SUMMARY. Every Christmas, since you were six years old, Jeon Jungkook gave you a kiss under the mistletoe. But when you were fifteen, you were replaced by a revolving door of girlfriends. Thus began your decade-long aversion to the holiday—this year, however, you’ve been tasked with hosting the annual Christmas soirée, and there’s no telling what might be waiting for you under the mistletoe this time around.
pairing. jeon jungkook x reader
word count. 23.8k
warnings/genre. childhood best friends to lovers (aka idiots to lovers if you squint!!!), slight angst, fluff, reader is the grinch reincarnated, jungkook is oblivious, alcohol consumption, smut, oral and fingering (f receiving), multiple orgasms, big dick jungkook bc what else, unprotected sex sorry she’s on the pill, crying during sex (but in a cute way), it’s all just really cute i kinda hate them
note. welcome to the dreamersparacosm golden era… two one-shots over 15k words in one month. my fingers are tired. but it’s all fine n dandy bc it’s the HOLIDAYS!!! and what better way to celebrate than with a friends to lovers fic? believe it or not, this was originally going to be enemies with lovers, but i had a long talk with myself and realized that theres no way in hell i could ever do justice to a e2l in under 304949k words, but rest assured there is enough pining and angst to keep you well-fed 🥰 oc is yearning final boss, jungkook is a slowburner who’s also an idiot. my favorite kind of couple! i hope you all had a wonderful holiday! p.s: stay tuned for an extra special treat from these two later today :)
▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။|||| last christmas by wham
banner creds | masterlist | epilogue blurb
The Grinch has always been your favorite Christmas movie.
Not because it’s particularly funny or thrilling, but because you can relate to that pessimistic green ball of fur. He despises the holiday just as much as you do—and that’s generous, considering your animosity towards the day has reached unfeasible levels. You might be worse than the aforementioned ball of fur.
There’s really no one else to blame for your aversion to the holiday… besides Jeon Jungkook.
Jeon Jungkook has been your best friend since cradle. Your mother and his shared a room at the hospital, and since then, have kept a tight-knit relationship. Growing up, you and Jungkook shared more life experiences than siblings would. Conjoined birthdays, first day of school, puberty, heartbreak. It was hard not to imagine him in your life, when he had already invaded every part of it with his infectious smile and doe-like eyes.
Every Christmas, since you were six years old, Jeon Jungkook gave you a kiss under the mistletoe. It started innocently enough, with your parents cooing sweetly as he pressed his little lips to your warm cheek. Your face burnt like a volcano shortly after, your hand pressing up to touch the spot where his lips met your skin every few minutes.
When you were nine, he upped the ante. He grabbed your face with his grubby hands, and smushed his lips onto yours with a peck. It was precisely three seconds and two milliseconds long (you know because you held your breath). When he pulled away, he smiled that big bunny smile and ran off to play with your toys. Life continued on as such, leaving you behind to pick up the pieces of everything you thought you knew.
At the age of fifteen, he got his first girlfriend, Haeun. They met in Science class, paired up by accident, but the crush he had on her was with such certainty it took you by storm. That Christmas, he didn’t give you a peck on the lips or the cheek. That year, your body felt empty. That fateful holiday, you watched as Jeon Jungkook gave Park Haeun a big, sloppy, romantic kiss under the mistletoe, one that rivaled any one he ever gave you.
And so, Christmas went from your favorite day of the year, to your nightmare.
Even when his and Haeun’s puppy love died out by high school graduation, she was swiftly replaced by Eunji. And then Chaeyoung. And then Sana…and the list went on, and on, and on.
So, yeah. Christmas. Not your best day. In fact, it’s pretty low on the totem pole, right next to the anniversary of your grandfather’s death.
All this to say—this is why you’ve been ignoring your best friend’s pleas for the past thirty minutes on hosting the annual Christmas soiree at your apartment. Your humble abode. Your sanctuary. There’s no way in hell you’ll be stringing red and green lights from your ceiling, singing ‘ho, ho, ho’ and passing around jell-o shots that were crafted by the devil himself. And you most definitely, certainly, will not hang up a mistletoe.
“But why not?” Jungkook whines again, bouncing up and down on your couch cushion like a puppy. His bottom lip juts out slightly, which would be endearing if he was a teenager and not a 28-year old man.
“Because I don’t want to. I don’t like Christmas.” You ignore him as best as you can, thumbing through your Instagram feed. Engagement posts, pregnancy announcements… god, the holidays are the worst. No, you won’t be blowing ‘baby dust’ to your friends trying to get pregnant.
“Since when?” He gawks, pausing his movements to stare at your side profile intently.
“Since forever. You know this,” you say calmly. “The Grinch is my favorite movie.”
He scoffs. “So? It’s mine too. That doesn’t mean I hate Christmas.”
You don’t have the heart to tell him that your abhorrence for the holiday stems from his inability to give you a kiss since the age of fifteen. Thirteen years later, you can’t help but want one still.
You roll your eyes. “You don’t hate Christmas because you like giving gifts and receiving them.”
“That’s not true,” he argues, snatching your phone out of your hand and tossing it on the coffee table. You finally turn to look at him, and he’s all red cheeks and wide eyes, and it makes you want to die. “You have the nicest apartment out of all of us. We can’t do Namjoon’s because they just had the baby, we can’t do Jisoo’s because Tae is allergic to dogs, and we can’t do mine because I’m renovating. Yours is the best option.”
All true points, but none that you want to confront head-on. “Might it also be that you don’t want to do yours because then people will know you haven’t moved on from Hana?”
Jungkook’s face contorts, and for a split second, you feel guilty for sinking that low. You didn’t mean to, but it’s true. His most recent ex-girlfriend, Hana, doesn’t live in that apartment anymore, but it almost feels like she does with the amount of her stuff lingering around. They were together for a year, but mysteriously broke up after Christmas last year.
“Not cool,” he mumbles, playing with his sleeve.
“I’m sorry,” you sigh, “I just really don’t wanna host, Koo.”
“C’mon, do it for me,” he pouts, and it becomes even harder to say no to him. You’re putty in his reliable hands.
“What will I get out of hosting?” You cross your arms over your chest. A hint of a smile creeps onto his face as he realizes you’re slowly beginning to cave. You always do when you start asking questions.
“Namjoon and Dahyun will cook. Taehyung will make the drinks. And I, your trusty best friend, will task myself with decorating the entire place,” he says proudly, chest puffed out like he’s the Superman of Christmas or something equally as idiotic.
“Jeon Jungkook is going to decorate my apartment?” you question, dumbfounded. “The one who put the star on upside down last year?”
The memory plays as vivid as ever, a reel of images flashing through your mind of Jungkook proudly grinning at the miniscule tree he helped construct in your living room. The lights barely worked, the ornaments were hanging on by a thread, and the star was upside down, but he swore Michaelangelo would’ve thought it was abstract art.
He rolls his eyes. “Why can’t you let anything go?”
“And tangled the lights so bad Namjoon had to come over and cut them with scissors?”
Jungkook pouts the same way he used to when he was three. “But—”
“And ate the gingerbread house before we could even display it?”
Jungkook’s mouth opens to defy you, but decides it’s best not to go up against your vicious truths. “I was hungry and you had nothing but expired Chinese food in your fridge,” he grumbles. It’s annoying how easily he can disarm you when he’s boyishly upset at the world.
In the grand scheme of things, hosting the Christmas soiree at your house is nothing. Nada. Zilch. A blip on your radar. It’s not like he’s asking you to loan him a million won, or donate a kidney to his brother (albeit those are all things you would do for him). He’s simply asking you to open your home to your closest friends to spread holiday cheer.
Somehow, some way, it feels like the hardest thing you have to do.
Maybe because in the grand scheme of things, you’re also hopelessly, relentlessly, disgustingly in love with Jeon Jungkook, and the word no is not one that leaves your lips often when he’s around.
“Fine,” you relent. His entire face lights up, and your heart does the same dance it always does. “I have conditions, though.”
“Anything you want.” He scoots closer. You can smell his cologne, a pine and bergamot scent he wears for the holidays. “I’m at your service.”
“We’re gonna do classy Christmas. I’m talking silver decorations, maybe some gold. None of that tacky red and green shit from the dollar store.”
“Uhu.” He nods. “Aligned, captain.”
“All the food will be catered. I’m not making poor Dahyun cook. She has enough on her plate already.”
He salutes you, which makes you snort.
“Lastly, and most importantly, no mistletoe.”
His smile falters. Tips downward so that it’s almost unrecognizable. The light in his eyes dims, and now you almost feel guilty. “Wha—why not?”
See, if this were a Christmas romcom broadcasting on Hallmark, this is the pivotal moment where you’d confess everything. How you’ve been in love with him since you were old enough to feel that feeling of warmth in your chest, how watching him kiss other girls made all your kisses seem foolish, how every Christmas without his lips on yours (even platonically) makes you want to move to a foreign country. He’d probably gasp, pull you close, and kiss you right there on your sofa while snow fell cinematically outside your window. Credits would roll over a montage of you two ice skating and baking holiday cookies, all set to some Kelly Clarkson cover of “Last Christmas.”
But this isn’t a Hallmark movie, and you’re not that brave.
So, instead, you say, “It’s tacky and overdone. I don’t want it in my apartment.”
Jungkook seems genuinely concerned, as though you just informed him you have four days to live and your final wish is to jump out of a plane. “But it’s tradition. Every year, there’s a mistletoe.”
You huff, hugging the blanket wrapped over your legs tighter to you. “Well, I don’t care. That’s my conditions. Take it or leave it.”
He watches quietly for a moment as you inspect the fibers of the blanket. He knows you well enough to not pry further, but he also knows that he’s the only one you’ll talk to if he does decide to investigate. There’s no sound except the rattling of your heater and the sound of cars honking past your window. The television screen remains paused on a scene from The Grinch you could probably recite by heart.
“Okay,” he finally says. “No mistletoe.”
“Good. Glad that’s settled.” You stand up, desperate for distance. “Now get out. I have work to do.”
“First of all, it’s Sunday. Second of all, we’re watching the Grinch. That’s not work,” he points out.
“I’m sure I could find something to do. I’ve been meaning to dust my bookshelf,” you counter.
“Oh, really? You walking your squirrel after that?” he teases, smirking.
“I am actually.” You cross your hands over your chest, the signal you make when it’s time for him to exit your apartment.
He stands, stretching his arms above his head. His shirt rides up slightly, exposing a sliver of toned stomach, and you have to look away. You’ve been down this road too many times.
“I’ll text you tomorrow about picking up supplies,” he yawns, heading for the door. “We’ll need to grab stuff from my place anyway. I’ve got extra string lights in storage.”
You trail behind him. “Fine.”
He pauses at the threshold, turning back to look at you. “Thanks for doing this. I know it’s not your favorite thing.”
Oh, If only he knew it was his fault. “Yeah, well. You owe me.”
“I always do,” he grins, and then he’s bounding down your staircase, leaving you alone with the Grinch and the hollowed feeling in your chest that never really goes away.
When you’re certain he’s finally gone, you lock the door and sink back into the couch, pressing play on the remote. On screen, the Grinch is plotting to ruin Christmas, and you can’t help but think to yourself, same, buddy. Same.
He’s probably got the right idea. If you steal all the decorations before he can hang them, accidentally forget to buy eggnog, or come down with the Black Plague on the day of the party, you could ruin the whole thing.
But you won’t. Despite everything, you can’t actually hurt him. You’d host a thousand Christmas parties, hang a million strands of lights, bake cookies until your hands cramped, if it meant making Jeon Jungkook happy. That’s the real bittersweet tragedy of your situation. Not that he doesn’t love you back, but that you love him enough to pretend you don’t.
Jungkook likes to call his apartment his ‘modest mancave.’
He’s called his bedroom that since you two were old enough to be in school. However, one spring day during Sophomore year, you’d barged in unannounced and found him scrambling to hide a bottle of lotion and suspiciously large pile of tissues. He came up with some daft excuse about allergies, but you knew what the option meant. He knew that you knew. It became just another shared moment in the encyclopedia of your friendship, because that’s what you two always did. You witnessed each other’s embarrassing moments and life continued on.
Which is why his apartment’s state right now doesn't deter you. It's a little messy (okay, a lot messy) with random moving boxes he’s never unpacked stacked haphazardly in corners and furniture pushed against walls at odd angles. There’s a pile of paint swatches on the coffee table, each one a slightly different shade of beige that all look identical to your untrained eye.
He had texted you earlier in the day to get started on Operation: Un-Grinchify Christmas, as he referred to it. You weren’t really up for it, but he sent you three crying emoji’s and then you were halfway out the door with mismatched socks on.
Jungkook swears he has a box of light-up reindeer somewhere when you first arrive to his home. Something about them looking like they’re having a seizure when they’re plugged in. He's so entranced in his search he’s completely forgotten about your own holiday dilemma.
“Koo?” you yell down his hallway. You venture down, stepping over a stack of books and what appears to be a broken lamp, following the sound of muffled cursing.
You find him in his bedroom, halfway inside the closet, ass up in the air. Boxes and random junk are scattered around him—old magazines, a deflated basketball, what looks like his matching Halloween costume with Hana from two years ago.
“I know it’s here somewhere,” he mutters, voice echoing from deep within the closet. Leaning against the doorframe, you cross your arms over your chest, utterly amused by his same old childish ways.
“Need help, or should I just enjoy the view?”
“Shut up,” he says, but you can hear the smile in his tone. “I’m finding an ancient artifact.”
“How ancient is it? We talking middle school? Elementary?”
“I don’t know, all I know is—aha!” He backs out, brown hair flopping around, and cracks his head on the closet rod with a thunk. “Fucking fuck—ow—”
You can’t stop the giggle that falls from your lips, and it turns into full-blown laughter when you catch wind of his appearance. He’s rubbing his head, hair sticking up in five different directions.
But then you see what’s in his hands, and all laughter ceases with a wheeze. It’s the most hideous collection of green and red tinsel garland you’ve ever witnessed. It looks like it’s gonna shed all over your home, and there’s no way you’ll let your cat named Ginger anywhere near that.
“Ta-da!” He holds it up proudly, grinning brightly.
“Are you insane?”
“What?” he gawks, inspecting it for himself. “This is the epitome of Christmas.”
“Jungkook, I said classy Christmas. Elegant. That looks like a drunk elf threw up.” You gesture at the…thing, deeply perturbed at the fact he would even show it to you.
He shakes the garland at you like it might change your mind. “But Christmas needs a little green and red! That’s literally the symbolic colors of the holiday.”
“I don’t care if it was sent down by Santa himself. It’s not going in my home,” you argue.
“But why?” he pouts, and you can already tell which direction this conversation is going. But you’re standing your ground this time, because if you don’t you’ll fold like papier mache.
“It looks like it has dust mites from 2014,” you grimace.
He moves closer, forcing you to look at the grimy strings. “C’mon, just one strand? For your old pal?”
“No.”
“Please?”
“I will leave, Jungkook.”
He sighs, defeated, and holds the garland out to you anyway. “Fine. But you have to be the one to throw it away. I can’t bear to part ways with her.”
Rolling your eyes, you take it from him, and your fingers brush his. Softly, gently, barely even there to the naked eye. You doubt he even notices it. But heat crawls up your spine and nestles a home in your chest.
You snap out of it, tossing the garland in the trash in his bedroom. “Why do you even have that anyway?”
“It was Hana’s.”
You freeze in your tracks, hand hovering over the trash bin. When you look back at him, his ears are pink, eyes trained on some shadow on the wall behind you. “Oh.”
“Yeah.” He clears his throat, rubs the back of his neck. One of his nervous tics from childhood. “I’ve been meaning to get rid of her stuff. What you said yesterday... it kind of stuck with me.”
Guilt settles in your bones. “Koo, I didn’t mean—”
“No, you’re right.” He finally catches your gaze. “I’ve been holding onto things I shouldn’t. Not even because I miss her, really. It’s just—I don’t know. Easier to keep it than deal with it, y’know?
You do know. You know all too well. You’ve been keeping your feelings in a box for years for the exact same reason.
“But I’m trying now,” he continues. “To move on. Actually move on, not just say I am. It still feels weird, throwing away a part of my life. Even if I know it’s the right thing to do.”
Throughout your life, you have continuously kept a square of people in your life that you care about. It mostly consists of your parents, Jungkook, his parents, and your friends. You don’t ever really rearrange it to make space for others, because you already have the ones that matter. You hope that when Jungkook rearranges his square, maybe removes Hana, you take up a bigger chunk of it.
“I’m proud of you,” you smile. Even if the selfish part of you has been waiting for this moment since last Christmas.
He returns your smile with a feeble one of his own. “Thanks.”
For a moment, you two stand there, soaking in the silence. But just like that, it always falls back into place the way it’s meant to be. “I need your silverware for my kitchen, by the way. I’m not using mine for this party.”
“What? Why not?” He furrows his brows.
“Because I don’t want Taehyung's drunk ass dropping my good forks down the garbage disposal like last New Years.”
Jungkook rolls his eyes. “He apologized and paid for new ones.”
“But it wasn’t the same exclusive ones I had,” you sing-song, leading him back down the hallway to his kitchen. “Show me what you’ve got, mister.”
For the next hour, you two bicker over everything. He wants to bring the fork set with wooden handles, but you object with the fact that they look like they belong in a cabin in the forest.
Then it’s the string lights. He’s insistent on multicolored ones, big bulbs of green, yellow, and red that would look outdated against the rest of your apartment. You opt for the warm white ones, and he sticks his tongue out at you and says you’re boring.
He’s a child. You make sure to tell him that about five separate times. On the sixth time, however, he retorts, “You take that back.”
“Make me.”
He waves a serving spoon at you. “I’m not playing with you, young lady.”
“Oh, please,” you wave him off. “You’re the one who begged me to host.”
It’s comfortable, the way it always is. The bickering, the back-and-forth, the way you can read each other’s expressions before the words even come out.
At some point, while you’re debating whether his punch bowl is too tacky (it is), he wipes his hands on a dish towel and tosses it over his shoulder. “You should check the closet in case you see anything else you wanna take.”
“The old shit in there?”
He smacks you with the towel. You yelp, leaping back a few inches. “There’s goodies in there too, I’ll have you know.”
“Sure, Koo. Goodies, otherwise known as old shit.” But you’re already laughing, walking back into his room and diving into the closet.
You push back the ugly garland’s former neighbors. There’s a box of tangled charging cables, some old textbooks from college, a pair of busted headphones. It’s very standard Jungkook chaos. His mind is also disorganized, so it’s no wonder he has the room to match.
You rummage around a bit more, sighing as you wave the dust from your face.
On the top shelf, shoved way back in the top corner, you come across a box.
Small, cardboard, duct-taped on the bottom half into oblivion. There’s a piece of paper taped to the front, and even in the dim closet light, you can make out your name written in his messy handwriting. [Y/N].
For a moment, you blink at the box, heart pounding, and then realize you have no idea what to do.
If you open it, maybe he’ll know. Then you’ll look like a stalker. On the other hand, he’s been your best friend since birth, so finding out you have stalker tendencies might not be a dealbreaker.
You stretch up on your toes, tugging the box toward you just enough to peek inside. A flash of worn brown fur catches your eyes, and then you see the teddy bear ear flopping out. Your teddy bear. You lost it in middle school, and you assumed it was gone forever, donated or thrown away during one of your mom’s delirious cleaning sprees.
He kept it.
“Find anything good?” Jungkook’s voice migrates from the kitchen. You jolt, almost dropping the box. Your hands shake as you shove it back into place, blood whooshing through your eardrums.
“Nah,” you call back. Your voice sounds a bit shaky, but you hide it behind several coughs. “I was right. Old shit.”
You back out of the closet, closing the door carefully. What else is in there?
Later that night, when sleep proves itself to be unfeasible, and you’re tossing and turning underneath your comforter, you ponder what else might be in the box, and if he keeps it for the same reason you’ve kept every birthday card he’s ever written you. Tucked away in your own closet, in your own box, with his name on it.
Apparently, hosting a Christmas soiree is not as straightforward as you’d hoped it would be.
First, there’s Jisoo, who texts a novel about how she’s trying this new clean eating thing and can there please be gluten free and dairy free options? You respond with a thumbs up, and then run to text Jennie to see if she’s actually serious. She sends back a skull emoji, which 1) you’re not sure what that implies and 2) you guess it’s confirmation that yes, she’s serious, but also yes, she’ll quit and eat regular food after two glasses of wine.
Then Taehyung calls to inform you he’s trying to maintain a vegetarian lifestyle, and not the kind that occasionally eats fish, but the kind that will know if you used chicken stock in any recipe. You add “vegetable stock” to your growing shopping list, since catering cost more than your rent, and resist the urge to bang your head against the counter.
Namjoon sends his regrets that he and Dahyun can’t stay long because baby Haewon is ‘in turmoil right now,’ which translates to ‘we’ll be there for an hour max.’ You’re not even annoyed about that one—you’ve seen the bags under Namjoon’s eyes, and honestly, you’re impressed he’s coming at all.
The point is, you’ve given up. By Wednesday, your Notes app looks like a grocery list written by someone having a mental breakdown, and you’re seriously reconsidering this whole thing.
To his credit, Jungkook tries to help as much as possible. Inevitably, this means dragging him to your apartment on weekends, even though you do that often enough already. Saturday morning, he shows up with boxes, four different sets of more lights, some ornaments, all of them white, all of them looking functionally identical.
“Okay,” he says, holding up the first strand. “Which one screams ‘this is a classy Christmas’?”
You squint at it from the couch, hugging your mug of hot chocolate. “Hmm. I don’t know. That one kinda screams dollar store.”
“Cut.” He drops it and holds up the second. “This one?”
“Hmm, uglier than the first.”
“How can someone be so picky?” He holds up the third, and you can see him struggle to hold a straight face. “Fine. This one. Final answer.”
Tilting your head, you study it. It has a warm hue, the bulbs delicate and tiny. It’s kind of pretty, sans the scratches on some of the bulbs. “I think we have ourselves a winner.”
“Sold.” He drops the others in the pile he’s been gathering. The ones on the right are the takers, the ones on the left are getting deposited in your dumpster at 5PM sharp. “See? This is why we make a good team.”
You have to fight not to let your mind wander off when he says things like that. “Barely. When we were five, we were on the same team for kickball and you nearly broke my ankle.”
He frowns, “Okay, but then I patched you up good as new with a Hello Kitty bandaid. That shit wasn’t easy to find.”
It was over two decades ago, but still remains a permanent fixture in your brain. You were sprawled on the playground, crying so hard you’d given yourself hiccups, convinced your ankle was shattered and your legs would be cut off. Jungkook had run to get the teacher, but came back before she did, sliding on his knees beside you like some action hero. He’d pulled a crumpled Hello Kitty bandaid from his pocket (you have no idea why he had it, he’d never explained) and stuck it on your ankle with the utmost seriousness, tongue poking out in concentration. “All better,” he had promised. Miraculously, you’d stopped crying. It wasn’t because the bandaid helped, but because Jungkook looked so proud of himself, you didn’t have the heart to tell him your ankle still hurt.
“You’re still a pain in my ass.”
“Yeah, yeah, but who’s doing this home renovation for free? Me.”
You can’t argue with that.
He continues pulling things from the boxes. More tinsel, garlands, ornaments in muted golds and silvers. Each item gets held up for your approval, and you find yourself less focused on the decorations and more on him. His cheeks flush crimson when you compliment one of his choices. A bright smile overtakes his features when you agree to something halfheartedly just because it makes the smile grow tenfold.
You’d fallen for him a long time ago, but even now you realize how far down you’ve already gone.
“Oh shit,” he exhales, freezing midway through a box. “No way.”
“What?” You shift excitedly on the couch, trying to peer into the box.
He pulls out a photo album, the edges frayed and the cover dusty. You recognize it as soon as you see it. It was one of the many your moms had compiled over the years, chronicling every significant (and insignificant) moment of your joint childhood.”
“I forgot I even had this,” he says incredulously, flipping it open. He moves to the couch, dropping down beside you, and his knee brushes yours.
Your body knows to jerk back instinctively, heart jumping into your throat. He doesn't notice, too absorbed in the photos, but your knee burns where it touched him.
“God, look at us,” he laughs, pointing to a picture of you both at around 7 years old, covered head to toe in mud. “Your mom was pissed at us.”
“Yeah, she was pissed because you pushed me into the puddle,” you remind him.
“And then I got you out of it.”
“You said ‘watch this’ and then did it. I don’t think you really won brownie points with Mom,” you laugh at the memory.
He flips through the book, oohing and aahing everytime you stumble across a cute picture. They’re reminiscent of a time when everything was easy, when you didn’t have to worry about adult things like taxes and bills and groceries. It was just you and Jungkook, conquering the world one playdate at a time.
Jungkook flips to the next page. There’s a photo taped to the page, with your mom’s handwriting underneath. “Christmas, 9 years old, Busan.”
You're both standing under a mistletoe that looks comically large above your small heads. His lips are pressed to yours in that brief, earth-shattering peck you still think about once in a while (or more precisely, when it’s late at night and you’re missing his presence).
You take a deep breath. Your chest feels tight, like someone’s tugging on it by the ends of a string.
Jungkook stares at the photo for what feels like forever, an unreadable expression crossing his face. “I remember this,” he quietly says.
You can’t speak. Your tongue feels like deadweight.
“You held your breath and everything,” he reminisces, and you suddenly feel breathless. Like you’re drowning and gasping for air, but even when you hit the surface, it’s not enough.
He flips the page again, and there's another one. Age 10. Same mistletoe, different living room. It was the year your parents moved homes, but remained down the street from Jungkook’s. You’re wearing a red dress your mom made you wear, and he’s in a sweater that's too big. His hand is on your cheek, and you can see, even in the photo, how red your face was.
“We did this every year,” he notes, and there’s a nostalgic edge to his voice that wasn’t there before.
“Yeah.” The word comes out hoarse. You clear your throat. And then the words are out before you can stop them, tinged with wistfulness, "Until we didn’t.”
Jungkook doesn’t acknowledge that. Just flips again. Through age 11, age 12, age 13, age 14. Each photo is a documentation of a tradition that meant everything to you.
Then he turns the page, and the mistletoe is gone. Age 15. You’re standing stiffly next to Haeun, who’s tucked under his arm, beaming at the camera. You look like you want to disappear.
“Hm,” he hums, frowning. “I guess we stopped here.”
It’s so juvenile, so high school it’s almost embarrassing. He hadn’t cared for the absence of your kiss. For him, it was a silly thing your families let you partake in. “You had Haeun. The mistletoe thing was for kids anyway”
“Was it though?” He studies the photo, and you wish he would stop, wish he would close the album and move on to anything else. The question isn’t meant to be flirtatious but a selfish part of you wishes it was. “I always thought it was fun.”
“Our parents got so excited over it.” He flips back to the earlier photos, running his finger over the vintage picture. “We’d be right under the mistletoe and she’d count down with her camera ready like it was the New Years countdown.”
“She was probably hoping to plaster us on some kids’ Christmas ad.”
“It was cute.” He lands on the photo from when you were six—the very first one. His tiny self kissing your cheek, your hand frozen mid-reach to touch the spot. “Look how tiny we were. Little babies.”
He says it so innocently that something inside you stumbles.
You cover your face with your hands, as if he could see the adoration written all over your face. But even if he could, he probably wouldn’t say anything “I’m mortified. I didn’t realize my mom took so many pictures of us kissing as kids.”
He scrunches his brows, looking over at you. “Was it really that bad?”
Yes. No. It was the best and worst thing that ever happened to you. “Kinda. I mean, I survived, didn’t I?”
“Barely, from the looks of it.” He taps the photo, where baby you looks seconds away from a panic attack. “It’s not like I had cooties.”
You smile. “Oh, yes you did. If anyone had cooties, it was definitely you. You ran that playground like it was your personal dating pool.”
“Rude.” He bumps your shoulder, turning the page slowly, lingering on each mistletoe photo. “I can’t believe we did this for almost a decade.”
“Used me for practice?” It doesn’t feel like there’s enough air in your apartment, even with the window cracked open. It’s taking tremendous effort to breathe.
“Worked well for us, I think.”
“Why’d you stop?”
Oh god, you’ve really done it now.
Surprisingly enough, the embarrassment comes belatedly, but it settles in your stomach all the stronger.
Surprise flashes across his face. “What?”
“After Haeun. I guess… I don’t know. You never—” You wish you could say the words, wish you could be brave, wish you could be six years old again with Jeon Jungkook’s lips on your cheek. “Why’d it just… end?”
He’s quiet. The sound of your space heater rattling and Ginger purring fills the room, but not enough to quell the anxiety that’s rumbling in your stomach. He’s going to let you down gently, you hope. Quick and painless, like a bullet to the head.
“I don’t know. I guess I thought you didn’t want to anymore. We were older. I thought it would feel weird to you.”
Weird.
And this whole time, for you, his kiss was nothing short of ethereal.
“Plus,” he continues, oblivious to the way your heart is splintering, “I figured it’d be uncomfortable doing it once I had girlfriends. Like it would be... I don't know. Inappropriate or something.”
He was being considerate. Somehow, and you know you’re being irrational, that makes it worse.
“It makes sense.” You force a smile. “Relax, Koo. I’m not writing sonnets about your lips every night.”
He snorts. “Oh, please, you wish you could have lips as luscious as mine.”
You push his shoulder, and then it’s just you and Jungkook again. Nothing more, nothing less.
He flips through a few more pages, ogling at pictures even you’d never seen before. He points to one where you're both wearing matching reindeer antlers. “Now, this should be on a Christmas card.”
“I’m shocked my mom didn’t have cards made. I would’ve burned them”
“You’re such a Grinch.” He closes the album but keeps it in his lap, fingers tracing the worn cover. Jungkook is quiet for another moment, and you catch the look on his face, the one he makes when he’s struggling to choose his words correctly. Decisively, he says, “Did you really hate it? The mistletoe thing?”
Your heart hammers. This is it, you think. This is where you could tell him. Where you could say actually, I loved it, I lived for it, I died a little every year you stopped.
But he’s looking at you with curiosity, as if he’s pondering what your favorite color is or what you had for breakfast. As if the answer doesn’t matter beyond satisfying his momentary interest.
You lie. “It was fine. Just a stupid kid thing.”
He sets the album aside, wiping his dusty palms on the front of his pants. “Yeah. Totally.”
Jungkook moves back to the decoration boxes, and you remain frozen on the couch. You grip your safety blanket as tight as you can, until you think you feel your blood flow cutting off. You just want to feel numb.
“You know what is crazy, though?” He pulls out a string of garland, examining it for tangled bits. “You used to be obsessed with Christmas.”
Your stomach does a somersault. “I was not.”
“Yeah, you kinda were.” His eyes linger on the garland, although you’re certain it’s in perfect condition. “You made us watch Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer and Frosty the Snowman on repeat. You also made us build snowmen every single time it snowed, even when it was like, two inches.”
“Everyone loves those things when you’re a kid.”
“Yeah, I guess.” he sighs. “But I don’t know. You had a countdown, you’d call me everyday in December to tell me how many days were left. That was your favorite holiday, and now I’m the only one who likes it.”
You shrug, hoping to come across as nonchalant, but you know he can read your face like an open book. “People change.”
“When did you even stop liking it?” He picks up a few string lights, untangling them as he’s doing to you currently.
Your throat tightens. “High school, maybe?”
“Cause of stress or something? School shit?”
“Sure.”
“It’s a yes or no question.”
“That’s the answer you’re getting.” You really, really wish there was a sinkhole that could swallow you entirely right now.
He studies you, and you can see him thinking, piecing together something you don’t want him to figure out. But despite it all, he just shrugs, letting it go. “It's depressing. You used to light up the whole room when Christmas came around. Now you look like someone killed Ginger."
She purrs in the corner.
“Sorry, Ging.” He throws the lights to the yes pile. It’s surprisingly larger than the no pile. “I just want you to be happy this Christmas. That’s all I care about.”
You half-smile at him, nodding. You don’t know how to tell him that you could be happy, could be ecstatic, if just this Christmas, you felt his lips on yours again.
Turns out, it’s a lot easier to throw yourself into party planning when you’re trying to distract yourself from something.
This whole debacle makes you realize you’ve never actually hosted a Christmas party. You actively avoid Christmas. What made you think you could pull this off? (Granted it’s all Jungkook’s fault, but that’s neither here nor there.)
The group chat you made for the attendees is already chaos—Jisoo asking about the playlist, Taehyung confirming he’s still vegetarian (yes, still, it's been four days), Dahyun asking if she can breastfeed in your bedroom. Your anxiety spikes with every notification.
So it’s no surprise that the day before the party, you wake up in a cold sweat at 6AM with the horrifying realization that you have no idea what you’re doing. By the time Jungkook arrives at noon, you’ve managed to rearrange your furniture three times and stress-clean your bathroom until it’s sterile enough to perform surgery in.
“Wow,” He steps inside, taking in the boxes of decorations you’ve laid out for him to tackle. “Did you even sleep?”
“I would, but Jisoo and Jennie are blowing up my phone like this is the fucking MET Gala or something.” You huff, not pausing your incessant scrubbing of your kitchen sink.
“They know it’s just the annual Christmas party… right?”
You puff another exasperated breath. “Yes. But none of that matters to them because they’ve sent me 30 different outfit options like I’m going to be judging them personally or something.”
He bites back a smile. “It’s time to call in the big guns. Where can I get my hands dirty, sergeant?”
You really are grateful he’s here. And exists. And all those other sentimental things that your heart sings about constantly.
You two go full decorator mode, moving through your apartment like a well-oiled machine. He hangs the garland while you untangle lights, arrange the ornaments while he figures out how to make your bookshelf look “festive but not icky.” His words, not yours.
It’s disgusting how much Christmas is invading your space. Your minimal, clean apartment now looks like Santa threw up in it. There are silver bells on your kitchen counter, a wreath on your door that's so aggressively pine-scented you can taste it. There are candles labeled things like “Winter Wonderland” and “Cinnamon Craze” that you know will take weeks to burn through after this is all said and done.
But you keep going, because if you stop, you’ll think. If you think, you’ll remember the photo album, the mistletoe pictures, the dumb kid thing.
“Alright, I need my harshest critic.” Jungkook motions to you to survey the living room.
Standing beside him, you inspect the damage. Warm white lights are strung along your windows and wrapped around your bookshelf. A garland drapes elegantly across your mantle (you don't have a fireplace, but the decorative mantle suddenly feels worth it). There are small golden ornaments scattered tastefully on your side tables, and the wreath on the door is admittedly very pretty, even if it does smell like a forest.
“Not too shabby, Jeon.”
He looks offended. “Yeah, no shit. I deserve better than that.”
“Subpar at best.”
“I’m gonna punt Ginger like a football.”
“I think the lights are nice,” you finally concede, because they are. They make your apartment look warm, cozy even.
“Told you I was good at this." He's grinning like a Cheshire cat, that proud, bunny-toothed smile that makes your chest hurt. “Admit it. I crushed this.”
You roll your eyes. “You did alright.”
He gapes, blinking frantically. “Okay? Okay? I turned your Grinch lair into a winter wonderland!”
“My abode is not a lair.”
“It was before I arrived.” He sticks his tongue out, and you shove his shoulder.
“I think we're done,” you say, more to yourself than to him. “This is... yeah. This is enough.”
“Well… almost.” Jungkook looks like a kid who’s just been told he can’t have dessert before dinner but is already plotting how to sneak a cookie anyway.
Your stomach sinks. “What do you mean almost?” you ask, even though you think you already know.
“I have a surprise.”
You protest, “Jungkook—”
“Wait right here.” He holds up a hand, jogs back toward the entryway where he’d dropped his bag earlier. You stiffen like you’re made of ice, the only thing moving in your body being your heartbeat that thumps along the walls of your ribcage.
Please don’t be what you think it is. Please don’t be what you think it is.
He turns around, and your heart sinks lower than where your stomach sat.
In his hand, dangling from a red ribbon, is a mistletoe.
It’s small, crinkled, fake plastic leaves bent at weird angles like it was shoved in the back of his closet for years. It probably has been.
“No,” you object immediately.
“Come on—”
“No. This is a hard no, Jungkook.” And you know you’re being harsh, but it’s the only way you’ll get him to stop whatever efforts he’s decided are worth his time.
“You said no mistletoe in the apartment,” he argues, walking toward you with that stupid sprig held up. “Technically, this is going above the doorway, which is a threshold. Not in the apartment.”
“That’s the worst logic I’ve ever heard.”
“But it’s tradition!” You can see the hope in his eyes, the genuine excitement, and it makes you want to rip your hair out. “Every Christmas party needs a mistletoe.”
“Not this one.”
“Especially yours. Ours.” His voice softens, and that's worse somehow. “For old times’ sake?”
You hate the tone in his voice, the guilt-tripping, the pity.
“I don’t want it,” you repeat. “I told you this already.”
His smile falters as he realizes you’re truly serious. “Why not?
“Because it’s stupid and outdated and I don’t want people making a big deal about it.”
“Why would any of our friends make a big deal—”
“Jungkook,” you plead, crossing your arms, putting a physical barrier between you and that mistletoe. “I said no.’
He just stares at you, confusion and hurt flickering across his face. “I don’t get it. It’s literally just a mistletoe. It’s supposed to be fun.”
Fun, weird… a list of words that describe the opposite of what mistletoe makes you feel.
“It’s not fun for me.” You burn holes into your floor, refusing to look at his puppy eyes that would make you feel more guilty than you already do.
“Why not?”
Because everytime I look at it, I think about you kissing me when we were kids. Because it reminds me of when Christmas was my favorite day of the year. Because seeing it in my apartment, above my doorway, at my party, will make me think about all the Christmases you kissed other girls and not me.
“Because I don’t like it,” you decide upon, “Can’t you just respect that?”
An awkward silence spreads amongst you two, punctured only by Ginger purring in the corner. Jungkook's hand drops to his side, mistletoe dangling limply from his fingers.
“Fine,” he murmurs. “No mistletoe.”
“Thank you,” you sigh in relief.
He walks back to his bag and shoves it inside, and you should feel relieved. You should feel like you’ve won. But instead, you just feel like you’ve punched him square in the face.
“I should probably go,” he says, not meeting your eyes. “Let you rest before the big day tomorrow.”
“Oh, uh, yeah.” You shift on your feet awkwardly.
He gathers his things timidly, and you know he’s giving you time to take it back, to say you’re sorry, to explain, to undo the angst you’ve created.
At the door, he pauses before reaching for the doorknob. Jungkook turns, clutching his bag strap so tightly his knuckles resemble those of a ghost. “I really don't understand what's going on with you.”
“Nothing’s going on,” you mutter.
“That’s utter bullshit,” he snaps, and you raise your eyes to meet his. The usual warm chocolate shade of his orbs now shifts to onyx. “You’ve been weird about this whole Christmas party thing since day one.”
“I said, there’s nothing going on. I don’t want to talk about it,” you repeat, hoping it’ll stick.
“But I do!” His voice rises, and you flinch. Jungkook doesn’t yell. Not once in your lifelong friendship has he ever raised his voice or laid a finger on anyone. You were never involved in any of his relationship arguments, but you imagine he never argued with them like this. You suddenly feel dizzy, like the world is spinning too quickly for you to catch your breath. “I’ve known you forever. You’re my best fucking friend, and something is clearly wrong, so just tell me.”
Frustration coils in your stomach. Why can’t he ever leave anything alone? “Stop it. Please, just stop. Why can’t you just respect my boundaries? I said no mistletoe. I said I don’t want to talk about it. Why isn’t that enough for you?”
“This obviously is not just about the fucking mistletoe, [Y/N].” He tugs at his hair, rage rolling off him in waves. “Since the moment I brought up you hosting, you acted like I was attacking you.”
“Because you are!” None of it makes sense, not one bit, but you can’t tell between anger and panic and all you can see is red. “Maybe because you just bulldoze through my life, rearranging things, making decisions, assuming you know what's best—”
“We’re best friends. We help each other with everything,” he grits through clenched teeth.
“I’m not Hana, Jungkook. I won’t just let you decorate my life and pretend everything's perfect.”
For a moment, Jungkook seems taken aback by your outburst, recoils a step, landing with his spine against the front door. His face goes pale. “Wow. That’s fucking low.”
“Is it?” You're on a roll now, unable to stop even though you can see you’re hurting him. Maybe you just want him to hurt the way you do. “Because when you kept all of Hana’s things, when your apartment was basically a shrine to her, I never said a fucking thing about it. I just let you deal with it however you needed to. So why can’t you give me the same courtesy? Why can’t you just let this go?”
“Hana and I broke up!” His voice cracks, eyes glassy, “That’s so different and you know it.”
“How is it different? Enlighten me.”
“She was my girlfriend. And it hurt, okay? It hurt to let her go. But I did it. I'm doing it because it’s over and I don’t miss her that way anymore. And you’re the one who pushed me to. So don’t—" He pauses, jaw clenched, and you can see he’s trying to swallow his tears. “Don’t throw that in my face like I’m some pathetic asshole who can't move on.”
Fuck. “Koo—”
“No.” He holds up a hand. It’s shaking. “You want boundaries? Fine. Here’s one: don’t call me until you figure out what the fuck is actually going on with you. Because this isn’t you. The you I know doesn’t make me feel like shit for trying to care about you.”
You swallow around the lump forming in your throat. “Jungkook, I’m so sorry—”
“Save it.” His voice is quieter, and you miss the yelling, because at least then he still cared about you. He’s given up. “I’ll still come to the party tomorrow because I told everyone I would. But after that… maybe we should take a break from each other or something.”
“Oh.”
Throughout the duration of your friendship, you and Jungkook have only ever fought once. It was known as The Great Argument of 11th Grade, and it was so juvenile that even your parents got involved. Now, you don’t really remember the specifics of what went down or who started it, but you do remember that it only lasted a day, because Jungkook said, “you know I can’t stay away from you for too long.”
The concept of space from him is one you’ve never considered.
He leaves before you can say anything more, the door clicking shut with finality, echoing through your decorated apartment.
You stand there, frozen, staring at the space where he was. The mistletoe is still in his bag. He took it with him.
The rest of your unfortunate day is spent spiraling about your argument with Jungkook. You sit on the couch, crying to some stupid Hallmark movie where the girl gets the guy and everything works out perfectly. Then you cry in the shower, the water mixing with your tears until you can’t tell which is which. You go so far as to cry in your car on the way to the grocery store, because you two were supposed to go together to prepare for this stupid party.
Even the supermarket is taunting you. There’s couples everywhere walking around gleefully, hand-in-hand, debating between red or green napkins like it’s the most important decision of their lives. Meanwhile, you’re shuffling through the aisles in a massive oversized hoodie that’s doing nothing to hide your puffy eyes and red nose.
Sniffling, you round the corner to the next aisle, looking for Taehyung’s stupid vegetable broth. Your cart collides with someone else’s with a loud clang, and you’re thrown, apologizing like crazy, “Ohmygod, I’m so sorry, I wasn’t paying attention—”
“[Y/N]?”
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Hana.
The last time you saw Hana was last January after the breakup. She was collecting her things at Jungkook’s apartment, and you’d shown up at the wrong moment. Her eyes were bloodshot, movements solemn as she shoved books and clothes into a duffel bag. She’d barely looked at you, just mumbled a quiet “hey” before brushing past you in the hallway. You had felt guilty then, even though you had no reason to be.
At least now, she looks radiant. Her skin reflects off the luminescent overhead lights, cart stocked full of fancy cheeses and wine bottles and overpriced crackers. She looks like someone who has her shit together. Someone who’s moved on.
Unlike you, apparently, who looks like you’ve been crying in your car. Which, by all means, you absolutely were.
“Hana,” you slap a smile onto your face, although you’re 99 percent certain it looks strained. “It’s good to see you.”
“You too!” She seems actually happy about the encounter. It’s not like you two ever had a bad relationship, but you weren’t besties by any means. “It’s been forever.”
“Yeah, almost a year.” You’re too hyperaware of your puffy eyes, your ratty hoodie, the fact that you probably look like you’ve been hit by a truck. But of course, she looks like she just stepped out of Vogue.
“How have you been?” she asks.
“Good. Busy. You know, the holidays,” You nod at your cart, which contains three different types of cheeses, ten bags of chips, and a bag of chocolate chips for yourself because you need to eat your feelings when you get home.
“I do,” she laughs. “Work has been insane lately. I barely have time to go outside.”
“Right, you’re at that new marketing agency now?” You remember Jungkook mentioning it once, back when talking about Hana was therapeutic for him.
“I do.” she nods. “It’s a lot but I love it. What about you? Still at the magazine?”
“I am. I actually just finished a pretty big piece, so that’s good.”
“That’s amazing,” she earnestly responds. You want to hate her—it would be easier if you could hate her—but she’s always been kind. Even when you wanted to despise her for being with Jungkook, she made it impossible.
There’s a lull in conversation, and you debate making a run for it until she asks, “How are you and Jungkook?”
You furrow your brows. She could just ask you about Jungkook. You wouldn’t judge her for wondering. “What do you mean?”
“I just—” A crimson blush creeps onto her cheeks. “I mean, how are you guys doing?”
Why would she ask about you both together? Granted, it’s not that unreasonable. You and Jungkook are attached at the hip; everyone knows that. “We’re… good? He’s good.”
“Cool,” she says, but she doesn’t even look convinced by your answer.
You don’t know why you feel the need to overshare, but it all comes tumbling out like word vomit. “Yeah, he’s actually been helping me plan this Christmas party. Total nightmare, honestly. He’s been at my place basically every day this week, decorating and—”
She cracks a smile. “That’s so cute you guys are still inseparable.”
“I mean… “ you trail off, slightly confused by her angle. “We’re best friends. So yeah.”
“Of course,” she rushes to say. “Duh. Silly me.”
“Is that... weird?” You clear your throat and shift on your feet. You don’t even know what she’s trying to get at anymore, and honestly, you really need to get as far away from this supermarket (or Seoul) as fast as you can.
“No! No, not weird. I think it’s sweet, actually.” She pauses before adding, “I'm really happy for you guys”
Either you must be braindead, or she’s undergoing memory loss. “I’m sorry Hana, I don’t think I’m following.”
She laughs softly, but it’s not mocking. “Come on, [Y/N]. You don’t have to pretend with me.”
Your stupid heart skips a beat, your brain struggling to make sense of her words. “Pretend about what?”
“That you and Jungkook aren’t together, obviously.”
Have you entered an alternate universe? Did you accidentally drive into another dimension in all your sadness, missed the supermarket completely?
“What?” you sputter. “No, we’re not—oh my god, no. We would never, I mean—we’re best friends.”
She reaches out, placing a warm hand over your own. You’re going to die. It’ll be a painful death, but you’ll make it work. Anything to get out of this. “No, it’s okay. You can tell. Honest to god, I’m seeing someone now. I’m not like, jealous or anything.”
It’s confirmed. You’ve entered an alternate world where you’ll soon grow a second head and become the queen of a make-believe land.
“Hana, I’m dead serious. Jungkook and I are not dating.” You need her to believe you. You need someone to believe you, because if Hana thinks there’s something there, what the fuck does that mean? “We’ve never dated. We’re just friends. That’s all we’ve ever been.”
She studies your face, searching for the lies. Confusion replaces her certainty. “Wait, really?”
“Really.”
“But you…” She trails off, shaking her head. “Wow. Okay. I genuinely thought you guys had finally gotten together.”
Your throat constricts. “W-Why would you think that?”
“Because,” she stops, biting her lip. “Nevermind. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed.”
It gives you pause for a minute, and your heart—that idiotic organ of yours that can never let go of anything—trembles in your chest.
“No, what were you going to say?” You’re not sure you want to know, but you can’t let it go now.
She casually flicks her hand. “It’s nothing, I swear.”
You exhale a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “Hana. Please.”
She sighs, shifting on her feet. “It’s just... when Jungkook and I were together, it was always pretty clear that you were the most important person in his life. Which, like, I totally respected! I did, I get it. But it was also kind of hard sometimes, you know? Like I was always competing with this... ghost. This idea of what you two had.”
Ever since you were young, people had this tendency to group you and Jungkook into this category of fate, as if the universe had done you both a favor by placing you in adjacent hospital cribs. It was always “you’re lucky to have each other” and “what a gift to be so close,” that you had never stopped to consider that your luck, your fate, your happiness, your shining star, might cast shadows on the people who tried to love him.
“Hana, I never meant to—”
“No, no,” she rushes to say, “Trust me, it wasn’t you. You did nothing wrong. Neither did he, really. He tried his best. But I could always tell his heart wasn’t fully in it. At least, not in the way it should have been.”
Words fall short of what you want to say. Hana and Jungkook’s relationship had always felt like something out of reach to you. An enigma. The plot of some braindead romance novel. They met at a concert, an underground indie band that only the two of them liked. He had stumbled home that night with a smile on his face that couldn’t be erased, eyes bright as exploding stars, talking so fast his words tripped over each other. You remember thinking this is it, the real thing, the love that rewrites him. You had never imagined that magic would ever run dry.
“Anyway,” Hana continues, “I just assumed that once we broke up, you two would figure it out. The way he talked about you, the way he’d light up when you texted... I don't know. I thought it was inevitable.”
“Well, it’s not.” The words prick your tongue like thorns. “We’re just friends.”
“Oh. Well, that’s still cool,” she offers, but her eyes have gone all soft.
For a while, it’s quiet. She’s staring at you intently, chewing on her lip like she has more to say but needs to mash it down. But you really just want to grab Taehyung’s stupid vegetable broth and get the fuck out of here.
“It was great to see you, Hana. I need to go and—”
“[Y/N], wait.” She latches onto your arm before you get a chance to escape.
You stare at her, wide-eyed, heart racing, mouth dry.
“I probably shouldn't be telling you this. Maybe it should be him, I don’t fucking know," she says, rolling her eyes. "But clearly he hasn’t grown the balls yet. Well, that, or his peanut brain hasn’t pieced it together. But I’m gonna tell you anyway.”
Your hands grip the cart handle. “Tell me what?”
There’s a long pause, and you can feel her weighing her words. Until, finally, she admits, “Last Christmas, when we were under the mistletoe… when Jungkook kissed me.” She takes a deep breath. “He was looking at you.”
Your first reaction is to laugh. Which you do, actually, loud enough to bounce off the cans of corn on the shelves. At the sound, Hana raises an eyebrow.
“What are you talking about?” you giggle. “No, he wasn’t.”
She’s watching you now with something that resembles pity.
“We were under the mistletoe at your friend Jisoo’s apartment. Everyone was there, all your friends. And he kissed me, but…” Hana swallows thickly. “When we pulled apart, his eyes were open, and he wasn’t looking at me. He was looking across the room at you.”
You think you’re going to die in this godforsaken supermarket.
“I didn’t say anything that night. I thought maybe I’d imagined it, but then it kept happening. He’d be with me, but he’d be watching you. Listening for you, waiting for you to text or call.” She laughs dryly, but you’re not sure either of you find this funny. “On New Years, I asked him about it. I asked him if he was in love with you.”
Bile rises up in your throat. You don’t even think you want to hear the rest of this. If she’s right, if it’s true, if you’ve missed this, if, if, if..
“What did he say, Hana?”
“Obviously, he lied and said no. He said you were just friends, and that I was being ridiculous. But then we broke up two weeks later. We both agreed we needed space, and I said that he wasn’t ready for something serious. And maybe that's true, maybe I was reading into things." She finally meets your eyes again. "But I don’t think I was.”
Last Christmas, you were so drunk on Jisoo’s eggnog that you hardly remember anything. You try to piece together the snippets of the night you have. There was dinner, which you scarfed down in under a millisecond. Then you all played pin the cock on the Santa (not suitable for kids, but luckily, baby Haewon only lived in Dahyun’s uterus at that point). You barely even remember the mistletoe portion of the night. That’s got to be some kind of trauma response to the stupid little leaf.
“Why are you telling me this?” Your voice sounds far away, like it belongs to someone else.
“Because," Hana’s lips curve upwards into a soft smile, “I spent a year loving someone who was in love with someone else, and it sucked, but you know what sucks more? Watching two people who are meant to be together waste time pretending they’re not.”
She reaches out and squeezes your arm. “I’m not bitter about it anymore. I’m happy now. I want him to be happy too. I think... I think he could be very happy with you.”
You want to argue. You want to tell her she’s wrong, that she’s misremembering, that she too was poisoned by Jisoo’s eggnog, that there's no way Jungkook feels that way about you.
But then you think about the box in his closet with your name on it. The teddy bear he kept. The way he’s been trying so hard to make you love Christmas again. The mistletoe he wanted to hang in your apartment.
No. It can’t fucking be.
“I gotta go,” you say abruptly.
“[Y/N]—”
But you’re already moving, abandoning your cart in the middle of the aisle, heart pounding so hard you can feel it in your throat. You make it to your car before the tears start again, but this time they’re different. This time, you don’t know if you’re crying because you’ve been in love with someone who doesn't love you back, or because you might've missed the entire thing completely.
There’s not enough wine in this apartment, nor this world, that will get you through this Christmas party in one piece.
It feels like the world is moving around you but you’re just glued to your kitchen, gripping your glass of white wine so tightly you’re surprised the stem hasn’t snapped. Surprisingly enough, everyone arrived on time—even Namjoon and Dahyun, balancing poor baby Haewon on their hip, her tiny Santa hat slipping over one eye. There’s enough alcohol floating around to feed a bar, courtesy of Taehyung’s overenthusiastic mixology skills.
It’s truly a splendid evening. A roaring success. Everything going exactly as planned.
Except, there are two minor (major) insignificant, soul-crushing details that are fucking up your perfect evening:
Hana’s words have been playing on loop in your brain all day.
When Jungkook arrived, he looked at you for exactly 0.5 seconds, said absolutely nothing, and spent the last hour charming everyone else in the room.
Other than that, splendid evening. Gatsby would be seething with jealousy if he saw the kind of party you were throwing.
Jungkook had walked in, present in hand for Haewon (because he was her godfather and she practically got whatever she wanted when he was around), and he’d met your eyes before looking away. No smile. No “hey.” Not even a nod of acknowledgment.
Naturally, since torturing you seems first on his agenda, he chooses this night to become the town jester. Jennie has been laughing at his jokes for what seems like ages, her hand on his arm, her head thrown back in delight. Taehyung keeps pulling him into conversations, clapping him on the shoulder. Even Dahyun, who normally has her hands full, is more entranced by Jungkook than her own daughter.
It’s what you deserve, you know that, but your heart is cracking at the seams and your brain isn’t faring any better.
You feel ill. Fucking ill.
Turning to the kitchen sink, you brace your hands on the counter. Breathe in. Breathe out. You’re fine. You just need to get through the next few hours without having a complete breakdown in front of all your friends.
“You alright?”
You jump, releasing an exhale when you see it’s just Jisoo. She’s holding a glass of red wine, matching with her burgundy turtleneck, eyebrow raised in that knowing way of hers that says she sees right through all your bullshit.
“Oh, yeah,” you reply. “Just taking a quick breather.”
“Mhm.” she eyes you up and down, leaning against the counter. “You’re basically hiding at your own party.”
“Could’ve sworn you did this last year at your Christmas party when your lasagna came out burnt,” you point out.
Jisoo deadpans. “This isn’t about me. We’re talking about you.”
Damnit. You were hoping she would let it go.
“I’m just here making sure everything’s to perfection. Y’know, Taehyung with his… vegetarianism..”
Jisoo takes a slow sip of her wine, “You wanna try that again, or should I just cut to the part where you tell me what’s actually wrong?”
Your heart falls to your ass. Jisoo is the one friend on this planet who has consistently read you down to the bone. She’s going to see right through any lie you try to feed her, so you’re wondering if it’s even worth it.
It’s worth one last shot.
“Nothing’s wrong—”
“Bitch just tell me.”
You close your eyes and try to imagine a beach, somewhere tropical with waves kissing your ankles and sand that burns your feet. Try to imagine a world where you don’t have to answer Jisoo's question, where Hana never ambushed you in the grocery store yesterday, where your feelings for Jungkook stayed frozen at age nine, still innocent and within reach.
Unfortunately, when you open your eyes again, you’re at a Christmas party—your Christmas party, in your annoyingly red sweater—and Jisoo is staring at you expectantly.
“I fucked up.”
Jisoo doesn’t look surprised in the slightest, which, okay. Rude. “With Jungkook?”
You raise an eyebrow. “How did you know that?”
“I mean, you’re not having a fight with any of the girls, or I would’ve heard an earful. That and he won’t glance in your direction and you look like you’re about to throw up. Doesn’t take Einstein.” She places her wine down. “What happened?”
Keeping it bottled up has never done you any favors, so you steady your voice and explain everything. How you didn’t want to host the party in the first place because Christmas makes you miserable. How Jungkook kept pushing about the mistletoe. How you snapped at him, brought up Hana, threw his grief in his face. How he left and told you he needed space and you haven’t spoken since.
You probably could’ve told her more, but you don’t want to tell her about the mistletoe tradition. You don’t tell her about being in love with him for thirteen years. Those truths feel like just yours.
When you finish, Jisoo is quiet for a long moment. Then, she sighs, levels you with a look, and says, “That was a low blow.”
“I know.”
“Like, really bad.”
“I know.”
“He was just trying to help, and you basically told him he’s pathetic for not being over his ex.”
“I know, Jisoo. Trust me, I know.” You press the heels of your palms against your eyes. “I feel like shit about it.”
“Have you apologized?”
“He said he needed space. Hence why he won’t look at me.”
“I mean, space doesn’t mean you can’t say sorry.” She picks up her wine again. “Look, I get it. You were overwhelmed. The party planning, the decorations, whatever else is going on in that head of yours. But Jungkook didn’t deserve that”.
“I know he didn’t.” you reply, now having trouble controlling your voice. “I just... I don’t know how to fix this.”
“The word you’re looking for, my dear, is sorry,” she smiles sympathetically.
You nod, even though the thought of approaching him right now makes you want to crawl into a hole.
The party outside seems to pick up in volume, and through the crack in the doorway, you see Jungkook holding baby Haewon, cradling her carefully against his chest like she’s made of glass. He’s wearing a dark green sweater, the color of mistletoe, and his skin looks golden under the string lights he helped set up. He’s cooing at the baby, making ridiculous faces, and Haewon is giggling, her tiny hand reaching up to grab his nose.
Dahyun is standing next to him, saying something that makes him laugh, and the light sound carries over the music and chatter. It’s his real laugh, the one that crinkles his nose and shows all his teeth, the one you thought you only got to see.
And suddenly you can picture it with perfect clarity: Jungkook, a few years from now, holding his own baby. His and someone else’s, some girl who isn’t you, who doesn’t have years of baggage and unspoken feelings weighing her down. Someone who can give him the uncomplicated love he deserves.
You didn’t even realize Jisoo was talking until you feel her hand on your arm.
Blinking out of your daze, you snap back to the kitchen, to the party, to reality. “Sorry, what?”
But it’s too late—Jisoo isn’t looking at you anymore. She’s following your gaze to the dining room, to Jungkook and the baby, and understanding dawns across her face.
“Oh,” she says.
Who knew a single syllable could carry so much weight?
“How long?” Jisoo questions.
“How long what?”
“Do not play dumb with me, missy. How long have you been in love with him?”
You’ve been tiptoeing around the truth for a long time. But you’re so tired of pretending, and the wine has loosened your tongue, and Jisoo is looking at you with such gentle understanding that the truth just spills out.
“Since I was a kid.”
Jisoo's eyes widen. “Jesus Christ, [Y/N].”
“Yeah,” is all you can offer.
“Does he know?” She lowers her voice, leans more into you like he might somehow hear across the room.
“Absolutely not,” you retort. “He can’t, and he won’t. It would ruin our friendship.”
She opens her mouth to protest, to probably give you some grand speech on how love wins above all, but you hold your hand up to stop her. “I’m serious, Jisoo. You can’t tell him. Pinky promise me.”
She studies you for a long moment, and you can see her debating whether to push. Finally, she sighs and holds out her pinkie. “I promise. But for the record, I think you’re an idiot.”
“I get that a lot.”
From the dining room, you hear Jungkook laugh again, and it feels like someone’s wrapped barbed wire around your heart and pulled tight.
“You really should talk to him, though,” Jisoo repeats. “Like tonight, before it gets worse.”
It’s already worse.
“I can’t,” you disagree, taking a gulp of wine. “You saw him. The man won’t even look at me.”
“Because he’s pissed, not ‘cause he hates you.” She squeezes your arm. “This is Jungkook we’re talking about. Your Jungkook. He’s probably just as miserable as you are.”
The words your Jungkook make you shiver. He’s never actually been yours in any way that matters. But god, the way Jisoo says it makes you want to believe it. Makes you want to crawl inside those two words and live there, in a world where your Jungkook means he’s yours the way you’ve always been his. Completely, irrevocably, in every way a person can belong to another.
“I don’t know, he seems to be the fucking class clown tonight,” you mumble into your wine, and Jisoo snorts.
“I promise you he’s waiting for you to make the first move. He said he needed space, but that doesn’t mean he wants the space. You know how he is—he’s a loverboy. Gets all up in his feelings and shit.”
You do know. You’ve known Jungkook long enough to recognize all his patterns.
Either way, you know just what to say to appease Jisoo. “Maybe later.”
“Later as in tonight, or later as in you’re going to avoid him until you two just forget about it and move on?”
Yeah, exactly that.
“We’ll see.”
Jisoo gives you a look that says she knows exactly what “we'll see” means in your vocabulary. “What’s your therapist’s name again? I want to give them a call.”
You hold up your middle finger.
“It’s gonna be a loooong night,” she exhales a loud breath.
And truly, she must have magical powers or something, because it is nothing short of a treacherous evening for you.
It all starts with Dahyun intercepting you, forcing you to hold Haewon. “Can you hold her for a sec? I need to use the bathroom and Joon’s three drinks deep trying to explain some conspiracy theory to Taehyung.”
You’re halfway through your protest when she just plops Haewon into your arms. She settles against your chest with a little coo, her Santa hat askew. She smells like powder, milk, and Dahyun’s perfume. Her tiny fist curls into your sweater, and despite the trainwreck that is your life, you smile brightly.
“Hi, pretty girl,” you murmur, adjusting her weight. “I bet you don’t know what it’s like to be in love with someone who doesn’t love you back. Because everyone loves you, since you’re perfect.”
Bouncing her gently, you two sway in place, and she makes a happy gurgling sound as if to say “yes, I know I’m perfect.” Someone has put on Nat King Cole, and the crooning voice of “The Christmas Song” fills your apartment with a nostalgic warmth you’ve been trying to avoid all month.
Haewon has the cutest little fingers and even tinier toes, and it amazes you how someone so utterly perfect could exit your friend Dahyun’s body. Before she met Namjoon, she was nothing short of a party girl, but now, her days are filled with Mommy & Me yoga classes and supermarket runs.
It’s your dream life, you think. One that you would give anything to live with Jungkook.
You’re so focused on this fantasy, the one you’ve conjured up in your head and dreams for years, that you don’t even realize Jungkook is blatantly staring at you.
He’s standing near the drinks table, a bottle of beer frozen halfway to his lips. You meet his eyes, and it’s just you and Jungkook (and Haewon).
Haewon squirms in your arms, breaking your gaze. You look down at her, adjusting her hat, heart hammering against your ribcage. When you look back up, Jungkook has turned away, saying something to Taehyung that you can’t hear over the blood whooshing in your ears.
But his knuckles are white around his beer bottle.
Later on in the night, after you’ve tended to Taehyung’s vegetarian needs and listened to Jisoo rant about how clean eating relates to consumerism, you retreat to the kitchen under the guise of refilling the snack bowls. No one needs more chips—there are three unopened bags on the counter—but you need a moment of reprieve.
You rip open a bag of pretzels, and a few go flying everywhere, but you manage to catch them in your hand.
“Need any help?”
Your body goes rigid. You’re certain even your heart has stopped its beat.
Jungkook is standing in the doorway, hands shoved in his pockets, looking anywhere but directly at you. The green sweater really is unfair. The golden undertone of his skin shimmers under your fluorescent light, makes his eyes look lustrous.
“All good here,” you retort. “I’m just restocking.”
He makes a noise of acknowledgment, shuffling closer toward you.
You pour pretzels into a bowl with more force than necessary, and several bounce onto the counter.
“The party’s a hit,” he offers.
“Yeah. Everyone seems happy.”
“The food’s really good too.”
“It was all Namjoon and Dahyun,” you snort. Your dream of getting food catered pretty much died immediately. Then you tried cracking open a recipe book and nearly fainted.
This is excruciating. You’ve never done small talk with Jungkook. Never needed to.
“Listen—”
“Jungkook,” you say in unison.
Words cease to exist. You both stop. A dreadful, awkward silence fills the kitchen.
He clears his throat. “I want us to talk later after everyone leaves. If that’s okay with you?”
Where the idea of talking to him used to excite you, is now replaced by a pit in your stomach that won’t budge.
Hana’s words crash back into your consciousness. He was looking at you.
But what if she was wrong? What if she saw something that wasn’t there because she was hurt and wanted an explanation that made sense? What if you let yourself hope and it destroys you?
“Maybe, Jungkook.”
Disappointment flashes across his face. He nods slowly. “Cool, yeah, uh, just let me know.”
He turns to leave, and you want to say more, want to stop him from leaving.
Your mind runs back to the grocery store, Hana’s words.
You open your mouth—to say what, you don't know. Sorry. Wait. I need to tell you something.
“Jungkook.”
Jennie pokes her head into the kitchen, oblivious to everything. “There you are! Tae’s trying to make everyone play some weird drinking game. You have to come referee before I murder him.”
Jungkook looks back at you, a question in his eyes.
“Go ahead,” you smile. “I’ll join in a sec.”
He hesitates for just a second, then follows Jennie to the party.
By the time you make it back to the living room, Taehyung has indeed corralled everyone into some drinking game involving Christmas trivia. You slide into an empty spot on the couch next to Jisoo, who gives you a pointed look that you ignore.
“Is this a joke?” you ask.
“Tis not, Christmas hater,” Taehyung jokes. He explains the rules of the game, most of which you spend picking at your fingernails. The game begins with Jennie getting a question wrong about Rudolph and has to take a shot of tequila. Dahyun argues that her answer about Home Alone is technically correct. Jungkook keeps score attentively, tongue poking through his teeth.
You're almost starting to relax when Namjoon, flushed from wine and dad-exhaustion, looks around your apartment with squinted eyes.
“Wait,” he says loud enough to make Taehyung’s and Jisoo’s current feud halt. “Where’s the mistletoe?”
Last Christmas by Wham is blaring from your speakers, and you can hear traffic from the street below, but a barrage of red alerts blasts through your brain.
Shit.
Your throat goes dry.
“Yeah!” Dahyun laughs, adjusting Haewon on her lap. “Where is it? I thought mistletoe was like, mandatory at Christmas parties.”
“Maybe she forgot,” Jennie offers, and you could kiss her on the lips.
“Feels like a crazy thing to forget,” Jisoo chimes in, and you shush her with a glare.
“I didn’t forget.” You can feel Jungkook’s eyes on you, but you don’t look at him. “I just didn’t put one up.”
“Why not?” Taehyung interrogates, crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s tradition.”
Tradition. That stupid fucking word.
“It’s not really my thing.” You shrug.
“Since when?” Jennie arches a brow. “In college, you made us all kiss under the mistletoe in Jihyo’s dorm.”
You were obliterated and desperately trying to create some scenario where kissing Jungkook would happen again, even as a joke. It hadn’t worked. He’d kissed Jisoo on the cheek and you’d kissed Namjoon and everyone had laughed and moved on and you’d gone home and cried into your pillow.
“I was drunk,” you argue.
Jisoo is studying her drink intensely, and by the sheer force of mind reading, you beg her not to say something.
“I think it's nice,” Dahyun says, attempting to ease the awkwardness. “More elegant without it, you know? Like out of an Ikea catalogue!”
You throw her a grateful look.
“It does save people from those awkward forced kisses with people they don’t want to kiss,” she adds, and multiple other people nod in agreement.
“Exactly! That’s exactly it.” You practically leap out of your seat.
But you can still feel Jungkook looking at you. You chance a glance in his direction and immediately regret it. He’s not trying to hide his expression anymore. He looks visibly hurt, with his jaw tight and lips twitching.
“Should we keep playing?” Jennie asks, and bless her for it.
“Yeah,” Taehyung shuffles his trivia cards. “Alright, next question is for Jungkook.”
The game resumes, clockwise around the room, but even then, neither you or Jungkook care about anything else but each other.
Jungkook’s not sure when it happened.
There wasn’t a single moment, no dramatic revelation where the clouds parted and you were all grown up. It was more like watching a sunrise, so gradual that he didn’t even notice it was happening until the entire sky was painted in vivid bright colors. One day you were his best friend, the girl who knew all his secrets and laughed at his dumb jokes and fell asleep during movie nights with your head on his shoulder. Then, somewhere along the way, you became something more—flourished into a beautiful flower.
He thinks it might have started in high school, when you showed up to junior prom in that light blue dress that complemented your eyes. Your mother spent thirty minutes poking and prodding at your dress, noting that you were ‘filling out nicely,’ and it had taken all of Jungkook’s might not to ogle at your growing chest.
It could’ve also been in college, after you went through your first breakup and decided the proper next step was to cut your hair short, revealing the curve of your neck. He had stared for the better half of a week, and luckily, it went away once winter rolled around and you wore turtlenecks.
It could have been last year, when you laughed so hard at one of his stories that you snorted wine out of your nose, and instead of being grossed out, he’d thought it was the most endearing thing he’d ever witnessed.
Maybe it’s always been there, lurking underneath your friendship.
The thing is, Jungkook has always been sure he’s not in love with you. He’s never let himself think about it in those terms, never let the thought fully form before shoving it back down where it belongs. You are his best friend, have been since before he understood what friendship meant. You’re the person who knows him better than anyone, who’s seen him at his worst and somehow still shows up. You’re the constant in his life, the thing he’s never had to question.
But in the quiet of his own mind, he can acknowledge that you are utterly and thoroughly beautiful.
You’re brilliant too, in ways that constantly surprise him even after knowing you for years. Sharp and funny and creative, with this ability to see people that makes everyone feel understood. You remember things, stupid little details about people’s lives that they mentioned once in passing. You’re the kind of person who makes playlists for your friends based on their moods.
You made one for him last month. Called it ‘when koo is in his feelings.’
He listened to it on the way to the Christmas party.
And yeah, okay, maybe he thinks about you more than a best friend probably should. Like when he’s dating someone, there’s always this small part of his brain remembering things to tell you later, moments you’d find funny or interesting. Sometimes, he compares every girl he dates to you without meaning to… it’s just the way they laugh never quite measures up, their sense of humor is always slightly off, their understanding of him remains surface-level.
But that’s all normal friend stuff, he thinks.
“Penny for your thoughts?”
Namjoon sidles up beside Jungkook, hugging a beer bottle tight to his chest. It’s the first time he’s drank in a while, and Jungkook resists the urge to laugh at just how drunk he looks.
Jungkook takes a long sip of his beer, watching you over the rim of the bottle. You’re laughing at something Jisoo said, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. “It’s nothing.”
“Shut up.” Namjoon leans against the wall for stability. “Tell me what’s up.”
“Nothing’s up.”
“Shouldn’t you be out there, making my wife laugh harder than I have?”
Jungkook rolls his eyes. “I’m tired.”
“You have the energy of a bunny, so I doubt that,” Namjoon snickers. “C’mon, fess up. I never get involved with drama anymore after Haewon. Enlighten me.”
Jungkook considers deflecting again, but what's the point? Namjoon's going to stand here until he cracks. “We got in a fight. Me and [Y/N].”
“Oh shit, for real?” When Jungkook meekly nods, Namjoon takes another swig of beer. “What about?”
“I wanted to hang up a mistletoe for the party and she said no.” God, saying it out loud seems so stupid. “I pushed it and then she…”
“She what?”
“She said some mean things, then I said some things. It got messy.”
“This sounds kinda dumb,” Namjoon jokes, and Jungkook levels him with a piercing glare. He knows it’s dumb, knows this whole thing is stupid, but he can;t shake the feeling that there’s something unresolved lingering underneath. “You’ll be fine.”
“Yeah.”
“That was not a confident yeah.”
“I mean, I told her we should talk after the party. She said maybe,” Jungkook laughs dryly. “Chances of us talking are looking pretty low right now.”
“Dude,” Namjoon exhales a breath. “She’s not going to stay away from you. That girl loves you.”
“I don’t know…”
“You know where she lives. You have a key, for god’s sake.”
Jungkook does have a key. In his defense, you have one to his place too. It’s never not been a thing—you’ve been trading apartment keys since college, back when you lived in that shitty studio with the broken heater and he needed to water your plants when you went home for your mom’s birthday.
“I think she really wants space this time, though,” he frowns. He doesn’t like the idea of it, but it’s part of his fault you’re even in this predicament right now.
“You guys are idiots.” Namjoon stares at him. “Why do you look so sad about this? It’s just a little fight, right?”
Jungkook opens his mouth to agree, but he chokes on the words forming in his throat. His eyes find you across the room again. You’re holding Haewon, swaying gently, and the baby's grabbing at your hair with her tiny fists. You smile down at her, and even from here, he can see the softness in your expression, and how you’ve adjusted your hold to support her head.
He doesn’t really know why, but his heart seizes.
“Yeah. I think so.”
Namjoon hums. “It’s not like, …anything more, right?”
Jungkook furrows his brows, tearing his gaze away from you. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Y’know what I mean…” Namjoon starts doing some weird vague gestures with his hand, and Jungkook’s beer-soaked brain struggles to keep up. “It’s not like that with you two?”
Oh.
“No, no. It’s not like that with us,” Jungkook denies quickly, almost too quickly. He knows it’s not impractical for someone to suggest. Ever since he was a young boy, he’s been curbing questions regarding your relationship status. It never annoyed him; in fact, it filled him with pride knowing people thought he was worthy of what sunshine you had to offer. “She’s my best friend.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
“Excuse me?”
Jungkook’s chest feels tight.
But Namjoon doesn’t note the way his face goes pale, or the way his fingers flex around his bottle. He continues on, “Bro, I’m not trying to start anything. But I’ve known you since college, and I’ve watched you do this thing where you date someone, it gets serious, and then somehow it always ends. And you know what the common denominator is?”
He really doesn’t want Namjoon to say anymore. Doesn’t want him to vocalize what might actually be true, but has been something Jungkook has been mashing down for decades of his life. Naked, unmistakable fear courses through him.
“Her.” Namjoon points with his beer bottle. “Every single time, you come back to her. You text her more than your girlfriend, or you cancel dates if she needs you. You measure everyone against her without even realizing you’re doing it.”
Jungkook can’t speak, because it’s true. He knows it’s true. He’s done it countless times, like when it was he and Sana’s one-year anniversary, but you had the flu, so he dropped everything to take care of you. Or when Chaeyoung got upset with him because he had responded to your text before even giving hers a second glance.
He can’t help it.
“You’ve been dragging her through your relationships for years,” Namjoon says, “At some point, you need to ask yourself why you keep coming back to her.”
“But she’s my best friend!” Jungkook protests petulantly. “We always show up for each other.”
“Yeah, but do best friends look at each other the way you’re looking at her right now?’
Jungkook hadn’t even realized he’d been staring again. You’ve handed Haewon back to Dahyun and you’re laughing at something, a hand flying up to cover your mouth in that way you do when you think your laugh is too loud. It’s not, Jungkook thinks, It’s never too loud.
“What do you want me to say?” Jungkook mumbles, averting his eyes to his scuffed-up shoes.
“I feel like you should just be honest with yourself, Kook.” Namjoon claps him on the shoulder. “I’m willing to bet money on the fact that your fight wasn’t really about the mistletoe.”
“I don’t think so,” Jungkook scoffs. He hopes he looks nonchalant, but his hands are trembling.
Namjoon doesn’t utter another word, and for a moment, Jungkook thinks it’s over. Namjoon will let it go and they’ll move on. He shifts weight onto his other foot, taking a swig from his beer.
“Jungkook.” Fuck, if the way Namjoon’s looking at him right now is any indication of what’s to come, he’s so fucked. “You know she’s in love with you, right?”
It’s out in the open, and he can’t believe Namjoon just said it, doesn’t know where he even got that idea, but he does know that it must be the truth. It has to be, because he would never suggest otherwise. And the notion should be earth-shattering, world-tilting, but it’s not.
Maybe Jungkook knew this whole time.
“No-No, she’s not—we’re not—”
But the more he ruminates on it, he realizes: you can’t be. You’ve never—there’s never been any indication—you’ve never said anything or done anything or—
In all the years he’s known you, you’ve never dated someone seriously. Like living together, talk of engagement. Sure, there were a few guys here and there in college, but nothing that stuck. Nothing that lasted more than a month or two. He’d always figured you were just picky, focused on your career, not interested in settling down.
Was there more to that? Jungkook’s heart jolts in his chest.
Oh god. Oh fuck.
How long? How long have you been carrying this? Since you were kids? Since high school? College? How many years has he been obliviously parading girlfriends in front of you, kissing them under mistletoe, talking about his relationships, asking for your advice about girls who weren’t you?
His hands are shaking. He sets his beer down on the nearest surface before he drops it.
“I think, maybe, you’ve always known.” Namjoon’s voice sounds like it’s coming from far away.
All those times he came back to you after dates that didn’t go well. All those nights you stayed up listening to him talk about his problems with whatever girl he was seeing. All those moments he chose you over them without even thinking about it because being with you was easy and comfortable and right in a way nothing else ever was.
He can never remember half of those girls’ names. Can’t remember what he saw in them or why he thought any of them were worth it.
But he remembers every Christmas with you.
He remembers all of it.
Jungkook looks up, searching for you in the crowd, and finds you emerging from the kitchen with Jisoo.
Panic claws up his throat. “But she’s never said anything—like, we never—”
“If I were her, I wouldn’t say anything.” Namjoon shrugs.
Jungkook feels like he can't breathe. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re just—you’re guessing—”
“I am assuming, but I know enough. Dahyun has me watching a ton of kdramas, so I know when someone’s pining.”
His credentials are questionable.
“That's—” Jungkook runs a hand through his hair, tugging hard enough to hurt. “Fuck. Why wouldn’t she tell me?”
“Probably because you introduce her to new girlfriends everyday.” Namjoon’s words are blunt, but his expression is sympathetic. “Think about it. When has she ever had the space to tell you?”
Never. The answer is never. Because he’s always been with someone or getting over someone or talking about someone, and even when he wasn’t, he was busy treating your friendship like it was sacred.
Jungkook was so busy protecting what you had that he never stopped to think about what you could be.
“I didn’t know,” Jungkook admits weakly.
“It’s fine. You do now.” Namjoon takes a massive gulp of his beer, placing the empty bottle on the nearby table. “By the way, why did you care so much if she hosted? Why did it matter if it was at her place? You knew Dahyun and I didn’t mind.”
Jungkook’s guilt wraps around him like a hug. He does feel guilty about lying, he truly does, but he doesn’t have a good answer. Namjoon’s place would have worked fine, baby or not. Jisoo’s apartment was an option despite Taehyung's dog allergy. They could have figured something out.
But he had told everyone secretly that you needed to host this year.
For a long, long moment, Jungkook is silent. He pushes through the fear, the nerves, the voices in his head telling him otherwise. He tells Namjoon, “Because Christmas is ours.”
To no one’s surprise, Namjoon and Dahyun are the first to make their exit. Haewon is already fast asleep on her father’s shoulder, snoring peacefully. Then Jisoo leaves, who gives you a long, meaningful look and a whisper of “text me later” that you have no intention of following through on. Taehyung and Jennie linger for a little before they realize they have more pressing matters to attend to (read: their new vibrator they ordered).
You’re certain Jungkook slipped out sometime in the middle of the exodus. You don’t see him leave, but you hear the door close a final time and feel the absence of him.
Wonderful. You can clean up in peace and spend the rest of the night spiraling about Hana’s words, the talk you never had with Jungkook, and how quickly you’ll be able to move countries and change names.
You’re elbow-deep in soapy water, scrubbing at a wine glass aggressively, when you hear footsteps behind you.
What the fuck. Did you leave your door unlocked?
It’s definitely Taehyung. With a gulp, you crane your neck to see behind the doorway.
And then you scream.
You drop the glass into the sink, whirling around with your wet hands up like you’re going to fight off an intruder with dish soap.
Jungkook jumps, hands flying up in surrender. “Oh my god, sorry! Sorry, sorry, I’m sorry—”
“Fucking hell, Jungkook!” Your heart tries to escape from your body. “I thought you left!”
“I was in the bathroom.” His eyes are wide, looking genuinely distressed at having scared you. “I didn’t mean to—I thought you knew I was still here?”
Soap suds drip down your arms. He’s pressed against your bookshelf, trying to camouflage into your books. It’s ridiculous, but it’s so like you both that it makes you giggle.
It’s a soft one, but he notices it and snorts in response. And then you two erupt into endless laughter, your heart soaring at the familiar sound of his timbre. His chest shakes with each laugh, and tears fall from your eyes.
But after a few seconds, the laughter finally fades, and you two stand there, sizing the other up.
“What are you still doing here?” you ask, reaching for a dish towel to dry your hands.
“I wanted to see if you were open to talking.”
You turn off the running water, pivoting to face him fully.
“I am.”
He takes a deep breath, swallowing thickly. Jungkook does this thing where his tongue presses against the inside of his cheek when he’s struggling to find the right words. You’ve seen him do it countless times.
His tongue pokes the inside of his cheek.
“I’m sorry.” Jungkook says. “About the fight…about pushing you to host…and the, uh, the mistletoe thing.” He runs his fingers through his hair. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just—Christmas has always been our thing since we were kids. It was always ours, and I don’t know… I guess I didn’t want that to change.”
With him, things are always stagnant. They’re stable, trustworthy, and you know they’ll always be there. You’re not sure where his childlike wonder went—all those times he would drag you to unknown places to explore, or made you try new foods even if you knew you’d hate it.
But maybe you’re not worth the risk for him.
“Me neither,” you agree quietly.
You swivel back to face the sink, tears brimming your eyes. Reaching for another glass, you flick on the water, dousing your hands in soap. The water is frigid but you plunge your hands in anyway.
“Hey,” comes Jungkook’s calm voice.
You keep scrubbing.
“Hey.”
His fingers wrap around your arm, and you let out a sigh.
“That’s it? That’s all?”
You can’t look at him. If you look at him, you’ll break. “What else do you want me to say? I forgive you? I do. Jungkook, this is stupid.”
“I don’t know. Something. Anything.” His hand lingers on your bare skin. “Don’t shut me out. We had one fight and for some reason, it feels like I’m losing you and I don’t—” He stops, takes a breath. “Talk to me.”
There’s so much you could say. You could tell him about the mistletoe tradition and how it’s haunted you. You could tell him about watching him fall in love over and over with people who aren’t you. You could tell him about Hana and the grocery store and how you haven’t been able to think about anything else since.
But most importantly, you could tell him the truth: you’ve been in love with him since you were a child, and every Christmas since you were 15 years old felt like getting stabbed repeatedly.
Jungkook’s eyes are red-rimmed, lips quivering. He’s still tethered to your arm, unable to let go as if you’ll disappear. You’re disgustingly terrified of this moment, not of losing him, but because he’s never even been yours to lose. Everything could change. You could say the words and watch your friendship shatter. You could tell the truth and have him look at you with pity, or worse, he’ll look at you and apologize, say he doesn’t feel the same towards you.
What if what you need to move on isn’t to ignore it, but accept the rejection?
You can do that, you think.
You swallow, “Jungkook—”
“Please,” he pleads, “I can’t fix it if I don’t know what’s wrong.”
You finally turn to face him, and his hand slides down from your arm but doesn’t let go completely. His fingers catch yours, wet and soapy as they are, and hold on.
“I don’t even know where to begin,” you admit.
“Start anywhere.” His thumb brushes against your knuckles, and you don’t even think he realizes he’s doing it. “Maybe… start with why you don’t like Christmas anymore.”
That’s the question, isn’t it? That’s the thread that, if pulled, will unravel everything.
“Do you… remember our mistletoe tradition?”
He furrows his brows. You had just reminisced on it a few days ago, but somehow it feels like a lifetime. “Of course.”
“Do you remember when it all started?”
He looks at you like you’re an apparition. “Yeah.”
“We were just kids… but you kissed my cheek and I thought it was the most magical thing in the world. We did it every year, every year until you finally kissed me on the lips.”
Jungkook inhales audibly, nods once, and squeezes your hands tighter.
“It became my favorite day of the year,” you continue, and you sound out of breath. “It wasn’t because of the presents, or the food, or Santa. It was those three seconds under the mistletoe with you. I lived for it. Counted down the days to it. And when we were 15, you got your first girlfriend.”
Understanding starts to dawn on his face, and it’s almost worse than if he didn’t get it.
“You kissed her under the mistletoe that year.” You swallow back the sob that climbs up your throat. “I watched and I stood there and you gave her this real kiss, this romantic kiss, and I realized that all those years… they were just a game to you. A tradition.”
He opens his mouth, most likely to object, but you speak over him.
“It just kept happening. There was always someone there, someone who wasn’t me. I smiled and pretended I was happy for you while I was watching you fall in love with people who… who…” Now or never, you think. “....who got to have what I wanted.”
Tears begin to blur your vision, muddling Jungkook’s features.
“I’ve been in love with you for god knows how long, Jungkook. And every Christmas since I was 15 is just a constant, giant, unavoidable reminder that you don’t love me the way I love you.”
The tears are falling freely, hot and fast, painting your cheeks.
“That’s why I didn’t want to host. That’s why I didn’t want the mistletoe. Because I can’t—” Your voice breaks. “I can’t watch you kiss someone else under it again. I can’t do it anymore. It’s killing me.”
You remove your hands from his, wiping furiously away at the wetness on your face. When you blink, you notice Jungkook’s also crying. Cheeks ruddy and chest heaving, lips trembling. “[Y/N]. I-I… how come you never said anything?”
“You’re my best friend, Koo.” You wrap your arms around yourself, self-soothing the ache that’s built in your chest. “If you don’t love me like that, I completely understand. I do. You’ve never given me any indication that you feel the same way and that’s okay, that’s fine, I’ll get over it eventually—”
Jungkook’s face falls, softening. “[Y/N]-”
“I don’t want to lose you. I can’t. You’re the most important person in my life and if telling you this means you’re going to look at me differently or feel weird around me or—”
“Stop.” he firmly says, and his hands come up to cup your face. His thumbs wipe at your tears and you know you look like a wreck, but he’s looking at you as though you were sent from the heavens above. “Just stop for a second.”
You hiccup, trying to catch your breath.
“Can we stand in the doorway?” he asks.
You deadpan. “What?”
“The doorway,” he repeats like that’s supposed to clarify anything for you. He takes one of your hands in his, peeling you away from the counter. “Can we stand in the doorway?”
“I–what? Why?”
You blindly follow him, like you always do. Let him lead you out of your kitchen. Your living room is a mess—empty glasses and crumpled napkins, remnants of your Christmas party.
Jungkook positions you in the doorway between your living room and hallway. His green sweater brings out his sparkling eyes, and your heart flutters in your chest.
“Jungkook, can you just reject me quickly so we can move on—”
“Look up.” He smiles.
With shaky breath, you crane your neck.
Hanging from your doorway is a mistletoe. There’s a red ribbon tied around it, dangling back and forth to the tune of your oscillating fan.
You snort out a snot bubble, but neither you nor him seem to care too much. “When did that even get there?”
“Well, I had to wait till the end of the night,” he remarks sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck that iss now flushed crimson. “I thought you might rip my dick off or something if I did it earlier.”
You sink your fingernails into your palms to keep yourself grounded, to keep yourself from leaping paces ahead. Behind your ribcage, your heart stumbles.
He’s the first to laugh—it’s wet and graceless, body shaking in tandem. You’re laughing too, but also crying.
Your heart soars like it’s trying to escape your chest and fly around the room.
Jungkook settles down, and something softer crosses his expression. When he speaks next, his voice is steady, sure of himself.
“You think I don’t feel the same way?” His voice breaks. “You think—Jesus Christ, [Y/N], you’re all I think about. You’re all I ever thought about.”
“Really?” you whisper, voice so feeble you think he can’t possibly have heard it.
But he nods.
“I wake up, and the first thing I do is check my phone to see if you’ve texted me. I go through my entire day remembering things to tell you later—stupid shit, important shit, all the stuff in between. When something good happens, you’re the first person I want to tell. When something bad happens, you'’re the only person I want to see.” He wipes a stray tear that’s made its way down his cheek. “You’re the first person I think of when I wake up and the last person I think of before I fall asleep, and most nights I dream about you too.”
“You…” you trail off, shake your head. There’s no words to describe how you feel, no proper sentence to show how your entire body feels like it’s on fire.
“Let me say this because I should have said it years ago. A decade ago. I should have said it every single Christmas instead of being with people who weren’t you and pretending that was enough.”
Jungkook takes a step forward. His scent envelops you, makes you feel at home. Like you’re six years old again and anything is possible.
“I kissed you under that mistletoe when we were kids because if anyone was going to be my first kiss, it was going to be you. I didn’t even really understand what kissing meant. But I knew I wanted it to be you.”
He lets out a breathy, quiet laugh. And it feels like you’re kids again, standing under the mistletoe, pulling into each other like magnets.
“I kept doing it every year because—because those three seconds were mine. They were ours. It didn’t matter that I was too young to understand what it meant or why it made my stomach feel weird or why I’d think about it for weeks afterwards. I just knew that kissing you under the mistletoe was the best part of Christmas… the best part of my whole year.”
“You know, I was never able to understand why my relationships never seemed to work. Why no one ever wanted to stay with me for the long run. And it took me a long time, but I’ve got it all figured out now.” He has to stop to clear his throat, and it’s then, and only then, that you see the tears glistening in his eyes again. “I think… I think I’ve been looking for pieces of you in every girl I meet.”
Your feet remain frozen to your floor. If you pinch yourself, you’ll wake up from this dream, and you want to live in it as long as life will allow.
“I’d find a girl who had your hair color, or a similar sense of humor, or the way you scrunch your nose when you’re thinking, and I’d think ‘this is it, this is the one.’ But it never was, because they weren’t you,” he says. “I would be on dates, and think about what you’d say about the restaurant, or the movie, or the conversation. I could be kissing someone and wonder why it didn’t feel the way it felt when I kissed you when we were children.”
He takes another step, hardwood floor creaking beneath his weight.
He’s so close you can almost taste his woodsy scent.
“I’m a coward, [Y/N]. I kept dating people, kept trying to make it work with someone else, because I thought if I could just find the right person, I’d stop being in love with you.”
“Koo,” is all you can manage.
“But there is no right person for me. There’s just you, there’s only ever been you. You’re not a piece of the puzzle, [Y/N]. You are the whole fucking puzzle. Every piece, every corner, every goddamn edge. And I’ve been trying to force other pieces to fit for years, but they don’t. They can’t.” His tears are moving faster than he can stop them, and he lets them pour out of his eyes onto his sweater.
“The only reason I stopped kissing you under the mistletoe was because I was falling in love with you.” He’s grinning through his tears. The kind of grin you’ve been the only person to extract out of him. “I was a stupid kid who was falling in love with their best friend and the first thought I had was: what if you didn’t feel the same way? What if I told you and you laughed in my face? And I know I’m stupid, but I stopped because I needed to tell myself I was over it, that it was a phase, that we were just friends.”
Jungkook takes one final step forward until you’re practically nose-to-nose.
His voice is no higher than a whisper. “I never got over it, though. I never stopped loving you.”
Your head is spinning. Jeon Jungkook. Your best friend, your platonic soulmate, your everything…
“You… you love me?”
“I love you so fucking much,” he confirms. “I love the way you sing off-key during all our car rides together, and the way you cry during commercials with pets. The way you remember everyone’s birthdays, even if they don’t remember yours. I love how you scrunch your nose when you’re concentrating and how you chew your lip when you’re nervous. I love your terrible jokes and your beautiful laugh and how magical everything suddenly feels when you’re around.”
Inevitably, you’re sobbing too. Not in a pretty way, but you don’t think it matters anymore. Nothing matters but this.
“I love that I was lucky enough to be born the same day as you, that the universe knew before we knew that there was no me without you. I love that I know everything about you—your favorite color, your biggest fears, how you like your tea. I love that you know me better than anyone else in the world.”
His hands go to cup your face. “So, yeah, I do love you. And I know I wasted time, but I am telling you now with utmost certainty. If you'll let me, I want to make up for all the time I wasted being too scared to love you the way you deserve.”
Your hands come up to cover his, pressing them harder against your face.
“I want you to be mine and I want to be yours, in every way possible, [Y/N].”
And you really, really need to stop crying, but it’s impossible. They well up, like all those emotions you’ve been mashing down for decades, ballooning into something too large for your body to handle.
“Those are happy tears… right?” he chuckles.
“Yes,” you sob. God, he’s never going to let you live this down. “I love you. I love you so much—”
“I love you too.” He kisses your forehead, cheeks, the tip of your nose. “I love you, I love you, I love you. I'm going to make sure you never doubt that again.”
You laugh, a watery bubbling sound.
You look up at the mistletoe hanging between you two. It’s a small piece of plastic and ribbon, but somehow it represents years of longing and heartbreak and fear that just needed time to blossom into something ethereal.
“You still remember the tradition?” Jungkook tucks a stand of hair behind your ear.
You couldn’t forget even if you tried. “When you’re under the mistletoe…”
“You must kiss the person you’re with,” he finishes.
His thumbs linger over your cheekbones, gazing into your eyes. They’re still the same from when he was little. Wide-eyed, full of childlike wonder and innocence. His pupils are blown.
“Can I kiss you?”
You stupidly smile. You nod just as he gets the last syllable out. Nodding so hard and so frantically it’s almost manic, tears streaming down your face, your hands coming up to grip the collar of his green sweater—that goddamn green sweater the color of mistletoe.
“Yes,” you breathe, “Yes, please, yes—”
He kisses you.
And oh.
Oh.
You hold your breath, counting the seconds in your head. It’s longer than three seconds and two milliseconds.
Your knees buckle under the weight of his kiss, with his hands cradling your face gently. Your fingers twist tighter in his collar, pulling him closer, closer, never close enough.
The salt of both your tears mixes on your lips, can feel the way his breath stumbles against your mouth. One of his hands slides into your hair, angling your head just so, and you make a sound you didn’t know you were capable of making. You’re pliable in his arms.
His tongue outlines your bottom lip, and you grant him access immediately, needing to feel more of him, any part you can grasp to know this is real. You’re both still crying—you can feel fresh tears sliding down your cheeks—but you’re also smiling, laughing into the kiss like idiots because this is insane.
Jungkook’s tattooed hands slide down to your waist, pulling you close to him until there’s not an inch to spare between your bodies. Your apartment, the mess of cups and plates scattered around, the snazzy Christmas decorations you’ll throw away tomorrow—it all fades away until there’s just this. Just him.
“I love you,” he murmurs against your mouth, and then he’s kissing you again before you can say it back. “Love you so much, I’m a fucking loser, I—”
“Shut up,” you giggle. “Shut up and kiss me.”
You don’t know how long you stand there, kissing under the mistletoe like teenagers who just discovered what kissing is. It could be seconds or hours—time feels irrelevant when his mouth is on yours, when his hands are holding you.
At some point, you know it’s not enough. You want more.
Finally, you think to yourself.
You’ve never wanted someone this bad. Never craved someone’s brain, heart, and soul like this.
He’s possibly thinking the same thing as you, and if the way he holds you is any indication, you’re the luckiest girl in the world. His hands travel over your waist, until they reach your thighs. In one smooth motion, he picks you up, and your legs wrap around his waist instinctively.
Jungkook is stronger than you though, even though you know he goes to the gym everyday, even though you’ve watched him rearrange the furniture in your apartment on a random Tuesday after work. But feeling him hold you up effortlessly while kissing… your panties might drop before you even reach the bedroom.
You kiss him as he tries to navigate with his eyes closed, stumbling slightly down the hallway, both of you giggling between kisses like drunk teenagers. He nearly crashes into the wall, overcorrecting and spinning you both around.
“Smooth operator, hm?” you tease.
“Shut up,” he mumbles. “I swear to god you switched where your bedroom was.” And then he’s kissing you again, and you forget about his horrible navigation skills.
Miraculously, you make it to your bedroom. Lays you down on your bed, following you down until he’s hovering over you, weight balanced on his forearms on either side of your head. The lamp on your nightstand casts soft shadows across his features. He chews his lip anxiously.
“Do you, um—” He stops, tries again. “Do you wanna maybe—”
You can’t help but giggle. Your hand comes up to cover your mouth when you see the way his face falls. “Koo. I know you’re not a virgin.”
“Oh my god.” He drops his forehead to your neck with a groan, and his face is burning hot against your skin. “I know. I know I’m not. But it’s you, it’s so different. I’m nervous.”
Jungkook is experienced—far more than you, that’s for certain. You were never bothered by the difference. You had lost your virginity solely as a means to an end, to just say you did the damn thing so you weren’t a complete and total loser. But Jungkook has plenty of notches on his belt, and your heart melts at the thought of you being the one to dismantle him completely.
You slide your fingers into his hair, tugging until he lifts his head to look at you. His eyes are dark and vulnerable, full of love it makes you want to cry all over again.
“Hey. It’s just me, Koo.”
“Well, that’s kinda the problem,” he gruffs, playing with the necklace around your neck. “It is you. It matters a lot.”
“It matters to me too,” you rush to agree, cup his face with both hands, thumbs brushing over his scarlet cheeks. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. We can just—we can just lie here. We can talk. We can—”
He kisses you, cutting off your rambling. Slower, assured. “I want to. I really, really want to. I just… I want it to be good for you.”
Your fingers trace the constellation of moles on his face, and there’s just so much of him you want to uncover, so much golden skin and muscle. “It will be.”
This time, when his lips meet yours, he relaxes into it, earlier nervousness melting away. Your hands slide up under his sweater, feeling the bare skin, the sculpted abdomen you’ve sparingly seen. Your fingers find the hair at the nape of his neck, playing with the soft strands there, and he makes a sound—half-sigh, half-groan—that strikes straight through you. His hips shift slightly, pressing against yours, and now it’s your turn to gasp into his mouth.
“Still nervous?” you mutter.
“A little,” he says through a moan as you roll your hips to press against his growing length. “What if you think I-I’m, fuck, bad in bed?”
“You won’t be.” You kiss down his sharp jawline, down the vein that protrudes from the side of his neck.
“You don’t know that. I could be really bad at this.”
You laugh, tugging him closer, wrapping your legs around his waist. “Jungkook, you’re not going to be bad at sex.”
He nuzzles into your neck, inhaling the scent of gingerbread cookies that still lingers on you even after hours of burning them. “But what if I am?”
“Koo. I love you. I wouldn’t care even if your dick was 2 inches.”
He lifts his head from your neck. “Okay, don’t push it.”
Jungkook kisses you, warm tongue swiping against your bottom lip. His calloused hands slide up your red sweater, feeling the black lace bra underneath. His breath stutters at the realization, fondling your breasts in the way he’s always dreamed of.
Messily, hungrily, your sweater comes off first, then his, a tangle of fabric and laughter as he fumbles with the back of your bra. Jungkook apologizes against your lips, but you don’t care in the slightest, just want more and more and more. He flings your bra across your bedroom, greedily taking your nipple into his mouth, sucking the hardened nub. And you’re so wet, can feel it pooling in your panties, soaking through the fabric. Every roll of his hips, every flick of his tongue sends shocks of lightning through you.
“So fucking pretty,” Jungkook groans, readjusting your body higher on the bed until your head reaches the pillow. He unclasps your legs from around his waist, making room for himself to wiggle down in between them.
You can’t stop the familiar swell of nerves racing through your body, even as he kisses down the valley of your breasts, down to your stomach, past your navel. His lips hover over the button of your jeans, delicately undoing. Taking his time as though not to miss a single moment.
You weirdly get the urge to cover yourself, to hide under the strength of his burning gaze. What if he compares me to all the other girls? you think. What if I’m not as beautiful as Sana or Eunji or Hana?
And then Jungkook says, “You’re so beautiful, baby. Most beautiful girl I’ve ever known.”
Tears threaten to appear again.
He tugs your jeans off, his hair tickling your inner thigh as he goes. His lips follow, pressing chaste kisses along your naked skin. The mattress dips as he adjusts himself, wraps his arms around your thighs and tugs your clothed, soaking cunt to his face. You gasp, your walls clenching around nothing. “Relax, baby,” Jungkook bites your inner thigh, soothing it with his tongue. “Gonna take care of you.”
“Please,” you beg, and you don’t even know what you’re begging for, but when you meet his eyes you know exactly what. More of him, more of his mouth, his tongue, his lips.
He pushes your panties to the side, and without preamble, you’re spreading your legs further.
Immediately, Jungkook’s eyes go to what lies between them.
“So wet, baby,” He lets his pointer finger gather your arousal. “You always get this wet for your best friend?”
You gasp, eyes trained on his. His voice has gone husky, eyes hooded and dark. He presses into your sensitive nub, and you jolt forward, hands tightly gripping the sheets underneath. “Answer me.”
“Y-yes, Koo. Always wet for you, just for you.”
That seems to be enough for him. He leans forward, dragging your underwear down your legs until they’re no longer his concern, and then his mouth is on you.
“Fuck!” You practically scream, body lurching forward, humming violently underneath him. It’s been a while—maybe more than a while, possibly years—since you’ve had someone willingly eat you out, and by the way Jungkook does so, he seems enthralled to get a chance to enjoy the taste of you. His tongue strokes through your folds, wet and wide, working its own rhythm that has you withering underneath his grasp. His hands press into your hip bones, stabilizing your movements. He buries his whole face in it, lets himself soak up every last bit of arousal you’ve produced. Two minutes of this and you’ll be a goner, but you don’t want this to end, not now, not ever.
“Tastes so sweet, baby,” Jungkook moans into your wetness, licking a long stripe from your hole up to your clit. “Been hiding this from me, hm?”
“I-It’s yours, Koo. Always has been,” You squeeze your eyes as tight as you can, stars blooming in your vision. He taps your thigh, and you know he wants you to look at him, but you can hardly breathe or think or speak.
He wraps his lips around your clit and sucks, and your fingers fly to his unkempt hair, tugging and pulling until you’re certain it’ll come off his scalp. Without warning, he pushes one finger into you, testing you. He watches as you keen, profanities falling off your lips. Jungkook’s finger crooks into you at an angle you thought only you could reach, and you’re putty in his unrelenting hands. “Fuck—oh my god, yes, right there Koo, oh, yes—”
“Feel good, baby?” He gathers his saliva, spitting onto your clit and letting it drip down to his fingers, a second digit entering you. “Talk to me.”
He’s gentle about it, tentative, as though he’s trying to learn you, teach himself the new side of you he’s unlocked.
“M-more,” you keen. “Faster, please.”
And he’s so willing, so ready. It’s so wet, unlike anything that happens when you touch yourself. His tongue and fingers fuck you through it, squelching sounds echoing against the thin walls of your bedroom, sweat slicking down the valley of your breasts. You feel your walls clench around him once, twice, and your legs tremble in his hold. You can feel it dripping down your inner thigh, onto your sheets, onto his chin.
“So tight around my fingers,” he groans, and you watch as his other hand travels down to his belt buckle, furiously trying to undo it. “So hard just thinking about bein’ inside you.”
“I-I want that,” you reply breathlessly. “I want you inside me.”
“Fuck,” he grunts, working his nimble fingers quicker, tongue vacuum-sealed around your clit, milking you entirely. “I want to feel you cum for me. I want to taste it.”
You nod, bunching your bedsheets into little fists of agony. When you look up, you can see Jungkook’s hair spread across your lower stomach, tattooed biceps straining. His free hand strokes his cock, and a swarm of butterflies release in your stomach at the sight. You’ve made him so desperate that he has to touch himself. You have.
And the sight is just too much for you to handle. “Aghh–Koo, fuck, I’m gonna—I’m gonna cum.”
He doesn’t say anything, just lets his tongue continue at the same pressure, same speed, until you’re coming undone all over him. You feel it everywhere, in your chest, in your core, in your toes. You arch off your mattress, legs quivering and locking around his head. It feels like time is a myth, Jungkook fucking you through your orgasm until you almost collapse.
You tap him on the head with your foot, falling back onto your pillows tiredly.
Jungkook peers up at you, still the same wide-eyed expression on his face, except this time, your arousal is glistening on his face, scarlet lips swollen and wet. He presses a few kisses on your thighs, stomach, before dragging himself up on his biceps to hover you. He kisses you, letting you taste yourself on his tongue, and you can’t help but moan into his mouth. It’s so dirty, so scandalous, sends a shock through your spine.
“I want you to fuck me,” you whisper between kisses.
His cheeks turn red.
“M-me too. I want to be inside you,” he stutters, kissing down your neck. “But I might need a second.”
You furrow your brows, suddenly self-conscious. “Why?”
He kisses your jaw, avoiding eye contact. “BecauseIcamealready.”
“What, Koo?”
Jungkook sighs, dropping his forehead to your shoulder. “Because I came already.”
Oh.
Your heart won’t be able to handle this much affection tonight. You just know it.
You giggle, unable to hide the smile on your lips.
“Stop,” he groaned into your neck. “Don’t laugh, I’m humiliated.”
“No, I’m not—” you laugh, “I’m not laughing at you. You’re so cute, Koo. I love you.”
He grins toothily. “I love you too.”
And then you laugh again, and he laughs with you, and it feels like your heart is blooming, petals unfurling in your chest.
You wrap your arms around his neck, tugging him to you as close as humanly possible. You kiss him and try to make him understand—through the press of your lips, the desperate grip of your hands—just how completely he owns every part of you.
You use your weight to roll him over, straddling his buff thighs, letting your soaked cunt linger over his growing length.
“Hi,” he smiles big and wide, peering up at you like you hold the entire universe in your palms.
“Hi,” you repeat, kissing his cheeks, forehead, jawline.
Behind you, you reach to grab his length in your hands, trace the veins that protrude. His mouth gapes open, watching as you realize… holy fuck.
You’ve always been respectful of Jungkook’s boundaries. Never once peeped on him or seen him in his boxers. The farthest you ever got was a pair of grey sweatpants, and even then, it didn’t reveal much. There was no way to prepare yourself for this moment.
But as you stroke his cock languidly, you realise one thing for certain: that is not going to fucking fit inside you.
You don’t even need to vocalize it, because he’s already saying, “We’ll work with what we can. But I think you can take it, baby.”
Gulping, you nod. You want to take it. Want to feel every inch inside of your gummy walls, want to hear him wither underneath you.
He’s hard again too, you note. You could cry, knowing just how bad he wants this. Wants you.
You align his tip to your sopping hole, jaw slack as you gather the juices to hopefully make it easier. And then you’re sinking onto him, inch by inch, curses falling from his lips, hands gripping your hips tight enough to bruise. “O-oh fuck, Koo.”
“Keep going, baby,” he moans, guiding you onto him until your clit meets his pubic bone. “Just like that, all the way.”
A sound rips free from the very core of you, both hands landing on his stomach to steady yourself. For a moment, you just sit there, trying to accommodate his length inside you. Feels so painfully good, stings just right.
“You okay?” He reaches to brush a strand of wet hair from your face.
“Yeah,” you exhale, rocking your hips gently, back and forth, figure-eights. You can feel him in your stomach, can see the bulge protruding from your body. His eyes lock onto it, bottom lip tucked behind his front teeth. “Feel so full, Koo. It’s so deep.”
“Fuck, baby.” His fingers dig deeper into your hips, directing your movements. A swell of confidence runs through you, and you brace yourself, lifting yourself off his cock to slam back down on it. He all but screams, thighs quaking beneath your weight.
“You’re a fucking goddess,” he moans, head lolling back against the pillow. “I love you so much, my sweet girl, my best girl, fuck.”
“I love you too, Koo.” Your fingernails scrape down his chest, leaving red marks in your wake.
You can see his abdomen muscles rippling with effort as he tries not to come undone too fast, jaw clenched tightly. His tattoos are slick with sweat.
Your orgasm sneaks up onto you, but you don’t want it to end, don’t want to know the feeling of separation from him. Falling forward, you bury your face into his neck, and he wraps his arms around you, fucking up into you.
His cock hits just where you need him, and your moans bounce off the walls, your headboard creaking with each thrust he makes to meet your movements. “I-I’m so close, Koo,” you moan.
“Me too, baby,” he says. His cock plunges greedily into your wetness, and you whimper. “I love you so so much, can’t live without you.”
You can’t help the tears that stream down your face. It’s too much—not just the sex, but that it’s sex with him. Jeon Jungkook, your best friend since birth, since before you knew anything else. You love him so much you don’t know how your heart will contain all this. It might burst any second.
He feels the tears on his skin, and he’s slowing his thrusts, whispering, “Are you okay, baby? Did I go too fast? Want me to—”
“No, no. I want you to keep going.” You look into his eyes, and his expression softens. “I just—I love you. I can’t believe this is real.”
He kisses you, barely more than your mouths slotting together, and then his thrusts continue, more desperate and sloppy but still full of the same devotion. “I love you,” he murmurs into your mouth. “I-I know I’ve said it so many times tonight, but I love you so fucking much.”
Your warm, wet heat clenches around him. Little moans and whimpers escape you, teetering on the brink of another orgasm. “I know,” he gasps, and he’s crying now too, his whole body shaking. “I know, baby. Me too. I’ve got you.”
You stop moving completely, letting him take over, and the sounds are filthy, but the love that runs between you both is anything but. “My baby. Mine, you’re mine,” His teeth sinks into your shoulder as he thrusts up into you, wetness dripping onto his cock and the sheets below. His hands cup your ass, slamming you up and down his girth.
“Yours,” you cry, clutching him.
He pulls back just enough to look at you, and his face is soaked with tears, eyes red and swollen and so full of love it physically hurts to witness. “I’m never letting you go,” he says, crying so hard he can barely get the words out.
“Me too,” you promise, “I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here.”
“Shit, I’m gonna cum, [Y/N], I can’t—”
Your fingernails dig into his biceps, mouth ripping open to moan out his name along with i love you i love you jungkook please please, and you feel him release inside you, spurts of his cum painting your walls as you tighten around him. You milk him dry until he can’t take it anymore, until you feel so full you think your DNA has been adjusted to match his.
You all but collapse onto him, staying like that with your hearts thrashing against your ribs, reaching for each other through flesh and bone.
You want to stay here. Right here, in this specific moment, where his arm is around you and his breathing is shallow and you feel like you’re at home.
It’s a ridiculous thought. Childish, even.
You’ll have to get up soon—your bladder is already making demands, and reality is waiting just outside this bed. But not yet. You’re not ready yet.
Jungkook sighs into your hair. “I don’t wanna move.”
“Me either.”
“Do you… do you want this with me?” His chest rumbles with the question.
“What do you mean?”
“I just… this meant something to you, right? The fact that we had sex?”
“Of course it did.”
You prop yourself onto your shoulders, brushing the hair out of his eyes. They twinkle and glow underneath your low light. He gulps before speaking, “I want us to be together. Or, at least try. I want us to take the risk because you’re worth every goddamn risk.”
Every birthday candle since you were a child was dedicated to him. Every shooting star, every 11:11 on the clock, every stray eyelash, every penny thrown into a fountain. You wished for this—for him—so many times you lost count. Wished for him to look at you the way he’s looking at you now, like you hung the moon and painted the stars.
You almost want to pinch yourself. But his hand is warm on your waist, heartbeat steady under your palm, and when you dig your nails slightly into your thigh, you don’t wake up to your blaring alarm. This isn’t a dream.
“I want that too. I want to wake up next to you and fight about whose turn it is to do the dishes and learn all your weird habits I don’t know yet.”
“[Y/N],” He cups your face in his hands. “You literally know all my weird habits. Even the fact that I collect Captain Underpants original copies."
“Well yeah but I want to learn the new ones,” you shrug.
He chuckles. “I can’t wait.”
Jungkook kisses you again. When he pulls back, he’s smiling that bunny smile that’s been your undoing since childhood. “Your party tonight was awesome, by the way.”
“It was all you.”
He smiles. “We’re really doing this.”
You know he’s not talking about Christmas anymore.
You laugh, resting your forehead against his. “Having second thoughts already?”
“Not even a little.” He pauses, then his eyes go wide. “Oh my god. Your Christmas gift!”
He shoots up, still naked, peppering your face with a hundred tiny kisses. Forehead, nose, cheeks, chin, eyelids, everywhere he can reach while you dissolve into giggles.
“Koo, what—”
But he’s already scrambling off the bed, running to where his bag is discarded by your front door. You hear his feet padding against your floor as he runs back, jumping onto the bed with enough force to make you bounce. He’s grinning so wide it must hurt, holding something behind his back.
“Close your eyes,” he demands.
“Jungkook—”
“Close them,” he whines.
You do as he says, and you feel the bed shift as he settles in front of you, feel his warmth as he leans close.
“Okay,” he softly says. “Open.”
Timidly, you open them.
He’s holding a teddy bear. Your teddy bear. The one he kept in a box with your name on it.
It’s exactly as you remember—worn brown fur, one ear more floppy than the other, the tiny red bow around its neck that you’d tied when you were 7. He even kept it clean, maintained.
“Oh my god,” you exhale. Tears form in your eyes until they’re streaming down your face as you stare at this piece of your childhood, this tangible proof that he’s been carrying you with him all along.
His face falls. “Oh crap, do you not like it? I thought—I mean, I kept it because I thought maybe one day I could give it back to you, but if it’s weird or—”
“No, no.” Shaking your head frantically, you reach for the bear with trembling hands. “I love it. I fucking love it, Jungkook.”
His smile returns, like’s 6 years old again and just kissed you for the first time under the mistletoe.
Jungkook nuzzles into your neck, and you both burrow under your comforter, teddy bear clutched between you. His arms wrap around you from behind, pulling you flush against his chest, and you’ve never felt safer. Never felt more loved.
It’s quiet for what feels like eternity. His breath syncs with yours, fingers tracing illegible patterns on your hip.
“What was in that box in your closet, by the way?” you quietly wonder aloud as you stroke the bear’s fur.
He pauses. Goes completely still.
“You saw that?”
“It has my name on it.”
He’s quiet for a long moment, and then he presses a kiss to your shoulder.
“Everything I love about you. That’s what’s in there.”
You hug him (and the bear) tighter to you.
After about an hour or so of intertwined limbs and lazy kisses, his breathing begins to slow, face buried in your hair. Sleep always comes easy when he’s around, and your eyes hang heavily.
“Can we watch the Grinch tomorrow?” The words come out slurred with exhaustion.
In the darkness, you smile, tangling your fingers with his over your stomach.
You’d curled up with that green, bitter creature every year, finding solace in his hatred of the holiday because at least someone understood. At least someone else knew what it felt like to watch everyone around you celebrate something that only brought you pain. You’d watch him scheme and plot and try desperately to steal Christmas away, and you’d think yes, exactly, take it all. Because if you couldn't have the Christmas you wanted, the one where Jungkook kissed you under the mistletoe and meant it, then what was the point of any of it?
The Grinch was safe. The Grinch was yours. The Grinch never asked you to be anything other than bitter and broken and sick of watching other people get their happy endings.
But that girl who needed the Grinch, she’s gone. She got her happy ending, her Christmas miracle.
Plus, the Grinch is overrated.
“Actually,” you whisper, “I’m thinking we watch Frosty the Snowman.”
SUMMARY. Life after high school has been pretty mundane. Give or take a few breakups, a few quarter life crises, you’ve done well for yourself. Enter Jeon Jungkook: a blast from the past and your ex-Chemistry tutor, except now, it seems he's traded in his glasses and textbooks for a lip piercing and tattoos. The universe is clearly testing you... or maybe it's giving you one last shot to get it right.
pairing. jeon jungkook x reader
word count. 21.7k
warnings/genre. ex-cheerleader!reader, oc used to be a mean girl, ex-nerd!jungkook, jungkook used to be OBSESSED with oc, like clinically obsessed (what is wrong with him), slight sexting (kinda maybe) alcohol consumption, jimin instigating but what’s new, making out in dirty club hallways, fingering in an uber, he’s HUNGRYYY, he has a d*ck piercing!, oral (f receiving), you bounce on it, he fucks you while carrying you, idk read the rest they have sex, he cums inside you
note. WE NEED TO BRING BACK THE DYING ART OF A 10k+ WORD ONE-SHOT. the concept of publishing a 7k celly when my 6k celly hasn’t even been posted yet… i hate me too. i hit 7k a few days ago but this has been in the works since man’s best friend dropped. i’m quite proud of this, if i do say so myself. also before anyone yells at me, this was NOT on the to-do list but when there’s a will, there’s a way (or in my case, if you get a little tipsy, your brain starts thinking of ex-nerd!jungkook and this happens). this is just a fun little thing. porn with plot! but anywho, thank you all for following me, for engaging with my work, for continuing to give me a platform to share my passions. i love you all. here’s to many more celly’s!
▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။|||| when did you get hot? by sabrina carpenter
banner creds | masterlist
Saturdays. 3 PM. Brunch. It’s been carved in stone since the day you met Park Jimin during your freshman year at Yonsei University, when he was still closeted and you were still treating every night like your last on earth.
Today, he’s on a rampage about his fiancé of two years, Kim Taehyung.
“Do you know what he did? He bought a twelve foot cactus. Twelve. Fucking. Feet. And guess where it is now?” Jimin waves his fork dramatically, almost stabbing two nearby patrons in the process. “In the middle of our beautifully crafted living room. He’s lost his fucking mind.”
You hum, twirling a straw in your iced latte, half-listening and half-focused on the couple next to you who seems to be arguing. “So sorry, Jiminie. I don’t know how you do it.”
“Thank you.” He sighs. “It’s a lawsuit waiting to happen when I inevitably walk into it. You know, when I told Tae to pursue art, I didn’t think it meant this.”
Taehyung and Jimin have the kind of love story that makes romantic comedies look documentary-level realistic. By comparison, your love life is a blooper reel that never made it to air. They’ve been disgustingly in love since senior year of university, and you’ve been their trusty little third wheel. While it’s comforting to hang out with a couple that has a dynamic as healthy as theirs, you do have to fight the pang of jealousy that hits you everytime.
“Last week it was the sculpture made of kitchen utensils. This week, desert plants. Next week? Probably something with a blow torch,” Jimin carries on, poking at his salad mercilessly.
You snort. “Tae doesn’t know how to work a blow torch.”
“He could, is my point. He’ll try anything once.” Jimin’s eyes light suggestively, and the gag reflex hits fast and mercilessly. “Like that one time he wanted to try out suspension and—”
“Jimin. Please. I am trying to enjoy my coffee,” you plead.
He rolls his eyes. “Like you don’t love us.”
“I do,” you reply quickly. “But please spare a girl the details of your sex escapades.”
“Maybe you’re bitter because you need some sex escapades of your own.” Jimin shrugs. He’s not saying it to be rude—the man doesn’t have a mean bone in his body, unless someone’s rude to his fiance.
Poor Park Jimin has been running a one-man campaign to get you laid for months. The last time you remotely showed interest in a man was a year ago, and that catastrophe ended with you sobbing on their couch for 72 hours straight while Taehyung made you soup and Jimin burned sage to ‘cleanse the toxic energy.’
You have no interest in any of it.
Sure, sex is cool and all, but the idea of the emotional turmoil that comes with the territory seems like something you can do without.
“What did I say about bringing up this topic again?” you groan.
“C’mon, please tell me you have something new that’ll make me feel better about my cactus situation.”
Your fingers collect the condensation on your plastic cup, pretending to be deeply engrossed by it. “I have nothing.”
“So as exciting as my cactus?”
Your foot kicks his ankle under the table and the noise he makes in retaliation is enough to get dirty looks from the other patrons. “Jesus Christ. Aren’t you a ball of fucking sunshine?” he moans in agony. “This is why you need to have sex. You get all crabby and violent when you don’t. When’s the last time you had sex again?”
Okay—there was that guy from the marketing conference in March…. No wait. That was last year. February? No, that was the guy who ghosted you after two dates. January? You weren’t even in the country in January. December feels like a decade ago but that was... oh god, was that really eight months ago? Nine? The guy with the man bun who worked at the bookstore and couldn’t find your—
“Don’t worry about it.”
“Yikes.” He gives you a dramatic side-eye, one that screams you are a pathetic loser, but lovingly. “You need to stop getting coffee with me and go get coffee with a man.”
You frown. “Well, you’re a man?”
He rolls his eyes. “A man who doesn’t enjoy the good ol’ cock up his ass.”
Fair play. Jimin leans back in his chair, studying you intently. Never a good sign. “You know what your problem is?”
You pick up your latte, taking a few sips. “Enlighten me, Park Jimin.”
“You’re too picky.”
Coffee snorts out of your nostrils, landing right onto the table. Jimin flings napkins at the mess, disgusted. “I’m sorry, have you met me? I’ve went out with some weirdos.”
“No, no, not the weirdos.” He waves a hand in the air. He;s about to go on one of his famous monologues, and all you can do is sit back in horror and watch. “I’m talking about the good ones. The ones you actually like. You find one tiny flaw and suddenly it's ‘oh, he chews too loud’ or ‘he uses the wrong there, their, they're.’ Like, relax. Nobody’s perfect.”
“Really? Says the guy currently plotting his fiance’s death over a home decor choice.”
“That’s different.” Jimin’s pinching the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb, something he truly only does when you’ve exhausted his last nerve. “Taehyung and I are past the point of no return. We're in too deep. You, my dear sweet angel, are sabotaging perfectly good opportunities because you're scared.”
Of course, you’ve had this conversation with your therapist numerous times, and you’ll do anything to avoid the topic in your personal life.
But before you can open your mouth to argue, a voice cuts through. It’s low but polite, maybe a little uncertain.
“Jimin-ssi?”
You don’t bother looking up to see who it is. Jimin knows everyone and their mother, their cousin, probably their dog too. Walking down the street with him is no easy feat, considering half of Seoul stops to talk to him. So, you do what you always do: focus on your phone and ignore the small talk about someone’s new job or whatever mundane life update they’re dying to share.
You scroll through Instagram, half-listening as they exchange pleasantries. Something about the gym, mutual friends, weekend plans. Standard small talk that you've heard a thousand times.
“Yeah, bro, it’s been forever,” Jimin’s saying. He sounds happier than he normally does when he talks to these people. “I saw your LinkedIn update. How’s the new job treating you? Still insane?”
“Better now that I’m settled in,” the mysterious voice responds, and there’s something familiar about it that tickles the back of your brain, but you’re too busy watching someone's Instagram story about their breakfast to pay attention. “The team’s chill, and I don’t have to be on call on weekends anymore.”
“You deserve it after all that overtime hell,” Jimin laughs. “Oh, hey, you should totally meet my friend [YN] here. [Y/N], this is Jeon Jungkook.”
Your head snaps up. Your phone falls to your lap.
What. The. Fuck.
You haven’t heard that name since high school.
High school you, to put it mildly, was kind of a bitch.
You were a cheerleader, top of the social food chain. Naturally, you failed a few classes because you were too busy making out with Kim Mingyu behind the bleachers and planning which party to hit up on Friday night to care about things like academic integrity.
When your GPA started looking tragic enough to threaten your spot as cheer captain, the guidance counselor assigned you a tutor. And since the universe loves to have fun with you, you were paired with Jeon Jungkook. Lanky, awkward Jeon Jungkook, with messy brown hair that looks like he cut it himself with safety scissors, thin silver glasses that slid down his nose every five seconds, and wide, innocent boba eyes.
All that to say—you did what any mean girl would do and took advantage of him. Batted your eyelashes, laughed at his terrible jokes, and suddenly your chemistry homework was getting done without you having to lift a finger.
Tests? He'd leave his answer sheet just visible enough for you to copy.
Lab reports? Practically wrote themselves, if by ‘themselves’ you mean Jungkook wrote them while you filed your nails and complained about how boring science was.
So, this? This has to be a comedic joke. This is a prank. Jimin is pranking you—it’s an elaborate one, you'll give him that. That's the only logical explanation because there is absolutely no way that the scrawny, stuttering kid who used to turn tomato red everytime you asked him to explain a chemistry problem is now standing here, towering over your table.
The man who stands before you has a lip piercing, one that hugs the curvature of his pink lips. A sleeve of tattoos that curls down his arm in vivid ink. His hair is perfectly tousled, dark chestnut locks falling into each other.
And most importantly, those arms. Biceps. He could probably bench press you. Why are you thinking about him bench pressing you? Stop thinking about him bench pressing you. Oh god, you're staring. You're definitely staring. Say something. Anything. Be cool.
He is—there's no other word for it—buff. Like, really buff.
And he's looking right at you with dark eyes that definitely weren't that intense in high school, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
“[Y/N] [Y/L/N]...” His voice has a deeper timber to it, with a confidence that high school Jungkook could never have. His tone alone is enough to send a shiver down your spine. “It’s been a minute.”
“Uh, I—yeah,” you gulp down a quarter-sized lump that magically appears in your throat. “It has.”
Smooth. Incredibly smooth. Someone needs to hand you a medal for conversational excellence.
His eyes narrow into slits, like he’s analyzing you and your pathetic life. Sizing you up to discover that you’ve lost all importance in the world, and are now just another girl in the world.
Jimin, completely oblivious to everything, beams at the two of you. “Amazing! You two already know each other.” He claps his hands together. “Jungkook, you should sit. [Y/N] and I were just catching up on her sad little love life.”
Damn you, Park Jimin.
Maybe ten years ago, you wouldn’t have cared if he knew about your romantic failures, but with the black shirt hugging his biceps so perfectly, you resent Jimin’s openness.
“I was not—” you protest, but Jungkook’s already got a hand on the empty chair between you two, plopping into it.
“Was she now?” Jungkook tuts, looking over at you expectantly. “How sad is sad?”
“Okay, not sad.” You roll your eyes. “It’s just… quiet.”
His eyes dance with amusement, and you sink into the chair. “I can’t imagine you having trouble in this department.”
If only he knew the half of it.
You open your mouth to combat the embarrassment, maybe to come up with some elaborate lie about how you have three dates lined up tomorrow night, but a server interrupts you before you get the chance. She smiles at Jungkook, and you can't help but note how her eyes twinkle when she realizes how utterly attractive he is. You sink one inch lower into the chair.
Please don’t order, Jungkook. Ordering means staying and your brain (or your ego, for that matter) can’t take a second more.
She asks what he wants, pearly whites on display, and he replies smoothly, “Just a black coffee is fine. Thanks, sweetheart.”
He turns back to you and Jimin, smiling lightly. Behind him, the server trips over her own two feet a bit before adjusting her shirt and walking off. You watch the whole exchange with a weird feeling in your chest. It's not jealousy—you have no claim to be jealous. But it's something. Maybe annoyance that she was so obvious about it. Maybe annoyance that he didn't seem to notice.
“So, how do you two know each other?” Jimin’s smile resembles a mischievous cartoon villain who just tied someone to railroad tracks. Vibrating with joy, eyes gleaming, the whole nine yards. You don’t even need to hear him speak to know what he’s thinking.
“High school.”
You and Jungkook both say in unison, surprising even yourself. He glances over at you before elaborating. “I was her Chemistry tutor.”
The memory alone sends shivers of disgust down your spine. You can still picture it so clearly: high school you in your cheer uniform, sitting across from him in the library with phone in hand, texting Mingyu about whose parents were out of town that weekend while Jungkook explained electron configurations. He’d push his glasses up his nose, stumble over his words when you’d sigh and lean forward, watch him turn crimson red and stutter through the rest of the explanation.
Evil. Pure, unadulterated evil.
“You needed a tutor in high school?” Jimin snorts, taking a long sip of his drink.
“Hey, that shit isn’t easy.” You push his shoulder playfully.
Jungkook cocks an eyebrow, leaning forward in his chair. “Definitely not easy when you’re too busy with cheerleading practice to study.”
“And you were a cheerleader?” Jimin gapes.
“Okay, that’s enough reminiscing for today.”
Jimin raises his hand. “I’m not done reminiscing. I want to hear more about cheerleader [YN].”
Your face falls flat. Luckily, before Jungkook can embarrass you more with tales from a decade ago, the server comes back with his coffee, making sure to toss him the widest smile her pearly whites can muster.
Jungkook’s lips wrap around the cup. Your eyes just so happen to fall on the movement, on the way they hug the rim. Were they always that kissable or did he get lip filler?
He meets your gaze.
Shit.
You turn back to Jimin, who’s eagerly awaiting more from Jungkook. “What else don’t I know about high school [Y/N]? She’s never told me anything.”
“Well,” Jungkook starts, and by the way his lips curve upwards, you can tell the next anecdote won’t be endearing. “She did ask me once if we could ‘skip the math parts’ of chemistry.”
Jimin bursts out in laughter. “You’re kidding me.”
“In my defense, chemistry is like, ninety percent math,” you retort. “That’s a reasonable request.”
“It really wasn’t,” Jungkook counters, and his grin widens. There’s something almost… predatory about it. Like he’s enjoying watching you squirm. “But then again, you always did think the rules didn’t apply to you.”
For a moment, you can’t do anything but stare at him. This confidence, this self-assured way he’s teasing you without a hint of anxiety that used to color every interaction, is foreign.
The absolute worst part of it all is that if he wasn’t currently roasting you for being a shallow human being, this might be the sexiest thing you’ve ever witnessed.
The eye contact, the slight smirk playing at his lips, the veins poking out of his biceps. All of it both excites and confuses you.
“What do you mean?” You tilt your head, feigning innocence.
“Nothing.” He shakes his head, laughs to himself. “Just that some things never really change.”
A pregnant pause fills the space. Jimin’s eyes dart between you two like he’s at the US Open and this is the match of the century.
“You know, she also once asked me if atoms were contagious," Jungkook adds, turning to Jimin like you’re not even there. It’s a fucking power play—one that high school you invented—and you hate how effective it is.
A long exhale leaves your mouth, and you have to bite back a thousand venomous words in retaliation. Jimin laughs. “Oh, don’t worry. In college, she asked me if square roots were plants.”
Okay, so math wasn't your strongest suit. Sue a girl.
Jungkook’s hands wrap around his cup, taking a quick sip. They’re bigger than you remember, rougher, with calluses to match.
Truthfully, everything about him is just… more. Bigger, broader, bolder.
You shift gears, clearing your throat to interrupt whatever powwow Jungkook and Jimin have going on regarding your academic life. “What do you do now?”
“Software development.” Jungkook almost seems surprised that you have an interest in his life. “Started at a startup, but I just moved to a bigger company.”
“What kind of software?” you ask mindlessly, happy to have the attention finally off you.
“Mobile apps. Some web development.” Jungkook shrugs like it’s nothing, but you catch the hint of pride in his tone. “Nothing crazy.”
Jimin chimes in, eyes twinkling with mischief. “You know, [Y/N] works in marketing for a tech company. You guys probably have tons in common now.”
You want to sink through the floor. Actually—scratch that. Sinking through the floor isn’t enough. You need the floor to open up, swallow you whole, digest you, and then launch whatever remains into the sun.
You can see exactly what's happening here. You can see the gears turning in Jimin’s pretty little head. He’s planning your wedding, probably picking out centerpieces. He thinks this whole encounter is fate, some kind of romantic star-crossed lovers nonsense where the nerd gets the girl who was too stupid to notice him the first time around.
He’s going to be insufferable about this. Probably loop Taehyung into this delusion as well. There will be betting pools on when you finally hook up with Jungkook.
Which—okay, fine—you wouldn’t be completely opposed to. Hypothetically. In theory.
“How’s that going for you?” Jungkook turns to you.
“Good. I’ve been at my current company for a few years now. I just got promoted last year.” Your chest puffs out a little. There’s nothing you need to prove to him. But it doesn’t hurt, especially as he validates your words with a slight nod in approval.
“That’s awesome. I’m happy for you.”
Not said with even an inch of malice.
“Thank you.” You flip your hair over your shoulder. “See, and I didn’t even need math or chemistry to be successful.”
He chuckles. “Fair enough.”
“I know how emotionally tolling it was to tutor me, so at least your efforts didn’t go to waste,” you joke, and he cracks a smile at that, bunny teeth poking out.
“It wasn’t that emotionally tolling.” He shrugs, lifting his coffee to his lips. “It was fun. Y’know, when you weren’t texting that guy you used to date.”
He maintains eye contact with you as he takes one, two sips, and you have to clench your thighs to ignore the second heartbeat that’s beating in your vagina.
Jimin opens his mouth—probably to ask approximately eight thousand invasive follow-up questions about your high school love life—but his phone buzzes violently against the table, the vibration loud enough to rattle his fork.
Glancing down at his phone, his expression shifts from pure glee to actual panic. “Shit, I need to head out. Taehyung’s making dinner and if I’m late, he’s gonna put that weird purple pesto in it again.”
You raise an eyebrow. “Purple pesto?”
“You know how he is, babe.” Jimin frantically flags down the waiter, motioning for the check.
You and Jimin always split Saturday brunch. It’s a tradition, one that you don’t plan on breaking. You reach for your wallet in your bag, prepared to pull out your trusty debit card.
But before you or Jimin can get too far, Jungkook smacks his AMEX Platinum card down like it’s nothing.
You blink at the shiny metal. “Jimin and I always—”
“I’ve got it,” he says, all casual, like dropping 100,000 won on lunch for three people is normal for him.
To your left, Jimin has the biggest shit-eating grin of all time. “Thanks, Jungkook. You don’t have to do that.”
“It’s my treat. It’s nice to run into old friends.” He tosses you a side glance when he says the word friends, because that’s hardly what you two ever were.
Jimin’s phone buzzes again, and his eyes widen as they scan the new message. “Oh no. No, no, no.”
“What?!” You lean forward, trying to peek at his phone.
“Yeontan threw up all over the new rug. Taehyung just sent me a picture, it’s…” He makes a sour face. “I gotta go. Code red dog situation.”
“Is he okay?” you ask, because despite Jimin’s dramatics, that little ball of fur is your ray of sunshine.
“He’s fine.” He stands, shrugging on his thin sweatshirt. “He probably ate something he should have. This was great though! We should all hang out again soon!”
And then he’s sprinting out of the cafe, leaving you all alone at the table with none other than Jeon Jungkook.
If you didn’t know better, you’d say Jimin planned this. Although, to be fair, you do know better, and he one hundred percent planned this. You're going to kill him. You're going to actually murder your best friend.
The waiter comes by, charging Jungkook’s card while you sit there awkwardly, twiddling your fingers. You don’t know what to do with yourself, quite frankly.
“Jimin isn’t very subtle,” Jungkook says, signing the receipt and placing it aside.
“Jimin doesn’t do subtle.” You fidget with your napkin. “He probably planned this.”
He quirks an eyebrow. “Oh, really? You think so?”
“I know so. He’s been trying to set me up with someone for months.”
Crossing his bulky arms over his chest, he leans back in his chair. “How’s that working out for him?”
“Well,” you begin, “Considering the last attempt was one of his coworkers who turned out to be married, I would say pretty terrible.”
“Jesus.”
“I’m not really into the whole polyamory thing,” you joke.
Jungkook laughs and stands, and you follow suit, realizing how much taller he is than you. Not that he hasn’t always been tall, but now he has the ego to match it.
“Want me to walk you to your car?” he asks.
You bashfully look down at your feet. In your years of living in Seoul, you’ve never once been embarrassed about taking the bus before. The Korean bus system is efficient and better for the environment. But Jungkook, with his fancy tech job, probably has some sleek car that makes the bus system look like a clown car.
“I took the bus, actually.”
Immediately, without so much as a second thought, he goes, “I’ll drive you home.”
“You don’t need to—”
“I know I don’t need to.” He strolls towards the exit, holding the door open for you to glide through first. “I want to.”
Wait. Is he… is he flirting? That was definitely flirting, right?
If he is very specifically flirting with you, that means he either has a terrible memory or some kind of revenge plot in the works. Both options seem likely and panic-inducing.
When you finally get outside, the crisp afternoon air dances across your skin. The autumn leaves crunch beneath your feet. You keep a few inches for God between you and Jungkook, and he falls into a comfortable pace beside you, matching you.
His hands are nestled into his pockets, kicking leaves as he walks. Now that you two are alone, he’s returned to some of his old habits, like being quiet around you when there’s nothing to fill the noise with.
“How do you like your job?” he finally decides upon asking, and your head lifts to peer at him. He’s gazing at you intently, clearly waiting for an answer.
“I like it. Most days, it’s creative, but we do a good amount of analytical work too.”
“Why did you choose marketing?” He seems genuinely interested in your answer, which sends tingles down your spine. It’s been a while since someone has cared enough to ask about your life beyond the standard two questions.
“Well, you know I suck at math,” you start, and he laughs at that. A deep sound that reverberates in his chest and makes your insides mushy. “I also hate science, so that wasn’t an option. I like being creative, and I’m a visual person. I took an intro class and it stuck.”
He nods, soaking it in. “Was college you the same as high school you?”
You know what he’s asking. Was college you also the biggest bitch alive, or did you grow out of that phase?
“Nah.” You shake your head. “I’m not as shallow… or annoying.”
He smiles. “Good to know.”
You reach his car—a black BMW that looks like it was ripped right off the set of Fifty Shades of Grey—and he unlocks it with a soft beep.
“Your car is nice,” you note, and his cheeks turn a soft pink at the compliment.
“Thanks. I figured I should probably upgrade from the bus at some point.” He opens the passenger door for you, causing you to almost trip getting in at the sheer thoughtfulness.
You frown. “Hey! I still take the bus.”
He raises his hands up in surrender. “Not hating on the bus. I took that bad boy for years.”
Jungkook closes your door, rounding the car to the driver's seat and hopping in. the inside of the vehicle smells like leather, mixed with the faint scent of his cologne. Your brain can’t help but go a little fuzzy—scents are your weakness. Any man who smells good deserves to get their dick sucked, period.
“Address?” he asks, starting the engine.
You give it to him, and he inputs it into the GPS. Fifteen minutes, it spits back. Fifteen minutes in a car alone with Jeon Jungkook, the most confusing blast from your past.
Peeking over at him, you take his appearance in. His jaw is defined and sharp. Could probably cut glass on that thing. His nose juts out, big enough for you to wonder if he’s ever let a girl sit on his face. God, you really need to get laid. You’ve resorted to sexualizing the man you used to tease in high school like some kind of medieval man who just saw an ankle for the first time.
The guilt of your past sits heavy in your chest, but your body doesn’t seem to care. It wants what it wants, ethics be damned.
You don’t deserve to be this turned on by someone you treated like human furniture for two years. But here you are, wondering about the logistics of his face between your thighs, and maybe that makes you exactly as terrible as you’ve always suspected.
Your eyes wander down to his biceps, down to his arms that are cluttered with tattoos. Different designs snake down his skin, some with color, and it takes all your might not to reach out and trace them. Fuck, now you’re thinking about his hands gripping the steering wheel. The veins. Those long fingers—
“You have a lot of tattoos,” you blurt out.
His eyes remain on the road, but his lips curl upwards. A little bit like a smirk. “I do.”
“When did you start getting them?” you wonder aloud.
“College. I started with one, but then I got addicted and kept going.” He glances at you for a second before turning his attention back to the road. “You disapprove?”
“No! No, they’re… they look good. Really good.” You want to die. “But it is different from what I expected from you.”
His gaze hardens. “A lot of things are different from high school.”
Silence fills the air as you two continue along the highway in the direction of your neighborhood. Your town is quaint, not too far outside of the main downtown area of Seoul. It’s so peaceful that your neighbors are two elderly women who treat you like their daughter.
You wonder where Jungkook lives. If you had to guess, he probably lives in Gangnam, the upscale area in Seoul. Fancy tech job, fancy car… he must have a fancy house to match. Or a fancy girlfriend.
“Do you live near here?” you ask, hoping to sound as casual as possible. Although, realistically speaking, there is nothing casual about interrogating your ex-Chemistry tutor.
“Not too far. I’m about ten minutes by car.” His grip loosens on the wheel a little. “Near Hannam-dong.”
So, you were kind of right. Hannam-dong, where all the celebrities and rich people live.
Before you can stop yourself, you say, “Do you live alone, or…?”
It’s possibly the least subtle question in the history of subtle questions, but you need to know.
Jungkook’s grip on the wheel tautens, and when you look over at him, there’s a scarlet flash creeping up his neck. “I—yeah. Alone. It’s just me.”
Is he… blushing?
“Oh, cool.” You try not to sound too pleased by the information. “That’s really cool. I mean, not cool that you’re alone if you don’t want to be alone, but cool that you have your own space and— y’know, everything.”
Nailed it.
“It’s—yeah, it’s good.” He clears his throat, and suddenly, you get a glimpse of the man you remember in high school. Less like the confident, macho guy from the cafe, and more like the boy who used to stumble over his words when you asked him questions. “No one to, uh, bother me or anything. Not that having anyone would be bothering, I just meant—I live alone. No girlfriend or—”
He stops himself, like he’s just realized what he’s saying, and the flush spreads to the tip of his ears. Oh my god. He’s flustered. Jeon Jungkook, with his tattoos and lip ring and his whole sexy confident energy, is flustered because you asked if he lives alone.
The ex-mean girl in you rises to the surface, bubbles in your throat. It’s been a while since you’ve activated her. Not since college, that one time when Park Eunji threatened your spot as sorority president. That version of you knew exactly what to do: touch his arm, squeeze once, watch him stutter. Make him want you so badly it hurts, then pull away. It's muscle memory, this kind of manipulation. You hate that it's still there, your instinct to weaponize attraction.
You want him to be nervous around you. It’s a sick, twisted thought you have, and you don’t know where it comes from, but you want it. “No girlfriend,” you repeat, trying to hide your smile. Reaching out, you place a small hand on his bicep, squeeze once. His bicep is firm under your palm, and the second you make contact, you realize what you've done. That was flirting 101. High school you would’ve done that without thinking twice, but current you? Current you doesn’t have that kind of game anymore. Abort mission. Abort.
You yank your hand back to your lap like he’s made of volcanic ash.
“I didn’t—that’s not—” He runs a hand through his locks, messing it up even more. “I’m just giving context about my living situation.”
“No, I got it.” You keep your eyes trained on the road, even though your heart is doing somersaults in your chest. “Though, I have to admit, I’m shocked.”
He gulps thickly. He pulls up to a red light, finally looking over at you directly. There’s vulnerability in his expression, polar opposite to his earlier reactions to you. “Are you making fun of me?”
Huh. You don’t know why, but the fact that old, anxious Jungkook still lives somewhere deep within him makes your stomach backflip. “I would never,” you reply dramatically, waving your hand for emphasis. “I’m just speaking aloud.”
Jungkook hums at that, focusing his attention back onto the street. It’s quiet again, if not for the sound of the engine purring and the awkward tension that’s loitered in the car since you stepped inside.
He doesn’t need to ask you anything else anyway, since Jimin did a good job of outing you as the most single girl in the history of single girls. He might as well have just admitted you’re a born again virgin.
The familiar road of your neighborhood looms ahead, and a pit of despair swallows your stomach whole. You really don’t want to get out of the car that smells like him. It would be embarrassing how you’ve begun to thirst over him, but after not getting laid in a while, you’re about ready to unzip your pants and jam your fingers in there.
“Is it the building up ahead?” he questions, pointing to the cream apartment complex that you reside in. You nod sweetly, smiling brightly. You dial up the ol’ high school charm.
“Thanks, Jungkook. I really appreciate it.” Another quick flutter of your lashes as he puts the car in park, taking a deep breath and angling his body to look at you.
“Of course. Anytime.” His face remains stoic, probably hoping to not look like you affect him anymore than you already have.
Your fingers land on the handle, pushing it open to let the brisk air in, replacing the suffocating tension in the car. “Well, I wish you the best. It was nice running into you today.”
Maybe you should invite him to come up. Maybe you should invite him for a nightcap? Granted, it is midday and there’s no actual alcohol in your home, but you can think of something real quick.
But he doesn’t move toward you, or show any other inclination of interest. In fact, you’re feeling kind of slutty right about now. He probably thinks you’re some kind of embarrassing gold digger—which like, yes, you might be. For him only.
Quietly, he says, “You too,” and that’s the end of that.
And just as you’re about to slam the passenger door shut and head upstairs to scream into your pillow, Jungkook abruptly speaks. “[Y/N].”
You whip around as fast as your body will let you. “Yeah?”
His big eyes twinkle under the sunlight rays reflecting on the car, two bunny teeth poking out as he sheepishly smiles. You’re going to have fantasies about that mouth later.
“Just so you know, today wasn’t planned. But I’m really, really happy I ran into you.”
Huh Yunjin’s birthday bash has never been an easy feat. Every year, without fail, there’s a table bought at an exclusive club, and your entire friend group blacks out within the hour. You’re not sure how she gets away with it, but your love for her and mild fear of disappointing her clearly gets her very far.
Hence why you’re standing in a shopping mall at 3 PM, trying to decipher what makeup product she would like best. Her birthday gift needs to be top notch, because you’re up against Kim Taehyung and Park Jimin, and those two have some kind of gaydar for gift-giving. Last year, Taehyung got her a vintage Chanel bag he “just found” at a thrift store. The year before, Jimin surprised her with tickets to see Beyonce. You’re operating at a disadvantage here.
You pick up another lipstick, eyeing the two intensely. A salesperson loiters over your shoulder, waiting to pounce at any given moment. In the end, you opt for a sleek red lip gloss, one that you know will pair well with her peachy skin. The relief that washes over you at finally securing her gift is endless.
Pushing past the doors of the shop, you blend into the rest of the mall-goers. It’s pretty packed for an afternoon, but you figure it has something to do with the sales going on. 50% off for shoes… hm. Across the way, you see a sign for 25% off scarves, and you squint to try and make out the tiny writing. Buy one, get one free—
“Oof!”
Your body collides into something firm, something warm. It’s fleeting, and you jump back several feet, immediately armoring yourself with numerous apologies. “Oh gosh, I’m so sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going—”
A deep chuckle. “I’m not mad about it.”
You know that voice. That voice has been haunting your wet dreams and your poorly-written mental fanfiction.
When you were ten, you got chosen to attend a unicorn retreat. It was a glorified horse camp, but it was five days of pure magic. Horses walking around with plastic horns on their head, offering unlimited rides to anyone who wanted one. Magical doesn’t even feel like the proper word to describe it.
You thought that was the most enchanting moment of your life. But this… this rivals any stupid pony. This makes those ponies look like donkeys. In fact, with the luck you’ve been given, you might rent a unicorn and a castle.
In front of you stands Jeon Jungkook, looking somehow more scrumptious than he did a few days ago. Defying the damn laws of hotness. You’d spent a good few hours tossing and turning in bed, dreaming about his lips, his eyes, his veiny hands. He looks like he stepped straight out of your wet dream, adorned in a zip-up sweatshirt and black t-shirt, fluffy hair askew.
His eyes still carry that same twinkle from the last time you saw him, and you wonder if they’re like this all the time, or if it's just for you.
“Hi,” you exhale breathily.
“Hello.” He smiles at you, and it’s sweet, just a little dopey, and so decidedly adorable that you want to gnaw on his cheeks like a dog with a chew toy. “Must be my lucky day to run into you again.”
“Clearly.” He is flirting. Sure, there were doubts in your mind before this, but anyone who says those kinds of things, is someone who wants to be balls deep inside you. “I don’t normally treat pedestrians like bumper cars, though.”
Jungkook laughs at that, a melodic sound that sends vibrations from your head to your toes. “If I was a better man, I might’ve moved out of the way to make room for you.”
“Well, then I guess it’s my lucky day you’ve decided to not be a better man,” you counter, and he takes a step closer to you, allowing the people behind him to filter around. A mom of three tosses him an evil glare, but you could care less.
“I was actually hoping to talk to you again so I could ask you a question.” His eyes bore into you, the eye contact making the walls of your vagina contract incessantly. His confidence from the cafe has returned with a vengeance, and you’re not sure what’s gotten into him, but you hope it never leaves.
“I might have an answer,” you tease.
His lips quirk upwards into a soft smirk, one that would normally disgust you but doesn’t whatsoever. “I was thinking you and I should get dinner sometime. Maybe catch up one-on-one.”
If this were a game of tennis, you just won match point. He served, you returned, and now the ball’s sitting in his court while he watches it roll away. Checkmate. Victory. Crowd goes berzerk.
But you know how to play this game. Even though you’re a little out of commission, you still invented half the rules in high school. And rule number one: never let them see you sweat. Rule number two: make them work for it.
Tilting your head, you pretend to consider it like you haven’t thought about what underwear you would wear to this hypothetical one-on-one time. “Maybe,” you say, drawing out the syllables. “I’ll have to check my calendar.”
Your calendar is wide open. Your calendar has been wide open for months. Your calendar is begging for plans. Your calendar is weeping with joy at the possibility of having something on it besides ‘therapy 2 PM’ and ‘don’t forget your lexapro.’
But here’s the thing: if you say yes immediately, if you're too eager, too easy, he’ll figure it out. He'll realize you're still that girl who only wants things because they're shiny and new, who gets bored the second the chase is over. Except this time, the thing you want isn’t a spot on the homecoming court or the captain of the basketball team’s attention—it’s him.
“Maybe?” He’s grinning now, full teeth, like he’s finally been let in on how the game works. “I pour my heart out and I get a maybe?”
“You didn’t pour your heart out. You asked to get dinner.”
He scoffs, “Same thing.”
“Not even remotely close, lover boy.” You migrate an inch backwards, so miniscule he hardly notices.
Something flickers across his face at the nickname—amusement, or something darker, more interested. His eyes track your movements like a predator watching prey.
“I feel like you’re just testing fate at this point,” he jokes. You can see the gears turning in his head, shifting and transforming to try and get to his end goal: you.
“It’s worked once before already.” You shrug, taking a few more steps back.
“Alright, well, can I at least get your number? Not really feeling like leaving it all up to the universe.” The color drains from his face slowly as he realizes you’re really, truly, going to walk away. His voice raises a little at the end of the sentence.
“I’ll see you around, Jungkook.”
With that, you turn on your heel, bags in tow, and make your way towards the exit of the mall with what you hope exudes confidence, and not like someone who’s about to sprint outside and scream into the void. His eyes burn into your back the entire way. Don’t turn around. You’re doing so well. You’re a mysterious enigma. You’re unattainable.
You trip over your own two feet and have to do some weird stumble-hop recovery move just so you don’t eat shit in the middle of the mall.
Okay, so maybe not entirely mysterious. But you do make it outside with a goofy grin on your face, caught in some kind of daze, all because your ex-Chemistry tutor has made it abundantly clear he wants to see you again.
The following Saturday, you and Jimin cozy up at a nearby cafe—a different one than last week’s. You suggested it over text a few days ago, after you had run into Jungkook, because there was some perverse thrill to testing fate and the universe’s weird way of working. Jimin, who could care less where he got his cup of coffee, agreed with a shrug of his shoulders.
“So, tell me again why you didn’t give him your number,” Jimin furrows his brows, picking at his limp salad in disgust. He’s trying this new diet that only allows for 1000 calories a day, and it’s made him even more judgmental than usual. “Walk me through your thought process here.”
You sigh. “Jiminie, I told you already. I’m playing the game.”
“The game… I hate straight people.”
“Hey, you did the same thing with Tae when you guys first started out,” you frown, taking a prolonged sip of your iced latte. Senior year, Jimin refused to see Taehyung more than once a week in fear of seeming too desperate and clingy, even though he texted him every five minutes anyway.
Jimin lets out a long-suffering sigh, pushing the soggy lettuce into the corner of his plate. “Tae and I are different. We’re homosexuals. There’s no rules when society already hates you anyway. But you are playing a dangerous game with him.”
Rolling your eyes, you scoff. “I’m not. I’m playing hard to get.”
“How do you know he won’t get bored?” It’s an innocent question that, when asked, makes you want to bash your head into a concrete wall. “I mean, you’ve seen the guy. He probably has a roster of girls throwing their phone number at him.”
You pause mid-sip, straw frozen against your lips. You… hadn’t actually thought about it like that. In your mind, this whole thing has been about you trying to regain an inch of the upper hand, about making Mr. Cocky work for it. But Jimin's right—Jungkook isn’t the same nerdy kid who would wait around forever for a crumb of your attention. You’re also not the cheerleader that everybody’s dying to get their hands on. He could have anyone, and yet his sights are set on you (or well, as far as you know).
“Then I guess we’ll just have to see how into me he is.” You shrug, but no ounce of you feels calm.
Jimin quirks an eyebrow. “Really? Off of one conversation after ten years, he’s supposed to be magically in love with you?”
“Okay, first of all, it was two conversations, and second of all, do you have no faith in your hot and sexy best friend?” You swish your hair for good measure, but Jimin doesn’t buy it for a second. Your charms have no effect on his gay self.
“I do have faith in you. However, I can’t recall the last time you’ve successfully kept a guy around after the first kiss…” he trails off, pretending to count on his fingers. You gasp, appalled by the insinuation.
“Park Jimin,” you scold. He bursts into a fit of laughter, wiping faux tears from his eyes, and you really can’t help but follow suit at the hysterics of it all. “You’re the worst.”
“I’m honest, babe,” he says through another fit of giggles. “You hate to see it.”
“Jimin? [Y/N]?”
The laughter dies down within a millisecond. Somewhere in the distance, you swear you hear a record scratching.
Tentatively, you crane your neck upwards. Lo and behold, Jeon Jungkook stands before your table, holding an iced coffee and looking between you and Jimin in bewilderment. He must have a tracker planted inside you, because although you had daydreamed about this scenario approximately ten times in the past few days, never did you actually think it would come to fruition.
“Why are you here?” you blurt, and Jimin throws you a glare, facepalming. You slap a hand over your mouth. You have the sudden, embarrassing, debilitating urge to vomit.
Jungkook laughs, and you notice the tip of his ears turning pink. “I could ask you the same thing. This is my regular spot.”
“This is—” You glance around the cafe, like the answer will appear written in invisible ink. “Since when?”
“Since I moved to the area?” He’s donning a massive grin now, one that lights up his entire face.
Your face falls flat. In your frantic search for a new cafe, you neglected the fact that the new spot you selected is located in Hannam-dong. Exactly where he told you he lived last week.
Jimin’s completely forgotten his salad, jumping in to save you from the depths of shame. “Jungkook! Join us.” He’s already pulling out an empty chair before he can protest.
Jungkook shakes his head, the hoop earrings in his ear moving with him. “I don’t want to interrupt—”
“Don’t be silly,” Jimin retorts quickly, shooting you a look that both screams: you’re an idiot and this is fate knocking at your door. “Come, sit here.”
Jungkook hesitantly sets his drink down, sitting down in the chair. “So, what were you guys laughing at before?”
You blink a few times, utterly speechless. There’s no universe in which you admit to Jungkook what you two were discussing before his appearance.
“Nothing crazy,” Jimin starts, and he has this glint in his eyes he only gets when he’s about to do something so diabolically crazy you’ll have to second-guess your friendship. “She was just telling me about this guy she’s playing hard to get with. Real shame, honestly. He sounds great.”
What the fuck is going on? you ask yourself silently. Your mind is shooting blanks.
Jimin sips his water nonchalantly as if he didn’t just throw you under the bus.
You finally muster up the courage to speak. “Jimin’s being crazy,” you say, trying to recover some dignity. “There’s no guy.”
“Really?” Jungkook’s smirk is unrattled. “At the mall, you said you had to check your calendar. It sounds like you’re pretty busy.”
Oh, he wants to play this game.
“I am busy.” You lift your chin in defiance.
“Doing what?” Jimin chimes in. After this lunch date, he’s lucky if you ever respond to one of his texts ever again. “You texted me yesterday saying you were bored.”
“I hope you die, Park Jimin,” you mutter.
He turns to Jungkook, a conspiratorial grin plastered on his face. “She’s playing hard to get. I told her it's a terrible strategy, but does she listen? No.”
Jungkook’s eyes don’t waver from your face. “Hard to get, huh?”
“That is not what I’m doing,” you huff, even though that’s exactly what you’re doing, and all parties present at the table know it.
“No, it makes sense.” Jungkook nods, leaning forward in his chair. “After all, you have that busy calendar… you know, the one you need to check.”
“Exactly,” you agree.
“And have you? Checked it, I mean?”
You stare blankly at him.
“I’ve been meaning to.”
“Mm,” Jungkook hums, sipping his coffee. The white t-shirt and grey sweatpants combo he’s wearing today makes you feel like a rabid animal who’s been deprived of food for too long. “Who’s the lucky man?”
“Get this,” Jimin jumps in eagerly. “She met him at the mall.”
“The mall?” Jungkook asks incredulously, dropping his chin into his open palm.
“And she didn’t even give him her number.” Jimin continues this charade as if you’re not even sitting there. Which, you really wish you weren’t. In fact, you might just bury yourself six feet under this cafe after everything’s said and done.
“Wow,” Jungkook tuts. “I hope that guy gets her number somehow.”
“Seems like a long shot.” You shrug, fiddling with your straw.
“Right. I mean, we can’t forget about fate, because fate’s probably working in that guy’s favor.”
It hits you square in the chest, that Jungkook really does know exactly what he’s done, that he is perfectly aware of the effect he has on you.
There's a pause. A long pause. Jimin is grinning like the Cheshire cat, and you're seriously considering faking a medical emergency.
Jungkook’s biceps strain against his shirt, tongue darting out to play with his lip ring. “You know what I think?” His voice drops several octaves, low enough for you and Jimin to hear. “I think this guy should just show up at your door. Skip all the games.”
“That would be weird,” you quip.
“Would it?” Tilting his head, Jungkook observes you. Feels like he’s seeing right through you with x-ray goggles. “Even if you’ve been thinking about him too?”
You’re painfully aware of how close he is, how his knee is almost touching yours under the table, how his eyes keep dropping to your lips. Your brain is short-circuiting. You can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t do anything except stare at him and wonder what would happen if you just gave in.
“There’s rules to be followed,” you finally mumble.
“Rules for what?” Jimin snorts.
In hindsight, that probably wasn’t the smartest excuse you could’ve conjured up. No one seems to understand the dying art of playing hard to get anymore.
But, really, it was only a matter of time before you lost your temper and threw in the towel. You were never good at winning anything besides cheerleader championships, anyway. “The game, Jimin. The fucking game I explained to you already. Just so we’re all clear, by the way, I was trying to enjoy my lunch before you two decided to gang up on me, so thank you both very much.”
Jimin and Jungkook deadpan, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights.
Embarrassment courses through your veins, choking your throat. It’s not like you meant to have an outburst and openly admit you’re playing the game with Jeon Jungkook, a man who you used to ignore as if he were invisible. Sometimes a girl gets sexually frustrated and it manifests in interesting ways.
“I’m going to the bathroom,” you grumble. You speed-walk as fast as your legs will take you, all the way to the restroom, locking yourself in one of the stalls and plopping down on the toilet. You can’t pinpoint why you’re suddenly overcome with some silly desire to win this ‘game’ you conjured up in your head, why you won’t just give in to what he so clearly wants to offer you.
But maybe—and you don’t want to admit it—there’s a residual guilt that lives deep inside you. One that when you really face, reminds you of just how cruel you were to others in high school. There was a time in your teenage life where you thought being the queen bee of high school meant you were at the apex of the universe. Now that the tables have turned, and you’re not as big as you once were, maybe you don’t deserve what the universe is trying to offer you.
Maybe you don't deserve what Jeon Jungkook is trying to offer you.
It’s Sunday, but it’s hardly peaceful or restorative. Saturday night was spent partying with Yunjin and Chaewon at some club in Gangnam that served drinks comparable to battery acid, which is why you’re currently battling the worst hangover of your entire life. Your head is pounding so hard you can hear your heartbeat in your eyeballs. And you're pretty sure you're still drunk, which means the real hangover hasn't even hit yet.
There’s no one to blame but yourself. Your brain was a broken record last night: Jungkook, high school, the game. The only way to stop the endless loop was to wash it down with copious soju shots.
Groggily, you roll over and unplug your phone from the charger. A quick scroll through your missed notifications and it’s the usual suspects: Jimin, Yunjin, Taehyung…
Wait.
Your eyes squint into slits, trying to make sense of the unknown number that sent you one message at 8 AM. You don’t recognize it. Spam, probably. Or maybe someone from last night asking if you got home okay. You don’t remember giving your number to anyone, but then again, you don't remember much after midnight.
You unlock your phone, rub your eyes, and adjust to the bright white light of your messages.
+823137565798 waited ten years to run into you again, [Y/N]. im not really interested in waiting another ten to see if fate brings us together a fourth time
It doesn’t take much time for you to put together the puzzle pieces.
You gasp, nearly flinging yourself off your bed at the realization. You reread the message one, two, three times, just to confirm he really said your name in it. You try to do a little excited kick under your covers, but your legs are tangled in your sheets and you nearly fall off the bed.
After yesterday’s temper tantrum, you had exited the bathroom to see Jeon Jungkook no longer present at the table. Jimin shrugged, said ‘he was tired, so he went home,’ and that was the end of that. You were under the impression that you ruined the entire charade, that you wouldn’t have to worry about the game because you already lost anyway.
But here he is, in your messages, contradicting your worst fears.
you who’s this?
Squealing, you throw your phone to the side, but within a few seconds, it lights up again with a new message.
+823137565798 wild guess?
you my amazon package?
You snort as you watch him read it and begin typing.
+823137565798 close. even better
An unwarranted smile sneaks its way onto your face.
you enlighten me
+823137565798 it’s your ex chemistry tutor from high school. that weird dude
you weird dude is how you’re choosing to introduce yourself?
+823137565798 trying to be humble
+823137565798 so about yesterday
Your hangover creeps back into your skull, your head pounding to the beat of a drum.
you we don’t need to talk about yesterday
+823137565798 why not?
you because i embarrassed myself?
+823137565798 you didn’t. thought it was cute
+823137565798 may have also told your best friend i needed your number in the name of saving you from your drought, so you’re not the one who embarrassed themselves
Staring at the message, your alcohol-riddled brain struggles to make sense of the words in front of you. Heat spreads from your chest to your neck to your cheeks. The guilt tries to claw its way up—you don’t get to feel this giddy, not about him—but your body overrules it with a decisive vote. Your hangover is completely forgotten now, replaced by a warm flutter in your stomach that has nothing to do with last night's tequila.
It’s so unlike him, the polar opposite of what Jeon Jungkook used to evoke in you, but the mere thought of him ending your sex drought sends a tingle down your spine.
You’re grinning like a foolish schoolgirl now, dignity be damned. You save his number to your contacts, makes it official in your brain.
you are you offering to get me out of my drought?
You fling your phone to the opposite side of the bed, and scream into your pillow.
The buzz causes you to shoot back up, heart thumping in your throat as you read his response.
jungkook possibly
Somewhere in the sky, your guardian angel is doing backflips.
Hands shaking, heart pumping blood erratically, you type back:
you take a girl to dinner first
The three dots pop up almost immediately, and then:
jungkook tried that already. the girl ran away from me :/
Technically, he’s right. You did run away. And now he’s resorted to joking about it, like it doesn’t bother him. But it should bother him. Should annoy him that the girl who didn’t acknowledge his existence in high school is now playing games with him like she has any right to.
You don’t know how to let him be nice to you, how to let him want you, when all you can remember is a younger you rolling your eyes while he patiently explained molecular bonds. You were cruel. Mostly in small ways that probably hurt more than massive shows of dismissiveness, but harsh nonetheless.
Guilt sits burdensome in your chest, a thorn in your side. Deep down, you’re terrified that when he finally sees you clearly—really sees you, not the filtered version you're trying to present—he’ll realize what you already know. That you were never worth the wait.
Your fingers loom over the keyboard, twiddling. The guilt is there, always there, always a dark cloud hanging. You were cruel to him. Casual about it, even. Used him like a tool and never once considered that he was a person with feelings that could be hurt.
But maybe—and this is the thought that's been needling at you since the cafe—maybe the worst thing you could do now is waste his second chance on you by playing games. Maybe the cruelest thing would be pretending you don’t want this when you so obviously, desperately do.
On the one hand, honesty is terrifying and vulnerability makes you nauseous.
But, on the other hand…
you well maybe the girl wants to see if you’re full of shit or not
Your heart speeds up behind the confines of your ribs.
jungkook i’m not the same guy from high school. i don’t play about what i want
With bated breath, you type your response. It’s a question that you know the answer to, and you don’t know why you need him to say it, but he will anyway.
you and what is it that you want?
jungkook you.
The night of Huh Yunjin’s birthday creeps up slowly on you, amidst a week busied with work, adult errands, and most stupidly, thoughts of Jungkook. The thoughts of him play, pause, tape spooling, and then rewind on a constant loop, unrelenting in their nature.
You hadn’t spoken to him much after your last exchange, minus some ‘good morning’ texts from him that you responded to politely. It’s foreplay, if nothing else, because even a few words from him are enough to leave you giddy for days to come.
You fully intend to take him up on his offer, you just don’t know when. .
Sinkhole is packed to the brim, sweaty bodies colliding in an attempt to feel human intimacy. A disco ball hangs loosely from the ceiling, transmitting silver light across the dance floor. The DJ is spinning up cringy Top 40 hits you haven’t heard since college, but the amount of soju shots you’ve consumed within the past hour masks the embarrassment you feel.
“Cheers to my 28th!” Yunjin yells in your ear, raising her shot glass in the air. Jimin abandons making out with Taehyung in favor of lifting his shot glass with hers, and you can’t help but join in on the festivities.
Yunjin keeps toasting to things that get progressively more unhinged. ‘To being 28! then ‘To my IUD!’ then ‘To tax evasion!’
You're not sure she's even joking on that last one.
You’ve lost count of how many you’ve taken, but the liquor burns less with each passing shot.
“Happy birthday, baby!” Jimin leans over the table you’re all perched at, pressing a chaste kiss to Yunjin’s cheek. She giggles in delight, smiling brightly in the way only a drunk person could.
“Oh, why thank you, Jiminie,” she laughs. “And thank you, Tae and [Y/N] for buying the table!”
It was 75% Taehyung and 25% you, but you’ll accept her gratitude. Buying a table at the club with unlimited alcohol was also part of your master plan to get absolutely obliterated and halt all thoughts of Jungkook, at least for the night.
“[Y/N], we need to find you a hot guy tonight. That dress is doing insane things to your legs,” Yunjin whines, pushing your shoulder. “There’s soooo many boys here.”
Jimin and Taehyung share a meaningful look, one that you don’t miss. Rolling your eyes, you say, “I’m not looking for anyone tonight. I want to spend it with you.”
“Booooring.” She pokes your side, raising her voice to be heard over the sound of Usher. “If you ditch me on my birthday to fuck a hot dude, I won’t be mad.”
“But I don’t want to fuck a hot dude—”
Jimin clears his throat. “Well, actually, you do. He’s just not here right now.”
There goes your vow to ignore all Jungkook thoughts this evening.
“Jimin.”
“What? It’s true,” he giggles, cozying up into Taehyung’s side. “The guy practically sexted you last weekend.”
Feeling caught, you busy yourself with the hem of your black bodycon dress. “Whether I fuck him or not is nobody’s business but my own,” you mumble.
“Oh, please,” Taehyung rolls his eyes. “You’ve been needing to get laid for months. We’re your best friends, which makes it our business.”
“She’s just upset that she ignored him in high school and now he’s this big, hunky guy,” Jimin snickers.
Taehyung frowns. “Bigger than me?”
“Okay, enough,” you snap, pouring more soju into the empty shot glasses. “I just wanna get drunk and enjoy my night.”
“I’m sure you would enjoy your night more if you had a big, sexy man to take care of you. I know I would,” Jimin chuckles. Not in a mean way, but your heart does sink a little as you watch him give Taehyung an open-mouthed kiss.
Yunjin turns to you. “Why haven’t you fucked him?”
You don’t know when this became an intervention, but everyone seems arduously interested on whether or not you fuck Jeon Jungkook.
You shrug. “I don’t know. It’s not that I don’t want to—trust me, I do—I just… feel a little bad about how I treated him in high school.”
Your friend snorts, rolling her eyes with an affectionate smile playing upon her lips. “If he felt bad about how you treated him, he wouldn’t be pursuing you.”
“She’s right,” Jimin jumps back in, and you fight the urge to slam his head into the table. He picks up a soju shot. “It’s kinda cute how desperate he seems for your attention. That’s a guy who’s gonna eat you out like his life depends on it.”
The mental image of his moist, plump lips wrapping around your clit has your thighs trembling under the table, but you clamp them before anyone can notice.
“I’m gonna fuck him,” you promise. “I swear.”
Taehyung raises an eyebrow. “I hope you do, before someone else snatches you up.” He tilts his head in the direction of a man eye-fucking you, and your stomach queases.
“He’s cute,” Jimin takes his shot, and you follow suit. There’s no way you’re getting through this night without getting absolutely obliterated.
“Oooo, there’s a really cute guy over there. 12:00,” Yunjin leans into the group, whispering as lowly as she can over the sound of Kesha.
You refuse the desire to look. Taehyung, however, lets his eyes wander to who she’s talking about. Luckily, Jimin is too entranced by pouring himself another soju shot to care. “Oh fuck me. He’s fucking sexy. I would let that man give me a rimjob.”
You slump into the chair. Somehow you have a feeling you’re about to undergo the world’s least subtle setup.
Jimin’s eyes nearly roll into the back of his skull. Slowly, he angles his body to see who his boyfriend is talking about. “He can’t possibly be that hot—oh my god. Oh my god.”
“What?” you and Yunjin say in unison. If you had to guess, based on Jimin’s track record and the specific tone of that ‘oh my god,’ he’s either spotted a celebrity, a firefighter in uniform, or someone from his legendary whore phase. And given that you’re at a nightclub, you're betting on option three. Jimin’s whore phase is the stuff of legend—a six-month period during sophomore year where he worked his way through half of Seoul's gay club scene. He doesn't talk about it often, mostly because Taehyung gets a very specific look on his face when it comes up, but every once in a while someone from that era will resurface and Jimin will make that exact noise.
“Who is it?” you press on, heart thumping in excitement.
Jimin’s blonde hair sways as he turns to look back at you. “Okay, don’t panic.”
Furrowing your brows, you start, “Don’t—”
“That’s Jungkook, you idiots. The fucking guy from [Y/N]’s high school we’ve been talking about,” he says in a hushed tone, punching Taehyung’s shoulder.
There’s a warm feeling hugging your chest, your body feeling as though it’s been lit on fire. It might be the alcohol, or the sheer joke of it all. Out of all the scenarios you’ve conjured up in your daydreams, this wasn’t one of them.
You turn your body to track where your friend’s eyes were just a minute ago. Even though Jimin already confirmed it, there’s a tiny part of you hoping his eyes deceive him. But there he is, Jeon Jungkook, in the flesh, talking to one of his equally attractive friends. He’s wearing all black—black t-shirt that sculpts his biceps, black baggy jeans that sit tightly on his slim waist. His hair is ruffled, hoop earrings dangling from the holes in his ear. And really, the most sickening part of it all: he has two lip rings instead of the usual one. You’re gonna be sick.
“Earth to [Y/N]...” Yunjin waves a shot in front of your face, and without preamble, you take it from her, swallowing it in one easy sip. The alcohol travels down your throat, but you barely feel the burn.
“You good?” Taehyung raises an eyebrow.
“Just peachy,” you lie. You smile at your friends, but they don’t seem convinced.
Jimin guffaws, leaning back in his chair with an evil grin. “Is that why you just downed another shot?”
“I’m thirsty.”
“For alcohol or for Jungkook?” Yunjin bursts into a fit of giggles, high-fiving Jimin across the table.
Groaning, you let your head fall into your hands. “I hope all of you die a slow and painful death.”
“He’s gotten even hotter since the last time I saw him,” Jimin notes, sipping his untouched margarita. “How is that possible?”
“Can we please talk about anything else?” You reach for the soju bottle, pouring the last of the clear liquid into your glass. Your second in thirty seconds. A new personal record.
“We will do no such thing,” Jimin’s eyes are gleaming with elation. “You need to go talk to him.”
You nearly choke on the liquor. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Go. Talk. To. Him.” Jimin enunciates each word like you’re a toddler.
“Are you insane?” you deadpan. “Like, actually stupid? Have you suffered a brain injury I don’t know about?”
Both Jimin and Taehyung share another unspoken look. “I’m trying to help you.”
“But I don’t want help—”
“[Y/N].” Jimin doesn’t often get very serious, but the expression on his face makes you squirm. “I’m not letting you fuck this up.”
“I;m not fucking anything up by staying exactly where I am.” You cross your arms over your chest. Realistically, you know he’s right. If you were more drunk, maybe you would bite the bullet, march over there, and plant a kiss right on those lips you haven’t stopped thinking about. But you’re not, so at the table you will stay.
“This is fate. This is the universe putting him a few feet away.” Jimin gestures vaguely at Jungkook.
“The universe can fuck off, honestly.”
He sighs, “I’m doing this for your own good.”
And before you can process his movements, a lag in your brain, Jimin turns in his seat, arm raising in a wave, mouth opening to call out his name.
“No!” You lunge across the table, knocking over Taehyung’s drink, causing him to groan. You latch onto Jimin’s arm, yanking it down forcefully. “Don’t you fucking dare, Park Jimin—”
It’s too late.
Because in your desperate scramble to stop Jimin from committing social suicide on your behalf, you've made a scene. Swiveling your head slowly, you see Jungkook staring directly at you.
His eyebrows are raised, a hint of a smirk playing upon his lips. His tattooed fingers toy with the straw in his drink. It feels as though time drags on for hours, as if the hands of a clock are being lugged through molasses.
You slowly extract yourself from on top of the table, slinking into your chair with as much dignity as you can muster. Your hand comes up in the world’s most awkward, tentative wave. The tiniest flutter of your fingers.
Jungkook’s lips stretch wider, raising his hand in return. It’s a proper wave, filled with that newfound confidence of his. Then he turns back to his friend, resuming their conversation. It’s not like you expected him to drop everything for you—or well, you kind of did. You exhale a deep breath. “Oh my god.” You slump in your chair. “That was horrible.”
“That was… bad,” Jimin tiptoes around the word, twiddling his thumbs.
“I’m going to have to fake my death and move to a different country—”
“Stop being a drama queen,” Yunjin cuts in, sliding a shot towards you. You don’t even know or care where it spawned from, but all you know is you need it. “He waved back. He probably thought it was cute.”
Sighing, you shake your head. “There is nothing cute about what just happened.” You down the shot, and you’ve completely lost count at this point of how many you’ve ingested.
“Okay, new plan,” you announce, slamming the glass down. “None of that happened. We enjoy Yunjin’s birthday. We do not make eye contact with Jungkook, we do not speak about Jungkook.”
“Yeah, about that,” Jimin trails off, eyes glued to somewhere behind your shoulder. “It’s too late.”
“Too late for what?”
“He’s coming over here.”
Your entire body halts all movement, rigid like a statue. “What?”
“He’s coming here. Right now,” Taehyung repeats, and your heart drops to your feet. A hornet’s nest of anxiety swarms your stomach, filling your body with buzzing fear.
You shake your head frantically. “Please say you’re messing with me.”
Yunjin turns to see where Jimin and Taehyung are staring, and the moment she touches your arm, you realize you’re trapped. There’s no way out but through.
“[Y/N]. It’s nice to see you here.”
His voice is deeper, a low timbre that makes your brain go all fuzzy around the edges. He stands in front of the table, and you peer through your eyelashes to look up at him.
Fuck. Fuck, he looks even better up close.
The two lip rings catch the light of the disco ball. A silver chain dangles from around his neck and you briefly wonder what it’ll look like hanging over you while he pounds into…God, get a grip. You can catch a whiff of his cologne, something citrusy and woodsy that causes a pool of arousal in your underwear.
“Hi,” you manage a smile, struggling to hold the intense gaze he’s sporting.
He breaks it for a moment, turning to your best friend, nodding. “Jimin, good to see you again.”
“You too, Kook. You should join us!” He scooches closer to Taehyung, patting the minimal space beside him. Jungkook stares at it, then looks back at you with a hunger in his eyes that almost has you keeling over.
“Actually,” Jungkook begins, “I was hoping I could steal [Y/N] for a drink. If that’s okay with you all?”
He wants to... what? Steal you? For a drink? Alone? You turn to Yunjin, eyes pleading. Help me. Save me. Make up an excuse. But she was never going to let you escape where he’s involved. She looks you dead in the eye, smiles sweetly, and says, “No, she’s all yours.”
You’re going to remember this. You’re going to bring this up at every possible opportunity for the rest of her natural life.
Jungkook’s hand extends towards you, palm up, awaiting yours. For a brief second, you stare at it, at his long fingers, at the veins running down his forearm, at the silver rings stacked on his nimble fingers. The hand that's now being offered to you, in public, in front of all your friends.
You can either take his hand and let whatever this is happen, or you can make up some excuse and run away for the fourth time.
Your heart starts cartwheeling in your chest. You can’t look away from his hand, the one you desperately want to take. Jungkook watches patiently, confidently, like he knows just what you’re deciding between.
Fuck it.
You place your hand in his, let your fingers intertwine with his warm ones. It’s secure, and his fingers tighten around yours as if to remind you he has you. Jungkook pulls you to your feet gently. He doesn’t let go as he guides you through the crowd toward the bar, and you’re trying very hard not to think about how right it feels, how you never want him to let you go.
He parks you at the bartop, where a woman who looks like she’d rather be anywhere else is serving alcohol to a group of minors. Jungkook pats the stool beside him, and you’re more than grateful to take the chair. Your heels have been hurting like a bitch all night. When you sink into the chair, his eyes follow the way your dress hugs your thighs, revealing more skin than your old cheer uniforms. You debate tugging it down, but a warm feeling is flooding your insides at the thought of him wanting to see more of you. He towers above you, his AMEX hanging loosely from his deft fingers.
“What do you like to drink?” He leans down, whispers it directly in your ear. The heat of his breath makes your entire body feel like molten lava.
The bartender begins to make her way over, eyes gleaming when she spots Jungkook. If you were less tipsy, you might come up with a witty response, but your current state only allows you to say, “A dirty shirley, please.”
He doesn’t make a face at the girly drink, nor bats an eyelash when the bartender touches his arm four times while he recites his order. You can only watch in awe as he hands over his card and turns his attention back to you, body angling toward you as if to shield you from every other patron who might be able to see you. The slight possessiveness he’s exhibiting would normally make you hurl, but he’s so unapologetic about it that you could care less. You hope he puts his mark on you so no man will ever speak to you again.
Jungkook fiddles with his fingers on the counter, unsure where to put them. The only glimpse of high school Jungkook you’ve seen in days. His hand hovers near your thigh, then his jeans pocket, then back to the counter. For all his cockiness over text and possessiveness, still lies a man who’s intimidated by the thought of truly having you.
The soju in your body hums through your veins, making everything feel hazy and like a really good idea. Liquid courage, Yunjin calls it. Liquid stupidity, sounds more precise.
But right now… you’re thinking liquid courage might be onto something.
Because he’s standing so close you can smell his cologne, something that smells like grapefruit and lemon. Because he angled his body to block out the rest of the bar like you’re the only person here. Because his hand is right there, inches from you, and looks like he wants to touch you so badly it’s causing him physical pain.
And you’re tipsy enough to think: yeah, liquid courage is real.
Before the sober, anxious part of your brain can intervene with a thousand reasons why this is a horrible idea, you reach out. Your fingers wrap around his wrist, and his eyes snap to yours, surprise written across his features.
You don’t utter a word, just simply guide his hand until his palm settles at the small of your back. Every place where his skin connects with yours seems to tingle.
“Is this okay?” he asks, voice low and chest rumbling with the sound. Again, his mouth is right by your ear, and you can’t think, can’t breathe, can't hear anything but him.
“Would I have moved it there if I wasn’t?”
His thumb strokes once against your side. “Just making sure.”
“I’m tipsy, not drunk,” you clarify, only because you need him to know this is a choice. This is something you tried to talk yourself out of over and over again, but you want this. Liquid courage is making you brave enough to admit out loud what you only ever thought to yourself sober. “I know what I’m doing.”
“And what are you doing?” His breath hits your cheek, the side of your mouth, and it’s laced with peppermint and whiskey, and you’re dizzy with need.
“Giving you the green light,” you say, tilting your head to meet his gaze. His eyes are hooded, trained on your lips that are coated in shiny gloss. “That okay with you?”
His hand tightens on your waist, pulling you incrementally closer. He doesn’t need to say anything.
“Very okay,” he murmurs into your hair.
The bartender returns with your drinks, but Jungkook doesn’t move his hand. He takes your dirty shirley with his free hand, passing it off to you. His grip becomes more secure, more selfish, like now that you’ve given him permission, he’s never planning on letting go.
Good, you think. You don’t want him to.
Jungkook’s hand wraps around the glass of whiskey, taking a slow sip. “Seems like fate was on my side tonight.”
You take a gulp of your dirty shirley, the sweetness coating your tongue. “I’m starting to think you might be stalking me.”
His eyebrows raise, a tiny upward twitch in his mouth. “How do I know you’re not stalking me?”
“Oh, you would know.”
“Really?” He leans in, brown eyes sparking like pools of chocolate. “And how’s that?”
“Because I’d be better at it,” you proclaim, emboldened by the alcohol. “You wouldn’t catch me three times in two weeks. I’d have a whole system. Disguises, a wig collection..”
He laughs loudly. You notice that his dimples pop when he does so, eyes crinkling. “A wig collection.”
“At minimum. Maybe some fake glasses and a trench coat.”
“Clearly, you’ve thought about this,” he hums.
You raise your hands in defense. “I’m just saying, if I were stalking you, you’d never know it unless I wanted you to know.”
“Should I be concerned?” he questions, but he’s grinning.
“Depends,” you tilt your head. “Are you worth stalking?”
His fingers spread across the expanse of your spine. “I’d like to think so.”
“Confident.” Another sip of your dirty shirley snakes down your throat, your lips toying with the straw as you peer up at him.
His gaze never leaves yours. “Besides, you’re the one who guided my hand to your back. If anyone's being forward here…”
That almost makes you choke on your sugary drink. “I was just—”
“Giving me the green light,” he finishes. “I remember. Trust me, I remember.”
Your mind stumbles, then short-circuits.
You resort to drinking more alcohol, needing something to do with your hands that’s not touching him. “This is crazy, right? Us, here?”
“Crazy how?”
“You know how. I mean, ten years ago, I was copying your chemistry homework, and now you’re so… you’re…”
There’s not a single English word that properly describes what present day Jeon Jungkook does to you, with his tattoos and lip rings and expensive cologne and platinum credit card and… fuck.
“I’m what?” He leans closer, waiting, expecting.
“This.” you say helplessly. “All of this.”
“Is there something wrong with.” he uses his free hand to motion over his toned body, “this?”
“No. Nothing. That’s the problem.” It slips out before you can stop it. “It would be easier if something was wrong with it.”
The hand not looped around your waist moves from the bartop to your dress, fingers finding the hem where it’s ridden up on your thigh. He plays with the fabric absentmindedly, rolling it between the pads of his fingers. “If no one’s told you, by the way,” he mutters just loud enough for you to hear him over the music, “this dress looks insane on you.”
The wind is knocked out of your chest, a jolt of electricity flashing through your core. “No one’s told me yet. You’re the first.”
His eyes drag up from where his fingers are flirting with your dress, traveling up your body until they meet yours. “You look fucking gorgeous,” he says. “There. Now I'm the second to say it.”
It’s hard to breathe, hard to swallow. Even harder to find words, or form a coherent sentence.
“You—I—you can’t—”
“Can’t..?” His hands don’t dare move from your dress, knuckles occasionally brushing against your thigh. “Can’t tell you the truth?”
“You know what you’re doing, Jungkook.”
“I do,” he agrees. “Is it working?”
You want to lie. Want to play it cool. Want to maintain some semblance of the upper hand.
But your downfall was inevitable, right from the moment you saw him standing in the cafe. Like a champagne bottle that someone shook a little too hard, a balloon pressed against a thumbtack. It was always meant to explode.
“Yes,” you admit.
“Good.” Both of his hands move to grip the side of your barstool. In one smooth movement, he turns you to face him completely. His legs spread, creating space, and he guides the stool forward with his toe until your thighs slot between his. He’s caging you in, hands landing atop your thighs, palms warm against your bare skin.
You’re practically pressed against him, his face level with yours, “Is this okay?” he asks again, fingers digging into the flesh.
Suddenly, it’s like you’re painfully aware of all the places where he isn’t touching you. Your faces, your chests. You want more, need more.
“Stop asking me that,” you mumble, looking away, but he guides your gaze back with a finger under your chin.
“I need to know, princess.” His tone is serious, but you want to smile from the pet name. “Tell me if it’s too much.”
“It’s not,” you whisper. “It’s not too much.”
“No?”
“No.”
His hands slide up your thighs, hiding underneath the fabric, pushing a boundary that hasn't been tested in a long time. “What about now?’
You’re going to combust. Right here, in the middle of Sinkhole, surrounded by people, you're going to burst into flames.
“Still okay,” you exhale.
For one exhilarating second, his eyes drop to your lips, and you think you’ll get what you’ve been seeing in your dreams the past few nights. You need to get out of here. Away from the crowd, away from the noise, somewhere you can actually hear yourself think—or not think. Preferably not think.
“Do you want to…” you start, then hesitate. The words die on your tongue.
He cocks his head, hair flopping into his eyes. “Do I want to…”
Your heartbeat reverberates in your throat. “Talk somewhere more private? It’s loud here.”
His composure shifts, and you watch the realization hit him. What you're suggesting. What that implies.
“Private,” he repeats. “To talk.”
“Yes.”
“About?”
You deadpan, brain racking for a subject, any subject. “Stuff,” is what you come up with.
A dry laugh escapes him. “And maybe things as well?”
You pout. “Important stuff.”
“I’m sure.” His smile is lopsided, goofy and full of light. He pulls you up from the barstool until your feet touch the ground again. His hand finds your fingers, easily lacing them. “Whatever you want, princess.”
Where the fuck did that come from? When did he become the type of person to use pet names? And why is it working? Why is that single word making your entire nervous system light up like a Christmas tree?
Tugging you through the crowd, he peers behind him every few seconds to make sure you haven’t floated away. His hand is firm around yours, guiding you through the mass of bodies, and you try and catch a glimpse of any of your friends.
Unfortunately, you do spot Jimin and Taehyung, pressed against a wall, entranced in a makeout session so intense that they’re definitely not coming up for air soon. At least you won’t have to explain to them where you went. Yunjin is nowhere to be found, probably on the dance floor or already home with one of her many flings.
Jungkook pulls you through another section of the crowd, leading you down a side hallway that’s mercifully empty. The music is muffled, bass still thumping through the walls but not deafening anymore. You lean back against the cold concrete, the chill a shock against your overheated skin. The wall vibrates with each bass drop, humming in your chest.
Jungkook stops in front of you, and you have to tilt your head back to see his face. “What did you want to talk about?”
Your mind shoots blanks. In this dim hallway, you’ve become aware of how completely the tables have turned. Ten years ago, you held all the cards. You were the girl who made him nervous, who had him stumbling over words, who could get him to do anything with a smile and a flutter of your eyelashes. But now you’re the one who’s heart is racing, who feels like you might explode from a single touch. He has the upper hand, utterly, entirely. And you handed it to him willingly. Put his hand on your waist, guided him here, and now you’re putty in his hands and he knows it.
“You make me nervous,” you blurt out.
The silence that engulfs you feels like punishment. Your mouth goes dry, palms sweating under the guise of his stare.
He takes a step closer. There’s little to no space between you. “That’s interesting.”
“Why is that interesting?” Your back is pressed against the wall. Nowhere to go.
“You used to make me nervous,” he says, bracing his hand on the wall. His bicep strains and you have to fight the urge to ogle at them. “For years.”
“That was different, Jungkook.”
“Was it?” He studies you. “In what way?”
“Well, because now you’re you, and I’m—“
“I’m me?” His eyebrows raise an inch, lips curling upwards in a smirk. “What does that mean?”
Why did you drink so much alcohol? Why, why, why? Maybe if you hadn’t, your lips wouldn’t be so goddamn loose. Your filter would still be in tact. You wouldn’t be staring at him like you want to devour him whole.
You peer up at him, eyelashes fluttering. His cheeks are flushed from the amount of drinks he’s consumed, and he’s close enough that you can see the moles that litter his face. The one under his lip. The one on his nose. You want to kiss each and every single one of them. Map them out with your lips until you have them memorized.
You give up on any pretense of playing it cool. “You know you’re hot, Jungkook.”
“Do I know?” The smirk on his face grows tenfold, and god, you want to kiss it off him. “You’ve never told me this before.”
“High school was different.”
“You’ve said that a lot, but it’s actually not that different,” he murmurs.
“Hm?”
His gaze drops to your lips for the hundredth time tonight. “Because I’m still so fucking unbelievably, out of my mind, attracted to you.”
Your brain struggles to process it—that he’s felt this way for years. That it never went away. That all the confidence and cockiness is built on top of the same desire that made teenage Jungkook stutter around you.
“You’re just saying things,” you whisper. But you’ve known. You’ve always known.
His hand falls from the wall to cup your jaw. “You think I begged Jimin for your number because I was just being polite? You think I showed up at three different cafes hoping fate would bring us together because I’m casual about this?”
“But you said that cafe was your regular spot—”
He fights to hide the smile creeping onto his face. “I’ve wanted you since I was a teenager.” His thumb brushes across your cheekbone. “Somehow, impossibly, I want you even more now.”
Your heart is trying to break out of the confines of your ribcage. “Jungkook.”
His forehead is almost touching yours. “What’s different is that now I’m not terrified to tell you.”
You don’t know what else to say to him, so you smile as brightly as you can, letting your happiness live on your face.
“How many drinks have you had tonight?” he asks.
You scrunch your brows together. “A lot of soju. That dirty shirley. Why?”
Bluntly, he says, “Because I want to kiss you. But not if you’re too drunk to remember it tomorrow.”
You squeak, back slightly arching off the wall. You’ve never wanted anything more, never ached to feel someone the way you do him. Heat travels through your veins, burning you to your core.
“I told you, I’m tipsy,” you rush to protest. “I’ll remember this tomorrow.”
It should be embarrassing how quickly you reassure him, how the words tumble out of your mouth.
His forehead presses against yours, and it’s a miracle you don’t dissolve into a puddle. “Then can I—”
“Yes,” you interrupt. If he doesn’t kiss you in the next five seconds, you might actually die.
“I didn’t finish the question.” His lips ghost over yours, a gentle taste of what you yearn for.
“I don’t care what the question is,” you exhale. “The answer is yes.”
And then his lips are on yours.
Never in your high school years did you imagine how Jeon Jungkook kissed. Never thought about how his lips would feel against your own. Never cared to think about it.
This past week, however, you’ve spent more time imagining this exact scenario than you’ve spent breathing. But reality is superior to whatever your brain could conjure up. Your imagination could never describe Jungkook’s demanding kiss, or the way his lips melt into yours with utmost certainty. His hand slides from your jaw to your cheek, cradling it. The other hand finds your waist, pulling you flush against him.
A mix of a gasp and a moan falls from your lips, and he swallows it wholly. Your fists find his shirt, tugging on the fabric, pulling him closer even though there’s no space between you. His lip rings are cold against your mouth, a contrast to the heat of his lips and the heat between your thighs. Parting your lips, his tongue sweeps in, tastes just like you smelled earlier—whiskey and peppermint. Your lip gloss is definitely everywhere at this point—on him, on you, probably on the wall behind you—but you couldn’t care less.
His strong hand travels from your cheek down, down, fingers wrapping loosely around your throat. Claiming, holding. The possessiveness of the gesture sends heat pooling low into your stomach. Jungkook’s thumb presses into your pulse point, feeling how your heart is racing.
And when you do finally pull away, your heart is still going berzerk. His lips are shiny with your gloss, pink and swollen and thoroughly kissed. You can't help but giggle at the sight.
“What?” he asks, breathless. The tips of his ears are tickled pink.
“You’re wearing my lip gloss,” you giggle again, reaching up to wipe it with your thumb. But he doesn’t let you get far, catches your wrist and presses a kiss right where your flowery perfume is sprayed. He takes a deep inhale and smiles back at you like you hung the moon and stars. Your heart is pumping so wildly you’re worried it might actually burst out of your chest.
Then his lips are on your neck, trailing down to your exposed collarbone, finding every sensitive spot with ease like he already knows you, like he holds the map to your body. He holds you tight to him, grounding—and thank god because your legs are shaking so badly that you're not sure you could stand without him holding you up.
“Jungkook,” you gasp, and he hums against your skin. His mouth finds your jaw, pressing open-mouthed kisses, and you’re pretty sure you’re going to pass out. Your fingers thread through his unruly dark brown locks, tugging slightly at the nape.
And you can’t really help the intrusive thoughts that leap in your mind, the tidal wave of desire that keeps lapping at your core. He’s insatiable, and you feel gluttonous. “Do you wanna—” you start, but his teeth graze your pulse point and your brain turns to mush. “maybe—ahh—go to mine?”
He halts, pulls back enough to look at you. “Is that what you want?” His voice is strained, the thread of self-control growing weaker and weaker.
Your brain is fuzzy from alcohol and kissing and the feeling of his hands on your waist, but you know what you're saying. You know what you're offering. You’re done fighting whatever decade-old guilt lives inside you, because you deserve him. Maybe you’re finally ready to accept it. To trust that you’ve grown, that you’re growing, that you’re not done growing and thats okay. You deserve all the good that Jeon Jungkook has to offer. “Yes,” you breathe, “I want—I want you.”
His eyes search for hesitation. “You’ve been drinking, and I don't want you to feel like you need to—”
“I’m sure.” Cupping his face in your hands, you cut his sentence in half. Don’t even let it slip between you. “I know what I want.”
Somehow, his eyes have gone darker, fingers tightening for purchase. “Say it again,” he murmurs.
“I want you, Jungkook.” Your thumb brushes against his bottom lip, catching on his lip rings. “Take me home.”
“Fucking hell,” he practically moans, and then his lips are on you again with an urgency that wasn’t there before. “We should probably tell your friends we’re leaving.”
“Jimin’s busy.” If you had to guess, he’s on his knees at home, getting topped by Kim Taehyung. “And Yunjin will understand. Your friends?”
“They know who you are.”
A swarm of butterflies kick up in your stomach.
You tug on his shirt. “Now can we please go before I lose my mind?”
His answer to that is another quick kiss—but still thorough, because who is he if not a man starved—and he pulls you through the hallway, back into the club, into the thick of the chaos still lingering this late in the night. You hardly register any of it. The lights, the bass of the music, the bodies pressing against you as you squeeze by. None of it matters.
You feel like you’re floating, like your feet are moving but you can’t feel the ground, like you’re walking on clouds. His hand is wrapped around yours, pulling you forward, and you’d follow him anywhere right now. To the ends of the earth. Off a cliff.
Once the crisp night air hits your skin, Jungkook is already scanning the street, hand raised to hail a taxi. One pulls up within seconds—it’s got to be fate, or the universe supporting your agenda to get laid—and he opens the door, ushering you inside with a hand on the small of your back.
Jungkook shuts the door forcefully, immediately snuggling into your side, leaving little to no room for you to create space between you two. Not that you wanted to, but you want to giggle at how utterly fearful he seems of distance from you.
“Where to?” the driver asks, eyeing Jungkook in the rearview.
You rattle off your address, and the cab pulls off into traffic. Seoul at this hour is never quiet—in fact, it’s usually more lively, since clubs stay open until the wee hours of the morning. But all you can really focus on is Jungkook beside you, his thigh pressed against yours in the cramped backseat. His fingers lace through yours. An innocent, sweet gesture, a complete contrast from what was happening ten minutes ago against that hallway wall.
You look down at your intertwined hands—his so much larger than yours, rings cool against your skin. A smile bestows upon your lips. When you glance up at him, he’s staring at you with this fond expression that makes your heart stutter.
“What?” you ask, giddy.
“Nothing,” he replies, but the smile on his face doesn’t disappear. “I just can’t believe this is happening.”
“Me neither,” you admit sheepishly.
His hand reaches over, tugging the hem of your dress down where it’s ridden up your thigh. The action would be chivalrous, if not for the way his fingers linger, if not for the way his jaw clenches, if not for the way his fond expression darkens into something sinister.
“You need to stop moving,” he says, a deep exhale following his words.
You roll your eyes. “I’m not even moving.”
“Your… dress is moving.” His hand remains on your thigh, holding the fabric down. “I can’t hold it together if this dress rides up any more.”
“Oh.”
He shifts in his jeans, clearly uncomfortable. You have to fight not to avert your eyes to his crotch.
“Do you know how long it’ll take to get to her apartment?” Jungkook asks the driver. You snort loudly.
He shrugs. Clearly, the man has never shared Jungkook’s predicament, because he looks unbothered by the urgency in his voice. “About twenty minutes.”
Jungkook groans, leaning back into the seat, closing his eyes for a second. When he opens them again and catches your gaze, he has to close them to calm his friend down there. And it does make you giggle again, but what you want more than anything is to feel him. For him to give you a part of him that you didn’t know you needed until now.
You whisper in his ear. “I don’t want you to hold it together.”
His eyes fly open, and you watch his Adam’s apple bob up and down. “Don’t tempt me right now, [Y/N].”
“Why not?” And you pull out your tricks—you bat your eyelashes, tilt your head down, lick your lips to wet them. His face grows pale.
“Because we’re in a cab,” he murmurs, staring at your lips. “And I’m trying to be respectful.”
“Maybe I want you to disrespect me right now.”
The words are barely out of your mouth before he's kissing you again. His hand leaves your dress to cup your face, angling your head so he can kiss you deeper.
The cab driver clears his throat. You both ignore him, too hypnotized by the other to think about stopping. He pulls you as close as he can, and a frustrated noise escapes from your lips. There’s too many layers, too much distance, and he smiles knowingly against your lips.
He seems to know just what you need.
Jungkook’s large hand lands on your knee, caressing the supple skin.
“You know how to be quiet, baby?”
You nod meekly.
His voice brushes against the shell of your ear, hand traveling up your thigh to mask itself under the fabric of your dress. “Good girl. Spread your legs for me.”
Eyes widening, you stare up at him blankly. There is no way on this planet, Jeon Jungkook, the man who you were sure—up until now—never had his first kiss, is about to finger you in a taxi. But his hand moving near your lace panties says otherwise. You jolt forward at the feeling of his deft fingers swiping at the fabric as discreetly as possible. You gasp, and he tosses you a look before you slap your hand over your mouth. Luckily, the taxi driver seems more focused on the fastest route to your apartment than whatever debauchery is occurring in his backseat. It’s also dark in the car, impossible for the naked eye to see Jungkook’s movements.
He presses against the wet spot on your underwear, and heat creeps up your neck at the realization of just how turned on he’s had you since the hallway. Maybe even before then, if you’re being honest. He smiles at the revelation.
Your nails dig into the leather seat of the cab. Jungkook’s tattooed fingers push aside your underwear, his pointer finger collecting the arousal. A whimper escapes you, and when you look at him, the look on his face sends another round of wetness dripping down his finger. “God, baby, you’re so fucking wet,” he whispers into your ear, letting two fingers ghost over your clit, gently pushing the bundle of nerves. “Didn’t know public sex turned you on so much.”
You bite back a moan. The teasing pace he’s set over your clit would be fun, if you had a constant stream of sexual endeavors, but unfortunately, you’re as desperate as a raccoon sifting through trash. Gripping onto his wrist, you push him onto you fiercely. “Needy, aren’t we?” he mutters.
All you can reply with is a quick nod. He chuckles softly, rubbing circles on your clit with the pad of his pointer and middle finger. Your head falls back on the headrest, eyes squeezed tight, tight, tight as you try to calculate how he found your clit so fast. It’s so wet, dripping onto the seat, his hands, that you could cum just from the stimulation of it all.
“What do you want, princess? Hm?” Somehow, it sounds like he’s far away from you, like you’re caught on your own cloud of bliss. You want to ask for more, need more like it’s oxygen. His rhythm slows just a tad, enough to have your eyes flying open. “I asked you a question.”
Oh. Oh. So he’s that kind of guy.
“I want—I want your fingers,” you whisper feebly.
“Yeah? Where, princess? I’ll give you whatever you want.” he kisses your shoulder, your jaw, and it makes your brain fuzzy around the edges.
The tantalizing pace he’s set on your clit makes it hard to speak. “W-want you to fuck me with them.”
His lips curl upwards, eyes blazing. “You like my fingers?” Another nod. He removes his fingers from your clit, slipping back out underneath your dress. You’re about to protest, maybe even kick him out of the car, until you watch him make direct eye contact with you, and place his fingers in his mouth, letting his tongue swirl around the digits. You blink. What the actual fuck have you gotten yourself into?
“Please, Jungkook,” you beg, your nails scrambling to dig in his clothed thigh. He chastises you, laughs at you, before slithering under your dress again, plunging his fingers directly into your sopping entrance. You gasp, loud enough to make the driver look in the rearview, but you bite your bottom lip before any more can escape. “I know you can take it. If you can take that douchebag Kim Mingyu, you can handle me. Although, after I’m done with you, my name might be the only name you moan for the rest of your life.”
You should hate that. You really, really should. But clearly, your dignity has taken the night off, and in its place is a woman who is so endeared over being degraded by Jeon Jungkook.
His fingers pump in and out, achingly slow, making you feel every inch. You’re gripping his thigh so tightly you swear there’ll be claw marks. Your head rests on the back of your seat, chest heaving. If not for the sound of traffic outside, the driver might be able to hear the way your pussy squelches with each movement.
Jungkook’s lips press against your jaw, litter around your neck. “More,” you mumble, sounding drunker than you did in the club.
“God, you’re so fucking wet. I can’t wait to be inside you. Gonna fuck you all night.” Lewd words continue to spill from his lips. Sending waves of arousal onto his fingers, more for him to play with as he picks up his pace. He curls his fingers upwards, reaching that sensitive spot that far and few men have ever found. Your body trembles, thighs shaking, and Jungkook’s hand lands on them to try and steady you.
His thumb finds your clit, rubbing sloppy circles as he brings you to the brink of your orgasm. Your eyes fight to stay open, looking over at Jungkook—and holy hell. His arm veins are popping out, mostly from the amount of effort he’s putting into fucking into you to completion, his dark hair flopping over his face. His silver chain bounces off his chest, reflecting on the city lights outside.
And you don’t even realize how quickly you’re about to cum, tears brimming your eyes from the way his fingers pump in and out you wildly, thumb matching his pace over your clit. “So tight around my fingers, princess. You gonna cum?”
There’s no way you can be quiet about this. Not with how fucking good he looks, not with how easily his fingers slip in and out you, hitting your sweet spot. You bury your head in his neck, moaning into his warm skin, trying to muffle the sound as much as possible. “Fuck, Jungkook.”
“Want you to cum on my fingers, princess. Can you do that for me?” You nod into his neck.
Your walls clench around his fingers one last time, to the point where he can hardly move them, his thumb working you through the orgasm that ripples through your body. Your fingers claw at his arm, teeth biting at his neck. You can feel yourself lose control, heart beating erratically in your chest.
Jungkook’s fingers halt inside you, thumb coaxing you through the rest of your orgasm. “It’s okay, princess. I’ve got you.”
Your body completely slumps into him, still feeling full with his two fingers inside you.
Finally, after he allows you a moment to catch your breath, he pulls them out of your pussy, soaked with your creamy arousal. “Open,” he says gently, but when you look up at him, his gaze is hardly sympathetic. Your lips part for him, and he places his fingers on your tongue. You swirl it around, tasting yourself, sweet and salty and warm, foreign to you. Jungkook’s eyes never leave yours.
“Good job, baby,” he says as he removes his fingers, pressing one, two chaste kisses on your lips.
All things considered, you’re in absolute shock. Somewhere between high school and now, Jeon Jungkook learned how to kiss like he’s trying to ruin you for all other men. Where did he learn all this? Who taught him to do that thing with his fingers? How does he know exactly where to put his hands, exactly how much pressure to use to make you lose your mind?
The thought of him practicing on other people—other girls—makes something ugly twist in your stomach.
You’re an evil, evil girl. “Where’d you learn all that?”
He raises an eyebrow, tucking a strand of your loose hair behind your ear. “Are you asking about my sexual history now?”
“No.”
“You are,” he teases. “You’re not jealous, right?”
If only he knew how ill you felt at the idea of another girl knowing how his fingers can easily find their g-spot.
“I am not jealous.” You feign indifference, but your voice comes out all defensive and petulant, which kind of ruins it all. “Just asking a question.”
“You want to know who I've been with?” he asks, clearly trying not to laugh.
“Never said that.”
He presses another soft kiss against your lips. “There’s been other people. I’m not going to lie about that. But that’s not a big deal.”
You furrow your brows. “Why?”
His thumb traces circles on your thigh. “Because I thought about you during all of it. I wondered what you’d feel like, wondered what sounds you would make. So, yeah,” he continues. “I learned some things. But I only ever wanted to use them on you.”
You kiss him again because you don’t know what else to do with the feeling expanding in your chest. Because he’s looking at you like that and saying things like that and your heart is fluttering out of your body. God, if that doesn’t make you want to drag him upstairs immediately.
The cab pulls up to your building and Jungkook is already pulling out his wallet, throwing bills at the driver without checking the amount. "Keep the change," he says, and then he's out of the cab, pulling you with him.
Your legs are unsteady when you stand—from the alcohol, from the kissing, from everything—and his arm wraps around your waist, steadying you. “I’m not done with you yet, princess.”
And, really, he’s not joking because he’s on you the second you step through the door to your apartment. Barely even crosses the threshold before his lips are colliding with yours passionately, slamming your spine into the wall by your entryway. His hands cup your cheeks entirely. He can’t get enough of you, like opposite poles of a magnet attracting. Shortly after his affair with the entryway, Jungkook moves a little more down your hallway, but you’re too focused on kissing him to direct him. Your shoes are discarded, purse on the floor, and then your back finds another cool wall to rest against.
Jungkook assaults your neck, leaving a trail of bruises that are going to take a hell of a lot of explaining tomorrow. Your apartment probably sounds like the set of some cheap porno, what with Jungkook’s whimpers and your moans, and neither of you are even naked yet. Your hands run over the front of his chest, feeling his sculpted body underneath his shirt.
“Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” he murmurs into your collarbone, where he’s leaving hickeys in his wake. His hands wander over your chest, cupping them over your dress. Without another word or warning, he yanks down the top of your dress, your breasts spilling out. You can’t help the gasp that escapes you as he manhandles you, his lips coming to wrap around your hardened nipple. His tongue swipes over the sensitive nub, eyes peering up expectantly, watching every facial expression that contorts on your face.
Your eyes squeeze tightly, a kaleidoscope of color blooming behind your vision. “Jungkook,” you moan, carding your fingers through his unruly hair.
Without preamble, Jungkook kisses your nipples one last time before dropping to his knees on your hardwood floor with a resounding thump.
You open your eyes. The sight in front of you is fucking ungodly. If you look closely, you can see Jungkook from high school, expectantly looking up at you with puppy dog eyes, pushing your dress up to hang around your waist.
“W-what are you doing?’ you ask.
He looks drunk. “Need to eat you out. I want to taste you, princess.”
You don’t remember the last time a man has looked so needy to feel you, to taste you. Actually, you can’t remember a time this even occurred.
You exhale. “Yes. Yes, please.”
That’s all he really needs. Jungkook doesn’t waste a moment more in burying his face between your folds as though it’s his last meal on earth. His fingers come to spread your lips open for him as he flicks his tongue over your nub, sending you bent over as you scramble for purchase in his hair, his shoulders, anything. “Oh, fuck, Jungkook, right there.”
He notices your struggle to stand upright, and then he’s guiding your leg over his shoulder, toes dangling. He moans into your pussy, a breathy little exhale that sends fire shooting through your veins. Jungkook’s strong arm holds your leg in place over his shoulder. His tongue fucks inside of you shallowly, your eyes rolling backwards. “Tastes so sweet, so fucking heavenly, baby,” he mutters but it barely makes its way into your ears. You can feel his lip rings swiping over your arousal, the cool metal causing your thighs to quake uncontrollably.
And then you’re just babbling profanities, a mantra of his name, curse words. A litany of praise. Some other embarrassing things you hope he never remembers.
“I feel g-guilty. For the way I treated y-you in high school,” you stammer, quivering against his face as he licks another stripe up your slit.
You don’t know why it’s all coming out now, but it is. God, you were such a bitch in high school. Such an egotistical brat who was too caught in her own ways to ever see that there was more to life than social status and cheerleading.
His tongue encircles your clit, one of your hands flying to his hair to tug. “Don’t feel guilty,” he murmurs. “That’s not what I want you to feel right now. I want to make you feel good.”
His tongue travels from your hole to your clit, and normally the rhythm would throw you off, but he’s so skillful about the whole thing that you’re teetering on the brink of an orgasm. And he must know, must be able to read your body like it’s something he spent years studying, because he’s sucking on your clit, letting his tongue flick over it repeatedly, maintaining a rhythm that has you screaming, “Oh fuck, oh shit, I’m gonna—Jungkook, I’m gonna cum.”
That doesn’t deter him the slightest. Spurs him on like he’s entered in some kind of pussy-eating competition. You’ll spend years talking about this experience, you think.
Your fingers tighten in his hair, tangling, tugging, and your entire body vibrates as your orgasm crashes over you in waves. He fucks you through it, keeps going until you’re pushing him away with your toe forcefully. When he finally gives up, he says from between your legs, “Better than Kim Mingyu?”
Maybe you shouldn’t care about high school anymore, but you can’t help but laugh, smile at him. “He never even ate me out, Koo.”
His face softens— whether that’s because of the nickname you adorned him with or the fact that Mingyu was an asshole, you’ll never know—and he’s standing up, pressing a dirty kiss to your lips. It’s messy, sloppy, tongue over teeth, but so undeniably him that you cling to him like a koala. “He’s the biggest idiot of all time to miss out on that.”
“Hmm,” you hum against his lips. They taste just like you, and it sends another gush of arousal pouring out of you. His hands slide down your sides, gripping your waist, your hips, pulling you impossibly closer. You’re drowning in him—his taste, his smell, the way he’s kissing you like he’s been starving for it. You can feel his length poking against your thigh, and your heart skips at just how large it al;ready feels through his jeans.
Your hands roam down his chest, feeling the firm muscle beneath his shirt, tracing lower until your fingers find his belt. You fumble with the buckle, fingers clumsy with desire. Jungkook looks down at your manicured fingers, easily working, speaking to how much experience you have. His cock throbs at the thought.
You’re about to get on your knees, return the favor, but he stops you as soon as you lower an inch.
Jungkook simply says, “The next time I want you to cum, is going to be on my cock.”
Okay, yes sir. He’s all dominating and commanding and it makes your pussy clench around nothing.
His forehead drops against yours, breath punching out of him. “Fuck, I need to be inside you.”
The metal clinks as his pants drop to the floor, his Calvin Klein boxers doing little to hide how big he is. Jungkook kicks them off, eager to remove as many layers as possible. Your mouth salivates, and you’re positive a sliver of drool is slithering out of your mouth. His hands tighten on your hips, bruising the skin.
You kiss him again, but this time, it’s rougher, faster, hand slipping beneath the waistband of his boxers, and he makes a sound between a groan and a whimper that makes you feel powerful. Your hands roam, searching, until—
Holy shit. You gasp into his mouth, feeling his length. He’s big, no doubt about that. But it’s the fucking girth of it that has your mouth watering. He’s thick, and you can feel the veins that decorate his cock.
Jesus Christ. This is what your Chemistry tutor was hiding under his pants. A fucking anaconda.
But you’re not about to admit that.
No shot in hell.
“Mhmm, I feel like you’re kinda small,” you tease, battling your eyelashes at him as you stroke his hardened length dangerously slow.
His nostrils flare. “Yeah? Think I’m small, baby?”
“Tiny.”
Your thumb drags over his tip, and then you feel it. A piece of metal. Jeon Jungkook has a fucking dick piercing.
His eyes set ablaze as he realizes that you know. “Fucking hell, you’re still the same brat you’ve always been.”
Jungkook’s lips collide with yours, and he kicks off his boxers urgently. “Fuck,” he breathes against your mouth. Suddenly his hands are gripping the backs of your thighs, lifting you up like you weigh nothing. You gasp, legs wrapping around his waist as your back hits the wall harder. The new position puts you at eye level with him, head spinning. He reaches down between your bodies to let his cock sit in between your wet folds, ever so teasing.
Your fingernails dig into the nape of his neck, head lolling back against the wall. “Please fuck me, Koo. Wanna feel you inside me.”
“Oh, now you want to beg? After you called me tiny?” He hisses as he swirls the tip over your clit, the cool metal of his piercing sending shockwaves down your spine.
“Please,” you beg. “Pleasepleaseplease.” It’s slurred when it leaves your mouth, breath catching when you look down and see the way the metal reflects off his soaking tip, encased in your juices. “I need it.”
With that, he pushes into you, all inches of his length, squirming in his arms. You scramble to hold onto something, opting for his biceps that are straining with the weight of holding you up. A moan leaves both of your mouths. He waits until you’re fully adjusted, taking every inch of him. “Feels so good, princess. So tight and warm, holy shit.”
“Jungkook,” you pant. You’re so full of him, he’s everywhere. Stopping is the last thing on your mind. You’re a woman made of greed. “You’re so—fuck—big.”
He smiles triumphantly and takes that as his sign to move. He uses his arms to slide you up and down his cock, slamming you onto him, your clit meeting his pubic bone. The piercing drags against your walls with each thrust, hitting the sweet spot inside you that has you screaming a litany of crude words that’ll have your neighbors knocking your door down tomorrow morning. His head falls to the crook of your shoulder, burying himself in your scent.
It’s more than you’ve ever taken, beyond any sex you’ve ever had in your life. You’re going to be ruined for all other men and you haven’t even made it to the bedroom yet. Your past lovers are about to become a footnote. A distant memory. Ancient fucking history.
The sound of your pussy squelching with each rough thrust fills the room, Jungkook’s hairline beading with sweat as he furiously pounds into you, tits bouncing in his face. He begins to babble, “Used to cum so hard thinking about you, baby. You in that—fuck—cheer uniform, with your nipples hard. I wanted to push it to the side and fuck you.”
You moan at the thought. “Yeah, why didn’t you? I would’ve rode your face with your glasses on.”
He presses a sloppy kiss on the side of your mouth. “Bet you would’ve loved that, huh? Deflowering the nerd?”
The mental image flashes through your mind—seventeen-year-old Jungkook, all awkward limbs and nervous stammering, those thick-framed glasses sliding down his nose while you sat on his face in the library after hours. You would’ve been so mean about it too. Would’ve made him beg, would’ve had him so desperate and eager to please that he would’ve done anything you asked. Would’ve probably given him the best night of his teenage life and then ignored him in the hallway the next day because you were dating Mingyu and had a reputation to maintain.
“I would’ve made you cum—ahh, shit—so hard.” You try your hardest to maintain eye contact, but everytime you do, your walls flutter around his cock. “You would’ve been obsessed.”
“I was already obsessed,” he groans, nipping at your jaw. His balls slap against your ass, adding to the horrific amount of sounds eliciting from your apartment. “It couldn’t have gotten much worse.”
He has a very fair point.
You thread your fingers through his hair, already on the brink of another orgasm. Everything about him—his scent, the way his tattoos glisten with sweat, how his bottom lip is tugged underneath his front teeth—sends your mind into delirium. He’s fucking you with enough force to have your head bouncing off the wall every few thrusts, that you feel it resound along your bones.
“Fuck, I don’t wanna cum yet,” he whimpers into your skin. “But god, I don’t think I’ll be able to last.”
Neither will you, but an idea sparks in your pretty little head. You crook a finger under his jaw, making him look at you. His expression is completely fucked out, lips swollen, cheeks ruddy. His thrusts slow, enough so that he can pay attention to your words. “I want to get on top. Let me fuck you, Jungkook.”
He nods, and then he’s readjusting you in his arms, with you clinging to him like a newborn baby. You giggle as he frantically tries to find your bedroom, pausing every few moments to press a few kisses to your cheeks and lips.
Finally, he locates your room, plopping you down on the bed, and you moan at the sudden emptiness you feel with his cock gone. He tosses his t-shirt over his head.
Jungkook sits up against the headboard, gently stroking his length as he watches you move to bracket his thighs, settling over his tip. “Ready for me, princess?”
Eagerly, you shake your head in approval, and you sink down inch by inch onto his length. For some reason, in this position, it feels like he’s stretching you out more, your walls sucking him in greedily. Your hands come to rest on his beefy chest, nails digging into the skin.
There’s not many things you're good at, but one thing you are insanely talented at? Riding cock like it’s your god given right. Your hips undulate wildly, bouncing up and down to accommodate his full length. Jungkook watches in awe, in a trance, as you cream his cock. His hands come to sit at your hips, guiding you the best he can. His head rests against the headboard, lazily watching as you play with your tits. “Ride my cock,” he groans, “just like that, princess.”
“You stretch me out so good, Jungkook,” you moan, thighs trembling with each movement. He can feel you getting closer to the edge, already riled up from the previous position. Your walls clench around him, sucking him in. His thumb falls to your clit again, finding it so easily after so many rounds. “Right there, baby,” you chant, eyes closed. “Right fucking there.”
“Jesus, I'm so close,” he grunts, beginning to thrust upwards into you as your own pace slows. The sounds are beyond obscene—his cock plunging into your wetness, headboard slamming against the wall. You don’t care about any of it, not one bit, as long he keeps fucking into you.
It was always obvious from the moment he kissed you at the club that neither of you were going to last long, anyway.
“Fuck, I’m cumming,” you practically scream, which would have you embarrassed, but he seems just as ruined as you.
Your orgasm washes over you, legs shaking as your mouth tears open around a sound that might be his name, might be something else entirely. Your walls flutter around him, and Jungkook can’t help himself anymore. “Fuck, baby, I’m gonna cum too. Can I—fuck—can I cum inside?”
You nod like a broken bobblehead. Thank god for modern medicine.
He empties into you, bruising your hips with his hold. He’s so attractive when he finishes that you almost orgasm again from the sight. His bare chest heaves, a slight sheen of sweat layered on the skin.
For a few moments, you two catch your breath, letting his cock soften entirely inside you. He looks worn, eyes drooping.
But after an eternity, you finally roll off him. You’re not sure what you were expecting in terms of aftercare, but your heart flutters when he lazily wraps his arms around you, tugging you into his side to rest your cheek on his chest. It’s comforting, with his hands playing with your hair, his own heart thumping along in his chest. Reminding you that you’re here with him, and this is real.
Silence has never been so peaceful.
You think you’ll fall asleep like this, but then he says, “I want to see you again.”
Your heart softens around the edges, at the notion that he believes you’ll never speak to him again after this. You can’t blame him for it. It’s exactly what high school you would’ve done.
But you’re not 17 anymore, and you deserve all the good he has to offer you. No more silly little games.
“I would really like that,” you whisper back.
He presses a kiss to the top of your head. “Mind checking your calendar for me?”
You grin like a lovesick idiot. “Yup. Checking right now. And it looks like I’m free this whole week.”
“Thursday, then. Dinner at 7,” he confirms. “You’re not going to, like, make me beg for a real answer this time, are you?”
Giggling, you respond, “Maybe I should check that calendar again…”
He sits up, pouting. “Don’t. Don’t you dare,” he warns, and then his hands are moving to tickle your sides.
You squeal, squirming away, but he just pulls you back against him. The laughs that escape you are so full of sunshine that you hardly recognize them. You’ve been living under a fog for so long that when it lifted, you forgot how bright life could be.
“Okay, okay!” you gasp, and his fingers still. “Thursday. 7 o’clock.”
“There we go.” He kisses your forehead. “Was that so hard?”
“Hardest thing I’ve ever done,” you say dramatically, resuming your post, nestled into his side.
“Liar.” His fingers resume playing with your hair. “You like me.”
You feel like a kid in kindergarten, caught passing a note in class with “do you like me? check yes or no” scrawled in messy handwriting. Like you’re on the playground at recess, heart racing because your crush smiled at you across the monkey bars. But it’s got you just as giddy. “I guess I do.”
Jungkook reaches over to pull the blanket over you two. “So what happens now?” you wonder aloud. It’s an innocent question, but somehow loaded with more intent than you realize.
“Now?” he yawns. “Now you let me stay the night. Then tomorrow I’m gonna make you the most fire breakfast of all time. Then Thursday, I’ll take you to the best dinner of your life. And then—”
“There’s more?” Your eyes widen in sarcasm.
“And then I keep taking you out until you realize you’re in love with me too.”
Your heartbeat is quick but steady in your chest. “Pretty confident about that, hm?”
“Extremely so.” Jungkook yawns again, voice getting drowsy. “I’ve got years of romcom knowledge. I’ve read those Tumblr fanfics. You don’t stand a chance.”
He’s probably right. You don’t stand a chance. In fact, you didn’t from the moment he stood in front of you at that cafe.
Before you close your eyes and float off into sleep, you mumble out, “God, when did you get so hot?”
your world crumbles when you're forced into a marriage with jeon jungkook, a man whose commanding presence terrifies you, reminding you of your father's cruelty. yet beneath his coldness, jungkook's unexpected kindness stirs a spark of hope, making you question everything you fear. your life together starts-an emotional journey of two hearts seeking comfort, healing and a chance at love
your world crumbles when you're forced into a marriage with jeon jungkook, a man whose commanding presence terrifies you, reminding you of your father's cruelty. yet beneath his coldness, jungkook's unexpected kindness stirs a spark of hope, making you question everything you fear. your life together starts-an emotional journey of two hearts seeking comfort, healing and a chance at love
I WILL BE KISSING SMOOCHING YOU ON THE MOUTH FOR GIVING THAT CHAPTER OHHH FUCCCKKKKKKKK
It was so so so perfect, whiny sub koo dom oc agaghhh i ATE IT UP.. goddd aagagagahag
The end?? I think i might have some idea about what is happening there!! Daym babe
kisses 💋
I’M GONNA GRAB YOUR PRETTY FACE BETWEEN MY HANDS AND KISS YOU UNTIL YOU’RE BREATHLESS for all the support you’ve constantly given me so i’m gonna adore you at every chance i get okay?!
also yesss oc had to put jungkook in his place for once and we had way too much fun with it 🤭 we’ll see if your assumption about the plot twist in the next few chapters is correct tho! love youuu 🤍
the one where you visit your best friend jungkook on tour in vegas, finally give in to three years of wanting, and learn the hard way that what happens in vegas definitely does not stay in vegas.
pairing: idol!jungkook x fem!reader
genre: friends to lovers au, porn with plot, angst, smut (mdni!)
word count: 10,145
warnings/tags: 18+, explicit smut, unprotected sex, creampie, multiple orgasms, dirty talk, praise kink, degradation, best friends to lovers, pining for three years, oral sex (f. and m. receiving), ball sucking, nipple play, clit stimulation, fingering, grinding and dry humping, cum play (he eats his own cum from her, spits it in her mouth), hair pulling, hickies/marking, fingering, missionary, cowgirl, doggy style, jungkook and reader get into a fight, vegas hotel aesthetic, backstage access, the morning after, viral vlog gone wrong, reader is from los angeles, reader is nicknamed la and sunshine
a/n: hi everyone! I'm so excited to have finished this story, I've been working on it for a while trying to make it perfect!!! I had so much fun writing it ++ any vegas jungkook look always ends up being my favorite so I had to write something for it. vegas air x jungkook is definitely a dangerous combo!!! anyway, I hope you guys like my fic. I'm thinking of opening a taglist?? comment if you want to be tagged for any of my future works. tysm for reading... don't forget to reblog ⋆. 𐙚 ˚<3
The flight from LAX to LAS takes just over an hour, but you have been awake since four in the morning, watching the dark ceiling of your apartment, listening to the distant hum of the freeway. You told yourself you weren't going to do this. You told yourself you were going to be mature, respect the boundaries of his tour, let him have this without you hovering at the edges like some ghost of Los Angeles past.
But then you saw his story. Posted at 2 AM your time, the timestamp glowing accusatory in your dark bedroom. Backstage at Allegiant Stadium, the concrete corridors painted that particular shade of industrial beige that exists in every venue in every city in the world. He was holding that stupid vintage camcorder he insists on using for everything, the one that makes everything look like a memory even as it's happening, and he was complaining about the dry Vegas air, about how his skin feels tight, about how he misses the humidity of Seoul, of home, of-
Of you. He didn't say it. But you heard it anyway.
You booked the ticket before the video looped a second time. You packed a bag with clothes you didn't bother to fold, just stuffed them in like you were running from something, and you drove to the airport with the windows down, the Los Angeles winds whipping your hair into a frenzy, the city sprawling behind you in its perpetual golden-hour haze.
Now you are standing in the loading dock of Allegiant Stadium, ducking under yellow caution tape that says CREW ONLY in letters that have faded from sun exposure. The desert heat hits differently here, drier, more aggressive, sucking the moisture from your skin the moment you step out of the rideshare. You can hear them - distant, muffled, the thump of bass vibrating through the concrete bones of the building, the soundcheck for a show that won't happen for hours.
You should have told him. You know you should have told him. But there's something delicious about the surprise, about the look that will break across his face when he sees you, about the possibility that he might be as hungry for this collision as you are.
The security guard starts toward you, hand raised, mouth open to tell you to leave, but you flash the laminate that Hoseok sent you three hours ago in a text that just said come with seventeen exclamation points. The guard squints at the pass, squints at you, and waves you through with a shrug that says he's seen stranger things in this city.
Backstage is a labyrinth. You move through it like you're dreaming, past roadies coiling cables with practiced efficiency, past catering tables laden with fruit you know no one will eat, past the wardrobe racks that smell like dry cleaning and sweat. You find the corridor that leads to the stage-left wing, the one he's posted from, and you press yourself against a concrete pillar that is cool against your spine, and you wait.
The music stops. Starts again. Stops. They're running 2.0 now, you think, or maybe it's Aliens, the melody distorted through the walls, stripped of vocals, just the skeleton of the song. You check your phone. One hour until doors, three until showtime - an eternity.
You watch the makeup artist - Miyoung, you remember her name from his stories - touch up a dancer's jawline with a small brush, precise and unhurried. You drift toward her like you're caught in her orbit, and she looks up, recognizes something in your face, maybe, or just sees another lost girl in a venue full of them.
"You look like you need coffee," she says, not unkindly.
"I look like I need a lot of things," you reply, and she laughs, a bright sound that cuts through the industrial hum.
"Sit," she says, patting the chair next to her station. "I'll fix your face. You look like you flew in this morning."
"I did."
She makes a considerable noise and tilts your chin up with gentle fingers. The brush is soft against your skin, cool, soothing. She works in silence for a while, dusting something golden across your cheekbones, lining your eyes with a precision you could never manage yourself.
"You're the LA girl," she says finally. It's not a question.
You freeze. "He talks about me?"
Miyoung smiles, something knowing and soft. "He talks about the weather in LA. About the traffic. About this coffee shop near your apartment that he wants to try. About how the light looks different there, how it makes everything look like a movie." She steps back, assesses her work. "There. Now you don't look like you just survived a redeye."
You look in the mirror. You look like yourself, but sharper, more luminous, like someone worth flying for.
"Thank you," you say, and she squeezes your shoulder before turning back to her kit.
Time moves strangely backstage. You help a roadie tape down a cable. You accept a bottle of water from a staff member who doesn't ask your name. You watch the dancers stretch, their bodies bending in ways that seem to defy physics, and you think about your own body, about the way it feels heavy with wanting, weighted down by all the things you haven't said.
And then soundcheck ends. The distant thrum of voices, seven of them overlapping, laughing, complaining about the monitors, about the heat, about the dry air that makes their throats scratch. You press yourself harder against the pillar, heart hammering against your ribs, and you wait for him to appear around the corner.
But it's Namjoon first, tall and tired, glasses slipping down his nose, still in his rehearsal clothes. He sees you before you can decide whether to hide or run, and his face shifts from confusion to recognition to something like delight.
"LA?" he says, and his voice carries.
You push off the wall, suddenly nervous, suddenly aware of every hour of sleep you missed, every reason this was a bad idea. "Surprise?"
Namjoon crosses the distance between you in three long strides and pulls you into a hug that lifts you slightly off your feet, that smells like his cologne and the faint metallic tang of the venue. "You're insane," he says into your hair, but he's laughing. "He's going to lose his mind."
"I wanted to-"
"Surprise him," Namjoon finishes, setting you down but keeping his hands on your shoulders, studying your face with that particular intensity he has, the one that makes you feel like he's reading the footnotes of your thoughts. "I know. I can tell." He squeezes once. "Be gentle with him. He's been... he's been looking at his phone a lot."
Before you can ask what that means, there's a whoop from down the corridor, and Hoseok is running toward you, arms windmilling, grinning so wide it looks like it hurts.
"You came!" he shouts, and you brace yourself as he collides with you, spins you, sets you down only to step back and present his cheek with theatrical expectation.
You laugh, the sound surprising you, and you give him a light slap - firm enough to sting, playful enough to mean nothing - before pulling him into a hug that smells like sweat and peppermint gum. "I came," you confirm.
"Jungkook-ah doesn't know?"
"Not yet."
Hoseok's eyes gleam with mischief. "Oh, this is going to be good. This is going to be so good."
The others filter past - Jimin with a wave, Taehyung with a curious tilt of his head, Yoongi and Jin with nods that somehow feel like approval. They don't question your presence, or if they do, they keep it to themselves. You're part of the furniture here, part of the landscape of Jungkook's life that they've all learned to navigate around.
And then, there he is.
He's at the end of the corridor, still holding that camcorder, the one with the duct tape on the side where he dropped it in Tokyo. He's talking to it, narrating his life in that soft, sleepy voice he gets after he sings, something about the venue, about the soundcheck, about how the dry air makes his throat feel like sandpaper.
He doesn't see you at first. He's looking at the lens, at himself, performing even when he thinks no one is watching. You have time to study him - the way he has slimmed down since the last time you saw him, all sharp angles and new edges, the way his forehead is finally visible again with this haircut, the one you told him suited him best, and the tiredness in his shoulders that he carries like a secret, like something he's ashamed of letting show.
You step out from behind the pillar.
"LA?"
Your name hangs in the air - the nickname he gave you three years ago in Budapest, then cemented during those long weeks in Los Angeles when they filmed the album, when you were around so much you became part of the furniture, part of the language. They say it like a word, like a place, like something that means her and home and the one who keeps leaving all at once. The camcorder lowers slowly. His face shifts through seventeen emotions: confusion, disbelief, hope, fear, sunlight breaking through clouds.
"You're not-" He stops. Steps forward. "You're actually here."
You shrug, missing casual by miles. "You said you missed humidity."
He stares. The camcorder hangs forgotten, still recording. You see the pulse in his throat, his hand tightening on the strap until his knuckles whiten.
Then he's moving.
He crosses the space in a rush that feels gravitational, arms around you, lifting you off your feet, spinning you once, twice, laughing into the curve of your neck. He smells like rehearsal - sweat and cologne and something uniquely him, the fabric softener you bought him last Christmas.
"You're insane," he says, setting you down but not letting go, hands gripping your waist like you'll evaporate. "When did you- how did you-"
"Hoseok," you admit. Hoseok cackles behind you.
"Hoseok," Jungkook repeats, but he's not angry, only present, eyes scanning your face like he's memorizing it, like he's been starving and you're the first meal. "I can't believe you. I can't believe you're here."
"Surprise," you say softer, and his expression shifts, becoming tender and vulnerable.
"Yeah." He breathes. "Surprise."
He doesn't let go. The camcorder bumps your hip. He looks down at it, forgotten, then back at you with a question.
"Keep filming," you say.
He lifts the camera, captures both of you in the frame. You see yourself on the small screen - flushed, bright-eyed. See him looking at you instead of the lens.
"Day three in Vegas," he says, voice rough. "Soundcheck finished at Allegiant Stadium. We ran 2.0 and Aliens and-" he glances at you, swallows, "-LA is here. She just showed up. Like a ghost. Like a miracle."
"Not a miracle," you protest, smiling.
"Miracle," he insists. He turns the camera off, pulls you back into his arms, face buried in your hair. "Stay," he mumbles.
"I'll stay for now," you say, and he exhales like you've granted him something precious.
The hours blur. You find your place at the end of the southwest walkway, pressed against the scaffolding where the lights don't reach, where the curtain hangs heavy and dark between you and the world. Through the screen you can see them - seven figures moving through their formations on the central stage, then dispersing down the four walkways that stretch like arms reaching for the crowd.
From here the stadium opens up around you, three hundred sixty degrees of screaming, of light sticks creating oceans of color, of faces tilted upward like they're looking at something holy. You watch him move down the northeast walkway, then the northwest, then back to center, and you can imagine the sweat on his brow, can see the way he scans the crowd between lyrics, the way his shoulders relax when he finds your shadow in the wings.
You watch them run through Into the Sun - his voice rising through his verse like something carved from light, like a prayer offered up in a language only the faithful understand. He sounds angelic, truly, the kind of voice that makes you understand why people build religions around beauty, why they kneel before things they cannot comprehend. Through the screen his face flickers, close-up, ethereal, and you think of Hungary, of that bar in Budapest where you met, where he was just a boy with a pretty smile and you were just a girl who didn't know enough to be impressed.
He thought you were cute. You thought he was funny. The night ended in laughter and phone numbers exchanged on a napkin you still have somewhere, pressed between the pages of a book you never finished.
Now thousands of people scream his name, reaching toward the walkway like they could pull him down and keep him. You watch girls cry, boys scream, bodies pressed against barriers, living for this moment, this proximity to something they've only ever seen through glass.
And you realize - with something that feels like vertigo - that you are living someone's dream. That the boy they're screaming for is the same one who texts you memes at 3 AM, who sends you voice notes complaining about his laundry, who fell asleep on your couch last November and drooled on your throw pillow.
The thought makes you feel strange, temporary, like a glitch in the system. Like eventually the universe will notice and correct its error.
But then he's moving toward you, down the southwest walkway, and through the distance you see his eyes find yours, and he smiles - not the performance smile, but something smaller, real, meant only for you.
For a moment, the stadium fades. It's just his face - looking at you like you're the only person in the room.
Then the song ends, and he's turning, and the crowd roars, and you're just a shadow in the wings again, watching someone else's miracle from behind a curtain.
After, when the lights go down and the crowd roars and fades, you find yourself swept up with the others, with pizza that tastes like cardboard and the chaos of post-show adrenaline. You're part of the furniture here - helping Namjoon find his glasses, listening to Hoseok complain about his feet, letting Yoongi show you a meme.
"Where's Jin?" you ask at one point, noticing the empty chair.
"Asleep," Taehyung says, scrolling through his phone. "Said he's going to sleep for a year. So tired."
You laugh, and Jungkook watches you from across the room, eyes following the shape of your smile.
It's barely past eleven when Namjoon stretches, joints popping. "Food," he announces.
"That bar in the hotel, the one with the good sliders. Who's coming?"
"I'm in," Hoseok says, already reaching for his jacket.
"Me too," Jimin adds.
Taehyung looks at you, then at Jungkook, something knowing in his expression. "LA? You hungry?"
You are, suddenly - starving in a way that has nothing to do with food. You look at Jungkook. He's watching you, waiting.
"Yeah," you say. "I'm coming."
♤ ♡ ♧ ♢
The bar is in the lobby of their hotel, some trendy spot with leather booths and neon signs that look vintage but aren't. It's nearly midnight but Vegas doesn't sleep, the place half-full of tourists in sequins and people who lost money and are drinking their way back to even.
You slide into a booth after Namjoon, and Jungkook slides in after you, thigh pressed against yours in a way that feels deliberate. The others arrange themselves - Taehyung and Jimin on one side, Hoseok beside Namjoon - and a waiter appears with waters and menus.
He's tall, dark-haired, the kind of handsome that moves through spaces like he owns them. His eyes find yours immediately, skipping over the five famous faces at the table like they don't register, like you're the only one in the room.
"Can I get you anything else?" he asks, but he's looking at you, his smile slow and deliberate. "Another drink? Something... special?"
You order another gin and tonic, and he touches your hand when he takes the empty glass, his fingers warm, lingering. "Excellent choice. I'll make sure it's perfect for you."
You feel Jungkook shift beside you, his thigh going rigid against yours, his arm pressing harder into your shoulder.
"Thanks," you say, and the waiter smiles again, all teeth, before finally turning away.
"Friendly," Taehyung observes, his eyes amused, watching Jungkook."Very friendly," Jimin adds, and you can hear the smirk in his voice.
"He's just doing his job," you say, but under the table Jungkook's hand finds your knee, his grip tight, his thumb pressing hard enough to make you look at him.
"What?" you mouth.
He shakes his head, jaw tight, reaching for his water with his free hand. "Nothing."
But his hand doesn't move from your knee, and when the waiter returns - your drink balanced on his tray, his smile even wider - Jungkook's fingers dig in just slightly, a warning, a claim.
"Here you are," the waiter says, setting the glass down, his hand brushing yours as you take it. "Made it just for you. Extra lime, like you asked."
"You remembered," you say, surprised.
"I pay attention," he says, his voice dropping, intimate in the noise of the bar. "To things worth remembering."
Jungkook makes a sound, low in his throat, almost a growl. The waiter glances at him, finally, recognition flickering - oh, that’s Jeon Jungkook - but he doesn't back down. If anything, his smile widens, a challenge in his eyes.
"Anything else I can get you?" he asks, but he's looking at you, only you.
"We're good," Jungkook says, his voice flat, final, his hand sliding from your knee to your thigh, his palm hot through your jeans, claiming territory. "Thanks."
The waiter nods, slowly, his eyes lingering on you one last time before he turns away.
"Possessive," you murmur, not looking at Jungkook, your heart hammering against your ribs.
"Not," he lies, his hand staying on your thigh, his thumb tracing patterns that feel like writing, like spelling something out in a language only you two speak.
"You literally just-"
"Drink your gin," he interrupts, his voice rough, his eyes fixed on the waiter's back across the bar. "Before I do something stupid."
"Like what?"
He finally looks at you, his expression dark, his pupils blown wide in the dim light. "Like go over there and explain that you're not... that he shouldn't..."
"That I'm not what?"
He stares at you, his jaw working, his hand tightening on your thigh. "Available," he says finally, the word torn out of him. "That you're not available."
The silence between you stretches, filled with the noise of the bar, the laughter of his friends, the weight of three years of pretending.
"Am I not?" you ask, your voice quiet, barely audible.
His eyes search yours, desperate, hungry, all the things he's never let himself show you. "Are you?"
You don't answer. You can't. But you don't move his hand from your thigh, and when the waiter passes again, you don't look up, and Jungkook's fingers relax, just slightly, like he's breathing again.
"So," Jimin interrupts the two of you, leaning forward, eyes bright with mischief. "LA flies to Vegas unannounced. This is a rom-com plot."
"It's a horror movie," you say. "I'm the ghost who haunts his tour."
"You're not haunting," Jungkook says, "You're... visiting."
"Visiting," Taehyung repeats, tasting the word. "Very casual. Very normal."
You kick Jungkook's ankle. He kicks back, grinning.
The conversation moves around you - tour logistics, the venue tomorrow, Jin asleep upstairs dreaming of hibernation. You eat a slider that tastes like salt and grease and watch Jungkook from the corner of your eye. He's animated, hands moving as he talks, but every few minutes his attention drifts back to you, checking, making sure you're still there.
Hoseok orders a third plate of sliders. He eats them with the focus of a man possessed, and when he finally sits back, patting his stomach with a groan, he stretches his arms over the back of the booth and sighs, long and loud.
"God, I love Vegas," he says. "No consequences. What happens here, stays here, right?"
He says it with a grin, rubbing his stomach, and you realize he's talking about the sliders - about the gluttony, the grease, the way he's going to feel this in the morning. It's a joke about guilt, about indulgence, about pretending the things you do in this city don't follow you home.
But Jungkook looks at you, and you look at him, and for a second the noise of the bar fades out entirely. His eyes are dark in the dim light, and you know he's thinking about all the things that could happen here, all the things you've never let happen anywhere else.
You look away first. Take a long sip of your drink.
"Speaking of," Namjoon says, and his voice is careful, deliberate, breaking the spell.
"We should head up. Early call tomorrow."
"Already?" Jimin whines, but he's already sliding out.
"Come on," Hoseok says, standing. He looks at you, then at Jungkook, and his smile softens into something almost gentle. "Don't stay out too late."
They leave in a cluster, Taehyung waving over his shoulder, Jimin making a kissy face that Jungkook flips off. And then it's just you and him, alone in the booth, the neon buzzing overhead.
"You didn't have to stay," you say, tracing a water ring on the table.
"I wanted to." He pauses. "I have stuff for you, actually. Merch. The good stuff. It's in my room."
"In your room," you repeat.
"In my room."
You look at him. He's watching you carefully, no smile now, just open want and the fear that you'll say no.
"Okay," you say.
♤ ♡ ♧ ♢
The elevator ride is silent. The corridor is silent. His room is on the thirty-fourth floor, corner suite, Vegas sprawled out below like a circuit board, like a promise.
You stand at the window while he dumps his bag on the bed, spreads out offerings - a hoodie that smells like him, a hat, stickers, a photocard.
"Here," he says, patting the space beside him.
You sit. The bed dips. You're close enough to feel his heat, see the tiredness in his eyes, feel your hand trembling when you pick up the photocard.
"Someone had a fan tonight," he says, and his voice is casual, too casual, the way it gets when he's hiding something sharp.
You blink, looking up from the photocard you've been turning over in your fingers. "What?"
"At the bar." He doesn't look at you. He's arranging the stickers in a neat row, aligning their edges with precision that feels like avoidance. "The waiter - he couldn't stop looking at you."
You laugh, surprised, the sound bright in the quiet room. "Are you serious? You had like seventy-two thousand people screaming your name tonight."
"Seventy-two thousand and one," he corrects, and there's a smirk tugging at his mouth, but it doesn't reach his eyes. "But I'm serious. The waiter, Sunshine. He was into you."
"I didn't notice." You set the photocard down, reach for the hoodie, bring it to your nose to breathe in the smell of him-fabric softener and something else, something warm. "I was too busy watching you eat like you hadn't seen food in a week."
"Of course you didn't notice." He says it softly, almost to himself, and something in his tone makes you look up.
"What?"
"Nothing." He stands suddenly, moves to the window, his back to you. "It's just... you never do. Notice things."
You frown, the hoodie forgotten in your lap. "What do you mean?"
"I mean you fly in, you fly out, and you act like you're just passing through." He's still not looking at you, his reflection fractured in the glass, doubled by the city lights behind him. "Like this-" he gestures vaguely at the space between you, at the room, at everything "-like it's just... convenient. Like I'm just convenient."
"Jungkook-"
"Three months." He turns now, and his face is carefully blank, the mask he wears for interviews, for cameras, for strangers. "Three months since you were in Seoul. And you didn't even tell me you were thinking about coming tonight. Hoseok knew before I did."
"I wanted to surprise you-"
"Surprise me," he repeats, and there's a note in his voice you can't name. "Or keep your options open? In case you changed your mind?"
You stand up, blood starting to rush in your ears. "That's not fair."
"Is it?" He takes a step toward you, then stops, like he's afraid of what he'll do if he gets closer. "Last time you were in Tokyo, you left early. Said you had work. But I saw the pictures. You were at the beach with friends. You just... didn't want to stay."
"That was different-"
"Was it?" Another step. His hands are fisted at his sides. "Or the time before that, in New York? You said you'd come to the show, but you got 'caught up' with your ex-"
"He needed help moving-"
"And you needed to be there." He's close now, close enough that you can see the pulse hammering in his throat, the flush high on his cheeks. "You needed to be there for him, but you can't be here. Not really. Not when it counts."
"That's not-" You shake your head, defensive, confused by the velocity of this, by how fast the ground is shifting beneath you. "I'm here now. I flew here. For you."
"For now," he says, and his voice cracks, just slightly, just enough. "For tonight. And then what? Tomorrow you'll be back in LA, and you'll text me when you're bored, when you need a distraction, when you want to feel like someone wants you-"
"Stop-"
"But actually showing up?" He's not yelling, but his voice has gone tight, strange, the way guitar strings sound before they snap. "Actually staying? Letting this be real? You'd never risk it. Because then you might have to want me back. You might have to need me. And god forbid, Sunshine-god forbid you ever need anyone."
The words hit like a slap. You stare at him, breathing hard, the makeup Miyoung applied feeling suddenly like a mask, like armor you don't know how to remove.
"That's not fair," you whisper, but your voice breaks.
"Isn't it?" He turns away again, paces to the window, and his reflection is fractured, doubled, and you can't tell which one is the real him. "At least the waiter looked at you. At least he saw you. You act like I'm invisible unless you need something. Unless you're lonely, unless you're sad, unless you want someone to tell you you're pretty at 3 AM-"
"Fuck you," you say, louder now, anger rising up to meet the hurt. "That's not- I'm not-"
"What?" He spins around. "What are you, Sunshine? Tell me. Because from where I'm standing, you're the girl who keeps me on a shelf. Who takes me down when she's bored and puts me back when she's done. And I keep letting you. I keep waiting by the phone like some fucking-"
"Stop it!" You grab your bag from the chair, hands shaking. "I'm not doing this. I'm not-"
You get three steps toward the door before his hand closes around your wrist.
"Let go."
"Why?" His grip tightens, not hard, just enough to stop you, enough to make you feel the heat of his palm against your pulse point. "So you can run again? Back to LA, right? Back where it's safe? Where you don't have to feel anything?"
You wrench your arm, but he doesn't let go. You're facing each other now, breathing hard, inches apart, and you can see the shine in his eyes that he won't let become tears, can see the way his jaw is clenched so tight it must ache.
"Say it," he says, low, rough. "Say you're running."
"I'm not-"
"Say it."
And you can't. Because you're not running, you've never been able to run from him, not when he's looking at you like this - like you're breaking his heart and saving it all at once.
"I hate you," you whisper.
"No, you don't," he says, and then his mouth is on yours.
It's hard and desperate and tastes like years of waiting, and for a moment you melt into it, your body betraying you, your hands fisting in his shirt and pulling him closer. But then your brain catches up, the words he just threw at you still sharp in your chest, and you push against his shoulders, breaking the kiss with a gasp.
"Wait," you breathe, your lips tingling, your heart hammering. "Wait, you don't get to do that."
He's breathing hard, his eyes dark, his hands still gripping your waist. "Do what?"
"Blame me," you say, your voice shaking. "You don't get to tell me I never stay, that I never risk anything, and then just kiss me like that fixes it. Like I'm the only one who messed this up."
His jaw tightens. "That's not what I-"
"It is," you cut him off, pushing against his chest until he steps back, giving you space. "You want to talk about me leaving? About me not expressing my feelings? Well what about you, Jungkook? When have you ever told me to stay? When have you ever actually said what you want?"
He stares at you, chest heaving, and you see something flicker in his eyes - hurt, defensiveness, the mirror of your own accusations.
"I've been here," he says, his voice low, dangerous. "I've been right here, watching you date assholes who don't deserve you, watching you leave and come back and leave again. What was I supposed to do? Beg you?"
"Yes!" you shout, the word tearing out of you. "Maybe! Or at least tell me! Tell me you want me to stay instead of just letting me go, letting me think you don't care-"
"I care," he snaps, stepping toward you again, crowding you back against the wall. "I care so fucking much it makes me sick. Is that what you want to hear? That I've been in love with you for three years and I've been dying every time you walk away?"
Your breath catches. "Then why didn't you say-"
"Because you were always leaving!" He's close now, so close, his hands braced on either side of your head, caging you in. "And you seemed fine with it. You seemed fine with whatever we are."
"I'm not bored," you whisper, your voice breaking. "I was never bored. I was scared. I'm still scared."
"Of what?"
"Of this," you say, gesturing between you. "Of wanting you this much. Of needing you and having you leave instead."
"I'm not leaving," he says, his voice softer now, raw. "I've never left. You're the one who-"
"Because you never asked me to stay," you interrupt, and there are tears in your eyes now, hot and humiliating. "You never said don't go. You just let me."
He stares at you, his expression shifting, softening, the anger draining out of him like water. "I didn't think I had the right," he admits, quiet. "I didn't think you wanted me to ask."
"Well I did," you say, your voice small. "I do."
He leans in then, slow, giving you time to pull away, and brushes his lips against yours - softer this time, questioning. You don't pull away. You kiss him back, tentative, tasting the salt of tears you can't tell are his or yours.
"Stay," he whispers against your mouth, his hands moving to cup your face, thumbs brushing your cheeks. "Don't go back to LA. Not yet. Stay with me."
"You don't mean that," you say, but you're kissing him again, deeper now, your hands sliding up his chest.
"I do," he insists, breaking the kiss to look at you, his eyes fierce. "I've never meant anything more. Stay tonight. Stay tomorrow. Stay-"
"Stop talking," you breathe, and pull him back to you, your mouth crashing against his, hungry, desperate.
He groans, his hands dropping to your waist, lifting you, and you wrap your legs around him, the friction of him against you making you both gasp. He walks you backward toward the bed, never breaking the kiss, and then you're falling, hitting the mattress with him on top of you, settling between your legs with a weight that feels perfect, inevitable.
"Wait," you gasp, tearing your mouth away, your head spinning. "Wait, I'm still mad at you."
"Good," he growls, his mouth moving to your neck, sucking hard enough to mark. "Be mad. Yell at me. But don't leave."
"I'm not-" you break off with a moan as he grinds against you, his hips rolling in a way that makes you see stars. "I'm not leaving, but you- you have to-"
"Have to what?" He lifts his head, his eyes dark, challenging. "Tell me what you want, Sunshine. Use your words."
"I want you to stop talking in circles," you manage, your hands fisting in his hair, pulling him back to you. "I want you to show me. Show me you want me."
He kisses you again, hard, his tongue sweeping into your mouth, and you meet him with equal fervor, your teeth clicking, your breath mingling. He pulls back just enough to strip your shirt over your head, and you help him, your bra following, and then you're bare and he's looking at you like you're the only thing in the world.
"Beautiful," he breathes, and then his mouth is on your breast, sucking your nipple into his mouth, and you cry out, arching into him.
"Fuck," you gasp, your hands tangled in his hair, holding him there. "Jungkook-"
He switches sides, his hand replacing his mouth on the first breast, pinching and rolling your nipple while he sucks hard on the other, and you're whimpering now, your hips bucking up against him, seeking friction.
"Still mad?" he asks against your skin, his voice smug, teasing.
"Yes," you breathe, but you're pulling at his shirt, desperate to feel his skin. "Take this off. I want to feel you."
He sits back, stripping his shirt off, and you sit up too, reaching for him, your hands running over his chest, his shoulders, the ink on his arms. He shivers under your touch, his eyes falling closed, and you lean in, pressing your mouth to his collarbone, his throat, biting gently at his jaw.
"Tell me," you whisper against his skin. "Tell me what you want."
"I want you," he says, his voice rough, his hands gripping your hips. "I want your mouth on me. I want to be inside you. I want everything, Sunshine, I've wanted everything for so fucking long-"
You push him back, guiding him until he's sitting on the edge of the bed, and you sink to your knees in front of him, your hands working at his jeans. He lifts his hips, helps you strip him, and then he's naked in front of you, hard and thick and straining toward you, and you want him in your mouth more than you want to breathe.
"Fuck," he breathes as you wrap your hand around him, stroke him once, twice. "Sunshine, you don't have to-"
"I want to," you say, looking up at him through your lashes. "I've wanted to. Tell me to stop and I will."
"Don't stop," he groans, his head falling back. "Please, god, don't stop-"
You lean in and lick a stripe up the underside of his cock, from base to tip, and he shouts, his hips jerking forward. You take him into your mouth, sucking lightly, swirling your tongue around the sensitive head, and his hands are in your hair, not pushing, just holding, his fingers trembling.
"Your mouth," he pants, his voice wrecked. "Fuck, your mouth, I've thought about this-"
You take him deeper, inch by inch, until he's hitting the back of your throat, and you swallow around him, hollowing your cheeks. He cries out, a raw, guttural sound, and you pull back slowly, letting him feel every inch, then sink back down, finding a rhythm.
"So good," he babbles, his hips stuttering. "So fucking good, you're perfect-"
You pull off with a wet sound, catching your breath, and he whines at the loss, his eyes opening, fixed on you with desperate hunger. You meet his gaze, then lower your head to his balls, heavy and drawn up tight. You lick at them, soft and wet, and he groans, long and low, his knees spreading wider.
"Sunshine- fuck, that's- don't stop-"
You take one into your mouth, sucking gently, rolling it on your tongue, and the sound he makes is inhuman, a broken moan that echoes off the walls. You lavish attention on them, sucking one and then the other, taking them both into your mouth and rolling them gently, and he's babbling now, incoherent, his hands tight in your hair.
"I'm gonna come," he warns, his voice strained. "Fuck, I'm close, please-"
You pull off with a wet sound, denying him, and he whines, high and desperate, his hips chasing your mouth.
"Not yet," you say, your voice filthy, and you start kissing your way up his body - his hip bone, the sharp line of his stomach, the ridge of his ribs. You push him back onto the bed, your hands firm on his chest, and he goes willingly, sprawling back against the sheets, his cock twitching against his stomach, wet and aching.
"Sunshine," he groans, his voice wrecked. "Please, I need to-"
"You don't get to finish yet," you interrupt, straddling his thighs, pinning him down. "Not when you've been such an ass."
"Then punish me," he challenges, his eyes dark, his chest heaving. "Go ahead."
You lean down, your mouth finding his nipple, and you suck hard, teasing with your teeth, and he shouts, his back arching off the bed, his hands flying to your hair. "Fuck- fuck, that's-"
He snarls, flipping you over suddenly, his strength surprising you, pinning you beneath him. You gasp, your back hitting the mattress, and he's between your legs, his hands rough on your thighs, spreading you open.
"My turn," he growls, his voice low and dangerous. "You got to play. Now I get to taste."
He doesn't wait for permission. He dives in, his mouth hot and filthy on your cunt, licking a broad stripe up your folds that has you screaming, your hands fisting in the sheets. He groans against you, the vibration making you see stars, and then he's spitting on you, wet and obscene, rubbing it into your clit with his thumb before he goes back to sucking you into his mouth.
"Look at you," he murmurs, lifting his head just enough to speak, his chin wet with you, his eyes fixed on your face. "Look how fucking desperate you are. Grinding on me like you couldn't wait to get this pussy on my tongue."
"Jungkook-" you whimper, your hips bucking up, seeking more.
"You want me to eat you out?" he asks, his breath hot against your sensitive skin. "You want me to make you come all over my face? Say it."
"Yes," you gasp, your face burning, your body aching. "Yes, please, eat me out, I need it-"
He goes back to work with a vengeance, his tongue circling your clit before he sucks it hard into his mouth, his fingers sliding into you, curling to find that spot that makes you cry out. He's messy, filthy, spitting on you again to make you wetter, his fingers fucking you in time with the suction of his mouth, and the sounds he's making - groaning like he's the one being worshipped-are driving you insane.
"So fucking sweet," he pants against your thigh, his fingers never stopping, his thumb rubbing tight circles on your clit. "Tastes so good. Been dreaming about this, dreaming about having you like this, making you scream-"
"Don't stop," you beg, your voice breaking, your hands in his hair, holding him there. "Please, don't stop, I'm so close-"
"Come for me," he demands, his tongue flat against you, licking broad and filthy. "Come on my tongue, Sunshine. Let me drink you down."
You do. You let go, and the orgasm crashes through you, violent and overwhelming, your back arching, your vision whiting out, your body clamping down around his fingers in rhythmic pulses. He doesn't stop, keeps licking you through it, drawing it out until you're whimpering, oversensitive, trying to close your legs.
"Can't take it," you gasp, pushing at his shoulders. "Too much-"
He crawls up your body, his face wet with you, and kisses you hard, letting you taste yourself, filthy and perfect. You can feel him, hard and thick against your thigh, already ready again, desperate and throbbing.
"Let me get a condom," he mutters against your mouth, his hand reaching toward the nightstand.
You catch his wrist, stopping him, your heart hammering against your ribs. "No," you breathe, your voice raw, desperate. "Please. I want to feel you. Just you."
He freezes, his eyes snapping to yours, dark and blown wide. "Sunshine," he warns, his voice rough, strained. "You sure? I can't- fuck, I need to be careful with you-"
"I'm sure," you insist, your legs wrapping around his waist, pulling him closer, your heels digging into his lower back. "I'm on the pill. And I trust you. I want to feel you come inside me, Jungkook. Please."
He groans, a broken, guttural sound, his forehead dropping to your shoulder, his whole body trembling against you. "Fuck," he whispers, his voice wrecked. "You can't say shit like that. You can't-"
"Then do it," you challenge, rolling your hips against him, feeling the hot, hard length of him slide against your wetness. "Fuck me bare. Fill me up. Show me you mean it."
He snarls, his restraint snapping, and then he's pushing into you, slow and deep and completely unhindered, and the feeling is overwhelming - hot and thick and perfect, skin against skin with nothing between you. You both cry out, your nails digging into his shoulders, his hands gripping your hips hard enough to bruise.
"Fuck," he pants, his eyes rolling back, his jaw clenched tight. "Fuck, you feel- you're so hot, so wet, I can feel all of you-"
"Move," you beg, your voice breaking, your legs tight around him. "Please, Jungkook, move, I need you-"
He pulls out slowly, almost all the way, and then thrusts back in, hard and deep, and the sound that tears from your throat is primal, needy. The friction is perfect, intense, every ridge of him dragging against your walls, and he's groaning with every thrust, his head thrown back, his chest heaving.
"So good," he grits out, his hips snapping against yours, setting a brutal rhythm. "So fucking good, you're taking all of me, fuck- you're so tight around me, squeezing me-"
"Yes," you gasp, your head thrown back, your back arching off the bed. "Yes, just like that, don't stop, harder-"
He gives you harder, his hips pistoning against yours, the bed creaking beneath you, the headboard knocking against the wall. He's hitting something deep inside you, a spot that makes your vision blur at the edges, and you're clawing at his back, your legs wrapped tight around him, pulling him deeper with every thrust.
"Touch yourself," he demands, his voice ragged, his rhythm faltering slightly as his own pleasure mounts. "I want to see you touch yourself while I fuck you."
You slide your hand between your bodies, your fingers finding your clit, swollen and sensitive, and you rub tight, desperate circles. The added sensation is too much, just enough, and you're climbing again, the pleasure building in waves that crash higher and higher.
"Jungkook," you warn, your voice high, broken. "I'm gonna- I'm close-"
"Not yet," he growls, his thrusts becoming erratic, losing rhythm as he chases his own release. "Not yet, I need to feel you from behind, need to see that ass while I fuck you-"
He pulls out suddenly, leaving you empty and aching, and he flips you over with rough hands, pulling your hips up until you're on your knees, your face pressed against the mattress. He spreads you open with his hands, groaning at the sight of you, wet and open and waiting for him.
"Fuck, look at you," he breathes, his hands gripping your hips, his thumbs spreading your folds. "Look how fucking wet you are for me, dripping down your thighs-"
"Please," you whimper, pushing back against him, seeking friction, seeking him. "Please, Jungkook, I need you inside me-"
He pushes in with one long, smooth thrust, deeper from this angle, hitting places that make you scream into the mattress, your fingers fisting in the sheets. He's groaning, long and low, his grip on your hips bruising as he pulls you back onto his cock, meeting his thrusts.
"So deep," he pants, his voice wrecked. "Fuck, you're so deep like this, taking all of me, fuck-"
He sets a punishing rhythm, his hips snapping against your ass, the sound of skin meeting skin filling the room, wet and filthy. He's hitting that spot inside you with every thrust, the one that makes your legs shake, your vision blur, and you're pushing back against him, meeting him thrust for thrust, desperate for more.
"Touch yourself," he demands again, his hand coming around your hip, his fingers finding your clit, rubbing rough and filthy. "Come for me, Sunshine. Come on my cock while I fuck you like this-"
"Yes," you gasp, your voice muffled against the mattress. "Yes, don't stop, I'm so close-"
He doesn't stop. He fucks you harder, his fingers working your clit in tight, desperate circles, and you're climbing, climbing, the coil tightening, tightening, until-
You come with a scream, your back arching, your body clamping down around him in rhythmic pulses that draw out his own climax. But he doesn't stop, keeps fucking you through it, drawing it out until you're whimpering, oversensitive, your body trembling.
"One more," he growls, his voice strained, his thrusts becoming jerky, desperate. "One more position, I want to see your face when I come-"
He pulls out, flipping you over again, and pulls you up until you're straddling him, your hands braced on his chest. He guides himself back into you, his hands on your hips, and you sink down onto him, taking him deep, so deep you feel impossibly full.
"Ride me," he demands, his eyes dark, his jaw clenched. "Ride my cock, Sunshine. Show me how much you want it-"
You do. You roll your hips, finding a rhythm, your hands bracing on his chest, your nails digging into his skin. He's groaning, his head thrown back, his hands gripping your waist, guiding you, lifting you and pulling you back down onto him.
"Fuck," he grits out, his hips bucking up to meet you, his thrusts becoming erratic, losing rhythm. "You're so fucking beautiful like this, taking my cock, fuck- I'm close, I'm so close-"
He groans, long and low, and then he's coming, his whole body tensing, his cock pulsing inside you, hot and thick and filling you completely. His hands grip your hips hard enough to leave marks, his forehead pressed against your chest, his breath hot and fast against your skin.
"Fuck," he pants, still twitching inside you, his voice wrecked. "Fuck, Sunshine, I wish you could taste me inside of you."
You whimper at the thought, at the filth of it, but before you can respond, he's flipping you onto your back, spreading your legs wide, and diving between your thighs. You gasp, shocked, as he licks at your folds, messy and desperate, gathering the wetness of you both on his tongue.
"Jungkook-" you breathe, your hands flying to his hair, but he's relentless, lapping at you with long, filthy strokes, his tongue delving inside to taste where he just filled you, where you're still warm and full of him.
He lifts his head, his chin wet, his eyes dark and fixed on yours, and then he's crawling up your body, his hand tangling in your hair to tilt your head back. He leans down and spits into your mouth, the taste of you both mingled on your tongue, warm and filthy and intimate, and you moan around it, swallowing, your whole body trembling.
He kisses you then, hard and desperate, his tongue sweeping through your mouth, sharing the taste, the intimacy of it overwhelming, perfect. You kiss him back with equal fervor, your hands fisting in his hair, holding him to you, tasting yourself and him together, the most vulnerable thing you've ever shared.
When he finally pulls back, he's breathing hard, his forehead resting against yours, his eyes searching your face like he's memorizing you.
"Stay," he whispers, his voice rough, his thumb brushing your swollen lower lip. "Not just for now. Stay."
You close your eyes, your heart hammering, and for the first time, you let yourself want it too. "Okay," you whisper. "I'll stay."
♤ ♡ ♧ ♢
The Vegas sun is too bright. It cuts through the gap in the curtains like a warning, landing directly on your face, and you groan, pulling the sheet over your head. Your body aches in places you forgot existed. Your mouth tastes like him, like the filthy things you said to each other in the dark.
You become aware, slowly, that you are not alone in the bed.
He's awake. You can tell by the quality of the silence, the way he's holding himself still, pretending to sleep. You can feel his eyes on you even through the sheet.
"Stop staring," you mumble, your voice wrecked.
"I'm not staring," he says, and you can hear the smile in his voice. "I'm admiring."
You peel the sheet down just enough to glare at him. He's on his stomach, chin propped on his hands, the blanket low on his hips, the ink on his arm shifting as he breathes. He looks annoyingly perfect. Rested. Like he didn't spend hours fucking you until you couldn't remember your own name.
"You're too smug," you say, pulling the sheet back up. "This is weird."
"What's weird?"
"This." You gesture vaguely at the space between you, at the wreckage of the room, your clothes scattered like evidence. "Weird."
He laughs, soft and warm, and reaches out, his hand finding your hip under the sheet. "It's not weird. It's us. Just... finally."
"Don't say finally like that. Like it's inevitable. Like you knew."
"I did know," he says simply, his thumb tracing circles on your skin. "I've known for three years. You were the one who needed convincing."
You bury your face in the pillow, your face burning. "I hate you."
"You don't." He tugs at the sheet, trying to pull you closer. "Come here."
You let him pull you, let yourself be arranged against his chest, his arms wrapping around you, his chin resting on your head. You breathe him in, memorizing this, knowing you shouldn't.
"I have to go back," you say, the words quiet, into his skin.
He goes still. "What?"
"To LA. My flight's at noon."
"Today?" His voice changes, something cracking. "You just got here."
"I know." You close your eyes, your heart hammering. "But I have work. I have... I can't just stay, Jungkook. I can't just-"
"Can't you?" He pulls back, his hands finding your face, tilting it up to look at him. His expression is wrecked, all the softness gone, replaced by something desperate. "Can't you just... stay? For once?"
"I can't." Your voice breaks. "I want to. God, I want to. But I can't."
He stares at you, his thumbs brushing your cheekbones, his eyes searching yours like he's looking for something to hold onto. "So that's it? We do this, we finally do this, and you just... leave?"
"Jungkook-"
"Don't." He lets go, rolling onto his back, his arm thrown over his eyes. "Don't say my name like that. Not if you're going."
The silence stretches, heavy and awful, filled with the hum of the city below, the reality of morning after.
"I'll be back," you whisper, not sure if it's true, not sure if you're promising something you can keep.
"When?"
"I don't know."
He laughs, but it sounds broken. "Yeah. That's what I thought."
You sit up, the sheet pooling around your waist, your chest tight, your eyes burning. You should get dressed. You should leave. You should do what you always do.
But you can't move. You can't make yourself stand up and walk away from this, from him, from the only thing that's ever felt like home.
"Look at me," you say, your voice rough.
He doesn't. He keeps his arm over his eyes, his jaw tight, his whole body radiating hurt.
"Jungkook. Look at me."
Slowly, painfully, he lowers his arm. His eyes are red-rimmed, wet, and it breaks something in you to see it, to know you put that there.
"I'm not running," you say, the words careful, deliberate. "I'm not... this isn't me leaving because I don't want this. I want this. I want you. But I have things I can't just drop. You know that. You have things too."
"So what do we do?" he asks, his voice small, younger than you've ever heard him.
"I don't know," you admit. "But... we figure it out? Together?"
He stares at you, his expression shifting, hope warring with fear. "Together," he repeats, like he's testing the word.
"Yeah." You reach for his hand, your fingers interlacing with his. "I'm not good at this. I'm going to mess it up. But... I want to try. If you do."
He doesn't answer immediately. He looks at your joined hands, at the morning light catching on your skin, at the wreckage of the room around you.
"There's a show in LA," he says finally, his voice quiet. "In three months."
Your breath catches. "Yeah?"
"Yeah." He looks up at you, his expression softening, something like a smile touching his mouth. "Maybe... maybe you could be there. In the audience. Not backstage, not hiding. Just... there. Watching."
"I could do that," you whisper, your heart hammering.
"And after," he continues, his thumb brushing your knuckles, "maybe we could get dinner. Somewhere public. Where people might see."
"Jungkook-"
"I want people to see," he says, his voice firmer now, his eyes holding yours. "I want them to know. I'm tired of hiding this. I'm tired of pretending you don't matter."
You stare at him, this boy who waited, who wanted, who finally let himself have you only to watch you leave. You think of three months, of phone calls and time zones and the particular ache of missing someone who exists in a different world.
"Okay," you say, the word barely audible. "Okay. I'll be there. Front row."
"Please," he counters, a ghost of his smirk returning. "I want to see your face when I sing."
"Deal."
You lean down, kiss him slow and careful, tasting the salt of tears neither of you shed, the promise of something you don't know how to keep. When you pull back, he's smiling, sad but real, his hand still holding yours like he's afraid to let go.
"Go," he says softly. "Before I convince you to stay."
"I don't need much convincing."
"Yeah," he says, his voice rough. "That's what scares me."
You dress in silence, wearing the hoodie he gave you last night, your clothes scattered like breadcrumbs, evidence of what you did here. He watches from the bed, the sheet wrapped around his waist, his eyes following you like he's memorizing you, like he's already missing you.
At the door, you turn. He's still watching, his expression open, vulnerable, nothing like the boy who performs for millions.
"Three months," you say.
"Three months," he echoes.
You smile, small and real, and walk out the door before you can change your mind.
♤ ♡ ♧ ♢
The camera wobbles as he adjusts it on the hotel dresser, angling it toward the bed. He's shirtless, hair messy, eyes soft with sleep and something else, something sated and sad all at once. The morning light filters through the curtains, golden and lazy, illuminating the wreckage of the room - clothes on the floor, sheets tangled, evidence of a night he can't talk about.
"Morning routine," he says, his voice rough, still sleep-thick. "Vegas edition."
He moves through the room collecting things - his phone charger, a water bottle, the vintage camcorder he uses for everything. He doesn't make the bed. He doesn't notice the white bra peeking out from beneath the rumpled white sheets, the strap just visible, the lace detail catching the light.
He sits on the edge of the bed, the camera still rolling, and runs a hand through his hair. "Good show last night," he says, his smile small, private, meant for someone who isn't there. "Really good night."
He stands, stretches, his back to the camera, and the sheets shift, the bra sliding more fully into view - delicate, feminine, utterly wrong for a hotel room where a boy band member sleeps alone.
"Anyway," he says, turning back, oblivious. "Day four today, I'll see you all very soon." He reaches for the camera, hand covering the lens. "Cut."
♤ ♡ ♧ ♢
The video is everywhere within minutes. Screenshots, zoomed-in crops, slow-motion replays. The hashtag starts trending before lunch.
@/kookielover97: um. um. UM. WHAT IS THAT IN THE BED????
@/bangtantheories: THE SHEETS ARE WHITE. THE BRA IS WHITE. HE DIDNT EVEN NOTICE. HE POSTED THIS. HE ACTUALLY POSTED THIS.
@/jungkookbiased: zoom in. zoom in on the bed. second frame from the end. that is NOT a tank top. that is NOT his. WHOSE IS THAT
@/rkivesarchive: ENHANCE. ENHANCE. the lace detail. the strap width. that's a WOMEN'S bra. a women's BRA.
@/kookenthusiasts: he slept in that bed. someone else slept in that bed. HE SMILED LIKE THAT AND SOMEONE SLEPT IN THAT BED.
@/jimingotjams: the bra appears to be a standard white t-shirt bra, possibly Calvin Klein or similar mid-range brand. not expensive. not fancy. someone PRACTICAL was there
@/seokjinsfishingrod: practical. someone practical. someone who doesn't need to impress him. someone who already KNOWS him.
@/theorythread: let's analyze the timeline. he posted the vlog at 11am vegas time. his flight was at 2pm. that means he filmed this MORNING. after someone LEFT. the bed is unmade. the bra is UNDER the sheets. they SLEPT there. together
@/kookielover97: IM SO JEALOUS
@/bangtantheories: the smile. watch the smile again. that's not a performance smile. that's a "i got laid and i'm sad about it" smile. that's a "someone left me" smile. WHO LEFT YOU JUNGKOOK???
@/armydetective: the hoodie he was wearing in his last story. the oversized one. the MERCH one. someone was wearing it. someone was wearing HIS hoodie. and left their BRA.
@/tatasandtaetas: SHE TOOK THE HOODIE. SHE LEFT THE BRA. THIS IS CINEMA.
♤ ♡ ♧ ♢
The text comes through as you're above the clouds, the plane humming around you, his hoodie still soft against your skin. You pull out your phone, expecting a goodbye, a safe flight, something sweet.
Instead: a photo. His hand. Your bra - the white one you couldn't find this morning, the one you left behind in your hurry - wrapped in his fingers, the comments visible on his laptop screen in the background. No words. Just proof.
Then another text.
JK: 2.7 million views
JK: They found you
Your stomach drops. You open the link he sends and there it is - the vlog, the screenshot, the zoomed-in crop of white on white, your bra visible in the wreckage of the bed you shared. The comments are already endless. Bra girl. Who is she. Find her.
You: oh my god
You: jungkook you didn't notice???
JK: I noticed now
JK: I'm keeping it
JK: let them look. let them wonder. I know who you are
You stare at the screen, your heart hammering against your ribs, the hum of the plane filling your ears. Somewhere below, the internet is on fire. Somewhere behind you, he's holding onto the only piece of you he has left, refusing to let go.
JK: three months
JK: front row
JK: I'll see you there
You close your eyes, the phone warm in your hand, his words settling somewhere deep in your chest. Outside the window, clouds stretch endless and white. Ahead, Los Angeles waits. And three months from now, so does he.
your world crumbles when you're forced into a marriage with jeon jungkook, a man whose commanding presence terrifies you, reminding you of your father's cruelty. yet beneath his coldness, jungkook’s unexpected kindness stirs a spark of hope, making you question everything you fear. your life together starts—an emotional journey of two hearts seeking comfort, healing and a chance at love.
pairing — dom!jungkook x sub!femreader
genre — arranged marriage au, forced marriage, marriage of convenience, age gap, reader is of age, forbidden love, forced proximity, enemies to friends to lovers, grumpy x sunshine, rich ceo!jungkook, shy!reader, virgin!reader, poor!reader, obsession and possessive love, pining, slow burn, contrast of worlds, romance, drama, lots of angst, smut, fluff
warnings/tags — 18+, explicit smut, switch!jungkook, WE FINALLY GET SUBMISSIVE JUNGKOOK, anal play and mentions of anal training throughout the night, use of butt plug, multiple orgasms, rough sex, unprotected sex, sexting, so much sexual tension, edging, mutual masturbation, oral sex (f. receiving), dom!oc is so sexy, she ties jungkook's wrists with his tie, body worship, dirty talk and praise kink, he loves being called a good boy, he's a whiny mess, he has such sensitive nipples, lots of nipple stimulation, dry humping, pussy eating, face sitting, cum play, he feasts on her, he has a big nose and she sits on it, she literally uses him for her pleasure, he begs for her like the sweet boy he is, oc is kinda cruel but we love it, makeout and hickies thigh riding, she fingers herself on top of him, oral sex (m. receiving), sloppy blowjob, she spits on his cock, ball sucking and deepthroating, the tip of his cock gets stimulated hard by her mouth and her pussy, cum denial, he's so horny but tries to control himself for the sake of her, he finally breaks free from his restraints, manhandling, light spanking, missionary and doggy position, use of lube, rimming and anal fingering, he shows her who's actually in control, belly bulging and cervix stimulation, creampie, legs over shoulder, foot worship, he sucks her toes while giving it to her missionary, squirting, gushing and soaking everywhere, prolonged orgasm, choking, pain mixed with pleasure, slight cockwarming, loving cuddles as an aftercare, cliffhanger, bittersweet ending
wc — 14K
a/n — hope you pretty babes enjoy reading this little treat! let me know your thoughts *mwa mwaaah* <33
「 SERIES MASTERLIST | MAIN MASTERLIST | READ ON WATTPAD 」
“i want you to feel me even when i'm not touching you, even in your dreams. can you do that for me sweet girl? can you sleep all plugged up and dripping, just thinking about how much i own this tight little ass?”
his words wrapped around you all possessively and lovingly at once.
you knew the night would feel endless with the building pleasure.
you lay curled against his warm body now, his one hand wrapped around your waist, the other stayed firmly at your ass, ensuring the plug remained seated as you melted further into his embrace. your fingers clutching at his broad shoulders like he was your anchor amidst all of the sensations.
every tiny movement you made, whether shifting your leg to hook it more firmly over his hip or arching your back slightly to press your breasts closer to his chest, causing the plug to grind and press against new spots deep inside your ass. the silicone dragged deliciously against your inner walls, keeping you continuously on edge making your pussy slick, your walls clenching around nothing with unfulfilled need.
“mmph!”
you let out a muffled moan against the pillow, your brows furrowing trying to concentrate on anything apart from you being impaled but it was impossible as your thighs pressed together harder.
jungkook held you close through it all, keeping you pressed against him until there was not even an inch of space between you, his own hard cock resting against your thigh throbbing and leaving a smear of precum against your skin. there was so much sexual tension but he wasn’t making any move in doing anything about it.
he whispered sleepy praises into your hair when he felt you squirming, it made your heart race even as your body burned. his hand roamed over your back, occasionally cupping the underside of your breasts and gently squeezing, dipping lower to brush close to your dripping folds, his fingers gliding through your wetness just enough to make you whimper before pulling away.
only allowing you the pressure of the plug to lull you into an oversensitive state.
sleep arrived to you restlessly throughout the long hours of midnight. your body jolting awake multiple times whenever the plug shifted inside you with a particular clench of your walls. the biggest part of the plug seemed to stretch you the most even though you tried focusing on jungkook beside you or on sleep but it drew quiet frustrated whines anyways.
your hips rocked instinctively against his thigh, leaving more of your wetness behind. you knew that even he didn't sleep properly the entire night.
he leans down to press a kiss against your shoulder or wherever exposed skin he could find.
“shhh i've got you princess, breathe through it for me yeah?”
his words were laced with that caring tone, the one he always has when he pushed your limits.
“ah...”
you panted as one of his hands gently massaged the base of the plug while the other stroked your hair. your body was fully aroused, your nipples pebbled and rubbing against his bare chest with every breath of yours, your hips twitching every time you seek friction and the movement only made the plug feel like torment.
as the night deepened, you drifted in and out of light dozes, each awakening more intense than the last because the butt plug never let you forget its presence. at one point probably in the early morning hours, you woke with a sharp gasp as a particularly strong clench made the plug press against the spot that made stars burst behind your eyelids. your hand flying back to grip his wrist where it rested on your hip with a cry.
jungkook stirred immediately, nuzzling into your neck.
“hey baby... you okay? is it too much right now?”
he looks at you with worried eyes as he notices how hooded your eyes have become.
“do you want me to take it out?”
“n-no i don't want it out... i can do this.” you stammered bashfully.
despite that it left you aching and unable to get proper sleep, you loved the feeling of being so full like an empty part of you was being accompanied by something and the dirty shameless part of you got turned on at being a good girl for him. wanting to satisfy him and the thrill he gave you. he groaned lowly at your words, his hard cock pressing more firmly against you without being able to help himself.
“that's my girl… go back to sleep baby. i'm gonna take real good care of you in the morning.”
his promise made your lips part as your nails dug into his chest in anticipation but little did you know about his exact plans for you in the morning. his hand slid down again, fingers tracing the stretched rim around the base of the plug, gently pressing it in and out by the tiniest fraction.
“koo... y-you're making it worse oh...” you shivered violently.
“am i?” he smirked smugly but he lets you settle without pushing you too much after everything you've taken.
the cycle repeated through the remaining hours. by the time morning fully arrived, your body felt like a live wire, every nerve heightened and even the littlest touch made you jump. you felt like just a few more grinds of you against the plug would make you cum right up.
you’ve managed to get a few hours of sleep after remaining spooned against jungkook's front, your back pressed flush to his chest that rose and fell with his steady breaths. your ass nestled in the cradle of his hips, still feeling his insistent boner right beside where the jewel of the plug was exposed. the sheets beneath you were slightly wet as well from both of your combined body fluids as you let out a shaky sigh, your hand fisting the pillow.
you felt like you wanted to scream from the entire night of suffering.
jungkook moved beside you as you turned to face him. your glistening eyes met him and he smiled. he felt bad almost but also a cockiness was there.
“morning baby… you slept well hmm?”
you let out a whimper with pouty lips and he didn’t need to hear your words to know how the night has exactly been for you as his hand slid down your side, tracing the dip of your waist before settling on your lower belly. goosebumps erupted all over you as his calloused hand finally settled on the base of the pug, once more circling it slowly, he leaned down, his lips brushing the shell of your ear.
“time to take it out now… you’ve been such a good girl keeping it in all night for me.” he paused, nipping at your earlobe before continuing.
“come on spread those legs for me like i taught you yesterday.” he husks.
you settled on your back as he hovered over you, your hand holding both your legs upward until they almost meet your chest. the position perfectly exposes your bottom area and both your holes to his eyes and he bites back a groan, his jaw clenching hard. you looked so swollen and feasted upon at the same time, your rim held a darker pink shade from remaining stretched for hours, the jewel peeking cutely from between your ass cheeks.
he wants to take a picture of the sight so he could stare at it all day and could probably nut just from the picture alone.
“just relax…”
he caressed your butt soothingly until you’ve visibly relaxed yourself around the plug and are no longer clenching tightly around it.
“are you ready for me?”
you nodded jerkily, heart pounding wildly in your chest with excited nervousness as you inhaled deeply readying yourself. jungkook applied firm pressure, twisting the plug slowly with patience drawing out the removal as to not hurt you.
he didn’t rush at all.
firstly he just rocked it minutely back and forth, letting the thick part nudge against your inner walls without pulling outward yet.
“ah... ah… ah...”
he listened to the wanton noises you let out along with the obscene squelching sounds of the lube that seemed to leak around the plug. your toes curled hard into the mattress, fingers gripping the sheets until your knuckles turned white as your eyes closed, giving yourself up to all the sensations.
“gonna pull it out now okay?”
he rubbed your inner thigh a few more times to steady you before he very slowly started to withdraw inch by inch, stretching your already tender rim and making your breath hitch.
“gahh... jungkook i—it's so big nghh.”
you sobbed out, your voice cracking as your neglected pussy gaped around nothing, leaking more arousal down your thighs.
“that's it baby, just breathe through it… so fucking pretty like this.”
he growls as his cock leaks against your skin, betraying how affected he was by the sight and sounds.
the thickest part finally crested your rim, holding you open at the widest point for what felt like forever giving you that sweet burn that made your whole body thrash, your hands struggling to hold up your thighs. your body pushed back against him as your hole gripped the toy tightly as if not wanting to let go, wanting to keep it inside and with just a tiny pull and from how slippery you were from the lube and the leaking essence, the plug slid free with a wet pop.
“oh goddd.”
you choked out as you felt the sudden strange emptiness, feeling hollow inside as your rim gaped unable to close right away after being filled the entire night, a warm trickle of leftover lube dripped slowly down your inner thighs. you writhed on the bed, unable to catch up with the sudden overwhelming void as jungkook stared at your bottom obsessively.
“shit look at you.”
his fingertips almost immediately made contact with you, circling your puffy opening that made it twitch and wink at him helplessly.
“jungkook!”
you squealed his name when the tip of one of his fingers slipped inside on its own and he hummed appreciatively, feeling the way your insides had loosened so much and were so warm and slick inside. the way you weren’t too tight on his finger now.
“so open and gaping for me now baby… how does it feel?”
he grumbles, the tip of his finger making a downward motion. you turned in his arms with a desperate whimper, clinging to him while your legs wrapped around his waist. you felt so needy for him, your body on autopilot as your dripping pussy ground against the hard length of his that was pointing straight at you while you sought friction.
“it feels… so weird and empty now like something's missing deep inside me.” you confessed breathlessly against his skin.
your pussy throbbed even worse for him. you wanted him to fill you up once again or you might just go crazy. the night of denial had left you wanting more.
“p-please please i need you inside me, my ass, my pussy, anything you want.” you babbled with no shame at all.
you never thought you'd feel such an emptiness that felt like it was engraved in your soul and only he was capable of filling. he lets out a string of curses at your lewd words, not wasting time before he captures your lips in a fierce kiss, tongue sliding inside your mouth as his hands roam hungrily over your body. squeezing your ass cheeks and spreading them slightly to let you feel the air brush against your exposed hole.
you both moaned in unison when he cupped both your breasts, rolling the nipples. he pulled back with a harsh affectionate chuckle pressing his forehead against yours. his expression was just as pained from his lack of control, he seemed more feral than you like he wanted to do everything you’ve requested and so much more.
“god i want that too baby. you have no idea how bad i need to bury myself balls deep inside you right now… fuckk.” he swallows.
“wanna fuck you until you can't walk..” he admitted roughly.
his hips rolled forward, and he seemed to find your entrance like a magnet as the tip of his cock grinded right against your entrance, pressing enough for your head to fall back. he lets himself feel a hint of your tightness before he pulls away with visible effort, his muscles flexing.
“but i have to go to work and you're gonna be my good little wife and wait for me.”
you stared at him with a confused face and your expression made his heart break a little more but he had pending work. most importantly, he wanted to edge you a little more, tease you and build up to it because it always brings out the best version of you. like when he'd taken your virginity that night and you'd been so bold and confident ripping his shirt and getting on your knees for him.
“but why?” you whimper.
“i'll only give it to you when i come home after you’ve been desperate for me for hours.”
he mused as if it wasn’t a big deal at all as if he wasn’t about to blow a load right on your stomach right now. you made a noise of protest, rocking your hips insistently as your face buried in his chest.
“but i'm so needy right now koo…” you pleaded as tears pricked your eyes again.
“please don’t leave me like this.”
he groaned in shared frustration, kissing your forehead, your tear streaked cheeks and your swollen lips again and again.
“hey... don’t cry, you're breaking my heart right now sweetheart.”
he tilts your head so your eyes met his as he keeps his hips slightly away so his cock doesn’t make any contact with your skin and it doesn’t become any harder for him. god he didn’t wanna go to his office, he couldn’t leave his wife when she needed him like this but he knew the wait would be worth it and he also wanted to give your body time to recover. you need sleep and rest after being awake for most of the night.
“you'll be a good wife and wait for me, mhmm?” he coos softly and you suck on your bottom lip, looking at him with wide eyes before nodding slowly even though your body says otherwise.
“good girl, now rest up for me.”
he stood up and helped tuck the sheets around you like you were a baby as you watched him get dressed slowly in his work clothes right in front of you, giving you a full view of his sculpted body and the way his hard cock bobs as he walks around. you watched with half-lidded eyes, your cheek falling on the pillow with a dreamy sigh as you settled on his side of the bed taking in the clean male scent that he'd left behind, already missing him deep in your heart even though he didn’t leave yet.
his eyes meet yours in the mirror as he puts on his suit, he turns around striding to you and pulls you in his arms again with a groan, burying his face in your neck as he pressed a hot kiss there. pulling you in for one final searing kiss that left your knees weak as he cupped your cheek, looking at you intensely.
“i'll be back soon yeah?”
you nodded your hand, coming up to hold his as he placed one last kiss on your forehead before parting.
he turned back to you once more before he opened the door, watching your flushed cheeks and messy hair and he knew that you could clearly see the tension in his face and the lovesick expression. he knew he'd be counting the hours till he came back and finally gave you everything you needed after finishing all his work as soon as possible.
part of him was excited to be back and also about what the outcome of all the teasing might be. he blew you a kiss and you giggle at his actions which made him grin in return at how he couldn’t help but be silly just to watch you smile, so unlike his character but so at peace like he's never been before.
you watched the closed door as he left, knowing every passing second with him felt like your devotion was only deepening.
like the words “i love you” were just at the tip of your tongue.
waiting for the right moment.
the front door clicked open with the familiar sound that made your heart race.
you had been waiting for jungkook in the bedroom, naked under the sheets, your hair still slightly wet from the shower, your cheeks flushed from the post orgasm glow, a few hours earlier when you'd touched yourself. you didn’t bother to put clothes back on afterwards. your body was already humming with anticipation, biting your lower lip as you watched jungkook step inside still in his work clothes, the jacket slung over one shoulder and the tie loosened.
his dark eyes found you immediately, a slow predatory smile curving his lips as he took in the sight of you perched on the edge of the bed, legs crossed, waiting like a present ready to be unwrapped. he didn’t forget the way you’ve been such a brat on the texts but you held a different fire in your eyes today, one that he wasn’t planning to back away from.
“baby…” he murmurs.
“so this is your surprise hmm?”
you stood up slowly causing the sheets to fall away, revealing your bare beauty to him and he eyed you up and down like he just wanted to devour you whole. you walked to him slowly, your hips swaying, not a single bit of shyness or hesitation in you as your breasts bounced slightly, his gaze zeroing in on them.
“i want you to listen to me…” you breathed
he raised a brow, his lips curling up.
“tonight i want what i want.” you say boldly holding your head up straight.
he had every right to claim your ass tonight but judging by the way the look in his eyes that softened with a deep affection, he would give his girl everything she wanted. his entire world, his life… and that comes with even more control. the control that he's always held in his life, never backing down or being submissive for anyone but for you, he'd happily get on his knees and kiss your feet.
he dropped his jacket onto the nearby chair, eyes never leaving yours.
“yeah? then take it princess, i'm all yours tonight.”
he wanted to punish you for earlier but before that, he wanted to see what you'd planned for him. his hands already shook from excitement, his cock straining against his pants.
you stepped close, hands sliding up his chest teasingly before you grabbed his collar and pulled him down for a kiss. he groaned into your mouth as you sucked on his lower lip, your fingers working the buttons of his shirt one by one without even breaking the kiss. for the first time, he lets you dominate his tongue and the way you ate at his mouth was like you were starving. each button revealed more of his toned chest that you loved so much, you finally pushed the fabric open, palms gliding over his pecs feeling how hard his heart pounded.
“god you're so warm.”
you whispered against his lips, kissing him again deeper this time not letting him reply while he lets you take the lead, his hands resting lightly on your waist thumb stroking your hips. you trailed kisses down his jaw, nipping at the sensitive spot under his ear that always made him shiver.
“missed you so much today… missed how you taste.”
jungkook exhaled shakily, tilting his head to give you better access.
“missed you too sweetheart, every fucking minute.”
you hummed sucking a mark onto his neck, tongue soothing the sting right after as your hands pushed his shirt fully off his shoulders, letting it fall to the floor.
“shit… yeah just like that.”
he hisses when you give a particularly harsh bite on his neck. you took your time undressing him, savoring every second, fingers tracing his abs following the lines of muscle down to his belt. you unbuckled it slowly as you pulled it free, the sound of the metallic clink making you feel more impatient. his pants slid down his strong thighs, you knelt briefly to help him step out pressing open mouthed kisses along his hip bones, avoiding his clothed cock on purpose, your breath hitting it as you watched him throb visibly despite being covered.
“fuckk.”
his lips part when you pull down his boxers, his length bobbing free so close to slapping against your face but you intentionally pull away to not give him any form of contact or relief just yet. you looked up at him, the innocence on your face no longer there and this was the woman he'd shaped, the one he'd helped bring out of the shell and you'd bloomed so beautifully for him.
he was so goddamn proud of you.
“it's so hard for me already...” you coo.
“always for you.” he grumbles.
“you're gonna kill me going this slow baby.”
you rose, pushing him back toward the bed with your hands to his chest until the backs of his knees hit the mattress.
“that's the plan now, lie down for me.”
with one gentle push that caught him off guard, he fell back on the bed with a grunt, leaving his body jerking slightly before settling as he stared at you with wide eyes but his grin mirrored yours. you crawled to him, grabbing his fallen tie from the floor.
“hands up.” you instructed.
“bossy, i like it.”
his expression turned one of arousal and something like pride as he submitted to you completely, lifting his arms. you were the version straight from his wet dreams and he'd let you do whatever you wanted to him tonight.
you tied his wrists to the headboard with the tie, securing it snugly so he won't be able to break free easily but you both knew with absolute certainty that he possessed the strength and power to snap free in a single movement if the urge ever overtook him but at least for now he stayed put, letting you have this and it was intoxicatingly erotic.
“my pretty girl taking charge… i fucking love it. show me what you want—
you cut off his words, kissing him hard, straddling his stomach, settling your bare pussy right on his hard abs as you bite down on his lower lip hard enough for him to growl into your mouth as the skin tore enough to bleed.
“you talk too much… i want you quiet unless i say so.”
“yeah?”
his tongue licks away the blood, watching you sensually and you wonder how long he’d have this cocky grin on his face.
he wanted to play? you'll give him a damn game to play then.
you continued your descent down his body slowly, lips and tongue tracing every bit of his torso as if you tried to commit it to memory through touch and taste alone. you never got the chance to worship him so thoroughly before so you were making the most of it while jungkook lay there completely at your mercy.
his arms strained against the cuffs, his shoulders bulging with every tug as his chest heaved with his pants, you let dark hickeys form on his body wherever you could and using your tongue
“fuck.”
he tensed when you hovered over his left nipple first, your breath brushing over the pebbled bud that had already tightened into a hard peak from the air and your proximity, you watched with satisfaction as it twitched under your gaze.
“your nipples are so pretty koo...”
you couldn't help yourself as your tongue flicked out the very tip of it, using it to stroke his nipple feeling him jerk beneath you as he let out a broken groan, his abs tightening. you watched, biting your lip as his cock leaked against his lower stomach.
“you tease.”
he panted, his head tilted back against the pillow as his eyes fluttered half closed in pleasure. you lavished his left nipple with attention, closing your lips around the peak and sucking gently at first, your finger flicking onto it, his tiny bud swelling slightly as you increased the pressure with deep pulls as if you really expected something to come out of it. jungkook's breath hitched as your finger joined his other neglected nipple.
“ahh shit baby, just like that... feels so good when you suck them hard.”
encouraged you sucked harder, humming against him, using your teeth to graze ever so lightly around the base of the nipple and using your tongue to flick rapidly back and forth over the tip.
“you were all talk that you're gonna make me cum just from playing with my nipples. now who's the one at mercy hmm?”
he watched you with furrowed brows and you knew you already had him on his knees, a deep moan leaving him.
“b-baby you have to be fucking kidding me.”
he growls, the veins in his arms standing out as he shifts, unable to reach down and touch you like he wants. you pulled your mouth off him to pinch and roll both his nipples together, twisting them and rubbing them, a small giggle leaving you as you get turned on further, you pulled his nipple between your fingers slightly hearing a whimpering noise from him. it makes you shiver and you do the same to his other nipple just to hear the same noise from him.
“n-ngh fuck you're gonna make me lose it.”
you were driving him crazy in the best way as you spent several long minutes lavishing attention on his chest, everytime you suckled harder jungkook would let out these breathy needy sounds, half moans and half whimpers that made heat pool between your legs, your arousal dripping as well.
“your mouth…” he panted.
you hummed around his right nipple, the vibration making him curse and you grazed your teeth particularly hard for him to arch his back with a masculine sound.
“careful, fuck do that again.” he pleaded.
you did, gently biting onto it and then soothed it with slow wet sucks, saliva glistening on his chest now as you worked him over. you pressed your palms flat on his pecs, watching how swollen and shiny his nipples had gotten from your mouth as you pulled back to admire your work.
jungkook looked wrecked already, lips parted, eyes glassy with lust and his cheeks flushed. he looked so fucking cute and so sexy at the same time.
“you like it when i suck your nipples?” you ask as your tongue comes out to flick at it again, your teasing eyes on him.
“love it.” he groans, hips bucking up.
“no one's ever paid this much attention to them before... feels intense, keep going.”
you made a noise as you pretended to think.
“why should i listen to you? i'm in control today.”
you let out and his eyes blazed, jaw clenching as he looked down at you.
“say please.”
your tongue traced the sides of his stomach just to make him jerk up at the feeling and circled your tongue around his nipple and not the exact spot that he wanted.
“fuck baby, please.”
even though there was a reluctance in his voice that he wasn't one to plead in bed, you decided to oblige for now because you had more plans for later.
you gave both his nipples a few sucks, switching between them, feeling his huge body shift and making the bed creak. you kissed up his chest until you reached his lips, pressing a hard kiss.
you made your way down his body when you believed you'd paid enough attention to his nipples, kissing down his abs tracing each individual muscle with your tongue while your hands continued to occasionally drift back up to tweak his overstimulated nipples, keeping them aching and engaged and to hear his curses. your tongue followed the happy trail, the soft line of dark hair leading downward that you loved so much and found incredibly attractive, his cock leaking precum profusely, leaving streaks across his lower abs and around his cock.
you followed the trail, licking around his cock and collecting his precum, bypassing the main prize again and again, never giving delan attention to his cock. your mouth latched onto the sensitive skin of his inner thigh, sucking deeply making him groan.
“my sweet angel.”
he pants, his head falling back but you weren't being any sweet at all right now. his entire body seemed to tense in anticipation every time your breath brushed over his cock or you inched near it only for you to move away.
“please.”
he lets out between gritted teeth and you didn't like the tone, you wanted him even more submissive and whiny.
“not now.” you snicker sassily.
you straddle one of his thighs, your knees sinking on either side of his narrow hips as you watch how his muscular biceps and shoulders seem to flex with restraint. his hooded eyes burn up at you as he breathed with parted lips, a gleam of sweat already beginning to form on his skin and the slight dim light seemed to make him look even more irresistible. he looked so helpless and so yours at the same time.
“ugh yeah…”
he lets out a deep approving noise when your hand finally wraps around the base of his massive cock, feeling him pulse against your palm. the head of his cock seemed to have an angry color as beads of precum formed at the slit before dripping slowly.
his cock was such a beast and deserved all the pleasure the world has to offer and you were about to play with it to your heart's fill.
you squeezed at first, watching in awe at the way your fingers can barely encircle his impressive size completely. it made your own core throb, a slick wetness beginning to form between your thighs as you began to stroke upward, twisting your wrist skillfully at the top just the way he had taught you over countless nights.
“feels good?”
a guttural rumble tears from jungkook's throat, the sound more animal as his hips twitch upward, chasing the friction of your fist and his bound arms yanking once against the silk ties making the headboard creak.
“mhm…”
he rasps out, his eyes fluttering half shut in momentary bliss when you give another squeeze of your hand before he forces them open again, locking onto your face with an intensity that makes your breath catch. he refused to miss even a single second of you dominating him.
“look at you own it princess, it's all yours.”
he watches your small delicate hand wrapped around his cock as you felt another gush of arousal at his words, motivating you further.
you stroke him again this time firmly, your fist gliding up his entire length from base to top, your thumb pressing over his head which you knew without a doubt was hypersensitive from the denial since yesterday as you spread his precum all around until his cock glistens like he's just been inside you. the wet slick sounds are all that can be heard along with the creak of the bed and jungkook's labored breathing.
his cock jerks in your grip with every pass making the entire shaft slippery and messy as you pump him steadily, doing that perfect twisting motion at the head before sliding down. he had a pained expression on his face as his adam's apple bobbed when he swallowed hard.
you leaned forward, your breath fanning hotly over his throbbing cock making it jerk wildly. you blew against the tip and a sharp “ah” leaves him as you watched him wickedly.
“you're making a mess koo... leaking so much, does it hurt? do you need more mhmm?”
your words are ended with another stroke, your hand speeding up now as you watch fascinated at how his full balls draw up tighter with each passing second like he was ready to blow a load and so much of it. the even dirtier part of you wanted to slide down on him to take every droplet he has to give. jungkook lets out a broken groan, his head pressing back hard into the pillows as his entire torso arches slightly off the bed. he watches you with dark eyes.
“harder baby, fuck, just like that.”
his nostrils flare, his tongue poking on the inside of his cheek watching your hand work him, letting out quiet moans whenever you squeeze him. he definitely also doesn't miss how your hips rock forward making your pussy glide on his thigh, knowing it's affecting you even worse. you lean down, eyes locked on his as you spit directly on the head of his cock, watching it mix with his milky precum before sliding down the side of his length.
“goddammit.” he cursed.
“you want me to suck you?” you slurred, feeling mindless with him as well.
“god yes, i want that tight hot mouth, please.”
he adds the “please” at the end to satisfy you. he felt like he'd burst and he missed your mouth on him so much. your constant breathing right beside his cock felt like a feather just tempting him but never giving what he wants.
emboldened by his desperate words, you lean forward to press kisses along the entire side of his shaft, collecting some of his fluids as he twitches against your lips. your tongue darts out to trace a prominent vein right on the underside of his cock. you take the swollen flushed head into your waiting mouth sucking skillfully, swirling your tongue around the slit to lap up every drop of leaking precum.
“mmmph!” you let out a muffled moan around him at the salty taste as your pussy clenches emptily.
the vibration of your moan draws another feral sound from jungkook, his hips bucking up but not thrusting into your mouth since you held his thighs pressed down with your hands. you take more inches of him until he nudges the back of your throat making your eyes water. but you were an expert now, you'd learned to relax your throat and fight your gag reflexes, breathing through your nose, hollowing your cheeks to create that sucking channel that he loves so much. drool spills from the corner of your lips but your hand wraps around what you can't possibly fit.
“oh shittt you've gotten so good at this, faster... uh…”
he sounded absolutely wrecked as he fights not to aggressively fuck into your welcoming throat. his praise fueled you but you also didn't like how he thought he could order you when you were the one in control so you slowed your movements. you edge him with precision, enjoying to hear his pitiful gasps and the way his cock was swelling even thicker against your tongue. even you could feel his orgasm approaching but just as his abs tightened and his breathing grew heavier, you would slow even further. you learned his body too well to know when he was close.
then cruelly you pull off him completely, leaving his saliva coated cock to slap against his abs that has now taken on an almost purplish shade.
“what the fuck? why did you stop?”
he lets out a frustrated snarl, his hips jerking wildly into empty air seeking the tight heat he was buried in.
“because i can.” you shrugged and his jaw ticked.
“don't do this baby...”
“or what?” you smiled up at him with feigned innocence, your lips shiny from sucking him.
you lean in to pay attention to his balls because they look too lonely, sucking one heavy cum filled ball into your mouth to flick it with your tongue while you completely avoid his cock. you pulled off for a bit to speak.
“you can take so much more from me, can't you koo?”
he doesn't reply, he just lets out a long, manly noise that makes your thighs tremble. he looked like a bull ready to charge.
“can you sweet boy?” you purr almost, pressing a small kiss on the side of his cock and he gulps, gathering himself trying his best for you.
“y-yes baby.” he stammers.
you wanted him completely ruined and the torment was just starting. you pressed your soaked pussy against the hard muscle of his thigh and the contact made you whimper, the needy sound escaping without you being able to stop it.
“jungkook...” you panted.
as you rocked forward slowly, dragging your clit along his skin
“princess.” he groans.
“untie me… let me touch that pussy.”
you shook your head with a grin as you ground down harder, circling your hips. your hands moved to your own breasts, cupping them and squeezing the flesh while your thumbs brushed over your hardened nipples. you moaned louder as you pinched them.
“uh… gosh, you like watching me play with them?”
his eyes followed every movement.
“fuck yes, i want my mouth on them.”
his cock jerked again, another drop of precum sliding down as he strained hard against the ties.
“you do not tell me what to do.” you exclaim.
you settled yourself on his lower body until your pussy was hovering right above his cock, both your hands on his chest to balance yourself. you held your breath as you slowly lowered yourself, your puffy folds parting around jungkook's girth as you rocked your hips forward and back, dragging your clit along the underside of his length.
“uh...” you mewled at the way heat was radiating from his cock, it was almost undeniable which proved how close he was to an orgasm.
both of you gasped as the head caught against your entrance before slipping away again, a droplet of sweat slid down his forehead while he pulled and twisted in an attempt to buck up into you. your own juices coated his entire shaft glossy, dripping down to his balls as you couldn't even breathe properly from getting the feel of his cock finally. your pussy made schlick schlick schlick noises with each of your dry humping against him.
“nnn… nnn… ahhh…”
your two fingers slide down so you could spread your folds wider, allowing you to grind even more intimately against him. the head of his cock bumped repeatedly against your clit with each forward thrust of your hips, sending sparks up your spine and making your pussy flutter. you felt mindless and a little more in the animal state jungkook was in, without thinking you dipped two fingers into your entrance, pumping them slowly in and out right in front of him while you continued humping his length.
the added stimulation made you sob out, your free hand not leaving your breast alone, rolling the nipple between your fingers while your pussy gushed even more onto his cock.
“shittt.”
he cussed eyes blown wide with lust, locked onto the sight of your fingers disappearing inside you right above his shaft. he hated it so much, he wanted to be the one inside you, not your fingers but each time his hips jerked up, you lifted just enough to keep him sliding down your folds instead.
“y/n... y/n…”
he keeps on uttering your name like that was the only word he was capable of producing, his hand gripping the headboard so hard that you feared it might break. he could feel how hot and tight you were, your slit just right there gaping for him but you didn't show him even a little mercy.
“just an inch, just let me in a little.” he pleads.
his voice breaks on a moan when you slip your fingers out and shift your angle, letting the very tip of his cock catch at your entrance just a little bit, breaching you and you are so wet and gaping that you suck him in and he lets out a relieved noise, which doesn't last long because you lift your hips again making him pop out.
“noo dammit!”
he lets out a frustrated growl, pulling so hard on the ties that a red mark was starting to form on his wrist.
you felt bad. almost.
his cock slapped wetly against your clit as you laughed breathily feeling your excitement rise, enjoying his weakness and leaned forward, your nails lightly scratching down his skin as you resumed your grinding with renewed fervor. long slides turned into more frantic humps where your clit dragged relentlessly over his cock, building the friction higher and higher for you while keeping him on edge, slowing down at times whenever you thought that he might cum. your breasts swayed heavily with each rock of your body and you alternated between rolling your nipples and reaching down to smear more of your arousal over his length making everything even messier and hotter.
“yes... mm you feel so big and hard, throbbing right against my clit.”
you mewled as another wave of pleasure made your thighs shake around his hips, not being able to hold yourself up. he snarls at your words as you dip low again taking just the head of him inside once more, letting it stretch you open deliciously for a few seconds, barely enough to satisfy before pulling off tortuously.
“i love seeing you like this koo... all tied down while i use you however i want.”
your arousal literally poured down his length in rivulets, he could feel you trying to pull him in.
“you wanna be inside so bad, don’t you?” you croaked
“let me inside you baby. i'm gonna fuck you so good, make you cream all over my cock…”
you knew he was trying to tempt you to untie him and let him have his way but you weren't one to back off easily.
“uh uh.” you tsked even as your thighs continued to quiver.
you kept the teasing going for what felt like an eternity to him, rubbing your pussy lips all over his cock sometimes taking just the tip of him, your fingers working your clit furiously as well. your orgasm was arriving fast, your dazed eyes locked on his handsome face that was getting full of bliss as he watched you pleasure yourself on his body without giving him anything in return.
“oh god koo... i-i'm getting so close.” you stuttered.
you lifted off his cock, not wanting to cum so soon as you stared down at his parted lips and the way they looked so swollen like they were begging to be kissed. you leaned forward, your breasts squished on his chest before capturing his mouth in a messy open mouthed kiss, both your tongues tangling urgently, teeth crashing between breaths as saliva trailed messily down your chins. he moaned at the taste of him still clinging on your tongue.
“nghh!”
he pants into your mouth kissing you with starving hunger, suckling onto your mouth as he held you suspended with just his mouth until you couldn’t take it and pulled back just enough to gasp for air.
“do i need to remind you who is in control today koo?”
you both lock gazes intensely, his eyes blazing with unfinished orgasm and yours because he still assumes that he can sneak control. so you slowly crawled closer until you sat right beside his face.
you wanted to show him his place.
you turned around, a surprised noise leaving him as your knees planted firmly on either side of jungkook's head, exposing your cunt fully to him that was just inches away from his face.
“fucking hell…”
he breathes, his wide eyes were locked on your dripping core with an obsessiveness that made your stomach clench. it made your thighs want to close up almost but you held yourself steady, arching your ass to give him a better view revealing every single detail to him. the way you clit was so engorged and peeked out from the hood, the constant trickle of your essence dripping onto his lips and chin, your entrance fluttering for him.
“look at it...” you whispered.
“you can't touch it or taste it yet unless i decide to give it to you. all you can do is stare…”
you smirked, hearing his inhale when you tilted your hips forward so your spread pussy hovered even closer, brushing close to his nose so he could smell you and the way your inner walls were clenching around nothing and begging for attention. then you arched your back, spreading your cheeks with both hands to expose your tight little asshole right above your pussy for his gaze, the puckered ring winking slightly as you flexed which was still shiny from the way your juices had smeared back there during your earlier grinding.
he was hypnotized by you, completely speechless like nothing in the world mattered except your pussy, forgetting about his own hardness. he stuck his tongue out, licking his lips like a man dying of thirst.
“you're so fucking perfect.” he rasped hoarsely.
“let me taste you baby, sit on my face.”
but you just smirked down at him circling your hips slowly to give him the full pornographic view, a whimper leaving you when a droplet of your arousal escaped and slid down. he opened his mouth wide, tongue out, catching it with a wanton groan like he'd just tasted the sweetest delicacy.
“do you think that i forgot about how you cheated to win our challenge?”
he looked at you with furrowed brows, half focusing on your words and more on your bare cunt in front of his face.
“do you think you deserve to taste me?”
“i—i do.”
he rasps through gritted teeth but you weren’t letting him have it easily.
“tell me you’re sorry then.”
your hand goes to grip his hair tightly and he swallows, watching you with a glare which makes you tug at his hair, his resolve breaking in a moan.
“i'm sorry.”
“say it nicely.”
you enjoyed playing with him a little too much.
“i'm so sorry love, let me eat this pussy.”
he gasps shakily. finally unable to resist yourself any longer, you lowered yourself to his waiting mouth, completely pressing your pussy right over his mouth and nose smothering him fully.
“ughh.”
he makes a noise like you'd just granted him air itself as he breathes hotly against your folds, his noises muffled as you settle your weight, feeling his nose nudge against your clit while his lips seal around your entrance.
“oh… nghh.”
you squirmed as his expert mouth started working. you started grinding your hips slightly dragging your pussy all over his face, coating his features as your head fell back in ecstasy.
“that's it koo…… eat my pussy like a good boy.”
your words seemed to fuel him further like you'd just switched on something entirely different in him that you didn’t recognize. hearing the two words “good boy” was his undoing. you let out a squeal, grabbing the headboard to support yourself as he lapped at you eagerly, swirling his tongue around your clit.
“such a good boy…”
you sob out once again and he lets out a whiny noise from deep within his chest like a puppy, like he loves it so much that his cock gives a hard throb in approval. the whiny sound from him made you heady as he suckled on your bud with wet pulls and all his might, hollowing his cheeks while he hummed and groaned nonstop to cause vibrations against you making your thighs shake around his ears. you rode his face almost desperately now as his tongue licked you all over, he didn't leave your ass alone as well. he rims the tight ring before diving back into your pussy, repeating the cycle until your moans turned into breathy cries.
he didn’t know he had it in him but he loves being degraded by you like this and when you use his mouth to fill your own, like he's nothing but a mouth for you to use.
he loves when you reduce him to this.
“oh my god, yess d-deeper. fuck me with that tongue.”
you yelped, grinding harder as you felt his tongue push inside you immediately in response to your commands, thrusting in and out in a messy rhythm while his nose rubbed perfectly against your clit. he devoured you as if he was possessed by a sex demon, sucking and licking with everything he had while your hips shuddered.
“keep sucking my clit just like that ahh—”
your voice breaks as you writhe above him, your eyes fall on his neglected cock and you lean down until your hand wraps around him, he responds with a growl as you wetly stroke him.
“yes… yes...”
“make me cum baby.”
he pulls back enough to speak against your clit, almost choking on your juices as his cock jerks in your hands, all he needs is just one hard squeeze of your hand to blow.
“beg for it.” you order shakily.
“please please p-please.”
he redoubles his efforts on eating your heat thoroughly and your orgasm builds slowly as you rock faster and faster on his eager mouth, soaking his entire lower face and dripping down his neck. you completely forget about his cock as your thighs clamp tighter around his head, muffling all noises for him as you chase the peak.
“jungkook gosh, i'm gonna.. ahh cum so hard on you.” your voice breaks into little squeals.
he responded instantly, alternating between thrusts of his tongue to rapid side by side and up and down flicks over your clit, trying his best to make you cum hard and when he specifically focuses on your clit, you break. your whole body seizes up as the orgasm crashes through you violently and you scream his name.
“jungkook! oh yes right there!”
your release floods his mouth, gushing out in squirts that he drank down greedily, licking and sucking through every spasm, moaning at your taste until your vision blurred from overstimulation. even after the first peak you didn’t lift off right away, riding out the aftershocks with lazy grinds while his tongue continued its soothing laps, cleaning you up to draw out your shudders.
your hand stayed tangled in his hair, petting him almost tenderly now as you caught your breath, gazing down at his wrecked face with heavy lidded eyes. finally you lifted your hips just enough to let him breathe properly, strings of your cum still connected your pussy to his lips as he panted heavily but you still saw the wounded look on his face.
your eyes fall on his still angry cock.
“oops… i forgot about it.”
he makes a low sound in his throat, his brows furrow in the center as you bite back a grin.
“you know what? i'm not in the mood today.” you shrugged.
he stares at you with a glare that makes your heart thud. your pussy gives a twitch in response as if it knew what he'd do to you if he wasn’t tied up now.
“untie me right now.”
“what if i don’t?”
your voice shakes, losing some of the confidence that was there earlier as you see his hand clench into tight fists. his stare alone felt hotter than any physical touch and you knew this wouldn’t end too well.
“you've been testing me for too long.”
he husks out, his voice gravelly from hours of groans and pleas from when you'd teased him.
“i can't… shit i can't take it anymore. you win you little minx but now it's my turn.”
he pauses, dark eyes landing on you.
“i'm gonna show you exactly who's the one in control.”
you watched horrified and also with a fluttering heart as with a single powerful tug that showcased every ounce of his raw strength, the fabric of his tie tore, the headboard made a loud cracking sound, there was no doubt that it broke.
“koo—”
he surges forward without wasting a single second, gripping your waist hard enough to leave immediate marks that you know will bloom by morning. he flips you onto your back in one swift move, looming over you like an animal finally unleashed as he pins you down while you stare at him with wide eyes, all your playfulness from earlier gone.
“you thought you could tie me up and play with me like that hmm?”
he breathes hotly on your lips, holding both your hands together on top of your head.
“edging me over and over with that pretty mouth, sucking me so deep and grinding that little pussy all over my cock without ever letting me bury myself inside you huh?”
a shiver goes down your spine as he doesn’t blink, not even once making sure you absorb each of his words.
“you've been a bad girl, pushing me and now you're gonna take every single consequence.”
you whimper helplessly at his words. he let you have fun for a while and that time is now over. his mouth crashes on yours with a bruising kiss, his tongue plunging deep inside your mouth to taste every corner while his hands started roaming your body, roughly squeezing and kneading your full breasts with enough force to make you arch slightly off the bed and into his touch, pinching both the nipples hard and holding on.
“ahhugh.”
he swallows your cry, breaking the kiss only to trail his scorching mouth down the column of your neck, sucking and biting hickeys just the way you’ve done to him. he bites down firmly on your collarbone before soothing the spot immediately with wet strokes of his tongue, his nose digging into your pulse that races so fast. his eyes meet yours, a smirk curling on his lips as he sees you completely in a mess.
“cat got your tongue now sweetheart?”
his thighs part your legs wide with insistent pressure, spreading you open, his hand cupping you between your legs roughly.
“oh!”
his fingers dragged between your soaked folds, spreading your slickness everywhere noting that you’ve already started releasing essence even after cumming a few minutes ago.
“you loved every second of torturing me didn’t you mama?”
following his words without any warning, he pushed two fingers deep inside your heat. the sudden fullness made stars burst behind your eyelids.
“jungkook!”
you let out a shocked moan and he curls his fingers on that spongy spot, watching your face intently. he pumps his fingers in and out, the heel of his palm grinding rhythmically against your clit, scissoring you to stretch apart your walls more, preparing you thoroughly for what was about to come. he waited no more and gave you no pause.
you wanted to teach him a lesson, now he was about to teach you an even bigger lesson.
“k-koo oh god ahh! it's too much, s-slow down.” you blabber.
“yeah? too rough for my princess?” he taunts.
though his expression remained careful even through the heavy haze of dominance, he was constantly scanning your flushed face for any sign of genuine distress which wasn’t there. he knew very well that you wanted him to lose all sorts of control and even during the loss of control, you had the trust that it would stay within boundaries.
his fingers continue their assault, rubbing and twisting inside you in a way that drives you absolutely crazy.
“i know this sloppy cunt can take more, you were so bold earlier so this shouldn’t be much should it?” he grumbles.
his fingers piston, the slick sounds growing as he finger fucks you like there's no tomorrow, his free hand gripping your ass cheek firmly to spread you even wider holding you open for him. he leans down, capturing one of your nipples into his mouth sucking hard that he has been dying to do so when you’ve been playing with them in front of him.
he worships downward kissing, licking and biting against every exposed skin and wherever he could find, leaving red marks and wet saliva all over. while he watches your beautiful responsive body, every soft curve and sensitive spot drives him mad for you. when he sees your head thrashing, murmurs leaving your lips, your eyes getting teary signaling another quick orgasm did he pull his glistening fingers free before you could cum.
you let out a heartbreaking sob, your hands reaching for him but he settles you with a gentle hand on your tummy.
“easy baby.”
he reaches for the bottle of lube on the nightstand, clicking it open and coating his fingers generously with the cool gel and you watch, your bottom lip quivering with anticipation.
“gonna stretch this tight ass now before i give you what i want okay?”
you nodded dumbly, your body submitting to him once again, no longer having the energy but just wanting him to take care of you
“relax for me mama, i'm just gonna stretch you today.”
giving your ass his cock will be for another day when you're fully ready and he didn't wanna overstimulate you too much today. he knew other ways to make his bratty wife feel good.
he circles your puckered rim with one slick finger for a few seconds until the muscle has relaxed and started gaping for him. you mewl loudly as he finally pushes one of his fingers inside that slips inside easily now from how wet you were and how stretched you've been, your toes curled.
“oh god kook...”
you can never get enough of this intoxicating sensation, it felt so weirdly good and you wondered if his fingers felt so good, how his cock would feel when he finally takes you there. he adds a second finger after thorough preparation, giving that twisting motion that has you gasping and writhing on the sheets, your back arching fully. all the nerve endings in your body felt ablaze, your clit throbbing uncontrollably while his fingers never stops.
“you're gonna feel so incredible one day, wrapped around my cock and milking me dry.”
his erection throbs and leaks steadily against your thigh and he doesn't know how long he can hold himself back as he feels you clenching so much for him while your pussy almost teases him like begging for him to be inside. he was so damn weak for you.
“you want my cock sweet girl?”
his chest heaved as his cock found your entrance once again, rubbing up and down your slit as his fingers slipped free from your ass slowly making you grip his shoulder desperately.
“yes p-p-please f-fuck me.”
you stammer as his cock drags over your clit, sliding over it while his hand kneads your ass. you let out a sharp gasp when he lands a soft spank against one cheek when you impatiently buck against him too.
“patience.”
he makes sure your legs are spread wide, watching the way your thighs quiver with exhaustion and overwhelming need. he leans down, his chest pressing heavily against your breast as his hips rock forward even more, letting the head of his cock catch on your slit.
you both stare into each other's eyes so much vulnerability and raw love, by the look in his eyes, you knew he was going to give it to you as he settled between your legs.
“ahh…”
both of you groan together as he slides an inch forward. the slickness from your essence and the lube takes him inside automatically a few more inches. a breathless gasp leaves your parted lips at the feeling as your nails dig into his shoulders, clinging to him while trying to accommodate to his girth.
“you're doing so well…”
he praises, sinking all the way inside with just a gentle roll forward. even though he has been inside you already quite a few times, it always feels like the first time ever.
“oh god.”
you sobbed out as your pussy clenched hard around him, almost like you were trying to cut off his blood flow. he looks down at you with adoration that made butterflies explode in your stomach even amidst the haze of desire. he stays still for a moment, drinking in the sight of your tear streaked face and the way both of you remain connected together. you were so tight and warm, gripping him like you never wanted to let go.
he pulled back slowly, allowing you to feel every inch of his cock dragging along your inner walls until just the head of him remained nested at your entrance. then he slammed back in with a wet slap that rocked your entire body up the mattress, drawing a wail from your mouth.
“yesss.”
“you like that huh?” he snarls.
his pace quickly becomes faster with deep strokes that hit every sweet spot inside you while you murmur nonsense, fisting the sheets around your body. you wanted him to give you more and yet wanted to run away from his cock.
it was so addictive.
jungkook's strong hand suddenly grabs one of your trembling legs, lifting it high with ease and settling it on his shoulder to open you more, almost putting you in the mating press position.
“ohh k-koo nghmm.”
you could barely breathe when he turned his head and pressed an open-mouthed kiss to the sole of your foot, electric sensations raced up your leg and felt like it landed directly on your clit. your lips part as his tongue traced the arch of your feet while he continued pounding into you. the dual sensations and the ticklish feeling from your feet made your eyes roll.
it was so unbearably hot seeing him worship your feet while giving it to you missionary.
“oh my god…”
you squirmed when he sucked one of your toes into his mouth that curled into his mouth, making your pussy flutter around his thickness as he didn't forget about the other foot giving it the same devoted attention, kissing each one of your toes like every inch of you deserved special attention.
“mhm? feel that princess?” he gruffs out against your skin, sweat dripping from his furrowed brows and into your heaving boobs, tracing glistening paths between your cleavage as he rutted into you.
“you pushed me so fucking much tonight and now you get it rough just how you deserve… yeah mm? you like it deep and hard don’t you? like this…”
he pistons his hips, going slow but deep and hard just to hear your mindless noises.
trust. thrust. thrust.
your high pitched moans mixed with his grunts of satisfaction, your pussy creaming all over his cock with every pull out. he was so big, stretching you open so completely that you could feel his very shape like your walls seemed to memorize him.
“talk to me.”
jungkook demanded when you didn't respond, not capable of producing any other words other than moaning. he starts giving you particular quicker thrusts, leaning down to capture your bottom lip nipping into it, pulling back enough to watch every flicker of ecstasy cross your face.
“does it hurt good, baby mhmm?”
he questions holding both your legs over his shoulder now and with each thrust of his, it felt like he was reaching your stomach almost rearranging your guts. his pubic bone rub insistently against your swollen clit with every motion and your entire body trembles, barely recognizing his words directed at you.
“y-yes please don’t stop, i need it so much.”
your plea seemed to spur him on like gasoline on fire, drawing a primal growl from deep in his chest as he folds you practically in half, your ankles now resting by his ears, reaching depths inside you you didn’t know were possible while your body shook with every impact. he hisses and pants as he feels you getting tighter and tighter on him, no doubt getting closer as tears stream down your face, both of your lips parted, nose brushing into each other and moaning.
it was so romantic and erotic at the same time to be so close in each other's arms as he fucks you, all the feelings expressed through eyes alone intimately.
you buried your head on his shoulder while the sloppy noises increased from how you're gushing around him. he ground his hips on that particular deep spot making you let out a keening cry. he suddenly paused and drew his cock out with a pained groan.
“no no! why—”
he cuts off your cry with a kiss before signaling his head for you to turn around and get on your knees.
you wanted to scream and wail loudly from how empty you felt as you stared down at his cock, glistening with both your essence and his hand already wrapped around it, giving it a tug. when you don’t listen to his words immediately, your mind still hanging on how you'd been denied, he grips your hips and manhandles you, turning you around effortlessly enough to make you yelp.
“stay still.”
he commands roughly against the nape of your neck, making your stomach flip as his lips trail kisses down the sweaty curve of your spine, his tongue flicking out to taste the salt on your skin, raising goosebumps in its wake while his muscular body hovers over you. his still rock hard erection brushes against your butt cheek.
he positions you to his liking until your stomach is flat against the bed and your ass is raised high. he grabs a pillow, letting you grab onto it which you immediately clutch like your life depends on it. he knew that you always liked something to hold onto whenever he pounded you. the new angle exposes you completely to him, your pussy dripping and little rim winking, both your holes seem to react on their own as if they are well aware of him all the time.
“gonna fuck you like this now baby.” he promises.
this was also going to be the first time he fucks you in this position as he spreads your ass cheeks wide to admire you. you whimper softly into the pillow, nodding frantically.
“please please.”
you beg and his lips curl up at how you were the one begging for him now.
he doesn’t waste time and aligns himself behind you, pressing against the mixed cream of your combined fluids. this time with one smooth thrust he buries himself to the hilt inside your welcoming pussy, forcing a loud moan from your throat at how easily you take him.
“that's it.”
he lets out a string of curses, your eyes fluttering shut as he watches the way your pussy lips stretch around his shaft, swallowing him so well. he begins to roll his hips, his balls slapping wetly against your clit in this position as each deep penetration pushes the air from your lungs.
“ah koo… oh-oh ngh, you're so deep like this.” you cry out.
one of his hands slides up the arch of your back, pressing you down firmly into the mattress to deepen your arch and allowing your ass to be submitted in the air, fully to him. you fist the pillow, your tongue lolling out as he coaxes all sorts of unknown noises from your throat that you didn’t know you were capable of producing.
“want me to finger your ass too mama?”
the way he asks you so roughly while calling you mama has you melting into a pleased puddle on the pillow as you sniffle and press your hips even closer to him.
“yess i want it. i want it.” you chant.
you wanted anything and everything as he pressed the pad of his middle finger there while still delivering you powerful thrusts into your cunt before sliding his longest finger inside with ease, making you drool all over the pillow from how you couldn’t keep your mouth shut.
“haah!”
you screamed from the pleasure pain as his cock starts to stroke along your g-spot.
“you take your husband's cock so well don’t you?”
he pumps his digit with the perfect synchronization with his hip movements, curling his fingers to massage your inner walls using the lube that was there from before. his head falls back, quiet moans leaving him.
the pace intensifies as jungkook fucks you with longer strokes, his cock slamming deep into your sopping pussy while his fingers quicken into your ass, opening you up with dedication. your entire body rocks forward, breasts jiggling with the force of his pounding, the pillow barely containing your escalating screams of pleasure.
“uhn… uhn… uhn… uhn…” leaves you with each of his thrusts and he feels himself going weak at your noises and the way you milk him.
he curls his fingers deeper, rubbing that sensitive spot within you that makes your thighs shake hard, his other hand coming down to flick your clit.
“i can’t, i'm.. i’m gonna.. oh god—”
you bite down onto the pillow, knuckles turning white at how hard you gripped.
“let go baby, don't hold back come on.”
he demands angling his hips to hit that magical spot again and again while massaging the insides of your ass, giving a particular hard pinch to your clit, the orgasm makes your vision go black like you've fallen from the roof, your entire body floating, your lower body seizing.
“i’m—cumming—i'm c.. ahhh!”
your pussy spasms around his cock, hot fluid spraying out around his shaft with every deep plunge, drenching both of you and his lower stomach along with the sheets. your ass clenches around his fingers, pulling them even deeper, he curses as his hips stutter when you squeeze his cock hard. he draws out your release with a few gentle thrusts focussing on you rather than the fact that he didn't reach his release yet.
“such a good girl for me...”
smaller spurts of your release continue to escape with every grind of his hips while you pant and drool on the pillow, breathing hard. he lets you settle for a few more minutes with a clenched jaw, putting your needs before his, after a while he starts his erratic thrusts again with pent up frustration chasing his release while your pussy continues to flutter with aftershocks. your creamy cunt makes even louder noises after your orgasm as he settles on not fingering your ass anymore to avoid hurting you since your body is already a wreck beneath him.
“you're gripping me so fucking good.”
his hips snap forward harder. he leans down, pressing his chest to your back, his feet hooking on the side of the bed to fuck you better. his hand wraps around your throat, not choking you but holding on and it makes your eyes roll back once again, your pussy giving him a squeeze of approval.
“j-jungkook.. koo...”
you don't even know why you were calling for him as you felt so oversensitive, yet you needed so much more. your body jerks forward with a cry leaving you as he spanks your already pink tinted ass.
“i'm gonna cum baby... ugh… where do you want it?”
“inside me, please please.”
you wanted the feeling of his hot cum filling you to the brim while your body accepts him so willingly, the previous orgasm still pulses through you. his lips find your ear, breathing raggedly, tongue capturing your lobe.
“take it all sweetheart, every drop.”
he roars, pumping into you until you're nearly screaming once again. his pace turns powerful, the head of his cock skimming your cervix as his own climax builds and you didn't know how anyone could last as long as he does.
“so close... so fucking close—”
you clench around him, deliberately gripping him like a vice not being able to wait any longer.
“please cum inside me, fill me up. i wanna feel you leaking out of me,”
you croaked, turning your head a bit to meet his eyes and the rawness in your face and your words does it for him. with a broken snarl of your name, he buried himself to the hilt one final time. his cock pulses violently as he cums hard, thick sticky cum flooding your depths in spurts.
“y-yess.”
your brow furrows as you feel every heavy jet painting your inner walls, filling you so full that it starts to leak as well while he gives a final few thrusts to ride out his orgasm as he empties himself, blowing load after load, showing exactly how much cum he was holding back for you.
“fuuuuck take it, baby... take all of it.”
he pants against your neck, biting down gently on your shoulder. his cum mixes with your own release as he lazily chuckles against you and you've collapsed forward as well, breasts pressed on the pillow, breathing hard as he holds you from behind.
he stays buried for long moments afterwards, both of you trembling and panting, he realizes that you made a small pained noise whenever your pussy flutters on him from how much you've taken the whole day, he decides to slowly slide out. a thick gush of his cum immediately leaks from your ruined pussy, dripping down.
jungkook groans at the sight, using two fingers to push some of it back inside you possessively making you twitch with a whine and he doesn't push you further. he collapses beside you and pulls you into his arms, turning you to face him, his hands roaming over your sweat slicked skin, pressing soft kisses on your forehead.
“you did so well... you took everything i gave you.” he murmurs affectionately now that the lust has ebbed.
you nuzzled into his chest, boneless and utterly spent but with a smile on your face as both your legs intertwined. feeling the warm trickle of his release still slowly leaking from you as his arms hold you close.
the room smells of sex, sweat and satisfaction and for now that's all that matters.
“i'm so proud of you.”
you whimpered softly at his words, your fingers tracing patterns over his chest, both your hearts beating together. he never fails to make you feel loved yet blissed out at the same time. his hands stroked up and down your back, the other cupped your face, brushing away the stray tears from your lashes while you felt so dreamy. every muscle relaxed yet buzzing with residual pleasure, his semi hard cock rested warmly against your thigh, still twitching occasionally.
“are you okay?” he whispered, pressing a peck against your lips.
“do you want me to get you some water?”
“no… just stay.”
your hands wrap tighter around him, clinging to him and he smiles, burying his face in your hair, cuddling you into him, sweaty skin sticking together with probably several other fluids but none of it mattered.
for whatever reason, he felt this sudden emotion in his chest today, possibly from being away from you the whole day and in his office so the sex had loosened everything in something overwhelming, he tried to convince himself that.
just with his thoughts being all over the place as he held you close tightly, your phone that was charging on the nearby table seemed to vibrate, cutting through the intimate bubble you both were in.
you startled, body tensing instantly, heart leaping.
who… who would call you so late at night? negative thoughts and possibilities made you both freeze for a moment.
he held you tighter for a bit before releasing you to sit up on his own, not letting you grab the phone at first, a dark look on his face assuming that your father might be calling you. he walks up to the table on shaky legs, letting out a breath of relief when he reads the contact name but still remaining tense.
“w-who is it?” you stammer nervously.
“it's from the hospital.”
he confirms, holding the phone out to you as you forget how to react for a bit and he realizes exactly what was happening, you were going into a sudden panic mode, your ears ringing but he immediately sits beside you, pulling you into his arms.
“shh… it's okay, i'm right here.”
he soothes, though his own eyes sharpen with worry. he hated seeing fear flash across your face even for a second. you picked up the call hesitantly, jungkook helping you to put it on speaker, his thumb caressing your shoulder to take your mind off the negativity.
“hello?” you croaked.
“is this y/n? this is nurse—”
“is my mom okay?”
you cut off before she could even finish her sentence, breathing hard as you stared at the space. the voice seemed to pause before breaking into a soft chuckle.
“yes your mother is perfectly fine, in fact i have good news. she's woken up from the coma, she's stable and asking for you.”
you barely processed her words, wondering if you wer dreaming or not.
“she what?!”
a cry escaped your lips as tears instantly spilled down your cheeks. your hand flew to your mouth as sobs shook your body.
“mom… she's awake? really?”
jungkook searches your face for a split second, worry present as he watches you cry hysterically. when he registered the happy tears, relief immediately flooded his expression, his own lips breaking into a grin as you held onto him.
“yes she's awake.” the nurse confirmed.
“you can come see her in the morning, she will be taken care of in the meantime. don't worry.”
as the call ends you immediately drop the phone, not thinking twice and jump into jungkook's arms, burying your face in his chest and crying out.
“jungkook!”
your voice breaks between your cries and laughter, unable to speak properly.
you clung to him as if he was your anchor while he held you just as tight, one hand cradling the back of your head.
“i'm so glad, baby, that’s amazing news.” he whispers.
“i—i can't wait to see her!”
you gasp out as a teary laugh leaves you, you can't even describe your feelings. it was one of those where your prayers seemed to be answered.
where every dream you ever had seemed to come true, every happiness the universe seemed to allow seemed to crash upon you, surrounding you with it until you were overflowing. your brain still refuses to let you believe something like this could actually happen to you.
your mother… she's okay.
you cry harder than you ever have in your entire life because she came back to you, because for the first time in years the world doesn’t feel empty anymore.
“shh… she's gonna be okay, we'll go see her first thing in the morning yeah?”
he murmurs beside your ear, pressing a kiss to your cheek. you nodded, your sobs slowling, completely wrapped in him and the happy news.
in the midst of your joy, you didn’t notice the subtle sadness that lingered in jungkook's eyes, the quiet ache hidden behind his smile.
the time with you is already slipping through his fingers and this time he couldn't prevent it.
*Pairing: idol!Jimin x f!hair stylist!reader
*Word Count: 5k
*Posted: may 27, 2026
*Genre: SMUT, tiny bit of fluff, mainly pwp, idol au
*Summary: You always make Jimin feel good about himself when you do his hair for every performance. Tonight, he's extra confident. So, he finally goes for what he wants. And what he wants, is you.
*Warnings: EXPLICIT SMUT, MINORS DNI. bit of a power imbalance considering reader's job, tiny bit of alcohol consumption, oral (f. receiving), piv sex, unprotected sex (be smart, ya perverts), jimin likes his hair pulled, jimin = consent king, switch!jimin (you'll see), getting caught (ish?), bit of angst/anxiety at the end, reader's brain is mush, some pet names, jimin calls reader noona (just go with it, it's for the vibes), uhhh yeah
*A/N: welp. braided-hair jimin has had me in a chokehold since i saw him like this with my own eyeballs on saturday night. and it just got me thinking.. maybe he likes his hair pulled. i dunno. here's the product of my brainrot. enjoy it.
Main Masterlist
“Braids.”
Jimin looks at you like you have two heads.
“Why braids, noona?” he asks curiously.
You pull out your hair styling tools and arrange everything on the tabletop in front of him, threading your fingers through his hair as you think about your vision.
“Your hair’s the perfect length for them. We have time. Can you just trust me for now, and if you hate them, I’ll take them out?” you ask.
Jimin huffs out a small laugh, his eyes sparkling as he smiles.
“Alright. Go for it,” he concedes, settling into the chair more comfortably.
With that, you get to work. Your fingers work nimbly, sectioning and crossing strand over strand, tying each braid with small rubber bands as you go.
At the end of twenty minutes, Jimin’s hair is styled into four small french braids across the top and sides of his head, the bottom layers of his hair loose around his shoulders. You tap his shoulder, signaling to him that you’re finished.
“What do you think?” you ask him, meeting his eyes in the mirror.
He turns his head left and right to look at his hair, nibbling on his bottom lip, as if gathering his thoughts before he gives you an answer.
“Damn, okay. When you said ‘braids,’ this isn’t what I thought you meant. I love it, noona,” he says, giving you that signature, eye-crinkling smile.
“Yeah?” you ask, exhaling a breath of relief at his approval.
Jimin nods excitedly. “Yeah.”
You release him from your work station then, cleaning up your hair tools now that your job is done.
During each outfit change of the concert, you check on Jimin’s hair, securing and restyling braids as they come loose, ensuring his hair stays as neat as possible.
He sits perfectly still, always the cooperative client, as you redo a single braid that’s now falling into his face.
“Pretty hyped tonight, huh?” you ask with a soft laugh.
He starts to nod, his head tipping forward, causing him to let out a quiet hiss as he accidentally tugs at the braid in your hand, a sharp sting coursing through his scalp.
“Sorry–”
“Shit–”
You both speak at the same time, your hand instinctively releasing the braid.
“You okay?” you ask him then.
Jimin can’t help but chuckle then.
“All good, noona. Can you fix my hair now?”
You just smile, going back to redoing the braid you were working on.
There’s a minute of silence between you two, the chaos of backstage fading as everyone starts to take their places to go back on stage for the last part of the concert.
“I am hyped tonight,” Jimin says then, answering your question that was so rudely interrupted by you pulling his hair, “I’m really feeling myself tonight.”
You smile at him in the mirror as you finish fixing his hair.
“Good. See you after,” you say with a gentle squeeze to his shoulders, stepping back to let him go.
Jimin stands from your chair, glancing around before he leans in, his breath ghosting your ear.
“I’d rather be feeling you, though,” he murmurs, and he turns to go back on stage without so much as another glance your way.
-
The absolute whirlwind that is backstage post-concert is nothing you aren’t used to. Even as a hair stylist, you, and everyone else, are expected to help with the cleanup to make sure the dressing and styling rooms are left impeccably clean. That is BTS’ reputation, after all: the perfect guests at every stadium or venue they perform at, leaving nothing dirty or disorganized when they leave for the night. It’s something the whole staff has always prided themselves on, ensuring the group maintains their perfect image, ever the respectable idols.
As you pack your things and head toward the staff buses with everyone else, Jimin falls into step beside you at the back of the group.
“Come celebrate with me,” he murmurs quietly.
You glance at him, eyes narrowing slightly.
“Celebrate what?” you ask him.
He shrugs.
“Told you. I’m really feeling myself tonight. Come have a drink with me.”
Your voice lowers, not wanting anyone to hear the conversation.
“Jimin.. you sure that’s a good idea?”
He shrugs again, his hands in his jeans pocket.
“No one has to find out, noona. C’mon, it’s just me. I’ll have some champagne delivered to my room and we can hang there. No pressure.”
You can’t help but sigh slightly then.
“Yeah– okay. But if anyone finds out…”
Jimin holds out his pinky finger then, automatically moving to intertwine his finger with yours.
“They won’t. It’s perfectly safe.”
He falls out of step with you then, disappearing down the long hallway to your right, catching up with the other members while you continue walking toward the staff buses.
-
Back at the hotel, you change out of your staff clothes, then rummage through the casual clothes you brought with you for this leg of the tour. You aren’t sure if Jimin’s actually going to follow through with inviting you to hang out, and you really don’t know how casual to dress if he does.
Your phone vibrates, pulling you out of your thoughts.
Jimin: room 3903.
That’s it? you think, expecting more in his message than just telling you where to go.
Jimin: i’m in sweats. don’t worry about how to dress, noona.
Typical, you think, always knows.
You pull on a pair of leggings and a t-shirt, an oversized hoodie over it, and slip on your sneakers. Grabbing your phone and room key, you slip out of your room and move quickly down the hall.
The members and staff have this entire floor booked, the tour having so many people working to keep it flowing flawlessly that you always take up a whole floor in every city you go to. You really hope no one leaves their room while you’re out here, because you don’t have a clue what your excuse would be at this point.
Your eyes track each room as you pass, wandering down the hall until you reach Jimin’s room. Your knuckles tap softly on the door, shifting from one foot to the other as you wait.
“Get inside before someone sees you,” Jimin says with a chuckle as the door opens, his fingers wrapping around your wrist as he tugs you into his room.
Inside his room, you can’t help but glance around and let out a small laugh as you take in his massive suite compared to your standard room.
“Damn. Really feeling that tax bracket difference,” you say then.
Jimin rolls his eyes, looking sassy as ever.
“Perks of working our asses off for fifteen years. They gotta keep us happy,” he says sarcastically.
He makes his way over to the kitchen area, popping open a bottle of champagne that probably costs more than your monthly salary, and pours two glasses.
“None of the others wanted to drink with you tonight?” you ask curiously as he hands you a glass.
He shrugs. He seems to be doing that a lot tonight.
“I didn’t ask.”
He sips his champagne, hand waving in front of you to encourage you to do the same.
You take a sip too, the sweet, bubbly taste exploding on your tongue.
That’s when you notice something interesting.
“You didn’t take the braids out,” you point out.
His eyes sparkle with his smile as he walks back toward the sitting area.
“They look good. Made me feel good,” he says, plopping down on the couch.
You follow him, taking a seat on the other end of the couch.
“The fans seemed to love them, too,” you say with a soft chuckle.
Jimin looks at you then, a glint of mischief in his eyes.
“Did you?” he asks.
“Hm?”
He sips his champagne again, throat bobbing as he swallows.
“Did you love the braids, noona?” he clarifies.
It’s your turn to shrug then.
“They look good on you. I wouldn’t have done them if I didn’t think they would,” you say.
Jimin shifts on the couch, closing some of the distance between you two. He brings his left leg up on the cushion, sitting more casually.
“You made me feel really confident tonight,” he continues, his Busan satoori coming out a bit with his casual demeanor.
You can’t help but laugh softly.
“That’s what I’m here for. Making sure you feel confident enough to go on stage and be happy with how you look.”
You sip your champagne again before setting the glass down on the coffee table.
Jimin’s gaze follows your movement, his hand moving to set his own glass down.
He swallows, jaw working as he considers his next words.
“You’ve been doing my hair since debut,” he says then, “and you always make sure I’m happy with it before you let me go on stage.”
Your brow furrows in confusion.
“Well, yeah— of course I do. I might be the stylist, but it’s you that has to be okay with how you look.”
He chuckles softly, shaking his head.
“Not all stylists feel that way. Some think it’s their vision, and the idol just has to live with it.”
Jimin shifts a little closer to you on the couch, leaving only a foot of space between you now.
“You actually care,” he continues, “you want to make me feel good.”
You rest your elbow on the back of the couch, turning to face him a bit more.
“I do,” you say simply.
That mischievous glint in Jimin’s eyes shines a little brighter now.
“I want to make you feel good too,” he rasps, his Busan satoori bleeding into every word now.
“Hm?” you ask, confused.
The corner of his mouth turns up in a smirk then.
“You asked me to trust you earlier,” he says, “can you do the same for me now?”
Your body tenses slightly as Jimin closes the remaining distance between you two on the couch, his thigh pressing against yours now.
His arm snakes around your shoulders then, hand coming up to cup the side of your neck. His thumb traces the line of your jaw, making your head turn instinctively toward him.
“Jimin—,” you start then, meeting his gaze.
“Trust me, noona,” he breathes, his face inching toward yours.
He nudges at your jaw then, his breath ghosting your neck as his nose trails slowly along your jawline.
“Can I?” he murmurs, the slight vibration of his voice hitting your neck, “can I make you feel good this time?”
You shiver slightly, the heat of his breath making your skin tingle.
“Jimin— is that a good idea?” you whisper.
He chuckles softly against your neck then, his lips brushing against your skin.
“You’re always so collected, noona. So put together, worried about everything,” he murmurs.
You laugh a bit nervously, unsure what to say.
“Can’t you stop worrying about if something’s a good idea, and just think about how good it would feel to let go?” he continues.
His lips press a barely-there kiss to the spot just below your ear, his tongue flicking out to taste your skin.
“Just trust me,” he repeats.
You pull back, looking at him. You definitely thought he was fucking with you, but the look of pure want in his eyes tells you how wrong you were.
“Okay—,” you say quietly then, “yeah. I trust you.”
You barely get the last word out before Jimin surges forward, claiming your mouth in a desperate, sensual kiss. His hand grips the side of your neck more firmly, holding you in place.
You kiss him back, lips following his lead as he deepens it. It’s all teeth, tongue, and heat, him licking into your mouth like he’s been dying to do it for longer than he’s let on.
Your hand moves to his stomach, fisting into his t-shirt as you keep him close. You feel his free hand wrap around your hip, his fingers gripping right at your waist.
“Taste like the champagne,” he breathes against your mouth, nipping at your bottom lip, eliciting a soft catch of your breath.
His hand at your waist tugs you forward, putting you on his lap. He gently positions your thighs so you’re straddling him, his hand sliding to the small of your back then, pressing firmly to slide you closer so your chest presses to his.
“Don’t stop now,” he breathes, looking up at you, “I know you want this as badly as I do.”
Your free arm drapes onto the couch cushion behind him, fingers threading into the back of his hair as you claim his lips this time.
Jimin’s hips buck up against you slightly, a soft hiss following the movement as he kisses you.
The kiss gets more intense, your earlier hesitation fading into confidence. Your tongue meets his, sloppy and inhibited. You pull his lower lip between yours, sucking lightly.
“Ah— shit, noona. Please,” he breathes.
That makes you pause. “Please?” you murmur against his lips, pulling back just a bit to look at him.
He tugs at the hem of your hoodie then, his eyes half-lidded as he nods. “Yeah, please. Wanna see.”
You strip your hoodie and t-shirt off in one motion, tossing it on the floor haphazardly.
Jimin’s eyes darken slightly, taking in your black bra, the tops of your breasts spilling over the edge of the cups. His hand immediately slides up your back to the clasp, stilling there.
“Okay if I take this off?” he asks, eyes searching yours.
“How else are you gonna see?” you ask, a small smirk of your own crossing your lips now.
Jimin flicks his fingers quickly, deftly undoing the clasp and moving both hands to the straps at your shoulders, pulling them down to fully reveal your breasts to him.
A low groan leaves Jimin’s lips then, his hands sliding to your front and stopping at your ribs. His thumbs brush the underside of your breasts, eyes meeting yours again.
“Can I?” he asks, ever the king of consent.
“Yeah,” you breathe out.
His hands cup your breasts, squeezing and massaging them, his thumbs occasionally brushing or circling over the nipple. He shifts forward, his lips pressing to the hollow of your shoulder above your collarbone.
Jimin trails hot, wet kisses along the path of the bone, his tongue darting out to lick at your skin.
“Thirteen years,” he breathes against your collarbone, “thirteen years of being too fucking professional with you to ever want this.”
He sucks the skin lightly, leaving a tiny red mark that’ll fade by morning.
“But not tonight. Tonight— tonight you gave me the confidence to ask for what I want,” he finishes.
Your breath hitches, hips rolling against him as his lips reach the sensitive skin of your throat.
You tug at his t-shirt then, wanting him to be as bare as you.
“Lemme see you now,” you say quietly.
Jimin chuckles, his eyes glinting with that signature sparkle as he pulls his shirt off and tosses it somewhere on the floor.
“God— Jimin, what the fuck?” you ask, a soft scoff leaving your lips.
He gives you that cheeky smile, eyes crinkling at the corners as he shrugs.
“Been in the gym a lot with Yoongi-hyung and Jungkookie,” he says casually, as if there’s nothing impressive about his newly formed, nearly-washboard abs.
“I see this,” you say, rolling your eyes.
He takes one of your hands, dragging it down his chest and abdomen.
“Touch me too, noona,” he whispers then, “want you to want me, too.”
Your hips roll against him again, his words sending a jolt through you.
Jimin groans more audibly then, his hips bucking up to meet yours.
“Fuck,” he exhales, “don’t stop.”
You lean down and capture his lips again, one hand resting at his lower stomach, your thumb brushing along the sensitive skin there while your other hand holds the back of his neck.
He kisses you back, more sensual than before, his tongue dragging against yours as he lets out a soft moan into your mouth.
He squeezes your thigh gently, slowly working his way higher up your leg as he kisses you more. At the top of your thigh, his thumb brushes the inner part, and he breaks the kiss, keeping his mouth close against yours as he speaks.
“Can I touch you more?” he murmurs.
You nod against his lips, sliding your ass further up his lap, causing his thumb to press against your clothed core.
Jimin takes the hint, his thumb pressing firmly and rubbing circles over your clit through your leggings, making you gasp.
His soft, short laugh comes out against your lips.
“Pretty noise, noona. Can you make more for me?” he teases gently, his thumb circling a bit faster.
He moves quickly then, shifting his position, flipping you onto your back on the couch and kneeling between your thighs.
“Need these off,” he says, his fingers hooking into the waistband of your leggings, waiting, as always, for your consent.
Instead of saying anything, you lift your hips. His hands pull at your leggings, dragging them and your panties down your thighs. He gently pulls one foot and then the other out of the material, tossing the rest of your clothes onto the floor.
“You’re beautiful,” he breathes, his hands resting on the outsides of your thighs as he leans down to press his lips against the inside of your knee, “gonna make you come for me.”
His lips follow a path up your inner thigh then, his mouth wet and hot against your skin, hands parting your thighs as he settles on his belly between them.
His kisses get sloppier, more urgent, more tongue, the higher up he goes, and your breaths come shallower, quicker, as your body responds to the anticipation.
“Jimin— what are you doing?” you whine softly.
He chuckles against your skin, nibbling it gently.
“Teasing. Or showing you what to expect when I get my tongue on your pussy,” he says, “you decide.”
A jolt of desire courses through you at his words. He notices, because, always so attentive with everyone, of course he does.
“You’re thinking about it, huh? About how good it’ll feel to have my tongue between your legs?” he teases.
You whine softly again.
“Fuck— yeah, I’m thinking about it,” you admit.
He chuckles again, his tongue dragging down your inner thigh until he stops, his face hovering just above your core.
“Stop thinking then.”
His eyes meet yours from between your legs, and his tongue drags a long, slow path from your entrance up to your clit, stopping there and tracing firm, target circles around the sensitive bud.
You can’t stop the moan falling from your lips, your hips squirming as his tongue continues its torturous circles.
“The walls aren’t soundproofed, noona,” Jimin chuckles against your pussy, making you clap your palm over your mouth to muffle your sounds.
When he sees your hand covering your mouth, he licks faster, his tongue circling your clit, the pattern only broken when he dips lower, tasting your arousal before returning to that sensitive spot.
You moan into your hand again, pressing harder to make sure the sound doesn’t travel.
He buries his tongue deeper, alternating between fast and slow strokes, experimenting to learn what makes you moan and tremble the most.
You squirm more, his hand coming up to rest over your lower stomach to keep you still. His free hand trails up your thigh, two fingers pressing against your entrance before they slide inside you.
You gasp, the added stimulation only fueling your pleasure.
Jimin huffs a soft laugh against your pussy again, crooking his fingers upwards in search of your sweet spot.
His tongue works tirelessly, never slowing as his fingers work until they press against your g-spot.
You whimper into your palm, thighs shaking as he brings you closer and closer to the edge. You uncover your mouth briefly to whimper quietly.
“Jimin— fuck, there. So close.”
He speeds up his licks, tongue lapping at your clit in tandem with his fingers thrusting directly into your g-spot.
You feel your climax build rapidly, clamping your hand down over your mouth again just as the coil in your lower stomach snaps.
You moan out into your palm, wave after wave of pleasure ripping through you. Jimin doesn’t stop, simply slowing his movements to push you through your orgasm.
He only lets up when you wince quietly from oversensitivity, pulling his mouth off your pussy and slipping his fingers out of you gently. He brings his fingers to his mouth, sucking them clean of your juices before wiping his mouth on his upper arm.
“Good?” he chuckles quietly, meeting your eyes.
Your breathing is still too unsteady to speak, so you just lift your hand to give him a thumbs up and a weak smile. He sits up then, never looking away from you.
His eyes sparkle as he smiles back at you, holding his hand out to help you sit up too.
“You’re cute when you’re fucked out like this,” he comments, making you glare at him. But there’s no heat in your gaze, your eyes dropping to the obvious erection tenting his sweatpants.
Your breathing finally settles enough to talk without pausing between words.
“Off,” you say simply, your hand pulling at the fabric of his pants.
Jimin looks at you one more time for confirmation before sliding his sweatpants and boxers off, settling back on the couch in the same spot you started.
Without hesitation, you climb back into his lap, straddling him. Your wetness brushes his cock as you settle, a sharp hiss escaping his lips.
“You’re sure?” he breathes, “because I really wanna fuck you.. but don’t feel like you owe me for what I just did.”
You roll your hips on his lap, grinding your still-dripping pussy against him in response.
“I’m sure,” you whisper, “wanna ride you.”
He groans, the sound low in his throat as you position yourself with his cock pressed to your tight hole.
“Then— fuck, then please, do it,” he murmurs, voice cracking slightly.
You sink down onto his cock then, walls stretching around him to accommodate his size. He’s thick, making the movement slower than you would’ve liked, but after a moment, you settle on his thighs, his cock buried completely inside you.
“Shit—,” he hisses through his teeth, hips instinctively bucking up, his cock hitting deeper with the movement.
You gasp, the pressure against your g-spot intense as his cock hits it just right from this angle.
Jimin’s hands settle on your hips, thumbs gently stroking your skin as he looks up at you.
“Move for me, baby,” he breathes, his hands pressing upwards to lift you.
Your arms wrap around his neck, lips meeting his in a heated kiss as you lift yourself, grinding down on his cock, forcing a low moan from his throat.
He kisses you back, the kiss slow and lazy as his hands work to help guide your rhythm. Your breasts press against his chest, hips rolling as you repeatedly bounce on him.
The room fills with the slick sound of his cock sliding in and out of your pussy, his low moans and your quiet whimpers.
“That’s it,” he breathes, “fuck— pull my hair, noona.”
Your rhythm breaks slightly as you process his request.
“Please—,” he continues, “not hard. Just— tug it. Like you did when you were doing my hair earlier. When I moved and you accidentally pulled it. Felt good.”
You kiss him again, regaining your bearings, and ride him more deliberately then. Your hand slides into the back of his hair, fingers threading into it at his scalp, and tug lightly.
The sound that escapes his lips can only be described as a desperate whimper, quiet and needy.
“Shit— yes. Please, more,” he breathes.
You break the kiss, tugging his hair a little more firmly to tip his head back, your lips pressing to his throat. He groans at the sensation of your mouth on his skin and the pulling of his hair, his hips bucking up to meet your every move.
His fingers press into your hips, leaving indentations on your skin, soft grunts and deep, low moans punctuating every thrust up into your pussy.
“Noona— gonna come. Where—,” he starts, his question cut off when you suck lightly at the base of his throat, your fingers tightening in his hair.
The sting of the harder tug pulls another needy whimper from him, his hips thrusting up hard.
“In me,” you breathe against his throat.
He groans deeply, his hips thrusting up once, twice, three more times before they still, stuttering against you as he spills inside you.
“Fuck,” he moans, “you— fuck.”
You slow your hips, rolling them slowly to draw out every drop of his release, continuing until his hands pull you down to stop you from moving anymore.
The room is quiet now save for panting breaths from both of you. Jimin’s arms wrap around your waist then, his eyes opening to meet yours. His thumbs brush the skin of your lower back, not saying anything at first.
After a few slightly awkward moments, he finally speaks.
“Well— that was.. that was fucking incredible,” he chuckles nervously.
You chuckle too then, nodding. “It was.”
He lets out a slow breath, the awkwardness fading as you both realize things are still okay between you two.
“I really don’t wanna kick you out,” he says quietly then, “but— we’re already pushing it with you even being here.”
You shake your head slightly then, a small smile crossing your face.
“I know. I’ll go,” you say, understanding.
Jimin leans forward then, pressing a few quick, tender kisses to your lips, his lips curving upward in a smile of his own.
“Not mad at me?” he asks.
You shake your head again.
“No. Not mad. I’ll be— so fucking fired if anyone ever finds out about this,” you respond.
His smile fades slightly, but it’s not in sadness, just gentle understanding.
“You won’t be. I’d take the blame, have them cover it up. I told you, it’s perfectly safe. You’re perfectly safe with me,” he says quietly.
You nod, pressing a kiss of your own to his lips before you finally pull yourself off his lap.
The two of you dress quickly, and Jimin stands, facing you. His hand reaches up to smooth over your hair, making sure it doesn’t look too messy before you go in case you’re seen.
You take one last look at each before you finally step away.
At the door, you turn back and give him a small smirk.
“Next time you’re feeling yourself again…” you trail off.
Jimin’s eyebrow raises, curious.
“Come feel me instead.”
Jimin can’t help but laugh at your words, giving you that characteristic eye-crinkling smile.
“Yeah,” he says, “I will, noona.”
With that, you slip out of his room, making your way back down the hallway toward your own room.
Just as you’re about to open your own door, you hear a clearing of someone’s throat from behind you.
You freeze, heart rate picking up as you turn slowly to face the owner of the sound.
Looking up, you’re met with the man who made the sound, instantly knowing he definitely either saw you leaving Jimin’s room, or worse, heard you from inside.
“Namjoon,” you say quietly, “it’s not—.”
“The walls aren’t soundproofed, noona,” he cuts you off, “be more careful next time, unless you want the whole floor to hear you,” he says simply.
You let out an anxious breath, nodding slowly.
“I won’t say anything. But I can’t say the same for the rest of the staff,” he continues.
You fidget with your room key, still anxious under Namjoon’s gaze.
“Go to bed before someone else finds you out here,” he finishes, giving you a small, dimpled smile before he disappears into his own room.
You turn back quickly, unlocking your door and rushing inside. You press your back against the door, exhaling shakily.
Fuck.
Namjoon knows you just slept with Jimin. You trust him to keep his word and not tell anyone, but if he heard you.. who else did?
Not even five minutes later, your phone buzzes.
Jimin: told you, noona. you’re safe with me.
You breathe a sigh of relief, but it’s tinged with residual anxiety, knowing Namjoon probably talked to Jimin too, based on his text.
Jimin: just gotta be more quiet next time.
Jimin: hope there is a next time.
You smile softly to yourself, reading his messages as they come through.
You: there will be.
You put your phone away, getting ready for bed. The anxiety fades eventually. You curl into your sheets, staring at the dark ceiling above you as you get lost in your own thoughts.
You just slept with Jimin. An idol who, all things considered, could be labeled as completely untouchable. Shouldn’t be accessible, especially not to you. The one who’s been with him since the group’s debut, traveling the world, at every performance and event, simply styling his hair. Making sure he looked good, felt good. And it shouldn’t have happened at all, but it did.
You keep replaying the night in your head. How he touched you, the way he asked over and over for your consent. The way it seemed like you’d done this a thousand times before, when neither of you have ever even attempted to cross that line. None of it makes sense. Shouldn’t it have been a little awkward? Shouldn’t there have been more fumbling, more learning each other? Shouldn’t there have been a little more hesitation?
You shake your head, hoping to clear your mind. What’s done is done, and you can’t take it back now that it’s happened. You start to drift off to sleep, your brain slowly shutting off for the night.
But there’s one specific thought that you can’t seem to shake from your mind.
The thought makes your brain buzz, your mind replaying his request, every sound that fell from his lips as he responded to you.
Hello everyone, I hope you’re doing well. I’ve been having a tough time recently, so please try to understand if I’m not always super active here. I want to be and hopefully I can be here but if I slink into the abyss for a bit I apologize. So, I wanted to post this story so you all have something from me.
Please enjoy! Hopefully I will see you soon <3
Pairing: Jeon Jungkook X Reader
Genre: BFFs to Lovers (I love a trope pls), Angst, Romance, Smut
Warnings: Reader is orphaned, jk is a lil boob in the beginning (he works on it don’t worry), a slap (deserved one), alcohol/getting drunk, fainting/passing out, Jks antics (they deserve a warning tbh), Yoongi and Hoseok sneaking in for some cameo time (also-Yeri!)-SMUT WARNINGS: Oral (F!receiving), explicit language, unprotected sex (she has an implant but I stg don’t do it-this is fiction), Reader likes jks nips (who doesn’t tho?), kinda mushy and emotional sex, creampie.
Words: 21.2k (Listen I am just as shocked as you-)
Summary: Jungkook had always been your friend since the day you two met as young kids. But what happens when your friendship is put to the test? Can you remain “besties for the resties?” Or will years of friendship be lost in the blink of an eye?
Wait, you’re best friends with the Jeon Jungkook?
Yes.
You mean the most eligible bachelor in the country?
That’s the one, yeah.
Oh my God! You should come to our party next weekend! Of course you’ll have to bring your friend!
