Sam I am. I like to feed people — a dash of angst, a serving of smut, sprinkled with crack, and finished with fluff. She/her. 🔞Sit and eat! It’s on the house!🔞 Masterlist
[under construction] 🚧🚧🚧What do you feel like having from my masterlist
Latest: Bear and Sparrow: 🔞💦😍😭🥵 You and Namjoon are crossing borders illegally in search for a better life. Will you make it alive, together?
Link to for all works here: Ao3 - updated with Bear and Sparrow
One-shot KNJ fics:
Seoul Redemption: 🔞💦😍😭🥵 heist AU. Forger!Namjoon x reader. Absolute best work to start with?
Goodnight Nabi Ghost AU, Widower KNJ, DILF Mechanic KNJ meets librarian OC. A tale about finding strength to let go. 🥰😭🥵🥺
Promise Me (feat JJK) smut, angst, pining. Military AU. Love triangle. 16k 🥰😭🥵🥺 Prepare tissues. Lots. But also it’s healing
Scent of a Woman - hybrid, parfumerie AU. Smut, angst, fluff, happy ending, boss and employee relationship. Forbidden love. Hot and sweet and angsty 😍🥵🔥
Pop My Cherry- best-friend-idiots to lovers. Crack. Fluff. SMUT. Virgin/College/BFF AU. 😍😆🥵🔥 ~8k sweet and cute and funny
There’s A Fly in My Soup - One-shot, Angst, Crack, Fluff, Strangers to Lovers~2.4k 😍💓😉 — really really cute
A Match Made in Heaven - One-shot, Smut, Crack, Strangers to Lovers, Macabre themes 😱 ☠️😍💓😉🔞🥵 ~5k (medical student meets dental student)
Life is Sweet as Honey {KNJ} 😬🥵😍romance, forbidden love, reunion, SMUT, angst ~7k AUTHOR FAVE (Dynamite AU)
Unbroken {KNJ }❤️🥵😍❤️a story of romance, loss, love, and adoption. Fluffy, Angsty, SMUT. Absolute Author favorite. ~15k
Call of Duty 🔥🥵😍💓 (I like this one!!!): Smut, angst, drama. This has lots of feelings! Military officer Namjoon + wife~3k
Of Boogers and Tteokbokki - idol KNJ + wife, pregnancy smut, angst, sweet ending 💕 😍 🥵~11k (my first full-length fic)
The Dressing Room 🥵💋 ~ 2k idol KNJ + BH make-up artist
Lucky Ducky - A HOT SMUTTY drabble based on Airplane part two, FESTA ~ I promise you will laugh.🥵🤪 (AUTHOR FAVORITE) ~1.8k
KNJ SERIES:
Roomies with Joonie Series - Grad school AU / author favorite - 🔞❤️❤️ roommates to lovers / roommates with benefits, every chapter a SMUT chapter {COMPLETE}
Skittles and Cuddles 🥵💋 - you have cartoon night with KNJ and a bag of skittles explode all over both of you
Naughty with Nutella🥵💋 - KNJ’s nutella sandwich looks very very good
Pastry Porn 🥵💋 - you make berliners or jelly donuts, things get serious
The Sweet in Sweet Potato 🥵💋💓💓💓- confession time
I’ll Be Your Lobster 💓🥵💋💓 (smut and a fluffy ending) - a milestone in their relationship
Mr. and Mrs. Kim series ~fluffy married smut~ 🔞❤️❤️ every chapter is NSFW, {COMPLETE}
One- Morning Commute to Heaven and Hell - what happens when you ride a crowded train with KNJ 🚆🥵💋
Two - Just Desserts - what happens when Mr. Kim goes home and asks for dessert 🍨🥵💋
Three - A Lesson in Geography - what happens when Mrs. Kim has a hard day at work and finds something suspicious at home 🌍🥵💋
Four - Backstage - what happens when Mr. Kim follows Mrs. Kim to school to lend his moral support and more to her🎭 🥵💋
Five - Call Waiting - what happens when Mr. Kim’s conference call goes way over time, threatening the Kims’ reservation at Nino’s📞 🥵💋
Six - Swedish Meatballs - what happens when Mrs. Kim drags Mr. Kim to IKEA, a place he truly detests🚿🥵💋
Seven - The Best is Yet to Be - what happens on a typical Saturday morning for Mr and Mrs Kim 🥵💋
Eight - A Hard Day - post Grammy comfort drabble or what happens when Mr. Kim comes home from a hard day at work. SFW.
Road to Redemption - SFW, broken man KNJ. angst, fluff, ❤️❤️
The Sacrifices of A Woman - Kim Namjoon’s wife gets something off her chest 😤
The Makings of A Man sequel - Kim Namjoon gets something off his mind 🤦♀️
Epilogue: The Road To Recovery - Bedtime story with Daddy Joon. 😍❤️
————————————
Head-Over-Heels Poems for my thirsty-for-KNJ soul
—grey t-shirt KNJ
-- Let Me Be Your Potato
- Please Cook Me
- Dear White T-shirt
- A Welcome to Arms
-Boots by My Bed
Dribble drabbles —fluffy / smutty lil fics based on gifs
-Elroy the turtle
WORK ON HIATUS [links are disabled for now]
The Imposter - childhood angst, Bighit Audition, eventual smut, some humor? 😳🥵😱😂😍
Chapter ONE
Chapter TWO
Chapter THREE
-------------------------------------
Jeon Jungkook fics
Stay - “till death do us part” your husband JK will do everything in his power to help you see how much he needs you to stay. 😍🥰😩😢😭 angst and fluff. Depression. Recovery.
Jung Hoseok fics
Hot & Bothered 🥵😍🤪 CRACK, SMUT, FLUFF in that order, and in that order of decreasing proportions. It's summer. You're hot. He's hot. And the lawn needs a trim. Enter, his big, big, lawnmower. THIER SUMMER
Home for Christmas {JHS} ❤️🥵😍 FLUFF, SMUT, tiny angst. Hoseok hopes you like his Christmas present, especially since he’s been away for too long, too much, too often. THEIR CHRISTMAS
Wedding Belles - Enroute to your honeymoon destination, you engage in a little wedded bliss. 🥵💋THIER WEDDING
Kim Taehyung fics
The Little Death - Childhood friends to lovers. One shot. Chocolatier Y/N in Paris, Idol Tae. SMUT, agnst, fluff. ❤️🥵😍 F
The Art of Tenderness -- Rice cake, historical Joseon AU. Apprentice KTH! with Master's daughter Y/N ❤️🥵😍 F
Kim Seok Jin fics
A Date with Destiny ~🥵💋❤️ 🦸♂️🦹♀️- You’re a superhero. He lives next door. Prepare for explosions.
* If you’re overwhelmed and don’t know where to start... send me an ask and I will recommend one based on what you feel like having.
Warnings: legal sex work (in this AU); sex for hire; cussing; explicit sexual conversations; soft!dom Namjoon; alcohol consumption; public sexual activities; dirty talk; exhibitionism; fingering; clit play; riding; breast play; heavy petting; protected sex
Word count: 6.6K words
Summary: 💬 It felt very similar to an actual date, as if we’d come back to my place after a dating app meet-up – except the part about me slipping him cash in an envelope, of course. The intimacy happened naturally. He didn’t ask me for directions on how to turn me on, I just let him do his thing.
A/N: Okay so, still having a rough couple weeks and just getting back into the swing of writing--and actually finishing--something. I think I was feeling a burnt out from work and just posting back to back to back so taking a month off was helpful. I'm just happy to finish something--another gratuitous PWP, no less 😂
Semi-beta'd so please excuse typos and redundancies!
Happy Birthday, Namjoonie! 🎉
‼️IMPORTANT: Although the narration will include Namjoon's name, OC/Reader will not address him as so because she booked him under an assumed alias. Weird, I know but--let's just go with it 😉
Your sneakers squeaked across the hard, marble surface as you barreled through the entrance. You were late for your date, mentally kicking yourself for answering your work phone during the weekend. It was just supposed to be a quick sign-off at the office–but nope! One task rolled into another, and next thing you knew, you had no time to go home and get dolled up.
You’d have to settle for your shirt-dress and sneakers–a far cry from the pantsuits and pencil skirts that you wore on the daily. At least you showered before you left your condo.
A few more steps in and you finally spot him, standing next to a banner that showcased the featured exhibit. Although, if anybody asked you, you’d sooner say that he could pass for an exhibit as well…except you’d prefer a private showing instead.
“Hi!” You greeted him from afar.
Namjoon smiled, looking up from the museum brochure that he held. A flash of his dimple, already making you feel flustered. “Hello! It’s good to see you again.”
You smiled as you stopped right in front of him. “It’s good to see you, too.”
You reach out for a handshake but he goes in for a hug. It takes you by surprise, but it’s a welcome one. This date was already off to a great start.
He was tall with cropped hair and golden skin–just as you remembered him from your introductory meeting, or–’mini-date’. Instead of the tailored suit he had on that evening, he was dressed more casually today. Still, he looked unbearably handsome. Those gentle features–only intensified by the heart-stopping smile that he beamed. And those dimples? Lord. They gave him that boyish but equally sexy charm that would make anyone weak in the knees.
“I hope you’ll forgive me. I’m not usually late but–I had a last-minute emergency at work and I had to take care of that.” You pull away from each other but his hand still lingers on your arm, squeezing it gently before it falls away. It felt…nice. He smelled nice, too.
“No big deal. And you haven’t offended me so–there’s nothing to forgive. I would have met you anywhere you needed me. I hope you didn’t feel rushed or anything.
“No, no. I really should have just ignored the call but…duty calls so…” you shrugged.
“Well…I know you said that you wanted a change of pace. I hope this is okay?”
It was certainly different from what you were used to. Typically, you arrange dates to meet up at a restaurant, a bar…or just cut to the chase and go straight to a hotel room.
“When we first spoke, you said that you liked museums and urban hikes. I thought it sounded like a great idea since I’ve done neither on any of my previous dates.”
“Neither have I,” he laughs. “My uh…dates are…usually predictable,” he smiled sheepishly.
“O-oh…Is that so?” You couldn’t help but feel inquisitive.
Realizing his mistake, he tries to correct it immediately. “I didn’t mean like that. I just meant–I’ve never gone on dates where the client gave me full control of…our activities.”
When you first met at the restaurant, he didn’t go all in with the hard-sell–unlike previous dates you’d had. He was soft-spoken and quite enigmatic. If this were any different date, you’d think he was being cagey and you’d immediately run in the other direction.
But there was something about him that reeled you in. Part of it was the thrill of uncovering that mystery.
And who were you kidding? Who could resist those dimples? And those eyes? It really was all very effortless for him.
During your mini-date, he asked you what you wanted out of the experience. And you told him for once–you wanted to relinquish control. Day in and day out, you were the decision-maker. You called the shots. It works out great at your day job, but every now and then, you thought it would be nice not to have that responsibility.
Your request was for him to plan a whole day around you. You established your hard limits, which he carefully noted. Typically, the escorts would let clients dictate how the date would go–the choice was yours. But you were tired of ‘typical’. So, your choice–was not to make choices for the day. It was uncharted territory but there was an element of excitement to it.
“Shall we?” He gestures down a hall and you follow him. He waits for your steps to fall in sync with his.
You started down one corridor, which held the featured artist’s early paintings. You’d heard of the artist before–he’s had historic murals installed within the city. One of them was on loan to the museum to round out the whole collection, which was deemed to be the largest in decades–or, at least, that’s what the brochure said.
When you stopped in front of one painting or showed any remote interest in one, he would start talking about the story behind it and point out small details such as the varying brush strokes. He even talks about the evolving style and other artists who influenced it.
He stood right beside you and you couldn’t help but study him some more. Even in a position as benign as standing, he exuded primal confidence. “This is one of my favorites.” His deep voice resonated, inciting a restless energy in your legs. You shifted where you stood, trying to ignore the growing need between your thighs.
Art didn’t interest you very much but hearing him talk about it emphatically and with so much enthusiasm–you wished you spent more time in museums–as long as he was there to talk you through every piece.
******
“Do you do this often?”
“Do what?”
“Tour museums.”
He smiles. “Yeah, mostly during my free time. Although, I’ve never taken dates here.”
“Why’s that?”
He lifted a shoulder. “I haven’t had many clients request for this specific date. They usually just want dinner or drinks. Sometimes, we’ll go to a scheduled event. Museums aren’t usually…fun.” He eyes you carefully as he stops in front of a portrait on display.
“I don’t see why this wouldn’t be considered a fun activity.” You tilt your head to the side to admire the portrait straight ahead. You could see him still staring at you from your peripheral vision.
“Some people don’t think it’s stimulating enough.” His voice was low and raspy.
You turn your head to the side to face him. “Hm. I beg to differ.”
And there it was again, that enigmatic smile. It excited you to think about what else he had in store for your date today.
******
After about two hours of marveling at paintings, you decided to take a break at the museum’s cafe for a light meal.
“Have you always enjoyed art?”
“Oh god, no!” He says emphatically. “No, this hobby is relatively new to me. I always thought museums were the most boring places. Until, I had a client take me to an event that was in one. I arrived a bit early just to familiarize myself with the place and…I found the exhibit really interesting that day.”
A moment later, he clears his throat and turns the conversation back to you. “But enough about me. Let’s talk about you.”
Although he sat across from you at the museum cafe, the tone of his voice made it feel like he was right beside you, whispering in your ear. It was a miracle how you managed to keep it together this whole time when all you wanted was him to punish you for some undetermined misbehavior.
You uncrossed your legs, only to switch sides and cross them again–the pressure providing a pathetic amount of relief to the searing ache that built up within you.
In an effort to remain nonchalant about it, you lean in slightly and propped your elbow on the table, cupping your chin on your hand. “What about me?”
“Well…I know that this isn’t your first experience,” he says, referring to booking escorts. “Why have you decided to change things around?”
You sighed wistfully. “I’m a ball-buster…on a daily basis. It’s my job.” You looked down, fidgeted with your glass, swiping your finger at the condensation that had built up on the outside.
“As soon as I show the slightest hint of weakness or start wavering, they’d start looking at me differently. Some people go to spas, some people turn to alcohol to unwind and let loose…” You paused to peer up at him. “I book escorts,” you say simply.
“Dating wasn’t doing it for you?”
Dating could be so cumbersome…and you’ve tried. You even tried one of those hookup apps. And while it was fun at first, it wasn’t entirely attachment-free.
Which is why you turned to escorts. It was anonymous and no-frills. The best of both worlds. You’ve booked a few ‘freelancers’ in the past…even having a couple of regular standbys. But after a while, the meetups and hookups started to feel a little stale. And since these guys had a two-three hour limit, you needed a good shakeup.
One of your longtime friends, who was a bored housewife, referred you to a very particular escort service. It was an exclusive club and you had to be referred by a current member to gain access.
You laughed. “I don’t have the patience to date…at least, not at the moment. Even the occasional hookup takes…effort. I happen to have specific needs that I want fulfilled quickly and hiring escorts takes the guesswork out of that.”
“And what is it that you need? Apart from something ‘different’ than what you normally get from other escorts?”
This was one of the things you enjoyed about escorts. They’re intent on getting to know more about you and what you like. They’re hard-wired to please their clients, to make sure that they keep coming back for more. That was their business, but at the end of the day, it was a judgment-free zone. And you appreciated that you can be honest about what you wanted and how you wanted it done.
“I just want to be handled.” You say to him frankly, without breaking eye contact.
He smiled. “And you think I’m the one who can take care of business for you?”
While scrolling through their app, Namjoon’s profile intrigued you, right off the bat. It was something in the look in his eyes that pulled you in. And your conversation during your initial meeting sealed the deal for you.
“Well…can you?” You already knew the answer but still wanted to challenge him.
He smiles cockily but doesn’t answer your question, but still stays on topic. “So, you like to be dominated every now and then?” He asks, based on what he’s read from your profile.
You relax your shoulders, leaning back in your seat. “In a way? But, on my own terms.”
He chuckled at your bossiness. “Hard habit to break?”
You smiled. “It’s…difficult to explain.”
“No, I get it, I think?” He smirked, mirroring your seating position, regarding you. “You’re used to having control over your job…your life. Once in a while, you want to let go a little bit…let things happen–but in a way where you still get to have a say in it. Is that pretty close?”
It sounded strange when he verbalized it–but that was exactly it. Being in control gets so exhausting. But you were human. You needed a safe space to allow yourself to be soft–without compromising your identity.
“To put it bluntly, yes.”
He smiles, looking pleased with himself. He glances at his watch, then at you. “Are you ready for our next stop?”
“Sure! Where to?”
“There’s a museum in the middle of the park that holds weekly themed events at night. Have you heard about it?”
You shook your head. “That seems unusual. A night at the museum? Do the exhibits come to life or something?”
He cocked an eyebrow then chuckled softly at your attempt at humor. “No…but I promise you, it’s still going to be as exciting, I’ll tell you that much.”
Your mouth falls open in shock. “Really?”
He nods gently.
You purse your lips, the mystery killing you. “Will you give me a hint?”
“And ruin the surprise?” He shook his head, taking a sip of his water.
You give him your best puppy eyes, trying to quietly appeal to him. But he stares back at you quietly, unyielding.
You decide to push your luck a bit and bat your eyelashes at him. “Please?”
At the sound of that, he flexed his jaw and leaned in closer to you. You’d never seen anything hotter. He lowered his voice, deciding to throw you a bone.
“Let’s just say…you’ll be saying that word a lot when we get there.”
That made you gulp audibly.
He grins mischievously. “C’mon, we should get going before it gets too crowded there.”
******
He wasn’t kidding about this place. You’ve driven past it before but dismissed it as another Natural History Museum and Aquarium. After years in this city, you never thought to come here during the day–much less at night.
After checking in to get your tickets scanned by the entrance. Namjoon tells you that this event is for guests aged 21 and over only. A guest services staff checks your IDs–you look away when he presents his and he does the same when you present yours. Careful to protect both your identities.
“Thank you both. Welcome to Night Life!” The staff says enthusiastically.
You walk through the glass doors. You crane your neck and scan the main hall. It doesn’t even look like a museum. Sure, there were signs leading to some exhibits and directions to the aquarium. Neon LED lights illuminated the space. There was a DJ booth whose music blasted through large speakers that were situated in strategic corners. There were cocktail carts with patrons lining up to get their drinks. It was practically a club!
“Wow–this is…different,” you remarked, still marveling at the space.
“You said you wanted ‘different’ so…” He trailed off.
Ask and you shall receive. Even though he planned this whole afternoon around things that he liked doing, he was still intent on pleasing you.
The service promised ‘satisfaction guaranteed.’ So far, you have yet to be disappointed.
“Looks fun!” You beamed in excitement.
“C’mon, let’s get you a drink,” he urges while you walk towards the closest mini-bar by the entrance.
******
Tonight’s theme was centered on wildlife photography. The museum had some guests of honor, famous photographers and documentarians who exhibited their work, which was also available for purchase.
You walked around, admiring the portraits. Very different from paintings and sculptures from your earlier museum trip, but no less interesting.
You ventured down to the lower level, where the aquarium was situated. High-top tables were spread out around the space but they left more than enough room for guests to move and admire the various exhibits.
You both stopped in front of one, which was situated in a quiet corner. Although most of the guests crowded around the jellyfishes, coral reef, and stingray exhibits–which were in larger tanks, this smaller tank fascinated you.
“Leafy seadragons. Pretty cool, huh?”
You hummed. “They’re beautiful. I’ve never seen anything like them.” These sea creatures moved slowly and gracefully in the water. It was like a seahorse but with a more fabulous outfit.
“They’re so…hypnotic,” you say distractedly.
He looked sideways at you, eyeing you intently. “When you booked me, you said it was because you wanted a different experience?”
“Yes, I did.” You cocked your head to the side, examining the exhibit for a few seconds before turning your attention back to him.
“Honestly, I was tired of the usual booking. Dinner, drinks, followed by sex–not that I’m complaining but….” You lifted a shoulder. “It gets pretty boring after a while,” you say flatly. “I thought I’d explore a bit more.”
He regarded you intently. “You know, this is the first time that a client has told me to plan out the date. I have to admit, I was pretty excited about it.”
That makes two of you.
“I wanted a change of pace. The men I’ve hired–they’re great and I liked them–for whatever purpose they served but…at a certain point, I wanted a bit more out of the dates.”
“Hmm…is this date ticking all of your boxes so far?”
He sidled up to you. The scent of his cologne hitting your senses. He didn’t bathe in it–unlike the other guys. It was subtle, but still potent enough to make you feel off-balance.
“Not all of it.” You stared at him hungrily. “There’s one more box that I haven’t quite determined yet.”
He smirked. “If you’re relying on your statistics, wouldn’t you think I’d have already fulfilled everything you wanted out of this experience?”
You smirked back at him. “Well, unlike you, I’m not big on guessing games or theories. I’m more of a—what’s the word—pragmatic? And I like to experience things firsthand before I come to my own conclusion.”
“Oh, is that right? You’d like to come to your own conclusion?”
“Yes.” You try not to sound too breathless.
“Hm. That’s fair.”
You sighed softly. “Because how would I know…what I don’t know? And I don’t trust hearsay.”
“I couldn’t agree more. So, when would you like to rectify that?” His hand crept up the small of your back and started drawing soft, circular patterns on it.
“As soon as possible. I’d hate to pay overtime if I don’t need to.”
“You won’t need to. One thing about me is that I’m very efficient. I prioritize quality…over quantity.” You turned your head to the side to find his face inches away from yours. “But…I can fulfill both, if you want.” He purred.
“Yes...”
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, that’s what I want,” you swallowed hard.
A smile ghosted his lips. He looked sideways for a brief moment then turned his hot gaze back to you. “Would you like a prelude?”
Your breath caught in your throat. Before you could answer, he backs you into a corner that you weren’t even aware of until now.
The barely lit, constricting space makes you feel a little bit panicked, but also excited.
“What if someone sees us?”
“Nobody will see us. I made sure of that,” he replied confidently. His hand gripped one side of your hip firmly, his fingers flexing, as if testing your limits.
You tilt your chin up, inching closer to his face. “You look like you’ve done this before,” you say breathily.
He dipped his head lower, his mouth a hair’s breadth away from you. “And if I have, would you care?”
His lips brushed behind your ear. One of his hands pressed flat to your stomach, the fingers splaying to urge you deeper into the corner. He was as aroused as you were, his cock already hard against your thigh.
You’d never gotten frisky in public–but that didn’t mean that it was a hardline for you. All you needed was the right partner for it.
Your hand slid down, past his waist, grazing his crotch. “As long as you know what you’re doing, I don’t really care.”
He lifted his head at your boldness and stared you down. You stared back at him in the dim light and nipped at his lower lip.
He groaned and sealed his mouth over yours. His lips were firm but exerted gentle pressure. You sighed and his tongue dipped inside. His kiss was confident, right on-brand with what he’s shown you so far…and it had the right amount of aggression that turned you on wildly.
He cupped the back of your head and the curve of your ass, giving it a firm squeeze. “If you want to stop at any point, just say so, YN. Do you understand?” He murmured past your lips.
You nodded.
“Say it,” he ordered.
“Yes. I understand.”
He caught your lips again, hand gliding past the hem of your dress and right up between your legs where he parted you with his fingers. He slid one finger into you, making you inhale sharply at the sensation.
He smiled through your kisses, pulling out then pushed back in with two fingers. You did your best to hold back a moan but a pathetic whine escaped your lips.
“Oh my god…” You were panting for him, your hips circling shamelessly onto his thrusting fingers. You felt like you’d lose your mind if he didn’t get you off.
You’d never been so turned on in your life. If anyone walked right past you right then and found you writhing in this corner while finger-fucked you, you wouldn’t care. You just wanted to cum.
“Do you want to hear all the ways I can please you, YN?” He holds one of your legs up with his free hand and rests it on his hip to spread you wider for him. Your cunt rippled around his stroking fingers, the rawness of his words pushing you to the brink.
He was breathing hard, too. His face was flushed, eager to give you what you needed, what you craved.
“I can do anything…everything you ask me to.” Hearing you whine softly, he takes your mouth again, swallowing the rest of your moans while his fingers pumped in and out of you.
Your insides pulsed erratically at the onslaught, that familiar feeling, surging within your belly. He withdrew his fingers and palmed your sex, rubbing rhythmic circles around your clit. You bucked your hips against his hand shamelessly, absolutely lost in the moment.
The music pumped through the speakers, swelling with a heavy bassline that thumped against your chest. One final stroke of his hand had you groaning into his mouth, your body stiffening as searing pleasure ripped right through you.
Your neck goes lax and you collapse on his shoulder, trying to catch your breath. You could feel his heart pounding against your chest.
“Fuck, you make the sexiest noises…I’m going to have so much fun with you tonight,” he chuckles darkly.
******
You waited until the coast was clear, giving him a few minutes to get his raging hardon down. Truth be told, you didn’t mind if he fucked you right then. But you were paying him a premium price…and you wanted to enjoy him to the fullest, preferably with all of his clothes off.
You called a car to head straight to the hotel where you booked a room for the night. You never took guys back into your home–it was too risky–didn’t matter how hot they were.
You continued to make out in the backseat. The driver, bless his heart, did his best to look away while you both sighed and giggled like horny teenagers.
When you arrived at the entrance, you tipped him generously as you and Namjoon practically sprinted past a crowded lobby and towards the bank of elevators. Thankfully, the hotel allowed you to check in earlier today. You didn’t think you’d be able to endure another second without his body pressed up against you.
You stumbled out of the elevators and staggering down the hall to your room. It was a challenge trying to untangle yourself from him. As you fumbled for the hotel keycard in your purse, his lips were on your neck, hands snaking up your dress. You hurried to pull the card out or you’d risk him fucking you out in the hallway.
The door clicks open and you both barrel into the room, his mouth shifting up to your lips to taste you again. Distantly, you hear him kick the door shut, continuing to back you further to the bedroom.
He spins you around, your back pressed against him, caging you while his hand roams all around your front. Squeezing your breast with one, the other rubbing at your clothed pussy.
You threw your head back in low moan as he nipped at your neck, grinding his hard cock between your ass cheeks.
Boy, did he know how to make a woman feel good…and abso-fucking-lutely aroused.
Somehow, you found yourself right by the foot of the bed. He spins you around again and pushes you softly, making you fall to the mattress. The hem of your dress scandalously hiked up past your waistline.
He hisses at the sight of your laced panties, so you decide to push his buttons. You pull your dress up over your head, leaving you laid up in your underwear. You reach back and unclasp your bra, tossing it to the side.
He bit his lower lip, as if fighting the animalistic urge to completely devour you.
Keeping his eyes trained on you, he unbuttoned his shirt, painfully slowly–before his fingers moved to undo his jeans in the same, controlled manner.
Your body practically vibrated with anxiety–beating you at your own game.
You grunted. “We don’t have all night, you know,” you said through gritted teeth while you watched his hand go past his boxer-briefs’ waistband, stroking his length beneath it.
“I know,” he says simply.
Your mouth was watering, you wanted him to take you, five minutes ago!
You scooched back further on the bed, lifted your hips to rid yourself of your panties. You spread your legs wide to entice him. “What are you waiting for then?”
“For you.”
You threw your head back in frustration and flatten your back on the mattress, staring at the ceiling. “What are you talking about? I’m ready!” You whine petulantly.
“I know that.” He pulled a condom out of his pants pocket.
“So, fuck me now!”
There was a beat of silence in the room, filled by the sound of your heaving breaths.
“You have to ask nicely first,” he says evenly.
You sat back up quickly at the sound of that. He was naked in front of you now, your core clenching involuntarily at the sight of him. He cocked his eyebrow at you until realization sets in and you recall your conversation from this afternoon.
You took a deep breath to dull the pounding in your chest.
“Please,” you say quietly.
“I can’t hear you.” He teases you further, slipping the condom casually down his length. Your mouth went dry.
You cleared your throat. This was what you wanted–to loosen the reins, give up control for a bit…and be dominated…on your own terms.
“Please,” you say a little louder.
“Please…what?”
“Please…Fuck. Me.” You enunciated every word for him.
He grinned wickedly, crawling up the mattress towards you, like a predator zeroing in on its prey. “That’s a good girl.”
You were pressed full-body against him, achingly aware of every hot, hard inch of him. You kissed him back, tasting him. Savoring him. Your skin was damp and way too sensitive, your breasts heavy and tender. Your clit throbbed for attention, the pounding reaching up to your ears along with your raging heartbeat.
He was levered over you, his arm supported his torso while his right hand gripped the back of your knee, sliding upward along your thigh in a firm glide.
A low rumble vibrated in his chest, the primitive sound sending goosebumps coursing through your pores.
In a daze, you watched Namjoon’s body lower, your legs sliding apart to accommodate the width of his hips. Your muscles strained with the urge to lift toward him, to hasten the contact between you that you’d been craving since he fingered you at the museum. Lowering his head, he took your mouth…hard, bruising your lips in the process.
You pulled on his silky strands, making him growl while your kisses deepened, stroking your tongue with lush licks of his own. You felt the same intense pounding of his heart against your chest, proof that he was right in this same moment with you.
“I want you so much,” you breathed out in between kisses. “What are you doing to me?”
“I’m going to make you cum over…and over…’til you beg me to stop.”
“Fuck, yes,” You muttered, aware that you weren’t offended. In fact, the rawness of his hunger for you was a serious aphrodisiac.
“Let me in, then.”
You very eagerly reached between you, reaching for his cock. Spreading wider for him you rubbed the tip against your slick folds. The contact would have made you orgasm at the friction but you preferred to cum while he was inside you.
You guided him to your center, gasping at the way he parted your flesh. He pushed in gently, causing your eyes to roll to the back of your head.
“You okay?”
“Yes,” you respond while your walls adjust to the stretch. “More…please.”
His jaw hardened. He pulled out slightly then slid his cock back in, pushing deeper. Your mouth falls open while he fills you to the brim.
“Ffuuckkk…” you dragged out, digging your nails into his biceps.
“You’re so tight…”
“You’re just huge,” you countered.
He chuckled devilishly, flashing that damned dimple at you. Tightening his hold, he starting fucking you, nailing your hips to the mattress with deep, fierce thrusts. Pleasure rippled through you again, pushing through you with every drive of his body.
He buried his face in your neck and held you tightly in place, fucking you hard and fast, whispering raw, sex-crazed words that drove you to absolute insanity.
“You feel me deep in you, huh? I can feel it against my stomach…my dick pounding into you.”
You’d give him this round. You made small, helpless sounds of want while his mouth ate yours. You were desperate for him, nails digging into his ass, struggling to meet his thrusts with your own.
“Come on, baby…” he ordered. “Cum for me now…”
You climaxed in such a rush that had you babbling incoherently, the sensation elevated by the way he’d possessed your body. He threw his head back, shuddering at the feel of your insides pulsating and gripping at him tightly.
Still trying to piece your brain back from your orgasm, you vaguely register him pulling out of you, making you wince.
Lifting you, he moved you, shifting your positions so that his back was to the headboard and you spread over him. Your bodies sliding against each other with a generous layer of sweat.
“Do you want to take your control back?”
Your breath hitched. While you enjoyed begging him to do things to you, you couldn’t fight the urge to take some of that power back for yourself.
“Yes,” you answered, definitely.
With your knees on either side of his hips, you straightened your spine, making you tower over him now.
Leaning back further, he stretched his arms on either side of him. “Go ahead and take it, then.”
You ran your hands down his chest, relishing the hardness of his muscles. Your fingers traced the ridges of his pectorals, his abdomen…your own personal, interactive art exhibit right in front of you.
You rocked your hips against him, stroking yourself with the hard length of his cock. His breath hissed out between clenched teeth.
“Don’t tease me–put me back in,” he practically demanded.
Now it was your turn to torture him. “Payback’s a bitch, isn’t it?”
He cupped your face and pressed his lips hard against yours. You reached down to stroke his length–the condom, covered in your slick.
He tensed but didn’t stop you. He handed control back to you. He closed his eyes and groaned at the delicious punishment you were giving to him. The sounds he made were both pained and erotic to you. You squeezed him gently, your touch deliberately tender as you sized him with your hands. You slid both of your fists up his length from root to tip, your breath catching when he shuddered beneath you.
Namjoon gripped your thighs, his hands sliding upwards until his thumbs grazed your taut nipples. He pinched and tugged at them, making you moan into his mouth.
“I can beg, too, if that’s what it takes to be inside you again,” he murmured into your mouth.
“Say it.” You stroked him with one hand.
One of his thumbs slid beneath you, the pad sliding through the slickness of your dripping core. “Please, YN…Fuck me,” he said so clearly, his eyes gleaming at you.
Your cheeks heated. The evenness of his tone sent a burst of confidence through you.
Setting your hands on his shoulders for balance, you lifted onto your knees, rising to gain the height you needed to hover over the tip of his cock. His hands gripped your hips, steadying you.
His hardness brushed past your inner thighs as he moved and you whimpered, so aching and empty, as if the orgasms he’d given you earlier had only aggravated your craving rather than sated it.
He tensed when you wrapped your fingers around him and positioned him, tucking the wide head against the saturated folds. The scent of sex was heavy and kicked the room’s temperature up several notches–it was a dizzying mix of need and pheromones that awakened every inch of you.
“God. YN,” he gasped as you lowered onto him, his hands flexing restlessly on your thighs.
You closed your eyes briefly. When you opened them, you were eye-to-eye, only inches apart.
“Move for me, please.” His gasped words were threaded with a hint of delicious agony.
He didn’t need to ask twice. Your hips rolled of their own volition.
He reached down, massaged your clit with the pad of his thumb, rubbing slow, expert circles. Your core tightened and clenched tightly around him in a vice-like grip. He was so agonizingly gorgeous, lying beneath you, watching you take what you wanted from him.
His neck arched, fighting to restrain himself from barrelling his hips against you. “Ah, fuck…you feel so good,” he bit out, his teeth grinding.
He was so deep you could hardly stand it, forcing you to shift from side to side, trying to ease the unexpected bite of discomfort with his size. But your body didn’t seem to care that he was too big. Your cunt took him greedily–as if it couldn’t get enough. Your walls rippled around him, squeezing…on the verge of orgasm.
Unable to contain himself any further, Namjoon cursed under his breath, held on to your hip with one hand, urging you to lean back with the other, as his chest heaved. You stretched your arms back, holding onto his thighs for support and leverage.
You opened up wider, taking more of him in. Your belly fluttered at how much deeper he sank, hitting the tip of your cervix, savoring the soreness as he pushed just past your limits.
His hips churned impatiently, meeting your thrusts. You lifted carefully, sliding up a few inches before he stopped you with that ferocious grasp on your hip.
Your eyes locked on each other as the pleasure coursed through your bodies. The sounds that escaped his lips spurred you, as if the pleasure were as unbearable for him as it was for you.
Somewhere along the way, primitive instinct took over you, leaving your body completely in charge. Your sole focus was the urge to fuck him out of his mind, the vicious need to ride him until the tension burst and set you free of this mindless, animalistic hunger.
“Fuck…yes…oh my god…so good,” you mewled, lost to him.
Using both hands, he directed your rhythm, his cock rubbing that tender, aching bundle of nerves inside you. You shook involuntarily, realizing that your orgasm was creeping up quicker than you anticipated.
“Ah, shit–I’m close,” you gasped out.
Leaning forward slightly, he captured you by the nape, pulling you closer to him. Your orgasm exploded through you, starting with deep, throbbing spasms of your core before radiating outward until you shivered all over.
He watched you fall apart, holding your gaze when you would’ve closed your eyes. Possessed by his stare, you cried hoarsely, cumming harder than you ever had, your body jerking with every pulse of your nerves.
He growled, pounding his hips up at you, yanking your hips lower to meet his merciless lunges. He tunneled into you, hitting you with every deep thrust.
You watched him intently, wanting–no, needing to see what it was like when he went over the edge. His eyes were wild, pupils dark and blown out wide…losing their focus as his control melted away, his face marred by the brutal need to climax.
He came with a feral growl…his deep, animalistic groans riveted you with their ferocity. He shook as his orgasm ripped through him, making you clench at the sensation of him spurting into the condom.
You cupped his face, his features softening after riding out his high. You brush your thumb across his lips, a small offering of comfort and intimacy as his stuttered, gasping breaths fanned your face.
He wrapped his arms around you, pressing his damp forehead against yours.
“Wow,” you breathed, shaken.
His lips twitched. “You can say that again.”
You both smiled, feeling dazed and high.
You stayed like that for a minute, holding each other, absorbing the aftershocks. He turned his head and kissed you softly, the gentle strokes of his tongue into your mouth, slowing the pounding in your chest to a steady thrum.
You lifted gingerly off him, biting your lip at the feel of him slipping wetly out of you. The friction was enough to make you want more. But you had to admit, you were spent–fully satisfied.
He disposed of the condom, offering to help clean you up–and you let him. Shortly after, he jumped into the shower.
******
You were in a bathrobe, in the middle of checking your emails when he stepped out of the bathroom, fully dressed again.
“Are you okay?” He asks, as if he hadn’t already checked on you minutes ago.
“Yes I am, thank you,” you replied. “Are you alright?”
He laughed. “I’ll admit, I think I need another minute.”
You smiled while you walked towards where you set your purse down, on the coffee table by the window. While he was in the shower, you picked it up off the floor after you dropped it haphazardly when you were both in the midst of your horny entanglement earlier.
“By the way, I should have given you this sooner.” You reached in to grab an envelope of cash and hand it to him. “I uh–sort of got distracted earlier,” you chuckled sheepishly.
“Well…you and me both,” he laughs, taking his payment. “As long as you don’t tell my boss about it.”
You gestured as if zipping your lips. “He’ll only hear about the good things,” you promised.
“Thank you,” he says, pocketing the money.
“Where are you off to now? Do you have other bookings today?” It wasn’t awkward for you to make smalltalk. It was all business anyway.
“I actually had to reschedule my next client,” he laughed, rubbing the back of his neck while he looked down at his phone that he held with his other hand. “You kind of wore me out. You’re making me rethink my workout regimen.”
You laughed heartily. “That might be a good idea. You’ve got to work on your stamina.” You winked at him before turning to your phone again, clicking at the screen.
His brows furrowed, feeling a little slighted. “Why’s that?
Before he gets an answer, his phone pings with a distinctive alert from his BFE app. When he glances at it to check, the crease between his eyebrows soften when the request pops up on his screen. He looks up at you and grins.
“Because I’m booking you again and I’m gonna need you to keep up with me.”
You’ve reached the end! Thank you so much for reading!
If you loved it, please comment, reblog, or send me feedback! 📩. I love hearing from readers! If you didn’t like it so much, I would still like to hear about it. Help me become a better writer! 💜
Tagging my KNJ hoes: @internetjunkdrawer @deepseavibez @itdoesntmatterwhy @e-cm @reliablemitten @miksancheese
summary⇢ you graduated bright-eyed and bushy-tailed, but, to your extreme disappointment, your big girl job isn't turning out to be nearly as exciting as you thought it would be. still, you're holding out hope that your talents will soon be recognized and your coworkers will stop trying to include you in their gossip sessions. enter jungkook, the quiet IT guy who's gradually making your days more bearable. (and if you find him easy on the eyes, that's nobody's business but yours.)
pairing⇢ jungkook/reader
word count⇢ 19.8k 🤭
genre⇢ smut | humor | office!au
warnings⇢ sexual content, unprotected sex, oral (f receiving), fingering, corporate nonsense, jk is a nerd but he's also really hot 😩
a/n⇢ omg, she's finally here 😭 this fic has been sitting in my drafts partially finished for literal YEARS lmfaoo. as in, jungkook didn't even have tattoos yet years ☠️ in fact, the whole plot for this was spawned from that time namjoon was on a live in his studio and jk visited in this yellow buttonup looking like a hot nerd and namjoon said he looked like he had an interview. it had to be 2018ish...i know my OGs know exactly what i'm talking about, but i'll put it below the cut for reference. ANYWAYS this was fun to imagine, but it's also entirely fiction so please don't attempt anything that happens in this fic lmao. mood for this fic is this. hope you enjoy~ 💜
When you graduated top of your class with a marketing degree and a job already lined up, you weren’t big-headed to assume you would be given a lot in the beginning. No, you knew that you were the new kid on the block and needed to prove yourself first, needed to work your way up from the bottom. But what you definitely didn’t anticipate was working up from thefigurative trenches, almost exclusively doing busywork—constantly making coffee runs, catering business lunches, printing out endless spreadsheets.
Eighty-thousand dollars in debt, and you are a glorified intern.
While you’re positively itching to hit the ground running and get your hands dirty, your job isn’t too bad. The people there are all nice and welcoming, the complimentary coffee in the break room is decent enough for your dwindling bank account, and every quarter the company sponsors an employee barbecue where everyone can fraternize and enjoy free food.
“Apparently it fosters unity and teamwork,” your coworker Joy informs you as you both stand in the food line. “Seokjin—that’s our CEO—is really big on unity and teamwork.”
Joy is also a member of your marketing team. Though friendly, she has zero filter and thus always has a lot to say about everything—which has helped you when it comes to learning the ropes about the company, but has also had you clutching your imaginary pearls in certain situations where you found her topic of choice inappropriate.
Despite only being a year older than you, her title of Marketing Associate instead of your measly Assistant means that she technically outranks you, though she doesn’t usually enforce that fact (unless there was something that needed to be copied or filed, of course). Still, she immediately took you under her wing when you first started and is the closest person to a friend you have at work (even though her daily coffee order is always so ridiculous, you are convinced that she has to be fucking with you—or at least engaging in some form of mild hazing).
“I think it’s nice,” you reply truthfully. “I’ll never say no to free food, and they let us out early and everything.”
“I mean, pretty sure you can get the hotdogs twelve in a pack at the dollar store,” Joy quips, raising her eyebrows at you pointedly. “But sometimes the boys from Sales take their shirts off and play soccer, so there’s that.”
Your eyes dart to said Sales Boys against your will, gaze drawn to Jung Hoseok as he chats animatedly with his teammates by the tables. You’ve only spoken to him once or twice, but his fiery red hair and even brighter smile caught your attention immediately, your heart rate accelerating at the sight of him in hallways mere days into starting your new position. Who better to have a mild work crush on than a sweet-talking salesman who winks at you sometimes in passing?
An appreciative noise has you turning back around, embarrassed at being caught ogling how shapely Hoseok’s butt looks in his dress pants today, but it’s just Wendy from Accounting, Joy’s best friend and thus a harmless, familiar face. Wendy has cut in front of a few editors to join you and Joy, and the way that she smiles at you lets you know she’s up to no good. “He’s cute, huh?” she asks, leaning towards you conspiratorially. “I would definitely give him the good ol’ suck behind the dumpsters over there, if you catch my drift.”
“Err…yeah, I do,” you reply awkwardly. She had been explicitly clear—keyword explicit—so there definitely isn’t any room for misunderstandings. Is this truly appropriate work function conversation? From the way the editors behind you are politely clearing their throats, you think not.
“Behind the dumpster?” Joy asks curiously. “That sounds unnecessarily smelly. He’s standing right next to some sturdy tables that I, for one, would take great advantage of—”
“I’m gonna go get us some drinks,” you announce loudly, your neck heating up. “Can you grab me a hot dog, Joy?”
“Sure,” she says dismissively, already distracted by her sudden debate with Wendy about the most convenient place to suck off salesman Jung.
The whole conversation is making you uncomfortable. You are not a prude—far from it—but there is a time and place for everything, and your coworkers’ blasé attitude towards inappropriate topics at company functions on company time rattles you a bit. So instead of engaging in the risqué discussion further, you make your way to the cluster of brightly-colored coolers that presumably hold beverages, sidling up to the only other person lingering the area.
“Anything good?” you ask cordially, making your coworker, who had apparently been deep in thought while considering his beverage options, startle a bit.
He’s tall, his large frame covered in the appropriate business casual attire of nice jeans and a powder-blue button-up. When he turns his head to look at you, you’re met with large, dark eyes blinking in surprise from behind wire-rimmed glasses. Said eyes dart around for a moment before determining that you were, in fact, speaking to him.
The man clears his throat. “Just the usual,” he says, voice soft. Timid.
“The usual?” you repeat. There are little hoops dangling from his earlobes, and you brush off your surprise at seeing them, returning your gaze to the coolers. Water, a clear soda, a cola. “The basics, you mean. Well, can’t really complain, right? Seeing as it’s all free. I think it’s really nice of them.”
Your companion seems surprised at your words. “It is,” he agrees softly, eyes meeting yours for a second before dropping back down to the cooler. “Um, are you...are you new?”
“Damn, I guess my cover’s blown.” You shoot him a wry smile. “Yeah, I just started a couple of weeks ago. What gave it away?”
“It’s just—no one else here really cares about these barbecues anymore,” he admits, looking at you, but not quite. More like, in your direction. “Everyone has forgotten to appreciate the little things.”
“Nothing is a given,” you shrug. “So you need to appreciate things when you can. And besides, those lots of little things can really add up without you realizing it.”
He finally seems to look at you properly, and the weight of his large, gentle brown eyes throws you off for a second. “They can,” he agrees, lips slowly drifting up.
“What do we have over here?” a loud voice interrupts, a hand falling to your shoulder. You look up, and are met with the brightness of salesman Jung.
“Ah,” Hoseok says with a wink, reaching into the cooler. “I love Sprite.”
“Me too,” you reply automatically, and then immediately want to smack yourself. Because you don’t—carbonated beverages make you break out. But your mouth had formed the lie without your permission.
Embarrassed, you reach into the cooler, grabbing three water bottles. “See you later,” you squeak, avoiding eye contact as you make your escape.
Joy and Wendy are already watching you when you return to where they have procured a table, and when you hand them their waters, Joy raises an eyebrow. “I was wondering how long you were going to talk to that IT guy.”
“Yeah, and why did you leave when Hoseok showed up?” Wendy pouted. “_____, the universe is only going to give you so many opportunities. If you don’t want the ball, then pass it to me! Goddamn.”
“IT guy?” you prompt, hoping to slide past that last remark.
“Yeah. His name is Jungkook, I think? Mostly works with the printers, started a couple months ago.” Joy shrugs, obviously disinterested by the topic. She reaches for the ketchup bottle in the center of the table and squirts some on her hot dog. “This is the first time I’ve seen him at a barbecue, though. Honestly, I’m surprised he even came out, because the IT dudes generally keep to themselves. They rarely leave their little tower,” she adds with a dismissive wave.
Wendy scoffs in disinterest. “Who cares about Jeremy! Hurry up and eat, I’m sure Sales is gonna start their soccer game soon.”
“Soccer game?” you ask distractedly. A glance back to the coolers shows Jungkook is gone, and you don’t see him in the immediate vicinity.
“The sales department likes to play soccer during these things,” Joy reminds you. Her expression brightens. “Hey, maybe Hoseok will take his shirt off again! Let us pray.”
To your coworkers’ disappointment, Hoseok did not take his shirt off. But they certainly had a good time watching his athletic display across the grass anyway.
Monday morning—the start of the workweek, but also, rather depressingly, the end of the weekend. Everyone tends to be more tired and grumpy on Mondays (yourself included), and this is why your team considers it essential that you always stop by their preferred coffeeshop and bring in their drinks for a morning pick-me-up. You’re the lowest on the ladder, so you weren’t exactly sure how to refuse when you were asked one day if you would mind picking up some drinks for everyone, and then, after that, people kept sending you their orders like it was expected of you. The café is technically on your way to work and everyone always pays you back, but it’s still pretty irritating to have to forgo those extra precious minutes of sleep just so you can beat the long lines and get to work on time.
Today, you’re lucky enough to get ahead of the morning rush, but that means that you end up trudging into the building much earlier than you anticipated. You hope the coffee’s insulated cups do their job properly, because you really don’t have the energy to listen to Joy huff and puff about having to reheat hers.
Your trek to your cubicle slows when you realize that someone is already there, sitting in your chair and typing away on your keyboard. Their back is to you, swathed in an olive button-up, and it’s not until you get close enough to curiously crane your head to see their face that you recognize him. The guy from the barbecue last week—the one by the coolers.
He startles a bit when he sees you approach in his peripheral vision, eyes darting up at you in surprise.
“Hi.” You raise the tray you’re holding in an awkward greeting. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to creep up on you.”
“That’s okay, _____,” he replies softly, wide eyes blinking a little from behind his round glasses. “I can get kind of spacey when I’m focused on something. I was just doing some updates on your machine and didn’t see you.”
“You…” Your head tilts curiously. “You know my name?”
A small smile touches his lips as he points to your computer. “I’m updating your machine,” he reminds you.
Not to mention the fact that he’s literally sitting in your cubicle, you name tag clearly posted on the frosted glass that separates your space from Joy’s. An embarrassed chuckle leaves you when you realize your dumbass mistake. “Oh. Duh. Wow, that was a stupid question. Let me just get out of your way.”
“No, no, I’m clearly the one in the way!” His head shakes apologetically. “I couldn’t do this update remotely and I thought you didn’t clock in for another half hour—sorry about that.”
“I don’t,” you confirm. “But I tend to get here a little early so I can sort out everyone’s coffee order.”
A brow raises in surprise. “Do they really have you making coffee runs?” he asks incredulously.
You hmm in confirmation, moving to set the coffee on everyone’s desks. “Rite of passage, I guess,” you call over the divider as you work. Joy’s order today isn’t as over the top as you know she can be, but you were still rather embarrassed to order it (vanilla latte with oatmilk—one and a half pumps cinnamon, one pump hazelnut, an extra espresso shot and extra foam with honey drizzle). The barista had looked at you tiredly but hadn’t voiced her obvious judgement when she rung you up.
“I guess,” you hear him say, but he doesn’t sound too convinced.
Coffee distributed and hands finally free, you return to lean against your cubicle, hovering as he continues to quickly type and click. You look at him pointedly, a small smile creeping across your face. “Speaking of grunt work, I hear you’re the printer guy.”
His lips quirk. “I’m also the expert at updating Microsoft Word, just so you know.”
You laugh, and his eyes crinkle in amused response. “Oh, well excuse me, sir.”
“I’ll let it slide this once. Since you’re new.”
“And so are you. That’s why you’re the printer guy.”
He just lets out a puff of air that sounds suspiciously like a laugh. This close, you can now see the tiny holes that are trailing up his earlobe—he clearly has multiple ear piercings, not just the ones you saw at the barbecue. There is no jewelry in them now, though.
“Jungkook, right?”
It’s his turn to look surprised, and you find yourself satisfied by the flush creeping up the back of his neck when he ducks his head in confirmation.
“Us newbies gotta stick together,” you stage whisper behind a conspiratorial hand before leaning decidedly away. “Anyway, let me stop bothering you and go make some coffee.”
His eyebrows scrunch in clear confusion. “Didn’t you just bring some?”
“…Yeah, I am only just now recognizing just how bizarre this must seem,” you say sheepishly. “But none of those were for me—fancy specialty drinks aren’t really in my budget, so I tend to just brew a cup here.”
“Did you say drinks?” a voice croaks, and when you turn your head, there’s Joy, walking towards the two of you. If her body’s sluggish movements weren’t enough to clue you in to the fact that she’s exhausted and possibly hungover, the designer sunglasses she’s wearing to tactfully hide half her face certainly do.
“On your desk,” you chirp as she walks past you without another glance. “Good morning!”
There is no response from the other side of the cubicle wall, and Jungkook frowns a bit, but you just give him a small shrug that translates to what can you do? before pushing off the wall to continue your trek to the kitchen. “You want one?” you offer. “I make a mean cafeteria coffee. Trial and error has taught me the exact temperature of tap water to use to make it taste less like sludge.”
His mouth smoothes back out at your joke, and though you wait for him to call you out on your ridiculous declaration, his gaze is already back on your computer. “No thank you,” comes his soft reply.
With a nod to yourself, you move to complete your task and leave Jungkook to work on his. When you return minutes later, newly-filled mug in hand, he’s already gone.
Today starts out pretty typically. After bringing everyone’s coffee, you settle into monitoring the company’s social media accounts. (When Joy first delegated this task to you, you were a bit confused, as social media is so vital to brands nowadays that handling it is technically a whole other full-time job. But it turns out you don’t have to do much above the intern level anyway—just answer customer questions and escalate issues if need be.)
Your manager has been out traveling for a week, but today she finally comes back to the office, and it makes for a nice change of pace when she hands you all of her scattered, hurriedly-scribbled notes and asks you to please transcribe them into something more cohesive and legible. Well, not nice, exactly (because at the end of the day, this is still busywork), but if you have to reply to one more Facebook comment with instructions that are clearly already on the product packaging, there is a pretty likely possibility you will scream.
This is at least slightly less mind-numbing. Instead of copy-pasting things from a prewritten script, you get to try to make sense of what your boss had been trying to say when she wrote turkey club in the corner of a page filled with random numbers and dates. Was this important? Was it simply her plans for lunch that day? You and your fancy college degree have the pleasure of trying to figure that out while Joy and Alan, the web manager, get to actually do important things that are in their job descriptions.
Still, like every day, you try to dampen your frustration, try to keep a positive attitude. Because ultimately, this is an opportunity to grow your boss’s confidence in you, and that’s exactly what you want. Though you’re a little disheartened by all the busywork, you remind yourself it will all be worth it in the end. Your hope is that if you put in the time, you’ll eventually be trusted with more of the nitty gritty stuff.
(You know…the stuff you actually got your degree for.)
But no matter how positive you are, things of course don’t go as smoothly as they should. After you’ve done a pretty fantastic job (if you say so yourself) of organizing and typing everything up, you send your manager the digital version. And, because you know the email may accidentally get buried in her inbox, you decide to print a physical copy for good measure.
You give the printer pretty simple, straightforward directions. One copy, double-sided (to do your part to save Mother Earth), the whole document typed in plain old black and white. But when you walk over, there’s nothing waiting for you in the printing tray. No humming to clue you in to the fact that the printer was working on your job. Nope. Instead, the admittedly ancient machine is quiet and still, and it stays that way for long enough for you to walk back to your computer to press the print button again, just in case you forgot to do so the first time. Still no dice. You frown, opening the paper tray to make sure it was full, then opening every other compartment that can possibly be opened to make sure there isn’t a paper jam somewhere.
Nothing.
Irritated, you stalk back to your desk, your first inclination to check with Joy and see if she has been having any of the same issues, but you find her chair empty. Probably got pulled into a meeting that they don’t find it necessary to loop you in on, even though it will ultimately be you who does all the grunt work for any action items the meeting produces.
Positive, you remind yourself, falling back into your chair and drumming your fingertips against your desk in thought. Maybe it’s not the printer at all. Maybe it’s your computer. You search your desk drawer for the introductory employee contact sheet HR had given you when you first started, and there he is—Jeon, Jungkook.
For a second, you consider sending him an email, but the green dot that displays he’s online has you shooting him a message instead. Much less formal, but likely quicker for the both of you.
You
Hey Jungkook! Sorry to bother you, but I can’t print for some reason
You
The printer over here is ignoring me, and I don’t think I’m set up to print by the art directors
Despite what you originally assumed, he doesn’t answer immediately, obviously focused on something else. Still, you only have to wait a few minutes before you hear the soft ding you were waiting for.
Jungkook Jeon
Hi, _____. You mean the large printer by the marketing department, correct?
You
Yes! I tried a couple times, but I don’t think the job even went through
You
Thought it best to just ask the printer guy 🙂
There’s a pause, one long enough that you worry that he’s forgotten about your lighthearted exchange from this morning. Shit. That was stupid of you. You’ve probably offended him. Fuck.
But if Jungkook is upset with you, he’s professional enough that it doesn’t come across at all in his next message. If anything, he just seems a little preoccupied.
Jungkook Jeon
Hmmm, let me check it out for you. Mabel can be a little uncooperative.
You
Mabel?
Silence again, this time for a good five minutes. You answer some emails so you’re not just sitting there twiddling your thumbs.
Jungkook Jeon
Sorry, was running some diagnostics in the background to see if I could find the problem
IT kinda calls that printer Mabel because we’re pretty sure she’s worked for the company for longer than all of us combined. Seems fitting
You can’t help but snort at that. Cute, and likely not inaccurate. Mabel, it is.
Jungkook Jeon
One of these days Mabel’ll finally retire, but it won’t be today—looks like she’s running fine. Do you mind checking for me and seeing if you can access the marketing server?
A few clicks, and when double clicking on the server icon doesn’t bring up the same list of folders it usually does, it confirms the conclusion the both of you have already come to—your computer is the problem, not Mabel.
You
No dice 😕
Jungkook Jeon
Got it. I think something went weird with your network connection after I updated your machine this morning. I can fix that for you!
You
Awesome! I appreciate it!
Jungkook Jeon
Of course! Can’t have my sparkling reputation as the Printer Guy tarnished so easily 😉
You
LOL
You allow him remote access to your computer when a pop-up prompts you to, and he gets you up and running before your manager’s meeting is even over.
Lunch has always been an interesting—albeit potentially exhausting—part of your day. You learned early on that attempting to take the break you were legally entitled to at your desk did not stop anyone from continuing to ask you for things. Unfortunately, there weren’t many solutions to this problem—you didn’t get paid enough to be able to consistently eat your lunches out, and you lived too far away from the office to go home for lunch instead. So, you started taking your lunch break a little earlier than most of your other coworkers did, ensuring that the cafeteria was pretty empty and allowing you the space to decompress and eat your bagged lunch in peace.
And as things usually went with this company, it didn’t take long for that peace to be interrupted. Once she noticed you disappearing from your desk, curiosity had Joy tagging along one day, and after that, it only took a couple weeks before both she and Wendy joined you.
(Later, you would have the great idea to simply enjoy your bagged lunch in the park a few blocks away, but the weather wasn’t always great and at that point, the other two started to expect you to eat with them.)
So that’s exactly how you’re spending your lunch now—scarfing down the soup you made a few days ago that you’ll eat until it’s completely gone, while Joy and Wendy giggle and gossip to each other. As much as they apparently want to eat lunch with you, they tend to be pretty nonplussed by how you never contribute much to their inane conversations.
And you’re fine with that. In the time it’s taken them to get comfortable invading your zen time, you’ve learned how to properly tune their tittering out. You’re good at nodding at the right times, at throwing in perfectly placed hums that indicate you’re listening, even when you’re not.
Today, it’s a sudden, uncharacteristic pause in their chatter that prickles against your diverted attention. “That’s weird,” you hear Wendy mutter, and that officially throws you out of you mentally making your grocery list. The intrigued way she’s looking behind you makes you reflexively turn, and that’s when your eyes set on Jungkook.
He hadn’t been there when you first sat down for lunch, but he is now, sitting alone a couple tables away. He’s the only other person in the cafeteria, but from the AirPods in his ears and the way his eyes are focused on his phone screen, you doubt he’s even noticed this fact.
Joy’s lips downturn slightly into a puzzled frown. “Hmm. IT guys never come down voluntarily from their tower.”
Your head tilts as you mull over that. That isn’t exactly true. You have only seen Jungkook in passing a few times over the last couple weeks, but those few times prove IT aren’t exactly the antisocial specters the two women in front of you keep painting them as. You have even exchanged the short pleasantries with him that are socially expected when crossing paths at the coffeepot.
“Wonder what he’s doing here?” Wendy says, not nearly quietly enough in your opinion. Embarrassment flashes hot through you, inwardly chastising yourself for continuing to associate with such casually judgmental people. You’re already mentally preparing to apologize for your lunch mates when a covert glance out of the corner of your eye shows that Jungkook’s still paying your group no attention, taking distracted bites from his sandwich as his head bobs slightly to whatever is playing through his headphones.
“Whatever,” Joy says with a dismissive shrug, and then just that easily, the two are back gossiping about Cindy in HR.
From then on, you notice that Jungkook continues to eat lunch in the cafeteria at the same time as you. Sometimes, he beats you there, already at his designated table and munching on whatever he brought that day. If your eyes meet, he’ll send you a small smile in greeting before immediately dropping his focus back to his phone. If you’re there first and throw him a wave of acknowledgment, he always returns it, as is polite and expected of two coworkers who don’t know each other beyond their forced proximity.
And you think nothing of it, too busy being your department’s errand girl, the person who gets assigned all the tasks no one else wants to do. The amount of interaction you and Jungkook have is only marginally higher than what you have with Namjoon in Finance, who periodically reaches out to you for any missing receipts for charges on the Marketing department’s credit card.
This slowly starts changing as you begin to have more and more technical problems. You being assigned to put together multiple PowerPoints and research whatever market trends tickles your boss’s fancy means you constantly have an ungodly amount of tabs and applications open. This means you’re not really surprised when your computer—an older model that is definitely on its last leg—starts freezing and giving you pop up errors. A force restart seems to fix the problem, but a new one emerges—now, no matter how many times you hit the print button and walk over to your designated printer, nothing awaits for you to pick up. Even scrolling through the printer’s print history shows no record of your jobs being in the queue. It’s bizarre—you even make sure to confirm you’re connected to the servers, and that doesn’t seem to be the issue this time.
Frowning, you make your way back to your desk and scroll down your chat messages until a familiar face appears.
You
Hey Jungkook! I can’t seem to print—think something weird is going on with my computer today
A soft sigh of frustration escapes your lips, fingers drumming irritably against your desk. It isn’t even noon, but the day is already looking to be a long one.
Resigned, you settle in to wait for him to answer you in the chat, but the little bubbles that indicate he’s typing never pop up. Instead, you’re surprised when movement in your peripheral produces Jungkook himself, slowing in approach of your desk, though his focus is still on his phone screen. He must have gotten your message in the midst of doing something else.
“Oh! Hi,” you greet him eagerly. “Just the person I was looking to see.”
He looks up at you from beneath the curtain of his bangs, a small smile touching his lips as he stuffs his phone back into the pocket of his slacks. “Just the person I was looking for,” he returns. “What seems to be the problem?”
“Mabel is being a bitch again,” you say with an irritated sigh. “Every time I try to print, nothing is happening.”
Jungkook snorts, amused, and it’s only then that your brain registers exactly what you just said. Swearing at work is unprofessional so you make it a point not do it, but that one slipped out so casually. “Oh—sorry.”
But if Jungkook is offended, it certainly doesn’t show in the responding chuckle he lets out. “That’s definitely on brand. I can fix that—let me take a look.”
You move to relinquish your seat, but he’s already leaning over you before you can do more than shift your weight. So you just let go of your mouse so he can control it instead, scooting to the side a bit and trying your best not to think too hard about how he’s close enough for your clothes to brush. Christ does he smell good.
Jungkook clicks around a bit, no doubt checking to make sure your computer is up to date and connected to everything it’s supposed to. “Is this what you’ve been trying to print?” he finally asks, brows furrowed in concentration.
You blink at the question, realizing with dawning horror that you were accidentally distracted by his proximity. You clear your throat, shaking your head a little at yourself in an attempt to clear it of all thoughts that aren’t solidly on the task at hand. “Yeah.”
He clicks the print button, just as you have done for the past ten minutes, then straightens with a shrug. “Let’s give our old girl a visit and see what her deal is.”
You stand, following him around the corner to the copy room, where Mabel has proudly taken residence for who knows how many years. The fact that you can already see she’s humming with activity as the two of you approach has your eyebrows knitting in confusion.
Jungkook seems equally confused, reaching in the tray for the stack of paper that was just spit out and turning it over to confirm both of your suspicions. The report you’ve been trying to print for the last twenty minutes sits in his hand, likely still warm from how quickly and easily Mabel completed Jungkook’s request. He holds it up for you to see, his big doe eyes peering at you quizzically through his glasses. “This printer was the one that wouldn’t work for you?” he asks.
“Yeah, I definitely sent it to this one. Repeatedly,” you insist. Embarrassment prickles across your skin. “I swear it wasn’t working two seconds ago!”
Jungkook smiles when he hands you the papers, and it somehow softens his naturally cherubic face even more. “You just wanted to say hi to me, huh?”
“Clearly Mabel likes you more than me,” you sniff at his teasing. “Sorry for wasting your time.”
“You didn’t,” he says simply. He hovers for a few more moments as you check to make sure all the pages are there. “Let me know if you have any more issues, okay?”
“Will do,” you agree, mind already back on your work as you both turn to part ways. “Thank you so much for your help!”
“Anytime.”
“Didn’t you have a date last night?” Joy asks.
It’s lunchtime again, early enough that the three of you are still the only ones in the cafeteria. While both Joy and Wendy are munching on some overpriced salads they had delivered from a restaurant a couple blocks away, you’re eating a boring ham and cheese sandwich that you haphazardly slapped together in your rush to get out the door this morning. Vaguely, you do remember Wendy mentioning something about an upcoming hot date, but she was always rambling about a hot date, and frankly, you don’t care enough to keep up with any details. Everything you know about her love life—and her, in all honesty—has been dumped onto you without you having any say in the matter.
“I did,” Wendy squeals, excited as always to have the opportunity to talk about herself. “His name was Miles. We’ve been talking on Tinder for the past week—he was really sweet and seemed to want to get to know me. Last night he took me to a nice restaurant, really wined and dined me.”
“Wow,” Joy says, eyebrows raised. “That sounds promising. When are you gonna see him again?”
“I’m not,” Wendy scoffed. “He was nice and all, but he’s only 5’7. It’ll never work out.”
“True.”
You’ve been trying your hardest to zone them out, but the longer Wendy prattles on, each sentence more baffling than the last, you can’t help but interject, “Doesn’t the app let you filter out height preferences?”
Wendy pauses, a raise of an eyebrow betraying her surprise at you finally participating in her lunchtime shenanigans. “Not on the free version.”
“So why did you even entertain him if you knew you would never consider him seriously?”
“..because I wanted to go to dinner?” Wendy replies flatly, the look on her face doing nothing to hide how stupid she thinks your question is. “Besides, he got what he wanted out of the deal. After dinner I took him home and let him fuck.”
The flippantly casual way she throws out the vulgar word feels like a record scratch, especially since the three of you are, in fact, still very much on company premises. Wendy doesn’t seem to notice just how much she’s scandalized you, continuing to prattle on at full volume about how the sex was pretty good for a Tinder date, even though he refused to eat her out.
At this point, you’ve long slowed in your chewing, now entirely too incredulous by the absurdity of the situation you’ve found yourself in to eat.
“You didn’t suck him, did you?” Joy asks.
Wendy scoffs. “Of course not! I’m not giving head to some random anyway, especially if he’s not gonna give me mine first.”
“Can we not talk about this?” you mumble.
They both turn to stare at you, judgement plain on their faces. Wendy snorts. “Wow, _____. I never took you to be a prude.”
“I did,” Joy slides in under her breath.
You let out an agitated huff. This is ridiculous. “I’m not a prude.”
The two of them share a look. After a pause, Wendy finally asks in a way that indicates that it doesn’t really matter what you say because her mind is already made up, “Then what’s the problem?”
Aside from this conversation being a massive HR violation?
Wendy continues smugly, as if she’s figured you out, “Talking about oral hit a nerve…interesting.”
Yes, Wendy! you think sarcastically, fighting the intense urge to roll your eyes. The whole rest of the convo was good and dandy—oral was definitely the line, though!
Joy just looks at you, her eyes narrowing the longer she does. Her scrutiny makes your skin prickle in irritation. “You have gotten head before, right?”
“Okay!” you say sharply, stuffing the uneaten half of your sandwich back into the bag. “One, that’s neither of your business, and two, this conversation is completely inappropriate. Let’s change the subject, please.”
It’s quiet for a moment, both of them visibly surprised by your response. Joy actually looks a tiny bit proud that you stood up for yourself, but Wendy just sniffs and mutters, “That obviously means no.” Ultimately, they both back off, choosing instead to chatter about the newest design of Joy’s nails.
You exhale a tiny sigh of relief. Wendy was hitting the nail too close to the head and you truly didn’t feel like explaining your life story to a nosy coworker who was nothing more than your acquaintance, at best. Now that they’ve finally let you out of the hot seat, you’re fully planning to spend the rest of your lunch hour zoning out in relative peace.
But before you can properly dissociate, you hear someone cough behind you.
Your blood runs cold. You already know who it is—no one else tends to eat lunch this early.
“How long has he been sitting there?” you whisper, already dreading the answer.
Joy waves an unbothered hand. “I don’t know, like five minutes?”
Five minutes. Long enough to have heard…
You’re immediately mortified, and it must show on your face, because Wendy just snorts and says way too loudly for your comfort, “Oh, relax, this is probably the most action he’s gotten in months. I’m doing him a favor.”
What the fuck. WHAT THE FUCK. “Are you serious right now?”
“Calm down,” Joy says, rolling her eyes. “Look, he’s not even listening to us.”
And a slow, discrete turn of your head confirms what she says—Jungkook, in an ugly salmon button-up today, has his earbuds in, eyes downcast to his phone screen, lips soundlessly forming the words to whatever song he’s listening to. You feel a tiny bit of relief, but embarrassment still roils deep in your belly, suddenly making your half-eaten sandwich completely unappetizing.
You stand, grabbing the brown paper bag that contains the remnants of your lunch and hoping against hope that you’ll be able to bolt without him noticing.
“Oh come on, don’t be like that,” Wendy sighs, annoyance bleeding into her tone. “I told you I didn’t realize you were a prude. We can talk about something else.”
You bristle, but tamp down the urge to defend yourself and point out again that you aren’t a prude, you just don’t want to be the office harlot either. “It’s not that,” you lie. The judgmental look in Joy’s eye only softens when you say, “I just remembered I forgot to print the printouts for the meeting this afternoon. I’ll see you guys later?”
“Sure,” Joy says dismissively, and Wendy says nothing at all. They’ve already moved on, no longer interested in your swift escape, attention eagerly back on the details of Wendy’s weekend. That’s works perfectly fine for you—you’ve had enough of being the center of attention for the day.
Blessedly, Jungkook doesn’t even look up when slink past him and out the door.
It’s hot.
Third quarter is well underway, which means that it’s time again for the quarterly company barbecue. That also means it’s hot as balls.
You suffer quietly, trying not to add to the stank atmosphere Joy and Wendy are already creating due to the heat. It’s an ambitious goal, especially since you’re already sweltering beneath your blouse—which was reasonable to wear within the chilled walls of the office, but feels rather ridiculous now, under the relentless beat of the sun. Despite being grateful for the free food and break from your maddeningly boring work, you can’t help but mentally yearn for the indoors, where there’s proper shade and air conditioning and decidedly less bitching.
“I don’t know why they don’t just cater something for us to eat inside,” Joy mopes, dabbing at her brow with what you already know from experience to be a cheap, scratchy napkin. “How is anyone supposed to enjoy themselves if we’re melting?”
“It’s probably a ploy,” Wendy quips. “The more uncomfortable we are, the more likely we are to get back to work.”
“The date’s been on the calendar for months,” you point out wearily. “They had no way of knowing there’d be a heat wave today. Besides, the company’s already paid for the food. I doubt they intended to purposely waste that money.”
Joy scoffs in retort. “The company also knows throwing an outdoor event in July is the same as throwing one in Satan’s asshole.”
Wendy sniggers, but you don’t answer, biting back your response that outdoor barbecues are common during summer, and at least they don’t have you out here in the snow. Because honestly? This is only your second quarter with the company, and who knows what the fourth quarter barbecue looks like.
All you can do is free some of the buttons on your blouse, undoing as many as you can while still being office-appropriate. As it is, you now have a little cleavage peeking out, but with how hot it is, you figure no one will say anything.
“Look,” Wendy says with an unsubtle tip of her head. “Looks like the soccer game is still on, at least.”
Fluttering the hem of your blouse in an attempt to get some circulation, you reflexively respond to her prompting, eyes following her line of sight. A few tables down, the Sales team has finished their meal and appears to be actively gauging coworker interest in joining their game. From the decently-sized group that’s starting to form by the open field, you think they’re pretty successful, despite the heat.
Joy groans, lifting her long hair with a hand in an effort to cool off the back of her neck. “I don’t know how they’re doing all that when it feels too hot to breathe.”
Inwardly, you agree with her, but Wendy just gives a lazy shrug and says, “Hey, if we’re gonna roast to death, at least we’ll be properly entertained.”
“True,” Joy muses. “And they’re gonna be sweatier than usual.”
Wendy’s eyes glaze over a bit at the thought. You grimace, amazed that these two always seem to have their heads in the gutter. That’s my cue. “I’ll be right back,” you say, brushing off the back of your slacks as you stand, but they pay you no mind when you walk away.
You’ve already finished your meal, but it can’t hurt to take another look at the coolers. It’s so hot that you’ve already downed your first beverage, so a new one is in order. When you arrive to the area, two people from Customer Service pass, nodding at you in acknowledgment as they make their way back to their table. You’ve only just started to reach for a cooler lid when you hear someone address you again.
“Hey,” a familiar voice says timidly behind you. “How’s it going?”
You reflexively turn your head, simultaneously surprised and not at all to find Jungkook standing there. He’s got on a long-sleeved button-up despite the heat—grey, checkered with a red and navy plaid—and you can’t help but wonder how he’s not sweltering. Though, the noticeable sheen on his face and the way his damp bangs are starting clump together tells you he just might be.
“I’ve had better days,” you answer honestly, swiping the back of your hand across your forehead. Before you can catch yourself, that same hand is vaguely gesturing at him, head to toe. “How are you not melting?”
His lips twitch, amused. “I definitely am,” he admits. “I actually hoped no one was over here so I could stuff some of the ice from these coolers down my shirt without being judged.”
You snort. “Hey, who’s judging? Certainly not me. Knock yourself out; just make sure you leave me some.”
He taps his chin, jokingly in thought, but to be honest, he does mildly look as if he’s actually considering it. “Well, we wouldn’t want the beverages to get cold…”
“Eh, there’s probably not that many in here anyway. They could probably consolidate coolers.” To prove your point, you bend over, cracking open one of the red ones next to you and peering inside. The expected assortment of generic sodas greets you, looking admittedly very refreshing floating in their ice bath. “See, this one isn’t even full.”
You angle your torso a bit so you can meet his eye properly over your shoulder, but as soon as you look up at him, his gaze hurriedly skirts away, color crawling up the back of his neck. You stand with a frown, confused by this, but ultimately brush off his weird behavior when you notice Namjoon from Accounting sidling up to the two of you.
"Hey guys," he greets you, a friendly smile dimpling his cheeks. "We're getting some people together for a soccer game. I know it's really hot, but would either of you want to join?"
You’ve often seen Namjoon chatting with Hoseok in passing, and twice have even seen them leave the building for lunch together, so it doesn’t surprise you that the accountant is helping recruit for the Sales team's traditional barbecue pastime. What does surprise you, however, is that when he casually claps a hand on Jungkook’s shoulder, the younger man first responds by blinking owlishly at him behind his glasses, and then, a few seconds later, giving him a nod of assent.
Obviously you don't know Jungkook very well—not at all, really, outside of your ongoing feud with Mabel. But you didn't take him to be the type to be into playing outdoor sports, particularly in this weather, and you certainly didn't expect him to agree so easily. A smile from Namjoon and suddenly all thoughts of stealing cooler ice are gone.
Namjoon turns back to you, but you're already shaking your head. "Nope, no thank you! Y'all have fun. I'll just supervise from over there in the shade."
"Fair enough," he chuckles, and then he's leading Jungkook across the open field to meet up with the others.
Mildly more interested in the game now, you take this as your cue to grab the beverage you came for—a can of a Lipton knockoff and a bottle of water for good measure—and return to your table.
Joy and Wendy are still yapping when you approach, though in your absence, Joy has apparently decided to move to Wendy’s side of the table. It only takes you following their line of sight to quickly recognize why—that side of the table has an unobstructed view of the upcoming soccer game. Well, unobstructed, so long as you change your seat too. Awkward about intentionally getting in the way, you pause for only a moment before ultimately reaching for the end seat perpendicular to them instead.
When you lean over a little to pull your chair out from under the table, Joy finally deigns to acknowledge you, ticking an eyebrow. “I can see down your shirt,” she tells you offhandedly.
Your head snaps down, and you realize she’s right—undoing those few extra buttons has made the billowy fabric more susceptible to gravity, particularly when you leaned over. You yourself could see your whole chest and the basic bra that supported it, and at this angle, you doubt your blouse covered much of that from Joy’s gaze. A hand immediately snaps up to press the material back in place, but before you can even get properly embarrassed, her attention is ripped from you, eyes wide at something behind you.
“Holy—”
Wendy's jaw drops. Your head reflexively turns in the direction they're gawking at.
And before you can stop it, your jaw drops too.
Your tablemates have been known to be dramatic, and are certainly the type to stretch a fact or two. But it’s only now that you fully understand their fixation on these Sales soccer games, because yes, sometimes they do indeed take their shirts off. Like now.
Other than one girl from Compliance, all of the game’s recruits appear to be men, and as such, the group has chosen to distinguish teams by shirts vs. skins. And while the sudden appearance of skin naturally draws most people’s attention, your attention only gravitates towards one person. Cause what the fuck.
You almost don't recognize him, your brain rapidly shuffling through the information it's collected about him over the past few months and struggling to reconcile with what your eyes are actually seeing. Because the Jungkook you know wears glasses and long sleeves and has an unassuming hairstyle that looks suspiciously like a bowl may have been involved at some point.
But the person you're looking at now? Glasses have been discarded, apparently no longer needing optical assistance, and he’s ditched the button-up, sweat making the white sleeveless tank he has on underneath spottily transparent and divulging the dusk of his nipples. Now that you can properly see the taper of his slim waist, his shoulders are proportionally more broad than you realized. And, since he clearly has no regard for your rapidly rising blood pressure, Jungkook decides now is the perfect time to reach over said shoulders, grab fistfuls of damp fabric, and pull. The sight of him slipping the shirt over his head—the ink of his hair sinfully mussed, the muscles of his back rippling with the movement—has you reflexively swallowing, mouth dry.
He's absolutely ripped.
There's no other way to say it. A superior specimen, built and honed in a way that's only possible through years of hard work and discipline. He's still lean enough that you can rationalize how you’ve never picked up on that amount of muscle hiding beneath his unassuming dress shirts, but you're still gobsmacked.
Your mind spins, struggling to come to terms with the near impossible fact Jungkook actually pulled a Clark Kent on you. Well, pulled a Clark Kent if Clark Kent was also covered in gorgeous ink, pigment swirling up his right arm from wrist to shoulder. From this distance you can’t see the exact designs that make up his intricate sleeve, but you can tell it was composed with a purposeful eye.
Jungkook is absolutely ripped and tattooed. Jungkook. Printer guy Jungkook.
Flustered and trying not to be, you quickly look away, clanking your jaw shut and trying to focus on the plastic tabletop instead. Dear god, this is embarrassing. You really just gawked at your coworker! He was minding his own business and your jaw just reflexively unhinged like a degenerate. God, you hoped he didn't see that.
But any mortification you have is apparently not shared by the other two at your table.
“Is that Justin?!” Wendy demands rather shrilly, eyes wide, and the volume of her question would embarrass you even more if your brain could process any other reaction right now other than straight static. “Justin from IT?!”
You swallow thickly, your responding correction weak and delayed. “Jungkook.”
“Finally,” Joy groans, pushing her plate away dramatically. “Some good fucking food!”
You can’t help it then—your eyes drift back up, lured to the soccer players once more and zeroing in on him immediately. Seemingly unable to stray from his form, the heat already producing a sheen over his golden skin even though the game hasn’t started yet.
Surrounded by a few surprised male coworkers, Jungkook’s slightly hunched into himself, shy at the sudden attention. Even with the distance, you can see how Hoseok claps Jungkook on the back, just as animated over his newly revealed physique as the members of your table. But while everyone else is excited by this revelation…
Across the field, Jungkook innocuously turns his head in your direction. Like magnets, his eyes hone in on yours, your gaze locked for a few seconds until another loud What the fuck?! from Wendy frees you from the spell and you hurriedly look away again, a completely different kind of heat washing over you.
Jesus, you need to get ahold of yourself. There’s no way he was actually looking at you—it’s too sunny, and he’s not even wearing his glasses! He probably can’t even see that far.
But when you brave another peek in that direction and realize you can literally count his abs from here—
What the fuck, indeed.
Mutely, you watch the game unfold, not as self-conscious when it becomes clear that the whole office is doing the same. Though Joy and Wendy have been very salacious in their excitement for it, the soccer game is evidently a company barbecue highlight for others as well. And you’re sure Jungkook joining the fray has only added to the interest, as he’s a completely new addition to the equation.
And to your continued astonishment, Jungkook is good. He’s fast and lithe and brazen. He proves to you, again and again, that he can kick the ball with such ferocious accuracy that the other team’s goalie eventually stops trying to get in his way and simply resorts to trying to protect their vulnerable body parts instead. His intensity only entices reciprocal energy from everyone else, and what has traditionally been a lighthearted game between coworkers has now transformed into a group of competitive men who feel they now have something to prove.
Joy and Wendy are delighted by this development, squealing and cheering and tittering amongst themselves. You sit quietly, still trying to mentally process this new development, but when you start to feel embarrassed by just how much you’re staring, you decide to call it a day. No one really notices when you stand and gather your trash, and luckily the distraction of the game means you’re able to slip out without any fanfare.
This quarter’s barbecue being on a Friday means you’re blessed with a weekend to decompress and regroup. Unfortunately for you, the office doesn’t just…move on from the event like it has in the past. Instead, this particular barbecue was apparently such a success that you continue to hear chatter about it for the next week, mostly in passing. But while everyone else makes small talk about how much fun they had, Joy and Wendy choose to hone in on the only thing they truly consider worthy of discussion—Jungkook.
Today, just as they have every day for the past few months, they join your table when you take your early lunch. However, to their increasing irritation, the object of their current fixation isn’t here. In fact, Jungkook hasn’t showed up to the cafeteria during your lunch time since before the barbecue, and you inwardly have to admit it’s a little strange without him. You sat at different tables and the two of you never really said much to each other beyond the expected niceties, but you’ve gotten used to his presence all the same.
You actually have barely seen him at all, with Mabel on her best behavior this week and Jungkook seemingly busy with something that has kept him mostly out of common areas. Still, with your embarrassingly strong reaction to him at the barbecue, it’s probably for the best. You’re a little wary of what your first proper interaction is going to be like, and you’ve been mentally preparing yourself to be as normal as possible.
Your female lunchmates don’t seem to have that same mindset.
“Does he just not eat anymore?” Joy huffs. “I literally haven’t seen him all week!”
Wendy picks at her salad, lips twisted in a displeased grimace. “I actually saw him yesterday.”
Joy’s head snaps to her. “What?! You didn’t tell me that. What happened?”
“Since casually running into him doesn’t seem to be working, I figured I’d try getting him to come to me. So I unplugged my keyboard and messaged him, but he didn’t show up for like 40 minutes,” Wendy sighs irritably. “And when he did, he looked at me like I was a moron.”
Your lips twitch in amusement before you can stop them. Joy immediately says exactly what you’re thinking. “Well, you are a moron. You sat there for 40 minutes with your keyboard unplugged!”
Wendy soldiers on like she didn't hear her, undeterred from her gossiping. “So he came over in his ugly button-up and judged me! Plugged the keyboard back in and walked away without even saying anything.”
Despite not properly running into him all week, you actually did see Jungkook’s shirt in passing yesterday as he was turning down a hallway at the far end of the office. Wendy’s right—it had been an ugly puce. You found it endearing.
“He didn’t even roll up his sleeves,” Wendy mourned. “The least Jamal could have done was give me that.”
You pause in the chewing of the tuna sandwich you brought from home, exasperated. “Jamal,” you repeat flatly. “Really?”
Wendy waves her hand at you dismissively. “You know who I mean!”
“I mean, he’ll probably be more willing to talk to you if you treat him like an actual person.” Your quip is reflexive and indignant, and it kind of throws all three of you off guard. Joy raises an eyebrow at you and your sudden vexation, but you still add, though more subdued, “You know. Making an effort to remember his name is a good start.”
“Damn, who pissed in your Cheerios?” Wendy sniffs, though she doesn’t seem very offended by your callout. Over the months you’ve superficially gotten to know her, you’ve come to notice that she doesn’t really take much seriously—a simultaneously admirable and frustrating trait. “If you wanted dibs, you could have just said that.”
You feel heat flush up your neck, denial attempting to sputter from your lips, but true to form, Wendy has already moved on, tittering about how it’s about time the office had some proper excitement that wasn’t just meetings and spreadsheets.
“And speaking of meetings,” Joy pipes up, passing you a nonchalant look, “don’t forget to order those sandwiches for the client meeting tomorrow.”
“Sandwiches?” Your mind blanks. You knew your boss was hosting some clients in the office—had even been working on a lot of grunt work to prepare for it—but no one had mentioned anything to you about any sandwiches. “I thought she was wining and dining them?”
Joy let out a mildly irritated huff. “No, they have to catch an early flight home, so the plan has changed to a working lunch. Weren’t you listening in Monday’s meeting?”
No, you hadn’t been listening, because you weren’t invited to the Monday’s meeting. So it looks like a plan had been made and tasks assigned to you…without anyone bothering to communicate that. Typical.
You close your eyes for a second, jaw working as you attempt to tamp down your ever-brewing frustration. If they intend on you ordering from the usual place, it may be too late to cater for delivery, which means you’ll probably be stuck figuring out how to transport multiple giant platters from a restaurant five blocks away.
“Do you mind forwarding me the request you sent? I must have missed it,” you respond neutrally, knowing full well the original email had never been sent to you. You stand to leave, the rest of your lunch break instantly soured by the revelation that you apparently have time-sensitive action items that are encroaching dangerous territory. “Just want to make sure I get the order correct.”
Joy nods, attention already back on Wendy and only half-listening. In the meantime, you’ll have to research alternatives, just in case.
While you’re lucky enough to find an acceptable last-minute catering option that will also, blessedly, deliver, that doesn’t mean you’re free to take a breather.
It’s now the end of the day, and one by one, you see everyone around you log out and head for the elevator. Even Joy, who leaves right on time, despite knowing just how many tasks your small team still needs to complete for the big meeting tomorrow. What’s left is mostly grunt work, and while you are undoubtedly a grunt, it’s been clear for a while now that Joy no longer sees herself to be included in that category. So even though having more hands on deck would speed things along considerably, she still gathers her purse and gives you a cheeky finger wave on her way out.
At some point, the cleaning lady makes her rounds, scooting past you with a murmured apology to empty your trash can, but eventually even she disappears. Hell, even the sun abandons you, the soft glow fading from all the windows and stranding you with the cold fluorescent lighting that only remains on in your part of the office, because the lights have motion detectors.
And so it’s just you, kneeling on the carpet and surrounded by a gazillion binders. Ensuring relevant reports and Powerpoint presentations are accurate and sending digital copies to your boss for her to have on-hand. Attempting to print physical copies and assemble them into binder portfolios your clients will be able to follow along with during the meeting.
Attempting, because Mabel is, of course, choosing now to live up to her bitchy reputation. She won’t print on the right-sized paper. She won’t collate. She won’t be cooperative at all, and you’re too exhausted for this shit. Physically and mentally exhausted, trying your hardest to rein in the frustration that’s slowly expanding in your chest, crawling up your throat and triggering a familiar burning behind your eyes. It’s not fair.
An exasperated noise escapes you without thinking, a loud, guttural thing. None of this is fair.
“_____?”
Your head snaps over your shoulder in surprise, not at all expecting anyone else to still be in the building. It’s Jungkook, because of course it is. Brows knitted in confusion, a black leather jacket thrown over his marigold button-up for some reason. He’s standing near the doors that exit into the lobby, evidently about to begin his trek home before you unwittingly paused his endeavor.
“What are you still doing here?” he asks, but before you can even deign to answer, he’s already taken a few steps towards you and followed up with a clearly concerned, “Are you okay?”
You take a breath, struggling to calm the storm within you. None of this is his fault, nor his problem, and you should just force a smile on your face so he can be on his way and leave you to your self-pity. But you’re tired, so tired, and simply don’t have the capacity to pretend anymore. You swallow around the lump in your throat, and when you do speak, the thickness of your voice betrays the tears that you’re fighting to keep at bay. “No.”
This only seems to alarm him more. He’s standing next to you now, as close as he can get with the array of binders and papers you have scattered on the floor around you like a fortress not meant to keep anyone out, but rather, to keep you inside.
“What’s the matter?” he asks gently.
“Oh, nothing,” you snort derisively, blinking rapidly at the ceiling in an effort to try to stop the inevitable. “Nothing. It’s just well past 7pm and I’m still here in this godforsaken building attempting to print out and hole punch and assemble twenty copies of this presentation. I can’t even get the printer to do what I’m asking it to! And there’s no fucking reason I should still be here because the could have been done last week if my boss didn’t keep making nonsensical changes based solely on vibes. And tell me why there are six people on my team but no one thought to help me or take any sort of ownership of this at all—as per usual—or even buy me a fucking coffee for once! I haven’t eaten a proper meal all day but everybody just assumes they can go home because things will magically get done like they always do because they will! I will always make sure that they will! Every day it becomes increasingly clear that nobody in this fucking company gives a flying FUCK about me or my free time or my sanity—”
If he’s put off by your potty mouth, Jungkook certainly doesn’t show it. He just manages to catch your gaze from behind his glasses and simply replies, “I do.”
Your never-ending rant rapidly dissipates on your tongue, brain struggling to comprehend what he just said. “…What?”
“I care,” he repeats softly. “How can I help?”
The sincerity in his tone renders you mute, too stunned to do anything more than watch as Jungkook drops the backpack he’s had slung over a shoulder onto the floor, tossing his newly removed jacket on top of it without much thought. He’s unbuttoning his cuffs and rolling up his sleeves, the reemergence of an ink-covered forearm making your brain stutter even more. Now that there’s much less distance between you, you can more accurately make out the shape of a delicate tiger lily, the languid form of a snake.
Jungkook clears his throat, the noise snapping you out of your stupor and making you realize you were just staring at him in silence, for who knows how long. Dammit. “What do you need?” he tries again.
“Um, first we can start with Mabel,” you croak, mouth now embarrassingly dry. “No matter what I do, she refuses to collate.”
Jungkook shoots you a smile that softens his whole face. “Lucky for you, I’m the printer expert, remember? Don’t worry. We’ll get this fixed and be out of here in no time.”
He holds out a hand and you reflexively grab it, allowing him to guide you to your feet. Together, you make your way to the copy room, where Mabel has stubbornly been giving you hell all night. Jungkook gets right to work pushing buttons while you stand to the side, awkwardly shifting your weight a little from foot to foot.
“So why are you still here?” you ask, curiosity finally forcing you to voice the question that’s been looping in your mind since he first appeared. “It’s late.”
“It is,” he agrees, focus still on the printer. He kneels down, opening the paper tray. “There’s this huge system update that’s set to roll out next week. My whole team has been hunkering down and pulling late nights.”
Oh. That explains why you haven’t seen him around much since the barbecue. “That’s tough.”
“We’re finally almost done,” he shrugs. “And I’m clearly not the only one working overtime.”
You don’t say anything when he looks up at you pointedly, so he turns back to the printer, pulling a stack of paper out of one of the trays.
“I think this may be part of the problem. Someone put the wrong-sized paper in here. Or, at least, Mabel thinks it’s wrong. She’s confused.”
“Well, she can join the club,” you mutter, and he puffs out a laugh, shutting the drawer and pressing some more buttons.
“Come on, let’s try again.”
Something touches your elbow, and though it shocks through you like he electrocuted you, you have the good sense suppress any embarrassing reaction to what you quickly realize is just his hand. Instead, you let him guide you back to your desk, trying not to focus too intently on the heat of his skin on yours.
Jungkook waits for you to login to your computer, clicking around and changing some settings once you step back and allow him free rein. Then, you can hear a distant hum coming from the copier room, and you know immediately that he’s succeeded. Dutifully, he goes to check anyway, returning to you with a stack of perfectly collated paper.
“Thank god,” you groan. “Now let me just print fifty more of those so I can start organizing these binders.”
With the crisis averted and his job done, you fully expect him to gather his pile of stuff and hustle to the elevator before you can trap him into doing anything else. Instead, Jungkook goes to pick up the additional copies from the printer for you, and he actually gets down on the floor next to you to start putting everything together. He watches you assemble one binder for reference, but then he’s easily doing the same and doubling your completion speed.
And slowly, gradually, your nervous system calms. The two of you work like a well-oiled machine in what would be comfortable silence, if your brain wasn’t so loud. Now that you’re not actively panicking, a completely different feeling starts to seep into you—embarrassment. You can’t believe that Jungkook actually caught you on the cusp of a breakdown, during which you looked so pitiful, he felt morally obligated to stop what he was doing and help you.
“I’m sure you have somewhere to be,” you say after a while with a grimace. He’s way too nice and you’re way too pathetic. “I didn’t mean to ruin your night—I promise you don’t have to stay with me. Now that everything’s printed and organized, most of the work’s done. I should be out of here in no time.”
“Well, I promise you didn’t ruin anything. And with two of us, you can be out of here in less time than that.” He looks up with a soft smile from where he’s hole punching a stack of paper, the muffled ka-chunk of the device punctuating his point. “I don’t mind, _____. Really.”
“But I do,” you murmur, looking away. Unable to meet his eyes. “I really appreciate your help, but I feel bad taking up so much of your time.”
“Well, don’t. I didn’t really have plans tonight anyway, and I’ve been working so much that it’s probably better that I get in some socializing time.”
“Not that I’m very good company,” you snort derisively.
There’s a pause, one long enough that you wonder if he heard you. But then he’s moving a little closer to you, tipping slightly sideways to tap his shoulder against yours. Reflexively, you turn back to him, finding his eyes kind.
“We all have our off days, and that’s okay. But they’ll dull your shine if you let them. Don’t.” He bumps your shoulder again. “Besides, you and I have to stick together, remember? Or did you not really mean it when you told me that?”
You did tell him that, didn’t you? Months and months ago. You're surprised that he even remembers that.
There's an amused quirk to his lip, one that you can't help but feel yourself soften to, even as his focus turns back to the task at hand. And all at once, you feel yourself flooded with gratitude. You've been thankful for his help this whole time, of course, but now you almost sag with it, the relief at knowing someone is finally in your corner, the sudden sense of security and support visceral and a little overwhelming.
Before you fully realize what you're doing, it's you who leans closer, aiming to give a him a grateful kiss on the cheek. But your lips don't quite land on their intended target, because just before you succeed, Jungkook unconsciously senses your increasing proximity and reflexively turns his head back to you.
It's his lips yours coincidentally brush against, the accidental kiss timid due to his surprise and your chaste intentions. But the kiss is also soft, his lips plush and rather easily yielding to yours.
Quickly realizing your mistake, you pull back, eyes as big as saucers. You stare at him in stunned silence and he stares back, eyes all pupil.
A horrified apology is immediately crowding the back of your throat, but right before you set it free, Jungkook's Adam's apple bobs, an errant tongue absently swiping across his lips.
Huh. This isn’t exactly the reaction of someone repulsed by an unwanted kiss. He still hasn't said anything, but he hasn't moved away from you either. He's just watching you. Waiting.
...Waiting?
With caution but with clear intent, you lean back in, and to your surprise, he meets you halfway, noses bumping a little before he tilts his head and your lips slot perfectly together.
This kiss is immediately different from the last. Jungkook mindlessly drops he binder he's holding, body angling more solidly towards you so he can properly meet the rapidly rising intensity. Well, meet may be the wrong word, because he's the one whose hand quickly reaches up to cradle your chin, gentle pressure a silent request to for you to tilt your head a bit more. And when you comply with the change in angle, it's him who deepens the kiss, the slow lave of his tongue coaxing your lips to part, open and wet.
You pant hot into his mouth and he breathes you in, offering no resistance when you push even closer, hands wandering across his shoulders, fingers ghosting up the back of his neck before drifting to idly toy with the hair at his nape. He hums contentedly, not unlike a purring cat, and does it again when your tongue joins his in a slow glide.
You lose yourself in the sensation of it all, unable to notice anything beyond the heat that is rapidly building between you like fireworks ready to explode. Your head spins, swimming with endorphins and high off the smell of him. The taste.
A playful nibble of your lip unexpectedly has a rather desperate keen escaping your throat. You pause, making to pull back in your embarrassment, but the sound only seems to activate Jungkook, who follows you in your attempted retreat, mouth chasing yours in its reluctance to part. It's only when your back finally touches the floor that you realize he's slowly guided you there. You've been in a haze, too swept into the plot of the movie you've somehow found yourself in to do anything but be pulled along.
As naturally as breathing, your find your knees have parted, and Jungkook easily slips into the space you've created for him, almost trancelike. As if he doesn't even realize he's doing it, too focused on exploring the fever of your mouth. He's leaning most of his weight on the hands he has posted on either side of your head; even still, every single millimeter of you that does touch him is sparking like live wires, euphoric goosebumps rippling across your skin. You let out a shaky breath that fogs his glasses, but even that doesn't stop him, just makes him pull back from you just enough to be able to whip them off and toss them somewhere, wholly unconcerned.
Emboldened by this, you sling a leg over his hip, and he eagerly accepts your invitation, settling on you properly. You're covered in him now, pelvises properly flush, and now that he's caged you in, Jungkook takes the opportunity to glide his lips away from yours and trail across your jawline instead. You shiver, every atom of you buzzing at his touch, and his mouth continues its trek, sucking hot down the column of your throat with just enough pressure that you know color will bloom there later.
Your hips reflexively jump at his ministrations, your skirt riding further up your thighs, and the hard press of him against your panties has you swallowing down a moan. He freezes for a fraction of a second, but then his hips respond to the lure of yours with a more intentional roll. A contented sound rumbles in the back of his throat, tongue dipping to meander across your collarbone.
This is crazy. This is crazy. But you can't quite find it in yourself to care much as the two of you rut against each other on the office floor, your hand gliding up his back to root in the hair at his nape.
Your hips undulate restlessly, eager to meet the crest of his wave, and Jungkook matches your intensity, catching your earlobe between his teeth. Your shared grind is measured but deliberate, and even through his pants you can feel the hard shape of him pressing right against your aching core. A particularly pointed roll has Jungkook shuddering hot into the shell of your ear, and that is what finally tamps down the last of your restraint and triggers something much more primal.
Dizzy with want, your hands scrabble between you and aim for the button of his slacks, eager to be properly introduced to what’s underneath. But to your slow horror, Jungkook freezes at the touch, motionless for a few breathless seconds before he actually starts lifting off of you and pulling back. It’s only when he’s completely sat up and is staring at you that the full weight of what you’ve just done hits you like a freight train.
Holy shit. Holy shit.
You really were just dry humping. A coworker. And you were doing it on the premises of the place that pays your fucking bills! Making out, dry humping, and you were actively aiming to do much more if he hadn't stopped you.
What the fuck has gotten into you?
You scrabble upright, dizzy with the mortification rapidly seeping deep into your bones. Stupidly, you blink at him, paralyzed with embarrassment but unable to look away. A deer in headlights.
Jungkook stares right back, eyes dark and all pupil. Dazedly, you wonder if you look as fucked out as he does—there’s a smattering of red across his cheeks, and his hair has been thoroughly mussed by your own hands. A tongue dips out to swipe over kiss-swollen lips, stealing your attention away from the rapid rise and fall of his chest.
And suddenly, you’re able to kickstart into gear.
“I am so sorry,” you burst out, panic nearly choking you. “That was highly inappropriate and I seriously don’t know what came over me—”
It takes you a few moments to register that he’s moved back in, and that it’s the returned press of his lips that interrupts your babbling apology before it can properly catch its stride. You’re almost too afraid to respond in kind, as if you’ll somehow scare him away again, but the insistence in his kiss practically knocks the breath from your lungs. Patiently, he coaxes your rigid lips back pliant. And only when it’s clear you won’t try to run away does he lean back a second time, but only enough to see your eyes properly.
“No,” he murmurs, breath fanning hot over you. “That was very much appropriate.”
You’re not quite sure how to respond to that, too shell-shocked by this turn of events and actively battling your triggered fight or flight response. “Um. Then…then why did you…”
Jungkook’s eyes flutter closed, as if he’s gathering himself. “I want to,” he mumbles, seemingly to himself, but then he’s looking right at you again, gaze heavy with resolve. “It’s just…do you mind if I try something first?”
That throws you for a loop. Your jaw opens then shuts again while you contemplate his question, as well as your answer. “I mean, I guess? It depends on what it is.”
That you don't instantly reject him visibly unwinds a tension in his body that you only now realize was there. A rather feral look crosses his face, immediately inciting goosebumps to ripple across your skin in anticipation. But then the intensity of his expression dims, edged with something more contemplative. Jungkook gives you a pensive nod then stands, looking around curiously. “Hey, where does that viper sit?”
You blink, bewildered. “…The who?”
“The one who’s always with you at lunch.” He locks eyes with you, tongue poking through his cheek. “You know. The one who’s on your team but still had no second thoughts about leaving you here tonight by yourself.”
Joy. He’s talking about Joy.
The question makes you pause in suspicion, but you still hook a thumb towards the cubicle next to yours, on the other side of your shared wall. “There. Why?”
“No reason,” he says with a sly grin, holding out a hand to you. You take it without question and he easily helps you to your feet. But then before you can process it, he’s slid both hands around your waist and easily lifted you off the ground, already in route to the exact cubicle you called out. You yelp in surprise, your arms reflexively circling his neck—your legs, his middle—in your body’s scramble for balance. But Jungkook’s hold on you is secure, grip moving down to the back of your thighs instead, and now that your chests are once again flush, you can actually feel his chuckle. His amusement provokes yours, and you can’t help but giggle as he carries you over to Joy’s cube as easily as if you weigh nothing.
Clearly, his exercise routine is working out for him.
After using a hand to sweep some objects out of the way, Jungkook carefully sets you down on Joy’s desk, right next to her monitor. Your mirth only grows at the feeling of whatever printouts she left for later review crinkling under your weight, at the sight of displaced pens rolling off the edge and disappearing to the ether that is the floor.
Jungkook has set you down, but he doesn’t pull away, just leans down and recaptures your eager lips. He’s tall enough that he’s kind of hunching over to kiss you, neck really craned, but he doesn’t seem to care much about that, kissing you with the same ferocity as moments before, when the two of you were entangled on the carpet. And you can’t help but match his fervor, hands reaching to guide his slim hips even closer, into the widening gap you naturally create for him between your legs.
Time constricts and expands, an endless and meaningless concept. Because all that matters now is the tongue he slips past your lips to slide against yours, slowly, like he’s savoring the taste of you. All that matters is how fucking great he smells—like clean laundry and smoke and warm skin speckled with sweat—something you’ve always caught whiffs of, but now completely surrounds you, invading all your senses and sending your lust into overdrive.
“Is this what you wanted to try?” you pant hotly when your lips finally separate for a moment in your quest for air. “Defiling Joy’s desk?”
He’s leaning his forehead against yours while he also attempts to catch his breath, and he’s so close that it would be hard for you to miss his amused flash of teeth. “Sort of. I’d like to defile it more thoroughly, though. Starting with this.”
Jungkook leans in for one last kiss, one that starts at your mouth, moves to your neck, and to your surprise, continues down the line of your body. Over your collarbone, careful hands popping open a few buttons of your blouse so he can nestle more surely into the curve of your breasts, warm lips skating across eager skin. For a few moments, he actually nuzzles his face into your middle, a gesture you find rather sweet before he incites a shiver through your body by licking against your clothed navel. And before you can fully realize what’s happening, he’s slipped to his knees.
You look down at him in surprise, body still slotted between your legs, but this time more eye-level with the secret, needy part of you that has been thrumming excitedly with every beat of your heart. “What are you…”
“You’re always doing everything for everyone else,” comes his murmured reply. “Will you allow me to do something for you?”
Your brain is still so hazy from the spell of his mouth that it takes you a moment to recognize what’s happening. What he’s asking for. But when his large palms are hot against the naked skin of your thighs, gentle pressure urging them to part even more, it all hits you like a truck. Your eyes dart around, paranoid. “Jungkook,” you hiss. “…Here?”
“They’re too cheap to put cameras anywhere other than the lobby.” He turns his head, lips pressing reassurance into the side of your knee. “And no one’s here.” His reminder as gentle as the kisses he continues to adorn you with. “Just you.” Kiss. “And me.”
He’s right, you know. No one else is here to witness the series of bad decisions you’ve just made—to witness the ones you’re still seriously considering.
Still, you hesitate.
Jungkook’s staring intently at you, doe-eyed and cherry-lipped and deceptively innocent despite what he’s requesting of you. “Please?” he asks again, oh-so-sweetly. Reverently prostrating before your altar, praying for the blessing of an ambivalent goddess. You. “I just…I really want to. Ever since that day, I can’t stop thinking about it and I—please?”
Your brows furrow as you try to make sense of what he’s saying, still scrambling to keep up with this current turn of events. What day? Your mind whirrs, jumping around before finally settling on an embarrassing memory you’ve willed yourself to forget.
Lunch, where Wendy somehow got you to admit you’ve never gotten head, and Jungkook, purportedly oblivious, too busy on his phone to ever pay your table any attention.
…Except from what he’s saying right now, he had heard every word. Heard, and filed it away for safekeeping, only revealing to you now, when he can possibly do something about it.
Absently, your tongue dips out to swipe across your lips, and Jungkook’s attention visibly strays towards the action, thumbs rubbing slow circles into your thighs and sending electricity straight to your core. God, do you want to say yes. Even though you’ve never done this before, your inexperience is not at all the reason for your reluctance. It’s the optics. You’re at work.
Your head tilts as you try to accurately take stock of the situation. You’re at work. But technically, you should have clocked out hours ago. Technically, this job has been stealing a lot of time that should have been yours to choose what to do with. Case in point—you’re the only person on your team still within a five-mile radius of this godforsaken building. Because everyone else deserted you without a second thought, designating you to be the one who struggles to print presentations for a meeting that has been on the calendar for literal months.
But.
While it’s easy to assume they forced this fate upon you, Fate is not one easily compelled to do another’s bidding. And, trapped in the gaze of the sweet man still patiently awaiting permission to ruin you, you can’t help but wonder if this has been Her plan all along.
For months you’ve been doing everything for everyone else, so unhappy and stressed that each day in this place only wound you tighter and tighter. So…what if you finally just let yourself snap? Did what you wanted for once? Stopped following the rules that nobody else ever seemed to and just let go?
You exhale. Fuck it.
“Okay.”
Jungkook grins, boyishly innocuous at first, but rapidly morphing into something much more devilish as you watch. He turns to kiss your knee again, and you startle a little at the action, newly on edge. “Don’t be nervous,” he says, still holding your gaze. Making sure you can see his resolve. “I got you.”
“Okay,” you say again, but that’s easier said than done, especially when he takes the opportunity to gently push your knees even further apart. Naturally, your skirt rides further up, and you can’t help the apprehension that washes over you at your increasing lack of modesty. Still, you hold true to your word, aggressively tamping down the urge to scramble off the desk and pretend this all never happened. But though you brace yourself for what comes next…
Jungkook doesn’t move.
Long moments pass before you can’t help but say something. “Are you just gonna look?” Because that’s all he seems to be doing, laser-focused on the juncture of your thighs.
He visibly stirs at the sound of your voice, but still doesn’t do much more than tsk at you. “Don’t rush me,” comes his light reprimand, eyes still locked on what you’re sure at this point is a growing dark spot on your panties. “I don’t half-ass things and I definitely won’t rush this. No one’s here, so just relax and enjoy the ride.”
Your jittery nerves have you reflexively mouthy, but your retort swiftly dies on your tongue when his hand finally moves further up your skirt—further inward—and two fingers pointedly press right against that dark spot and glide over your clothed lips. You gasp, fighting against the urge to snap your legs shut when he slowly circles your clit and sends sparks dancing down your legs.
“Better?” he murmurs.
“Much,” you squeak.
“Good,” he says, eyebrows knitted in thought as he circles and circles. Your thighs twitch, and he leans forward like he can’t help himself, nose pressing solidly against you with a long, audible inhale.
A fascinated oh falls from your lips, heartbeat accelerating excitedly in your ears, but Jungkook only responds by nestling further against your pussy, tracing the length of your lips with a slow, wet swipe of his tongue through the fabric. He breathes hot against your clit and you inadvertently buck at the stimulation, only inciting the wicked curl of his lips. He looks up at you darkly through the curtain of his bangs, and something unexpected and primal simmers beneath your skin.
“Can I have these?” he asks huskily, lightly snapping the elastic of your panties against your skin.
You clear your throat, suddenly wishing you had the foresight to put on something more interesting today than your unassuming cotton undies. “Have as in you won’t give them back?”
He lets out an amused puff of air, tilts his head. “I haven’t decided yet.”
You nod your assent. You’re now impossibly invested in where he plans to take this, and it’s not like you don’t have more pairs at home. “Knock yourself out.”
Immediately, his hands are up your skirt. They’re big, but they’re also gentle, caressing your thighs and even taking a slight detour to the meat of your ass before continuing their mission to the band of your underwear. When he starts to pull, you help him, shifting your weight so he can slip the fabric over your hips and down your legs.
Jungkook’s Adam’s apple dips when his eyes are finally able to feast on you without a barrier. “So fucking hot,” he mutters, almost to himself, and then without further warning, his mouth seals around your sex.
You whimper in surprise, not at all used to the sensation of someone kissing you there. And kiss you he does, carefully at first, judging your reaction. But when you do nothing but grip the edge of the desk, biting your lip in an attempt to stifle the rather desperate sounds crawling up your throat, he swiftly devolves into kissing you with the same passion as he had the lips on your face. His tongue laps at you with sure, even strokes, dragging across the seam of you and then through it, making sure to slide along your clit on every upstroke.
Your breath quickens, jaw falling slack. You weren’t sure what you imagined oral sex to be like before this, but you never expected how easily your body submits to his ministrations. Almost without you realizing it, your thighs part even more, hips automatically canting down to meet his eager mouth. A hand reaches for him, fingers winding through his hair and rooting there, and Jungkook hums in approval, his own hands wrapping securely around your thighs, your ass. His fingers sinking into the yielding softness of you, gently holding you steady against his face while you start to gyrate and moan.
God, does he look good down there. He’s always looked good, even before you knew what he was hiding behind those shy smiles and nerdy glasses, but something about the sight of him, jaw working as he sucks on you, lashes fluttering in pleasure in his quest to please you—
Without warning, he detaches with an audible pop, and a disgruntled sound reflexively leaves you. Breathless, you start to ask him why he stopped, but the words die on your tongue when you realize he’s staring at you again. That he pulled back for a moment just so he can get a good look at the mess he’s making of you. So he can properly see how your pussy aches and drools for him.
“Good?” he asks, voice deep and thick.
“So fucking good,” you sigh. What you know he wants to hear, but also 1000% the truth. You’re starting to understand what Wendy has been blathering about, but is it always like this? Or is it Jungkook in particular who is making you so unbelievably aroused? Is your rapidly snowballing crush on him that strong, or does pussy eating simply rank high on his skillset?
As if he can hear your thoughts, Jungkook moves to slip a finger into you, and you can’t help but moan when he breaches you, the digit sliding in so easily that he quickly adds another, thumb pressing surely into your clit as he starts a slow drag in and out.
“Shit,” you shudder, eyes rolling back into your head. Hips sliding further off the desk, reflexively seeking the delicious stimulation. One of your hands scrabbles across the desk, unconsciously trying to root you, and you’re much too preoccupied with how good he’s making you feel to notice when you accidentally knock over a mug full of pens. A stapler clanks to the ground. “Fuck.”
“Look, baby,” he breathes, moaning along with you when the pet name immediately makes your pussy flutter. “Look.”
At his encouragement, you do. You watch the flex of his tattooed arm as his fingers continue to disappear within you, a lewd squelch coinciding with his movements. You watch as he adds another finger, the additional stretch immediately noticeable but even more delicious. You watch him watch you, eyes all pupil, lips swollen and slick with your desire.
“More,” you whine, frenzied and greedy. And Jungkook immediately heeds your call, leaning back in. He sucks on your clit with three fingers sunk in you, expertly crooked towards your pelvic bone, and you jolt, accidentally knocking something else off the desk. Neither of you pays the resulting clattering any attention, too wrapped up in the way you writhe at his ministrations. He hums in approval, the vibrations only intensifying your ecstasy. He flattens his tongue as your hips desperately circle, letting you control the stimulation. And when it’s clear you still need more, he changes tactics and rapidly laps at you instead, as if you’re a melting ice cream cone, while he beckons, beckons.
Your blood is volcanic, hot pressure bubbling beneath the prison of your skin, building and building within your core. The higher he takes you, the more the grip you have on his hair unintentionally tightens, but that only seems to urge him on, locking eyes with you as the thrust of his fingers turns harder and more calculated. Giving you no other choice but to finally erupt.
You cum with a loud groan, gasping through it while your cunt rhythmically clamps down on his digits, hard. Jungkook talks you through it, murmuring encouraging words your buzzing brain has trouble deciphering because his hand still doesn’t stop, pounding right into your g-spot and making your eyes cross and toes curl with the force of it. And when you finally can’t take anymore, jerking with oversensitivity, you grab him by the wrist in a wordless plea for mercy.
And Jungkook grants it. You can tell that he wants to play with you more—wants to guide you over and over to the precipice just see the look on your face when he shoves you off—but ever the gentleman, he reins in his enthusiasm and obediently slips his fingers out of you. He takes a few seconds to admire his handiwork, eyes shining with in reverence as he marvels in the dripping, throbbing, panting aftermath that is you.
“Wow,” you say, still dizzy with endorphins. Never in a million years did you think it would feel like that.
“Yeah,” he agrees, voice thick. “Wow.” He lifts his hand, remnants of you visibly slicking his fingers and webbing between the digits, and without a second thought, sticks them in his mouth and sucks. The resulting slurping of his errant tongue is nothing short of obscene, but your cunt flutters again anyway, interest clear despite being thoroughly satisfied only moments before. And when line of your essence starts to drip down your thigh, Jungkook makes sure to lean in and catch it with his tongue.
You shiver with the feeling of him on you again, mouth hot and wet, thighs still trembling. He’s taking his time, tongue dragging a slow path back up to the source, determined to feast upon the rewards of his efforts. But you can’t take it anymore. God, he’s so hot. He’s so fucking hot and you want him so fucking bad.
You need him. Biblically.
Near delirious, you reach for him, hands scrabbling across his shoulders, fingers trailing the back of his neck and guiding him to stand. Arms circling his waist and pulling him closer to you—close, close—Jungkook easily slotting into spread of your thighs.
He follows your unspoken commands easily and without question, looking down at you with a rather pleased smile that crinkles his eyes in the corners. Determined to steal the breath from his lungs, just as he just did to you, you lean in to lick that smile pliant and open. There’s a curious taste on his tongue that it doesn’t take long to deduce is you, and that’s only even more of an aphrodisiac, revving you up further.
Your hands continue to roam, sliding down a little to grope his backside, startling a laugh out of him. But when your fingers tease the waistband of his slacks, his delight visibly shutters away into something else entirely.
“You don’t have to do that,” he breathes, even as he reflexively bucks into the hand you’re using to palm him over his pants. “This was about you.”
“Then let it be about me,” you counter, a mischievous smile curling your lips. Even through his pants you can tell he's hard. That he wants this just as badly as you do. Still, when he gasps out a wait, you obediently stop your ministrations and move to take your hand back.
He doesn't let you get far, lacing his fingers through yours and visibly considering his next words for a few moments before settling on, “What do you need?”
It’s a simple enough question, but you can't help but be immediately reminded of him saying these exact words to you, a little over an hour ago. Now, however, they sit heavy on his tongue, heady and syrupy in hushed invitations.
The revelation hits you all at once, heart pounding excitedly in your ears.
You need only ask. You’ve only ever needed to ask.
And since all caution was thrown to the wind the moment you agreed to let him suck your soul out through your pussy...
“You said you’ve been thinking about me? Well, I’ve been thinking about you too. For a while, even though I’ve been trying not to.”
You’ve had his attention this whole time, but the way Jungkook's regarding you now, now that you’ve said that? He's hanging onto every word, so hyper-focused that it would unnerve you if this wasn’t exactly what you were looking for.
“So…” Adrenaline has your fingers restless against his, but you still dive headfirst. “What I need is for you to fuck me and finish what you started.”
A beat. One where he holds your gaze, the space between you so electrified that you’re surprised you don’t see sparks. But then he’s on you again, mouth meeting yours in a frenzied clash of lips and teeth, and this time he doesn’t stop you when your hands scrabble for his fly.
Jungkook wastes no time, smoothing his hands up your legs and pushing your skirt out of the way. He lets out a shuddered breath when you stroke him through his underwear, when you reach down the waistband and grip him properly.
He’s warm and thick in your hand, and the thought of him finally in your guts damn near has you vibrating. Just like you thought before, he’s already nice and hard, but you still pump him a few times just to revel in the proof of what you’ve done to him. Velvet over stone.
And despite having all the time in the world when the foreplay is for you, Jungkook doesn’t seem to have any patience for himself. You’re only able to enjoy the weight of him in your grip for a few passes before he’s surging into action. Strategically, he grabs you by the knees and lifts, maneuvering your legs into the crooks of his elbows. The move opens you up to him further and forces you more horizontal, leaning back on your forearms, nearly pressed against the cubicle wall.
The way he ate you out moments before ensured you’d be primed for him, your pussy soft and slick and just begging to be filled. When he finally lines himself up and begins the slow press in, your jaw immediately falls open, tongue going lax at the intense pleasure. “Oh my god,” you manage to whine, eyes threatening to roll shut.
The unhurried way he’s sinking into you is likely in effort not to unintentionally hurt you. Because after everything else, why not add another thing to the ever growing list of surprises you’re learning about your unassuming coworker—not only has he been tatted and muscular this whole time, but his dick is also fucking huge. Without even realizing it, you’ve stopped breathing, the pressure of him nudging your walls apart too much stimulation for your body to continue even subconscious functioning.
As if he can tell your brain is actively short-circuiting, Jungkook’s hands circle your thighs, thumbs kneading the flesh in mild distraction for when he finally bottoms out. It’s only now that you can properly notice the effect you’re having on him—hair starting to stick to his forehead from perspiration, teeth grit as he struggles to stay still for you. But you don’t want him to be still.
“Fuck me,” you whimper, wiggling in your impatience and making him suck in a breath. “Please. Give it to me.”
The resulting roll of his hips has him swearing and you seeing stars. “Fuck. You can have whatever you want,” he says, already making good on his promise with a slow grid. “Don’t worry, baby. I’ll give you whatever you want.”
It’s good, so good, especially because Jungkook uses his grip on your thighs as leverage to ramp up his thrusts, easily maneuvering you over his cock in a way that has your toes curling. By the time he’s really fucking you—jaw set, brows furrowed in concentration—you’re crosseyed and mewling incoherently. You should be embarrassed by the sounds he’s pounding out of you, but you’re so focused on the overwhelming pleasure that you can’t find it in yourself to care very much.
Chasing the high you already feel him leading you towards, you lift one of your legs to change the angle, and he catches on immediately, helping guide your ankle to hook over his shoulder with a distracted kiss against the bone. And it’s deeper this way, the angle ensuring he brushes against your spongy nerves with every stroke, only making you spiral faster.
He notices, of course. Notices how quickly he’s taking you to your end and revels in it, sliding a hand inward and he thumbing your clit, fast and hard.
You jolt at the extra stimulation, gasping and overwhelmed. “Oh my goddd…”
“Come on,” he croons, his dulcet tone at odds with the wickedness of his hand. His dick. “Don’t you want to cum for me?”
“I…” you choke out, struggling to form any sort of coherent thought as you feel everything get tighter. “I…”
You see his lips moving as he presumably says something else. But you can’t understand anything other than your own moaning when your pussy finally locks down. This orgasm is somehow more intense than the last one, your thighs rippling with the force of it, your hands desperately scrabbling over the desk in an effort to find something to ground you.
And Jungkook fucks you through it, still talking, and it’s only when the whooshing in your ears starts to subside that you can finally decipher what he’s saying in between his own moaning. “There you go. Being so good for me. So good.”
Your only reply is your gasping breath as your orgasm slowly fades, replaced with oversensitivity. But you don’t want him to stop. You don’t want this to stop, reveling in the feel of him on you, in you. And Jungkook doesn’t, instead sliding your leg off his shoulder so he can grab you by the waist with both hands and properly yank you forward, moving you over his cock to his liking.
The desk creaks with your effort, a rhythmic cacophony with the harsh smacking of his balls against your ass. You mewl, needing him closer still, and curl your legs around his hips, locking your ankles. He’s now trapped against you, but he groans like that’s exactly what he wanted, both hands gliding up the length of your body to grasp the back of your neck instead, giving him even better leverage to plunge into you, deep, deep. He leans down and rests his forehead against yours, licks into your panting mouth.
At this point, his thrusts are turning manic, but you’re meeting every one of them, deliriously following him in his descent into madness. But when he catches your lower lip with his teeth, your breath hollows, and then, quicker than you can register it’s happening, you cum again, spasming around him with a long, high-pitched whine.
Jungkook lets you ride it out, but this time, his thrusts slow while you thrash. And it’s not until your soul finally floats back into your body that you realize he’s already pulled out of you and is bucking into his own fist instead.
You almost took him over the edge with you, you realize. Though he clearly has incredible stamina, you have finally brought him to his limit, and everything inside you glows at the knowledge that he’s here, roughly pumping himself, moans falling freely from his lips because of you.
Entranced, you reach for him, delighting in the whimper he lets out when your fingers wrap around his base. His own hand immediately falls to grip the edge of the desk instead, and you glide your fist up, finding his cock sticky with your juices. Jungkook just rests his head in the crook of your neck and lets you jack him off, whining through it when you match his previously punishing pace. And it doesn’t take long before he finally, finally splashes hot over your hand. Against your thigh.
Your hand slows, twisting your wrist and milking him for every drop. Intent on extending his pleasure, just like he made sure to do for you. And you only stop when he flinches away from your touch, twitchy and shivering as he leans against you.
Reluctantly, you let go. The two of you share the same balmy breath, struggling to calm your racing hearts. And when Jungkook finally backs away from you, unhurried in the way he gathers himself back into his slacks, there is a wildly satisfied grin on his face.
You’re satisfied too, though you try to have some sense of propriety and use a tissue from the box next to Joy’s monitor to wipe off the sticky evidence of his pleasure. Throwing away the evidence, you hop off the desk, locating your long-discarded panties and slipping them back on, smoothing down your skirt.
“So,” you tease lightly. Your head swims a little with the knowledge of what you just did, but you’re surprised to realize you feel zero guilt about it. “Is your plan to stick it to everyone who’s wronged me? If so, we should do it on Mabel next. That’ll show her.”
Jungkook laughs, a giddy, giggly thing. He’s now doing his best to pick up and replace everything that fell from Joy’s desk during your romp. “Nah, I could never disrespect her like that. That ol’ girl’s been such a great wingman these past few months.”
That’s a rather curious statement to make. You frown a little, shoot him an inquisitive sound.
“You always call me when Mabel’s not working,” he shrugs. “So when I wanted to see you, she was nice enough help.”
You can’t help it—a smile creeps across your face, equally bashful and flattered. He wanted to see you! For months, by his open admission. “And the printer knew exactly when you wanted to see me?" you joke. “Sounds like dark magic to me.”
Jungkook’s valiantly trying to straighten and smooth out some of the papers the two of you disturbed. “Deleted some print jobs,” he replies offhandedly, clearly distracted by the task at hand.
Record scratch.
There’s an extended silence as your brain shuffles through different iterations of his sentence, trying to decipher exactly he meant by that. Because there's no way he just admitted to what you think he just did. “Did…did you just say you've been deleting my print jobs?” you ask incredulously. Because there’s no way.
There’s no way, yet at your words, Jungkook immediately stiffens. His lips part, but he doesn't defend himself. Doesn't say anything at all—just drops the pen he’s holding and stares at you with wide eyes.
Holy shit. Holy shit. He really has been doing it! He obviously hadn't meant to tell you that, but the relaxation of afterglow has clearly removed the filter between his brain and his mouth.
The weight of his revelation hits you, seemingly happenstance events connecting in your mind and starting to fall into place. All the hassle and irritation that stupid printer has been giving you, and it turns out Mabel has been working just fine?!
“Please don't be mad,” he pleads, finally finding his voice.
“Are you seriously saying that all this time—”
“No! No, I only did it a few times,” he sheepishly rushes to correct you. “And I promise, I haven’t done it in weeks.”
“Seriously?”
“I just...wanted an excuse to talk to you!”
“Jungkook, you literally talk to me all the time!”
“About work! Not—” he averts his eyes, lets out an irritated breath. “It’s just. I’ve been trying to work up the nerve to ask you out.”
You blink, gaping slightly as your whirring mind tries to process what he’s just told you. “Ask me…out?”
“I didn’t mean to do…all this.” He waves a hand over the mess the two of you are still cleaning up, clearly embarrassed. “I mean, at least not before buying you dinner first.”
Moments pass as you stare at him in stunned, disbelieving silence. Then, like a volcano erupting, laughter bursts from you, loud and sudden. Because what the fuck? You can’t believe all of this is actually happening to you. In real life. “You jackass,” you cackle. “Do you have any idea how much grief that printer has been giving me? I’m over here stressed and you’ve been gaslighting me and doing it on purpose?”
“Just a few times,” he repeats, visibly confused by the juxtaposition of the mirth in your voice and the actual words you’re saying.
“And that doesn’t change the fact that you’re still a jackass,” you laugh. “But…” You clear your throat, suddenly somehow shy, despite everything that has occurred and been said. “…I suppose you can still take me out to dinner.”
“Yeah?” His lips stretch into a slow, hopeful smile.
“Yeah. Now, if you want. I think we’re pretty much done here.” You smile back, quickly taking stock of the binders still scattered across the floor. Most of them are completed, but whatever else you need to do can be done tomorrow morning. “Besides, I seem to have worked up an appetite.”
Jungkook looks nothing short of smug, but you suppose you can’t fault him that. “Well then,” he practically purrs, “Let’s hurry up and feed you.”
Moving in comfortable silence, the two of you finish putting everything you’ve disturbed back in their original spots, gathering the last of the binders and stacking them neatly on your desk. You reach for your purse while Jungkook goes to collect his hastily discarded belongings.
“So,” you start. “Where are you taking me? It’s kind of late.” This late on a weeknight, kitchens would be shutting down soon.
He pauses in sliding his leather jacket back on, frowning a little as he realizes you’re right. “Shit,” he mutters. “I wanted to take you somewhere nice.”
“You can,” you say with an unbothered wave of your hand. “That can be next time. Let’s just find something quick now.”
“So you’re saying I get a second date?” he grins.
Oh. That is what you just implied, isn’t it? You would be embarrassed by how forward you were being if Jungkook wasn’t visibly delighted by it. Wow, he really does like you. And since the feeling is mutual, you just look away coyly and say, “If you play your cards right.”
Jungkook hoists his backpack over a shoulder, and it’s only then that you see what else he happened to be carrying in his hands when he dropped everything for you. A helmet.
You gesture towards the object with a curious incline of your head. “What’s that for?”
“My bike,” comes his easy answer, but that’s not the kind of helmet that one wears for bicycle rides. No, this one is made for something much faster.
Now that you think about it, you’ve seen the motorcycle in the parking lot before—you’ve just never really given it a second thought. And now you can’t stop thinking about it, because the unassuming vehicle you’ve often passed on your way into the building has been Jungkook’s the whole time. Your mind is blown. How many more times is he going to surprise you tonight?
“…Do you always drive a motorcycle?” you ask incredulously.
“Depends on the day,” he shrugs with grin. “Sometimes I take the bus, but I like to ride my bike when the weather’s nice.” His eyes are bright with pride, visibly happy to have impressed you.
Your mouth opens and closes, thoughts racing so fast your tongue struggles to hold onto any of them. Before you realize you’re doing it, you blurt, “Alright. Are you even real?”
Jungkook blinks owlishly at you, clearly not expecting that question. “What?”
“I thought I’ve known you for months. But was any of that real?” you repeat. “Hell, do you even need glasses?”
“Of course,” he rushes to say. “It’s all me. I can just be a little shy, is all.” Wow, he actually said shy with a straight face, as if he didn’t just finish ravaging you over multiple surfaces. “And I like to be professional, so this place doesn’t get to have all facets of me. I know you can relate.”
You can. Your constant struggle to not complain? To be professional and work hard and hope you’ll be rewarded for your efforts? Obviously that’s a reason why the two of you ended up in this situation in the first place.
He ducks his head a little, tapping the glasses he picked up off the floor in petition for their validity. “And these really are prescription. I mean, I can mostly see without them, but since I stare at computer screens all day, it’s less strain on my eyes.”
“Oh,” you say quietly, feeling silly to have even asked. But who knew the quiet IT guy who kept mostly to himself was also this? Buff and tatted with a wicked tongue that you’re now intimately acquainted with.
Shyly, he holds his helmet out to you. He hesitates before speaking again, almost like he’s afraid of spooking you. “Wanna go for a ride?” And from the way color lightly blooms across his cheeks, you get the sense that he’s offering you more than just protective gear.
You take it without second thought.
The next day you and Jungkook get off the elevator together, a respectable distance between you, but arms still brushing too often to be casual. When you come to the hallway that will force you in separate directions, you pause.
“Have a good day,” you say. Jungkook grins, the delighted brightness of it baring too much teeth and crinkling his eyes in the corners.
“You too,” he winks. “Let me know if Mabel gives you any more issues.”
You snort at his brazenness, biting down a smile as you head to your cubicle. Your whole body buzzes, glowing from inside out.
You’re technically right on time, but you’ve definitely arrived later than usual, and that’s obvious when you head over to your department and find Joy already there waiting for you. She frowns as you approach, no doubt clocking your empty hands and wondering how she’s going to make it through the morning without her expected syrupy caffeine fix.
To her credit, she doesn’t call you out on it, but you don’t really care if she does. You’re done playing errand boy. From now on, everyone else will have to stop before work and get their own shit, if they want it so bad.
Because it’s all so clear to you now. You’re here, and you’re going to do your best, but you’re not going to let this place wear you down to jaded slivers. You’re going to work hard and learn all that you can, but you refuse to be anyone’s lapdog.
They will respect you. And your value will be recognized and rewarded—or you’ll simply find somewhere else where it will.
Joy must sense your new resolve, because she simply hovers by your desk and chirps, “Good morning.”
“Morning.”
“Did you have a good night?”
Your lips quirk. “You could say that. What about you?”
“Eh, it was okay,” she sighs. “Met a guy for dinner, but I don’t think that’s going anywhere.”
So while you were stuck here last night, having a grade-A meltdown, she was on a date. That tracks.
Joy chatters on while you put your things away, not seeming to notice or care that you’re not particularly interested in what she’s saying. And while this would normally irritate the living shit out of you, today, it doesn’t.
Today, your eyes can’t help but glaze over as your mind drifts back to how your night went. Today, you just hum agreeably until she gets bored with you and decides to go back to her own cubicle.
And when you hear her ask over the wall if you’ve seen her stapler, you just smile and smile.
Genre/Rating: NC17 due to heavy themes on mental health. Hurt/comfort fic.
Wordcount: 2.9
Summary: “Till death do us part” Your husband JK will do everything in his power to help you see how much he needs you to stay. 😍🥰😩😢😭 angst and fluff. Depression. Recovery.
Tags/Warnings: Depression. Recovery. Mentions of suicide. Tiny mention of religious theme.. 😢 Soft, happy ending 🥰
a/n: This is a commission from the lovely Mina @bangtanmademedoit for the ARMY for AAPI fundraiser! Please consider donating or checking out the Army Advocates resources! Mina, I hope this is not too angsty. 😛
Thanks to @augustbutwinter and @jin-fizz for betareading
The air on the rooftop is chilly. It’s cold up here. Quiet too, as it should be at 3am. Another sleepless night for you. The doctor adjusted your meds again and it’s making it hard for you to fall asleep.
Antidepressants are such temperamental things.
It’s nice to be alone for a while. You came to check out what the roof looked like. Wanted to see if it’s really scary looking down the edge of a sixty-storey building. Would you be afraid or just numb? Fearless or finally relieved that you’ve seen it and know what to expect?
Just a few more steps and you’ll find out.
But first, you look up into the heavens with nothing between you and the big, black sky. There are no stars tonight; there haven’t been any for a long time in Seoul.
Funny how the bright city lights make the sky look so much darker. Like a bolt of deep velvet, its expanse is breathtaking and dangerous, able to envelope you and swallow you whole in a moment. Naively, you look for a star anyway, faintly hoping for a sign among the smoky red clouds to just stay for a little longer.
The sky stays dark and silent. No angel. No flash of lightning. Nothing.
You take another slow, measured step. A few more and you’re near the edge. It’s not like you’re going to do anything. No, not tonight, you think. You’re here to see what it’s like. Just to see. Only to see.
“Y/N.” His voice, that famous one which carries the weight of the first line of so many songs, the one amplified to reach thousands, recorded to reach millions, comes clearly to you, just for you and only you tonight.
You turn to face him. He’s in his dressing robe and slippers, floofy hair mussed from sleep. His beautiful doe-eyes though, are wide and alert. “Whatchu doing up, baby?” he asks quietly. Like he has just gotten up and found you pottering about in the living room.
“Can’t sleep. Just wanted to be alone. Wanted to see what it’s like up here,” you whisper, eyes darting to him and then back to the edge that’s just a few more steps away from your own slippered feet. It had taken you so long to work up the nerve to climb those thirty-four steps in the roof-access stairwell from the penthouse to this roof.
You’re finally here, and you don’t want to go back. Not yet.
Jungkook senses your hesitation and seizes the moment to speak. “Stay, baby. Don’t go there without me.”
“Okay, Kook. I’ll wait.”
He walks calmly to you, careful not to startle you, careful to hold your gaze, careful not to overwhelm you with all the things he wants to remind you of. Things like how much he loves you. Or how much your students adore you. Or how much joy and light and love you bring to his little heart that has only grown bigger and bigger to absorb all the goodness you are to him.
He’s relieved when he’s finally next to you and his arm can secure you in his embrace. How he wishes he can secure your heart and mind too, make sure none of the bad stuff can reach you.
If he could, he would put on a full fucking suit of armor and fend off those treacherous thoughts, thoughts dark and deep that sneak in after breakfast, ambush you before lunch, corner you at dinner, lure you in the middle of the night.
If he could, he would go into the ring with just his bare hands and fight with his last breath to shield you from the despair he has seen swallow you and spit you out and swallow you again and again.
If he could.
But Jeon Jungkook knows the battle is not his. It’s yours. And so he arms you. Arms you with his love. His attention. His tenderness. His time. His presence.
Except, he fell asleep tonight and you had slipped away. Something woke him— an unspeakable urgency to get to you. Maybe it was… god? He doesn’t know. But he’s here now and just in time.
“What do you want to do now, baby?” he asks, just like how he did at the carnival for your first date together.
It was the mother of all first dates, filled with salty pop-corn and sweet cotton candy, with good rollercoasters and bad photo-booth pics that revealed too much love in the eyes of two people on a first date.
“I-I just want to see what it's like. To stand at the edge.”
“Okay. We can do that.” His heart is pounding. He thinks back to his wedding vows, how he has sworn to have and to hold you, cherish you and love you in sickness and in health, for better or for worse. Till death do us part. He’s not going to let you go if he can help it.
With one hand around your waist, the other holding your hand, he shuffles with you to the half a foot away from the edge.
“C-can I look down?” you ask. You’re half scared yourself, not terribly good with heights since you were a kid. Coming up here alone was a bad idea, you realize.
“I’ll hold you okay? We’ll both look.” He helps you lean forward, while bringing his dominant foot back to stabilize you both.
It’s dizzying. Little roads and little cars and little street lights twinkling in the downward distance.
“Do you want to sit here or go back in?” he asks.
“Let’s sit here. Just for a while. Please?”
“Sure, baby.” He eases you back a foot or two away from the edge, and then helps you sit down carefully, making sure he has your waist in a firm grip, bringing you in the curve of his arm. As you lean against each other, the silence brings up the old question again.
“Why do you always come for me, Kook?”
Because you matter.
Because I love you.
Because every beat of your heart is every beat of mine.
“Because,” he says, using that line again, the legendary one his father used on his mom a lifetime ago, “I'm kind of into you if you haven’t noticed by now.” It's the same line he used on you when he proposed.
“Just kind of?” You know the routine. It was how his mom had replied.
“Just the tiniest bit.” He smiles.
Which, of course, is not true. Because his devotion confounds you.
On your bad days, he doesn’t tell you to snap out of it, doesn’t belittle your pain.
On your bad days, he goes into the darkened room and lies beside you, bringing that clean laundry smell with him that reminds you of your grandmother’s house.
On your bad days, he holds you, whispers to you little jokes and stories from his childhood.
He’s so good to you. Too good for you, if you’re honest.
“I’m sorry, I’m such a mess,” you say quietly.
“Hey, I’m a mess too. Look at my hair.” He ruffles it up a bit more to make it look messier than it really is. “We’ll be a mess together. Mr. and Mrs. Mess.”
“You know what I mean,” you sigh. He has accompanied you to countless doctors’ visits for meds, driven you himself to your appointments for psychotherapy, fed you soup, fetched you water, brushed and braided your hair when you could barely get out of bed.
It’s funny how good he is at all those complicated braids. French? Dutch? Waterfall braids? He’s an expert now. After doing up your hair, he’ll get a handheld mirror and show you off to the mirror, a husband proud to introduce his gorgeous wife.
He’ll call you princess, call you beautiful, call you his. Then, pouting his lips, he’ll take a silly selca with you, coax a smile from you and maybe even earn the sound of your tinkly-bell laugh.
“I do know what you mean,” he murmurs into your hair, its weight and texture he already knows so well. “I’m lucky to have you. Bong Bong is too. No one loves us like you do. We don’t deserve you.”
Bong Bong. A perfect name for the yellow lab you brought home together from the animal shelter when you got married three years ago. The poor puppy was rail thin and skittish in your arms, but over a period of six months of constant, watchful care, he grew sleek and strong, confident and playful.
No one loves Bong Bong like you do.
But Jungkook. Jungkook had a string of girlfriends before you. You wonder whether they had loved him like you do. Or if you love him like they did. Whether any of them or all of them combined would be as much of a burden to him as you are right now.
“Kook. Do you regret this?” You point to the wedding band hanging around your neck in a thin gold chain. It doesn’t fit around your finger anymore. You’ve had too many of those days where food brought neither comfort nor pleasure.
“Never. Never, ever.” It’s said without a moment’s hesitation, said with a certainty backed by all the gold in the world. He twines his fingers with yours and lets you feel the hard wedding band that he has never, ever taken off since it went on. “You?” he asks, all quiet and serious.
“Sometimes. Sometimes I feel like I’m too much. That I’m holding you back. That you’re better off--”
“With you.” He plants a kiss on the top of your head like a period to a statement which needs no further elaboration. “I’m better off with you.”
He remembers the first day he met you. You were subbing for his regular guitar teacher who called in sick. When you walked into the practice studio, Jungkook forgot his own name, who he was and where he’s been.
All he could remember was the way your fingers strummed against the strings, the way you smelled, the way your eyelids fluttered open and close as you pulled music from mere wood and metal.
He knew he was a goner. Knew he’d have to marry you. Knew he’d want to play music and make love and live life with you for all of his days and all of his nights.
When you’d asked him which song he was working on, he couldn’t answer. He was lost in his own world, thinking of how to ask you out without seeming desperate, or weird, or superstar-ish. How to do it sincerely, but casually; to appear interested, but not too invested so that your rejection might not sting as much because surely, surely someone as beautiful and soft and sweet as you must already be taken.
Only when you asked him for the third time did he answer shyly that he was learning how to play You’re Beautiful by James Blunt.
“You’re a romantic one, aren’t you?” you’d chided gently, quickly pulling a poker face while you wondered who he plays that song for.
“Always,” was his reply, the tip of his ears blushing as he gave you a bashful, sideways grin. “What about you? What do you like to play?” he’d asked so as to drown out the loud pounding inside his chest he knew you could hear, wishing so much that the soundproof studio could wrap around his heart instead.
“Eric Clapton. Tears From Heaven.”
He knew that one and tried it with your help, your gentle fingers guiding his across the guitar frets. He’d shuddered inwardly at the first feel of your soft skin on his hand against the hard steel of the strings. Your touch on his fingers burned deeper than the dark ink tattooed there, seeped right through his skin, into his blood, into his very heart.
Would you know my name
If I saw you in heaven?
Would it be the same
If I saw you in heaven?
I must be strong
And carry on
'Cause I know I don't belong
Here in heaven
It was after the song, both of you barely breathing from the weight of the moment, when he met your gaze and impulsively asked if he could kiss you. You hid your yearning with a laugh, and replied you don’t usually take kisses as payment for the first lesson.
“Then we need more lessons,” he said.
So of course there were more lessons, followed by payments of every kind, in every way, given everywhere. Payments that made you gasp, and hitch a breath. Payments at sunsets and sunrises, by the beach and on his bed.
He loves to overpay you, loves to lavish you with all that he has and all that he is, which explains why he’s here, next to you, ungodly hour be damned as he tenderly strokes your hair in what has been your worst episode of depression.
“Thank you, darling,” he says stroking the sides of your arm, his nose lodging gently in that little curve of your temple. He loves to breathe you into his very soul, chase every molecule of your scent, every second he can get.
“For what, Kook?” you ask, staring down at the ocean of city lights spread before you.
“For taking your meds. Making it to all your therapy appointments. For choosing to stay even when it’s hard." He pauses, thinking about how strong you’ve been even though you feel weak. "For fighting everyday. Fighting for us, for you.”
From all the way up here on the edge of this tall, tall building, to all the way down in the depths of your heart, a flood of gratitude fills you. Jungkook affirms your fight. He knows.
You say nothing, a squeeze of your hand back on his is all you can muster as the tears you’ve been holding in finally slip down your face.
“I love you so damn much.” His voice is cracking a little, but he pushes on, determined to convince you of what’s true and sure. “You ground me, you know? You keep me safe from me. Make me good. Make me better.”
You know his tendency to push himself, how he always takes on a lot more than the rest of the members, always willing himself to go faster, go harder, go higher until he burns out like the candle on the cake that doesn’t quite make it to the end of Happy Birthday to You.
You know how easily he gets drunk, no, not on soju, but on work, how he inebriates himself with fatigue, drowns himself in success, addicted to the myth of the golden maknae. For Jeon Jungkook, just one more was never enough. Not until you came along.
You know him. And yet you chose him. And this, Jungkook thinks, this makes him the luckiest man in the world.
“I need you here. Need you to remind me that there’s more to life than that craziness. So don’t fucking say you’re holding me back. You keep me safe, okay?” His eyes are all bleary and red now, face crumpling with emotion. “Don’t — don’t leave me, baby.”
You reach across to him and press yourself into him. Nothing moves you more than when he lays his heart bare before you. “Oh Kook. Kook.” You want to say it, feel it at the tip of your tongue, yearn with heart and soul to swear to him you’re not going to leave him this soon, this way.
But… but you just can’t quite say it yet.
He’s crying now. His tears are dripping down to the side of your cheek, merging with your own tears, reminding you that he’s here to stay. Your pain is his sorrow; your joy, his triumph.
Teardrop by teardrop, the truth slowly sinks into you: Jungkook’s the strong tower you can always run to. He’s your refuge, your hiding place. There’s no need to go anywhere else.
You’re not sure how long you hold him and he holds you. All you know is that you’re so very glad to be in his arms, to be his girl.
He starts singing that familiar tune, the one that knotted his heart to yours from the very beginning.
Would you know my name
If I saw you in heaven?
Would it be the same
If I saw you in heaven?
And somehow, you find the strength within to sing with him—
I must be strong
And carry on
'Cause I know I don't belong
Here in heaven
With the darkness above, the lights below, and him around you, you listen to the last, mellow notes of your voice harmonized with his. It sounds like something you’d want to keep hearing.
Wordlessly, he leads you up and brings your body flushed against his, envelopes you in his big, strong arms, swaying to an invisible rhythm that only you and he are familiar with, the dance that’s just for the two of you.
“You know you belong here, right?” he asks, arms tightening around you.
You pull yourself closer to him, drawn to his warmth, to the goodness and steadfastness of this man.
You’re sure of your answer now.
“I know, Kook. I know I belong here.”
It’s true. You belong here and you’re going to stay.
~END~
Strong tower / refuge /hiding place imagery taken from Psalms and Proverbs, Holy Bible.
If you need help, please reach out to the nearest Samaritans hotline in your area. You’ll find someone who will listen. Hugs.
★ It's december and I still want you by @smoochkooks
★ You're losing me by @inthelow
Series
★ To Make A Power Couple by @joheunsaram
★ Promise by @joheunsaram
★ Chaperoning by @joheunsaram
★ Black Swan by @helenazbmrskai
★ The Stand-In by @yoonia
★ Satisfy by @suga-kookiemonster
★ Our Story by @yoonjinkooked
★ Letting go by @bangtan-babe
★ Right person, wrong time by @hobeemin
★ Who you gonna call by @hyunnows
★ Pretty Baby by @margotw10bis
★ The death of you by @kkaetnipjeon (incomplete)
★ Intersect by @shina913
★ The long game by @mrsvante
‧₊˚🖇️back to namu's library 𐚁
‧₊˚🖇️back to the library 𐚁
special request from @ficluvr613 , happy reading sweetheart.
I'll make part 2, I'm really exhausted lately, i don't feel like reading, i don't know what is going on army twt, work work work but I couldn't keep you waiting more love.
⤷ Eventually you came to the realization that, if Namjoon was the king of the underground, you were as close as he would ever get to a queen.
✓ Couple: Namjoon x Reader | Boxer!AU and Gang!AU
✓ Filed under: smut, minor angst
✓ Look out for: violence, light daddy kink
✓ Words: 13,411
Author’s Note: guess who’s back, back again… guess who just edited this fic into the seven heavens and added about 6k more? das right
“Come on, (y/n), you won’t regret it!”
Hovering like a feather over your head, Yoongi’s proposal gradually fell into your consciousness. Quicker than you expected, the shadow of a frown was casted over your features and you found yourself rolling your eyes at his words, frustrated at his mindless insistence — what was that? The seventh or eighth attempt at convincing you throughout the last hour? Your patience was running thin.
Falling from in between your lips like poison, the bitterness of your response was enough for his mocking smile to wilther into seriousness, “How many times do I have to tell you?” you asked him, folding a particular shirt with more brutality than humanly necessary. The laundry room was already claustrophobic as it was, you did not need your friend pushing you against a corner and miserably failing to reach his goal. “I don’t want to get involved in your illicit practices, Yoongi.”
An ironical chuckle exploded on his lips as your answer found him, his sentence already hanging at the tip of his roseate tongue, “Do you prefer to spend your sad Friday night being alone in your sad, lonely house?” he questioned, sarcastic. You nodded instantaneously, making him look you up and down — underneath the cool, flickering luminescence of the laundry room, his hesitant eyes scrutinized your rash, stubborn expression with care. “Folding clothes? Really?”
Your confirmation came as you folded the last piece of clothing — an orange shirt you swore you had thrown out already — and placed it on the large basket by your side, “Really,” you told him, picking the object up and walking towards the open door. You could no longer endure neither the smell of lavender detergent, nor the irritating irony from your companion’s part. Yoongi was your best friend, fair enough, but it was at times like those that you regretted one day giving him the keys to your small apartment. “Why do you care, anyways?”
summary: being “just friends” with kim namjoon sucks
pairing: namjoon x f!reader
rating: explicit (18+ please)
genre: fluff, smut
au: university, co-workers to lovers to friends to lovers again (they're oblivious)
warnings: it's mostly fluff i think. they're oblivious. smut: minors should not be interacting/reading, namjoon has a big dick, a lil praise kink, oral sex (f!receiving), penetrative sex, the usual suspects i think. drinking (but not before they sleep together), tae is into new age jazz... and they were roommates!
word count: 7.7k
a/n: so... i had this dream a couple months ago and couldn't get it out of my head, so here you go. thanks, sleep brain. the title is from a neutral milk hotel song (but tbh the '23 album isn't great). thank you to @ugh-yoongi and @the-boy-meets-evil for reading this over. and then for doing it again when i couldn't even find the mistake you told me was there 🙃
read on ao3
You’ve learned a lot in university—which given how much money you’ve spent to be there is a relief. But amongst business classes and writing workshops and statistics, the most important knowledge you’ve gained is that of small things.
Of small things and how they can change your life in unbelievably big ways.
Kim Namjoon isn’t exactly small. But the events that put him right in the middle of your life are. The first day you meet him is a Tuesday. Tuesdays have always been for non-events: for meetings and your least favorite classes… For snagging a coveted dryer on the third floor of the dorm building because Jeongguk saves it for you when he’s finished with his seemingly endless laundry. Tuesdays are for your first real uni friend, Taehyung, to show up to the laundry room unannounced and make you listen to weird new-age jazz on his phone that you hate, but love how much he loves it.
And then your work-study starts. A job in the library is supposed to be easy, has better hours than a lot of the jobs that are available, and pretty much only requires you to understand the Dewey decimal system so you can reshelve things quickly. You can count and read, and those seem to be the only things the head librarian cares about. Cake.
Your first training day is a Tuesday. It’s a rainy afternoon, and in one of the conference rooms in the back of the law floor are you and three other new employees. Right away, it seems like Yoongi, Hoseok, and Namjoon are already friends. They joke and whisper throughout the orientation videos and absolutely make you feel like a fourth wheel. At your first break, Hoseok extends the invitation for you to sit with them when he notices you still sitting by yourself in the back of the room, and it's then that you learn they for sure already knew each other—music majors and all in the same class even though Yoongi is a little older than the other two. They signed up for all the same work-study assignments hoping they’d be placed together, hoping they could have a chance to work on music during slow times at the slowest work-study assignments. Namjoon, though, who has been quiet the whole time, finally speaks up at this.
“Well, I also like books,” he says softly, one side of his mouth turned up in a grin. “So, I guess I had an ulterior motive.”
“Of course you did, Namjoonie,” Hoseok replies.
Yoongi turns to you, explaining, “Namjoon’s a double major. Smartest guy we know. Literature and music.”
You talk more with them after the ice is broken—Yoongi’s a double major, too, math and music. Hoseok raps and does street dancing in his free time, and around the three of them, you feel like you’re woefully underachieving just at life in general.
“What about you?” Namjoon prompts after you get some background on all of them.
“Ah… nothing impressive. Economics major. Just what my parents wanted, you know. But I like books, too. I volunteer at the public library already, but it doesn’t exactly help with tuition.”
“Oh, yeah… It’s no big deal. I just read books to kids sometimes.”
“That’s awesome,” he says, and the look on his face tells you he might actually mean it. Next to him, Yoongi snickers and Hoseok smiles brightly at you.
“Namjoonie here has wanted to volunteer doing park clean up for a while, but Yoongi and I are always dragging him to the studio on the weekends, so he doesn’t have time.”
Namjoon shrugs. “It would be nice to feel like I’m helping, I think.”
“It is,” you agree, sharing a look with him across the table. “The purpose of life is to be useful…” You mumble the quote under your breath, assuming they wouldn’t know what you meant anyway.
“Emerson?” Namjoon asks.
“Oh! Uh… yeah, I mean… That’s what people think, but probably not. It’s most likely from a speech someone else gave when they gave Emerson an award, but most people think it’s him—” you cut yourself off when you notice Namjoon’s eyes gone wide.
“Self Reliance is one of my favorites,” he says, leaning forward, excitement playing in his voice.
“Same! No one ever knows what I’m talking about, but ‘Nothing at last is sacred but the integrity of one’s own mind’ is maybe my whole life philosophy,” you ramble, just happy that someone might finally know what you’re talking about. No one in your economics classes ever shows any interest in philosophy, anyway. Your roommate calls you a nerd every time you bring stuff like this up, and Jeongguk just stares at you with big eyes like he wants to drink every word you're saying but doesn’t understand a drop of it. But Namjoon actually looks… interested in what you’re saying. More than interested, even.
Yoongi elbows Hoseok and smirks. “Namjoon’s in trouble,” he says.
But before you can ask what that means, the head librarian interrupts to tell you it’s time to get back to training. You have to partner up for training to use the library’s reservation and shelving programs, and Namjoon comes right up to you, grinning shyly, and asks if you want to be his partner while his friends whisper on the other side of the room. You know immediately how this is going to go. Or you think you do, anyway.
And you’re right. By the end of the first week of your work study, you’re in Kim Namjoon’s bed.
It’s just like it sounds.
You’re naked, legs bent at the knees and open with his head between them. You noticed his brain first, but it only took that first afternoon to realize that not only was he smart, but stupid hot and kind and sort of funny in the sarcastic way you like, and he seemed to like something about you, too.
On Saturday, you work a slow shift together, both of you using most of the time to catch up on homework, and when it’s over, he asks if you want to come back to his place and keep studying. You agree quickly, but as soon as you get there, you realize you’re both on the same page about being more interested in studying each other than your class work. One thing leads to another, and here you are, moaning into your own palm as he flicks his tongue over your clit in a steady rhythm.
“Namjoon, I–” You’re pathetic, you think, gasping and barely able to make words come out of your mouth, but fuck if he’s not good at this. Better than you’d thought he would be, actually. He came across as a little on the shy side during work, like he might be one of those guys who needs you to tell him where the clit is. Eager to please, but not quite sure how to go about it. Willing to take direction.
He is not that.
“Gonna come, baby? You like my tongue that much?” Namjoon lifts his head to ask, and his lips are slick with you and his voice is deep and his fingers just don’t stop moving… It's so much.
“Yeah, so close…”
At that, Namjoon smirks and ducks his head back down to finish the job. He makes quick work of you, sucking on your clit and twisting one of your nipples with his free hand. The other has two fingers fucking into you in just the right way, just shallow enough to hit your g-spot each time he pushes in.
The orgasm builds fast, pressure from the inside, pressure from the outside… Everything feels so, so good, and you try to tell him so, but all you can do is whimper through it, clenching your thighs around his ears when you come on his tongue and he tries (bless him) to keep licking your core as your knees shake.
“Fuck,” you say on an exhale, arm tossed over your own forehead.
“I’m down,” he teases.
You’re about to say something sarcastic back, but when you lift your arm and look down at him, you lose that train of thought. He looks fucking incredible: flushed, a little sweaty, chin shiny with your orgasm and he’s grinning with those stupid dimples out… How could you not give him everything he wants? Maybe it’s the orgasm talking, the sweet rush of dopamine affecting you when you say, “I want that. Fuck me…” And for emphasis, when he stares at you a little stunned, you add, “Please, Namjoon?”
He only nods, enthusiastically and a little dopey with it, a little like the boy you saw in the library. But when his cock is out—big… like, really big. Why even have a cock that large, really? What’s even the point of that?—he’s smirking and appropriately (you hope) confident again.
“That is…” you look down and make a vague gesture in the direction of his dick, which makes him look down, too.
He shies almost instantly. “Yeah, it’s okay if it’s too much or whatever…”
“No! That’s not what I meant. I just… You look good.” You scoot up so you can have level eye contact. “Want you to fuck me. I can handle it, promise. I want to.”
Namjoon swallows, visibly nervous, but agrees anyway.
You knew it would be fine. Any partner who makes sure to tell you you’re beautiful, who makes sure you come first, who pays attention to your body the way he has for the last couple hours is probably going to keep doing that, you decide. And he does. He’s careful, even though you think it might actually be killing him a little to not move once he’s over halfway inside you. He checks in with you, makes sure the consent is still there, and then when you ask him to “actually fuck me, Namjoon… want your cock… all of you,” he does. And he delivers.
You’re essentially sitting in his lap, his palms spread on your hips as he moves you on his cock and it is… Well, it’s unequivocally the best anyone’s ever fucked you. His lips are on your neck, your breasts, the swell underneath them where they meet your ribcage… He keeps talking to you in his raspy whisper, making sure you feel okay, telling you how good you feel to him. There are times when he gets a little porny, telling you how tight you are (you’re sure a cock that big hasn’t seen anything not tight), and then he says, half out of breath, “Knew you would be a good girl. Knew it from the first time I saw you.” And you didn’t even know you wanted to be a ‘good girl,’ but suddenly you very much do.
Before he comes, he makes sure you do again, too. His thumb finds your clit and his lips are hot against your ear, whispering filth when you tighten around his cock and shudder in his lap. He’s not far behind you, pulling your hips down when he thrusts into you a little harder, sweat beading on his forehead with the effort. He’s quiet when he comes, just a low moan of your name as he stills under you.
After, it’s the small things he does that you like. It’s nice that he doesn’t try and move right away, just runs his hands up and down your back—soothing, almost. The closeness is nice, his head resting against your collarbone while you stroke your fingers through his hair. It feels intimate, more than a first time or a one night stand with your coworker should. But neither of you make a move to change that, so maybe it’s alright.
For now.
You haven’t exactly been the most social university student, but you know how these things are supposed to go. You clean up, you get dressed, you make awkward small talk about your classes or your work study and then you go your separate ways. You go back to your apartment and you don’t talk about what happened. He might look at you like he knows what’s underneath your hoodie next time you see him, but you know it won’t happen again. That’s not how it works. Not for you, anyway.
Kim Namjoon is a good guy, that you’re sure of. He’s a hard worker, he’s smart, he has lots of friends and hobbies and between that and school and work, you know there’s no way he’s looking for a relationship, and you also know he’s going to do his best to let you down easy if he thinks that’s what you’re after.
But, he’s your friend. And your co-worker, and the sex was great, so you want to at least spare him the effort of all that. So, when he gets up to dispose of the condom and find a washcloth, you get dressed quietly, pack your textbooks, and do your best to look mostly put together by the time he comes back.
“So,” you start as he returns to his room, “that was great… Really great, Namjoonie. Thank you.”
He looks… confused. “You’re thanking me for sex?”
“I uh… yes?”
Namjoon gives you a dimpled smile with an eyebrow raised, clearly amused. “Okay… Well, you’re welcome, then. And thank you.” He gives you a teasing bow, and with it, you feel a little relief. Because he’s obviously ready to move forward and this can just be a fun thing that happened and you don’t have to make him worry about letting you down, and you don’t have to worry about how much you fucking like him already. You can just be friends.
The problem, you realize quickly, is that being “just friends” with Kim Namjoon sucks.
It’s like sending your poor, delusional heart through a cheese grater with each of your work-study shifts. It’s swallowing down every dream of happiness when you have to sit next to him at a party and watch him nod along in agreement as Hoseok tells him how hot the new guy in his dance class is. (The guy is hot, with at least a 6-pack, big, pouty lips, and biceps like cannons. So, even you have to agree they have a point.)
Okay, that’s probably dramatic. Incredibly dramatic according to Taehyung and Jeongguk. Which, honestly, says a lot coming from them.
So, you do your best to forget your crush and just be cool about everything. You both make a frankly commendable effort to never talk about what happened between you, and after a few weeks, things don’t feel quite so weird. Namjoon’s probably relieved you never mentioned it again, didn’t expect him to be your boyfriend or anything.
You think you’ve done well.
At one party, halfway through the semester, you meet Namjoon’s friend, Seokjin. He’s quiet at first, polite with a big smile and a nervous laugh. He sticks close to Yoongi and Namjoon, and it doesn’t take long before he’s being shuttled across the large backyard in your direction.
“Hi,” he says simply. “I’ve heard a lot about you.”
“Oh! That’s good… I think?”
“Yah, Namjoonie here—”
“Well, that was great!” Namjoon interjects. “Glad you two finally met. We’re late for something, though. So, bye!” And then he’s pulling Seokjin behind him through the yard in the opposite direction. It’s so weird.
In his protests, you’re pretty sure you hear him say, “You’re ridiculous,” to Namjoon. If you were more sober, you would have recognized it as the first small thing that should have tipped you off.
The second thing happens right before summer break. Your whole group, consisting of your and Namjoon’s friends, are sitting around at lunch discussing everyone’s plans for the summer. Hoseok and Jimin (the hot dancer he wouldn’t shut up about who is now his new boyfriend) are going to a dance clinic on the other side of the country. Jeongguk is going home, promising you he’ll leave you a list of acceptable laundromats in his absence. Seokjin and Taehyung are working—teaching acting classes to teenagers at summer camp.
Yoongi’s got an internship, so he’ll be around, but barely since it’s in the city and your university is a little outside of town. It’s a long subway trip, so he’s got a sublet up there he’s moving into for the summer months.
And then it’s Namjoon’s turn.
“I’m staying. Not on campus, obviously. But I found an apartment and I’m looking for a roommate.” Everyone nods along except Jeongguk, whose eyes dart from Namjoon to you and back several times.
“What about noona?” he finally says, hooking a thumb in your direction. “She’s staying, too.”
“Oh, I don’t think—”
“That’s not a bad idea…”
Namjoon and you look at one another. He’s flushed, and he’s doing that thing he does when he’s nervous where he rubs his throat.
“I’m sure Namjoon has plenty of people in mind already,” you say, trying to give him the out he clearly wants.
“Not exactly,” he mumbles.
“This is perfect!” Seokjin exclaims. “Don’t you think this is perfect, Namjoon?”
You lean over to whisper to Namjoon, “You don’t have to, it’s really alright.” It feels like you’re making him nervous, you can feel his muscles stiffen where you’re touching his arm, and the flush he was sporting is spreading to his neck now.
“Would you even want to?” He asks softly.
You’re not sure, actually. It’s already hard work trying to put your stupid crush out of your mind most days. And now, you only see him a few days a week. Your brain (a logical friend) is telling you that living with him will be terrible for your heart. Your heart isn’t as smart and is pounding faster just thinking about spending more time around your crush. Friend, you correct yourself.
The problem is that only Tae and Jeongguk know about your feelings, and none of them know you and Namjoon have already slept together. So, if you say no, it might be weird. As far as they know, you’re just friends, good friends. Why wouldn’t you want to live with him?
“Yeah,” you reply brightly, swallowing down your nerves, “it’ll be great, Joonie. I can cook and you can help me study for my summer classes.” You’re nodding along as you speak, trying to convince yourself that what you’re saying is true.
“Okay… sure. Roommates,” he says, looking a little stunned.
“Roommates!”
You stick your hand out to shake his. You’re the least sexy person to have ever existed, you decide, as he laughs and shakes your hand.
“It was a terrible idea,” you whine into Taehyung’s lap. “He’s just here… all the time. And sometimes…”
“Yeah?”
“Sometimes he doesn’t wear a shirt!” You slump further into your friend, making what you know are pitiful whining noises into his thighs.
It’s not like you’d go as far as saying moving in with Namjoon for the summer was a mistake. But it wasn’t great. Actually, it was really fucking great, and that was the problem. Or part of the problem anyway.
The apartment is nice—nicer than you’d envisioned when he told you about it. Not too big, but on the corner of the building so you got nice light throughout the day. You each have your own bedroom (thank god) and they aren’t large, but Namjoon gave you the one with the room for a chair by the window, even though you knew he’d been planning to write lyrics there. As promised, you cook for both of you in your small kitchen and Namjoon helps you with your summer classes.
With all of your friends gone or busy, you two don’t see much of them, and it feels like you build your own little world: late nights listening to the records he brings home, eating simple meals by the window and complaining that you don’t have a balcony, getting dragged out on bike rides when the sun falls and it’s cool enough outside, hunched together on the floor of the living room scrolling webtoons and drinking one too many cheap beers, and the worst (best) of all—falling asleep on the couch together before you wake up with a jolt realizing your head is on him and it’s far, far too much to realize his chest is in your face… so you scramble to your room like a coward and don’t fall back asleep, too keyed up.
Seokjin, when you do see him, adds in more and more “old married couple” jokes as the summer goes on. He makes fun of your chore lists on the fridge, cutely decorated with whatever doodle has been occupying Namjoon’s mind that week.
(Jin doesn’t even know that when all the chores are done, you save the little post-it notes, snatching them off the fridge when Namjoon’s not around or not paying attention, and putting them carefully into a little box in your desk drawer with all the other scraps and mementos of your friendship you’ve kept over the almost-year you’ve known him.)
Jin teases you when he lets himself in, late in the mornings, and finds the two of you still asleep, tumbled atop each other on the floor, record-listening session gone too late, the needle still digging into invisible grooves at the center.
It’s not his fault it doesn’t feel like a joke to you, he doesn’t know that you feel like the 45 and all of the jokes and all of Namjoon’s smiles and all of the little notes he leaves and the way he blushes when you come out of the bathroom in your robe like maybe maybe there’s just a chance you’re not the only one still thinking about that one time… that those are the needles, and you’re here, spinning in place while they poke and prod and dig for a melody that just isn’t there.
Namjoon, to his credit, is the very definition of a good friend and roommate. He does all the little things. He brings you breakfast sometimes when he’s been out all night and knows you’ll be waking up shortly after he comes home. He cleans, so that even though he’s got so much stuff (endless records and books and figurines and things he just thought were cute), your apartment never feels dirty, just lived-in and homey and a little cluttered. Buys toothpaste when you forget—before you forget, even. Puts your favorite flavor of soju in the fridge every week even though he hates it.
And it’s not just what he does at home (your home. with him. which you try not to think about because the way the thought makes your heart swell and almost burst is dangerous and confusing, and you hate that you can’t stop thinking about it entirely.) he takes you out, too. It helps that he’s more social than you: gets you outside in the real world between classes and studying. Makes sure you touch grass. Does stupid dances with you to bad music at worse clubs. Buys you hotteok at 2am because he knows you want it even though you won’t admit it so he says both pieces are for him and lets you argue that it’s bad for his heart and you’re willing to take one off his hands just for the sake of his health… because you care for him.
You don’t let yourself think about the way it seems like he flushes and his eyes twinkle a little when you say that. It’s got to be in your imagination.
He doesn’t know that each time he goes out of his way to do something nice for you hurts a little. Doesn’t know that each time he’s a touch too sweet, you wish you’d stayed that one time. Can’t possibly relate to the way you wish that one night turned into a date turned into something more, maybe.
And you know he can’t relate, because he’s started doing this thing while you’ve been living together: talking about someone. Someone that he likes.
It’s devastating and you try so hard not to cry on the nights when it comes up. You succeed in never crying in front of him, but if you drip snot onto your pillow trying to hold back your sobs once you’re alone in your room, he doesn’t have to know.
You don’t know who she is, but you’ve overheard Namjoon on the phone with Yoongi talking about her. She sounds great, if Namjoon’s probably clouded judgment is any indication. He thinks she’s smart and talented, says she sells herself short and he thinks she’s as close to perfect as anyone on the planet. He doesn’t go out without you too often, and you don’t ask where he’s been if he doesn’t offer, but he must be spending time with her because you catch him on a video call with Hoseok saying she can cook and she’s brilliant and she’s everything he’s ever wanted.
She also sounds like she doesn’t know what she’s got, because Namjoon’s convinced she doesn’t like him back and that she’s out of his league—you finally ascertain that the reason he’s been going to the gym more was because one time she said she thought another guy had nice biceps and he knows they were bigger than his.
One time, you come home late, catching Tae at a bar near campus after he’s done with classes and drinking a little too much. You’re not drunk, but you’re in that warm space past sober where everything is a little softer and funnier and Namjoon looks dangerously pretty sitting at his desk with headphones on working on a song.
You plop on his bed, as you do now, and wait for him to notice you’re there. It doesn’t take long.
“Hey,” he says as he pulls off the headphones. He’s giving you the double-dimple smile, which is especially effective when you’re tipsy like this. Throws you more off-kilter than another cocktail would have. “Have fun with Tae?”
“Hmm… yeah.” You lay back on his bed and don’t let yourself worry about your shirt riding up or your hair spilling around you in a haystack. It’s just Namjoon, and you know he doesn’t think about you like that, know he’s already seen you with more skin showing, hair messier.
“Need me to get you some water?”
“No,” you sit up on your elbows, “s’okay. Didn’t drink too much. What’re you working on?”
Namjoon is staring right at you, something indiscernible on his face. He looks almost like he’s in pain or something. “You alright?”
He shakes his head and looks embarrassed. You have no idea why. “Yeah, fine… I’m fine. Just a song, nothing too special.”
“Can I hear it?”
“It’s personal… Kind of silly. It’s not done yet… I’m not sure you’d like it,” he says.
“I like everything you make.” It comes out too honest, you’re not sober enough to hide the tenderness in your voice, to wrap it in something less vulnerable.
There’s no response to that, and you worry you’ve given too much away for a split second before he unplugs his headphones and hits play on the song. And if you thought the sight of him working, bathed in moonlight and neon, was beautiful, this song is truly something else.
It’s lovely—sweeping melody and building building with layers until it crashes all around you, his voice low and quick, persistent with words of love. It’s a love song disguised as wordplay, or maybe the other way around. It’s him in music: smart and beautiful and selfless and breathtaking… You want to keep it, you want it to be yours, you want the words to be about you or for you or just written with you in the back of his mind. It’s too much, it’s so so beautiful, and you know it’s about her. It’s for her. She’s the one who has his attention and who gets his words and it makes you want to crawl under your blankets and never come out like a petulant child.
You’re laying down again, so you don’t know what he’s looking at as you listen. When it ends, you’re asking the question even though you don’t want the answer, even though him saying it will make it too real. “Is it about her?” you whisper.
“Yeah,” he answers, just as quietly. “It’s about her.”
You sit up quick, make sure you’re turned away from him so he can’t see the tears that are beginning to drip down your cheeks.
“It’s pretty,” you say as you head toward the door, hopefully not giving yourself away, not looking back in his direction. “Really pretty. She’s lucky, Namjoonie.”
You don’t see the confusion on his face as your bedroom door closes behind you. You don’t hear him tell you goodnight in a small, concerned voice.
After song-gate, you do your best to put a brave face on and move forward. It’s more for him than you, you have to tell yourself. Because you, your heart, you don’t want to let him go, can’t stand the idea of watching him be happy with someone else. But you, Kim Namjoon’s best friend, you want nothing more than for him to be happy, even if it’s not with you. And it’s hard, but for the most part, you let that version of you win.
You give him broad smiles and you keep not asking where he’s going when he leaves without you. You try really hard not to overhear his calls with Hoseok and Yoongi and when you do, you give him a ridiculous double-thumbs up and tell him to go for it, that she’d be a fool to turn him down. You’re pretty sure you’re the only one who ends up looking foolish in that moment though, even if you really, truly mean it.
One day (of course it’s a Tuesday), you come home from class, and you’re sorting through the mail when you spot a card on the counter that wasn’t there in the morning. Namjoon must’ve left it when he came home, you can hear the shower running from down the hall. It’s rare he beats you home on Tuesdays, always saying he’s got “something” to do “across town” and you just assume it’s with her, so you don’t ask.
But what’s more interesting than him being home early is what the card is: a temporary driver license issued to one Kim Namjoon. It’s got a picture of him, dimples out and glasses on, dated that day. You hadn’t even known he’d taken the class or the tests. You wonder why he wouldn’t tell you… It’s a big deal to him—he’d always said he didn’t need it, liked taking the bus and the metro. Thought cars were bad for the planet and that there were too many of them in the city anyway. But here’s the card, proof that for some reason he thought it was time for a change.
“Oh! You… I didn’t mean for you to find that…”
You look up. Namjoon’s standing by the couch, watching you examine his license, wrapped in a towel because if there’s a god, he only wants you to suffer.
“You got your license?”
“Ah… the temporary one, yeah. Still need to take the road test.”
He seems nervous, fidgeting with the blanket on the back of the sofa. You don’t know why he’d be nervous, it’s cool, you think. One more thing to add to the seemingly endless list of things Namjoon can do.
“Proud of you, Namjoonie. But… why? I thought you didn’t want to drive.”
He shrugs. “Don’t really, but… I just thought… Well, I thought if I got up the nerve to ask someone on a date, it would be nice to drive her. Just once or twice. Make it special, I guess. It’s probably stupid, but I thought y—” He cuts himself off and pauses. Looks out the window and scrunches his forehead up like he’s scolding himself. “I thought she might like that,” he says, finally.
“Did she tell you to get a license?” You’re sure you sound as outraged as you feel when you ask.
“No! She wouldn’t… No. I just wanted to try.”
“Okay. Okay, good. You shouldn’t change yourself for anyone, Joonie.” And then you do that thing again, where you say too much, where it comes out too fond. “You’re more than enough just the way you are. If she doesn’t know that, she’s not good enough for you.”
Namjoon smiles softly. “I’m starting to think she does,” he says.
And the look on his face… It’s happiness and warmth and fuck you wish it was for you. Those nagging feelings of wanting more more more from him are welling up in your chest. “Good,” you say, still too tender as you set the card in his palm and scoot past him to your room, mail forgotten. “That’s the very least of what you deserve.”
Later that night, you’ve tucked the soft and vulnerable parts of you back inside, showered, ordered food, and sent Namjoon down to pick it up with a stop at the convenience store for soju and beer. You can do this, you tell yourself in the mirror, psyching yourself up for the first time you both will hang out with all your friends in months.
The summer is drawing to an end. Seokjin and Taehyung are done teaching, Jimin and Hoseok got back over the weekend, Yoongi’s internship ended the week prior, and Jeongguk is back from his visit home, everyone returning in time to buy books and settle in for the new semester.
You and Namjoon have decided to keep the apartment: close enough to campus, affordable enough, and you both bashfully agreed you liked living together, an arrangement sealed with the secret handshake greeting from a drama you’d watched together over the summer. So, you have the biggest apartment out of all your friends (which doesn’t say much), and they’ve all decided in your group chat that the group “welcome home” party would take place in your living room.
Seokjin and Taehyung arrive first, Jeongguk in tow. They’re pouring through your door play-fighting and laughing and for a minute, you forget your crush on your roommate, you forget he’s pining after someone else, and you just feel so much joy that your friends are back as they pull you into a crushing group hug.
“We brought wine,” Seokjin says.
“Ew!” (A twin chorus from you and Jeongguk).
“Fine, you two have your cheap soju and leave the good stuff for the rest of us.”
“Hyung, that bottle was only six—”
“Shh! Have some respect!” Seokjin says, slapping in the air in Tae’s general direction.
They file into the kitchen to drop off snacks and cheap wine while you leave to dig around in Namjoon’s room for some records to play. It’s a hassle, finding enough that you like and then having to flip them every fifteen minutes, so you finally give up and resign yourself to just playing a playlist off your phone. Or anyone’s phone except Taehyung’s anyway, because “experimental jazz night” was not a hit last time he suckered you all into it.
When you come back down the hall, your kitchen is suspiciously quiet. There is whispering and you can’t hear what they’re saying but you know anytime Jeongguk and Seokjin are colluding that it means trouble.
“What’s going on in here?” You ask as you make it back to the kitchen.
The three of them are reading the notes on your fridge and they all hop around immediately. Jeongguk and Taehyung have the decency to look guilty, but Seokjin just looks like he’s unearthed the lost city or something.
“What are these?” he asks, eyebrow raised.
“Our shopping list? Chore list?”
Seokjin grins. “No, not those… These.” He plucks a sticky off the fridge and starts reading it aloud.
“...And greet the all auspicious day,
Whose privilege permits my song—”
You can feel your face like a wildfire, hot and persistent, as you snatch the piece of paper out of his hand and tuck it in your pocket.
“That’s nothing. Just a poem”
“That’s not nothing, that’s a love poem.”
“We just leave each other quotes sometimes,” you mutter, fussing around the kitchen, opening the bags of snacks and setting them on the counter. “It’s no big deal. Just a small thing.”
Jeongguk looks at you with wide eyes. “And you sometimes leave each other love poems?” he asks cautiously.
“I guess… It’s whatever,” you say.
“What’s whatever?” Hoseok’s bright voice drifts into the room. You snap your head up to see that he’s with Jimin, and they’re followed in by Yoongi and Namjoon, carrying all the food and drinks.
“Namjoon hyung and Noona leave each other love notes on the fridge!” Jeongguk says brightly. “It’s so cute.”
Your jaw actually drops, and you see in your periphery, Namjoon’s is doing the same.
“They’re not love notes!” You protest.
“They’re poems,” Namjoon adds with indignance.
“Besides,” you add, “he’s got a girlfriend or whatever.” You know you sound a little annoyed, and you don’t want to, but it’s worth it if it gets them off your backs.
“Wait, what?” Yoongi finally joins the conversation, peeking his head around the corner into the kitchen.
Six pairs of eyes are on you, and one (Namjoon’s) is anywhere but. You get the offputting feeling that something is happening, but you don’t know what. That the boys staring at you know something you don’t.
“Namjoonie… He’s got a girl he likes. So, they’re not love notes. They’re just quotes we like.”
Yoongi stares at you like he can’t quite believe what he’s hearing, and then Hoseok says, “Oh my god, they are that bad.”
Seokjin nods. “The worst, actually.”
“What? What is going on?” You ask. The question is directed at anyone, but you’re looking straight at Namjoon, who still won’t look at you.
“I’m just gonna open some soju,” Jimin says. “Come on, guys.”
The statement is clearly directed at Seokjin, Taehyung, and Jeongguk, who are all still huddled by the fridge, clearly amused at whatever is unfolding in your kitchen. One by one, they file out. Namjoon tries to follow them, but Yoongi unceremoniously shoves him back into the kitchen with a hissed, “I don’t think so, Namjoon.”
“I’m so confused,” you say quietly. Namjoon finally lifts his gaze to meet yours, and he looks so so nervous. Just like the day you’d agreed to be roommates. You have no idea why, because you’d never do anything to make him feel that way, not on purpose. “Is this about her? I’m sorry… I shouldn’t have—”
“No! I mean… yeah, it’s about her. Or you, I guess?”
“Me?”
Namjoon nods. He takes a deep breath and shoves his hands in his pockets. “You. You and her.”
“I don’t even know her, Namjoonie.”
He sighs. “You are her.”
You’re every meme of confused people trying to do math. You think you probably have a literal question mark above your head. You think you heard him right but… but there’s no way that it’s what he meant.
“What?”
Namjoon looks like it’s almost painful to keep speaking, also a little apologetic. “I like you,” he says, shrugging. “I like you so much, and I’m a dick for agreeing to be your roommate when I felt that way, and I thought after that one time… Well, I thought maybe you needed more and that’s why it never happened again, so I started going to the gym more and trying to… I don’t know. Be more?” He runs a hand through his hair and slumps against the counter. “I just like you so much and I wanted you to like me, too. But I—”
“You like me?”
“Oh, fuck, so much.” It’s almost out like a breath, floats through the space between the two of you, waves itself in front of your face.
“That’s why you thought it would be weird to be roommates…” you say, pieces clicking together.
“Yeah,” Namjoon agrees. “And why I tried to get biceps like Jimin and why I leave you love notes on the fridge, and why I wrote you a whole song about how incredible you are, how you make me feel, and how much I want you even though you don’t want me back…”
“Biceps like Jimin?”
“You said they were nice…”
“Oh my god.” Little details of the past few months since you slept together all start floating around in your head and you see it so clearly now, it all starts to make sense, all the silly little things Namjoon does for you because it’s you, because he likes you… and oh no…
“Namjoon.”
“Yeah?” He’s painfully cute like this—nervous and a little shy, hair falling into his eyes like it can protect him from looking right at you.
You take a couple of steps closer to him. “I like you, too.”
“You what?”
“I like you, too. Just the way you are. I like all the nice small things you do for me, I like how you think, I like how you smell like soap all the time ‘cause you take a million showers… I like living with you… I like your records and your books and… And it’s stupid probably, but I save all your doodles like a teenager would ‘cause I just like you so fucking much… And I’m the bad friend, the one who moved in with you even though I liked you like this. I thought I would get over it. I thought… I don’t know. I thought after we slept together you just wanted to be friends, so I’ve been trying so hard, but…”
“It’s awful,” he says, a giant grin on his face as he watches you stumble through your confession. “I thought you just wanted to be friends, too. You left before I could ask you to stay.”
“Yeah, it is awful. Liked you since that first day in the library.”
“Fuck, me too. We’re so ridiculous.”
“Jin was right, we’re the worst,” you whisper.
“You are!” You hear Jin call from the living room.
You let your head fall forward and bury it in Namjoon’s chest as he wraps an arm (with a perfectly sized bicep, you note, reminding yourself to tell him later) around you and laughs into your hair.
“You’re listening to us?” you protest.
“Hard not to,” Yoongi answers, “small apartment.”
“You fucked?!” Hoseok yells.
“Oh my god,” you moan into Namjoon’s shirt.
“I bet they made love,” you hear a dreamy-voiced Jimin chime in.
You can feel Namjoon’s laugh rumble through his chest against your ear. It’s the best feeling you’ve felt in months.
“So,” you start, pulling your head off his chest, but letting him slide his arm down yours until you’re loosely holding hands. “What now?”
“Well, we should probably talk.”
You peek around him to see your friends all staring at you. “Maybe later?” you ask.
“Later is good.” Namjoon smiles so so big. You love knowing that you’re the one making him feel happy, you think you’re a little ridiculous for being jealous of some other non-existent girl this whole time.
“We like each other,” you say, still a little in shock.
“We do.”
Then, because you’re you, and you have not ever once been cool in front of Kim Namjoon, you lift your palm up. And because he’s him, and now you know he probably thinks he has never once been cool around you, he gives you a high five, his palm connecting with yours and then lingering there while you look at each other and you try not to lift up on your toes and kiss the shit out of him.
“Did they just high five?” Hoseok asks, incredulous.
“They’re so weird. Do you remember when they shook hands on being roommates when it was so obvious they wanted to jump each other on the couch? They probably kissed no tongue and called it sex,” Seokjin says, unhelpfully.
“Hey!” you shout. “We can hear you!”
“The sex was really great, for your information,” Namjoon says, and your face heats immediately.
“It was,” you agree, if for no other reason than it really really was. And you want to make Seokjin as uncomfortable as possible. “Namjoon really knows wh—”
“This is going to be even worse than them being oblivious, isn’t it?” Yoongi asks no one in particular, cutting you off.
But that night after your friends leave, and you do get the chance to kiss Namjoon again, who is now not only your roommate, but your boyfriend, you know Yoongi couldn’t have been more wrong. This is infinitely better than being oblivious to Namjoon's feelings.
“What do you see in me?” he says into the ceiling, sweaty and a little hazy post-orgasm, after you’d made sure to seal your new arrangement properly. No high fives, no handshakes, just long kisses and nervous touches turning more sure, Namjoon making sure to whisper into your skin how much he cares for you, how sexy he thinks you are, how long he’s waited to have you again like this…
(And you returning those words, moving your hips in slow circles in his lap, fingernails trailing across his shoulders as you tell him how good he is, how gorgeous he looks, how his biceps are the exact right size for you to squeeze—which makes him laugh while he fucks you, and if that’s not the best thing you’ll ever see in your life, you’re not sure what is...)
You lace your fingers with his and turn to him, thinking about all the things you love about him, how all those pieces layer together to make something so big that it seems to take up your whole heart. “I like all the small things that make you, you.”
And he kisses you as a reply, lips soft and sweet on yours, and you decide that from now on, Tuesdays are for kissing your boyfriend in the moonlight and making sure he knows exactly how much you like him so that neither of you are ever unsure again.
pairing: namjoon x you
genre: post-apocalyptic, bird box universe, fluff, angst, horror, thriller, domestic
word count: 3k
author’s note: I began writing this right after watching Bird Box, and didn’t want to forget the details. A lot of people saying it was scary, it wasn’t that scary for me. I actually enjoyed the universe. i used the picture of namjoon wearing the whistle necklace, for impact. haha have fun babes, by the time you read this, I’d be gone. but, take care okay? ily, so so much; tell namjoon, i love him.
A short description for those who didn’t watch Bird Box yet: it’s a really simple universe where the world was haunted by an unseen force that promotes psychotic behaviours amongst human. Those who had seen this creatures proceeds to hurt and kill themselves and sometimes, those around them during the time. They walk into a car caught on fire, they bang their head on the walls, plummet to a busy road. Their eyes turned ash grey and watery like they are in trance. So the survivors needs to use blindfolds to step outside. There are people who had seen the forces and calls it ‘beautiful’ who appears to not have the devastating effects like those who resisted. Those-who-sees catches the survivors (the non-seer) and force their eyes open, and kills them. Non-seers rely on all their senses except for sight.
