I’ve been hoping to see!” she exclaims as if you ever sit anywhere else but your usual spot. “I was thinking about you on the way here.”
You raise a brow. “Good things, I hope?”
“Always.” She perches on the edge of your desk, which would annoy you if it were anyone else, but Jenna has earned desk-perching privileges by being your boss. “How’s Monroe-Delgado coming?”
“Good. Still working on my piece but hopefully, it’ll be done soon.” She has no idea how serious you are when you say that.
“Amazing.” Jenna clasps her hands together in glee.
Emma clears her throat. “You know, Jenna, I’m actually working on that piece for—”
“Oh, Emma,” she waves her off. “We can discuss that privately in our 1 on 1. I mean, Monroe and Delgado is going to be massive when it breaks. Which, actually [Y/N], brings me back to why I’ve been needing to talk to you.”
Emma deflates into her chair.
“Should I be worried?” you joke.
“The opposite.” She sets down her cup, leaning in like she’s about to impart top secret FBI information. “There’s a happy hour thing happening tonight. It’s at a bar on 7th Street, the one near the CVS, you know that one?”
Slowly, you nod. You’re not really up to mingling with drunk people at a happy hour. In fact, liquor has been the catalyst to numerous abysmal decisions in your life.
“I may have heard through the grapevine that some of the higher-ups from CNN will be there tonight. You know, directors, senior editors, people who have input on promotion cycles.”
Your stomach clenches at the words.
“They’re coming up soon, if you remember,” Jenna continues. “It might be a good time to remind people you exist. Do some networking. Take shots with a few directors.”
She doesn’t need to say much more to convince you. “I’ll be there,” you rush to say.
“I figured you would.” Jenna looks considerably pleased, which makes your insides feel warm and fuzzy, knowing you were her ideal candidate to represent her at happy hour.
“Jenna.” Emma’s voice, now low and tinged with worry, pipes up. “Should I… go too?”
Jenna’s face doesn’t contort, doesn’t switch to a less content emotion, as if she knows she needs to play this deliberately. “I think one person from our team is fine. We don’t want to overwhelm them with the whole crew.”
Emma’s jaw tightens. “Yeah, I guess that makes sense.”
You glance at her, guilt prickling at the base of your skull, but what are you supposed to say? No, I don’t want to go to the career-advancing happy hour? That would be insane. Self-sabotage for a lowly correspondent like you.
“Cool.” Emma turns back to her screen. In passing, she solemnly says, “Have fun networking.”
And you want to say something else, maybe apologize or offer to let her go to the next one, but she puts her headphones in and tunes the rest of the world out.
“So, how did you get into journalism?”
The question comes from Richard, a CNN director in his mid-thirties. You’d never actually spoken to him before, maybe once or twice in passing at the holiday party, but now, you’ve got all his attention. Since the moment you walked in, he was waiting by the front in a blue-button down that was professionally pressed, talking in circles about Jenna’s ‘recommendations’ and news articles you have no power to impart your stance on.
“I’ve always been interested in storytelling. Holding people accountable.”
It’s your stock answer. It’s also complete and utter bullshit—you got into journalism because you were damn good at it, and you reveled in the look on people’s faces when you finally exposed the truth.
But Richard doesn’t care about your trauma backstory and how you needed to save your family from financial ruin. He needs the sanitizied version.
“That’s great,” he nods, shoving his free hand not coddling his drink in the pocket of his pants. “We need more young journalists who really care about the integrity of the profession.”
You smile. Take a sip of the whiskey someone handed you because vodka wasn’t an option at the bar. It tastes wrong, nothing like what you actually want. But you drink it anyway because that’s what you do at these things. You smile, you nod, you drink whatever’s offered, and you pretend you’re exactly where you want to be.
“I’ve heard a lot of good things about your coverage on the Monroe-Delgado story,” Richard continues, straightening up. “Jenna tells me you even traveled to New York. Right to the source.”
Your heart flip-flops in your chest at the mention of New York. “Thank you,” you manage. “It’s been a challenge, but I think I’m really close to cracking it all and publishing.”
He chuckles. “You seem like the type who doesn’t give up easily.”
Something about the way he says it makes you feel like you’re being patted on the head. Good girl.
You take another sip of whiskey, the alcohol burning a trail down your throat.
“Do you know what you want to do after this?” he asks.
“What do you mean?”
“Well, surely, you won’t be a junior correspondent forever. Ever thought about going for a senior role?”
Your stomach swoops, your grip tightening on your glass. “I have, actually. That’s my goal.”
He smiles, as if that was exactly what he was hoping you’d say. “Good to know. You’re a name I’ll be looking out for.”
“She’s definitely a force to be reckoned with.”
The voice comes from behind you… and absolutely not supposed to be here.
Your entire body locks up. The glass slips from your fingers. Shattered glass decorates the floor, whiskey spreading across the hardwood in an amber pool.
“Oh my god, I’m so sorry—” You drop to your knees, hands reaching for the bigger shards.
Richard crouches down beside you. “Don’t worry about it, happens all the time.”
“I’ve got it.” Jungkook says hurriedly. When you glance up, he’s already moving toward the bar, returning seconds later with a mountain of napkins. Kneeling down, he blots the spill. He’s closer, closer than you need right now, shoulder brushing yours as he works.
“I can help,” you offer, reaching for a napkin.
“I got it,” he repeats. His eyes meet yours, and your heart stops its rhythm in your chest. “Just stand back before you cut yourself.”
The way he looks at you tells you this is not a suggestion.
You stand, backing up a step, watching as he finishes cleaning up your mess. Thankfully, Richard doesn’t embarrass you further. He just sips his intact glass, observing. Once the major pieces are gathered and the floor is no longer a whiskey warzone, Richard peers at Jungkook intently.
“You’re Jungkook Jeon, correct? From Fox?”
“Indeed, sir.” Jungkook’s hand extends, and they shake. His smile is dazzling, all pearly whites on display, and you want to dropkick him for being so professionally charming.
“Richard Ramirez, senior director at CNN. I heard you’re also covering the Monroe-Delgado story.”
“I am.” Jungkook’s hand finds his pocket.
Richard glances between you and Jungkook, and you can basically see the gears turning in his head. “Nothing like a little healthy competition between rival networks. The best stories come out when journalists are really pushing each other.”
In response, you stiffen.
“Absolutely,” Jungkook replies. “Though I’d say we’re more collaborative than competitive on this one. Right, [Y/N]?”
You want to kill him. Professionally, publicly, in front of this entire happy hour.
“That’s one word for it,” you joke, hoping it lands with Richard.
Seemingly it does, because Richard just laughs.
He reaches out to shake your hand. “I’ll hopefully be seeing you soon, [Y/N]. Tell Jenna to reach out to me.”
“I will. Thank you so much for your time.” You know you’re beaming, you can’t help it. The ridiculous goofy grin that overtakes your features is luminous.
Richard gives you one last approving nod, then turns to Jungkook. “Good to meet you, Jungkook. Keep up the good work.”
“You too, sir.”
With that, Richard saunters off towards another group of eager CNN employees who are watching his next move like a hawk, hopefully they’ll be next on his docket of people to talk to.
Your heart is too busy soaring to watch who he approaches next. This is not nothing. This is the opposite of nothing. For the first time in your entire life, you feel like you’re not just clawing your way up from the bottom. Maybe you’ll finally be able to break the curse for your family.
“Well,” Jungkook’s voice pierces through your moment of triumph, popping your bubble of golly and joy. “I’d say that went well. He’ll probably have a job offer drafted by tomorrow morning. Better start apartment hunting in whatever tax bracket comes with a senior correspondent salary.”
You whip around to glare at him. “You’re unbelievable.”
“What? I was very supportive.” He has the nerve to look innocent. When you continue to scowl at him, he scoffs, “Oh, come on. Can you at least pretend to be happy to see me?”
“No,” you grumble, crossing your arms over your chest. You’re aware you’re giving in to your penchant for the melodramatic, but you’ll do anything to keep him at arms’ length. “You ambushed me.”
“That feels a little dramatic for what it was, but alright.”
“Don’t mock me right now, Jeon.” You square your shoulders, chest puffing as if that’ll scare all 165 pounds of him.
A glimmer of a smile cracks onto his face. “I wouldn’t dare.”
It’s not worth fighting with him. It almost never is. You won’t give him the satisfaction right now. “All I want is peace tonight. Please.”
He nods slowly in agreement.
But you should’ve known better. There’s never peace where Jungkook is involved.
Because an hour later, Jungkook has proceeded to turn himself into your self-proclaimed bodyguard. If you’re talking to a producer from the political desk, he’s by the bar, pretending to check his phone while his eyes flick up every thirty seconds. If you move to chat with a correspondent from NBC about the upcoming primary coverage, he migrates to the appetizer table, sampling the same cheeses for the second time.
There’s a blessed ten-minute window where he disappears, and you almost convince yourself he’s left. That he’s finally given up this unhinged monitoring routine and gone back to wherever Fox News people go to lick their wounds.
But alas, he refuses to give up. He’s a virus you can’t shake.
You spot him by the jukebox, then by the pool table, then having what looks like a normal conversation with a group of reporters but his eyes can’t help but keep finding you across the room.
Weirdly enough, he doesn’t approach you again. Doesn’t interrupt a single conversation or do anything rash you can yell at him for. He’s just… there. A constant presence in your peripheral.
So, really, peace was never in the cards. Peace would require Jungkook to possess qualities like self-restraint and the ability to take a hint, and based on the last eight years of evidence, it seems like those traits skipped him entirely during development. His parents failed him.
Even when you’re talking to Evan from Politico, a correspondent who’s close to your age, he still doesn’t let up. In fact, you think he’s upped the ante. He’s loitering in the corner, jaw clenched and knuckles white against his glass of whiskey.
“—and I think that’s the angle we’re trying to go for. With primaries coming up, we’re too focused on that to make a hard stance on Senator Burke.”
What is Jungkook fucking doing there? What is his problem? You’ve managed to uphold eye contact for over twenty seconds, with neither of you willing to break first.
“Um, [Y/N]?”
He has to blink at some point, right? Noone can maintain eye contact indefinitely without their corneas drying out.
“[Y/N]?”
Reality snaps to the forefront of your brain, and you can’t help the flinch you make.
Evan’s looking at you, studying you, head tilted. “You good? You kind of left me for a second there.”
“I’m—Yes, sorry.” Heat trickles up your neck. “What were you saying?”
“It was nothing.” He shrugs. “I also wanted to tell you I think your Monroe-Delgado coverage is gonna be really solid. I’m looking forward to reading it.”
“Oh.” Well, now you look like a world class bitch for ignoring half the things this man said to you. “Thank you. That means a lot coming from you.”
He beams at you. Evan’s always been a dark horse on the Hill. Never bragged about his accomplishments or climbed his way to the top aggressively. He was arguably the most neutral party on the Hill. If you were smarter and in any way emotionally capable of healthy crushes, you would’ve had a massive one on him.
“Between you and me,” he leans in a little, voice lowering several octaves. “I think you’re going places. I wouldn’t be surprised if you make it to the top before me.”
The compliment is exactly the kind of thing you adore when your colleagues admit to you. Professional respect matters more than anything in DC.
But your eyes keep drifting. Just enough to catch Jungkook still standing, ogling at you.
Evan follows your gaze. His smile turns knowing.
“You know what,” he says. “I think I’m gonna grab another drink. It was great talking to you, though.”
Your stomach drops to your feet. “Oh, wait, you don’t have to—”
“No, really.” He steps back, hands up in a gesture of surrender. “Seems like you’ve got your hands tied right now. I’ll catch you around, yeah?”
What the fuck.
Abandoned mid-conversation is not something you've experienced before.
You turn to Jungkook slowly, fists clenched into tiny balls of rage. He raises his glass at you, an evil grin plastered on his face. A mock toast.
That’s it.
Huffing out a breath, you beeline for the bar. You can’t do this sober. Cannot physically sustain another second of whatever warfare he’s waging without alcohol as a buffer.
The bartender appears, and before he can even get a word out, you’re saying, “Whiskey and coke, please.”
You pull your credit card out, balancing it between your pointer and middle finger.
But before you can hand it to the eager bartender, there’s a light nudge against your shoulder, and the familiar scent of bergamot and cedar floods your nostrils.
Absolutely the fuck not.
All your defense strategies come rushing to the surface. Who does he think he is? First, he materializes out of nowhere and shatters your networking momentum, then he’s been lurking in the background of your conversations like a petulant shadow, and now he’s followed you to the bar.
“I got it, Jeon.”
Out of your peripheral vision, you watch him open his wallet, pull out his AMEX, whisper something to the bartender, and hand over his card.
“I can—”
He snorts softly. “Yeah, okay.”
You’re not a baby. You don’t need to be coddled or taken care of. You’ve been buying your own drinks since you were 21 and using a fake ID before that. You have a salary. You have a credit card with a reasonable limit and decent cashback rewards
You try again. “I don’t need—”
It’s as though he can hear the words about to exit your mouth, because he cuts you off. “Keep your money where it belongs. In your wallet.”
You scoff. “Oh, yeah? And where does your money belong?”
“On whatever you want.”
The bartender sets down your drink. It’s a fucking vodka soda. Your heart leaps out of your chest.
You blink at the glass. “I thought you said you didn’t have vodka?”
The bartender—young guy, probably makes these drinks in his sleep—looks just as baffled as you. “We don’t. Or, well, we actually ran out like an hour ago during the rush.”
“Then how did you magically get your hands on some?”
“Your little boyfriend went to the liquor store down the block.” His eyes point towards Jungkook, standing tall beside you with a fixed smile. “He came back with a bottle of it. Said you only drink vodka.”
The words little boyfriend draw a visceral reaction from you.
You turn timidly to peek at Jungkook. “You went to a liquor store?” Your voice is embarrassingly strangled.
He shrugs with one shoulder, ever the casual man. “You don’t like whiskey.”
“So you left… in the middle of happy hour? To buy vodka?”
“It’s literally down the block,” he says. Distance is not the relevant factor here, and he must know that. “It took me maybe ten minutes, give or take.”
Your hands are shaking. Palms sweating around the condensation of the cool drink. “Why did you do that?”
“Watching you pretend to enjoy that whiskey was painful,” he laughs, but there’s no teasing lilt in it. His eyes soften as he looks down at you. “You deserve to have what you actually want instead of settling for what’s available.”
He pauses, takes a sip out of his own glass. “And clearly, I’m also a glutton for punishment.”
Your breath hitches, caught somewhere between your throat and lungs.
You can not let him derail you with his stupid soft eyes and vodka procurement.
“You know what else is painful?” you retort. “Having someone hover over every single conversation I try to have.”
He clucks his tongue against the roof of his mouth. “I wasn’t even standing more than four feet away. Plus, this is a public area. It’s a bar, for god’s sake.”
“You’re everywhere I turn.”
“We’re at the same event. You might just be hyperaware of my presence, which I, for one, find extremely flattering.”
Your voice pitches up. “Oh, you son of a—Evan literally left me alone because of you.”
“Did he?” He taps his pointer finger on his lips, looking away as if deep in thought. His mockery of you continues, and you can feel rage bubbling inside you. “If poor Evan got intimidated by someone standing across a bar, that might be a him problem. Small dick energy is an unfortunate disease some have to live with.”
“He was just being nice, and you scared him away.”
“Scared him away?” he gasps. “Am I Michael Myers or something?”
You want to throw your nonexistent whiskey in his face.
“I give up with you.” You take a sip of your vodka soda, and damn him, because it’s really fucking good and exactly what you needed. He smiles, waits for you to go on. “Go find someone else to terrorize.”
“But you’re my favorite,” he pouts.
“I’m gonna go talk to whoever I want.” you challenge him, chin raised high. You mean that. You’ll spend the entire night at this bar chattering if that’s what it takes to get a moment of peace and not get caught in this whirlwind of emotions he evokes in you.
You’re spinning, freefalling from the sky with nothing to catch you underneath.
He shrugs carelessly. “You go do that.”
“I will.”
“By the way, just so we’re clear,” He leans in, crowding your space. “You can talk to whoever you want. That doesn’t mean I have to like it.”
This has to be a joke, you think. A sick, twisted joke that some higher power has organized to screw the nail in your coffin.
If you asked Jenna, you wonder if she’d organize a burial on the Hill for you. Something tasteful, maybe with a headstone if she can spare the money.
The scene before you is a nightmare masquerading as a networking opportunity: a whole barrage of men clustered around a high-top table, discussing the upcoming primaries passionately. You’re the only woman in the circle, which—fine, occupational hazard, but you’ve been here before.
What you haven’t experienced before is being three vodka sodas deep (thank you, Jungkook and your communal bottle of Tito’s) while said vodka-procurer stands beside you. Not across from you. Not at a reasonable distance. Beside you.
And he’s talking, which is somehow worse than if he were standing next to you shirtless with baby oil rubbed on his abdomen. God, he’s talking about primary strategy and voter demographics and the electoral college and he sounds smart. He sounds passionate and informed, and like he actually gives a shit about the nuances of elections. Which is decidedly not the train of thought your sexually frustrated, vodka-soaked brain should be taking right about now.
“I think the real story here isn’t who wins Iowa,” Jungkook says, running a hand through his hair. His sleeves are rolled up, first button undone on his fitted top. You feel sick. “It’s who drops out after New Hampshire. That's going to reshape the entire thing.”
“I don’t know, man,” Mark at CBS objects, taking a swig from his beer. “Iowa still sets the precedent. Whoever wins there gets the momentum. The media cycle alone will take care of that.”
“The media cycle is the problem.” Suddenly, all eyes are on you. Wonderful. This is what you deserve for having opinions while tipsy. “We spend so much time covering who won Iowa that we ignore why half the candidates are hemorrhaging money before they even make it to the ballot.”
“Fair point,” Jake from NPR chimes in, nodding like what you’ve said is from the gospel itself. “The fundraising angle is underreported.”
“No shit. It’s boring as hell. Voters don’t care about campaign finance,” Mark snorts.
“They should, though,” you interrupt. The vodka is making you bold, or stupid, or both. “The candidates with no money are always the ones who actually care for the state. But major news outlets are covering whoever has the best campaign in Des Moines to notice that three serious contenders are about to drop out because they can't afford advertisements.”
Silence washes over the table. About five pairs of male eyes stare at you. It’s a disaster of your own making, really.
“Exactly. The story isn’t about the race. It’s who can afford to stay in it, and why. I’ve been trying to pitch that to Fox.”
You almost break your neck when you turn to follow the origins of that voice. You can’t help but gawk.
“Yeah,” you gulp. “I mean, look at Senator Whitmore. Poor guy’s definitely getting voted out of Michigan.”
The men seem to find that hilarious, although you hardly doubt an ethical senator is something to slap your knee about. You shift on your feet, cracking an uncomfortable grin.
“Guy’s politics are old as shit,” someone jokes, and laughter rounds the table again. Jungkook stiffens beside you.
Being accepted as a woman in politics sometimes comes with the need to blend into the men’s commentary just enough that they forget you’re not one of them, but not so much that you disappear entirely. If you’re too quiet, you’re forgettable. If you’re too loud, you’re shrill. Emotional? Unstable. Men in this industry have the luxury of being taken seriously by default. So you laugh at jokes that aren’t the least bit funny, strip softness from your tone.
“I don’t know,” Jungkook says. “I think he’s got some good propositions.”
“Alright, Jeon,” One of your colleagues leans over and ruffles his hair. “You’re cute as fuck.”
You roll your eyes.
“Whatever. All I know is I’m voting Senator Higgins in New York,” says another man. Ew.
You can’t help but tune out of the conversation. The immature topic of voter bias has never interested you.
Jungkook chimes in here and there, sprinkling in comments of his own that are never as misogynistic as the others.
And then, once you think you’re done paying attention to anything but your drink, you feel a hand creep onto your lower back.
You don’t need to look to discern who it is.
His fingers, deft and warm, sit on the fabric of your top, resting gently. It's featherlight, hardly noticeable if you were asleep. But you’re not, you’re painfully, acutely aware of how Jungkook’s touch sends fireworks shooting through your nerves.
You don’t spare one look at him.
His fingers move, travel up your spine inattentively, could almost be nothing. It’s everything. It’s too much. It’s a touch that’s easy to pull off in public but intimate enough that your body responds like he just whispered something filthy in your ear.
A shiver migrates down your spine. His fingers pause at the movement before continuing their rhythm—up, then down, then up again.
Fuck.
You can’t do this, can’t play whatever game he’s manufactured, can’t give Rosalie the satisfaction of a promise that you’ll get laid, can’t lose sight of what’s actually important here. You can’t, not now, not ever. And okay, maybe it’s been a while, but you’re not going to give in to Jungkook. You’re not going to be another notch on his belt. If that’s all this is for him, you don't want it.
And you need to make that perfectly fucking clear. Sooner rather than later.
“Jungkook, can I talk to you outside please? Now.”
His eyes widen a little before softening when he catches the expression on your face. He doesn’t argue, just sets down his drink. Ignoring the side glances of his colleagues, he follows you aimlessly as you stomp towards the exit of the bar. It’s filled with corporate bodies now, far too crowded for either of you to have a private conversation inside.
Luckily for him, you can’t see the smirk tugging at his lips.
You shove the door open, letting the cool air embrace you. Jungkook follows you out, and the door clicks shut behind him, muffling the voices inside. He leans against the brick wall, crosses his arms over his chest, and waits.
Once you’ve let the silence settle, you meet his eyes. His pupils are blown.
You exhale the deepest breath from the confines of your lungs. Your breath puffs out into the brisk air. “You need to stop it. You need to stop all of it now.”
He furrows his brows, and you want to smack the obtuse look off his face. “Stop what?”
“Don’t act stupid, Jungkook. You know exactly what I mean.”
He shakes his head in disagreement.“I have no fucking idea, [Y/N]. And I love this little game we play, truly, but for once in my life, I have no clue what you mean.”
Liar.
“Just stop, Jungkook.” You tug at your hair, vying for control of the situation. You can’t take it anymore. Can’t take the feelings that have been colonizing in your chest, your brain. “Stop being near me, stop toying with me, stop paying for my fucking things. Just stop it. Please. It’s not funny and I don’t want it.”
Jungkook pauses, swallowing thickly before speaking. “Don’t want any of those things, or me in general?”
Journalism, unlike most other careers, is built on integrity. Honesty. The one fundamental principle is that the facts matter. It’s the exact reason why you went into the field. Lying has always been the one thing that doesn’t come naturally to you. It’s why you’re terrible at poker, why you fold the second someone calls your bluff because you can’t hold the deception long enough to make it convincing.
But the sick, undying truth of it all is that you’re going all-in on the biggest bluff of your life. The hand you’re actually holding, the cards you’re hiding—-you don’t want him to stop being near you. You don’t want him to stop at all. “I—I don’t—fuck, you know what I mean. Don’t make this a thing.”
“I’m not. But I’m finding it hard to believe you don’t want me at least a little after you kissed me back not once, but twice. Forgive me for being a little confused about what you actually want.”
You roll your eyes. “That was different.”
He chuckles darkly. “Oh really. How so?”
“You kissed me first both times!” Your voice raises several octaves, and the hint of a smirk tugs at his lips.
“I distinctly remember you pulling me in for a second kiss in that hallway. It’s engrained in my brain, actually.”
“Jungkook. This isn’t a good idea.” You gesture between you two vaguely. Your heart is beating so loud you can feel the pulse points throbbing in your chest, wrist, stomach.
“Don’t you think I know that?” Jungkook runs a hand through his hair. “Don’t you think I know you hate me with every fiber of your being?”
Your eyes burn, throat closing, nothing you can do to stop the tornado of emotions torpedoing your body. “So then why not stop? Why not just leave me alone?”
There’s a lull in the argument, a brief moment where Jungkook’s fist clenches and unclenches at his side. Your stomach flips and flops, a swell of anxiety overtaking you.
You and Jungkook Jeon have been a pot on steady boil for years. Heat rising, steam slipping out quietly from the edges. For days, for months, it’s been pressing against the lid, shaking the metal.
Eventually, the pot was always going to boil over.
“Because I can’t. I fucking can’t. Is that what you want to hear?” He takes a step closer. “Is that what you want… to know how my hands itch everytime I’m near you? How even when you’re calling me dumb, or incompetent, I can’t stop staring at your lips? I’m trying, [Y/N].”
You deadpan. “I can’t—I don’t—“
Another step. He’s close enough now that you can see where his lip ring connects to his skin, can smell his scent that overtakes you everytime it’s in your vicinity. Close enough that you have to tilt your head back to maintain eye contact. “What, [Y/N]?”
Your hands are shaking, and you clasp them together in a desperate attempt to stop. “I can’t want you.”
Jungkook takes a final step, until the top of his shoe is pressed against yours. “Can’t or don’t?”
His lips hover over yours, teasing. Toying with you in the way he does best.
“I don’t know.”
“Then let me ask you something else.”
“What?” Your voice is no higher than a whisper.
“Why did you drag me out here?” he asks. “If you really wanted me to leave you alone, you could’ve just ignored me. Could’ve left the bar. Could’ve done literally anything except pull me outside for a private conversation.”
Shit.
You scramble for an explanation that isn’t because I can’t stop thinking about you. “I needed to set boundaries.”
“Right…” he trails off, “And those boundaries include…? No working together, no looking at you?”
“You do not just look at me,” you shoot back. “You stare, and you hover, and you show up everywhere—”
“Because we’re working together on the same story.”
“That’s not the only re—”
“When’s the last time you went a full day without thinking about me?”
Your brain kicks into fight-or-flight mode. Your body can’t decide which one to pick. But there’s a third option your nervous system keeps trying to suggest, one that’s far more dangerous. Freeze. Stay exactly where you are.
“Because I haven’t,” he continues. “I can’t go an hour without wondering where you are, what you’re working on, if you’re still avoiding me.” He takes a deep inhale. “So yeah, maybe I am hovering. Maybe I can’t help it.”
“Jungkook.”
You feel like he just punched you in the face.
“What if we just,” he lets his lips ghost over your cheek, your jaw. “give in to what we both want?”
“It’s not what I want.” But even you can hear how unconvincing it sounds.
He raises an eyebrow, pulling away a little to look at you. “Look me in the eyes and tell me that. Tell me that and I’m done, [Y/N]. I’ll go to therapy, get my shit together, pretend you don’t exist. I’ll never say your name again. I’ll never steal one of your quotes ever—“
Your lips crash onto his.
The amount of force your kiss evokes sends him flying back a few inches, but your hands find purchase on his broad shoulders, pulling him into you. After one, two seconds of realization, he snaps out of it. Comes back to earth and he’s kissing you back sloppily, all teeth and tongue and saliva, which would be disgusting if it wasn’t the hottest fucking thing you’ve ever experienced. He’s undeniably hungry for you, walking you back into the brick wall, cupping your cheeks in his warm palms.
So much for giving him an answer with words.
He tastes just like he did that night in the hallway. Whiskey, mint. Your heart wobbles.
His body radiates warmth, tugging you in deeper and deeper. Your arms snake around his neck, tugging at the hair at the nape of his neck. He groans into your mouth, hands drifting to your hips, bruising the skin there. There’ll be indents of him for days.
“Fuck,” you whisper. Somehow, post-kiss clarity smacks you upside the face, and suddenly you’re wracked with guilt. “Maybe we should stop. We need to be professional. Our coworkers are inside—”
“There’s nothing professional about the things I want to do to you.”
And, well. Fuck. You tried.
Jungkook’s lips reconnect with yours hastily. His mouth moves to your jaw, your neck, finding that spot below your ear that makes your knees buckle.
“Come home with me,” he murmurs against your skin.
Your brain flashes red warning signs. In a very unconvincing half-moan, you exhale, “That’s not a good idea.”
“Why?” His lips trail lower, and you feel his piercing drag against your pulse point.
“Because—” You can’t think. Can’t remember why this is a bad idea when his mouth is doing all sorts of things. “Because it's not.”
Pulling back, he looks at you, and the loss of contact makes you whine helplessly. His hand cups your jaw, making you meet his eyes. You’re sure you look just as disheveled as him, but he looks irresistible with his plump, wet lips and hooded eyes.
“Please come home with me, [Y/N],” he whispers. “I’m not opposed to begging.”
Fuck, you’d be lying if you said you didn’t want to. You’ve thought about it. Mulled it over in bed, late at night when there’s nothing to be heard other than the incessant honking of cars that drive by your window. Pondered if it was a smart idea on your walks to work, Rosalie’s words still fresh in your mind.
This feels like a spectacularly bad idea. Like if bad ideas had a ranking system, this would be top tier. But you and Jungkook… well, you were always bound to make bad decisions when he’s involved.
If you’re going to allow yourself to indulge only this once with him, give into this nagging desire that consumes you, then you should at the very least make it count.
SUMMARY. in which you’re paired with your insufferably charming ex-academic rival turned coworker to cover a congressional scandal, and suddenly, professional boundaries becomes the only thing holding you two apart.
word count. 10.7k
warnings. well. nipple play, oral (f recieving), multiple orgasms, unprotected sex, oral (m recieving), marking, praise kink kinda?, choking, cum eating, jungkook is a simp, avoidant oc, 29 positions.
note. finally. only took about 100k words but finally, we have gotten to their breaking point. now before y'all become freakbobs in my inbox, please know that this is more than just your regular degular smut. we use smut round here as a literary device, not just for funsies! oc and jungkook needed to get to this point to learn things about each other that matter. and yes they also needed to fuck but that's neither here nor there. they're also incredibly kinky (because, like, duh. oc the overachever and jungkook the cocky fuckboy? what did you expect?). i hope you all enjoy, as i'm sure you will, and do not scream at me about the ending. you should've seen this coming (or not. idk. no spoilers round here partna!!!! hehehe)
▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။|||| right here by chase atlantic
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“Why is your apartment so weird?”
The question leaves your mouth as Jungkook tugs you by your waist through the threshold, lips pressed to your own, messily touching anywhere he can get his hands on.
You both did a terrible job at keeping your hands off each other in the car, up the stairs to his apartment, the doorway. It’s disgusting, you think, but the sheer thrill of doing this with Jungkook Jeon has sent your brain in a spiral. And god, you want it, you want it bad, because you know that it’s just one time and then you’ll be free of him.
Just this once.
“God,” he chuckles, shaking his head. His front door slams shut behind you and he presses your spine against the door, your work bag dropping to the floor with a thud. “Why do you always do that?” Another kiss is pressed to your jaw. “Can’t stop chastising me for even a second?”
Your neck keens to allow him to gingerly press more kisses down your pulse point, your throat. “No,” you bite back a moan as he sucks on your skin, stopping to inhale your scent. “I can’t let your ego get too big, Jeon.”
“Too late,” he mutters against your skin, and you can feel the shit-eating grin spreading across his lips. His hands find your jacket, sliding it off your shoulders, dropping it somewhere near your work bag. No one cares where it lands.
“You probably have a mirror on your ceiling, don’t you?” Threading your fingers through his hair, you tug on the strands, a low rumble escaping his mouth.
His eyes are darkened when they pull back to look at you, pupils completely blown. You’ve never seen him so disheveled, so utterly lost in someone. The familiar feeling you’ve felt around him bubbles tenfold, grows like a living thing inside you. “You’re about to find out.”
Fuck.
His lips mesh with yours, backing you further into his apartment. Even as you stumble through it, he’s there to catch you, hands firm on your waist, pads of his thumbs pressing into the bone of your hip like they were always meant to be there.
“Jesus Christ, how many shoes do you own?” you ask mid-kiss. You’ve basically tripped over his third pair of sneakers lining the hallway. It’s literally absurd. And you plan to bully him about this even more, just maybe not when his hands are running up and down your sides.
“Stop looking at my floors,” he nips at your bottom lips, “And start looking at me.”
“Hard to do when your apartment’s trying to kill me,” His thumbs brush just under your shirt hem, and your breath catches on its next inhale. Your eyes avert from his, from how good he’s already making you feel, from how undeniably bad you need this—
“Is that a Funko Pop collection?”
Jungkook laughs against your jaw. “You’re killing the mood here.”
“Am I?” You cock an eyebrow, hand wandering down, down to his pants, where his bulge is protruding. Your mind reels at how just kissing you could make him feel like this. His cock twitches against your touch and his eyes flutter closed for a second. “Seems like you’re doing just fine.”
“Fucking hell,” he exhales, hips pressing forward into your palm. Then he’s walking you backward again, faster this time, urgent. “Bedroom. Now.”
“So bossy.” You roll your eyes but your stomach coils with excitement. There’s something so forbidden about Jungkook Jeon—maybe it’s because you’ve spent years detesting his work and him, or because he was always this tangible thing that everyone got to experience except for you. Now he’s in your hands, and it’s not that you ever expected to have it, but he’s here. You’re here with him in his bedroom.
You get approximately two seconds to take in his bedroom—and yes, there’s thankfully no ceiling mirror, but there is an alarming amount of gym equipment in the corner —before he’s spinning you around and walking you backward toward his bed. “Your room looks like a frat house and a sports store had a baby,” you manage to get out one final joke before the back of your knees hit his mattress.
No turning back now.
He hums, thumbing the hem of your blouse, fingers dancing along the skin of your stomach. “You’re standing in my frat house sports store baby room about to let me fuck you.”
Heat runs straight your core at his brash wording. You hate that you want this so badly you can barely think straight.
“Don’t get used to it,” you shoot back.
“I wouldn’t dare.” He pulls your blouse up and over your head in one smooth motion, tossing it somewhere behind him. His eyes drop to your chest, to the red bra you’d worn this morning without knowing this would happen. “Though I gotta say… I’ve thought about this a lot. Maybe more than I should have.
“Yeah?” You refuse to let him see how affected you are by that admission. “Did it live up to the fantasy?”
“Haven’t gotten to the good part yet.” His hands cup your breasts through the padding, thumbs brushing over your nipples with enough pressure to make you gasp. “But we’re getting there.”
Your back arches into his touch, head tilting back while he continues his teasing ministrations. He watches, ever so focused, takes note of every single reaction you have. “You’re so fucking pretty like this,” he murmurs, almost to himself, almost like you’re a figment of his imagination. One hand slides around to unclasp your bra—one-handed, the show-off—and then that’s gone too. Cool air hits your skin for a moment before his hands return, palming your bare breasts, thumbs circling your nipples until they’re pebbled and peaked under his attention.
It’s been a while since anyone has even touched you there.
“Ah fuck.” Your head lolls back, little puffs of air falling from your lips. You don’t normally enjoy men playing with your tits, especially since they’re mostly doing it for the pleasure of themselves. But Jungkook knows just how to caress, how to hold them, all the right spots to make your breasts yearn for him.
“Yeah, baby?” The pet name rolls off his tongue and then you’re back to being utterly sick to your stomach.“What do you need?”
Whatever.
You’re just getting laid. This is what you needed to do, anyway. This is what Rosalie implied was good for you. A necessary evil to survive on this planet. In fact, you’re sure if Jenna could tell you without violating HR policies, she would also argue you that you need to be fucked.
“Less talking,” You reach for his shirt. “More doing.”
His tongue traces the column of your throat, hands roaming wherever they can. His lips spread thin across your skin, and you can feel a smile pressing into your skin. “Stop enjoying this too much,” you say between a moan that negates your original point.
Jungkook pinches your nipple, rolling it between his thumb and forefinger. “Stop thinking so hard. I can literally hear the wheels turning in your pretty head.”
“Maybe if you were better at this, I wouldn’t be able to think at all.”
He darkly chuckles, pushing you back onto the bed until you land with a soft bounce on his mattress. He crawls over you, cages you in with his bulky arms on either side of your head. “Last chance to take that back,” he murmurs, pressing open-mouthed kisses to your collarbone.
“No way.”
“God, you’re such a fucking brat.” His wet, hot mouth makes its way to your breast, tongue circling your nipple. Your back arches clean off the bed, profanities escaping your mouth in a way that can only be described as carnal desire. He takes his time, lavishing attention on one breast while his hand works the other. His tongue flicks over your nipple before he draws it into his mouth, sucking hard enough to make you gasp, teeth grazing the sensitive bud just shy of painful.
“Still thinking?” he asks, pulling back to blow cool air over your wet skin, nipple tightening further.
All you can focus on is the heat of his mouth, the pressure of his fingers, the weight of him hovering over you. His skin is silky soft, warm to the touch. He switches to your other breast, giving it the same attention, and your hands can’t help but travel to his hair yet again, tugging at the strands.
A litany of moans escapes past your lips, tumbling before you can stop them. You want to fight it, tell yourself not to engage, not to enjoy too much of this before you know it’s ripped away from you like most good things in life sometimes are, but he suckles your breast as though he’s trying to collect sweet nectar from you. “There she is,” he mutters, “I knew you’d stop running that pretty mouth eventually.”
“Ah—fuck—you’re so—” Whatever insult you had planned dies in your throat when he sucks harder, teeth grazing your pebbled nipple.
“I’m so what?” Releasing your nipple with an obscene pop, he looks up at you with disheveled hair and swollen pink lips. The sight alone is enough to make your core throb around nothing. God, you’re so fucking pathetic. “Finish your sentence.”
“Despicable,” You force out unconvincingly. Your head feels like it’s screwed backwards.
“Mm, try again,” He dips his head back down, trailing kisses along the curve of your breast, toward your collarbone, and his lips part wider to take in your supple skin.
Absolutely the fuck not.
“Jeon, don’t you dare,” He ignores your plea, sucking hard at the junction of your neck and shoulder, tongue soothing and teeth scraping. You shove at his shoulder. “No. No one from work can know.”
There’s a flash of frustration in his eyes as he peers up at you. “Fine,” he concedes, hands sliding down your ribcage, thumbs hooking into the waistband of your bottoms. “I’m leaving marks somewhere, though.”
Your core thumps again. Silly little thing. Why can’t she just shut up?
“Somewhere that only I know about.” He pops the button on your pants, dragging the zipper down. He doesn’t remove them entirely, unfortunately, but he exposes the edge of your red panties. Great. He’ll leave a fucking hickey on your thigh that you’ll see everytime you so much as pee and then you’ll be reminded of—
He kisses his way back up your sternum, and then reaches the soft underside of your breast. A place that’s never seen the sun, that no coworker would ever catch. He bites down gently before sucking hard. “Jesus–fuck,” Your hands entangle in his hair.
“That’s better,” he murmurs, tongue dragging over skin until you can practically feel the blood vessels pop. He then moves to your other breast, leaving another mark that blossoms purple and pink hues across your chest, screams Jungkook Jungkook Jungkook until you’re certain he’s imprinted on you.
He moves back up, capturing your nipple in his mouth again, and he’s the equivalent of a man starved—sucking, licking, the barest scrape of teeth that has electricity zinging down your spine. Jungkook’s tattooed hand palms your neglected breast, matching the rhythm of his tongue, pressure boiling low in your belly. It’s never felt like this before—never felt heat creeping up your limbs, toes curling as he succumbs to whatever you want. “Jungkook—”
“Tell me what you need, baby.”
But you can’t tell him that you’re close to falling apart from his mouth and hands on your tits. Can’t admit that there’s a world in which he might know your body more than anyone else ever could. He switches breasts again, tongue circling your nipple in tight circles while his fingers pluck and tease the other one. Your hips are moving of their own accord now, seeking friction that isn’t there. Your panties stick to your folds, dampened and ruined.
“Oh god,” you gasp, mind reeling. What the fuck is happening. How is he this good. “Oh my god, I—”
Maybe you needed to get laid more than you thought.
He moans against your skin, the vibration traveling up your throat.
God, right there, right fucking there, if he just flicks his tongue one more time—
You shove at his shoulders. He pulls back in a daze, eyes glazed over. His lips are red and swollen, and there’s a wetness on his chin that makes heat pool deeper in your core.
“What—” he sputters, “Did I hurt you?”
The absolute opposite, actually.
“No, no, I just think… just, we need to slow down.”
“Oh…” he trails off, settling back on his heels. From this angle, his jawline looks sharper, eyes look more cutting, and you feel a wave of desire crash over you. His features morph from concern into understanding. “You were about to cum, weren’t you?”
“Pfft,” you scoff. “No I wasn’t.”
“Just from me playing with your tits.” The bastard sounds delighted. “Holy shit.”
“Shut the fuck up, Jeon.” You sit up, reach for him. You need to gain some semblance of control. “Take your shirt off.”
He complies, yanking it off and tossing it aside. It dawns on you how agreeable he is to anything you say when you’re not in a press room. Hm.
Your eyes can’t help but wander over his build. You always knew he had defined shoulders, strong shoulders, a sleeve of tattoos. But now the forbidden fruit that everyone has been dying to see is displayed in front of you, and a fluttering feeling erupts ferociously in your stomach.
You push him backward on the bed. “My turn,” you declare, straddling his hips. His large hands fly to your waist, giving you all the power as though to keep you steady.
“Yeah? What are you gonna do to me?”
Leaning down, your lips brush his ear, “Make you regret being so cocky.”
Slowly, you roll your hips against his hardened length. It’s experimental, but the groan that exits his mouth is anything but. You work your way lower, hands sliding over the ridges of his abs, feeling them contract under your touch. When you reach the waistband of his jeans, you undo the button, maintaining eye contact as you drag the zipper down tooth by tooth.
The innate desire to win boils inside you. You can’t help but want it. It’s the same feeling you get when you’re the first to break a story, when you see his article go up an hour after yours and know you beat him. You’ve been competing with him for so long that you don’t know how to not turn this into a contest.
Hooking your fingers into his waistband, you prepare to pull his boxers and pants down in one go, and then suddenly, without preamble, your world is being tilted upside down.
You feel your back hit the mattress, and his face comes into view, ears red and lips plump and wet and god, has he always been this beautiful?
“Jeon, what the fuck—”
“Still my turn,” he argues, kissing his way down to your stomach.
“Okay, no, I was—” You try to sit up, struggle against him, but he plants a hand firmly on you, pushing you back down.
“You were taking too long.” He pauses, stares at your red underwear for a moment too long. His breath catches in his throat for a second, and then he yanks your underwear down your legs, flinging somewhere across his room. “I’ve been patient enough. Don’t you think I’ve been good, [Y/N]?” His obsidian eyes follow yours, a plea behind them.
But still, he can never have the upper hand. You can’t let him see behind the facade you’ve managed to uphold for years. “You can’t just—”
“Can’t what?” He presses a kiss to your inner thigh, inhaling your skin. Letting himself relish in your pheromones.
Your fingers tangle in his hair, and you tug once, twice, trying to regain dominance. “Let me—”
“No.” He catches your wrist, pinning it against your hip. “I’ve been thinking about this for eight fucking years. You can wait five minutes.”
“Okay, first of all, I’m not gonna cum in five minutes, and second of all, that’s not fair—”
“Life’s not fair, sweetheart.” His teeth graze the side of your thigh, and you jolt backwards at the sensation, a whimper falling from your parted lips. “Now stop arguing with me and let me taste you.”
And without another word, his mouth is on your cunt.
His tongue flattens over your folds, collecting as much arousal as possible before swirling circles over your clit. You’re not sure where the fuck he learned this—whether it’s natural talent or years of practice you don’t want to think about—but holy shit, the man eats pussy like he’s got something to prove.
His lips encircle your clit, sucking, milking you dry, tongue working underneath in rapid movements that have your thighs clamped around his head like earmuffs.
“Been waiting to taste you for so fucking long.” He licks a thin stripe up your slit, pausing to let his tongue swirl around your sensitive nub. You jolt forward, gripping onto his hair for dear life.
Why does he talk so much during sex? Vocalizes every damn thing, every word in his brain, and it sends shivers down your spine that reverberate in your stomach, those butterflies you thought were gone back tenfold.
“Shut up,” you say through a moan, “and make me fucking cum, Jeon.”
He looks up from between your legs, juices coating his lips and the tip of his nose. There’s a cocky smirk on his expression you want to slap off (and you really, really would if he wasn’t eating you out like his life depended on it). “Your wish is my command, sweetheart.”
He wraps his arms around your thighs until you’re certain all he’s able to breathe in is your scent. Like most girls, you’ve always been in your head during sex, cataloging insecurities, wondering if you’re taking too long or if you taste okay or if the person between your legs is getting bored.
But with Jungkook, he hasn’t stopped moaning into your glistening pussy, lapping you up eagerly as though he’s the best thing you ever tasted.
The tip of his nose rubs against your clit, and “Fuck, right there, Jungkook,” leaves your mouth before you can stop it. He speeds up, and then your hips are bucking into his face until you’re grinding against him, taking and taking, chasing the friction of his nose while his tongue words inside you. And he fucking loves it—encourages it with his hands on your ass, pulling you closer, harder, like he wants you to suffocate him.
“That’s it,” he mutters, his thumb rubbing circles on your clit. “Use me. Take what you need.”
Hunger overtakes every nerve-ending inside you. Threading your fingers through his hair, you hold him there, rolling your hips against his face in desperation. You can feel his smile against you, can hear the obscene wet sounds of his mouth and tongue working you over, can feel the way he’s completely given himself over to this.
Your mind is scrambled, words falling limp on your tongue.
“You’re so—ahh—shit—”
“So what?” He inserts two fingers into your sopping entrance, and you clench around them. “Finish your sentence, baby.”
“Annoying,” you gasp, “Fucking annoying.”
It’s not true, you think, none of it is true, could never be true, not when he can unravel me like this.
“Yeah?” He pumps his fingers faster, finding your sweet spot, and your back arches clean off the mattress. “Tell me more. Love it when you insult me while I’m knuckle-deep in your pussy.”
You’re close, so close, and he knows it. It all crashes into you, so suddenly that it takes you a moment to know it’s coming. Years and years, months and months, minutes and minutes of tantalizing, teasing him, and your entire body melts into him naturally. Your core throbs around his fingers, sucking in him and he groans. “Fuck, come on baby. Let me feel it. I want to taste your cum. Bet it’s so fucking sweet.”
“Oh god—I’m gonna—” You can’t even finish the sentence before your orgasm washes over you, stealing oxygen from your lungs and making your legs shake. White-hot relief floods over your body, sweat dripping down the valley of your breasts. Your walls practically suck his fingers in, and you can hear him groaning at the situation.
You can’t remember the last time you’ve cum that hard with a man.
Jungkook tentatively pulls his fingers out, pressing a kiss to your inner thigh before sitting back on his heels. He’s pleased with himself, so much so that you want to dropkick him.
His eyes look over at the clock on his nightstand. “Four minutes, by the way.”
You’re too exhausted to throw a jab, too lost in the clouds to ever be brought back down.
“Good?” He cocks a brow, tongue licking over his lips to lap up at the remaining juices coating them, then moving on to his fingers. Maybe having sex with him twice isn’t such a bad…you abandon that train of thought before it can fully form. There’s nothing good down that line.
“Don’t look so fucking smug, Jeon,” You prop yourself up on your elbows, eyeing him down. It would be a lot easier to hate him and his abilities if he wasn’t so good at everything, if he didn’t look ethereal with his disheveled hair and sculpted chest.
He crawls back over your body, “I can’t help it. You should see yourself right now. All fucked out and pretty.”
With horror dawning upon you, you realize that once isn’t going to be enough.
Not even fucking close.
“Your turn,” you murmur, nimble fingers reaching out for his buttons. A soft smirk rests on his features as he lets you, and you take the opportunity to shove him onto his back. He’s willing, eager, pliant under your hold as you straddle his thighs. They sit underneath you like a rock, and you have to beg the question what his workout routine is, because no one can be this bulky. He hasn’t skipped leg day once.
“God, you’re such a dick, Jeon,” you mutter to no one but yourself before you fully yank down his bottoms.
“Rich coming from you,” he retorts as he lifts his hips to help you. “You’ve been busting my balls for fucking years.”
“Because you deserve it,” you point out. Tossing his jeans aside, the tent in his Calvin Klein boxers glares back at you. It’s disgusting how quick your mouth waters with need, a craving to see what’s underneath and take him whole. There’s already a wet spot forming on the fabric, and those little flutters return in your belly with a vengeance. “Someone needs to keep your ego in check.”
His laugh hits like a slap to the face, “My ego?” He shakes his head. “Hilarious. You fucking walk around like you’re god’s gift to journalism.”
“I am god’s gift to journalism.”
“And I’m supposed to be the one with the ego problem?” he scoffs. “You’re delusional.”
“You’ve gotta be compensating for something. We all are.” You palm his erection through his boxers, squeezing softly. His head falls back, abdomen muscles taut. “Wonder what that could be.”
“Fuck you,” he says through gritted teeth, but his hips roll into your hand.
Hooking your fingers into his boxer briefs, your heart beats an erratic pattern that echoes in your brain. There’s no going back, no undoing the damage of what you’ve already done.
But it was always inevitable, wasn’t it? Written in the stars, fated, destined. All those romance novel words you’ve always rolled your eyes at because real life doesn’t work like that… except apparently it does, because here you are, about to fuck your rival in a scene so cliche that some Tumblr author is definitely writing this exact scenario right now.
What’s that trope Rosalie always talks about? Enemies to lovers? Rivals to lovers?
But despite the predictability of it all, it doesn’t really feel frivolous at all.
In fact, it feels as though you’ve been tiptoeing this line with him for eight years without realizing it.
You lean down a little to tug his boxers even further, and the scent of his cologne wafts by your nose as you do.
Bergamot and cedar.
Smells like him, smells like every press conference you’ve sat through trying not to notice when he’s near, like every accidental brush in a crowded hallway, like every college lecture where you got forced to pair up with him.
Weirdly enough, you think you would be okay if you were to smell like that too.
Want his scent on your skin like a claim, want to go home tonight and catch traces of bergamot and cedar on your sheets and remember this.
But if you think about that too much, you’ll leave.
“You wish,” you snort, continuing to drag his boxers down until his hardened cock slaps against his lower stomach. “Actually, wait—you have been wishing that for eight years, haven’t you? That’s kind of pathetic.”
“You’re one to talk. You’re the one who—shit—”
His words cut off as he realizes he’s leaking precum onto his skin, the tip flushed and crimson.
Yeah, he’s got nothing to compensate for.
“I’m the one who what?” you blink innocently, wrapping your hand around him, giving him one slow stroke from base to tip. “Cat got your tongue?”
“You’re the one who’s been—fuuck—been eye-fucking me across press rooms for years,” His voice cracks on the last syllable. “Don’t act like you haven’t thought about this too.”
“I haven’t,” you lie. “Not even once.”
“Bullshit.”
You lick a stripe up the underside of his cock, across a vein that protrudes, one kitten lick from base to tip, and his body shivers underneath you. “Holy shit,” he exhales, tendons in his neck poking out. “Holy shit, wait—”
But you don’t listen to his protests. You take him into your mouth, tip first, swirling your tongue around the head and tasting the salt of his precum. His fingers thread through your hair, gripping the strands as best as he can without hurting you. “Fuck,” he groans, “Fuck, right there—your mouth is perfect—”
You take him deeper, deeper, hollowing your cheeks and letting his tip brush against the back of your throat. A moan almost escapes you at how blissful you feel being in control of him.
“Wait, wait, stop—” The grip in your hair tightens, and he;s actually tugging you off him, which—what?
With a pop, you release his cock from your mouth, brows furrowed. “What?”
“I’m gonna cum,” he bluntly blurts, “Like right now. If you keep going, I’m done.”
You laugh. He’s joking, surely he is. This is part of some evil plan. But his face doesn’t change, lips don’t twitch like they always do when he’s lying.
Oh gosh. He’s serious.
Now you do snort. “Oh my god. Are you serious? One lick? That’s all it took?”
“Shut up,” he mutters, and is he—is he blushing? Jungkook Jeon is blushing, splotches of red painting his neck and cheeks.
“No, this is amazing,” you smile. “The great Jungkook Jeon, laid low by a single lick of a blowjob. Should I call Fox News? This feels like breaking news.”
“I said shut up.” He grabs your waist, hauling you up his body. “You have no idea how long I’ve waited for this. So yeah, excuse me for being a little too into it.”
You don’t really want to think about how long he’s been fantasizing about you.
“A little?” You raise a brow, planting your palms on his toned chest to steady yourself. “Jungkook, I barely touched you. What are you gonna do when we actually fuck? Cum the second you get inside me?”
His jaw clenches. “You wanna find out?”
“Honestly?” You tilt your head, pause for a moment to let your eyes meet his gaze. “I’m a little worried you won’t last long enough for me to enjoy it.”
“Always gotta get the last word in,” he grunts, and you feel his hands shift onto your hips, flipping you onto your back again.
“Jeon!” you squeal.
“I’m giving myself a second,” he says, reaching for the nightstand drawer and pulling out a condom. “And making sure when I fuck you, you remember it for the rest of your life.”
He rips open the packet with his teeth, rolling the condom onto his length. He moans as he does it, then strokes himself a few times, hair falling into his eyes.
“Big talk from someone who almost blew his load from a kitten lick,” you can’t help but point out.
He looks down at you, and the intensity in his gaze makes your heart thrash in your chest wildly. “Keep talking shit. See where it gets you.”
“Where’s it gonna get me, Jeon?”
He leans down, hot breath against the shell of your ear. “Fucked until you forget every insult you’ve ever thrown at me.”
He positions himself at your entrance, head of his cock sliding through your folds, slipping easily from how aroused you are. Your own body can’t help but betray you. The slow movements send your eyes rolling back into your skull, and you squirm underneath his weight.
“Impatient?” he tuts.
“Bored,” you lie. “You gonna do something?”
“There she is,” he murmurs. “Can’t even let me have one moment without being a brat.”
“You’d miss it if I stopped.”
“Yeah.” He pushes the head of his cock in, and you already feel so fucking stuffed, so full beyond belief. Your nails dig crescent moons into his biceps. “I really fucking would.”
And then he slides his entire length in, painstakingly slow, enough that you can feel every vein and every ridge of his cock. Your folds suck him in greedily, wanting more and more and more. You both let out a gasp in unison, and his teeth nibble at his lip piercing as he bottoms out in you. “Fuck,” you moan, eyes closing to bask in the pleasure.
“You good?” He stays still inside you, allowing you to get used to his size, but nothing could’ve prepared you for how full you feel.
“Move,” you demand, because you’re not about to admit how good he feels, how perfectly he fills you. “Jesus Christ, Jungkook, just—”
He pulls out until just his tip is buried in you, and then slams back in, with a force that sends you a few inches back on his mattress. “Like that?” His rhythm is punishing, fingertips bruising your hips as he holds onto you. “Is this what you want?”
“Yes—fuck—yes—” you blab. Every coherent thought you own shrivels up with each thrust of his cock.
“Always bossin' me around,” he grunts, hips moving faster, hitting your sweet spot with each movement. “Always gotta be in control, don’t you?”
“Someone has to be—oh fucking shit—” Your nails rake down a crimson path down his biceps. That’s just about the only jab you can give, because then his hand is coming to wrap around your throat.
“Not tonight, baby. Tonight, you’re gonna take what I give you.”
Your head swims below water, your senses overwhelmed. All you can smell is his familiar scent, letting it overtake you completely.
Jungkook’s thumb presses against your throat, and your pussy clenches around him. “Oh, you like that,” he grins, leaning down to press a chaste kiss to your lips. “Course you do. Bet you’ve been wanting someone to shut that pretty mouth up for years.”
“Fuck you,” you spit, and he chuckles breathily.
“Already doing that, sweetheart. Try again.”
You grab onto his wrist, not to pull his hand away, but to encourage him.
“Harder,” you command, and you don’t even know if you mean his hand or his thrust, but he gives you both. He’ll give you anything you want, you think.
His hips piston faster, fucking into you with a harshness that has your body writhing underneath him. Your pussy squelches, the bed rocking back and forth in tandem with his thrusts. “Oh fuck, right there, right fucking there,” you squeal, making a soaked noise at the back of your throat.
“Eight years..” he grunts, hiking your leg higher up on his waist. “You fucking know what eight years does to a guy? My cock shriveled up into itself. Everytime I looked at you for too long, I had to look away.”
Your walls twitch around his length, a natural instinctive thing you try to ignore even though you know he won’t let you. Jungkook brushes the hair out of your face, taking your jaw in his hand and ensuring your fucked-out eyes meet his. “You like that, hm? Like knowing what you do to me, what you’ve fucking done to me for years? Not so tough now, hm?”
You need him to fuck into you without abandon, need his cock to fill you up until it feels like the only thing you can feel is him. Until his DNA mingles with yours, until you’re suffocated by every part of him. “Fuck you, Jeon. If I wanted to be chastised by you, I would’ve shown up to the Fox press room, not your apartment.”
His mouth surges into yours, a sloppy kiss full of saliva and teeth clanging but your lips find him just as easy. You melt into him. When he pulls away, his eyes are swallowed whole by black. “Your mouth…” he laughs to himself. “Your mouth always gets you in trouble, doesn’t it?”
You smirk. “That’s what they say.”
You’re almost certain your juices are coating the bed below you. Your hands scramble to drag more marks down his biceps. Little puffs of air escape your mouth, something between a moan and a groan, all you can muster when he’s so fucking deep inside you, deeper than any man’s ever been. “Well then, how about we shut that pretty little mouth up?”
His hips buck wildly, balls slapping against the mounds of your ass. Your breasts bounce with the force of it, and your mouth drops open, sounds pouring from you that you’re not sure you’ve ever made before. “This what you need?” His voice strains to get the words out. “Need me to fuck you like you’re mine?”
“I’m not yours,” you say, but your body is telling a different story. Arching into him, meeting him thrust for thrust, keening for him.
“Yeah?” He releases the grip around your jaw, hand traveling south to your throbbing cunt. “Then why are you so wet for me?”
“Shut up—”
“Make me, baby.” His thumb traces your clit. “Oh wait, you can’t. Too busy taking my cock.”
You’re completely at his mercy, reducing you to nothing but carnal desire and need.
“Just keep going,” you moan, “Right fucking there, Jungkook.”
“Here?” He rolls his hips again, his pelvic bone meeting your clit. Your vision whites at the edges, blurs with each movement. “Yeah, I know. Been paying attention, baby. I know exactly what you need.”
You cum with a strangled whimper, clenching around his cock, the only thing keeping you tethered to earth is his hand on your clit and his weight above you.
“That’s it,” he encourages, “Fuck, you’re so pretty when you cum.”
His thrusts slow, grinding against you enough to prolong your orgasm until you’re shaking and pushing at his chest to get him away.
“Knew I could make you feel good.” He’s still hard inside you, but you feel his length twitching, affected even if he hasn’t cum yet. “I knew you’d be perfect.”
“Aghh—don’t—” you weakly protest, although you don’t know what for.
“Can’t handle me being right for once?” He experimentally rolls his hips, and even oversensitive, it feels blissful. “Admit it. This is the best you’ve ever had.”
You can’t admit it. But fuck, it’s so true it makes your throat tight and your eyes sting.
You’ve never felt pleasure like this. Other men never learned how you liked to be touched, even if you were to draw a diagram for them. They fade into a blur of adequate-at-best experiences that you told yourself were good enough because you didn’t know it could be different. Jungkook can read your body, and can denote every sound you make. Can understand you even with just the noises your body can make.
He loved studying, you were sure of it. You just had never thought that maybe, all this time, his favorite subject to study had been you.
“You haven’t even cum yet,” you point out instead of answering. “Little premature for victory laps, don’t you think?”
He scoffs, and, well…that’s the breaking point for you.
Planting your hands on his chest, you push him off, and he curiously lets you. You use the momentum to flip your positions, straddling his hips with his cock still buried inside you. “Fucking hell,” he exhales, hands flying to your waist to steady you. His eyes are wide, pupils blown, and for the first time tonight he looks caught off guard. “What are you—”
“My turn.” You roll your hips, and both of you groan. In this position, it feels like he’s hitting your cervix, feels like you could die of bliss right here at this very moment.
His fingers dig into your skin. “Fuck, [Y/N].” His gaze drags over every detail of your body, pausing where your walls engulf his length entirely. “You’re so fucking gorgeous like this.”
Those weird flutters in your stomach return, and so you mutter, “Stop talking,” but there’s no real bite behind it.
You move yourself up and down, slowly at first. His cock glides in and out of you with ease, your cunt clenching around him, your body unable to relinquish its hold on him. "Can't help it,” he grits out, hands sliding up to cup your breasts, thumbs brushing over your sensitive nipples. “You have no idea how many times I’ve pictured this. You riding me, these perfect tits bouncing, how fucking tight and wet you’d be for me.”
“God, you’re a pervert,” you chastise as you lean back, palms planting themselves on his large thighs for stability.
“Yeah, and you fucking love it.” He thrusts up to meet you. “Don’t even deny it. Your pussy gets so tight when I talk dirty to you.”
“That’s just—physiological response—” You’re all but slamming yourself onto his cock now. The frantic slap of skin on skin fills the room, his little moans sending another wave of arousal coursing through your veins.
He’s grinning at you like the asshole he is. “You really can’t just admit you like something, can you? Always gotta be so fucking difficult.”
You lean forward, tits bouncing in his face, and his eyes nearly roll back into his skull. “I’m the easiest person in the world. You’re just incompetent.”
“Oh, right,” he chuckles. “Cause I just made you cum twice with my incompetence.”
“Beginner’s luck,” you retort.
“Yeah?” His hands slide to grip the plush skin of your ass, controlling your movements, making you take him deeper. “Let’s test that theory.”
Jungkook firmly plants his feet into the mattress, fucking up into you with a brutal force that has you screaming, holding onto his headboard as though you might fall off. “Fuck, you’re so hot,” he moans, “Love watching you take my cock like this.”
He sits up, wrapping an arm around your waist to hit a different angle, one that lets him finally take the control back that you had tried to steal from him. You can feel him getting harder inside you, breathing ragged, and there’s something intoxicating about having him.
“Fuck,” he grits out, “Fuck, your pussy is insane, I’m gonna—”
“Already?” You force yourself to focus through the haze of pleasure, seizing the opportunity to torture him. “Seriously? We just started, Jeon.”
“Shut the fuck up, no we didn’t,” His head lolls back, bottom lip tucked underneath his front teeth. His cock twitches inside you. “You feel too good—fuck—I can’t—”
“Eight years of alleged pining and you can’t even last five minutes?” You would feel bad about how mean you’re being if he didn’t look so wrecked, if the desperation on his face wasn’t so satisfying. “That’s embarrassing for you.”
“I swear to god, [Y/N],” His sentence is cut off by his desperate thrusts upward one, two, three more times before his body goes rigid. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum.”
Jungkook groans and tenses, emptying into the condom. His cock pulses inside you, bicep muscles straining. The vein in his neck pops out, a blush creeping across his neck. Okay—fine—it’s kind of hot watching him orgasm. But you’re not about to tell him that.
Your movements slow until they’re almost stagnant, and all you want to do is kiss him silly but you can’t, so you settle on what you do best with him. “That was fast. I mean, I’ve had guys last for thirty minutes tops—”
Before you can finish the aggravating sentence, his hands are on your waist, lifting you off him. A yelp of surprise escapes you as he maneuvers you onto your knees beside him on the bed. “Jungkook!”
“Stay on your knees,” he orders, and his tone forces you to comply without a second thought.
His hand is in your hair, gathering the strands and pulling your head back so you’re forced to look at him. His face is flushed with a crimson glow, hair disheveled and eyes hungrily awaiting for more. “You think you’re so funny,” he says. “Running your mouth, making fun of me.”
“It was kinda funny—”
“Open,” he interrupts. Hesitating, you don’t move. He tugs your hair. “I said open.”
Your mouth falls open wide, and he guides your head down toward his cock. The condom has been disposed of, and he’s still half hard, leftover cum leaking from his tip.
“Clean me up.”
You would probably tell him where to shove his orders under normal circumstances, but you find yourself leaning forward, tongue darting out to lick a stripe up his length. He hisses, grip in your hair tightening. “That’s it, baby. Get me hard again.”
“You’re so bossy,” you say as you jerk him off, his cock already beginning to harden once more. You take him into your mouth whole, tasting the saltiness on your tongue.
“You fucking love it,” he counters, running his thumb over your cheek. “You love being told what to do, don’t you?”
Your response is to take him deeper, cheeks hollowing and tongue swirling over his tip. You can feel his length taking up square footage in your palm and mouth. Cupping his balls, you roll them gently, and his hips desperately buck forward. “Shit,” he curses, “Should’ve known you’d be good at this.”
With a pop, you release him to say, “Good at everything, actually,” before taking him back in your mouth.
“Cocky,” he hums. “Even with your mouth full of my cock.”
You fight the urge to roll your eyes. You can feel him getting harder with each pass of your tongue. Your hand jerks off the parts of him that can’t fit in your mouth, and his cock twitches in excitement. Each time you hollow your cheeks, he lets out a whimper that sounds like he might cry, “Jesus Christ,” he mutters, head thudding against the headboard. “Yeah, just like that, baby.”
A flutter arises in the center of your sore cunt. You move faster, and let your saliva fall down to his balls, spreading to any dry skin. His breathing shallows, chest rising and falling with each pump. “Okay, okay, stop,” He tugs your hair, pulling you off him. It takes you a few moments to regain your composure, to wipe the tears brimming your eyes and the saliva off your lips. “I’m good, more than good.”
And when you look down, his cock is standing tall, the tip flushed and angry.
“Show off,” you smirk.
“Says the woman who just sucked me hard again in under two minutes,” he snorts, slowly beginning to stroke himself. “Lay down. I’m finishing what I started.”
You comply, which is a shock to you and him both. But really, you can chalk it up to how undeniably soaked you are, how two orgasms wasn’t enough. It’s just been a while since you’ve had sex, not for any other reason in particular. It’s most definitely not because Jungkook Jeon is some kind of sex god (which, by all means, you should’ve seen coming).
He moves to position himself between your legs again, and you watch as he lines himself up at your entrance. His thumb collects the juices gathering between your folds, letting himself taste it before looking back at you.
Suddenly self-conscious, you ask, “What?”
“I want…” he trails off, as though he’s trying to find the right words in his brain. “Fuck, I want to feel you.”
It takes your sex-fogged brain a second to understand what he’s asking. “You want to go raw?”
“Yeah.” His hand slides up your thigh, thumb tracing patterns on your skin. “I’m clean. Got tested last month. And I know you’re on birth control, I heard you mention it to Emma once.”
“You fucking creep.” You roll your eyes but your heart is pounding. “You pay attention to my choice of contraceptive?”
“I pay attention to everything about you.”
You probably shouldn’t. Jungkook isn’t someone you should be having raw sex, because somehow, that complicates things more than it already is. You’re already operating at quadratic equation levels of messy.
But you’re so turned on you can barely think straight.
“I’m clean too. I got tested two weeks ago,” you admit.
His eyes are fixated on your face, finger dragging a long line from your hip down to your thigh. “That’s not a yes.”
“Yes,” you blurt, and yeah—there’s the begging he predicted, “Please, Jungkook. I want to feel you too.”
“Fuck,” you both gasp in unison as he pushes into you bare, allowing you to feel every ridge and vein on his cock.
He leans over you until you can feel his hot breath puffing against your neck, forehead falling to your shoulder. “Holy shit—you feel so fucking good—”
“Move,” you moan, legs wrapping around his waist. “Please move.”
He doesn;t hold back, fucking into you relentlessly. The headboard slams against the wall with each thrust, and you distantly hope his neighbors aren’t home because there's no way they wouldn’t hear this. “Oh, fuck, fuck yes,” you babble. He feels so good, too good, and without the condom you can feel the heat of him, the way his length pulses inside you. His lips nip at your shoulder, teeth grazing over your collarbone.
He groans into your ear and the sound reverberates in your brain. “Did you know I used to jerk off after our debates in college? Used to get me so fucking hard the way you used to run your mouth.”
No, no you didn’t know that at all. You’re starting to think you don’t know a lot of things.
He angles his hips to hit your g-spot, and you’re shaking all over, so far gone you can’t even feel your own muscles anymore. “Let me hear you, baby. Want everyone to know who’s fucking you this good.”
“Arrogant… asshole,” you struggle to speak, your brain a pile of mush.
“Yeah?” His hand navigates to your clit, rubbing circles. You muffle a scream into his neck, and you catch a whiff of his woodsy scent again, and it feels like you’re drowning in him, drowning in Jungkook. “But I’m your asshole right now, hm? Aren’t I? Say it.”
“Fuck off.”
“Say it,” he grits through his teeth, his tongue sucking a purple bruise onto your collarbone. Your toes curl in anticipation, your orgasm creeping up on you. “Say you’re mine. Just for tonight.”
“Jeon.”
“Say it or I fucking stop.” He stills his hips, rhythm slowing, and you want to rip his head off.
“You wouldn’t dare.”
“Try me.” His cock twitches inside you, betraying how much he needs this, needs you too.
“Fine, fuck—fine, I’m yours," you force out, and you remind yourself it doesn’t mean anything, that you’re just saying what he wants to hear. “Just for tonight. Now fucking move.”
The kiss he plants on your lips is equally as sloppy as his thrusts, filled with yours and his moans. His thumb stays steady on your clit, and you can feel yourself hurtling toward that familiar edge. “Gonna cum,” you warn, nails digging into his shoulders, lips swollen against his. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum.”
“Cum on my cock, baby,” His voice cracks, face buried in the crook of your shoulder. “Gonna make me cum too. I’m gonna—shit, where can I cum?”
Your mind is a whirlpool of thoughts, a tsunami of sensations overtaking you. Your pussy clenches around him, sucks him in as your entire body spasms for the third time tonight.
You know just where you want it.
“Inside,” you gasp. “Cum inside me.”
That’s all he needs to hear. He buries himself to the hilt with a guttural groan, and you feel him pulse as his cock fills you with his warm seed, painting your walls.
Jungkook nearly falls on top of you, both of you breathing hard. Sweat trickles down your back in steady tracks. For several minutes, or what might be hours, neither of you move. You lay there in the silence, hearts thrumming erratically, basking in what you had just done.
Jungkook inevitably pulls out, lies beside you, staring up at his ceiling. His cum leaks out of you, drop by drop, and you let it.
“Jungkook,” you quietly begin, and he turns to face you. You think he might tell you to get out, or maybe grab tissues or head to the bathroom to do any of the normal post-sex things people do.
But he does none of those. He kisses your cheeks, your jaw, back down your body like he’d never left it.
“What are you—” you start, but he suckles your nipple between his lips.
“Not done with you yet,” he finally murmurs against your skin.
“I came three times, I can’t take anymore.”
Or, well, maybe you can, you’re just not really sure. You’ve never gotten to this point with a man before.
“Just wanna clean you up,” he mumbles in response, almost incoherent. He sounds drunk.
“That’s disgusting,” you say, and your voice wavers because he’s already pressing kisses to your inner thighs, getting closer to where you’re sopping wet and messy and dripping with evidence of what you just did.
“Is it?” he hums. “Or are you scared you’ll just like it?”
“I won’t—oh fuck—”
Jungkook Jeon is not allowed to be right this many times, but then his tongue is on you, licking a stripe up your slit, tasting the mixture of yourself and him. Your hips lift to meet his mouth, and the thought dawns on you: he is right. That you do like it. That there’s something about the depravity of it—about him being so eager to taste both of you, so unbothered by what should be a boundary—that makes butterflies simmer low in your belly all over again.
“Tastes so good,” he slurs, “Tastes like us.”
“Nghhh—shit, I’m too sensitive, Jungkook—ahhh.” You wriggle under his grasp.
His tongue circles your clit before dipping into your entrance to lap at the mixture seeping out of you. “Want you oversensitive. Want you to feel this next time you’re sitting across from me in the press room.”
He curls two fingers inside you, gathering the last of the cum dripping out of you. Your fingers scramble for purchase, bunching his blanket into your fists. Once he finally deems you clean enough, he presses a few more kisses to your thigh.
Tiredly, you lift your eyes to meet his. His face is a mess, lips slick and chin glistening with your arousal. He looks so satisfied with himself you want to be annoyed but you’re too wrung out to manage it.
“You good?” he asks, plopping his body beside you.
“Yeah.”
In the aftermath, there’s nothing but a quiet buzz in your brain.
Your mind likes to move. Fight or flight has been your default setting for so long.
But a pleasant hum has settled in your bones, one that is terrifyingly blissful. No contingency plans. No exit strategies.
It’s as though you’re at the edge of a cliff, that moment where your brain chooses flight and screams at you to step back, to choose safety, and yet, it does the opposite.
In the corner of Jungkook’s wall, there’s a water stain shaped like a star. Reminds you of the stars you told your mom you always wanted to see in DC.
“Your ceiling has water damage.”
“That’s what you’re thinking about?” He snorts. “You gonna do a home inspection right now?”
Thinking about the water stain is better than thinking about a lot of things. “The ceiling could cave in. You don’t wanna recreate the Titanic, do you?”
“It was a good movie. I wouldn’t mind it.”
“It was an okay movie. Not worth reliving, in my opinion.”
“You told Jenna and Emma you cry over it everytime you’re on your period.”
Your body stiffens. “Another bullet on the list of creepy things you remember about me.”
“Everything about you is worth remembering.”
You can’t bear to look at him. The reality of it all is catching up. Up until a few weeks ago, you didn’t even know sex with Jungkook Jeon was something you wanted. It was so far-fetched you would laugh even if a psychic predicted it themselves.
And now, all of a sudden, it’s all very real, very undeniable.
“You should get that fixed,” you sigh. “Water damage can lead to mold.”
“I’ve been meaning to. I will soon,” he replies.
This was supposed to be just sex. A one-time thing to get it out of your system. A recommendation from Rosalie, a way to take the edge off. It wasn’t supposed to feel like this, like something you could get used to and then lose.
Panic claws up your throat. You bolt upright, moving off the bed. “Do you have a shirt I can borrow?”
He blinks at you, eyebrow cocked in confusion. “What?” His hair is unruly, eyes glazed over. The sight ignites something soft inside you.
“A shirt. T-shirt. Whatever.” Your eyes survey the room. “I need to pee. And drink some water, maybe.”
“Yeah, hold on,” He gets up, naked and completely unselfconscious about it, and rummages through his dresser. He pulls out an oversized black t-shirt with some faded band logo. “Here.”
With shaky hands, you take it and put it on. It’s loose on your frame, hugs you like a warm blanket fresh out of the dryer. It smells just like him, just as everything else he owns. Smells like his Columbia sweatshirt. Smells like New York. Smells like things you need to stop fucking thinking about.
“You better not get a UTI on my watch,” he jokes, tugging his boxers on and flopping back onto the bed. “That would be bad for my reputation.”
“Your reputation as what? A walking sex health ad?”
“As someone who takes care of his partners,” he corrects, and the word ‘partners’ makes your insides turn to goo. “I can’t have you going to the doctor next week explaining how Jungkook Jeon gave you a urinary tract infection. Fox would have a field day.”
“Fox would throw a parade.” You roll your eyes.
His eyes soften. “Do you need anything? Water? I can run you a bath if you want.”
Your stomach sinks to the ground.
Taking care of yourself has never been something you let others do for you. Growing up, there was no one else to do it. Your mom worked to keep the lights on; you learned to pack your own lunches by age seven, do your own laundry by nine, navigate the bus system alone by eleven.
You got good at it, prided yourself on never needing anyone, never asking for help. After all, it's what makes you an intense journalist. You’ll do whatever it takes to get the story.
Jungkook, though, has offered you as much help as he can possibly give. In tiny ways, he shows up for you. He orders Ubers, carries you on his back, remembers your coffee order, your favorite alcohol.
Holds your worries the same as his own, even when those worries involve him being the enemy.
“Bathroom’s the second door on the left.” He breaks your spiral. “Yell if you need me.”
“Thanks,” you swallow thickly. “I’ll just—yeah.”
You flee the bedroom, rushing down the hallway, passing his bathroom. You just keep running and running, bare feet padding against hardwood. You need water and distance and time to shove all these feelings back into the box where they belong.
His kitchen is aesthetically pleasing, like something straight out of a Martha Stewart catalogue. It’s spotless, nothing like the frat house decor you anticipated. The counters are built from expensive quartz you see in renovation shows, a soft grey that catches the light from the pendant fixtures hanging overhead. He has an impressive collection of dishes, glassware, everything neatly organized.
Oh god.
Opening the fridge, you search for the water. He’s stocked with vegetables, meal-prepped lunches, bottles of fancy European water. You grab one at random and crack it open.
But even then, the water doesn’t alleviate the tightness in your chest.
Your feet carry themselves further into his apartment, water bottle gripped tightly in your hand. To your left, the living room opens up, and it still doesn’t match the minimalist bachelor pad you conjured up in your head.
On the wall, there are family photos. Jungkook as a kid, gap-toothed and grinning. His two front teeth resemble those of a bunny, even now. Another of him with what looks like an older brother, both of them in soccer uniforms, arms slung around each other’s shoulders. One of his whole family at what might be a wedding, everyone dressed up, his mom’s hand on his shoulder.
Glimpses of a life you never wanted to know about.
On a desk in the far corner, he has an impressive gaming system. PlayStation 5, Nintendo Switch, high-end headphones, the works. There’s another desk beside it, which you assume is his work space if the pens and highlighters are anything to go by. There’s books on the shelf above, so many books. Political theory, Klein, authors you’ve spent your own nights reading and annotating. Congressional records and policy analysis, books on media bias and the history of American journalism. Jungkook has always been intelligent—you’ve never been able to deny that, even at your most competitive. But this is different. This is seeing the architecture of his mind laid bare, and it’s... it’s like looking in a mirror.
“How to Win Friends and Influence People” by Dale Carnegie, wedged between Machiavelli’s “The Prince” and a biography of Walter Cronkite. You softly snort, chuckling to yourself.
There’s Orwell and Hemingway, literary fiction you wouldn’t have pegged him for. A book on the history of the Korean War, several on economic policy. One on attachment theory that makes you pause—why the hell does he have a psychology book about relationships?
Your eyes drift to the top shelf. There’s more picture frames, family photos, pictures from graduation, him with some other guys you don’t recognize.
But on the far right, turned at a slight angle, there’s a frame you can’t quite make out.
Curiosity sparks within you, and you reach up, standing on your tiptoes to bring the frame down.
Your mouth becomes so dry your tongue sticks to the roof.
It’s you.
You and him in New York, Monroe’s press conference. You two are sitting together, smiling at each other.
Your brain has checked out a while ago, just feelings bubbling up inside, emotions coursing through your veins.
The photograph captures everything. His body is angled towards you, his smile radiant. You mirror his expression, eyes twinkling.
How long has he been looking at you like that?
It all comes flashing back in snapshots now, pieces of that day you didn’t pay attention to at the time. The photographer, some guy with too many cameras, weaving through the crowd, snapping photos of everyone. Jungkook lingering by the photographer, talking to him, gesturing at the camera display.
He wasn’t networking, or doing that thing where he becomes friends with everyone with disgusting charm. He was getting this picture, asking for a copy of this specific moment, getting it printed and framed. Putting it on his shelf where he sees it everyday.
Why the fuck would he do that? Why would he want a photograph of you, of all people? His rival. His competition.
Your hands are shaking as you place the frame back on the shelf, trying to position it exactly how it was. Your heart is hammering so hard you can feel it in your throat.
Your feet carry you back to his bedroom, and he’s on his phone when you push the door open, propped up against his headboard in his boxers. When you enter, he immediately glances up, phone tossed aside without another thought. “You okay?” he asks.
“Fine,” You force a smile. Your eyes scan the room for your clothes. Your underwear is by the foot of the bed, bra somehow ended up on his desk chair. Your blouse is crumpled on the floor near the door. “Where did my pants go?”
“Uh… by the window?” He stands up, looking around. “You heading out?”
“Yeah.” You find your pants, clutching your clothes to your chest. “I’ve got a busy day. You know how it is.”
“Oh, cool,” he quietly says.
“Never stops, right? The news cycle waits for no one,” you nervously chuckle, clambering to put yourself together,
“Right.” You can’t tell what he’s thinking as he watches you. “Do you need a ride?”
“It’s fine.”
“It’s late at night.” He raises a brow.
“People Uber at night all the time, Jungkook. It’s not like I’m going to get murdered in America’s great capital.”
“I’m happy to drive you or order you a car,” he says nonchalantly, like it’s water sliding off his back.
“No, no it’s fine. You should sleep. I’ll be okay.”
There’s a long pause. You’re still not looking at him, too busy trying to figure out how to put your bra back on while holding all your other clothes.
Once you’ve finally got your shirt back on, you say, “This was fun. We got it out of our systems… cleared the air. We can go back to normal now.”
Jungkook looks at you with real resignation scrunching up his face, and you feel like an idiot. “If that’s what you want.”
You don’t know what the fuck you want, but you know that staying here in his apartment with his books and his photos and his picturesque kitchen will make you want things you can’t have.
You feel the need to keep going. “This was—it was good. Really good. But we work together, kind of, and it would be weird if—we can’t—”
“I get it,” he interrupts, “No need to explain.”
But you feel like you do need to explain, need to make sure he understands that this isn’t about him—except the entire thing is about him.
“Don’t treat me any different now that you’ve seen me naked,” You try to crack a joke, but neither of you laugh.
“Wouldn’t dream of it.”
At the threshold of his bedroom door, some part of you is screaming that you’re making a mistake, that you should turn around and… what? Confess that seeing that photo made your heart stop? Admit that the way he takes care of you terrifies you because you’ve never let anyone do that before? Ask him what the hell he was thinking?
But you don’t do any of those things.
Instead, you tightly smile and say, “See you around.”
synopsis. when you're locked out of your room on christmas eve and your handsome neighbor offers you a place to stay for the night, who are you to say no?
genre/pairing. jeon jungkook x reader. smut. fluff.
tags/warnings. pwp. explicit sex. protection. dry humping. oral (f) receiving. hair pulling. doggy. a little bit of nipple play. slighhhtt angst in the beginning if you really squint.? college au. international student au.
wc. 5.6k
a/n. this was inspired by ME because this shit genuinely happened to me on xmas eve except i didn't have a handsome jeon jungkook to fuck my brains out, so i just thugged it out by myself. pls excuse any skibidi-ness bc i literally wrote this in one day and this is just for funzies!!! originally this was supposed to be cute and fluffy but somehow i made it porn. also bf hotline ch 4 and reckless are my next updates... so you horny bitches will be getting fed WELL jfkjfksjf. ok enjoy u sluts!! i love u and i hope you pee a little reading this! <3
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You’ve had bad Christmases before.
There was the one time your brother accidentally broke your brand new Barbie Dreamhouse. The time you spent Christmas fifth wheeling your two best friends and their boyfriends. The time you were sick with pneumonia and spent the day at the hospital.
This year, however, takes the cake for The Worst Christmas Ever™.
You’d just gone grocery shopping—because yes, that was how you decided to spend your Christmas Eve—and you were heading up to your room when a frazzled girl came up to you declaring that she needed your help.
Apparently, she left her phone in her dorm, rendering her phone key useless, and needed to borrow your phone to download her key temporarily.
You handed your phone to her without much thought, letting her do whatever shenanigans she needed, and within five minutes, your phone successfully saved the day, unlocking the door to her dorm with a winning click.
A stream of thank-you’s spilled out of her as she ran inside to grab you a bottle of beer. A token of gratitude, which you accepted politely even though you hated beer. She then launched into an elaborate explanation of how she was late to a date with her boyfriend but couldn’t leave without her phone, and how she was so grateful to run into you and—
Yeah, you didn’t really care.
You just wanted the interaction to be over so you could spend the rest of your day moping.
Because as an international student, things can get pretty lonely during the holidays. Your family and best friends are an eleven hour flight away, your roommate just flew back to her home country three days ago, and all of your other friends are busy with their families or boyfriends.
So you’re alone this Christmas. No biggie.
It sucks a little, but at least you have hot chocolate waiting for you in your room alongside a rom-com you’ve been itching to watch: Made of Honor.
So you quickly waved her goodbye and headed up to your room.
Which brings you to now.
Because when you finally reach your unit and bring up your phone to unlock your door, it beeps traitorously with a red screen.
No. It can’t be.
You try again.
And again.
Each time, without fail, your phone refuses to do the damn thing it’s meant to do: be useful.
You attempt to rationalize. If she could download her key onto your phone, you can simply redownload yours, right? So you log onto your housing building’s website, searching for the “redownload room key” tab that must be somewhere, but to no avail.
Technology has never been your thing. You’ve been on your phone for a solid thirty minutes trying to figure it out when you realize that the battery is nearing the single digits. You take out your portable charger from your purse, only to find that it has been zapped of battery, too.
Okay, stay calm. What next?
Building administration, your brain supplies.
You dial the number quickly, trying to make good use of your depleting battery, only to receive an automated voice message in response.
It’s Christmas Eve. Of course, no one’s going to be fucking working on Christmas Eve.
“This is ridiculous,” you mutter under your breath.
You decide that you’re never helping anyone ever again.
Because now, you’re stranded in the hallways of a very empty dormitory with a bag of groceries digging into your shoulders, a bottle of beer that you won’t even drink, and a phone that’s about as useful as a brick.
You give up, sitting on the floor and taking out a bar of Snickers that you decided to splurge on. Why not?
You’re munching on the chocolatey-caramely gooey goodness when you hear footsteps coming from down the hall—which is surprising, considering that most students go home for the holidays. You’re one of the few who can’t afford a flight back this season.
You turn, and to your surprise, it’s Jeon Jungkook.
As always, he’s wearing baggy clothes. Black cargo pants, oversized black hoodie, and a black puffer jacket. He looks like he’d just gone out to take out the trash or something. His signature piercings are in, glinting in the dim glow of the hallway’s lighting.
You’ve seen him before at some gatherings—specifically in the beginning of the year when there would be a new “welcoming orientation” for international students pretty much every week, filled with the same slideshows about the university and occasional free snacks.
Otherwise, you haven’t talked to him much despite him occupying the dorm across from yours for the past few months.
His eyes meet yours, and you realize how utterly stupid you must look sitting on the floor eating a bar of snickers with a bottle of beer rolling around in your lap. On Christmas Eve at that.
“Uh, hey,” he greets, semi-polite, semi-curious. “You good?”
You choke down the clump of caramel in your throat. “Yeah, uh, sorry, I got locked out.”
It stings to say.
He tilts his head, scanning you up and down. “Have you tried calling the building admin?”
“They’re closed.” You try to not sound as frustrated as you are. “Holidays and all.”
His mouth parts with a soft ‘ohh,’ as if he only just now noticed that it’s Christmas Eve.
From where you’re sitting below him, his height and chiseled jawline are more apparent than ever. Him being handsome does not help. You’re embarrassed to death.
“I see…” he trails off, awkwardly staring you down. “Do you have a plan?”
What a question. You fight the urge to roll your eyes, smothering on an optimistic smile.
“I think I’ll try my key again in a bit. It’ll have to work eventually.”
You haven’t checked your phone yet, but you reckon there should be about fifteen minutes left of juice left in it. You’ll check the website again to see if there’s a way to redownload your lock.
He nods, and with an expression somewhere between amusement and pity, he unlocks his door with his own phone, slowly opening it and stepping inside.
“Well, good luck.”
“Thanks,” you quip, grateful that the moment would be over soon. You don’t want to make a fool of yourself in front of a hot guy any longer.
He salutes you, then closes his door.
You let out a breath, stand up, and try your key again. And again.
You log onto the website, scroll around in hopes of finding some kind of hotline for students who get locked out. Nothing.
Now you’re in panic mode for real. The sugar from the Snicker bar you ate works fast in your bloodstream, kicking your adrenaline levels high. The ice cream you bought is probably the consistency of milk now, the cramp in your shoulder hurts like a bitch, and somewhere between it all you feel the urge to cry.
If you call your parents, there’s nothing they can do—it’s not like they can book a flight, and your brother would probably make fun of you, anyway—and you’d end up just worrying them needlessly. You can’t call your roommate for help because she’s literally in a different country, and even if you could call a friend for emotional support, your phone is about to die and you’re holding onto the three percent that’s left like a lifeline.
You think you might cry—but you don’t. Because that would just make you look even more pathetic.
The laundry room.
There’s a couch in there. It’s old and stained with a bunch of unspeakable liquids, but there’s a heater in there along with the faint comforting smell of laundry detergent.
You’ll sleep in the laundry room tonight. And then in the morning, you’ll go out to a convenience store—because those have to be open all the time, even on Christmas, right?—buy yourself a charger, plug it into an outlet that you’re sure you’ll find somewhere in the building, and try again.
Until then, you have some snacks in your stretched-out grocery bag that you figure will have to last you until morning.
It will be fine. Not great. Just fine.
Just as you’re about to make the defeated journey to the laundry room, there’s a soft click, and Jungkook’s door creaks open.
He looks at you curiously through the gap, eyes wide and round.
Cute, your brain helpfully comments.
“How’s it going?”
You chuckle dryly. “Not great.”
He steps out of his room, walking over to you.
“So what’s the problem?” he asks, examining your door as if he’d understand the dilemma just by looking at it. “You run out of battery, or…?”
You sigh, then explain the whole sob story of an act of kindness turning into a nightmare. He listens intently, nodding at all the right moments and offering quiet empathetic quips here and there. By the time you’ve told him about how your brother would probably repeatedly call you just to deplete your battery for the fun of it, he’s all caught up on your Christmas Eve kerfuffle.
“So yeah. That’s me.”
“And how were you planning on… proceeding?” he says the word tentatively, like it isn’t quite the right way to describe your predicament. Proceeding? More like surviving.
You huff, the sound sagging down your shoulders.
“I was just gonna crash in the laundry room.”
Composed. Calm. Totally in control. That’s how you want to sound, but it comes out more pitiful than anything.
Jungkook doesn’t say something right away. You’ve noticed that he’s the quiet type. Never saying much, but when he does say something it gets the whole room laughing. He’s always existed near you, but your social circles have yet to overlap. You stayed with your loud, sarcastic girly girls; he hung with the tight-knit group of Korean guys who were obnoxiously loud when together, yet kept to themselves around others.
“That sounds rough,” he finally says.
“Tell me about it.” You jog your bag up your shoulder, preparing to head off. “Anyways, I’m gonna go check into my grand hotel for the night,” you joke, although there’s very little humor in your voice.
“Good luck,” he calls as you trot away.
You’ve turned around now, making the march down the hall with as confidence as you can muster, as if nothing really matters to you. It’s just a bad day. People have those all the time. Even on Christmas Eve.
When you reach the elevators, you hear thumping.
Footsteps. Someone running to you.
“Hey, wait!” Jungkook pops out from around the corner in a flash. “Are you really going to sleep in the laundry room?”
You blink at him wildly, unsure of how to react.
“I mean, yeah?” you reply slowly. “I don’t really know if I have any other options.”
He looks at you, then to the ground, and to you again. Bites his lip. He takes a deep breath.
“If you want… you can stay in my room.” The moment the offer leaves his mouth, your stomach drops to the ground. He seems to notice it, too. “My roommate isn’t here, so there’s a spare bed. And you can charge your phone. Maybe we can try to figure out the whole key thing together?”
He’s nervous, but well-intentioned and sincere.
“You don’t have to, obviously.” He chuckles, low and soft. “It’s just… another option.”
And despite everything that has happened today, you allow yourself a true smile.
“I think I’ll take a bed over the crusty couch in the laundry room any day.”
His lips turn up ever so slightly. “Yeah, I thought you’d be kind of crazy if you said no. That couch is nasty.”
You roll your eyes outwardly this time. So he’s a little sassy. How fun.
He leads you down the hall, and you take a moment to appreciate his broad shoulders and wide back, and the way his shaggy hair seems to bounce with every step. He’s one fine man, you have to admit.
“You won’t try anything, right?” you ask, just for the sake of asking.
He turns back, looking at you directly.
“Of course not.”
And it’s the way he says it, completely honest—straight-faced, eyes forward—that makes your heart quiver a little.
When you enter his dorm, you’re not really sure what you’re expecting. But still, you’re caught off guard.
It’s clean. Very clean—but also a little bit cluttered. You first see the living area, which is furnished with two beanbags and a bookshelf that’s stuffed with everything except books—CDs, random mail, umbrellas, and whatnot. The kitchen area is rather empty, aside from a lonely little kettle and a pitiful looking electric stove. There’s a table that sits next to the fridge with two stools. Across from the kitchen is a door that presumably leads to the bedroom.
It’s the exact mirror of your unit, but rather than being filled with pink pillows, wooden kitchen essentials, and fridge magnets that drown the whole thing, it’s simple. Boyish. Cute.
You lift up your bag of groceries, offering a clumsy smile, asking if there’s room in his fridge for some ice cream and a bottle of beer.
He helps you get situated, and you tell him to take the beer for good—you won’t drink it anyways, and you want to thank him. He seems pretty happy about that, so you’re satisfied.
It’s almost eleven p.m. now, and you’re thinking of maybe sleeping on the beanbags instead of the bed; you’d feel like less of an intruder that way. But he doesn’t even let you get through half of that sentence.
“Nah, it’s totally chill,” he says with a dismissive wave of the hand. “Don’t worry, my roommate won’t mind you crashing on his bed.”
“Okay,” you say, nervous all of the sudden. “Thank you, again. You really saved my ass there.”
“No problem.” He grins, wide and unworried. “Well… you can make yourself comfortable. I’m gonna take a shower now. The phone charger’s somewhere on that bookshelf.”
“Alright.” You head to the bookshelf. “Thank you so much,” you mutter again, because it feels impolite not to.
You rummage the messy shelves until you find the familiar white wires, locating an outlet nearby and plugging your phone in. You go through your messages, ignoring Jungkook fluttering by to the bathroom with a towel.
You check Instagram first.
Your best friend with her boyfriend of seven years, cuddling by the fireplace. Sickening.
Your parents on a date together at a Christmas Market. You swipe away quickly.
Even your brother, that annoying little brat, has a girlfriend this Christmas. He’s saved up to go on a big trip to Hokkaido with her. Oh fuck that.
Alright, fine. You’re lonely. You miss the life you had back in your home country—the comfort of not feeling like a lost duck all the time. You want a man with big strong arms to hold you to sleep and murmur sweet nothings in your ear.
But alas, you’re still here. Single. Stressed. Underkissed.
You shut your phone, rubbing your eyes in exhaustion when you hear Jungkook emerge from the bathroom.
And wow.
Oh wow.
He’s shirtless. And gorgeous. He’s… fucking ripped.
His wet, dark hair leaves water dripping down his bare chest, sprinkling over his chiseled six-pack and buff arms. Speaking of his arm, the dude has a whole fucking sleeve of tattoos. From his collarbones to the knuckles of his fingers, there’s ink everywhere, and the fucking piercings do not help. At all.
You’re drooling. He’s your literal dream man—wet and steamy after a shower.
“Uh, shower’s free now.” He points backward. “If you wanna… use it.”
The offer is kind. You should say thank you.
You clear your throat. “Thank you. I’ll use it.”
“Cool.” He shoots you a polite grin, then trots off to his room with nothing but a flimsy towel wrapped around his waist. God, he has a nice ass, too.
Get it together, Jesus. You slap yourself, then rush into the bathroom.
It’s still steamy and humid when you enter. It smells like a man, in a good way, weirdly. The mirror is foggy, and for a moment you have an extremely inappropriate thought about the mirror fogging while doing another activity in the cramped, wet room.
You strip out of your clothes, laying them in a pile by the corner, and let the hot water trickle down your body. You wash your body and hair with his 3-1 shampoo-conditioner-body wash mix, and decide that it probably can’t ruin your hair if you use it just once. When you reach down between your thighs, you find that you’re wet. Just from looking at your hot neighbor after he showered.
It’s been way too long since you’ve been fucked, you realize.
Still, that doesn’t mean you should jump on your kind neighbor—even if he’s hot and exactly your type.
When the scorching hot water has successfully given you granny fingers, you turn off the shower, and reach for a towel.
Except there’s no towel. Of fucking course.
You forgot to ask for a towel.
You glance at your clothes, which are pretty much soaking wet aside from the white t-shirt that you had been wearing. You put it on, grimacing as the fabric sticks to your skin.
Your underwear is in not much better condition. It feels a little gross having the dirty fabric stick to your genitals, so you peel it off, opting to just pull down your shirt instead. Fuck, you were so blinded by horniness that you couldn’t even think to put your clothes in a place that would keep it dry.
Feeling gross, you call out for help from the bathroom.
“Jungkook!”
No response.
“Hey, can you hear me?”
Nothing.
Are you really going to step out into a man’s place wearing nothing but a wet white t-shirt? It clings to your skin, accentuating the curve of your waist and breasts. The water dripping down from your wet hair makes translucent clumps on your skin. You realize that if he looks close enough he would probably see your nipples through the fabric. The thought of that makes them erect—which certainly does not do you any favors.
You imagine him watching you step out of the shower the way you did, and you’re reminded too much of his smooth skin, compact muscle, and devilish sleeve of tattoos. You remember those piercings, the one on his brows and through his lips, and you wonder if the cool ring would tickle if you ever kissed him.
Okay. What the fuck.
Are you Miss Horny Claus or what? Get it together. Fuck.
“Jungkook?” You call for him one last time, and there’s nothing.
So you step out, the cold air immediately biting your skin and making those wet splotches on your shirt feel like ice. You’re shivering.
You make your way to his room, steps painting the floor with dark spots as water drips from you. You knock softly on his door, and when he doesn’t respond, you knock harder.
Finally, it opens.
“Hey, sorry I had my headphones in—”
He pauses.
His eyes drink you in slowly, starting with your face, which is no doubt flushed from the shower, down to your chest, which you attempt to hide with your arm. Then he sees how one hand is pulling the edge of your shirt down desperately to cover your crotch, which then makes him notice your bare legs.
“Um, I didn’t have a towel,” you admit, voice coming out smaller than you’d like. “And my clothes got wet, so…”
“Oh.” He coughs. Chokes, really. “Sorry, I forgot to give you—”
“No it’s fine, I’m stupid for not asking before.”
He swallows hard, ducking back into his room and opening his closet. He heads back, armed with a small white towel and a pair of basketball shorts.
You immediately reach out, stepping forward hastily.
“Thank you so much,” you start. “And I’m so sorry for—”
You may have forgotten that your feet are still wet. Because one step too fast means that you’re tumbling forward, barreling into Jungkook’s chest, and he has to drop everything in his hands to catch you.
And curse everything, because you push him back right onto his bed, and you land on top of him with a girly yelp that’ll have you cringing for the rest of your life.
Of course, this stumble also means that your hands are now on his chest, braced for impact, and not pulling down your shirt.
So your bare ass is up in the air, pussy out, tits sticking to his chest.
He sucks in a breath, and you feel his stomach harden.
There’s really no good way to describe the utter mortification that you’re feeling.
“Oh my god,” you quickly mumble. “I’m so fucking sorry.”
You hurriedly try to sit up, then realize that you’re literally naked butt-down. He figures this out too, because his eyes widen in panic.
“Wait!” he calls urgently, arms coming to squeeze you into his chest. He doesn’t let you get off. “Don’t—” he stutters breathlessly. “Don’t move.”
That’s when you notice it.
Your crotch is aligned with his, and through his thin sweatpants, you feel him. His cock. Hardening against your pussy.
Oh God.
“If you get up too quickly…” he trails off through a low grumble. “I’m not gonna know how to act.”
“I’msosorry, I’msosorry, I’msosorry.” You bury your face into his warm chest. “This is embarrassing.”
“For me, too.” He chuckles dryly.
A moment passes. You find the courage to look at him.
His eyes are dark, pupils blown out. You can see that he hasn’t calmed down in the slightest. His cock hasn’t softened one bit, either.
“You good?” your voice comes out more breathy than you thought it would.
“No,” he admits, an undertone of something darker swirling underneath.
There’s nothing to lose, you think. This Christmas already sucks. More than ever. If you’re half-naked in bed with a hot man who’s gotten hard because of you, you might as well take your chance, right? It’s not the logical part of your brain talking, but that doesn’t stop you.
Experimentally, you grind softly against his clothed dick.
The reaction is immediate.
“Shit,” he heaves, eyes screwed shut. “What are you doing?”
“I’m… not doing anything,” you lie.
“Bullshit,” he snickers, and the smug amusement on his face does something to you. Fuck, it really does.
You grind again, harder this time, fighting back a moan as his hard cock presses against your heat. Your nipples are so hard. Your bare ass is getting cold in the air. Your hair, still wet from the shower, trickles water droplets softly on your skin, tickling you and giving you shivers.
His hand slides down slowly from their previous placement on your back.
“You want this?” he asks, breathless.
You look up at him, needy.
“Yeah,” you whisper.
You hate how desperate you sound, but you love the way he grabs your ass and gives it a squeeze.
“Can I kiss you?”
You all but whimper in response, nodding frantically before he takes you into his mouth.
His lips—plump and soft—press into you with so tenderness and aggression all at once. You grind into him again, and he jerks his hips up in response, making you shudder.
He’s stellar at this. Golden star for kissing.
Your wet clothes dampen him, and you’re a clammy mess when he sits, up letting you straddle him as you hump him like a dog in heat.
His mouth parts, tongue gliding against yours as he pulls you closer. HIs fingers come up to tweak at your hard nipples through your shirt, giving them occasional pinches and pulls. You writhe at every sensation.
Moving away from your mouth, his tongue flattens and paints his spit down your neck, sucking at the edge of your jaw. You don’t hold back your moans. It’s fucking Christmas.
“You’re so needy,” he pants, not to be dirty, but just an observation. It embarrasses you only slightly.
“Doesn’t help that you’re hot.”
“Says you,” he chuckles into your mouth. “Coming out of my bathroom wearing nothing but that shirt,” he growls. “And to think you asked if I was going to try anything.”
In one, annoyingly swift motion, he lifts you up and pushes you onto the bed. He crawls down, swings your legs over his shoulders, and lets his head sit between them.
A kiss to your inner thigh.
“Bad, bad girl,” he laughs, cocky and amused. There’s another kiss, but higher this time, which makes more heat pool in your stomach. “You’re gonna be on Santa’s naughty list.”
You snort, briefly entertained. “Never say that again.”
“Mhm, sure,” he grumbles, before licking a thick stripe up your folds and onto your clit, then the funny bone in your body is all gone.
His tongue flattens against you, dragging through your folds repeatedly until he decides to focus in on that sensitive bundle of nerves, licking, slurping, and lapping away like it’s his last meal on earth. His cool, metal lip ring jolts you every few seconds, which makes your whole body twitch.
“Fuck!” you hiss, fisting his hair and jerking your hips up. “Holy fucking shit—”
He laughs—actually laughs into your pussy, the vibrations echoing through your body. Then, he pins your knees back—so far back you’re sure you could snap in half—and smashes his face into you so deep you can feel his nose on your clit.
His hair tickles you as he quite literally shakes his head around, tongue and nose still practically lodged inside of you.
“Oh my fucking God—Jungkook—fuck, I’m—” You can feel yourself about to finish, and he can too, which is probably why he pulls away.
He presses a slow, long kiss to your clit, and one final lick down your folds.
You’re panting. Sweaty. Wrecked. And you haven’t even finished yet.
He stands up, kicking off his sweatpants and revealing his long, hard length. It’s pink, girthy, and veiny. Really, it’s fucking gorgeous—and massive, mind you—but you don’t even care. If it hurts, it hurts. You just want it inside you.
“Please,” you heave, looking up at him, tears pooling at your eyes from the intensity of it all. “Want you inside me.”
His eyes darken. He too, looks a mess, hair shooting up in all directions, face glistening with your wetness.
“Get on your knees,” he commands. The soft spoken boy peeking through his door at you curiously is gone. This is… someone else.
You obey, because you’re too ruined to do anything else, and he comes up behind you with a condom in his hand. He rips the packet open and rolls it down easily.
“You ready?”
You don’t even answer, mumbling some kind of affirmative noise into his pillow as your back arches, butt up in the air.
The head of his cock nudges at your entrance, dragging through your folds before getting sucked in, clamped by your walls. He pushes in slowly, but you still feel like you’re being split open with just how big he is.
His chest hunches over your back, your flimsy white t-shirt now pooled at your collarbones, bare tits swinging in the air. He presses some kisses to your neck, trembling above you.
“Fuck,” he grunts. “You’re so tight.”
He eases himself in, and gives an experimental thrust, pushing all the way.
This is when you realize that no man has ever been this deep inside of you before. He’s the biggest you’ve ever taken. And it’s really quite a miracle that you haven’t bursted out into tears.
But it feels so good—so incredibly good. You’re stretched out beautifully, the nerves in your walls sending spikes of pleasure everywhere—white and hot.
“Gonna start moving now,” he grumbles into your ear, and all you give, again, is a wrecked whimper in response.
He pulls backward, depriving your walls of that wonderfully taut feeling, then slams back in, making you cry out.
“Fuck, Jungkook,” you cry into the pillow unintelligibly. “It’s so good—your cock is so good.”
He fists your hair into a ponytail, pulling your head back until your neck hurts a bit.
“Can’t hear you, baby,” he growls, hips bucking into you with several loud slaps as he picks up the pace. “How good is my cock again?”
“So—” you hiccup, “—so fucking good.” He pulls tighter, slamming harder, faster, and everything feels like fire against your skin. “Fuck, fuck, fuck!”
His rhythm gets sloppier with obscene, wet squelches filling the room as his speed increases. And he hasn’t let go of your hair at all. Your scalp tingles with every pull.
Then, he shifts, ever so slightly, and he finds the spot. That goddamn spot. And he hits it with the head of his cock—again, and again, and again, with more aggression each time—until you’re not quite sure which way is up or down anymore.
“Oh my God!” you wail, biting your lips. “Jungkook, I’m—I’m gonna—”
The sounds you make are so primal that you can’t even classify them as moans. He too, starts making unspeakable noises, close to whimpering himself.
Your tits bounce wildly, nipples brushing against his bedding with every movement, eyes rolled to the back of your head. Your pussy is so wet that it drips down to his balls and down your thighs. You even find saliva dribbling down your chin—it’s that good.
And then, it finally comes in a blinding flash that lasts forever—a violent orgasm.
He doesn’t stop, chasing his own high, jolted growls tumbling out of him endlessly. Your body twitches, your pussy spasms, and your walls clench around him tightly, never wanting to let go.
But alas, all good things must come to an end.
Because after what is probably the longest orgasm of your life, he finally starts softening inside you, and only then does he pull out and let go of your hair.
Your face flops onto his pillow.
“Fuckkkk me,” you sigh, butt still in the air, juices dripping down your thighs.
He chuckles, breathless.
“That good?”
“Fuckkkk me,” you repeat, which earns a sincere laugh.
You hear him roll off his condom with some sticky noises. You find the energy to turn around, lying on your back and looking at him.
He looks ruined, too. A sweaty, heaving, mess.
You peel off your white shirt, which has dried up significantly but is still uncomfortably damp. Then you huddle under his covers, feeling cold again.
Seeing your nakedness, he wordlessly throws you a hoodie and a pair of sweatpants. You catch it but don’t bother to put it on yet.
“Thank you,” you say quietly anyways.
He hums a response, then climbs into bed with you. It’s all weirdly domestic—as if he wasn’t balls deep in you only moments before.
You look at the clock on the wall behind him. It’s past midnight.
“Merry Christmas,” you mutter, more to yourself than to him.
He snorts softly. “Merry Christmas to you, too.”
“Why are you laughing?” You turn to pout at him, seeing an amused expression dance on his face.
“Nothing. Nothing at all,” he chuckles, eyes crinkling.
“You don’t celebrate Christmas?”
He thinks for a moment.
“Well, I don’t have anything against it. It’s a fun time of year,” he explains. “But my family never really did anything special growing up so it’s always kind of just been another day for me.”
“I see.” No wonder he seemed like he hadn’t even realized it was Christmas Eve.
“What about you?”
You flush. “Well, usually, I do the whole shebang. Opening presents with the family, decorating the house, and everything, but…”
“But this year you can’t,” he finishes for you, recalling your earlier explanation of your predicament.
“Yeah,” you confirm solemnly.
He doesn’t say anything for a moment, but scoots closer to you slightly.
“What were you planning on doing, though?”
“Hm?”
“I mean,” he snickers, “Were you just planning on moping around in your room for Christmas?”
You slap him on the chest, but there’s no venom behind it.
“Excuse you, I actually had riveting plans to make myself a hot chocolate and watch a movie.”
His laughs quiet down, an easy smile still resting on his face.
“We still can, you know?” He starts softly. “I’ve got hot chocolate somewhere and a Netflix membership. The world is our oyster.”
At this, you pause, surprised by the offer. Then you snort.
“That’s really kind of you.” You bite back the urge to tease, and fail. “Do you even know how to boil water, though?”
He plants a hand onto his chest in mock offense. “What makes you question my ability to boil water?”
“Your kettle,” you supply. “It looks like it hasn’t been touched or cleaned in years.”
He huffs indignantly, although it’s all playful.
“We can wash it. It still works.”
Some more banter rolls by, and you finally get up from the bed, legs aching, still naked as you scavenge the covers for the clothes he threw at you earlier.
He clears his throat. “Hey, I’m gonna need you to put on clothes, stat.”
You whip around, finding joy in his pink cheeks. He was literally just inside you, and now he’s acting all shy?
What a fun guy.
You giggle. “Or what?”
He rolls his eyes. “Unless you want me to bend you over the counter and fuck you senseless again.”
He says it casually, tugging on a t-shirt himself. The simpleness of the statement makes it that much harder for your heart to handle.
There’s a comfortable silence that washes over you two as you get dressed, finally locating his clothes under a pillow. They drown you, probably a good three sizes too large, but they’re comfy—and they smell amazing.
He waltzes into the kitchen, with you tailing behind, when you suddenly feel the urge to say something to him.
“Hey, Jungkook?”
He turns around, tilting his head. “Yeah?”
“Thank you.”
His eyes widen, before all of his features soften. A gentle smile graces his lips, and help you God, because you’re swooning so hard you feel a little light headed.
“You’re welcome.”
You could be thanking him for many things right now. For helping you charge your phone. For lending you a bed to sleep in. For ruining every guy you’ll ever sleep with after this.
But as you follow him into the kitchen and examine his admittedly gross kettle with a laugh, you find that what you’re most grateful for is this one thing: the fact that he’s made your Christmas a little better.
a/n. if you enjoyed, a comment or reblog can realllyyy make my day!! thank you for reading, much love and happy holidays!
SUMMARY. Life after high school has been pretty mundane. Give or take a few breakups, a few quarter life crises, you’ve done well for yourself. Enter Jeon Jungkook: a blast from the past and your ex-Chemistry tutor, except now, it seems he's traded in his glasses and textbooks for a lip piercing and tattoos. The universe is clearly testing you... or maybe it's giving you one last shot to get it right.
pairing. jeon jungkook x reader
word count. 21.7k
warnings/genre. ex-cheerleader!reader, oc used to be a mean girl, ex-nerd!jungkook, jungkook used to be OBSESSED with oc, like clinically obsessed (what is wrong with him), slight sexting (kinda maybe) alcohol consumption, jimin instigating but what’s new, making out in dirty club hallways, fingering in an uber, he’s HUNGRYYY, he has a d*ck piercing!, oral (f receiving), you bounce on it, he fucks you while carrying you, idk read the rest they have sex, he cums inside you
note. WE NEED TO BRING BACK THE DYING ART OF A 10k+ WORD ONE-SHOT. the concept of publishing a 7k celly when my 6k celly hasn’t even been posted yet… i hate me too. i hit 7k a few days ago but this has been in the works since man’s best friend dropped. i’m quite proud of this, if i do say so myself. also before anyone yells at me, this was NOT on the to-do list but when there’s a will, there’s a way (or in my case, if you get a little tipsy, your brain starts thinking of ex-nerd!jungkook and this happens). this is just a fun little thing. porn with plot! but anywho, thank you all for following me, for engaging with my work, for continuing to give me a platform to share my passions. i love you all. here’s to many more celly’s!
▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။|||| when did you get hot? by sabrina carpenter
banner creds | masterlist
Saturdays. 3 PM. Brunch. It’s been carved in stone since the day you met Park Jimin during your freshman year at Yonsei University, when he was still closeted and you were still treating every night like your last on earth.
Today, he’s on a rampage about his fiancé of two years, Kim Taehyung.
“Do you know what he did? He bought a twelve foot cactus. Twelve. Fucking. Feet. And guess where it is now?” Jimin waves his fork dramatically, almost stabbing two nearby patrons in the process. “In the middle of our beautifully crafted living room. He’s lost his fucking mind.”
You hum, twirling a straw in your iced latte, half-listening and half-focused on the couple next to you who seems to be arguing. “So sorry, Jiminie. I don’t know how you do it.”
“Thank you.” He sighs. “It’s a lawsuit waiting to happen when I inevitably walk into it. You know, when I told Tae to pursue art, I didn’t think it meant this.”
Taehyung and Jimin have the kind of love story that makes romantic comedies look documentary-level realistic. By comparison, your love life is a blooper reel that never made it to air. They’ve been disgustingly in love since senior year of university, and you’ve been their trusty little third wheel. While it’s comforting to hang out with a couple that has a dynamic as healthy as theirs, you do have to fight the pang of jealousy that hits you everytime.
“Last week it was the sculpture made of kitchen utensils. This week, desert plants. Next week? Probably something with a blow torch,” Jimin carries on, poking at his salad mercilessly.
You snort. “Tae doesn’t know how to work a blow torch.”
“He could, is my point. He’ll try anything once.” Jimin’s eyes light suggestively, and the gag reflex hits fast and mercilessly. “Like that one time he wanted to try out suspension and—”
“Jimin. Please. I am trying to enjoy my coffee,” you plead.
He rolls his eyes. “Like you don’t love us.”
“I do,” you reply quickly. “But please spare a girl the details of your sex escapades.”
“Maybe you’re bitter because you need some sex escapades of your own.” Jimin shrugs. He’s not saying it to be rude—the man doesn’t have a mean bone in his body, unless someone’s rude to his fiance.
Poor Park Jimin has been running a one-man campaign to get you laid for months. The last time you remotely showed interest in a man was a year ago, and that catastrophe ended with you sobbing on their couch for 72 hours straight while Taehyung made you soup and Jimin burned sage to ‘cleanse the toxic energy.’
You have no interest in any of it.
Sure, sex is cool and all, but the idea of the emotional turmoil that comes with the territory seems like something you can do without.
“What did I say about bringing up this topic again?” you groan.
“C’mon, please tell me you have something new that’ll make me feel better about my cactus situation.”
Your fingers collect the condensation on your plastic cup, pretending to be deeply engrossed by it. “I have nothing.”
“So as exciting as my cactus?”
Your foot kicks his ankle under the table and the noise he makes in retaliation is enough to get dirty looks from the other patrons. “Jesus Christ. Aren’t you a ball of fucking sunshine?” he moans in agony. “This is why you need to have sex. You get all crabby and violent when you don’t. When’s the last time you had sex again?”
Okay—there was that guy from the marketing conference in March…. No wait. That was last year. February? No, that was the guy who ghosted you after two dates. January? You weren’t even in the country in January. December feels like a decade ago but that was... oh god, was that really eight months ago? Nine? The guy with the man bun who worked at the bookstore and couldn’t find your—
“Don’t worry about it.”
“Yikes.” He gives you a dramatic side-eye, one that screams you are a pathetic loser, but lovingly. “You need to stop getting coffee with me and go get coffee with a man.”
You frown. “Well, you’re a man?”
He rolls his eyes. “A man who doesn’t enjoy the good ol’ cock up his ass.”
Fair play. Jimin leans back in his chair, studying you intently. Never a good sign. “You know what your problem is?”
You pick up your latte, taking a few sips. “Enlighten me, Park Jimin.”
“You’re too picky.”
Coffee snorts out of your nostrils, landing right onto the table. Jimin flings napkins at the mess, disgusted. “I’m sorry, have you met me? I’ve went out with some weirdos.”
“No, no, not the weirdos.” He waves a hand in the air. He;s about to go on one of his famous monologues, and all you can do is sit back in horror and watch. “I’m talking about the good ones. The ones you actually like. You find one tiny flaw and suddenly it's ‘oh, he chews too loud’ or ‘he uses the wrong there, their, they're.’ Like, relax. Nobody’s perfect.”
“Really? Says the guy currently plotting his fiance’s death over a home decor choice.”
“That’s different.” Jimin’s pinching the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb, something he truly only does when you’ve exhausted his last nerve. “Taehyung and I are past the point of no return. We're in too deep. You, my dear sweet angel, are sabotaging perfectly good opportunities because you're scared.”
Of course, you’ve had this conversation with your therapist numerous times, and you’ll do anything to avoid the topic in your personal life.
But before you can open your mouth to argue, a voice cuts through. It’s low but polite, maybe a little uncertain.
“Jimin-ssi?”
You don’t bother looking up to see who it is. Jimin knows everyone and their mother, their cousin, probably their dog too. Walking down the street with him is no easy feat, considering half of Seoul stops to talk to him. So, you do what you always do: focus on your phone and ignore the small talk about someone’s new job or whatever mundane life update they’re dying to share.
You scroll through Instagram, half-listening as they exchange pleasantries. Something about the gym, mutual friends, weekend plans. Standard small talk that you've heard a thousand times.
“Yeah, bro, it’s been forever,” Jimin’s saying. He sounds happier than he normally does when he talks to these people. “I saw your LinkedIn update. How’s the new job treating you? Still insane?”
“Better now that I’m settled in,” the mysterious voice responds, and there’s something familiar about it that tickles the back of your brain, but you’re too busy watching someone's Instagram story about their breakfast to pay attention. “The team’s chill, and I don’t have to be on call on weekends anymore.”
“You deserve it after all that overtime hell,” Jimin laughs. “Oh, hey, you should totally meet my friend [YN] here. [Y/N], this is Jeon Jungkook.”
Your head snaps up. Your phone falls to your lap.
What. The. Fuck.
You haven’t heard that name since high school.
High school you, to put it mildly, was kind of a bitch.
You were a cheerleader, top of the social food chain. Naturally, you failed a few classes because you were too busy making out with Kim Mingyu behind the bleachers and planning which party to hit up on Friday night to care about things like academic integrity.
When your GPA started looking tragic enough to threaten your spot as cheer captain, the guidance counselor assigned you a tutor. And since the universe loves to have fun with you, you were paired with Jeon Jungkook. Lanky, awkward Jeon Jungkook, with messy brown hair that looks like he cut it himself with safety scissors, thin silver glasses that slid down his nose every five seconds, and wide, innocent boba eyes.
All that to say—you did what any mean girl would do and took advantage of him. Batted your eyelashes, laughed at his terrible jokes, and suddenly your chemistry homework was getting done without you having to lift a finger.
Tests? He'd leave his answer sheet just visible enough for you to copy.
Lab reports? Practically wrote themselves, if by ‘themselves’ you mean Jungkook wrote them while you filed your nails and complained about how boring science was.
So, this? This has to be a comedic joke. This is a prank. Jimin is pranking you—it’s an elaborate one, you'll give him that. That's the only logical explanation because there is absolutely no way that the scrawny, stuttering kid who used to turn tomato red everytime you asked him to explain a chemistry problem is now standing here, towering over your table.
The man who stands before you has a lip piercing, one that hugs the curvature of his pink lips. A sleeve of tattoos that curls down his arm in vivid ink. His hair is perfectly tousled, dark chestnut locks falling into each other.
And most importantly, those arms. Biceps. He could probably bench press you. Why are you thinking about him bench pressing you? Stop thinking about him bench pressing you. Oh god, you're staring. You're definitely staring. Say something. Anything. Be cool.
He is—there's no other word for it—buff. Like, really buff.
And he's looking right at you with dark eyes that definitely weren't that intense in high school, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
“[Y/N] [Y/L/N]...” His voice has a deeper timber to it, with a confidence that high school Jungkook could never have. His tone alone is enough to send a shiver down your spine. “It’s been a minute.”
“Uh, I—yeah,” you gulp down a quarter-sized lump that magically appears in your throat. “It has.”
Smooth. Incredibly smooth. Someone needs to hand you a medal for conversational excellence.
His eyes narrow into slits, like he’s analyzing you and your pathetic life. Sizing you up to discover that you’ve lost all importance in the world, and are now just another girl in the world.
Jimin, completely oblivious to everything, beams at the two of you. “Amazing! You two already know each other.” He claps his hands together. “Jungkook, you should sit. [Y/N] and I were just catching up on her sad little love life.”
Damn you, Park Jimin.
Maybe ten years ago, you wouldn’t have cared if he knew about your romantic failures, but with the black shirt hugging his biceps so perfectly, you resent Jimin’s openness.
“I was not—” you protest, but Jungkook’s already got a hand on the empty chair between you two, plopping into it.
“Was she now?” Jungkook tuts, looking over at you expectantly. “How sad is sad?”
“Okay, not sad.” You roll your eyes. “It’s just… quiet.”
His eyes dance with amusement, and you sink into the chair. “I can’t imagine you having trouble in this department.”
If only he knew the half of it.
You open your mouth to combat the embarrassment, maybe to come up with some elaborate lie about how you have three dates lined up tomorrow night, but a server interrupts you before you get the chance. She smiles at Jungkook, and you can't help but note how her eyes twinkle when she realizes how utterly attractive he is. You sink one inch lower into the chair.
Please don’t order, Jungkook. Ordering means staying and your brain (or your ego, for that matter) can’t take a second more.
She asks what he wants, pearly whites on display, and he replies smoothly, “Just a black coffee is fine. Thanks, sweetheart.”
He turns back to you and Jimin, smiling lightly. Behind him, the server trips over her own two feet a bit before adjusting her shirt and walking off. You watch the whole exchange with a weird feeling in your chest. It's not jealousy—you have no claim to be jealous. But it's something. Maybe annoyance that she was so obvious about it. Maybe annoyance that he didn't seem to notice.
“So, how do you two know each other?” Jimin’s smile resembles a mischievous cartoon villain who just tied someone to railroad tracks. Vibrating with joy, eyes gleaming, the whole nine yards. You don’t even need to hear him speak to know what he’s thinking.
“High school.”
You and Jungkook both say in unison, surprising even yourself. He glances over at you before elaborating. “I was her Chemistry tutor.”
The memory alone sends shivers of disgust down your spine. You can still picture it so clearly: high school you in your cheer uniform, sitting across from him in the library with phone in hand, texting Mingyu about whose parents were out of town that weekend while Jungkook explained electron configurations. He’d push his glasses up his nose, stumble over his words when you’d sigh and lean forward, watch him turn crimson red and stutter through the rest of the explanation.
Evil. Pure, unadulterated evil.
“You needed a tutor in high school?” Jimin snorts, taking a long sip of his drink.
“Hey, that shit isn’t easy.” You push his shoulder playfully.
Jungkook cocks an eyebrow, leaning forward in his chair. “Definitely not easy when you’re too busy with cheerleading practice to study.”
“And you were a cheerleader?” Jimin gapes.
“Okay, that’s enough reminiscing for today.”
Jimin raises his hand. “I’m not done reminiscing. I want to hear more about cheerleader [YN].”
Your face falls flat. Luckily, before Jungkook can embarrass you more with tales from a decade ago, the server comes back with his coffee, making sure to toss him the widest smile her pearly whites can muster.
Jungkook’s lips wrap around the cup. Your eyes just so happen to fall on the movement, on the way they hug the rim. Were they always that kissable or did he get lip filler?
He meets your gaze.
Shit.
You turn back to Jimin, who’s eagerly awaiting more from Jungkook. “What else don’t I know about high school [Y/N]? She’s never told me anything.”
“Well,” Jungkook starts, and by the way his lips curve upwards, you can tell the next anecdote won’t be endearing. “She did ask me once if we could ‘skip the math parts’ of chemistry.”
Jimin bursts out in laughter. “You’re kidding me.”
“In my defense, chemistry is like, ninety percent math,” you retort. “That’s a reasonable request.”
“It really wasn’t,” Jungkook counters, and his grin widens. There’s something almost… predatory about it. Like he’s enjoying watching you squirm. “But then again, you always did think the rules didn’t apply to you.”
For a moment, you can’t do anything but stare at him. This confidence, this self-assured way he’s teasing you without a hint of anxiety that used to color every interaction, is foreign.
The absolute worst part of it all is that if he wasn’t currently roasting you for being a shallow human being, this might be the sexiest thing you’ve ever witnessed.
The eye contact, the slight smirk playing at his lips, the veins poking out of his biceps. All of it both excites and confuses you.
“What do you mean?” You tilt your head, feigning innocence.
“Nothing.” He shakes his head, laughs to himself. “Just that some things never really change.”
A pregnant pause fills the space. Jimin’s eyes dart between you two like he’s at the US Open and this is the match of the century.
“You know, she also once asked me if atoms were contagious," Jungkook adds, turning to Jimin like you’re not even there. It’s a fucking power play—one that high school you invented—and you hate how effective it is.
A long exhale leaves your mouth, and you have to bite back a thousand venomous words in retaliation. Jimin laughs. “Oh, don’t worry. In college, she asked me if square roots were plants.”
Okay, so math wasn't your strongest suit. Sue a girl.
Jungkook’s hands wrap around his cup, taking a quick sip. They’re bigger than you remember, rougher, with calluses to match.
Truthfully, everything about him is just… more. Bigger, broader, bolder.
You shift gears, clearing your throat to interrupt whatever powwow Jungkook and Jimin have going on regarding your academic life. “What do you do now?”
“Software development.” Jungkook almost seems surprised that you have an interest in his life. “Started at a startup, but I just moved to a bigger company.”
“What kind of software?” you ask mindlessly, happy to have the attention finally off you.
“Mobile apps. Some web development.” Jungkook shrugs like it’s nothing, but you catch the hint of pride in his tone. “Nothing crazy.”
Jimin chimes in, eyes twinkling with mischief. “You know, [Y/N] works in marketing for a tech company. You guys probably have tons in common now.”
You want to sink through the floor. Actually—scratch that. Sinking through the floor isn’t enough. You need the floor to open up, swallow you whole, digest you, and then launch whatever remains into the sun.
You can see exactly what's happening here. You can see the gears turning in Jimin’s pretty little head. He’s planning your wedding, probably picking out centerpieces. He thinks this whole encounter is fate, some kind of romantic star-crossed lovers nonsense where the nerd gets the girl who was too stupid to notice him the first time around.
He’s going to be insufferable about this. Probably loop Taehyung into this delusion as well. There will be betting pools on when you finally hook up with Jungkook.
Which—okay, fine—you wouldn’t be completely opposed to. Hypothetically. In theory.
“How’s that going for you?” Jungkook turns to you.
“Good. I’ve been at my current company for a few years now. I just got promoted last year.” Your chest puffs out a little. There’s nothing you need to prove to him. But it doesn’t hurt, especially as he validates your words with a slight nod in approval.
“That’s awesome. I’m happy for you.”
Not said with even an inch of malice.
“Thank you.” You flip your hair over your shoulder. “See, and I didn’t even need math or chemistry to be successful.”
He chuckles. “Fair enough.”
“I know how emotionally tolling it was to tutor me, so at least your efforts didn’t go to waste,” you joke, and he cracks a smile at that, bunny teeth poking out.
“It wasn’t that emotionally tolling.” He shrugs, lifting his coffee to his lips. “It was fun. Y’know, when you weren’t texting that guy you used to date.”
He maintains eye contact with you as he takes one, two sips, and you have to clench your thighs to ignore the second heartbeat that’s beating in your vagina.
Jimin opens his mouth—probably to ask approximately eight thousand invasive follow-up questions about your high school love life—but his phone buzzes violently against the table, the vibration loud enough to rattle his fork.
Glancing down at his phone, his expression shifts from pure glee to actual panic. “Shit, I need to head out. Taehyung’s making dinner and if I’m late, he’s gonna put that weird purple pesto in it again.”
You raise an eyebrow. “Purple pesto?”
“You know how he is, babe.” Jimin frantically flags down the waiter, motioning for the check.
You and Jimin always split Saturday brunch. It’s a tradition, one that you don’t plan on breaking. You reach for your wallet in your bag, prepared to pull out your trusty debit card.
But before you or Jimin can get too far, Jungkook smacks his AMEX Platinum card down like it’s nothing.
You blink at the shiny metal. “Jimin and I always—”
“I’ve got it,” he says, all casual, like dropping 100,000 won on lunch for three people is normal for him.
To your left, Jimin has the biggest shit-eating grin of all time. “Thanks, Jungkook. You don’t have to do that.”
“It’s my treat. It’s nice to run into old friends.” He tosses you a side glance when he says the word friends, because that’s hardly what you two ever were.
Jimin’s phone buzzes again, and his eyes widen as they scan the new message. “Oh no. No, no, no.”
“What?!” You lean forward, trying to peek at his phone.
“Yeontan threw up all over the new rug. Taehyung just sent me a picture, it’s…” He makes a sour face. “I gotta go. Code red dog situation.”
“Is he okay?” you ask, because despite Jimin’s dramatics, that little ball of fur is your ray of sunshine.
“He’s fine.” He stands, shrugging on his thin sweatshirt. “He probably ate something he should have. This was great though! We should all hang out again soon!”
And then he’s sprinting out of the cafe, leaving you all alone at the table with none other than Jeon Jungkook.
If you didn’t know better, you’d say Jimin planned this. Although, to be fair, you do know better, and he one hundred percent planned this. You're going to kill him. You're going to actually murder your best friend.
The waiter comes by, charging Jungkook’s card while you sit there awkwardly, twiddling your fingers. You don’t know what to do with yourself, quite frankly.
“Jimin isn’t very subtle,” Jungkook says, signing the receipt and placing it aside.
“Jimin doesn’t do subtle.” You fidget with your napkin. “He probably planned this.”
He quirks an eyebrow. “Oh, really? You think so?”
“I know so. He’s been trying to set me up with someone for months.”
Crossing his bulky arms over his chest, he leans back in his chair. “How’s that working out for him?”
“Well,” you begin, “Considering the last attempt was one of his coworkers who turned out to be married, I would say pretty terrible.”
“Jesus.”
“I’m not really into the whole polyamory thing,” you joke.
Jungkook laughs and stands, and you follow suit, realizing how much taller he is than you. Not that he hasn’t always been tall, but now he has the ego to match it.
“Want me to walk you to your car?” he asks.
You bashfully look down at your feet. In your years of living in Seoul, you’ve never once been embarrassed about taking the bus before. The Korean bus system is efficient and better for the environment. But Jungkook, with his fancy tech job, probably has some sleek car that makes the bus system look like a clown car.
“I took the bus, actually.”
Immediately, without so much as a second thought, he goes, “I’ll drive you home.”
“You don’t need to—”
“I know I don’t need to.” He strolls towards the exit, holding the door open for you to glide through first. “I want to.”
Wait. Is he… is he flirting? That was definitely flirting, right?
If he is very specifically flirting with you, that means he either has a terrible memory or some kind of revenge plot in the works. Both options seem likely and panic-inducing.
When you finally get outside, the crisp afternoon air dances across your skin. The autumn leaves crunch beneath your feet. You keep a few inches for God between you and Jungkook, and he falls into a comfortable pace beside you, matching you.
His hands are nestled into his pockets, kicking leaves as he walks. Now that you two are alone, he’s returned to some of his old habits, like being quiet around you when there’s nothing to fill the noise with.
“How do you like your job?” he finally decides upon asking, and your head lifts to peer at him. He’s gazing at you intently, clearly waiting for an answer.
“I like it. Most days, it’s creative, but we do a good amount of analytical work too.”
“Why did you choose marketing?” He seems genuinely interested in your answer, which sends tingles down your spine. It’s been a while since someone has cared enough to ask about your life beyond the standard two questions.
“Well, you know I suck at math,” you start, and he laughs at that. A deep sound that reverberates in his chest and makes your insides mushy. “I also hate science, so that wasn’t an option. I like being creative, and I’m a visual person. I took an intro class and it stuck.”
He nods, soaking it in. “Was college you the same as high school you?”
You know what he’s asking. Was college you also the biggest bitch alive, or did you grow out of that phase?
“Nah.” You shake your head. “I’m not as shallow… or annoying.”
He smiles. “Good to know.”
You reach his car—a black BMW that looks like it was ripped right off the set of Fifty Shades of Grey—and he unlocks it with a soft beep.
“Your car is nice,” you note, and his cheeks turn a soft pink at the compliment.
“Thanks. I figured I should probably upgrade from the bus at some point.” He opens the passenger door for you, causing you to almost trip getting in at the sheer thoughtfulness.
You frown. “Hey! I still take the bus.”
He raises his hands up in surrender. “Not hating on the bus. I took that bad boy for years.”
Jungkook closes your door, rounding the car to the driver's seat and hopping in. the inside of the vehicle smells like leather, mixed with the faint scent of his cologne. Your brain can’t help but go a little fuzzy—scents are your weakness. Any man who smells good deserves to get their dick sucked, period.
“Address?” he asks, starting the engine.
You give it to him, and he inputs it into the GPS. Fifteen minutes, it spits back. Fifteen minutes in a car alone with Jeon Jungkook, the most confusing blast from your past.
Peeking over at him, you take his appearance in. His jaw is defined and sharp. Could probably cut glass on that thing. His nose juts out, big enough for you to wonder if he’s ever let a girl sit on his face. God, you really need to get laid. You’ve resorted to sexualizing the man you used to tease in high school like some kind of medieval man who just saw an ankle for the first time.
The guilt of your past sits heavy in your chest, but your body doesn’t seem to care. It wants what it wants, ethics be damned.
You don’t deserve to be this turned on by someone you treated like human furniture for two years. But here you are, wondering about the logistics of his face between your thighs, and maybe that makes you exactly as terrible as you’ve always suspected.
Your eyes wander down to his biceps, down to his arms that are cluttered with tattoos. Different designs snake down his skin, some with color, and it takes all your might not to reach out and trace them. Fuck, now you’re thinking about his hands gripping the steering wheel. The veins. Those long fingers—
“You have a lot of tattoos,” you blurt out.
His eyes remain on the road, but his lips curl upwards. A little bit like a smirk. “I do.”
“When did you start getting them?” you wonder aloud.
“College. I started with one, but then I got addicted and kept going.” He glances at you for a second before turning his attention back to the road. “You disapprove?”
“No! No, they’re… they look good. Really good.” You want to die. “But it is different from what I expected from you.”
His gaze hardens. “A lot of things are different from high school.”
Silence fills the air as you two continue along the highway in the direction of your neighborhood. Your town is quaint, not too far outside of the main downtown area of Seoul. It’s so peaceful that your neighbors are two elderly women who treat you like their daughter.
You wonder where Jungkook lives. If you had to guess, he probably lives in Gangnam, the upscale area in Seoul. Fancy tech job, fancy car… he must have a fancy house to match. Or a fancy girlfriend.
“Do you live near here?” you ask, hoping to sound as casual as possible. Although, realistically speaking, there is nothing casual about interrogating your ex-Chemistry tutor.
“Not too far. I’m about ten minutes by car.” His grip loosens on the wheel a little. “Near Hannam-dong.”
So, you were kind of right. Hannam-dong, where all the celebrities and rich people live.
Before you can stop yourself, you say, “Do you live alone, or…?”
It’s possibly the least subtle question in the history of subtle questions, but you need to know.
Jungkook’s grip on the wheel tautens, and when you look over at him, there’s a scarlet flash creeping up his neck. “I—yeah. Alone. It’s just me.”
Is he… blushing?
“Oh, cool.” You try not to sound too pleased by the information. “That’s really cool. I mean, not cool that you’re alone if you don’t want to be alone, but cool that you have your own space and— y’know, everything.”
Nailed it.
“It’s—yeah, it’s good.” He clears his throat, and suddenly, you get a glimpse of the man you remember in high school. Less like the confident, macho guy from the cafe, and more like the boy who used to stumble over his words when you asked him questions. “No one to, uh, bother me or anything. Not that having anyone would be bothering, I just meant—I live alone. No girlfriend or—”
He stops himself, like he’s just realized what he’s saying, and the flush spreads to the tip of his ears. Oh my god. He’s flustered. Jeon Jungkook, with his tattoos and lip ring and his whole sexy confident energy, is flustered because you asked if he lives alone.
The ex-mean girl in you rises to the surface, bubbles in your throat. It’s been a while since you’ve activated her. Not since college, that one time when Park Eunji threatened your spot as sorority president. That version of you knew exactly what to do: touch his arm, squeeze once, watch him stutter. Make him want you so badly it hurts, then pull away. It's muscle memory, this kind of manipulation. You hate that it's still there, your instinct to weaponize attraction.
You want him to be nervous around you. It’s a sick, twisted thought you have, and you don’t know where it comes from, but you want it. “No girlfriend,” you repeat, trying to hide your smile. Reaching out, you place a small hand on his bicep, squeeze once. His bicep is firm under your palm, and the second you make contact, you realize what you've done. That was flirting 101. High school you would’ve done that without thinking twice, but current you? Current you doesn’t have that kind of game anymore. Abort mission. Abort.
You yank your hand back to your lap like he’s made of volcanic ash.
“I didn’t—that’s not—” He runs a hand through his locks, messing it up even more. “I’m just giving context about my living situation.”
“No, I got it.” You keep your eyes trained on the road, even though your heart is doing somersaults in your chest. “Though, I have to admit, I’m shocked.”
He gulps thickly. He pulls up to a red light, finally looking over at you directly. There’s vulnerability in his expression, polar opposite to his earlier reactions to you. “Are you making fun of me?”
Huh. You don’t know why, but the fact that old, anxious Jungkook still lives somewhere deep within him makes your stomach backflip. “I would never,” you reply dramatically, waving your hand for emphasis. “I’m just speaking aloud.”
Jungkook hums at that, focusing his attention back onto the street. It’s quiet again, if not for the sound of the engine purring and the awkward tension that’s loitered in the car since you stepped inside.
He doesn’t need to ask you anything else anyway, since Jimin did a good job of outing you as the most single girl in the history of single girls. He might as well have just admitted you’re a born again virgin.
The familiar road of your neighborhood looms ahead, and a pit of despair swallows your stomach whole. You really don’t want to get out of the car that smells like him. It would be embarrassing how you’ve begun to thirst over him, but after not getting laid in a while, you’re about ready to unzip your pants and jam your fingers in there.
“Is it the building up ahead?” he questions, pointing to the cream apartment complex that you reside in. You nod sweetly, smiling brightly. You dial up the ol’ high school charm.
“Thanks, Jungkook. I really appreciate it.” Another quick flutter of your lashes as he puts the car in park, taking a deep breath and angling his body to look at you.
“Of course. Anytime.” His face remains stoic, probably hoping to not look like you affect him anymore than you already have.
Your fingers land on the handle, pushing it open to let the brisk air in, replacing the suffocating tension in the car. “Well, I wish you the best. It was nice running into you today.”
Maybe you should invite him to come up. Maybe you should invite him for a nightcap? Granted, it is midday and there’s no actual alcohol in your home, but you can think of something real quick.
But he doesn’t move toward you, or show any other inclination of interest. In fact, you’re feeling kind of slutty right about now. He probably thinks you’re some kind of embarrassing gold digger—which like, yes, you might be. For him only.
Quietly, he says, “You too,” and that’s the end of that.
And just as you’re about to slam the passenger door shut and head upstairs to scream into your pillow, Jungkook abruptly speaks. “[Y/N].”
You whip around as fast as your body will let you. “Yeah?”
His big eyes twinkle under the sunlight rays reflecting on the car, two bunny teeth poking out as he sheepishly smiles. You’re going to have fantasies about that mouth later.
“Just so you know, today wasn’t planned. But I’m really, really happy I ran into you.”
Huh Yunjin’s birthday bash has never been an easy feat. Every year, without fail, there’s a table bought at an exclusive club, and your entire friend group blacks out within the hour. You’re not sure how she gets away with it, but your love for her and mild fear of disappointing her clearly gets her very far.
Hence why you’re standing in a shopping mall at 3 PM, trying to decipher what makeup product she would like best. Her birthday gift needs to be top notch, because you’re up against Kim Taehyung and Park Jimin, and those two have some kind of gaydar for gift-giving. Last year, Taehyung got her a vintage Chanel bag he “just found” at a thrift store. The year before, Jimin surprised her with tickets to see Beyonce. You’re operating at a disadvantage here.
You pick up another lipstick, eyeing the two intensely. A salesperson loiters over your shoulder, waiting to pounce at any given moment. In the end, you opt for a sleek red lip gloss, one that you know will pair well with her peachy skin. The relief that washes over you at finally securing her gift is endless.
Pushing past the doors of the shop, you blend into the rest of the mall-goers. It’s pretty packed for an afternoon, but you figure it has something to do with the sales going on. 50% off for shoes… hm. Across the way, you see a sign for 25% off scarves, and you squint to try and make out the tiny writing. Buy one, get one free—
“Oof!”
Your body collides into something firm, something warm. It’s fleeting, and you jump back several feet, immediately armoring yourself with numerous apologies. “Oh gosh, I’m so sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going—”
A deep chuckle. “I’m not mad about it.”
You know that voice. That voice has been haunting your wet dreams and your poorly-written mental fanfiction.
When you were ten, you got chosen to attend a unicorn retreat. It was a glorified horse camp, but it was five days of pure magic. Horses walking around with plastic horns on their head, offering unlimited rides to anyone who wanted one. Magical doesn’t even feel like the proper word to describe it.
You thought that was the most enchanting moment of your life. But this… this rivals any stupid pony. This makes those ponies look like donkeys. In fact, with the luck you’ve been given, you might rent a unicorn and a castle.
In front of you stands Jeon Jungkook, looking somehow more scrumptious than he did a few days ago. Defying the damn laws of hotness. You’d spent a good few hours tossing and turning in bed, dreaming about his lips, his eyes, his veiny hands. He looks like he stepped straight out of your wet dream, adorned in a zip-up sweatshirt and black t-shirt, fluffy hair askew.
His eyes still carry that same twinkle from the last time you saw him, and you wonder if they’re like this all the time, or if it's just for you.
“Hi,” you exhale breathily.
“Hello.” He smiles at you, and it’s sweet, just a little dopey, and so decidedly adorable that you want to gnaw on his cheeks like a dog with a chew toy. “Must be my lucky day to run into you again.”
“Clearly.” He is flirting. Sure, there were doubts in your mind before this, but anyone who says those kinds of things, is someone who wants to be balls deep inside you. “I don’t normally treat pedestrians like bumper cars, though.”
Jungkook laughs at that, a melodic sound that sends vibrations from your head to your toes. “If I was a better man, I might’ve moved out of the way to make room for you.”
“Well, then I guess it’s my lucky day you’ve decided to not be a better man,” you counter, and he takes a step closer to you, allowing the people behind him to filter around. A mom of three tosses him an evil glare, but you could care less.
“I was actually hoping to talk to you again so I could ask you a question.” His eyes bore into you, the eye contact making the walls of your vagina contract incessantly. His confidence from the cafe has returned with a vengeance, and you’re not sure what’s gotten into him, but you hope it never leaves.
“I might have an answer,” you tease.
His lips quirk upwards into a soft smirk, one that would normally disgust you but doesn’t whatsoever. “I was thinking you and I should get dinner sometime. Maybe catch up one-on-one.”
If this were a game of tennis, you just won match point. He served, you returned, and now the ball’s sitting in his court while he watches it roll away. Checkmate. Victory. Crowd goes berzerk.
But you know how to play this game. Even though you’re a little out of commission, you still invented half the rules in high school. And rule number one: never let them see you sweat. Rule number two: make them work for it.
Tilting your head, you pretend to consider it like you haven’t thought about what underwear you would wear to this hypothetical one-on-one time. “Maybe,” you say, drawing out the syllables. “I’ll have to check my calendar.”
Your calendar is wide open. Your calendar has been wide open for months. Your calendar is begging for plans. Your calendar is weeping with joy at the possibility of having something on it besides ‘therapy 2 PM’ and ‘don’t forget your lexapro.’
But here’s the thing: if you say yes immediately, if you're too eager, too easy, he’ll figure it out. He'll realize you're still that girl who only wants things because they're shiny and new, who gets bored the second the chase is over. Except this time, the thing you want isn’t a spot on the homecoming court or the captain of the basketball team’s attention—it’s him.
“Maybe?” He’s grinning now, full teeth, like he’s finally been let in on how the game works. “I pour my heart out and I get a maybe?”
“You didn’t pour your heart out. You asked to get dinner.”
He scoffs, “Same thing.”
“Not even remotely close, lover boy.” You migrate an inch backwards, so miniscule he hardly notices.
Something flickers across his face at the nickname—amusement, or something darker, more interested. His eyes track your movements like a predator watching prey.
“I feel like you’re just testing fate at this point,” he jokes. You can see the gears turning in his head, shifting and transforming to try and get to his end goal: you.
“It’s worked once before already.” You shrug, taking a few more steps back.
“Alright, well, can I at least get your number? Not really feeling like leaving it all up to the universe.” The color drains from his face slowly as he realizes you’re really, truly, going to walk away. His voice raises a little at the end of the sentence.
“I’ll see you around, Jungkook.”
With that, you turn on your heel, bags in tow, and make your way towards the exit of the mall with what you hope exudes confidence, and not like someone who’s about to sprint outside and scream into the void. His eyes burn into your back the entire way. Don’t turn around. You’re doing so well. You’re a mysterious enigma. You’re unattainable.
You trip over your own two feet and have to do some weird stumble-hop recovery move just so you don’t eat shit in the middle of the mall.
Okay, so maybe not entirely mysterious. But you do make it outside with a goofy grin on your face, caught in some kind of daze, all because your ex-Chemistry tutor has made it abundantly clear he wants to see you again.
The following Saturday, you and Jimin cozy up at a nearby cafe—a different one than last week’s. You suggested it over text a few days ago, after you had run into Jungkook, because there was some perverse thrill to testing fate and the universe’s weird way of working. Jimin, who could care less where he got his cup of coffee, agreed with a shrug of his shoulders.
“So, tell me again why you didn’t give him your number,” Jimin furrows his brows, picking at his limp salad in disgust. He’s trying this new diet that only allows for 1000 calories a day, and it’s made him even more judgmental than usual. “Walk me through your thought process here.”
You sigh. “Jiminie, I told you already. I’m playing the game.”
“The game… I hate straight people.”
“Hey, you did the same thing with Tae when you guys first started out,” you frown, taking a prolonged sip of your iced latte. Senior year, Jimin refused to see Taehyung more than once a week in fear of seeming too desperate and clingy, even though he texted him every five minutes anyway.
Jimin lets out a long-suffering sigh, pushing the soggy lettuce into the corner of his plate. “Tae and I are different. We’re homosexuals. There’s no rules when society already hates you anyway. But you are playing a dangerous game with him.”
Rolling your eyes, you scoff. “I’m not. I’m playing hard to get.”
“How do you know he won’t get bored?” It’s an innocent question that, when asked, makes you want to bash your head into a concrete wall. “I mean, you’ve seen the guy. He probably has a roster of girls throwing their phone number at him.”
You pause mid-sip, straw frozen against your lips. You… hadn’t actually thought about it like that. In your mind, this whole thing has been about you trying to regain an inch of the upper hand, about making Mr. Cocky work for it. But Jimin's right—Jungkook isn’t the same nerdy kid who would wait around forever for a crumb of your attention. You’re also not the cheerleader that everybody’s dying to get their hands on. He could have anyone, and yet his sights are set on you (or well, as far as you know).
“Then I guess we’ll just have to see how into me he is.” You shrug, but no ounce of you feels calm.
Jimin quirks an eyebrow. “Really? Off of one conversation after ten years, he’s supposed to be magically in love with you?”
“Okay, first of all, it was two conversations, and second of all, do you have no faith in your hot and sexy best friend?” You swish your hair for good measure, but Jimin doesn’t buy it for a second. Your charms have no effect on his gay self.
“I do have faith in you. However, I can’t recall the last time you’ve successfully kept a guy around after the first kiss…” he trails off, pretending to count on his fingers. You gasp, appalled by the insinuation.
“Park Jimin,” you scold. He bursts into a fit of laughter, wiping faux tears from his eyes, and you really can’t help but follow suit at the hysterics of it all. “You’re the worst.”
“I’m honest, babe,” he says through another fit of giggles. “You hate to see it.”
“Jimin? [Y/N]?”
The laughter dies down within a millisecond. Somewhere in the distance, you swear you hear a record scratching.
Tentatively, you crane your neck upwards. Lo and behold, Jeon Jungkook stands before your table, holding an iced coffee and looking between you and Jimin in bewilderment. He must have a tracker planted inside you, because although you had daydreamed about this scenario approximately ten times in the past few days, never did you actually think it would come to fruition.
“Why are you here?” you blurt, and Jimin throws you a glare, facepalming. You slap a hand over your mouth. You have the sudden, embarrassing, debilitating urge to vomit.
Jungkook laughs, and you notice the tip of his ears turning pink. “I could ask you the same thing. This is my regular spot.”
“This is—” You glance around the cafe, like the answer will appear written in invisible ink. “Since when?”
“Since I moved to the area?” He’s donning a massive grin now, one that lights up his entire face.
Your face falls flat. In your frantic search for a new cafe, you neglected the fact that the new spot you selected is located in Hannam-dong. Exactly where he told you he lived last week.
Jimin’s completely forgotten his salad, jumping in to save you from the depths of shame. “Jungkook! Join us.” He’s already pulling out an empty chair before he can protest.
Jungkook shakes his head, the hoop earrings in his ear moving with him. “I don’t want to interrupt—”
“Don’t be silly,” Jimin retorts quickly, shooting you a look that both screams: you’re an idiot and this is fate knocking at your door. “Come, sit here.”
Jungkook hesitantly sets his drink down, sitting down in the chair. “So, what were you guys laughing at before?”
You blink a few times, utterly speechless. There’s no universe in which you admit to Jungkook what you two were discussing before his appearance.
“Nothing crazy,” Jimin starts, and he has this glint in his eyes he only gets when he’s about to do something so diabolically crazy you’ll have to second-guess your friendship. “She was just telling me about this guy she’s playing hard to get with. Real shame, honestly. He sounds great.”
What the fuck is going on? you ask yourself silently. Your mind is shooting blanks.
Jimin sips his water nonchalantly as if he didn’t just throw you under the bus.
You finally muster up the courage to speak. “Jimin’s being crazy,” you say, trying to recover some dignity. “There’s no guy.”
“Really?” Jungkook’s smirk is unrattled. “At the mall, you said you had to check your calendar. It sounds like you’re pretty busy.”
Oh, he wants to play this game.
“I am busy.” You lift your chin in defiance.
“Doing what?” Jimin chimes in. After this lunch date, he’s lucky if you ever respond to one of his texts ever again. “You texted me yesterday saying you were bored.”
“I hope you die, Park Jimin,” you mutter.
He turns to Jungkook, a conspiratorial grin plastered on his face. “She’s playing hard to get. I told her it's a terrible strategy, but does she listen? No.”
Jungkook’s eyes don’t waver from your face. “Hard to get, huh?”
“That is not what I’m doing,” you huff, even though that’s exactly what you’re doing, and all parties present at the table know it.
“No, it makes sense.” Jungkook nods, leaning forward in his chair. “After all, you have that busy calendar… you know, the one you need to check.”
“Exactly,” you agree.
“And have you? Checked it, I mean?”
You stare blankly at him.
“I’ve been meaning to.”
“Mm,” Jungkook hums, sipping his coffee. The white t-shirt and grey sweatpants combo he’s wearing today makes you feel like a rabid animal who’s been deprived of food for too long. “Who’s the lucky man?”
“Get this,” Jimin jumps in eagerly. “She met him at the mall.”
“The mall?” Jungkook asks incredulously, dropping his chin into his open palm.
“And she didn’t even give him her number.” Jimin continues this charade as if you’re not even sitting there. Which, you really wish you weren’t. In fact, you might just bury yourself six feet under this cafe after everything’s said and done.
“Wow,” Jungkook tuts. “I hope that guy gets her number somehow.”
“Seems like a long shot.” You shrug, fiddling with your straw.
“Right. I mean, we can’t forget about fate, because fate’s probably working in that guy’s favor.”
It hits you square in the chest, that Jungkook really does know exactly what he’s done, that he is perfectly aware of the effect he has on you.
There's a pause. A long pause. Jimin is grinning like the Cheshire cat, and you're seriously considering faking a medical emergency.
Jungkook’s biceps strain against his shirt, tongue darting out to play with his lip ring. “You know what I think?” His voice drops several octaves, low enough for you and Jimin to hear. “I think this guy should just show up at your door. Skip all the games.”
“That would be weird,” you quip.
“Would it?” Tilting his head, Jungkook observes you. Feels like he’s seeing right through you with x-ray goggles. “Even if you’ve been thinking about him too?”
You’re painfully aware of how close he is, how his knee is almost touching yours under the table, how his eyes keep dropping to your lips. Your brain is short-circuiting. You can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t do anything except stare at him and wonder what would happen if you just gave in.
“There’s rules to be followed,” you finally mumble.
“Rules for what?” Jimin snorts.
In hindsight, that probably wasn’t the smartest excuse you could’ve conjured up. No one seems to understand the dying art of playing hard to get anymore.
But, really, it was only a matter of time before you lost your temper and threw in the towel. You were never good at winning anything besides cheerleader championships, anyway. “The game, Jimin. The fucking game I explained to you already. Just so we’re all clear, by the way, I was trying to enjoy my lunch before you two decided to gang up on me, so thank you both very much.”
Jimin and Jungkook deadpan, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights.
Embarrassment courses through your veins, choking your throat. It’s not like you meant to have an outburst and openly admit you’re playing the game with Jeon Jungkook, a man who you used to ignore as if he were invisible. Sometimes a girl gets sexually frustrated and it manifests in interesting ways.
“I’m going to the bathroom,” you grumble. You speed-walk as fast as your legs will take you, all the way to the restroom, locking yourself in one of the stalls and plopping down on the toilet. You can’t pinpoint why you’re suddenly overcome with some silly desire to win this ‘game’ you conjured up in your head, why you won’t just give in to what he so clearly wants to offer you.
But maybe—and you don’t want to admit it—there’s a residual guilt that lives deep inside you. One that when you really face, reminds you of just how cruel you were to others in high school. There was a time in your teenage life where you thought being the queen bee of high school meant you were at the apex of the universe. Now that the tables have turned, and you’re not as big as you once were, maybe you don’t deserve what the universe is trying to offer you.
Maybe you don't deserve what Jeon Jungkook is trying to offer you.
It’s Sunday, but it’s hardly peaceful or restorative. Saturday night was spent partying with Yunjin and Chaewon at some club in Gangnam that served drinks comparable to battery acid, which is why you’re currently battling the worst hangover of your entire life. Your head is pounding so hard you can hear your heartbeat in your eyeballs. And you're pretty sure you're still drunk, which means the real hangover hasn't even hit yet.
There’s no one to blame but yourself. Your brain was a broken record last night: Jungkook, high school, the game. The only way to stop the endless loop was to wash it down with copious soju shots.
Groggily, you roll over and unplug your phone from the charger. A quick scroll through your missed notifications and it’s the usual suspects: Jimin, Yunjin, Taehyung…
Wait.
Your eyes squint into slits, trying to make sense of the unknown number that sent you one message at 8 AM. You don’t recognize it. Spam, probably. Or maybe someone from last night asking if you got home okay. You don’t remember giving your number to anyone, but then again, you don't remember much after midnight.
You unlock your phone, rub your eyes, and adjust to the bright white light of your messages.
+823137565798 waited ten years to run into you again, [Y/N]. im not really interested in waiting another ten to see if fate brings us together a fourth time
It doesn’t take much time for you to put together the puzzle pieces.
You gasp, nearly flinging yourself off your bed at the realization. You reread the message one, two, three times, just to confirm he really said your name in it. You try to do a little excited kick under your covers, but your legs are tangled in your sheets and you nearly fall off the bed.
After yesterday’s temper tantrum, you had exited the bathroom to see Jeon Jungkook no longer present at the table. Jimin shrugged, said ‘he was tired, so he went home,’ and that was the end of that. You were under the impression that you ruined the entire charade, that you wouldn’t have to worry about the game because you already lost anyway.
But here he is, in your messages, contradicting your worst fears.
you who’s this?
Squealing, you throw your phone to the side, but within a few seconds, it lights up again with a new message.
+823137565798 wild guess?
you my amazon package?
You snort as you watch him read it and begin typing.
+823137565798 close. even better
An unwarranted smile sneaks its way onto your face.
you enlighten me
+823137565798 it’s your ex chemistry tutor from high school. that weird dude
you weird dude is how you’re choosing to introduce yourself?
+823137565798 trying to be humble
+823137565798 so about yesterday
Your hangover creeps back into your skull, your head pounding to the beat of a drum.
you we don’t need to talk about yesterday
+823137565798 why not?
you because i embarrassed myself?
+823137565798 you didn’t. thought it was cute
+823137565798 may have also told your best friend i needed your number in the name of saving you from your drought, so you’re not the one who embarrassed themselves
Staring at the message, your alcohol-riddled brain struggles to make sense of the words in front of you. Heat spreads from your chest to your neck to your cheeks. The guilt tries to claw its way up—you don’t get to feel this giddy, not about him—but your body overrules it with a decisive vote. Your hangover is completely forgotten now, replaced by a warm flutter in your stomach that has nothing to do with last night's tequila.
It’s so unlike him, the polar opposite of what Jeon Jungkook used to evoke in you, but the mere thought of him ending your sex drought sends a tingle down your spine.
You’re grinning like a foolish schoolgirl now, dignity be damned. You save his number to your contacts, makes it official in your brain.
you are you offering to get me out of my drought?
You fling your phone to the opposite side of the bed, and scream into your pillow.
The buzz causes you to shoot back up, heart thumping in your throat as you read his response.
jungkook possibly
Somewhere in the sky, your guardian angel is doing backflips.
Hands shaking, heart pumping blood erratically, you type back:
you take a girl to dinner first
The three dots pop up almost immediately, and then:
jungkook tried that already. the girl ran away from me :/
Technically, he’s right. You did run away. And now he’s resorted to joking about it, like it doesn’t bother him. But it should bother him. Should annoy him that the girl who didn’t acknowledge his existence in high school is now playing games with him like she has any right to.
You don’t know how to let him be nice to you, how to let him want you, when all you can remember is a younger you rolling your eyes while he patiently explained molecular bonds. You were cruel. Mostly in small ways that probably hurt more than massive shows of dismissiveness, but harsh nonetheless.
Guilt sits burdensome in your chest, a thorn in your side. Deep down, you’re terrified that when he finally sees you clearly—really sees you, not the filtered version you're trying to present—he’ll realize what you already know. That you were never worth the wait.
Your fingers loom over the keyboard, twiddling. The guilt is there, always there, always a dark cloud hanging. You were cruel to him. Casual about it, even. Used him like a tool and never once considered that he was a person with feelings that could be hurt.
But maybe—and this is the thought that's been needling at you since the cafe—maybe the worst thing you could do now is waste his second chance on you by playing games. Maybe the cruelest thing would be pretending you don’t want this when you so obviously, desperately do.
On the one hand, honesty is terrifying and vulnerability makes you nauseous.
But, on the other hand…
you well maybe the girl wants to see if you’re full of shit or not
Your heart speeds up behind the confines of your ribs.
jungkook i’m not the same guy from high school. i don’t play about what i want
With bated breath, you type your response. It’s a question that you know the answer to, and you don’t know why you need him to say it, but he will anyway.
you and what is it that you want?
jungkook you.
The night of Huh Yunjin’s birthday creeps up slowly on you, amidst a week busied with work, adult errands, and most stupidly, thoughts of Jungkook. The thoughts of him play, pause, tape spooling, and then rewind on a constant loop, unrelenting in their nature.
You hadn’t spoken to him much after your last exchange, minus some ‘good morning’ texts from him that you responded to politely. It’s foreplay, if nothing else, because even a few words from him are enough to leave you giddy for days to come.
You fully intend to take him up on his offer, you just don’t know when. .
Sinkhole is packed to the brim, sweaty bodies colliding in an attempt to feel human intimacy. A disco ball hangs loosely from the ceiling, transmitting silver light across the dance floor. The DJ is spinning up cringy Top 40 hits you haven’t heard since college, but the amount of soju shots you’ve consumed within the past hour masks the embarrassment you feel.
“Cheers to my 28th!” Yunjin yells in your ear, raising her shot glass in the air. Jimin abandons making out with Taehyung in favor of lifting his shot glass with hers, and you can’t help but join in on the festivities.
Yunjin keeps toasting to things that get progressively more unhinged. ‘To being 28! then ‘To my IUD!’ then ‘To tax evasion!’
You're not sure she's even joking on that last one.
You’ve lost count of how many you’ve taken, but the liquor burns less with each passing shot.
“Happy birthday, baby!” Jimin leans over the table you’re all perched at, pressing a chaste kiss to Yunjin’s cheek. She giggles in delight, smiling brightly in the way only a drunk person could.
“Oh, why thank you, Jiminie,” she laughs. “And thank you, Tae and [Y/N] for buying the table!”
It was 75% Taehyung and 25% you, but you’ll accept her gratitude. Buying a table at the club with unlimited alcohol was also part of your master plan to get absolutely obliterated and halt all thoughts of Jungkook, at least for the night.
“[Y/N], we need to find you a hot guy tonight. That dress is doing insane things to your legs,” Yunjin whines, pushing your shoulder. “There’s soooo many boys here.”
Jimin and Taehyung share a meaningful look, one that you don’t miss. Rolling your eyes, you say, “I’m not looking for anyone tonight. I want to spend it with you.”
“Booooring.” She pokes your side, raising her voice to be heard over the sound of Usher. “If you ditch me on my birthday to fuck a hot dude, I won’t be mad.”
“But I don’t want to fuck a hot dude—”
Jimin clears his throat. “Well, actually, you do. He’s just not here right now.”
There goes your vow to ignore all Jungkook thoughts this evening.
“Jimin.”
“What? It’s true,” he giggles, cozying up into Taehyung’s side. “The guy practically sexted you last weekend.”
Feeling caught, you busy yourself with the hem of your black bodycon dress. “Whether I fuck him or not is nobody’s business but my own,” you mumble.
“Oh, please,” Taehyung rolls his eyes. “You’ve been needing to get laid for months. We’re your best friends, which makes it our business.”
“She’s just upset that she ignored him in high school and now he’s this big, hunky guy,” Jimin snickers.
Taehyung frowns. “Bigger than me?”
“Okay, enough,” you snap, pouring more soju into the empty shot glasses. “I just wanna get drunk and enjoy my night.”
“I’m sure you would enjoy your night more if you had a big, sexy man to take care of you. I know I would,” Jimin chuckles. Not in a mean way, but your heart does sink a little as you watch him give Taehyung an open-mouthed kiss.
Yunjin turns to you. “Why haven’t you fucked him?”
You don’t know when this became an intervention, but everyone seems arduously interested on whether or not you fuck Jeon Jungkook.
You shrug. “I don’t know. It’s not that I don’t want to—trust me, I do—I just… feel a little bad about how I treated him in high school.”
Your friend snorts, rolling her eyes with an affectionate smile playing upon her lips. “If he felt bad about how you treated him, he wouldn’t be pursuing you.”
“She’s right,” Jimin jumps back in, and you fight the urge to slam his head into the table. He picks up a soju shot. “It’s kinda cute how desperate he seems for your attention. That’s a guy who’s gonna eat you out like his life depends on it.”
The mental image of his moist, plump lips wrapping around your clit has your thighs trembling under the table, but you clamp them before anyone can notice.
“I’m gonna fuck him,” you promise. “I swear.”
Taehyung raises an eyebrow. “I hope you do, before someone else snatches you up.” He tilts his head in the direction of a man eye-fucking you, and your stomach queases.
“He’s cute,” Jimin takes his shot, and you follow suit. There’s no way you’re getting through this night without getting absolutely obliterated.
“Oooo, there’s a really cute guy over there. 12:00,” Yunjin leans into the group, whispering as lowly as she can over the sound of Kesha.
You refuse the desire to look. Taehyung, however, lets his eyes wander to who she’s talking about. Luckily, Jimin is too entranced by pouring himself another soju shot to care. “Oh fuck me. He’s fucking sexy. I would let that man give me a rimjob.”
You slump into the chair. Somehow you have a feeling you’re about to undergo the world’s least subtle setup.
Jimin’s eyes nearly roll into the back of his skull. Slowly, he angles his body to see who his boyfriend is talking about. “He can’t possibly be that hot—oh my god. Oh my god.”
“What?” you and Yunjin say in unison. If you had to guess, based on Jimin’s track record and the specific tone of that ‘oh my god,’ he’s either spotted a celebrity, a firefighter in uniform, or someone from his legendary whore phase. And given that you’re at a nightclub, you're betting on option three. Jimin’s whore phase is the stuff of legend—a six-month period during sophomore year where he worked his way through half of Seoul's gay club scene. He doesn't talk about it often, mostly because Taehyung gets a very specific look on his face when it comes up, but every once in a while someone from that era will resurface and Jimin will make that exact noise.
“Who is it?” you press on, heart thumping in excitement.
Jimin’s blonde hair sways as he turns to look back at you. “Okay, don’t panic.”
Furrowing your brows, you start, “Don’t—”
“That’s Jungkook, you idiots. The fucking guy from [Y/N]’s high school we’ve been talking about,” he says in a hushed tone, punching Taehyung’s shoulder.
There’s a warm feeling hugging your chest, your body feeling as though it’s been lit on fire. It might be the alcohol, or the sheer joke of it all. Out of all the scenarios you’ve conjured up in your daydreams, this wasn’t one of them.
You turn your body to track where your friend’s eyes were just a minute ago. Even though Jimin already confirmed it, there’s a tiny part of you hoping his eyes deceive him. But there he is, Jeon Jungkook, in the flesh, talking to one of his equally attractive friends. He’s wearing all black—black t-shirt that sculpts his biceps, black baggy jeans that sit tightly on his slim waist. His hair is ruffled, hoop earrings dangling from the holes in his ear. And really, the most sickening part of it all: he has two lip rings instead of the usual one. You’re gonna be sick.
“Earth to [Y/N]...” Yunjin waves a shot in front of your face, and without preamble, you take it from her, swallowing it in one easy sip. The alcohol travels down your throat, but you barely feel the burn.
“You good?” Taehyung raises an eyebrow.
“Just peachy,” you lie. You smile at your friends, but they don’t seem convinced.
Jimin guffaws, leaning back in his chair with an evil grin. “Is that why you just downed another shot?”
“I’m thirsty.”
“For alcohol or for Jungkook?” Yunjin bursts into a fit of giggles, high-fiving Jimin across the table.
Groaning, you let your head fall into your hands. “I hope all of you die a slow and painful death.”
“He’s gotten even hotter since the last time I saw him,” Jimin notes, sipping his untouched margarita. “How is that possible?”
“Can we please talk about anything else?” You reach for the soju bottle, pouring the last of the clear liquid into your glass. Your second in thirty seconds. A new personal record.
“We will do no such thing,” Jimin’s eyes are gleaming with elation. “You need to go talk to him.”
You nearly choke on the liquor. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Go. Talk. To. Him.” Jimin enunciates each word like you’re a toddler.
“Are you insane?” you deadpan. “Like, actually stupid? Have you suffered a brain injury I don’t know about?”
Both Jimin and Taehyung share another unspoken look. “I’m trying to help you.”
“But I don’t want help—”
“[Y/N].” Jimin doesn’t often get very serious, but the expression on his face makes you squirm. “I’m not letting you fuck this up.”
“I;m not fucking anything up by staying exactly where I am.” You cross your arms over your chest. Realistically, you know he’s right. If you were more drunk, maybe you would bite the bullet, march over there, and plant a kiss right on those lips you haven’t stopped thinking about. But you’re not, so at the table you will stay.
“This is fate. This is the universe putting him a few feet away.” Jimin gestures vaguely at Jungkook.
“The universe can fuck off, honestly.”
He sighs, “I’m doing this for your own good.”
And before you can process his movements, a lag in your brain, Jimin turns in his seat, arm raising in a wave, mouth opening to call out his name.
“No!” You lunge across the table, knocking over Taehyung’s drink, causing him to groan. You latch onto Jimin’s arm, yanking it down forcefully. “Don’t you fucking dare, Park Jimin—”
It’s too late.
Because in your desperate scramble to stop Jimin from committing social suicide on your behalf, you've made a scene. Swiveling your head slowly, you see Jungkook staring directly at you.
His eyebrows are raised, a hint of a smirk playing upon his lips. His tattooed fingers toy with the straw in his drink. It feels as though time drags on for hours, as if the hands of a clock are being lugged through molasses.
You slowly extract yourself from on top of the table, slinking into your chair with as much dignity as you can muster. Your hand comes up in the world’s most awkward, tentative wave. The tiniest flutter of your fingers.
Jungkook’s lips stretch wider, raising his hand in return. It’s a proper wave, filled with that newfound confidence of his. Then he turns back to his friend, resuming their conversation. It’s not like you expected him to drop everything for you—or well, you kind of did. You exhale a deep breath. “Oh my god.” You slump in your chair. “That was horrible.”
“That was… bad,” Jimin tiptoes around the word, twiddling his thumbs.
“I’m going to have to fake my death and move to a different country—”
“Stop being a drama queen,” Yunjin cuts in, sliding a shot towards you. You don’t even know or care where it spawned from, but all you know is you need it. “He waved back. He probably thought it was cute.”
Sighing, you shake your head. “There is nothing cute about what just happened.” You down the shot, and you’ve completely lost count at this point of how many you’ve ingested.
“Okay, new plan,” you announce, slamming the glass down. “None of that happened. We enjoy Yunjin’s birthday. We do not make eye contact with Jungkook, we do not speak about Jungkook.”
“Yeah, about that,” Jimin trails off, eyes glued to somewhere behind your shoulder. “It’s too late.”
“Too late for what?”
“He’s coming over here.”
Your entire body halts all movement, rigid like a statue. “What?”
“He’s coming here. Right now,” Taehyung repeats, and your heart drops to your feet. A hornet’s nest of anxiety swarms your stomach, filling your body with buzzing fear.
You shake your head frantically. “Please say you’re messing with me.”
Yunjin turns to see where Jimin and Taehyung are staring, and the moment she touches your arm, you realize you’re trapped. There’s no way out but through.
“[Y/N]. It’s nice to see you here.”
His voice is deeper, a low timbre that makes your brain go all fuzzy around the edges. He stands in front of the table, and you peer through your eyelashes to look up at him.
Fuck. Fuck, he looks even better up close.
The two lip rings catch the light of the disco ball. A silver chain dangles from around his neck and you briefly wonder what it’ll look like hanging over you while he pounds into…God, get a grip. You can catch a whiff of his cologne, something citrusy and woodsy that causes a pool of arousal in your underwear.
“Hi,” you manage a smile, struggling to hold the intense gaze he’s sporting.
He breaks it for a moment, turning to your best friend, nodding. “Jimin, good to see you again.”
“You too, Kook. You should join us!” He scooches closer to Taehyung, patting the minimal space beside him. Jungkook stares at it, then looks back at you with a hunger in his eyes that almost has you keeling over.
“Actually,” Jungkook begins, “I was hoping I could steal [Y/N] for a drink. If that’s okay with you all?”
He wants to... what? Steal you? For a drink? Alone? You turn to Yunjin, eyes pleading. Help me. Save me. Make up an excuse. But she was never going to let you escape where he’s involved. She looks you dead in the eye, smiles sweetly, and says, “No, she’s all yours.”
You’re going to remember this. You’re going to bring this up at every possible opportunity for the rest of her natural life.
Jungkook’s hand extends towards you, palm up, awaiting yours. For a brief second, you stare at it, at his long fingers, at the veins running down his forearm, at the silver rings stacked on his nimble fingers. The hand that's now being offered to you, in public, in front of all your friends.
You can either take his hand and let whatever this is happen, or you can make up some excuse and run away for the fourth time.
Your heart starts cartwheeling in your chest. You can’t look away from his hand, the one you desperately want to take. Jungkook watches patiently, confidently, like he knows just what you’re deciding between.
Fuck it.
You place your hand in his, let your fingers intertwine with his warm ones. It’s secure, and his fingers tighten around yours as if to remind you he has you. Jungkook pulls you to your feet gently. He doesn’t let go as he guides you through the crowd toward the bar, and you’re trying very hard not to think about how right it feels, how you never want him to let you go.
He parks you at the bartop, where a woman who looks like she’d rather be anywhere else is serving alcohol to a group of minors. Jungkook pats the stool beside him, and you’re more than grateful to take the chair. Your heels have been hurting like a bitch all night. When you sink into the chair, his eyes follow the way your dress hugs your thighs, revealing more skin than your old cheer uniforms. You debate tugging it down, but a warm feeling is flooding your insides at the thought of him wanting to see more of you. He towers above you, his AMEX hanging loosely from his deft fingers.
“What do you like to drink?” He leans down, whispers it directly in your ear. The heat of his breath makes your entire body feel like molten lava.
The bartender begins to make her way over, eyes gleaming when she spots Jungkook. If you were less tipsy, you might come up with a witty response, but your current state only allows you to say, “A dirty shirley, please.”
He doesn’t make a face at the girly drink, nor bats an eyelash when the bartender touches his arm four times while he recites his order. You can only watch in awe as he hands over his card and turns his attention back to you, body angling toward you as if to shield you from every other patron who might be able to see you. The slight possessiveness he’s exhibiting would normally make you hurl, but he’s so unapologetic about it that you could care less. You hope he puts his mark on you so no man will ever speak to you again.
Jungkook fiddles with his fingers on the counter, unsure where to put them. The only glimpse of high school Jungkook you’ve seen in days. His hand hovers near your thigh, then his jeans pocket, then back to the counter. For all his cockiness over text and possessiveness, still lies a man who’s intimidated by the thought of truly having you.
The soju in your body hums through your veins, making everything feel hazy and like a really good idea. Liquid courage, Yunjin calls it. Liquid stupidity, sounds more precise.
But right now… you’re thinking liquid courage might be onto something.
Because he’s standing so close you can smell his cologne, something that smells like grapefruit and lemon. Because he angled his body to block out the rest of the bar like you’re the only person here. Because his hand is right there, inches from you, and looks like he wants to touch you so badly it’s causing him physical pain.
And you’re tipsy enough to think: yeah, liquid courage is real.
Before the sober, anxious part of your brain can intervene with a thousand reasons why this is a horrible idea, you reach out. Your fingers wrap around his wrist, and his eyes snap to yours, surprise written across his features.
You don’t utter a word, just simply guide his hand until his palm settles at the small of your back. Every place where his skin connects with yours seems to tingle.
“Is this okay?” he asks, voice low and chest rumbling with the sound. Again, his mouth is right by your ear, and you can’t think, can’t breathe, can't hear anything but him.
“Would I have moved it there if I wasn’t?”
His thumb strokes once against your side. “Just making sure.”
“I’m tipsy, not drunk,” you clarify, only because you need him to know this is a choice. This is something you tried to talk yourself out of over and over again, but you want this. Liquid courage is making you brave enough to admit out loud what you only ever thought to yourself sober. “I know what I’m doing.”
“And what are you doing?” His breath hits your cheek, the side of your mouth, and it’s laced with peppermint and whiskey, and you’re dizzy with need.
“Giving you the green light,” you say, tilting your head to meet his gaze. His eyes are hooded, trained on your lips that are coated in shiny gloss. “That okay with you?”
His hand tightens on your waist, pulling you incrementally closer. He doesn’t need to say anything.
“Very okay,” he murmurs into your hair.
The bartender returns with your drinks, but Jungkook doesn’t move his hand. He takes your dirty shirley with his free hand, passing it off to you. His grip becomes more secure, more selfish, like now that you’ve given him permission, he’s never planning on letting go.
Good, you think. You don’t want him to.
Jungkook’s hand wraps around the glass of whiskey, taking a slow sip. “Seems like fate was on my side tonight.”
You take a gulp of your dirty shirley, the sweetness coating your tongue. “I’m starting to think you might be stalking me.”
His eyebrows raise, a tiny upward twitch in his mouth. “How do I know you’re not stalking me?”
“Oh, you would know.”
“Really?” He leans in, brown eyes sparking like pools of chocolate. “And how’s that?”
“Because I’d be better at it,” you proclaim, emboldened by the alcohol. “You wouldn’t catch me three times in two weeks. I’d have a whole system. Disguises, a wig collection..”
He laughs loudly. You notice that his dimples pop when he does so, eyes crinkling. “A wig collection.”
“At minimum. Maybe some fake glasses and a trench coat.”
“Clearly, you’ve thought about this,” he hums.
You raise your hands in defense. “I’m just saying, if I were stalking you, you’d never know it unless I wanted you to know.”
“Should I be concerned?” he questions, but he’s grinning.
“Depends,” you tilt your head. “Are you worth stalking?”
His fingers spread across the expanse of your spine. “I’d like to think so.”
“Confident.” Another sip of your dirty shirley snakes down your throat, your lips toying with the straw as you peer up at him.
His gaze never leaves yours. “Besides, you’re the one who guided my hand to your back. If anyone's being forward here…”
That almost makes you choke on your sugary drink. “I was just—”
“Giving me the green light,” he finishes. “I remember. Trust me, I remember.”
Your mind stumbles, then short-circuits.
You resort to drinking more alcohol, needing something to do with your hands that’s not touching him. “This is crazy, right? Us, here?”
“Crazy how?”
“You know how. I mean, ten years ago, I was copying your chemistry homework, and now you’re so… you’re…”
There’s not a single English word that properly describes what present day Jeon Jungkook does to you, with his tattoos and lip rings and expensive cologne and platinum credit card and… fuck.
“I’m what?” He leans closer, waiting, expecting.
“This.” you say helplessly. “All of this.”
“Is there something wrong with.” he uses his free hand to motion over his toned body, “this?”
“No. Nothing. That’s the problem.” It slips out before you can stop it. “It would be easier if something was wrong with it.”
The hand not looped around your waist moves from the bartop to your dress, fingers finding the hem where it’s ridden up on your thigh. He plays with the fabric absentmindedly, rolling it between the pads of his fingers. “If no one’s told you, by the way,” he mutters just loud enough for you to hear him over the music, “this dress looks insane on you.”
The wind is knocked out of your chest, a jolt of electricity flashing through your core. “No one’s told me yet. You’re the first.”
His eyes drag up from where his fingers are flirting with your dress, traveling up your body until they meet yours. “You look fucking gorgeous,” he says. “There. Now I'm the second to say it.”
It’s hard to breathe, hard to swallow. Even harder to find words, or form a coherent sentence.
“You—I—you can’t—”
“Can’t..?” His hands don’t dare move from your dress, knuckles occasionally brushing against your thigh. “Can’t tell you the truth?”
“You know what you’re doing, Jungkook.”
“I do,” he agrees. “Is it working?”
You want to lie. Want to play it cool. Want to maintain some semblance of the upper hand.
But your downfall was inevitable, right from the moment you saw him standing in the cafe. Like a champagne bottle that someone shook a little too hard, a balloon pressed against a thumbtack. It was always meant to explode.
“Yes,” you admit.
“Good.” Both of his hands move to grip the side of your barstool. In one smooth movement, he turns you to face him completely. His legs spread, creating space, and he guides the stool forward with his toe until your thighs slot between his. He’s caging you in, hands landing atop your thighs, palms warm against your bare skin.
You’re practically pressed against him, his face level with yours, “Is this okay?” he asks again, fingers digging into the flesh.
Suddenly, it’s like you’re painfully aware of all the places where he isn’t touching you. Your faces, your chests. You want more, need more.
“Stop asking me that,” you mumble, looking away, but he guides your gaze back with a finger under your chin.
“I need to know, princess.” His tone is serious, but you want to smile from the pet name. “Tell me if it’s too much.”
“It’s not,” you whisper. “It’s not too much.”
“No?”
“No.”
His hands slide up your thighs, hiding underneath the fabric, pushing a boundary that hasn't been tested in a long time. “What about now?’
You’re going to combust. Right here, in the middle of Sinkhole, surrounded by people, you're going to burst into flames.
“Still okay,” you exhale.
For one exhilarating second, his eyes drop to your lips, and you think you’ll get what you’ve been seeing in your dreams the past few nights. You need to get out of here. Away from the crowd, away from the noise, somewhere you can actually hear yourself think—or not think. Preferably not think.
“Do you want to…” you start, then hesitate. The words die on your tongue.
He cocks his head, hair flopping into his eyes. “Do I want to…”
Your heartbeat reverberates in your throat. “Talk somewhere more private? It’s loud here.”
His composure shifts, and you watch the realization hit him. What you're suggesting. What that implies.
“Private,” he repeats. “To talk.”
“Yes.”
“About?”
You deadpan, brain racking for a subject, any subject. “Stuff,” is what you come up with.
A dry laugh escapes him. “And maybe things as well?”
You pout. “Important stuff.”
“I’m sure.” His smile is lopsided, goofy and full of light. He pulls you up from the barstool until your feet touch the ground again. His hand finds your fingers, easily lacing them. “Whatever you want, princess.”
Where the fuck did that come from? When did he become the type of person to use pet names? And why is it working? Why is that single word making your entire nervous system light up like a Christmas tree?
Tugging you through the crowd, he peers behind him every few seconds to make sure you haven’t floated away. His hand is firm around yours, guiding you through the mass of bodies, and you try and catch a glimpse of any of your friends.
Unfortunately, you do spot Jimin and Taehyung, pressed against a wall, entranced in a makeout session so intense that they’re definitely not coming up for air soon. At least you won’t have to explain to them where you went. Yunjin is nowhere to be found, probably on the dance floor or already home with one of her many flings.
Jungkook pulls you through another section of the crowd, leading you down a side hallway that’s mercifully empty. The music is muffled, bass still thumping through the walls but not deafening anymore. You lean back against the cold concrete, the chill a shock against your overheated skin. The wall vibrates with each bass drop, humming in your chest.
Jungkook stops in front of you, and you have to tilt your head back to see his face. “What did you want to talk about?”
Your mind shoots blanks. In this dim hallway, you’ve become aware of how completely the tables have turned. Ten years ago, you held all the cards. You were the girl who made him nervous, who had him stumbling over words, who could get him to do anything with a smile and a flutter of your eyelashes. But now you’re the one who’s heart is racing, who feels like you might explode from a single touch. He has the upper hand, utterly, entirely. And you handed it to him willingly. Put his hand on your waist, guided him here, and now you’re putty in his hands and he knows it.
“You make me nervous,” you blurt out.
The silence that engulfs you feels like punishment. Your mouth goes dry, palms sweating under the guise of his stare.
He takes a step closer. There’s little to no space between you. “That’s interesting.”
“Why is that interesting?” Your back is pressed against the wall. Nowhere to go.
“You used to make me nervous,” he says, bracing his hand on the wall. His bicep strains and you have to fight the urge to ogle at them. “For years.”
“That was different, Jungkook.”
“Was it?” He studies you. “In what way?”
“Well, because now you’re you, and I’m—“
“I’m me?” His eyebrows raise an inch, lips curling upwards in a smirk. “What does that mean?”
Why did you drink so much alcohol? Why, why, why? Maybe if you hadn’t, your lips wouldn’t be so goddamn loose. Your filter would still be in tact. You wouldn’t be staring at him like you want to devour him whole.
You peer up at him, eyelashes fluttering. His cheeks are flushed from the amount of drinks he’s consumed, and he’s close enough that you can see the moles that litter his face. The one under his lip. The one on his nose. You want to kiss each and every single one of them. Map them out with your lips until you have them memorized.
You give up on any pretense of playing it cool. “You know you’re hot, Jungkook.”
“Do I know?” The smirk on his face grows tenfold, and god, you want to kiss it off him. “You’ve never told me this before.”
“High school was different.”
“You’ve said that a lot, but it’s actually not that different,” he murmurs.
“Hm?”
His gaze drops to your lips for the hundredth time tonight. “Because I’m still so fucking unbelievably, out of my mind, attracted to you.”
Your brain struggles to process it—that he’s felt this way for years. That it never went away. That all the confidence and cockiness is built on top of the same desire that made teenage Jungkook stutter around you.
“You’re just saying things,” you whisper. But you’ve known. You’ve always known.
His hand falls from the wall to cup your jaw. “You think I begged Jimin for your number because I was just being polite? You think I showed up at three different cafes hoping fate would bring us together because I’m casual about this?”
“But you said that cafe was your regular spot—”
He fights to hide the smile creeping onto his face. “I’ve wanted you since I was a teenager.” His thumb brushes across your cheekbone. “Somehow, impossibly, I want you even more now.”
Your heart is trying to break out of the confines of your ribcage. “Jungkook.”
His forehead is almost touching yours. “What’s different is that now I’m not terrified to tell you.”
You don’t know what else to say to him, so you smile as brightly as you can, letting your happiness live on your face.
“How many drinks have you had tonight?” he asks.
You scrunch your brows together. “A lot of soju. That dirty shirley. Why?”
Bluntly, he says, “Because I want to kiss you. But not if you’re too drunk to remember it tomorrow.”
You squeak, back slightly arching off the wall. You’ve never wanted anything more, never ached to feel someone the way you do him. Heat travels through your veins, burning you to your core.
“I told you, I’m tipsy,” you rush to protest. “I’ll remember this tomorrow.”
It should be embarrassing how quickly you reassure him, how the words tumble out of your mouth.
His forehead presses against yours, and it’s a miracle you don’t dissolve into a puddle. “Then can I—”
“Yes,” you interrupt. If he doesn’t kiss you in the next five seconds, you might actually die.
“I didn’t finish the question.” His lips ghost over yours, a gentle taste of what you yearn for.
“I don’t care what the question is,” you exhale. “The answer is yes.”
And then his lips are on yours.
Never in your high school years did you imagine how Jeon Jungkook kissed. Never thought about how his lips would feel against your own. Never cared to think about it.
This past week, however, you’ve spent more time imagining this exact scenario than you’ve spent breathing. But reality is superior to whatever your brain could conjure up. Your imagination could never describe Jungkook’s demanding kiss, or the way his lips melt into yours with utmost certainty. His hand slides from your jaw to your cheek, cradling it. The other hand finds your waist, pulling you flush against him.
A mix of a gasp and a moan falls from your lips, and he swallows it wholly. Your fists find his shirt, tugging on the fabric, pulling him closer even though there’s no space between you. His lip rings are cold against your mouth, a contrast to the heat of his lips and the heat between your thighs. Parting your lips, his tongue sweeps in, tastes just like you smelled earlier—whiskey and peppermint. Your lip gloss is definitely everywhere at this point—on him, on you, probably on the wall behind you—but you couldn’t care less.
His strong hand travels from your cheek down, down, fingers wrapping loosely around your throat. Claiming, holding. The possessiveness of the gesture sends heat pooling low into your stomach. Jungkook’s thumb presses into your pulse point, feeling how your heart is racing.
And when you do finally pull away, your heart is still going berzerk. His lips are shiny with your gloss, pink and swollen and thoroughly kissed. You can't help but giggle at the sight.
“What?” he asks, breathless. The tips of his ears are tickled pink.
“You’re wearing my lip gloss,” you giggle again, reaching up to wipe it with your thumb. But he doesn’t let you get far, catches your wrist and presses a kiss right where your flowery perfume is sprayed. He takes a deep inhale and smiles back at you like you hung the moon and stars. Your heart is pumping so wildly you’re worried it might actually burst out of your chest.
Then his lips are on your neck, trailing down to your exposed collarbone, finding every sensitive spot with ease like he already knows you, like he holds the map to your body. He holds you tight to him, grounding—and thank god because your legs are shaking so badly that you're not sure you could stand without him holding you up.
“Jungkook,” you gasp, and he hums against your skin. His mouth finds your jaw, pressing open-mouthed kisses, and you’re pretty sure you’re going to pass out. Your fingers thread through his unruly dark brown locks, tugging slightly at the nape.
And you can’t really help the intrusive thoughts that leap in your mind, the tidal wave of desire that keeps lapping at your core. He’s insatiable, and you feel gluttonous. “Do you wanna—” you start, but his teeth graze your pulse point and your brain turns to mush. “maybe—ahh—go to mine?”
He halts, pulls back enough to look at you. “Is that what you want?” His voice is strained, the thread of self-control growing weaker and weaker.
Your brain is fuzzy from alcohol and kissing and the feeling of his hands on your waist, but you know what you're saying. You know what you're offering. You’re done fighting whatever decade-old guilt lives inside you, because you deserve him. Maybe you’re finally ready to accept it. To trust that you’ve grown, that you’re growing, that you’re not done growing and thats okay. You deserve all the good that Jeon Jungkook has to offer. “Yes,” you breathe, “I want—I want you.”
His eyes search for hesitation. “You’ve been drinking, and I don't want you to feel like you need to—”
“I’m sure.” Cupping his face in your hands, you cut his sentence in half. Don’t even let it slip between you. “I know what I want.”
Somehow, his eyes have gone darker, fingers tightening for purchase. “Say it again,” he murmurs.
“I want you, Jungkook.” Your thumb brushes against his bottom lip, catching on his lip rings. “Take me home.”
“Fucking hell,” he practically moans, and then his lips are on you again with an urgency that wasn’t there before. “We should probably tell your friends we’re leaving.”
“Jimin’s busy.” If you had to guess, he’s on his knees at home, getting topped by Kim Taehyung. “And Yunjin will understand. Your friends?”
“They know who you are.”
A swarm of butterflies kick up in your stomach.
You tug on his shirt. “Now can we please go before I lose my mind?”
His answer to that is another quick kiss—but still thorough, because who is he if not a man starved—and he pulls you through the hallway, back into the club, into the thick of the chaos still lingering this late in the night. You hardly register any of it. The lights, the bass of the music, the bodies pressing against you as you squeeze by. None of it matters.
You feel like you’re floating, like your feet are moving but you can’t feel the ground, like you’re walking on clouds. His hand is wrapped around yours, pulling you forward, and you’d follow him anywhere right now. To the ends of the earth. Off a cliff.
Once the crisp night air hits your skin, Jungkook is already scanning the street, hand raised to hail a taxi. One pulls up within seconds—it’s got to be fate, or the universe supporting your agenda to get laid—and he opens the door, ushering you inside with a hand on the small of your back.
Jungkook shuts the door forcefully, immediately snuggling into your side, leaving little to no room for you to create space between you two. Not that you wanted to, but you want to giggle at how utterly fearful he seems of distance from you.
“Where to?” the driver asks, eyeing Jungkook in the rearview.
You rattle off your address, and the cab pulls off into traffic. Seoul at this hour is never quiet—in fact, it’s usually more lively, since clubs stay open until the wee hours of the morning. But all you can really focus on is Jungkook beside you, his thigh pressed against yours in the cramped backseat. His fingers lace through yours. An innocent, sweet gesture, a complete contrast from what was happening ten minutes ago against that hallway wall.
You look down at your intertwined hands—his so much larger than yours, rings cool against your skin. A smile bestows upon your lips. When you glance up at him, he’s staring at you with this fond expression that makes your heart stutter.
“What?” you ask, giddy.
“Nothing,” he replies, but the smile on his face doesn’t disappear. “I just can’t believe this is happening.”
“Me neither,” you admit sheepishly.
His hand reaches over, tugging the hem of your dress down where it’s ridden up your thigh. The action would be chivalrous, if not for the way his fingers linger, if not for the way his jaw clenches, if not for the way his fond expression darkens into something sinister.
“You need to stop moving,” he says, a deep exhale following his words.
You roll your eyes. “I’m not even moving.”
“Your… dress is moving.” His hand remains on your thigh, holding the fabric down. “I can’t hold it together if this dress rides up any more.”
“Oh.”
He shifts in his jeans, clearly uncomfortable. You have to fight not to avert your eyes to his crotch.
“Do you know how long it’ll take to get to her apartment?” Jungkook asks the driver. You snort loudly.
He shrugs. Clearly, the man has never shared Jungkook’s predicament, because he looks unbothered by the urgency in his voice. “About twenty minutes.”
Jungkook groans, leaning back into the seat, closing his eyes for a second. When he opens them again and catches your gaze, he has to close them to calm his friend down there. And it does make you giggle again, but what you want more than anything is to feel him. For him to give you a part of him that you didn’t know you needed until now.
You whisper in his ear. “I don’t want you to hold it together.”
His eyes fly open, and you watch his Adam’s apple bob up and down. “Don’t tempt me right now, [Y/N].”
“Why not?” And you pull out your tricks—you bat your eyelashes, tilt your head down, lick your lips to wet them. His face grows pale.
“Because we’re in a cab,” he murmurs, staring at your lips. “And I’m trying to be respectful.”
“Maybe I want you to disrespect me right now.”
The words are barely out of your mouth before he's kissing you again. His hand leaves your dress to cup your face, angling your head so he can kiss you deeper.
The cab driver clears his throat. You both ignore him, too hypnotized by the other to think about stopping. He pulls you as close as he can, and a frustrated noise escapes from your lips. There’s too many layers, too much distance, and he smiles knowingly against your lips.
He seems to know just what you need.
Jungkook’s large hand lands on your knee, caressing the supple skin.
“You know how to be quiet, baby?”
You nod meekly.
His voice brushes against the shell of your ear, hand traveling up your thigh to mask itself under the fabric of your dress. “Good girl. Spread your legs for me.”
Eyes widening, you stare up at him blankly. There is no way on this planet, Jeon Jungkook, the man who you were sure—up until now—never had his first kiss, is about to finger you in a taxi. But his hand moving near your lace panties says otherwise. You jolt forward at the feeling of his deft fingers swiping at the fabric as discreetly as possible. You gasp, and he tosses you a look before you slap your hand over your mouth. Luckily, the taxi driver seems more focused on the fastest route to your apartment than whatever debauchery is occurring in his backseat. It’s also dark in the car, impossible for the naked eye to see Jungkook’s movements.
He presses against the wet spot on your underwear, and heat creeps up your neck at the realization of just how turned on he’s had you since the hallway. Maybe even before then, if you’re being honest. He smiles at the revelation.
Your nails dig into the leather seat of the cab. Jungkook’s tattooed fingers push aside your underwear, his pointer finger collecting the arousal. A whimper escapes you, and when you look at him, the look on his face sends another round of wetness dripping down his finger. “God, baby, you’re so fucking wet,” he whispers into your ear, letting two fingers ghost over your clit, gently pushing the bundle of nerves. “Didn’t know public sex turned you on so much.”
You bite back a moan. The teasing pace he’s set over your clit would be fun, if you had a constant stream of sexual endeavors, but unfortunately, you’re as desperate as a raccoon sifting through trash. Gripping onto his wrist, you push him onto you fiercely. “Needy, aren’t we?” he mutters.
All you can reply with is a quick nod. He chuckles softly, rubbing circles on your clit with the pad of his pointer and middle finger. Your head falls back on the headrest, eyes squeezed tight, tight, tight as you try to calculate how he found your clit so fast. It’s so wet, dripping onto the seat, his hands, that you could cum just from the stimulation of it all.
“What do you want, princess? Hm?” Somehow, it sounds like he’s far away from you, like you’re caught on your own cloud of bliss. You want to ask for more, need more like it’s oxygen. His rhythm slows just a tad, enough to have your eyes flying open. “I asked you a question.”
Oh. Oh. So he’s that kind of guy.
“I want—I want your fingers,” you whisper feebly.
“Yeah? Where, princess? I’ll give you whatever you want.” he kisses your shoulder, your jaw, and it makes your brain fuzzy around the edges.
The tantalizing pace he’s set on your clit makes it hard to speak. “W-want you to fuck me with them.”
His lips curl upwards, eyes blazing. “You like my fingers?” Another nod. He removes his fingers from your clit, slipping back out underneath your dress. You’re about to protest, maybe even kick him out of the car, until you watch him make direct eye contact with you, and place his fingers in his mouth, letting his tongue swirl around the digits. You blink. What the actual fuck have you gotten yourself into?
“Please, Jungkook,” you beg, your nails scrambling to dig in his clothed thigh. He chastises you, laughs at you, before slithering under your dress again, plunging his fingers directly into your sopping entrance. You gasp, loud enough to make the driver look in the rearview, but you bite your bottom lip before any more can escape. “I know you can take it. If you can take that douchebag Kim Mingyu, you can handle me. Although, after I’m done with you, my name might be the only name you moan for the rest of your life.”
You should hate that. You really, really should. But clearly, your dignity has taken the night off, and in its place is a woman who is so endeared over being degraded by Jeon Jungkook.
His fingers pump in and out, achingly slow, making you feel every inch. You’re gripping his thigh so tightly you swear there’ll be claw marks. Your head rests on the back of your seat, chest heaving. If not for the sound of traffic outside, the driver might be able to hear the way your pussy squelches with each movement.
Jungkook’s lips press against your jaw, litter around your neck. “More,” you mumble, sounding drunker than you did in the club.
“God, you’re so fucking wet. I can’t wait to be inside you. Gonna fuck you all night.” Lewd words continue to spill from his lips. Sending waves of arousal onto his fingers, more for him to play with as he picks up his pace. He curls his fingers upwards, reaching that sensitive spot that far and few men have ever found. Your body trembles, thighs shaking, and Jungkook’s hand lands on them to try and steady you.
His thumb finds your clit, rubbing sloppy circles as he brings you to the brink of your orgasm. Your eyes fight to stay open, looking over at Jungkook—and holy hell. His arm veins are popping out, mostly from the amount of effort he’s putting into fucking into you to completion, his dark hair flopping over his face. His silver chain bounces off his chest, reflecting on the city lights outside.
And you don’t even realize how quickly you’re about to cum, tears brimming your eyes from the way his fingers pump in and out you wildly, thumb matching his pace over your clit. “So tight around my fingers, princess. You gonna cum?”
There’s no way you can be quiet about this. Not with how fucking good he looks, not with how easily his fingers slip in and out you, hitting your sweet spot. You bury your head in his neck, moaning into his warm skin, trying to muffle the sound as much as possible. “Fuck, Jungkook.”
“Want you to cum on my fingers, princess. Can you do that for me?” You nod into his neck.
Your walls clench around his fingers one last time, to the point where he can hardly move them, his thumb working you through the orgasm that ripples through your body. Your fingers claw at his arm, teeth biting at his neck. You can feel yourself lose control, heart beating erratically in your chest.
Jungkook’s fingers halt inside you, thumb coaxing you through the rest of your orgasm. “It’s okay, princess. I’ve got you.”
Your body completely slumps into him, still feeling full with his two fingers inside you.
Finally, after he allows you a moment to catch your breath, he pulls them out of your pussy, soaked with your creamy arousal. “Open,” he says gently, but when you look up at him, his gaze is hardly sympathetic. Your lips part for him, and he places his fingers on your tongue. You swirl it around, tasting yourself, sweet and salty and warm, foreign to you. Jungkook’s eyes never leave yours.
“Good job, baby,” he says as he removes his fingers, pressing one, two chaste kisses on your lips.
All things considered, you’re in absolute shock. Somewhere between high school and now, Jeon Jungkook learned how to kiss like he’s trying to ruin you for all other men. Where did he learn all this? Who taught him to do that thing with his fingers? How does he know exactly where to put his hands, exactly how much pressure to use to make you lose your mind?
The thought of him practicing on other people—other girls—makes something ugly twist in your stomach.
You’re an evil, evil girl. “Where’d you learn all that?”
He raises an eyebrow, tucking a strand of your loose hair behind your ear. “Are you asking about my sexual history now?”
“No.”
“You are,” he teases. “You’re not jealous, right?”
If only he knew how ill you felt at the idea of another girl knowing how his fingers can easily find their g-spot.
“I am not jealous.” You feign indifference, but your voice comes out all defensive and petulant, which kind of ruins it all. “Just asking a question.”
“You want to know who I've been with?” he asks, clearly trying not to laugh.
“Never said that.”
He presses another soft kiss against your lips. “There’s been other people. I’m not going to lie about that. But that’s not a big deal.”
You furrow your brows. “Why?”
His thumb traces circles on your thigh. “Because I thought about you during all of it. I wondered what you’d feel like, wondered what sounds you would make. So, yeah,” he continues. “I learned some things. But I only ever wanted to use them on you.”
You kiss him again because you don’t know what else to do with the feeling expanding in your chest. Because he’s looking at you like that and saying things like that and your heart is fluttering out of your body. God, if that doesn’t make you want to drag him upstairs immediately.
The cab pulls up to your building and Jungkook is already pulling out his wallet, throwing bills at the driver without checking the amount. "Keep the change," he says, and then he's out of the cab, pulling you with him.
Your legs are unsteady when you stand—from the alcohol, from the kissing, from everything—and his arm wraps around your waist, steadying you. “I’m not done with you yet, princess.”
And, really, he’s not joking because he’s on you the second you step through the door to your apartment. Barely even crosses the threshold before his lips are colliding with yours passionately, slamming your spine into the wall by your entryway. His hands cup your cheeks entirely. He can’t get enough of you, like opposite poles of a magnet attracting. Shortly after his affair with the entryway, Jungkook moves a little more down your hallway, but you’re too focused on kissing him to direct him. Your shoes are discarded, purse on the floor, and then your back finds another cool wall to rest against.
Jungkook assaults your neck, leaving a trail of bruises that are going to take a hell of a lot of explaining tomorrow. Your apartment probably sounds like the set of some cheap porno, what with Jungkook’s whimpers and your moans, and neither of you are even naked yet. Your hands run over the front of his chest, feeling his sculpted body underneath his shirt.
“Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” he murmurs into your collarbone, where he’s leaving hickeys in his wake. His hands wander over your chest, cupping them over your dress. Without another word or warning, he yanks down the top of your dress, your breasts spilling out. You can’t help the gasp that escapes you as he manhandles you, his lips coming to wrap around your hardened nipple. His tongue swipes over the sensitive nub, eyes peering up expectantly, watching every facial expression that contorts on your face.
Your eyes squeeze tightly, a kaleidoscope of color blooming behind your vision. “Jungkook,” you moan, carding your fingers through his unruly hair.
Without preamble, Jungkook kisses your nipples one last time before dropping to his knees on your hardwood floor with a resounding thump.
You open your eyes. The sight in front of you is fucking ungodly. If you look closely, you can see Jungkook from high school, expectantly looking up at you with puppy dog eyes, pushing your dress up to hang around your waist.
“W-what are you doing?’ you ask.
He looks drunk. “Need to eat you out. I want to taste you, princess.”
You don’t remember the last time a man has looked so needy to feel you, to taste you. Actually, you can’t remember a time this even occurred.
You exhale. “Yes. Yes, please.”
That’s all he really needs. Jungkook doesn’t waste a moment more in burying his face between your folds as though it’s his last meal on earth. His fingers come to spread your lips open for him as he flicks his tongue over your nub, sending you bent over as you scramble for purchase in his hair, his shoulders, anything. “Oh, fuck, Jungkook, right there.”
He notices your struggle to stand upright, and then he’s guiding your leg over his shoulder, toes dangling. He moans into your pussy, a breathy little exhale that sends fire shooting through your veins. Jungkook’s strong arm holds your leg in place over his shoulder. His tongue fucks inside of you shallowly, your eyes rolling backwards. “Tastes so sweet, so fucking heavenly, baby,” he mutters but it barely makes its way into your ears. You can feel his lip rings swiping over your arousal, the cool metal causing your thighs to quake uncontrollably.
And then you’re just babbling profanities, a mantra of his name, curse words. A litany of praise. Some other embarrassing things you hope he never remembers.
“I feel g-guilty. For the way I treated y-you in high school,” you stammer, quivering against his face as he licks another stripe up your slit.
You don’t know why it’s all coming out now, but it is. God, you were such a bitch in high school. Such an egotistical brat who was too caught in her own ways to ever see that there was more to life than social status and cheerleading.
His tongue encircles your clit, one of your hands flying to his hair to tug. “Don’t feel guilty,” he murmurs. “That’s not what I want you to feel right now. I want to make you feel good.”
His tongue travels from your hole to your clit, and normally the rhythm would throw you off, but he’s so skillful about the whole thing that you’re teetering on the brink of an orgasm. And he must know, must be able to read your body like it’s something he spent years studying, because he’s sucking on your clit, letting his tongue flick over it repeatedly, maintaining a rhythm that has you screaming, “Oh fuck, oh shit, I’m gonna—Jungkook, I’m gonna cum.”
That doesn’t deter him the slightest. Spurs him on like he’s entered in some kind of pussy-eating competition. You’ll spend years talking about this experience, you think.
Your fingers tighten in his hair, tangling, tugging, and your entire body vibrates as your orgasm crashes over you in waves. He fucks you through it, keeps going until you’re pushing him away with your toe forcefully. When he finally gives up, he says from between your legs, “Better than Kim Mingyu?”
Maybe you shouldn’t care about high school anymore, but you can’t help but laugh, smile at him. “He never even ate me out, Koo.”
His face softens— whether that’s because of the nickname you adorned him with or the fact that Mingyu was an asshole, you’ll never know—and he’s standing up, pressing a dirty kiss to your lips. It’s messy, sloppy, tongue over teeth, but so undeniably him that you cling to him like a koala. “He’s the biggest idiot of all time to miss out on that.”
“Hmm,” you hum against his lips. They taste just like you, and it sends another gush of arousal pouring out of you. His hands slide down your sides, gripping your waist, your hips, pulling you impossibly closer. You’re drowning in him—his taste, his smell, the way he’s kissing you like he’s been starving for it. You can feel his length poking against your thigh, and your heart skips at just how large it al;ready feels through his jeans.
Your hands roam down his chest, feeling the firm muscle beneath his shirt, tracing lower until your fingers find his belt. You fumble with the buckle, fingers clumsy with desire. Jungkook looks down at your manicured fingers, easily working, speaking to how much experience you have. His cock throbs at the thought.
You’re about to get on your knees, return the favor, but he stops you as soon as you lower an inch.
Jungkook simply says, “The next time I want you to cum, is going to be on my cock.”
Okay, yes sir. He’s all dominating and commanding and it makes your pussy clench around nothing.
His forehead drops against yours, breath punching out of him. “Fuck, I need to be inside you.”
The metal clinks as his pants drop to the floor, his Calvin Klein boxers doing little to hide how big he is. Jungkook kicks them off, eager to remove as many layers as possible. Your mouth salivates, and you’re positive a sliver of drool is slithering out of your mouth. His hands tighten on your hips, bruising the skin.
You kiss him again, but this time, it’s rougher, faster, hand slipping beneath the waistband of his boxers, and he makes a sound between a groan and a whimper that makes you feel powerful. Your hands roam, searching, until—
Holy shit. You gasp into his mouth, feeling his length. He’s big, no doubt about that. But it’s the fucking girth of it that has your mouth watering. He’s thick, and you can feel the veins that decorate his cock.
Jesus Christ. This is what your Chemistry tutor was hiding under his pants. A fucking anaconda.
But you’re not about to admit that.
No shot in hell.
“Mhmm, I feel like you’re kinda small,” you tease, battling your eyelashes at him as you stroke his hardened length dangerously slow.
His nostrils flare. “Yeah? Think I’m small, baby?”
“Tiny.”
Your thumb drags over his tip, and then you feel it. A piece of metal. Jeon Jungkook has a fucking dick piercing.
His eyes set ablaze as he realizes that you know. “Fucking hell, you’re still the same brat you’ve always been.”
Jungkook’s lips collide with yours, and he kicks off his boxers urgently. “Fuck,” he breathes against your mouth. Suddenly his hands are gripping the backs of your thighs, lifting you up like you weigh nothing. You gasp, legs wrapping around his waist as your back hits the wall harder. The new position puts you at eye level with him, head spinning. He reaches down between your bodies to let his cock sit in between your wet folds, ever so teasing.
Your fingernails dig into the nape of his neck, head lolling back against the wall. “Please fuck me, Koo. Wanna feel you inside me.”
“Oh, now you want to beg? After you called me tiny?” He hisses as he swirls the tip over your clit, the cool metal of his piercing sending shockwaves down your spine.
“Please,” you beg. “Pleasepleaseplease.” It’s slurred when it leaves your mouth, breath catching when you look down and see the way the metal reflects off his soaking tip, encased in your juices. “I need it.”
With that, he pushes into you, all inches of his length, squirming in his arms. You scramble to hold onto something, opting for his biceps that are straining with the weight of holding you up. A moan leaves both of your mouths. He waits until you’re fully adjusted, taking every inch of him. “Feels so good, princess. So tight and warm, holy shit.”
“Jungkook,” you pant. You’re so full of him, he’s everywhere. Stopping is the last thing on your mind. You’re a woman made of greed. “You’re so—fuck—big.”
He smiles triumphantly and takes that as his sign to move. He uses his arms to slide you up and down his cock, slamming you onto him, your clit meeting his pubic bone. The piercing drags against your walls with each thrust, hitting the sweet spot inside you that has you screaming a litany of crude words that’ll have your neighbors knocking your door down tomorrow morning. His head falls to the crook of your shoulder, burying himself in your scent.
It’s more than you’ve ever taken, beyond any sex you’ve ever had in your life. You’re going to be ruined for all other men and you haven’t even made it to the bedroom yet. Your past lovers are about to become a footnote. A distant memory. Ancient fucking history.
The sound of your pussy squelching with each rough thrust fills the room, Jungkook’s hairline beading with sweat as he furiously pounds into you, tits bouncing in his face. He begins to babble, “Used to cum so hard thinking about you, baby. You in that—fuck—cheer uniform, with your nipples hard. I wanted to push it to the side and fuck you.”
You moan at the thought. “Yeah, why didn’t you? I would’ve rode your face with your glasses on.”
He presses a sloppy kiss on the side of your mouth. “Bet you would’ve loved that, huh? Deflowering the nerd?”
The mental image flashes through your mind—seventeen-year-old Jungkook, all awkward limbs and nervous stammering, those thick-framed glasses sliding down his nose while you sat on his face in the library after hours. You would’ve been so mean about it too. Would’ve made him beg, would’ve had him so desperate and eager to please that he would’ve done anything you asked. Would’ve probably given him the best night of his teenage life and then ignored him in the hallway the next day because you were dating Mingyu and had a reputation to maintain.
“I would’ve made you cum—ahh, shit—so hard.” You try your hardest to maintain eye contact, but everytime you do, your walls flutter around his cock. “You would’ve been obsessed.”
“I was already obsessed,” he groans, nipping at your jaw. His balls slap against your ass, adding to the horrific amount of sounds eliciting from your apartment. “It couldn’t have gotten much worse.”
He has a very fair point.
You thread your fingers through his hair, already on the brink of another orgasm. Everything about him—his scent, the way his tattoos glisten with sweat, how his bottom lip is tugged underneath his front teeth—sends your mind into delirium. He’s fucking you with enough force to have your head bouncing off the wall every few thrusts, that you feel it resound along your bones.
“Fuck, I don’t wanna cum yet,” he whimpers into your skin. “But god, I don’t think I’ll be able to last.”
Neither will you, but an idea sparks in your pretty little head. You crook a finger under his jaw, making him look at you. His expression is completely fucked out, lips swollen, cheeks ruddy. His thrusts slow, enough so that he can pay attention to your words. “I want to get on top. Let me fuck you, Jungkook.”
He nods, and then he’s readjusting you in his arms, with you clinging to him like a newborn baby. You giggle as he frantically tries to find your bedroom, pausing every few moments to press a few kisses to your cheeks and lips.
Finally, he locates your room, plopping you down on the bed, and you moan at the sudden emptiness you feel with his cock gone. He tosses his t-shirt over his head.
Jungkook sits up against the headboard, gently stroking his length as he watches you move to bracket his thighs, settling over his tip. “Ready for me, princess?”
Eagerly, you shake your head in approval, and you sink down inch by inch onto his length. For some reason, in this position, it feels like he’s stretching you out more, your walls sucking him in greedily. Your hands come to rest on his beefy chest, nails digging into the skin.
There’s not many things you're good at, but one thing you are insanely talented at? Riding cock like it’s your god given right. Your hips undulate wildly, bouncing up and down to accommodate his full length. Jungkook watches in awe, in a trance, as you cream his cock. His hands come to sit at your hips, guiding you the best he can. His head rests against the headboard, lazily watching as you play with your tits. “Ride my cock,” he groans, “just like that, princess.”
“You stretch me out so good, Jungkook,” you moan, thighs trembling with each movement. He can feel you getting closer to the edge, already riled up from the previous position. Your walls clench around him, sucking him in. His thumb falls to your clit again, finding it so easily after so many rounds. “Right there, baby,” you chant, eyes closed. “Right fucking there.”
“Jesus, I'm so close,” he grunts, beginning to thrust upwards into you as your own pace slows. The sounds are beyond obscene—his cock plunging into your wetness, headboard slamming against the wall. You don’t care about any of it, not one bit, as long he keeps fucking into you.
It was always obvious from the moment he kissed you at the club that neither of you were going to last long, anyway.
“Fuck, I’m cumming,” you practically scream, which would have you embarrassed, but he seems just as ruined as you.
Your orgasm washes over you, legs shaking as your mouth tears open around a sound that might be his name, might be something else entirely. Your walls flutter around him, and Jungkook can’t help himself anymore. “Fuck, baby, I’m gonna cum too. Can I—fuck—can I cum inside?”
You nod like a broken bobblehead. Thank god for modern medicine.
He empties into you, bruising your hips with his hold. He’s so attractive when he finishes that you almost orgasm again from the sight. His bare chest heaves, a slight sheen of sweat layered on the skin.
For a few moments, you two catch your breath, letting his cock soften entirely inside you. He looks worn, eyes drooping.
But after an eternity, you finally roll off him. You’re not sure what you were expecting in terms of aftercare, but your heart flutters when he lazily wraps his arms around you, tugging you into his side to rest your cheek on his chest. It’s comforting, with his hands playing with your hair, his own heart thumping along in his chest. Reminding you that you’re here with him, and this is real.
Silence has never been so peaceful.
You think you’ll fall asleep like this, but then he says, “I want to see you again.”
Your heart softens around the edges, at the notion that he believes you’ll never speak to him again after this. You can’t blame him for it. It’s exactly what high school you would’ve done.
But you’re not 17 anymore, and you deserve all the good he has to offer you. No more silly little games.
“I would really like that,” you whisper back.
He presses a kiss to the top of your head. “Mind checking your calendar for me?”
You grin like a lovesick idiot. “Yup. Checking right now. And it looks like I’m free this whole week.”
“Thursday, then. Dinner at 7,” he confirms. “You’re not going to, like, make me beg for a real answer this time, are you?”
Giggling, you respond, “Maybe I should check that calendar again…”
He sits up, pouting. “Don’t. Don’t you dare,” he warns, and then his hands are moving to tickle your sides.
You squeal, squirming away, but he just pulls you back against him. The laughs that escape you are so full of sunshine that you hardly recognize them. You’ve been living under a fog for so long that when it lifted, you forgot how bright life could be.
“Okay, okay!” you gasp, and his fingers still. “Thursday. 7 o’clock.”
“There we go.” He kisses your forehead. “Was that so hard?”
“Hardest thing I’ve ever done,” you say dramatically, resuming your post, nestled into his side.
“Liar.” His fingers resume playing with your hair. “You like me.”
You feel like a kid in kindergarten, caught passing a note in class with “do you like me? check yes or no” scrawled in messy handwriting. Like you’re on the playground at recess, heart racing because your crush smiled at you across the monkey bars. But it’s got you just as giddy. “I guess I do.”
Jungkook reaches over to pull the blanket over you two. “So what happens now?” you wonder aloud. It’s an innocent question, but somehow loaded with more intent than you realize.
“Now?” he yawns. “Now you let me stay the night. Then tomorrow I’m gonna make you the most fire breakfast of all time. Then Thursday, I’ll take you to the best dinner of your life. And then—”
“There’s more?” Your eyes widen in sarcasm.
“And then I keep taking you out until you realize you’re in love with me too.”
Your heartbeat is quick but steady in your chest. “Pretty confident about that, hm?”
“Extremely so.” Jungkook yawns again, voice getting drowsy. “I’ve got years of romcom knowledge. I’ve read those Tumblr fanfics. You don’t stand a chance.”
He’s probably right. You don’t stand a chance. In fact, you didn’t from the moment he stood in front of you at that cafe.
Before you close your eyes and float off into sleep, you mumble out, “God, when did you get so hot?”
pairing: Jungkook x Reader | [slight] Yoongi x Reader
genre: fluff, angst, smut, roommates!au, college!au, fuckboi!jk, enemies to friends to lovers
summary: Star basketball player Jeon Jungkook has a reputation as the ultimate fuckboi. He’s loved by everyone. Everyone. And you would have followed suit if he had not broken all your strict Roommate Rules™ within the first week of his stay. Jungkook, on the other hand, thinks you’re absolutely bizarre. But there’s a silver lining — Mr. Fuckboi here knows basketball captain Min Yoongi, your dreadfully clueless crush. He strikes up a deal with you: he’ll teach you the ways of flirting if you lessen your load of rules (so Jungkook can continue perusing his way through the ladies on campus). Yet the longer Jungkook spends with you, the more he realizes that maybe he doesn’t want to be the campus fuckboi anymore. The problem is, how does he prove that to you?
rating: 18+ sexual content.
warnings: protected sex (twice..), oral (f. receiving), rough sex (1), a lot of making out, orgasm denial (for two secs methinks), titty sucking, cursing, alcohol consumption from parties, jk sleeps around (but not anymore?!), the basketball team is kinda disgusting, jk lowkey (highkey) be staking his claim but it’s seen in y/n pov, honestly jk and y/n are still hella confused
word count: 15.3k
a/n ✑ part dossss! thank you so much for waiting!! i adoreee this couple and i hope you enjoy the rest of their journey too <3 appreciate all of you guyss <33 (also there’s like.. one epilogue scene teehee)
pairing: Jungkook x Reader | [slight] Yoongi x Reader
genre: fluff, angst, smut, roommates!au, college!au, fuckboi!jk, enemies to friends to lovers
summary: Star basketball player Jeon Jungkook has a reputation as the ultimate fuckboi. He’s loved by everyone. Everyone. And you would have followed suit if he had not broken all your strict Roommate Rules™ within the first week of his stay. Jungkook, on the other hand, thinks you’re absolutely bizarre. But there’s a silver lining — Mr. Fuckboi here knows basketball captain Min Yoongi, your dreadfully clueless crush. He strikes up a deal with you: he’ll teach you the ways of flirting if you lessen your load of rules (so Jungkook can continue perusing his way through the ladies on campus). Yet the longer Jungkook spends with you, the more he realizes that maybe he doesn’t want to be the campus fuckboi anymore. The problem is, how does he prove that to you?
rating: 18+ sexual content.
warnings: protected sex, oral (f. receiving), handjob through clothes??, cumming in pants :D, slow burn, a lot of making out, titty sucking, cursing, alcohol consumption from parties, drug (weed) consumption (but not main pairing), marking with nails (not from y/n tho omg), jk sleeps around, and he’s a basketball player oof, honestly jk and y/n are just hella confused
word count: 20.6k
a/n ✑ it’s here, part uno! thank you so much for your patience!! i hope you enjoy this fic that was originally supposed to be 15k max… i appreciate all the support/motivation mwah mwah <3 the warnings for part two are included here as well (so if they dont show,,, it’s cuz it’s in the next one)
kiss and forget — jeon jungkook ! mini series (repost)
summary: he waits for her, wants her, but she never stays. and when she pulls away, he finds comfort in someone else. someone who never tells him no. someone like you. but how many times can you kiss and forget before it starts to mean something? before it starts to hurt?
genre : smau + written , drama + angst , uni au — engineers, art students etc.
warnings: one-sided love triangle, toxic situationship, unspoken feelings, unrequited love, emotional denial, push and pull vibes, mixed signals, jealousy, leading on, bad decisions, regrets, implied smut. big spoiler: sad ending 🩷
note: the song ’adore’ by cashmere cat ft.ariana grande lowk inspired me to write this , just the vibes tho not a direct adaptation !!!
originally; started: 5 march 2025 & ended: 27 april 2025
wooow this left me absolutely speechless!! this hit way too hard, especially since i was able to put myself in oc shoes as i also navigated a love triangle some years ago & let me tell you that it’s messy and painful, which was beautifully depicted here! thanks a lot for writing this & sharing it with us!! this was wonderful and painful at the same time 🩵
Would you ever be interested in writing an extra about the first time(s) oc and jungkook hooked up? would love to hear more of the deets of the origin story
the one where yonsei hosts a christmas staff party and one thing leads to another (the origin story).
pairing: tmhtl!jungkook x tmhtl!oc
w/c: 5.2k
warnings: flirty banter between friends, the start of their sexy chemistry, oc being very much emotionally constipated, alcohol consumption, sexually explicit content; kissing, oral (f. receiving), tipsy sex, missionary, doggy, dirty talk, the start of a long and complicated friends-with-benefits situation.
a/n: ahhhh the infamous christmas party !!! here we have our cuties hooking up for the very first time (which we know was NOT a one time thing) ☺️☺️ enjoy my lovelies !!
SERIES MASTERLIST
Yonsei University looks like a postcard in December. Snow dusts the stone stairways and settles softly on the campus quad, twinkling under golden lights strung up for that festive feeling. Inside the faculty lounge, Christmas music hums beneath the laughter of professors unwinding from finals season, the smell of cinnamon and catered finger food hanging in the air.
You've already been working at Yonsei for three years yet you've never showed up to any of these events, but you figured it's the festive season and you didn't have anything better to do except lounge around in your pyjamas with your cat.
Your dress is simple; a silky black slip with spaghetti straps that refuse to stay on your shoulders. It's pretty and elegant.
You hadn't planned to stay long, just show your face, have a drink, maybe grab a gingerbread cookie and duck out before anyone could rope you into a conversation.
But then you see him.
Professor Jeon Jungkook. Your friend. The friend that makes your stomach flip every time you see him these days.
He's by the speakers near the back of the room, sipping on a glass of eggnog and nodding along to whatever Professor Choi from the Law Department is saying. His hair is a little messy, the ends curling near the collar of his black blazer, his glasses perched on his nose, his biceps doing way too much in that fitted fabric.
You'd call him a dork if he wasn't so unfairly hot about it. If he didn't have that quiet charm, the kind that sneaks up on you. It's dangerous.
You don't realise you're staring until he catches your eye across the room and gives you a little wave. It's the same one he always does when he sees you around campus. It's warm and casual, but it makes you feel butterflies nonetheless. You smile back and head straight for the drinks table, grabbing whatever's closest so you'll have something to do with your hands.
"You came," says a familiar voice beside you.
You turn to find Jungkook standing next to you, glass in hand, slightly out of breath like he might've rushed over.
"Wouldn't miss it," you smile, raising your drink. "Nothing like lukewarm wine and underpaid academics in reindeer sweaters."
He chuckles, his cheeks flushed pink from the cold or the alcohol or maybe from you. "Yeah, I mean…where else would I rather be on a Friday night?"
You laugh softly, sipping your drink. "Well...you clean up nice, Professor Jeon. Three years of knowing you and I've never seen you this dressed up."
His eyes flick down once, quickly but you catch it. You see the way they linger a little too long on the neckline of your dress before darting back up to meet your gaze.
"You look…" he trails off, a little breathless. "Wow."
You bite back a smile. "Wow?"
"Yeah," he breathes, blinking like he just realized he said that out loud. "I mean...you always look…but tonight...uh...sorry, that sounded—"
You lean in closer, narrowing your eyes at him. "Careful, Jungkook. You're gonna make me think you're flirting with me."
He goes visibly red, looking down at his shoes. "Would that be…bad?"
You shrug, remaining playfully nonchalant. "That depends."
"On...?"
You take another sip of your drink, your gaze holding his for just a beat too long. "On how much of this wine I drink."
And the way he smiles at that, sheepish and charmed and absolutely doomed, makes your chest flutter a little too hard.
God, he's cute. And sweet. And just a little awkward, in the most endearing way. You appreciate his friendship. It's casual and easy and it makes you feel lighter on your feet, but you don't let yourself think too hard about him. Not seriously, because even now, some part of you still aches.
You don't talk to him about your past. It's been a few years since your breakup but the shadow of that heartbreak still clings to certain dates and songs and smells. The holidays are always a bit harder. You would've been happily married right now, maybe even had a little Christmas bun in the oven, and that stings. You're not completely broken anymore, at least you don't think you are, but you're still in the process of being whole again. Still, you can't help but feel yourself being magnetically pulled towards Jungkook.
Which is why, when he makes a shy little joke about getting a second glass of eggnog just to keep standing next to you, you tilt your head and smile.
"You're not always this smooth. Is it the alcohol in that eggnog?" you tease, chuckling.
He grins. "It's you."
You pause, clearly surprised. That…came out fast. Confident. Not awkward at all. His cheeks are a little flushed, and your heart races unexpectedly.
"Wow," you scoff, your lips brushing the rim of your glass. "Didn't think you had it in you, Jeon."
Jungkook shrugs, his eyes locked on yours, his smile soft and subtle. "Neither did I, honestly."
You chuckle, turning toward the snack table to mask the way your pulse just jumped. You shouldn't be flirting. This is a work event and you're still not sure if you're ready for any of that, especially with someone you've built a bond with these last couple of years. But tonight, with the soft music playing and the lights glittering against the windowpanes, and Jungkook looking at you like you're a Christmas miracle…
You think that maybe, just maybe, you'll let yourself have this one night.
—
You don't mean to end up tucked in the corner of the staff lounge, sitting quite closely on a lumpy old couch, but after a second round of eggnog and wine, the noise of the room starts to swell, everyone's loosened up, coats have come off, heels have been kicked under tables, and staff from all departments are a bit louder now, voices lifted in shared relief that the semester is finally over.
He sits beside you, his thigh pressed against yours, eggnog glass cradled between his hands.
"I'm not actually here because of the Christmas spirit," he sighs dramatically, taking a sip of his drink. "I only came for the free food and gossip."
You laugh, swirling your own drink. "So you admit it. You're part of the hallway gossip ring."
"Absolutely not. I'm more of a…quiet listener. Very stealthy."
"You're saying you're a fly on the wall?"
"I'm saying I'm practically Batman."
You snort into your drink. "Batman drinks eggnog?"
"Only on holidays," he nods. "He's festive but still broody."
"Oh, you're broody now?"
He raises an eyebrow. "Do I not seem broody?"
"You're not broody. You're…sweet," you admit, your voice a little softer now. "In a golden retriever kinda way."
Jungkook's eyes widen with mock offense. "Golden retriever? No way, ___."
You sip your drink, rolling your eyes. "You're wearing a snowflake pin on your blazer."
He glances down at it and sighs. "Okay, I suppose that's fair."
"So," you start. "I read your students' year-end reviews. I gotta ask, do you actually like teaching Econ or do you just enjoy having girls in their twenties gawk at you all day?"
Jungkook gasps before letting out a scandalised scoff. "Excuse you. They're not in my class for my looks. Econ is essential knowledge for the modern world. They're learning really important stuff in my class."
"Are they actually learning though?" you tease. "The reviews don't lie, Professor Jeon. Apparently you make supply and demand sound 'low-key sexy'. Whatever that means."
He almost chokes on his drink, looking mortified. "No. Shut up. That's not real."
"It is real. I have a screenshot."
He buries his face in his hands, groaning. The alcohol paired with your teasing is really starting to make his head spin. "God, I knew I shouldn't have let them do anonymous feedback."
You laugh, open and bright and maybe a little smug, and he looks up at you through his fingers, grinning. "You're evil, woman. You show up in that dress, looking like a Bond girl, and then you tease me? I'm defenceless, ___."
You tilt your head, a smile tugging at your lips. "You like the dress?"
Jungkook looks at you and it feels like the air tightens. His gaze flicks from your dress to your eyes, slow and a little stunned, like he's still catching up to the fact that he's sitting next to you right now.
"I love the dress," he murmurs, low and gravely, and it goes straight to your core.
He's probably just tipsy. He's probably just being nice.
But still.
It's been a long time since someone looked at you like that, like you aren't just a collection of sharp edges and failed relationships. Like you aren't something that needs fixing. Like you could be soft again.
Jungkook shifts next to you, his thigh pressing a bit more firmly against yours. You don't move away. There's a pause. The softest lull. And then—
"Can I tell you a secret?" Jungkook asks softly.
You turn your head, your eyes meeting his.
"Yeah?"
He shifts a little closer. "I was really, really hoping you'd show up tonight."
You try not to show how giddy that makes you feel. "You were?"
"Yeah," he murmurs softly, his eyes briefly flicking to your mouth before snapping back up. "I just…I like being around you. Yonsei sucks a lot less since you started working here."
You smile down at your wine, feeling that familiar jittery feeling. "So...I'm basically your emotional support coworker."
He laughs, rubbing the back of his neck. "Pretty much."
There's another pause, and for a moment you both just sit there, watching the rest of the party swirl around you. Someone clinks a glass for a toast. A group of staff laugh too loudly near the wine station. Mariah Carey croons faintly from the speakers.
"You're still kinda mysterious, you know that?" he smiles, keeping his voice low, like it's a secret just for you.
You glance at him, quirking a brow. "Me?"
"Yeah, you've got this whole mysterious thing going on even after three years of knowing each other. You're so smart, you're incredibly attractive, sharp as hell...but...you always seem like you're somewhere else in your head."
You blink, feeling rather caught off guard. "Well...maybe I just..." you trail off, trying to find your footing. "Maybe I'm just trying to figure everything out."
He looks at you, really looks at you. He doesn't push. Doesn't ask questions. He just nods like he understands, because maybe he does.
"Don't worry. We all are."
And that's how you end up staying for another hour, talking, teasing, tipsy and buzzed with something that isn't just alcohol. The music shifts to softer acoustic Christmas covers. Most of the older professors start heading out, waving goodbyes. The two of you talk about everything and nothing and all that's in between. You even share a tipsy, rather clumsy makeshift slow-dance in an empty hallway, both giggling like the twenty-something-year-olds you teach in your classes.
Jungkook offers to call a joint Uber and you accept because your head is spinning, from the alcohol and his company, and you want to allow yourself to enjoy just a little bit more time with him, even if it's on the quiet backseat of an Uber.
—
The Uber pulls up outside, the headlights cutting through the snowflakes drifting lazily from the sky. The driver rolls down the window and confirms Jungkook's name, and you both climb in, Jungkook holding the door open for you before sliding in beside you.
It's quiet in the car, comfortably so. The leather seats are warm, the low hum of the heater filling the space between you. The streets glow with the remnants of holiday cheer, twinkle lights, frosted windows, wreaths clinging to iron gates. Seoul looks calm and peaceful tonight, like it's giving you room to breathe.
You sit in the back seat, maybe a little closer than you need to. You blame it on the cold. Or the wine. Or maybe just on him.
Jungkook's thigh is warm against yours. His cologne is subtle and you feel it flow through your body with every inhale. He's got one arm resting on the back of the seat behind you, fingers brushing the top of your shoulder when the car turns slightly and you lean a bit closer than intended.
Neither of you speak at first.
You glance over at him. His gaze is fixed on the window, but his fingers twitch slightly where they rest near your shoulder, like he wants to touch you but doesn't know if he's allowed. His profile is soft in the dim car light. Pretty and a little thoughtful.
"You okay over there?" you tease gently.
He blinks, turning his head to face you. "Yeah. Just...thinking."
"About?"
His eyes drop to your mouth, and then back to your eyes.
"This kinda feels like a dream," he murmurs softly. "Like I'm gonna wake up tomorrow and it never happened."
You chuckle faintly. "You're not that drunk."
"No, I'm not," he agrees. "Just enough to tell the truth."
That makes your stomach flutter. You hold his gaze for a second longer than you should, your body leaning in closer until it's too late to back out.
"I don't know what I'm doing," you murmur, your eyes trailing down to his lips.
"Neither do I."
"Do you wanna kiss me?" you ask, your voice an airy whisper in the dark car.
He swallows. "Yeah...I really do."
The car turns a corner. Outside, traffic lights blink through falling snow. Inside, the silence between you thickens. You're still warm from the wine, but something else has started simmering now, low in your belly, your body growing impatient.
You don't even think about it before you lean in.
The kiss starts gentle. Barely a brush of lips. More of a question than a statement.
He freezes for half a second, like his brain has to catch up with what's happening. And then he kisses you back. Harder this time. His lips parting against yours, his hand sliding fully onto your shoulder, pulling you in with a quiet groan that punches straight through your chest. He tastes like alcohol and cinnamon and maybe something sweeter underneath. You shift closer, your fingers curling in the fabric of his blazer, your tongue tangling with his, and he sighs into your mouth like he's been holding his breath for years.
When the driver stops in front of your apartment building, you're still kissing. You only pull back when the car fully halts, your chest heaving, your lips swollen.
The silence is sharp.
You stare at each other, breathless, your heart racing.
He opens his mouth, like maybe he's going to apologise or make an excuse or say something logical and colleague-like, but you won't let that happen. Not tonight. You're allowing yourself one night of indulgence and you're not backing out now.
You've been dancing around this for three years. Three years of hallway glances, of playful banter in staff meetings, of brushing off compliments that felt a little too thoughtful to be casual. He's flirted with you; consistently, clumsily, sweetly, but you've always kept your distance. Not because you don't want him, but because wanting him means cracking open a part of yourself you've worked so hard to keep sealed shut. And maybe that's why it's always been so easy to leave it at surface level, because surface-level feels safe. But now with him sitting beside you, lips kiss-swollen and eyes full of everything unspoken, you realise it's never just been platonic. It's always been building up to this moment.
"Do you wanna come up?" you ask.
It's blunt. No teasing. No games.
Just an invitation.
Jungkook's eyes go wide, then dark. His throat bobs as he swallows.
"…Yeah," he nods. "Yeah. I do."
You nod once, like you're agreeing to something bigger than just tonight, and push the car door open.
He follows you out and the cold air slaps your bare legs as you walk toward your apartment building, but you barely feel it, already burning with anticipation.
—
The apartment is quiet when you step inside.
You shut the door behind you, breathing heavily, partly from the cold outside, partly from the kiss in the car you haven't quite recovered from. Moonlight filters through the blinds in soft stripes, painting shadows across the floor. Miso lifts her head from her little plush bed by the window, her big eyes blinking at the two of you before she promptly yawns and curls back into a ball.
You barely manage to slip your heels off before turning towards him again.
Jungkook stands with wide eyes, his lips slightly parted, looking like he doesn't know what to do with his hands, like he's frozen in place, too stunned to move.
You step toward him slowly.
"I'm not gonna change my mind," you whisper, your fingers tugging at the lapels of his blazer. "Stop overthinking it."
"I'm not," he says quickly, breathlessly. "I just…I've imagined this so many times and now I don't know where to start."
You laugh softly, tugging him forward by his collar and pressing your mouth to his. And just like that, he melts.
It's like something snaps loose in both of you. His hands find your waist, then your lower back, then your ass, pulling you in like he needs to feel you everywhere. The kiss turns hungry, messy. He groans against your mouth when your fingers slide into his hair, and suddenly you're backing into the hallway, nearly bumping into the bookshelf as you try to lead him blindly toward your bedroom.
You're still a little tipsy, a little dizzy, but the way he touches you sobers you in the best way. Every part of you aches. Not just with want, but with the weight of everything you've buried for so long.
You haven't done this in a while, haven't wanted to. For so long, even the thought of being touched made your chest hurt. The wounds Sunghoon left behind aren't just emotional, they carved into your body. They made you forget what desire felt like. What it meant to crave someone just because you could.
But tonight? Tonight you want to feel something again, even if it's just for one night. Even if it’s messy. Even if it ruins everything.
You shove the bedroom door open and Jungkook follows you inside, kissing you like he's afraid you'll disappear if he pulls away. His hands slip under the hem of your dress, his fingers brushing your thighs like he's getting to know the shape of them. You tug at his blazer, sliding it down his arms, and he helps you peel it off.
You reach for his shirt, your breath caught somewhere between your throat and your stomach. Jungkook stumbles a little, and you both laugh against each other's mouths, the sound breathless and shaky.
You kiss him again. Harder now. Hungrier.
Your fingers fumble with his buttons, a little clumsy from the wine and the rush, and he chuckles into your mouth when you mutter a curse under your breath.
"Sorry," you mumble, your cheeks warm. "Apparently I'm bad at undressing people. I'm a little rusty."
"No," he breathes, his eyes dark and a little dazed. "You're perfect. I'm just..."
He trails off, his hands leaving your body to rub the back of his neck, a nervous habit of his.
"I'm...really fucking nervous."
You pause, your eyebrows furrowing. "Why? It's only me."
His gaze flicks up to meet yours.
"That's the point. It's you," he whispers. "And I don't wanna mess this up."
That admission lands somewhere deep in your chest. You soften, reaching for his wrists and guiding his hands to your waist.
"You're not gonna mess it up, Jungkook."
You kiss him again, slower this time, your mouths moving in sync, the sort of kiss that leaves no room for hesitation. You feel it everywhere, in your fingertips, your chest, in the flutter low in your stomach.
He drags the zipper of your dress down with a shaking hand. The silky fabric slips off your shoulders and pools at your feet, and suddenly you're standing in front of him in nothing but your thong and the nervous, electric energy bouncing between your ribs.
His eyes roam slowly, reverently.
"You're so..." He swallows thickly, his gaze locking with yours. "Fuck."
You'd feel self conscious with his eyes on your naked skin, but the alcohol flowing through your veins says there's no time for that.
You chuckle softly, tugging at the hem of his shirt. "Take this off already."
He does, fumbling a bit in his haste. You help him out of it, and then his pants, and then it's skin against skin, heat against heat, and you're backing toward the bed with your hands tangled in his hair and your bodies wrapped in nothing but your underwear.
You fall onto the mattress in a tangle of limbs, giggles and kisses, the two of you clumsy and desperate. You roll over, straddling his hips, your hands planted on his chest. His eyes rake over you and you swear his pupils have doubled in size.
You lean down to kiss him once more, your lips moving against his softly, tenderly. And when his hands slide up your thighs, it feels like something sacred.
God, you really need this. You need to stop thinking. Stop missing and waiting and aching. For once, you just want to feel desirable.
Jungkook quickly flips you onto your back, kissing your neck and down to your breasts, pausing to swirl his tongue around a nipple like it's the sweetest thing he's tasted. You arch into him, gasping when his fingers hook into your thong.
"Can I…?" he murmurs, his voice raspy, his eyes flicking up to yours.
You nod frantically, your heart pounding against your ribcage. "Please."
The fabric slips down your legs and onto the floor, and he settles between your thighs like it's where he's always belonged, his hands holding your thighs open, his eyes trailing over your exposed core for the very first time.
"Fuck," he groans, looking at your glistening folds like it's the last drop of water in a desert. "You're so fuckin' pretty."
You want to respond, to tell him to talk less and do more, but the moment his tongue peeks out to give your folds a slow, careful lick, your head rolls back with a soft, broken whimper.
"Holy shit," you breathe.
He groans in response, your sounds going straight to his cock, and he goes straight for it, lapping at your pussy so good it makes your lungs gasp for air, his fingers gripping your thighs to stop them from trying to close.
It's a little messy, a little too eager. His rhythm falters once or twice, but it only makes your heart ache in the best way because he's trying so hard to make it good for you. And fuck, it's good.
He sucks on your clit, moaning into your pussy when your hand involuntarily tugs on his hair. His tongue flicks and circles your aching clit until your hips start to lift off the bed on their own, your moans getting louder, needier, your toes curling as he trails his tongue through your folds over and over again. You grind against his mouth, your chest heaving as the pleasure starts to coil into a tight knot in your lower belly.
You cum quickly, too quickly, with trembling thighs and his name on your lips in a quiet, desperate gasp. You don't know whether to blame the lack of action you've gotten over the past years or his amazing mouth for your inability to last longer than five minutes.
When he pulls back, his lips and chin are wet, his pupils blown wide. His chest rises and falls like he just ran a marathon. You try to catch your breath, reaching for him, your fingers sliding over his flushed chest, down to the waistband of his briefs.
"My turn," you smile, shifting to sit up, but he gently grabs your wrist, shaking his head, his hands lazily rubbing up and down your thighs.
"Don't," he pants. "If you do, I'll cum in your mouth and I..." he trails off with a laugh, his forehead pressed to your shoulder, "I won't survive that."
You blink, before letting out a breathless laugh.
"You're that hard?"
He stands up, reaches down and pulls his briefs down in one steady motion, and yeah, okay. That answers that question.
You bite your lip, your eyes widening at his size. The length, the girth, it almost makes your mouth water. It's not too big, just enough to make your thighs rub together at the sight.
"Holy shit."
He smiles shyly, crawling back onto the bed, his palm slowly fisting his cock from the tip to the thick base, his bottom lip caught between his teeth as he hovers over you, your legs opening like the gates of heaven.
"Baby," he whispers, his voice strangled. "I can't wait. I need to be inside you."
You pull him down and kiss him, soft and deep, your tongue sliding against his as you pull him down to lay over you, your knees bent on either side of his waist.
"I'm ready," you whisper. "Please."
He quickly, clumsily reaches over the side of the bed for his pants on the floor, fishing a condom out of his wallet, something that makes you snort involuntarily. Of course he went to a Christmas staff party with a condom in his wallet.
"Shut up," he scoffs, his cheeks flushed. "I swear I'm not—"
"A fuckboy?" you tease.
He grins. "Exactly. I just…like to be prepared in case...something like this might happen."
"Does this happen often after staff parties?" you scoff.
"Please," he snorts, opening the condom and rolling it in on shaky hands. "I was saving it for the cute Political Science professor who—fuck, that's something a fuckboy would say."
You don't answer. You just pull him down to kiss you again. And when he pushes into your warm, wet heat, it's slow and careful and so, so deep.
He groans into your neck, burying his face in your skin, and you gasp against his shoulder, your arms tightening around him as your legs wrap around his waist.
The first few thrusts are a little uncoordinated. He's too eager, too wound up and still so tipsy from that eggnog. But then he finds his rhythm, steady and slow and achingly good, and all you can do is hold on.
It shouldn't feel this good, this intimate. It shouldn't feel like coming home, but it does.
Jungkook kisses you like he's afraid you'll forget him after tonight. He whispers your name like a secret. He curls one hand around yours as he thrusts deeper, and you can't help clawing at his back, your mouth falling open with a moan you couldn't stop even if you tried.
"F-fuck," you gasp. "Jungkook—"
"I know, baby," he pants, kissing your cheek, your jaw, your lips. "I know."
Jungkook's hips rock forward in sensual, deep strokes, his hands cradling your jaw, your cheek, your hips, like he can't decide where he needs to touch you more. You're soaked beneath him, the stretch making your breath catch with every push, every inch he gives you.
"God, ___," he pants, staring down at you like he's seeing stars. "You feel...fuck...you feel like heaven."
You whimper his name, your walls clenching around him, and his hips stutter.
He's flushed and sweating, his abs tensing where they brush against your stomach with each thrust. He chokes on a moan and before you can pull him down for another kiss, he flips you over in one quick motion, your knees sinking into the mattress, your chest pressed to the sheets. The tipsiness makes everything feel better, your giggle turning breathy when his hands grip your hips and pull you back into him, his cock sliding between your folds at the perfect angle.
You arch your back, pushing back against his cock, and he sinks into your pussy with a filthy, guttural groan.
"Oh fuck," he grits out through his teeth. "You're so fucking tight like this..."
He thrusts deeper and rougher than before. The pace shifts from sensual to downright slutty, your skin slamming together, his nails digging into your hips, your ass bouncing against his pelvis with every hard thrust.
The pleasure makes you drool a little.
"Fuck, that's it," he mutters, his voice growing deeper. "You like the way I pound this pussy, baby?"
You bury your face in the sheets, crying out as he rams his cock into that perfect spot over and over again, the sound of skin slapping echoing in the dark room, in sync with the moonlight striping across your back.
His hand snakes around your waist, between your legs, his fingers rubbing frantic circles against your clit. You jerk, your hips twitching, the pleasure rocketing up your spine like lightning.
"Cum for me," he pants. "C'mon, baby...wanna feel you cum all over this cock..."
And you do.
Hard.
You cry out his name as your orgasm hits you, your thighs shaking, your back arching as the coil of pleasure snaps and washes over you.
He lets out a strangled gasp, thrusts twice more, and then spills into the condom with a desperate moan, collapsing over your back as he rides it out, his mouth pressed to your spine while he gives you a few more messy thrusts.
Everything stills.
All you can hear is the sound of your ragged breaths and the city outside.
He slowly pulls out of you and immediately wraps his arms around your waist, kissing down your spine, your shoulder, the side of your neck.
"…Shit," he breathes. "Are you okay?"
You hum, still breathless and hazy. "More than okay. I don't think I've...ever came like that before..."
He rolls onto his side and tugs you into his chest, both of you a sweaty, flushed mess, limbs tangled, bodies still buzzing from the pleasure.
"Wanna go clean up?" he mumbles against the skin of your shoulder, his legs tangling with yours.
"In a minute," you mumble, your eyes already in the process of falling shut.
You know this changes things. That come tomorrow morning, when the haze of wine and desire has faded into sore limbs and consequences, there'll be a conversation waiting for you about what this means, about where you stand. You and Jungkook work together. You're friends, Just friends, yet now your naked body is tucked against his, your scent on his skin, his cock still semi-hard after being inside you.
This isn't nothing, but you're not ready for love. Not when you're still figuring out how to live with your past. You don't know how to let someone in without flinching. You don't even know how to receive love, let alone give it. Not yet. This will probably just be a one-time thing that you two will laugh about in the future when you're reminiscing.
Still, those are tomorrow's thoughts. For now, all you want is this; his warm skin, your tangled legs, the moonlight shining across your skin, and the safe, steady beat of Jungkook's heart against your back.
A cat is a small creature in the middle of the food chain that is fully aware that you are a very large thing that could stomp its head in at any moment and yet it chooses to rest its tiny little head on your leg for a nap and spreads out on the floor near you exposing its belly and its most sensitive organs. It brings dead mice and bugs to you to share food.
Don’t you get it? This tiny thing trusts you. It wants to help you too. It licks your leg thinking that it’s helping. It kneads on you to find comfort. It shares its body warmth with you in the cold and gives you your space in the heat. It hisses at other mammals it sees outside including other cats in an effort to protect its family.
Cats love you so so much. But they will keep trying to eat plastic.
we need (tmhtl/oll) oc thigh riding jk's thick thighs please for the sake of my health and wellbeing
the one where jungkook has some grading to do but you're ovulating and he looks too good in professor mode 🫣
pairing: tmhtl!jungkook x tmhtl!oc
w/c: 1.3k
warnings: oc's ovulating and needy for her man, jk wearing nothing but his slutty little glasses and boxer briefs, thigh riding, f. orgasm.
a/n: i know i said i'd wait to do drabbles once the main story is complete but i couldn't resist this one LMAO
SERIES MASTERLIST
Jungkook sits at the dining table in nothing but boxer briefs and his glasses, a fortress of his students' assignments around him. The red pen is uncapped between his fingers, his knee bouncing, his hair fluffy and messy after tugging at it every time a student forgets what a thesis statement is.
Your hormones are a low, insistent drum. It's that time of the month, that insatiable week when your body feels like a match that's been lit and the sight of his bare thigh under the table does terrible, wonderful things to your lady bits.
"Baby," you huff, leaning your hip against the edge of the table, wearing one of his old t-shirts and a pair of cotton panties. "How many left?"
"Too many," he sighs without looking up. He pushes his glasses up the bridge of his nose, his eyes scanning the paper. "If one more person writes 'in today's society' I'm assigning jail time."
You round his chair, sliding your hands over his shoulders, your thumbs kneading the sore knots there. He melts a little, his head tipping back in satisfaction. The pen stalls but he doesn't put it down. He won't until he's finished.
"You smell good," you murmur against his ear, and he smiles like he knows exactly what game you're playing.
"Mm. It's fabric softener and despair." He taps the paper with the tip of the pen. "Gimme twenty minutes, baby."
Twenty minutes is a century and your body is a live wire. You silently drift over to his side, then to his lap. Well, kinda. You swing a leg over one of his thick, warm thighs, and settle. It's casual. Innocent enough.
He shoots you a side-eye that's half amusement, half warning.
"You like when I sit with you while you grade," you murmur sweetly. "I'm sitting."
"Uh-huh." His tone is dry but his hand finds your knee, his thumb drawing idle circles that already make you want to purr. "Behave."
You intend to. For maybe…six seconds. You really try but the curve of his quad is right there, the muscle dense beneath his honey skin, and your ovaries have a mind of their own. You shift, just a little. Heat shoots up your spine. The cotton between your legs drags, and your breath hitches.
His pen pauses. "I thought you said sit, not hump."
"I'm not," you whisper, rocking again, slow enough to pretend it's nothing. Your head drops to his shoulder, your eyelashes lightly fluttering against his jaw. "I'm just…getting comfortable."
He laughs under his breath, low and warm. "You're ovulating, aren't you?"
The word sends a fresh spark through you. You smile, your face pressed into his neck. "Maybe."
He turns his head just slightly, brushing his nose along your cheek. "No wonder you've been clinging to me all day," he smiles. He doesn't push you away. If anything, his palm slips higher up your thigh, heat spreading under his touch. "You know, my dick would feel a lot better than my thigh if you'd just wait a little longer."
You shake your head, grinding down once more, letting out a breathy moan. "Feels good like this. You finish up. I can be quiet," you promise, which is a lie and you both know it.
He turns his attention back to grading, but you feel the shift in his body, his attention split between his work and the way you start a careful grind, forward and back, a slow press of your clit to his thigh muscle. The friction is sinful. You breathe through your nose, your mouth parted against the warm skin of his shoulder, trying not to moan when he flexes his quad without warning.
"Fuck," he mutters, his eyes flicking down behind his lenses to watch the gentle rock of your hips, his free hand moving down to gently guide you. "Feeling good?"
"S-so good," you whimper, bracing your hands on his shoulders, letting your body take over. The world narrows to the delicious feeling in your gut as your clit rubs along his thigh through your cotton panties, to the way he subtly flexes his muscle, gentle at first, then firmer when the first whine slips out of your mouth. Your underwear's already soaked, making it feel even better. It's sinful and almost embarrassing how desperately your body begs him for relief.
The curve of his quad makes you shiver, smooth skin stretched over taut muscle, flexing beneath you like it knows it's being used for your pleasure. Every twitch sends a jolt straight to your swollen clit, and his boxer briefs do little to hide how hard he's getting from watching you fall apart on his thigh alone.
"Kook," you whisper, and the way his name falls out of you makes his jaw clench.
"Use your words." His voice drops to a deep rumble. "Tell me what you want."
"I wanna..." you breathe, your head spinning with arousal. "Wanna...cum."
"Yeah? Is my baby's pussy aching?" he teases, sounding smug. His pen finds the margin again, scribbling a note you can't make out right now while he snakes his other hand around your hip to give your asscheek a firm slap. "Go faster."
Your hips pick up a quick rhythm as you ride his thigh, your breathing growing ragged. He eases his chair back an inch to give you more room and the chair creaks as you start grinding harder. A paper slides to the floor but neither of you care to pick it up. His glasses sit pretty on the bridge of his nose, his tongue peeking out to wet his bottom lip, his pupils dilated as he watches you take what you need. He feels your leaking pussy clench against his thigh, the slick sounds of your arousal making his heart race.
The muscle under you hardens as he flexes his thigh again. You gasp, your body tipping forward, your palms flattening against his bare chest. He bounces his knee once, twice, and your breath breaks into short, needy little whimpers you can't smother.
"Shh," he coos, his lips brushing against your ear. "You said you could be quiet, remember?"
"Trying," you whimper, and he rewards you with a kiss to your neck that goes straight to your pussy. The friction is perfect, your clit pulsing, your eyes furrowed shut. He doesn't even care that the hem of his boxer briefs is soaked because all he can focus on is the look on your face and the breathy whines falling from your lips.
"Be good and cum for me," he whispers in your ear, his palm coming down sharply on your asscheek in another slap. "Make a mess on me, baby."
The tight coil in your gut unravels without warning, a desperate grind and your hips stutter. He tenses his quad, making your eyes roll back in your head. Pleasure hits you like a warm surge in your lower belly, your pussy clenching around nothing, letting out an airy groan into his neck as your orgasm crashes over you, your thighs trembling around his.
"That's it, baby," he coos, his hand rubbing slow, soothing circles over your asscheek while you ride through your orgasm. "There you go. Take your time."
You pant against his shoulder, boneless, the pleasure slowly blurring into gentle aftershocks as you grind down a few more times on instinct. He sets the pen down, kisses your cheek, then your mouth, soft, proud, just a touch smug.
"A+," he grins. "Exceptional thesis. Strong supporting evidence."
"Professor of the year," you scoff, but you're already sliding off his thigh, your fingers curling in the waistband of his boxers, leading him away from the table with a dangerous little smile.
"Yeah?" he grins, pulling his glasses off his face as he follows, his excitement and anticipation evident in his voice. "You're getting extra credit just for that."
jeon jungkook, a fellow professor at yonsei university, is your friend, co-worker, and secret bed buddy. you have rules set in place to make sure there are no misunderstandings in your little arrangement. the #1 rule is as clear as day; no catching feelings. simple, right? wrong. let's see how un-simple it gets when a certain economics professor falls for an emotionally unavailable political science professor.
jeon jungkook, a fellow professor at yonsei university, is your friend, co-worker, and secret bed buddy. you have rules set in place to make sure there are no misunderstandings in your little arrangement. the #1 rule is as clear as day; no catching feelings. simple, right? wrong. let's see how un-simple it gets when a certain economics professor falls for an emotionally unavailable political science professor.
pairing: professor!jungkook x (fem) professor!reader, fwb to lovers
genre: fluff, angst, smut, fwb au, economicsprofessor!jungkook, politicalscienceprofessor!reader, slow burn, some emotional constipation, some sappy moments, lots of sexy moments.
rating: 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!
w/c: 13.6k
warnings: namjoon and mai's wedding, mentions of anxiety and feelings of panic, oc blames herself for her past failed relationship, jk being jk, they slow dance, hana appearance (not the last), lots of feelings, explicit sexual content; soft romantic sex, looooots of kissing, brief nipple play, oral (f. receiving), he jerks it for two seconds, unprotected sex (she's on the pill, chill out) passionate missionary sex, domestic grocery shopping, angst angst angsty ending, lots of self doubt and tears 🫣
a/n: i apologize in advance 🫥😭😭 the angst has arrived LMAOOO y'all please don't hate my girl oc, she's doing her best, okay? anyway, i'd love to hear all of your thoughts on this one, your comments and asks always make my day !!!! lots of love my angels 🫂
Jungkook has always been a fan of weddings. Some might call him a sap and make fun of him for getting excited about seeing the bride walk down the aisle, or for tearing up at the speeches, but he really doesn't care. He loves it. He especially loves that he gets to witness two of his closest friends tie the knot in just a couple of hours.
For you on the other hand, today is a bit less joyful. That's not to say you're not happy for Namjoon and Mai, because you are. You've grown to really like his friends and you hope their marriage is filled with nothing but happiness and endless love. You're just not a big lover of weddings in general. It could just be the resentment of your failed engagement that you've tucked away in your heart that seems to be clawing its way up to the surface. To you, weddings are just a reminder of everything you've lost.
"Why aren't you dressed yet?" Jihyo asks, her eyes wide as she takes in your pyjama-clad appearance through the screen of her phone. She's already dressed and ready to go in a navy floor-length gown, looking her very best to impress Taehyung, who asked her to be his plus-one.
The FaceTime call was intended for her to ask your opinion on her choice of earrings, but instead, she's caught you in the middle of an anxious spiral.
"I don't know if I can do this," you blurt out, letting out a deep sigh.
"What? Of course you can-"
"No, seriously. I haven't been to a wedding since my cousin's last year and I only stayed for an hour then left," you mutter, chewing on your bottom lip.
When you agreed to be Jungkook's date to the wedding, you were still on cloud-nine after Jeju, your rose coloured glasses still perched snugly on the bridge of your nose. Now? Now you're second guessing everything, your brain yelling at you to take ten steps back.
"Okay, just...breathe. Everything's gonna be fine," Jihyo reassures you. "I know this is out of your comfort zone, but I promise, you're gonna be okay. What happened with Sunghoon doesn't define you. You can do this. You're gonna go and you're gonna dance with Sexyboots and you're gonna have champagne and you'll look hot doing it. And I'll be there if you need me."
Her words bring your anxiety down from a 10 to a 5.
"What if I cry?"
"Then you cry, so what?" She shrugs, offering you a soft smile. "That's okay. It's a wedding, you'll just blend in with everyone else who's crying."
She's got a good point.
"What if I throw up? You know I throw up when I'm really anxious."
"Then I'll just say you had some bad Chinese food. ___, I'm not letting you back out of this."
"Why nooot?" you whine, plopping down on your bed with a huff and a roll of your eyes.
"Because I'm not going to this wedding without you. And a little itty-bitty wedding does not have the power over you to make you this stressed out. Now get your ass up and go get dressed before Jungkook gets there and sees you like this."
You know you can't argue with Jihyo when she speaks in that tone. And besides, she's right, it's just a wedding. So what if your fiancé slept with one of your friends a month before your wedding? No big deal. You just have to put on your big girl panties and go.
After another twenty minutes of trying to find an excuse not to go, and ultimately failing, you force yourself to get up and take a shower, scrubbing your skin until it hurts in an attempt to distract your brain from impending doom. You work almost robotically, doing your hair and makeup on autopilot. When you open your closet to get your dress, you catch a glimpse of that pesky white tulle peeking out from behind the rest of the clothes, as if it's mocking you.
You'll have to throw that thing away one of these days.
By the time you've zipped up your dress, there's a knock at the front door. It's him. You rush to give yourself one last glance in the mirror, making sure every hair is in place before going to get the door.
"Hey, you- woah..." Jungkook's jaw goes slack, his eyes growing in size as he drinks you in. He swallows thickly, his hands fidgeting at his sides. "You look...you're...wow..."
You'd think he was overreacting if you didn't feel the same about his attire. Seeing him in his tux, with his hair styled in that way that makes his face look extra chiselled, has your face flushing and your heart racing.
"You look...wow too," you chuckle, feeling a lot lighter than you did a minute ago. "I like your suit."
"I like your dress," he murmurs, his lungs feeling like he just ran up a flight of stairs. "You're gorgeous."
You want to tell him that he's gorgeous, but instead, you roll your eyes, grab your purse and kiss an unbothered Miso goodbye before making your way out. The short trip down to his car is silent, both of you feeling some nerves, both for very different reasons.
He opens the passenger side door for you and makes his way to the driver's seat, starting the route to the venue. He puts on some music while he drives, absentmindedly tapping his fingers along the steering wheel. He can sense how busy your brain is by the way you fidget with your hands in your lap, but he isn't quite sure how to approach the matter.
"Everything okay?" he asks, quickly glancing over at you before turning his eyes back to the road.
"Mhm," you nod, staring out the window. "Weddings just make me a bit emotional."
He wouldn't call the look on your face emotional, more so anxious, but he won't call you out for it. Instead he tries to lighten the mood, stepping around the obvious tension.
"Well, you can cry on my shoulder if you want," he smiles. "Thankfully my suit is black, so no one will ever notice if you get mascara on it."
You scoff, forcing a faint smile across your lips. "Right."
He keeps glancing your way, watching you intently. He looks as if he's trying to read your thoughts, but he's not Charles Xavier and he can't do that, so he settles on making lighthearted conversation until you reach the venue.
"Y'know, I'm not the best dancer but I do hope you'll save me a dance tonight," he murmurs, subtly glancing over at you.
"Please, I have two left feet," you scoff.
"Well, I happen to have two right feet, so I guess it works out then."
The smile that tugs at the corners of your lips is too strong to fight, so you give in and let it settle across your face.
When you arrive at the wedding venue, it looks like something out of a fairytale. It's a stunning outdoor ceremony, with rows of elegant chairs for guests to be seated and decorative flower arrangements, with a few violinists seated at the entrance, waiting for their cue to begin playing. The weather is warm with a slight breeze, the seasons slowly transitioning from summer to autumn, creating just the right temperature for a wedding.
Most of the other guests are already there when the two of you arrive. You spot his friends sitting in a row behind Namjoon and Mai's family members, everyone looking their best to celebrate the happy couple. You and Jungkook make your way over, sitting next to Jihyo and Taehyung, who have apparently been flirting like horny teenagers for the past thirty minutes, according to Yoongi.
"Hey, how're you feeling?" Jihyo whispers while Jungkook and his friends make their way to the front to talk to a nervous-looking Namjoon.
"I'm good," you nod, not wanting to take away from Namjoon and Mai's big day.
She can see the slight unease on your face, but this is neither the time nor the place to do a deep dive on your personal issues, so she nods and takes your word for it. She'll speak to you about it tomorrow over a pint of ice cream and some Real Housewives of Beverly Hills.
"You and Taehyung seem pretty cozy," you whisper, shooting her a little grin.
"He's so sweet," she sighs. "He brought me flowers when he came to pick me up at my apartment."
"You really like him, huh?"
She nods, smiling down at her lap. "I do, yeah...and that suit he's wearing makes me wanna suck his dick real bad."
"Jesus Christ," you mutter under your breath, looking around to make sure Namjoon and Mai's parents didn't hear that.
"What about you? Are things okay with...?" She gestures towards Jungkook with her eyes.
You look over at him, watching the way he laughs at something Hoseok said, the way his nose scrunches up and his eyes squeeze shut. He's beautiful in the late afternoon sunlight, his presence filling you with a warmth that overpowers the light autumn breeze.
"Yeah," you nod, feeling a smile start to tug at the corners of your lips as he makes his way over to take his seat next to you.
"Everything okay?" he asks, picking up on your stare.
You nod, leaning a bit closer to his side. Your smile reassures him that everything is more than okay. When you're with him, you're okay.
Jihyo watches the two of you with a soft smile on her face, picking up on the instant shift in your mood. You seem happier when he's near, your smile growing wider when he whispers in your ear to tell you that he likes your hair in this style, his fingers gently brushing a few stray strands behind your ear. Jihyo knows your feelings for him go way deeper than you'd like to admit, and when Taehyung makes a flirty comment about love being in the air, she can't agree more.
An announcement is made for everyone to take their seats, signaling that the ceremony is about to start. Everyone quiets down, the violinists getting their bows ready to begin playing the opening melody. Soon, the music starts and everyone watches as Mai's father leads her down the aisle, her dress trailing behind her with every step she takes. She looks like an angel draped in lace and tulle, her smile radiant as she walks towards the love of her life.
Your vision starts to blur with unshed tears as you glance over at the groom, watching as he struggles to keep his emotions at bay. He holds himself together as best he can when he shakes Mai's father's hand in a silent promise to take care of his daughter.
Namjoon takes one look at his bride and it's like everyone and everything else fades away. He takes her hands in his and vows to cherish her and protect her, to love her until they are both nothing but dust and bones. Mai reaches out to dry his tears, promising to love him through all of life's challenges, making a vow to be his wife now and forever.
There isn't a dry eye in sight, so you don't look out of place when the tears stream down your cheeks, putting up a good fight against the layers of setting spray plastered over your makeup. It's a hard moment for you, but you push through for Namjoon and Mai, and when the ceremony ends with a tearful kiss between the happy couple, you clap and cheer, and you wish them nothing but the best.
Everyone makes their way to the reception area after the ceremony. The marquee is breathtaking, draped in soft ivory fabrics that flutter gently in the early evening breeze, with twinkling fairy lights hanging overhead, casting a warm glow. Long tables are elegantly set throughout, each adorned with crisp white table linens, floral displays and flickering candles. As guests begin to gather inside, laughter and soft jazz music fill the air, creating a warm atmosphere that adds to the beauty of the surroundings.
You take your seat next to Jungkook, sitting at a table with Jihyo, Taehyung, Seokjin and Jisoo, and their two sons, Dohyun and Moonbin. Unfortunately, they had to leave their youngest at home with Jisoo's mom because he's a bit too young for such a long night out. Seated at the next table are Jimin, Hana, Yoongi and his date, Areum, and Hoseok and his date, Eunji, along with two of Namjoon's co-workers. Everyone mingles throughout dinner, enjoying the delicious spread of food and drinks.
"They grow up so fast," Seokjin teases. "It feels like just yesterday when Joon asked her to be his girlfriend."
"I remember him being so nervous to ask her out, spamming the group chat to let us know he was gonna do it," Jungkook chuckles.
"They make a beautiful couple," you muse quietly, looking over at Namjoon and Mai at the head table, Namjoon looking at his wife with stars in his eyes. It's the same look the man to your left gives you when you're not paying attention.
"They're gonna have the best sex on their honeymoon," Taehyung mutters, stuffing a huge wedge of roasted potato into his mouth.
"Language, Tae," Jisoo chides, trying to cover Dohyun and Moonbin's ears, even though the ten-year-old and seven-year-old have already heard and are now snickering amongst themselves.
"Honeymoon sex is the best sex," Seokjin grins smugly before taking a sip of his champagne, earning a swat from his wife.
"That's enough out of you," Jisoo grumbles, shaking her head.
"What?! It's true!" Seokjin chuckles, resting his arm over the back of her chair. "How do you think we made this little guy," he grins, reaching around her back to ruffle Dohyun's hair, earning a "Gross, dad!" from their eldest son.
"Where do you think we'll have our honeymoon?" Taehyung asks Jihyo. Normally, a woman would tell him he's crazy for making a joke like that after barely two months of flirty texts and a drunk hookup on the night they met. Jihyo, however, falls right into step alongside him.
"Maybe Italy. They have nice beaches," she smiles.
"I guess I should start practicing my Italian. All I know is ciao and spaghetti."
"Wow, you're an educator?" Seokjin scoffs.
"Hey, I teach English Lit, not Italian," he shrugs.
Jihyo laughs, making a comment about getting him into a speedo on an Italian beach, to which Taehyung responds with a joke about being The Rock's body double in Baywatch, earning a cackle from Seokjin.
"You're cute," Jihyo leans in to whisper, a smile breaking out on Taehyung's face.
"You're cute," he grins.
You watch from across the table as the two throw flirty words back and forth, clearly enjoying whatever it is the two of them have going on. They seem to pair well together. She laughs at his jokes, like, actually laughs. He seems to like making her laugh, cracking jokes just to see her reaction. It's sweet.
Dessert is served and speeches follow shortly after, some friends and family members saying a few heartfelt words. Mai's maid of honour, her sister, gives a speech about having an amazing older sister to look up to, and her father makes everyone tear up with his speech about letting go of his daughter and trusting another man to love and care for her. As the best man, Seokjin gives a particularly moving speech about watching his best friend, Namjoon, fall in love, pulling a few awww's from the guests. You hear a soft sniffle coming from your left, so you glance over at Jungkook to find him wiping his eye with his thumb, his bottom lip caught between his teeth.
"Are you crying?" you whisper, forcing down a smile.
"No, I just...the flowers are irritating my allergies," he mumbles, avoiding eye contact.
You smile, finding it hard to resist leaning over to plant a kiss to his pouty lips. If it weren't for all these people, you probably would, but you can't risk letting everyone in on the feelings you harbour for him. Still, the risk of being caught doesn't stop you from reaching out for his hand under the table and absentmindedly playing with his fingers until they end up intertwined with yours.
Once the speeches are over, the live band starts back up, soft jazz music filling the marquee. A few guests even make their way onto the dance floor with their significant others while Namjoon and Mai start making their rounds to talk to their friends and family members. Jungkook gets up from his seat, taking the opportunity to stretch his legs a bit.
"I'm gonna go to the bathroom," he whispers. "I'll be right back, okay?"
You nod and watch as he walks off, occasionally greeting a few of Namjoon's relatives on the way to the bathroom. He seems to have a real way with people, Namjoon's grandmother greeting him like he's her own grandson. It's a strange feeling to see how people naturally gravitate towards him. He's charismatic in a soft-spoken, gentle kind of way. He's able to engage in conversation about basically anything. Dohyun and Moonbin call him Uncle Jungkook, the cool uncle who buys them Lego's and lets them take his cute dog on walks. He's kind, and polite, and he cries at weddings, and he radiates love. It's practically impossible not to love him, so you feel justified in your feelings when you see just how loved he is by everyone else around him.
Some of his friends make their way outside to get some fresh air, some going to get champagne at the bar area, while Jihyo gets spun around by Taehyung on the dance floor. Mai spots you sitting alone, so she makes her way over, trying not to mess up her dress when she sits down next to you.
"Hey, pretty lady," she smiles, looking even more radiant up close. "You having fun?"
"I am," you murmur, a soft smile gracing your face. "You make a beautiful bride, Mai."
Mai waves you off, playfully rolling her eyes. "Please, I cried all my makeup off."
"I think Namjoon might have cried more than you, so you're good," you tease.
She throws her head back in laughter, glancing over at her husband who seems to be having a heartfelt conversation with a few of his aunties. "Isn't it insane? I'm married to that guy."
You feel a pit start to grow in your stomach, but you smile and nod, and you make conversation to drown out the little voice in your head taunting you.
'It's all your own fault that you're not married.'
'Sunghoon was right, you prioritised your job and drove him away.'
'Jungkook won't want you when he realizes how much baggage you carry.'
"So," Mai lightly nudges your arm, pulling you out of your daze. "Where's your guy?"
The mention of Jungkook seems to soothe you. A smile threatens to break out across your face at her referring to him as your guy. Is he your guy? You want to deny it, but instead you indulge in the giddy feeling for a bit longer.
"He went to the bathroom. He should be back anytime now."
"What do you say, are you two next in line?" she teases, holding up her ring finger with a smirk on her face.
Please, as if you'd ever allow yourself to get as far as that again.
"Don't start that," you scoff, giving her a pointed look.
"Hey, I'm just saying. I saw the two of you earlier during dinner. He was practically drooling over you while you weren't looking."
"He was not."
"How long are we gonna keep doing this?" She chuckles, rolling her eyes. "You say you're just friends, then I say you're crazy because you're obviously-"
"We're obviously just two adults who get along," you shrug, feigning ignorance.
Mai watches the way you look down at your lap to avoid her eyes. She knows it's because you don't believe your own words, and she can see you clearly have more layers hiding beneath the surface.
"Look," she sighs, her tone turning softer. "I know we haven't known each other for very long, but I really like you and I think we're building a real friendship...and I can tell you might have some things holding you back from being honest with yourself."
You glance over at her, feeling naked under her gaze. She can see right through you, and you hate it. You hate that you can't run away from your baggage forever. You hate how right she is.
"___, I may not know everything and I don't mean to overstep, so feel free to correct me if I'm wrong...but I see the way you look at each other. Friends don't look at or treat one another the way you do."
You can't say that she's wrong, so you don't say anything at all. You don't know how to say what you really feel. You don't know how to explain that you're so scared of getting hurt, so you don't allow yourself to indulge in the things that could end up hurting you. You want to be honest and shout out loud that you love him, that you want to be loved by him, but you find that it's easier to love him from a distance than to risk getting your heart broken again.
"I'm sorry if I overstepped," she murmurs softly, offering you an apologetic smile.
You know she means well, and she hasn't said anything that isn't true. "No, no, it's, uhm...it's okay, Mai."
She excuses herself when Namjoon calls her over to join the conversation he's having with her parents, not leaving without a hug. She leans down and wraps her arms around your shoulders, whispering a soft, "Please, give him a chance," before walking off to join her husband.
You watch with a smile as Jihyo and Taehyung dance to an upbeat jazz song. He dips her as a grand finale, the song coming to an end with a saxophone and drum harmony. The band prepares for the next song as a female singer steps up to the mic, the opening melody of 'A love that will last' by Renee Olstead floating through the marquee. You're so caught up in watching the couples fill the dance floor, you almost don't notice the soft tap on your shoulder and the whisper of a velvety voice in your ear.
"I think you owe me a dance, Professor."
You glance up at Jungkook, your heart pounding in your ears. His hand is outstretched, palm up, waiting for yours.
"Jungkook," you breathe out a soft chuckle, as if he's crazy for even suggesting it.
"C'mon," he whispers, subtly cocking his head to the side. "One dance."
Your heart lurches at the thought of potentially embarrassing yourself. You haven't slow danced since your prom night, and even then, it was more of an awkward shuffle than anything remotely graceful, but the way he's looking at you has you nodding in resignation. "Okay...one dance..."
You hesitate for only a second before slipping your fingers into his. His grip is gentle, leading you to the dance floor with practiced ease. The music drifts through the marquee, a romantic melody wrapping around the two of you like a secret. His other hand finds the small of your back, and suddenly, you're closer than you expected. Jungkook sways with you, his movements effortless, like he's done this a million times in his head. His thumb brushes the back of your hand absentmindedly, a nervous habit or maybe something more. His gaze flickers down to you, dark eyes unreadable, but there's something tender about the way he looks at you, like you're more than just a habit he can't break, more than a friend. It's not the first time he's held you, not even the most intimate touch you've shared, but something about this moment feels so different.
"You really do look beautiful tonight," he murmurs, barely loud enough to hear over the music.
A warmth creeps up your spine. "You clean up pretty good yourself."
He smiles, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes. Instead, there's something wistful in the way he looks at you, something unsaid lingering between you.
You let your head rest lightly against his chest, just for a moment, just long enough to feel the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath the layers of his suit. You breathe in his cologne, warm and familiar, a reminder of nights tangled in sheets and whispered confessions that never quite crossed the line.
Jungkook holds you like he's afraid to let go, like if he does, you'll slip through his fingers completely. There's a weight in his chest, a truth sitting heavy on his tongue, but he swallows it down.
"I remember dancing with you at that Christmas party four years ago," you muse, your voice soft, barely above a whisper.
His face breaks out into a grin. "God, we were so drunk that night."
The night everything came to be.
You breathe out a quiet chuckle before your face melts into something softer. "It didn't feel like this though."
Jungkook chuckles, a quiet, breathy sound against your ear. "No?"
You shake your head. "This is different. Feels like it actually…means something."
It slips out before you can stop it, and for a split second, neither of you move. The words hang between you. You feel Jungkook's hold tighten, just a fraction, before he exhales slowly.
"What if it always has?"
Your heart stutters.
Jungkook doesn't look at you when he says it, his gaze fixed somewhere over your shoulder, like he's scared of what he might find in your eyes. But his hand at your waist lingers, his fingers flexing like he wants to pull you even closer, like he wants you to understand something he can't bring himself to say out loud.
You don't know how to respond, so you don't. Not yet. Instead, you let the music carry you, let yourself melt into the warmth of his embrace.
Your lack of reciprocation doesn't deter him. If anything, he holds you closer, his fingers curling into the fabric of your dress like he's memorizing the way it feels to hold you like this. Then he leans down, just enough that his lips brush your temple in the lightest of touches. He lingers for a second too long. A second that tells you everything his words can't.
And then, just like that, the song ends.
Jungkook steps back, forcing a small smile. "I should, uh, get us some drinks," he mutters, reluctantly putting space between you.
You nod, even though something inside you screams for him to stay, because for the first time, you realize that maybe you aren't the only one who's been pretending this whole time. Well, maybe he hasn't been pretending. Maybe you've just been too afraid to look a little closer, dig a little deeper. If you had, you would've noticed how brightly the truth shines in his big brown eyes.
You stand in the middle of the dance floor and watch as he walks off in the direction of the bar, disappearing into the sea of guests. You shouldn't be disappointed. You keep him at arm's length for a reason, yet that reason is starting to seem a bit hazy at the moment.
While he goes to get you some champagne and a water for himself—because he is ever the responsible driver—you take a moment to yourself, silently exiting the marquee to get some fresh air in a more secluded spot outside. The sky is illuminated by stars and twinkling lights draped throughout the garden outside, the music faintly drifting through the air in the background.
The night air is crisp against your skin, a stark contrast to the warmth of the crowded reception. You inhale deeply, letting the coolness settle in your lungs, trying to still the racing thoughts in your head. The way Jungkook held you, the way his voice sounded, gentle and sincere.
You shake your head to clear it. This isn't new. You and Jungkook have always blurred the lines, dancing on the edge of something deeper without ever taking the plunge. He's your secret, your safe indulgence. But tonight...it's different.
You exhale, absentmindedly rubbing your hands over your arms as if that will do anything to settle the nervous energy buzzing beneath your skin. He said he'd get you a drink, and you wonder what's taking him so long. Maybe he got caught up in conversation with one of his friends or Namjoon's relatives, or maybe he's-
Your thoughts are cut off when you turn around and take a quick glance toward the marquee entrance, your stomach twisting. Jungkook stands near the bar, a glass of water in one hand, a flute of champagne in the other. But he's not alone.
Hana.
She leans in just a little too close, flashing that perfectly calculated smile of hers, the kind that makes your skin crawl. Her manicured fingers brush against his forearm as she laughs at something he said, which probably wasn't funny enough to warrant such a boisterous laugh.
You try to convince yourself it doesn't mean anything, that it's just Jungkook being Jungkook—too polite, too non-confrontational, too oblivious to the way women like Hana take an inch and twist it into a mile. But the longer you watch, the harder it gets to ignore the way she leans into him, the way she tucks a strand of hair behind her ear, the way she bats her lashes up at him. And the worst part is that he doesn't immediately pull away.
He doesn't flirt back. Surely not. But he doesn't shut her down either.
A bitter taste rises in your throat.
Maybe this is your fault. Maybe this is what happens when you pretend things don't matter when they do. When you are so incessant on keeping things casual, making sure nothing changes, that you take too long to acknowledge the truth staring right in your face.
Jungkook does mean something to you.
The idea of someone else wanting him makes something twist inside you, something hot and possessive and terrifyingly raw. You don’t even realize your fingers have curled into fists at your sides until Jungkook suddenly glances up, eyes sweeping the crowd as if searching for something. Or someone.
You.
The moment his gaze finds yours, something shifts. His expression softens, the corners of his lips turning up ever so slightly. Then, almost instinctively, he takes a step back from Hana, just enough to put space between them, to make his intentions clear.
Hana notices too. Her smile tightens as she follows his line of sight, her eyes narrowing when she spots you standing there. For a second, her lips part like she's about to say something, but Jungkook is already moving, leaving her behind without a second thought, heading straight for you.
Jungkook stops in front of you, holding out the flute of champagne with a faint smile. His eyes flicker over your face, searching, as if he can sense the storm brewing beneath your carefully crafted exterior.
"Thought I lost you for a second."
You force a small, hollow smile. "Well...you found me."
He studies you, eyes flickering across your face like he can see right through you. Maybe he can. So, you look away, pretending to sip your champagne even though your stomach is twisted in knots.
"Everything okay?" His voice is quiet, but it cuts through the noise in your head with ease.
You should say yes. Should flash him a smile, play it off like nothing's wrong, but the sight of Hana's hand on his arm is still burned into your mind, tangled up with memories you thought you buried long ago.
This isn't about Hana or Jungkook. It's about a different man who swore he loved you, who got down on one knee and asked you to spend forever with him, only to turn around and throw it all away.
Seven years.
You spent seven years with someone who once made you feel like the center of his world, until you weren't.
"You never made time for me."
Sunghoon's words had cut deeper than the betrayal itself, because in the end, he hadn't just broken your heart, he'd made you feel like it was your fault. Like if you had just been more for him, he wouldn't have strayed.
That is why you promised yourself that what you have with Jungkook is nothing more than convenience, that it doesn't matter if he ever falls for someone else, someone with fewer walls, someone who isn't afraid to love him the way he deserves. But standing here now, heart hammering in your chest as he watches you with quiet concern, you know with certainty that you've already broken that promise.
Jungkook stands before you, watching you with a quiet intensity. You know he's not Sunghoon, but that doesn't make it less terrifying.
You force a smile. "Yeah. Just needed some air, that's all."
Jungkook doesn't look convinced. His head tilts slightly, eyes narrowing. "You sure?"
You should deflect, should change the subject, but instead, the words slip out before you can stop them. "She likes you, you know."
Jungkook blinks, momentarily caught off guard. "Huh?"
You huff a quiet, humorless laugh, tilting your glass slightly in the direction Hana had been standing. "Hana."
Jungkook follows your gaze, then shakes his head with a scoff. "Hana likes attention."
You hum, taking a sip of champagne, but the uneasy feeling lingers. Not because you think he'd entertain her, but because you know there's nothing you can do if he ever decides to go for her instead. He's not your boyfriend. You made sure of that all by yourself.
"___, I hope you know that I'm not interested in her."
You weren't looking for reassurance, not really, but hearing him say it so plainly sends a warmth through your chest that you refuse to dwell on for too long.
You shrug, feigning indifference. "You don't have to explain yourself to me, Jungkook."
Jungkook scoffs, as if he expected the indifference. "Maybe not," he murmurs, looking over at you. "But I want to."
You let out a slow breath, trying to shake the weight of the moment, the way his words settle deep in your chest. When you glance at Jungkook, he's watching you, not with pity or expectation, just there, a steady presence.
So, you do what you always do when things get too real. You deflect.
"I don't know," you hum, tilting your head, playfully narrowing your eyes at him. "You seemed pretty into that conversation. Maybe I should let you get back to it."
Jungkook groans, tipping his head back dramatically. "Oh my God, stop."
You grin up at him. "What? I'm just saying, I don't wanna stand in the way."
"Please," he scoffs, rolling his eyes. "There's nothing to stand in the way of."
You hum, swirling the champagne in your glass. "I don't know, Jungkook. Hana's got great hair. Seems like a solid choice."
"You have great hair."
"She's pretty," you mutter, looking back at the marquee in the distance.
Jungkook scoffs. "You're gorgeous. Now what?"
You stare at him for a second, trying to fight the heat creeping up your neck. He's too good at this, throwing you off, slipping in little compliments like they mean nothing. But they mean everything and he knows it.
"You're so annoying," you murmur, taking a sip of your champagne.
Jungkook grins, shoving his hands in his pants pockets. "And yet, you keep me around."
You roll your eyes, but there's no real bite to it. "Unfortunately."
He chuckles, then nudges your arm lightly with his elbow. "C'mon, ___, admit it. You'd be lost without me."
You raise a brow. "Lost?"
"Hopeless," he teases with a shrug. "Completely, utterly hopeless."
You huff, feigning exasperation. "I survived just fine before you, y'know."
His expression softens, just a little.
"I know," he murmurs, quieter this time. "But I like it better this way."
Your fingers tighten around your glass, heart stuttering in your chest, because damn it, so do you.
A cool breeze sweeps past, and instinctively, you wrap your arms around yourself to keep warm. Jungkook notices immediately. Of course he does. Without a word, he shrugs off his suit jacket and drapes it over your shoulders, his movements fluid, effortless, like it's second nature to him.
You glance up at him with wide eyes. "Aren't you going to get cold?"
"I'll survive," he shrugs, completely unfazed.
You pull the jacket tighter around yourself, the warmth of it sinking into your skin, carrying his signature scent. "You didn't have to do that."
Jungkook gives you a look. "You know I was never going to let you stand out here freezing."
Your lips twitch. "A gentleman, huh?"
"What, you didn't think I had it in me?"
"I mean… I have seen you trip over your own feet in the hallway at work."
Jungkook groans, biting back a smile. "Okay, first of all, that was years ago. Second of all, that floor was slippery, the janitor just mopped it."
You laugh, shaking your head. "Sure it was."
Jungkook lets out an exaggerated sigh, shaking his head. "Unbelievable."
You grin, feeling lighter than you have all night. Maybe it's the warmth of his jacket, or the teasing glint in his eyes, or just the way that it's always been easy with him.
After a beat, Jungkook nudges your arm lightly. "You do look good in my jacket, though."
The comment is casual, offhanded, but there's something in his tone, something softer beneath the teasing that makes your stomach flip.
"Yeah?"
Jungkook hums, taking another sip of his water.
Your heart stumbles, but you roll your eyes, playing it cool. "Careful, Jeon. You almost sound like you're flirting with me."
"Would that be a bad thing?"
"Oh shush," you scoff, forcing down a smile.
The air feels different. The atmosphere is lighter, but charged with something else, something neither of you wants to name. Jungkook watches you, his gaze steady, thoughtful, like he's debating something in his head.
Another breeze sweeps past, and instinctively, you pull his jacket tighter around yourself. The movement makes him smile, just a little, like he finds it endearing. Then, without thinking, he reaches out. It's a small gesture, his fingers gently tugging at the lapel of his jacket, adjusting it over your shoulder, as if to make sure you're really warm enough. But the way he does it, the slow, deliberate movement, the way his fingers brush against your collarbone, sends a shiver down your spine that has nothing to do with the cold.
You glance up at him, your breath hitching. He's closer than you had realized. Close enough that you can see the way his lashes frame his dark eyes, the soft curve of his lips, the intensity in his gaze. Before you can say something about it, Jungkook moves.
Slowly.
Carefully.
Giving you everything opportunity to pull away.
He lifts a hand, fingers ghosting along your jaw, barely there, like he's afraid to break the moment. His gaze flickers to your lips, just for a second, and your breath catches in your throat.
And then he kisses you.
It's not urgent or demanding. It's careful. Considerate. Barely more than a brush of lips. It's a question, rather than a statement.
And God help you—you answer.
You let yourself sink into the feeling, let yourself feel the warmth of his lips, the steadiness of his hand on your cheek, the way everything else fades away when his lips touch yours.
It's over before you can even process it, before your mind can catch up with your heart. The night air feels cooler against your heated skin, and when you open your eyes, Jungkook is already watching you. His expression is unreadable, his breathing just the slightest bit uneven.
You swallow, your voice barely above a whisper. "What was that for?"
"I don't know," he murmurs. "Felt like the right thing to do."
It felt quite right to you too.
The rest of the evening passes in a haze of laughter and music. You make it back inside just in time for the bouquet toss, though, to your relief, you don't catch it. Taehyung looks mildly disappointed, teasing you about how he was hoping for some 'divine intervention' before Jihyo drags him away to dance.
Eventually, the celebration winds down, guests filtering out into the night. You find yourself outside again, rubbing your arms against the chill before Jungkook appears beside you, keys in hand.
"Ready to go home?" he asks, his voice low, warm.
You nod, walking back to the car.
The drive home is quiet but comfortable. Jungkook keeps one hand on the wheel, the other resting on the gear shift, fingers tapping absentmindedly. The streetlights cast golden streaks across his face, and every so often, you catch him glancing at you, like he wants to say something but keeps deciding against it.
When he pulls up in front of your apartment building, he shuts the engine off and looks over at you. It's silent, neither one of you making a move.
You hesitate for a second before reaching for the door handle. “Thanks for the ride-"
"Do you want me to walk you up?"
You meet his gaze, your heart racing. The weight of everything that happened tonight lingers between the two of you, something unspoken pressing at the edges.
"Yeah," you murmur. "I'd like that."
The elevator ride up is quiet, your pulse quickening with every passing second. When you reach your door, you fumble briefly with your keys before finally pushing it open, stepping inside. "You wanna come in for a bit?"
Jungkook leans against the doorframe, watching you. And then, after a beat, he nods and steps inside.
And just like that, you're alone together, away from the noise, away from the watchful eyes of friends and wedding guests, away from every excuse you could possibly use to avoid this moment.
You go to check on Miso, giving her some water and a treat, gently stroking her fur. She welcomes you home with a sleepy 'meow' before laying back down on her little bed in the corner of the living room. Jungkook stands in your dimly lit living room, his hands tucked into the pockets of his pants, watching you tend to Miso with an expression you can't quite decipher. There's something softer in his gaze, something almost reverent.
You swallow, suddenly hyper-aware of the way your heart is pounding. "Do you want something to drink?"
He shakes his head, lips tilting into a faint smirk. "No." He steps closer, gaze flickering over your face, then down to where his suit jacket hangs off your shoulders. "You gonna keep that?"
You clutch at the lapels instinctively. "I might."
His smirk widens. "Looks good on you."
You don’t know who moves first. Maybe it's him, maybe it's you. All you know is that one second, there's space between you, and the next, he's cupping your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin, his lips on yours in a slow, soft kiss. It's not driven by impulse or the heat of the moment, and when Jungkook sighs against your lips, and pulls your waist closer to him, you have to break the kiss to catch your breath and steady your heartbeat.
"Do you...wanna help me out of this dress?" Your voice is almost too quiet to hear, but the smile on his face lets you know he heard you.
"It would be my pleasure," he murmurs softly, pressing a gentle kiss to the corner of your mouth.
It's as if time slows down as you lead him to your bedroom, shutting the door behind you. The dim glow from the city outside casts soft shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw, the warmth in his dark eyes. And then, without another word, he leans in and kisses your lips. His hands slide up to cup your face, tilting your head just how he wants it.
You sigh against his mouth, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt, holding him close.
His lips move down, trailing soft kisses along your jaw, down to the sensitive spot just below your ear. You shiver, and he feels it, his smile evident against your skin.
"Still cold?" he murmurs, his breath warm against your neck.
You shake your head. "No."
Jungkook chuckles, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. His hands slide down, fingertips brushing along the suit jacket around your shoulders. "Can I?"
You nod, letting him remove the jacket before his fingers find the zipper of your dress, dragging it down excruciatingly slowly. The fabric loosens, slipping down your frame, pooling at your feet in a whisper of silk.
He exhales sharply, eyes darkening as he drinks you in, your body wrapped in nothing but scraps of lace.
"God," he breathes out, subtly shaking his head. "You're..."
You look up at him with a soft smile. "I'm…?"
Jungkook chuckles, but it's low, almost breathless. "You know what you are."
"Say it anyway," you whisper.
His fingers brush against your jaw, tilting your face up to his. "So...so beautiful."
And then he kisses you again.
It's slow, deliberate, like he's savoring every second, every soft sigh that escapes you. His hands find your waist, pulling you flush against him, and you shiver at the feeling of his body pressed against yours.
Your fingers loosen his bow tie, then move onto the buttons of his dress shirt, opening them one by one. Jungkook watches you through hooded eyes, sighing as your lips move over his cheek, the corner of his mouth, his jaw. You push his shirt off shoulders, letting it drop to the floor, your lips moving down to his chest.
He gently slides his fingers into your hair and tilts your head back, kissing you once more. He sighs against your lips, his hands sliding down your sides to rest at your waist, his thumbs drawing slow circles against your skin. The feeling is intoxicating, he is intoxicating. The warmth of his body, the weight of his hands, the way he kisses you like he has all the time in the world.
You melt into him, your fingers splaying over his bare chest, feeling the steady rise and fall of his breath beneath your palms. His lips move against yours in a way that makes your head spin, slow and deep and hypnotic.
Jungkook keeps his lips attached to yours as he leads you backwards towards your bed, gently laying you down on the mattress, his hands holding him up to hover over you. He trails kisses down the side of your neck, sucking on a few sensitive spots before reaching behind you, his hands sliding over the fabric of your bra.
"Can I?"
You nod, cupping his cheeks to pull him back in, needing him the same way you need air to breathe.
He unclasps your bra and slowly slides the lace down your shoulders, tossing it somewhere in your room for you to find tomorrow. He trails his kisses down to your collarbones and chest, his lips grazing the skin of your breasts.
"You're so beautiful," he whispers, more to himself than to you.
You sigh, your fingers sliding into his hair as he swirls his tongue around a nipple, wrapping his lips around it to suck. He does the same thing to the other nipple, his lips pressing tender kisses to your breasts.
He kisses down your stomach, smiling against your skin as you spread your legs for him, your sighs growing needier.
He lets his fingers trail up your inner thighs, making their way up to your hips, pulling the soft lace away from your skin. He looks up at you, his eyes meeting yours, his fingers toying with the sides of your panties.
"Can I take these off?" he asks softly, pressing a gentle kiss right above the waistband, smiling as you whimper a breathy 'yes'.
He sits up and hooks a finger into either side of your panties, slowly dragging the fabric down your legs. His gaze is soft and appreciative as he takes in the sight of you bare and spread out for him.
His eyes move from your core to your face, his tongue peeking out to lick his lips as he looks into your eyes. He slowly trails a hand up your inner thigh, his fingers trailing through your wet folds. "God, you're so pretty," he sighs, his cock twitching in his pants.
You let out a soft gasp as he leans down to press a few feather-light kisses to your folds, the streetlights shining through the blinds, reflecting in his brown eyes.
He presses a kiss to your clit, his tongue peeking out to get a taste, and it's as if a switch goes off in his brain, his hands gripping your thighs to hold them open as his tongue traces along your pussy.
You moan, your back arching off the bed as he licks a wide stripe from your entrance to your clit, swirling his tongue to turn you into a moaning mess. You reach down to grab hold of his hair, not to tug, just to ground yourself. Your legs spread wider as he wraps his lips around your clit, sucking gently before going back to long, determined licks.
"That feels...so good," you breathe out, glancing down at him to find his eyes on you, looking at you like he wants to make the most of this moment, the passion evident in his gaze.
He lets out a soft moan against you, his tongue and lips working in perfect rhythm to pleasure you. He can't get enough of your taste, looking like he's in a state of ecstasy. He can feel you trembling beneath his hands, your body responding to every lick and nibble.
He worships you with his mouth, taking his time, his tongue moving in circles, his hands holding you in place against his mouth. He can’t keep himself from grinding against the bed, feeling like he might explode from his pent up desire.
"Just like that," you moan, your body writhing beneath him, your back arching. "D-Don't stop..."
He can practically feel how close you are to your climax and it only spurs him on. His tongue laps through your folds before focusing solely on your clit, his fingers digging into your skin as he holds your thighs over his shoulders, preventing you from pulling away.
You hold his head in place, your muscles trembling, your moans growing louder as you get closer to the edge.
You gasp, your walls contracting repeatedly, your eyes squeezing shut as the pleasure starts to consume you whole. "'m gonna cum...!"
He keeps his pace, pushing your knees up to your chest to give him better access.
In a matter of seconds, your muscles completely tense up as you cum on his tongue, your moans bouncing off of your bedroom walls. He continues to slowly lick and kiss your clit until you can't take anymore.
His lips trail a slow path up your body, leaving a searing warmth in their wake. His breath is hot against your collarbone, his nose brushing against the side of your jaw before finally capturing your lips in a deep, unhurried kiss, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.
"You taste like heaven," he whispers against your lips.
A bashful smile finds its way onto your face, your cheeks flushed. Your breath is still shaky, your body thrumming with heat as he kisses you. Your fingers weave into his hair, tugging him closer, needing more. You can still feel the remnants of your high, but it's not enough.
Your hands trail down his body to start unbuttoning his pants. "Let me return the favour," you whisper in his ear, slowly pulling down his zipper.
He groans as your hand slides into the front of his boxers, gently massaging his cock, his body shuddering. His eyes close involuntarily at the feeling of your hand on him, his brain short-circuiting.
Jungkook catches your wrist before you can go any further. His grip is gentle, his dark eyes locking onto yours with something deep and unspoken. He shakes his head, a small, almost nervous smile playing at his lips.
"Not tonight."
You furrow your eyebrows in confusion. "Why not?"
Jungkook exhales slowly, his thumb brushing over the inside of your wrist. His gaze softens even more, and when he speaks, his voice is quieter, almost shy.
"Because I want to make love to you, ___."
Your breath catches in your chest. He wants to make love. The two of you have never done that before. You've never allowed it. You should correct him. You should remind him of the rules, of the boundaries you set.
But when he looks at you like that, with his heart in his eyes, the words die in your throat.
Your voice is a fragile whisper, your heart beating in your ears. "Okay."
He drags the tip of his nose along your cheek, lips brushing over your skin. "Are you sure?"
You nod, breathless.
"Need to hear you say it, baby."
The endearment sends heat through your body.
"I'm sure."
He kisses your lips for the hundredth time, pouring all of his feelings into you, like he's been waiting for this moment for far too long.
You help him out of his pants and boxers, letting out a soft giggle when his foot almost gets caught in the pant leg, his body moving before his brain can process what's happening.
He sits back to get a full view of your body laid out for him, his eyes trailing from your face, down to your breasts, and lastly, your sopping pussy. He groans as he wraps his hand around his cock, giving it some slow strokes, his fist squeezing harshly. The tip has already started leaking a pearl of precum, the shaft already fully erect.
He hovers over you, his lips curling against your skin as he reaches down, guiding the head to your entrance. He pushes in slowly, filling you inch by inch, stretching you in the most delicious way.
Sinking into you feels like coming home.
Jungkook's face twists in pleasure, his breath ragged, his bottom lip caught between his teeth. He holds himself up on his forearm while his free hand slides down your body to hook your leg around his hip.
He groans, his forehead falling to your shoulder. "Fuck, you feel so good," he breathes.
You slide your hands around him to hold onto his back, pulling him closer, needing him as close as possible.
The sound of your moans send shivers down his spine. He moves slowly, deeply, his hips rolling into yours with deliberate, passionate strokes, sending fire up your spine. His fingers dig into the skin of your thigh, letting out a breathless whimper as he sinks in as deep as he can possibly go.
Your breath stutters, your fingers clutching at his back, feeling his muscles contract under his skin.
Jungkook kisses the junction between your neck and shoulder, his hips rolling at a practiced, steady pace. "You take me so well, baby...this pussy feels so good wrapped around me..." His voice is low, breathy. "You're so fucking perfect."
Your nails dig into his skin, your eyes squeezing shut as your emotions start welling up, a harsh lump growing in your throat.
Jungkook lifts his head, cupping your face, his eyes dark and tender as they search yours. "Look at me, ___."
You do, and it almost steals the air from your lungs, his eyes boring into yours, showing you all the feelings he's harboured for you since the day he met you.
Your hands slide up to cup his jaw, pulling his face closer. "Jungkook…"
"I know, baby," he whispers, pressing soft, tender pecks to your lips, his hips rolling with a fierce intensity. "I've got you. Always."
He presses his lips to your cheek, then your nose, then your forehead. "You're everything, ___."
The lump in your throat grows heavier, but you force it down, willing yourself not to break down completely. Instead, you wrap your arms around his neck and allow yourself to get lost in him, giving yourself over to him in a way you never have before.
You want to tell him you love him.
Those three words sit heavily on your tongue, but you can't get yourself to say them. Not now, when your emotions are this high, when you're still trembling beneath him.
It's too real, and if it's real, it has the power to ruin you.
You show him with your body instead of your words, looking up into his eyes, pulling him impossibly close. Your fingers tangle in his hair, your lips seeking his in a slow, lingering kiss. You pour everything into it, every unspoken word, every confession you long to make.
Jungkook kisses you back just as deeply, his hands framing your face, his touch gentle, like he already knows. Like he's willing to wait.
His thrusts grow sloppier as the pleasure builds. Your hands grip his shoulders, your chest heaving, every thrust of his hips pushing you closer to cumming. His cock throbs inside you, but he's determined to make you cum before he does.
"Come on," Jungkook whispers against your lips, his voice thick with lust. "Let go for me, baby. You can do it. I'm...I'm right here."
His words send a shiver down your spine, feeling the familiar coil start to tighten in your stomach.
"I...I can't..." you gasp, the intensity of it feeling overwhelming.
"Yes, you can, sweetheart," he murmurs, his voice low and soothing. "Let it happen. I've got you, baby, I promise."
The pressure inside you finally bursts, and you're lost in the feeling of it, consumed by the overwhelming pleasure of it all. With a soft, breathless cry, your body finally gives in, your climax surging through you in waves, your entire body trembling as you cling to him.
Jungkook isn't far behind. He groans low in his chest, his cum painting your walls in thick white ropes, his face buried into the crook of your neck as he rides out his high.
He presses a soft kiss to your skin, his breath shallow. "I'm not going anywhere," he murmurs against your neck, his arms wrapping around you in a comforting embrace.
Your body shakes from the aftermath, your heart pounding in your chest, but for the first time in a long time, you don't feel empty. You don't feel alone. You just feel him all around you; all consuming.
He reluctantly parts from you to freshen up in the bathroom, coming back with a warm, wet washcloth to clean you off, making sure you're fully taken care of before making his way back to bed.
The room grows quiet, save for the soft hum of the city outside and the sound of your slowed, steady breathing. The warmth of Jungkook's body lingers between your sheets, his arm draped across your waist as he holds you close, his fingers tracing absentminded patterns against your stomach.
Neither of you speaks for a while, simply existing in the comfort of each other's presence. Your legs are tangled beneath the sheets, your bare skin still pressed together, and there's an intimacy in it that feels deeper than anything words could convey.
Jungkook sighs, shifting slightly to press a lazy kiss to your shoulder. "Are you okay?" His voice is softer now, like he's afraid of breaking whatever fragile thing hangs between you.
You nod against the pillow, your fingers grazing along the length of his arm. "I'm okay."
He hums in contentment, pulling you even closer, his lips brushing against your temple. "Good."
You should probably say more, clarify what tonight was, what it meant, but you can't bring yourself to speak. You simply close your eyes and let yourself melt into his warmth as he spoons you.
Jungkook shifts, resting his chin atop your head, his voice thick with sleep when he murmurs, "Stay here."
You scoff faintly. "I live here."
He chuckles, his chest vibrating against your back. "You know what I mean."
Your fingers find his, lacing together beneath the sheets, and as sleep starts to pull you under, you feel the softest brush of his lips against your hair.
"Goodnight, baby..."
Before you can think twice about how un-casual all of this is, before you can let yourself spiral, you whisper back, "Goodnight, Jungkook."
You wake up tangled in soft sheets and him, his arm draped over your waist, his breath steady against the nape of your neck. The early light filters through your window, casting a golden glow over the room.
For a while, you don't move. You just listen to the birds chirping outside and the steady rhythm of his breathing. Then, as if sensing you're awake, Jungkook stirs. His arm tightens around you, his lips brushing lazily against your bare shoulder.
"Morning," he murmurs, his voice thick with sleep.
You smile, stretching your limbs. "Morning."
He hums, nuzzling into your skin, his voice muffled. "What time is it?"
You glance at the alarm clock on your nightstand. "Almost nine."
Jungkook groans dramatically, tightening his hold on you. "Too early."
You laugh, trying—and failing—to wiggle away. "It's not that early."
"It is." His grip loosens just enough for you to turn and face him. His hair is a mess, his eyes still heavy with sleep, but he looks at you like you're the most interesting thing in the world.
"You're staring," you point out, raising an eyebrow.
Jungkook smiles sleepily. "Can you blame me?"
Your face heats, and you roll your eyes. "Shut up."
He grins, reaching out to tuck a stray strand of hair behind your ear. "Never."
The warmth between you lingers as you stay in bed a little longer, exchanging lazy kisses, stealing moments that feel dangerously intimate. It's only when your stomach growls loudly that Jungkook finally pulls away, letting out a huff of laughter.
"Is that your way of asking for breakfast in bed?" he teases.
"I wish," you mumble. "Unfortunately, my fridge is basically empty. I was supposed to go grocery shopping today."
Jungkook sits up, stretching his arms over his head before leaning back on his hands, the sheets pooling around his waist. "Then let's go grocery shopping."
You blink up at him. "You want to come with me to the grocery store?"
"Of course," he shrugs, grinning. "What kind of man would I be if I let you carry all those bags by yourself?"
Is going grocery shopping something you should do together if you want to maintain any remnants of boundaries? Probably not.
"What would you even wear? A tux?" you chuckle.
"I may or may not have a change of clothes in my trunk," he mumbles, giving you an almost guilty grin. "Y'know, just in case I end up spending the night at your place."
Oh well.
You laugh, shaking your head. "Fine. But you're driving."
The grocery store is surprisingly busy for a late Sunday morning, but Jungkook keeps your mood up. You watch, amused, as he inspects the produce with an intensity that makes it seem like he's solving a crime. He picks up a bell pepper and turns it over in his hands, then glances over at you.
"This is a good one," he declares.
You snort. "Oh, are you an expert?"
Jungkook nods solemnly. "Of course. I have a very refined eye for vegetables."
You shake your head, taking the pepper from him and tossing it into the cart. "Okay, vegetable connoisseur. What about fruit?"
His expression turns serious. "The fruit requires even greater precision." He steps toward the apples, picking one up and holding it to the light like a jeweler inspecting a diamond.
You bite your lip, trying not to laugh. "And? What's the verdict?"
He nods once. "Acceptable."
You chuckle as you grab a few more apples and place them in a bag. "You're ridiculous."
"Ridiculously helpful you mean,” he corrects, grinning.
It's easy, this whole thing. You browse the aisles while be pushes the cart, occasionally sneaking snacks into it when you're not looking. You catch him dropping a bag of chips in and you raise an eyebrow.
"I need those?"
"Absolutely," he nods, not missing a beat.
You roll your eyes but let him put the bag in the cart. It's for him, but you'll buy it as a way to have something that belongs to him in your apartment.
"Shit, I forgot to get my cereal," you sigh, already on the other side of the store. "Can you go and get it, please? It's in aisle six."
"Sure," he nods, handing you the cart.
"Thank you," you smile, watching him walk off.
You're still smiling when you turn the corner, your heart light from the previous few hours with Jungkook. Then a voice pulls you out of your little love bubble.
"Oh my god, ___?"
You barely have time to react before you're being pulled into a hug, the nostalgic scent of her floral perfume washing over you.
"Sian?" you gasp in surprise, pulling back to get a better look at your old high school friend.
"It's been forever!" she exclaims, her eyes wide as she takes you in. "I almost didn't recognize you, it's been so long. Look at you! You look good!”
You laugh, nodding along. "I could say the same about you. How have you been?"
"I'm doing well," she smiles, resting her hand on her hip. "I recently landed this great job at a new law firm. What about you?"
"I'm a professor at Yonsei University. I teach political science."
"I guess we're really grown ups now," she laughs.
You chuckle along, feeling the truth in her words. "How are things with Minho?"
Her smile falters for a fraction of a second, waving a dismissive hand. "Oh, Minho and I broke up. Turns out he's just like every other guy," she scoffs, "Couldn't keep it in his pants."
Your stomach twists. "Oh, Sian....I'm so sorry."
She sighs, crossing her arms. "Don't be. Honestly, I should've seen it coming. I guess all men are the same in the end, aren't they?"
The words hit you like a punch to the gut.
You don't know what to say, so you offer a small, noncommittal hum.
Sian doesn't seem to notice your discomfort. She keeps going, rolling her eyes. "It's whatever. At least I found out before we got engaged. We were close to it but I guess I dodged a bullet."
Then, almost as an afterthought, she adds, "Speaking of which, have you heard? Apparently Sunghoon got married a few months ago."
The words hit you like a slap to the face. Your chest tightens, and for a moment, you forget how to breathe.
Sian doesn't notice. She keeps talking, oblivious to the way your body has suddenly gone rigid.
"Yeah, crazy, right? I heard his wife is pregnant, too. Due in a few months, I think." She shakes her head. "Guess he finally got his act together. Good for them, I suppose."
Your fingers tighten around the shopping cart.
Your ex-fiancé, the man who cheated on you and then blamed you for it, is married. He has a wife. A baby on the way. And yet, here you are, still hesitating, still doubting.
He cheated on you. But he's faithful to her. Was it you? Were you the problem all along?
You force a small laugh at something Sian says, nodding absentmindedly, but your mind has already started spiraling.
Jungkook returns just as you wrap up your conversation, a box of your favourite cereal in hand. He gives Sian a polite nod before turning to you, grinning.
"Miss me?" he teases, but the moment he sees your face, his smile falters. "Hey...what's wrong?"
You shake your head, forcing a tight-lipped smile. "Nothing. Just caught up with an old friend."
Jungkook doesn't buy it. His gaze searches yours, his brows furrowing. "You sure? You seem-"
"I said it's nothing, Jungkook," you snap before you can stop yourself, feeling guilty almost instantly.
His lips press together, the hurt flickering across his face so quickly you almost miss it.
He doesn’t push. He never does. He just nods slowly, letting the silence settle between you like an invisible wall.
"We should go," you mutter softly, already turning the cart toward the checkout without looking back.
The drive home is silent.
Jungkook doesn't say anything, but you feel his eyes flicking over at you every so often, like he's waiting for you to speak. To tell him what's wrong.
You don't.
Your thoughts have started racing and they just won't stop. You think about your past, about the seven years you wasted on a man who made you believe you weren't enough for him to remain faithful. And now he has a wife. A baby on the way. A family.
And here you are, falling into the same pattern.
Falling for Jungkook.
He's not Sunghoon, you know that, but what happens when he gets tired of waiting for you to let him in? What happens when you eventually realize you can't give him what he deserves?
It would be easier to end it now.
Before either of you get hurt.
Before you lose yourself in him completely.
The silence stretches on when you get back to your apartment. Jungkook carefully sets the grocery bags on the counter, his movements slow and calculated. He glances at you, his brows knitting together in quiet concern, but he still doesn't push, not yet.
Instead, he tries a softer approach.
"Hey." His voice is gentle, coaxing. "Wanna help me put these away?"
You should. You should do something, say something, but you can't bring yourself to move. Your arms stay crossed over your chest, your body stiff, your mind in a haze.
Jungkook watches you for a moment before sighing lightly. "Alright then," he murmurs, unpacking the bags himself.
The tension is unbearable.
He packs your groceries away, waiting for you to speak. When the silence becomes too much for him, he takes the plunge.
Jungkook exhales slowly. "___."
Your stomach tightens at the sound of your name on his lips.
"Talk to me." His voice is gentle, patient. "Please."
"There's nothing to talk about." Your voice is flat.
Jungkook tilts his head, studying you carefully. "Really? Because you've been completely silent since we left the store, barely looked at me, haven't said a word." He pauses. "That doesn't seem like nothing to me."
You press your lips together, shifting on your feet. "I just have a lot on my mind."
"Okay." He nods slowly. "Then tell me and maybe I can help-"
You sigh. "Jungkook, just drop it."
He pauses.
"I just..." He pauses, looking for the right words to say. "I can tell you're upset and...I don't like seeing you like this."
The weight of his concern presses down on your chest, suffocating. You can't do this right now.
"I said I'm fine." Your voice comes out sharper than intended.
Jungkook lets out a short, humorless laugh. "You always say that."
"Why do you even care so much?"
The words hit him like a slap.
Jungkook blinks at you, taken aback by your sudden hostility. But then, something shifts in his expression, his heart physically breaking in his chest. His hands clench at his sides as he exhales through his nose.
And then, in a voice so quiet it almost doesn't reach you—
"Because I love you."
Your heart stops. Your breath stutters. Your pulse pounds violently in your ears.
Jungkook swallows, stepping closer, his gaze never leaving yours, practicing laying his entire soul at your feet. His eyes are glossy, his voice thick. "I love you, ___."
It's not loud. Not dramatic. Just honest.
And it terrifies you.
Jungkook takes a step closer, his eyes burning into yours. "I have loved you for such a long time...and I don't care if you try to push me away, or if you pretend like this is just sex, or if you act like what we have isn't real.” His voice wavers slightly, but his gaze doesn't. "Because I know it is."
Your heart pounds violently against your ribs.
You want to believe him. But the ugly, gnawing voice in your head tells you it's only a matter of time before he realizes you're not enough.
"You don’t love me," you whisper, your eyes stinging with unshed tears. "You think you do, but you don't."
His brows draw together, his face crumpling. "How can you say that?"
You swallow, blinking back the tears in your eyes. "Because you don't even know me, Jungkook."
His face twists, letting out a bitter scoff. "That's bullshit."
"Is it?" You laugh, but it's hollow and humourless. "You only know the parts of me I let you see! The nice parts. The parts that don't scare you away." Your voice wavers. "But the rest? The ugly, damaged parts? You don't know those. That's the real me, Jungkook. You don't love her."
Jungkook’s chest rises and falls unevenly.
"Then let me. Let me know you...all of you. Let me love the good parts and the bad and everything in between. Let me love you when you're messy and broken, and on the days when you feel like you can't get out of bed. Fuck, I wanna be with you, ___. I want all of you, not just the good parts. I want the pointless fights and the makeup sex after. I want the grocery runs when we run out of your favourite cereal. I wanna drive to work in the same car and then come home and have dinner together. I wanna slow dance with you in the middle of the night in the kitchen with the refrigerator light shining over us. I wanna cuddle and hold your hand in public and tell everyone that you're my girlfriend, because for fuck's sake, ___, I love you."
He's almost breathless by the time he gets it all out.
"Please...give me the chance to love you...please."
His words leave you utterly and completely speechless. You want to allow yourself to be loved by him, but your brain won't allow you to. The thought of experiencing all of that with him and then having it inevitably ripped away is what stops you from telling him you love him too.
"Jungkook...I can't...."
"Why not?"
Because you're terrified. Because Sunghoon made the same promises and still broke them. Because you know that once Jungkook sees the worst of you, he'll leave and it'll hurt, probably worse than it did with Sunghoon.
"I just can't, okay?!" Your voice grows softer. "I can't. You'll regret it."
Jungkook exhales sharply, raking a hand through his hair. "God, why won't you let yourself be loved?"
You've asked yourself that question about a million times before.
Your hands tremble at your sides, your eyes burning, your body screaming at you to run. Then you do the only thing you know how to. You push him away and hurt him before he can hurt you.
"This was never supposed to be anything more than sex," you whisper.
Jungkook stills.
"That's all this ever was, Jungkook."
Jungkook lets out a shaky scoff, but his voice cracks. "You don't mean that."
"I do." You force the words out, your voice shaking.
"Tell me you don't love me back." He lifts his gaze to meet yours, and your breath stutters at the sheer heartbreak in his eyes. "Tell me you feel nothing for me. That this," he gestures between you, "Was never more than just sex to you."
The words are on the tip of your tongue.
Tell him.
Make it easier for him to walk away.
But the truth is lodged so deep in your throat, it physically hurts. And Jungkook sees it.
His face hardens, his jaw clenching. "That's what I thought."
You have no defence, so all you can do is resort back to shutting him out. Literally.
"Just go, Jungkook. It'll just be better for both of us in the long run."
"So that's it? You're just gonna throw this all away?"
You don't respond, looking down at the ground.
His face remains strong, even as the tears begin to fall down his cheeks, and you know you're not strong enough to look at him.
He nods in resignation and silently takes a step back, his sadness written across his face. Then another step. And then he turns to get his phone and his keys and walk to the front door.
Your chest constricts. You should say something. Stop him. Tell him the truth.
But you don't. It'll just be easier this way.
It has to be.
Jungkook turns his head to look back at you, his hand on the door handle, waiting for you to stop him and tell him that you love him. But you don't.
His lips start to part, like he wants to argue, like he wants to fight for you. But he doesn't. He doesn't have it in him anymore.
"I hope one day you'll be able to love yourself the way I love you."
He walks out without another glance back, the door shutting behind him. The second he's gone, you shatter.
It's like your body has locked up, frozen in place as the weight of everything crashes down all at once. Your breath shudders, coming in uneven gasps, your chest rising and falling in jagged movements.
And then, your knees buckle. You sink to the floor, pressing the heels of your hands against your eyes, as if that will somehow stop the flood of tears spilling down your cheeks.
Jungkook is gone.
You did this. You pushed him away. That's what you do. You get in your head and sabotage everything good in your life.
A sob rips through you, your shoulders shaking as you fold in on yourself. You don't know how long you stay like that, curled up on the floor, drowning in your own sorrow. Time feels meaningless when all you can hear is Jungkook's voice echoing in your head, over and over again.
He looked so wounded when he told you he loved you. So open and vulnerable. And what did you do? You shut him out. You let your own fear win. Because that's all you are now, a shell of the person you used to be. Afraid and untrusting.
Sunghoon made sure of that.
The memory of him slams into you with brutal force. His voice, his touch, the way he used to hold you at night and tell you he loved you, promising you a lifetime, only to go and stick his dick in another woman.
"I had no choice, ___. You were never around. You put everything and everyone before me."
"I needed someone who actually made me feel like a man."
"You did this to us."
His words haunt you. They never stopped haunting you, no matter how hard you try to run from them. And now, as you sit here, crying on your kitchen floor, you realize that you've been running ever since.
Every step you've taken since that night you caught him has been in fear of being that girl again. The one who gives too much of herself, the one who isn't enough, the one who ends up getting traded in.
That voice in your head tells you that Jungkook would do the same, eventually.
Maybe not today.
Maybe not tomorrow.
But one day.
One day, he'd wake up and realize you aren't worth it.
You thought that if you ended it before he got the chance to see how damaged you really are, that would make it hurt less. And yet, the look on his face will forever be engraved in your brain, taunting you, reminding you of the pain you've caused him.
The sobs come harder, your entire body shaking until you can barely breathe. You press your forehead to your knees, squeezing your eyes shut.
And then you feel it, a soft nudge against your leg.
You glance down to see Miso weaving between your ankles, her big eyes looking up at you with confusion and concern. She meows softly, rubbing her head against your shin, as if she can sense that something is wrong.
A broken sob escapes your lips as you scoop her up into your arms. She doesn’t resist, only tucks herself into your chest, her purring serving as a soothing vibration against your skin.
You bury your face into her fur, fresh tears spilling over. "I'm okay, baby," you whisper, though your voice cracks with the weight of the lie. She just stays curled against you, warm and steady, like she's determined to absorb every ounce of your sadness.
You carry her to the couch, curling up with her in your lap, absentmindedly running your fingers through her soft fur. The apartment still smells like Jungkook, his cologne, his warmth, and it only makes the ache in your chest worse.
You don't know how to fix this. You don't even know if you can. But one thing is painfully, devastatingly clear.
jeon jungkook, a fellow professor at yonsei university, is your friend, co-worker, and secret bed buddy. you have rules set in place to make sure there are no misunderstandings in your little arrangement. the #1 rule is as clear as day; no catching feelings. simple, right? wrong. let's see how un-simple it gets when a certain economics professor falls for an emotionally unavailable political science professor.
pairing: professor!jungkook x (fem) professor!reader, fwb to lovers
genre: fluff, angst, smut, fwb au, economicsprofessor!jungkook, politicalscienceprofessor!reader, slow burn, some emotional constipation, some sappy moments, lots of sexy moments.
rating: 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!
w/c: 16k
warnings: the gang all head off to jeju, jk and oc have a little moment on the plane, jk's secret playlist for oc, jk and oc share a room thanks to tae, he gets hard from a few smoochies, oc finds out what jk said about her back when they met, some jealousy, she takes a step back before taking a step forward, some wholesome vibes, lots of yearning, cuddles, oc has a few realisations, volleyball on the beach, HANA AGAIN (she's a warning all on her own), very minor ankle injury, mentions of oc's past heartbreak, some angst + fluff on the beach, explicit sexual content; making out, shower sex, fingering (f. receiving), handjob (m. receiving), oral (m. receiving), unprotected sex (oc's on the pill you know the drill), a brief description of fluffy morning sex, nipple play, oral (f. receiving), sleepy missionary sex, overall fluffy ending.
a/n: i just want to thank you all for all the love and support this story has gotten so far, i love and appreciate you all so so much !!! i really hope you enjoy part 5 (this is a lengthy one ladies and gentlemen so be prepared) and please don't be shy to share your thoughts because i love hearing them okay bye 🫶🏼🫶🏼
Today is just not your day. No, there wasn't an earthquake or a massive flood (it's far less dramatic than that) but more so minor inconveniences continuously piling up. For starters, Miso threw up on your bed, which was a fantastic start to the morning. You checked to make sure it wasn't anything serious, but it turns out she just had a hairball. Typical. Then there was an accident on the road around 10am, so you were stuck in traffic while taking Miso over to Jihyo's place where she'll be staying for the next few days. On top of that, you can't find your phone charger or your headphones and Jungkook is currently on his way to your apartment to pick you up to go to the airport, giving you very little time to get your shit together.
Mai and Namjoon and the rest of Jungkook's friends are all at the airport already, waiting for the flight which is set to leave at 2pm to take you all from Seoul to Jeju. Mai has been texting you nonstop to confirm that you're still going, and at one point you weren't sure if you should follow through, but you just couldn't disappoint her. The two of you are already becoming fast friends, and she seems pretty excited to have you come along with all of them. What's the harm in joining Jungkook and his friends on a three-day trip?
You're frantically checking to make sure you haven't forgotten to pack anything important, when your phone buzzes, signalling a text from Jungkook letting you know he's on his way up to your apartment. Well...fuck it. If you forgot anything, it's too late to stress about it now.
You scurry to make sure you have all your skincare products and toiletries before quickly zipping up your luggage. Minutes later there's a knock on your door, so you roll your suitcase to the living room and open the front door, feeling your stomach flip at the sight of him. He ditched his usual button-up shirt and slacks for a casual golfer and jeans, the denim hugging his thighs just right, the shirt's short sleeves showing off his thick biceps. His hair is styled a little messily, paired with his favourite black sunglasses. He looks like the lead role out of a rom-com, and that's not just because you're ovulating. Damn, maybe today is your day after all.
"Hey," he smiles, pushing his sunglasses to the top of his head to push back his hair. "You all set?"
"Yeah, let me just get my suitcase-"
"Lemme get that for you."
You reach for the handle of your suitcase, but he stops you and quickly gets it before you do. You have no problem carrying your own bags or rolling around a heavy suitcase, but Jungkook wouldn't be Jungkook if he wasn't a true gentleman, so you let him do it because you know he's just going to insist anyway.
"Oh, uhm, thanks," you murmur, watching his arm flex as he carries your suitcase out the apartment, giving you a chance to lock the door.
"It's no problem," he shrugs, flashing you a smile. The two of you walk to the elevators, going downstairs to his car in the parking lot. He unlocks the car and puts your suitcase next to his in the trunk, opening your door for you before making his way over to the driver's seat, the engine roaring to life.
The drive to the airport is a short one, but you use your time wisely, stealing little glances while he's not looking, taking in the way his muscles flex under his skin, the way his hair blows in the light breeze of the air conditioner, the way his skin glows under the summer sun. He's a gorgeous man, and you could stare at him for hours, but you mentally remind yourself to look away every time your thoughts get a little too carried away or the butterflies in your stomach flap their wings just a little too hard. He's not your boyfriend, and a three-day trip with him and his friends won't change that, even if your brain and your heart have been having a few disagreements about that lately.
"So...you ready for Jeju?" He asks, snapping you out of your daze.
"Yeah, the weather should be nice," you murmur, looking out the window as the other cars pass by.
"I hope you didn't feel obligated to come, y'know. I know Mai can be a bit pushy at times but she means well," he mutters, keeping his eyes straight ahead of him as he drives.
"No, no, I'm happy to come," you murmur. "I mean...I was pretty drunk when she initially invited me, so obviously I wasn't going to say no, but it's a free vacation. What type of person would I be to complain about that?"
You had insisted on paying for your own plane ticket to Jeju, but Mai just wasn't having any of that. She graciously offered to pay for your ticket because she invited you a bit last minute. You could have managed, but as Jungkook says, Mai can be a bit pushy. Not that you mind, you've actually started growing quite fond of her since you met that night at the club.
He glances over at you for a moment, then reluctantly looks away. He wishes he wasn't driving so that he could just keep staring. A few moments pass in comfortable silence before he speaks, his voice soft and contemplative. "I really am glad you decided to join."
You look over at him, a faint smile gracing your face. "Why? Because otherwise you'd have to use your hand instead of me?"
He scoffs, rolling his eyes. "No," he mutters, trying to sound annoyed but failing as a hint of amusement creeps onto his face. "Because I really enjoy your company, ___."
You try to remind yourself why you set so many rules and boundaries between the two of you, but you can barely hear your brain over the loud chattering of your heart. "Yeah...me too," you murmur softly, looking back out the window for the rest of the drive. This trip is surely going to be a test of your self-restraint, that's for sure.
At the airport, the two of you meet the rest of his friends, getting a tight hug from an excited Mai, hearing Namjoon chuckle at his fiancée's enthusiasm.
"Mai, c'mon, you're suffocating her," Jungkook jokes, greeting the rest of his friends with a pat on their back. Everyone is excited to get to Jeju, a few of them already talking about going down to the beach once they land. It'll be a nice get-away from the concrete jungle that is Seoul.
"Oh, I'm sorry, ___," she chuckles, pulling away to go and stand next to Namjoon, looking like a puppy being taken on a walk. "I'm just so happy we're all together."
"It's okay," you murmur with a smile. "Thank you again for inviting me, Mai."
"Of course! You're Jungkook's friend, so you're our friend now too."
Her words bring a strange, warm feeling to your chest. You've only ever had a handful of friends in your life, Jihyo being your right-hand woman. You're so used to keeping people at arm's length, so to have his friends be so willing to accept you into their friend group is new, and just slightly intimidating.
Everyone hangs out in the waiting area until it's time for the flight. Jisoo and Seokjin have a little argument about whether he turned the stove off before they left the house, Namjoon and Mai discuss everything they want the group to do in Jeju, while Hoseok, Yoongi, Taehyung and Jimin are already thinking about what's for dinner tonight.
Much to Jungkook's dismay, Hana is here as well, so he quickly goes to sit with you before she can start up a conversation with him. She watches the way he not so subtly flirts with you, the way you try to act indifferent, despite the occasional chuckle you let out at one of his dumb jokes. It makes her blood boil.
Hana's not an idiot. She knows something is going on between the two of you, but she also knows that Jungkook would be showing you off if you were his girlfriend. She can't figure out exactly what it is you two have going on, but she doesn't like it. On the plane, she finds it annoying that he insists on putting your suitcase up in the overhead compartment for you, and she mentally rolls her eyes when he sits next to you, leaving her to sit next to Hoseok and Yoongi.
Jungkook on the other hand is quite happy to be seated next to you, after subtly shoving Taehyung out of that seat, leaving his friend to sit in the next row. Not that Taehyung minds, he'll anyway just end up texting a certain friend of yours throughout the flight, which he spent all of last night doing as well.
"I made this new playlist on Spotify," Jungkook quips as he gets his phone out, putting one of his earphones in before holding the other one out for you. "Wanna hear?"
You move closer and place the earphone in your ear with a smile, looking down at his phone to see the title ___'s playlist on the screen. That was definitely not meant for your eyes. At least not yet.
"Hey, what's that?" you ask, but he quickly scrolls past it before you can get a proper look at it.
"Hm? Oh no, that's nothing. Here it is," he mutters quickly, his movements a bit panicked as he clicks on a playlist called Jeju Summer. You'll have to ask him about that other playlist another time. He hits play and the first song is by Beabadoobee, causing your eyebrows to raise in surprise.
"I didn't know you listened to Beabadoobee," you chuckle.
"What, are you making fun of me?" he asks with an amused smile and a raised eyebrow.
"No, of course not. I love her, I just wouldn't have pegged you to listen to this sorta music, that's all."
"Well...maybe you have a few more things to learn about me, Professor," he teases, looking over at you with a soft smile, the catchy melody playing through his earphones.
The songs play one by one, some a bit slower than others, causing your eyes to slowly fall closed, your head lowering to rest on his shoulder. The weight of your head on his shoulder brings a smile to his face, his head resting against yours for the remainder of the flight. He scrolls back to the playlist he made for you and hits play, letting out a soft sigh as 'The Only Exception' by Paramore starts to play. The playlist isn't finished yet, but he hopes to gain the courage to show it to you some day.
Hana watches the exchange from her seat, mentally cursing you. She has no claim over Jungkook, but that doesn't make it sting any less, and if her eyes were daggers, you'd be dead by now. She has to force herself to look away from the two of you, her face growing hot with jealousy. She can't quite remember why she even wanted to come on this trip in the first place.
Once the group arrives in Jeju, everyone splits into separate groups to go over to Mai's family's beach house. Seokjin, Jisoo, Namjoon and Mai share a car, while Yoongi, Hoseok, Hana and Jimin all drive together, leaving you, Jungkook and Taehyung to drive together in the third car.
Jungkook packs everyone's luggage in the trunk of the rental car and gets the engine running. You sit in the passenger seat, leaving Taehyung to sit on the back seat. It's a beautiful day in Jeju, the waves crashing as you all drive down the scenic route. Jungkook occasionally steals glances at you while he drives, causing Taehyung to stifle a big grin. He can't tell if you're oblivious to his friend's obvious affection toward you, or if you're just choosing to ignore it. Either way, it's quite amusing for him to witness first hand.
"I wonder how many rooms there are at this house," Taehyung mumbles, looking out at the view. "I'm sure a few people will have to share, huh?"
"Well, obviously each couple will share a room," Jungkook murmurs.
"Right...Joon and Mai, Jin and Jisoo, you and-"
"Wow! Look at that view!" Jungkook interjects before he can go any further, shooting his friend a narrow-eyed look in the rear-view mirror, Taehyung pretending to seal his lips. The rest of the drive is filled with the soft sounds of the radio playing, paired with the sounds and smell of the ocean outside.
It's a thirty-minute drive before you all get to the beach house. Jungkook pulls up into the driveway and gets out, going around to open your door for you. Once you get out the car, your eyes widen in awe of the stunning house. It's a big two-story home with six bedrooms, large windows and the beach right at its feet. Some of the others are already there, Jisoo and Mai already setting up and unpacking the groceries in the kitchen.
You, Jungkook and Taehyung get your luggage from the trunk and make your way inside. Mai makes sure to give you a little tour of the house while the others chat in the kitchen, showing you around the bottom and top floor to make sure you know where everything is. Once everyone has arrived at the house, the group gathers in the living room, getting comfortable to decide who's taking what room.
"We hope you all don't mind but Mai and I will be taking the master bedroom," Namjoon grins, already heading upstairs to take their luggage to their room, the one with a king-sized bed and a gorgeous view of the beach, leaving everyone else to decide on their rooms. Seokjin and Jisoo get the second biggest bedroom, the one upstairs with a queen-sized bed and a big tub in the en-suite. Hoseok suggests him and Yoongi share one of the bedrooms with two single beds, and he accepts, mainly because he could care less where he sleeps.
As everyone begins to pair off for the remainder of the rooms, the reality of the situation slowly starts to sink in. There are five people left, and only three more rooms.
"Jimin and I will share a room," Taehyung calls out, shooting Jungkook a look, subtly gesturing over to you with his eyes. He knows his friend wants to share a room with you, better yet, he knows his friend does not want to share a room with Hana.
"___, you're new to the group. You should get your own room," Mai suggests.
Dammit Mai.
Jungkook looks over at you, swallowing thickly at the thought of having to share the last room with Hana, who happens to be visibly pleased.
"I think that's a great idea!" Hana quips with a sly grin. "Kookie and I can share, and his friend can have her own room. I mean, who doesn't want their own room, right, ___?"
"Oh, uhhh..." You don't quite know what to say. You glance over at Jungkook, his eyes boring a hole through you, practically begging you to decline. You're a guest in Mai's family's home, so you should probably just take what you get, even if the thought of Jungkook and Hana sleeping in a bed together makes your stomach turn.
"Hana, why don't you take the single room instead?" Taehyung blurts out with a sickeningly sweet smile, causing Hana to whip her head in his direction. "___ is Jungkook's friend so I think it would only make sense for them to share a room. You said it yourself; who doesn't want their own room...right?"
Hana's eyes dart between you and Jungkook, her jaw clenching. She had clearly hoped to get a room with Jungkook in hopes of getting closer to him, but with everyone's expectant eyes on her, Taehyung leaves her no choice. She forces a smile and pretends to be thrilled about having her own room for these next three days.
"Yeah, perfect," she mutters through gritted teeth.
Jungkook keeps his expression schooled, even as his heart bangs against his ribcage. The two of you will be sharing a room. He shoots Taehyung a grateful smile, silently thanking his friend for doing what he couldn't do. Internally, he's ecstatic, but externally he remains nonchalant. He knows you still have your boundaries and your rules and all that, so he leans over to whisper in your ear from his seat on the arm of the couch, making sure no one else can hear. "Are you okay with this?"
You turn your head to look up at him, your heart racing at the thought of sharing a room with him for three days. You're not sure if it's nerves or excitement, but you nod and give him a faint smile. Some rules are meant to be broken on vacation anyway.
He mirrors your smile, his eyes having a hard time looking away from your face. "It's fine with us," he announces, standing up to grab your luggage and take it to the room.
You follow him to your room and gently close the door behind you, your eyes trailing over the double bed you'll be sharing. The room itself is quite spacious with a big window, allowing the late afternoon sea breeze to travel inside. There is an en-suite bathroom and a waterfall shower, but all you can think about is that bed and what might happen in it in the nights to come.
You both start unpacking, the room slowly starting to feel like your own, your skincare products placed neatly on the bathroom counter, your clothing hanging in the shared closet. You hang up the last of your clothing while Jungkook goes to sit at the edge of the bed, watching you with a faint smile on his face.
"You sure you're okay with us sharing a room? Because I can sleep on the couch in the living room if you-"
"Don't be ridiculous," you chuckle, walking over to stand between his thighs, your hands on your hips. "I'm not letting you sleep on the couch on vacation. You'd probably just end up complaining about a crick in your neck and I don't wanna have that on my conscience."
He lets out a huff of laughter, shaking his head in amusement. "I guess you're right, yeah."
His laughter dies down, his face softening into a smile, his big brown eyes staring up at you, his hands reaching out to trail up your thighs, his thumbs rubbing slow circles over the fabric of your leggings. "Seriously though, I don't want you to be uncomfortable."
"Jungkook, I'm okay."
"Can I get a kiss to prove it?" he whispers, staring up at you like he's been dying to ask since he picked you up from your apartment.
You let out a soft scoff and lean down to cup his face in your hands, leaning in to press a soft peck to his lips.
"Another one please," he whispers, his lips just millimetres from yours, his big brown eyes pleading as he stares up at you. You smile and close the gap, pressing another kiss to his lips, this one lasting slightly longer.
"One more."
"You're greedy."
"For you, yes."
You're about to respond, when there's a knock at the door, causing you to jolt up straight, backing away from him to avoid getting caught by any of his friends. "Come in!"
Jisoo peeks her head in, completely oblivious to the moment you had going on. "Hey, we're getting started on dinner, okay? It shouldn't be long."
"Thanks, Soo," Jungkook murmurs, standing up to subtly adjust his jeans, his back turned to her.
As soon as Jisoo leaves and the door closes, your eyes trail down to see Jungkook's situation, a little chuckle bubbling up your throat.
"Are you seriously hard from a few kisses?"
"Shut up, your kisses feel good, okay?" he mumbles, a faint pout on his lips.
You bite your lip to hold back the smile spreading across your face, his words sending a rush of pride through your chest. You glance over at the bathroom door before grabbing some underwear and a flowy dress from the closet to wear to dinner. "I'm gonna go take a shower before dinner, okay?"
"Yeah," he nods, his eyes growing wide as you turn around and press one last kiss to his lips before disappearing into the en-suite, the bathroom door shutting behind you.
Jungkook plops down onto the bed with his arms splayed out, a big grin spread across his face as he stares up at the ceiling. A few kisses and he's putty in your hands.
The smell of food fills your nose as you leave the room for dinner, the others coming in and out of the kitchen. Jisoo sets the table while Seokjin and Yoongi finish up on dinner, with the others hanging out in the living room. You want to make yourself useful in any way that you can, so you go to the kitchen to check if anyone needs any help.
"___, can you help me set the table?" Jisoo asks, handing you a few plates.
You get to work, placing a plate at each place setting while she adds the utensils and the glasses. She doesn't seem to talk much, which is quite the opposite of Mai, which is probably why they're best friends. They balance each other out. That seems to be the case for Jungkook's entire friend group. Each person has their person who seems to balance out their personality. Yoongi has Hoseok, Jisoo has Mai and Mai has Namjoon, and so on. This leaves you questioning who your person is. Maybe it's the man who can't seem to keep his big brown eyes off of you for more than a few seconds at a time as he attempts to stay focused on his conversation with Hoseok and Namjoon.
"You know," Jisoo murmurs, keeping her eyes down as she gently places the utensils next to each plate. "You must be really special for Jungkook to bring you around."
Her words puzzle you. "How so?"
She looks over at you, a soft smile spreading across her face. "You're the first woman Jungkook's ever introduced us to. Even if you are just his friend...you must be a very special friend."
You look down at the stack of plates in your hands, her words ringing through your head. "I suppose so..."
As if on cue, Jungkook walks into the dining room, slowly rounding the table to get to you, placing a gentle hand on your lower back. "Need any help?"
"I think we can manage," you murmur softly, looking up into his eyes.
Jisoo looks between the two of you with a knowing smile, leaving to get the salads from the kitchen. She knows that look, the way you look at him. It's the same look she used to give Seokjin in university, the look she still gives him even after three kids. She doesn't know you that well yet, but she has a sneaky suspicion she'll be seeing a lot more of you.
Everyone eventually sits down for dinner, Jungkook sitting on your left and Mai on your right. The atmosphere around the table is bubbly, everyone chatting and discussing their plans for the next two days in Jeju.
"We're so playing volleyball tomorrow," Hoseok announces. "Everyone in?"
"Soo and I will be sitting this one out," Seokjin murmurs with an apologetic smile.
"Boooo!" Jimin teases, rolling his eyes. "Hyung, c'mon!"
"Sorry, we're going for a walk," he shrugs.
"A walk?" Namjoon scoffs. "Is that code for sex?"
Seokjin lets out a hearty laugh, giving Namjoon an exasperated look. "You try having three kids. Cut us some slack!"
"Okay, so Jin and Jisoo are out," Hoseok says, rolling his eyes at the couple who don't seem to care, Jisoo placing a soft kiss on her husband's cheek.
"Me too," Yoongi murmurs, chewing on some of the samgyeopsal. "I wanna catch up on some reading."
Hoseok scoffs, muttering a teasing, "Get a load of Stephen Hawking over here".
"I'm in," Jimin calls out. "I still have to kick your ass for the last volleyball game."
"Yeah, me too. I can't believe we lost to Hobi," Taehyung sighs, shaking his head. "Kook?"
"I'm still deciding," Jungkook murmurs with a faint grin, taking a sip of his beer. His response is mostly just to tease Hoseok.
You look over at him, then over at Hoseok, who seems to be waiting for your verdict. "I'm in."
"See, I knew I liked you, ___," Hoseok smiles. "Kook, why didn't you bring her around sooner? I'm already starting to like her more than you."
Jungkook doesn't protest. He simply glances over at you with a soft smile on his face, watching as you talk to his friends. It feels so natural to have you here, like you're a puzzle piece that's been missing all this time. You just fit.
All throughout dinner, he finds little ways to maintain contact with you. He touches your thigh under the table, he rests his arm over the back of your chair, he lazily plays with the ends of your hair while you make conversation with Taehyung about work. It's his subtle way of showing his affection without outright saying what he feels.
After dinner, his friends decide to sit around the patio and roast some marshmallows on the fire that Seokjin lit. Hana chose to go to her room with the excuse of not feeling too well so that she doesn't have to tell the truth, which is that she would rather bang her head against a wall than sit and watch Jungkook make heart eyes at you for another second.
Everyone else gets cozy outside. The sun has already set, the moon and stars illuminating the seaside while the waves crash in the distance. You sit next to Jungkook on one of the patio loveseats, the fire crackling as he holds out a charred marshmallow on a skewer.
"Mai, is everything finalised for the wedding?" Jisoo asks, snuggling up to Seokjin under a thick blanket on one of the other loveseats.
"I have my final dress fitting next week and the venue is stunning! We can't wait for you guys to see it," Mai gushes, her eyes sparkling as she talks about her wedding. "We're really excited."
"Damn, the second couple in our friend group is getting married," Yoongi sighs. "We're getting old."
"Speak for yourself," Taehyung scoffs, playfully elbowing his friend.
"Weddings are always so exciting," Jisoo sighs blissfully. "I remember how happy I was at our wedding. I think that was honestly the happiest day of my life...and when the boys were born of course," she chuckles.
You stare down at the fire burning away, your eyes slightly glossy as you zone in on the low flames. Wedding-talk always gets you a bit choked up, but the last thing you want to do is take away from Mai and Namjoon's moment, so you blink away the moisture building in your eyes and swallow the lump in your throat.
Of course Jungkook notices. He can sense something is wrong by the way your shoulders tense up, the way your eyes remain fixed on the fire. He doesn't want to draw any attention to you, so he leans closer, keeping his voice down. "Hey, everything okay?" he whispers, gently snaking an arm around your waist.
You snap out of your daze to look at him, inhaling sharply, the cool evening breeze working fast to dry your eyes. "Mhm," you nod, looking out at the ocean in the distance. "I'm fine, just...a bit tired."
"You wanna head inside?"
"No, I'm fine."
He doesn't push. He takes your word for it, even though he knows you're anything but fine. He knows you won't tell him what's on your mind, so he lets it go and gently squeezes your waist through the fabric of your dress, a simple way of saying that he's here for you through whatever it is that seems to be bothering you.
"Hey, she was hot!" Jimin exclaims exasperatedly.
"She threatened to hit you with her car," Namjoon laughs.
The conversation seems to have taken a different turn while you and Jungkook got distracted, his friends reminiscing about their failed relationships. Namjoon and Mai's upcoming wedding has them all thinking about their own love lives, some a bit less significant than others.
"What can I say, I like my girls with a touch of psycho," Jimin laughs, earning an amused snort from Taehyung.
"Hey, remember that woman Kook told us about a few years ago who was apparently sooo gorgeous," Hoseok chuckles. "What ever happened to her, man?"
"Yeah, you never told us her name," Yoongi chimes in, giving Jungkook a puzzled look. "You went on and on about how smart and-"
Jungkook clears his throat loudly, subtly signaling for them to 'zip it', his eyes briefly flickering over to you before you even catch it. "She died," he deadpans, earning a loud laugh from Hoseok.
"You're so full of bullshit," he laughs, shaking his head. He would never laugh at something so tragic, but come on. It's so obvious Jungkook just wants this topic to end.
You glance over at him, seeing the way he looks down at the wooden patio floor, his cheeks flushed. You wonder who they're talking about and why you've never heard him talk about this "gorgeous" woman before. You don't want to ask him about it. You don't want to know. Or do you? You feel weird. It's like you're...jealous or something. You're not jealous, that's ridiculous. It's just curiosity. And possibly acid reflux. Well, good for her, whoever she is.
Jungkook lets out a silent sigh of relief when the guys don't question him any further, the topic changing to something else, something you don't really take notice of because you're still too busy wondering who this woman is, or was. Maybe another professor at work? Or maybe she was a neighbour, or even just someone in passing, like a cashier at the grocery store or a waitress at a restaurant.
You're so busy wondering who it could be, you don't even realize you're shivering until he mentions it. "Are you cold?"
"A little," you murmur, rubbing your arms, feeling the goosebumps that have risen.
"I'll go get you a blanket. I'll be right back."
You watch as he gets up and goes inside the house to get you a blanket, your eyes following behind him even when he's out of your line of sight. Mai notices and scoots closer.
"Are you thinking about what Hobi said? About the woman Jungkook wouldn't stop talking about?"
"What?" Your eyebrows raise in faux surprise. "No, why would I be thinking about that?"
Mai smiles, seeing right through your lie. "Okay, well...just so you know...if Hobi actually paid enough attention, he'd remember that Jungkook went on and on about the gorgeous political science professor he met at work...but you didn't hear that from me," she whispers, playfully zipping her lips.
Mai's words make you freeze in your spot, your lips parting, the lightbulb going off in your brain. You know he finds you attractive. Obviously, he's having sex with you, for God's sake. But hearing that he spoke to his friends about you all those years ago when you first met...it feels different. It has a different connotation. You don't speak about a friend like that, do you? Well, you're not just friends, but you're not his either. Being his is a concept you've noticed reoccurring in your head a lot lately, but one you have yet to acknowledge. It's scary to think about. Being his doesn't feel scary, but the thought of being vulnerable enough to lay yourself out there to be hurt is scary.
You're snapped back to reality when Jungkook returns and sits down next to you, gently draping a warm blanket around your shoulders, an even warmer smile on his face.
"Better?" he whispers.
"Better," you whisper.
That look on his face. It makes everything feel less scary. It makes your heart beat faster and your stomach feel all tingly. It's a look you've grown accustomed to. It's a feeling you've started growing accustomed to.
The evening slowly draws to a close and everyone starts saying their goodnights, going off to their rooms. Jungkook goes to your room and you're about to join him but you're stopped by Mai in the hallway.
"Hey," she whispers. "Please don't tell Jungkook I told you about the whole 'gorgeous professor' thing. He'd probably kill me."
You chuckle, storing the information in a locked safe in your brain. "I won't say anything."
"Okay. I just don't want him to think I'm meddling, y'know."
"There's nothing to meddle in, Mai. We're just-"
"Friends...right," she chuckles, nodding in understanding, even though her facial expression tells you she still doesn't believe you. She knows there's more to the story. The chemistry between you and Jungkook is too strong to be just friends.
"Don't give me that look."
"What look? There's no look," she laughs.
"There so is a look," you chuckle, shaking your head.
"I'm just saying...I'm not trying to pry, I just...l kinda have a feeling there's more going on. There's a whole vibe between you two."
"The 'vibe' is called friendship," you deadpan.
At this point you aren't sure if you're trying to convince Mai or yourself, but it's a habit at this point to deny any romantic connection between you and Jungkook. It saves you from answering a million questions.
"Okay, okay. If you say so, I believe you," she chuckles, holding her hands up in surrender. "I'll let you go before your 'friend' starts looking for you," she teases, biding you goodnight before going upstairs to join Namjoon in the master bedroom.
You make your way into your room and close the door behind you, finding Jungkook sitting on the edge of the bed waiting for you. "Hey."
"Hey yourself," he murmurs with a soft smile, holding his arms out as you make your way over to him, his hands sliding up to hold onto your waist, his eyes looking up at you. There isn't too much light in the room except for the bedside light and the moonlight streaming in through the large window.
"What were you and Mai talking about out there?"
"Girl stuff, I can't tell you," you tease, you lips curling into a grin.
Jungkook playfully rolls his eyes, a smile playing on his lips. "Oh, girl stuff, huh? So secret and exclusive," he murmurs with a mock pout.
"Yeah, it's confidential. Sorry," you chuckle, reaching out to gently run your fingers through his hair.
"Not even a hint? C'mon, baby..."
"My lips are sealed, Jeon."
Jungkook tilts his head back to look up at you properly, a hint of yearning in his gaze. He can barely focus on your words when you look so pretty standing before him. He can't wait to break in the bed with you, but he'll remain patient for now.
"Yeah?" he grins, biting his bottom lip. "Maybe I could get you to open them, hm?"
"Behave yourself," you whisper, your eyes slowly trailing down to his lips and back up. "Your friends are just down the hall."
"So? Let them hear us, I don't care."
You have to mentally remind yourself that you're not alone and that you don't want his friends hearing the things the two of you get up to behind closed doors. You muster up your strength to pull away from him, feeling like a magnet resisting his pull.
"You're crazy. I'm gonna go get ready for bed." You go to get your pyjamas from the closet and make your way to the bathroom, closing the door behind you.
Jungkook waits for you while you change, chewing on his bottom lip as he stares at the bathroom door. He slowly removes his shirt and his shoes, leaning back on his hands. He looks up as you emerge from the bathroom, standing in the open doorframe, your face glowing from the serum you used, your toothbrush in your mouth. He sees the way your eyes trail down his bare chest, the way your pupils dilate ever so subtly.
"You look cute," he murmurs with a lazy grin, his head tilted to the side as he watches you from the bed.
"Don't I always?" you tease, spitting the toothpaste foam into the sink before rinsing your mouth and walking out of the bathroom.
"Yes, but...I like you like this, in your cute pyjamas, your hair up, bare-faced," he murmurs, getting up from the bed to make his way over to you. He stands behind you at the sink, his hands trailing around your waist, his chin resting on your shoulder.
"You gonna let me take these cute pyjamas off you?" he whispers. "I'll do that thing you like with my tongue."
His words go straight to your core, a faint blush spreading across your cheeks. You turn around to face him, your hands resting upon his bare chest as you look up into his eyes.
"What do you say? You wanna break in the bed?"
You look up into his eyes, your heart telling you to give in and let him do whatever he wants with you, your brain telling you that the walls are thin, that it's risky. Taehyung and Jimin's room is right next door, and if you can hear their muffled conversation, they'll be able to hear all the things Jungkook so badly wants to do to you.
"Maybe we should...wait...until we get back home..."
His brows furrow in confusion. That's not what he was expecting.
"Wait, what? Why?"
"Your friends could hear us."
"___, I meant what I said. I don't care if they hear us."
"But I care," you whisper, gently cupping his cheeks in your hands. "I just...I don't think we should risk it."
He sighs, but he understands why you're hesitant. He already let it slip to Taehyung that you're hooking up, breaking his promise of keeping it between the two of you. He doesn't want the rest of his friends finding out, especially not by hearing the two of you have sex. It would just bring about a million questions that he himself does not have the answers to.
"Okay. I understand," he sighs, pressing a quick kiss to your forehead. "I'll just take a quick shower and get ready for bed."
He closes the bathroom door once you leave, but he doesn't lock it. A part of him wants you to walk back in and tell him that you changed your mind. He wants you to stop worrying so much and just let him love you the way he wants to. When he stands under the hot stream of water and lathers himself in his body wash, he wishes you were in there with him, letting him lather your body as well. He wishes you'd allow yourself to be taken care of. Sure he takes care of your sexual needs, but who runs you a nice warm bath after you've had a stressful day at work? Who makes you soup when you're sick or holds you in the middle of the night when you're having a bad dream? He could be that person for you if you'd just let him.
He wants to say 'fuck it' and change your mind, convince you to just let loose of the reins for a bit, but when he opens the bathroom door and finds you laying on your back in bed, with tired eyes and a soft smile on your face, all he really wants is to just lay by your side. He doesn't need the sex. A simple touch of your hand on his cheek is enough for him if it means he gets to be close to you.
He gets in bed, propping his head up on his hand, his eyes looking down at you. His hand snakes around to the side of your waist, keeping his grip gentle. "Those eyes look heavy. I thought people are supposed to stay up late on vacation."
"Yeah, when you're twenty-one. I'm not twenty-one anymore," you mumble through a soft chuckle, your sleepy eyes gazing up at him.
"Right, I forgot you're sixty-three with a hip replacement."
You let out a huff of laughter, the sound bringing a wide grin to his face. As your laughter dies down, you notice the way he looks at you, as if he's hypnotised by you.
"What?"
Jungkook's lips curl into a little smile when he realises he's been caught staring. "What?" he echoes, playing coy. "Can't I just admire a good-looking view?" he quips, his tone light and playful.
"I suppose I can't blame you," you murmur, your grin turning a bit more playful. "I'd stare too if I were you."
"Oh, you're so modest, aren't you?" He scoffs.
You chuckle, your eyes fluttering closed, and Jungkook's heart swells in his chest. Your smile is so soft, so genuine, it's infectious. He can't tear his eyes away from you, the way your lashes lay gently against your cheeks, the way your lips curve up at the edges. He reaches out without thinking, gently brushing a stray lock of hair away from your face, his touch light and tentative.
"___," he whispers.
"Yeah?"
There's a moment of utter silence before he speaks, his voice soft and delicate.
"You're an incredibly beautiful woman."
Suddenly, words are lost on you. You can't seem to find a response that would appropriately correlate with the way his words make you feel, so you show him instead. You lean in and press a gentle, tender kiss to his lips, your hand reaching up to cup the side of his jaw. It's slow and soft, and it steals his breath for a second. When you pull away, his eyes look slightly dreamy and his smile looks a bit dazed.
"Can we make that a regular thing?"
"What?"
"I mean...can we forget about the whole no kissing outside of sex thing? I just wanna kiss you...whenever it feels right..."
You pause, contemplating his words. You can't lie and say that you don't want that, because lord knows you do.
"We'll see," you whisper, smiling as you lean in for another kiss, and then another.
He knows what that smile means. It means you want it too, you're just too damn stubborn to outright admit it, as if him kissing you is so scandalous. He doesn't care, your unclear answer doesn't upset him. The way your lips can't seem to stray from his for longer than a few seconds tells him everything he needs to know.
"We'll see, huh?" He smiles, wrapping his arm around your waist to pull you closer to him, rolling onto his back with your body halfway on top of him. He enjoys the simple intimacy of just having your head on his chest, his fingers languidly running through your hair.
"Yeah, we'll see," you whisper, laying your head down on his chest, where it remains for the rest of the night.
You're very cautious about cuddling. You don't cuddle after sex, and don't usually cuddle outside of sex either. Your heart is far too weak for that and you know that one good cuddle from the right man will have you throwing all your rules out the window, so when you wake up and that man isn't cuddling you like you had secretly hoped he would, you're met with disappointment.
You slowly open your eyes, blinking in the bright morning light that streams through the large window, the sea air drifting through your nose. As you come to, you notice that the other side of the bed is empty. Your thoughts linger on the person who is supposed to be on the other side of the bed, and you find yourself missing him, yearning to see his face, his fluffy hair, his pretty eyes. You slowly push yourself up into a sitting position, contemplating getting out of bed to find him.
Just as you're about to get up, however, the door to the bedroom opens and Jungkook walks in, carrying two mugs of coffee. As soon as his eyes land on you in bed, his face lights up with a smile.
"You're awake," he murmurs, his voice still a little groggy from sleep. He walks over to the bed and hands you one of the mugs.
"You went to get me coffee?" You still feel a bit groggy as you look down at the mug in your hand, smelling the delicious aroma.
"Of course," he smiles, sliding onto the edge of the bed beside you. "I figured you might need some caffeine to fully wake up."
Jungkook watches as you take a tentative sip of the coffee, enjoying the feeling of seeing you this early in the morning, still so sleepy, your hair a little messy, your lips slightly swollen, your cheeks flushed. He cherishes these moments, seeing you so vulnerable and unguarded in the morning. It's a side of you that he rarely gets to see, and he'll never take it for granted.
"Once you finish that, you have to get up because we're heading down to the beach around 9:30-ish."
"Damn...Hoseok really takes his volleyball seriously, huh?"
"He does," he chuckles, shaking his head in amusement. "I'm gonna go get ready while you have your coffee."
He rounds the bed to get to his suitcase, pulling out his swimming shorts before making his way to the bathroom to change, giving you a moment to yourself.
You find yourself missing his presence as soon as the bathroom door closes, which is odd. You're not a clingy person. You like your space. You don't like spending every minute of every day with someone. Yet, here you are, impatiently waiting for his return after a simple trip to the bathroom to change. Maybe it's because you know that when he walks out of that bathroom, he'll be wearing half the amount of clothing he wore going in, or maybe your impatience is your body going through withdrawals after asking him to withold sex until you get home, which you think you're starting to regret.
You don't know what's going on with you lately. First, last night's jealousy at the thought of Jungkook finding another woman attractive (and the immediate relief when said woman turned out to be you), then the cuddling in bed, and then the disappointment of not waking up in his arms this morning.
It's not long before the bathroom door opens and he walks out in all his glory, his torso bare and toned, his shorts adorning his hips. A fresh cup of coffee and a nice view of a very attractive, half-naked man all within twenty minutes of waking up is surely a good way to start the day.
His presence alone is confirmation that you definitely regret asking him to withhold sex until you get home. It's confirmation that you were jealous last night, and that you were disappointed when he wasn't in bed with you when you woke up this morning.
"Actually, uh..." He stops in his tracks, his attention back on you. "You guys go and I'll meet you at the beach in a little bit."
"Are you sure?" He tilts his head in confusion.
"Yeah, you go, I'll be down in a bit."
He's hesitant to leave, having planned on going together, but he assumes you just want to catch up on a few more minutes of rest. "Okay...I'll see you down there," he murmurs with a smile before making his way out to join the others.
You set your coffee down on the nightstand and plop back down on the bed, your eyes staring up at the ceiling. You have so much going on in your head and your heart, and the two won't stop butting heads. You know this feeling. You know what love feels like. You've been there before, and you didn't like how it ended, which is exactly why you locked the big padlock on your heart and threw away the key. Yet, when you close your eyes and Jungkook's face pops up in your head, and his voice rings through your ears, a soft smile works its way onto your face.
When you're with him, you just want to kiss his cheek and listen to him ramble on and on about international trade and supply and demand. You want to suck his dick, then hold his hand and tell him how smart, and kind, and pretty he is. Oh how pretty he is. You want to partake in all of his nerdy interests with him and ask him questions about it just to see him get excited.
You threw that damn key away and you thought you'd never need it again, but somehow, Jungkook must have stumbled upon it and picked it up because it seems to be in his possession.
You can't stay here and let your thoughts run wild any longer. You have to get out of this room and get down to that beach.
It's still quite early yet the sun is already scorching, the sand warm and toasty beneath your feet. The smell of salty air and sunscreen fills your senses, a perfect combination for a summer day. You spot Mai in her cute bikini, tanning on the sand, so you make your way over to her while some of the others set up a volleyball net, Hoseok and Namjoon's excited chattering echoing in the distance.
"Wooow, hot mama," Mai hoots, her chin resting in her palm while she tans her back, her sunglasses pushed up to the top of her head. The 'hotness' she's referring to might be the red bikini adorning your body, the red bikini you picked out with Jungkook's reaction in mind...but who knows for sure?
"Speak for yourself," you chuckle, laying down beside her, the sun beating down on your back. "I bet Namjoon loves that bikini, huh?"
"Honey, he'll be taking this bikini off of me later," she cackles, shooting a flirty wave over to her fiancé in the distance.
Namjoon's eyes aren't the only ones occupied. Jungkook can't help but stare, his eyes hungrily raking over your form. He's supposed to be partaking in a conversation with Taehyung and Jimin, but he's so distracted, his thoughts consumed by the sight of you in that bikini, his gaze firmly planted to your smooth skin, the roundness of your ass, those legs. It hasn't even been a full 24 hours yet and the lack of sex is already proving to be rather difficult.
"What're you guys talking about?" There's that damn nagging voice, Hana joining their conversation, the conversation Jungkook couldn't care less about right now.
"Jimin and I were talking about what we'd do if we were the only people left on earth," Taehyung quips. "And Jungkook appears to no longer be with us."
Jungkook lets out a scoff, shaking his head in amusement, his eyes still glued to you while you converse with Mai in the distance.
Hana follows his line of sight and subtly rolls her eyes, letting out a soft sigh of frustration. "Kookie, what would you do if you and I were the only people left on earth?"
"Probably buy a gun," he mutters under his breath before walking off in your direction, leaving behind two highly amused friends and an offended Hana.
He makes his way over, sitting down next to you without a word, both of your faces turning into a grin at the mere proximity. "Hey ladies," he murmurs, getting comfortable while a few of the guys play a practice round of volleyball.
"Kook," Mai nods in acknowledgement, her eyes shifting to the water ahead. "I was just saying how hot your friend is."
"Mm, she's okay, I guess," he shrugs with a teasing grin, leaning back on his hands.
"I'm right here you know," you scoff.
"Trust me, I see you."
You're lucky Mai's eyes are on the water a few feet away, because if she were to turn her head and look at Jungkook, she'd see his hand trailing up your thigh, giving your asscheek a quick squeeze before you silently swat it away, a bashful smile on your face. You turn your head to him to mouth a silent 'stop' but he simply shoots you a mischievous wink.
That face paired with that wink gets you, and you might have let him continue if Hoseok hadn't called everyone to start the game of volleyball.
Everyone gathers and divides into two teams on opposite sides of the net, the air already filled with playful bickering and competitive banter. Jungkook, Taehyung, Jimin and you are on one side, while Namjoon, Mai, Hoseok and Hana are on the other.
The game begins and the competitive spirit sparks, everyone focused on their team winning. When you agreed to play, you didn't expect the game to be so intense, full of spikes, blocks and a few dives. You especially didn't expect to bond this well with his friends, the group making you feel like you've known them for years. You share high-fives and amusing words with his friends every time something exciting happens, feeling the synergy in the air.
Jungkook watches you as you run across the sand to get to the ball, admiring your agility. You certainly make a good team, sharing a bit of a competitive streak. The two of you work together to score against the other team in a tough back and forth, your excitement too much to contain when Namjoon fumbles the ball on their side of the net.
The point given to your team is shoved to the back of your mind when Jungkook rushes over to wrap his arms around your waist, spinning you off your feet. The adrenaline mixed with the contact of his skin on yours sends a dizzying, electrifying feeling through your body. The two of you laugh and cheer while Taehyung and Jimin shout taunts at the other team, the others playfully 'boo'ing and rolling their eyes.
Hana feels her face heat up in a simmering rage of jealousy and frustration, her eyes narrowing as she watches the two of you, the flirty undertones, his winks every time you score, the bashful smiles all starting to grate at her.
"Not fair, ___'s good! I want her on our team," Hana calls out, clearly up to something.
"But-" Jimin is about to protest but she's already made up her mind.
"___, why don't you swap with Hobi for the rest of the game."
"Wha- hey! I thought I was good," Hoseok laughs.
Hana's tone is just a little too sweet. You can feel the shift in her demeanour, and you know it's not just about the game anymore. You glance over at Jungkook, seeing the crease between his eyebrows, the tension in his jaw. It's clear that he is not happy.
"No way, ___'s our star player," Taehyung calls out, playfully nudging your arm, oblivious to the underlying tension.
Hana doesn't back down, her smile turning sly. "Oh whatever, don't be so greedy," she chides, her voice sickly sweet. "Come on, ___."
You don't want to reject her in front of everyone, so you offer her a weak smile, feeling put on the spot. "Sure," you mutter, reluctantly swapping places with Hoseok. You shoot Jungkook a confused look, his expression mirroring yours.
The game starts back up, but Jungkook is still suspicious of her intentions. He knows what she's like, and he can practically see the gears turning in her head.
The game goes on, everyone playing as normal, the vibes more or less okay, until they aren't. Jimin hits the ball in your direction and you run a few quick steps to reach it, when suddenly there's a foot blocking your way, sending you tumbling to the ground, your body landing in the sand, your ankle taking a bit of a beating.
"Oh shit, ___, I'm sorry," Hana gasps, the emotion in her voice not reaching her face. Everyone looks concerned, worried looks crossing their faces.
Jungkook reacts within seconds, sprinting over to you as soon as you hit the sand, his heart racing in his chest, his eyes wide with worry. He crouches down to check on you, his hands gentle as he inspects you for any injuries. "Are you okay? Does anything hurt?"
You look up at his face, seeing the genuine worry in his eyes. "My ankle hurts a bit but-"
Before you can get your sentence out, he's already checking your ankle, looking like a first aider who desperately wants a raise.
"It's fine, really, it's nothing to worry about."
He looks into your eyes, his movements coming to a halt, his chest rising and falling from rushing over to you. He doesn't care that his friends are watching, he doesn't care that his feelings are as clear as day. All he cares about right now is you and your ankle.
"You're sure?"
You nod, slowly getting up. You take a step, but your ankle is tender, causing you to hiss and stumble. Jungkook reaches out to steady you, his hands holding onto your waist, his grip firm.
"___, I think you should rest your ankle, honey," Mai murmurs with a sympathetic smile.
"Yeah, maybe put some ice on it," Namjoon nods, looking concerned.
"I'm sorry. It was an accident," Hana pipes up, a faint, apologetic smile on her face. The apology is almost as fake as her nose.
Jungkook's eyes narrow when he looks over at her, his anger showing clearly on his face. A muscle in his jaw twitches as he bites back a response. As much as he wants to lash out at her for purposefully hurting you, he holds his tongue, not giving her the attention she wants.
"I'm gonna go take her back to the house to get some ice on her ankle," he says, his tone brokering no argument. "You all can continue playing." The rest of the group nods in agreement, their faces filled with sympathy and concern. Hana stays silent.
Your injury really isn't that serious for you to not be able to walk, just causing a little limp, but when Jungkook decides you need to be carried bridal style, you don't protest. You actually have to hold back a giggle when his arm muscles flex as he carries you, quickly composing yourself.
He cradles you against his chest as he takes you back to the house, his grip on you firm but gentle. Once you reach the house, he sets you down on the couch, propping up your ankle with a pillow. He disappears into the kitchen, returning moments later with an ice pack, which he gently applies to your ankle. He takes a seat on the edge of the couch, his eyes fixed on your face, studying your expression for any signs of pain or discomfort.
He notices the small hiss that escapes your lips, his gaze softening as he looks at you, his hand resting on the ice pack, keeping it in place. "Does it hurt?"
"It's just really cold," you chuckle, looking down at the ice pack.
"Cold is better than pain, right?"
"Yeah, cold is better than pain," you smile.
You feel him remove the ice pack, watching him inspect your ankle with so much care, so much tenderness. Seeing him run over as soon as you got hurt, having him take care of you like this...it's a glimpse of the care you haven't allowed yourself to indulge in for a long time.
"Thank you," you whisper as you look up into his eyes, your body language a bit more vulnerable.
His gaze is soft, his expression filled with a tenderness that matches his touch. "Of course."
There's a moment, just a brief one, where time seems to still, his eyes holding yours, the space between you feeling almost electrified with a quiet intimacy.
"You got over there pretty fast," you murmur softly.
"Of course, I was worried about you."
He leans in, his face inching closer to yours, his fingers gently brushing some of your hair out of your face before he cups your cheek in his palm. "I don't ever want to see you hurt...no matter how minor..."
"I'm okay," you whisper, a faint smile on your lips, your nose just barely brushing against his.
"How's the pain?"
"What pain?"
He rolls his eyes, a small huff of amusement leaving his lips. "I'm serious," he whispers, a hint of a smile on his face, his thumb stroking your cheek. "You're sure it's okay?"
"I'm sure." You voice is soft, and the kiss he presses to your lips is even softer, your mouths moving in sync. Your lips might not be able to say everything you're feeling, but the kiss sure does. It's a silent confession that he cares for you and you care for him, more deeply than either of you can put into words.
He pulls back ever so slightly, his forehead resting against yours, his eyes still closed after that kiss, but the sound of the guys returning from the beach is like a cold shower, both of you suddenly pulled back into reality, the moment between you interrupted.
He holds the ice pack firmly against your ankle but his eyes are on your face, trying to read your expression, trying to find even a hint of what you're thinking or feeling. His heart is racing, but he forces himself to appear calm, to mask the flurry of emotions he's going through.
The guys burst through the door, their voices loud and full of laughter, a stark contrast to the quiet and charged atmosphere between you and Jungkook. They're blissfully oblivious to what they've interrupted, their brains still on the beach. They all make sure to check if you're okay, the attention thankfully on your ankle and not on Jungkook's and your flushed cheeks and flustered faces.
It's around 7pm when you find yourself on the patio, curled up on one of the loveseats, listening to Mai and Jisoo discuss wedding preparations. The sun is halfway set along the horizon, casting pretty pink and orange hues across the sky.
Some of the others have already retired to their rooms, probably knocked out after eating the mountain of dumplings Yoongi made for dinner. You had contemplated speaking to Hana about what happened on the beach, but you ultimately decided against it. You know that her intention was to hurt you, but you're an adult and you refuse to indulge in her petty games.
"Are you stressed out? I know I was when I was getting married," Jisoo chuckles, taking a sip of her tea as she curls up one of the patio sofas.
"Big time," Mai sighs. "Don't get me wrong, I'm so excited to finally marry Joon, but wedding planning is a lot more stressful than I thought it would be."
You listen as Mai vents, going on about the caterers, and the venue, and the dress. You're a part of the conversation, but you shift in and out of being emotionally present. Your eyes drift off into the distance, staring out at the water with a distant look on your face, the pain in your ankle long forgotten.
"Joon and I even got into an argument last month because we went over budget...or, well, I went over budget," she scoffs.
"That's normal," Jisoo shrugs, giving her a reassuring smile. "Jin and I had a few arguments throughout the planning. I get it. As long as you don't let the stress come between you."
You might be here physically, but mentally, you've checked out. It's as if your thoughts have grown legs and ran off on their own, taunting you with Jisoo's words.
As long as you don't let the stress come between you.
Jisoo's words take you back to that time in your life, when you thought your life was perfect. It was perfect. You had the man of your dreams, a ring, and the promise of a long life together. Then you 'let the stress come between you'. At least that was Sunghoon's excuse for having sex with a friend of yours. He told you he was stressed out and the wedding planning just became too much for him, and you were always studying for your masters, never giving him the attention he deserved.
It's a strange thing, grieving. To grieve, not a person, but rather a bond that you spent years building with a person, is a feeling you can't quite explain. Grieving the loss of a relationship is not linear. The sadness and the anger come and go. Some days you're completely fine, laughing and going out, feeling like yourself again. Some days you're on your bedroom floor, crying as you clutch onto the wedding dress you never got the wear. You grieve Sunghoon, not because he died, but because that boy you fell for at sixteen no longer exists.
You envy Mai and Namjoon's relationship. It's clear how much they love each other, how much he loves her. It's clear how much he values and respects her, how his eyes don't prioritize anything that isn't her, how kind and gentle he is with her. It's a reminder of the love you once had. The love that was crumpled up and thrown in your face on a random Tuesday evening.
You have to excuse yourself when the feeling starts to get a bit too much, all this wedding-talk making your eyes sting. You go down to the beach, the sand feeling rough beneath your feet, the air much colder now that the sun is fully set. You sit down with your knees held to your chest, your eyes looking out at the water, the waves crashing loudly. It's what your brain sounds like. So, so loud. It's overwhelming and the lump in your throat is starting to hurt.
Then there's a voice behind you and it's like everything goes still, your thoughts finally quieting down.
"There you are," he murmurs, his voice soft and gentle, the sound enough to warm you up in the cold breeze. "Mai and Jisoo said you were out here."
You don't respond, your heart feeling a little lighter when he sits down next to you, his eyes trailing from the water to your face.
"Why are you out here alone, hm?"
"Just...needed some air."
"There's air in the house too, you know."
A faint smile flashes across your face before it fades, your eyes trained straight ahead of you. "It's better to think out here."
"I suppose that's true."
He looks over at you, sensing the sadness in your eyes, in your demeanour. He doesn't know what it is, but he wants to protect you from it. It might be greedy of him, but he wants to pick apart your brain and understand exactly what it is that's burdening you. He wants to know your past, your fears, your regrets. He doesn't want to push, but he wants to be let in.
"___, what's making you so sad?"
You scoff humourlessly. "What makes you think I'm sad?"
"Don't do that."
"Do what?"
"Don't hide from me," he murmurs, looking at you with so much tenderness. "I can't force you to tell me what's bothering you...but I know it's not nothing."
"You think you've got me all figured out, huh?"
"Maybe."
He doesn't even know the half of it.
You stay silent, chewing on your bottom lip. You can't lie to him, and that kinda scares you. It scares you that you feel so strongly for him, strong enough to want to completely bare your soul for him.
"Listening to Mai and Jisoo talk about the wedding...it reminded me of..."
He doesn't rush you. He lets you take your time, holding his breath as he waits, sensing you want to open up about whatever it is that's weighing so heavily on your shoulders.
"It reminded me of a love I lost years ago..."
He isn't sure exactly what he feels. A part of him is relieved that you're finally letting him in, finally showing him this vulnerability. It's all he's ever wanted, yet the thought of a man hurting you, a man who once had the privilege of loving you (the privilege he so desperately longs for) and still throwing that away...it makes his head spin. This is the first time he's heard of you being with anyone in the past, and it reminds him of how little you've actually shared with him about yourself and your past.
"Do you...want to tell me about it?" He keeps his voice low, not wanting to speak too loudly in fear of scaring you away.
You take a deep breath before speaking.
"He was my first love...we met in high school. We were together for...a long time," you murmur, looking down at a vague spot in the sand. "And he cheated on me."
You don't tell him everything, just enough for him to get an understanding without sharing too much.
Your confession almost knocks the air out of his lungs, his brows furrowing, his eyes growing wide. He's angry. He's furious at the man who dared to betray you like that, he's confused why anyone would do something like that to a woman like you. He's sad, so terribly sad that you had to go through that. He can't imagine what that must have felt like, the pain you must have gone through. It pains him to think about you ever being hurt like that.
"___, I'm so sorry," he whispers, slowly inching closer to you.
"Don't be," you murmur, the faint smile on your lips not quite reaching your eyes. "It was a long time ago."
"That doesn't change the fact that it was wrong. ___, you deserve...everything. You deserve someone who wakes up everyday and feels blessed to have you, who would go to the ends of the earth for you..."
There's a pause, the air feeling thick.
"You deserve a man who loves you with all his heart."
His words fade into a quiet whisper, as if he's just bared his deepest secrets. He looks at the side of your face, his heart pounding in his chest.
"___," he whispers, practically begging you to look at him.
Your gaze meets his, your eyes shining with a thin sheen of unshed tears. His words hold so much feeling, so much desperation.
"Yes?" It's almost too soft to reach his ears, your voice trembling.
He leans in, his face inching closer, his fingers gently brushing your hair behind your ear.
"If you were mine...really mine..." He takes a sharp inhale through his nose, his eyes boring into yours. "I'd never break your heart."
It's like a dam breaks.
You close the gap between you, pressing your lips to his, your eyes squeezing shut, a tear finally rolling down your cheek, quickly being brushed away by his thumb. You crawl into his lap, the kiss growing passionate, your fingers sliding up into his hair, gripping onto his strands to steady yourself. You feel everything and nothing and all that is in between.
You love him. You really do, and it took you four years of knowing him to admit it to yourself. It's scary and it's uncertain, but it's love and it's real and you can't keep running from it.
It makes you shiver, the overwhelming feeling mixed with the cold evening air.
"Are you cold?" He asks, pulling away to look into your eyes, his thumbs gently stroking your cheeks.
"A little."
"Why don't we get you in a nice warm shower?"
You know what his suggestion implies, and you can't deny yourself of the pleasures of loving him and letting him love you.
"Okay."
You get up and make your way back to the house. It's completely still, everyone else already in their rooms. Jungkook leads you to your room and shuts the door, locking it for good measure. He looks over at you, the two of you silently communicating that you want this. He crosses the room and takes your face in his hands, crashing his lips into yours.
You walk backwards to the en-suite, pulling away only for him to open the shower door and turn the water on, the hot water slowly filling the room with steam. He turns back to you, searching your eyes for any hesitation.
"Are you coming in with me?" Your voice gives away your desires, your eyes begging him to give you what you want.
"Do you want me to?"
"I do," you murmur, leaning in to press a few quick pecks to his lips. You pull away and hold your arms up, a faint smile playing on your lips.
He gets the hint and reaches for the hem of your top, slowly pulling it up over your head, with big smiles spread across both of your faces. He reaches behind you to undo your bra, slowly sliding the material down your shoulders, letting it fall to the ground as he presses soft kisses to your collarbones. He kisses down your body until he is kneeling before you, his eyes trailing up to your face. "God, you're gorgeous," he mutters softly, hooking his fingers into the sides of your pants, pulling the fabric down your legs.
He presses a gentle peck to your lower stomach beneath your belly button, sending a shiver down your spine. He slowly pulls your panties down, tossing it aside with the rest of your clothes.
He stands up straight and smiles as you start undressing him, pulling his shirt over his head before moving onto his pants and boxers, letting the clothing pool at his feet.
He presses his lips to yours and leads you into the shower, the warm water cascading down your bodies. You wrap your arms around his neck, playing with the wet hair at the base of his neck. "I thought we were waiting until we got home," he whispers, a smile tugging at his lips.
"I'm tired of waiting," you whisper, moaning as he kisses down your neck.
His hands slide over your body, the water making everything slick, his fingers tracing along your curves. He pulls your body against his, his mouth moving up your neck to your ear, where he takes your earlobe into his mouth. "I'm gonna make you feel so good...gonna make you forget all about that other asshole."
He gently presses you up against the shower wall, kissing a line down the side of your neck. He holds onto your waist to steady you while his other hand finds its way between your legs, running his middle finger through your folds.
"So wet, baby," he mumbles into your neck, his voice a low rumble.
He gathers some of your slick on his fingers and starts rubbing slow circles over your clit. You moan softly and tilt your head back against the wall, your fingers gripping his biceps. He makes sure you're wet enough before sliding a finger into your pussy, slowly thrusting it in and out.
"F-fuck," you moan, your eyes fluttering shut.
"That feel good, baby?"
You nod.
"Want another?"
"Mhmm," you sigh blissfully, feeling him insert a second finger, his lips and tongue attached to your neck.
He groans at the sound of your slick, his fingers moving in a 'come here' motion, pulling soft moans and sighs from your lips. "You like that?" he mumbles, his voice a little deeper, his breathing a little ragged.
"Y-yeah," you manage to breathe out, your eyes squeezing shut and your eyebrows furrowing as the pleasure builds. Your nails dig into his biceps when his fingers pick up the pace, the knot in your stomach starting to tighten.
"Gonna...c-cum..."
He smiles against your neck as starts rubbing circles over your clit with his thumb, his middle and ring finger moving faster. "Cum for me, baby."
Your muscles tense up as the knot unravels, your orgasm washing over you with a loud moan. He slows his fingers, helping you through it by easing the pressure on your clit. "You did so good for me," he whispers, pressing a kiss to your lips, his tongue licking into your mouth.
You hand trails down his abdomen until it reaches its destination, wrapping your fingers around his semi-hard cock. He moans into the kiss, slipping his fingers out of your pussy to grip your hips, needing something to ground him while you stroke his cock.
"Wanna make you feel good," you whisper into the kiss, trailing your lips down his chin and neck, moving lower until you're down on your knees in front of him.
He looks down at you with his bottom lip caught between his teeth, his stomach muscles tensing in anticipation. He slides his fingers through your wet hair, resting his free hand against the wall. He watches as you part your lips, his cock twitching in excitement.
"Gonna take it like a good girl?"
You nod up at him before pressing a teasing kiss to the tip, listening to the soft moan that falls from his lips. You start stroking the shaft, batting your eyelashes up at him.
"Fuck, that feels good," he sighs, taking hold of your chin, pushing his thumb into your mouth. He groans as you swirl your tongue around it, the way you would with his cock.
You suck on his thumb, making sure to hold eye contact while you stroke his cock, the tip already starting to leak a bit of pre-cum. Once you get him fully hard, you release his thumb from your mouth and replace it with his cock, feeling the delicious weight on your tongue.
He watches as you start sucking him, focusing your tongue on the head before taking him all the way to the back of your throat, pulling a deep groan from his throat. He fists his hand in your hair, letting out shaky breaths as the pleasure flows through him. You're a sight to see, with wet hair and a mouth full of cock.
He can't decide if he wants to cum down your throat or fuck you against the wall. He likes the sound of the latter.
"Baby...b-baby, stop," he mutters breathlessly, tugging at your hair to get you to release him from your mouth.
"What's wrong?"
"I need to be inside you," he breathes, helping you up before he slides his hands to the back of your thighs, lifting you up in one swift motion. "Need this pussy," he mutters, pressing you against the wall to grind his cock against your sopping folds.
You wrap your arms around his neck, moaning as he grinds into you, welcoming his lips against yours. He reaches down to align his cock with your entrance, slowly pushing into you with a guttural moan.
"F-fucking Christ, you feel so good," he groans, his fingers digging into your thighs as he starts thrusting into you, his cock filling you up like nothing and no one else can.
Having him inside you is something you'll never get tired of, his cock fitting in you like you were moulded just for him. You were made for him, and he was made for you. His thrusts make your head spin, the steam coming from the shower making everything feel more romantic, more intense.
"You're perfect," he sighs, his voice almost too quiet to hear if it weren't for the fact that his words are whispered directly into your ear. "So...so beautiful..."
All you can do in return is moan and whimper as his thrusts get deeper, the pleasure getting stronger. You lose all ability to form a coherent sentence, your eyes squeezing shut as he pounds into you. He slides his tongue into your mouth, gently digging his teeth into your bottom lip, giving it a little tug.
His thrusts start getting faster, sloppier, an indication of his impending high. Your own orgasm starts creeping closer, his cock hitting that special spot inside you that makes you turn to mush. "Oh my God, don't stop...so...so close..."
"Me too, baby...gonna cum s-so hard..."
He thrusts harder, hitting that same spot over and over again, his nails digging into your flesh. The coil in your stomach tightens, threatening to snap with each deep thrust. The air is thick with passion and desire, your body trembling in his hold, your moans bouncing off the wet bathroom walls.
"Fuck, I'm gonna cum," he groans deeply, holding onto your thigh while his free arm wraps around your waist, holding onto you like you're his oxygen supply. "Oh f-fuck, ___!"
A few sloppy thrusts and your walls start spasming around his cock, triggering his orgasm. He paints your walls with thick white ropes of pleasure, his arms clutching your body like you might disappear into thin air.
"Holy sh-shit," he sighs, both of you slowly coming down from your high, giving you a few slow thrusts before pulling out, letting his cum leak out of you.
You're completely spent, smiling like a giddy schoolgirl, your cheeks flushed, your heart hammering in your chest. The warm water runs over your bodies, slowly bringing your brain back down to earth. "Let's just stay like this for a little while," you whisper, cupping his cheeks in your hands before pressing a light kiss to his swollen lips.
"Okay," he smiles, pressing soft pecks over your cheeks, your nose, your chin. He brushes some of your wet hair out of your face, looking at you like you hung the stars in his sky.
He slowly puts you down and reaches for your body wash, lathering some on your loofah. You're about to take it from him but he stops you. "Let me."
You look up into his eyes, seeing how much this means to him. Sex is one thing, but what you do after says everything. He doesn't just want the sex, and neither do you. He doesn't want this moment to end here, and neither do you, so you let him lather your body in the fragrant body wash because this is about so much more than sex.
He washes you with so much care, making sure the soap reaches every inch of your body. The last man you let wash you after sex was Sunghoon, but with Jungkook it somehow feels different. His hands are softer, he touches you more gently, and his gaze travels down your body like you're a work of art and he is lucky enough to get to lay his eyes upon you. It's difficult to just forget about the past and the heartbreak, but in this moment with Jungkook, you want to try to take the steps to move forward.
You rinse yourself off under the hot stream of water before taking his loofah from the shower hook and lathering it with your body wash, returning the favour. You run the soapy loofah over his body, running your free hand over his muscles, a soft smile settling onto both of your faces. You run your hand over his chest, feeling his heartbeat beneath the firm flesh. You lean in and press a soft kiss to the area, kissing all the way up to his lips.
The two of you stay like that for a while, just kissing under the warm water, the steam surrounding your bodies, partially blurring your vision. This level of intimacy feels so different and new to the two of you, and yet it feels so right, like you were always meant to be with him like this, like you were born to be loved by him.
You love him, and it feels like too big of a mouthful to say in this moment, too heavy on your tongue, too frightening for your brain to comprehend, so you keep it stored away for the time being. Admitting it to yourself is enough for now.
You stand kissing under the water until it starts turning cold, so you turn it off and step out. He dries you off with a fresh towel before moving onto himself, letting you dry his hair with your hairdryer. The two of you get ready for bed together, which again, is new for you. You stand next to him and brush your teeth, stealing glances at him in the mirror every chance you get.
You change into a t-shirt and panties and slip into bed with him, facing him while he languidly rubs your back beneath your shirt, his body bare except for a fresh pair of boxers. He smells like your body wash, like his skin has been stained by you.
"___, about what I said on the beach," he murmurs, chewing on his bottom lip.
"What about it?" you ask nervously, seeking his eyes for any sign that he regrets it.
"I meant every word I said," he whispers, leaning in to nudge his nose against yours.
"I know, Jungkook," you murmur, your voice barely reaching his ears before your lips seek out his in the dark room.
He kisses you until you're too sleepy to kiss back anymore, and when you fall asleep in his arms without protesting, your face reflecting how peaceful you feel, he finally rests. He knows what you're too afraid to say out loud, and he doesn't need to hear it from your lips to know that it's real.
He will continue to love you in silence until you're ready to be loved out loud.
The next morning, you wake up to sound of the waves crashing, the birds chirping, and the feeling of the sun on your face and Jungkook's lips on your cheek. You have to admit it's a damn good way to wake up.
"Morning," he mumbles, his voice still laced with sleep, the deep rumble going straight through your body. You've never had a thing for the 'morning voice' guys tend to exaggerate to sound sexy, but damn. He could read your grocery list after waking up and you'd get down on your knees for him.
"Morning," you smile, your eyes still feeling too heavy to open fully.
"How'd you sleep?"
"Really good," you murmur softly, holding the side of his jaw in the palm of your hand, feeling his warm skin. "You?"
"I slept amazing last night," he grins, his hand slowly sliding down your thigh to hook it over his hip, letting you feel his bulge.
At that, your eyes open, letting out a sleepy chuckle. "Someone's up early," you tease. "Is 'little Jungkook' excited to see me?"
"Don't call him little, it'll hurt his feelings," he groans, pressing his face into your neck as he rolls you onto your back, laying his weight on you. He presses a few lazy kisses to your neck, slowly grinding his hips into you. "He's big and manly."
"Oh, I'm sorry," you murmur, sighing as the head of his cock rubs over your clit through the thin fabric of your underwear. You loosely wrap your arms around his neck, letting your eyes flutter shut once more. "Maybe his lady friend can apologize for me."
"Yeah? Is she awake?"
"Mm...she's definitely awake."
"I should get her ready first," he whispers, pressing a final kiss to your neck before pulling away to pull your t-shirt over your head, tossing it aside.
"She's a little lower down, you know," you chuckle, biting your bottom lip as he starts kissing your breasts, enveloping a nipple in his warm, wet mouth.
"I know," he mumbles with your nipple in his mouth, giving it a suck and a little nibble before switching to the other side. "I just wanted to give my girls some attention too."
"Your...your girls?" You sigh in pleasure as he sucks on your nipple, running your fingers through his messy hair.
"Mm...my precious babies," he smiles, planting a kiss to your sternum before making his descent down your body, his head disappearing under the duvet.
He spreads your thighs to accommodate his shoulders, not bothering to remove your panties. He simply pulls them aside and starts pressing soft, feather-like kisses to your clit. He knows you're still sleepy, and he is too, so he takes his time, languidly licking and sucking on your clit before sliding his tongue through your slick folds, gathering some of your essence on his tongue.
"Fuck, you taste good in the morning." His voice is muffled against your pussy, the duvet drowning most of the sound, but it reaches your ears and it makes your walls clench.
He flicks and swirls his tongue around your clit, pulling moan after moan from your lips, your back arching off the mattress as he eats you out. You're not sure why, but cunnilingus feels even better when you're sleepy.
Soon enough, you're cumming on his tongue, lacking the energy to last any longer than necessary.
He crawls up to stick his head out from under the duvet, his tongue darting out to lick your slick off of his lips. "Love the taste of your pussy in the morning."
"Jesus Christ," you laugh, your cheeks still flushed from your orgasm and his filthy words. "Do you have to be so vulgar?"
"I absolutely have to be so vulgar, yes."
He kisses you, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. It's early and neither one of you have gotten up yet to brush your teeth, but you don't care. You kinda like the way he tastes in the morning. It's natural, it's unfiltered and, you dare say; romantic. It makes your body heat up at the thought alone.
Morning sex is always a treat, a rarity for you and him. It's slower, and softer, and you don't have to think too much because your body just does what feels good. When Jungkook pushes his cock into you and presses his lips to yours to swallow your moans, you feel like you're on cloud nine.
"You're so pretty," he whispers into your ear, his voice deep and low, his hands sliding into yours to intertwine your fingers next to your head.
"You too," you sigh, your eyes rolling back into your head as he thrusts, making sure to roll his hips slowly and deeply.
"You think I'm pretty?" he grins faintly, keeping the pace nice and languid.
"S-so pretty..."
Your words pull a soft groan from within his chest, his face smooshed against your neck.
It doesn't feel like he's fucking you, but rather making love. There's no rush, the house still completely quiet in the early hours of the morning, giving him over enough time to pleasure you. The sun shines through the window, heating the skin of his bare back. His hair stands up in all directions from sleep, making him look extra soft and fluffy. He's so much more than pretty when you open your eyes to look at him. He's magnificent.
He kisses your lips as his thrusts pick up momentum, his body chasing his high. He reaches a hand down to rub circles over your clit, wanting you to finish with him, and as good as you feel, and as close as you are to cumming, you don't even care about that right now. All you care about is getting to share this intimacy with him.
He presses your body into the mattress when he cums, his arms wrapping firmly around your waist, his cock throbbing inside you.
You slide your hands around him, rubbing the skin of his back to soothe him, feeling the way his muscles flex beneath your palms.
His chest rises and falls unevenly, his whole body trembling, the feeling of pure bliss coursing through his veins. "Damn," he mumbles, his voice rough from his ragged breaths. "I might have just ejaculated my soul out of my body."
"That good?"
"So good," he chuckles, still a little breathless. "Wanna go take a shower?"
"Together?"
He leans on his elbows, looking down at you with a sheepish smile. "Yeah. Together."
You smile and push his frazzled hair out of his face, feeling your heart start to beat faster. "Okay."
The two of you take that shower together, sneaking in a few soft kisses and slow touches, trying your best not to get carried away. You kiss while you dry yourselves off and get dressed, and you kiss after brushing your teeth, and then before leaving your room to have breakfast with the rest of his friends, making sure to get in as many kisses before you have to be his "friend" again.
A part of you is sad to be leaving Jeju, but it's not the beach or the house you'll miss, although both of those things were quite nice. Instead, you'll miss opening your eyes in the morning and turning your head to see him next to you. You know that once you get home, you won't have any excuse to wake up next to him except for the fact that you're in love with him and you want to spend your mornings, your afternoons and your nights with him. That would just be insane to tell him that, so you won't, yet it's all you can think about on the plane ride back to Seoul.
He drives you home from the airport and carries your suitcase up to your apartment, handing it back to you at the door. You open the front door and walk in, expecting him to join you, but he doesn't.
"You coming in?"
"I want to but I should really get home to Bam," he sighs, giving you an apologetic smile.
That shouldn't disappoint you as much as it does. You understand, you love Bam and you know he needs his dad, even if you need his dad too.
"Right...yeah...I have to go get Miso from Jihyo's place anyway, so..."
He watches you as you try to hide your disappointment, an amused smile spreading across his face.
"Don't pout, baby," he teases.
"I'm not pouting," you scoff, rolling your eyes. "You should go, Bam-ie's waiting for you."
"Okay," he smiles, not making a move to leave just yet. "Can I get a kiss?"
"I don't know, can you?"
He scoffs and steps forward, cupping your face and pressing a few quick kisses to your mouth. "Before I leave," he murmurs against your lips. "I have a question I've been meaning to ask you."
"What is it?"
"Will you be my date to Joon and Mai's wedding?"
Your disappointment is replaced with surprise and an overwhelming heat that starts to spread throughout your chest, bringing a flush to your cheeks.
"O-okay," you murmur shyly, feeling your heart rate pick up.
"Yeah? Gonna wear a pretty dress for me?"
His smile and his words almost turn your knees to jello, but you manage to keep yourself composed, at least on the outside.
"Yeah."
"You gonna let me take the pretty dress off afterwards?"
"Yeah," you whisper, smiling as he presses another lingering kiss to your mouth, your hands holding onto his shirt to steady yourself.
"Good. I'll see you later, yeah?" He nudges your nose with his, his smile not faltering as he pulls away, sliding his hand down your arm until it reaches your hand, giving it a little squeeze before slowly releasing it.
"Yeah...see you later," you smile, watching him walk down the hall.
He walks until he reaches the elevator, pressing the button and stepping inside. He turns around to look at you down the hall, blowing you a quick kiss as the doors close. You have to wait until the elevator is fully closed before you let out a squeal, feeling like you're sixteen again.
jeon jungkook, a fellow professor at yonsei university, is your friend, co-worker, and secret bed buddy. you have rules set in place to make sure there are no misunderstandings in your little arrangement. the #1 rule is as clear as day; no catching feelings. simple, right? wrong. let's see how un-simple it gets when a certain economics professor falls for an emotionally unavailable political science professor.
pairing: professor!jungkook x (fem) professor!reader, fwb to lovers
genre: fluff, angst, smut, fwb au, economicsprofessor!jungkook, politicalscienceprofessor!reader, slow burn, some emotional constipation, some sappy moments, lots of sexy moments.
rating: 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!
w/c: 8.6k
warnings: it's the start of summer break woop woop! some backstory on namjoon and his fiancée, tae being jk's wingman, jk in a leather jacket, oof! tae and jihyo meet and instantly hit it off, jk and oc get a bit flirty, explicit sexual content; sex in a club bathroom, making out, oral sex (f. receiving), fingering, standing sex, unprotected sex (stay safe kids), slight exhibitionism, soft dom jk, brief oral (m. receiving), cum in da mouf, a morning handjob (m. receiving), the gang meets oc and jihyo, hana being hana, the start of mai and oc's friendship, oc gets a bit drunk, jk gives her a piggyback ride, she stays the night for the first time, lots and lots of soft feels at the end !!!
a/n: we're taking a little break from the angst with this one, lol. i'm curious to hear your thoughts ! what do we think of hana, of mai, of tae and jihyo ??? also, my girl oc is letting her guard down y'all !!!! what do we think will happen on the jeju trip 👀👀👀
It's the last day of the spring semester for the university staff, with final exams done and dusted and students' grades already published. Jungkook and Taehyung walk side by side, making their way out to the parking lot, kissing the campus goodbye for a month.
They have plans to meet the rest of their friends at some club that opened recently. Jungkook has never really been much of a club goer, but he doesn't have to worry about work on Monday, the weather is warm, and he recently bought a nice jacket that he's been meaning to wear out. They're also meeting up to celebrate Namjoon and Mai's upcoming wedding.
Namjoon and his fiancée, Mai, have been engaged for over a year, and with their wedding rapidly approaching, they thought it would be fun to get everyone together and unwind after all the wedding planning stress. Seokjin's wife, Jisoo, will also be joining, as they finally found someone to babysit their kids for the night.
Jisoo and Seokjin met during their university days. She was in med school while he was getting his postgraduate degree in business management. Jisoo thought it would be cute to set her best friend up with Seokjin's best friend, the two instantly hitting it off. Namjoon proposed during spring last year and they plan to get married in August, which is just two months away.
"Hey, just a heads up; Hana's coming too," Taehyung says, getting his car keys from his pants pocket, wincing slightly at the look on Jungkook's face.
Hana is Jisoo's younger sister, who happens to have a rather obvious crush on Jungkook. She occasionally tags along with the group, always finding an excuse to be on Jungkook's arm all night. She is far too forward for his taste, but Jungkook would never say that to her face, so he just smiles and nods along, tolerating her when he must.
"Great," he mutters sarcastically, preparing himself for a night of pretending to listen to her go on and on about why dying her hair blonde would suit her skin's undertone.
Taehyung stops at his car and notices you walking in their direction to get to your car, the one parked right next to Jungkook's. "Hey, look who it is," he murmurs with a smirk.
Jungkook turns his head, his heart rate rising when his eyes land on you. A soft smile spreads across his face as your eyes meet. "Hey."
"Hey, Jungkook," you greet, offering his friend a polite smile. Taehyung grins widely and steps closer, eager to introduce himself properly. "It's ___, right? You teach political science?"
You nod, recognising him as Jungkook’s friend. "That's right, yeah. Is it…Taehyun…?"
"Taehyung actually," he chuckles, clearly the extrovert out of the two men.
"You heading home?" Jungkook asks, turning your attention over to him.
"Yeah. You?"
"My friends are dragging me to some club tonight actually," Jungkook quips with an amused scoff, earning a surprised look from you.
"Wow. Who woulda thought the walls of a club would see Jeon Jungkook," you tease, wondering what it would be like to see him in that sort of environment.
Jungkook laughs, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. "Gotta start the summer off right, I guess. And it's to celebrate a friend's upcoming wedding, so..."
You nod understandingly. You keep it friendly, oblivious to just how much Taehyung already knows about the two of you.
"Well, I hope you enjoy yourself."
Before Jungkook can respond, Taehyung chimes in, unable to hold his tongue. "Why don't you join us?"
Jungkook looks over at Taehyung with wide eyes. He knows what his friend is trying to do. He's used to Taehyung trying to be his wingman and he appreciates it deep down inside, but the subtle glare he shoots him screams, 'Are you insane?' Taehyung simply smiles, so he looks back at you, noticing the surprise on your face at the sudden invitation. He fiddles with his keys in his hand, feeling like he's been put on the spot.
"Oh, I don't think ___ would want to-"
"Come on, it'll be fun." Taehyung turns to you, feeling confident that he can convince you to join. "You're Jungkook's friend, we'd love for you to join us. We're a lot of fun; you’ll have a good time."
You look over at Jungkook with uncertainty. He offers you a sheepish smile and a shrug, silently agreeing with Taehyung, even if he isn't as forward as his friend. He would have preferred to do things a bit more naturally, but Taehyung's way works too.
It's not necessarily that you don't want to go, but you already have plans with Jihyo tonight. Her date with Mark didn't go well, and after every bad date, she comes over to your place to have dinner and unpack everything that happened.
"I, uhh… I actually have a friend coming over for dinner later. But maybe next time-"
"You can both join us," Taehyung shrugs. He knows he probably seems really forward, but he knows Jungkook is too much of a pussy to actually go for what he wants.
You don't even have to check with Jihyo to know that she'd be more than happy to go. You know that if you reject Taehyung's offer, and then tell her about it later on, she'll just nag you about it all night, and you know she needs a night out after her train wreck of a date. So, with that in mind, you accept his invitation.
"Okay," you murmur, Taehyung's face lighting up as he looks over at Jungkook, the latter man feeling quite surprised that you actually agreed to join him and his friends. You are slightly surprised yourself, but it's a Friday evening, it's the start of summer break, and what's the harm in having some fun after such a long and stressful month.
Taehyung tells you where to meet them and what time, watching you drive off with a satisfied grin.
"Care to explain what all that was about?" Jungkook folds his arms over his chest with a raised eyebrow.
"Uhmm, you're welcome. I just got Hana off your back for the night, and you get to hang out with your girl. I just killed both of your birds with one stone," Taehyung grins, patting his friend on the back before walking to his car and getting in. "And hey, maybe her friend’s hot, so that's a bonus for me," he calls out, driving off before Jungkook can argue.
Your stilettos click against the pavement as you get out the Uber, looking up at the packed club, Jihyo reluctantly ending her conversation with the driver before shutting the door. It took absolutely zero convincing to get her to come with you. Taehyung told you to meet them at 9, but you're a bit late because Jihyo decided to wax her legs and armpits for the first time right before you had to leave.
The two of you walk through the crowded club, looking for Jungkook and his friends. The music is booming through the speakers, people are grinding on each other on the dance floor, your dress is short and sparkly, and the smell of alcohol fills your senses. You look through the crowd until you see a familiar face at the bar. Your heart starts to race in your chest at the sight of him. He's wearing a white tank top, baggy jeans and a black leather jacket, his hair styled to show off his forehead. He takes a small sip of his drink as he engages in conversation with Taehyung, and you wish his lips were on you instead of that glass.
"Is he here?" Jihyo asks over the loud music, oblivious to the heat rising in your face.
You nod, keeping your eyes on him. "Yeah. That's him over at the bar. Black leather jacket with the whiskey in his hand."
Jihyo scans the bar area, her eyes widening as they land on him. "Woah. He really is a ten," she muses, nodding in approval before her eyes flicker over to Taehyung, her mouth falling open in awe. "And that's his friend?"
"Yeah, that's Taehyung."
Jihyo scoffs. You told her Jungkook's friend is nice, you didn't tell her he's totally her type – smoking hot. "Thank God I'm wearing a push up bra."
You chuckle and make your way over with Jihyo following closely behind.
Jungkook senses your presence, his eyes landing on you as you make your way over, Taehyung's voice drowning out in the background. His eyes trail from your face down to your feet, his hands suddenly feeling a bit clammy at the sight of you in that short dress. He sets his drink down with a soft smile. "Hey. I was starting to think you wouldn't come."
"I couldn't leave you hanging," you call out over the music, Taehyung turning his head at the sound of your voice.
"___, hey!" His eyes drift over to Jihyo and his tongue suddenly feels too big for his mouth. She's far prettier than he expected, and his stomach does a little flip as her eyes roam over him. He quickly composes himself and decides to turn on the charm. "You must be ___'s friend," he calls out, holding his hand out to her.
"And you must be Jungkook's friend," Jihyo nods, shaking his hand. Damn, he's even better-looking up close.
"Taehyung," he smiles, holding onto her hand a little longer than necessary.
"Jihyo," she murmurs, holding eye contact.
"Can I buy you a drink, Jihyo?" Taehyung asks, tilting his head with a lazy little grin, neither one of them pulling their hand away just yet.
She looks over at you with raised eyebrows and a smile before nodding and walking off with him, making a mental note to text Mark and thank him for blowing their date.
You and Jungkook both watch them with amused smiles on your faces. "Your friend's smooth," you chuckle, watching them make their way to the other end of the bar.
Jungkook scoffs, leaning his elbows on the bar counter. "Tae's about as smooth as sandpaper."
You laugh, taking a seat next to him. "So, are you gonna offer to buy me a drink as well or...?"
He smiles over at you, his eyes sparkling under the club's dim lights. "I was getting to it...but, uhm...I don't even know your name, though..."
You look over at him with a puzzled smile before you realize what he's doing. You chuckle and roll your eyes, but decide to play along with his little role play anyway. "It's ___."
"___," he repeats in a quiet little murmur, taking your hand in his, bringing it to his lips to place a gentle kiss to your knuckles. "That's a pretty name," he grins, leaning in a bit closer. "You look so familiar. Are you, like, a model or something?"
"Shut up," you laugh, accidentally letting out a little snort. "Do you say that to every woman you meet at a club?"
"Nah," he shrugs, taking a sip of his whiskey, desperately trying to look suave. "Saved that line just for you, babygirl."
"Babygirl? Really?" You cringe, both of you bursting out into laughter.
"Yeah, I know, it felt wrong as soon as it came out of my mouth," he sighs, shaking his head.
"Let's try that again. Do you say that to every woman you meet?"
"Just you, baby." His voice is softer, more sincere. He really means it. He's not the best at flirting, but he’ll do or say anything to make you laugh or put a smile on your face.
You hum, nodding in approval, your stomach doing a little flip at the pet name. "Better."
"I try," he shrugs with a grin, his eyes trailing down to your outfit. You always look good to him, but seeing you in such a short, skimpy dress is doing some funny things to his heart...and his dick.
"You really do look gorgeous, by the way," he murmurs, his eyes slowly trailing back up to your face, his fingers itching to touch you.
"Thank you. You don't look too bad yourself," you smile, meeting his eyes.
He scoffs, pretending to be offended. "I was expecting you to be jumping my bones already, but I guess I'll take that."
You laugh, rolling your eyes. "You look very nice, okay?"
"Thanks," he mumbles, a satisfied grin settling on his face. "Now, can I buy you a drink?"
"I'd love a drink."
"Anything in mind?"
"Surprise me," you shrug.
He calls the bartender over and orders a pineapple margarita. He knows you like tropical fruit, and he didn't want to get you something that would get you hammered just yet.
The bartender makes your drink and sets it down on the counter before you, adding it to Jungkook's tab. You take a sip and hum at the delicious taste. "This is really good."
"Is it?" he smiles, leaning in closer. "Can I have a sip?"
You hold the glass out for him and watch as his lips wrap around the sugary rim, his tongue quickly peeking out to lick the sugar off his top lip.
"Wow, that is good. I should've taken one of those too."
"What about your whiskey?"
He shrugs with a faint smile. "I don't even like whiskey, I just wanted to order it to look cool."
You laugh, finding it quite amusing that someone as hot as him can be this much of a dork. The sound of your laughter makes his smile grow wider, his heart fluttering. He doesn't even seem to notice how many women would kill to be sitting with him because he's too busy staring at you with a dopey look on his face.
You take another sip of your drink, his eyes watching the way your lips move, the way your fingers hold the glass, the way your thighs look in your little dress.
"You know what they say about pineapple, right?" he murmurs with heavy-lidded eyes, leaning over to drape his arm over the back of your bar stool.
"What do they say?"
He leans in to whisper in your ear, his lips lightly brushing against your skin. "Makes your pussy taste sweeter."
Your breath hitches in your throat, almost choking on your drink. "They say that?" you ask, looking up into his eyes with flushed cheeks.
"Mm." It's like a switch has gone off, his persona completely changed. He moves his free hand down to your knee, his fingers slowly trailing up your thigh. "Maybe I should taste it and see for myself if it's true. Y'know...for science..."
You and Jungkook make a beeline for the bathroom, the dim lights concealing you from any wandering eyes. He leads you into one of the bathroom stalls, locking the door behind you. He pushes you up against the stall, his lips on yours in an instant, kissing you hungrily. His hands explore up your thighs under your dress, finally getting to touch you the way he's been wanting to since he laid his eyes on you.
He kisses and nibbles down to your neck, grinding his hips against you, his need for you growing more apparent as a bulge starts straining against his jeans.
Your hands slide up into his hair, moaning softly as he slides his tongue into your mouth.
His fingers trail up to your thong, pulling it aside to run his middle finger through your slick folds. He groans into your mouth as he feels how wet you are. You're already dripping and he's barely done anything yet. He slides his finger up to rub slow circles over your clit. "You're so hot," he mutters, nipping at the junction between your neck and shoulder.
You tilt your head back against the stall, biting your bottom lip to muffle any sounds that threaten to slip out of you. "Is it...unhygienic that I'm...letting you finger me in a club's bathroom s-stall?" You try to keep your voice stable, your hands gripping his shoulders to steady yourself.
"Wanna stop?" he asks, chuckling as you frantically shake your head. He withdraws his hand and brings it up to his lips to suck on his middle finger, tasting your essence. "You taste better than any pineapple I've ever tasted," he hums, his eyes growing dark with desire.
Your arousal overpowers any concerns you might have had, feeling a jolt of excitement run down your spine. You watch as he slowly drops down to his knees before you, his hands disappearing under your dress to pull your thong down your legs, putting the wet string of fabric in the back pocket of his jeans.
He licks his lips at the sight of you, his hands trailing up your thighs, pulling you closer to his face. The smell of your arousal hangs heavily in the air as he lifts one of your legs and drapes it over his shoulder, his hands splayed over the backs of your thighs.
"Gotta be nice and quiet for me, yeah?"
You look down at him, your cheeks flushed, pupils dilated. You nod quickly, gasping as he presses a light kiss to your clit, your stomach muscles tensing momentarily.
He chuckles, watching you grow a bit flustered. He feels powerful being on his knees in front of you, knowing that he holds such an effect over you. He starts slow, lightly kissing your clit, his tongue peeking out to give you a few gentle licks, keeping his eyes up to watch your face.
He watches the way your lips part and your eyebrows furrow, your breath hitching in your chest as he starts lapping at your pussy. The music thumps through the walls, people's voices echoing just outside. If someone were to hear you moan, they'd know that he's getting you off, eating your pussy like it's the tastiest thing on earth.
He lifts your knee higher to get better access to your pussy, your eyes rolling back in your head as he sucks on your clit.
"F-fuck, Jungkook," you moan, trying to be as quiet as possible.
He feels a surge of satisfaction that he can make you squirm in pleasure. He moves his tongue with a fierce determination, his fingers digging into your thighs, his cock straining against his jeans at the sound of your breathless moans.
He reaches down and undoes the button of his jeans with one hand, unzipping it to pull his cock out, needing some relief. He starts lazily stroking it while his free hand slides between your thighs, pushing his index and middle fingers into your sopping entrance.
The sight of him pleasuring himself, mixed with the sensations of his tongue and fingers is almost enough to make you cum right that instant. You hold onto the door of the stall with one hand, the other gripping his hair as your high starts creeping up on you.
"Mmm...'m gonna cum," you whine, biting your bottom lip so hard, you almost draw blood.
He curls his fingers inside you, finding that spongy spot that makes your knees go weak. His tongue laps at your clit, your body tensing and trembling, trying desperately not to scream out as your orgasm suddenly washes over you, harsh jolts of pleasure rushing through you.
He rides you through it, pressing soft kisses to your throbbing pussy and inner thighs, looking up at you with a dazed look in his eyes. He stands up and licks his lips and fingers clean, his hard cock standing tall through his open zipper.
"Damn," he mutters, his voice slightly out of breath. "That theory might be right."
You let out a breathless huff of laughter, your legs tingling, your pussy pulsating. He steadies you with his strong hands on your hips, letting you taste your juices on his tongue as he kisses you.
You reach down and wrap your hand around his cock, giving it a few pumps. "Fuck me," you whisper against his lips, feeling his cock twitch in your palm, his breath hitching at the feeling.
He can only nod, too lost in his own lust to speak, his mind completely clouded by desire. He spins you around, pinning you to the stall, his chest pressed to your back. He pulls your hips back, grinding his cock against your ass.
"Gonna let me fuck this ass one day?" he teases, knowing you'll shut him down like you have before.
"Don't even think about it," you scoff, teasingly pushing your ass back against him.
"Worth a shot," he grins, tapping the head of his cock against your asscheek before aligning it with your entrance, a soft moan slipping from your lips as he pushes it in.
His eyes close as he sinks into you, his forehead falling forward against your shoulder. He groans at the feeling of you clenching around him, your tight, wet heat sucking him in. "Shit, you're so tight," he mutters, thrusting into you, his hands sliding up to your chest, giving your breasts a squeeze over your dress.
The pace is slow and steady at first, the constant thump of the bass and the muffled voices outside serving as a reminder that you're in a public bathroom. He soon starts to get lost in the feeling of you wrapped around him, his thrusts getting a little less controlled. He lets out soft grunts into your ear as he fucks you from behind, his eyes squeezing shut as he focuses on the feeling of your walls wrapped around him.
Then the sound of people entering the bathroom snaps him back to reality, his thrusts slowing down. He quickly covers your mouth with his large hand, his lips brushing against your ear. "Shhh, baby," he whispers softly, the tip of his cock still sitting snug between your walls.
You squeeze your eyes shut and concentrate on not being too loud, his cock inside you making it increasingly difficult. He slows his thrusts down to a languid rhythm, the thrill of other people nearby making it feel sexier, dirtier. "Good girl," he whispers, giving you a particularly deep thrust, his palm pressed firmly over your mouth to muffle your moans, his free hand moving down to rub tight circles over your clit.
You hear the sound of the girls' voices as they touch up their makeup at the sinks, mixed with the loud thumping music outside. Jungkook doesn't let up, thrusting harder to test your ability to keep quiet. It makes your head spin and your pussy throb.
After what feels like an eternity, the girls leave the bathroom, and it's like your body knew to wait, because your orgasm hits you almost immediately. Jungkook keeps thrusting, chasing his own high. You know he's close, his moans growing louder, his thrusts getting sloppier.
"Fuck, I'm gonna cum...where do you want it?"
"In my mouth."
He quickly pulls out and watches as you drop to your knees before him, wrapping your lips around his cock. You suck on the head and stroke the shaft, looking up at his through your lashes.
One look down at you and he's cumming with a low groan, his hips stuttering as he empties himself in your mouth, his hand gripping the back of your hair. His chest heaves as he tries to catch his breath, watching as you swallow every last drop, his stomach muscles tensing and relaxing as you lick him clean.
He helps you up and grabs some toilet paper to clean you off. He makes sure your dress is straight and your hair isn't messed up before you leave. As you're about to leave the bathroom stall, he pulls you back and gently grabs your chin, tilting your head up to give you a slow, deep kiss. He tastes himself on your tongue, mixed with some of your pineapple margarita.
"You taste good," he hums.
"Yeah? What do I taste like?"
"Pineapple and cum."
"You're disgusting," you laugh.
He chuckles, giving you one last peck before pulling away and opening the stall door for you, landing a quick slap on your ass as you walk out in front of him.
Jungkook leads you through the crowd of sweaty people to get to his friends' booth, the guys all there already. He knows his friends can be a bit much sometimes, but he has a feeling they’ll like you. Taehyung and Jihyo are already at the booth, the two getting well acquainted.
"Everyone, this is ___," he calls out over the music, sliding into the booth to sit next to Seokjin and Jisoo.
"Kook, I didn't know you have a girlfriend now," Mai smiles over at you, looking excited to meet you.
"Oh, I’m not- ...we’re just friends," you murmur with a faint smile.
"Oh my God, I’m sorry, I thought…" she trails off, feeling a bit bad for assuming.
"It's okay," you chuckle, sliding in next to Jungkook. "It’s nice to meet you all," you smile, immediately being welcomed by his friends. You learn who each of his friends are, that Jisoo is Seokjin’s wife, that they have two kids, and that Namjoon and Mai are the happy couple about to get married. They all ask you a bit about yourself, curious to know who Jungkook’s lady "friend" is.
"You work at the university too, right?" Jimin asks, getting acquainted with you straight away.
"Yeah, I teach political science," you nod, quickly learning that he’s the outgoing one Jungkook told you about before.
"That's impressive," Namjoon muses, his arm slung around Mai’s shoulders.
Jungkook leans over to talk to you over the music, giving you a little insight of each of his friends. "Seokjin is the CFO of YJ Tech and Jisoo is a cardiologist."
"Wow," you quip, giving Jisoo an impressed look. "A cardiologist? That’s impressive."
"Please," Taehyung scoffs playfully, shrugging his shoulder. "A PhD is just as impressive as an MD."
"So, you're saying that teaching literature to 20 year olds is equally as impressive as doing open heart surgery?" Jimin asks, shaking his head in amusement.
"You're saying it's not?"
"Right, because if I’m having a heart attack, I want you there to read me a poem."
While the attention is now on Jimin and Taehyung's bickering, Jisoo's sister, Hana, turns her attention over to you. She has been silently watching you for a while, watching the way Jungkook leans in to whisper in your ear, the way he smiles whenever you speak. It makes her stomach twist in jealousy, and she's having a hard time hiding it, basically piercing you with her eyes. With everyone else preoccupied, she uses the opportunity to finally speak up.
"So, ___ was it? I'm Hana."
You look over at her, offering her a polite smile, completely oblivious to her one-sided animosity towards you. "It's nice to meet you."
She gives you a curt smile, her eyes flickering over to Jungkook. "Kookie, you never told me about your friend before. You guys seem...close."
Jungkook picks up on her snarky tone, but he ignores it. "We are, yeah," he murmurs, looking over at you with a little smile.
Hana looks between the two of you, mentally rolling her eyes. "Jungkook, did you notice I cut my hair? It looks good, right?"
He sighs, giving her a half-hearted smile. "It looks nice, Hana."
She smiles, fluffing her bob, her long, manicured nails tucking some of it behind her ear. She's a pretty girl, with sharp features and trendy style. She's quite confident, so she can't understand why Jungkook's eyes keep drifting over to you and not her.
"I love your hair," you smile, your tone soft and sincere. "I don't think I could pull off a bob."
"Yeah, well, not everyone has the face for it."
You're a bit taken aback by her tone, but you don't read too much into it, instead turning your attention back to Jungkook. He gives you a smile, his fingers trailing up your thigh under the table, giving it a gentle squeeze.
"You have the face for any hairstyle," he whispers, causing your cheeks to heat up.
Jisoo and Mai on the other hand are far more welcoming than Hana, the two immediately hitting it off with you. Mai especially has taken a liking to you, the two of you finding a comfortable rhythm as you get to know each other. You find out that you have a lot in common. She's great to talk to, she's super funny, and she's stunning, so you see why Namjoon is head over heels for her.
"___, c'mon, let's go do some shots!" she squeals, dragging you along with her to the bar. Jungkook watches the two of you with a soft smile on his face, chuckling as you look back at him with wide eyes. It's nice to see his friends getting to know the woman he thinks so highly of, and he hopes this is a step in the right direction for you and him.
Some of the guys and Jisoo go off to get some drinks, and Taehyung and Jihyo hit the dance floor together, leaving Hana alone with Jungkook. She gets up and slides into his side of the booth, sitting closer than he would like.
"Long time no see, stranger. You too busy with your new friend to send me a text?"
Jungkook clears his throat and shoots her a curt smile, wishing he were anywhere else right now.
"I've been busy with work, Hana," he scoffs. "And ___'s not a new friend. We've been friends for four years actually."
"You've never mentioned her before."
"I didn't think I had to," he shrugs.
She rolls her eyes, brushing her fingers along his bicep, her long nails lightly trailing along the leather of his jacket. "You should hit me up some time...when you're not too busy. I could help you unwind a bit," she purrs, looking up at him with her sultry eyes.
"That's okay, I don't think I need to unwind."
"You're such a stick in the mud," she sighs, rolling her eyes. "You should loosen up a bit. Have some fun once in a while."
He scoffs, his eyes trailing over to you at the bar, watching the way you laugh and chat with Mai, how pretty you look when you're carefree, the way your eyes subtly drift over to him when you think he's not looking.
"Believe me...I have plenty of fun," he murmurs, unable to take his eyes off you.
You end up having way more to drink than you initially planned, you and Mai downing shot after shot. With every shot Mai pushes into your hands, the more fun things start to feel.
"So! You and Jungkook," Mai grins after downing another shot of tequila. "What's the situation there, hm?"
"The situation?" you ask, your eyes subtly widening. "What do you mean?"
Mai chuckles, her eyes sparkling with mischief. She can tell the question caught you off guard a bit, but she genuinely wants to know. She isn't trying to pry or make you uncomfortable when you just met a while ago, but she isn't one to beat around the bush.
"Come on, don't play coy," she scoffs, giving you a pointed look.
"We're just friends," you mutter with a faint chuckle. "We work at the same university, we get along great, we're friends. Simple as that."
Mai raises an eyebrow at your answer, her intuition telling her there's more to the story than you're letting on. She grins at you, a knowing look in her eyes. "Oh really? Just friends, huh?" She glances in Jungkook's direction for a brief moment before returning to you.
"Mhm. That's all it is." You immediately down another shot, avoiding her eyes.
Mai studies you for a moment, her gaze quite perceptive. She can see there's a bit of defensiveness in the way you brush off her question, but she decides not to press any further, not wanting to put you on the spot. "Alright, alright...if that's what you say," she says with a small smirk, although she knows there's more to the story. Your gazes linger a bit too long for you to be 'just friends'.
You roll your eyes with a faint chuckle, turning the conversation over to her. "You and Namjoon, though. You make a great couple."
"Thanks! We are kind of adorable, aren't we?" She looks down at her ring and her expression softens. It's clear she's truly smitten with him, and him with her.
"How long have you been together?"
"We've been together for about seven years now," she smiles fondly. She leans her elbow on the bar counter, resting her chin in her palm. "I swear it feels like I've known him my whole life. I can't wait to marry him."
The subject of weddings and marriage is a bit of a sore subject for you, but you don't want to take away from Mai and Namjoon's moment, so you nod and smile, not wanting to dwell on your own misfortune. "I can tell. You're good together."
"Thank you," she murmurs with a soft smile. "Speaking of the wedding, we're actually taking a little pre-wedding trip to Jeju in two weeks. My parents have a beach house there and they never use it so we thought it would be fun to get everyone together. You should come!"
Your eyebrows raise in surprise, not expecting an invitation from someone you met an hour or two ago. "Really? You want me to come?"
"Yeah, it'll be fun! You can come as Jungkook's plus-one," she smiles, clapping her hands together in excitement before reaching over to take your hands in hers. "Will you?"
You're a bit skeptical about spending three days in Jeju with Jungkook and his friends, who you just met, but Mai seems so happy and you don't want to disappoint her. "O-Okay...yeah, I'd love to."
Mai orders another round of shots as a little celebration for you agreeing to join them on their trip, and by the time you finish them, you're both too tipsy to care about how loud you're both laughing or how bad your headache will be tomorrow.
When Jungkook comes to look for you, he finds you and Mai toppling over the bar counter in laughter about something she just said.
"Hey. How much did this one make you drink?" he asks with an amused smile, finding it kinda cute how drunk you are. He's not used to seeing you like this, but you seem to be having fun.
"Hey! Mai invited me to Jeju! Apparently I'm your plus-one!"
This is news to him, but not necessarily bad news. In fact, he's quite happy to hear that you'll be joining him on the trip.
"That's great," he nods with a soft smile, brushing some of your hair out of your face.
"I'm gonna go find Joon!" Mai says, giving you a few flying kisses before hurrying off to find her fiancé and presumably make out.
"You're pretty drunk. Maybe we should get you home," he smiles, gently rubbing your back.
"Nooo," you whine, dramatically tilting your head back to look up at him. "I don't wanna go home. I wanna dance. I love this song!"
You get up too fast and stumble, holding onto Jungkook for support. He holds you by your waist, making sure you don't trip over your high heels. "Okay, missy. I think I should get us an Uber."
He leads you out the club, shooting his friends a quick text to let them know he's heading out. The cool evening breeze hits you as you stand on the sidewalk, making you shiver. Jungkook notices, so he quickly removes his leather jacket and gently drapes it around your shoulders, clearly not bothered that he's wearing a thin tank. He'll stand in the cold if it means you're warm.
He orders an Uber to his apartment, standing with you in the cool evening air, his free arm resting around your waist to make sure you don't trip or stumble.
"Where are we going?"
"My apartment. You can stay over and I can drive you home tomorrow. Is that okay?"
Usually, you wouldn't stay the night at his place, but it's not usual circumstances. You're drunk, your feet hurt, and you just want to lie down, so you simply nod and give him consent to take you back to his place.
"What about Jihyo? I should text her."
"I just saw her with Tae with a minute ago. They seemed pretty cozy," he chuckles. "He said he'd give her a ride home, but you should probably still text her to let her know you're leaving."
You get your phone out and try to text her, but the keyboard looks a bit blurry, so you opt for a voice message, getting a thumbs up and an eggplant emoji in return.
The Uber eventually arrives and Jungkook holds the door for you, helping you inside before sliding in next to you. He lets you rest your head on his shoulder the whole way back to his apartment, his thumb rubbing soothing circles over your knee. "You sleepy?"
You nod, your eyes already starting to droop.
When the Uber drops you at the front of his apartment building, he sees the way you wince as you try to walk to the entrance, so he silently kneels down before you and helps you out of his heels, letting them dangle from his fingers as he turns around and gestures for you to get on his back.
You look down at him with a faint smile, slowly wrapping your arms around his neck, letting him give you a piggyback ride up to his apartment. "Thank you," you mumble into his neck, his cologne filling your nose.
"You don't have to thank me, baby."
The pet name rolls off his tongue so naturally, so sweetly, and usually you'd make a little joke or tease him about it, but you don't. You smile and try to ignore the butterflies going crazy in your stomach.
He gently sets you down when you reach his apartment, getting his keys from his jacket pocket to unlock the front door. He leads you inside, just like he normally would when you're over here, but this time he's not rushing to undress you or stick his tongue down your throat. His touches are gentle, and slow, and soft as he leads you to his bedroom and helps you change into an old t-shirt of his. He gets some wet wipes from the bathroom and gently removes your makeup for you. He puts toothpaste on his spare toothbrush for you and stands by your side while you brush your teeth. He goes to the kitchen and gets you a glass of water and an Advil for the headache he knows you'll have tomorrow morning, making sure you drink it.
He pulls back the duvet for you and helps you get settled in. He gently lays the duvet over you and brushes some of your hair out of your eyes, looking down at you with so much care and protectiveness. He sits on the edge of his bed and watches as you try your best to keep your eyes open, his smile growing wide enough to hurt his cheeks.
"So, you're joining us in Jeju, huh? How exactly did that happen?"
"Mai invited me. She's sweet. I think we really hit it off. We took a lot of shots," you mumble sleepily.
"Yeah, I saw," he scoffs. "That's why you're so drunk."
You chuckle, your eyes slowly falling closed.
"I'm really glad you're coming, by the way."
"You are?"
"I am," he murmurs softly, his gaze lingering on your tired face. He likes seeing you in his bed, a peaceful look on your face, your cheeks still flushed from the alcohol, your hair splayed over his pillow. You're almost too pretty to be real. He watches you for a while before reluctantly getting up to change out of his clothes.
You watch with heavy-lidded eyes as he gets up to go and change in the bathroom, smiling up at him when he returns in nothing but a pair of grey sweatpants. Your expression changes to one of confusion when he gets a pillow and turns to walk to the living room.
"Where're you going?" you ask, your voice soft and sleepy.
"To sleep on the couch. I know you don't do the whole 'sleeping in bed together' thing, with your rules and all..."
He's right. You don't do the 'sleeping in bed together' thing. So why do you feel so disappointed that he's going to be sleeping on the couch instead of the other side of the bed?
"You don't have to sleep on the couch, y'know. This is your home. You should sleep in your bed...with me..."
He stops in the doorway, looking over at you with wide eyes, his heart hammering in his chest. He never thought he'd ever hear those words coming from your mouth, and he isn't sure if he's the drunk one or if you actually said it.
"I wouldn't want to make you uncomfortable or anything-"
"I'm not."
He stays in the doorway for a few seconds, thinking this can't be real, but when he keeps blinking and you don't disappear, it sets in that it's real. He slowly makes his way back to bed, setting his pillow down and carefully getting under the covers with you, keeping a respectful distance. He has seen you naked and bent you in unspeakable positions, but he knows that simply sleeping in bed together is different for you. He knows that it's about more than what it appears to be, so he keeps a distance because you simply being here is enough for him.
Jungkook turns to face you, watching as the moonlight shines in through his bedroom window, a silvery glow illuminating your face. He feels a strong urge to touch you, not in any way sexual, but to just be physically closer to you. When you slowly turn your back to him, he's met with disappointment, but your next words cause a smile to break out onto his face.
"Can you give me back scratches?" you mumble sleepily, you voice sounding a bit groggy from the alcohol and exhaustion.
He stays still for a moment, just wanting to bask in this moment a bit. He slowly inches closer and reaches out to slide his hand up under the fabric of the oversized t-shirt you're wearing, and ever so lightly run his nails along the skin of your back. You're warm, and soft, and your skin is stained with his scent as you lay in his clothes, on his bedsheets. He doesn't say anything because words aren't necessary in this moment. He just slowly runs his nails over your back and listens as your breathing starts slowing down.
Jungkook doesn't fall sleep until it's well into the early hours of the morning. Not because he wasn't tired, but because he forced himself to stay awake. If he allowed himself to fall asleep, the moment would end, so he watched the back of your head until his eyes burned with exhaustion, and he caressed your back until his arm dropped limply to the mattress. He thinks that's what love is. He was never confident enough to say that he's ever fallen in love before, but if anyone were to ask him about love, he'd tell them about you. It was never obvious that he would fall for you. It didn't happen all at once. It wasn't immediate. He thought you were pretty, and he liked your company, but then somehow you slowly crept up under his flesh and made a home for yourself in the depths of his chest. He knows that he loves you, and if you are ever to be laid to rest in the dirt and soil, he will be envious of the earth that gets to hold your body.
You're still quite groggy when you wake up. The sun looks like it has already been out for a few hours, and if it didn't make your head hurt, you'd probably appreciate it. You slowly turn around to find a sleeping Jungkook. He's cute when he sleeps. His lips are pouty, his cheeks flushed, his hair a little bit messy. You realize that you've never seen him asleep before.
You don't get to enjoy it for too long before he starts stirring awake, his eyes slowly fluttering open. He smiles when his eyes land on you, and you mirror his expression. That sunlight streaming in through his window doesn't feel so annoying now that it's illuminating his face, making his glassy eyes sparkle.
"Morning." His voice. It's deep, a little raspy and husky, and it makes your thighs rub together.
"Morning."
"How're you feeling?"
"Not too bad. My head hurts a bit but I'm okay," you smile, inching a millimetre closer. "Thanks for letting me stay over. I probably wouldn't have been able to find my keys in my purse last night anyway."
He chuckles, a low rumble coming from deep within his chest. "It's no problem. You can stay anytime you want."
If it were up to him, you'd stay every night.
You watch as the duvet slides down to reveal his chest and arms, the muscles involuntarily flexing and relaxing. You've always liked his body. He's just the right amount of muscular. His skin is soft and smooth, and when he cums, he has this thin sheen of sweat that makes him glow.
You've barely woken up, you shouldn't be thinking about what he looks like when he cums. But you do, and you can't seem to think about anything else at the moment.
You slowly inch closer to him, your chests almost touching. You look up at his face, and the sleepy smile that resides there tells you he knows what you're doing and he welcomes it. He stays silent as you gently run your fingers through his hair, his eyes fluttering shut as he leans into your touch, looking a bit like Miso when you pet her. He doesn't say anything when you slowly trail your fingers down his neck and chest, making a slow descent down to the waistband of his sweatpants. Only when your fingers inch inside does he speak.
"What're you doing?" he asks with a lazy grin.
"Wanna say thank you for last night," you whisper, leaning in to softly kiss his neck, your fingers trailing down to his neatly trimmed pubic hair.
"You don't...have to," he sighs, his eyes fluttering shut.
"I want to," you whisper, tugging on the waistband of his sweatpants. "Take these off."
He reaches down and slides his sweatpants down his legs, having forgone boxers last night. He's on his back, with the duvet pushed down to his thighs, the sun heating up his skin. He has a bit of morning wood, so it makes it easier for you to wrap your fingers around him, his skin feeling warm and soft beneath your touch.
You start languidly pulling and pushing your hand up and down his shaft, his cock hardening in your hand. His eyes flutter shut, his breathing growing ragged.
"Feel good?"
"Yeah...feels...feels good, baby..."
You lean your body up on your elbow while stroking him, pressing gentle kisses to his neck and jaw. You quickly pull away to bring your hand up and spit in it, the lubricant making it feel even better. You glide you hand up and down his cock, twisting your wrist at the tip.
"Mmm...don't stop," he groans, his voice husky from sleep. He subtly rolls his hips up to meet your strokes, his abs flexing as the pleasure rolls through his body. He slowly opens his eyes to look up at you, his gaze filled with lust and affection. He brings his hand up to bring your face closer, capturing your lips in a soft, languid kiss. He runs his tongue along your bottom lip, seeking entrance into your mouth.
You part your lips and let him lick into your mouth, his tongue brushing against yours. You stroke him faster, your fist tightening around him. His tip is already leaking, the head turning a light pink.
"Fuck," he groans, his eyes squeezing shut, his fingers sliding up under the t-shirt you're wearing to cup your breast, his thumb brushing over your nipple.
"This is a really...nice way to s-say thank you," he murmurs, his voice shaking, his thighs tensing.
"Yeah?"
"Mmmm...feels s-so good..."
His head falls back against the pillows with a soft thud, finding it hard to focus as you speed up your hand. He looks like he's struggling to keep his eyes open, the expression on his face absolutely blissful.
"Fuck, I'm close," he whimpers, his hand involuntarily squeezing your breast. His face is scrunched up in pleasure, his eyebrows are furrowed, his hair is messy. His cock leaks profusely, the head turning a darker red colour. It's a beautiful sight to see, him writhing in pleasure, his muscles tensing, his bottom lip caught between his teeth as he tries to prolong the pleasure.
You lean in to whisper in his ear, your teeth nipping his earlobe, your breath hot on his neck.
"Cum for me, Jungkook..."
It's like a dam breaks, thick white ropes of cum painting his abdomen and chest, a deep groan rumbling from his chest. A string of curses falls from his lips, his body jerking as the aftershocks of his orgasm flow through him.
You run your middle finger through his cum and bring it up to your lips, licking it clean.
"You taste good in the morning."
He looks up at you with heavy-lidded eyes and a goofy smile on his face. He lifts his head to press a tender kiss to your lips, his cock twitching against his stomach. Watching you lick his cum off your fingers is such a turn-on, it's almost embarrassing.
"I feel selfish not returning the favour."
"It's okay," you smile. "I just wanted to do that for you."
You run your fingers through his hair, watching the way his eyes fall closed once more, his body relaxing into the mattress. He has a glow to him, and you didn't think it was possible, but he looks even more handsome right after he cums.
The two of you stay like that for a while before reluctantly getting up to go clean off. He takes a shower while you wait in the living room, wearing last night's dress and heels. While he's in the shower, you think back to the night before, the feeling of his nails on your back, the smell of his bedsheets, how perfect his t-shirt fit. It all makes your stomach feel funny. You smile to yourself as you think of him, how gentle and caring of a man he is.
When he walks out into the living room wearing a fresh set of clothes, his hair styled neatly, his glasses resting on the bridge of his nose, your heart beats a little bit faster, and when he drives you home, you look over at him with a soft look in your eyes. He stops at a cafe on the way to your apartment and you get two breakfast bagels, even though it's already nearly noon. You insist on paying and he fights you on it, quickly handing the cashier his card before you manage to get yours out of your purse. When you sit in his car in the parking lot and eat your bagels together, your heart feels light and the conversation feels easy, your laughter and teasing remarks filling his car.
When he parks his car outside of your building and walks you up to your apartment, you don't feel that anxious pit in your stomach that you would normally feel after spending a bit too much time with him. So, when you stop in front of your door and he bids you goodbye, you gently grab his wrist before he can turn around and walk away. You stop him, and you kiss him. You wrap your arms around his neck and you kiss him slowly and tenderly. You kiss him until you both have to pull away for air, and then you give him a few more kisses before pulling away with a little smile.
"What was that for?" he whispers, his smile mirroring yours.
"Another 'thank you', I guess."
He leans in and presses one final kiss to your lips, his hands holding your waist, his nose brushing against yours as be reluctantly pulls away.
jeon jungkook, a fellow professor at yonsei university, is your friend, co-worker, and secret bed buddy. you have rules set in place to make sure there are no misunderstandings in your little arrangement. the #1 rule is as clear as day; no catching feelings. simple, right? wrong. let's see how un-simple it gets when a certain economics professor falls for an emotionally unavailable political science professor.
pairing: professor!jungkook x (fem) professor!reader, fwb to lovers
genre: fluff, angst, smut, fwb au, economicsprofessor!jungkook, politicalscienceprofessor!reader, slow burn, some emotional constipation, some sappy moments, lots of sexy moments.
rating: 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT!
w/c: 6.7k
warnings: we get to know the besties a bit, jihyo and tae being our cutesie side characters <3 oc and jk both spill the beans to their friends,mentions of the infamous ex (booo, throwing tomatoes), oc buys and wears lingerie for jk, she sends him a photo in said lingerie, explicit sexual content; making out, oral sex (f. receiving), unprotected sex, missionary, squirting, soft dom jk, multiple orgasms, jk learns something new about oc, jk's in his feelings, my poor baby, jk's also a teeny tiny bit of a stalker...but in a sweet way if that makes any sense 😭😭😭
a/n: part 3 took longer than i would've liked bc my procrastination was kicking my ass. anyway, pls enjoy !!! things will start being a bit more eventful from part 4 onwards so bear with me 🥹 as usual, make sure to like, reblog and pleeeaaase share all your thoughts and feelings about these kiddos 🫂🫶🏼
It's been a week since Jungkook came over. You spoke here and there in passing but you haven't had a chance to actually hang out again after that night because you're both just too busy prepping for final exams before the long awaited summer break. This time of year is always a bit crazy for both the students and the educators, which leaves you with almost no time to mess around with cute economics professors.
You've been a bit stressed out all week, so you really weren't planning on spending your Saturday in a busy mall, looking through racks of lingerie, and yet that's exactly what you're doing. Why? Because Jihyo texted you saying she needed your help in buying something sexy to wear on an upcoming date she has with some guy she met at work. His name's Mark and from what she's told you about him, he sounds...promising.
Jihyo, unlike you, is looking for a boyfriend. Boy, is she looking. She's gone on about seven dates with five different men in the past couple of months and she is yet to find her Mr. Right. From what she's told you, she's looking for someone educated, tall, handsome, funny, and someone who can "match her freak". The closest she got to that was some guy she met at a club two months ago, who was lucky enough to get three whole dates before he eventually gave her the ick by referring to his mother as 'mommy'. For her own sanity, you hope Mark won't make that same mistake.
However, Jihyo's mind isn't on Mark right now. Oh no, she's much more focused on the man you're seeing.
"___, come on. We've been best friends since the fifth grade. Are you really going to look me in my eye and tell me you're not seeing anyone? And don't lie to me."
You roll your eyes, scanning the rack of pink satin and red lace, feeling the different fabrics between your fingers. One minute, you were asking her about Mark and how they met, and the next thing you know, you're being interrogated in the middle of a lingerie store.
"I'm not looking you in your eye. I'm looking at lingerie. Ooh, this is pretty."
Jihyo loves you, really, she does. You've known each other for most of your lives. That means she supports you in everything you do. That also means she can see right through your bullshit when no one else can. She's been suspicious of you and your apparent mystery man for a while now, and she won't stop asking you about him until she gets answers.
"I'm serious. I know you're seeing someone. You're not slick, babe. I know you inside and out, and I have really good intuition...and I might have seen a text I shouldn't have when your phone was on the table at the restaurant during lunch."
Dammit.
"I don't know what you're talking about." You feign ignorance, refusing to spill the beans even after practically getting caught. You and Jungkook both swore to keep it between the two of you. It's one of the rules. Who knows what will happen if you just start breaking rules all willy-nilly. Sure, it's not that big of a deal if you tell one friend, especially your best friend, but that's how it starts. You're breaking this rule, and then another and another until you're Robin Thicke and the lines are blurred.
"Cut the shit," Jihyo says dryly, crossing her arms over her chest, clearly unwilling to drop the subject. "Who is this mysterious 'prof jeon' and why was he asking you when you're free to see him?"
You let out a defeated sigh, looking over at her. You know that look on her face. She's just going to keep asking if you don't tell her and it's pointless lying about it. She can be a pain in your ass at times but she's definitely not stupid. And besides, she's your best friend. You'd be a bad best friend for not telling her that you're basically getting the best sex of your life, right?
Screw it.
"Okay, I'm not even supposed to tell anyone about it and it's really not a big deal but...I'm kinda sleeping with one of the other professors at work." You quickly press your lips together as soon as the words leave your mouth, looking back at the lingerie to avoid her eyes and all the questions you know you're about to be bombarded with in a second.
"What?!"
"Can you keep your voice down?" you whisper-yell, noticing a few people turning their heads to see what the sudden outburst was about.
"Sorry," she mutters with a snort, clearly not expecting that news. "Who is this professor? What's his name? Jeon who? Why didn't I know about this sooner? Since when have you-"
You cut her off before she can get the rest of her questions out.
"His name is Jungkook, he teaches economics, and before you ask, no, he's not my boyfriend or anything like that. I'm still not ready for that. We met after I transferred to work at the university and we were just work-friends for the most part, but then we hooked up one night last year and we were a bit drunk but it was so good, and then it happened two more times and then...well, then we just agreed to keep having casual sex. That's it."
Jihyo is quiet for a moment, processing the information that was just thrown at her. How have you been sleeping with this man for a year and she had no idea? She's actually quite impressed that you could keep it a secret for that long.
"Wow."
"That's it? That's all you're gonna say?" you chuckle, turning around to look at her with a light blue lacey set in your hands.
"I just...I'm happy for you. I'm glad you're putting yourself out there again after Sunghoon. I really thought you were going to swear off men for the rest of your life after him."
And there it is. The reminder of the man you spent most of your teenage and early adulthood loving, the man who you thought you would grow old with, the bane of your existence. If it's not your friends or your mother reminding you of him, it's your own brain. You don't blame her for bringing him up, though. He is the main reason why you're so opposed to actually committing yourself to someone again.
"Yeah, well...it's not like Jungkook and I are dating or anything. It's just sex. No big deal," you mutter, not wanting to go down that road right now.
Jihyo knows your love life (or lack thereof) is a bit of a sensitive subject for you. She was there for you when Sunghoon broke your heart. She let you stay over at her apartment when you were too sad to be alone. She sat with you as you cried on her bathroom floor, so this is a big deal to her. This means that you don't spend your nights crying over that human shit stain anymore, and she doesn't blame you for keeping it private. All she really wants is for you to be happy.
"Still. It's progress, babe."
"Yeah, I guess it is."
"So, uhh... how is he?" She grins, gesturing to her genital area, wanting all the long, girthy, veiny details. She can't help but be a little nosey. Besides, what's the point of having a best friend of almost two decades if you can't ask her about the juicy details of her sex life.
"I'm not telling you that, you pervert," you laugh, holding the lacey lingerie out for her to take. She takes it without even looking at it, her focus solely on you and your professor friend.
"You have to tell me. Okay fine, just give me a number from one to ten then... Looks?"
You sigh but decide to indulge her anyway. "Ten."
"You lucky bitch," she scoffs, looking very impressed. "Skills in the bedroom?"
"Nine point five."
"And you're exclusively hooking up, right?"
You nod.
"Okay, ___, please explain to me why we're in a lingerie store and you're not buying something to make this man drool over you," Jihyo deadpans, looking at you like you're insane.
"Don't be ridiculous, we're not here for me. We're here for you and your date."
"And we're not leaving until we both get something." She starts looking through the racks with more determination. "You said Professor Sexyboots is a ten. You have to wear something sexy for him. At least for my sake."
"Professor Sexyboots? I'm sure he'd love that," you scoff, rolling your eyes at her ridiculous nickname for him.
Jihyo is about to respond when she looks up at something and freezes, her eyes widening, causing you to turn your head to follow her line of sight, your eyebrows raising. On one of the mannequins sits a stunning deep-red bra and matching thong, looking like something straight off a Victoria's Secret runway. It's gorgeous, with intricate lace detailing, and it's completely out of your comfort zone.
"No way, I can't."
"What are you talking about?! You'd look so hot. C'mon, it would be so fun. You could send him a little sneak peek and invite him over and he can take it off with his teeth," she snickers, having way too much fun with this whole thing.
You're not sure how exactly you let Jihyo convince you to buy the skimpy lingerie, but you did, which is why you're sitting in a rather suggestive pose in front of your floor-length mirror in your bedroom. It's silly to feel nervous about sending him a naughty photo. He's seen you naked more times in this past year than you can count, and yet this makes you nervous.
You take the photo and press send before quickly tossing your phone on the bed, letting out a deep sigh.
Jungkook is in the middle of watching some random show on Natural Geographic when he gets your text. He unlocks his phone and all the air gets knocked out of his lungs when his eyes land on the photo of you wrapped in the delicate dark red lace, muttering a breathless, "Sweet baby Jesus".
His fingers shake as he types out a reply, his heart hammering in his chest.
prof jeon [9:46pm]: i've never really been a very religious man
prof jeon [9:46pm]: but damn, god is good 😳
You [9:47pm]: LMAO
You [9:47pm]: come over
prof jeon [9:48pm]: aye-aye captain 🫡
He rushes to his room to get a hoodie, quickly putting it on while getting a confused look from a half-asleep Bam. He walks over to give the sleepy dog a quick kiss on his forehead and some scratches before getting his car keys, his body working faster than his brain. “Bam, daddy’s gotta go take care of aunty ___, okay? I’ll be back later.” And with that, he’s out the door.
He makes his way downstairs to the parking lot and gets in his car, fumbling with the car keys in a rush to get to your apartment. He knows he probably looks like a teenage virgin right now, but he doesn't care. You always manage to make his midsection tingle and his brain feel all scattered. When he finally manages to get the car started, it takes everything in him to stay within the speed limit as he drives over to you.
You're about to text him to ask how far he is from your apartment, when there's a knock at the front door. You wrap a robe around your body and go to answer the door, seeing a breathless Jungkook leaning his arm up against the wall in the hallway.
"Good evening, Professor," he grins, straightening up to walk inside, eyeing you from head to toe as you close the door behind him. Before you can get a chance to respond, his lips are on yours, his hands cradling your jaw as he kisses you, completely taking you by surprise.
You pull away to look up at him with wide eyes, letting out a little chuckle. "So just straight to the point? No small talk, nothing?"
"Is that what you want?" he asks, looking down at your robe-clad body. "Small talk? Want me to ask you how your day was before I spread your legs?"
"Not really, no."
"Yeah, I didn't think so," he mutters before his lips are back on yours. He picks you up by the back of your thighs in one swift motion, your arms wrapped around his neck as he carries you to your bedroom, eager to get that damn robe off.
He gets to the bedroom and gently lays you down on your back before hurriedly removing his glasses, pulling his hoodie over his head, his t-shirt following quickly behind. He leans down to hover over you, his lips kissing from your neck up to your lips, sensually licking into your mouth to taste more of you while his fingers trail up your thigh under the robe.
He pulls back to look down at you with heavy-lidded eyes, his fingers slowly opening your robe. "Can I take this off?"
You nod and your robe is off within seconds, leaving you in nothing but the skimpy lingerie. His throat goes completely dry. "Fuck. You're trying to give me an asthma attack."
"You don't have asthma," you laugh, rolling your eyes.
"The point is that you're fucking hot, ___."
You scoff and pull him back down to crash your lips onto his, his tongue slipping into your mouth with ease. Your hands lightly travel up his biceps and shoulders, the sensation sending shivers down his spine. You slide your fingers through his hair and give it a little tug, pulling a soft moan from his lips. He loves when you play with his hair, and he especially loves when you tug on it, whether it's while he's kissing you or eating you out.
You pull away slightly to press a few light pecks to his lips, his stomach erupting with butterflies. "You're so good at that," he mutters, gently tugging on your bottom lip with his teeth.
"At what, kissing?"
"Mm," he hums with a lazy little grin on his face. "Might need you to demonstrate again, just to make sure."
You laugh, placing another kiss to his lips, lingering there for a bit before pulling away.
"Mm, one more," he whispers before his mouth is back on yours, his tongue tangling with yours as the kiss grows more heated.
He reluctantly breaks away from your mouth, his lips trailing down your neck, leaving a trail of hot, wet kisses on your skin.
He nips at your pulse point, his teeth leaving a little red spot on your flesh.
"Jungkook, I'm going to kill you if there's a mark," you mutter, but the huff of laughter he lets out tells you he doesn't care.
"You'll be fine," he chuckles, his voice hoarse with desire, his tongue tracing the mark he left behind. He leans on one hand while the other slowly trails up the side of your ribs, making its way to the back of your bra.
"This is so pretty," he whispers, giving your earlobe a little tug with his teeth. "Can I take it off yet?"
"Mhm," you nod, slightly arching your back off the bed to let him unclasp the bra. He slowly slides the fabric off your body and tosses it aside, kissing his way down to your breasts. He licks and sucks on each of your nipples before trailing slow, soft kisses down your stomach.
"Lift your hips for me, baby." You do as he says, his fingers hooking into the sides of the tiny lace thong, slowly pulling the fabric down your legs.
You spread your legs for him, showing him your glistening folds. The sight alone makes his sweatpants feel tighter. He kneels down at the edge of the bed, spreading your legs further apart. He kisses his way up your leg from your calf to your inner thigh, holding your ankle over his broad shoulder.
His lips inch even closer to your pussy, just a few centimeters from where you need him most. "Jungkook," you whine, your arousal growing by the second.
He chuckles teasingly, stopping at your inner thigh. "You're so whiny."
"Don't tease, Kook."
He grins, hovering his mouth over your pussy, his breath fanning over your folds. "Love seeing you all worked up for me," he murmurs, slowly licking his lips before pressing a feather-like kiss to your mound.
"Just shut up and eat me out."
"Yes, ma'am."
He starts slow with wet little kisses and licks to your clit, slowly building up a steady pace. He loves eating you out. He could go for hours if you let him, like a starved man getting a taste of his favourite food. Jungkook's always been more of a giver than a taker, your pleasure bringing him pleasure.
He's incredibly skilled with his tongue, knowing exactly what to do to have your legs trembling. He swirls and flicks his tongue, sucking and lapping at your clit to make your eyes roll back in your head.
"Fuck, Jungkook...feels so good," you sigh, your eyes fluttering shut.
He smiles against your pussy, feeling proud of every little sigh and moan he pulls from your lips. "You taste so good," he mutters before diving back in, licking a long stripe from your leaking entrance to your clit, his hands gripping your thighs to keep them open.
"Just like that...oh my god, don't stop..."
He looks up at you with a dazed look in his eyes, his tongue lapping at you with skilled precision that makes your toes curl, your fingers gripping the sheets beneath you.
"F-fuck, 'm gonna cum," you gasp, grabbing onto his hair to hold him in place, your eyes squeezing shut, your head spinning as the pleasure reaches a peak.
A few more sucks and flicks of his tongue and you're cumming, his hands holding you in place as he laps at your pussy, helping you ride out your high. He feels your thighs quivering, looking quite proud of himself. "You taste so fucking good," he murmurs, pressing a few soft kisses to your clit.
"Holy shit." You're breathless, your pussy pulsating, your heart racing.
He crawls up to hover over you, giving your lips a quick peck, his lips and chin glistening. "Still with me?"
"Mhmm," you grin, slowly opening your eyes to look up at him.
He smiles down at you, taking in your flushed cheeks, your disheveled hair, your pretty eyes. He gently brushes some of your hair out of your face, his thumb lightly stroking your cheek. "You're beautiful, ___," he whispers, his voice laced with tenderness.
"Don't say that."
He furrows his brows in confusion, puzzled by your reaction. "Why not? It's the truth."
"Tell me I'm sexy...not beautiful."
He chuckles, slowly shaking his head, his expression filled with amusement and affection. "You're gorgeous," he whispers, lightly kissing your cheek, his lips trailing over to your ear. "And incredibly sexy."
"You gonna fuck me now?" You tease, your lips curling into a soft smile.
He almost laughs at your bluntness, the way you just get straight to the point, never wasting any time if you want something. Your assertiveness has always been a turn-on for him, not just in the bedroom, but in general.
"That's the plan, yeah."
"Let's get this show on the road then."
He gets up off you and removes his sweatpants and boxers, letting it lay somewhere on your bedroom floor. He's already hard, his cock standing tall, the tip already leaking a bit. He stands at the end of your bed, his hand wrapped around the base, his eyes glued between your legs, slowly trailing up to your face.
He crawls back on top of you, sliding his fingers through your folds, gathering some of your slick and rubbing it over the head of his cock. "Ready, baby?"
You give him a nod and he slowly pushes into you, his hips gently moving forward. "Shit, you feel good," he groans, his voice coming out low and hoarse.
You sharply inhale through your nose, feeling that familiar stretch, your walls molding to the shape of him like it was made for him.
He thrusts slowly, bracing his forearms on either side of your head, his forehead resting against yours. His thrusts get deeper until he bottoms out, his breathing growing heavier, his moans going straight to your core. He buries his face in your neck, feeling your hands gripping the muscles in his back as he thrusts harder.
Your moans grow louder as he thrusts into you, your walls fluttering around him, your legs wrapping around his waist. "Fuck, that feels so good."
"Yeah? You like that, baby?" he grins, pressing wet kisses to your neck and chest.
You've never had a man make you feel the way Jungkook does. He knows exactly how to touch you, how to kiss you, how to have you like putty in his hands. Your skin heats up, your heart pounding faster as he picks up the pace, hitting that spot deep inside you that makes your back arch off the bed.
"Mmm, f-fuck...harder...h-harder, baby," you moan, feeling him lift one of your legs over his shoulder, the tip of his cock repeatedly hitting that sweet spot inside you, the new angle allowing him to thrust even deeper.
"Like that?" He grunts, sitting back on his knees, his thrusts hitting harder, his pace getting faster.
"Oh my god, right there...feels s-so good, Kook."
"Wanna cum again?"
You can barely form a coherent sentence anymore. Your moans mixed with the sound of his skin slapping against yours fills your bedroom, his thrusts making your pussy squelch.
"Use your words, baby."
"Wanna...wanna cum," you whine, feeling him hold your leg next to his head and press wet kisses to your ankle and calf, the pressure and pace of his thrusts feeling just right.
"Hold it." His voice is rough and demanding, a stark contrast to the gentle tone he usually uses with you outside of the bedroom, the sound sending a shiver down your spine.
He ignores your whines and pleas for him to let you cum, thrusting as deep as he can go, his free hand reaching down to push his thumb into your mouth. Your body works on autopilot, sucking on his thumb. You swirl your tongue around it like you would do to his cock, causing his hips to stutter before he regains his composure.
"Such a good girl for me. Gonna make you cum so hard, baby."
He pulls his thumb out of your mouth to rub firm circles over your clit, the pressure paired with his thrusts making your head spin. The pressure starts to build in your lower stomach, and it feels different, better than it usually does, your pussy clenching down harder around his cock.
"Feels...f-feels like I'm gonna...p-pee..."
He lets out a faint chuckle, his hips moving with determination. "You're not gonna pee, baby," he mutters, his tone sounding almost teasing.
"H-how do you know?"
"Trust me, baby, I know. You're not gonna pee." He can tell you're close, your body practically begging for release as he rubs your clit faster. He looks down to where your bodies connect, seeing how swollen and puffy your pussy looks, the sight making his cock twitch. "It's gonna feel so good, baby, I promise."
"Gonna...gonna cum-"
"I know, baby. Let go for me...let it all out."
You cum with a loud cry, your body convulsing beneath him, your vision going blank as the pleasure hits you. It feels relentless, like nothing you've ever felt before, and he's made you cum many times before.
"Fuck, that's my girl." His thrusts slow down but they don't stop, keeping his pace steady to help you through it. "That's it, baby...ride it out..."
Your body trembles as you come down from your high, barely able to register him pulling out. Your eyes are half open as you watch him stroke himself above you, his face contorting in pleasure, his abdomen tensing. He finishes with a guttural moan of your name, painting your stomach and breasts with warm strings of cum.
"Fuck. I think I just saw Jesus," he breathes out, his chest heaving as he gasps for air.
"Yeah? What did he tell you?" You chuckle breathlessly, still feeling the aftershocks of your orgasm.
"He said you squirted."
Your eyes almost bulge out of your head, looking down to find his lower stomach and pelvis drenched.
"Oh my god," you groan, your words muffled by your hands as you cover your face.
"Hey, don't be embarrassed. It was probably the sexiest thing I've ever seen," he murmurs with a faint chuckle, gently pulling your hands away from your face, forcing you to look at him, his face looking rather smug.
"You look very pleased with yourself."
"Can you blame me? I made you feel so good, you practically exploded all over me," he grins, looking down at the mess between your legs. "Ohh, she's so swollen now. She took a bit of a beating, huh?"
You let out bashful scoff, your cheeks heating up at his choice of words.
He quickly gets up to go and clean himself off in the bathroom, coming back to slip his boxers back on. He watches you slowly get up off the messy bed, your knees feeling weak as you clumsily walk off to the bathroom, needing a hot shower after that intense session. He sits on the edge of the bed, leaning back on his hands as he watches you stumble.
"Legs a little wobbly there?" he teases, unable to stop the amused smile from spreading across his face.
"Shut up," you mutter as you make your way to the bathroom, earning a little laugh from him.
While you're in the shower, he takes it upon himself to remove the dirty covers and sheets from your bed, looking for your lavender room-spray on your vanity. He knows you always spray it around the room after sex, and he knows you keep it on your vanity, but for some reason he can't find it there. What he does find, however, is a framed photo he's never seen before. You're in it, and it looks like it was taken on the day of your undergrad graduation ceremony. You're standing next to a younger-looking girl, whose face is quite similar to yours. She is just slightly taller with shorter hair. Jungkook doesn't know much, or rather anything, about your family, but he assumes the girl in the photo is your sister.
He picks up the frame and goes to sit down on the bed, inspecting it closely. He feels a bit guilty, like he's been caught red-handed for snooping when you come out the bathroom wrapped in your robe, your eyes landing on the frame in his hands.
"What're you doing?"
"Sorry," he murmurs, his eyes growing wide, feeling like a child that's been caught stealing. "I just...I was looking for your room spray...or mist, whatever it is, and... I, uhm, I don't know, I guess this just caught my eye. I've been here many times but I've never really looked around, y'know?"
You nod slowly, going to sit next to him at the edge of the bed.
"Is this...your sister?"
You look up at him, seeing the surprise on his face.
You and Jungkook have sex. You work at the same university. You're "work-friends" and that surprise on his face is a reminder of how little he truly knows about you, how little of yourself you actually share with him. He knows you have a cat, but he doesn't know you have a sister. He knows the way you take your coffee, but he doesn't know anything about your childhood. It's a stark contrast to how much you know about him. You know his favourite foods because he's very specific about where he gets his takeout from. You know his favourite brand of beer because he always has it stocked up in his fridge. You know all about his family dynamics because he speaks about them all the time, that his brother just had a baby, that her name is Mijoo. You know all of his hobbies and interests because you're quite observant and he's very open, never feeling the need to keep anything to himself. You're similar in some aspects of your personalities, and yet very different.
"Yeah, that's my sister, Yuna," you murmur softly, looking down at the photo with a tight-lipped smile.
He absorbs this new information, a mix of feelings swirling inside him. Part of him feels slightly hurt. Four years of knowing each other and a year of hooking up, and he's only just found out you have a sister. He's an open book, always sharing all these intimate details about himself with you, yet you keep so many parts of yourself hidden from him. He wonders if it's just in your nature or if you deliberately keep him at arm's length, preventing him from getting too close.
At the same time, a small spark of hope lights up within him. You're not completely shutting him down so that's good. Maybe this is a sign that you're actually opening up to him for once. It might seem minor, but he takes it as a huge step forward with you.
He has a million questions he wants to ask, but settles for, "What's she like?"
There's a beat of silence before you speak. "She's, uhm...she's three years younger than me, and she's probably the most extroverted person you'll ever meet, so we're...very different," you scoff, smiling fondly at the thought of your baby sister.
He listens intently as you talk about your sister. He wants nothing more than for you to let your guard down with him, and this is a start. It's small, but it's something.
"That must make for an interesting sibling dynamic, hm?"
"We actually get along great in spite of that. We grew up super close, so..." You speak softly, feeling a bit uncomfortable with showing even just a hint of vulnerability in front of him. "So, yeah. Now you know that about me."
"Yeah," he murmurs softly, his voice barely louder than a whisper. "Now I know."
You gently take the frame from his hands and walk over to your vanity, putting it back in its place. You pick up the lavender room spray and turn to him with a faint smile. "This what you were looking for?"
"There's the damn thing," he scoffs, the familiar scent filling his nose as you give the room a spritz. "Is that to get rid of the smell of me?"
You chuckle, but you don't deny it.
The room falls silent again, and he takes it as his cue to get out of your hair, seeing as it's already midnight and he doesn't want to push his luck.
"I should, uh...I should go. It's late and I don't wanna keep you out of your beauty sleep," he jokes, slowly getting up to put his clothes back on.
"I'll walk you out." He wishes, just once, that you would ask him to stay, but he knows you won't. He walks behind you, stopping at the front door. He so badly wants to reach out and take your face in his hands, to kiss your lips and ask you to let him spend the night with you, but when you open the door for him, he simply puts his hands in the pockets of his sweatpants and walks out into the hallway.
"Thanks for tonight," he mumbles, looking down at you with a soft look in his eyes. "It was fun."
"Yeah, it was," you smile, tilting your head to lean against the half-open door.
He just looks at you, not making a move to leave. He has so much he wants to say right now, but he swallows it down, just like he always does, not wanting to overstep.
"Well...goodnight."
"Night, Jungkook."
He takes a small step back, reluctantly turning to leave. "Goodnight, ___," he mumbles, looking back at you with a soft smile.
You chuckle, sensing his reluctance to leave. "Goodnight, Jungkook."
He turns and starts walking away, his feet feeling heavier with each step. Just as he's about to make a U-turn and walk back to you, he hears the soft click of your door shutting, the lock echoing in the empty hallway.
He sighs and walks over to the elevators, going down to his car. He mentally kicks himself for feeling so disappointed. He's always known that you keep yourself guarded, and he thought he could handle it, could play by your rules, could be content with a primarily physical relationship. He could before. But right now, sitting in his car in the silent parking lot, he's reminded of how weak he really is.
He leans his forehead forward against the steering wheel, the weight of his feelings sitting heavy in his chest, muttering a soft, "Fuck."
With a heavy sigh, he starts the car and drives home, his brain taunting him with the fact that romance isn't a possibility for you and him.
On Monday, Jungkook is back in work mode. He tries to squeeze in as many revision lectures as he can the closer it gets to final exams. It's around 3pm when he finally gets a breather, so he goes to his usual spot for lunch.
He sits in the empty lounge, like he does almost every day. Why this specific lounge? Because if he looks out the window, he has a perfect view of you sitting below, eating your lunch on your usual bench. Sometimes you're alone, sometimes you're with another lecturer, and on rare days you just have lunch in your office.
"There you are." He hears Taehyung's voice as he walks into the lounge, sitting down across from him with a huff. "You weren't answering your phone."
Jungkook doesn't respond, his eyes not wavering. He looks out the window with a dopey look on his face, watching you eat your gimbap. Taehyung follows his line of sight, catching on rather quickly.
"So... you taking an online course on how to be a stalker, or...?"
"What are you talking about?" He scoffs, looking over at Taehyung before his eyes inevitably drift back down to you.
"You're staring like a creep," Taehyung laughs, taking a bite of his sandwich. "Is she that professor I saw you talking to the other day?"
"Mm." Jungkook knows how nosey his best friend can be, and he knows exactly what's going on in that head of his.
Taehyung gives him a knowing smile. He doesn't even have to say much, already knowing it's only a matter of time before Jungkook spills.
"You have a thing for her, huh?"
Jungkook looks at him with wide eyes, feeling exposed without even confessing anything. "What? I didn't even say anythi-"
"Don't bother," Taehyung chuckles, "You're not very subtle, man. Your eyes give you away."
Jungkook feels his cheeks burn, knowing he's been caught. He hates how transparent he is, that his feelings are written all over his face. "Fine. But it's not a big deal."
Taehyung gives him a look that says, 'You sure about that?'
Jungkook looks at his friend, then down at his lap, twiddling his thumbs. There's a long silence before the word-vomit eventually spills out of him.
"We've been having sex for a year and it was just casual at first, well...it still is casual, and we set a few rules so that there's still boundaries between us, but then I started developing feelings and she's just so guarded, like, she won't open up to me and I know that if she finds out I have feelings for her, she'll pull away and it'll ruin everything," he rambles, the words tumbling out like he's been dying to tell someone. He knows it was supposed to stay between the two of you, but he trusts Taehyung implicitly and he knows his friend would never judge him or the situation.
Taehyung looks at him with raised eyebrows, listening to him ramble on about the whole situation, trying to wrap his head around it. He knows how much of a softie Jungkook is and he never thought he would ever hear him say he has a friend with benefits.
"Damn, dude...you look like you needed to get that off your chest."
"I guess I did, yeah," Jungkook murmurs with a little scoff.
"Okay, so, she explicitly told you she's not interested in you romantically?"
"Well, no, she didn't say it directly, but she doesn't have to," Jungkook sighs. "She's made it clear more than once that she's not looking for anything serious from me."
"Damn," Taehyung murmurs, his face full of sympathy. "Has she said why?"
Jungkook looks back out the window, looking down at you with a melancholy expression on his face. "I know it's something to do with her ex, but she won't tell me the full story, so I don't really know what happened. I know she's been hurt before and she's wary of it happening again. I know she's not ready for anything serious, and I respect that. It's just..."
"You thought it would be enough for you?" Taehyung asks softly, carefully.
"Yeah."
"But it's not?"
"Would it make me an awful, selfish person if I said it's not?"
"No," Taehyung says firmly, a soft smile forming on his face. "It would make you a human being with a soft heart and strong feelings."
Jungkook scoffs, feeling guilty for simply thinking of being with you in a romantic sense. He knows you've been through some hard things in the past, and all he wants is a chance to prove himself to you.
"Do you want to tell her how you feel about her?"
"I don't know," Jungkook mutters, a slight pout forming on his lips. "I keep going back and forth about it in my head. Part of me wants to tell her and lay all my cards out on the table for her...another part of me is scared of pushing her away even further."
Taehyung goes silent for a moment, chewing on his bottom lip in thought. "Is the sex good?"
Jungkook narrows his eyes at his friend. "You have the worst timing."
Taehyung chuckles, shrugging like he just couldn't help but ask.
Jungkook rolls his eyes but gives in, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck. "Yeah, it's...it's really good. Probably the best sex I've ever had, if I'm being real."
"Wow," Taehyung scoffs, his eyes wide. "I'd say you should wife her but...y'know..."
Jungkook gives him a dirty look, once again getting a slap from reality, Taehyung subtly wincing at his friend's misfortune.
"Look, I want to say screw her and it's her loss because you're a fuckin’ catch...but I mean, I get that she's just being cautious because of whatever happened with her ex."
Jungkook sighs, nodding slowly.
"Yeah. I just wish I could prove to her that I would never hurt her, that I would respect her and treat her right." Jungkook mentally curses your ex for screwing things up for him. He just wants a fair shot with you. "She's such a beautiful woman and she doesn't even see it."
Taehyung nods, looking out at you through the window. "Yeah, she's very attractive."
"No, I mean, she's stunning, but...the way she speaks, the way she acts, the person she is...she's just so beautiful. I want her for so much more than her physical being," Jungkook murmurs softly, his heart yearning to show you just how lovely he thinks you are.
"Honestly, I think the best thing you can do for her is be her friend if that's all she needs for the time being and slowly try to bring down her walls little by little. And if that doesn't work, then I think you should keep your options open. I know this sucks, dude, but you have to think of yourself too. You can't try to mend her while breaking yourself."
Taehyung is a wise man, and Jungkook trusts his judgement. He teaches literature, for crying out loud. He reads Shakespeare for a living. He should be well versed in these things.
"Yeah," Jungkook nods, taking in Taehyung's advice. "I guess you're right, Tae. Thanks for listening to all my crap."
"Hey, you're my best friend. No sweat." He goes quiet before casually asking, "So, do you think she has a friend for m-"
summary: When you meet Jungkook— an older man who is amazing in bed, you thought it would be a simple arrangement of casual sex. Except things start getting serious and before you know he’s asking you on dates and introducing you to his daughter… Of course, he doesn’t know that you’re bad with kids and never wanted one of your own— well, at least it was just something temporary… right?.
pairing: business! fem reader x dad! jeon jungkook
genre/warning: fluff, crack, smut, angst / a lot of themes like insecurity, jealousy, death, dysfunctional family, etc.
It was close to 2 a.m when the apartment finally settled into a hush.
The city outside still hummed softly. Traffic, distant laughter, a muffled siren winding somewhere far away. But inside, the lights were dim, the bed was warm, and you were draped across Jungkook’s chest like a lazy cat who had claimed a mountain for their throne. You were both half-dressed and fully exhausted, the sheets twisted around you like the aftermath of a battle. Your hair was a mess. He had one sock on. There was an empty glass of wine on your nightstand and a forgotten phone buzzing somewhere under the pile of pillows. You had been talking for hours, about nothing and everything, the way people do when they’re in that odd, wonderful state between being lovers and being something even more dangerous.
It felt too warm and comfortable. Like a home.
“So you’re telling me,” you said, propping your chin on his chest, eyes narrowed, “that you once bleached your hair platinum blonde in high school because you thought it would make you look like Justin Timberlake?”
Jungkook let out a groan. “You told me you would never bring that up if I told you the story.”
“I’m sorry, but I physically cannot forget that image. I bet your roots looked like a reverse Oreo.”
“It was… a phase,” he said with dignity that absolutely did not exist.
“Oh, honey, no,” you laughed, dropping your head on his shoulder, still giggling. “You’re lucky you’re hot now.”
Jungkook grinned, tilting his head to kiss the top of yours. “And you’re lucky you weren’t there to see it.”
You two lay there in that warm, glowing kind of silence that feels more like a heartbeat than a pause. Your fingers were idly drawing circles on his bare defined stomach, and he had one hand behind his head and the other lazily resting on your thigh.
“I think Jimin still has a picture of it somewhere,” he added casually. “Sunni said I looked cool.”
“You will show it to me.”
“I will not.”
“You will… or I will ask your daughter to draw it from memory.”
Jungkook snorted. “You think she’s on your team now?”
“Oh, no. She hates me. But manipulating a kid is easier than an adult ,” you said with mock seriousness.
“She still calls you ‘That weird lady with good shoes’.”
“Oh, now she likes my shoes?.”
Jungkook laughed again, the sound warm and rumbling from his chest, and then he looked down at you, his hand drifting slowly up your back. “You’re ridiculous.”
“But you love me,” you said, smug.
“I do,” he said without hesitation.
You looked up, a slow, lazy smile pulling at your lips. “I know.”
You two stayed like that for a while longer. He told you about a weird customer he had earlier that week, and you told him about a new investor who kept mispronouncing your name in a pitch meeting. The conversation drifted into a familiar rhythm of jokes and nudges, gentle sarcasm, the slow entangling of two people who had unknowingly become each other’s soft place to land.
And then…
“I should probably head home soon. Got the morning shift.” Jungkook reached under you both for his phone, checking the time, and sending a voice message to answer some texts. And suddenly: “Sorry, man. I’ll see you tomorrow. My girlfriend’s been keeping me up.”
You blinked. Your whole body lifted slightly off his chest as you propped yourself up on one elbow and said, “Hold on.”
Jungkook froze, knowing what you were about to bring up. “What?”
He was trying something. He had made his feelings clear. He didn’t need a label, but he definitely wanted one with you. Being on the same page. He wanted to be sure you were on in too. You did love each other, but he wanted to be sure you were both comfortable with a label, with something that belonged to each other. He wanted to know that you wouldn’t freak out if you were outside and he decided to introduce you as a partner, not a friend nor a date.
You squinted at him. “You just called me your girlfriend.”
He blinked back, pretending to be confused. “Yeah…?”
“You never asked me,” you said, almost affronted.
Jungkook gave you a look. “Are we twelve?”
“No, but manners,” you said, voice smug again, climbing over his chest to straddle him, trying to hide a soft smile. “Don’t you like to communicate? I don’t do unofficial labels now. If you want me to be your girlfriend, you have to ask.”
He raised an eyebrow, amused. “You’re actually serious.”
“I’m so serious right now”
He smirked, completely unfazed. Happy that you were only pretending to be annoyed that he didn’t asked. He put his hands on your tights, creasing them softly.
“Alright, y/n— will you be my girlfriend?”
“No.”
He blinked. “Wait, what?”
You grinned. “That was pathetic. That doesn’t count.”
Jungkook let out a bark of laughter. “You just said I had to ask! You didn’t say I had to stage a Broadway production.”
“Well, it obviously has to be romantic,” you said, hitting his chest delicately. “Do you think I only fell in love with you for your efficiency?. I love grand gestures, I don’t make the rules. I want the moment. I want balloons or string lights or I don’t know, a damn plane banner. I want expensive jewelry and maybe some shoes too…”
He leaned back against the headboard, eyes glittering. “So what, you want, like… a scavenger hunt? Skywriting? Flash mob? A ring?.”
“I want effort,” you said dramatically. “And yes, a ring would be nice too.”
“You are so high maintenance.”
“And yet,” you said, poking his chest, “here you are.”
Jungkook let out a breath and shook his head, pulling you back down to him. “Fine. You want a moment, you’ll get one. But when I do it, you better cry.”
“I cry at perfume commercials when I’m emotional,” you said smugly. “Not a high bar.”
“I’m gonna raise it.”
“I dare you.”
Your kiss tasted like challenge and sleep and something dangerously close to forever. You curled back into his arms, letting your body mold into his like it had always known the shape of him.
“Girlfriend,” he said softly, just to see your smile.
You rolled your eyes and buried your face in his chest. “Not yet,” you mumbled. “But I’m waiting.”
You were. For the first time, you weren’t afraid of the future or possibilities, not with him. You weren’t afraid to call him your partner, your boyfriend. You wanted to. You wanted to put a label too. To show you were serious too. Because you were. You loved him. And you loved the idea of being his girlfriend. Of being official… even if you had been for a long time already.
And somewhere in that quiet, domestic warmth, Jeon Jungkook knew: he was going to make you cry like hell. In a good way, clearly.
Of course, you didn’t expect for him to do it the next day.
You knew something was up the moment you walked into your apartment. For starters: it was suspiciously quiet. No music, no TV, no humming of the espresso machine you’d left on that morning. Just stillness. And your apartment was never still. It lived, it breathed. You had two phones, an army of plants, and enough mood lighting to make a K-pop video blush. There was always something going on. So the silence was weird. Weirder still: the lights were dimmed.
And on your kitchen island, sitting proudly under a beam of carefully curated golden light, was a… crown?
Not a tiara. Not something dainty. An actual, child-sized, shiny, plastic Burger King crown.
You stared at it like it might explode. And then you realized what was happening.
“Oh, no.” Before you could take another step, the closet door swung open and Jungkook stepped out. Barefoot, wearing black jeans and a fitted white shirt that was suspiciously wrinkle-free, which meant he had definitely planned this. And in his hands… “Oh my God, is that a ukulele?” you gasped.
“It is,” he said proudly. “And before you say anything, yes. I learned exactly one song.”
He started playing it. A song you couldn’t recognize because he was making mistakes all along and even not playing on the right key. He continued for a couple of seconds, looking at you with a smile. That was amused and nervous at the same time.
You blinked. “Is this… is this a bit?”
Jungkook cleared his throat, strumming two off-key chords. “Y/n y/l/n, you told me—”
“No,” you groaned, trying to hide your face behind your hands.
“—you wanted a grand gesture,” he continued, ignoring your dramatics. “You demanded romance. You said, and I quote, ‘If there aren’t lights, music, and a tiny hat involved, it doesn’t count.’”
“I definitely didn’t say that”
“Well, that’s what I heard.” You looked up then, and found him smiling. Not smirking, not teasing, just smiling. That warm, bunny, maddeningly sincere smile that made your stomach dip like the first drop on a rollercoaster. “I could’ve asked you at the park,” he went on, plucking another wildly off-tune chord, “or at dinner last week, or the night we sat on the floor eating pizza with Sunni and she told you your face was too pointy—”
“Can I hit your kid?”
“—but you said you wanted effort. So here’s effort.” He set the ukulele down gently, walked to the island, and picked up the plastic crown. Then, in the most serious tone imaginable, he crossed the room, stood in front of you, and held it up like it was forged by royal decree. “Will you do me the extreme honor,” he said, “of being my girlfriend?”
You stared at him. Then at the crown. Then at him again.
“You absolute idiot,” you whispered.
“That’s not a no,” he grinned.
“I hate you.”
“You don’t.”
“I might.”
He stepped closer, one hand slipping around your waist as he lifted the crown and placed it gently, ridiculously, on your head. “Say yes.”
You looked up at him, your hands lightly resting on his chest, your cheeks flushed from smiling too hard. It was such a bad way to do it that it just made you fluster. “You’re being such a dork right now.”
“I am,” he said, kissing the tip of your nose. “But I’ll be your dork. If you say yes.”
You sighed, overdramatically, like you were suffering. “Fine.”
Jungkook blinked. “Fine?”
“You can say I’m your girlfriend,” you said with a shrug. “I guess.”
He narrowed his eyes. “You guess?”
You giggled before kissing him then. Quick, smug, sweet. “You made me wear a Burger King crown, Kook. You’re lucky I’m saying yes at all.”
“Love of my life,” he whispered.
“Don’t push it.”
He laughed, wrapping you up in his arms like it was the most natural thing in the world. “You’re seriously gonna make me cry.”
“You better,” you said, nuzzling into his neck. “I told you. I want emotion.”
It was dumb, not serious. A question that really didn’t need an answer because it already had been answered a long time ago. You wanted to be with him. And this way, a stupid silly way to make it official didn’t bother you at all. Because you were able to be silly with him, dumb, stupid. And you were able to see this parts of him that were childish and parts of you that were not put-together at all. And you liked that. You liked being soft, childish and emotional. You liked that part of yourself. With him.
You two stood there in the kitchen, surrounded by bad lighting, worse music, and one very victorious plastic crown. Jungkook didn’t need to say it, but he did anyway, softly against your temple. “I love you.”
This time, you didn’t hesitate. “I love you too, fucking idiot.”
And you meant it. Even with the crown still on your head.
———
It was a quiet Thursday morning at the shop, sunlight slipping lazily through the tall front windows and warming the hardwood floors. Jungkook sat at the desk in the back, sketching on a clean page of his notebook with a half-drunk coffee at his elbow. Jimin was out running errands, and the buzz of the tattoo machine hummed from the next room where their new apprentice was working on a small piece.
Jungkook didn’t hear the door at first. He only looked up when the scent of her perfume hit. Light and expensive, something with sandalwood and white musk. Familiar in a way that stirred the air more than his thoughts.
Yunna stood near the front, wearing tailored trousers, a linen blouse tucked just right, sunglasses perched on her head like an afterthought. She always had that air about her, leaving that college girl persona and becoming a mother. She always looked polished, intentional, unfazed and warm. A woman who always looked like she was coming from or going to something important.
Jungkook stood up slowly. “Hey,” he said, surprised but not unpleasantly. “Didn’t know you were stopping by.”
She offered a small smile. “I was in the neighborhood. Thought I’d say hi.”
He gestured for her to come in. “You want coffee?”
“I just had one, but thanks,” she said, stepping deeper into the shop. “Place looks good.”
“Thanks. We finally fixed the leak in the back, so I think we might be semi-legit now.”
She laughed softly. It always was like all the years hadn’t piled up the way they had. His relationship with her was good. Mature, always too fictional and almost perfect. They always knew how to deal with each other. Specially for Sunni. They had always being too aware of her and handle their divorce friendly and in a mature way.
“How’s Sunni?” she asked.
“Good. We did a floor picnic last week. She made me wear a sparkling tiara.”
Yunna grinned. “She told me. She said she let you win at Uno.”
“She definitely didn’t.”
They shared a small laugh, the kind that people who once lived a whole life together do. But then silence drifted in. not uncomfortable exactly, but heavy with things unsaid. There was something she wanted to say, he knew. He wasn’t sure what it was, but he had met her for a long, long time. He knew her better than anyone. Jungkook moved behind the counter to busy his hands, flipping through appointment forms he’d already seen.
“I heard you and Max broke up,” he said, glancing at her briefly.
Yunna leaned against the counter, her arms crossed. “Yeah. A few weeks ago.”
“You okay?”
“Yeah. It wasn’t a thing. He didn’t get Sunni, and I don’t do well with people who think co-parenting is a quirky personality trait.”
Jungkook gave a dry chuckle. “Fair enough.”
Yunna’s eyes lingered on him a beat longer than comfortable. “You look good.”
He raised an eyebrow, amused. “You sound surprised.”
She shrugged. “You used to wear the same three hoodies on rotation and survive of instant ramen. It’s good to see you keeping the mature era for so long.”
“I upgraded to five hoodies and actual groceries.”
“I’m proud,” she said, smiling. “You seem… settled. You had been for a long time. Like things are good.”
He paused for a second, tapping his fingers on the counter. “They are. I’ve got the shop, Sunni’s great, and…”
“You’re seeing someone,” she finished for him.
Jungkook nodded. “Yeah.”
“That same girl?” Yunna’s smile didn’t quite fade, but it didn’t hold as easily. “Someone really serious?”
“We’re figuring it out,” he said carefully, then added, “She’s great.”
Yunna gave a slow, thoughtful nod, looking past him for a moment at the tattoo sketches pinned up behind the desk. “Sunni mentioned her. Said she’s… weird.”
“Weird’s not bad.”
“I didn’t say it was,” she replied quickly.
Jungkook looked at her now, really looked… and there it was. Not jealousy, not bitterness, but that quiet discomfort that comes from knowing a person you once imagined a future with was finding one without you. Yunna wasn’t angry. She was nostalgic. Because Jungkook had never been serious with someone after her. He never had even introduced a girl-friend to Sunni.
“Yu,” he said, voice soft. “We’re good, right?”
She met his eyes. “Of course. You’re a great dad. A great man. I’m glad Sunni has you.”
“And you?”
“I’m fine,” she said, that poised smile returning. “Always am.” Jungkook didn’t push. She never liked being read too closely. She pushed off the counter, checked her phone, and tucked it back into her bag. “I should get going. Just wanted to say hi.”
He walked her to the door. “We should get together on Saturday. Sunni’s got a piano thing.”
“I’ll pick you up,” she said. And before she left, she paused, turned back, and added, lightly, but with something else behind it… “Tell your girlfriend I said hi.”
Jungkook didn’t respond right away, just smiled. “I will.”
She left with the same grace she entered, and he stood by the door for a moment after, staring out at the sidewalk long after she was gone. There wasn’t a storm coming. But something told him the wind had changed.
Yunna and him were always good at communicating after their divorce. Always wanting the best for their daughter. Always being good at boundaries and things like that. He wasn’t bothered when she started dating again. Not even when she introduced a man to Sunni. Jungkook knew his place. He knew Yunna would never introduce someone to her daughter without taking into consideration her feelings. Sunni had always been very understanding about it. And, after the second one, it seemed more understanding of the situation. Her parents were dating different people. Jungkook never did, always trying to grown and be better on himself. And when he tried, things really didn’t work out. It had been different with you. And now it was more serious than ever.
He wasn’t going to let that go to waste. He wasn’t even thinking about it. Because today was nothing. Just another moment with Sunni’s mom. Just another thing he had to deal with. A normal piece in his life. Co-parenting.
Later that night he saw you.
The apartment was quiet, bathed in soft amber from the kitchen underlights and the city haze seeping through the windows. You were sitting cross-legged on the couch in one of Jungkook’s t-shirts, old black one with a faded band logo, nursing a glass of red wine with your hair twisted into a lazy bun. Jungkook was in the kitchen, rummaging through your fridge for something that resembled dessert.
“You seriously have three different jars of truffle mustard but no chocolate?” he called out.
“Priorities,” you said over the rim of your glass. “I don’t get dessert cravings. I get expensive condiment cravings.”
“You need to buy real food.”
He returned with two small spoons and a half-empty jar of pistachio cream from some gourmet shop you didn’t even remember buying. He sat beside you, you knee brushing his. You dug your spoon in without hesitation.
“You know,” you said between bites, “this is disturbingly good.”
Jungkook chuckled and leaned back, wine glass in one hand. “Did you have a long day?”
“Mmm. Not the worst. Just numbers and people asking me for things I already gave them. My job is basically adult babysitting.”
“Same,” he said, laughing. “Except mine cry more and ask for dragons tattooed on their backs.”
“We should trade jobs one day.”
You two sat in silence for a moment, trading spoonfuls of the pistachio cream.
Then, unprompted, Jungkook said, “Yunna came by the shop today.”
Your eyes flicked toward him, unreadable. “Oh?”
He nodded, not looking at you yet. “We talked. Nothing big. Just catching up, really. She wanted to say hi.”
You didn’t respond immediately. You took another bite, then carefully set the jar down on the coffee table. You knew Jungkook saw her ex wife a lot, specially for Sunni. He usually let you know what he was up to. Messages like: “Leaving Sunni’s at Yunna’s house” or “Going to Yunna’s to pick up some school papers.” were something you were used to by now. It was his soft way to let you know where he was and what he was doing without making it a big deal for you. Co-parenting with your ex wife was something you learned to see and dating a man who was doing it was something you were slowly getting use to so it was his way to show he knew it could be weird but not difficult. And that you didn’t need to worry.
So it was a little weird he brought it up like it was something out of the schedule. Like a meeting that had nothing to do with Sunni nor he was aware of.
“That was weird for you?”
Jungkook shook his head. “No. I mean, not really. We see each other all the time but she never shows to the shop so It’s always…a little strange. There’s history there, but it’s not like that anymore. We’re good.”
You offered a small, neutral hum. “Okay.”
He glanced at you then. “You want to ask me?”
You blinked. “Ask what?”
“About her. About us.”
You tilted your head, curious now. “Would you actually tell me?”
“Yeah,” he said simply. “If you want to know.”
You never asked too much. Always in line. Not really having the strength to discover if you really wanted to know what made their relationship end in divorce. Not really wanting to know the reason someone would end things after marriage, a forever promise. So, for the first time, you decided to know.
You nodded, tucking your legs under you. “Then tell me.”
He took a breath, rolled the glass between his hands. “We met in college. Freshman orientation. She was smart, way smarter than me. Always knew what she wanted, even back then. We were friends for a while. Then not. Then suddenly we were.” You listened quietly, chin resting on your knee. “She got pregnant senior year. We weren’t even really together at the time. Just…complicated. But when she told me, I didn’t hesitate. I told her I wanted to be there. And I meant it.” He paused, then smiled a little. “So we tried. Got married. Moved into a too-small apartment and tried to be adults when we were basically still kids. It worked for a while. We were good at some things— co-parenting, schedules, splitting the bills. But the other parts…” You watched his expression soften into something almost wistful. “She’s brilliant. Ambitious. Her job took her everywhere. And I stayed. I had Sunni. I had the shop. We became two parallel people, running beside each other but never actually touching.” He sipped his wine, voice steady. “We didn’t hate each other. There was no big explosion. Just one day, we looked at each other and realized we were exhausted. So we ended it.”
“And you stayed friends or just friendly?” you asked.
“Both,” he said. “Because of Sunni. Because we grew up together, in a way. And maybe because deep down, we never really wanted to break each other. We just wanted something else. Not really us together.”
You were quiet for a long time, digesting it. “You make it sound so…mature.”
He looked at you. “It had to be. When you have a kid, you don’t get the luxury of being messy forever.”
You nodded slowly. “That’s… really adult.”
Jungkook reached for your hand, thumb brushing your knuckles. “We all grow in different ways.”
You looked at him, soft but sharp. “So what did you want after that?”
He leaned back into the couch, eyes on the ceiling for a moment before answering. “Something real. Not perfect, not dramatic. Just real. I didn’t want to pretend anymore. I didn’t want to perform being okay with what life gave me or just accepting what I thought I deserved. I wanted to feel real love, I wanted to work on something for me. I— I guess wanted a real relationship, not something that guide me there like things with Yunna did because of Sunni… I wanted someone who would meet me where I was.”
Your throat tightened a little at that. You weren’t sure if it was from the honesty in his voice or how easily he let you sit inside his life, even the unglamorous parts.
“And now?” you asked.
He looked at you. “Now I’m sure I found it. I want this. You. Us.”
You looked down at your intertwined hands, the quiet in the room, the smell of pistachio cream and wine and warm air, and nodded.
“Okay,” you said softly.
No declarations. No overthinking. Just a mutual understanding layered between dessert and night air. The kind of moment you never plan for, but remember for a long, long time.
It was past midnight when the apartment finally settled into silence.
The lights were low. The city outside blinked gently, far and unfocused. Jungkook had fallen asleep half an hour ago, arm draped across your waist, his breath steady and warm against your shoulder. You lay on your back, eyes open, one hand curled under your cheek, the other resting lightly over his. You weren’t tired. Your body was still, but your mind moved in loops. Not chaotic or panicked, just… thoughtful. Like you were standing at the edge of something and trying to decide whether to jump.
He had told you everything. Not all at once, not in some big, dramatic gesture. But honestly, clearly, without shame or performance. Just sat on your couch and laid out a piece of himself like it wasn’t a risk. Like he trusted you to hold it gently. You’d heard stories like that before. The young love, the child, the marriage that didn’t work. But never like this. Never with that kind of calm. Jungkook didn’t carry bitterness in his voice. He didn’t turn it into a cautionary tale or a romantic tragedy. It was just his life. And he’d told it to you.
You stared at the ceiling, trying to figure out what that stirred in you. You felt… something. Not fear, not exactly. Not resistance, either. It was more like awareness. Like you’d been walking through a tunnel, and suddenly, a light came on ahead.
You shifted gently, careful not to wake him, and studied his face in the dim light. His brow was relaxed. His jaw slack. He looked younger asleep. Still so handsome it was almost inconvenient. And peaceful, like a man who knew where he stood in his life. Who had made peace with his past and didn’t flinch at the idea of someone seeing it. You envied that sometimes. The room smelled like pine soap from his skin and your candle still burning in the kitchen. Your bare legs were tangled with his under the sheets, warm and anchored. It should’ve felt suffocating, having someone so close. But it didn’t. It felt like something you’d been putting off.
Your eyes fluttered closed for a moment.
You thought about Rosa. About being twelve and refusing to speak for an entire week when your parents left for some other city. About throwing books at the last nanny until the poor woman cried and left in the middle of the night. You thought about Bohyung, about Se-hoo. About how lucky you’d been to keep people close despite how good you’d gotten at pushing them away. And now here was Jungkook. Not barging in. Not pushing. Just standing there, holding the door open, again and again, until you decided to walk through it.
You opened your eyes and turned toward him.
You pressed your lips softly to his temple, then curled into him, fitting yourself into the shape of his chest like it was muscle memory. You weren’t ready to say it yet… that you’d never felt something this grounded before. That his steadiness made you feel less like you were always sprinting. That when he spoke about wanting something real, something true, you’d seen yourself in his words more than you’d wanted to admit.
You weren’t ready to say it. But you thought it. Over and over. Until sleep took you, and your body finally caught up with your heart.
———
The tattoo shop was closed. It smelled faintly of disinfectant and cheap cleaning supplies, the low hum of the machines filling the air in intervals as Jimin worked on cleaning his station. Jungkook sat across from him at the counter, hunched over his sketchbook, pencil moving in quick, precise strokes as he mapped out a design for a client’s next sleeve.
“You’ve been quieter today,” Jimin said after a beat, his voice casual, almost too casual. He tossed a roll of paper towels into the bin and leaned against the counter, crossing his arms. “Which, for you, either means you’re sketching some insane piece… or you’re deeply in love. And judging by the stupid smile you keep making when you look at your phone, I’m guessing it’s the second.”
Jungkook didn’t look up, but the faintest smirk tugged at the corner of his mouth. “You’re nosy as hell, you know that?”
Jungkook let his pencil pause for a second, staring at the nearly finished sketch before setting it down. He sat back in his chair, stretching his arms. “It’s… better than good. She’s something I’m working for. She’s funny, smart as hell, makes me feel like an idiot half the time when she starts talking about her work or politics or anything at all—”
“But?” Jimin tilted his head, smirking.
Jungkook shrugged, though there was no real conflict in his face. “But nothing. She’s… she feels like it. I wasn’t looking for this, you know that. But every time I see her, it’s like…”
“You’re whipped.”
Jungkook shot him a look, but Jimin just grinned wider.
“Shut up,” the younger muttered, though he didn’t deny it.
Jimin grabbed a rag and started wiping down the counter, his tone softening just slightly. “And Sunni? She likes her?”
Jungkook rubbed the back of his neck, sighing. “That’s… still a work in progress. Sunni’s stubborn. You know how she gets when she feels like someone’s intruding.”
The older chuckled. “So the kid’s giving her hell?”
Jungkook’s mouth twitched into a reluctant smile. “Something like that. But Y/n doesn’t really mind that much. I like to believe she pretends to not care much about it. I can tell she wants to try. It’ll take time.”
Jimin hummed, considering him for a moment before his expression shifted, a little sharper now. “And Yunna? She’s cool with all this?”.
The younger went quiet for a beat, his jaw tightening slightly. “She hasn’t said anything bad. She’s… Yunna. Always polite. Supportive. But—”
“But she showed up at the shop last week, right?” His friend cut in.
Jungkook shot him a quick look. “You heard about that?”
Jimin snorted. “Dude, Mia was here, she talks. She said she was here for some minutes. And she never comes to the shop. What’d she want?”
Jungkook sighed, leaning back in his chair, his sketchbook forgotten. “Just to talk. She and her boyfriend broke up. She wanted to catch up since we hadn’t talk that much lately. She asked about Sunni, asked about me. Nothing more.”
Jimin raised a brow, unconvinced. “Talk about you?. Weird coming from your ex wife?”
“Don’t make her a villain.”
“I’m not!. It’s just… you guys had been friendly, always talking just about Sunni and your schedules and never talking about each other’s personal life for some years. Unless you were going to introduce them to Sunni… It’s a little weird that now she comes to the shop to ask about yours?” he shrugged.
Jungkook’s jaw worked as he thought about it, and then he exhaled slowly. “It felt… fine. Different. Yunna and I— you know were friends before we were anything else. We tried to make it work because of Sunni, but it never felt like this. With Y/n… I get this feeling I never deal with before. I don’t think Yunna’s trying to start anything, but…”
Jimin’s grin returned, sharp and teasing. “But she might still have feelings for you?.”
Jungkook shot him a flat look. “No, I think it’s just maybe a little uncomfortable for her. I never really introduce Sunni to anyone over this years.”
Are older raised a brow, unconvinced. “Well, you two were married, man. Don’t act like it’s nothing. I think she might want to relieve that.”
“Jimin…”
“What? I’m just saying,” he said, holding up his hands in mock defense. “You’re you. Women fall for you, deal with it. But Y/n… you telling her about Yunna?”
“I’m not hiding anything,” Jungkook said firmly. “Y/n knows I was married. She knows everything about Sunni and Yunna. But she doesn’t need to worry about her, because there’s nothing there anymore. And I’m not going to let anything, past or present, mess this up.”
Jimin studied him for a moment, then nodded, his teasing softening into something sincere. “Good. Because from what I’ve seen? You’re different with her. Happier. It’s been so… I haven’t see you in love, Kook. If you screw this up, I’m gonna kick your ass.”
Jungkook snorted, shaking his head, but a small smile tugged at his lips. “Noted.”
Jimin grabbed his rag again, muttering, “Just saying… big gestures, man. Y/n’s younger but she comes from a big background…”
“I know that.”
“She seems she has her life figure it out too.”
“What are you trying to say?.”
“That maybe she likes you because you have your life figure it out too. Maybe she’s done playing games too even if she doesn’t want to admit it.” Jimin looked at his friend. “And she knows this mature version of you that has money, takes her to expensive dates and it’s a gentleman so don’t screw it up going back to loosing all your money on stupid machines, wearing the same clothes for three days or eating twice every two days.”
“I don’t do that anymore…”
“Uhm, but when you get comfortable you do start acting like that again.”
“I’m not a child anymore”
“Just saying… big actions and big gestures, man. Women like her? They don’t do casual and fun forever. Don’t let her doubt for a second.”
Jungkook glanced back at his sketchbook, but his mind was already somewhere else. Your laugh, your smile, the way you rolled your eyes at him but always ended up smiling anyway. He wasn’t going to let you doubt. Not for a second… And Jimin was right. Big gestures matter for you. And he didn’t want you to see him as a kid or some stupid man. You had met him like this mature man, the one who had his life together and was always the mature one. He was going to make sure you always see him like that, for what he was now.
———
You hadn’t meant to see the album.
It was on the bottom shelf of Jungkook’s bookcase, wedged between a vintage tattoo reference book and a photography anthology on forgotten American diners. You’d been reaching for something else, coffee table book of pantries he told you he had in there, but your fingers brushed the leather-bound spine, and it tumbled into your hands with an obnoxiously loud thump. You froze for a moment, crouched, spine prickling like you’d just tripped a silent alarm.
Jungkook was still in the kitchen. You could hear him washing some plates in the sink, humming along under his breath to some half-forgotten 2000s song playing on his speaker. Sunni was at her mom’s that morning, so the house was quiet, grown-up, still.
You sat cross-legged on the floor and opened the album without really thinking. The first few pages were what you’d expect: grainy Polaroids, tattoo convention badges, a few too-many-beers candid photos with Jimin and other guys you vaguely recognized. And then, halfway through, the shift. Photos of a dorm hallway filled with balloons and red solo cups. A sign scrawled in black marker on a bedsheet:
“Yunna, will you go out with me?”
Corny. Frat-boy dramatic. Earnest in a way you never could be. In the next photo, she was saying yes. You could tell by the way her arms were flung around his neck, both of them laughing like idiots.
You stared at it a beat too long. You weren’t angry. Not even jealous. Just… displaced. Like you’d wandered into a room you didn’t belong in. One where all the furniture was arranged for someone else.
You snapped the album shut just as Jungkook walked back in, a mug of coffee in each hand. He took one look at your face and paused.
“You good?”
You thought about how your face could be that obvious. Or he knew you too well to know every little detail about you and your emotions.
“Yeah,” you said too quickly. “I was just looking for the pastries book. I found it.”
You nodded to the book, already opened beside you like it had always been the target. Jungkook walked over and crouched next to you, handing you the mug. He looked at you, and you didn’t say anything for some minutes. Just drinking the liquid from the mug and trying to pretend that you weren’t a little out of place there.
“You went quiet.”
“I’m always quiet.”
“No, you’re dramatic and loud and say shit like ‘why are you wearing those shoes with that face’ when you’re bored. This is different.”
You smirked, sipping the coffee to hide it. “Maybe I’m evolving.”
Jungkook sat beside you, stretching his legs out. “Or maybe you found something in that photo album.”
There it was. The low hum of it. You should’ve known he’d pick up on it, he always did. And it wasn’t that you wanted to lie. You just didn’t know how to say ‘hey, you once loved someone enough to write their name on a bedsheet and now you love me, and I’m trying to be fine with that even though I’m the kind of person who once ghosted a guy because he wore a shirt I didn’t like on him on a first date.’
So instead you shrugged, all offhand and breezy.
“I didn’t know you were a frat boy.”
“I wasn’t. Jimin dared me. I was trying to get laid.”
You snorted, not really amused. “You married her.”
“Eventually. After a lot of bad takeout and me messing things up twice.” You nodded like that answered something, even if it didn’t. Jungkook leaned back on his elbows, watching you carefully. “You know that was like… a whole lifetime ago, right?”
“Of course.”
“I mean, I barely remember who I was in those photos. I had bad hair and thought IPA was a personality.”
You huffed a laugh. “It was a tragic time for all of us.”
He nudged your knee with his. “You’re not worried about that, are you?”
You raised an eyebrow. “About your hair?”
“About the fact that I’ve done this before. That I had a wife.”
You hesitated. A wife.
A fucking damn wife.
And that was the thing. You didn’t want to care. You didn’t want to be the person who did mental math about who got there first or whether there was still space for you. But something about seeing it so documented, so clear, the way he had loved someone before, fully, completely, hit a place in you that you weren’t ready to admit.
“I’m not worried, I knew it before we started dating” you said after a beat. Knowing this one was on you. “I just— I didn’t know I wouldn’t know how to… exist in a life that already had a cast.”
Jungkook was quiet for a moment. Then he turned toward you fully.
“There’s no cast,” he said. “There’s just Sunni. And me. And now you.”
It should have reassured you. And it did. Mostly.
But you still felt the weight of the album on the shelf behind you. And then your phone buzzed, an alarm going off. You glanced at the time on your phone and stood abruptly after turning it off.
“I should go. Meeting in forty minutes.”
He stood too, not pushing, not asking. “You need a ride?”
“No, I’ve got the car.”
You grabbed your things and were ready to go. But he stopped you. Jungkook grabbed your cheeks, his fingers tracing your jaw and he kissed you, slow and sweet and still too gentle for the mess of things in your head.
“Dinner tomorrow?”
“Yeah,” you said. “Text me.”
And just like that, you were gone. With lipstick on the mug and his past sitting quietly on the shelf.
The door shut behind you with the same kind of softness you used when leaving a hotel room early in the morning. No slam. No click. Just a whisper of departure. Jungkook stood there for a moment, still barefoot in his living room, holding the mug you didn’t finish. Lipstick. dark cherry red. Your brand of war paint before going to an important meeting. He didn’t know why that detail stuck out. Maybe because it was the only thing you left behind. Like you’d been careful to collect every part of yourself —your coat, your bag, your expression— before stepping out. Like you knew you were slipping.
He didn’t like that look you’d had when you closed the album. That too-blank kind of calm. The one that said don’t touch this without saying a word. Jungkook wasn’t a man who assumed. He’d lived enough life to know better than that. But he’d also raised a kid, built a business, and watched enough of the world come apart to recognize when something quiet was turning into something dangerous.
You’d seen something. Something that shifted you. Not dramatically, not with tears or accusations. You weren’t built like that. But you’d withdrawn. Not physically. Just… inward. Like someone sitting on a cliff edge with their heels just barely hanging off. He walked back over to the shelf, crouched down, and pulled the album. He hadn’t looked at it in years. Didn’t even know why it was still out. He flipped until he found the page. Red solo cups, bad handwriting, younger versions of himself and Yunna laughing like they didn’t know what life was going to hand them yet.
He stared at it for a while.
Then closed the book gently and slid it back into its place. It wasn’t about Yunna. Not anymore. That chapter had ended long ago, amicably, wrapped up in co-parenting schedules and shared photos of Sunni’s report cards. He cared about her. Of course he did. She was the mother of his daughter. But this, what he had now with you, wasn’t some consolation prize. It wasn’t a sequel. It was something completely different.
That’s what scared him. Even when he acted like it didn’t. Because you weren’t the type to fall easily. You walked with your guard up and your jokes sharper than most people’s arguments. And he knew, he knew, that the moment you started second-guessing, you’d start building your exits. He just didn’t know what exactly had triggered the doubt.
He texted you around noon. Something stupid. Something light.
Jungkook: Don’t forget to eat. And by eat, I mean something that isn’t made entirely of espresso and stress
No response. He wasn’t surprised.
He knew your rhythms by now. You’d need a minute. Maybe two. He didn’t believe in fixing everything with a hammer. Especially not you. So he left it there, didn’t follow up. Just sat back down at his desk, pencil in hand, sketchpad open, trying to distract himself with lines and angles and the faint scent of your shampoo still lingering on his hoodie.
But in the quiet, he kept thinking about that look. That careful, too-neutral look. He wasn’t angry. Just… trying to figure out how to say: “Hey. I see you. And it’s okay. I’ve lived things too. But you’re not walking into someone else’s life. You’re building something new with me. I want you to.”
He just didn’t know if you’d let yourself believe that yet.
———
You opened the door expecting silence.
It had been a long day. An exhausting string of meetings out of town that had left you drained, the kind of day where your heels felt like medieval torture and your shirt was sticking to your back. You were already mentally composing the dramatic text you planned to send Jungkook about how the patriarchy was embedded in the zipper system of your skirt.
But instead of silence, you were met with Jungkook.
“Wait— what the…?”
A warm golden glow spilled from the hallway into your apartment, flickering gently, impossibly soft. Candles. Everywhere. Not just on tables or counters, but on the floor, on windowsills, tucked between clusters of flowers. Roses, of course, but also gardenias and tiny white ranunculus that looked like something out of a painting. Petals laying down in a short way to your living room. And balloons.
Not the tacky, helium “I Love You!” ones. The delicate, matte-finish cream and gold ones, clustered subtly in corners like little orbs of celebration. It was whimsical. Over-the-top. Insane, in the most delightful way. Your eyes scanned the space. The open kitchen was lit like a movie, and on your dining table. And by dining table it meant the floor, because of course, there was a blanket, plates, candles, and a setup that looked straight out of La Dolce Vita.
And there he was.
Jeon Jungkook, standing in your kitchen in black pants and a pale blue button-down, slightly rolled at the sleeves, holding a wooden spoon like he’d been caught stealing from the sauce.
“Oh my God,” you whispered.
“Ciao, bella,” he said, with the world’s dumbest grin.
“Terrible accent for a simple word.” You blinked. “And what… what is this?
“I cooked,” he said. “Kind of. I begged your sous-chef at the restaurant to give me his gnocchi recipe. Then I realized I’m shit at gnocchi and made spaghetti instead.”
“You did all this while I was about to call you to complain about my day?” you asked, stepping into the room slowly like you might wake up if you moved too fast.
“I had to raise the stakes.” He held out a hand. “You can still complain all you want but first… Come on, let’s eat.”
You didn’t say anything. You just took off your heels and dropped your purse, letting him take your hand to guide the way to the food. He kissed your hand, a little cheekily, then pulled out a chair for you. Well, a pillow. Because floor dinner, obviously.
The food smelled like heaven. Slow-cooked tomato sauce, basil, garlic, a hint of lemon. A bottle of red wine already open, two glasses already waiting. Your favorite wine, the one you had run-off yesterday. Too expensive for his taste and his wallet. He had bought it anyway for you. For that night, for you to keep.
You took a bite and immediately sighed. “Jesus. You could’ve just asked me to marry you.”
Jungkook laughed, pouring you wine. “You don’t want to marry me… yet. You still haven’t seen how bad I am at laundry. You still have to be more deep in love with me to accept that.”
“Jungkook,” you said, looking around, then at him again. “Seriously. This is…” You paused, your throat catching. “This is a lot.”
“I know.”
“It’s… it’s beautiful.”
“I wanted it to be.”
You looked at him, eyes softening. “Why?”
Jungkook set down his glass and leaned back a little, watching you the way he always did, like you were something precious. Something rare. Something he had been lucky to find, lucky to keep.
“Because,” he said quietly, “even though last week was officially the dumbest, dorkiest, most chaotic way to ask you to be my girlfriend—”
“Agreed,” you said, sipping your wine.
“—you still said yes.”
“Under duress.”
“Still counts.” You laughed, shaking your head. “But I kept thinking about it,” he said, voice lower now, more serious. “And I realized… you deserve better than a crown from a drive-thru. Even if it was iconic.”
“It wasn’t,” you admitted.
He reached for your hand, brushing his thumb over your knuckles.
“So I wanted to do it again. For real this time. Just us. No tiny instruments. No child-sized hats. Just… this.” The candles flickered between you two. “I saw the tension in your eyes yesterday when we talked about it. I get it. You saw those old pictures of me and Yunna, and maybe it made you question where you fit in my life.”
You looked away, a little uncomfortable. “It’s not just that. It’s weird barging into someone’s life when they had a wife, even if it didn’t work out. And I… I knew this before we got serious. It’s not your fault that I feel this way but… I don’t know.”
Jungkook reached out, brushing your hair back gently. “Hey. I get all of that. But I’m here. With you. And I want you to know, no matter what those old pictures say or what my past was, what matters is us now.”
You smiled softly, your heart loosening. “So, this is your way of saying you’re serious?”
“I was serious since the first day” He took your hand, holding it firmly but tenderly. “But yes. I want you to see it, feel it. I’m done with silly gestures or half-measures. I love you, Y/n. I want to be with you, officially. And I want you to be my girlfriend, not because of some prank or a joke, but because I’m all in. Because this is real, because this is not a dare or something that was planned without thinking. But because it was something I want, something I had planned for a long time.”
You smiled slightly. “Fine. Ask.”
He shook his head, amused by you. “I love you,” he said, simply. “I love you so much I want to be able to say you’re my girlfriend without you correcting me like a lawyer. So I’m asking, officially, on the record. Y/n, will you be my girlfriend?”
You looked at him.
This man. This man, who had walked into your life through sheer chaos and stayed through everything… your sharp tongue, your walls, your resistance. He saw you. Not the name, not the empire. You. And he’d filled your house with candles, with petals, with love. Not with expensive gifs— except maybe that wine that costed more than five thousand bucks—, not with jewelry or fake promises. But with love, with honesty.
You tilted your head. “Do I still get to keep the crown?”
“Only if you say yes.”
You grinned, set your wine down, and leaned across the pillows to kiss him slow, deep, and with the kind of certainty that didn’t need any words. Jungkook’s grin widened into a full smile, and he pulled you into another gentle kiss, sealing the promise you both already felt deep in your bones.
When you pulled back, you whispered, “Yes.”
“Yeah?”
“Yeah,” you nodded. “Girlfriend me up.”
Jungkook beamed. “I love you.”
“Yeah,” you said, smiling into his chest. “I love you too.”
You two finished dinner sitting cross-legged on the floor, surrounded by candlelight and the smell of garlic and roses. And even though it was technically just spaghetti, it tasted like the beginning of something holy.
they’re officially official B word and G word >_<
hope you enjoyed this chapter, is one of my favs. i just loveee writing mature emotional and reassuring dilf jk;; love him so much. literally ideal man.
we’re going to see more about the ex wife (Yunna) in the next chaps, hope you’re prepared.
let me know what did you think about this chapter<33
