Hi! Love your writing! If you’re up to a rage fic -
I would love an angst trade where he calls reader clingy and she distances herself!
are you busy?
SUMMARY . . rafe gets exactly what he asks for when he calls you clingy in front of everyone and discovers that silence is a lot harder to live with than he expected.
AUTHOR’S NOTE . . 2144 words ( before edit ) ; i did use she/her pronouns for this ; did a little obsession spin on this because i feel like he’d actually become the version he saw you as before his little outburst, so a bit of irony. if anyone wats me to fulfill any more requests let me know !!
MAIN MASTERLIST | PART TWO REQUEST
the party stretches across the cameron property, spilling from the back patio and out toward the water where expensive boats rock gently against their slips. music drifts through air while people move in clusters.
you’ve spent the better part of the evening weaving through those groups looking for rafe, catching glimpses of him only long enough for somebody else to pull him away again before you can get more than a few words out of him.
when you finally spot him near the edge of the deck, talking to topper and a handful of other people, relief settles in your chest before you can stop it.
maybe it’s pathetic. maybe it isn’t. all you know is that finding him feels like finally being able to exhale after spending the last hour searching.
you make your way over without thinking twice, squeezing between a couple of people until you’re standing beside him, your shoulder brushing lightly against his arm as you tilt your head up toward him with a smile.
“there you are,” you say. “i’ve been looking for you.”
for a moment, he doesn’t answer. his jaw flexes instead while he stares out toward the water. you've seen him stressed at things that had absolutely nothing to do with you before. because of that, it takes a second to realize the look he finally turns on you isn’t aimed through you or past you. it’s aimed directly at you.
“can you relax?” he asks sharply.
the smile fades from your face. “what?”
“you’ve been looking for me all night.”
confusion settles over you immediately because the accusation feels so strange. of course you’ve been looking for him. he’s your boyfriend. he literally picked you up so you could be here tonight.
the idea that he’d be annoyed by that doesn’t even occur to you until you catch the way topper’s attention shifts between the two of you, along with the subtle quieting of the conversation around him.
“i mean, i was just trying to find you,” you tell him.
rafe smiles and runs his palm across his buzzed head, looking every bit as frustrated as he has all evening. except now, instead of whatever has been bothering him all day, all of that frustration seems to have landed squarely on your shoulders.
“no, that’s exactly what i’m talking about,” he says, “you’re always trying to find me.”
your stomach sinks. people are listening now, you know they are.
you can see it in the way conversations nearby begin to slow, or the way somebody glances over their shoulder before quickly looking away.
somehow none of that feels as important as the expression on rafe’s face, though. while everyone else fades into the background, your attention stays fixed entirely on him, searching for some indication that he’s going to stop, realize what he’s saying, and walk it back.
instead, he keeps going.
“you’re always texting me, always asking where i am, always asking what i’m doing,” he says, throwing one hand out in exasperation. “you don’t have to be attached to me every second of the day.”
your entire body gives a small involuntary flinch, not because he moves toward you or because you’re scared of him, but because hearing something like that from the person whose opinion matters most to you feels a little like missing a step in the dark.
you stare at him. that’s all you can do.
suddenly you’re replaying every interaction you’ve had over the past few months, wondering which part of it annoyed him this much.
was it the good morning texts? the calls? asking if he’d made it home safely after disappearing for hours? was it showing up when he asked you to? sitting beside him when he was in a bad mood? listening to him complain about his father, his life, his problems, and everything else? none of it had ever felt excessive to you. it had just felt like a relationship.
for the first time since you’ve known him, rafe seems to realize how bad what he said actually sounded, but just for a split second. the anger on his face falters slightly, uncertainty slipping through the cracks, but by then the damage is already done.
there are too many people standing around, too many eyes watching, and too much pride keeping either of you from pretending the moment never happened.
the lump in your throat makes it difficult to speak. still, you manage.
“okay.” the word comes out quiet enough that he almost doesn’t hear it. you don’t argue or try to defend yourself.
you simply nod once, forcing yourself to hold his gaze for another second before looking away, and somehow that hurts him far more than any argument probably would have. because for the first time all night, you’re not trying to reach him anymore.
the drive home that night is quieter than rafe expected, not because of what happened earlier. if anything, he almost wishes you were arguing back to him. arguments are familiar territory. he knows how to handle yelling and angry words and people fighting back.
what he doesn’t know how to handle is silence. after your small, quiet okay at the party, you never bring it up again.
you don’t ask him why he said it. you don’t just tell him he embarrassed you. you don’t even demand an apology or make him explain himself. you simply retreat into yourself, staring out the passenger window. a few times he glances over, almost expecting you to say something, but you never do.
eventually his grip tightens around the steering wheel as irritation replaces the guilt. if you’re upset, then be upset. if you’re angry, then say something. instead, you just sit there, and by the time he drops you off, he’s convinced himself the entire thing wasn’t nearly as bad as it felt.
the next morning feels strangely peaceful.
his phone isn’t lighting up every few hours. there isn’t a text waiting for him when he wakes up or a notification asking if he slept well, if he’s busy today, or if he wants to do something later.
at first, he barely notices. if anything, a part of him feels relieved.
isn't this what he wanted? space? room to breathe?
for the first couple of days, that’s exactly how he frames it in his head. he spends his time doing whatever he wants, going wherever he wants, and never once has to answer a question about where he’s been. every now and then he catches himself expecting a text to come through, but when it doesn’t, he simply tosses his phone aside and moves on.
it isn’t until the third day that the silence starts feeling less like freedom and more like something missing, because it isn’t just the texts. it’s everything.
it’s the fact that you don’t stop by tannyhill after being nearby, or that he doesn’t hear your name from rose asking if you’re coming over, or ward wondering if you’re joining them for dinner.
somehow you’d become woven into the routine of his life so gradually that he never noticed it happening, and now every missing piece sticks out.
he keeps expecting things to go back to normal on their own, and keeps expecting you to call first like you always do. he just keeps expecting you to show up, but each day passes exactly like the one before it.
then a week goes by. by that point, he’s checking his phone more than he’d ever admit out loud.
not texting you. he’s not that desperate. at least that’s what he tells himself. he’s just looking, just seeing if maybe you posted something, or if maybe you called while he wasn’t paying attention.
just seeing if maybe—
nothing.
which is why your name slips out so casually one afternoon that even he doesn’t realize he’s asking about you until it’s too late.
he’s sitting with topper and kelce outside the country club, all three of them halfway through a conversation that started about boats and somehow turned into making fun of one of the kook guys they know. laughter circles the table, and for a few minutes rafe almost forgets about the irritating little knot that’s been sitting in his chest all week.
then he reaches for his drink and says, “where’s y/n been?”
the laughter dies immediately. kelce blinks and topper looks up. for a second neither of them answers, because of all people, why would they know?
“what?” kelce asks.
rafe grins like he doesn’t understand. “what do you mean ‘what’?”
“you just asked where y/n’s been.”
“yeah.”
another pause. topper and kelce exchange a glance.
rafe immediately notices, and immediately hates it. “what?” he asks.
“nothing,” topper says.
“then answer the question.”
topper leans back slightly. “i don’t know. i think she was down at the wreck yesterday.”
rafe’s eyes narrow. “the wreck?”
“yeah.”
“with who?”
kelce lets out a short laugh. “how are we supposed to know?”
rafe ignores him, his attention staying fixed on topper.
topper shrugs. “some friends, i guess.”
“what friends?”
this time both of them stare at him, and rafe doesn’t understand why. the questions seem perfectly reasonable.
he’s your boyfriend, or at least he thinks he still is.
asking where you are shouldn’t feel weird, and asking who you’ve been spending time with shouldn’t earn him these looks. at least this is what he thinks in his own head.
“i don’t know, man,” topper says slowly. “i just heard she was there.”
rafe’s jaw tightens, “like, all day?”
“i guess.”
“she was there the day before too, then,” kelce adds. “pretty sure i saw her when i was driving through.”
that piece of information settles uncomfortably in rafe’s chest. so for the last two days, while he’s been sitting around waiting for some sign of life from you, you’ve apparently been out enjoying yourself.
the realization annoys him far more than it should. he tells himself it’s because it’s weird. maybe ‘cause it’s different. after months of knowing exactly where you are and what you’re doing, the sudden lack of information feels unfamiliar.
deep down, though, he knows that’s not the reason. the real reason is that he’d expected you to be upset and miss him. instead, every report he’s hearing now makes it sound like you’re doing perfectly fine without him.
that night, the thought follows him home, and then into his bedroom, and then into the early hours of the morning.
he ends up sprawled across his bed with one arm behind his head and his phone balanced against his chest, staring at the ceiling. every few minutes he unlocks his screen or checks the time. he finds himself opening the same apps for absolutely no reason before locking the phone again.
but eventually he gives up pretending. his thumb presses against your contact. he stares at your contact photo and the message thread that’s been dead for over a week. then he backs out, opens your location instead. the map loads.
you’re not home. his foot starts bouncing immediately. he tells himself he doesn’t care, he’s obviously only looking because he’s curious. right? because it’d be weird not to wonder. because—
you’re at the movies.
the realization irritates him instantly. movies with who? how many people are there with you? when did that plan even get made? how come he didn’t know about it?
his thumb pinches the screen, zooming in on the little circle as if the answer might magically appear if he looks hard enough, but he knows it doesn’t. all it tells him is that you’re somewhere having fun. somewhere that isn’t with him.
every bit of these thoughts trace back to one stupid night and one stupid argument that he can’t stop replaying no matter how badly he wants to. because the more he thinks about it, the more details come back - the way you’d looked at him and didn’t argue. you’d just looked hurt.
rafe shifts against the headboard. your location is still pulled up on his screen, somewhere near the beach tonight, probably with friends.
his jaw tightens, loosens, then tightens again. it almost makes him angry. reaching out means admitting something, that he was wrong and that he misses hearing from you.
eventually, the silence wins. or maybe it loses. he isn’t sure anymore. all he knows is that his thumb finally presses against the keyboard.
he starts typing something longer before deleting it immediately, starts again, then deletes that too. nothing sounds right. in the end, he settles on the only thing he can manage.
rafe stares at the message for a second before he finally hits send. the delivered notification appears almost instantly, and for the first time in weeks, the waiting belongs to him.
‘ are you busy? ’
and just seconds later, your read receipts pick up below his message.
jack x reader || authors note: tiktok inspired me cuz today i saw that this girl was dating some forty two year old and he called her purse a pocketbook lol
—
there were little tiny moments, you know, the kind that made her stop and really think..
oh, he’s fifty.
like the time when they had just finished eating dinner at their favorite sushi restaurant.
as she stood, he said, "baby, don’t forget your pocketbook."
she blinked at that.
"my what?" she gawked.
"your pocketbook." he said nonchalantly. pushing his chair in
"you mean, my purse?"
he had the audacity to look at her like she was the strange one. "same thing." he scoffed.
she stared at him for a second before laughing.
"jack." she gasped.
"what?" he threw up his hands dramatically.
"who still says pocketbook?" she said, grabbing her purse before he grabbed her hand to pull her away from the table.
he gave her that look.
“no seriously!” she laughed.
"i don’t know, baby.” he playfully groaned. “people with manners?” he tried to defend as she moved her hands to wrap around his toned arm as they walked.
————
then, like clockwork he always refused to let her carry anything heavy— not because he thought she couldn't.
because, "i've got it."
"jack, it's literally two grocery bags.” she said as he took the bags out of her hands from where they stood next to car.
"and?" he called to her as he walked towards the front door.
“i can hold my own.” she pouted.
"c’mon baby, i like to do this f’you don’t be upset."
————
and don’t even get me started about how every single time they got in the car he’d rest his hand on the back of her seat while he reversed.
she bit her lip and smiled the first time she noticed it happen.
"you know your car has a backup camera." she chuckled.
"i know." he smiled, giving her the perfect view of his jawline as he glanced behind them.
"then why do you still do that?" she wanted to know.
he shrugged as he turned back towards the steering wheel.
she watched as he turned the volume up to the music as he said, "just a habit."
"it's kinda hot." she breathed, her eyelashes fluttering as she blinked up at him from where she sat.
"yeah?" he smirked.
“yeah.”
————
of course he still printed boarding passes.
"jack..."
she in disbelief. she watched him fish out his backpack again to make sure they were in there.
“you know they're on your phone."
"i know." he said, zipping up the backpack and stringing it over his shoulder as they continued walking towards the terminal
"okay.. so why did you print them?"
"what if my phone dies?" he questioned, interlacing his fingers with hers.
"baby, we have a portable charger.”
"still."
she just smiled, stopping him to give him a small peck.
he hummed happily but was confused as to why she thought it was so cute.
———————
and out of habit, he'd send her articles. and nope.. not tiktok’s or reels. he sent her actual news articles.
he honestly thought she’d find them interesting.
so, she would open them almost immediately whenever she’d get the text.
jack: Check this out.
finally, one day as she sat on the couch she just needed to know
"babe..”
"hm?" he looked up from his phone, pushing up his glasses that were resting on the bridge of his nose.
"it's twelve paragraphs."
"uh, yeah." he nodded before looking down at the phone. reading the same article that he had just sent to her.
"there isn't even a video."
"why would there be?" he said in confusion, shaking his head.
pov. rafe shutting his mouth because he’s dealing with a woman who tells him to shut the fuck up, swats him away when he’s getting attitude, hangs up on him when he’s being rude, demands him to change his tone or she won’t be listening or staying there with him.
notes. this is really lazy and short but i hope you like it regardless! nothing but smut below
to say you were mean to rafe was a understatement, people started to feel bad that he was dating you. anytime his mouth got sideways, a rude awakening gets delivered to him.
shut the fuck up, rafe.
and as extreme as the man was, (and can be) he actually did. he closed his mouth, sighing out his nostrils, and leaning back into the couch he was sat on.
ever since the man came across you, he knew you wouldn’t take his shit. you popped off at any little joke he and his friends made that you didn’t like, at parties you’d slap people if they got disrespectful toward you, your mouth was like a machine gun with insults if someone came at you.
for the first time in his life, he had to walk on glass around someone, he took time to think to himself of what not to say and of what he could actually say to you.
it didn’t always used to be this way, in fact, he didn’t even try to listen to you at first because who would’ve thought that the hot headed man who has a violent history would be so pussy whipped?
it wasn’t the way you talked to him that made him so whipped but it was the way you fucked him.
you straddle rafe’s hips, his cock buried deep inside you as you sink down slowly, taking every inch with a smug little smirk. his hands grip your thighs hard, fingers digging in like he’s trying to steady himself, but you don’t let him.
you grab a fistful of his messy blond hair and yank his head back sharply, forcing his blue eyes to meet yours.
“look at you,” you taunt, rolling your hips in a slow, torturous grind. “big bad rafe cameron, all desperate under me. pathetic.” you roll your eyes.
he hisses through his teeth, jaw clenched, but his cock twitches inside you. “fuck… you’re such a bitch,” he growls, voice rough, but there’s no real heat behind it, only that needy edge that makes you laugh softly.
you tug his hair harder, nails scraping his scalp as you start bouncing on him properly, faster now, your pussy clenching around him on every downstroke. the wet sounds fill the room, obscene and loud.
“am i?” you lean down, lips brushing his ear. “bet you’d cum in seconds if i let you. but you don’t get to yet. not until i say.” you taunt. rafe groans, hips bucking up to meet you, chasing more friction.
“shit—baby, c’mon… you’re killing me here.” his voice cracks a little, hands sliding up to your waist, trying to control the pace, but you slap one away and pin his wrist to the mattress above his head.
“keep your hands to yourself or i’ll stop,” you warn, squeezing around him deliberately as you ride him harder. you pull his hair again, tilting his face so you can watch every expression, his parted lips, the way his eyes flutter when you hit that perfect angle. “say it. tell me who’s in charge.” you say.
“you… fuck, you are,” he pants, breath hot against your skin, a broken moan slipping out as you grind down deep and stay there, circling your hips. “don’t stop—please.” he pleads. you laugh low, mean, and bite his bottom lip hard enough to make him whimper. “good boy. now shut up and take it.”
what was even cuter than him struggling while you’re riding him was how he chased you when you got mad.
your legs crossed over one another while sitting on the couch, your hands holding up your phone as he’s arguing with the presence of you.
“it’s just topper.” he starts. “is that hard to get through your head?” he adds, which got your attention, your eyes lifted slowly from your phone. “who the fuck are you talking to like that?” you ask, brows in a scowl.
his jaw flexed. “i’m just saying—” he stared again. “no.” you cut him off as you locked your phone. “try again.” you told him, waiting patiently for him to speak to you
rafe stared at you and you stared right back.
“i just wanna go hang out with topper,” he repeated, this time his tone was monotoned. “and i said okay.” you shrug. “then why are we still having this conversation?” he questioned. you blinked. “you tell me.” you replied and his eyes squeezed shut.
“oh my god.” he muttered, rubbing his face. “shut the fuck up, rafe.” you said, rolling your eyes as you start getting your purse.
when you find your purse, he opened his mouth again, and you pressed your finger against his lips. “actually, no. don’t. because whatever you’re about to say is probably stupid.” you say, flashing a fake smile at him and getting up.
you get up, heels thudding against the hardwood floor. you flick your hair over your shoulders, and he follows. “you can’t just walk away from me.” he states, and you scoff. “watch me.” you reply, the front door swung open, warm night air immediately hit your skin.
your heels tapped against the concrete outside as you headed down the walkway, behind you came the familiar sound of footsteps.
of course he was still following.
“i’m talking to you.” he said but you kept walking. “and i’m not listening.” you sigh out, walking to his truck. “can you stop for two seconds?” he questions, brows in a tight scowl. “can you stop talking for two seconds?” you shot back, reaching the passenger door and turning to him.
“i’m being serious.” he said, looking down at you. you laughed. “that’s the problem.”
his brow lifts. “what does that even mean?” he asked, staring at you intensely. you roll your eyes and start walking again, walking past his truck now.
“hello? what the fuck does that mean?” he asked. finally, you stopped, turning around sharply enough that he almost walked straight into you.
“it means every time you don’t get the answer you want, you keep talking like eventually i’m gonna get tired and give it to you.” you state.
rafe opened his mouth and you pointed a finger at him. “don’t.” you demand and his mouth snaps shut. he stayed quiet, and you nodded once. “that’s what i thought.”
though as obedient as he was when you walked away it wasn’t as easy as it was when he got an attitude.
he has been barking out commands, complaints, and other shit you didn’t care about. he was all up in your face, not calming down because you haven been swatting him away.
it was just you two. your arms crossed while sat on his bed, whilst he was yelling at you. “are you done?” you interrupted him, sighing. he scoffed, looking you up and down. “no i’m not f—“
as soon as he uttered no, you swatted him away and got up, waking past him.
“oh really?” he said, watching you walk away. you look back and nod. “yeah.” you say. “oh really” you told him, walking out the room.
pov. rafe is a piece of shit orrrr…. that’s what your friends say at least. but you can’t get enough of him! so when he calls you all drunk n needy you couldn’t help but let him come over.
notes. this fanfic inspired by a jessie pinkman plot i made up and once again… i think it fits him so well. by the way, thank you guys *so* much for 200+ followers! i feel so special, thank you guys for reacting, reading, and reposting my work.
content warnings. ⸝⸝ fem reader, they almost get caught, shower sex, quiet sex, teasing, drunk rafe, no proof read, needy rafe, rafe finishing inside u,
when dating rafe there was one thing after another, sarah running away and him blowing up at you, restrictions on hanging out with people, constantly having to be around him, him punching holes into your walls, you and him being on off repeatedly.
he’s so suffocating but you can’t get enough of him, so you make up excuses for him…and plus the dick is worth staying for after all the arguments you both go through.
you were playing a board game with your roommates, until you get a call from him, his fake contact lighting up your phone screen. one of your friends catch light of it and smile, thinking it’s a new guy. “ooo, who’s chris?”
“nobody!” you laugh, teasing her right back as you get up and walk down the hallway to your bedroom. “hello?” you say first into the phone. there’s a couple of seconds of silence on the other end, then a sudden laugh. it wasn’t his normal one, either. it was rough and slow.
“baby.” he said, his voice raspy. your stomach immediately drops because rafe sounded drunk, really drunk. you close your bedroom door behind you and lean against it. “rafe?” you say, not actually questioning if it was him despite the tone.
“yeah,” he mumbles. you hear shuffling, the sound of wind rushing through the phone. “yeah, it’s me.” he adds. you pinch the bridge of your nose. “where are you?” you question. “doesn’t matter.” he responded back quickly. “rafe.” you cut him off and he sighs dramatically.
“outside.” he replied. “outside where?” you continue to question him and he paused over the phone. “your place.” he stated and your eyes widen. “what?” you whisper loudly into the phone. “been here like…” he trails off. “i dunno. awhile.” he murmurs.
you hurry toward your bedroom window, pulling the curtain aside, and sure enough, down near the curb was his truck, and leaning against it was rafe. his head was tipped back, and his phone was pressed to his ear. you immediately shut the curtain again.
“are you serious right now?” you reply, but you knew the answer. “very.” he laughs. “you can’t just show up.” you tell him, putting a hand over your face. “why not?” he asked, you could hear the pout in his voice. “because my roommates are here.” you state, staring at the curtain now.
“so?” he replied, all sassy. you let out an exasperated laugh. “so they think we’re broken up, rafe.” you tell him, and he doesn’t say anything. “yeah, well.” his voice goes quieter and smaller. “i hate that.” he says. that catches you off guard, normally he’d argue, normally he’d get annoyed, instead he just sounded tired and hurt.
you hear him swallow. “i haven’t seen you in three days.” he complained. “rafe—” you start. “three days.” his words overlap yours. “that’s a long time.” he complained once more. you listen while you sit down on the edge of your bed. “you saw me monday.” you state, rolling your eyes.
“exactly.” he replied, his voice sounding fragile. you count to yourself the days, had it really been that long had you seen him? “that was three days ago.” you say, confirming it in your head. “yeah.” he adds. “that’s what i said.” he said into the phone.
there was another rack of silence between you two.
“i miss you.” he groans into the phone, like he’s physically trying to lift the weight of the thought of you to make him relax. your expression softens despite the risky situation. through the phone, you hear him kicking at something on the sidewalk. “i know.” you reply. “no, i really miss you.” he said shortly after you, his voice drops lower.
“everything sucks when you’re not around.” he complains, while you stare at the floor. the worst part was that he sounded sincere, really sincere. “have you been drinking all night?” you ask. “maybe.” he blows you off. “rafe.” you say, catching his attention once more. “yes.” he answers.
you press your lips into a flat line. “how much?” you asked and he groans. “don’t do math with me right now.” he replied and you can’t help laughing. immediately, he perks up at the sound. “i like that.” he said with no hesitation. “what?” you ask, confused on what he’s talking about.
“that laugh.” he clarifies. he sounds almost relieved. “been trying to hear that all day.” he said sweetly into the phone and your chest couldn’t help but tighten.
outside, you hear a car pass. inside the apartment, your roommates are still laughing over the board game, and meanwhile your boyfriend is sitting drunk outside your building just because he wanted to see you.
“baby,” he says quietly. you close your eyes, brows furrowing. “what?” you say as softly as you could. “can you come outside for five minutes?” he asked. you hesitate. “please.” he begged, the words come out immediately without his usual attitude, without sarcasm, just need.
“i just wanna see you.” he defended, you let another pause sit between you. “that’s all.” he said. you hear him exhale shakily. “promise.” he said, his tone was so sweet and desperate.
you bite your lip, glancing toward your closed bedroom door. god. the possibilities. the risk. they’ve been dropping hints all week about how much better you seem without him. how toxic it was. how you deserve someone steadier.
but rafe is outside sounding like that, soft and cracked open, and your chest aches. “okay,” you whisper into the phone. “stay right there. i’m coming down.” you tell him.
he lets out this relieved little breath that makes your stomach flip. “thank you, baby.”
you hang up, slip on a hoodie, and creep out of your room. the living room is lit up, your friends not even glancing your way as you head for the front door. you open it as quietly as you can, the cool night air hitting you.
rafe is already at the bottom of the steps, unsteady but moving toward you fast. his eyes are glassy, hair messy, and the second he sees you he reaches out like he can’t help it.
“hi,” he breathes, voice all low and rough the way it gets when he’s drunk. he folds you into his arms right there on the porch, burying his face in your neck. “fuck, i missed you. missed you so much.” he rambles into your skin.
you hug him back for a second, heart hammering. “rafe, shh. come on—inside. quietly.”
he nods against your skin but doesn’t let go right away, hands clutching at your waist like you might disappear. you have to gently tug him through the door, closing it behind you with a soft click.
the hallway light is off, thank god. you take his hand and lead him straight toward the bathroom at the end of the hall, the one farthest from the living room.
your roommates’ laughter spikes again. someone yells something about dice. rafe’s fingers tighten around yours.
once you’re both inside the small bathroom you lock the door and flip on the light. it’s too bright. you switch it off immediately, leaving just the faint glow from the nightlight plugged into the wall.
rafe doesn’t waste a second. he backs you against the sink counter and wraps his arms around you fully, chest pressed to yours, chin tucked on your shoulder. his breath is warm and tinged with whiskey.
“they still think we’re done?” he whispers, voice so soft it’s almost just air.
you nod, running your fingers through the hair at the nape of his neck. “yeah. they don’t want us together. you know that.”
he makes a quiet, unhappy sound and holds you tighter, one big hand splayed across your back, the other cupping the back of your head like he’s afraid you’ll pull away. his body is heavy against yours, needy in that drunk, clingy way he only gets with you.
“don’t like it,” he mumbles right against your ear, lips brushing your skin. “hate pretending. hate being away from you. three whole days, baby…”
“i know,” you whisper back, keeping your voice as low as possible. your hands slide down to rub his back in slow circles. “but you can’t just show up like this. if they hear you—”
“won’t make a sound.” his voice cracks a little, still so soft. he nuzzles closer, nose pressed to your cheek. “just needed to feel you. that’s all. promise i’ll be good.”
you turn your head slightly and he follows the movement instantly, forehead resting against yours. his eyes are half lidded, vulnerable in the dim light. he’s holding onto you like a lifeline, arms locked around your middle, thumbs stroking small circles against your sides under your hoodie.
“you’re really drunk,” you murmur, smiling despite yourself. “yeah,” he admits, no shame in it. “but i’m yours.” he says. your fingers trace his jaw. he leans into the touch, eyes fluttering shut.
“stay quiet, okay?” you whisper. “just for a little bit. then we’ll figure out how to get you back out.” you tell him, a soft smile on your lips.
rafe nods, but instead of loosening his grip he pulls you even closer, chest rising and falling against yours. “don’t wanna let go yet,” he breathes, the words barely audible. “feels too good. you feel too good.”
you stay like that, wrapped up together in the tiny bathroom, his needy hands roaming gently over your back while your roommates laugh obliviously down the hall. his voice stays soft the whole time, every whisper laced with that raw, drunk tenderness he saves only for you.
he pulls back just enough to look at you in the dim nightlight, eyes glassy and soft. his voice comes out in the quietest whisper, almost shy. “baby…” he swallows. “can we… can we shower together? just for a little bit?” he asks. your eyes widen a fraction. “rafe—”
“i’ll be good,” he says immediately, forehead pressing back to yours. his hands slide up to cradle your face, thumbs gentle. “promise. i just… i need to feel you closer. i miss you so much it hurts. please? i won’t do anything, i swear. just wanna hold you under the water.” i
he sounds so needy, so soft and desperate, voice barely there. his fingers tremble a little against your cheeks.
you bite your lip, listening to the muffled laughter from the living room. this is risky. really risky. but the way he’s looking at you—like you’re the only thing keeping him steady right now—makes your chest ache.
“okay,” you whisper back. “but we have to be really quiet. like, dead silent.”
rafe’s whole face lights up with relief. “yeah. yeah, i can do that. thank you, baby.”
he doesn’t let go of you as you reach over and turn the shower on, letting the water heat up while keeping the light off. the sound of the spray covers most of the noise. you both strip down quickly, clothes left in a quiet pile on the floor. rafe keeps touching you the whole time—hand on your waist, fingers brushing your arm, like he’s scared you’ll vanish.
once the water’s warm you step in first. he follows right behind, sliding the curtain closed as softly as possible. the second there’s space he’s on you again, arms wrapping around your middle from behind, chest pressed flush to your back. the hot water rains down over both of you and he lets out this shaky, relieved sigh against your neck.
“fuck… there you are,” he whispers, voice low and rough-soft. his hands spread wide over your stomach, holding you tight but careful. “feels so good. you feel so good.”
you turn in his arms so you’re facing him, water sliding down both your faces. he immediately tucks his face into the crook of your neck again, holding onto you like you’re his anchor. his body is warm and solid, needy in every line of contact, but true to his word he keeps it soft—no wandering hands, just desperate closeness.
“missed this,” he murmurs right against your skin, lips brushing with every word. “missed you. three days is too long, baby. way too long.”
you run your fingers through his wet hair, holding him just as tightly. “shh. i know. just stay quiet, okay?”
he nods, pressing a slow, gentle kiss to your shoulder, then another to your collarbone. his arms stay locked around you under the warm spray, bodies tangled together in the small space, hearts beating against each other while your roommates keep laughing down the hall, completely unaware.
you’re still wrapped up in each other under the warm spray when a sharp knock echoes through the bathroom door.
“hey, you in there showering?” your roommate’s voice, bright and curious.
rafe tenses against you, but you’re already moving. you press a finger to his lips, eyes wide. he nods quickly.
“lay down,” you whisper, barely audible. “in the tub. now.”
he doesn’t argue. with a soft, reluctant sound he sinks down, folding his tall frame into the bottom of the tub, water still raining over him. even like this he reaches for you, big hands wrapping gently around your ankle, sliding up your calf, thumb stroking slow circles against your wet skin. needy even when hiding.
you clear your throat, keeping your voice steady. “yeah, i’m showering. what’s up?”
the door cracks open. your roommate pokes her head in, the steam swirling around her. you keep your body angled so she can’t see down into the tub.
“sorry, just wanted to check. we heard the water and i thought you were already in bed.” she pauses, then lowers her voice like she’s sharing gossip. “also… there’s a truck outside that looks exactly like rafe’s. parked right by the curb.” she says.
your stomach drops. rafe’s hand tightens around your calf, fingers pressing in gently, still stroking like he needs the contact to stay calm.
“really?” you say, forcing a little laugh. “that’s weird. but it’s not him. he wouldn’t show up here. we’re broken up, remember? plus i heard he’s been with that girl from the party last weekend. he’s definitely not thinking about me.” you mention.
rafe’s fingers pause for a second, then resume their soft, soothing touches, tracing up to your knee and back down. you can feel the tension in his grip, but he stays perfectly quiet, breathing slow against the side of the tub.
your roommate laughs. “yeah, true. god, i’m glad you’re done with that mess. he was such a headache. okay, i’ll leave you to it. don’t use all the hot water!”
“won’t,” you promise, smiling until the door clicks shut behind her.
the second she’s gone you let out a shaky breath. rafe sits up slowly in the tub, water streaming down his chest, and wraps his arms around your legs, pressing his face to your thigh.
rafe is still down in the tub, water cascading over his chest and shoulders, looking up at you with those glassy, needy eyes. “baby,” he whispers, voice hoarse and soft, hands sliding slowly up your legs. “come here. please. come down here with me. i need you closer. just for a minute. please?” he begs.
he tugs gently at your calf, eyes pleading. “i’ve been so good. i miss you so fucking much. sit on my lap. let me hold you right.” he slurs as he speaks.
you hesitate, but the way he’s looking at you, wet hair plastered to his forehead, lips parted, all soft and desperate makes your resolve crumble. you carefully lower yourself, straddling his lap as he lays back in the tub. the warm water pours over both of you as you settle onto him, knees on either side of his hips.
the second you’re there rafe lets out a shaky breath and his hands are everywhere; roaming slowly up your thighs, over your hips, sliding up your waist and back down again. big palms gliding over your wet skin, possessive but gentle, thumbs brushing the underside of your breasts before drifting lower to squeeze your ass softly.
you can’t help it. your own hands start moving too, tracing the lines of his chest, fingers sliding through the water over his shoulders and neck. heat pools low in your belly fast. you shift a little on his lap and feel him, hard and warm beneath you, and it makes you throb with sudden want.
“rafe, baby, we can’t,” you whisper, voice shaky against his ear, even as your hips twitch once. his hands keep exploring, slow and needy, one cupping your breast while the other grips your thigh, pulling you tighter against him.
“we have to be quiet,” you breathe, forehead pressed to his, trying to stay in control even as arousal builds hot and fast. rafe nods quickly, lips brushing yours as he whispers back, voice low and rough soft, full of that drunk tenderness.
“swear we’ll be quiet. i promise, baby. i’ll be so good for you. just need to feel you like this. please don’t stop touching me.” he rambles while his hands roam again, slower this time, worshipful, holding you close while the water keeps falling around your tangled bodies, the risk making everything feel even more intense.
“okay.” you reply and he shifts, flipping you both with surprising strength for how wasted he is. your back presses against the cold porcelain of the tub, a shiver running through you as he settles between your legs, his weight pinning you down. water sloshes around you both. his face hovers inches from yours, eyes glassy and dark with want.
“you’re so beautiful,” he whispers, voice thick and rough. “fuck… i love you so much. missed you… missed this.” his hips grind slowly against you, hard and insistent. “tell me if it’s too much, okay? i love you… i love you.” he says to you.
he reaches down, lining himself up, and slides into you in one deep push. your mouth falls open in a moan but he quickly plants his palm over it, muffling the sound as he starts fucking into you. deep, needy thrusts that make the water ripple around you.
“shhh… quiet, baby,” he slurs, breath hot and whiskey laced against your cheek. his words are slow and heavy. “gotta be quiet for me… fuck, you feel so good.”
you moan again into his hand, body arching under him, and he presses harder, hips snapping deeper. “quiet… that’s it… love you… so much.” his rhythm stays steady but messy, drunk and desperate, every thrust punctuated by another slurred whisper in your ear.
you moan into his palm as he thrusts deeper, the cold tub biting into your back while his warm, heavy body presses you down. rafe’s drunk, whiskey scented breath ghosts hot over your ear, his voice slurred and rough.
“shhh… quiet, baby. gotta stay quiet for me,” he mumbles, lips dragging along your jaw. one of his big hands slides up your side, gripping your breast, thumb brushing over your nipple as he squeezes. his other arm braces beside your head, thick bicep flexing hard against your shoulder.
his chest is solid and warm, smooth muscle slick from the water, pressing flush against your tits with every roll of his hips. you can feel every ridge of his abs contracting against your stomach as he fucks into you, deep and messy, his cock stretching you open.
“rafe… fuck— it’s too big,” you whimper against his hand, voice shaky and breathless. “i can’t… it’s too much, baby.” you continue, whimpering still.
he groans low in his throat, the sound vibrating through his chest into yours. “yeah? you struggling?” his words slur together, hot and needy. he pulls his hand away from your mouth just enough to hear you better, then slides it down to grip your thigh, spreading you wider. “tell me… tell me how it feels.” he orders.
you gasp as he sinks in even deeper, his hips snapping forward. “you’re too big… i’m so full— rafe, please…” your fingers dig into his back, nails scraping over the hard planes of muscle rippling under his skin.
he buries his face in your neck, kissing and biting softly as his hand roams again, palming your ass, pulling you up into each thrust. his biceps bulge as he holds himself over you, chest heaving and slick against your breasts. every powerful stroke makes his abs flex tight on your belly, his whole body heavy and desperate on top of you.
“fuck, i love you,” he whispers, drunk and broken. “love how tight you are… missed this pussy so bad. you taking me so good, baby… just a little more.” he says softly against you.
his hand returns to cover your mouth as you moan louder, muffling the sound while he drives in harder, water splashing around you.
“quiet… be quiet for me. i got you… i love you so fucking much.” he rambles. his free hand keeps exploring, squeezing your hip, sliding up to pinch your nipple, then back down to rub your clit in sloppy circles, all while his muscular body pins you to the cold tub, fucking you deep and needy.
you whimper against his palm as rafe slows his thrusts, dragging his thick cock in and out of you in deep, lazy strokes that make your walls flutter around him. the water laps gently around your bodies with each roll of his hips, no longer splashing wildly.
“rafe… it’s too big,” you breathe out shakily when he lifts his hand just enough for you to speak, your voice trembling. “i’m so full… can barely take it, baby. fuck—”
he groans low and sloppy against your skin, his movements unhurried now, savoring every inch as he pushes back inside you.
his lips drag wet and slow up your neck, then down across your collarbone, leaving open mouthed kisses that are messy with whiskey and need. he sucks lightly at your pulse point before dragging his mouth lower, lips brushing over the swell of your breast, tongue flicking lazily against your nipple.
“shhh… i know, princess,” he slurs, voice thick and heavy, breath hot and boozy against your damp skin. “too big for you… but you’re taking me so good. missed you so fucking much.” he rambled on and on.
his heavy chest presses flush against yours, warm slick muscle shifting with every slow grind.
you feel the hard ridges of his abs contracting lazily against your stomach, his biceps bulging as one arm braces beside your head and the other hand roams, squeezing your waist, sliding up to palm your breast, thumb circling your nipple while his lips keep dragging sloppily up and down your throat and chest.
he kisses and nips wherever he can reach, leaving wet trails that cool instantly in the air.
you moan softly, fingers digging into his broad back, nails scraping over the flexing muscles there. “rafe… slow like this— it’s so deep… i can’t—”
he cuts you off with another messy kiss to your neck, lips sucking gently as he rolls his hips forward, burying himself to the hilt and staying there for a moment, grinding slow and filthy. his cock throbs inside you, stretching you open so perfectly it makes your eyes flutter.
“love you… love you so much,” he whispers right against your ear, words slurred and broken. his free hand grips your thigh, pulling it higher around his waist so he can sink even deeper. “tell me if it’s too much, baby. i’ll be gentle… but fuck, you feel too good.” he whispers to you.
he keeps the pace torturously slow, lips never leaving your skin; dragging, kissing, licking sloppily down your neck again, then back up to capture your jaw.
his muscular body stays heavy on top of you, pinning you to the cold tub while he fucks you deep and needy, every lazy thrust punctuated by another whispered “i love you” and another wet, drunk kiss.
you moan into his neck as rafe keeps rocking into you with those slow, deep thrusts, his thick cock dragging against every sensitive spot inside you. his lips stay sloppy on your skin, kissing and sucking messily down your throat while his heavy, muscled chest presses you harder into the cold tub.
“rafe… fuck— i’m so close,” you whimper, legs tightening around his waist. “you’re too big, baby… it’s too much, i can’t” you whine to him.
“cum for me, princess,” he slurs hot against your ear, whiskey breath thick, hips grinding deeper. “love you… need to feel you cum on my cock.” he said.
his hand slips between you, thumb rubbing messy circles on your clit while his abs flex tight against your belly with every lazy thrust. you cry out softly, clenching hard around him as your orgasm hits, body shaking, nails digging into his back as you pulse and soak his cock.
rafe groans low and broken, burying his face in your neck. “fuck— that’s it… good girl.” his thrusts stutter, slower but harder, muscles tensing all over as he follows right after. he spills deep inside you with a slurred moan, hips jerking lazily through it, filling you up while whispering “i love you… love you so much” against your damp skin.
both of you stay tangled and panting, his heavy body still pinning you to the tub, lips dragging soft and drunk along your collarbone.
pairing: managing partner/lawyer!jungkook x spoiled brat!reader ft. namjoon
genre: strangers/lowkey one sided enemies to ?? idk bec you irk him, angst, smut, like slight fluff, infidelity au (jungkook has a girlfriend aand it's not you yet?)
wc: 7.2k
warnings: this is a series! so please visit the killlah (jjk) [series masterlist] for a tiny summary and some extra info !! sooo, in this chapter, you can expect: multiple (continuous) mentions and descriptions of throwing up, so if you're queasy,,, i'm sorry, it's like i couldn't stop once i started, much like our girl, so just power through this once for the plot. oc is a bit of a mean girl as usual, and dramatic.... entitled, a little jungkook-crazy obvi. its gonna get angsty as usualll,,,
!!extra disclaimer!! this is partially edited. the ending MIGHT seem a bit womp womp writing wise but trustttt i'll fix it soon
The following morning, you feel awful. And you blame it all on Namjoon.
Had he not brought you to this fuckass island, you wouldn't have sat on a beach for a picnic. Had you not sat for a picnic on the beach, you wouldn't have been coerced into trying scallops. Had you not been forced into tasting scallops, you wouldn't have known how much you loved them, and you wouldn't have discovered how horribly allergic you were to (certain) shellfish (yet another thing you can’t have, no matter how much you crave it.)
During the dinner by the ocean, you began feeling lightheaded. You thought it was because of all the alcohol you'd consumed (after that mixology session.) Then you threw up bitter stomach acid in the sand, which Yoongi did flag as a tad concerning but nothing a good night’s sleep couldn’t fix.
However, while walking back to the resort, you suddenly collapsed.
You were told Jungkook was the one who first sprung into action and carried you all the way into the doctor's chambers.
You make a mental note to ask Namjoon for more details.
Since the resort was pretty secluded on a little island, they had a little clinic and a full-time medical staff for emergencies like yours. For more serious cases, they had the facilities to have patients airlifted to a hospital. Luckily, you weren’t in that much trouble.
Kinda sucks that you were unconscious when you were (physically) closest to Jungkook though. You can't believe you missed this good of an opportunity to feel him up.
You know he's got abs, you saw during dinner when Hyewon flashed everyone with them.
Sigh.
Soon, you think.
Namjoon spent the night by your side in a private hospital room, sleeping on an uncomfortable couch.
He felt guilty. Even though he couldn't have possibly prevented this, he felt responsible for you.
He also had to convince your brother to not fly to the island overnight.
Although you'd been told your allergic reaction was severe, it could've been a lot worse.
You don't seem to have realised how dangerous this could've potentially been because you're currently asking the resident doctor what a safe amount (of scallops) would be to consume.
The doctor only came up with vegan alternatives. Now, you've lost interest in her professional opinions.
After the doctor explains your antihistamine schedule to Joon, she leaves to attend to some kid’s jellyfish sting.
And then you playfully glower at your friend.
“Oh, you owe me biiiig for this.” You sing-song at Namjoon.
He doesn't really, you're just bored.
Namjoon grunts, “Yeah, yeah, I'll nurse you back to health. Need help washing up?”
You coyly flutter your eyes at him. You consider it because you really do need a good wash.
The ocean air has frizzed up your once silky hair. And your mouth felt disgusting. You’ve been fed a lot of water and other liquids so you don’t get dehydrated but the meds have left a strange aftertaste on your tongue.
A nurse comes in to take your IV out.
Namjoon winces as he watches the needle retract from your skin. What a baby.
“What?” You scoff at him, “Never done drip therapy before?”
He shakes his head. “I’d rather digest all the nutrients I need.” Then thoughtfully, he adds, “But I do enjoy acupuncture.”
“Oh, I never got the concept of that.” Your mom was big on this stuff though. Chinese medicine, ayurveda, herbs and stuff. Maybe that’s why you don’t care for it.
“I’ll take you to my guy, you might like it.” Namjoon suggests.
You think for a second as the nurse finishes cleaning you up. Then you settle, “Mm, nah, I’m not too keen on micro needles in me. If I don’t see the results right away, it’s not going to work for me.” You extend your foot towards him, indirectly asking for a massage.
As the nurse leaves, you catch her checking Namjoon out. But your friend was too focused on you.
Sucker.
“Where’s Yoongi… and stuff?” You wonder out loud.
Subtle, you think.
Namjoon eyes you suspiciously. “I think they’re at brunch.” - “Why aren’t you with them?”
“Because I’m here with you. Should I call Yoongi and stuff here instead?” He pulls on your toes.
“Ow. No.”
You thought they’d have flown out already. It’s like… half past eleven.
Hopefully, you’re about to be discharged soon.
The doctor wanted to monitor you for at least another hour. Then finally, you can head back to the mainland.
Ugh.
You really didn’t want to think about flying back though. If the meds don’t make you puke your guts out, flying in that crazy tin machine would definitely do the trick.
You turn over for a cat nap, patting the empty space behind for Joon to get in with you.
An hour later, when you’re finally out of the hospital room and back in your suite, you make Namjoon recount the events of last night. You know, for your general physician back home and your records and such.
“You know this doesn’t mean shit, right? He’s just better at navigating emergencies. This could’ve been any one of us and he’d react the same way.”
“Lalalalala.” You cover your ears with your fingers, refusing to accept it.
“You can’t be serious…” You hear Namjoon mutter something to himself.
Namjoon sighs to himself. “Fine. This is the last time though.”
Yay!
“Ok, once again, my knees buckled and I fell on my side and then?” You stare at Joon with big eyes, waiting for him to repeat his account of whatever went down for the- checks notes- fifth time.
“Then Jungkook ran over to you and wasted no time in rushing you to the doctor’s room.” Namjoon purposely skips over what you want to hear.
“No, no---” You whine and nudge him, “Tell me the part about the- you know!”
Namjoon throws his head back in frustration. “One last time and I’m out. I need to pack-” He takes a look around your messy room, “As do you.”
You wave a hand dismissively.
Robotically, he recites, “He crouched down, elevated your head on his knee, moved your hair out of your face, then cradled you supporting your head and neck and lifted you in his arms. And he almost ran to the lobby. He then reprimanded the receptionist later because she had panicked and failed to react as fast as one should’ve. Hopefully he hasn’t gone all Karen on her ass and gotten the managers involved.”
You bite your finger. Namjoon was a good narrator. He should totally do audiobooks.
Then frown at your misfortune.
Pfft. But Hyewon’s fucking lucky. Screw her. You still don’t understand how she managed to bag Jeon Jungkook.
You’re sure Hyewon might’ve had a lot of suitors. But what made Jeon Jungkook pick her?
You don’t know either of them all that well but you’re leaning to believe that Hyewon must have some God pussy for Jungkook to date her for as long as he has.
Or maybe he has a micro-penis…
Even if it is so, you want to find out through primary research. With your own two eyes.
They just don’t look right together.
This is a new feeling for you. Mild jealousy. No, that’s not right.
Specifically, mild jealousy over a man.
Yes.
Well, you've never tried to make a move on someone else’s partner before. Nor have you been even remotely this fixated on any man before.
This whole issue was uncharted territory for you.
You never had any opinions on women who did go for people’s boyfriends either. It’s on those men to hold their own. Like how in Christian mythology, in the garden of Eden, Eve was tempted by the serpent and then punished for eating the forbidden fruit.
Jungkook = Eve.
You = The forbidden fruit, hopefully. The serpent.
And Hyewon… You don’t particularly consider her anything. She means nothing to you. If anything, she’s like an annoying gnat. You don’t like or dislike her.
Or so you say.
Her presence bothers you. There’s nothing much to it.
“_____, we’re cutting too close to-” - “Ok, you can go.” You push Namjoon out the door.
You’re officially relieving him from _____ duty. He had done more than enough for you.
You hear faint warnings from behind the door about a time constraint till you have to check out.
You sigh. Right.
You’ve only just showered and you need to track down all your belongings so you could finally get the hell out of here.
Also! To your surprise (and delight,) Namjoon informed you that they managed to book a yacht. And instead of a 20-30 minute journey, it’d be a 2-3 hour thing. But at least you wouldn't be flying.
Honestly, you’d even pick a jetski over a helicopter.
He kept alluding that Jeon Jungkook did it for you. ‘Someone just had to go that extra mile. Someone just had to please you.’ You don’t know if he was serious or just teasing you. Either way, you apparently owed Jungkook a ‘thank you’--- for kinda saving your life and booking a yacht instead of a chopper even though it’d take way longer.
You don’t have the energy to dress up like you usually would, sticking to some thick compression socks, slippers, a tank top and some sweatpants instead. These are your sick clothes. Super cute and very comfortable.
You keep a change of clothes in your handbag just in case you somehow soil the getup.
Yoongi arrives at your door to pick you up a little over an hour later. You’re still in the process of scanning every corner of your room, making sure you have all your belongings.
Half the time, you zone out. You definitely felt a lot better than the night before though.
“Hey. Ready to go yet?” His eyes don’t leave his phone.
Yoongi’s been pretty occupied with work all day.
You feel a tiny bit guilty for delaying everyone’s week. But it’s not your fault you got sick.
Plus, it’s not like they had to stay. You could’ve arranged your own way back home.
You do one final sweep of the suite before stepping out.
Yoongi power walks to the lobby while you struggle to keep up, dragging your suitcases behind you.
>:(
Couldn’t you have waited for a bellboy to help? Why did he come to get you again?
ʚ𖹭ɞ
At the lobby, you reunite with your friend. Jungkook and Hyewon were there too.
Hyewon smiled at you, leaning in for a hug. “Hi! Are you feeling better?”
“I am, yeah. Thanks.” Your hands were still gripping your luggage but you reciprocate her display of affection and lean into her a little, not wanting to seem rude.
“Good! You looked like death last night. We were so worried.”
Oh!
Well. That’s good to hear.
Yoongi snickered but sported a poker face when you glared at him.
“I’m fine. It was just an allergic reaction...” You mumble, sneaking a peek at Jungkook, who was already watching you. He was back in his work attire. He’s so lucky to look this hot on a random Monday.
You almost felt shy.
Was your hair out of place? Did you still ‘look like death?’
More importantly, should you greet him? Thank him? In front of everyone?
Your cheeks feel warm.
Why’s it kinda hot in here? You blink rapidly, trying to disperse all the goosebumps and daydreams.
Hyewon offers to grab one of your bags. You don’t object as she helps you to the golf cart with your bigger suitcase.
Jungkook had both his and hers so…
You glance at him once again.
This time, he raises a brow at you. You respond with a slow cat-like blink.
You should talk to him sooner rather than later. You know, to thank him. Maybe send a gift basket later.
You inquire about Namjoon’s whereabouts and learn he was already on the yacht and trying to catch up on some sleep (all thanks to you) before work.
Yikes.
Yet another person whom you owe a gift basket.
While you waited for Jungkook to finish whatever paperwork for the rental, the chef from last night came out to personally check on you after hearing about the incident. It wasn’t anyone’s fault but you still got a whole tray of tiramisu as an apology.
You felt awkward accepting it but you assumed it’d be rude not to.
ʚ𖹭ɞ
Even though the trip ended on a weird note, you would very much miss the beach. You’re sad you didn’t go into the water.
Surprisingly, you hadn’t been on too many island trips. You’re strictly a city girl who prefers bar/club hopping and shopping over… goat puppy yoga classes or whatever Hyewon tried to do with you.
It wouldn’t hurt to connect with nature once in a while though. You could probably drag Logan someplace. Lately, you've been thinking about fold mountains. You’d like to drive high up to the peak and picture everything underwater. It scares the shit out of you but you can already imagine the crisp, mountain air filling your lungs. The sedimentary rock formations call out to you.
Today, you notice things you missed when you arrived as you’re driven to the dock.
To be fair, it was nighttime then.
You see a little flea market sorta set up. Aw, you frown. You wanted to go.
“We went there today!” Hyewon spoke excitedly, “Jungkook bought me this.” She flashes you her wrist which was adorned with the most gorgeous seashells charm bracelet.
Your eyes lit up at the sight, “That is so pretty.” You whisper earnestly.
“It’s one of a kind too.” Hyewon squeezes her boyfriend’s thigh as a little ‘thank you.’ Jungkook’s bashful when he covers her hand with his in response.
Eugh. You cross yoru legs hastily.
On any other day, you’d have stopped the cart and shopped around the market for an hour or so. You caught a glimpse of so many things you’d potentially be into, seashell adorned jute bags, wedge sandals, hats, candles, different kinds of jewelry, and all of it looked handmade. You’re a sucker for art.
But you already felt like you were at fault for delaying the group’s departure from this island with your sickness.
So… No flea market for ya.
ʚ𖹭ɞ
Honestly, you wouldn’t mind being driven around in a golf cart everywhere permanently. What is the reason for these not being available to go on the highway? Safety issues?
Perhaps you could settle on a sexy little cabriolet.
The cart comes to a halt a few feet away from the dock. You hear seagulls screeching all over the place. They didn’t sound this crazy near the resort.
You thank the driver and make your way down to the boat.
You wait for your bags to be loaded onto the vessel before being helped on. You’re the last passenger to get on. Jungkook extends his hand to you despite the captain of the ship offering you the same (help.) You hand off your handbag to Jungkook and accept the other man’s hand to pivot yourself aboard. “Thanks!”
You give your tiramisu away to the kitchen staff to serve everyone aboard. Yes, they had a kitchen staff. And two bedrooms, one of which was probably occupied by Joon. Maybe you can hide out there with him for two hours. It seemed doable.
Pre-departure, the captain, who introduced himself as Jamal, conducted a mini safety briefing, informing you about the yacht’s layout and what areas you could and couldn’t be in, emergency floaties and so on.
Six minutes into the briefing, you lose focus. You wanted to pay attention but your body was distracted. If you’d have heard Jamal, you’d have informed him of this funny feeling you’re getting in your tummy.
Luckily for you, Jeon Jungkook was keeping track of everything.
.
.
“I’m so tired of being sick!” You cry.
There’s no way Jeon Jungkook would fuck you after this. It just isn’t in the books for you. Or him. You are not in his books.
And if at all you were (in his books) this morning, you sure as hell aren’t anymore.
Because you’ve found yourself in yet another unfortunate situation.
From the way you’ve been throwing up (loudly, might I add) on the side of the yacht from the past twenty minutes, you might as well fling yourself off of it.
This was beyond humiliating.
God, why would he ever want to fuck you now that he associates you with VOMIT.
Urghgrrhh. Your ego is taking a big hit. (citrustan giggles)
Yeah, yeah, it’s natural and you can’t help it and it’s not your fault but it still grosses you out.
You wouldn’t wish this on your worst enemy.
Someone tied your hair back and secured it in a bun with a claw clip as you emptied your stomach for the third time since you got on.
Of course, you’re now battling seasickness.
Something none of you had considered.
Why would you? You’d never been seasick before. But the movement of the vessel is making your head spin and tummy hurt.
Actually, you aren’t even sure what triggered your digestive system first: the very faint, fishy smell of freshly prepared seafood that included raw sea urchins, oysters and caviar (which aren’t easy on the eyes either,) or the motion of the boat. Or maybe it was a combination of both.
Jungkook had been observing you closely from the moment you boarded the boat. Intentional or not, he doesn’t know. But he noticed the shift in your microexpressions the moment you laid your eyes on the little buffet Jamal had personally arranged for. Had he known the details of it, he’d have requested a change. Because only someone like Jeon Jungkook would be prepared enough for literally any circumstance.
It’s as if the man had a seventh sense when it came to you. He offered you his sipper water bottle before anything even started. You even made a quip about a grown man having a sipper bottle: ‘What are you? 12? What man in his 30s needs a sippy cup?’
(Uh, hypocritical much? All 15 of your abandoned Stanleys are collectively shaking their heads at you.)
Either way, the joke’s on you because that sippy cup is saving your life a little right now.
You dragged yourself back to the chairs once you’d calmed down a bit.
Swallowing little sips of water was soothing your throat. And consuming liquids was easier with Jungkook’s adult sippy bottle. Paper straws just don’t do it for you. Or anyone else, you assume.
Namjoon was still asleep in one of the rooms since he was up most of the night and Yoongi was AWOL because he had to make a few work calls. Both men were lucky enough to not have witnessed any of the mess.
This left you with Hyewon and Jungkook constantly ‘watching over you’ as you laid on one of the pool chairs on the deck, fanning yourself with a folded newspaper with one hand and sipping water from Jungkook’s adult sippy cup in the other, sweaty and vomit-y.
Couldn’t Hyewon at least offer to fan you? You may or may not decline but you’d think she’d have the thoughtfulness to at least ask.
What was she doing here anyway?
And as if Hyewon’s presence wasn’t reason enough for your annoyance, one of the crewmembers had the audacity to present you with a fucking bucket to throw up in. As if!
Why would you want to have a bucket of vomit sitting around marinating in the sun?
Plus you only threw up on the side of the boat because you couldn’t hold it in till you reached your room. And now, Mr. Jeon-know-it-all won’t let you retreat into your room because he doesn’t think it’s ventilated enough and thinks you might- no, will throw up in your sleep and choke to death.
At this point, you’d pick that option over whatever the hell this was.
You couldn’t even place a hat on your face like you usually would when you lie on a lounge chair to sunbathe any other time, because for some reason, it’s making you feel even more nauseated.
So now you’re stuck and uneasy with all the close attention you’re getting from the couple.
You notice movement in your peripheral and sneak a peek, believing one of the two might be walking away for a bit. But noooo. PDA.
Hyewon is on her boyfriend’s lap. Really? Now?
PDA next to a person on their literal deathbed.
Ick.
Ugh.
Here you go again. You swear it wasn’t on purpose. You can’t help it.
You hastily swing your legs over the chair and stumble off to the side of the boat and begin dry heaving, making the worst sounds to ever have come from a human. Again.
Not even a hangover had rendered you this ill before.
Sucks that the couple’s makeout sesh is interrupted though. ;( :( :)
You hear heavy, urgent footsteps in pursuit but pay no heed.
You were busy getting wrung, sorry.
A hand rubs your back and another one… your head?
Why was your head being caressed right now? You smack the one by your head away with a little grumble: ‘Don’t touch me there.’
“Ow!”
I’ll give you a second to guess whose hand you just slapped away. Just go with your gut.
.
.
.
You got it.
Now, you don’t know whether it was smart or stupid of Hyewon to pull a move this ridiculous because honestly, you can accept both excuses.
If she displays a kind of weaponised incompetence that she did by rubbing your head while your entire body was being turned inside out and hung to dry, you’re naturally bound to show your annoyance (as you did by smacking her bony hand away,) which would then give her a reason- or excuse to get away from you without feeling guilty or judged by the overseers. OR she’s just that stupid.
And you know for a fact that the woman wasn’t an idiot. She might be a little oblivious or even a tad delusional, but she’s def not a total idiot. You think.
The hand, which you now confirm as Jungkook’s, travels down your spine to massage it. You’d been bent over the railing quite a few times, your body was sore. (And not in the way you’d have liked. :/ )
You’ve been such a cunt to Jungkook, you don’t know how you could possibly thank him for all this.
A small, unreasonable and stubborn part of you still blamed him for booking a yacht when you could’ve just flown for 20 minutes instead.
But then again, throwing up in a helicopter with no way for anyone to escape without dying would’ve been a lot worse. But also, you wouldn’t be seasick in a chopper.
Jungkook paused his hand for a moment, feeling two, tiny parallelly placed, circular objects on your lower back.
Fuck. He scrunches his brows.
Innocently, he runs his fingers over the two little bumps a few more times to make sure he isn’t mistaken. Luckily for him (but sadly for you,) you don’t notice.
Did you have dermal piercings on your back?
Jeon Jungkook’s trying really hard not to picture you naked back at this moment. Trying really hard not to acknowledge the fact that those were his favourite kind of body accessory.
Of fucking course, you’d have those. Lower back dermals are so… you.
For fuck’s sake, you were literally sick. And what kind of man would he be if he lost his shit over two innocent little piercings? At the base of your back, no less. They feel like rhinestones too. Not unusual but he wouldn't expect anything less from the princess™.
…
Would it be too forward to ask about them?
A loud retching sound brings his attention back.
The staff were hosing the side of the ship down simultaneously.
The audio-visuals were making him a tad queasy but he was committed to taking care of you until the captain (who also happened to be a doctor) could attend to you. You know, out of respect for his hyungs who were currently preoccupied, of course. Nothing else.
Jungkook gently tucks the loose strands of your hair behind your ears as the salty breeze hits you, messing your hair up in the process.
“Let it out, let it all out.” He chants while patting your back.
When Jungkook notices you’ve been fairly still and silent, he leads you back into the inner deck by your shoulders.
You’re a zombie at this point. He would walk you off the deck, straight into the water and you’d follow.
Whining, you cry to nobody in particular, “Put a muzzle on me, I can’t do this anymore…”
“That can be arranged for later-” Jungkook entertains you, “You can count on me.”
You glare at him and he returns it. Though his gaze is more… intense. His lips curved into the faintest smirk. You could almost see the mischief swimming in his irises.
Normally, you wouldn’t back down from a staring contest but this man was making you blush endlessly. You almost cower under his eye.
You yank yourself away from his grip as hard as you could in your condition and take a seat on one of the couches.
You clean yourself with wet wipes and clean, hot towels.
Jungkook folds his cuffs back. You eye his sleek grey trousers and his white shirt, tucked in and everything.
When was this man ever not in business casuals? It wasn’t really casual but you can’t remember the term- oh, formals.
“Why are you always dressed like that?” You don’t mean to sound as accusatory as you do.
“Like what?” You hear him scoff.
You tilt your head, “You’re always suited up.” Hm. Thinks. “It’s hot but I wonder what you look like without ‘em.” Smiling innocently, you lean back.
Hyewon’s ears perk up.
Jungkook’s mouth almost drops open. He says nothing. Doesn’t get the opportunity to respond before his girlfriend returns.
You’re fucking bold.
“He’s hotter without them. I can vouch for it!”
You discreetly roll your eyes but cover it up with a smile, “Cute.”
It doesn’t go unnoticed by Jungkook, although he doesn’t acknowledge it. Once again.
Simply smirking at Hyewon, he asks her if she wants a drink.
You tune them out and try to concentrate on not regurgitating anything else.
Jungkook makes his way to the bar to request a few drinks. Along with that, he asks the crew to give you space.
“Do you want to try to take a nap?” Hyewon asks carefully.
You rest your head in your hands, “Ugh, I wish. But Jungkook’s right, I don’t want to risk suffocation.”
“Why don’t you try? It always helps me to sleep it off. Jungkook’s just being anal about it.”
If you didn’t know any better, you’d think she was asking you to go die in a corner.
Huh.
Well.
Two can play this game, you think.
Right then, Mr. Jeon returns with two teacups and places it on the coffee table in front of you. “I got you ginger and chamomile teas. Hopefully, they’ll settle your stomach and your nerves. Can you drink that for me?”
For him…
You bit the corner of your lip, contemplating all the other things you’d do for him.
“_____.” - Hm. - “_____, while it’s warm, please.”
You lift your arm to reach one of the ceramic cups and catch Hyewon’s eye.
:)
Suddenly frowning, you weakly rub your wrist. “Ow…”
Oh, no. :( Your wrist is weak and sore. :( Oh, what will you ever do? :(
“You okay there?” You hear Jungkook closing in.
“I don’t know… I can’t-” You pout, cutting yourself off, “I’ll drink it in a bit, my arm’s a little…” You trail off.
You sigh, peeking at Jungkook through your peripheral.
Jungkook settles beside you, teacup now in his hand.
"Your arm hurts?" He finishes.
You pout and nod miserably. “Mhm.”
Jungkook parrots you, "The same arm you were using to lift that large handbag of yours just now?"
…
Rude.
You frown, “Uh, yeah, that’s what I said, genius.”
Jungkook sighed and glanced at his girlfriend. It wasn’t a fond sigh. It was a kind of sigh you let out before enabling bad behaviour.
Hyewon watched the two of you cautiously.
I mean, she understood you were ill and her boyfriend was sort of a natural caretaker, but she was pissed as hell that they weren’t making out on the top deck right now.
This was probably the first time ever that she earnestly showed her dislike towards you. In front of you. (Albeit in her mind but even then, at least she’s facing those feelings honestly and not gaslighting herself.)
It’s probably irrational or perhaps even an exaggeration, but she feels you’re almost playing your sickness up just to be coddled by everyone.
Hyewon thinks she should pitch in and help her boyfriend but she’s sort of unhappy with his choice of making himself this available to you in the first place.
Hyewon ignores the sting she feels in her chest as she watches her boyfriend cradle the back of your head and guide the teacup to your mouth. And she certainly ignores that hint of something unexplainable in his eyes as he watches you sip the liquid from the cup.
Jungkook’s fingers gently massage your nape, shooting goosebumps all through your body. It’s so sensual. Yet he does it so casually.
If things were different, you think you’d have kissed him right there. It’d have been a picture perfect moment. Your thought process rarely heads in this direction.
You like feeling good. You enjoy attention and validation from people you like. You even crave romance once in a while. And you think a kiss would’ve made this random afternoon quite romantic. That is, if things were different.
Out of nowhere, Hyewon abruptly walks off. Jungkook’s eyes are instantly glued to her figure.
You drop the act and wordlessly grab the little teacup from his hand. Your cold fingers send a little shiver down his spine.
Gee, this thing was weightless.
He doesn’t even look at you before following Hyewon into the dining area.
Well, there goes your chance at romance?
A weird sadistic part of you was pleased to have potentially caused a wedge in between the lovebirds.
Don’t get it wrong, you totally want to hop on Jeon Jungkook, but you hadn’t really given any thought to the aftermath of it if it were to happen.
You guess you just caught a glimpse? Scarily enough, it does not bother you as much as it should.
Leaning back on the couch, you choose to nurse yourself with the remainder of the chamomile tea.
Jungkook spots Hyewon seated at the medium sized dining table.
It was decorated with a beautiful red, white and purple floral centerpiece and thick, unlit white candles, clearly prepared for five guests.
She’s looking down at her phone, not acknowledging Jungkook when he pulls up a seat next to her.
Then Hyewon glances over and smiles a little. “Hey. Whatcha doing here?”
Jungkook stares at her. “You tell me.”
“What do you mean?” - “Won…” Jungkook probed, leaning closer, “What’s going on?”
“Huh? Nothing.” Hyewon laughs. Nothing was funny. She was just buying herself time to delay this interrogation.
Hyewon almost got upset all over again. Did he really just throw that in her face?
“I did not ‘storm off,’ I was hungry.” She couldn’t just stop there. “Watching you feed _____ that tea made me think about food.”
Right…
Jungkook looked down with a hint of embarrassment flooding him.
Thankfully, Hyewon kept talking so Jungkook didn’t really get the opportunity to explain himself right then.
“I guess I was just irritated by how much time you were spending together. I know it’s irrational because it’s not like you were having fun or anything. She was sick and you were just,” Hyewon pauses to find the right words, “-being a good person. I don’t know?”
Wow. Jeon Jungkook was the worst boyfriend in the world.
He almost felt defensive and called out but stopped himself from verbalizing it.
And then he understood Hyewon.
Why wouldn’t she be pissed about him practically playing house with you, sick or not.
“We spent all weekend together, Won. I’m just trying to hold the fort down till Jamal can assist _____. He’s a doctor as well.”
Hyewon wanted to bring up the part where you smacked her arm and Jungkook didn’t defend her but she decided it was too silly of a reason to be upset. Considering your physical state and all.
“Hold on, let me text Jamal and find out if he’ll be able to come out now.” Jungkook springs into action and ends up calling the ship’s captain to ask for medication.
Jungkook walks to the edge of the vessel as he speaks to Jamal. He assumed the crew must’ve updated Jamal about your health already and they had indeed. But since Jamal thought Jungkook had it under control, he didn’t interfere.
The crew had been informed of your allergic reaction from the night before, so they had assumed your sickness was shellfish related and left it up to Jungkook, thinking he’d know more.
Jamal also mistook you for Jungkook’s girlfriend for some reason. Jungkook’s taking this error to the grave.
Had they called for a doctor earlier, you would’ve been medicated sooner.
Huh.
Why hadn’t Jungkook thought of doing that immediately?
Hyewon’s back at the table, secretly rolling her eyes.
She knew it was totally idiotic of her to be jealous of the attention her boyfriend was giving you. But she couldn’t help it.
I mean. Even when his own girlfriend’s upset, Jungkook prioritises you.
And she knows it’s only because you’re ill. Yet that does very little to settle her emotions.
Jungkook rejoins her, “Alright. Jamal’s gonna check on _____. I’m sure she’ll be fine.”
Hyewon simply stares at her boyfriend before sighing. She was ready to change the topic.
“Babe, what?” Jungkook asks dumbfounded in reference to the huge sigh she just let out.
“Nothing! It’s the same thing, your attention is still on _____. She seems to be doing better.”
What?
No.
He did this for Hyewon. Jungkook made sure you were taken care of so he could spend time with his girlfriend instead of nursing you.
“I’m here with you, Won. I just made sure she gets medical attention. We can do whatever you want now. I’m here, okay?” He was assertive. It made Hyewon feel secure enough to move forward with what she had originally planned to do with her boyfriend.
Hyewon smiled satisfactorily. “Okay… I was thinking we could maybe get some dessert and watch an episode of… Orange?” She kisses his neck. Jungkook instantly caves, giggling.
The pair then sneak off into the vacant room.
You expected Jungkook to return in less than five. Not because you want him to or are waiting for him or anything but because he’d been orbiting around you this entire time. He was refilling your water, checking you for fever, checking your pulse, just whatever, stuff.
You pout and look around the mostly empty deck, swinging your legs and swaying with the yacht.
Wow, there must be a hell of a fight if he’s taking this long.
Maybe you could try to read a book to pass time before he comes back. You reach into your giant bag to fish out whatever bullshit book Namjoon made you read.
“Hey, _____. How are we doing here?” The voice literally comes out of nowhere, startling you.
“Oh! God. Wow. Hey, Jamal. Who’s um steering the boat and stuff?” You’re genuinely concerned. Your question elicits a bright smile from him, “My partner. Ivy. You know her from the chopper.”
Oh! Wow.
“Aw, I like Ivy. Also, I’m doing much better,” You giggle, “Thanks to ginger and chamomile.”
“Ah. Well, good. But I’d still like to take a look at ya. Is that okay?”
You simply nod. Only then do you notice the little first aid kit thingy Jamal carried with him.
He checks your body temperature, blood pressure, heart rate, blood sugar, and hands you a pill to help control your nausea.
You can’t help but peek at the path leading to the dining room every few seconds, you know, to see if anyone’s gonna show up anytime soon.
After Jamal leaves to put his doctor’s kit back where it belonged, you walk up to the railing to watch the water. It looked glittery under the sun’s rays.
You catch a glimpse of a mama sting ray with her baby and excitedly turn to announce it to literally anyone but only spot two girls from the crew.
Wow, this is pathetic.
Where the hell is everyone?
You wave the two women over anyway, in hopes of showing them what you spotted.
Although, they’ve probably seen a lot more since they’re on yachts, like, multiple hours every day.
ʚ𖹭ɞ
The girls, Delaney and Adora, turn out to be great company. They were just as excited to see the sting rays. You learn about each other’s jobs and interests.
And oh, this was probably the first time you didn’t have to dodge the job question. It felt strangely cathartic.
The girls shared your interests in the Real Housewives franchise and fashion. You have an intense discussion to decide who the ultimate housewife was. There was no single conclusion. You've even promised to connect Delaney to a casting agent in New York because you believe she’d make an excellent runway model.
They tell you stories about all the annoying passengers they’ve had aboard to pass time.
Hint: You don’t even make it to their top 100. So yay!
The ones that really stuck with you involved an emotional support peacock and a billionaire’s son who tipped everyone in cryptocurrency.
The yacht rocked ever so gently. You watch the ocean stretch endlessly in almost every direction. Jamal had lowered the speed so you could spot dolphins.
Adora and Delaney offered you some fish to use as bait to attract the mammals but you denied. You don’t think you’d be able to stomach the scent. And you think the dolphins are much too smart to be baited by a can of anchovies anyway.
ʚ𖹭ɞ
Time passes surprisingly fast when you’re having fun.
Namjoon and Yoongi join you in conversation somewhere along the way.
For a split second, you almost consider asking about Jungkook and Hyewon but stop yourself. They’re probably off doing some boring shit you don’t want to hear about like making each other’s portraits or whatever.
By the time the city comes into view, you're perched on Yoongi’s lap on a lounge chair, chatting away animatedly as though you hadn't spent the past few hours vomiting with biblical enthusiasm.
Jungkook and Hyewon finally emerge from their hiding spots.
When they come into view, you give them a small smile and carry on with your conversation with the girls.
Despite the couple choosing to sit right beside you, you don’t naturally interact with them.
It’s totally not because you're feeling strangely abandoned after a certain lawyer vanished for the better part of an hour and never came back.
Hyewon watches you as she always does. She’s curious. Trying to figure something out. You were so chatty. She watches you freely interact with the two crew members, having an amazing time. You can practically see the moment she realizes you've spent the better part of an hour chatting happily with two strangers while barely sparing a thought for her the entire trip.
She almost scoffs.
What was she doing wrong? Why can’t you be just as pleasant with her?
Hyewon puts her head on her boyfriend’s shoulder.
Speaking of the boyfriend; as always, like a moth to a flame, Jungkook’s already subconsciously fixated on you.
Unlike Hyewon, he’s noticing the way you’ve grown so close with Yoongi, you feel comfortable enough to sit on his lap and touch his face and hair, which is something he hates having touched.
He knew you were absolutely Yoongi’s type.
Why did that kinda irritate him?
His gaze is locked on Yoongi’s large hands caressing your thigh while also playing with your pretty, long hair.
Jungkook also notes how you haven’t looked at him or talked to him this whole time. But he gets it, he did just leave without a word.
Yeah.
He knows damn well why you’re giving him the cold shoulder.
ʚ𖹭ɞ
Deboarding a yacht takes a lot longer than you’d guess.
You could literally see Logan waiting by the car but you had to wait for all the protocols to pass.
Once you hop off, you sincerely thank the crew for taking care of you and then sincerely apologise for the inconveniences you’d caused them. Then you enlist Yoongi and Namjoon’s help and make them tip the whole crew big bucks because they refused to accept yours.
Logan loads up your bags in the back seat while you bid your goodbyes.
Before leaving, you meekly approach Hyewon and Jungkook and mutter a little ‘thank you’ for ‘doing as much as you could.’
It evoked a truly emotional ‘aw, of course’ from Hyewon.
But Jungkook just smirked at your sassiness. You were so infuriating. Such a big baby. It makes him want you even more.
Two days later, you're sitting cross-legged on the floor of your TV room, surrounded by a bunch of stuff, three luxury department store catalogues, random fruit, a bonsai, a Yoshitomo Nara coffee table book and a chilled glass of diet Coke.
Curating gift baskets should not be this difficult. It usually isn’t! This was your most favourite thing to do, yet you were struggling. Consumerism is beating your ass.
Namjoon’s was easy, you’re giving him a gorgeous little flowering bonsai, exotic fruit and some coffee table books you know he’d love.
Hyewon is where you’ve hit a bump.
You’ve settled with fruit and a floral arrangement for her. But was that too little? Probably. Maybe if you threw in a bottle of your favourite rosé? And a few liquor chocolates? You’d be satisfied if you got this basket.
Well, those are finalised.
Jungkook’s was the hardest to arrange.
You don’t know what to do. You’ve hit a wall.
What the hell did he like? Skincare? Food? You noticed he was pretty knowledgeable about food. Maybe you could bake for- yeah, no you can’t even finish that thought, you’d probably kill him.
You stretch your toes.
Jeon Jungkook.
You know he uses pens. He wears suits and ties and glasses. Piercings. Tattoos. Okay, now you’re just picturing him in your mind.
Shoes?
You can never go wrong with shoes. You’re a slut for shoes.
But you don’t want to come off as too… eager.
You hate that you do gift baskets. But they were your brand. You can’t ignore Jungkook’s help.
ʚ𖹭ɞ
A few hours later, you’ve finally made up your mind about Jungkook’s basket. You’re keeping it super casual and putting together some vibrant dragonfruit along with chamomile and ginger tea leaves (and the free brewer that came with it.)
This was personalised enough.
next: killah (jjk) [10]
note: this was way shorter than i intended. i'd have liked this one and the next chapter to be one big chapter buuut tbh it's better this way!
i also want to remind everyone that oc is ultimately the main character and i like to write her as the center of everyone's universe :p indulge me
you know the drillll, tell me what you think, i love asks and comments :D
Bed chem request: jk/oc teasing each other a little too hard that one gets upset and the other is grovelling 🤭
Or another of the many instances of the friend group sending oc to check up on jk although idk how often this happens now that they are together <‘33
ok i dont have time to write out the full scenario but LETS TAAAALKKK
you fucked up.
somewhere between calling him a nerd and the most handsome boy to ever be inside you—had him fucked up.
at this point of your relationship with jungkook, you two are used to all the banter and teasing… but for some reason, you pushed it too far and don’t really know how to make it up to him.
he hasn’t been ignoring you or done anything to raise red flags; but there’s a weird gut feeling in your stomach he’s upset with you. he’s just a degree colder. he speaks with a few words less even if it’s about his favourite topic (fuckass dolphins)… and most oddly… declining sex?
so today, you decide enough is enough.
he’s your boyfriend.
if he wants to be upset at you, he can be. he just has to do it in front of you and actually deal with whatever the fuck is going on because the slightly colder atmosphere and the slightly shorter conversations are driving you insane.
you wait outside jungkook’s lab, your back against the wall and your phone in your hands. you watch the time on your screen change and brace yourself as the doors open and students begin to empty out the room.
lastly to exit (of course), is your boyfriend.
he’s sandwich in between his friends, talking about some formula that fucked with their results when you place yourself in front of his little group.
jungkook raises his brows.
before he can open his mouth to say anything, you grab his hand and pull him away from his friends.
“uh… hi? what’s going on—“ jungkook asks as he follows behind you. to be honest, your grip is pretty weak. he knows you’re using all your strength, so he can’t help but wonder why you’re so serious. “___, stop. where are you taking me?”
you pause at the end of the hall and shove him into an empty classroom.
jungkook puts down his bag and leans against the table.
“i have another class in 10 minutes. whatever this is, make it fast.”
you glare at him.
“make it fast?”
“yeah.”
“do you hate me or something? is that what this is? did i fuck up that bad that—“
jungkook sighs. “i don’t hate you.”
you step closer to him.
“then why… w-why are you treating me like this? i send you so many memes and shit that aren’t funny to me but i know would be funny to you just to get your attention. i have dolphins in my fyp now and i hate it. i hate it so much. and i hate that you aren’t ignoring me but also aren’t really talking to me…” you confess. “s-so… what is it? are you dumping me?”
jungkook shakes his head.
“i’ve been busy. that’s all.”
“not good enough,” you tell him. “either you tell me what’s going on or i’m leaving this room assuming i have no boyfriend anymore.”
“___, stop it.” he sighs. “i’m trying not to be upset.”
“so you are mad.”
“i’m upset.”
“at me?”
“at you.”
you pause.
“why? because i called you a nerd one too many times? because i don’t like the shows you pick for us to binge? is it because i—“
“last week when we were at that cafe studying.. that guy approached you and you guys talked for like 5 minutes. you told me he was a friend. taehyung said he was one of your old situationships. he still follows your instagram. i didn’t care before. i shouldn’t care now, but i do. especially since i found out he tried to sleep with you on multiple occasions. taehyung said you guys hooked up but didn’t go all the way… and it’s weird, you know. for someone to look at my girlfriend and have those thoughts and memories… and i was trying to get past it but when you slept over and went to shower the other day, i saw he replied to your story.”
“oh.”
“i wanted to ask you to unfollow him. block him or whatever. but in the morning i glanced over and you were talking to him. what’s that about?”
you take a deep breath in.
“yeah,” you begin. “he tried to sleep with me. didn’t want to be my boyfriend. we hooked up in his car but it never went further than second base… and yeah, i replied to him. he was trying to ask me out again so i told him i was with you. he asked about you so i kept replying. of course i’m going to reply… it was about you.”
jungkook’s eyes soften and so does his heart.
you step forward, completely in front of him now. you wrap your arms around him and look up. he tilts his face down and gives you a pout.
“jungkook, i’m all about you.” you tell him, as you tiptoe and kiss his lips softly.
“been about you.”
kiss.
“still about you.”
kiss.
“always about you.”
kiss.
jungkook nods as you pull away. he rests his forehead against yours before swiftly moving down to kiss your neck and cheek.
“i should’ve talked to you about it.”
“it’s okay,” you say. “are we okay now? because i miss my super hot nerdy clingy boyfriend.”
“we are,” he smiles. “can you unfollow him though?”
“you’re that threatened?”
he shoots you a cocky look. “fuck no. i’m just that protective about my pretty girlfriend.”
warnings: college!jk, rich!jk, he's a college nepo baby!!!, waitress!oc, flashbacks to summer, (mild) enemies to lovers, oc lives with tae (they're besties), jk is besties with jimin, mentions of parents infidelity, mentions of oc's virginity (lost prior to the story starting), a little angsty, jk is nawt a fuckboi, but he is stewpid, unprotected sex, bathroom escapades, multiple positions, oral (f), mentions of blowjobs, house parties, jackson wang!!!!!!!, yoongi has no lines but is also one of my fave characters lmao
wordcount: 16k
note from holly: this was written as a commission over on ko-fi!! it went through soooo many changes and edits - at one point it was over 24k lmao. i have so much lore and backstory for this couple, but I'll save it for a rainy day!! one of the main prompts was the 2004 classic a cinderella story, and there are little nods to it throughout the story, including the diner name!! a commenter on wattpad said the pairing reminded them of danny and sandy from grease and like... i see it lmao. anywaysss enjoy!! <33
minors dni // cross posted to wattpad
It's a well-trained habit, your fleeting glance towards the door of Montgomery's Diner when the bell rings.
Though the clatter of cheap porcelain being stacked on a tray almost manages to drown out the chiming metal, it's never quite enough. Softening your hardened expression, you continue on with your work, careful to not let your contempt show too much.
You already know who it is—or at least, who it could be. Only saw the girl leading the pack, but know that where Claudia goes, the rest of The Untouchables will surely follow.
Gorgeous in a way that money can't buy, and careless in a way that money makes up for, she's never taken personal issue with you. Barely even registers your existence.
From your quick look, you know that it's not just the girls today. It's the guys, too.
All with parents on the college board, they're regarded as campus royalty. Are aptly known as The Untouchables, 'cause the rules that apply to you don't apply to them. They'll likely continue with their lives in a similar manner for years to come, and will pass these attributes off to their offspring, whom they'll name after countries or distant relatives who were once regarded to be regal.
Gathering up the last of the discarded napkins on the table, you take one final, fleeting look just to see if a familiar face is with them.
It's not that you actively want to see him.
You just haven't seen him in the best part of a fortnight, which is odd.
He's been in your section of the Diner near enough every single night of the past three months—but school is starting up again, and he's got appearances to keep.
God-forbid Jeon Jungkook—son of the Admissions Director and heir-apparent to an unholy amount of real estate tied to the university—ever associates with the lowly scholarship kids like you.
The only reason The Untouchables ever come to this Diner is because it's the last remaining place close to the university that hasn't been snapped up and integrated into the campus. You guess it must feel like freedom to them, in a way.
In fact, you know this is the case. Jungkook has told you himself.
Has told you a lot.
Told you far too much.
Such candid honesty from him, shared during the lonely heat of a sweltering summer, is what makes it so jarring when he looks away as soon as his dark eyes meet yours.
Tall, broad, handsome; he's everything the gossip magazines you read during your downtime swoon over, but also everything they warn against. Too pretty for his own good, the resident agony aunt would call him if she were ever to see him. Would assume his ego is far larger than his shoe size; superiority complex embedded into his skin like the ink of his tattoos.
And while you think that perhaps those assumptions could be true, you also know the reality of him; how gentle his hands can be. Helpful, too. Delicate. Ornate, almost, when they fold bills into five petal flowers. Strong, when they grip the back of your neck. Commanding, when they're wrapped around his leather steering wheel.
You shouldn't know the way his car smells. Shouldn't know how he presses the heel of his palm against the wheel when he's reversing, or just how easy it is to clamber into the backseats over the centre console.
But you do, and it rests on your tongue like a dirty little secret desperate to escape: I know you.
You're not sure if you know him better than The Untouchables, but you know him independent of them. Not many people do.
It's rare to find him without Jimin cracking a joke by his side, or Claudia making a slightly mean remark masked as innocent ignorance as she leads him astray.
But summer happened, and so did Jungkook. With his friends away at their holiday homes, and his father's infidelity ripping his family apart at the seams, he'd needed something to stitch himself back together. Let you thread yourself through his very being, and once you'd tied yourself in a pretty little bow around his heart, he'd cut you off.
Is that not what all craftsmen do, though? Discard what no longer serves a purpose?
Memories of him, in all the places you never should have let him in, ravage your thoughts.
The scent of his aftershave lingers on the childhood plushie he used to tease you for having on your bed, but would also automatically hug into his chest every single time he entered your room.
The things he did—and the things he didn't do—corrupt your dreams and leave you restless when you wake.
The smudged mascara under your eyes hides the bags from your lack of sleep, and your only respite is that the little puffs beneath his eyes are extra prominent today. He's tried, too.
For a minute, you feel vindicated.
It doesn't last.
For the past few months, if he's been sleeping badly, you've known about it. Kept him company in this very Diner, or in the basement of a party house he was dumb enough to take you to, forgetting he'd have to return there after summer finished, too.
The walls might not talk, but Jackson Wang certainly does. Jungkook knows it's only a matter of time until his dirty little secrets—no matter how pure they actually are—become the talk of the town.
He always slept well in your bedroom, though.
Funny, that.
He's dressed simply, today: white t-shirt, black jeans, chunky black boots on his feet. It's still warm out, even if the sun does begin to set a little earlier than it had been during the hotter months. He's got no need for a jacket, and you despise how undeniably gorgeous his arms are in the dewy humidity. Tattoos trailing up and down his skin, you'd be forgiven for thinking he was a man of complexities.
Turns out he's just like every other good-for-nothing fuck boy who wasn't worth your time.
The Untouchables sit towards the front of the Diner. Your section is at the back, and there's no way in hell you're deviating from your set section. Not today. Not when he's with them.
"I thought we were free," your colleague, Maria, grumbles as you bring your tray to the counter.
Like you, she's a scholarship kid. Is the one who got you the job at the Diner after you both moved into the shared house you live in off-campus. Three of you live there—you, Maria, and Taehyung—and you all share the same disdain for The Untouchables.
"It never ends," you tease in reply. Glance over your shoulder, back at the table.
They're laughing and joking about something you can't quite decipher. All of them, except Jungkook.
There's a sternness to him. One of which you'd forgotten about. With one hand on the table, the other in his lap, his thumb fidgets over his tense knuckles. Sunglasses rest on the crown of his head, pushed up into his hair to hold it back off his face. Staring at nothing much, he's chewing up his bottom lip until he feels the familiar burn of your eyes on him. Looks your way.
It's curious, how looking at you halts his body from its self-soothing actions. He no longer nibbles on his lip. His tightly balled first eases.
"What do you think, Kookie?" Claudia drawls, drawing his attention back to the group. "You coming tonight?"
"Hm?" He questions, eyes pulling away from you. He begins to rub his thumb over his knuckles again. "Sorry, was just looking at the menu board. What are we talking about?"
"Party at the Conservatory," Jimin says from across the table. Though he's the one sitting beside Claudia, everyone knows Jungkook is the one that she's really interested in. Has been since their first day of college. "First of the semester. It's one of their birthdays. Reckon it'll be a big one."
On campus, but close enough to the boundaries that it's never infringed upon by security or university officials, the Conservatory isn't what it seems. A boarding house for the creme-de-la-creme of the Botany and Conservation PhD students, it's surrounded by land. Has rows upon rows of greenhouses for their projects.
Of the few times you've been there, you've always thought it was like a maze. The perfect place to get lost. The perfect place to get found, too.
Unfortunately for the PhD students, the house custodian took on the role for one thing and one thing only: to throw the biggest ragers on campus. Knows fuck all about growing anything that isn't illegal. Only managed to get the role, 'cause like the rest of The Untouchables, his dad works high up in the college. He's a few years older than them. Belongs to a different generation of campus royalty, but is keen on making sure his legacy remains.
After all, there ain't no party like a Jackson Wang party.
Namjoon—one of the Botanists and the birthday boy himself—has started padlocking the greenhouses.
Another one of them—Yoongi—minored in mechanical engineering. Has a coin-operated lock on his bathroom door. Makes enough money from a single Jackson Wang party to sustain himself for an entire month.
Hoseok and Jin, the remaining two, are just as messy as Jackson. Have only started PhDs because they don't know what else to do and don't want their youth to abruptly end. Live for the parties; survive for the studying.
"Now, who's told you that?" Jungkook smiles, as if the prospect of showing up at the Conservatory doesn't make him feel a little bit sick. "Jackson?"
"Obviously."
"Well, of course he's gonna tell you it'll be big," Jungkook laughs. "Wants to rope as many of you fuckers in as he can."
"And it works every time," Jimin smirks back. "If everyone thinks it'll be a rager, everyone will want to go. He's a marketing genius, if you ask me."
Jungkook rolls his eyes. Is fond in how he interacts with his friends. Has grown up with most of them. Whether or not they're everyones cup of tea is debatable, but they're his people.
And yet he finds himself glancing back over to the counter. You're not there anymore. Are out back, he assumes. Knows the layout, now. Where the walk-in freezer is. The little nook that you sit in during your break. He doubts any of his friends have ever been in a commercial kitchen, let alone one at a place like this.
While yes, his friends have only ever been good to him, he knows that it isn't the case for everyone they interact with. Is well aware that his friends would be confused beyond belief if they ever found out he knows how to click through the Diner's cash register and find the discount section. Would be even more perplexed if they were to see his initials hidden in one of the codes.
But summer was lonely.
Or at least it was.
Lonely, until it wasn't. Isolating, until he sought solace in someone he can't even bring himself to speak to in front of his friends.
Casting his eyes back down to the table, well aware that he's got no reason to feel as cut up as he does, he fakes a laugh. Looks up again at his friends with a grin so sincere that they'd never guess the way it feels like his heart is in his throat. "Alright. You're on. What time?"
The conversation dissolves into plans—what to wear, what drink to take.
After a summer apart, Jungkook thought it would be nice to be with his friends again. Thought he'd be excited; that he'd welcome them all back with open arms. Ask them about their summers, and lament his time spent here.
When Jimin asks him why he didn't go to the Italian villa his parents normally insist they spend the summer at, Jungkook shrugs.
"Dad has some stuff to sort out, so it was better to stay here," he says, minimising the reality of what really happened. Even you don't know for certain. All you know is that his father did something incredibly immoral, to the point where Jungkook can't even stand to look at him.
Is why he spent all those nights in the diner.
Was confusing at first. He was always angry. Always frowning. Always ordering black coffees and nothing else, huddled up in the corner booth, away from the world.
But with summer comes monsoons, and with monsoons come terrible conditions for walking home.
He expected you to say no when he offered you a ride. You expected to say no, too—but then a please and thank you had escaped your lips.
A routine grew. Habits formed.
Curious little thing, habits are. 21 days. That's all the time they take to develop.
Jungkook spent 63 days of summer with you in varying capacities. Enough time to learn a habit three times over.
The one that haunts him most is how it felt to have your hand beneath his on his gear stick. Finds the absence of you when he drives unbearable. Knows he's got no one to blame but himself; not just for creating distance, but also for minimising it in the first place.
He's the one who offered you a lift. He's the one who messaged you on your days off to see if you fancied going for a drive. He's the one who didn't turn the AC on just to get you shaking your jacket off your shoulders.
And he's the one that drove you out to the coast one evening for no other reason than wanting to hear the waves. He's the one who opened up to you about his family. He's the one that made things more than what they were.
Had walked along the shore with you, too scared to hold your hand beneath the lunar light. Opted for playful banter instead, nudging you into the lapping waves.
But the waves got bigger, and Jungkook's unbridled desire to have you close did just the same. Like always, he took things too far. Drenched in sea water, you'd laughed with him for the entire ride home.
Invited him in. Said, "The salt will ruin your clothes. We should wash them."
"Hand wash only," he'd said, pinging his damp t-shirt against his chest. It stuck to him in such a way you learned all of his edges before you ever saw him naked—not like there was much time between these two instances. Ended up in your shower with him, clothes beneath your feet, the excuse of hand washing disregarded the second he had you naked.
You learned three things about Jungkook in that shower.
The first is that he giggles. Lips on yours, hands clutching your jaw, whenever the water was a little too intrusive, he'd separate with a laugh. Would kiss you again, a smile still on his face. Would pretend as if he wasn't giggling.
But he was, and it was lovely.
The second was that he's the type to lean his head forward, not tip it back. With his hands pressed to the shower tiles behind you as your fingers wrapped around his thick shaft, he let his head dip to his chest. Gave him ample opportunity to press kisses to the top of your head—or at least it did until you got to your knees and started taking his hard cock in your mouth.
"Shit," he had husked. Whined. Praised. "Fuck. You're so fuckin' good at that."
It was around then that you became aware he was a head pusher, too.
Almost as if he was saving the best until last, the third thing you learned was how he likes to cum; in your sheets, cock buried in your pussy, your hands clasped above your head. Missionary, 'cause he likes to kiss you through it. In your bed, 'cause he likes losing himself in everything you are. Prefers finishing inside you, but you refuse to fuck him without a condom so he never gets exactly what he wants. It's close enough, though.
Spent weeks—months—laying unfair claim to your body, and now he can't bring himself to look in your direction. It infuriates you.
But more than anything else, it embarrasses you.
Even your reflection laughs at you. Cackles 'told you so' every time you look in the mirror.
You always wondered why you never heard much about Jungkook's hook ups around campus. Everyone knows about Jimin and how his cock has been perpetually wet since the first day of freshers week, but there's always been a secrecy when it comes to Jungkook.
It's something you've teased him about; in your sheets, bodies clammy, his heart beating so fast in his chest you'd been forgiven for thinking he'd just run a marathon.
"When do I have to sign it?" You had giggled.
"Sign what?" He'd husked, voice all wispy and fucked out.
"The NDA," you'd replied as if it was obvious. "It's been, like, what? A month? Surely it's about time you made sure I kept my mouth shut like all your other girls do?"
On your front, your arms were folded over his chest, and he was gently rearranging the pretty little updo he'd made a mess of. Though he was looking at his hands as he replied, you kept your eyes on his. Studied his sincerity.
"Reason you don't hear about other girls is 'cause there aren't any."
A smile twitched at the corner of your lips, but you didn't let it shine for him.
"Sure."
There was a small jerk to his torso as a breathy smirk formed on his face.
"You think I can't be trusted?"
"I think it's foolish to trust any man."
His deep, dark eyes sank down to focus on yours. Offered you all the sincerity you'd be searching for, and more.
"That's all I am, huh?" He'd challenged you. "Just another one of your men?"
"One of the many," you'd teased just to rile him up a little.
"Ah," he'd played along. "So that's why I always have to wear a condom?"
With a saccharine smirk on your lips, you'd gotten back in position, legs straddled over his hips. Had kissed him. Whispered, "No. That's just because I know it annoys you."
"You annoy me all the time," he'd mumbled into your lips, hands gripping your waist to get you grinding against his still sensitive cock. Barely fifteen minutes since he'd last finished, there was no way he was ready to go again.
"Hm?" You'd hummed against his kisses, then began to work your way down his neck in a way that always got him a little moany. "If I'm so annoying, why are you getting hard again, baby?"
"You can be annoying and hot," he told you as he desperately tried to not let his insatiable need for you show.
"Is that how you like your girls?" You'd ribbed once more, just to piss him off a little. It was never serious. Never something you would actually fret over.
Perhaps you should have done, but then he told you with a little too much candour, "No. It's how I like my girl. Singular."
Loose lips sink ships, and Jungkook was one iceberg away from greeting the ocean floor. Closing his lips back down on yours, he was making sure you were just as insatiable for him as he was for you. He didn't cum again that evening, even if you did more times than you cared to count.
A greedy lover, is Jeon Jungkook. Edacious.
And so you understand, now, why the girls he gets entangled with stay silent; how the hoaxes he plays leave them utterly hysterical. They're subject to silence, because who would possibly believe all those sweet little lies he tells? How mad would they be considered if they tried to convince anyone he has a heart?
His brazen lack of humanity is proven when he comes to pay for the table. Any of them could have done it. Yet he elects to stand in front of your till and wait for you to serve him.
Have you not served him enough?
You refuse to utter a single word in his direction. Don't look at him, don't give him any satisfaction. He can read it for himself, he can pay, and he can fuck off.
"Keep the change," he mumbles tossing down the bills—but like fuck are you gonna keep anything he gives you.
He begins to walk away, a little shrunken in his stature.
"Excuse me, sir."
Stopping dead in his tracks, Jungkook is perplexed to hear you address him so coldly.
"Your change," you say, holding a closed hand out for him to hold his own hand beneath. He doesn't want to cause a scene. Obliges. Is surprised when notes, not coins, fall into his palm.
More specifically, notes folded into the shape of flowers. His handiwork, he's certain. Was something he used to do in the early hours of your late night diner shifts. If he said something a little mean, or bickered with you a little too hard, he'd fold his notes up like posies and give them to you as a remedy.
Never used those notes to buy you real flowers, mind you.
Back when things were still easy, you pulled him up on it. Told him that you'd be far easier to seduce with a little wooing. He'd told you that you were easy to seduce regardless.
You didn't speak to him for the rest of your shift.
Ended it with fourteen folded bills in the shape of a bouquet, and when the backseat windows of his car had a thick veil of condensation coating them that same evening, he'd drawn you flowers on them.
"No point in flowers," he'd told you. "They just wither up and die."
Which is funny, 'cause it kinda looks like Jungkook is doing that very same thing right in this moment. He goes to speak, but nothing comes out.
Disappointing, you think, then realise of course he is. Has done nothing but disappoint you.
You smile. Jungkook looks like he wants to cry. Good.
"Don't let the door hit you on the way out."
21 repetitions. That's how many times it takes to form a habit. You know this.
You also know that 90 days of this repetition will form a habit to last a lifetime.
As you hook up your apron, and free your hair of the ribbon that had been tightly wrapped around your ponytail, you know these are 'lifetime' habits. Apron, then ponytail. Always.
But when you say goodbye to Maria, and ask if she'll be at home this evening, you find yourself leaning into a recently formed habit. It's not anything particularly noteworthy. Not something anyone would notice.
Well, not anyone who matters. You don't think Jungkook counts as someone who matters, anymore.
But he'd noticed; how you'd started glancing across to his parking spot whenever you clocked out. Had teased you for it. Asked you if it was the highlight of your day, seeing him there, as if it wasn't the highlight of his.
You should have known the playful banter when he told you not to get used to it wasn't really banter at all.
Yet here you are, glancing across to his parking spot only to see it empty.
It's not even like it's his spot. Whenever he's with his friends, they walk. Live right on campus, so don't need to drive, and if they do, they'll park right by the doors.
In the height of summer, when the lot was empty and Jungkook wasn't driving for his sake but for yours, he liked to park in the far corner. Said dumb shit about not wanting any weirdos scratching it. Whined and moaned whenever someone performed the very human act of parking next to the only other car in an empty parking lot.
"So many spaces!" He'd blather on. Would speak with his hands. Get deliberately more animated, 'cause it always made you laugh. "And they choose here?!"
The memories make you smile, until the yellow headlights of another car flood into the parking lot. They reveal what's right in front of you; a crowd of cars and not a single one of them you care for.
It's not like you cared for Jungkook, either. Was just something to pass the time when the streets were quiet and his head was loud.
In turn, you gave him quiet, and he made your summer feel loud.
But the leaves are turning brown and the water in the roadside puddles is becoming stale. The seasons have changed and so has the nature of your interactions. It's fine. You don't care. Really. Couldn't think of anyone you'd want to hang around less. Would rather die than associate with The Untouchables.
You never needed a lift, not really. Especially not when it always took you an hour to get home 'cause Jungkook just wanted to keep on driving.
Grumbling to yourself just to try and divert your mind from thoughts of him, your heart almost skips a beat when your phone vibrates in your pocket. For a second, you wonder if it could be him.
Where you at? It could read. I'm here.
Or maybe, I miss you.
I can't sleep without you.
This is so stupid. Can I come over?
It won't say of those things and you damn well know it.
Your text thread is dormant. The last message is from you, two weeks prior.
You: you not coming in tonight?
You: you'll be pleased to know my fairy godmother turned a pumpkin into a carriage to make sure i got home safe x
You: ... at least let me know if ur alive?
Rolling your eyes at how mortifying your desperation feels, the scowl that settles into your expression is comical. It's like you're fighting with the wind that's threading itself through your hair.
Pulling your phone out, the scowl only intensifies.
Jackass Wang: party tonight
You: so????
One thing about Jackson is that he's not gonna leave anyone on read, especially when he's trying to drum up attendees for his parties.
Jackass Wang: so i haven't seen you around for a while, montgomery
"Fuckin' Montgomery," you mutter at the nickname.
It's the one that all of Jungkook's friends seem to refer to you as, as if you don't have a personality outside of your job.
Still, at least Jackson is a little bit inventive with it. Calls you Monts. Monty, Monstera Plant, Monte Carlo, and god knows what else. If it starts with 'Mon,' he's found a way to end it with a cheeky smirk and smug anticipatory look in your direction, as he awaits your reaction.
You: i like it better when i don't see you x
Jackass Wang: you know that isn't true. loverboy will be there. come with him. or don't. i don't care. you can bring your little friends with you.
You: they'd rather die :) x
Jackass Wang: y'know, you're replying an awful lot for a girl who's not interested ¯\_(ツ)_/¯
You: you just can't take no for an answer
Jackass Wang: yes i can - but you haven't said no yet. c'mon. loverboy has been moping around all week. i can't be arsed with his mardy ass energy all evening.
You: so don't invite him???? i don't see why it's my problem?????
The fact that you don't need clarification of who Jackson means is proof enough that perhaps Jackson's onto something.
Jackass Wang: conservatory any time after 9. be there or be square montgomery. or don't be. i'm sure loverboy can get his dick wet without you, but it's easier for everyone if he doesn't.
You: charming x
Jackass Wang: it's why the ladies love me.
You: all of them except this one, apparently. have a nice party. stay away from the drugs.
Jackass Wang: can't be tamed, monte carlo. nor can loverboy. come keep him company.
The block button towards the top of your message thread looks incredibly tempting. Just a single click and you'll never have to deal with Jackson Wang and his dumb parties ever again.
Part of you can't believe you've ever been associated with them, as it is.
Summer defied the conventions of the life you've built for yourself. You weren't the person you thought you were.
Kicking off your shoes when you arrive home, the door slams shut behind you. A gentle voice calls through to check if it's you.
"Maria's still working," you say as you walk into the kitchen, tossing your bag down on the floor and your phone on the counter.
Taehyung, your best friend since your first week at college, is cooking himself dinner, but offers you a spoon of the tomato sauce he's making. Humming as you taste it, you're amazed by how he manages to make even the simplest thing delicious.
"S'good. What is that? Cumin?"
Nodding, he smiles. "A little paprika, too. You want some?"
His hair is dishevelled, blonde and sunkissed from the sweltering summer skies. He always looks great with a tan; radiant and full of youth.
Shaking your head, you really don't have an appetite. "Think I'm gonna have an early night."
He's about to reply when your phone buzzes. Both of you glance down. Your skin feels red hot, and when Taehyung almost chokes on the spoonful of sauce he's just tried, he's all sorts of confused.
"Why the fuck is Jackson Wang messaging you?"
"Hmm?" You hum as if you have no idea what he's talking about. Realise from the look on his face that he doesn't buy it for a second. "Oh! That Jackson Wang. Think he sent a text to his entire contact list. Something about a party."
"No," Taehyung asserts. "Absolutely not. You cannot bullshit out of this one."
"It's not bullshit," you whine as you pretend to look in the fridge for something to drink. Settle on a beer left by one of Taehyung's friends at a party held last semester. It wasn't quite a Jackson Wang level party, but nothing ever is. "He's just trying to drum up numbers for his stupid party tonight."
Taehyung is many things, but stupid he is not. Though he's blonde (thanks to a bottle of bleach and a few too many jack and cokes), he bends all the stereotypes. His tuition is covered by a scholarship for academic excellence.
"Don't give me that bull."
"It's not bull!"
"So you're telling me, out of everyone at our college, the Jackson Wang is texting you to make up numbers for his party?"
"Yes!" you exclaim, partially a little offended at it being such an unfathomable idea. "And he said you can come too, so maybe you're the one he's really after!"
His expression is flat. You are paper thin.
He's known you long enough to know when you're giving him half-truths.
He also knows you spent the summer alone in this house, and that there's a new toothbrush in the bathroom next to yours.
"You're hooking up with him, aren't you?"
"No!"
Out of everyone to be accused of sleeping with, Jackson Wang is, like, the worst of the worst. He's handsome, sure, but he's also slept with pretty much every girl on campus. Is a teenage boy in a grown adult's body. You'd rather not fornicate with a guy who still finds 'your mum' jokes funny.
Taehyung gasps at your immediate denial. "You are!"
"I'm not!"
"All that talk about saving it for someone special, and you mean to tell me you went and lost it to Jackson fuckin' Wang?!"
Everything about this conversation is making you want to punch yourself in the face. The topic of sex, and just why you've never gotten around to it, has dominated many conversations around this dining table. If you have to discuss it again, you might move out.
"Oh my God," you whine, throwing your head back. "We are not having this conversation."
"Yes, we are."
"No, we're not, because I didn't lose my virginity to Jackson Wang!" You stress. The more you think about it, the more offended you are.
"To Jackson Wang," Taehyung echoes, as he begins to join invisible dots. "But you did lose it to someone."
"No," you insist, but Taehyung refuses to buy it. Knows you too damn well.
He always thought he'd know when you lost it. That it'd be a boy you'd been dating. Committed to. Someone good. Someone worthy. Not someone you keep in the shadows.
"There's something you're not telling me," he frowns. "What the fuck happened this summer?"
With a sigh so deep it's a miracle you're still breathing, you relent. Never signed one of those NDA's you're convinced Jungkook must hand out like candy, as if he's some sort of celebrity and not just some college reprobate.
"Jungkook," you feebly admit. Take a sip on your beer. Don't look at Taheyung, 'cause you're afraid to see his reaction. "Wasn't Jackson. Was Jungkook."
You tell Taehyung everything. How Jungkook never knew you were a virgin. How he still doesn't. How you blame yourself for your hurt, but him for not getting you any band aids to help deal with it; for not kissing you better when he was the one to cause you such hurt in the first place.
As you recite you memories, you play a game against yourself: take a sip every time you want to cry.
By the time you've told Taehyung the nitty-gritty truth, the bottle of wine that had been in the fridge is finished, as well as your beer.
"I can't believe this," Taehyung says for what feels like the billionth time.
There's a certain shame that comes with Taehyung's confusion.
Embarrassment, like the way Jungkook would cringe at himself whenever he stumbled on his words, or the way you'd covered your reddening cheeks with your hands when he teased you for looking at him in the way you did.
Remorse of time wasted before him, and time wasted with him.
Regret of the things you did and the things he didn't.
It's all very confusing. Exhausting. If you were to really think about it, you'd spend a week in bed with a box of tissues. Would ask Taehyung why he didn't warn you that a heart could feel this horrid.
But he did, and you damn well know it.
Shrugging, you reach for the bottle and split the final few glugs between your glasses.
"We were just bored," you play it off. "Had nothing better to do. No one better to do."
But Taehyung shakes his head. "You don't have to do that, yanno. Pretend like it didn't matter. It's okay that it did. Even if he is a prick, and even if he's no better than the rest of them. It's okay that it hurts."
You're silent when he says this.
Despite your teasing, you never really thought Jungkook was much of a player.
But his friends are back now, and you've been relegated to the sidelines. Doesn't matter if he spent weeks—months—playing in no field but yours. Greener pastures have presumably sprouted. Your turf is wrecked from his carelessness, and he's left you to heal yourself while he goes and wrecks another.
Whoever he was pretending to be in the summer isn't who he is now that his friends are back—but when they're laughing and joking in the basement of the Conservatory that evening, Jungkook knows which version of himself he prefers.
"You need to get laid," Jimin tells Jungkook with a laugh. "Never seen a man look so bloody miserable at a party."
Of all the things Jungkook needs, getting laid is not one of them. In fact, he thinks it would be a very sensible idea if he never got laid again. Sex is messy. People get all emotional over it.
Or more so, he gets all emotional over it.
Had never been the type to, before. Always thought it was something that just happened to other people. Not to him.
He pushes the thoughts aside. Feels a little sick. Shrugs off Jimin's remark.
"If I wanted to get laid, I would get laid."
"So why don't you? Will do us all a favour. Claudia's been—"
"I couldn't give a fuck," Jungkook interrupts Jimin. "I'm not interested."
He never has been. Wants nothing to do with this university, and the men that run it, and so would never date one of their daughters.
They're all corrupt. Every last one of them. All cheat on their wives. All throw their families under the bus for their own selfish exploits. His own father's affair has proven this to him.
Jungkook pities his friends. Just because their parents haven't fucked up yet, doesn't mean they won't.
"Oi, Loverboy," Jackson calls from across the room, breaking the tension only to replace it with a headache for Jungkook. "Where's your little girlfriend? I told her to come."
"Who?" Jimin chirps.
Jungkook grates his jaw. Is deadly serious when he says, "Leave it, Jackson."
"Trouble in paradise for our lovebirds, huh?"
"I said leave it."
"Who the fuck is he talking about?" Jimin continues to ask, incredibly curious about this turn of events. Leave town for a couple of months, he thinks, and everything changes.
"No one."
"That one from the diner," Jackson just continues fuckin' talking. Jungkook wants to scream. "The one with a stick up her ass—"
"Jackson, cut it out," Jungkook snaps. "She's no one. Just fuckin' leave it."
"You ashamed, huh, Loverboy?" Jackson berates him a little bit. He isn't trying to be a dick, but he thinks Jungkook is acting like a tool. Jackson is no saint, but at least he doesn't ever pretend to be something he's not. "Poor girl. Wear her like your favourite pair of shoes all summer and then throw her to the trash when your friends come back? I thought better of you. So did she, probably. Shame."
Of all the people Jungkook ever expected to receive lessons in morality from, Jackson Wang was not the one. He parades himself around the Conservatory like Hugh Hefner reincarnated, his class attributed to money and not behaviours.
"The fuck have you been doing this summer, Kook?" Jimin laughs, utterly dumbfounded by his reactions.
They've all had their fair share of less than conventional lovers. If Jungkook has been fucking around with a girl from the Diner, then so what? Who cares?
"Nothing," Jungkook snaps.
It's not that he's ashamed.
It's that you're separate.
When he's with you, all of this—the bullshit of college life and calamity of his family falling apart—dissolves into nothingness. He doesn't have to think. Finds himself at ease.
If you were to ever become a part of his life—his real one, not the one he got so used to living in with you over the summer—then it'd all change.
He doesn't want that.
He wants you to be a safe haven.
A refuge point can't be in the midst of a fire, though. He has to keep you away. At arms length.
But god damn, he wishes you would come and put out his fire. He's struggling. Finds existing without you so fucking hard. Doesn't know at which point he became so dependent, but knows his oxygen is running low.
He's suffocating. Isn't sure how much longer he can keep this up.
"Yeah, sure seems like nothing," Jimin smirks with a shake of his head as Jungkook storms off to get some much needed air. "Oi, Jackson, what was that all about?"
With a shrug, and yet another girl on his arm, Jackson grins. Puts on a pathetic little voice to mimic Jungkook's tantrum. "Fink baby boy has a wittle cwush."
"Girl from the diner?" Jimin implores, still smirking at Jackson's dumb humour. "Which one?"
"You really have to ask?"
For all of his mystery, Jungkook has never been a man of subtleties. His eyes give him away.
They always have done.
When he was looking at the menu board earlier that day? It was obvious.
Before college broke up for summer, and how Jungkook would always cast his eyes down to his hands whenever you, specifically, came to take their order? It was obvious.
How Jungkook would always make sure he was on the side of the booth that gave him ample opportunity to steal glances of you? It was so fucking obvious.
Sometimes he'd laugh at the slightly sarcastic remarks you gave Claudia whenever she would ask irritating questions about the menu.
When they were deciding where to eat, Jungkook would suggest the Montgomery's Diner, always.
So, no, Jimin doesn't really have to ask.
"Stupid prick," he sighs, sipping on his beer. Loves Jungkook to absolute death, but will never understand him. Figures that maybe you do. Worries that Jungkook is about to wreck it all. He calls after Jackson, "She here tonight?"
"Invited her," he calls back. "But she's got an attitude problem to rival his. Fuck knows if she's around. You'll feel her ice before you see her."
Which is funny, because the lingering summer heat sticks to your skin as you nervously meander up a driveway you know all too well.
The Conservatory is decidedly not a conservatory.
It's a complex. A maze of buildings, and greenhouses, and fuck knows what else. You've no interest in gardening, but if excelling at it meant living somewhere like this, maybe you'd consider taking it up as a hobby.
The buildings are mostly redbrick, with large windows, and even larger doors. It's the kind of place you'd imagine a Duke of some far away land prancing about in. Playing croquet, or secretly courting a lowly village girl that his parents will never approve of.
The irony isn't lost on you.
"Wait, how do I look?" Taehyung asks for what feels like the hundredth time. "Not too dressy?"
"You're wearing a waistcoat," you reply, face twisted in affectionate condemnation. He looks great, but he also does look far too dressy. It's his 'look', though, and one that'll get him attention, both good and bad.
If Kim Taehyung walked around with the arrogance his handsome face warranted him with, he'd be the heartthrob of the campus. You think even Claudia would want a slice of him—and given his distaste for the elite yet pining desire to be on their level, it'd be quite the complex pairing.
All of the other men here are in t-shirts, but Taehyung has never been like other men. It's part of the reason you like him so much.
One thing, however, you don't like about Taehyung is his domineering need to 'fix' things. It comes from a place of love, and he only ever does it because he cares, but it's not always in your best interest.
When he told you to go and get changed out of your work uniform, you thought he was planning on taking you to a bar. That you'd be drowning your sorrows over wine you can't afford.
You would never agree to go to the Conservatory. Not now.
Which is why he didn't tell you of his plan.
Instead, he ordered a cab and didn't give you the chance to protest. You were already halfway there by the time you realised.
"Why don't we just go home?" You whine, tugging on his arm as you stand by the gate that leads through the gardens—the same ones you used to traipse around in with Jungkook. "We don't need to be here."
"Uh-uh," he shakes his head, firmly standing his ground. "I've avoided this place for two years, and the second my back is turned it becomes your new home. The least you could do is invite me round for dinner."
"It's not my new home—"
"MONTGOMERY!"
The voice of Jackson Wang yelling across the front lawn makes you want to shrivel up and die. Sink down into the ground. You'd make great compost for the botanists.
"Y'know, you and Loverboy really need to stop lying so much," he says with an incredibly intoxicated grin as he lumbers towards you. You'll never admit it, but part of you is pleased to see him. "First you saying you weren't coming, then him telling everyone nothing happened between you. Both as bad as one another."
Nothing happened between you.
It doesn't surprise you, but it does sting. And it also confuses you. Why on earth would you be a topic of conversation? The people here know you as Montgomery. The girl from the diner. You're nothing but a background character to them.
"What did he say?" You ask, disregarding everything else, not even bothering to introduce Taehyung. He's finding all of this incredibly bewildering.
"Oh, Jimin was grilling him," Jackson waves his hands around, disregarding it. "Kept saying you were no one. Refused to admit that he'd practically tied his laces with yours for the whole summer. Don't you worry, though, Monte Carlo. I had your back. Set the record straight."
Jackson Wang having your back isn't something you ever expected to happen.
Jeon Jungkook's absolute denial of your clandestine affaire de cœur is, disappointingly, something you expected.
It doesn't mean that it comes without hurt. If anything, it's far more visceral, for you only have yourself to blame. These wounds are self-inflicted, even if they're carved with a knife Jungkook crafted out of silly affirmations he never should have made.
"Where is he?" You ask, cold in your tone.
Jackson shrugs. "Try the basement. S'where I last saw him."
As Jackson saunters off to find another poor partygoer to mildly offend, you're left with a bad taste in your mouth. You've been irritated since you saw Jungkook earlier that day.
How he can just show up at the diner and act like he doesn't even know you, let alone knows what it's like to wake up next to you, is beyond insulting.
"C'mon," Taehyung urges you along. "I need a drink, and you could use three."
Conversely, you think you need an entire bottle.
A bottle of what, you don't care. Just something strong. Anything other than the shitty, overpriced whisky Jungkook always insisted on drinking.
"Fine. But we're not going to the basement."
It's perplexing to walk the halls of the Conservatory without Jungkook; to pass by strangers who have no idea who you are, but who know and admire him as if he's some sort of Hollywood celebrity.
They don't know him like you do. Don't know what it feels like to have his hand around their throat, or his fingers gently intertwined with theirs. They've never heard him laugh like you have.
And yet when you're a few drinks deep, and on the verge of calling a cab to go home, you hear that laugh again and wonder how he can bear to be happy right now.
Glancing up, his face is unreadable. The lights are dim, and the shadows obscure the painful furrowing of his brows. He looks just the same as he did back in the diner earlier that day. Perplexed. In pain. Somehow perfectly fine, too.
The group he's in is small. Some of them you know, some of them you don't.
Claudia sits across from him on the lap of some other guy, yet she doesn't take her eyes off Jungkook. She laughs a little harder at his jokes. Directs questions to him. Flirts with other people in front of him to no avail.
Not even now, after summer when her skin is sunkissed and her radiance is rejuvenated, can she keep his attention.
In fact, none of them can once he spots you from across the room. The big lights are off, fairy lights strung up, and a sunset lamp pours a clementine hue over you.
Summer becomes you, he thinks—adores—from afar.
The year is a body, and you're eternally condemned to its heart. That's where he'll keep you. Where you belong.
Had it been spring—the brain of the year—when he'd been hauled up in that diner, he never would have let things get as far as they did.
Had it been winter—the cunt of the year, for lack of a better term—he would have let it get that far, and he wouldn't have felt bad about it, either.
But Autumn is drawing close. The gut. The time to trust his intuition, and he damn well knows it.
A hand wraps itself around your wrist, dragging you away from his car crash eyes. Jungkook slips into the dull shadows of the room, right where he belongs. Was foolish of you to ever think otherwise.
"Do you mind?" you snap, but let yourself be dragged away regardless. Part of you hopes it'll make Jungkook do something. You're not sure what. Just something.
The man who is leading you astray is familiar. Recognisable. Park Jimin.
Though he's not aggressive, he definitely isn't gentle as he leads you out to the gardens. Lets go of your wrist by an overgrown shrub just beyond the benches that are made for drunken DMC's. He isn't after one of them. Wants the facts.
"Cut the bullshit," he says.
"No hello?" You chirp. "Nice to see you? Or better yet, an introduction?"
"You know who I am," Jimin tells you, expression flat. You hate that the arrogant fucker is right. "But I know fuck all about you, and apparently you're the reason Jungkook is walking around like death warmed up. So cut the bull. What happened?"
Frankly it's none of Jimin's business. Even if he's done you wrong, Jungkook trusted you. You're not gonna throw that back in his face and air his dirty laundry—especially not considering that Jimin is Jungkook's friend. If Jungkook wanted him to know, he'd have told him.
"Nothing," you tell him. "Barely even know him."
Jimin sighs. Jackson was right. There's a reason why you and Jungkook got along so well. Are both insufferable.
Glancing behind you, Jimin raises his brows.
You turn to face his line of vision, and fail to hide your surprise when you see Jungkook by the back door. Like a deer in headlights, he's frozen in place, his darling bambi eyes so startled he almost looks scared.
"So if you barely know him," Jimin continues as you and Jungkook stare one another out. "Why the fuck is he looking at you like he's seen a ghost?"
It takes a second or so, but you manage to pull your gaze away. Turn back to face Jimin. Shrug. Play dumb.
"Mistaken identity."
"Oh, I get it," Jimin smirks, knowing you aren't gonna give him an easy way out. Needs to bamboozle answers out of you. "You both went to the same bullshitting classes over summer? Is that it?"
You're surprised to find yourself smiling. Surprised that you find humour in Jimin's words. Surprised that you aren't rolling your eyes.
He's always been the Untouchable that has annoyed you the most. Is too loud. Laughs at the most obnoxious things.
"Top of the class," you reply because it somehow feels okay to joke with him. Perhaps spending so much time with Jungkook has lowered you Park Jimin-related intolerance. Not cured it, by any means, but definitely made it easier to manage.
"Academic rivals," Jimin supposes, realising that maybe there's a little more to you than he's ever given you credit for. "That's pretty hot."
"He seemed to think so," you lament, knowing that you're revealing a far more truthful rendition of your time spent with Jungkook. Or at least, admitting that time was spent together.
With a sigh, you walk a little further into the garden. Cross your arms. Look back over your shoulder to the door, only to find Jungkook is gone. It shouldn't upset you like it does, but you find your lips pressing together in a small pout.
"Look," Jimin says, exhaling a breath so deep you're sure his lungs must be empty. He comes to stand beside you, looking across the vast expanse of the gardens. "I'm not asking for your life story. If you don't give a shit about Kook, then that's fine, I'll leave you alone. But he's my best friend, and I've never seen him like this."
Glancing at Jimin, there's a taut discomfort on your face. Guilt, almost—but you've not done anything wrong. It's on him. He's the one who chose for things to be this way.
"I give a shit," you quietly admit as you look back out towards the garden, then sigh out a pitiful laugh. "You know him. You know what he's like. Of course I give a shit."
Quite honestly you think it's impossible to not fall for Jungkook. He's everything you're hardwired to appreciate: hardworking, charming, incredibly funny. You lost count of how many nights dissolved into laughter with him. Had never known your cheeks to hurt so much.
He was gentle, too. Stroked his thumbs against your cheeks just as often as he made them ache.
It's your heart that's aching now, and he's not around to soothe your woes.
Back inside, Jungkook feels so viscerally unwell that he thinks he might be sick. Or maybe he's actually dying. One of the two.
This is everything he didn't want. You were supposed to be separate. Supposed to be a sanctuary away from this all.
You're in the thick of it, now. Jimin is grilling you, and Jungkook doesn't know what to do. It's too much. All of it. The party, the people, the fact that you look at him with ice in your eyes when he knows damn well they used to harbour the warmest of fires.
Beelining for the basement, he kind of hopes the ground will swallow him up. Stop him from making the bad decisions he seems to find so god damn irresistible.
As he yanks open the small fridge at the back of the basement, Jungkook doesn't care what he drinks. Just needs something to help soothe his fragile mine; to make him feel better, 'cause lord knows you won't.
Reaching for a beer, he doesn't ask around to see if it belongs to anyone. Finders keepers. He's an Untouchable. This place is basically his by birthright. No one is gonna argue against him.
But Kim Taehyung isn't just anyone.
"So, when you apologise for being a gargantuan pillock, are you planning on also trying to win her over? Or will you just clean your conscience and wipe yourself clean of her, too?"
Jungkook's jaw tenses as his teeth grit together. "Don't know what you're on about."
"Had a girl in tears at my dinner table earlier tonight," Taehyung exaggerates. Just wants Jungkook to feel as awful as he knows you do. "Your friends might not give a shit about your well-being, but I give a shit about mine."
And for some reason, this irks Jungkook. He gives a shit about you. Cares so much he's been torturing himself by staying away. Thinks it's better for you both.
If it truly was, neither of you would be feeling so gut-wrenchingly awful.
He knows you're angry. You've made that perfectly clear.
But he also knows you do cry when you're frustrated. Was a lesson learned when you were stressed over the diner roof leaking one night during the monsoons when no one else was in to help you fix it.
It was the first night he offered you a lift home. Had taken pity on you. Had also liaised with the college maintenance guy to check it out the next day, even if the diner wasn't technically part of campus.
Because Jungkook does give a shit about your well-being, and he refutes the claim that he doesn't.
"So what? You here to tell me to stay away?" Jungkook scoffs as he prizes off the cap of the bottle. Swigs down a sip. Then another, 'cause he's not wankered enough for this.
"I'm here to tell you that you're an asshole," Taehyung asserts. "She didn't deserve to be used by you for the summer and then tossed to the trash just because semesters starting up again."
The roll of Jungkook's eyes is so weighted that it almost feels as if they'll get lodged in the back of his skull. The last time they'd rolled that deep was in bed with you. Back then it was because his body was so divinely out of sync that his muscles couldn't keep up with his actions. This time, pleasure is the furthest thing away from how he's feeling.
"You want me nowhere near her, but the fact I'm staying away makes me an asshole?" Jungkook petulantly laughs. "Can't ever fuckin' win, can I?"
"This isn't about winning or losing," Taehyung argues back. "She trusted you."
Jungkook doesn't understand what that has to do with anything. He's not betrayed your trust. Has kept all your secrets. Tried his best to keep you secret, too.
"What was she to you, huh? Some project? A virginity to get under your belt? Something to pass the time—"
"I don't know who you think I am," Jungkook snaps, fed up being accused of something he's not. "But not once did I ever treat her badly, okay? I—" He cuts himself off. Doesn't know how to articulate himself. "We— Look, you just don't get it. You don't know me. I was nothing but fuckin' nice. Okay? And she was nice. And it was nice. And we..." He trails off. Realises what Taehyung said. "The fuck do you mean, 'virginity to get under your belt'?"
It's about now that Taehyung realises he's said too much.
But every cloud has a silver lining.
"Talk to her," Taehyung shrugs as he begins to walk away. "Not me."
He leaves a scowling Jungkook by the fridge. Heads to the stairs, and once he reaches the top, is yanked away by a small but mighty force.
"You," Jimin asserts. "With me. Now."
The sound of three knocks on the bathroom door serve as a signal: let me in.
A panicked text from Taehyung had practically begged you to go to the basement bathroom and wait for him there. Said there was drama that he needed to talk with you about.
And you believed him, 'cause you're a few too many drinks deep and honestly could do with the respite.
Perched up on the countertop by the sink, you reach over and unhook the latch, giving Taehyung the all clear to come on in. Your legs languidly swing and your shoulders are slumped, this party well and truly over for you.
The only reason you're still here is because you know Taehyung's secretly been revelling in his first Conservatory party. You fear he'll want to come every weekend, now.
"You better not have your cock out," a playful voice you know all too well jokes, as the door pushes open. Eyes closed as he enters, he shuts the door behind him. Asks, "Am I safe to open my eyes?"
You're gonna kill Taehyung.
In the most loving but brutal way, you will absolutelymurder him for setting you up like this.
"Safe," you grimace.
Jungkook doesn't open his eyes. In fact, he presses them even tighter together. Frowns. "Jimin isn't in here, is he?"
"We've been bamboozled," you sigh, and as much as he doesn't want to, Jungkook smiles at your choice of words. Tips his head down, and open his eyes. Is a little too scared to look your way, for fear of being greeted with wrath.
"Their days are numbered," Jungkook assures you, quickly glancing across to try and work out how you're feeling.
"My sentiments exactly."
Jungkook goes to speak, but you both notice a grating metallic noise by the door. Immediately, Jungkook presses his hand down on the door handle, but there's absolutely no give. It won't budge
"Jimin," he calls, voice strong and domineering through the wooden panels. Hastily painted white, they're chipped and tarnished; covered in numbers and Instagram handles, rumours and declarations of love. It's not your first time locked in this bathroom with Jungkook, but the last was of your own choice. Had been you turning the lock with a smile and glint in your eyes that had promised him trouble. "Open it up."
"No can do," Jimins smugly sings from beyond the door. "Sort your shit out."
Hopping off the counter, you nudge in front of Jungkook to pound against the door with an open fist. Though he steps back, it's still the closest you've been with him since he left your bedroom a couple weeks ago. Part of you laments the fact he moved away from you. Part of him does, too.
"Tae," you try calling instead, hand banging on the door, but you're met with the exact same response.
"Figure it out," he calls back, but also adds, "And if he's still an insufferable asshole in five minutes time, I'll come let you out."
Despite everything, you laugh at this. Not so much because of Taehyung's words, but because Jungkook's face screws up like an old newspaper.
"What is it with him and calling me an asshole?" Jungkook mutters under his breath with a shake of his head.
The bathroom is small—just a toilet and sink built into a cabinet. There's a mirror covering the back wall over it, and another cabinet above it that you assume is filled with empty bottles and misplaced lipglosses. There's barely even enough room to breathe, although there is enough room to make Jeon Jungkook come undone in the least dignified of ways. You should know.
You wish you didn't.
"He calls you one because you are one," you assure him.
"Excuse me?"
"What?" You scoff, hopping back up on the counter, your eyes on his 'cause you want to watch the way he gets nasty. Wanna remind yourself of how horrible he can be. Replace the memories of him in this bathroom, 'cause in all reality, they're actually really lovely. Nice, even. Warm. Everything you're trying to convince yourself he's not. "Gone deaf as well as turned into a massive prick?"
"Jesus Christ," he says, rolling his eyes, turning back to face the door. Shakes at the handle. "Give it a rest."
"Why?" You ask as if butter wouldn't melt on your tongue. "Would it make life easier for you if I just wasn't around?"
Jungkook knows what you're doing. Has bickered with you enough times to understand your tricks. This is how you start; put words in his mouth that he can't defend against.
And so he doesn't try.
"Yep," he declares, turning to face you. "Way easier. Can you tell your friend I'm an asshole, still? Get us out of this place?"
You recline in defiance. Perched up on the counter next to the basin, your back is against a mirror. Legs crossed, you're in the same white summer dress you wore to your first party at the Conservatory.
Nearly everyone had been away for the summer.
You had spent the evening tucked up together on an armchair meant for one, him in the seat, you perched on the armrest, feet in his lap.
"People will talk, y'know," you'd assured him, elbows on your knees, chin in your palms.
"So let them talk," he'd smirked. "What's there to say? We're just sitting?"
It was strange for him to be seen with you. Even Jackson has been confused, but let it slide 'cause another partygoer is another partygoer. He cared for numbers, not names.
"Dunno," you had teased. "Might start talking about the way you look at me."
"Yeah?" He'd husked as his long fingers wrapped around your wrist. Gently pulled you closer.
"Yeah," you'd whispered, the sound of the music keeping your conversation obscure. "How long has it been that you've been looking at me for? A minute, already? Only one more until you fall in love, according to science."
"You tryna make me fall in love with you, Montgomery?"
"No," you'd innocently chirped, then pulled back. "Why? Were you?"
He'd shrugged. Sipped on his beer. "Guess we'll never know."
Looking at him now, you find it hard to believe he's the same person as he was back then.
"Why would I do that?" You feign naivety. "You're not an asshole?"
He doesn't reply. Knows you're going somewhere with this. Leans his back against the wall opposite you and folds his arms as if to say, go on.
"Assholes fuck people over," you state. "You'd never do that. And you'd definitely never spend your summer in some poor girls sheets and then pretend like she doesn't exist in front of your friends—"
"There is it," he confirms. Knew it was coming. Didn't expect you to actually try and speak about things like adults. So fuckin' childish.
"Oh?" You chirp. "So you're well aware of the fact you're an asshole? Good. Glad we have that one sorted out."
"Yep," he confirms, mouth drawing to a thin line.
The fact he isn't engaging in the fight infuriates you. Just proves he doesn't care. That he fucked you over for sport.
"I'm an asshole," he says, voice full of snark. "You know it, I know it. There's no reason why you should want to be around me. No reason why you should waste your time."
"It's so funny," you gasp in fake surprise. "I was thinking the exact same thing! Isn't it so great that you came to this conclusion after you already wasted months of my life?"
He's silent, now. Cowardly.
"Y'know I always knew you were an obnoxious prick," you say, voice now soberly quiet. "But I didn't think you were this cruel, Kook."
"You know that's not—"
"What?" You interrupt, voice growing louder with each question. "Not true? You woke up in my bed one morning, and then never spoke to me again. Who does that? What the fuck is wrong with you?"
"I don't know!" He shouts, and it surprises you both.
Raking his hand through his hair as he turns away from you, Jungkook wishes he had an answer. Wishes he could explain himself in a way that made sense to you both. Instead, he harshly swallows down his anger. Turns to face you again. Looks like he might cry.
Feels like it, too.
"Why didn't you tell me, huh?" He quietly asks.
"Tell you wha—"
"That you were a virgin."
Your previous thoughts about murdering Taehyung return. Of all the things he could have divulged to Jungkook, and that's what he chose?!
Men, you internally scoff. All fuckin' idiots.
"Hardly relevant, is it?"
"Of course it is," he snaps, turning back to face you. "If I'd have known—"
"You'd have what? Ghosted me sooner? Made it into a fun little competition?"
"I didn't ghost you."
"Gaslighting, too, now are we?" You scoff. "Hold on, let me go and get my bingo card. Things Jungkook does that are absolutely fucking infuriating. Wanna cross it off the list. It's right next to how fast you drive your car, and how much I hate your stupid fucking alarm tone."
"Well good job you never have to hear it again, isn't it?"
"Why not? 'Cause you are ghosting me?"
"No, because this is fuckin' stupid," he says, yanking on the door handle, on the off chance it will finally budge. It doesn't. "You think I'm the devil reincarnated. You don't want me, so why bother with this? This is done. Us. Whatever the fuck it was. You never trusted me in the first place. Would have told me if you did. So just call your friend, tell him I'm an asshole. We're done."
"Oh, well you're two weeks too late for this conversation, don't you think?" you argue back with a cold laugh. "But has it ever occurred to you that my life doesn't revolve around you? That you aren't the reason I'm here? Jackson invited me."
"Ah, so that's what it is?" Jungkook sarcastically exclaims, your insatiable need to fight finally sinking into his skin. "You were just using me, huh? Getting those V-plates off, so you could be ready for him? Is that why you didn't tell me? Huh?"
The mere thought of hooking up with the college's very own Hugh Hefner makes you wanna gag—but if it'll piss off Jungkook, maybe you'll consider it.
"Why would you care if I let him fuck me?" You ask with such pointed anger Jungkook can't help but feel like you're driving knives into his chest. "Do that thing you like with my tongue? You think he'd like my pussy, huh? Maybe I'd let him fuck me raw."
You never let Jungkook go unprotected. Insisted on it each and every time, and he complied even if he was a little pouty about it after you'd been fucking for a while. The trust was there. You were on the pill. He knew he was clean and had told you as such, but it made no difference.
To even suggest you'd let Jackson fuck you raw is laughable.
With a smirk on his lips, Jungkook edges towards you.
Put his hands on your crossed knees. Waits for you to jerk him away—but you don't. Instead, you watch on with salacious confusion. Say nothing. Not even when he uncrosses them, nor when he spreads them apart.
With a hand either side of your head against the mirror, Jungkook stands between your legs.
Looks down at you.
Is so close you can smell his aftershave.
A month ago, in a position like this, you'd have kissed him.
"Hm?" You cock your head. Repeat your question. "You think he'd like my pussy? How long do you think he'd take to cum? Longer than you, I hope."
Jaw tense, Jungkook swallows down the way he wants to curse you out. Closes his eyes. Lets his head dip further, his forehead now resting against the top of your head.
The contact is minimal, but God, you've missed it. Trapped in position by him, you'd forgotten how lovely it was to lose yourself to Jungkook.
"You're not being fair," he whispers. Whines, even.
"Fair?" You laugh, but it's gentle. Matches his tone. "You can hardly take the high ground on fairness, Jungkook."
He nods. Takes a second, and then pathetically begs: "Don't fuck him. Please."
"Why shouldn't I?"
"You know why," he says. Stands straighter, now. Rakes a hand through his hair. Looks down on you with such pained desperation you almost feel bad. He tries to speak, but struggles with his words again. Takes him a few attempts to get anything out. "I didn't like you because I was fucking you. I fucked you because I liked you. You know that. You know it wasn't...Fuck. You know what it was."
The past tense he speaks in cuts you up inside.
Jungkook shrugs in defeat when he's met with silence. Purses his lips. Eyes on yours, they're glassy. Watery, almost.
Yours are just as bad, because what the fuck are you supposed to say to that? He's the one that cut you out. He did this.
"What did I do?" You ask, voice meagre and pathetic. Your vulnerability is mortifying, and yet you just can't help yourself as a tear streaks down your cheek. "What the fuck did I do that was so wrong, Kook?"
The heat of his hand scalds your skin as his thumb wipes away your tears. After his cold shoulder for the past two weeks, your body doesn't know how to respond. Should you be angry? Hurt? Comforted?
All you know is that you're more confused now than you ever were when you first started hooking up with him.
"Nothing," he quietly promises. Holds your cheeks in his hands. Rests his nose beside yours. Is far too close for a man who's been trying to stay away from you. Is beginning to realise that maybe his self-preservation was thinly veiled self-sabotage instead. "I thought I was doing the right thing, but it's been so fuckin' miserable, and then I didn't know how to fix things, and then it was all such a mess and—"
The words Jungkook is yet to speak are lost in the soft press of your lips against his.
Brows furrowed, Jungkook's grip on your face tightens. Keeps you close, 'cause he feels the pressure of your lips waning but doesn't want you to pull away.
And so you don't. Instead you apply more pressure. Harder. Deeper.
It's not like kissing Jungkook is a new experience. You've done it upwards of a thousand times, now. You know his lips and his tongue, and how it likes to flick against yours; his piercings, and the frequency of his moans that vibrate into your mouth.
Kissing Jungkook is just as easy as it is hard. Easy, in the way he takes not a single considered thought. Hard, in how it becomes your only tangible thought for minutes, hours, days afterwards.
An eternity and a millisecond is lost in the kiss, just like the summer that lasted an age and yet was gone with the wind.
When your lips finally part, there's silence. Forehead resting on yours, Jungkook shakes his head ever so gently. Doesn't know how to articulate his thoughts. How to say sorry, or how to fix his mess.
While his logic was flawed, and his execution careless, his intentions had been good. As much as he had a life to go back to, and friends that wouldn't get it, so did you.
He knows they hate him—isn't ignorant to the roll of Maria's eyes every time they walk into Montgomery's, and has experienced Taehyung's disdain first-hand this evening.
He'd spent his summer getting out of the house to avoid the fall-out of his father's infidelity. Knows how much his family is suffering all because of a man who just couldn't control himself. Was trying to be better. Trying not to wreck both of your lives.
As he stands in the dingy bathroom of a party house, the lingering burn of your lips on his still smouldering, he knows that he wrecked you both regardless.
And so it's up to him to put you back together again.
"I'm sorry," you say as you break the kiss, mortified at how stupid of an impulse it had been. You don't that. Not anymore. A month ago, sure, kissing Jungkook in a dingy bathroom at a party house would have been exciting. Now, it just feels embarrassing. "I shouldn't have—"
His lips are on yours again, stealing your words from you. He doesn't want to hear you apologise. Knows that you don't need to. Also knows that he does need to.
"Don't," he quickly says between kisses. "Please, don't say sorry."
"But I—"
"Shut up," he smiles against your lips, shaking his head ever so slightly. He kisses you again, and this time it's soft. Pretty. Poetic, almost in how it makes you feel. And then he speaks, and you're reminded of just how easy it is to adore him, even when you know you shouldn't. "You know how much I've missed this? God, I've missed you so much. Please don't say sorry. I'm sorry. It's on me. I made a mistake, alright? I fucked up."
He pulls back. Has your cheeks in his hands as he makes sure your eyes are on his. They're dark, now, in the dim light of the bathroom you're in, but they've never been warmer.
"I mean it. I'm so fucking sorry," he whispers. Brows furrowed, lips pouty, he's got the kind of face you're hardwired to trust. To adore. Or maybe, it's just him, in general, that you're inclined to feel this way about. "Okay?"
His large hard hands are still holding your cheeks, as yours wrap around his wrists. With a shake of your head, you shrug. Pout, too.
An apology is appreciated, but it's just words. It's his actions that have been upsetting you. Not his words (or lack thereof).
"We're gonna leave this bathroom and you're gonna pretend like I don't exist again," you tell him.
The frown on his face deepens. "That's not true. And that's not what I was trying to do in the first place, either. I just thought—"
"What? That it was a good idea to kiss me on my doorstep and promise you'd pick me up from work, only to never show? To ignore my texts? To—"
"No," he quietly admits, dropping his head between his shoulders. "I made the wrong calls—but I can make it up to you. I want to make it up to you." He rests his forehead against yours. Quietly begs, "Please."
Slowly, Jungkook nudges his nose up against yours. Waits for permission.
Beyond the door, loud music thuds through the room. It obscures the conversation you've been having, keeping you just as secret as you always have been.
It's not like you told any of your friends, either, and when it came to telling Taehyung, you weren't exactly forthcoming. Perhaps you would have been the one to pretend like he didn't exist, had he not done it first.
"I want you," he husks against your lips.
"You wanna fuck me," you correct him, lips tantalisingly brushing his with every word.
"True," he admits. "But I also wanna send you dumb memes again, and go for drives after work, and wake up in your bed. I wanna go for breakfast, and I still need to cook you my world-famous makguksu. I want to have not been a dick for the past two weeks, but I can't change that. I just wanna be what I once was to you again."
"And what was that?" You encourage.
There was never any label. Realistically, there's no right answer.
Or at least there isn't, until Jungkook just simply says, "Yours."
And what else can you do when confronted by such a pathetic, yearnful admittance from him, except to give into how you're feeling, too?
Frantic in the way your hands are on his body—his arms, his waist, around his throat—there's a neediness to you. One he's missed. One he reciprocates, as his large palms stroke up your spread thighs, then get your legs wrapped around his hips.
The movements of your bodies are so well nurtured by now that you know what comes next; how the bulge in his trousers will press against your covered pussy, and how you'll whine at the contact no matter how minimal.
"Fuck," you whine as his hands slip under the skirt of your dress. It's an old routine at this point. He knows exactly where to go, what to do. His fingers press against the wet fabric of your underwear, just gently enough to make you moan a little harder into his mouth.
"Oh?" He smirks when he realises just how needy you are, his fingers stroking against your slick panties. "Missed me, too?"
"You're an asshole," you tell him with a smile. As his fingers get firmer, you can't help but whine. "You know I have."
He pulls back to look down at your body. Pushes the fabric of your dress out of the way. Curses when he realises the underwear you're wearing. Is his favourite pair. Red and lacy, there's a suspender belt to match it. While you're not wearing it right now, he's got pictures of you in it that belong in a fuckin' museum.
"Did you wanna fuck me tonight, huh?" He mumbles into your lips.
"Not everything is about you," you say with a smile, wrapping your arms around his neck.
Except it is. They're your favourite pair too, simply for how insanely he reacted to seeing you in them. Sure you're not in the full set up, but it was enough to have you feeling ever so confident as you left the house with Taehyung.
As his lips press against yours, his finger hooks beneath your underwear. Tugs them to the side. Gets you exposed for him.
"No?" He husks, as his fingers begin to sink between your soaked folds. "So this isn't about me, huh?"
You shake your head. Lie. "Never been less turned on."
He plays into your little theatrics. Has always enjoyed them.
"So you don't want me to do this?" He asks as his middle finger sinks into your entrance.
"Can't even feel it," you pretend, as if his thick knuckles aren't stroking against you in just the right way.
"No?" He grits. Sinks a second finger inside you. Gets you whining again, nails gripping onto his arms. His fingers slowly pump into you, easing you into the way it feels for him to be inside you.
There's something electric about Jungkook. Sends shivers through your spine. Always knew exactly how to manipulate your pussy into doing whatever he wanted, and now is no different. As you clench around him, he's overcome with satisfaction.
"This is just my fingers," he reminds you. "I don't think you can handle my cock."
Scoffing, you're desperately trying to pretend you aren't melting for him. "Please, I can handle it just fine."
"Sure you can, baby," he teases with so much arrogance you kinda wanna fight him again—but it's also why you like him. He challenges you. Gets your brain in overdrive.
And when he crouches in front of the counter, eyes aligned with your exposed cunt, you think you might actually lose it entirely.
His hands are on your thighs, spreading you further, getting a good look at the mess between your legs. When he sighs, the shallow breath that escapes his lips feels like absolute sin against your wetness.
"Oh, you really haven't been fucked since me, have you?" He teases again. "Look at how fucking keen you are. Been missing my cock, huh?"
"My vibrator's been doing the job just fine," you assure him, but it has him pulling back to cock a brow in your direction. He knows many things about you that other people don't, but he was not aware you owned any sex toys. Finds that his cock only throbs even harder in his pants at this revelation.
"Maybe so," he husks, leaning closer just so he drags his flat tongue up your folds. Has to stop himself from moaning, 'cause the taste of you is somehow even better than his memories. "But it's not better than me."
With a point to prove, and a desperation to reclaim you as his own, Jungkook doesn't entertain chitchat any longer. He dives back in, tongue lapping against your lips as his fingers push back inside you. The way he curls them just right as his tongue flicks against your clit is enough to make anyone lose their head.
Hands tangling in his hair, you find your body responding to him in the way it always does; pathetically, needily, hungrily. There's no dignity to be found.
His tongue works against you like a well trained craft, until his lips latch around your swollen bud and begin to lightly suck on it. When he hums in satisfaction—which he does often—the suction only grows stronger.
Gets you whimpering, "Like that. Fuck. Like that."
The build is just as undignified as you are. Your grip on his hair gets tighter, and the shake of your legs grows stronger. Dragging his tongue up and down your folds, he settles back on your clit. Flicks his pointed tongue against you until he knows you can't take it any longer and begins to suck again. Curves his fingers just right. Strokes you so gently that orgasm pours out of you like liquid gold. Guilds him into the most gorgeous aureate glow.
He doesn't ease. Keeps his lips wrapped around your clit. Makes sure you're spent.
When he finally releases you, he's breathing just as heavily as you are. Gets to his feet, fingers still plugged in your tight pussy. Is pleased to find you're just as insatiable as he is, pulling him in for the messiest of kisses as soon as you can. There's no care given for the fact he's covered in your arousal. You just want that tongue of his in your mouth—and when it is, you find yourself moaning from the withdrawal of his fingers.
Your hands reach to the waistband of his jeans to unhook his button. Get his zipper down. Your hands down the front of his trousers, when his thick cock is restricted by his tight boxer briefs. By the tip of his cock, a small wet patch resides; his desperation for you obvious. Gently rubbing your thumb across the pre-cum, all you can think about is his slit, and how you wanna kitten lick across it.
But it's been two weeks of near-constant pining, and all Jungkook wants is to bury himself inside you.
"Let me fuck you," he begs. "Please, baby."
If the girl who had first seen Jungkook in a shared lecture hall two years ago would have known she'd end up in a shitty bathroom with him begging for her, she'd have laughed. Wouldn't have believed it for a second.
Fresh-faced and so out of your comfort zone, the first few days at university were full of potential. It was before you had wised up to your place in the pecking order; when Jungkook was just a boy in your orientation class.
Skin kissed by European sun, there had been a radiance to him that seemed to captivate just about everyone. You weren't the only girl who had been sneaking glances his way.
You'd thought about him a lot in those first few weeks. Came to learn of his family ties around the same time you befriended Taehyung. Stopped seeing him around campus so much, and rarely ever thought of him.
But on those rare occasions you crossed paths, your gaze would always linger.
As he frees himself of his boxers, trousers suspended midway down his thighs, he gently rubs the tip of his cock between your folds and husks, "Always thought you were so pretty, y'know?"
Looking up at you for just a second, he smirks. Looks back down. Continues to rub himself against you, prepping himself with your slickness.
"Freshers week," he continues. "You never came to any of the parties."
The tip of his cock kisses your entrance, but doesn't penetrate. You stay in limbo just shy of what you both want.
"Had a stupid fuckin' crush on you," he admits. Has never acknowledged it before, but has always known. Kept it hidden. Safe. Secret.
"No, you didn't," you smile. He didn't even give you a second glance. Was always you seeking him out in lecture halls.
"I did," he says with absolute certainty. "You wore that little black sundress on our first day. Had ruffles on the shoulders."
It hangs in your wardrobe, a little out of style but still sweet in the right setting. You know the exact one he's talking about, because he's right. You did wear it on that very first day.
His cock nudges a little deeper. Enough to make you gasp, but not moan. Not yet. Gripping his arms, brows furrowed, you nod. He sinks himself just a little bit further. The feeling is overwhelming; fire on ice.
"Would have fucked you in that lecture hall, if you'd have let me," he smirks.
"You didn't even know my name," you counter, but he cuts your questioning off as he edges a little deeper, still. His hand dips to gently rub languid circles on your clit. He's not pushing himself any further, not yet. Wants to ease into how this feels.
"I did," he admits. "Listened extra hard during the roll call."
"So this has all been some big elaborate scheme to get into my pants, huh?"
"Is it working?" he jokes, leaning over to yank the cabinet above the sink open. A few random bottles and packets clatter into the sink, but he doesn't care.
He's looking on the top shelf, rifling through old boxes, sending more miscellaneous objects to their untimely demise. Spotting what he's after, he's assertive as he knocks the cabinet shut. Passes you the box.
"S'all there is. They alright?"
"Sure," you say, pulling one of the foil packets from the box. You check the date stamped on the front—only to see it's a year out of date. Some protection would be better than none, regardless of the date, but fuck it. You're on the pill. "You haven't fucked anyone else? In the last couple weeks?"
"What?" His brows contort in confusion. "No."
His expression softens, but is still laced with confusion when you toss the box of condoms down into the sink.
"I don't care. I don't want them—"
You're cut off by the way Jungkook clasps your jaw, keeping your eyes locked on his. There's a seriousness to him now; the same demeanour he holds himself with when he was taking photographs. He's intentional. Assertive.
"Promise me," he says with stern certainty. "You want this?"
When he's got you like this—legs spread, body his to claim, your soul to take—it's impossible to do anything but comply. See, things with Jungkook are reciprocal. Your feelings, your tortured misunderstanding of how a relationship could ever work, and his seriousness, now, too.
"I promise," you swear.
As a chaste kiss is pressed to your lips, his hands stroke down your spread thighs, pushing you a little further open for him.
"Can't unfuck me," he softly reminds you. Is taking his time not for the anticipation, but because he's scared. "If you fuck me raw—"
"Then I fuck you raw," you simply repeat, knowing that it's up to you to ease his woes. If anyone should be scared, it's you—yet there's a safety that comes with being with Jungkook. Smirk, then say, "Trust me. I know I can't unfuck you. I've been trying to forget—"
"Ouch," he laughs, nudging his nose up against yours.
"—but you're just..." you tailed off, not wanting to compliment him too highly. He's still in the dog house. "Memorable."
With a sardonic smile that he knows only means trouble, you reach down to grip his incredibly pert ass cheeks. Squeezing, just because you can, you encourage him to push even deeper into you—and he's the one who whines, now.
"God, you're so fuckin' tight," he praises with such pained desperation it almost sounds like he'll cry. He won't. It's just that he can't quite believe that he's raw inside you right now, and that you feel just as good as he always imagined. Better, even.
"Yeah?" You question, as you pull his hips closer, gasping as he finally sinks his full length into you once more. His fingers were thick, but they've got nothing on his cock. Like he's taken all the air from your lungs, your voice is all light and airy. Makes Jungkook even more insane.
"Yeah," he mumbles as he nods into a kiss that is just as feverant as his need to pulse his hips. He doesn't dare do it yet. Is waiting for you. "Feels so fuckin' good."
"So just fuck me," you hungrily moan into his lips.
You're challenging him deliberately, and it works a fucking treat when he pulls back with a grin. He doesn't withdraw himself, but he does pulse his hips ever so slightly. Keeps you plugged. Is just nudging even deeper into you as he keeps a hold on your thighs, keeping them spread nice and wide.
"Say please," he grunts as his pulsing becomes a singular deep thrust.
Your argumentative streak wants to fight.
You'll berate yourself later for the way you whimper, "Please."
His thick cock withdraws just a little to push back into you. He groans. Curses. Builds momentum. Speed.
The sound of his skin slapping against yours as he pounds himself into you is impossible to ignore. Your moans build. Double. Treble. He's grunting too, and then his lips are on your neck. It's a mess, quite frankly.
In the sordid shadows of this bathroom, your bodies become acquainted with an intimacy not yet bridged before. You can pretend to ignore each other in the hallways of your shared lecture buildings, but you'll never be able to ignore the desperation you have for one another. Jungkook was right. You can't unfuck him. And now he's fucking you raw, it only make it even more potent.
Harshly pulling himself out of you, Jungkook almost fuckin' cums on the spot when he realises how soaked he is from your arousal. It's not like it's a new thing, but skin on skin, it's so much more intense. Gasping from the sudden loss of pressure, you're a little unsteady. Lurch forward as if your body could stop him from withdrawing.
Holding the base of his thick shaft, Jungkook spanks against your pussy with his cock. Rubs your slick wetness around with his tip. Hooks his elbows under your thighs. Pulls you closer. Instructs, "Arms around my neck."
Wrapping an arm around your back, the other one tucks under your ass as he lifts you.
He turns. Presses your back to the wall, and lines himself up.
"Legs around me," he tells you, and as soon as you do, his cock pushes up into you again. He keeps you pinned against the wall as he begins to fuck himself into you, his lips pressing wet kisses to the curve of your neck.
The sight in the mirror behind him is lethal; his broad back covered by his shirt, but it doesn't matter. You know what he looks like. Know his muscles, and the valley of his spine, like the back of your own damn hand.
You wanna see it though. Give it a tug. Send him the right message. Get him tearing his shirt off and dropping it to the floor for you. Victory is so damn sweet.
"Kook," you whine as he really begins to get deep. "You're gonna make me cum."
"All over my cock, huh?" He grunts. "Gonna cum on cock, are you?"
His taunting only makes you whimper even more. "I'm so close."
And because he just likes to get you all whiney and needy, Jungkook stops. Puts you down. Gets you facing the mirror as you protest his unfair stealing of an orgasm.
But then he's lining himself up again, getting ready to take you from behind. Spanks your ass ever so quickly.
Sinking into you again, Jungkook curses. "Tighter like this."
"Good?" You pathetically check, and Jungkook can't help but think it's sweet.
"Yeah, babe," he promises, and pretends as if it's completely usual for him to speak to you so tenderly. "Feels so fuckin' good. Missed you so much, gorgeous. You and this tight cunt."
"Romance," you joke through your needy whines. He smirks at this, and delivers a curt little spank to your ass.
"I can be romantic," he assures you, as if you aren't being soundtracked by the sound of your skin slapping together, his thick cock fucking itself into your soaked hole.
His eyes rise from the steady gaze he'd had on your ass to your eyes.
Slowing himself, Jungkook holds his cock inside you without thrusting. Says, "I made that photo you took of us in your room my fuckin' phone wallpaper. I listen to that asmr guy you like before bed, every single fuckin' night. I keep one of your ribbons tied around my gearstick. That romantic enough for you?"
There's an incredibly bashful smile on your pretty face, which contradicts the way in which your pussy is tightening around him in the most lewd of ways. You're giggling when you say, "Shut up and fuck me."
But then he's giggling too, just how you like him to be. Says, "I missed your body, but I missed you more. Stupid."
"You're stupid."
"You're stupider."
"Kook," you laugh, as he's completely forgotten the task at hand. The way that he looks at you, you'd be forgiven for thinking he has. Truthfully, the connection he has with you is so much more than what sex has ever been for him before.
His hips lightly pulse, as he says, "Sorry. Where were we?"
"Think you were gonna make me cum."
"Ah, yeah. That. My bad."
His gentle thrusts begin to build pace once more. The grin on his face drops a little as he begins to concentrate on you. Watching him in the mirror, you're perplexed to be reminded of just how ethereal Jungkook looks when he fucks.
The deep ridge between his brows intensifies, as his mouth hands slack. His cheeks hollow a little, and his eyes remain entirely focused. Dark. Deep. Brooding.
As his hand dips around to gently stroke against your clit, Jungkook is just as taken away by the way you look. He isn't sure what it is that gets his heart so heavy in his chest, but he knows that he wants you to cum. Doesn't give a fuck about himself.
The walls of your cunt begin to tighten around his length as your moans deepen. You whine his name and he encourages a response, but neither of you can really talk. A numbness is washing over you, your balance unsteady.
"I'm gonna..." you begin, but find it impossible to finish.
"I know, baby," he nods all out of breath and desperately fucked out. "Give me what I want. Cum for me."
You trust and keep your eyes on him, but the nudging on his cock against your g-spot and the slow rubbing of your clit is just enough to tip you over.
"Kook," you whimper as your walls begin to tighten around him, but it's fruitless. There's a shake to your legs, and he's the only thing keeping you supported.
"Oh, fuck," he curses from the strength of your pussy around him. He's shaking just as much as you are. "Cream on this cock, baby. Oh, fuck. Yeah.Just like that. You're gonna make me cum, too. Gonna make me cum so fuckin' hard. All in your pussy. You want that, huh?"
It's as you're desperately whining, cumming all around his thick shaft that Jungkook feels his body lose control. There's a tightness to his balls, and a shudder to his sternum, that he hasn't felt since the last time he was in your bedroom. Last time he was in you, more specifically.
"Kook," you whimper his name, and that's when Jungkook really can't hold back.
"Yeah, babe," he rasps, as his hard thrusts become pathetic stutters. "I'm cumming."
The announcement isn't needed, for you swear you can almost feel it as his thick cum begins to fill you. The lack of a condom makes it all the more primal, the way his body shudders indicative of just how much cum he's filling you up with.
His body collapses on yours a little, his clammy torso pressed to your back. The dress you're wearing is barely on properly, and the feeling of his skin against yours is catastrophic. As intimate as sex is, it's this right now, the beat of his heart thrumming against your spine that is the real disaster. How you can ever look him in the eye again is beyond you.
But then his lips are pressing chaste kisses to the curve of your neck, and his hands are squeezing at your hips. He doesn't pull out. Keeps himself warm inside you. Says, "How the fuck am I ever supposed to give you up, huh?"
That's the thing.
He isn't supposed to, and you damn well know it.
Reaching back for some tissue to help you out, Jungkook slowly withdraws. Holds his hand beneath your pussy, then replaces it with tissue. Turns you around and lets you take over.
"Here's a radical idea," you offer, not looking at him as you quickly make sure you're decent. Stay standing with your legs crossed, just in case. "Don't."
Pulling his shirt back over his head, Jungkook presses his back to the wall. There's a distance between you, yes, but you don't really feel it, 'cause it's purely physical.
And it's not like it lasts for very long either, 'cause Jungkook decides he needs to kiss you all over again.
"Alright," he whispers against your lips. "Say we don't. Say I wanna be yours. What the fuck do we do now?"
You shrug. The answers aren't yours to decide. It's up to you both.
"Well, firstly I'm gonna text Tae," you hum. "Tell him you're still an asshole and that I need to be let out immediately."
It's been half an hour.
He came to check on things about ten minutes ago.
The music might be loud, but not loud enough to drown out the way you guys fuck.
Summer had been quiet. In his car, in your empty house, you've never had to keep it down before. Didn't even realise quite how loud you were being.
Which is why Jimin is the one who unlocks the outside bolt with a smirk a few minutes later, Taehyung watching on with a little disgusted grimace a metre or so back.
"Gross," he whisper shouts at you, but then he's smiling, too. Notices how Jungkook touches you—the hand he has on the small of your back, and the way he clasps your hand as you begin to walk ahead of him—and finds it impossible to be mad.
"C'mon," Jimin calls behind himself, leading you up and out of the basement. "We're going to the diner."
"We?" You question, incredibly confused.
"We." He simply says. Doesn't leave it up for debate. Gathers up the rest of the Untouchables (though Claudia is noticeably absent), and tells them the same thing he told you. Drags Taehyung along as well.
Jungkook was scared of integrating you into his life, but there's no other way to do it. Has to rip the band aid off.
As you walk into Montgomery's, hand in hand with the boy who had spent his summer wasting away with you in here, both of you realise that maybe it isn't such a huge deal.
Or at least, you do until Maria clocks you. Eyes darting from you, to Jungkook, and then to your gently clasped hands, she's in a state of absolute shock. Almost drops her tray.
Request: Hi! I really love your writings! If your requests are still open, can you pls write a Jungkook story? Ex-lovers in high school where he broke up with her because he got bored or something like that. Then they met again in university and wants her back again. (Angst but happy ending pls). Thank you!
Description: After a messy breakup with high school heartthrob Jeon Jungkook, you swore off dating once you got into college. Even though it left you lonely, it was easier than being hurt. But one fateful blind date changes everything for you, and you realize that maybe isolation isn’t the answer either.
Word Count: 12.9k
Pairing: Jungkook x (gender neutral) Reader
Tags: Barista!Reader, Graphic Design Student!Jungkook, Non-Idol!Au, Ex-Lovers to Enemies to Lovers (? I guess? Haha)
Genre: Whole lotta angst, fluffy ending
Warnings: None!
A/N: It’s been two weeks since I’ve posted wtf!! But I’m back and less than a week away from the Rose Bowl concert, holy cow. This ask has been in my inbox for MONTHS, so I need to say thank you to the anon who sent it for waiting so long! I really enjoyed this request, so I hope you guys like it too!
Also, if you want to follow me on Twitter please do so! My handle is @/plzpunchmebts. I would post a link, but rumor has it Tumblr killed links and I’m not taking any chances. I’ll be posting concert videos and pics there, so please give it a follow if you’d like to see that!
- Mercury
You were never too keen on blind dates. Everything about them felt…artificial. It wasn’t that you were a romantic, not especially, but you had to admit that being forced on a date by meddlesome friends took some of the magic out of dating. When Sua had mentioned a cute new boy in her class who was too busy studying to date, you had to admit the red flags began waving in your mind. Of course, you could relate. College was taxing and it was difficult to find time to even eat three meals, let alone date. Perhaps if things had cropped up organically, you’d have been more excited. But the forced union was a little cumbersome.
The nerves and the insecurity and the fear, none of it was especially fun. But Sua had been adamant that the two of you would hit it off, and with her eyes round and expectant, her brows raised, and her lips pouted, you really didn’t have any room to deny her. You figured one night of discomfort was better than months of guilt, and even though you figured things wouldn’t work out with this mystery man, you’d humor your friend. After all, making friends in college wasn’t easy.
☾ genre : soulmates au, unrequited love, art student!JK, english student!Y/N, angst, fluff, subtle enemies to lovers
☾ pairing : jeon jungkook x reader
☾ summary : jungkook and you are soulmates. so says the matching crescent moons on both your wrists. however, things are never as easy as they seem, and you are quick to learn that falling in love with someone who does not believe in love is a one-way ticket to heartbreak.
alternatively,
“You still are, you know. Worth it.” You release a shaky breath. “But I was stupid to think that I am too.”
☾ word count: 26.3k (my biggest one yet!)
☾ author’s note: this took forever oh my gosh! i really hope you like it! it’s my first time writing such a big single piece, and trying a different style. thank you so much for your support, always! please let me know what you think ♡
jack abbot doing that thing where he’s shushing you even he’s the reason you’re making all that noise. like he’s got you pinned to the bed on your side, curling his body over you to keep reaching that spot. asking “what’s all the fuss about, hm?” and holding your face with fake concern while railing you to literal pleased tears.
you’re grabbing onto whatever part of him you can, tugging the freckled skin as the thick of him splits you open with rough strokes. unraveling you thrust by thrust.
“j…jack,” is all your voice can bunch out of your damp-with-sweat, bouncing figure. the rest of what you say just spills into loud, melty, fucked-out noises.
“that’s my name, don’t wear it out,” he mumbles, lips against your ear. they peck a quick kiss along the shell before he grins at your loud pants—which is exactly how he wants them… wants you. loud and crying (good tears, of course) and stuffed full of him. you cry out his name again, and he just bucks into you harder. feeling a little light headed himself. “shh, baby, i know. we’ll getcha there.”
DESCRIPTION: After getting dragged to a party to get over your stupid ex, you meet Stan Rosado. It goes well... until said ex suddenly shows up.
WORD COUNT: 3k
WARNINGS: College!AU. Drinking. Partying. Meet cute! First kiss. Slight fake dating. Super cute fluff.
NOTES: Idk if anyone will read this, but PLEASE GANG. LOCK IN ON THE FACULTY. HE'S SO GOOD IN THAT MOVIE.
READ ON AO3! - MASTERLIST
It was her junior year of college, and Y/n did not want to go to this party. But after rotting in her room for the past month, her best friend, Esme, basically forced her to. As they walked down the street, she lingered a bit behind from the rest of their group. It’s not that she wanted to dim their sparkle or make the night all about her… But she was really struggling to try to plaster that smile.
It’d been a month since Shayne dumped her. A whole month! That should be more than enough time for her to be functional again… But the fact that it was her first time properly going out since sat heavily in her stomach. Pregaming to Fiona Apple also probably did not help her mood. Esme had to change the CD player from Sleep to Dream to some sort of R&B artist before she drank and wallowed too much.
Walking toward the apartments just off campus, she crossed her arms over herself. In a little red tank top and matching skirt, she was defenseless against the night chill. Her kitten heels clicked against the sidewalk. Esme noticed her absence and turned around. She reached her hand out.
“Don’t be sad. You look so incredibly hot.” Esme reassured.
She chuckled, “I need a cig.”
“No. Stop it. You’re sobering up from the pre-game, and we need to get you a drink. Not a cancer stick.”
She raised her brows, intrigued, “I’ll bite…”
Once in the apartment building, the girls walked down the hallway and spotted the open door at the end of the hall. With TLC blasting from it and purplish light flooding out, it was definitely the party. Their pace picked up, excited at No Scrubs playing.
She slowly walked in and was immediately somewhat grateful. It wasn’t like some other parties she had been to, where they were packed in like sardines. But it was still decently busy. The space wasn’t huge, but it worked for the amount of people. The main living room was turned into an impromptu dance floor where multiple girls danced and couples grinded. For the most part, though, people stood on the sidelines, drinking and talking. On the couch and bean bags, stoners sat smoking joints, making the place reek of weed.
When the song changed to Family Affair by Mary J. Blige, a small sense of dread filled her. Esme gasped sharply.
“IT’S MY SONG.” She shrieked.
Okay. She couldn’t help but smile for her friend, who was barely even tipsy, but still so excited. Esme grabbed her hand and tugged her along to the living room area. Esme immediately started flipping her hair and shaking her body to the beat. Y/n, meanwhile, was still a little shy. She nodded to the beat. If she had another drink in her and it wasn’t her first night out as a single woman, she’d be dancing with little to no care. Which is why Esme exclaimed-
“Oh, my god. I KNOW you can dance better than that.”
She shook her head with a shy smile before starting to move more. Pointing her hands up to the sky, she let her hips move side to side. She closed her eyes and let her hands roam up and down her body. The familiar beat felt comforting.
Esme sang along directly to her. “WE JUST WANT YA’LL TO HAVE A GOOD TIME. NO MORE DRAMA IN YOUR LIFE.”
She put her hands up in surrender, “Message received.”
“Good! Because that hot guy is staring at you.”
“What-” Her brows furrowed and followed Esme’s eyeline.
Turning around, she could see a tall figure leaning against the front of the kitchen counter. In a navy Tommy Hilfiger polo and jeans, he crossed his arms. The short sleeves were tight around his biceps, which bulged when he did so. He was cute, with a round face that tapered to a point and dark, curly hair that was difficult to discern in the party lighting.
And he was staring right at her.
Once they made eye contact, he looked away with a shy smile before taking a casual sip from his solo cup.
“Oh.” She said, turning back to Esme, “Yeah… Yeah, he’s really cute.”
Esme’s eyes widened, and her lips pursed in expectation.
“Go on. Go play.”
“Oh shut up. I’m not ready.”
Esme groaned, “Ugh. Come on, girl. It’s been a month of nothing but ice cream and Fiona Apple, and 10 Things I Hate About You. I’m saying this as your friend. BUCK. THE FUCK. UP.” She looked over again, “Oh, look, he’s making his way to the kitchen. And you know who needs drinks? You. And me!”
She turned to see the guy rounding the counter and going into the kitchen. The light of the kitchen was a normal yellow tint, so she could now make out that his hair was a dark ginger. And that he looked even more handsome in the light.
Esme’s head tilted with a shiteating grin,
“Be a dear?”
She ran her hands down her face, “FINE. Fine. I’m doing this just for you.”
As she walked away, Esme called out,
“Fuck him for me too?”
She flipped her off as she strutted over. Okay. Okay. This is fine. Totally normal. It’d been a while since she’d been a fish in the ocean. Usually, she could hide behind the comforting shield of ‘Sorry, I have a boyfriend.’ But tonight… she didn’t have that excuse. And maybe she shouldn’t try to avoid it.
Walking into the kitchen, she looked up at the guy and realized just how tall he was up close. He was busy lining the neck of his beer bottle against the counter. In an instant, he slammed the heel of his palm against the top, and the cap peeled off with a loud thud and clink. Under the music, she heard a little grunt from him that made her breath hitch.
“Hi.” She blurted out suddenly. God. She was immediately regretting this. This was already a bad start.
He noticed her, and his face lit up.
“Hi.” His voice was a little raspy. Cute.
Then she just stood there like a complete idiot. Her jaw dropped to say something, but nothing came out. Was she supposed to say something? What? ‘Come here often?’ No. No. That didn’t make any sense.
But before she could say something stupid, he spoke up again.
“I liked your dancing.” He said, walking up to her and speaking loud enough to be heard over the music.
“Thanks.”
He put his hand to his chest. “I’m Stan.”
“Y/n.”
She was failing this social interaction miserably. She should say something. Invite him to dance. Ask him how his night was going. But the wording died on her tongue at every mere thought. And she could tell he was trying to decipher her, a little confused on her starting a conversation just to speak in one-word answers.
Suddenly, he leaned down so his mouth was closer to her ear. Even though she knew it was just so she could hear him, she couldn’t help her reaction. The way her breath caught, heart pounding.
“Want a drink, sweetheart?”
The hair on the back of her neck stood up straight, and she could’ve sworn a flurry of goosebumps sent up her arms. She quickly nodded.
Stan stood up straight again. “What can I get ya? They’ve got…”
He nodded for her to follow him. They walked over to the corner of the countertops, where a display of half-empty liquor bottles sat.
“Vodka. Some sodas for mixers. Tequila.” He thumbed through the bottle tops and let out a chuckle, “Whiskey… I’m sure you don’t want that. And some beers. Coors. Heineken-”
“Can you just- pass me the vodka?” She stammered nervously.
“Yes, ma’am.”
With a smirk, he pulled out a bottle of Smirnoff and handed it over. She held it by the neck and walked in front of him to scan the soda options. He leaned his back against the counter next to her, taking a sip of his own drink.
Instinct took over as she bit the bottle lid between her teeth and poured a hefty amount of vodka into her cup. God, it had been a while since she’d gone out to party. Shayne never liked her going out. Meanwhile, Stan just raised his brows as she spat the cap out and opened the Coke liter with a hiss.
“You’re wanting a fun time tonight, huh?” Stan asked, watching her finish pouring her Vodka Coke, heavy on the vodka.
She took a sip. Yup. It was just as strong as she used to make them. She nodded.
“It’s my first time out in a long time.”
He grinned, “That’s awesome. We should celebrate.”
He tilted his beer bottle toward her, and she clinked her plastic solo cup against his with a giggle. She took another sip of her drink and took a deep breath. On her heavy exhale, she tried to let all the nervousness go away. C’mon, girl. It’s not that hard to speak to a guy. A very cute guy. But still.
“I think it’s my turn to contribute to the conversation.” She looked nervously down at her shoes before looking back up at him. “What’s your major, Stan?”
“Biology.”
Her head tilted. That wasn’t what she expected. A guy this hot and partying would normally be a business major. Especially since he was built like a jock.
“Now what made you wanna do that? Study… organisms and science.”
He chuckled and shook his head. His smile was crooked in the sweetest possible way. It was clear he was shy about it by the way he looked away every time he smiled.
“It’s a long story.” He nodded at her, “What’s your major?”
“English. I like to write.”
The conversation was so commonplace, yet he hung onto every word she said. His eyes were fully devoted to her.
“What do you write?”
“Fiction? Been working on a lot of science fiction.”
He practically choked on his drink.
Her brows furrowed, “What? What’s so funny?”
“Shit. Nothin’. Nothin. I just- I have experience that could help you.”
She was curious now. How on earth could he have experience with sci-fi? Then she realized… duh! He was a science major! That’s why… No other reason.
“Yeah! You could fact-check my work.”
Just then, she happened to look over at the group of guys who walked in. And her heart fell into her stomach. Her face completely sobered as it felt like an elephant sat on her chest. This couldn’t be happening. This literally couldn’t be happening.
Lo and behold, in the group of guys stood Shayne. He looked worse than she had last seen him. His hair was nearly buzzed, and he looked somehow more smug. More like a douchebag. Seeing him in a backwards cap and tee, she felt like an idiot for dating him in the past.
Stan noticed her freeze, and his expression grew more concerned. He tensed up when she inhaled a shaky breath.
“You okay? What’s up?”
But she barely registered it. She was too focused on Shayne walking in and noticing her. He looked just as surprised. She tried to send a telepathic message to him- GO AWAY. PRETEND YOU NEVER SAW ME. Clearly, it didn’t go through since he started to weave through people to try to get to her.
“Oh god-” She started to hyperventilate.
Shayne was getting closer and closer. The music suddenly felt too loud, and the room felt swelteringly hot. Stan looked between her and him, worry struck across his face.
“Hey, what’s going o-”
But he didn’t finish his sentence because she suddenly grabbed Stan’s cheeks and pulled him in for a kiss. He let out a muffled yelp, beer splashing onto the tile. But after a moment to process, he closed his eyes and started to kiss back.
With her eyes shut tightly, she focused on the sensation of his lips against hers. He tasted like beer with the faintest hint of spearmint gum. His lips were surprisingly soft. The music faded out of her consciousness, leaving just the panting sounds of their breaths.
He quickly put the beer down on the counter and wrapped his arms around her, letting his wrists cross each other on her lower back. She crept her hand up the back of his hair and scratched at his curls. He let out a small moan at that before smashing his lips back onto hers.
After a moment that felt like eternity (not that she was complaining), she pulled back. He kept his forehead against hers.
“What was that about?” He asked, laughing slightly in disbelief.
She peered over, trying to tell if Shayne had left. And after she determined he had gone away, she stepped back.
“I’m so sorry.” She panted.
His brows furrowed, a little confused, but a sense of genuineness appeared behind his hazel eyes. He put his hand on her shoulder as her head whipped around. She was completely on edge.
“Hey. Hey. Want some fresh air?”
She nodded, and he began to lead her out; his hand strayed to her lower back. He nodded, talking more to himself than her.
“Yeah. Yeah, some air’ll do you some good.”
They walked out of the party and down the stairs to the outside of the lobby. She stepped forward toward the sidewalk. The rush of fresh air was a complete relief. A cold breeze slapped her face, and she felt much better almost immediately. She took a few big breaths before turning back to find Stan standing by the entrance, just watching her. The street lamps and entry lights lit them in the dark.
He put his hands in his pockets. “Can I ask what was up with that guy? Do I need to beat his ass?”
She laughed at that and slowly blinked. She wished she were a lot drunker for this conversation.
“I wish. But it’s not that bad.”
He carefully made his way over. She slumped down to sit on the curb and patted the asphalt next to her in defeat. Pursing his lips, he shrugged and sat down. She held her knees to her chest and looked down at the rough street below.
Guilt gnawed at her. Yes, she had wanted to kiss him, of course. But she had also… kinda used him.
“Remember when I said it’s my first night out in a long time?”
He nodded, but let her continue.
“That was my ex-boyfriend.”
“Oh…” He murmured. He looked down at his sneakers and swallowed before getting the courage to ask, “When did you guys break up?”
Her shoulders hiked up anxiously, “A little over a month ago?”
“That’s… That’s not too bad.” He tried to reassure, “How long were you together?”
Her eyes started to tear up. More out of embarrassment rather than actual breakup pain.
“It’s so stupid. It wasn’t even that long. Six months? He’s just a complete douchebag…”
“Yeah. I gathered that from the backwards hat.” He joked so sincerely.
She laughed again and was able to keep the tears at bay.
“He cheated on me. Which is funny because he never wanted me to go out and party because he was so scared that I’d cheat on him.”
He put his arms on his knees. “So I definitely should go beat his ass.”
“Nah. I had it coming. I was totally naive.”
“Don’t say that. You didn’t deserve that.”
There was silence between them. The music above was muffled but could be heard from the floors below. She wouldn’t be surprised if the party got busted. Crickets chirped as the street lamps buzzed, creating a nighttime symphony.
She finally got herself to say,
“So… I’m really sorry for kissing you like that. I-I mean, I should’ve at least asked you.”
He shrugged.
“I would’ve said yes.”
She looked over to find that he had been looking at her the whole time. Admiring her. Even when she wasn’t exactly being fun and smiley and the life of the party. She actually felt like a bunch of broken pieces. A complete mess. But he looked at her like she was completely worth the time.
He leaned back on his hands. “Hey. It’s not so bad. I got to kiss a pretty girl. Save her from her douchebag ex. Even if it didn’t mean anything to her, the karma outweighs it, I think-”
“Wait, wait, wait-” She found herself speaking before thinking, “It wasn’t nothing. I-”
She swallowed. Her tongue involuntarily clicked against the roof of her mouth as she tried to think this through. Until she suddenly shot up. Looking down at him, she threw her hand out.
“I want to start over.”
His eyes sparkled under the street lamps as he looked up at her. His mouth dropped slightly in surprise before it slowly melted into a smile. He took her hand and shook it as he stood up.
She took a nervous breath.
“Hi. I’m Y/n. I was dragged to this party by my friend because I got dumped a month ago and haven’t gone out in nearly a year.”
He squeezed her hand.
“Hi, Y/n. I’m Stan, a complete doofus who feels real lucky talking to a girl like you.”
Their nervous smiles sparked a few giggles as they stopped shaking hands. Butterflies fluttered in her stomach, adrenaline pumping. She rocked back and forth on the balls of her feet.
“Well… Stan… You’re really cute. Would it be crazy to say that I want to kiss you? For the first time ever and totally not the second?”
He strutted up as if he had been waiting the whole time. His calloused hands landed on the divot of her waist and hips.
“Stole the words from my mouth.” He murmured before leaning down to press his lips against hers.
This time, she completely relaxed into it. Her arms wrapped around his neck. When he pulled her against him, she let her body completely fold. Her back arched as he splayed his hand against her upper back. She let out a little noise, and it seemed to spur him on more.
In between kisses, he managed to get out, “Date? Tomorrow? Is that too fast?”
She chuckled and nodded.
“I’d love to.” And she shook her head, “No. It’s not too fast. I’m more than ready.”
☆ SUMMARY: A slip up. That was all it was– a moment of weakness at the beginning of your residency, in which you had formed a crush on Robby, your boyfriend's best friend. You didn't think too much of it when laughing about it with a friend, though an eavesdropping Jack doesn't find it quite as funny as you do.
☆ CONTAINS: established relationship, fem!reader (can be read as GN I think) Brief mentions of daddy issues, and that’s about it.
☆AUTHORS NOTE: Based on this request! Fahhh, jealous jack is my weakness, imagine him all hot and bothered over a crush you had ages ago. Dude’s usually so confident in himself, but one mention of you giving an inkling of attention to anyone else, and he’s acting like a clingy mess. HOT.
☆ PAGE DIVIDERS BY: @sweetmelodygraphics
“You’re kidding me, right?”
Jack’s voice carries over the hustle and bustle of the department, just enough to have some nosy colleagues turn their heads and try to tune into the drama.
Jack never got short with you. In fact, since the last time he’d made that mistake and you’d made sure he paid for it, he’d never, ever, directed any sort of annoyance at you again. That was until he overheard Trinity Santos and you talking about your crush on Robby while doing handoffs by the patient board.
Out in the open, like it's something you can laugh and look back fondly at.
Oh hell no.
You jump, startled by the noise as you turn to face your boyfriend, and he sees Trinity's face pale as quickly excuses herself, but not before sending you an apologetic look when she leaves you to fend for yourself.
A shaky smile forms on your face at his unimpressed look, yet you force yourself to act casual.
“Jack! Hey, you’re early–”
“Tell me I misheard that,” he cuts in, arms crossed over his chest as he steps closer, crowding you against the counter of the hub.
“Misheard what?” you feign ignorance, a short, nervous giggle escaping you.
“You had a crush on Robby?” Jack’s voice cuts through the department noise, loud enough to have you wincing.
“Shh!” you hush him, finally dropping the act and looking around the department. You didn’t need everyone knowing about your obvious thing for older men.
Once can be passed off as a coincidence, but twice? That makes it a problem– some deep, underlying issue you can’t be bothered trying to unearth and process right now.
“First of all– keep it down! And secondly, you weren’t supposed to hear that,” you huff, a small wave of annoyance washing over you. Jack was the sweetest, most kind and understanding man on earth, right up until he got jealous.
The bastard was petty.
“Yeah, you’re right– I’m sorry that you had a crush on my oldest friend!” he scoffs, eyes narrowing down at you.
You snort despite yourself, reaching out to shove lightly at his chest, but he catches your wrist immediately, still weakly glaring down at you.
“What exactly did you like about him?” he interrogates,
”Are we really doing this right now?” you ask, cocking your head back slightly to look at him properly.
“We were doing it the moment I overheard you having a crush on the man I call brother—“
You let out a frustrated breath, twisting your wrist a little in his hold, not to break free, just to feel like you’re not entirely compliant.
“Alright, jeez!” you give in, rolling your eyes, “Has anyone ever told you you’re really intense?“
“Only in bed,” he shrugs and drops the irritated act briefly, just to give you a proud look for managing to sneak that in.
“Watch it, gramps,” your eyes narrow, despite the full blown smile on your face. Finally, he lets go of your hand, and you feel him trail behind you while you continue attempting to work, grabbing supplies from a shelf. “What do you want to know?”
“When was this?” He shoots back, now properly pulling you to a full stop in a less busy hallway, taking the items from you and placing them on a nearby cart.
You cross your arms, debating whether or not to enable his behavior, before deciding it would do more hurt than good than to let a jealous Jack Abbot terrorize the ER.
“First two weeks of residency, next,“
A short sigh of disbelief and what sounds like offense slips past his lips, but he goes along with the rapid fire tempo you’re keeping.
“Why?”
“He was nice, I don’t have a father, and I was sleep deprived,” you retort, trying not to show how much you’re actually enjoying him being bothered over a harmless crush.
“Funny,” Jack says dryly, scratching the silver scruff on his cheek, wondering if it’s something to get caught up on, then ultimately deciding on placing it into a —‘bring up later when you want to win arguments’— file, and moving on.
“Why does Santos know?”
That makes you falter briefly, but you quickly steel yourself once again. Jack was knew you well enough to notice that brief moment of hesitation, gaze narrowing again.
“She’s just attentive–”
“The truth, sweetheart,” he interrupts, already seeing through your weak attempts at bullshitting.
You groan, head thudding against the wall when you lean back against it.
“We may have talked about it once or twice…”
“And?” Jack presses, arching a skeptical brow while crossing his arms over his chest.
“...and may have discussed hypothetical wedding plans once, over several drinks–” you mumble, refusing to meet his eyes.
“That’s just–” a dry chuckle escapes him, hand running through his short curls as the other falls to his side in exasperation. “Great. Truly, this was exactly what I needed today–”
“You’re so dramatic!” you moan, already dreading, and loving, the amount of groveling you’d have to do.
“You flirted with him!”
“To be fair, they were horrible attempts at flirting, borderline harassment at one point," you defend, shrugging helplessly at the glare he gives you.
Jack purses his lips, giving you a scrutinizing look, like he’s thinking your words over– processing them.
“Nah, not good enough,” he shakes his head, tongue prodding the side of his cheeks before he speaks again, voice lowering. “Remember when you had me buy the entire department coffee to get you to talk to me after you saw Mohan clean my wound?”
“That was different!” you huff, face warming up at the memory of how embarrassingly upset you had gotten at the sight.
It had just been a misunderstanding, but you’d refused to look Jack in the eyes for a week after that, until he pulled you into an empty storage closet and showed you just how little the moment you’d witnessed meant.
After that, the two of you had started dating each other.
“You didn’t walk in on me shirtless while Robby caressed me—”
“Any later and maybe that would’ve been the next step in your little ‘plan’!”
You can’t help but laugh, eyes darting behind him to make sure no one's watching your little lovers quarrel. You didn’t want to have to explain this to anyone, least of all Robby.
“It was over the moment I saw you,” you let your hands travel over the expanse of his shoulders, a foul move on your end, but you didn’t want to risk your already slim chances of getting the first shower back home in the morning.
“In the SWAT gear?” he says, sounding almost hopeful and you can’t help but give in.
“In the SWAT gear,” you confirm, officially beginning the groveling process.
A short puff of air escapes him while he tries not to completely let you off the hook with some sweet talking, but from the way his shoulders broaden, and the look of satisfaction that flashes in his eyes, you know you’ve got him.
“Good answer,” he murmurs, gaze flitting from your eyes down to the stretch of your lips.
You grin, tilting your head as your hands clasp together behind his head.
“Was there a wrong one?”
Jack’s mouth curves into a smug smile of his own, giving you a small shrug, before leaning in to mutter into your ear.
“Just be glad you didn’t find out,”
The sound of footsteps approaching has the two of you reluctantly breaking apart and straightening up. Jack pulls you right back into his arms when he sees that it’s just the root of his misery for the evening.
“Am I interrupting something?” Robby quirks an eyebrow, hands shoved into the pockets of his zip-up.
“Go away right now,” Jack grunts out, already covering your view of Robby with his own body, giving you a look as if to say ‘try me’.
Oh boy.
☆END NOTE: Feels like forever since I've done a Jack fic so here's a short one! Currently working on another one though, so I might post a lil sneak peak if people are interested. Thank you for reading, and I hope you enjoy it<333
♡ synopsis: when dr. park is called down to the ed for a consult, jack's jealousy is riled when he gets a little too familiar with you, & you're then made to spend the rest of the evening reassuring him that you belong to one man only.
♡ content: park gets flirty, jack is jelly, pining!robby, medical inaccuracies, p in v sex, fluff, reader gets some hickeys
♡ a/n: based on these requests, ty!
"What're we lookin' at, angel?" utters Dr. Park when he enters the trauma bay you and a small team of others are currently assigned to. Though, you imagine for not much longer once Brendon has the patient escorted upstairs when he takes over the case.
You make to explain, until Santos, who's just at the end of her shift, but still wanted to see gnarly, exposed bone before she took off, interrupts. "Angel?" she asks suspiciously.
Brendon levels her with his famous, phlegmatic tone. "As in angelfish," he sneers.
She nods with pursed lips and raised brows, as if to silently say Alrighty then.
Tugging at the hem of your scrub shirt, Jack pulls you to the other side of him and places himself between the two of you with crossed arms as he answers all of Park's questions. Though, his inquisition turns more into grilling when his tone suddenly changes shape into that of utter stoicism which borders on downright unfriendly.
Not unusual for him, but there was a reason you had been asked to be present when he came down: you're one of very few in this hospital that a man as hard and daunting as he has a soft spot for.
Before your choosing to practice medicine, you started out your career as his receptionist upstairs. It being one of your first ever jobs, you had wanted to make a good impression, so you constantly strived to meet his needs before he even gave you orders to schedule this, or check on that, or contact so and so about such and such. Didn't take terribly long before you could read his mind by simply reading his chiseled face.
Your first day in his office started with you handing out cookies and fudge and earning a judgmental glare, but ended with him muttering a quick 'See you tomorrow' as he headed out the door.
You had deemed that a good sign that you weren't fired yet, even if he had scoffed at your cutesy stationary and glittery lanyard.
The job had initially felt a tad demeaning, though, in truth: fetching him coffee and lunch from across the street, or scheduling his haircuts and dentist appointments... Until he went from handing you cash to his black card instead once you earned his trust, and told you to 'get yourself something nice' with a wink whenever you ran his errands thereafter.
When he caught you looking at med school applications on your work desktop a handful of months later, you'd panicked and flew into a fit of apologies for using a work device for personal reasons, until he settled a large palm atop your shoulder and told you that he'd write you a glowing letter of recommendation if you were truly serious about it.
Now that he's lost you to Abbot and the ED, however, he wonders if he made the right choice. He takes little shame in being selfish to get what he wants, but he found himself unable to do so when it came to you.
Just can't help but wonder at times why ortho wasn't your chosen specialty, since he likes to believe that working under him played into your decision to go to med school. That he made that much of a positive impression.
Too bad he never got a chance to make another... Like a swollen belly and a ring wrapped round your finger to show that he had finally made a catch of his very own.
Once the patient is prepped for transport, Park nearly shoulder-checks Jack to get around him and to you before giving your waist a gentle squeeze and a murmured 'Come and see me again some time. New one just doesn't know me like you did', to which you force a nod and a feigned smile of agreement while standing back so the gurney can be taken on its way elsewhere.
When you glanced to Jack, he granted you an uneasy look before moving onto the next case which he insisted you join him on.
"Now, grab an 11 blade and I'll guide you through how to do an incision for a pleural effusion."
You turn to head in the direction of the supply cart, until Toomarian reaches you first with the required surgical tool, which you take with a quiet, grateful thanks.
Bending over the patient again, Jack keeps a steady hand against the middle of your back while his other gestures horizontally the way you need to cut. "Fifth intercostal space," Jack drawls close to your ear. "Posteriorly. Good, good."
Once fluid begins to successfully drain, you glance to him with searching eyes for what you should do next.
He's been very attentive this shift. More so than usual, which is remarkable given that Jack tends to keep you with him for at least half his cases anyway. You don't complain, though, as you're always grateful for not only the education and training, but the attention.
Greedy thing that you can tend to be when it comes to the likes of him, getting it at home clearly isn't enough for you, because seeing him in action is so much more attractive.
"Maybe I should come up with a nickname for you," Jack mumbles while studying a perfusion scan from over your shoulder.
"What?" you ask dumbly while slightly turning your head back to him in confusion.
"Angel," he jeers. "I'm sure I could do better than a damn fish."
You snort while scrolling. "You're joking, right?"
"Something different than just honey, sweetheart, baby doll..."
You sigh and shake your head. "Jack, I share your house and let you between my legs every day. You have no reason to be jealous of a silly little nickname."
"Maybe pumpkin," he grumbles while walking away, as if he didn't hear you.
Handing Jack a protein shake fresh from the fridge, he takes it from you with a peck on the lips and quiet "Thank you, sugar."
You raise a brow while fighting off a smirk that's threatening to overtake your features.
Untwisting the cap, his lips tug into a frown. "No, only sounds about half right," he remarks before taking a swig. Returning the cap to the open bottle neck, he squeezes your cheeks between his fingers—causing your lips to pucker.
You know that making a fish joke right now will only set him off further.
"Just remember whose resident you are, alright?"
You blink. "Okur," you murmur through pouty lips.
He releases you. "Might not have been mine first, but you are now," he states while diving in for a kiss.
Just to finish things up, you and Jack end up hanging around the ED for another hour while dayshift begins to file in, including their own attending who finds you before long for a curious conversation.
"Any reason he's such a miserable bastard this morning? Rough night, or did you two have your first fight?"
Tucking unused supplies back into a storage cabinet, you glimpse at Robby. "Huh?"
"Abbot," he explains with crossed arms. "I don't think I've ever seen that man pout, but when I mentioned that I was looking for some follow-up results from ortho, it's like his mood shifted in a completely different direction."
You roll your eyes upward. "I thought he was over it."
"Park do something?"
You press the cabinet shut, then slide your hands into the roomy pockets of your pants. "Around the beginning of my shift, he was called down for a consult. He called me an old nickname, and for whatever reason, it seems like it's really gotten under Jack's skin. It's stupid."
Robby grins slyly and studies you with an affectionate gaze.
"What?" you ask with furrowed brows.
Robby shrugs slightly. "It's not exactly a hidden secret that Park is fond of you. That the two of you have history."
Unfurling, a brow is instead raised in question. "I was his receptionist. That's it..."
He shakes his head. "The few times I've seen him around you down here, it seemed like something more to me. At least on his end. But I guess it's not surprising that you've failed to notice."
These men and making mountains out of molehills...
"You have no idea," he says quietly. "What it feels like to be in love with you. The kind of jealousy that it can stir up."
Like a fish gasping for air, you open and close your mouth a few times before finally shutting it entirely.
"Just let him take you home," he says while grabbing a pair of nitrile gloves. "And remind him that you're his and his alone."
He gives you a peck on the top of the head. "It's what I'd want if I were in his shoes and thought another man was encroaching on what's mine."
He's very quiet on the ride home. Constantly shifting in his seat, you watch from the corner of your eye as Jack runs a hand through his hair, then rests his forearm against the window to his left before placing his palm atop the wheel.
"You okay?" you ask quietly.
He nods while remaining frontward facing.
"You seem sorta upset."
He sighs. "I'm fine. Just tired."
You chew your lip. "Are you mad at me?"
He shakes his head, then switches on the radio to a country station. "Everything's fine."
"I just don't get," Jack grunts while pulling off his prosthetic. "Why, after all this time, he's still calling you that."
You drop your badge onto the dresser and exhale silently. "If you let on that it bothers you, he's just going to keep doing it."
"It should bother you," he complains lowly. "My damn girl."
Your lips tilt into a smile, but you make sure not to let him see it: that you find his jealousy to be entertaining. "C'mon," you say while padding around the bed and grabbing a crutch before extending it toward him. "Let's take a shower together."
"Sure you don't want a bath so that you can swim around a bit?" he asks snidely.
You purse your lips and narrow your eyes at him.
Pushing off the bed, he throws an arm over the offered crutch. "Alright, that was petty of me."
You wait for him to go around you before you slap his ass hard enough to make your palm sting.
"Hey! Behave yourself back there, young lady."
You pinch it next. "No, thanks, old man."
Giving Jack head in the shower didn't exactly go as planned. Due to how long it took to help him develop an erection without the aid of medication, the water was cold by the time he was finally there.
So now he's tired, horny, and irritated. And above all, absolutely a pouty puss.
Dinner is eaten in silence, but at least he finishes the meal you place before him. While he's busying himself with cleaning up the kitchen, you scamper off to the bedroom to throw on a thin piece of lingerie that's seen minimal use since its purchase some time ago, and you wait in a staged, sultry pose upon the bed for him.
And when he pulls back the door, he turns right back around to go get his Viagra with a shit-eating grin on his face.
You're absolutely soaked and throbbing between your legs where he has his cock bottomed-out against you.
Sucking on the tender skin of your neck, Jack's full weight is lain atop your body while he gently rocks his hips against yours.
"Ah, ah, please," you pant needily with arms wrapped around his neck and legs thrown over the backs of his thighs.
Releasing your carotid with a pop, he licks his way to the other side to get to work there next. "That feel good, pumpkin?"
He nibbles on your chin, then kisses your neck again. "Hm, sugar?"
Oh, not the names again...
You know what? Whatever, you're not complaining.
"Talk to me, baby doll."
You nod while sinking your fingers into his sweaty grey curls. "S-So good. Can't get enough."
He withdraws until just his bulbous tip remains against your soaking entrance, then slams back in in one brutal thrust that causes you to cry out his name in ecstasy.
"That's my girl," he purrs. "Enjoy my cock, baby." he leans back and brushes sweat from your brow with his palm. "Because I'm definitely enjoying the pussy that belongs to me."
You squeeze around him and he dips his head to suck on the hollow of your throat.
"Think I might finally have a name for you," he murmurs while gently nipping at your breasts.
"O-Oh?" you sigh.
Bracketing his arms on either side of your head, he leans in close to the shell of your ear. "Mrs. Abbot," he growls.
Your walls flutter around his swollen cock.
"Yeah, you like that, don't you?" he mutters before sucking on your chin.
You nod slowly; noting how lightheaded you feel. "Yes," you whimper.
"So that's a yes? You'll marry me?" Jack bites your earlobe. "Take my name so everybody knows whose property you are?"
God, he's never been so possessive before, even in bed.
You very much like this side of him.
"Really?" you whine in disbelief while opening blurry eyes and gazing up at him.
"Really," he confirms while thrusting his hips against yours. "Awful romantic of me to ask while we're making love, huh?"
You grin with an adorably scrunched-up nose before agreeing wholeheartedly between excited giggles.
"Oh yeah," he says while roaming your soft, naked body with calloused hands. "All of this is mine."
"Jack, what the hell did you do?!" you cry incredulously from the bathroom.
Utterly sated and content, he remains lying back in bed while thumbing through an old western novel without granting a reply.
Roaming your naked skin with a tender palm, you press gingerly against the numerous hickeys that litter your body with hesitant fingertips.
They're absolutely everywhere—your neck, your chin, your breasts, your clavicle. Jack has covered you in signs of him wherever he could reach that would be visible.
Stomping back into the bedroom, you fill with fury at the sight of the lazy grin that's plastered on his smug face. "I can't go to work like this!" you shout. "It's almost July, Jack, so I can't exactly wear a turtleneck to hide these!"
He shrugs while flashing a toothy smirk. "Had to mark you as mine somehow." He settles the novel atop his bare chest. "Which reminds me." He nods toward your shared closet while maneuvering over the edge of the bed. "Your engagement ring is in there."
You throw your head back and groan in irritation... But your anger is soon supplanted by happy tears and a full heart as he retrieves the gleaming piece of jewelry before seating himself on the bed again and asking you with a practiced speech if you'll be his forever.
"You've got to be fucking kidding me, man," Robby says, nearly doubled-over with laughter as you march past with a huff to reach your locker.
You grit your teeth at the sound of him howling behind you.
"You were that jealous over a dumb little nickname?" he cries.
Jack shrugs while tossing down his backpack. "You got any cases I could page him down here for before you take off?"
Robby swipes tears from his cheeks while smiling broadly. "I think I might have one."
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