↳ summary: ten years of platonic safety, completely incinerated over cold kitchen marble. a frantic morning-after argument about a drunken confession turns into a dangerous game of chicken. you think you're being the smart one, desperately trying to protect a decade-long friendship from total wreckage—until a single, devastating kiss proves that neither of you can afford to stay just friends anymore.
↳ friends to lovers!au;
↳ pairing: idol!jeongguk x f!reader
↳ warnings: shameless smut, heavy praise and unprotected oral. features a completely undone, whiny, and pathetically submissive jeongguk who is brought entirely to his knees, begging for a taste before fucking you through his own overstimulation. brace yourselves........ :)
↳ word count: 13.1 k
a/n: this is actually my first ever request. here is the the original ask! the person who requested didn't reply anymore, so i took it upon myself to just run with it—yay for creative freedom and what not. hopefully i delivered question mark?
i’m a bit anxious about this ngl since it is a bit out of my comfort area so please lmk your thoughts :')
we absolutely love subkoo propaganda in this house. though i must admit, i could've made him even more sub, but baby steps am i right?
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ONE SHOT
STARRING JEONGGUK
You’re very good at making bad decisions.
You and Jeongguk have been friends for a very long time. Platonic friends, of course. The kind of bond forged in the messy, unfiltered trenches of youth long before the rest of the world decided he belonged to them.
You remember every single time he’s been there for you, steady as an anchor. He was the one who sat on the kitchen counter at three in the morning, quietly listening to you cry over a brutal breakup, holding the pint of melting ice cream while you ranted. He was the one who dragged his exhausted body out of bed in the dead of winter just to jump-start your dead car battery, completely uncomplaining as his hands turned bright red in the freezing air. When you failed that massive university exam, he didn't offer empty platitudes; he just showed up at your door with a bag of cheap convenience store snacks and your favorite video game, sitting in silence with you until the heavy cloud in your chest lifted.
And you’ve been there for him just as fiercely. You were the one who held his hair back in a cramped, dimly lit bathroom after he drank way too much at a party, rubbing his back while he muttered pathetic apologies. You were the one who helped him pack up his entire life into mismatched cardboard boxes when he finally left his small hometown, taping the edges shut while he nervously paced the room. You even let him experiment on you with a box of cheap, questionable hair dye on a random Tuesday, resulting in a green-stained forehead and a frantic midnight run to a 24-hour pharmacy, laughing so hard your stomachs ached in the fluorescent aisles.
However, you didn't take into account that he would get famous at some point. Obviously, he had all the cards to do so, you weren't blind.
He’s attractive. He’s sweet. He has a good heart that bleeds through everything he touches.
And then there are the physical realities you've forced yourself to ignore for years. He has impeccable, impeccable hands—veiny, strong, and large enough to completely swallow yours. He has a fiercely toned body, hardened by years of relentless dance practice and gym sessions, a sharp contrast to the gentle soul inside him. And, of course, those sweet, round eyes you melt for every single time he looks up at you, completely disarming whatever defenses you try to build.
So when he texted you saying he was back home for a little while before heading out on the massive world tour again, of course you said yes.
Why would you not? He was your best friend.
Except you completely forgot that during his brief stints of downtime, Jeongguk had a tendency to pick up hyper-fixated new hobbies. Which is exactly how you found yourself standing in the doorway of his private garage, completely frozen.
He was entirely underneath the chassis of a sleek, vintage car, legs sprawling out across the concrete floor. He was straining against a stubborn bolt, and the physical effort caused his dark t-shirt to ride up drastically, exposing a wide strip of his lower abdomen.
Your eyes trapped themselves right there, staring directly at his happy trail. It was a sharp, dark line of hair cutting perfectly across his toned stomach, disappearing straight into the low waistband of his grey sweatpants.
Avert your gaze? Maybe you should. You absolutely had to.
Instead, a stray, dangerous thought crossed your mind, wondering exactly where that trail led and if it really was a happy place. You would certainly guess so, taking into account the sheer volume of women who willingly flung themselves at him daily on global television.
Jeongguk, meanwhile, was acutely aware of the shift in the room's atmosphere the second you walked in. From his vantage point beneath the metal frame, he heard your footsteps halt. He could feel the phantom heat of your eyes burning into his exposed skin. His heart did a violent flip in his chest, his fingers tightening around his wrench. He purposely stayed still for a beat longer than necessary, his breath hitching, secretly thrilled by the weight of your undivided attention.
To break the suffocating silence, you finally spoke, semi-yelling over the clinking of his tools, "Yo! Koo, what the fuck are you doing?"
Hearing your voice, Jeongguk finally kicked against the floor, sliding himself out from under the car on his mechanic's creeper.
When he fully emerged, the sight of him made your throat go completely dry. He had grease smudged across his jaw, a dirty shirt clinging to his frame, and a sweaty forehead. A few moist, dark hair strands were sticking directly to his skin, and the tiny silver hoop of his lip piercing glinted sharply in the garage lighting.
You gulped. Hard. Maybe it was just because you hadn't seen him in a while, or maybe it was because the platonic shield you usually wore was rapidly cracking to pieces.
Jeongguk blinked up at you, tracking the slight bob of your throat as you swallowed. A quiet wave of satisfaction washed over him, melting his internal nerves into something warm and soft. He let his head fall back slightly, looking up at you through his lashes with the sweetest, most innocent smile he could muster.
"Hi," he replied softly, his voice a low, raspy rumble that did absolutely nothing to help your racing pulse.
He laughed, a bright, breathless sound, and stepped toward you with his arms wide open. It was clear he wanted nothing more than to throw his arms around you after being separated by a massive ocean for months, but you immediately took a sharp step back, hands raised in a defensive barrier.
"Don't even think about it," you warned, eyeing the black grease smudged across his arms. "I am not getting engine oil all over my clothes."
Jeongguk paused, his arms still half-extended, his lips pouting into a familiar, dramatic frown. "So?" he asked, tilting his head with an entitled little whine. "It's just a shirt. I haven't seen you in forever."
Before you could reiterate that you actually liked your outfit, he reached down, gripped the hem of his dark t-shirt, and pulled it over his head in one fluid, practiced motion. Your breath caught awkwardly in your throat. Now, the toned lines of his chest and abdomen were fully on display, glistening with a light sheen of sweat under the garage lights. He didn't even seem to notice your sudden internal panic as he casually crumpled the expensive fabric into a ball, using it as a makeshift rag to roughly wipe the grease off his hands.
Tossing the ruined shirt onto a nearby tool stool, he stepped right back into your space. "Better?" he murmured, a cheeky, triumphant grin spreading across his face before he locked his bare, warm arms securely around your waist, pulling you flush against him.
You let out a defeated sigh, but you didn't pull away. You hugged him back, burying your face against the warm crook of his shoulder, the familiar, comforting scent of him cutting right through the sharp smell of gasoline and metal.
If you were being 100% honest with yourself, you did have a crush on him. You had been harboring a crush on him for a very long time.
You just never vocalized it. To you, it was always safer to remain a constant, unshakeable variable in his chaotic life rather than risk ruining something so irreplaceable. All of his past relationships had eventually crashed and burned, a pattern that only grew worse once global fame started violently colliding with his love life and relentless schedules. You had absolutely no intention of losing Jeongguk to a stupid, juvenile crush you’d developed nearly ten years ago—all because he’d sweetly given you his last cherry popsicle on a scorching summer afternoon.
Jeongguk squeezed you a little tighter before finally releasing you, though his hands lingered on your arms for a beat too long. "I want to throw a party tonight," he announced, his round eyes shining with genuine excitement as he swiped a damp strand of hair from his forehead. "Just like old times. I want to actually have fun without a million eyes on me."
You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. "Oh? Tell me about it. Who are we inviting?"
"Only old friends," he said instantly, his tone turning protective. "Nobody new. Nobody with a hidden motive or a vendetta. Just the people who knew me before... all of this."
You smirked, a teasing glint in your eyes as you nudged his bare shoulder. "What, so you didn't bring any international flings home with you in first class?"
Jeongguk let out a self-deprecating laugh, shaking his head as he ran a hand through his messy hair. "No way. I'm going girl-sober for a while. Women completely fuck up my senses."
He wasn't lying, and you knew it. Jeongguk was a hopeless, unapologetic serial romantic. He was a boy who loved with his entire soul, completely incapable of doing anything casual even if his life depended on it. It was his ultimate Achilles' heel. He wore his heart so openly on his sleeve, entirely defenseless, and people always seemed to have other, more transactional plans for it.
"Girl-sober, huh?" you echoed, trying to ignore the sudden, dangerous flutter in your stomach at his words. "Let's see how long that actually lasts."
"Oh, it will last," Jeongguk said, his tone dropping into a quieter, more deliberate register as he looked down at you. "You'll make sure of it."
You blinked, momentarily losing your train of thought as your eyes tracked a stray bead of sweat rolling down his collarbone. "Pardon?"
"You’re the only one I can trust with my heart right now," he explained smoothly, a completely earnest, unguarded look washing over his features. He stepped a fraction closer, the heat radiating off his bare chest practically enveloping you. "So, yes. You. Making sure no one is hurting your super hot friend."
Your knees almost buckled right there on the oil-stained concrete.
Super hot?
Did he just casually drop that into conversation like he hadn't spent the last ten years being your dorky, platonic sidekick? Before you could even formulate a coherent response, Jeongguk caught the sudden shock on your face. A playful, slightly teasing glint sparked in his dark eyes, his lips tilting up at the corners.
"Am I not?" he challenged softly, tilting his head as if genuinely waiting for your assessment.
You swallowed hard, your mind scrambling to put the platonic walls back up before he noticed how fast your heart was beating. "I plead the fifth."
Jeongguk let out a breathy, dramatic groan, throwing his head back before looking down at you through his lashes. "God, Y/N, you’re so dramatic. I can openly say you’re hot."
Your brain completely short-circuited. "Sorry?"
"What?" He shrugged his shoulders, completely unfazed by the bomb he’d just dropped in the middle of his garage. "It’s not like it’s federal information. You’re attractive, I’m attractive. You should be able to speak open truths."
You gulped again, the sound loud in your own ears as you looked anywhere but at the hard lines of his chest. "Fine," you grumbled, forcing the words past your lips like a confession under interrogation. "You’re hot. Happy?"
Jeongguk’s playful smirk instantly vanished, replaced by a dramatic, exaggerated pout. He whined, the sound high and petulant, as he crossed his arms over his chest. "No, see? Now I don't even want it anymore if you don't actually believe it."
You let out a sharp scoff, throwing your hands up in disbelief. "Where the hell is that coming from?"
"I'm serious," he insisted, his voice dropping into a quieter, more vulnerable register. He stepped a fraction closer, his shoes almost touching the tips of yours. He looked down at you, completely stripped of his usual idol persona. "I don't want you to say things just because I want to hear them. I have enough people in my life for that,Y/N. Millions of them. I don't need it from you."
The sudden, raw honesty of his words hit you like a physical weight. You looked up, meeting his gaze, and swear his eyes just got ten times more sparkly and round, shimmering with a sudden, intense vulnerability.
He was practically vibrating with the unspoken urge to be perceived, truly perceived, by the only person whose opinion actually mattered to him.
The platonic armor you’d spent so long building suddenly felt paper-thin. You let out a soft sigh, reaching out to gently tap his bare chest, right over his racing heart.
"Jeongguk," you said, your voice softening, holding his gaze so he knew you meant it. "You're hot. I'm not just saying it."
The second the words left your mouth, the heavy tension broke. A massive, radiant grin split across his face, his eyes crinkling at the corners into those familiar, endearing crescent shapes.
"Thank you," he sang out in a sweet, sing-song voice, practically beaming as he swayed his shoulders from side to side like a praised toddler. The transition from a brooding, shirtless man to a needy, praise-hungry boy was so fast it made your head spin, leaving you entirely at the mercy of whatever games he was playing with your heart.
You spent the whole afternoon prepping for the said party. You were beyond glad for his shiny black card, which you used with zero remorse. It could buy the good alcohol—the top-shelf stuff his agency normally rationed him on—along with an obscene mountain of incredible snacks that you knew you would half-demolish before the guests even knocked on the door. You had bags of high-end chips, imported chocolates, and savory finger foods piled high on his marble kitchen counters, casually stealing a handful of pretzels every time you walked by.
His apartment was massive, but it was also quite dark. He had a penchant for heavy, blackout curtains and moody industrial architecture, and you laughed a ton when you tried to string up some extra LED lights around the living room and hallways. You muttered to yourself while balancing on a stool, desperately trying to ensure people wouldn't step on each other's toes in the pitch-black tomb of his very boy-coded apartment.
It was a chaotic mix of state-of-the-art gaming rigs, massive speakers, random workout equipment in the corner, and a giant plush couch that screamed bachelor pad.
His bedroom, however, was strictly off-limits. Locked and closed for the public.
As you passed the heavy wood door on your way to the bathroom, you paused. You hadn't been inside his room in a long way, and your mind naturally began to wander, curiosity pricking at your chest. You started to wonder how it had changed from the last time you were there, back when it was just a messy pile of clothes and a mattress on the floor. Now, as even a more famous star than he was at the start, did he have silk sheets? A massive canopy bed?
More dangerously, you started to wonder what women had seen those sheets. Which faces had looked up at him in the dark?
At last, you forcefully pushed the burning thought aside, shaking your head to clear the sudden spike of jealousy. It didn't matter. You had a job to do, and besides, the guests were finally starting to arrive.
The heavy front door clicked open, and the quiet tomb of his apartment was instantly flooded with chatter and laughter as his oldest childhood friends spilled into the entryway. Jeongguk was already standing by the kitchen island, the grease long washed from his skin, replaced by a soft, oversized black sweater and a fresh scent. He’d clearly been anticipating the social buffering, because by the time the first three people crossed the threshold, Jeongguk had already thrown back two heavy shots of tequila.
His round eyes were already bright and crinkling with a loose, alcohol-fueled warmth.
Throwing his hands into the air, his silver lip piercing catching the glow of the newly strung lights, he yelled at the top of his lungs, "Welcome, party people!"
The room erupted into cheers, his friends rushing forward to swarm him, throwing arms around his broad shoulders and pulling him into a chaotic huddle of loud greetings and deep belly laughs. From across the room, you leaned against the kitchen counter, watching him instantly dissolve back into the boy he used to be, completely shielded from the crushing weight of his global fame by the people who loved him first.
The party shifted into high gear with the easy, unpretentious noise of people who had nothing to prove to each other. In the hazy glow of the blue and purple lights, the living room felt less like a celebrity’s multi-million dollar fortress and more like a time capsule.
"I’m just saying," Jin-woo, one of Jeongguk’s oldest friends from his hometown, gestured wildly with a half-eaten chip, "If a zombie apocalypse happens right now, Koo is the first to die. He’s too polite. He’d try to bow to a zombie before kicking it."
"No way!" Jeongguk protested, his voice a little too loud, a little too slurred as he leaned heavily against the back of the plush couch. He poured himself another shot of tequila, his hand shaking just enough that a few drops splashed onto his knuckles. "I have muscle memory now. I’d do a 360-kick. Boom. Dead zombie."
"You'd cry if you got blood on your designer shoes," you chimed in from the kitchen island, swirling the ice cubes in your cup.
Jeongguk’s head snapped toward you instantly. His sweet, round eyes were heavily hooded, a dark, glossy sheen over them as he tracked your movement. A soft, lazy smile spread across his face, his silver lip piercing catching the strobe of the lights. "Y/N... you’re supposed to be on my side. Always."
"I am on your side. I'm just realistic," you laughed, taking a slow sip.
You were barely on your second glass of vodka cranberry, the tart liquid still mostly full as you paced yourself. You had to. Someone needed to keep an eye on the house, and more importantly, someone needed to keep an eye on him.
Jeongguk, on the other hand, was throwing them back like water. The pressure of the upcoming tour, the suffocating nature of his daily life—it was all bleeding out of him in the form of liquid courage. He was drinking to forget the idol.
An hour later, the loud, stupid arguments dissolved into the inevitable late-night deep talk. Three of his friends were sprawled on the floor, debating the existence of aliens, while Jin-woo had moved onto the balcony for a smoke.
Jeongguk somehow navigated his way over to you, his shoulders bumping into yours as he leaned heavily against the kitchen counter. He smelled like expensive cologne and sharp alcohol.
"You're barely drinking," he murmured, his voice dropping into that low, raspy rumble that always made your stomach do backflips. He reached out, his large hand wrapping around your wrist, his thumb casually brushing against your pulse point. His touch was warm, heavy, and intentionally lingering.
"Someone has to make sure you don't break your own furniture," you teased gently, though your heart was suddenly hammering against your ribs. "How many shots is that now? Five? Six?"
"Doesn't matter," he whispered, stepping a fraction closer, completely ignoring the chatter of his friends just twenty feet away. He looked down at you, his large eyes shimmering under the dim kitchen lights. "Everything feels... too loud out there, Y/N. But when I look at you, it stops."
Your breath hitched.
"Jeongguk, you're drunk," you whispered back, trying to maintain the boundary, trying not to let your ten-year-old crush completely take over.
"I am," he admitted softly, his grip on your wrist tightening just a fraction as he leaned his forehead down, almost touching your shoulder. It was that physical surrender again—putting himself entirely in your space, begging you without words to hold him together. "But I'm only brave when the sun goes down. You know that. Stay 'til sunrise. Please."
"Fine," you sighed, trying to ignore the frantic pounding in your chest as you gently patted his broad, sweater-clad shoulder. "But you’re taking the couch tonight, Koo. I’m not carrying you anywhere."
A soft, breathy laugh left his throat, and before you could even brace yourself, Jeongguk leaned in. He pressed his lips firmly against your temple, a lingering, warm pressure that smelled faintly of tequila and mint. "Thank you," he murmured against your skin, a string of another quiet, drunken thank yous spilling out of his mouth as he finally pulled back.
You stood there, entirely frozen, your brain struggling to process how to function normally. Those sweet, tactile gestures of his had remained exactly the same over the last decade. It was just a temple kiss. It was the kind of thing he’d done a hundred times when you were younger, yet now, with his shoulders framing you and his deep voice vibrating in his chest, it rattled you down to your very core.
Before you could spiral any further into your own head, Hana—one of Jin-woo’s louder cousins who had tagged along—yelled from the living room floor, clapping her hands together to get everyone's attention.
"Hey! Enough with the alien talk," Hana shouted, swirling the ice in her cup. "We should play something actually fun. Like truth or dare... or better yet, truth or drink!"
The room instantly erupted into murmurs of agreement, but nobody moved faster than Jeongguk. His face lit up, his round eyes wide and sparkling under the blue LED's as he practically jumped at the opportunity to drink more.
"Truth or drink," Jeongguk cheered, his voice loose and excited as he pushed off the kitchen counter. He grabbed the half-empty bottle of top-shelf tequila by the neck, giving you a quick, triumphant look over his shoulder. "Yes. Let's do it. I'm choosing drink every single damn time, I don't care."
He stumbled slightly as he made his way to the center of the room, dropping heavily onto the plush rug right in the middle of the circle, looking up at everyone like a kid waiting for a game to start. He was already so completely undone, and as you walked over to join the circle with your barely touched vodka cranberry, a sudden, heavy wave of anticipation settled deep in your stomach.
You knew exactly how Jeongguk played games when he was like this. He was honest to a fault, but tonight, with the alcohol running warm through his veins he might start being too honest.
The bottle of tequila sat right in the center of the hardwood floor, spinning rapidly under the flashing lights until it slowed down, its neck pointing directly at Jin-woo.
"Alright, alright," Jin-woo grinned, leaning forward on his knees. He looked across the circle at Jeongguk, who was sitting cross-legged, a little loopy, swaying slightly to the music. "Koo. First round. Truth or drink. What is the absolute worst thing about being a global superstar? Give us the real dirt."
You expected Jeongguk to reach for his cup immediately. His agency spent millions of dollars training him to handle questions like this with perfectly polished, diplomatic answers. Instead, Jeongguk just let out a soft, hazy laugh, his eyes dropping to his hands.
"The loneliness," he said, the sheer honesty of his voice cutting right through the lighthearted party atmosphere. The circle went quiet. Jeongguk looked up, his round eyes wide and entirely undisguised by his usual idol armor. "You think you're surrounded by the world, but when the stage lights go off, you're just sitting alone in a sterile hotel room in a country where you don't speak the language, wondering if anyone actually misses you, or if they just miss the guy on the posters. It's suffocating."
A collective, sympathetic hum went around the room. Jin-woo blinked, clearly not expecting him to drop something so heavy in the first five minutes. You felt a familiar twist of pain in your chest, your eyes softening as you looked at him. Jeongguk didn't take a sip, he just gave a tiny, vulnerable shrug, completely comfortable laying his soul bare in front of the people who knew him before the fame.
Hana spun the bottle next. It whirled around before grinding to a halt, pointing straight back at Jeongguk.
"Oh, my turn," Hana perked up, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Okay, Jeongguk. You said earlier today that you're 'girl-sober' right now. So tell the truth: when was the last time you actually kissed someone, and did it mean anything?"
You held your breath, your fingers tightening around your glass of vodka cranberry.
Jeongguk tilted his head back against the edge of the couch behind him, a slow, lazy smile spreading across his face. He didn't even reach for the tequila bottle. "Two years ago," he stated bluntly, his voice a low, raspy rumble. "A girl I met during a break between promotions. And no, it didn't mean anything. That was the problem. I tried to make it mean something because I hate casual stuff, but she just wanted to tell her friends she was dating an idol. It felt transactional. I hated it."
"Damn," Hana muttered, taking a drink of her own beer out of pure secondhand awkwardness. "You're really not holding back tonight, are you?"
"I told you," Jeongguk murmured, his dark, glossy eyes suddenly shifting across the circle until they locked directly onto yours. "I don't want to say fake things tonight. I'm tired of it."
Before the heavy silence following Jeongguk’s sudden drink can completely suffocate the room, Jin-woo quickly reaches out and gives the glass bottle another aggressive spin. It whirs sharply on the hardwood floor, a blur of green glass under the flashing blue lights, before slowing down and pointing its cap directly at you.
"Oh, finally! The spotlight shifts," Hana cheers, leaning forward on her elbows with a wicked, deeply intrigued grin. She doesn't hesitate for a second. "Okay, Y/N. Truth or drink. We all know you're fiercely independent in your daily life, but does that translate to the bedroom? Are you the type who likes to be completely in charge, calling all the shots, or do you prefer to submit?"
Your heart does a violent, erratic leap against your ribs. Out of the corner of your eye, you feel Jeongguk freeze.
You slowly turn your head to look at him, and the sheer intensity of his gaze almost makes you gasp. His sweet, round eyes are completely dark, his pupils blown so wide they nearly swallow the irises. He’s staring at your lips, his chest heaving under his oversized black sweater, practically vibrating with a sudden, suffocating hunger. He looks entirely undone by the question, his lips parting slightly as he waits for your answer with a desperate, breathless anticipation.
You clear your throat, forcing your voice to remain steady. "I think prefer being in charge," you reply, keeping it blunt and confident. "I like the feeling of control."
A low, collective “Ooooooh” ripples through the circle of friends, but you barely hear them. The absolute heat of Jeongguk’s unblinking stare is burning into your skin, making your throat go completely dry. Even though you answered the truth, you desperately need a distraction, so you lift your glass of vodka cranberry and take a heavy, long sip, letting the tart alcohol burn away the sudden spike of nerves.
"Knew it!" Hana laughs loudly, raising her cup to you in approval. "A total boss. Honestly, whoever ends up in your bed is a lucky bastard."
Hana grabs the bottle next, giving it a careless flick to keep the game moving. It spins and lands right back on her. Jin-woo immediately jumps in with a smirk. "Alright, Hana, truth or drink: Is it true you secretly cried when your ex got a matching tattoo with his new girlfriend?" Hana gasps, throwing a couch pillow directly at his face before grabbing her beer. "Shut up! I'm drinking, I am absolutely drinking for that one," she groans, chugging a massive gulp while everyone erupts into loud, teasing laughter.
The distraction gives you a brief moment to breathe, but when you glance back at Jeongguk, he hasn't moved an inch. He is still looking up at you from his spot on the floor, his silver lip piercing glinting.
The bottle gets spun again, whirring lazily until it grinds to a halt, pointing directly at another childhood friend, Jisung.
Jisung groans, rubbing the back of his neck. "Ah, man. Go easy on me. I've had a rough week."
Seojun leans forward, a thoughtful expression replacing his usual mischievous grin as the atmosphere shifts back into something a bit deeper. "Alright, Jisung. Real talk. Truth or drink: Since we're all getting older and life is pulling us in different directions, do you ever feel like you're getting left behind by the rest of us?"
Jisung sighs, a sad, honest smile touching his lips as he looks around the circle, his eyes briefly lingering on Jeongguk’s massive, luxurious apartment. "Yeah," Jisung admits softly, his voice quiet against the background music. "Sometimes it's hard. Like, I'm so incredibly proud of Koo, and I love seeing all of you succeed, but looking at my own nine-to-five... it makes me feel like I'm standing still while everyone else is running. It's a weird kind of pressure."
"Dude, no," Jeongguk speaks up instantly, his raspy voice full of genuine affection. He leans forward, completely breaking the circle's boundary to grab Jisung’s shoulder, squeezing it tightly with his hand. "Don't ever think that. None of this fame stuff matters if I don't have you guys to come home to. You're not left behind. You're exactly where you need to be."
Jisung smiles, visibly touched, and raises his glass to clink it against Jeongguk's tequila bottle. The warmth of their old friendship fills the room, but as Jeongguk pulls his hand back, his dark, heavy eyes slide right back to yours.
The rest of the party continued in a hazy blur of slurred words, loud, nostalgic belly laughs, and increasingly messy drinking. By the time the clock crawled past three in the morning, the high-energy atmosphere had completely dissolved. The final straw came when Jisung, looking pale and thoroughly defeated by the alcohol, stumbled toward the entryway and nearly threw up directly into a massive, expensive indoor plant pot.
Jin-woo caught him by the back of his jacket just in time. That was officially everyone's cue to leave.
There was a chaotic fifteen minutes of shuffling feet, mumbled thank-yous, and heavy slaps on shoulders as you helped herd his childhood friends out into the hallway. When the heavy front door finally clicked shut, the sudden, absolute silence of the multi-million dollar apartment felt deafening.
You turned back toward the living room, only to find Jeongguk dragging his feet across the hardwood floor. True to his word from earlier, he was clutching a plush, oversized pillow under one arm and trailing a heavy, dark duvet behind him, preparing to claim the sofa.
He was so incredibly drunk. His broad shoulders were slouched under his black sweater, his movements completely uncoordinated. As he tried to navigate around the low coffee table, his knee clipped the edge, causing him to stumble awkwardly. His hand shot out to steady himself, almost knocking an empty highball glass clean off the wood surface.
"Whoa, easy there," you murmured, quickly stepping into his space. You grabbed the glass before it could shatter, setting it safely aside, and then crouched down slightly to match his eye level as he heavily dropped his weight onto the edge of the cushions. "Koo... look at you. I think you should actually just take the bed tonight. I can sleep out here."
Jeongguk immediately gestured a clumsy, emphatic no with his hand, shaking his head so hard a few strands of dark hair fell into his face. The sudden movement clearly sent a wave of vertigo through him, because it was instantly followed by a pained, whispered, "Jesus..."as he tightly pressed his palm against his forehead, closing his eyes against the dim lights.
You cocked a brow at him, amused but secretly melting at how soft and defenseless he looked when the tough idol persona was stripped away entirely. "See? You can barely hold your head up. Go to your room, Jeongguk."
"No," he rasped, his voice incredibly deep and thick with sleep and alcohol. He slowly dropped his hand from his face, lifting his head to look up at you through his thick lashes. His sweet, round eyes were heavily hooded, wide and shimmering with some sort of vulnerability. "Don't go yet. Let's... let's talk for a while. I missed you. I missed you so much, Y/N."
Your heart did a violent, erratic hammer against your chest at the sheer desperation in his tone. It was a direct plea, completely unguarded.
Despite the warning bells screaming in your head about your decade-long crush, you found yourself complying. You let out a soft breath and sat down right next to him on the couch, the plush cushions sinking under your weight as his heavy, warm presence instantly enveloped you in the quiet dark.
The moment you settled onto the cushion, his heavy head fell sideways, landing directly on your shoulder. You were instantly engulfed by his scent. It was a fragrance so deeply familiar to you, cutting right through the tequila-infused softness he had going on tonight.
Jeongguk always smelled incredibly clean. Over the years, you had grown to associate crispy, clean cotton smells with his smile. Whenever his brutal, tight schedules didn't allow him the time to text or call you for weeks on end, you had found a strange sort of reprieve in those scents—buying detergents or candles that smelled like fresh laundry just to feel like he wasn't entirely a world away.
He shifted against you, his cheek rubbing into the fabric of your shirt as the quiet apartment settled around you both. He noted the sudden, heavy silence in the room and tilted his head up just enough to look at your profile, his bottom lip pushing out into an almost childlike pout.
"Did not you miss me too?" he asked, his deep voice muffled against your neck, raw and terribly needy.
You couldn't help the soft smile that tugged at your lips. You turned your head slightly, your breath brushing over his hair. "Obviously, Koo. How could I not? You’re my best friend."
At the word friend, Jeongguk let out a low, vibration-heavy hum in his chest. It wasn't a happy sound. He closed his eyes, his brow furrowing as he tightly gripped a fistful of the dark duvet resting on his lap.
"I'm so confused," he whispered, the admission sounding small and cracked.
You blinked, shifting slightly so you could look down at his face. "Why?" you asked softly, your heart doing a nervous, anticipatory flutter against your ribs. "What's making you confused?"
"Because it should feel different," Jeongguk muttered, his voice dropping into a register so low and raspy it sent a physical shiver straight down your spine. He didn't lift his head from your shoulder. He just pressed closer, his warm breath seeping through the fabric of your shirt.
You grew thoroughly confused, your fingers tightening around the edge of the couch cushion. "What? What should feel different, Koo?"
He let out a ragged, heavy sigh, his chest expanding against your side. "Everything," he whispered. "I’ve been thinking for a while... that love, real romantic love, should feel at least as deep and all-consuming as the type of love I have for you."
The wind was completely knocked out of your lungs. For a terrifying second, you forgot how to breathe entirely. Your mind raced back over the last ten years, the late-night phone calls, the quiet domesticity of your friendship, and the heavy, burning crush you had tried so desperately to bury. You bit your lip hard, the sharp sting of pain the only thing keeping you grounded, in a desperate attempt to steady your trembling voice.
"Jeongguk," you breathed, your voice barely audible over the hum of the refrigerator in the quiet apartment. "What... what do you mean by that?"
He finally pulled his head back from your shoulder, shifting on the plush cushions so he could face you fully. He looked entirely undone by the alcohol and the sheer weight of his own thoughts. He started explaining with his hands, his long fingers cutting through the dim light. His intricate tattoos shifted across his skin, and the silver rings on his fingers glinted sharply in the dark as he gestured in frustration.
"I can't do casual, Y/N," he said, his eyes wide, glossy, and swimming with a desperate, heavy sensitivity. "I can't. Because I know how true love should feel. I know it because of you. Every single time I’ve tried to date, every time I’ve tried to build something with someone else, I find myself associating what I feel for them in comparison with you."
A beat.
Two beats.
Three beats.
The silence in the room became so heavy it was suffocating.
"And every single time," Jeongguk whispered, his head tilting down as he looked up at you through his lashes, completely stripping away his defenses and surrendering his heart right into your hands, "I’ve found that they always come short. In comparison with you."
You tried to diffuse the situation right then and there. Your brain was working in overdrive, frantically constructing walls because the alternative—believing him—meant stepping into a territory that could ruin everything you had built over the last years.
He was drunk. He was clearly not thinking straight. He was currently trying to be girl-sober, and in your mind, he was just projecting his deeply ingrained, serial monogamist tendencies onto the closest, safest thing he had. You.
It wasn’t true. It couldn't be true.
"Jeongguk," you said, your voice tight as you forced a breath into your lungs, desperately trying to ignore how loud your own heart was knocking against your ribs. "I think you’re just projecting. You're exhausted, you've been lonely on tour, and you're just confusing comfort for something else."
He muttered a low, ragged "Jesus..."again, his hand rising to tightly press against his forehead. He didn't even seem to fully process what you said, completely deaf to the frantic rhythm of your chest as the alcohol and the emotional weight of his own confession finally dragged him under.
The raw intensity in his eyes flickered out, replaced by heavy exhaustion. Without another word, he let his upper body slide sideways, his head plopping heavily onto the plush pillow he’d thrown on the edge of the couch.
He curled his body slightly into the cushions, his dark lashes fluttering shut as a deep, uneven breath left his parted lips, leaving you sitting there in the dim blue LED light, completely frozen next to him.
That’s when you realize his bedroom door was probably still locked, a solid block of wood protecting a room you weren't allowed to enter.
You had absolutely no option but to sleep on the couch next to him. Letting out a quiet, defeated breath, you grabbed the edge of the heavy, dark duvet he’d brought out, pulling it over both of your bodies to shield against the air conditioning. You shifted your weight, settling into the cushions as best you could, and tried to sleep.
It was impossible. Seven thousand thoughts were swirling in your mind, a chaotic storm of memory and denial.
But Jeongguk was drunk.
He was completely out of it, his deep, even breaths rising and falling against your side. He wouldn't remember this in the morning, you told yourself. Tomorrow, the sun would come up, the platonic armor would go back on, and he would just be your best friend again. You closed your eyes, letting the clean cotton scent of him anchor you as you finally drifted into a restless sleep, completely unaware of how thin the line between you had truly become.
But the next morning, he was nowhere to be seen.
When you finally opened your eyes, blinking against the harsh, bright sunlight piercing through the cracks of the heavy blackout curtains, the couch beside you was completely empty. You checked your phone—it was god knows what hour of the late morning—and the realization that you were alone in the vast, quiet space hit you like a cold splash of water. The heavy dark duvet was pulled back, the plush pillow still holding the indentation of his head, but Jeongguk was gone.
So naturally, you grew a bit anxious.
A tight, familiar knot formed in the pit of your stomach as you sat up, the silence of the multi-million dollar apartment suddenly feeling incredibly heavy. Your mind instantly began to scramble, racing back through the events of the previous night. You hoped with everything you had that he would just forget what he said last night. You prayed the tequila had completely wiped his memory, that the slurred confessions about true love and people coming up short in comparison to you would just evaporate into the morning air. If he forgot, everything could go back to normal. You could go back to being the constant, unshakeable variable in his life.
But then the darker, terrifying thoughts started to bleed in, turning your anxiety into full-blown panic.
What if he remembered? What if he woke up with a pounding headache and a crystal-clear recollection of every single word that had left his mouth? What if he was so thoroughly mortified, so repulsed by the fact that he had crossed that sacred platonic line and laid his soul bare, that he had physically chosen to flee his own home just to avoid looking you in the eye?
You stood up, your knees slightly shaky, your eyes darting toward the hallway. His bedroom door was still closed, but the heavy silence in the apartment made it feel like he had abandoned the entire place just to escape the mess he’d created in the dark.
That’s when you heard the faucet running.
The sharp, metallic hiss of rushing water cut through the suffocating silence of the apartment, drawing your attention toward the kitchen. Your heart skipped a beat, the knot of anxiety in your stomach loosening just a fraction, only to tighten again with a completely different kind of tension.
With small steps, your feet padding quietly against the cold hardwood floor, you made your way down the hall. Every single breath you took felt like lead, heavy and burning in your chest. You braced yourself for a tense, awkward confrontation, preparing to play off his drunken rambling as a massive joke.
Instead, you rounded the corner and saw him in all his glory, completely naked from the belt up.
The bright morning sunlight poured through the kitchen window, hitting the sharp, fiercely toned lines of his back and shoulders as he stood in front of the sink. He had a clean pair of grey sweatpants hanging low on his hips, exposing that dark, dangerous happy trail you’d been obsessing over the day before. His skin practically glistened, completely washed clean of the previous night's sweat and alcohol, and his dark, damp hair strands curled slightly around his nape. He was rinsing out a couple of mugs, hands moving with effortless, domestic grace.
As if sensing your presence, Jeongguk turned around.
There was no repulsion on his face. No awkwardness, no frantic desire to flee. Instead, his sweet, round eyes instantly crinkled at the corners, and a warm, lazy grin spread across his face, his silver lip piercing catching the morning light.
He greeted you in a sweet, entirely normal manner.
"Morning, sleepypants," he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly morning rumble that vibrated pleasantly in the quiet air. He set the mug down and gestured toward the espresso machine on the counter. "Coffee?"
You sit down awkwardly on one of the high barstools at the marble kitchen island, your hands folded in your lap as you nod your head. "Yes, please. Black is fine."
The silence stretches between you for a bit, heavy and thick on your end, though Jeongguk seems entirely unbothered as he presses a button on the espresso machine. The low whirring of the grinder fills the space, and the rich, dark scent of coffee begins to bloom in the air. Your mind is still a frantic mess of questions, the sheer weight of his shirtless torso in the bright morning light not helping your ability to think straight.
Unable to take the suspense any longer, you clear your throat. "Koo?"
He hums in response, not turning around just yet as he watches the dark liquid drip into the mugs, patiently waiting for you to continue.
You swallow hard, tracing a invisible line on the marble counter. "Do you... do you remember last night?"
Jeongguk freezes for a split second, his shoulders tensing just a fraction before he slowly turns around to face you. He leans back against the counter, crossing his tattooed arm over his bare chest, a totally blank, deadpan expression washing over his features.
"Last night?" he repeats, blinking his eyes with exaggerated confusion. He tilts his head, looking down at his own bare torso and then back up at you. "Wait... what year is it?"
You instantly catch onto the stupid joke, a rush of exasperated relief flooding your chest. You reach out, grabbing a random crumpled tissue you found sitting on the edge of the counter, and throw it straight at his face.
He ducks, but it clips his shoulder anyway. Jeongguk bursts into a loud, boxing-glove laugh, his eyes crinkling into those familiar, endearing crescents as the heavy tension in the room instantly evaporates.
"Yes," he says, his laughter dying down into a soft, knowing smile as he holds your gaze, his voice dropping back into that low morning cadence. "I remember last night, Y/N."
Your stomach drops straight through the floor. The relief you felt a second ago evaporates, replaced by a sudden, choking wave of heat that rises all the way to your face. You fumble with your words, your tongue feeling thick and clumsy as you try to form a coherent sentence.
"You—you remember?" you stammer, your hands nervously gripping the edge of the marble counter. "Then... what you said on the couch. Before you fell asleep. Did you... I mean, did you actually mean it?"
Jeongguk stays quiet for a while. The playful morning light suddenly feels too bright, too exposing. He doesn't move from where he’s leaning against the counter, but the easy grin vanishes from his face. He looks down at his feet, his throat bobbing as he swallows hard, his chest expanding with a deep, deliberate breath.
When he finally lifts his head, his eyes are dead serious, devoid of any tequila-induced haze.
"Yes," he says, his voice a low, steady vibration. "I meant it."
You blink, your chest tightening so fast it hurts. "What... what did you mean, Jeongguk? Exactly?"
"I meant what I meant," he mutters, his jaw clenching as he shifts his weight. He crosses his arms tighter over his bare chest, a defensive instinct kicking in as he tries to maintain his footing. He’s trying to stay casual, trying to play the enigmatic card, but the slight twitch in his silver lip piercing gives him away.
"Yes, but what does it mean?" you push, your voice cracking slightly out of frustration. You lean forward on the barstool, completely done with the riddles. "You don't get to drop a bomb like that, tell me everyone else comes short in comparison to me, and then just say 'I meant what I meant.' What does that mean for us, Jeongguk? What are you actually saying?"
Jeongguk stares at you, the silence stretching out between you like a taut wire. You can practically hear the furious looping in his head, the terrifying friction between the decade of friendship holding him back and the raw, suffocating desire to just stop hiding.
"It means exactly what you think it means, Y/N," he says defensively, his voice rising a fraction. "Why do I have to spell it out?"
"Because you were drunk!" you snap back, your own walls going up because you're terrified of getting your hopes destroyed. "Because people say crazy things when they've had six shots of tequila! You told me I'm the standard for your love life. Do you have any idea how insane that is to hear from your best friend?"
That's the breaking point.
Jeongguk cracks. The stubborn, defensive posture completely shatters, his arms dropping to his sides as he takes a sudden, aggressive step forward, closing the distance between the counter and your stool. He looms over you, his bare chest heaving, his eyes wide and burning with a desperate, chaotic intensity.
"It's not insane!" he bursts out, his voice cracking with a raw, emotional force that echoes through the quiet kitchen. He grips the edge of the marble island right next to your thighs, leaning down until his face is just inches from yours, entirely undone. "It's not the tequila, Y/N! I've been sober for months on tour and I thought about it every single day. Every girl I look at, every person I talk to, I'm just looking for you in them. I'm tired of pretending I don't. I'm tired of the mystery. I meant that I’m in love with you, okay? I’ve been in love with you for years!"
"You're crazy!" you snap back, the pure panic in your chest bubbling over into anger as you push yourself back against the barstool. "You are completely crazy, Jeongguk! You can’t just wake up one day and decide to ruin a ten-year friendship because you had a breakthrough on tour! You don't just get to tear down everything we built because you feel like it!"
He flinches as if you physically struck him. The fierce, looming intensity drains from his posture in an instant, leaving him looking raw and incredibly small despite his broad frame. His eyes turn visibly sad, a thick, glossy sheen coating them under the bright kitchen lights. His jaw tightens, his silver lip piercing trembling just a fraction before a bitter, hurt laugh leaves his throat.
"Well, excuse the fuck out of me if I have feelings," he spits out, his voice cracking with a dangerous mix of anger and absolute rejection. He pulls his hands off the marble counter and takes a step back, wrapping his arms tightly around his torso again, as if trying to shield his chest from you. "Excuse me for actually trusting my best friend enough to be honest. I didn't decide to feel this way, Y/N."
"It’s not even about that!" you yell back, your hands flying into the air out of sheer frustration. You slide off the barstool, finally standing on your own two feet so you don't have to look up at him. "Jeongguk, think for one second! Could you actually afford to lose me if a relationship goes south? If we do this, if we cross that line and it blows up in our faces, we don't get to go back to being friends. I'm gone. You're gone. Everything is ruined. Can you honestly afford that?"
At your words, his entire demeanor shifts from heartbroken to super pissy and defensive, the vulnerability of his ego being bruised making him lash out.
"It wouldn't go south!" he barks, his chest heaving as he glares down at you, his face flushing a furious, hurt red. "Why are you already deciding we're going to fail? And you know what? It doesn't even matter because you’re standing here acting like you have the high moral ground! Like you're the only one who cares about our friendship and I'm just some reckless idiot trying to break it!"
"I don’t have a moral ground!" you shout, stepping right into his space, your voice matching his volume. "I’m just trying to be smart about this! Someone has to be, because you're clearly letting your emotions run completely wild right now!"
"Why should you be smart?!" Jeongguk erupts, his frustration completely breaking through the ceiling. He throws his hands up, the silver rings on his fingers flashing aggressively in the morning sun. He steps so close you can feel the radiating, shirtless heat of his skin, his breath hitting your face in short, ragged gasps. He looks down at you, his eyes searching your face with a suffocating anger. "Why do you always have to be the logical one? Tell me the truth, Y/N—have you ever even thought about me that way? Even once? Or am I just the only idiot who’s been suffocating in this for years?"
"Of course I’ve thought about you that way!" you burst out, the truth ripping through your throat before you could even try to stop it. "Every single day for the last ten years, Jeongguk! I have been suffocating right next to you, watching you date other people, watching you become a global superstar, completely terrified that if I said a word, I’d lose you forever!"
Jeongguk completely freezes. The furious, pissy retort dies right on his tongue, his mouth hanging open slightly as his chest heaves. His round eyes widen, the glossy unshed tears making them look impossibly huge as he processes your words.
"You..." he stammers, his voice becoming a breathless, vulnerable whisper. "You have?"
"Yes! But you’re sitting here acting like it’s so simple," you say, your voice trembling with an overwhelming mix of anger, frustration, and a decade's worth of built-up tension. You take a step closer, your eyes locking onto his parted lips, then tracing up to the raw, completely undone expression on his face. He looks so helpless, so utterly desperate for your touch, standing there shirtless in the bright morning light.
You need him to understand. You need to prove to him that this isn't just some casual, easy dynamic he can play with. You want to prove a point—to show him exactly what he's playing with, exactly how dangerous this boundary truly is.
Before he can utter another word, you reach out, your fingers gripping the soft fabric of his sweatpants at his hip to pull him in, and you slam your lips against his.
Jeongguk lets out a sharp, muffled gasp into your mouth, his entire body jolting at the sudden impact. But the hesitation lasts for less than a second. The moment he realizes you are actually kissing him, he completely shatters. A low, desperate groan rumbles deep in his chest, and his tattooed hands flies to your waist, his fingers digging into your skin with a terrifying, suffocating hunger.
The kiss is chaotic, fierce, and overflowing with ten years of unspoken agony. You pour everything into it—all the logic, all the smart choices, all the fear of losing him—crushing your lips against his until your teeth click. He tastes like the rich espresso he just brewed and the sharp, lingering heat of his own desperation. He follows your lead completely, surrendering to the dominance you admitted to just hours before, letting you call every single shot as he whimpers against your mouth, his frame trembling beneath your hands.
When you finally pull back, your chest heaving, your lips swollen and tingling, you try to step away to establish the boundary again. "See?" you breathe out, your voice shaky as you stare at his dark, completely blown-out pupils. "That is what we lose if—"
"No," Jeongguk whines instantly, the sudden loss of your lips making him sound incredibly small and pathetic. His hands tighten on your waist, physically yanking you right back against his bare, warm chest. His nose brushes against yours, his breath hot and ragged. "No, Y/N. Please. Just one more. One more."
"Jeongguk, I'm trying to make a point—"
"I don't care about the point," he groans, his voice turning super whiny, his bottom lip pushing out in a desperate, pouty expression that completely contrasts his heavily tattooed, muscular frame. He leans his forehead against yours, his eyes fluttering shut as he practically begs. "Just one more kiss. Please. Y/N. One more, and then I’ll listen to the logical stuff. Just one more."
You melt away entirely under the pathetic, desperate drag of his voice. Every ounce of your hard-earned logic completely liquefies, dripping away into the space between your pounding hearts as you slide your hands up his radiating chest to cup the back of his neck, pulling him right back down to you.
The moment your lips meet again, Jeongguk kisses you like it’s the only thing he was ever put on this earth to do.
It is an agonizingly deep, consuming kiss that destroys any remaining illusion of your platonic past. He devours you, his plush lips parting with a fierce, wet desperation that immediately slicks your skin. He uses his tongue with a heavy, deliberate stroke, sweeping into your mouth to claim you entirely, tasting intensely of the bitter espresso and the sweet, clean mint from earlier. Every tilt of his head is a calculated shift to press deeper, his silver lip piercing sliding hot and sharp against your bottom lip, an intoxicating friction that sends a jolt of pure electricity straight to your core.
You let out a helpless, broken moan right into his mouth, the sound vibrating against his teeth.
The small noise completely undoes him. Jeongguk’s hands abandon your waist to roam frantically all over you, his palms hot and heavy as they map out your body. He slides his hands down the curve of your back, his blunt fingernails digging into your clothes, before lifting up to cup your jaw, his tattooed thumb firmly pressing against your pulse point to hold you perfectly still for his assault. His chest presses flush against you, the hard, sculpted lines of his abdomen crushing into your frame until you can feel the frantic, booming rhythm of his heart matching your own.
He is entirely consumed, a slave to the sudden shift in your dynamic.
He briefly breaks the kiss, his lips only parting a fraction of an inch from yours, leaving a string of wet, heavy breaths between you. His glossy eyes flutter open, looking at you with a gaze so completely wrecked and swimming with desire that it makes your knees buckle. He whines against your skin, a high, desperate sound cutting through his deep morning rasp as his forehead drops heavily against yours.
"I'm gonna make you feel good," he pleads, his breath hot and ragged against your swollen mouth as his hands slide back down to desperately grip your hips. "Please, Y/N... please let me make you feel good. Just let me. Please."
You don’t reply right away, your mind completely fracturing into a thousand pieces as you stand frozen in his kitchen. Your thoughts pull you in every direction, desperately trying to analyze the wreckage of the last five minutes.
The damage is done. You already kissed him—not just a gentle slip of the lips, but a fierce, devastating confession of a kiss that blew every single one of your carefully constructed boundaries right out the door. The sacred line of the friendship hasn't just been crossed; it’s been entirely incinerated.
As you stare down at his flushed face, a dark, heavy thought slips into your mind, taking root before your logic can tear it down: Would it really be so bad to just go through with it?
If everything is already broken, if the mystery is gone, why keep fighting the very thing that’s been suffocating you both for a decade? You look at his chest rising and falling in sharp, ragged gasps, his skin radiating a maddening heat that pulls you in like gravity.
Before a single word can tumble past your swollen lips, Jeongguk completely unravels. His knees give out, hitting the hardwood floor with a soft thud as he drops down right in front of you.
The global superstar, the man who fills stadiums worldwide, is entirely brought to his knees, looking up at you with huge, glassy, pleading eyes. He looks so sweet, so raw, and completely submissive to whatever you decide next.
"Please," he whimpers, the word spilling out of him like a broken prayer. "Please, Y/N."
He doesn't wait for your permission. His hands slide up the back of your legs, his palms scalding hot through the fabric of your clothes as he pulls your hips closer to his face. He buries his face against you, his warm forehead pressing firmly against your lower stomach as a ragged breath hitches in his throat.
"Let me make you feel good," he begs into your clothes, his voice dropping into a desperate, deep vibration that resonates straight through your skin. "Just let me do this for you. Please."
Then, his plush lips press against your clothed thighs.
He kisses you right through the fabric, his mouth hot and damp, leaving heavy, branding presses of his lips along the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. He nuzzles his face deeper against your legs, whining softly when you don't immediately push him away. The absolute friction of his silver lip piercing catching against the material, combined with the desperate, worshipful way his hands tighten on the back of your thighs, makes your breath hitch sharply in your throat. Your hands fly to his bare shoulders just to keep yourself steady, your fingers digging into his smooth, firm skin as the room tilts on its axis.
Your fingers sink deeper into the smooth muscle of his bare shoulders as the sheer weight of his worship pulls you under. The internal debate, the frantic logic, the fear of what happens when the dust settles—it all completely evaporates.
"Okay," you finally whisper, the single word cutting through his desperate, ragged breaths. "Okay, Jeongguk. Do it."
The permission hits him like an electric shock. He doesn't waste a single second, his hands moving with an frantic, desperate urgency. He grips the waistband of your pants and underwear together, his knuckles brushing against your skin as he tugs them down your legs in a breathless hurry. You kick out of them, your feet hitting the cool hardwood floor, leaving you completely exposed to him in the middle of the bright kitchen.
When he leans his head back in, you let out a sharp, involuntary hiss as the hot, concentrated burst of his breath hits your sensitive pubic area.
But he doesn't touch you yet. Jeongguk just stays frozen on his knees, his hands still tightly gripping the back of your thighs to anchor you in place. He’s just looking. His sweet eyes are wide and completely dark with a devastating mixture of awe and pure hunger. His chest heaves, his silver lip piercing glinting as his lips part slightly, his gaze completely tracing every inch of you as if he’s memorizing a holy text.
The intense, unblinking weight of his stare makes you shift your weight, a sudden spike of heat rushing to your face. "Jeongguk," you breathe out, your voice trembling. "What... what are you doing?"
"I need more room," he rasps, his voice dropping into a thick, desperate growl.
Before you can even process the words, his large hands slide under your thighs and around your back. In one swift, effortless motion, he lifts you completely off the ground. You let out a small gasp, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck as he carries you out of the kitchen. He moves with a singular, fierce focus, and in a matter of seconds, you’re in his bedroom.
He lays you down onto the mattress, and you find yourself completely sprawled across the dark, silk sheets of his bed, the heavy clean cotton scent of him enveloping you entirely.
Jeongguk doesn't even let you catch your breath. He crawls up onto the mattress immediately, his large, heavy body looming over yours for a fraction of a second before he slides right back down between your thighs. He hooks your knees over his shoulders, pinning you open, and buries his face directly between your legs.
The first touch of his tongue is a wet, heavy stroke that makes your entire body arches off the bed. He eats you out like it’s a form of salvation, his mouth hot, wide, and utterly ravenous against your wet skin. He uses his tongue with a frantic, consuming rhythm, lapping at you with deep, deliberate strokes that pull a loud, undone moan right from your throat. The slick, wet sounds of his mouth against you echo in the quiet room, completely destroying any lingering sanity.
Even as he devours you, the desperate, pleading energy from the kitchen doesn't leave him. Every time you twist your fingers into his damp, dark hair to pull him closer, a muffled, high whine breaks from his throat, vibrating directly against your clit. He nuzzles his face deeper into your heat, his silver lip piercing sliding sharp and intoxicating against your most sensitive spots, making you sob his name into the empty air.
"Please," he whimpers against your wet flesh, breaking his rhythm for only a split second to breathe your name, his voice cracked and completely wrecked. His hands grip your hips so tightly his knuckles turn white, silently begging you to hold him there, to let him keep drowning in you. "Please tell me it's good. Tell me you like it, Y/N. Just let me stay right here."
You can only cry out in response, your hips instinctively rolling into his mouth as his tongue darts back inside, deeper and more desperate than before, completely surrendering his entire existence to the rhythm of your pleasure.
The sound of his name ripping from your throat sends a visible shiver straight through his broad, shirtless frame. Hearing how undone you are only makes him more desperate, his tongue working with a frantic, wet rhythm that has your hips rolling blindly into his face.
"You're so good, Koo," you gasp out, your knuckles turning white as you fist your fingers into his damp, dark hair, pressing him closer. "Ah—yes, right there. You're making me feel so good. So good..."
Jeongguk lets out a muffled, high whine directly against your core, the high-pitched, needy sound vibrating straight through you. The praise completely undoes him. He sucks a hard, bruising path up your inner lip, his silver piercing scraping perfectly against your most sensitive flesh, pulling a loud, broken sob from your lungs. He is utterly buried in you, his hands gripping the undersides of your thighs so tightly that his bicep muscles bulge under his smooth, tattooed skin. He nuzzles deeper, lapping at your slick heat with a ravenous, worshipful speed, swallowing your whimpers like they are the only thing keeping him alive.
The friction is too much. The intense, deep heat building in your lower stomach is expanding so fast it feels dangerous, blinding you to everything else in the room. You are getting so entirely into it, the overwhelming pleasure clouding your logic until you can't breathe, can't think, can't handle the agonizingly slow burn of just his mouth anymore.
You want him. You want all of him.
With a breathless cry, you pull your hands out of his hair and adjust the position you're in, your palms sliding down his broad chest, past his tensed abs, to the low waistband of his grey sweatpants. Jeongguk senses the shift immediately, his head lifting, his lips glistening, dark hair falling wildly over his wide, blown-out eyes as he looks up at you with a breathless, questioning whimper.
You don't say a word. You simply hook your fingers into the cotton of his sweats and underwear, tugging them down past his hips in one swift, demanding motion.
His cock springs free, thick, heavy, and leaking a bead of pre-cum that glints in the bedroom light. It twitches against his lower stomach, fully erect and radiating a maddening heat. Jeongguk lets out a raw, hitched breath, his hands trembling on your mattress as he hovers over you, completely exposed, his chest heaving as he waits in agonizing suspense for what you're going to do to him next.
You wrap your fingers firmly around the thick, pulsing base of his shaft, the skin scalding hot against your palm. Jeongguk lets out a shaky, pathetic gasp the moment your hand closes around him, his hips twitching forward instinctively. Without giving him a second to recover, you lean forward, parting your lips, and slide the plush, leaking head of his cock straight into your mouth.
He completely loses his mind.
A loud, ragged moan rips from his throat, echoing sharply in the quiet bedroom. You swirl your tongue around the sensitive ridge, catching the slick pre-cum, before sinking your mouth lower, drawing him deeper down your throat. The rich, clean scent of him mixes with the musk of his arousal, entirely consuming your senses. You use your tongue to stroke the sensitive underside of his shaft, your lips wrapping tight around him to create a fierce, suffocating vacuum as you bob your head in a steady, demanding rhythm.
He throws his head back, hair spilling over his forehead as a continuous string of broken groans and breathless whimpers spills from his parted lips. He doesn't try to hold back, his chest heaving as he watches you through hooded, blown-out eyes, his silver piercing catching the light every time his jaw slacks.
"Ah, God, Y/N," he pants, his voice cracking with pure, unadulterated worship. His large, tattooed hand flies to your hair, but he doesn't push you down—he just cradles your head with a trembling, gentle grip, completely submissive to your pace. "You're so perfect. Look at you... fucking hell, you're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. Please, you're destroying me."
The praises are heavy, thick with a devotion that makes your chest ache. He’s praising you in a way you've never been praised before, treating your mouth like a sanctuary, completely unbothered by his own ego. You take him deeper, your thumb rubbing over his balls, and the combination makes his hips roll blindly against your lips, a low, desperate whine vibrating in his chest.
The edge is getting too sharp for him. The friction of your wet mouth and the agonizingly sweet torture of the rhythm has him shaking from head to toe. His fingers tighten in your hair, his breath coming in short, panicked gasps as he feels himself reaching a dangerous point of no return.
He suddenly pulls back just enough to slip his cock from your lips, a heavy string of saliva connecting you for a fraction of a second. Jeongguk hovers over you on his knees, his entire body trembling, his face flushed a dark, beautiful red as he looks down at your wet, swollen lips.
"I can't—I can't just take," he begs, his voice breaking completely as he drops his forehead against your chest, his chest heaving against your skin. He is entirely undone, crying out as his hands slide down to grip your hips, physically pulling you back down onto the mattress. He positions himself right between your soaked, aching thighs, the heavy head of his cock rubbing torturously against your wet core. "Please, Y/N. I need to be inside you. Please let me come home. Please let me inside."
A dark, heady rush of power floods your veins as you look down at him. Seeing the man who fills stadiums worldwide reduced to a trembling, pleading mess right under you is intoxicating. You smirk against the flushed skin, your fingers sliding up his damp neck to tilt his face up.
"Put it on then, Koo," you murmur.
You say your consent, and the word acts like a green light. Jeongguk scrambles, blindly fishing a condom from the nightstand drawer—you aren't even paying attention to where he gets it from, your eyes locked onto the sharp, beautiful lines of his tensed muscles as he tears the foil open with his teeth.
His hands are shaking so violently it takes him two tries to roll the latex down his thick, pulsing length.
The moment he’s protected, he doesn't wait. He lines the wet, heavy head of his cock against your slick opening and sinks into you in one deep, agonizingly slow push.
A loud, broken sob rips from your throat as he fills you completely, stretching you out until you're entirely consumed by the sheer size of him. Jeongguk lets out a guttural, trembling groan into the crook of your neck, his large frame collapsing over yours, his full, shirtless weight pinning you into the dark silk sheets.
"Ah, God, Y/N... you're so tight, you're so warm," he whimpers, his voice completely wrecked as he begins to move.
The friction is instant and overwhelming. Jeongguk doesn't fuck you with the practiced, cocky rhythm of a man in control; he fucks you with a desperate, frantic hunger, his hips snapping forward in deep, heavy thrusts that rock the entire bed. He is completely starved for you, his tattooed hand sliding under your lower back to lift your hips higher, taking every single inch you have to offer. The wet, slapping sound of his skin hitting yours echoes in the quiet bedroom, mixed with his continuous, vocal praises.
He’s riding the absolute edge from the very first stroke, the decade of built-up desire making him impossibly sensitive. His breath comes in short, panicked gasps against your ear, his silver lip piercing grazing your pulse point as his pace turns frantic, unhinged.
"I'm gonna—Y/N, I'm close, I can't hold it," he cries out, his voice cracking. He gives three more deep, blind thrusts, his entire body locking up as a low, ragged scream tears from his lungs. He spasms against you, his cock twitching violently inside your walls as he finishes first, spilling himself entirely into the condom.
But he doesn't stop.
Even as his climax ripples through him, leaving him completely overstimulated and trembling, he refuses to pull out. He knows you haven't crossed the line yet. With his jaw clenched and his eyes swimming with tears from the sheer, burning sensitivity of his post-nut state, Jeongguk forces his hips to keep moving.
He whimpers miserably with every single stroke, the friction against his overstimulated skin clearly driving him crazy, but he keeps pushing inside you anyway.
"I've got you," he pants, a high, needy whine breaking from his lips as he drags his body up and down yours, his movements slower now, heavier, grinding his pelvis right against your clit with agonizing precision. "I'm not stopping... please, baby, come for me. Let me feel you clamp down on me. Please."
The sight of him pushing through his own overstimulation just to please you completely shatters whatever restraint you have left. Your internal walls collapse. Your hips begin to roll frantically against his, your toes curling into the silk sheets as the tight coil in your lower stomach snaps.
You scream his name as a violent, crushing orgasm ripples through your body. Your internal muscles clamp down tightly around his thick shaft, milking him through the latex. Jeongguk lets out a loud, pathetic whimper at the tight squeeze, his forehead dropping heavily onto your shoulder as he rides out the wave of your climax with you, completely spent, completely yours.
He collapses right besides you, his massive, shirtless frame molding perfectly against you as he pulls you into his chest. Both of your chests are heaving in the quiet room, the only sound the ragged asymmetry of your breathing slowing down. Jeongguk nuzzles his face into your hair, tracing his plush, swollen lips along your jawline before kissing you tenderly on the cheek—a soft, lingering pressure that feels entirely detached from the frantic, consuming chaos of just moments ago.
You lie there, the cool air of the bedroom hitting your bare skin where his body isn't pinning you down. The reality of what just happened begins to settle into your bones, the heavy fog of pleasure lifting to reveal the massive, uncharted territory you’ve both just stepped into.
"Jeongguk," you breathe out, your voice still a little raspy. You turn your head slightly, trying to look at him. "We should talk about it. About... us. What this means."
He lets out a soft, tired groan, burying his face deeper into your neck. His large, tattooed arm wraps securely around your waist, pulling you so close there isn't a single millimeter of space left between you.
"We will," he promises, his low rumble vibrating right against your skin. "I promise we’ll talk about everything you want. Just... please let me enjoy this moment for a second. Let me just hold you."
You agree, nodding your head slightly against his chest, but you are visibly lost in your thoughts. Your eyes trace the unfamiliar contours of his bedroom, the dark silk sheets, the heavy shadows on the wall. The anxiety hasn't completely vanished, it's just waiting on the periphery, whispering questions about tomorrow, about his career, about the fragile ten-year foundation you just risked.
As if sensing the sudden shift in your energy, Jeongguk shifts. He props himself up on one elbow, hovering over you just enough to look down into your face. His eyes are incredibly soft, completely clear of the tequila from last night and the blinding lust from minutes ago. He reaches up, his gentle thumb tracing your cheekbone, wiping away a stray bead of sweat.
"Hey," he murmurs, his piercing catching the soft light. He looks at you with an unwavering certainty that makes your heart skip a beat. "I’m going to make sure nothing goes south. I promise you. I love you, Y/N."
Hearing the words spoken so clearly, without a drop of alcohol or adrenaline to hide behind, makes the last of your defenses crumble.
"I love you too," you whisper back.
He smiles—a genuine, boyish grin that reminds you exactly of the teenager you met a decade ago—and pulls you back down against him. As you nuzzle your nose deep into the warm, clean-scented crook of his neck, listening to the steady, unshakeable beat of his heart beneath your cheek, the frantic thoughts in your mind finally begin to quiet down.
Maybe the logic didn't matter. Maybe, against all odds, it really was going to be okay.
↳ summary: ten years of platonic safety, completely incinerated over cold kitchen marble. a frantic morning-after argument about a drunken confession turns into a dangerous game of chicken. you think you're being the smart one, desperately trying to protect a decade-long friendship from total wreckage—until a single, devastating kiss proves that neither of you can afford to stay just friends anymore.
↳ friends to lovers!au;
↳ pairing: idol!jeongguk x f!reader
↳ warnings: shameless smut, heavy praise and unprotected oral. features a completely undone, whiny, and pathetically submissive jeongguk who is brought entirely to his knees, begging for a taste before fucking you through his own overstimulation. brace yourselves........ :)
↳ word count: 13.1 k
a/n: this is actually my first ever request. here is the the original ask! the person who requested didn't reply anymore, so i took it upon myself to just run with it—yay for creative freedom and what not. hopefully i delivered question mark?
i’m a bit anxious about this ngl since it is a bit out of my comfort area so please lmk your thoughts :')
we absolutely love subkoo propaganda in this house. though i must admit, i could've made him even more sub, but baby steps am i right?
—
ONE SHOT
STARRING JEONGGUK
You’re very good at making bad decisions.
You and Jeongguk have been friends for a very long time. Platonic friends, of course. The kind of bond forged in the messy, unfiltered trenches of youth long before the rest of the world decided he belonged to them.
You remember every single time he’s been there for you, steady as an anchor. He was the one who sat on the kitchen counter at three in the morning, quietly listening to you cry over a brutal breakup, holding the pint of melting ice cream while you ranted. He was the one who dragged his exhausted body out of bed in the dead of winter just to jump-start your dead car battery, completely uncomplaining as his hands turned bright red in the freezing air. When you failed that massive university exam, he didn't offer empty platitudes; he just showed up at your door with a bag of cheap convenience store snacks and your favorite video game, sitting in silence with you until the heavy cloud in your chest lifted.
And you’ve been there for him just as fiercely. You were the one who held his hair back in a cramped, dimly lit bathroom after he drank way too much at a party, rubbing his back while he muttered pathetic apologies. You were the one who helped him pack up his entire life into mismatched cardboard boxes when he finally left his small hometown, taping the edges shut while he nervously paced the room. You even let him experiment on you with a box of cheap, questionable hair dye on a random Tuesday, resulting in a green-stained forehead and a frantic midnight run to a 24-hour pharmacy, laughing so hard your stomachs ached in the fluorescent aisles.
However, you didn't take into account that he would get famous at some point. Obviously, he had all the cards to do so, you weren't blind.
He’s attractive. He’s sweet. He has a good heart that bleeds through everything he touches.
And then there are the physical realities you've forced yourself to ignore for years. He has impeccable, impeccable hands—veiny, strong, and large enough to completely swallow yours. He has a fiercely toned body, hardened by years of relentless dance practice and gym sessions, a sharp contrast to the gentle soul inside him. And, of course, those sweet, round eyes you melt for every single time he looks up at you, completely disarming whatever defenses you try to build.
So when he texted you saying he was back home for a little while before heading out on the massive world tour again, of course you said yes.
Why would you not? He was your best friend.
Except you completely forgot that during his brief stints of downtime, Jeongguk had a tendency to pick up hyper-fixated new hobbies. Which is exactly how you found yourself standing in the doorway of his private garage, completely frozen.
He was entirely underneath the chassis of a sleek, vintage car, legs sprawling out across the concrete floor. He was straining against a stubborn bolt, and the physical effort caused his dark t-shirt to ride up drastically, exposing a wide strip of his lower abdomen.
Your eyes trapped themselves right there, staring directly at his happy trail. It was a sharp, dark line of hair cutting perfectly across his toned stomach, disappearing straight into the low waistband of his grey sweatpants.
Avert your gaze? Maybe you should. You absolutely had to.
Instead, a stray, dangerous thought crossed your mind, wondering exactly where that trail led and if it really was a happy place. You would certainly guess so, taking into account the sheer volume of women who willingly flung themselves at him daily on global television.
Jeongguk, meanwhile, was acutely aware of the shift in the room's atmosphere the second you walked in. From his vantage point beneath the metal frame, he heard your footsteps halt. He could feel the phantom heat of your eyes burning into his exposed skin. His heart did a violent flip in his chest, his fingers tightening around his wrench. He purposely stayed still for a beat longer than necessary, his breath hitching, secretly thrilled by the weight of your undivided attention.
To break the suffocating silence, you finally spoke, semi-yelling over the clinking of his tools, "Yo! Koo, what the fuck are you doing?"
Hearing your voice, Jeongguk finally kicked against the floor, sliding himself out from under the car on his mechanic's creeper.
When he fully emerged, the sight of him made your throat go completely dry. He had grease smudged across his jaw, a dirty shirt clinging to his frame, and a sweaty forehead. A few moist, dark hair strands were sticking directly to his skin, and the tiny silver hoop of his lip piercing glinted sharply in the garage lighting.
You gulped. Hard. Maybe it was just because you hadn't seen him in a while, or maybe it was because the platonic shield you usually wore was rapidly cracking to pieces.
Jeongguk blinked up at you, tracking the slight bob of your throat as you swallowed. A quiet wave of satisfaction washed over him, melting his internal nerves into something warm and soft. He let his head fall back slightly, looking up at you through his lashes with the sweetest, most innocent smile he could muster.
"Hi," he replied softly, his voice a low, raspy rumble that did absolutely nothing to help your racing pulse.
He laughed, a bright, breathless sound, and stepped toward you with his arms wide open. It was clear he wanted nothing more than to throw his arms around you after being separated by a massive ocean for months, but you immediately took a sharp step back, hands raised in a defensive barrier.
"Don't even think about it," you warned, eyeing the black grease smudged across his arms. "I am not getting engine oil all over my clothes."
Jeongguk paused, his arms still half-extended, his lips pouting into a familiar, dramatic frown. "So?" he asked, tilting his head with an entitled little whine. "It's just a shirt. I haven't seen you in forever."
Before you could reiterate that you actually liked your outfit, he reached down, gripped the hem of his dark t-shirt, and pulled it over his head in one fluid, practiced motion. Your breath caught awkwardly in your throat. Now, the toned lines of his chest and abdomen were fully on display, glistening with a light sheen of sweat under the garage lights. He didn't even seem to notice your sudden internal panic as he casually crumpled the expensive fabric into a ball, using it as a makeshift rag to roughly wipe the grease off his hands.
Tossing the ruined shirt onto a nearby tool stool, he stepped right back into your space. "Better?" he murmured, a cheeky, triumphant grin spreading across his face before he locked his bare, warm arms securely around your waist, pulling you flush against him.
You let out a defeated sigh, but you didn't pull away. You hugged him back, burying your face against the warm crook of his shoulder, the familiar, comforting scent of him cutting right through the sharp smell of gasoline and metal.
If you were being 100% honest with yourself, you did have a crush on him. You had been harboring a crush on him for a very long time.
You just never vocalized it. To you, it was always safer to remain a constant, unshakeable variable in his chaotic life rather than risk ruining something so irreplaceable. All of his past relationships had eventually crashed and burned, a pattern that only grew worse once global fame started violently colliding with his love life and relentless schedules. You had absolutely no intention of losing Jeongguk to a stupid, juvenile crush you’d developed nearly ten years ago—all because he’d sweetly given you his last cherry popsicle on a scorching summer afternoon.
Jeongguk squeezed you a little tighter before finally releasing you, though his hands lingered on your arms for a beat too long. "I want to throw a party tonight," he announced, his round eyes shining with genuine excitement as he swiped a damp strand of hair from his forehead. "Just like old times. I want to actually have fun without a million eyes on me."
You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms. "Oh? Tell me about it. Who are we inviting?"
"Only old friends," he said instantly, his tone turning protective. "Nobody new. Nobody with a hidden motive or a vendetta. Just the people who knew me before... all of this."
You smirked, a teasing glint in your eyes as you nudged his bare shoulder. "What, so you didn't bring any international flings home with you in first class?"
Jeongguk let out a self-deprecating laugh, shaking his head as he ran a hand through his messy hair. "No way. I'm going girl-sober for a while. Women completely fuck up my senses."
He wasn't lying, and you knew it. Jeongguk was a hopeless, unapologetic serial romantic. He was a boy who loved with his entire soul, completely incapable of doing anything casual even if his life depended on it. It was his ultimate Achilles' heel. He wore his heart so openly on his sleeve, entirely defenseless, and people always seemed to have other, more transactional plans for it.
"Girl-sober, huh?" you echoed, trying to ignore the sudden, dangerous flutter in your stomach at his words. "Let's see how long that actually lasts."
"Oh, it will last," Jeongguk said, his tone dropping into a quieter, more deliberate register as he looked down at you. "You'll make sure of it."
You blinked, momentarily losing your train of thought as your eyes tracked a stray bead of sweat rolling down his collarbone. "Pardon?"
"You’re the only one I can trust with my heart right now," he explained smoothly, a completely earnest, unguarded look washing over his features. He stepped a fraction closer, the heat radiating off his bare chest practically enveloping you. "So, yes. You. Making sure no one is hurting your super hot friend."
Your knees almost buckled right there on the oil-stained concrete.
Super hot?
Did he just casually drop that into conversation like he hadn't spent the last ten years being your dorky, platonic sidekick? Before you could even formulate a coherent response, Jeongguk caught the sudden shock on your face. A playful, slightly teasing glint sparked in his dark eyes, his lips tilting up at the corners.
"Am I not?" he challenged softly, tilting his head as if genuinely waiting for your assessment.
You swallowed hard, your mind scrambling to put the platonic walls back up before he noticed how fast your heart was beating. "I plead the fifth."
Jeongguk let out a breathy, dramatic groan, throwing his head back before looking down at you through his lashes. "God, Y/N, you’re so dramatic. I can openly say you’re hot."
Your brain completely short-circuited. "Sorry?"
"What?" He shrugged his shoulders, completely unfazed by the bomb he’d just dropped in the middle of his garage. "It’s not like it’s federal information. You’re attractive, I’m attractive. You should be able to speak open truths."
You gulped again, the sound loud in your own ears as you looked anywhere but at the hard lines of his chest. "Fine," you grumbled, forcing the words past your lips like a confession under interrogation. "You’re hot. Happy?"
Jeongguk’s playful smirk instantly vanished, replaced by a dramatic, exaggerated pout. He whined, the sound high and petulant, as he crossed his arms over his chest. "No, see? Now I don't even want it anymore if you don't actually believe it."
You let out a sharp scoff, throwing your hands up in disbelief. "Where the hell is that coming from?"
"I'm serious," he insisted, his voice dropping into a quieter, more vulnerable register. He stepped a fraction closer, his shoes almost touching the tips of yours. He looked down at you, completely stripped of his usual idol persona. "I don't want you to say things just because I want to hear them. I have enough people in my life for that,Y/N. Millions of them. I don't need it from you."
The sudden, raw honesty of his words hit you like a physical weight. You looked up, meeting his gaze, and swear his eyes just got ten times more sparkly and round, shimmering with a sudden, intense vulnerability.
He was practically vibrating with the unspoken urge to be perceived, truly perceived, by the only person whose opinion actually mattered to him.
The platonic armor you’d spent so long building suddenly felt paper-thin. You let out a soft sigh, reaching out to gently tap his bare chest, right over his racing heart.
"Jeongguk," you said, your voice softening, holding his gaze so he knew you meant it. "You're hot. I'm not just saying it."
The second the words left your mouth, the heavy tension broke. A massive, radiant grin split across his face, his eyes crinkling at the corners into those familiar, endearing crescent shapes.
"Thank you," he sang out in a sweet, sing-song voice, practically beaming as he swayed his shoulders from side to side like a praised toddler. The transition from a brooding, shirtless man to a needy, praise-hungry boy was so fast it made your head spin, leaving you entirely at the mercy of whatever games he was playing with your heart.
You spent the whole afternoon prepping for the said party. You were beyond glad for his shiny black card, which you used with zero remorse. It could buy the good alcohol—the top-shelf stuff his agency normally rationed him on—along with an obscene mountain of incredible snacks that you knew you would half-demolish before the guests even knocked on the door. You had bags of high-end chips, imported chocolates, and savory finger foods piled high on his marble kitchen counters, casually stealing a handful of pretzels every time you walked by.
His apartment was massive, but it was also quite dark. He had a penchant for heavy, blackout curtains and moody industrial architecture, and you laughed a ton when you tried to string up some extra LED lights around the living room and hallways. You muttered to yourself while balancing on a stool, desperately trying to ensure people wouldn't step on each other's toes in the pitch-black tomb of his very boy-coded apartment.
It was a chaotic mix of state-of-the-art gaming rigs, massive speakers, random workout equipment in the corner, and a giant plush couch that screamed bachelor pad.
His bedroom, however, was strictly off-limits. Locked and closed for the public.
As you passed the heavy wood door on your way to the bathroom, you paused. You hadn't been inside his room in a long way, and your mind naturally began to wander, curiosity pricking at your chest. You started to wonder how it had changed from the last time you were there, back when it was just a messy pile of clothes and a mattress on the floor. Now, as even a more famous star than he was at the start, did he have silk sheets? A massive canopy bed?
More dangerously, you started to wonder what women had seen those sheets. Which faces had looked up at him in the dark?
At last, you forcefully pushed the burning thought aside, shaking your head to clear the sudden spike of jealousy. It didn't matter. You had a job to do, and besides, the guests were finally starting to arrive.
The heavy front door clicked open, and the quiet tomb of his apartment was instantly flooded with chatter and laughter as his oldest childhood friends spilled into the entryway. Jeongguk was already standing by the kitchen island, the grease long washed from his skin, replaced by a soft, oversized black sweater and a fresh scent. He’d clearly been anticipating the social buffering, because by the time the first three people crossed the threshold, Jeongguk had already thrown back two heavy shots of tequila.
His round eyes were already bright and crinkling with a loose, alcohol-fueled warmth.
Throwing his hands into the air, his silver lip piercing catching the glow of the newly strung lights, he yelled at the top of his lungs, "Welcome, party people!"
The room erupted into cheers, his friends rushing forward to swarm him, throwing arms around his broad shoulders and pulling him into a chaotic huddle of loud greetings and deep belly laughs. From across the room, you leaned against the kitchen counter, watching him instantly dissolve back into the boy he used to be, completely shielded from the crushing weight of his global fame by the people who loved him first.
The party shifted into high gear with the easy, unpretentious noise of people who had nothing to prove to each other. In the hazy glow of the blue and purple lights, the living room felt less like a celebrity’s multi-million dollar fortress and more like a time capsule.
"I’m just saying," Jin-woo, one of Jeongguk’s oldest friends from his hometown, gestured wildly with a half-eaten chip, "If a zombie apocalypse happens right now, Koo is the first to die. He’s too polite. He’d try to bow to a zombie before kicking it."
"No way!" Jeongguk protested, his voice a little too loud, a little too slurred as he leaned heavily against the back of the plush couch. He poured himself another shot of tequila, his hand shaking just enough that a few drops splashed onto his knuckles. "I have muscle memory now. I’d do a 360-kick. Boom. Dead zombie."
"You'd cry if you got blood on your designer shoes," you chimed in from the kitchen island, swirling the ice cubes in your cup.
Jeongguk’s head snapped toward you instantly. His sweet, round eyes were heavily hooded, a dark, glossy sheen over them as he tracked your movement. A soft, lazy smile spread across his face, his silver lip piercing catching the strobe of the lights. "Y/N... you’re supposed to be on my side. Always."
"I am on your side. I'm just realistic," you laughed, taking a slow sip.
You were barely on your second glass of vodka cranberry, the tart liquid still mostly full as you paced yourself. You had to. Someone needed to keep an eye on the house, and more importantly, someone needed to keep an eye on him.
Jeongguk, on the other hand, was throwing them back like water. The pressure of the upcoming tour, the suffocating nature of his daily life—it was all bleeding out of him in the form of liquid courage. He was drinking to forget the idol.
An hour later, the loud, stupid arguments dissolved into the inevitable late-night deep talk. Three of his friends were sprawled on the floor, debating the existence of aliens, while Jin-woo had moved onto the balcony for a smoke.
Jeongguk somehow navigated his way over to you, his shoulders bumping into yours as he leaned heavily against the kitchen counter. He smelled like expensive cologne and sharp alcohol.
"You're barely drinking," he murmured, his voice dropping into that low, raspy rumble that always made your stomach do backflips. He reached out, his large hand wrapping around your wrist, his thumb casually brushing against your pulse point. His touch was warm, heavy, and intentionally lingering.
"Someone has to make sure you don't break your own furniture," you teased gently, though your heart was suddenly hammering against your ribs. "How many shots is that now? Five? Six?"
"Doesn't matter," he whispered, stepping a fraction closer, completely ignoring the chatter of his friends just twenty feet away. He looked down at you, his large eyes shimmering under the dim kitchen lights. "Everything feels... too loud out there, Y/N. But when I look at you, it stops."
Your breath hitched.
"Jeongguk, you're drunk," you whispered back, trying to maintain the boundary, trying not to let your ten-year-old crush completely take over.
"I am," he admitted softly, his grip on your wrist tightening just a fraction as he leaned his forehead down, almost touching your shoulder. It was that physical surrender again—putting himself entirely in your space, begging you without words to hold him together. "But I'm only brave when the sun goes down. You know that. Stay 'til sunrise. Please."
"Fine," you sighed, trying to ignore the frantic pounding in your chest as you gently patted his broad, sweater-clad shoulder. "But you’re taking the couch tonight, Koo. I’m not carrying you anywhere."
A soft, breathy laugh left his throat, and before you could even brace yourself, Jeongguk leaned in. He pressed his lips firmly against your temple, a lingering, warm pressure that smelled faintly of tequila and mint. "Thank you," he murmured against your skin, a string of another quiet, drunken thank yous spilling out of his mouth as he finally pulled back.
You stood there, entirely frozen, your brain struggling to process how to function normally. Those sweet, tactile gestures of his had remained exactly the same over the last decade. It was just a temple kiss. It was the kind of thing he’d done a hundred times when you were younger, yet now, with his shoulders framing you and his deep voice vibrating in his chest, it rattled you down to your very core.
Before you could spiral any further into your own head, Hana—one of Jin-woo’s louder cousins who had tagged along—yelled from the living room floor, clapping her hands together to get everyone's attention.
"Hey! Enough with the alien talk," Hana shouted, swirling the ice in her cup. "We should play something actually fun. Like truth or dare... or better yet, truth or drink!"
The room instantly erupted into murmurs of agreement, but nobody moved faster than Jeongguk. His face lit up, his round eyes wide and sparkling under the blue LED's as he practically jumped at the opportunity to drink more.
"Truth or drink," Jeongguk cheered, his voice loose and excited as he pushed off the kitchen counter. He grabbed the half-empty bottle of top-shelf tequila by the neck, giving you a quick, triumphant look over his shoulder. "Yes. Let's do it. I'm choosing drink every single damn time, I don't care."
He stumbled slightly as he made his way to the center of the room, dropping heavily onto the plush rug right in the middle of the circle, looking up at everyone like a kid waiting for a game to start. He was already so completely undone, and as you walked over to join the circle with your barely touched vodka cranberry, a sudden, heavy wave of anticipation settled deep in your stomach.
You knew exactly how Jeongguk played games when he was like this. He was honest to a fault, but tonight, with the alcohol running warm through his veins he might start being too honest.
The bottle of tequila sat right in the center of the hardwood floor, spinning rapidly under the flashing lights until it slowed down, its neck pointing directly at Jin-woo.
"Alright, alright," Jin-woo grinned, leaning forward on his knees. He looked across the circle at Jeongguk, who was sitting cross-legged, a little loopy, swaying slightly to the music. "Koo. First round. Truth or drink. What is the absolute worst thing about being a global superstar? Give us the real dirt."
You expected Jeongguk to reach for his cup immediately. His agency spent millions of dollars training him to handle questions like this with perfectly polished, diplomatic answers. Instead, Jeongguk just let out a soft, hazy laugh, his eyes dropping to his hands.
"The loneliness," he said, the sheer honesty of his voice cutting right through the lighthearted party atmosphere. The circle went quiet. Jeongguk looked up, his round eyes wide and entirely undisguised by his usual idol armor. "You think you're surrounded by the world, but when the stage lights go off, you're just sitting alone in a sterile hotel room in a country where you don't speak the language, wondering if anyone actually misses you, or if they just miss the guy on the posters. It's suffocating."
A collective, sympathetic hum went around the room. Jin-woo blinked, clearly not expecting him to drop something so heavy in the first five minutes. You felt a familiar twist of pain in your chest, your eyes softening as you looked at him. Jeongguk didn't take a sip, he just gave a tiny, vulnerable shrug, completely comfortable laying his soul bare in front of the people who knew him before the fame.
Hana spun the bottle next. It whirled around before grinding to a halt, pointing straight back at Jeongguk.
"Oh, my turn," Hana perked up, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "Okay, Jeongguk. You said earlier today that you're 'girl-sober' right now. So tell the truth: when was the last time you actually kissed someone, and did it mean anything?"
You held your breath, your fingers tightening around your glass of vodka cranberry.
Jeongguk tilted his head back against the edge of the couch behind him, a slow, lazy smile spreading across his face. He didn't even reach for the tequila bottle. "Two years ago," he stated bluntly, his voice a low, raspy rumble. "A girl I met during a break between promotions. And no, it didn't mean anything. That was the problem. I tried to make it mean something because I hate casual stuff, but she just wanted to tell her friends she was dating an idol. It felt transactional. I hated it."
"Damn," Hana muttered, taking a drink of her own beer out of pure secondhand awkwardness. "You're really not holding back tonight, are you?"
"I told you," Jeongguk murmured, his dark, glossy eyes suddenly shifting across the circle until they locked directly onto yours. "I don't want to say fake things tonight. I'm tired of it."
Before the heavy silence following Jeongguk’s sudden drink can completely suffocate the room, Jin-woo quickly reaches out and gives the glass bottle another aggressive spin. It whirs sharply on the hardwood floor, a blur of green glass under the flashing blue lights, before slowing down and pointing its cap directly at you.
"Oh, finally! The spotlight shifts," Hana cheers, leaning forward on her elbows with a wicked, deeply intrigued grin. She doesn't hesitate for a second. "Okay, Y/N. Truth or drink. We all know you're fiercely independent in your daily life, but does that translate to the bedroom? Are you the type who likes to be completely in charge, calling all the shots, or do you prefer to submit?"
Your heart does a violent, erratic leap against your ribs. Out of the corner of your eye, you feel Jeongguk freeze.
You slowly turn your head to look at him, and the sheer intensity of his gaze almost makes you gasp. His sweet, round eyes are completely dark, his pupils blown so wide they nearly swallow the irises. He’s staring at your lips, his chest heaving under his oversized black sweater, practically vibrating with a sudden, suffocating hunger. He looks entirely undone by the question, his lips parting slightly as he waits for your answer with a desperate, breathless anticipation.
You clear your throat, forcing your voice to remain steady. "I think prefer being in charge," you reply, keeping it blunt and confident. "I like the feeling of control."
A low, collective “Ooooooh” ripples through the circle of friends, but you barely hear them. The absolute heat of Jeongguk’s unblinking stare is burning into your skin, making your throat go completely dry. Even though you answered the truth, you desperately need a distraction, so you lift your glass of vodka cranberry and take a heavy, long sip, letting the tart alcohol burn away the sudden spike of nerves.
"Knew it!" Hana laughs loudly, raising her cup to you in approval. "A total boss. Honestly, whoever ends up in your bed is a lucky bastard."
Hana grabs the bottle next, giving it a careless flick to keep the game moving. It spins and lands right back on her. Jin-woo immediately jumps in with a smirk. "Alright, Hana, truth or drink: Is it true you secretly cried when your ex got a matching tattoo with his new girlfriend?" Hana gasps, throwing a couch pillow directly at his face before grabbing her beer. "Shut up! I'm drinking, I am absolutely drinking for that one," she groans, chugging a massive gulp while everyone erupts into loud, teasing laughter.
The distraction gives you a brief moment to breathe, but when you glance back at Jeongguk, he hasn't moved an inch. He is still looking up at you from his spot on the floor, his silver lip piercing glinting.
The bottle gets spun again, whirring lazily until it grinds to a halt, pointing directly at another childhood friend, Jisung.
Jisung groans, rubbing the back of his neck. "Ah, man. Go easy on me. I've had a rough week."
Seojun leans forward, a thoughtful expression replacing his usual mischievous grin as the atmosphere shifts back into something a bit deeper. "Alright, Jisung. Real talk. Truth or drink: Since we're all getting older and life is pulling us in different directions, do you ever feel like you're getting left behind by the rest of us?"
Jisung sighs, a sad, honest smile touching his lips as he looks around the circle, his eyes briefly lingering on Jeongguk’s massive, luxurious apartment. "Yeah," Jisung admits softly, his voice quiet against the background music. "Sometimes it's hard. Like, I'm so incredibly proud of Koo, and I love seeing all of you succeed, but looking at my own nine-to-five... it makes me feel like I'm standing still while everyone else is running. It's a weird kind of pressure."
"Dude, no," Jeongguk speaks up instantly, his raspy voice full of genuine affection. He leans forward, completely breaking the circle's boundary to grab Jisung’s shoulder, squeezing it tightly with his hand. "Don't ever think that. None of this fame stuff matters if I don't have you guys to come home to. You're not left behind. You're exactly where you need to be."
Jisung smiles, visibly touched, and raises his glass to clink it against Jeongguk's tequila bottle. The warmth of their old friendship fills the room, but as Jeongguk pulls his hand back, his dark, heavy eyes slide right back to yours.
The rest of the party continued in a hazy blur of slurred words, loud, nostalgic belly laughs, and increasingly messy drinking. By the time the clock crawled past three in the morning, the high-energy atmosphere had completely dissolved. The final straw came when Jisung, looking pale and thoroughly defeated by the alcohol, stumbled toward the entryway and nearly threw up directly into a massive, expensive indoor plant pot.
Jin-woo caught him by the back of his jacket just in time. That was officially everyone's cue to leave.
There was a chaotic fifteen minutes of shuffling feet, mumbled thank-yous, and heavy slaps on shoulders as you helped herd his childhood friends out into the hallway. When the heavy front door finally clicked shut, the sudden, absolute silence of the multi-million dollar apartment felt deafening.
You turned back toward the living room, only to find Jeongguk dragging his feet across the hardwood floor. True to his word from earlier, he was clutching a plush, oversized pillow under one arm and trailing a heavy, dark duvet behind him, preparing to claim the sofa.
He was so incredibly drunk. His broad shoulders were slouched under his black sweater, his movements completely uncoordinated. As he tried to navigate around the low coffee table, his knee clipped the edge, causing him to stumble awkwardly. His hand shot out to steady himself, almost knocking an empty highball glass clean off the wood surface.
"Whoa, easy there," you murmured, quickly stepping into his space. You grabbed the glass before it could shatter, setting it safely aside, and then crouched down slightly to match his eye level as he heavily dropped his weight onto the edge of the cushions. "Koo... look at you. I think you should actually just take the bed tonight. I can sleep out here."
Jeongguk immediately gestured a clumsy, emphatic no with his hand, shaking his head so hard a few strands of dark hair fell into his face. The sudden movement clearly sent a wave of vertigo through him, because it was instantly followed by a pained, whispered, "Jesus..."as he tightly pressed his palm against his forehead, closing his eyes against the dim lights.
You cocked a brow at him, amused but secretly melting at how soft and defenseless he looked when the tough idol persona was stripped away entirely. "See? You can barely hold your head up. Go to your room, Jeongguk."
"No," he rasped, his voice incredibly deep and thick with sleep and alcohol. He slowly dropped his hand from his face, lifting his head to look up at you through his thick lashes. His sweet, round eyes were heavily hooded, wide and shimmering with some sort of vulnerability. "Don't go yet. Let's... let's talk for a while. I missed you. I missed you so much, Y/N."
Your heart did a violent, erratic hammer against your chest at the sheer desperation in his tone. It was a direct plea, completely unguarded.
Despite the warning bells screaming in your head about your decade-long crush, you found yourself complying. You let out a soft breath and sat down right next to him on the couch, the plush cushions sinking under your weight as his heavy, warm presence instantly enveloped you in the quiet dark.
The moment you settled onto the cushion, his heavy head fell sideways, landing directly on your shoulder. You were instantly engulfed by his scent. It was a fragrance so deeply familiar to you, cutting right through the tequila-infused softness he had going on tonight.
Jeongguk always smelled incredibly clean. Over the years, you had grown to associate crispy, clean cotton smells with his smile. Whenever his brutal, tight schedules didn't allow him the time to text or call you for weeks on end, you had found a strange sort of reprieve in those scents—buying detergents or candles that smelled like fresh laundry just to feel like he wasn't entirely a world away.
He shifted against you, his cheek rubbing into the fabric of your shirt as the quiet apartment settled around you both. He noted the sudden, heavy silence in the room and tilted his head up just enough to look at your profile, his bottom lip pushing out into an almost childlike pout.
"Did not you miss me too?" he asked, his deep voice muffled against your neck, raw and terribly needy.
You couldn't help the soft smile that tugged at your lips. You turned your head slightly, your breath brushing over his hair. "Obviously, Koo. How could I not? You’re my best friend."
At the word friend, Jeongguk let out a low, vibration-heavy hum in his chest. It wasn't a happy sound. He closed his eyes, his brow furrowing as he tightly gripped a fistful of the dark duvet resting on his lap.
"I'm so confused," he whispered, the admission sounding small and cracked.
You blinked, shifting slightly so you could look down at his face. "Why?" you asked softly, your heart doing a nervous, anticipatory flutter against your ribs. "What's making you confused?"
"Because it should feel different," Jeongguk muttered, his voice dropping into a register so low and raspy it sent a physical shiver straight down your spine. He didn't lift his head from your shoulder. He just pressed closer, his warm breath seeping through the fabric of your shirt.
You grew thoroughly confused, your fingers tightening around the edge of the couch cushion. "What? What should feel different, Koo?"
He let out a ragged, heavy sigh, his chest expanding against your side. "Everything," he whispered. "I’ve been thinking for a while... that love, real romantic love, should feel at least as deep and all-consuming as the type of love I have for you."
The wind was completely knocked out of your lungs. For a terrifying second, you forgot how to breathe entirely. Your mind raced back over the last ten years, the late-night phone calls, the quiet domesticity of your friendship, and the heavy, burning crush you had tried so desperately to bury. You bit your lip hard, the sharp sting of pain the only thing keeping you grounded, in a desperate attempt to steady your trembling voice.
"Jeongguk," you breathed, your voice barely audible over the hum of the refrigerator in the quiet apartment. "What... what do you mean by that?"
He finally pulled his head back from your shoulder, shifting on the plush cushions so he could face you fully. He looked entirely undone by the alcohol and the sheer weight of his own thoughts. He started explaining with his hands, his long fingers cutting through the dim light. His intricate tattoos shifted across his skin, and the silver rings on his fingers glinted sharply in the dark as he gestured in frustration.
"I can't do casual, Y/N," he said, his eyes wide, glossy, and swimming with a desperate, heavy sensitivity. "I can't. Because I know how true love should feel. I know it because of you. Every single time I’ve tried to date, every time I’ve tried to build something with someone else, I find myself associating what I feel for them in comparison with you."
A beat.
Two beats.
Three beats.
The silence in the room became so heavy it was suffocating.
"And every single time," Jeongguk whispered, his head tilting down as he looked up at you through his lashes, completely stripping away his defenses and surrendering his heart right into your hands, "I’ve found that they always come short. In comparison with you."
You tried to diffuse the situation right then and there. Your brain was working in overdrive, frantically constructing walls because the alternative—believing him—meant stepping into a territory that could ruin everything you had built over the last years.
He was drunk. He was clearly not thinking straight. He was currently trying to be girl-sober, and in your mind, he was just projecting his deeply ingrained, serial monogamist tendencies onto the closest, safest thing he had. You.
It wasn’t true. It couldn't be true.
"Jeongguk," you said, your voice tight as you forced a breath into your lungs, desperately trying to ignore how loud your own heart was knocking against your ribs. "I think you’re just projecting. You're exhausted, you've been lonely on tour, and you're just confusing comfort for something else."
He muttered a low, ragged "Jesus..."again, his hand rising to tightly press against his forehead. He didn't even seem to fully process what you said, completely deaf to the frantic rhythm of your chest as the alcohol and the emotional weight of his own confession finally dragged him under.
The raw intensity in his eyes flickered out, replaced by heavy exhaustion. Without another word, he let his upper body slide sideways, his head plopping heavily onto the plush pillow he’d thrown on the edge of the couch.
He curled his body slightly into the cushions, his dark lashes fluttering shut as a deep, uneven breath left his parted lips, leaving you sitting there in the dim blue LED light, completely frozen next to him.
That’s when you realize his bedroom door was probably still locked, a solid block of wood protecting a room you weren't allowed to enter.
You had absolutely no option but to sleep on the couch next to him. Letting out a quiet, defeated breath, you grabbed the edge of the heavy, dark duvet he’d brought out, pulling it over both of your bodies to shield against the air conditioning. You shifted your weight, settling into the cushions as best you could, and tried to sleep.
It was impossible. Seven thousand thoughts were swirling in your mind, a chaotic storm of memory and denial.
But Jeongguk was drunk.
He was completely out of it, his deep, even breaths rising and falling against your side. He wouldn't remember this in the morning, you told yourself. Tomorrow, the sun would come up, the platonic armor would go back on, and he would just be your best friend again. You closed your eyes, letting the clean cotton scent of him anchor you as you finally drifted into a restless sleep, completely unaware of how thin the line between you had truly become.
But the next morning, he was nowhere to be seen.
When you finally opened your eyes, blinking against the harsh, bright sunlight piercing through the cracks of the heavy blackout curtains, the couch beside you was completely empty. You checked your phone—it was god knows what hour of the late morning—and the realization that you were alone in the vast, quiet space hit you like a cold splash of water. The heavy dark duvet was pulled back, the plush pillow still holding the indentation of his head, but Jeongguk was gone.
So naturally, you grew a bit anxious.
A tight, familiar knot formed in the pit of your stomach as you sat up, the silence of the multi-million dollar apartment suddenly feeling incredibly heavy. Your mind instantly began to scramble, racing back through the events of the previous night. You hoped with everything you had that he would just forget what he said last night. You prayed the tequila had completely wiped his memory, that the slurred confessions about true love and people coming up short in comparison to you would just evaporate into the morning air. If he forgot, everything could go back to normal. You could go back to being the constant, unshakeable variable in his life.
But then the darker, terrifying thoughts started to bleed in, turning your anxiety into full-blown panic.
What if he remembered? What if he woke up with a pounding headache and a crystal-clear recollection of every single word that had left his mouth? What if he was so thoroughly mortified, so repulsed by the fact that he had crossed that sacred platonic line and laid his soul bare, that he had physically chosen to flee his own home just to avoid looking you in the eye?
You stood up, your knees slightly shaky, your eyes darting toward the hallway. His bedroom door was still closed, but the heavy silence in the apartment made it feel like he had abandoned the entire place just to escape the mess he’d created in the dark.
That’s when you heard the faucet running.
The sharp, metallic hiss of rushing water cut through the suffocating silence of the apartment, drawing your attention toward the kitchen. Your heart skipped a beat, the knot of anxiety in your stomach loosening just a fraction, only to tighten again with a completely different kind of tension.
With small steps, your feet padding quietly against the cold hardwood floor, you made your way down the hall. Every single breath you took felt like lead, heavy and burning in your chest. You braced yourself for a tense, awkward confrontation, preparing to play off his drunken rambling as a massive joke.
Instead, you rounded the corner and saw him in all his glory, completely naked from the belt up.
The bright morning sunlight poured through the kitchen window, hitting the sharp, fiercely toned lines of his back and shoulders as he stood in front of the sink. He had a clean pair of grey sweatpants hanging low on his hips, exposing that dark, dangerous happy trail you’d been obsessing over the day before. His skin practically glistened, completely washed clean of the previous night's sweat and alcohol, and his dark, damp hair strands curled slightly around his nape. He was rinsing out a couple of mugs, hands moving with effortless, domestic grace.
As if sensing your presence, Jeongguk turned around.
There was no repulsion on his face. No awkwardness, no frantic desire to flee. Instead, his sweet, round eyes instantly crinkled at the corners, and a warm, lazy grin spread across his face, his silver lip piercing catching the morning light.
He greeted you in a sweet, entirely normal manner.
"Morning, sleepypants," he murmured, his voice a low, gravelly morning rumble that vibrated pleasantly in the quiet air. He set the mug down and gestured toward the espresso machine on the counter. "Coffee?"
You sit down awkwardly on one of the high barstools at the marble kitchen island, your hands folded in your lap as you nod your head. "Yes, please. Black is fine."
The silence stretches between you for a bit, heavy and thick on your end, though Jeongguk seems entirely unbothered as he presses a button on the espresso machine. The low whirring of the grinder fills the space, and the rich, dark scent of coffee begins to bloom in the air. Your mind is still a frantic mess of questions, the sheer weight of his shirtless torso in the bright morning light not helping your ability to think straight.
Unable to take the suspense any longer, you clear your throat. "Koo?"
He hums in response, not turning around just yet as he watches the dark liquid drip into the mugs, patiently waiting for you to continue.
You swallow hard, tracing a invisible line on the marble counter. "Do you... do you remember last night?"
Jeongguk freezes for a split second, his shoulders tensing just a fraction before he slowly turns around to face you. He leans back against the counter, crossing his tattooed arm over his bare chest, a totally blank, deadpan expression washing over his features.
"Last night?" he repeats, blinking his eyes with exaggerated confusion. He tilts his head, looking down at his own bare torso and then back up at you. "Wait... what year is it?"
You instantly catch onto the stupid joke, a rush of exasperated relief flooding your chest. You reach out, grabbing a random crumpled tissue you found sitting on the edge of the counter, and throw it straight at his face.
He ducks, but it clips his shoulder anyway. Jeongguk bursts into a loud, boxing-glove laugh, his eyes crinkling into those familiar, endearing crescents as the heavy tension in the room instantly evaporates.
"Yes," he says, his laughter dying down into a soft, knowing smile as he holds your gaze, his voice dropping back into that low morning cadence. "I remember last night, Y/N."
Your stomach drops straight through the floor. The relief you felt a second ago evaporates, replaced by a sudden, choking wave of heat that rises all the way to your face. You fumble with your words, your tongue feeling thick and clumsy as you try to form a coherent sentence.
"You—you remember?" you stammer, your hands nervously gripping the edge of the marble counter. "Then... what you said on the couch. Before you fell asleep. Did you... I mean, did you actually mean it?"
Jeongguk stays quiet for a while. The playful morning light suddenly feels too bright, too exposing. He doesn't move from where he’s leaning against the counter, but the easy grin vanishes from his face. He looks down at his feet, his throat bobbing as he swallows hard, his chest expanding with a deep, deliberate breath.
When he finally lifts his head, his eyes are dead serious, devoid of any tequila-induced haze.
"Yes," he says, his voice a low, steady vibration. "I meant it."
You blink, your chest tightening so fast it hurts. "What... what did you mean, Jeongguk? Exactly?"
"I meant what I meant," he mutters, his jaw clenching as he shifts his weight. He crosses his arms tighter over his bare chest, a defensive instinct kicking in as he tries to maintain his footing. He’s trying to stay casual, trying to play the enigmatic card, but the slight twitch in his silver lip piercing gives him away.
"Yes, but what does it mean?" you push, your voice cracking slightly out of frustration. You lean forward on the barstool, completely done with the riddles. "You don't get to drop a bomb like that, tell me everyone else comes short in comparison to me, and then just say 'I meant what I meant.' What does that mean for us, Jeongguk? What are you actually saying?"
Jeongguk stares at you, the silence stretching out between you like a taut wire. You can practically hear the furious looping in his head, the terrifying friction between the decade of friendship holding him back and the raw, suffocating desire to just stop hiding.
"It means exactly what you think it means, Y/N," he says defensively, his voice rising a fraction. "Why do I have to spell it out?"
"Because you were drunk!" you snap back, your own walls going up because you're terrified of getting your hopes destroyed. "Because people say crazy things when they've had six shots of tequila! You told me I'm the standard for your love life. Do you have any idea how insane that is to hear from your best friend?"
That's the breaking point.
Jeongguk cracks. The stubborn, defensive posture completely shatters, his arms dropping to his sides as he takes a sudden, aggressive step forward, closing the distance between the counter and your stool. He looms over you, his bare chest heaving, his eyes wide and burning with a desperate, chaotic intensity.
"It's not insane!" he bursts out, his voice cracking with a raw, emotional force that echoes through the quiet kitchen. He grips the edge of the marble island right next to your thighs, leaning down until his face is just inches from yours, entirely undone. "It's not the tequila, Y/N! I've been sober for months on tour and I thought about it every single day. Every girl I look at, every person I talk to, I'm just looking for you in them. I'm tired of pretending I don't. I'm tired of the mystery. I meant that I’m in love with you, okay? I’ve been in love with you for years!"
"You're crazy!" you snap back, the pure panic in your chest bubbling over into anger as you push yourself back against the barstool. "You are completely crazy, Jeongguk! You can’t just wake up one day and decide to ruin a ten-year friendship because you had a breakthrough on tour! You don't just get to tear down everything we built because you feel like it!"
He flinches as if you physically struck him. The fierce, looming intensity drains from his posture in an instant, leaving him looking raw and incredibly small despite his broad frame. His eyes turn visibly sad, a thick, glossy sheen coating them under the bright kitchen lights. His jaw tightens, his silver lip piercing trembling just a fraction before a bitter, hurt laugh leaves his throat.
"Well, excuse the fuck out of me if I have feelings," he spits out, his voice cracking with a dangerous mix of anger and absolute rejection. He pulls his hands off the marble counter and takes a step back, wrapping his arms tightly around his torso again, as if trying to shield his chest from you. "Excuse me for actually trusting my best friend enough to be honest. I didn't decide to feel this way, Y/N."
"It’s not even about that!" you yell back, your hands flying into the air out of sheer frustration. You slide off the barstool, finally standing on your own two feet so you don't have to look up at him. "Jeongguk, think for one second! Could you actually afford to lose me if a relationship goes south? If we do this, if we cross that line and it blows up in our faces, we don't get to go back to being friends. I'm gone. You're gone. Everything is ruined. Can you honestly afford that?"
At your words, his entire demeanor shifts from heartbroken to super pissy and defensive, the vulnerability of his ego being bruised making him lash out.
"It wouldn't go south!" he barks, his chest heaving as he glares down at you, his face flushing a furious, hurt red. "Why are you already deciding we're going to fail? And you know what? It doesn't even matter because you’re standing here acting like you have the high moral ground! Like you're the only one who cares about our friendship and I'm just some reckless idiot trying to break it!"
"I don’t have a moral ground!" you shout, stepping right into his space, your voice matching his volume. "I’m just trying to be smart about this! Someone has to be, because you're clearly letting your emotions run completely wild right now!"
"Why should you be smart?!" Jeongguk erupts, his frustration completely breaking through the ceiling. He throws his hands up, the silver rings on his fingers flashing aggressively in the morning sun. He steps so close you can feel the radiating, shirtless heat of his skin, his breath hitting your face in short, ragged gasps. He looks down at you, his eyes searching your face with a suffocating anger. "Why do you always have to be the logical one? Tell me the truth, Y/N—have you ever even thought about me that way? Even once? Or am I just the only idiot who’s been suffocating in this for years?"
"Of course I’ve thought about you that way!" you burst out, the truth ripping through your throat before you could even try to stop it. "Every single day for the last ten years, Jeongguk! I have been suffocating right next to you, watching you date other people, watching you become a global superstar, completely terrified that if I said a word, I’d lose you forever!"
Jeongguk completely freezes. The furious, pissy retort dies right on his tongue, his mouth hanging open slightly as his chest heaves. His round eyes widen, the glossy unshed tears making them look impossibly huge as he processes your words.
"You..." he stammers, his voice becoming a breathless, vulnerable whisper. "You have?"
"Yes! But you’re sitting here acting like it’s so simple," you say, your voice trembling with an overwhelming mix of anger, frustration, and a decade's worth of built-up tension. You take a step closer, your eyes locking onto his parted lips, then tracing up to the raw, completely undone expression on his face. He looks so helpless, so utterly desperate for your touch, standing there shirtless in the bright morning light.
You need him to understand. You need to prove to him that this isn't just some casual, easy dynamic he can play with. You want to prove a point—to show him exactly what he's playing with, exactly how dangerous this boundary truly is.
Before he can utter another word, you reach out, your fingers gripping the soft fabric of his sweatpants at his hip to pull him in, and you slam your lips against his.
Jeongguk lets out a sharp, muffled gasp into your mouth, his entire body jolting at the sudden impact. But the hesitation lasts for less than a second. The moment he realizes you are actually kissing him, he completely shatters. A low, desperate groan rumbles deep in his chest, and his tattooed hands flies to your waist, his fingers digging into your skin with a terrifying, suffocating hunger.
The kiss is chaotic, fierce, and overflowing with ten years of unspoken agony. You pour everything into it—all the logic, all the smart choices, all the fear of losing him—crushing your lips against his until your teeth click. He tastes like the rich espresso he just brewed and the sharp, lingering heat of his own desperation. He follows your lead completely, surrendering to the dominance you admitted to just hours before, letting you call every single shot as he whimpers against your mouth, his frame trembling beneath your hands.
When you finally pull back, your chest heaving, your lips swollen and tingling, you try to step away to establish the boundary again. "See?" you breathe out, your voice shaky as you stare at his dark, completely blown-out pupils. "That is what we lose if—"
"No," Jeongguk whines instantly, the sudden loss of your lips making him sound incredibly small and pathetic. His hands tighten on your waist, physically yanking you right back against his bare, warm chest. His nose brushes against yours, his breath hot and ragged. "No, Y/N. Please. Just one more. One more."
"Jeongguk, I'm trying to make a point—"
"I don't care about the point," he groans, his voice turning super whiny, his bottom lip pushing out in a desperate, pouty expression that completely contrasts his heavily tattooed, muscular frame. He leans his forehead against yours, his eyes fluttering shut as he practically begs. "Just one more kiss. Please. Y/N. One more, and then I’ll listen to the logical stuff. Just one more."
You melt away entirely under the pathetic, desperate drag of his voice. Every ounce of your hard-earned logic completely liquefies, dripping away into the space between your pounding hearts as you slide your hands up his radiating chest to cup the back of his neck, pulling him right back down to you.
The moment your lips meet again, Jeongguk kisses you like it’s the only thing he was ever put on this earth to do.
It is an agonizingly deep, consuming kiss that destroys any remaining illusion of your platonic past. He devours you, his plush lips parting with a fierce, wet desperation that immediately slicks your skin. He uses his tongue with a heavy, deliberate stroke, sweeping into your mouth to claim you entirely, tasting intensely of the bitter espresso and the sweet, clean mint from earlier. Every tilt of his head is a calculated shift to press deeper, his silver lip piercing sliding hot and sharp against your bottom lip, an intoxicating friction that sends a jolt of pure electricity straight to your core.
You let out a helpless, broken moan right into his mouth, the sound vibrating against his teeth.
The small noise completely undoes him. Jeongguk’s hands abandon your waist to roam frantically all over you, his palms hot and heavy as they map out your body. He slides his hands down the curve of your back, his blunt fingernails digging into your clothes, before lifting up to cup your jaw, his tattooed thumb firmly pressing against your pulse point to hold you perfectly still for his assault. His chest presses flush against you, the hard, sculpted lines of his abdomen crushing into your frame until you can feel the frantic, booming rhythm of his heart matching your own.
He is entirely consumed, a slave to the sudden shift in your dynamic.
He briefly breaks the kiss, his lips only parting a fraction of an inch from yours, leaving a string of wet, heavy breaths between you. His glossy eyes flutter open, looking at you with a gaze so completely wrecked and swimming with desire that it makes your knees buckle. He whines against your skin, a high, desperate sound cutting through his deep morning rasp as his forehead drops heavily against yours.
"I'm gonna make you feel good," he pleads, his breath hot and ragged against your swollen mouth as his hands slide back down to desperately grip your hips. "Please, Y/N... please let me make you feel good. Just let me. Please."
You don’t reply right away, your mind completely fracturing into a thousand pieces as you stand frozen in his kitchen. Your thoughts pull you in every direction, desperately trying to analyze the wreckage of the last five minutes.
The damage is done. You already kissed him—not just a gentle slip of the lips, but a fierce, devastating confession of a kiss that blew every single one of your carefully constructed boundaries right out the door. The sacred line of the friendship hasn't just been crossed; it’s been entirely incinerated.
As you stare down at his flushed face, a dark, heavy thought slips into your mind, taking root before your logic can tear it down: Would it really be so bad to just go through with it?
If everything is already broken, if the mystery is gone, why keep fighting the very thing that’s been suffocating you both for a decade? You look at his chest rising and falling in sharp, ragged gasps, his skin radiating a maddening heat that pulls you in like gravity.
Before a single word can tumble past your swollen lips, Jeongguk completely unravels. His knees give out, hitting the hardwood floor with a soft thud as he drops down right in front of you.
The global superstar, the man who fills stadiums worldwide, is entirely brought to his knees, looking up at you with huge, glassy, pleading eyes. He looks so sweet, so raw, and completely submissive to whatever you decide next.
"Please," he whimpers, the word spilling out of him like a broken prayer. "Please, Y/N."
He doesn't wait for your permission. His hands slide up the back of your legs, his palms scalding hot through the fabric of your clothes as he pulls your hips closer to his face. He buries his face against you, his warm forehead pressing firmly against your lower stomach as a ragged breath hitches in his throat.
"Let me make you feel good," he begs into your clothes, his voice dropping into a desperate, deep vibration that resonates straight through your skin. "Just let me do this for you. Please."
Then, his plush lips press against your clothed thighs.
He kisses you right through the fabric, his mouth hot and damp, leaving heavy, branding presses of his lips along the sensitive skin of your inner thigh. He nuzzles his face deeper against your legs, whining softly when you don't immediately push him away. The absolute friction of his silver lip piercing catching against the material, combined with the desperate, worshipful way his hands tighten on the back of your thighs, makes your breath hitch sharply in your throat. Your hands fly to his bare shoulders just to keep yourself steady, your fingers digging into his smooth, firm skin as the room tilts on its axis.
Your fingers sink deeper into the smooth muscle of his bare shoulders as the sheer weight of his worship pulls you under. The internal debate, the frantic logic, the fear of what happens when the dust settles—it all completely evaporates.
"Okay," you finally whisper, the single word cutting through his desperate, ragged breaths. "Okay, Jeongguk. Do it."
The permission hits him like an electric shock. He doesn't waste a single second, his hands moving with an frantic, desperate urgency. He grips the waistband of your pants and underwear together, his knuckles brushing against your skin as he tugs them down your legs in a breathless hurry. You kick out of them, your feet hitting the cool hardwood floor, leaving you completely exposed to him in the middle of the bright kitchen.
When he leans his head back in, you let out a sharp, involuntary hiss as the hot, concentrated burst of his breath hits your sensitive pubic area.
But he doesn't touch you yet. Jeongguk just stays frozen on his knees, his hands still tightly gripping the back of your thighs to anchor you in place. He’s just looking. His sweet eyes are wide and completely dark with a devastating mixture of awe and pure hunger. His chest heaves, his silver lip piercing glinting as his lips part slightly, his gaze completely tracing every inch of you as if he’s memorizing a holy text.
The intense, unblinking weight of his stare makes you shift your weight, a sudden spike of heat rushing to your face. "Jeongguk," you breathe out, your voice trembling. "What... what are you doing?"
"I need more room," he rasps, his voice dropping into a thick, desperate growl.
Before you can even process the words, his large hands slide under your thighs and around your back. In one swift, effortless motion, he lifts you completely off the ground. You let out a small gasp, your arms instinctively wrapping around his neck as he carries you out of the kitchen. He moves with a singular, fierce focus, and in a matter of seconds, you’re in his bedroom.
He lays you down onto the mattress, and you find yourself completely sprawled across the dark, silk sheets of his bed, the heavy clean cotton scent of him enveloping you entirely.
Jeongguk doesn't even let you catch your breath. He crawls up onto the mattress immediately, his large, heavy body looming over yours for a fraction of a second before he slides right back down between your thighs. He hooks your knees over his shoulders, pinning you open, and buries his face directly between your legs.
The first touch of his tongue is a wet, heavy stroke that makes your entire body arches off the bed. He eats you out like it’s a form of salvation, his mouth hot, wide, and utterly ravenous against your wet skin. He uses his tongue with a frantic, consuming rhythm, lapping at you with deep, deliberate strokes that pull a loud, undone moan right from your throat. The slick, wet sounds of his mouth against you echo in the quiet room, completely destroying any lingering sanity.
Even as he devours you, the desperate, pleading energy from the kitchen doesn't leave him. Every time you twist your fingers into his damp, dark hair to pull him closer, a muffled, high whine breaks from his throat, vibrating directly against your clit. He nuzzles his face deeper into your heat, his silver lip piercing sliding sharp and intoxicating against your most sensitive spots, making you sob his name into the empty air.
"Please," he whimpers against your wet flesh, breaking his rhythm for only a split second to breathe your name, his voice cracked and completely wrecked. His hands grip your hips so tightly his knuckles turn white, silently begging you to hold him there, to let him keep drowning in you. "Please tell me it's good. Tell me you like it, Y/N. Just let me stay right here."
You can only cry out in response, your hips instinctively rolling into his mouth as his tongue darts back inside, deeper and more desperate than before, completely surrendering his entire existence to the rhythm of your pleasure.
The sound of his name ripping from your throat sends a visible shiver straight through his broad, shirtless frame. Hearing how undone you are only makes him more desperate, his tongue working with a frantic, wet rhythm that has your hips rolling blindly into his face.
"You're so good, Koo," you gasp out, your knuckles turning white as you fist your fingers into his damp, dark hair, pressing him closer. "Ah—yes, right there. You're making me feel so good. So good..."
Jeongguk lets out a muffled, high whine directly against your core, the high-pitched, needy sound vibrating straight through you. The praise completely undoes him. He sucks a hard, bruising path up your inner lip, his silver piercing scraping perfectly against your most sensitive flesh, pulling a loud, broken sob from your lungs. He is utterly buried in you, his hands gripping the undersides of your thighs so tightly that his bicep muscles bulge under his smooth, tattooed skin. He nuzzles deeper, lapping at your slick heat with a ravenous, worshipful speed, swallowing your whimpers like they are the only thing keeping him alive.
The friction is too much. The intense, deep heat building in your lower stomach is expanding so fast it feels dangerous, blinding you to everything else in the room. You are getting so entirely into it, the overwhelming pleasure clouding your logic until you can't breathe, can't think, can't handle the agonizingly slow burn of just his mouth anymore.
You want him. You want all of him.
With a breathless cry, you pull your hands out of his hair and adjust the position you're in, your palms sliding down his broad chest, past his tensed abs, to the low waistband of his grey sweatpants. Jeongguk senses the shift immediately, his head lifting, his lips glistening, dark hair falling wildly over his wide, blown-out eyes as he looks up at you with a breathless, questioning whimper.
You don't say a word. You simply hook your fingers into the cotton of his sweats and underwear, tugging them down past his hips in one swift, demanding motion.
His cock springs free, thick, heavy, and leaking a bead of pre-cum that glints in the bedroom light. It twitches against his lower stomach, fully erect and radiating a maddening heat. Jeongguk lets out a raw, hitched breath, his hands trembling on your mattress as he hovers over you, completely exposed, his chest heaving as he waits in agonizing suspense for what you're going to do to him next.
You wrap your fingers firmly around the thick, pulsing base of his shaft, the skin scalding hot against your palm. Jeongguk lets out a shaky, pathetic gasp the moment your hand closes around him, his hips twitching forward instinctively. Without giving him a second to recover, you lean forward, parting your lips, and slide the plush, leaking head of his cock straight into your mouth.
He completely loses his mind.
A loud, ragged moan rips from his throat, echoing sharply in the quiet bedroom. You swirl your tongue around the sensitive ridge, catching the slick pre-cum, before sinking your mouth lower, drawing him deeper down your throat. The rich, clean scent of him mixes with the musk of his arousal, entirely consuming your senses. You use your tongue to stroke the sensitive underside of his shaft, your lips wrapping tight around him to create a fierce, suffocating vacuum as you bob your head in a steady, demanding rhythm.
He throws his head back, hair spilling over his forehead as a continuous string of broken groans and breathless whimpers spills from his parted lips. He doesn't try to hold back, his chest heaving as he watches you through hooded, blown-out eyes, his silver piercing catching the light every time his jaw slacks.
"Ah, God, Y/N," he pants, his voice cracking with pure, unadulterated worship. His large, tattooed hand flies to your hair, but he doesn't push you down—he just cradles your head with a trembling, gentle grip, completely submissive to your pace. "You're so perfect. Look at you... fucking hell, you're the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. Please, you're destroying me."
The praises are heavy, thick with a devotion that makes your chest ache. He’s praising you in a way you've never been praised before, treating your mouth like a sanctuary, completely unbothered by his own ego. You take him deeper, your thumb rubbing over his balls, and the combination makes his hips roll blindly against your lips, a low, desperate whine vibrating in his chest.
The edge is getting too sharp for him. The friction of your wet mouth and the agonizingly sweet torture of the rhythm has him shaking from head to toe. His fingers tighten in your hair, his breath coming in short, panicked gasps as he feels himself reaching a dangerous point of no return.
He suddenly pulls back just enough to slip his cock from your lips, a heavy string of saliva connecting you for a fraction of a second. Jeongguk hovers over you on his knees, his entire body trembling, his face flushed a dark, beautiful red as he looks down at your wet, swollen lips.
"I can't—I can't just take," he begs, his voice breaking completely as he drops his forehead against your chest, his chest heaving against your skin. He is entirely undone, crying out as his hands slide down to grip your hips, physically pulling you back down onto the mattress. He positions himself right between your soaked, aching thighs, the heavy head of his cock rubbing torturously against your wet core. "Please, Y/N. I need to be inside you. Please let me come home. Please let me inside."
A dark, heady rush of power floods your veins as you look down at him. Seeing the man who fills stadiums worldwide reduced to a trembling, pleading mess right under you is intoxicating. You smirk against the flushed skin, your fingers sliding up his damp neck to tilt his face up.
"Put it on then, Koo," you murmur.
You say your consent, and the word acts like a green light. Jeongguk scrambles, blindly fishing a condom from the nightstand drawer—you aren't even paying attention to where he gets it from, your eyes locked onto the sharp, beautiful lines of his tensed muscles as he tears the foil open with his teeth.
His hands are shaking so violently it takes him two tries to roll the latex down his thick, pulsing length.
The moment he’s protected, he doesn't wait. He lines the wet, heavy head of his cock against your slick opening and sinks into you in one deep, agonizingly slow push.
A loud, broken sob rips from your throat as he fills you completely, stretching you out until you're entirely consumed by the sheer size of him. Jeongguk lets out a guttural, trembling groan into the crook of your neck, his large frame collapsing over yours, his full, shirtless weight pinning you into the dark silk sheets.
"Ah, God, Y/N... you're so tight, you're so warm," he whimpers, his voice completely wrecked as he begins to move.
The friction is instant and overwhelming. Jeongguk doesn't fuck you with the practiced, cocky rhythm of a man in control; he fucks you with a desperate, frantic hunger, his hips snapping forward in deep, heavy thrusts that rock the entire bed. He is completely starved for you, his tattooed hand sliding under your lower back to lift your hips higher, taking every single inch you have to offer. The wet, slapping sound of his skin hitting yours echoes in the quiet bedroom, mixed with his continuous, vocal praises.
He’s riding the absolute edge from the very first stroke, the decade of built-up desire making him impossibly sensitive. His breath comes in short, panicked gasps against your ear, his silver lip piercing grazing your pulse point as his pace turns frantic, unhinged.
"I'm gonna—Y/N, I'm close, I can't hold it," he cries out, his voice cracking. He gives three more deep, blind thrusts, his entire body locking up as a low, ragged scream tears from his lungs. He spasms against you, his cock twitching violently inside your walls as he finishes first, spilling himself entirely into the condom.
But he doesn't stop.
Even as his climax ripples through him, leaving him completely overstimulated and trembling, he refuses to pull out. He knows you haven't crossed the line yet. With his jaw clenched and his eyes swimming with tears from the sheer, burning sensitivity of his post-nut state, Jeongguk forces his hips to keep moving.
He whimpers miserably with every single stroke, the friction against his overstimulated skin clearly driving him crazy, but he keeps pushing inside you anyway.
"I've got you," he pants, a high, needy whine breaking from his lips as he drags his body up and down yours, his movements slower now, heavier, grinding his pelvis right against your clit with agonizing precision. "I'm not stopping... please, baby, come for me. Let me feel you clamp down on me. Please."
The sight of him pushing through his own overstimulation just to please you completely shatters whatever restraint you have left. Your internal walls collapse. Your hips begin to roll frantically against his, your toes curling into the silk sheets as the tight coil in your lower stomach snaps.
You scream his name as a violent, crushing orgasm ripples through your body. Your internal muscles clamp down tightly around his thick shaft, milking him through the latex. Jeongguk lets out a loud, pathetic whimper at the tight squeeze, his forehead dropping heavily onto your shoulder as he rides out the wave of your climax with you, completely spent, completely yours.
He collapses right besides you, his massive, shirtless frame molding perfectly against you as he pulls you into his chest. Both of your chests are heaving in the quiet room, the only sound the ragged asymmetry of your breathing slowing down. Jeongguk nuzzles his face into your hair, tracing his plush, swollen lips along your jawline before kissing you tenderly on the cheek—a soft, lingering pressure that feels entirely detached from the frantic, consuming chaos of just moments ago.
You lie there, the cool air of the bedroom hitting your bare skin where his body isn't pinning you down. The reality of what just happened begins to settle into your bones, the heavy fog of pleasure lifting to reveal the massive, uncharted territory you’ve both just stepped into.
"Jeongguk," you breathe out, your voice still a little raspy. You turn your head slightly, trying to look at him. "We should talk about it. About... us. What this means."
He lets out a soft, tired groan, burying his face deeper into your neck. His large, tattooed arm wraps securely around your waist, pulling you so close there isn't a single millimeter of space left between you.
"We will," he promises, his low rumble vibrating right against your skin. "I promise we’ll talk about everything you want. Just... please let me enjoy this moment for a second. Let me just hold you."
You agree, nodding your head slightly against his chest, but you are visibly lost in your thoughts. Your eyes trace the unfamiliar contours of his bedroom, the dark silk sheets, the heavy shadows on the wall. The anxiety hasn't completely vanished, it's just waiting on the periphery, whispering questions about tomorrow, about his career, about the fragile ten-year foundation you just risked.
As if sensing the sudden shift in your energy, Jeongguk shifts. He props himself up on one elbow, hovering over you just enough to look down into your face. His eyes are incredibly soft, completely clear of the tequila from last night and the blinding lust from minutes ago. He reaches up, his gentle thumb tracing your cheekbone, wiping away a stray bead of sweat.
"Hey," he murmurs, his piercing catching the soft light. He looks at you with an unwavering certainty that makes your heart skip a beat. "I’m going to make sure nothing goes south. I promise you. I love you, Y/N."
Hearing the words spoken so clearly, without a drop of alcohol or adrenaline to hide behind, makes the last of your defenses crumble.
"I love you too," you whisper back.
He smiles—a genuine, boyish grin that reminds you exactly of the teenager you met a decade ago—and pulls you back down against him. As you nuzzle your nose deep into the warm, clean-scented crook of his neck, listening to the steady, unshakeable beat of his heart beneath your cheek, the frantic thoughts in your mind finally begin to quiet down.
Maybe the logic didn't matter. Maybe, against all odds, it really was going to be okay.
˙⋆✮ They say having feelings for your brother's best friend is never a good idea...
But loving Jungkook feels like the easiest thing in the world.
He's been by your side for as long as you can remember, so it's only natural for you to feel devastated when your brother, Dohyun, tells you that Jungkook is about to get married.
For the first time ever, loving him doesn't feel easy at all.
pairing: brother's best friendljungkook × flreader
cw: age gap (jk is 32, reader is 22 ops), tension, reader is WHIPPED, pining, initial unrequited love (my fav), eventual smut.
warnings: suggestive content.
>>english is not my first language
Chapter 06 | masterlist
⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒
Jimin had been incredibly supportive throughout your ongoing apartment hunt, even if his attempts to help often did the exact opposite.
At this point, it felt as though you had spent endless days going from one viewing to another, stepping into countless apartments and trying to picture yourself living there, only to leave disappointed every single time. No matter how many places you visited, none of them ever seemed quite right.
One apartment was ridiculously oversized for a single person, another was outrageously expensive, one had a strange smell that reminded you of rotten eggs, and another was so dark and gloomy that it felt more like a basement than a home.
Dohyun had even suggested that you move into the apartment next door to his, but the idea of having to deal with his annoying ass 24 hours a day was enough to make you reject the offer without a second thought.
As a result, you find yourself sprawled across Layla’s bed once again, staring dramatically at the ceiling while letting out an exaggerated groan every few seconds.
“I don’t think I’m ever going to find a place at this rate” you complain.
Layla gives her blonde hair one final brush before setting it aside and climbing onto the bed beside you, fully prepared for the last-minute sleepover she insisted on organizing.
“You will, my dear friend.” she assures you with a smile. “These things take time.”
You watch as she reaches for the remote control, shifting comfortably against the headboard before finally grabbing the bowl of popcorn she left on her nightstand nearly ten minutes earlier.
“I know” you sigh. “I’m just tired of looking. I really want a place of my own.”
The look on her face immediately softens. She understands exactly what you mean. Moving out for the first time is exciting, but finding the right place is far more stressful than most people expect.
“You know my door is always open for you” she says casually, tossing a piece of popcorn into her mouth. “Honestly, I could use a roommate.”
For a moment, you simply stare at her. The possibility has never crossed your mind before. Of course, Layla is your best friend- basically family at this point- but somehow the idea of actually living together never seemed like a realistic option. Now that she mentions it, though, the more you think about it, the more it makes sense.
“Wait” you say, suddenly sitting upright. “Are you serious?”
Your excitement is immediate. You scramble across the mattress until you’re beside her, eyes wide with disbelief.
“Of course I’m serious, babygirl” she laughs. “You’re basically the sister I never had. Helping you out is the least I can do. Besides, just imagine how much fun we’d have living together.”
Maybe finding the perfect apartment is taking longer than expected, but at least now you know you have another option. You thank her as you go back in your spot.
“Has Yoongi reached out yet?”
Layla barely glances in your direction, her attention fixed on the television as she scrolls endlessly through Netflix, rejecting every single option that appears on the screen.
At some point during the evening, you had finally told her everything that has happened over the past few days.
Naturally, she spends the first five minutes being offended that you didn’t immediately run to her and unload all your problems onto her shoulders. Once she gets over it though, she understands why you’ve kept everything to yourself.
“Yeah” you answer, reaching for another handful of popcorn. “He keeps texting me.”
That finally catches her attention.
She pauses her search and rests the remote against her thighs, turning her head to look at you properly for the first time in several minutes.
“Shouldn’t you, I don’t know…” A teasing smile pulls at her lips. “Answer him?”
You roll your eyes so hard it almost hurts. Without saying a word, you unlock your phone and hand it to her.
“I know” you mumble. “But my ego is currently stronger than my sense of compassion.”
Layla snorts. As she scrolls through the conversation, her eyebrows gradually climb higher and higher. There are messages everywhere. Requests to meet, to talk. Apologies. More apologies. A few desperate attempts at making you laugh. By the time she reaches the most recent text, she’s counted well over twenty unanswered messages.
“Your ego really is something else.” she says with a laugh, handing the phone back to you.
“Thank you.”
Layla shakes her head, unable to stop smiling.
“Seriously, though. At least hear him out.”
Your fingers tighten slightly around your phone. You know she’s right. Ignoring him forever isn’t exactly a sustainable plan, no matter how satisfying it feels in the moment. The truth is that every unread message makes your stomach twist a little more than the last. Every notification has you staring at the screen longer than you’d like to admit. You miss Yoongi. Because despite everything, a part of you wants to know what he has to say.
“I will” you say quietly after a moment.
Layla studies your expression for a second but wisely chooses not to push any further. You lean back against the headboard, pretending to focus on whatever movie she finally settles on, while doing your best to ignore the knot forming in your stomach at the thought of eventually having to face him.
.✦ ݁˖
About a week later, you finally start moving your things into Layla’s apartment.
The process turns out to be far more exhausting than you expected, mostly because you apparently own an unreasonable number of books, clothes, and random objects you convinced yourself were important enough to keep. Thankfully, Dohyun takes care of most of the heavy lifting, carrying box after box down the stairs while complaining the entire time. On the rare occasions when he can’t find a free afternoon, Jungkook unexpectedly steps in and helps without making a big deal out of it, showing up in comfortable clothes and carrying furniture as if it weighs nothing.
By the end of the week, your childhood bedroom looks almost unrecognizable. The shelves that once held years of memories sit half empty, the walls feel strangely bare, and the room that has belonged to you for most of your life suddenly feels like a place you’re visiting rather than a place you live in.
The last box is being loaded into Dohyun’s car when your mother starts crying for what feels like the fifth time that morning.
“Mom, stop being so dramatic.” you say with a laugh, although the sight of her wiping away tears makes your chest tighten a little. “I’m literally ten minutes away.”
Your father pats her back gently, trying to comfort her while failing to hide the emotional look in his own eyes.
“I know honey.” your mother says, shaking her head as she dabs at her cheeks. “It’s just going to be so strange not having you around all the time. We’re going to miss you so much.”
The warmth that spreads through your chest catches you off guard. You’ve spent months dreaming about moving out, about having your own space and your own routine, but seeing your parents struggle to let you go makes the moment feel far more significant than you expected.
Without thinking twice, you drop the suitcase in your hand and wrap your arms around both of them.
“I love you guys so much.” you mumble against your mother’s shoulder. “And seriously, stop worrying. It’s not like I’m disappearing.”
Your father presses a kiss to the top of your head while your mother squeezes you tightly enough to make you laugh. After a few more emotional goodbyes and several reminders to call them every day, you finally climb into the passenger seat of Dohyun’s car.
“Damn..” he says as he fastens his seatbelt and starts the engine. “They definitely weren’t this sad when I moved out.”
You grin immediately, already knowing exactly how to answer.
“That’s because I’m their favorite child.”
Dohyun lets out an exaggerated groan and shakes his head. “You’ve been living away from home for approximately thirty seconds and you’re already unbearable.”
“Jealousy is not a good look on you, brother.” you reply, earning yourself a glare that only makes you laugh harder.
By the time you arrive at Layla’s apartment, your excitement has completely taken over. The two of you immediately start carrying boxes inside, and with every trip up the stairs the apartment feels a little more like home.
“Girl, I’m literally so excited.” Layla says as she throws herself dramatically onto your newly made bed. “I have my baby all to myself now.”
You raise both hands in celebration, and she does the same, the two of you cheering as if you’ve just won an award. From the doorway, Dohyun watches the scene unfold with the exhausted expression of a man questioning every decision that led him here.
“You’re both ridiculous.” he mutters.
“You love us.” Layla replies without missing a beat.
“I tolerate you.”
“Same thing.” you and Layla answer in unison, which only makes him groan louder.
It takes a few days to unpack everything and settle in properly, but the adjustment happens faster than you expected. Since you and Layla work at the same cafè, your schedules naturally line up, making it easy to fall into a routine together. Mornings are spent fighting over the bathroom and rushing to make breakfast before work, while evenings usually end with both of you collapsed on the couch, complaining about customers and sharing takeout.
For the first time in months, you feel settled.
Of course, because Layla is physically incapable of doing anything in a subtle way, she decides that your newfound independence deserves a proper celebration. Not a small gathering, but a full blown housewarming party filled with decorations, snacks, and far more people than your apartment should realistically be able to hold.
By Saturday night, every room is filled with conversation. Music plays softly in the background while people move between the kitchen and living room carrying drinks, stealing food, and talking over one another. You’re standing near the kitchen counter with a beer in your hand when Jimin appears beside you and nudges your shoulder hard enough to nearly make you spill it.
“Looks like you finally found somewhere to stay, huh?” he says with a satisfied smile.
You shoot him a side eye before nudging him back. “Yeah, Layla was kind enough to let me move in. And despite your questionable apartment recommendations, you were still very kind, so thank you for trying.”
Jimin places a hand dramatically over his chest. “Questionable? My recommendations were top tier.”
“One of them had rats in it.”
“Exactly. Top tier.”
You laugh and shake your head, and he pulls you into a quick hug before stepping back with an expression that is surprisingly sincere.
“I’m glad you found a place you like.” he says quietly.
Before you can answer, Jungkook approaches the two of you with a drink in his hand and a grin that immediately makes you suspicious.
“Sweetheart, I’m so proud of you!” he says. “No more curfews, huh?”
You roll your eyes so hard they nearly hurt and stick your tongue out at him, which only makes him laugh.
He has clearly come straight from work. His dark hair is messy, his black t-shirt clings to his chest and the tattoos running down his skin are fully visible beneath the rolled up sleeves. The tiredness in his eyes should make him look exhausted, but somehow it has the opposite effect.
You hate the fact that you find it attractive.
To avoid thinking about that too much, you raise your glass and take another sip. Judging by the pleasant warmth spreading through your body, you’ve probably had more alcohol than you originally intended.
“Everyone gather around!” Layla suddenly shouts from the living room.
You turn to find her standing on top of a chair like she’s about to make a political announcement. Laughter immediately erupts throughout the apartment as people begin moving toward her.
“Who’s up for a round of Never Have I Ever?” she asks dramatically.
A collective groan rises from the crowd. You swear you see Namjoon physically facepalm, and for a brief, beautiful moment you think the idea might die before it starts.
“Honey, we are way too old for that.” Hoseok says, raising an eyebrow at Layla while taking a sip of his drink. Relief floods through you. Perfect. The game is canceled. Everyone moves on. You survive.
“I’m in.” Sophie says immediately.
“Me too.” Taehyung adds at the exact same time, earning an excited high five from her.
Your relief disappears instantly.
One by one, everyone else starts agreeing, including Namjoon that has accepted his fate with surprisingly no complaints. Soon, a large circle forms in the middle of the living room, while you remain standing near the couch, suddenly unable to move.
“What are you doing over there?” Layla asks, patting the floor beside her. “Come sit next to me.”
You reluctantly join the circle, trying to ignore the nervous flutter in your stomach. Your palms are already slightly sweaty, your face feels warm from the alcohol. Games like this have never been your thing. You hate talking about yourself, especially in front of this many people.
Taehyung eagerly volunteers to start. He taps his chin dramatically while pretending to think, clearly enjoying the fact that everyone is watching him.
“Never have I ever peed my pants within the last few years.” he finally announces.
Laughter immediately fills the room. The question catches you so off guard that you almost let your drink fall from your hand. As people react with various levels of disgust and amusement, your eyes drift around the circle until you notice both Jimin and Dohyun quietly taking a sip.
You stare at your brother in disbelief.
“Wait..” you say, laughing despite yourself. “Are you seriously telling me you peed your pants?”
Dohyun immediately looks offended. “I was extremely drunk and disoriented.” he says defensively, twirling his beer in his hand as though that explanation somehow helps.
“Whatever you say bro.” you reply, earning yourself a middle finger and another wave of laughter from everyone else. Jimin, meanwhile, doesn’t even bother defending himself, which somehow makes the entire situation funnier. When the laughter finally dies down, Jungkook takes his turn.
“Never have I ever liked someone older than me.”
Your eyes widen before you quickly look down at your drink. Fortunately, you’re not the only person drinking. Trying to appear casual, you take a slow sip and keep your expression as neutral as possible. Your eyes drift toward Jungkook at the exact wrong moment.
He’s already looking at you.
The eye contact lasts barely a second, but it’s enough to make your breath catch. You almost choke on your drink as a deep blush spreads across your cheeks, and you immediately lower your gaze before anyone can notice. Thankfully, nobody seems interested in investigating further. Sophie, however, looks far too excited as she prepares her own question.
“Never have I ever thought about stealing someone else’s partner.”
Your heart immediately starts pounding, of course she’d ask that. Layla takes a sip first, triggering a chorus of shocked gasps, dramatic “no ways” and ironic accusations from everyone around the circle. While the attention remains focused on her, you quietly raise your own bottle and take a sip, hoping the movement goes unnoticed.
It doesn’t.
Sophie’s eyes land on you almost instantly, and her mouth falls open in disbelief. “No way. Who was it? Do we know him? Tell us!” Beside her, Jungkook smirks into his drink, looking far too entertained by the situation. The apartment suddenly feels much smaller than it did a few minutes ago. Your grip tightens around the bottle as panic begins creeping into your chest, and you become painfully aware of how many eyes are now fixed directly on you.
Desperate for an escape, your gaze immediately finds Taehyung across the circle. Thankfully, he understands.
“Come on guys.” he says with a laugh, cutting through the growing chorus of questions. “Leave her alone. She clearly doesn’t want to tell you.”
Relief washes over you so quickly that you nearly sag in place as the attention finally shifts away from you and the game moves on to the next person.
.✦ ݁˖
The evening gradually comes to an end about two hours later, and although the apartment is still filled with the lingering warmth of laughter and conversation, people have started gathering their belongings and finishing the last few drops of alcohol left in their cups. What had felt loud and chaotic only a short while ago slowly settles into something quieter, the energy of the party fading naturally as the night grows later.
To your surprise, the guys stay behind to help clean.
Not that you’re complaining.
After hosting that many people, the apartment looks exactly the way you expected it to look: abandoned cups scattered across every available surface, half empty snack bowls sitting forgotten on tables, and enough empty bottles to make you question some of your friends’ life choices.
You’re moving around the living room collecting cups when the smell of stale alcohol immediately reaches your nose. It isn’t unpleasant exactly, but it’s enough to remind you once again that you’ve probably had more to drink than originally intended. Not enough to be drunk, thankfully, but enough that your thoughts feel softer around the edges and your emotions a little more difficult to ignore.
You are so distracted by your own thoughts that you don’t immediately notice Jungkook approaching. Only when his voice reaches you do you finally look up.
“Is it the guy you like?”
The question is so unexpected that your entire body stills. For a second, you genuinely wonder whether you’ve heard him correctly. Slowly, you lift your head and find him standing beside the coffee table, casually reaching for the bowl of popcorn that you and Layla left out for the guests. His movements are completely relaxed, as though he hasn’t just asked a question capable of sending your heart into immediate cardiac arrest.
“What?”
The word leaves your mouth before you can stop it. Jungkook glances toward you briefly before returning his attention to the bowl in his hands.
“The person you drank for.” he clarifies, his tone frustratingly casual. “During the game.”
Your stomach immediately drops. Jungkook has always been observant, often picking up on details everyone else misses entirely. Looking back, you honestly don’t know why you had hoped your reaction to go unnoticed. The second you drank, your entire body had practically short circuited. Trying desperately to appear unaffected, you force out a laugh.
“Obviously, dumbass.”
Sarcasm immediately becomes your shield of choice. Whenever you’re nervous, embarrassed, flustered or emotionally compromised in any way, sarcasm is usually the first thing you reach for. Unfortunately, Jungkook doesn’t appear remotely convinced. Instead, he continues watching you with an expression you can’t quite decipher, and the realization alone is enough to make your pulse speed up.
“Have you ever tried to make a move?”
This time you don’t even attempt to hide your shock. Your head snaps toward him so quickly that it almost hurts.
“What kind of question is that?”
The offended disbelief in your voice only seems to amuse him. A faint smile pulls at the corner of his mouth, but it disappears before you can fully decide whether you imagined it.
“What?” he asks as you stare at him.
“Why would you even ask me that?”
He shrugs. The simple gesture somehow irritates you more than it should.
“I don’t know. I’m curious.”
“Well, don’t be.”
The answer comes out immediately. Because unlike many things in your life, this one requires absolutely no thought.
“I would never try something with somebody who’s already involved with someone else.”
The memory of Sophie’s answer from earlier immediately flashes through your mind, making you cringe all over again.
“I actually respect people.”
The jab is obvious. Painfully obvious. Jungkook notices it immediately, judging by the way amusement briefly vanishes from his face, but thankfully he chooses not to comment on it.
For a moment, neither of you says anything.
The apartment feels strangely quiet despite the fact that several people are still talking nearby. You can hear Hoseok and Jimin arguing about something in the kitchen, while Layla is unsuccessfully attempting to convince Namjoon that throwing things directly into a trash bag counts as cleaning. Normally those sounds would be enough to keep your attention occupied.
Right now, however, all you’re aware of is Jungkook standing in front of you. Then he nods.
“Good.”
Your eyebrows immediately pull together.
“Good?”
The answer makes absolutely no sense. Why good? Why would he care? Jungkook’s gaze lingers on you for a moment longer than necessary, and something about the look in his eyes makes your stomach tighten.
“Yeah.” he says quietly. You wait for him to elaborate, part of you desperately hopes he won’t. A much larger part desperately hopes he will. When the silence stretches for another second, disappointment begins settling inside your chest before you can stop it.
Then he finally speaks.
“Because it would be easy to fall for you.”
For a brief moment, your brain completely stops functioning. Every coherent thought vanishes. You stare at him without blinking, convinced that your ears have somehow failed you. Because surely there is no possible universe in which Jungkook has just looked directly at you and said something like that. Yet the expression on his face remains perfectly calm, as though he hasn’t just destroyed your ability to think. As though he hasn’t just handed your hopeless feelings exactly the kind of fuel they absolutely do not need.
Your mouth opens but nothing comes out, not a single word. Because what exactly are you supposed to say to that? The sentence immediately begins replaying itself inside your head.
Because it would be easy to fall for you.
The words settle somewhere deep inside your chest before echoing through every thought that follows. A rush of excitement spreads through you so quickly that it almost feels embarrassing. Your heart reacts before your brain has the opportunity to intervene, immediately latching onto the possibility that maybe- just maybe- that sentence means exactly what you want it to mean. Unfortunately, the rational side of your personality quickly reminds you that hope has never been particularly kind to you.
Jungkook is affectionate,naturally charming.
He compliments people all the time, has always been the type of person who says things without fully realizing the effect they have on others. There are countless innocent explanations for what he has just said. Countless. So many, in fact, that allowing yourself to believe the most dangerous one would be completely ridiculous. And yet no matter how hard you try, none of those explanations manage to quiet the excitement spreading through your chest.
Regardless of what he meant, regardless of whether the comment was innocent or not, Jungkook still looked at you and admitted that falling for you would be easy. The thought alone is enough to make your stomach flip. Completely unaware of the emotional crisis currently unfolding inside your head, Jungkook simply picks up the bowl of popcorn and turns toward the kitchen.
“Goodnight, sweetheart.”
The nickname somehow makes everything worse. You watch him walk away, still incapable of forming a coherent response. Only once he disappears into the kitchen do you finally release the breath you’ve apparently been holding. You remain standing exactly where he left you, the forgotten plastic cup still trapped between your fingers while your eyes stay fixed on the doorway he disappeared through. It takes a considerable amount of effort to force yourself back into reality, because every coherent thought seems to have abandoned you the moment those words left his mouth.
“We’ve got it from here, guys. Thank you for helping.” Layla’s voice finally pulls you back to reality. You blink several times before turning toward her. She tosses the last empty bottle into a trash bag and brushes her hands together triumphantly. The apartment already looks significantly better than it did twenty minutes ago.
One by one, everyone begins saying their goodbyes. You hug Sophie, promise Hoseok you’ll answer his messages tomorrow, listen to Namjoon remind everyone to get home safely, wave goodbye to Jimin and Taehyung, exchange one final insult with Dohyun. Throughout all of it, however, your mind remains hopelessly occupied.
Because it would be easy to fall for you.
The sentence follows you everywhere. It lingers at the back of your mind while you walk everyone to the door. While you lock the apartment. While you throw away the remaining trash. While you breathe.
The apartment finally falls silent. You close the door behind them and rest your back against it for a moment, allowing yourself to release a long breath. The sudden absence of noise feels almost surreal after spending hours surrounded by people, and the quiet gives your thoughts far more room to wander than they probably should have. Layla immediately notices your exhausted expression.
Without saying a word, she opens her arms and you happily step into the hug.
“Thank you for tonight.” you says, squeezing her tightly. A smile immediately appears on her face.
“And thank you for letting me live here.”
“Best decision I’ve ever made.”
You laugh softly before wishing her goodnight and heading toward your room.
After changing into your pajamas and washing your face, you finally collapse onto your bed, fully expecting exhaustion to knock you unconscious within minutes. Unfortunately, sleep never comes.
The second the lights go out and you’re left alone with your thoughts, Jungkook immediately returns. You roll onto one side, then the other, then onto your back. The blankets suddenly feel too warm against your skin, forcing you to push them down toward your waist.
This is ridiculous. Yet no matter how many times you tell yourself that, the thought refuses to leave.
Because the truth is that Jungkook has absolutely no idea. He has no idea how often he occupies your thoughts. No idea that you instinctively look for him whenever you enter a room. No idea that hearing his voice somehow improves your mood. No idea that you’ve spent weeks trying and failing to convince yourself that whatever exists between the two of you is completely harmless.
Most importantly, he has no idea that falling for him wasn’t easy. It was effortless.
Somewhere between teasing conversations, lingering glances, casual touches, late night messages and the simple comfort of being around him, your feelings kept evolving into something much more dangerous. The realization remains with you as exhaustion slowly begins pulling you toward sleep. Your breathing gradually slows as your eyelids grow heavier.
.✦ ݁˖
You suddenly hear a knock on your door that slices through the heavy silence of the night, and for a moment your mind refuses to accept reality as you turn toward the clock on your bedside table only to see that it’s 4 a.m.
You rub your eyes in irritation, already angry at whoever has dared to pull you out of such a deep and comforting sleep. You slip on your slippers, still half lost in dreams as another short knock follows- more insistent this time- and you grumble under your breath, struggling to keep your eyelids open while your body moves on instinct more than intention.
Your gaze drifts briefly toward the window where heavy rain is falling relentlessly from the sky, and you find yourself thinking how strangely unpredictable the weather has been with June just around the corner. You shake your head and force your attention back to the present, rushing toward the front door with a strong sense of annoyance and curiosity tangled together.
When you open it, the sight in front of you makes your thoughts stop entirely because Jungkook is standing there completely drenched, his hair dark and heavy with rain, clinging messily to his forehead. His clothes from earlier now soaked through and sticking to his body in a way that reveals the tension in his muscles, and for a second you are so stunned that you forget to react at all. Only then do you snap out of it, your voice breaking through the moment.
“Jungkook, what are you doing here?” you ask, immediately stepping aside to let him in while confusion begins replacing your initial surprise. “It’s four in the morning.”
He slowly runs a hand through his wet hair, his tongue briefly brushing over his lower lip in a gesture that feels almost too deliberate, too charged for the situation, making your thoughts falter in a way you do not fully want to admit.
“I need to talk to you.” there is something in his voice that does not allow refusal, something heavy and urgent that makes your questions wait.
You close the door behind him and switch on the lights, illuminating the room in a warm glow that somehow makes the situation feel even stranger. The rain continues tapping against the windows while droplets of water slide down his neck and disappear beneath his shirt, and despite trying your best to focus on whatever problem brought him here, your eyes keep betraying you.
“Couldn’t this have waited until morning?” you ask, crossing your arms over your chest as you attempt to understand why he’s standing in your apartment looking like this in the middle of the night. “What’s so urgent that-”
“Is it me?” he interrupts you.
You stop immediately, his words hanging in the air with a weight you don’t know how to hold. You look at him without understanding what exactly he is asking.
“What?”
Jungkook doesn’t answer immediately, and somehow the silence that follows feels more unsettling than any explanation he could have given you. His gaze remains fixed on yours with an intensity that makes your pulse gradually accelerate, and the longer he looks at you without speaking, the more uncomfortable you become.
Jungkook starts walking toward you, slowly.
You step back instinctively, your body reacting before your mind can decide otherwise.
Something in his gaze feels too direct, too exposed, as if he is peeling away every layer you have carefully tried to keep intact. “Jungkook… what are you-“ you try to say, but he keeps closing the distance, and you keep retreating until your back meets the wall, cold and firm behind you, trapping you in place as he finally stops just inches away.
“Am I the taken guy you love so much?” he asks, and the question lands like a blow you did not see coming, stealing the air from your lungs. Your breath catches, your eyes unable to hold his darkened gaze for long as you look away, finding sudden interest in the floor. You know your silence is enough of an answer. You try to speak, to deny it, to soften it, but it comes out fractured. “Jungkook, I- No…” you manage, though it sounds more like a confession than a denial. He lifts your chin with his fingers, forcing you to meet his eyes again. The touch is gentle but decisive, and you notice how a single drop of water falls from his hair to his lips, the movement satisfyingly intimate, distracting in a way you resent yourself for noticing.
“Y/n” he says again, quieter now, and you feel the weight of your name in his voice as if it has always belonged there. “Tell me the truth. Is it me?”
Your eyes sting almost immediately, overwhelmed by everything you have been holding back, and suddenly you feel painfully small under the intensity of his gaze- there is nowhere in you left to hide. “I’m sorry.” you whisper, the words breaking as they leave your mouth. “I’m so sorry Jungkook, I didn’t want to tell you. I don’t want to lose you.” The admission feels like surrender, and for a moment everything goes still, the air between you thick with what can’t be undone. Then he exhales, steps back, and runs both hands through his hair as he starts pacing the room, completely ignoring the fact that he is leaving water everywhere, as if none of it matters compared to what is happening inside his head.
“Shit.” he mutters as you stay pressed against the wall, not daring to move. Your chest is rising and falling too quickly, panic tightening in your throat as you watch him fall apart. You try to calm him, your voice shaky as you say his name “Jungkook please, it’s okay.”
But he does not listen, he keeps moving, keeps cursing, and the sight of him like this makes guilt settle heavily in your stomach because you know exactly why he is reacting this way. “Jungkook I’m begging you, just forget about it.” you say, though even as the words leave your mouth you know they are impossible.
He stops abruptly, turning back toward you with a stare that makes you feel exposed all over again.
“What have you done?” he asks, and the question is not loud, but it cuts deeper than anything else. A tear slips down your cheek before you can stop it, your voice comes out fragile. “I’m sorry, Jungkook.” He looks at you for a long moment, his eyes never leaving yours, and when you continue, your words tremble under the weight of everything you have been carrying for far too long. “I know it’s wrong. I tried so hard to stop it. I hate how I feel and how overwhelming it is. You don’t have to see me anymore, I’m sorry, I will-”
You do not get to finish the sentence because his lips are suddenly on yours, cold from the rain but burning in intention, and the shock of it stills you completely as your mind struggles to catch up with what is happening. He moves slowly at first, almost hesitant, as if he is afraid you will pull away. But when you do not, something shifts between you.
The kiss deepens, turning heavier, everything that has been unspoken is now forcing its way into existence. His hand finds your face, holding you as he kisses you with a growing intensity that makes your breath break against his mouth.
When you finally kiss back, something inside you gives in completely, your arms moving around his neck to pull him closer refusing to let distance separate the two of you, his hot tongue brushing against yours.
He pulls back just slightly, his eyes darker now, searching yours. “Fuck sweetheart, tell me to stop.” he breathes out, the words hang heavily between you.
You do not answer immediately, your breathing still uneven. He leans in closer, his lips brushing from your neck toward your ear, sending a wave of goosebumps across your skin as his voice lowers again, softer but more dangerous in its intimacy. “Y/n. Tell me to stop.” he repeats, and you grip the back of his hair almost instinctively, drawing a low sound from him that makes your own control slip further. He doesn’t pull away yet, the trail of kisses he’s now leaving along your neck making it difficult to focus on anything but him.
“Please kook” you whisper back, not as a refusal but as something far more uncertain, and that is enough. He pauses for a brief moment, as if weighing everything silently, before slipping his hands behind your thighs and lifting you with a firm “Up” to which you comply without hesitation, your lips finding his again almost immediately. There’s more hunger in the kiss this time, consuming in a way that makes your head spin, as if the entire room has narrowed down to the space between you.
He moves toward the couch, sitting down with you on his lap as the world outside continues to rain without end. You slowly grind against him, desperation settling in like it has always belonged there. Your body has been waiting for this exact moment long before your mind ever agreed to it. His hands are everywhere on you, and it makes everything inside you tighten until you can barely breathe through it.
“Tell me what you want, baby.”
The nickname doesn’t just affect you, it pulls something loose inside your head, like a thread snapping, your thoughts scattering in different directions until nothing makes sense except him, except the way he’s looking at you.
“I want you. I want you so bad, please.”
A slow smirk curves his lips as he cups your face with his tattooed hand, holding you in place like he doesn’t trust you to stay still on your own, apparently you’re already halfway gone.
“Yeah?”
You nod, but it doesn’t feel like a choice, more like something your body does before you can stop it, your hips move harder against him as you lose any concept of restraint, any sense of where the line even is anymore. The feeling of him underneath you is too much and not enough at the same time, a contradiction that makes your head spin and your insides clench.
“Show me.”
You pause, breath unsteady, face flushed, lips parted as your body is trying to catch up with a mind that’s obviously no longer fully there.
“Show me how bad you want me.”
There’s something in the way he says it that feels less like a request and more like permission you didn’t know you were waiting for.
You move without thinking, hands finding the button of his pants clumsily. Your coordination has started slipping away from you, your body is acting on instinct alone while your thoughts blur at the edges. He throws his head back, mouth slightly open, as you finally feel him. A soft chuckle escapes his lips, one hand resting on your thigh.
“Sweetheart, I think you need to wake up.” The words cut through everything, but they don’t break the moment. You look at him, confused. The smirk is still there, almost making you think he hasn’t said anything at all and that you’re just imagining things.
“What?”
He gently pulls your hands away, and you let him.
Slowly, deliberately, he starts undoing the buttons of your shirt instead, never breaking eye contact, his cold fingers brushing against your chest with a precision that feels almost familiar, like this has happened before or will happen again no matter what you do.
“WAKE THE FUCK UP, Y/N.”
The world snaps.
You jolt up, breath tearing through your chest, your forehead almost crashing into Layla’s as she hovers above you.
“What the hell were you dreaming about?”
For a moment you don’t answer.
Your body is still caught somewhere else, your skin still carrying something that shouldn’t be there. The memory of touch has refused to disappear completely, even though nothing is left.
Reality comes back in pieces. The room. Layla’s voice. Your racing heartbeat. The strange emptiness lingering behind your ribs.
“Oh my God.”
───────────
author’s note:
Uhm so.. hi? Yeah, that happened.
You guys don’t understand how much of a sucker I am for tension… I hope I managed to make you feel it too, lol.
As always, let me know what you think of this new chapter, and thank you so much for reading!
“If we’re not married by 30, we’ll marry each other.” That was the promise both of you agreed, but only one seemed to keep it.
pairing: jk x f!reader
genre: childhood friends to strangers to lovers
warnings: toxic codependency • possessiveness • jealousy • miscommunication • unresolved feelings • slow burn • angst • eventual smut • reader is so hard on him • mutual pining • jk is so hurt (and so in love)
note: holii!! this is my first post and i’m so exiteeeedd!! first of all this was soooo hard to write because i really really really love the idea but i wasn’t sure how to start so this have on me a really hard time because of all of the ideas :( sooo i really hope you guys enjoy my suffering! —ENGLISH IS NOT MY FIRST LANGUAGE!
02
He had been staring at that letter for what felt like hours. He hadn’t even opened it, but just seeing the names had been enough for his stomach to start aching.
He thought it was junk mail or a light bill, which is why he had left it with the rest of the pile somewhere in the kitchen. But when he looked closer, bills didn’t have flowers or engagement rings printed on them, nor ribbons wrapped around them.
Then, as his hands trembled while picking it up, he knew he couldn’t open it anymore after confirming it was your name written there.
Your name next to another man’s.
Another man who wasn’t him.
His foot kept tapping against the floor without rhythm, his fingers drumming on the table, but his eyes were stuck on that invitation. On your name.
And for a second, just a second, his mind betrayed him.
This time it wasn’t imagination, because his eyes were now fixed on the photo decorating the piece of furniture in front of him.
You laughing, leaning slightly into him, like it was the most natural thing in the world. His arm around your shoulder. Like you belonged there. Like it meant nothing. Like it meant everything.
He hadn’t taken it down. Seven years had passed, and he still hadn’t found the courage to take it down, because to him, you were still right there beside him, just like all the years he had spent by your side.
And the invitation was still in his hands.
There was no need to open it. He didn’t want to. Because something inside him told him it was all a dream, a product of his imagination, his mind betraying him with his biggest fear.
But there it was. He could see it with his own eyes, yet he refused to believe it. Not until he heard it from your own voice.
That voice he hadn’t heard in seven years, and yet had missed so much.
He ran a hand through his hair, frustrated, not knowing what to do. He had even started sweating despite the air conditioner being on.
But the feeling in his body was much stronger. Imagining you with another man hurt the most.
Because he had promised you. But apparently, you didn’t remember. Or maybe it had never meant as much to you as it had to him, just a silly promise between two teenagers with broken hearts.
But what made him angrier was thinking that someday you would realize everything. How he looked at you, how he cared for you, how he loved you with all his soul from the very first moment he saw you when you were eight years old. He felt ridiculous for thinking that one day you would suddenly realize he was the man of your life.
Or maybe he felt betrayed? By your empty promise. Maybe. He didn’t know.
What he did know was the amount of emotions his nervous system was going through. Pain, frustration, sadness, melancholy… happiness?
He could say he felt happy knowing you were happy, that you were living your best life. Because even though you didn’t talk anymore, he still checked your posts, your stories, but he never liked them, especially not the ones where he appeared.
He could even say he felt like blocking you. He thought that maybe, if he unblocked you again, the man appearing in your posts would disappear and he would only see your beautiful face again.
Because you had moved on. You had forgotten about him, while there wasn’t a single moment in his day when he didn’t think about you.
But he was a coward, because even though he was dying of curiosity about how you were, even though he wanted to hear your laugh again through a phone, he didn’t have the courage to call you.
Or maybe he only found that courage in this moment, when he grabbed his phone with desperation, needing to know if what he was seeing was real and not his mind playing tricks on him.
He didn’t even need to search for your number. It was pinned, even though the last message was from two years ago, your last birthday that he wished you happy birthday for—and never did again. Because he was afraid nothing would ever be the same.
His fingers trembled as they hovered over the call button, his mind feeding him too many thoughts making him doubt if it was a good idea: would you want to hear him? would you answer? what if he answers? what if you changed your number and never told him?
A never-ending chain of “what ifs” overwhelmed him so much that he threw the phone somewhere on the table, letting out a frustrated sigh because he did want to do it. He wanted to hear you.
But he wanted to hear you say it had all been a mistake, a joke, anything—but not the truth.
He let himself fall back against the chair, closing his eyes. Why was he such a coward?
But before his mind could betray him again, before he could regret it, before he could convince himself it didn’t matter and let it go…
He picked up the phone again and without thinking twice, pressed the button before his brain could catch up.
One ring, then another, and before he could hang up because fear was starting to take over:
“Jungkook?”
And his heart stopped as he heard your voice again. Jungkook had stopped breathing.
He closed his eyes for a moment, trying to calm himself. He opened his mouth, then closed it again, until he finally found the courage.
“Is it real?”
His voice came out almost as a whisper.
You didn’t even need to ask what he meant, because you already knew.
“Yeah… it is.”
Jungkook’s world fell apart.
It was real. Not a dream, even though he had wished it was with all of his heart.
✸ Lovestruck Fool ─── because keeping this secret for three years was driving him crazy.
— best friend! jeon jungkook x female! reader.
— In which a brutal breakup leaves you shattered, your best friend Jeon Jungkook drags you into his car for a reckless, cross-country escape. He is your ultimate comfort zone—driving for hours, making you laugh, and keeping the ghost of your ex at bay. It’s the safe, predictable friendship you’ve always relied on. Until a single-bed booking error and whispered nights by the coast change everything. Suddenly, the boy who used to just comfort you is looking at you with a devastating intensity. Jungkook isn't just saving you from heartbreak; he’s risking everything to confess he’s been unconditionally, desperately in love with you for three years—and he has no intention of letting you go.
— best friends to lovers | slow burn to smut | so much fun banter| rom-com | Jungkook being SO FUNNY AND SEXY | heavy emotional angst | dry humping | nipple play | dominant & possessive jungkook | Unprotected sex | One bed | dirty talk | praise | established childhood bond |
wc: 20k+ [ONESHOT]
A/N: My goal is 20k+ words (we’ll see how it goes, but I’m officially halfway there!). Also, quick heads-up: I’m holding onto this one-shot until we hit 1k followers! We only need 30 more beautiful people to join our little family. 🤍 P.S. The anime couple GIF I used is from a show with a completely different plot that has nothing to do with this fic, but I just loved the way he kissed her and how shocked she looked. It was giving major besties-to-lovers energy and I couldn't resist!
cw: mature language, 18+ ONLY - MINORS DNI 🔞, smut, pure pwp, soft dom jk, praising, squirting, edging, pussyjob, sex toys, mirror sex, unprotected sex, mentions of buttplay, lowercase and you guessed it … unedited.
—
you’re no stranger to edging.
having been on both the receiving and giving end, you know how it all goes. it’s all about the build up and denial of pleasure — fun for the person doing the edging … torture for the other enduring. you’d agree until you met jungkook, an overzealous new camboy you met online after a couple of your subscribers begged you both to collab.
“look at yourself,” jungkook breathes into the shell of your ear, “come on, pretty.”
you pry your eyes open at the mirror in front of you and jungkook, making contact with the blinking red light of his camera.
“ah-ah, here,” he rubs on your clit a little faster and your vision blurs from the pleasure. your eyes drop to the mess between your legs: his fingers wet and shiny from your sex, your cream lathering the dildo you’re slowly fucking yourself with, and his other hand underneath your thigh to pry your legs apart. it’s been an hour into the live stream, both his and your subscribers sending multiple comments and donations to let you cum.
“kook,” you moan, knocking your head back on his shoulder. uncaring about the flood of comments coming in, you look at the mirror again and want to cry from the scene. the thing about edging is that you should feel tortured from the denial of pleasure … and yet, it’s jungkook’s fucked out expression, hard cock digging into your lower back, and heavy panting in your ear that has you questioning who is actually being punished.
“can i go faster? please?” you beg, not just for you but for him. jungkook drops his head to the crook of your neck and nods, kisses and sucks pretty little marks as your hand speeds up.
“yeah, that’s it,” he encourages. your forearm burns from the exertion, but you’re so focused on feeling good and pleasing jungkook, you ignore the fatigue in favor of hopefully reaching your desired high.
“i’m gonna cum, oh god,” you fuck the dildo harder into your pussy while his hand remain at the same slow pace, occasionally spreading your folds apart with his fingers. they trail down, fingers coat the residual slick left on the shaft of the toy. you almost cum from the visual of him licking his hands, but you’re always so good for him and hold on until he gives you the greenlight.
a familiar buzz rings through the heavy air and you feel the vibrations on your clit before you can utter a word. the comments in the live stream goes crazy, dings left and right, donations increase … you’re only focused on the numbing sensation blossoming at the pit of your stomach.
“oh fuckfuckfuck, you’re gonna make me cum,” you whine and arch against his chest. he chuckles, lips press little kisses at your sweaty hairline before increasing the speed on the vibrator.
“can i?” you ask with furrowed brows.
“you can,” jungkook huffs into your temple, “but i’m not gonna stop.” you don’t want him to, need that aching release so badly … been ready 6 times before. your hand moves faster, it’s precise how you angle the toy to hit up where you know will let you see stars. your legs shake first, stomach clench, and you let out a breathy whimper before crying out when your orgasm washes over you.
jungkook groans and ruts his cock against you. as promised, he doesn’t let up and neither do you. it’s fucking obscene how the buzz of the vibrator changes as the wetness pools around it. you’re squirting — all over jungkook’s lap, his bed, his floor.
liquid gold.
you pull out the dildo and drop it onto the ground.
“oh fuck, ‘atta girl,” jungkook praises and releases your thigh to squeeze your tit. your eyes shut from the overstimulation, between the notifications from the live stream and jungkook’s relentlessness on your pussy, it all blurs to static noise.
“k-kook,” you whimper when it starts to hurt, hand coming to curl around his wrist. he immediately stops when he sees tears brimming at your eyes, opting to toss the vibrator to the side and flipping you to your back on his mattress.
“did so good for me,” he whispers, kissing the corners of your eyes where some tears have fallen, “was it too much?”
you shake your head and giggle, “no, made me feel so good.” he always does. it’s easy to do your job when you enjoyed the person you’re doing it with. so easy as you slide his cock into your still-sensitive pussy, so easy as you wrap your legs around his waist as he fucks into you, so easy as you kiss him through his whines and orgasm.
—
you and jungkook are curled up in his bed laughing at the comments from the live stream. all you could see after the squirting session was jungkook’s back … nothing else.
696969lord donated $5: MAN CAN YOU ANGLE THE CAMERA BETTER? CANT SEE SHIT HERE
k00leftassch33k donated $100: … r we interrupting smth?
cumslut77777 donated $1: 10/10 edging, -5000/10 for camera work. u suck … anyways, i wanna see some tiddies hmu
“i told you to set up another camera from the nightstand,” you pout.
jungkook shrugs, nose crinkles from his smile, “guess we’ll just have to go live again, huh?”
when you and jeon jeongguk's paths cross again, you question if having a crush on the school's emo and alternative boy was really just a phase, or if it was true love after all.
⌗ repost. from the grande series.
pairing tattoo artist!jk x fem reader
genre fluff, smut, grumpy & sunshine, f2l
contents jk 24 | oc 24, jk thinks he's too cool for love, oc suffers from a chronic case of "i can fix him", she eventually does, oc simps HARDDD and jk only pretends to be unaffected, yea he's a bit of a dick sometimes but he's also Very funny, description of panic attacks, male masturbation, kissing, idk what else to add i just rly rly love them and will think of them for the entirety of xmas season
word count 10k ish
author’s note HAPPY DECEMBER LOVIEKU NATION!!! you know we had to start xmas szn with a banger… i missed them sm and i hope u can show this couple much love again 🩷 i know i said i’d be back with something new but unfortunately i’ve been feeling so burnt out and i’m positive this is going to be my last fic upload of the year. jus wanna thank u for welcoming me back 💋 and see u again so soon
banner by my sunshine love most talented @voyter 🩷
On the first day of December, your path crosses with thee Jeon Jeongguk’s after enough years for your brain to trip slightly before recognising him. But it would have been impossible not to — there’s likely a whole, well-preserved section of your thinking organ dedicated to that mortifying phase of high school.
The moment your eyes widen at having him stand in front of you, you’re yanked unceremoniously into the past, brought back to buried, locked and left to gather dust feelings that have your teenage self’s screams echoing within you.
Jeongguk, on the other hand, is simply following his duties as a tattoo artist. When he catches sight of you next to his appointed client on such a breezy day, the cold December air starting to find its space even in the confines of his studio, he only nods his chin upward at you in slow recognition.
It’s awkward, at first. Only because you make it.
You’d volunteered to accompany Eunbi, your best friend, to get her first tattoo as an early Christmas self-gift. Your mission was clear: support her, hold her hand if the pain became unbearable (though you’re probably the least dependable person when it comes to making clarity in situations of panic, as seen right now), and be the first to bask in her excitement as she finally sees what she’s always pictured to be inked on the skin of her forearm. A blue whale tattoo, large enough to make you wince just thinking about the needlework.
You’d never go through something like that. Never.
And that’s exactly what’s showing on your face when you’re met with Jeongguk’s full sleeve of tattoos, leaving you rooted to the spot.
You’d always known him to be the different kid, the quiet one with forced sharp eyes that canonically listened to alternative rock and glared at anyone who dared approach, whether to tease him or befriend him. He’d convinced himself that no one could ever understand him.
See, you’d fooled yourself into thinking you were the exception. That you did understand him.
Fourteen-year-old you had gone through some weird phases, and the one that resurfaces now at the vision of his adult self is the one centered entirely around him. You unashamedly had the biggest crush on Jeongguk. To you, he was mysterious and edgy in an effortlessly cool way.
You’d tried everything. Offered him your lunch more times than you were left with any for yourself. Even cut your bangs to have them fall over your eyes to mimic his fringe, dyed a strand blue. None of it worked. He never noticed.
Yet, thinking of it now, there’s no way he didn't. How could any boy ignore a lovesick girl’s heartfelt Valentine’s letter who almost cried on the spot when she got rejected?
Jeongguk just chose to willingly ignore it.
These are all valid reasons as to why your functions seem to slow down in his unexpected presence. And you’re not going to deny nor fake that his calm, almost detached demeanor doesn’t flow through your body and right to your left eye, making it twitch with a slight tremor.
Jeongguk has changed drastically but he’s also stayed the same. You think fourteen-year-old him would be proud of where he is right now. Two piercings on his lower lip and one on his eyebrow, intricate ink tracing up his muscled arm, his… muscled arms. Wow.
And then, his studio. His own studio, a place for him and his passion, one that he made into his job. That’s undeniably cool.
Maybe just not cool enough for you to be gaping like an idiot as he moves with purpose, adjusting your friend’s arm to position the stencil he had prepared, perfectly fitting in the space she had chosen. His muscles flex with every shift, and it’s impossible for you to go past that with the way the black beater he’s wearing is loose on his torso, but still clinging on his chest.
Eunbi notices, of course. You don’t have time to feel embarrassed and in return she doesn’t even try to hide her amusement when your usual chatter dries up entirely, only gulping obnoxiously noisily and alternating that with nervous silences. Jeongguk, too, catches on.
He’d always known you as obnoxious and noisy. In, like, a good way. Or whatever.
Jeongguk just agrees that you were (and probably still are, if the pastel yellow skirt softly flowing down your legs paired with a cozy baby pink sweater and the full toothed grin you shoot at your friend are any indicators) the pinpoint embodiment of his opposite. You’ve always been talkative, smiley and friendly, eager to help and to receive help, not in the slightest ever turning down the opportunity to blabber on, and on, and on.
Honestly, Jeongguk doesn’t think he ever truly listened to a single word of your rambling back in the day, especially during those times when you’d bounce up to him and launch into enthusiastic rants about obscure alternative bands he hadn’t even heard of. He respected the hustle, though.
Yet, he much preferred when you were less trying so hard to be him and mirror his tastes, more when you gave up on impressing him and simply stayed true to yourself, the girl whose heart belonged to Justin Bieber and One Direction. Truthfully, he fucked with them. Not that he’d ever admit it, of course. His brooding image wouldn’t survive that revelation.
What he respected the most was your resilience. After all the times he rejected you and your awkward blurts, you still didn’t think it was enough of a reason for your villain origin story to take off, and instead remained the same frustratingly positive ray of sunshine you’d always been.
Now, as Jeongguk works on the tattoo in front of him, the very one that caused all these long-buried memories to rise back, his dark eyes flick toward you sitting on a stool in a near corner every now and then, a hint of confusion in his expression every time you take more than five seconds to reply to his small talk.
It’s just, you’re a bit taken aback. Since when does he do small talk? The foreign smoothness with which Jeongguk handles interactions is so far removed from the sullen boy you used to know. You’re not prepared for this version of him. It’s disarming, to say the least.
Enough time has passed for you to settle into the odd scenario, your college best friend and your long-standing high school crush in the same room. Slowly but surely, your curiosity sparkles again, and the signature tendency to let thoughts tumble out of your mouth unchecked returns to you naturally.
“Ouch, that looks painful.”
Jeongguk snorts, eyes trained on Eunbi’s arm as he glides the tattoo needle with precise strokes that have his brows pinching and the tip of his tongue peeking out from the corner of his lips, a habit you remember from the past but one you’ve never found quite so distracting before.
Still, he multitasks and replies without missing a beat. “Wanna try?”
Wow. This is, like, the longest conversation you’ve ever had with him. It spurs you on to hear more of his voice, the sound of it definitely deeper than the shy tones you struggled to coax out of him ten years ago.
That is probably why you literally lie, “Hm. Maybe. I was thinking of getting one actually. In the future.”
Eunbi chokes on her spit, her chest coughing with the sudden, blatantly fake revelation, and Jeongguk promptly pauses, lifting the needle from her skin as his tattooist reflexes kick in. While your friend apologizes between a clearing of her throat and sinks back into the chair, she doesn’t keep from glaring at you, her expression screaming What the hell are you doing?
You squint your eyes with a quick shake of your head, a loose strand clinging to your glossy lips. You’ll explain everything later and it’ll all make sense. And you know this will inevitably end up being added to the list of the many embarrassing facts she knows about you and threatens you with when she wants to go clubbing and you don’t.
Jeongguk uses the brief interruption to glance up at where you’re perched in the corner of his peripheral vision, just to square you up and down with a skeptical arch of his brow. “Really?”
You scoff, smoothing out the creases on your skirt as if the fabric is somehow responsible for the lie you just told. “Is that shocking?”
He hums, returning to his work with the buzz of the needle filling the studio again, his voice padded the more he gets closer to Eunbi’s forearm. “I just find it hard to believe such a princess like you could handle any pain.”
You gulp.
What you’re getting from this conversation is that Jeongguk has always had an idea of who you are in his mind all along. That he’s always perceived you in some way. As much as your inner fourteen-year-old is swooning at the attention, gobbling up each of the tiny crumbles he’s giving you, it doesn’t sit right with you. What exactly does he think of you?
“Test me.”
He shrugs, eyes fixated on the shade he’s perfectioning with black ink. “Busy now.”
“I’ll go pay for mine. I saw you have one last free spot today,” you announce, the words tumbling out with more confidence than you feel. You’re already on your feet before the sentence is fully formed, betraying the fact that your nosy tendencies had gotten the better of you earlier. You’d discreetly glanced at his appointment book when Jeongguk and Eunbi were finalizing her tattoo details and negotiating the final price at the desk.
He hums, head tilting slightly. “And I wanted to spend it bumming around.”
“Too bad. You’ll have to postpone that.”
You walked into this studio swearing you’d never let a needle even brush you.
Thirty minutes later, you’re stretched out on a leather bench, Jeongguk leaning over you with a stencil in hand, gloved fingers moving with careful precision.
The design you’d chosen came from his portfolio — a delicate illustration of two butterflies in motion, their soft threads intertwining. You’d flipped through countless pages of bold skulls and intricate linework before settling on this.
The spot you’d chosen for the tattoo was the flat, firm plane between your breasts. It wasn’t a conscious decision, just a place you’d always liked. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that nature hadn’t exactly blessed you in the cleavage department. Subconsciously, perhaps, you thought that adding something there might give the illusion of more.
“Tehe,” you can’t stop the breathy giggle that escapes as the cool paper brushes against your skin. Your hand is pressed to your bra, holding it in place as best you can, though the situation feels so surreal it’s hard to focus on anything but the ridiculousness of it all.
Jeongguk glances up at you with a glare that’s more exasperated than angry before returning to the delicate task at hand. “What’s funny?”
Your voice wobbles. “I just— I tend to laugh during serious moments.”
“Oh. Weird.”
“Sorry.”
With a small sigh, he smooths the stencil, and once it’s transferred he hands you a square mirror, waiting for your approval. You nod, the butterflies now perfectly poised in their eternal dance, and Jeongguk doesn’t waste a moment.
The buzz of the needle fills the room as he leans closer, one gloved hand resting on the upper part of your chest to steady himself. He’s mere seconds from beginning the inking process when another laugh bubbles out of you.
Jeongguk sits back abruptly, dropping his pen onto the metal tray with an audible clink. Tilting his head, he levels you with a look of thinly veiled irritation. “I really can’t work if your chest keeps moving.”
“Sorry,” you blurt again, turning your head to face the wall. You clamp your lips together tightly, mentally scrolling through every sad memory you can conjure. Think of something awful. Your childhood dog dying. Okay, maybe not that sad—
“You haven’t changed a bit since high school. Always smiling like you live surrounded by flowers and rainbows.” Jeongguk’s mutter vibrates against your chest, warm breath fanning over the cold skin, almost distracting you from your no-giggling mission.
The unexpected observation has your brows furrowing in a mildly offended frown, and banter is ready on your tongue. “You’re just the same too, Gguk. The emo boy who thinks he’s too cool for a smile.”
“I’m not an emo boy. The fuck,” he scoffs, kissing his teeth and murmuring more of his indignation under his breath.
“Whatever helps you sleep at night. I can teach you.”
The whirring needle glides across your skin with a slightly firmer touch, making you hiss softly under your breath. He seems unbothered by the reaction, and instead bothered by your words. “Teach me what.”
“How to smile a bit more,” you reply, your voice laced with mockery as you keep your gaze firmly fixed on the wall. The smirk playing on your lips is triumphant; he walked right into your little jab, hehe.
Before you can get anything else out, maybe something about how his black eyeliner era made him look ridiculous (though that would be lie number two of the day) Jeongguk straightens his posture, pulling away from your chest. With a practiced motion, he tosses one of his gloves onto the counter behind him, his expression cool and indifferent. “It’s done.”
“Done?” You exclaim, tilting your chin down to look at your chest. You go slightly cross-eyed trying to catch a glimpse of the design now inked onto your skin. Forever.
“Yes.”
“I didn’t even feel it.”
Jeongguk seems equally done with small talk, transitioning into a professional explanation of the tattoo’s aftercare steps. His tone is calm but clipped, and you can’t tell if it’s his usual work demeanor or if it’s reserved just for you. He also hands you a small tube of cream of which you’re not sure the use of, too enthralled by the vision of his colored sleeve this up close.
And still laying on the leather bed, you almost reach to trace one of the many lines with your finger before he interrupts, “You can pay with Yoongi at the entrance.”
Clearing your throat, you sit up, brushing imaginary dust off your skirt as Jeongguk turns his broad back to you, focusing on cleaning his tools. You still are not over, though. “Thank you, Jeongguk. Can I— huh. Can I get your number?”
He pauses mid-motion, just long enough for the silence to stretch awkwardly. Turning around to study your features, he stares you up and down with knitted brows and a hostile kind of confusion painting his expression. “…For what exactly?”
“In case anything happens with the tattoo.”
Jeongguk stills for a second, eyes narrowing slightly, then turns back to what’s keeping him so occupied with a noncommittal grunt. “Huh. Sure. Yoongi has my business cards at the desk. You can ask him. Have a good day.”
With Eunbi practically dragging you out of the room, you don’t have the chance to say anything more, though your chest burns with indignation. It’s not that you expect him to fall over himself at the opportunity of catching up, but the sheer indifference is maddening.
Should you pretend you don’t care either? You could. But really, who are you fooling? You still have those old diaries buried somewhere in your childhood room closet, their pages crammed with his name written in looping, lovesick cursive. That little girl in you never truly died.
On the fourth day of December, you finally text him. It’s about your tattoo, of course. There’s not much else to say to him, but when his only reply to your picture of the healing process is a yellow thumbs up, you find your fingers hovering over the keyboard. Words start forming before you’ve fully processed them, and then you’re hitting send.
You [3:39 p.m]: btw you still friends with kim tae?
jeongguk [3:42 p.m.]: Yeah
You [3:43 p.m.]: ohhh cool
jeongguk [3:45 p.m.]: What, you want his number?
You [3:46 p.m.]: no i’m good with yours ☺️
You can’t help but giggle at how his typing bubbles appear and then fade, biting your lower lip with a sheepish grin. Your fourteen-year-old self would’ve squealed at the thought of making Jeon Jeongguk flustered. But you’re a different girl now. You’ve changed. No man could ever reject—
jeongguk [3:48 p.m.]: If there’s nothing else about the tattoo then 👋
“Hmph,” your frown is so pronounced that you feel your chin aching and your wrinkles prematurely deepening. Well, this is not the first time you come face first with his sour antics. Only now, you’re prepared.
You [3:48 p.m.]: y’all hanging out soon? i’ll join
jeongguk [3:49 p.m.]: Why lol
jeongguk [3:49 p.m.]: He barely even remembers you probs
You [3:50 p.m.]: who would not remember me
jeongguk [3:50 p.m.]: The only thing I’m now remembering about you is how I couldn’t stand your ass
You gasp, hand coming up to brush against your parted lips. With a huff, you hastily click at your keyboard, “Mean. Sent. Ugh.”
On the sixth day of December your persistence pays off, and you find yourself at a random bar you’d never been to before, seated with both Jeongguk and Taehyung.
Between Jeongguk’s cigarette breaks—forcing the three of you to brave the cold outside—and brief moments in corners of the cramped place where the music felt muffled against the walls, you managed to catch up with Taehyung. The rest of the time though, the noise inside was so deafening that it made any kind of meaningful conversation impossible.
Even more when a random girl slides into the booth next to him, capturing his attention entirely, leaving you and Jeongguk in silence.
The tattoo artist has been glued to his phone with his head down for the last 20 minutes, and now you alternate between observing his side profile, roughened by the piercings and a more defined jawline, and analysing the weird dynamic that is beginning to form between Taehyung and the girl, sitting in front of you.
Alone with your thoughts and, well, the pulsating music, you feel yourself getting unreasonably closer to symptoms you know all too well, that threaten to have you spiraling. You shake your head, forcing it to stop. There’s no reason for anxiety to visit you at such an inconvenient time.
But of course, the little voice in your head starts listing all the totally valid motives why this is indeed the perfect time for it to visit you.
The bar feels suffocating on your skin.
Your dress clings too tightly.
The couple facing you is shamelessly close to making out.
Jeongguk sighs in visible boredom.
You shouldn’t have come. Hell, you shouldn't have even suggested it. A smarter version of yourself would have at least brought Eunbi along for balance, for comfort. But in your foolishness, you thought this could be an opportunity for you and Jeongguk to catch up. Instead, you feel foreign to him, foreign to this pub booth, and the air begins to feel foreign to your lungs.
You’ve never liked bars, clubs, or any loud places.
You sniffle, looking down at your lap. Then up at the ceiling. Then around the room. It keeps spinning and booming with volume that only adds to the feeling of helplessness. Quick, quick, quick.
What are five things that you can see?
Five. Your gaze falls on Taehyung and the girl, their lips and tongues clumsily entangled as they laugh between sloppy kisses. No help there. The air catches harder in your throat.
Four. Your empty glass, its smudged rim a reminder of the single drink you had, now sitting uncomfortably in your stomach.
Three. Your scuffed heels, their tips worn to the nub despite your best efforts to hide it with a marker.
Two. The swirling lights above the bar, dizzying as they flash brighter and brighter.
One. Jeongguk’s tattooed hand on your thigh.
His fingers dig into the skin, shaking you alarmedly, with a force you’ve never known from him, not even when it came to stopping your shaking stomach as you were laying on the studio’s leather bed.
Head snapping up to face him, you’re met with a perfect resemblance of how you must look right now. Wide eyes, knitted brows, nose flaring and exhaling, and you try to follow the movements of his mouth, but the words jumble together annoyingly in your brain.
You lean closer, narrowed orbs still fixated on his lips to try and read them. Are… you… ok—
“___, you’re scaring me. Hey, hello? Are you okay?”
Jeongguk moves from your thigh to your shoulders, jolting you gently but firmly from the fog that is threatening to cloud up your brain. Sudden clarity hits you, but weakness still has you stumbling forward, your weight toppling over his chest. With it, your head dips rapidly, hurtling toward the sharp edge of the table, and before Jeongguk knows it his instinct snaps and he catches you promptly.
The next steps blur together. You vaguely register the boy next to you standing up and pulling you along with him, his broad shoulders supporting one of your arms while his inked one secures around the small of your waist, holding you firmly against him.
Then, it’s nothing but brief flashes.
Jeongguk pressing a water bottle to your lips.
Sitting you down on the stairs outside the pub.
Holding your hair back as you double over, emptying the contents of your stomach onto the pavement.
Cracking a smile to make you laugh, trying to distract you by giving an exaggerated description of each one of his arm tattoos like it’s the grandest tour of your life.
Opening the door to his car and gently easing you into the passenger seat, ensuring the seatbelt clicks into place.
Inside his car, you slowly feel your senses come back to you.
At a redlight that you recognise as the one near your apartment complex, you muster a small and hoarse thank you. Jeongguk only hums low, eyes fixated on the road and fingers drumming lightly on the steering wheel.
Before a sheepish smile can make its way on your lips and spread across your face, your head twitches back as your brows furrow. Your thoughts suddenly catch up with you, “Hey, how do you know the way to my flat?”
His gaze briefly flicks toward you in annoyance, then back to the road. “You literally just told me.”
“Oh.” A beat passes before you giggle softly. “Don’t remember.”
Jeongguk mutters something intelligible under his breath, and next thing you know he’s turning down your street and slowing in front of the building that matches the number you gave him. Given your current state, he begins to question if that is even the right one.
“This one!” You point at the tall front gate with an almost childlike excitement, back shifting slightly from the seat as your grin stretches wide.
Jeongguk grimaces. Why the fuck do you look like you’ve been reuinted with your home after years apart, as if you weren’t there just a couple hours ago?
“Right. Huh, you good with going back on your own?”
“Yes. I’d hate to bother you further. I’m sorry for this, I… was getting better, I guess.”
The sad confession doesn’t land with the weight it should, softened by the smile painted on your lips and the chuckle you let out as if it were nothing. Jeongguk’s eyelid twitches, unsettled by the unnecessary happiness that always seems to drip from you, even when it shouldn’t belong.
“‘S okay. Have a good night,” he awkwardly bows his head, waiting for you to exit the car. When you stay still, he clears his throat, adding just to fill the silence, and maybe because he means it. “Huh, and make sure to rest a lot.”
You take a moment, maybe longer than you should, to study his features up this close. You particularly fixate on the way his eyes dart everywhere but never land on yours. Then, with your signature toothy grin, you bow back and open the car door, leaving with a string of thank yous, and get home safe, and I’ll text you, and please, reply to me, and bye.
Jeongguk has to fight a smile of his own.
On the tenth day of December, you realise you want him. Even more badly than your fourteen-year-old self ever did. Which is frankly insane.
You don’t know if it was the natural way he looked after you during your episode, or his dry sarcasm and how he actually started replying to your random updates throughout the day.
But no, it was definitely the selfie he sent you after what he said was a long day. Messy hair, tired eyes, a hint of a smile.
You’d struggled to even gulp down your saliva when the picture popped up in your chat, and maniacally stared at it with eyes glued to the bright screen before sending one of your own. He had replied with Cute followed by Your hair pin is cute.
That is why you find yourself facing… Yoongi? If you remember correctly. The guy at the front desk of Jeongguk’s studio.
You beam at him, and what you’re met with instead is a confused stare. You inhale, “Hi. Is Jeongguk in?”
Yoongi scratches his head, muttering. “He’s busy with a client.”
“Oh. It’s okay,” you wave off his concern. “Can I wait here?”
The boy hesitates, looks unsure the more your interaction develops, and he glances between you and the empty waiting area. He relents with furrowed brows. “Sure… Huh, It’s a back tattoo, so it’ll take him a while.”
You shrug and plop yourself onto the leather sofa, seemingly unfazed. “I like waiting.”
Crossing your legs, you take in the studio’s atmosphere, eyes drifting to the dark walls lined with framed artwork and certificates. You spot Jeongguk’s name on many of those.
For the next fifteen minutes, you try distracting yourself by flipping through the stack of tattoo magazines on the coffee table. You wince at inked heads, faces, butts, and even… more private parts. Deciding this world is definitely not for you, you slam the book shut.
By the time an hour passes, you’re fighting a battle with your lack of sleep. The third yawn you manage to stifle, but the fourth escapes before you can stop it. Yoongi, seated at the desk, doesn’t bother hiding his unimpressed stare. Still, he’s polite enough to offer you a glass of water, a coffee, or even a chance to join him for a cigarette break.
You decline all of it, though your throat does feel dry.
Maybe you should have planned this with a bit of rationality. Or at least gotten more sleep. Now, your every blink is slower, eyelids batting to shut and taking longer to flutter open again. Hm, this feels nice. You’ll just let them rest for a bit longer. And longer. And a bit more.
The next time you open your eyes, Jeongguk’s face is inches away, his warm hand resting firmly on your arm. You jolt upright with a startled yelp.
“Jeongguk.”
He raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth quirking up with it in an unmistakably mocking smirk. “Hey. You don’t have a bed?”
You sit up, forcing Jeongguk to step back and straighten to his full height. Your neck cranes upward to glare at him, brows furrowed in what you hope is an intimidating glare, though you sport a pout that is all but menacing. “Shut up.”
He tsks, turning back to round the desk and fiddle with the appointment book, clearly unbothered. You take the moment to rub your eyes—only to remember, too late, that you’d worn makeup. A quick glance around reveals how much has changed since you fell asleep. The lights in the studio are dim, the hallway is dark, and every door is shut. Yoongi is nowhere in sight.
It’s just the two of you in the deathly quiet space.
You gasp, pressing a hand to your parted lips. “Did I fall asleep? I'm so sorry. I was probably really tired from yesterday.”
Jeongguk hums, focus still locked on the book in front of him, eyes narrowed. He doesn’t look up, doesn’t ask why you came here in the first place, and doesn’t acknowledge your apology. Ugh. This is humiliating.
Before you can stand, you feel something heavy draped over your body. It’s a jacket. Definitely not yours, since you never took it off. At least not consciously. No, this is a worn black leather one on which his scent lingers.
You tug it closer, puzzled, and then look up at him, holding it out. “Did I steal this in my sleep?”
Jeongguk scrunches his nose, “Ew, are you a sleepwalker?” Locking the till, he strolls over to you and plucks the jacket from you, casually slipping it on. “No, I put it on you. Wanted to see how long someone could feel safe enough to pass out in my studio. Thinking of turning this place into a daycare. I’ll have you play in the morning, get some lunch, nap time...”
There’s a beat of silence in which his sarcasm lingers in the air, and you stare at him, unamused. He shrugs, smirk unwavering.
You huff. “I regret coming here.”
“Yeah, why did you come here?”
Smoothing down your pink wool sweater, you stand up to stretch with zero shame. Then, fluttering your lashes at him, you assert with a smile. “You’re coming with me to the Christmas markets. This Sunday.”
Jeongguk groans like the idea physically pains him. “Oh, I would fucking hate that.”
Ignoring him, you zip up your puffer jacket and rock on your toes. “Pick me up at seven, okay?”
He glares, unimpressed at your excitement, before heading toward the entrance and pulling a hefty set of keys from his pocket. “I don’t even remember where you live.”
You hurry after him, following him outside and shuffling closer in your coat at the cold air hitting you. Watching as he locks the door and pulls down the rolling shutter with its red and black skull graffiti, you chirp. “You’ll have to text me for that.”
Jeongguk rises up again, giving you a slow once-over. He seems distracted by your stretched lips before snorting. “You’re talking like I’m the one who spent their afternoon napping in my studio just to drop this bomb and leave. Couldn’t you just text me this?”
You shrug innocently. He sighs, reaching out for you, “Do you need a ride hom—”
“Bye!”
You spin on your heel and skip off in the opposite direction before he can let his own greeting out, waving a gloved hand behind you. Jeongguk stays where he is, arm still held out.
Do you even have a car? He hopes so— it’s freezing out.
With another sigh, he shakes his head and tugs his jacket tighter around himself. Why are you so fucking weird?
On the fourteenth day of December, your arm is looped tightly through Jeongguk’s as you stroll through the Christmas markets, burying your face further in your scarf to shield against the icy air, and with each few step you gasp at things that the boy next to you finds utterly unimpressive.
You stop at nearly every stand, eyes glowing with the warm fairy lights strung all around, effortlessly picking up conversations with the vendors and melting even the most stoic faces with the scrunching of your nose and exaggerated nods.
Through all of it, Jeongguk remains put at your side, his arm linked with yours and a subtle pout on his lips. When you tease him about it, he simply shrugs, and you figure it’s just his natural expression. You find that oddly endearing.
He still humors your enthusiasm, offering low hums or murmured praise whenever you exclaim you’ve finally found what you’ve been searching for everywhere, and he offers to pay every time, the gesture so casual that he doesn’t seem bothered by it in the slightest.
When you bow to the nth seller, clutching yet another bag of sweet treats tightly to your chest, Jeongguk exhales and resumes slow walking beside you. “I don't like these places.”
You glance up at him, fluffy beanie almost slipping off before he promptly secures it back on your head with a gesture so smooth you hardly notice it.
You instead wonder, “Then why are we here now?”
He slips his hand into his pocket. “Because you threatened me.”
“With a really good time.”
“If this is your version of a good time, might as well kick me in the balls. That probably feels better.”
You gasp, halting in your tracks to glare at him. When he lets a small chuckle topple out of him, you think you might forgive him. No, you’re more than sure with the way his smile lingers.
You sheepishly look away, muttering, “Don’t tempt me, emo boy.”
“I’m not—”
“Oh yes, you are,” you interrupt, snapping your face back to his. Clearing your throat, you exaggerate a frown and lower your voice. “I’m so different, I hate Christmas.”
Jeongguk scoffs, pulling you tighter to him when a scooter unexpectedly zips past you. You yelp, instinctively shuffling closer to his arm.
He continues the conversation casually, unaffected. “That’s the worst impression of me I’ve ever heard. And also, I never said that.”
Releasing the breath you held for a moment too long, you uncertainly keep your slow stroll going, only narrowing your orbs at him. “It’s written all over your face.”
“I love Christmas.”
The admission is small, his voice soft and almost reluctant, like it pains him to reveal something as simple and obvious as loving Christmas. When you lean your chin on the puffed arm of his jacket, he doesn’t look down at you, his gaze fixed ahead, guiding the two of you through the chaos of the busy street.
You chirp, your steps stumbling. “Really?
Only then he shifts his attention to you, steadying you with his other arm wrapping around your figure in what seems like a hug, before he lifts you up by the neck of your coat and retreats just enough to face you.
His lips press into a straight line as he nods, a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes the more he stares in yours. “Yeah, really. I just don’t like… crowded spaces.”
You can’t help but think back to what happened just a week ago. The exact reason why the spirals in your brain wouldn’t stop twisting and tangling is now slipping from his lips in a voice that quietens as he seems to grasp the delicacy of his own confession.
He doesn’t like the way you’re looking at him. Drawn-up brows over wide and sparkling eyes—the only part of your face visible beneath your scarf—stare at him with something too tender, too focused, that makes him uneasy.
He turns his head to the side, the tips of his ears red not only from the cold, and pulls you along toward another stand, an almost nervous distraction.
It’s your turn to frown.
Maybe the one that’s permanently plastered on his face tonight isn’t just a reflection of his usual sullen demeanor. With a knot tightening in your chest, you can’t help but feel like you dragged him into something he truly hates, and that he wasn’t just pretending to.
What if this isn’t just your evil inner voice talking? What if this isn’t just overthinking, but the factual truth of your current reality? He’s hating every second of this but still enduring it because— you catch your breath with a long and strained inhale, because—
“Hey, dimples. You okay?”
Jeongguk moves to stand in front of you, his hands settling gently on your shoulders, a stance eerily reminiscent of that night you were just thinking back to.
He nods at you. “Breathe with me, hm?”
You find yourself quickly adjusting to his comforting aura before you can slip, drawn in by the reassurance in his eyes trained on you, never wavering. He watches closely as you begin to mirror the measured rise and fall of his chest, your breathing gradually syncing with his until the tightness in your chest starts to ease.
When you feel your feet touching the ground again, you offer a small, apologetic smile. “I’m okay. Sorry. Just…” You quickly scan your surroundings, eyes landing on a colorful stand. “Wait here a second, okay?”
Jeongguk lets you slip away, fingers twitching slightly at his sides. He takes a few hesitant steps closer, careful not to crowd you but unable to tear his eyes away from your next actions, how your grin comes back on your lips with unpracticed ease, lighting up your face as small talk flows between you and the seller.
Soon you’re holding two churros, their chocolate-dipped ends threatening to drip onto the ground.
You don’t hesitate, biting into one of them before it has the chance to make a mess, and with a quick nod of your head you motion for Jeongguk to follow. He does so, only after taking the churros from your hands, and letting you seek his warmth again with an arm snaking under his.
He’s only letting you do this because it’s fucking cold, no other reason.
You walk, and walk, guiding him along until you find a quieter corner, far from the bustle, where you two stand isolated from the rest. The dim lighting casts a softer glow on his face.
Glancing up at him, you flash a sheepish smile before leaning in to try and bite another chunk of the churro he’s holding. Your laughter spills out as he playfully pulls the sweet away from your reach before giving in with a small grin and a fond look he’s unaware of.
You settle onto a nearby bench, patting the empty spot beside you invitingly.
Jeongguk is unsure of what this means. He takes slow steps towards you, handing you your churro—which you take eagerly, already chewing on it—before tilting his head back in mild confusion. “But… you wanted to visit the markets.”
You shake your head, your bug eyes meeting his as you speak around a mouthful of sugar and chocolate, both literally and metaphorically, your words coated in sweet honesty. “I just wanted to spend time with you. It doesn’t matter where.”
The look you’re giving him is one he’s seen countless times before — familiar, and annoyingly reminiscent of ten years ago. It’s the same look you gave him when the two of you were the only unpaired people left for a chemistry project. The same that you reserved for him when you offered to sit together at lunch, the alternative eating alone.
It’s the same look that, he’s convinced, is solely responsible for making his knees weak and his fingers jittery, no longer something he can blame on the cold.
You’re unbelievably frustrating.
He clicks his tongue, looking away. “You’re fucking weird.”
You giggle, humming. “If weird is a synonym for whipped, then sure.”
He has to fight the twitch of his lips. Fakes a gag instead. You chuckle. Only then, he hints at a smile. “C’mon. Let’s go check out some other stuff.”
“But—”
He interrupts, pulling you up by your forearm. “I’m hungry.”
The next hour you spend wandering around is made of Jeongguk’s small, imperceptible ways of cracking: his lips less scrunched, more relaxed and even hinting up when you try on Christmas hats; his sarcasm less sharp, more playful as he comments on how the old vendor was totally flirting with you, or when he adds to your over-the-top excitement every time you spot a dog. All in all, he’s less tense. More himself.
You then find yourself standing in front of the churros stall from earlier, the warm scent tugging you closer. Without hesitation, you ask the lady behind the counter for another four churros — this time with extra sugar. You add two thank yous.
To fill the wait, you pick up casual conversation with the woman, until she pauses mid-sentence, wrinkled hand coming to rest over her heart as her gaze flits between you and Jeongguk.
Her crinkled eyes light up with a sudden fondness and a content smile finds its space on her chapped lips. “You two look perfect together.”
Jeongguk snorts. “Oh, we’re not—”
“Thank you, auntie!” You chirp, and your grin is so wide it squeezes your eyes into crescents. You accept the first churro she hands over, biting into it and talking through it. “These are delicious. Is the recipe a secret or can you share it with me?”
The woman laughs, clearly flustered by your energy, and leans in with a conspiratorial expression, though she gives in pretty soon. “It is a secret, but… Oh, c’mon. A pretty lady like you deserves to know.”
You burst into chuckles, joined by auntie’s own rolling and carrying a contrasting warmth to the cold air. Jeongguk, for his part, stands slightly to the side, observing. You still cling to his arm, even as the vendor reaches over to gently smooth her fingers through your curls, complimenting the way they frame your face. You roll your eyes shyly and there’s a dimpled smile stretching on your cheeks that gives you away.
Before you leave, the lady points to Jeongguk, voice growing earnest. “You, handsome. I can see you’re a good guy, so you probably don’t need my advice. But treat her right, yes?”
Jeongguk stills for a second and stumbles over an awkward nod, managing to force a smile that has you stifling a laugh under your scarf. You tug him away with a cheerful wave to your new friend, promising her you’ll come visit again before Christmas.
Once you’re at a safe distance, he mutters, “Why did you not tell her that we’re not together?”
You tilt your head considering his question. “It’s not like she knows us. She looked like she adored you. I didn’t want to ruin that for her. Maybe seeing a young couple like us really means a lot to her.”
Jeongguk observes how the more you explain, the more you’re convincing yourself as much as him, eventually solidifying your reasoning as you nod. He scoffs, looking away to hide his lips twitching up.
When he turns back he’s frowning, though it doesn’t quite match the way he lets you hook arms again, with your pastel pink bag that has been hanging on his shoulder ever since you told him it felt too heavy on yours.
Still, he sulks as though the mere thought of your observation has him shivering, and not with the cold. “We’re not a couple.”
Jeongguk barely gets to let his unnecessarily petty comment out before you drag him with an unusual strength over to another stand, his voice seemingly not even touching your ears. “Oh, let’s go over there, Gguk!”
On the twenty-first day or December, you send him a picture of your tattoo.
You had been talking non-stop ever since your… date? Or was it just a hangout?
Whatever it was, it’s been a week, and Jeongguk finds himself smiling at a fucking screen too many times a day for his linking. It’s irritating.
Even brings his phone with him to the bathroom in case you text him. Not because he cares. No, it’s practical. What if you ever had an emergency and he was the only one who could help? Most of the time it’s just you sending TikToks, but he clicks on the links with the same urgency he’d reply to a genuine plea for help.
He doesn’t really want to think of the reason why.
Now, this picture— it catches Jeongguk off guard.
It doesn’t even look like it’s about the tattoo. Not really. It feels like an excuse, a flimsy pretext for you to show yourself to him.
The tattoo — the one he himself inked — is there, yes. But it’s not at all the main focus of the photo that has his grip tightening around his phone.
You’re wearing a thin, white tank top with delicate lace trim, the straps barely clinging to your shoulders. Your fingers hook under the neckline, tugging it down just enough to expose the tattoo nestled between the soft curve of your breasts.
The angle of the shot is deliberate, he can tell.
Your back arches slightly off what he assumes is your bed, and your face is cropped out, save for your glossed lips, full and slightly parted, catching the dim light.
Jeongguk blinks, hard.
Then again.
His throat bobs as he swallows thickly, the low light of his phone screen doing little to soften the image burning itself into his mind. His eyes dart upward, scanning his surroundings, just to make sure everything is in place.
The shop is empty, the door is closed, the hum of quiet settles over the space.
The picture stares back at him paired with a single message.
Dimples [11:39 p.m.]: do you think it’s healed? need your help 🥺
He’s not stupid. He knows exactly what this is.
He alternates between the photo and your words, jaw ticking and tightening more with the seconds flowing.
It’s almost cruel, the way you’re testing him like this. He tries to push the feeling down, to reject the buzz of heat pooling low in his stomach. You know him well enough to know he won’t reply to something like this. An unnecessary question. The tattoo is healed — he told you that a week ago, clear as day. There’s no reason for you to ask again.
What’s the purpose of this, then?
He gets a distorted idea when he shifts uncomfortably in place, the dull ache tightening his pants almost unbearable now.
Jeongguk groans and locks his phone, tossing it onto the counter as if that will put an end to this. He tries to refocus on his tasks, the last ones before he clocks off. Cleaning needles, throwing away used stencils.
But his heavy balls keep sending desperate, silent prayers to his brain, to please let them have this. Just this once.
It’s been a bad day. Two of his appointments canceled last minute, leaving him to sit around bored. The last client showed up drunk and wouldn’t stop trying to flirt with him. His coworkers were loud and distracting, and to top it all off, the heater broke, leaving the studio freezing cold.
It’s been such a bad day.
So, what’s the harm? It’s not like anyone will know. Not you, not his friends. He’s the only one that will. And he’s far more willing to live with this dirty secret rather than with his hard dick straining achingly in its confines.
Jeongguk abruptly snatches up his phone again, unlocking it to the same picture that caused him to brush the device aside just minutes ago. He lets out a shaky breath, thumb hovering over the screen.
You won’t get no reply from him. But if you knew what he was up to right now, you would probably simper. Tease him, with your warm smile that digs dimples in your cheeks; timidly play with your hair, with those perfectly manicured hands of yours.
“Shit,” his free hand is already pushing the jeans down along with his boxers, and he drops his weight onto the nearest stool as he grips at the base of his thick cock, eyes devouring the image of you on his screen.
He doesn’t zoom in. That would feel too shameless. But he finds it oddly better like this. Is it weird that your text, so innocently worded, is turning him on? That the simple idea of you needing his help is enough to have his hips jerking?
What could you possibly need his help for?
Fuck.
The different ideas that pool his mind have him squeezing harder at his growing tip.
Jeongguk focuses on your dainty hand, slim pointer finger snaking under the collar of your flimsy shirt to show yourself to him, and your small boobs spill from the sides with a delicious, soft swell. He hisses when he pictures that same hand working on him instead, his warm mouth stuffed with your stiff nipples, visible through the sheer material.
He can’t help the loud groan leaving his lips, wrist flickering up and down in a motion that feels sloppy way too soon, hips jutting up to fuck into his tight fist.
Throwing his head back, he sees you even behind closed eyelids.
He pictures your delicate figure sprawled on his bed, long lashes batting up at him as you sheepishly hide with your cheek to your shoulder. Can clearly make out how you’d sit on his lap instead, unsteady breath fanning over his lips, using his long shaft to make yourself cum.
The whole time, he sees the tattoo on your chest, the one that is forever on you, eternally a reminder of him.
When he lets his head topple forward again, his bright screen still stares at him, only because a new message pops up in the chat. He startles, and his cock throbs in his hand.
Dimples [11:52 p.m.]: oh, and i miss you.
“Oh, fuck,” the curse is strained through a loud whine, followed by more of his full moans filling the room. His brows knit the more his hand moves rapidly, palm collecting the precum spreading embarrassingly fast on his tip and rolling it down his length.
He focuses on your parted lips, the soft curve of your breast, your hard nipples begging to be sucked and spit on. Your last text has flashes of your bug-like eyes staring up at him seizing his mind.
That’s what undoes him.
He’s delirious as he lets out his every sound, freely, unchecked, not caring about how loud he is, whimpering as he gets closer to his climax.
When he thinks of those eyes locking with his, kneeling before him, eager and willing to swallow his every drop, he cums. Hard.
Jeongguk pumps everything he can out of him, and it’s messy — spilling over his hand, staining his clothes, pooling on the floor. His chest heaves with the effort, and the sensation of abandon he feels is so pleasurable, energy drained but leaving him with a lightness that threatens to make his cock hard again.
Fuck. He can’t afford that happening if you’re not the one attending his needs. This won’t be enough, not until it’s you. He’s insatiable.
Jeongguk needs to hear your voice.
It’s an instinct, and he bends to it. He’s careful not to tap on the FaceTime option, because if you were to see him right now, it’d be glaringly obvious what a sinner he’s been.
When he looks to the side, he catches a glimpse of his reflection in the long mirror, and he visibly grimaces at the way his cheeks are flushed, how pearls of sweat coat his forehead and cause his bangs to stick uncomfortably to the skin.
Guilty doesn’t even begin to cover it.
With the phone to his ear beeping to eternity, he hesitates, contemplates ending the call before you can answer. But just then, you do.
“Jeongguk! Is everything okay?”
Your voice is familiarly soft, but there’s a trace of concern. Blinking, he brings the device closer to his ear and gulps thickly when he can make out your panting breaths.
He clears his throat and puts on his best nonchalant act. “Huh— Yes. Why wouldn’t it be?”
“I don’t know… You just never call. Or text first. This is weird. You sure you’re okay?”
Oh. Is that really what it is like?
Jeongguk never realized this was how he came across — so detached that a simple phone call feels out of character. Your naive honesty hits him square in the chest. God, he needs to get better at this.
The irony stings: he just fucking jerked off to your picture and the simple thought of you, while you’re on the other side thinking he’s a careless piece of shit who doesn’t even know how to call.
The long stretch of silence registers in his brain, and he coughs to buy time. “Yes, I’m sure. I— huh,” he thinks of stuff you usually ask to keep the conversation flowing. Not out of courtesy, but out of genuine interest, the curiosity that makes people want to open up.
He’s still not used to that. Still finds it hard to accept vulnerability. He knows he can be with you, though.
“How… How was your day?”
It must be equally weird for you because it takes you a longer beat to reply. In that quiet moment, he clenches his eyes shut and feels his jaw tick with shame. And embarrassment. And this icky feeling that makes him feel too mushy for his liking. Hell, what is he doing? He’s never been like this, he’s not supposed to be like this.
But you recover quickly, as you always do, and you smooth over the moment. Fix it all for him like you were born to be just that. Make him feel like he fits in ways that have him exhaling shakily.
Jeongguk senses a foreign drumming in his stomach. It’s warm but odd, and he loves it but he doesn’t want to.
On the twenty-fifth day of December, cheekily under a mistletoe, Jeongguk realizes he wants you.
There are parts of him that probably knew way sooner. But the parts of him that didn’t, fighting tooth and nail to suppress the mere thought, are finally surrendering.
Jeongguk has always found you admirable, ever since high school. You had this determination to you, not only when it came to him. It shone particularly when you catered to others, finding ways to help, to mend, to offer yourself with a fully toothed smile and expect nothing back.
But he’s also always thought you two were — and still are — too different to work. He can’t be what you want, let alone what you deserve: someone who can match your enthusiasm and unwavering smiles, your frustrating positivity; someone who sees the world the way you do.
No black, no grey, no shades in between. Just bright, hopeful white. Blinding white.
It’s the white making him dizzy, shifting his perspective, making him believe the opposite of what he’s always known. Pushing him to be a little more egoistical, deceiving himself that he’s right for you.
Because he wants to be.
He oh, so selfishly wants people to know he’s the one who finally gets to have you, the one gifted with such a light, unreasonably deserving of all the love you carry into every room you walk into.
Just a few days ago, during another one of your increasingly frequent phone calls, you asked him what he was doing for Christmas. He could have lied, come up with something on the spot.
But you so easily coax the truth out of him, so he let it slip. He told you he’d be alone, words subtly heavy. But they didn’t have the chance to even drop their weight before you were already inviting him to your friend’s party, insisting that he would be the most welcome.
And now he’s here, and he sits beside you, and every time you laugh you lean your weight over him, and the room vibrates with the energy you fill it with, and each one of your friends is so enamoured with you, and for reasons he can’t fully understand it fills him with a sense of pride that shouldn’t belong to him. But it does, and it comes with so many other feelings.
You don’t push him to talk. You never force him into the spotlight when he takes a step back, quietly observing, choosing to stay in the background. Because you read him like it’s in your nature to do so, your soul seems to intuitively melt with his, and it intertwines in such a tight knot that he feels it constrict his throat. He knows he’s still alive because his heart is beating, faster with each time you flash your dimples at him.
“Dimples. What are you doing, hm?”
Now, he’s in front of you, a small smile on his lips as you stand on your tiptoes, trying to dangle the mistletoe over both your heads. You’re struggling just a little, your hand unable to reach high enough, and the fake plant awkwardly brushes his hair, the tickling sensation causing his nose to scrunch. You laugh.
Looking up at your swinging movements, you lose your balance for the slightest second. Jeongguk’s hands move instinctively, catching you promptly by the waist to steady your body. But even after that, he doesn’t move, his warm palms stilling. And when you face him, he’s closer and his chest brushes against yours. From this proximity, he witnesses the Christmas lights painting a galaxy of their own in your orbs.
You beam. “What does it look like? We have to kiss now.”
Jeongguk stares in your expectant eyes, brows wiggling and all. The more his mouth keeps in a straight line, the more your wiggling slows. You eventually come down from your tiptoes, letting the mistletoe fall to the side, tilting your head.
He snorts, looking away briefly to hide an embarrassingly wide grin behind his hand. When he turns back to you, your pout is enough to have him scrambling to meet your gaze.
“On one condition, though.”
You chirp. “Yeah?”
He licks his teeth, reserving you with a smug look. “Admit that you were scared to get your tattoo.”
Your smile vanishes in an instant. With a dramatic roll of your eyes, you turn on your heels, pretending to walk away from him. Pretending, only because you know he won’t let you. And you’re proven right when his fingers wrap around your arm, tugging you back with enough force to spin you into him.
Suddenly, you’re pressed so close you can feel the heat radiating from him. Your chin nearly touches his chest as you glare up at him, narrowed eyes meeting the mischievous glint in his.
He bites a smile, lips twitching. “C’mon, princess. You wanted to act all tough and shit, but I could feel you shaking.”
Your scoff is loud and incredulous. “You’re so annoying.”
He only shrugs. “You want my kiss, no?”
“Oh my god,” groaning, it’s your turn to face the side to hide a grin. “Are you always this cocky?”
His chin tilts upward slightly, and you can tell he’s enjoying this. “Say it.”
You whip back to meet him with a seriousness he hardly ever sees on you, and you even clear your throat, channeling every ounce of the determination he knows you for, every drop of resolve that makes you you. “Yes. I was scared shitless, Jeongguk.”
Foreign excitement brims out of him. His eyes widen just a fraction, and his nose scrunches the more he leans closer to you, inches from you, swinging side to side with exaggerated mockery and a grin splitting his face. “See! I knew—hmph.”
There’s no other second to waste.
The condition has been met, and now there are all the requirements for you to claim what you were promised, your reward. Even more when kissing him means catching him mid-taunt and silencing whatever teasing remark he had ready.
Your lips touch his in effortless ease, breaking the air as they press together. It’s tentative at first, almost uncertain as you feel Jeongguk remain still.
But it doesn’t take him longer to move, mouth molding against yours in a sickeningly sweet hug, tasting each other with hungry curiosity, still taking your time to adjust and melt, instructing your bodies to imitate the dance.
Your arms lock around his neck, his stronger and tattooed ones circle your waist, and the way you click together feels so right, almost too perfect, so perfect it scares you.
When you arch yourself further into him, even the already non-existent space between you unbearable, he accompanies the motion with his wide palms gliding along your back, squeezing you into him, feeling the curve of your hips.
The soft whine that vibrates against his lips betrays you and the useless effort to contain the intensity of what you’re feeling. The emotion disarms you, the sound gasping in your chest, but in Jeongguk’s arms it feels safe to let go.
On Christmas day, you crown a childish fantasy, the kind you’ll look back to even when you’re older.
Jeongguk feels like he could be at your side to do so. With that same smile he breaks in against your lips, his vulnerable whisper fanning over them.
˙⋆✮ They say having feelings for your brother's best friend is never a good idea...
But loving Jungkook feels like the easiest thing in the world.
He's been by your side for as long as you can remember, so it's only natural for you to feel devastated when your brother, Dohyun, tells you that Jungkook is about to get married.
For the first time ever, loving him doesn't feel easy at all.
pairing: brother's best friend!jungkook × f!reader
cw: age gap (jk is 32, reader is 22 ops), tension, reader is WHIPPED, pining, initial unrequited love (my fav), eventual smut (!!adding new warnings when needed!!)
>>english is not my first language
chapter 05 | masterlist
⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒
You get ready, honestly not knowing what to expect from him.
You brush your hair as you stare at yourself in the mirror. The outfit you are wearing reflects your anxiety perfectly: grey sweatpants and a black shirt clinging to your chest.
What does he want to talk about? You? This absurd situation?
You put on your shoes, hopping on one leg as you glance at the clock hanging right above the door.
You run to your car, the strong wind almost making you stop in your tracks.
When you finally park, you realize the beach is still not warm enough for a heart-to-heart conversation, but you grit your teeth and make your way through the few people wandering aimlessly along the sidewalk leading to the shore.
He is sitting there on the sand, absentmindedly staring at the water.
You approach him carefully, almost afraid of making too much noise.
He seems peaceful, but you doubt the thoughts running through his head are anything but chaotic.
“Hi, sweetheart.”
Jungkook turns around at the feeling of your fingers lightly tapping his shoulder.
“Hi, Jungkook.”
A moment of silence lingers between the two of you. You decide it is time to stop standing there like an idiot and sit down beside him. His big eyes seem to smile at the quiet laugh that escapes you when you greet him.
God, you are hopeless.
“Are you cold?”
Jungkook asks as soon as he notices your trembling fingers.
He does not wait for an answer before handing you his leather jacket, completely unbothered by the chilly night air.
You immediately refuse, arguing that he is going to catch a cold, but of course he insists, being the caring and loving Jungkook you have always known.
You hope he does not notice your cheeks turning red when you finally put it on.
“Well…”
“So…”
You both stop, embarrassed after speaking at the same time.
You stare at your hands- playing with the ring Dohyun gave you on your eighteenth birthday.
Jungkook smiles at the sight. His mind drifts back to the day his best friend called him in a panic, desperately asking for advice on what gift to buy you.
You do not know it was Jungkook who chose that ring for you.
“You first” you whisper, as though you are about to hear the biggest secret of your life, one of those secrets that are impossible to keep.
“How have you been?”
The question catches you off guard because it is not what you were expecting at all.
You were prepared to answer questions about Yoongi, to hear him lose his mind over the unexpected friendship. Heck, you had even convinced yourself he wanted to talk about the storage room incident.
But you are definitely not prepared to talk about yourself.
“Oh, um… I have been doing pretty well. Summer is just around the corner, so things are getting pretty hectic at work.”
He nods, understanding exactly what you mean.
“What about you? Everything alright?”
He nods at first. You can tell he is thinking deeply about something, but he does not dare say a word.
“It has been alright, sweetie. Same old, same old.”
You watch him carefully, unconvinced by his tone.
“Is the old lady in room thirty seven still trying to get in your pants?”
You laugh as you remember how traumatized he looked when, right after his shift, he basically ran out of the hospital to find you and Dohyun, complaining about how a 68-year-old woman had nearly squeezed his “massive tits” to death.
He lets out a heartfelt laugh, his bunny teeth peeking out beneath his scrunched up nose.
“What can I say? Grannies love me.”
You smack his arm and tell him to shut up.
The two of you are still chuckling as you watch a boat drifting in the distance, its lights barely visible against the darkness.
“Do you remember when you thought you were dying the first time you got your period?”
Your mouth falls open.
You cannot believe he remembers that.
“Oh God, please don’t even think about continuing this conversation.”
He nudges your shoulder, looking at you with the most beautiful smile you have ever seen.
“You ran straight into Dohyun’s room, crying of course, and screaming at the top of your lungs. You nearly fell on your ass when you realized I was in there too.”
You grab a handful of sand and throw it at him, making him shield his face with his arms.
“Yeah, well, I was just a little kid.”
He looks you up and down for a moment and the faintest smile appears on his face.
“I know. You have grown into an amazing woman.”
You say nothing.
You know the small talk has to end eventually, you know he’s not here to chit chat, but you find yourself thinking about how much you missed spending time with Jungkook.
Nights like this always used to make you forget every worry, all because of him.
“I missed you.”
The words leave your mouth before you can stop them.
You regret them immediately.
Panic rises in your chest when he does not say it back.
Was it too much?
Maybe he does not think you are as close as you imagine.
Or maybe he simply has not missed you.
You are about to laugh awkwardly and brush it off when a pair of strong arms suddenly wraps around you, nearly making you lose your balance.
You freeze for a moment, your heartbeat going wild, your eyes almost stinging with unshed tears.
Then you stop overthinking and hug him back.
His warmth is so familiar. His scent fills your lungs.
“I missed you too, Y/n.”
He presses a kiss to your forehead, and you wish you could remember the feeling of his lips against your skin forever.
You stay like that for a while, neither of you daring to move.
The sound of the waves acts almost like a lullaby, slowly lulling you into a peaceful drowsiness.
“Sophie and I had an argument. A pretty bad one.”
And just like that, your drowsiness disappears.
Your little bubble bursts.
“She knows I love her, and I know she loves me too. When Sophie called me and told me she was with you and Yoongi that day, something inside me felt- I don’t know- betrayed.”
You break away from the embrace and scoot farther from him, as if putting some space between you might help you regain the composure that had nearly slipped through your fingers just moments ago.
He keeps talking.
“I was so young when I first met Sophie. So naive.
It was love at first sight. I was completely in love with her. I still am.
She makes me the happiest man in the world.
But when she cheated on me, some of that love turned into doubt.”
Despite loving him so deeply, your heart breaks for him.
You can only imagine the pain he had to endure.
“Jungkook-”
He stops you before you can say anything.
“It was with him. She cheated on me with Yoongi.”
You are speechless.
You had assumed his resentment toward Yoongi came solely from the fact that he was Sophie’s ex.
“I asked them not to see each other again. That was the only condition I had if Sophie wanted us to stay together. She agreed.”
Your back straightens as you fully turn toward him.
“Jungkook, it’s my fault. I met Yoongi at a club and thought I could keep it a secret as long as neither of you found out.”
You honestly do not know why you feel compelled to defend Sophie.
You could let her take all the blame.
You could let Jungkook suffer under his assumptions until the pain finally faded away.
But you cannot bring yourself to do that.
You could never do that to him.
“I can assure you they have not seen each other before then.”
You notice his shoulders physically relax, dropping ever so slightly.
Jungkook pulls you into another hug, and you can practically feel the gratitude radiating from him.
“Thank you, sweetie. I trust your word more than anything.”
You pat his back, trying to comfort him.
His words hurt.
Your heart hurts: it wants nothing more than for you to finally confess, to tell him you love him more than you love yourself.
To let go.
“Do you want to get out of here?”
The question comes from you, an attempt to distract yourself from how fiercely you burn for him.
He gets to his feet, dusting the sand off his pants before extending a hand toward you.
“Where to?”
You take his hand and start walking, telling him to just trust you.
About thirty minutes later, you arrive at a place that is just as beautiful as you remember.
The park is empty. Every now and then, the bushes rustle softly as the two of you walk side by side.
“I used to come here all the time. I don’t know why, but this place always felt so comforting.”
Jungkook nods as he takes in the surroundings.
“I get that.”
It is not long before you spot the small treehouse you used to play in as a child.
You grab Jungkook’s hand and excitedly drag him toward it.
“Oh my God, I used to climb up there all the time. Grandpa always said I was a little monkey, constantly looking for trouble from above.”
Jungkook smiles as he watches you admire the old tree.
“Want to go up there?”
You hesitate at first, but one look at his excited expression is enough to make you agree.
He stands behind you, his hands resting on your waist.
“Ready?” he whispers to your ear, goosebumps slowly taking over your whole body.
“Yeah” you whisper back.
He lifts you up, and you settle onto the small wooden platform before he climbs up after you.
You sit together, his knee brushing against yours, silence surrounding you both.
Slowly, you rest your head on his shoulder and let out a content sigh.
“I want to move out and live on my own. I think I finally saved enough money to support myself.”
“Mhm. I think that’s a great idea.”
He leans his head gently against yours.
“Jimin can help you look for apartments. You know you can ask him.”
You glance at the hand resting on his knee. The urge to take it in yours is as strong as ever.
You ignore the thought, choosing instead to enjoy the moment.
“I know, that’s his job after all.”
Jungkook’s phone suddenly rings. It’s Sophie.
He just stares at the screen as though he has forgotten how to use it.
“That bad, huh?”
He chuckles softly at your question, still looking down at the screen.
“This is stupid. We rarely fight like this.”
He decides not to answer, putting his phone back into his pocket.
You feel a little guilty knowing Sophie is probably waiting for Jungkook at home, wondering what is taking him so long to get back.
“Everything is going to be fine, Kook. I promise.”
He smiles at the nickname, gently ruffling your hair and thanking you.
The two of you end up staring at the stars, the wind having calmed down just a little.
You cannot believe how strange it feels to be hanging out with Jungkook like this. It used to be your favorite thing in the world, but now it somehow brings more pain than it should.
You love him, but you also hate him.
You hate him for being so present in your life: for always being there for you, for growing up with you, and for ruining you for anyone else-
Both your mind and your heart are stained with Jungkook’s presence.
“What about you, sweetie?”
His question pulls you out of your thoughts. You turn to him with raised eyebrows, your mouth slightly open.
“What do you mean?”
He gently boops your nose and leans just a little closer to you.
“Has anyone managed to steal your heart yet?”
Oh.
You honestly do not know how or what to answer.
He has always given you relationship advice whenever you were in one, so you really should not be surprised by his sudden interest in your love life.
Your eyes meet his bright ones, full of curiosity and expectation.
You do not know what insane part of your mind compels you to open up to him, but you do.
To you, Jungkook (aside from being the love of your life) is your go-to person, your best friend.
Talking to him has never been difficult. Every sad moment you have ever shared with him fades into the back of your mind the second he is there, simply comforting you.
You feel like you need to get this huge weight off your chest somehow, so you finally speak.
“Yeah.”
His eyes widen so quickly you almost think they are going to pop out of his head.
“Oh shit Y/N, who is it?”
You play with your hands, deliberately refusing to look at him.
In any other situation, his curiosity and need to know every detail would have made you laugh, but right now you’re so terrified of saying the wrong thing that your breath catches in your throat.
“There is no way I am telling you that. You would tease me like every other time we see each other.”
He laughs, not even trying to deny it.
“Must be someone I know then.”
He jokes. You think you’re about to faint.
“Can you at least tell me a bit more about him?”
You squint at him, seriously considering whether you should regret opening your mouth and just run away from this conversation entirely.
“He is… beautiful.”
You clear your throat as the words leave your mouth softer than you intended, almost like a confession you were not supposed to survive saying out loud.
Jungkook does not laugh this time.
Instead, he just looks at you, waiting, like he
understands this is not something he can turn into a joke.
You swallow, forcing yourself to continue because stopping now would feel like tearing something out of your chest.
“He is beautiful in a way that doesn’t even feel real” you say quietly. “Like… the kind of beautiful that makes you forget what you were thinking about. Mind blowing.”
Your fingers tighten around each other in your lap.
“And it isn’t just his face” you add, your voice getting thinner, more fragile. “It’s the way he is with people. The way he listens like you are the only person that exists when you are talking. The way he remembers things you said years ago-things you forgot yourself.”
You let out a small breath, almost a laugh, but there is no humor in it.
“He is kind in a way that does not ask for anything back. He gives and gives and gives, like it’s the most natural thing in the world. And somehow it never feels forced. It’s just- him.”
You finally glance at Jungkook, and for a second your voice almost breaks.
“And the worst part is that he doesn’t even know it. He doesn’t know what he does to people. To me.”
The wind brushes past you both, colder now, quieter.
You look away again quickly, like holding his gaze would undo you completely.
“He makes everything feel lighter when he is around” you whisper.
“And heavier when he is not.”
Your throat tightens, and you swallow hard again.
“I think I hate that the most.” you admit, barely audible. “I cannot stop feeling it. Loving him. No matter how much time passes, nothing changes.”
You force a small, broken breath out of your lungs.
“He is just… someone I should have gotten over a long time ago” you finish, voice cracking at the edges, “but I never did.”
Your chest does not feel lighter like you thought jt would. It feels worse.
The truth is sitting right there, unfinished, burning the back of your throat.
You swallow, your fingers tightening together again.
“Let me help you.”
You almost choke on a laugh at the sheer absurdity of what he has just said. For a moment, you genuinely wonder if he can hear himself. The idea is so ridiculous that it borders on comedy. Shaking your head, you reach out and flick his forehead with your finger, an amused laugh escaping your lips as you turn to face him again.
“That’s honestly one of the craziest things I’ve ever heard.”
Jungkook immediately places a hand over his chest, looking deeply offended by your reaction, as though you’ve just insulted him on a personal level.
“Hey- listen.” he says, pointing at himself for emphasis. “Men are simple creatures. Much simpler than you think. You women have way more power over us than you realize, and half the time you don’t even know you’re using it.”
You can’t help laughing at the confidence written all over his face. He sounds so sure of himself that it’s almost convincing.
“I’m a man too, remember?” he continues. “I know exactly what makes us weak and how fast we can lose every bit of self-control we have. Trust me, Y/n. If you let me help you, we’ll have him on his knees for you in no time.”
The image alone is enough to send an unwanted shiver down your spine.
Jungkook on his knees. Looking at you like he wants you.
You quickly shake your head, trying to force the thought out of your mind before it settles there for too long. Jungkook notices immediately, watching you with curious eyes.
“We can’t do that.”
Your voice comes out quieter than you intended as you tuck a strand of hair behind your ear.
“I swear, Y/N, it’ll be easier than you think. With my help, we can-”
“He’s taken.”
The words finally leave your mouth after being trapped there for what feels like forever.
You’ve rehearsed that sentence a thousand times in your head, yet saying it aloud still feels terrifying. Part of you knows it shouldn’t matter. Another part knows exactly how dangerous it is to admit this to him.
For a few seconds, Jungkook says nothing. His mouth opens, then closes again. He repeats the motion several times, as if searching for the right thing to say and coming up empty every single time.
Finally, his expression softens.
“Oh, sweetie…” he says quietly. “That must be awful.”
You don’t answer. You simply hold his gaze.
The thought of letting him see how badly your heart hurts terrifies you more than it should. You hate how vulnerable it makes you feel. You hate how every part of you longs for him and only him.
“Yeah,” you murmur after a long pause. “It’s pretty bad.”
.✦ ݁˖
Days pass after that conversation.
You don’t see Jungkook once.
The last time you heard his voice was over the phone when he called to tell you that he and Sophie had finally worked things out. They had talked things through, apologized, and somehow managed to fix whatever had been broken between them.
You don’t know why the news made you feel relieved.
Maybe because the possibility of confessing your feelings had become so real that it was starting to suffocate you. Maybe because a small, selfish part of you had been terrified of what you would do if he suddenly became available. Whatever the reason, hearing that they had reconciled felt like having a weight lifted from your shoulders, even if another one immediately took its place.
“Why didn’t you tell me?”
Yoongi pauses mid-step, his expression turning apologetic as he follows you through the dress section of the store.
You had asked him to come to the mall with you because he insisted he wanted to talk, and because you needed something to wear to the wedding. It seemed like a harmless enough plan.
Now it feels anything but harmless.
He stops behind you, clearly caught off guard by the question.
“I didn’t know we’d run into each other like that.”
Your fingers brush across different fabrics as you move through the racks. Silk. Satin. Lace. None of the dresses truly catch your attention except for the few hanging over your arm.
“I didn’t think it was something you needed to know.” He adds.
You slowly turn around to face him.
“What the fuck, Yoongi?”
Your voice comes out sharper than intended.
“You knew exactly what you were doing. Do you realize we could’ve ruined their relationship? Their entire marriage could’ve been affected.”
He scoffs and folds his arms across his chest.
Then, unbelievably, he smirks.
“As if you would’ve hated that” he says. “Come on. You’ve been waiting to sleep with him for years. I had to put up with your endless Jungkook-talk for weeks.”
The words hit you so hard that you physically step back.
For a moment, all the noise of the shopping mall disappears.
The dresses in your hands suddenly feel heavy.
Without saying another word, you turn around and shove them back onto the nearest rack before storming out of the store.
“Y/N, wait.”
Yoongi immediately follows after you.
“I’m sorry. I didn’t mean it like that.”
You keep walking.
An ugly feeling rises inside your chest, hot and bitter and dangerously close to hatred.
“No-” you snap. “You know what? I didn’t expect that from you. I thought we could be open with each other.”
Your pace quickens.
“You know exactly how I feel. Hell, out of everyone, you know exactly what it’s like to love someone unconditionally. Do you seriously think I want them to break up?”
Yoongi stays silent.
“As if that would make me feel better.” you continue, your voice trembling with anger. “I could never do that to him. I could never hurt him like that. They love each other, Yoongi. They chose each other. And no matter how much it hurts, I respect that. So please, for once, get that through your head.”
You don’t wait for a response.
The moment you reach the parking lot, you practically run toward your car.
Your hands shake as you unlock it.
For a brief second, an overwhelming urge to punch something takes over. To scream. To break something. To make all the frustration disappear.
Instead, you swallow it down.
You climb into the driver’s seat, start the engine, and drive away.
By the time you get home, the pressure in your chest feels unbearable.
You rush upstairs, slam your bedroom door shut behind you, and throw yourself onto the bed.
The silence lasts only a second.
Then the tears finally come.
All the emotions you’ve been holding back crash into you at once. You bury your face into your pillow and scream as loudly as you can, hoping the sound will somehow carry away some of the pain.
When the room finally falls silent again, you lie there exhausted, staring at nothing.
Yoongi is still your friend.
And despite everything, despite how angry and hurt you are, the image of him standing there alone in the middle of the mall looking like an idiot makes guilt creep into your chest.
For a moment, you even consider reaching for your phone.
Part of you wants to call him.
Part of you wants to apologize.
But another part of you knows that, this time, he owes you the apology.
.✦ ݁˖
The place is breathtaking.
You hate yourself a little for thinking this- but Sophie has impeccable taste.
The moment your car pulls into the long gravel driveway, you understand why she had been so desperate for everyone’s approval. The venue looks like something pulled straight out of a fairytale, the kind of place little girls imagine when they think about castles and grand romances.
A wide stone staircase stretches toward the entrance, each step framed by carefully maintained gardens overflowing with white roses, climbing ivy, and flowers you can’t even name. The building itself rises proudly above the landscape, its pale stone walls glowing beneath the afternoon sunlight. Tall arched windows reflect the sky, while elegant towers frame the structure, giving it the appearance of an old European castle that somehow survived untouched by time.
The property is surrounded by ancient trees whose branches sway lazily in the warm breeze. Beyond them, in the distance, the sea glimmers beneath the sun, a strip of blue so vivid it almost looks painted against the horizon. Every now and then, the wind carries the scent of saltwater through the gardens, mixing with the fragrance of flowers and freshly cut grass.
You can already imagine wedding photos being taken here.
You can already imagine Sophie falling in love with it the second she saw it.
“It’s ridiculous” Jimin says somewhere behind you. “How are normal people supposed to get married after seeing something like this?”
“I was literally thinking the same thing” Dohyun replies. “This place has ruined every future wedding venue for me.”
Sophie beams proudly at the reactions, clearly enjoying every second of it.
“I told you it was worth the drive.”
Nobody disagrees.
Everyone slowly disperses around the grounds, exploring different corners of the property while Sophie eagerly points out details she has already planned for the ceremony.
You find yourself wandering toward one of the stone railings overlooking the gardens when someone joins you.
“You’ve been unusually quiet today.”
You glance sideways.
Taehyung leans against the railing beside you, his hands resting casually in his pockets as he studies your face.
“I’m always quiet.”
“No” he says immediately. “You pretend to be quiet. There’s a difference.”
A small laugh escapes you despite yourself.
“Is that your professional diagnosis?”
“Absolutely. I’ve been observing your weird little habits.”
You shake your head.
The comfortable silence that follows lasts only a few moments.
Taehyung eventually tilts his head.
“Did something happen?”
You hesitate.
The fight with Yoongi has been sitting heavily in your chest for days now. You haven’t spoken to him since the mall, and although part of you is still angry, another part misses him more than you want to admit.
You hesitate.
The fight with Yoongi has been sitting heavily in your chest for days now. You haven’t spoken to him since the mall, and although part of you is still angry, another part misses him more than you want to admit.
You stare out at the sea for a moment before answering.
“You remember that friend I used to tell you about? The one I met at that club weeks ago.”
His expression immediately changes.
“The friend who basically adopted you after one conversation?”
You nod.
“Yeah. That was Yoongi.”
For a moment, Taehyung simply stares at you.
Then his eyes widen.
“Wait.”
You already know where this is going
“Taehyung.”
He almost makes you trip as he grabs you by the shoulders
“That Yoongi?”
You wince.
“Could you not yell it across the entire property?”
“THAT Yoongi?” he repeats, this time slightly quieter but no less shocked. “As in Sophie’s ex-boyfriend Yoongi?”
“Unfortunately, yes.”
His mouth falls open.
You’re not even sure why he’s acting so surprised. He knows Yoongi and Sophie dated.
“You never told me.”
“It never came up.”
“It never came up?” he repeats. “Y/n, that is absolutely the kind of information people casually mention.”
You shrug.
“By the time I realized they were the same person, it felt weird to bring up.”
Taehyung lets out a disbelieving laugh and drags a hand down his face.
“So what happened?”
You know he isn’t talking about the coincidence anymore.
You sigh.
“We fought.”
“A bad one?”
“Yeah.”
He nods slowly, giving you time to continue if you want to.
The two of you remain there for another moment, watching the sunlight dance across the distant water, before eventually rejoining the rest of the group.
Taehyung runs a hand through his hair, still trying to process it.
“So all this time you’ve been talking about your mysterious friend from the club and it was him?”
“Yes.”
He stares at you for another few seconds before groaning dramatically.
“I hate finding out life-changing information in random conversations.”
“You’ll survive.”
The conversation eventually drifts elsewhere, and find yourself feeling lighter.
The rest of the day passes surprisingly quickly.
Everyone explores the venue together, argues over potential seating arrangements they have absolutely no authority over, and continuously bothers Sophie with increasingly ridiculous suggestions that she pretends to consider before immediately rejecting.
By the time the sun begins lowering toward the horizon, painting the sky in shades of gold and orange, the entire group has gathered on one of the large terraces overlooking the sea.
You are halfway through listening to Hoseok explain why he should be trusted with the wedding playlist when Jungkook suddenly clears his throat.
That alone is enough to make everyone suspicious.
Jungkook exchanges a glance with Sophie.
Immediately, several people begin groaning.
“Okay, since everybody’s here…” He wraps an arm around Sophie’s shoulders. “We wanted to tell you something.”
The group quiets.
“We’ve been planning this for a while, but we finally finished organizing everything.”
Sophie’s smile somehow grows even wider.
“About a month before the wedding, we’re going on a trip.”
Several voices immediately overlap.
“What? When? How?” Namjoon asks, running his fingers through his hair.
Jungkook laughs.
“Relax. You’ll get details later.”
“That’s not how announcements work” Taehyung complains.
“The important part” Sophie continues, “is that you’re all invited.”
For a moment, nobody says anything.
Then the terrace erupts.
Questions fly from every direction. Jimin nearly knocks over his chair. Hoseok demands immediate answers. Namjoon attempts to create some kind of organized discussion and is completely ignored.
You find yourself laughing along with everyone else.
For the first time in weeks, your thoughts aren’t occupied by complicated feelings, impossible situations, or conversations you’d rather forget.
Instead, you’re surrounded by people who somehow became family.
The sea stretches endlessly beyond the terrace, reflecting the last traces of sunlight as evening slowly settles over the estate. Around you, laughter fills the air, blending with the distant sound of waves and the occasional cry of seagulls drifting across the horizon.
As you watch Jungkook and Sophie standing together at the center of it all, looking happier than ever, you realize that despite everything- despite all the feelings you’ve spent so long trying to bury, this is exactly where you’re supposed to be.
───────────
author’s note:
Hey everyone, it’s finally here!!! Sorry for keeping you waiting, I’ve been super busy lately :(
Jungkook as a doctor?!!!!? We love to see it 🫦
also Yoongi, honey, you gotta do better than that :/
it takes less than three summers for you to fall hopelessly in love with jeon jungkook, but only one night for him to turn that stupid teenage crush into history. ten years later, when you uproot your entire life to finally pursue your dream of opening a bakery, you find yourself right across the street from him again, and realize that maybe your crush on him isn’t quite “history” after all.
⤷ ゛inspo: love & other words by christina lauren & my high school work crush ˎˊ˗
genre/pairing. jeon jungkook x reader (fem oc). teenage friends to ??. grumpy x sunshine. second chance romance. fluff. angst. smut.
tags. baker! reader and bar owner! jungkook, SLOWburn, the one that got away, then & now timelines, (you read both teenage and adult characters!), ten year time skip, coming of age, two year age gap, reader has a fear of marriage?, some emotional trauma, eventual explicit sex
wc. 0.4k (est. total = 30-40k)
notes. guys i know i still have reckless and bf hotline to finish but i just can't wait and i need motivation to finish this! my vision for this story is for it to encapsulate coming of age themes like first loves, self-discovery and teenage stupidity, while also tackling heavier topics like regret, forgiveness, and healing. it will be quite the long one with slower updates and im being very ambitious with what i want to achieve... which is scary bc what if this flops 🙂 lmao it's my first time actually trying to dabble in angst (in a while at least) so please be patient with me!! anyways thank u so much for tuning in, please enjoy the teaser/intro!! <3
series masterlist | main masterlist | playlist | characters | moodboards
When your mom died, she left behind three things: her wedding dress, a cookbook, and a list.
Everything else was thrown away or donated. She didn’t want to leave behind unnecessary reminders of her death; she only wanted to leave reminders of the things she loved while she was alive.
Her clothes would go out of style. Her makeup would eventually expire. But those three things? They were timeless, and you would grow up to hold onto them as a lifeline whenever you missed her.
The wedding dress was for you to wear when you got married. The cookbook held generations of handwritten recipes. And the list was technically for your father, consisting of parenting rules for him to look to whenever he felt lost, but a lot of it benefited you, too. It helped you feel her presence even if you only knew her as blurry concepts—fragments of memories from early childhood.
Some of your favorite rules included:
Rule #24: When our daughter turns sixteen, let her dye her hair if she wants to.
Rule #11: If she ever gets in trouble at school, listen to her first. Don’t yell at her.
Rule #7: Start giving her a monthly allowance when she’s twelve. Teach her money management young.
There was one rule in particular, that stuck out to your dad.
Rule #15: When our daughter is stressed or overwhelmed, take her somewhere relaxing where she can get her mind off of things. At a getaway home or something.
And your father, being your father, took that literally. He was never a man of many words; he preferred to love with his heart rather than with his mouth. What he lacked in tenderness he made up for with devotion. So his big heart (and wallet) bought you a house.
Yes. An entire house.
At the very sensitive age of thirteen years old, you were getting bullied in school for having braces and acne and chubby cheeks; each day you’d come home with a permanent wince on your face, as if you were always trying to hold back tears. Your dad had no idea what to do.
So he went back to the list—as he always did when he wished he could talk to your mom about you—and immediately contacted a real estate agent. Flash forward a month later, and you were driving three towns over to the coast, excitedly greeting the culprit of the recent dent in your dad’s bank account: your very own shiny, sparkly beach house.
It was a three hour drive from your place in the city, with two floors, three bedrooms, and a huge patio that faced the ocean. Even the air there was different—and it wasn’t just because there was no pollution. It was magical. Or at least, that was how it felt to you when you first saw your new getaway home.
And of course, a new home also meant meeting new neighbors.
However, you weren’t quite expecting to meet the total teenage dreamboat that was Jeon Jungkook—all sly smiles and low chuckles, impossible to miss, impossible to amuse.
And you certainly weren’t expecting to fall hopelessly in love with him—and still be in love with him even ten years later.
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"they said i was too young for him. that he should know better. but he loved me carefully — and i loved him like i had nothing to lose.”
pairing: jeon jungkook x reader
genre: strangers to lovers, age gap, slow burn
rating: 18+ (explicit content — sexual themes)
synopsis: you met when you were a bartender.
he was a mystery.
now you’re his girl — and sometimes, it still doesn’t feel real
how you met
you’d seen them before — that loud group of men in dress shirts and loosened ties who always took the same booth in the back. one of them, jimin, was a regular. he tipped well, flirted poorly, and always asked if you’d “finally ditch the bar and come work at his company” — whatever that meant.
you didn’t pay much attention to the rest of them.
until him.
he was always the last to show. black slacks, plain tees, rings that clinked against the glass whenever he nursed a whiskey. he didn’t speak much, didn’t flirt, didn’t even look at anyone unless he had to.
except you.
and not in the way the others did — the gross double takes or the lazy smirks. no, this one watched you like he was trying to figure you out. like you were a language he used to know but forgot.
jungkook.
you didn’t know his name until jimin slurred it once, half-drunk, trying to get your attention.
“yo, jungkook said you’re the only reason he even comes out with us anymore,” jimin said, elbowing him hard. “dude, don’t act like you didn’t—”
“hyung,” jungkook muttered, low, warning.
you raised a brow. he met your eyes. didn’t look away.
that night, he stayed later than the rest. didn’t order anything new. just sat at the bar while you closed up. quiet. unreadable.
the first time he stayed late
you were wiping down the bar, damp rag in one hand, the other reaching for the chairs to flip onto the counter.
he was still there. same stool. same drink, barely touched now.
watching you with that unreadable look again — like you were the only thing worth paying attention to in the room.
you felt his eyes before you saw them.
“don’t you have somewhere to be?” you muttered, not even glancing his way.
he hummed low in his throat. “could ask you the same.”
“i work here.”
“i don’t mind staying late.”
you rolled your eyes. “you say that like i invited you.”
his chair creaked as he stood up.
then you heard the soft drag of another chair being lifted — and when you turned, he was beside you, flipping one up onto the bar like it was nothing.
you stared. “what are you doing?”
“helping.”
you blinked. “you don’t have to—”
“i know,” he said, not looking at you. “just felt like it.”
you didn’t stop him.
you moved down the row of stools, tossing up the last few, the silence between you weirdly comfortable. he moved slower than you, but deliberate — like he wasn’t in any rush to leave.
after the last chair was up, he leaned on the counter, elbow resting near your hand.
“you always close alone?” he asked, voice low, rough around the edges.
“depends,” you said. “why?”
he shrugged. “just wondering.”
you tossed the rag into the sink, flicked the lights down to half, and grabbed your keys.
when you turned back around, he was holding the door open already.
waited while you stepped out. walked with you to your car without saying anything.
not close enough to touch. but close enough to feel.
you unlocked the door, about to slip in, when his voice stopped you.
“you probably shouldn’t be walking to your car alone this late.”
you glanced at him.
tilted your head. “what, you offering to be my bodyguard now?”
his mouth twitched, just a little.
“depends.”
“on?”
“whether you’d actually let me.”
you didn’t say anything. just slid into the driver’s seat, tossed your bag to the side, and looked up at him through the open window.
he met your eyes.
“see you around?” he said.
you nodded, quietly. “yeah.”
when you realized you liked him
you’d gone out with friends. some frat bar. plastic cups and sweaty bodies and bad remixes.
you weren’t even drunk, just bored. sick of boys who talked too loud and stood too close and made it so obvious they only wanted one thing.
when your phone buzzed, you knew it was him before you checked.
[jk] you good?
[jk] home yet?
you shouldn’t have smiled.
shouldn’t have left early, heart skipping the whole walk back to your dorm.
you called him from bed that night.
he didn’t say much, just listened to you talk about the shitty bar and the guy who spilled beer down your leg.
but his voice got tight when you mentioned the guy.
“next time,” he said, low and serious, “just call me. i’ll come get you.”
your fingers curled tighter around the phone.
you didn’t say it — not out loud — but that was the night you admitted it to yourself.
you liked him. you trusted him.
and you didn’t want to go a single weekend without seeing him.
finding out the age gap
it slipped out too casually.
you were behind the bar again, spinning an unopened straw between your fingers, wearing that little smirk you always gave him when things were almost flirtatious but not quite. he was leaning on his elbow across from you, sleeves pushed up, a silver ring glinting as he lifted his drink.
“so, what’d you study?” he asked, voice calm like always.
you blinked. “i’m still studying.”
his brow lifted slightly. “grad school?”
you laughed — soft and amused, nose scrunching the way it always did when he made assumptions.
“no. second year undergrad.”
he froze.
you didn’t catch it right away — the way his grip on the glass paused mid-sip, the way his shoulders tensed for half a second before he eased back into his normal lean.
“...second year?” he repeated, slower this time.
you nodded, still oblivious. “yeah. i’m barely surviving, honestly. took a stats elective and immediately regretted it.”
and then you noticed it.
his silence.
how his eyes were suddenly sharper, more alert, like he was calculating something in his head.
you tilted your head, smile faltering.
“what?”
he didn’t answer at first. just gave you a look — unreadable, almost guarded.
then finally:
“how old are you?”
you blinked again. “twenty.”
his lips parted just a little, like he was about to say something but caught himself.
you watched him.
“you okay?” you asked, a little nervous now.
he leaned back from the bar. rubbed his thumb over his jaw. nodded once, slowly. “yeah.”
but his voice was quieter than before.
your pulse kicked up.
“what?” you said again. “you thought i was older?”
he didn’t answer right away.
just looked at you — really looked — like he was trying to reconcile everything he knew about you with that single number.
and god, you felt it then.
the age gap, like a crack in the pavement you hadn’t noticed until you were standing right over it.
“how old are you?” you asked, even though you had a rough guess already.
he hesitated.
then, evenly: “twenty-eight.”
the number hit you square in the chest.
you stared at him.
he stared back.
telling his friends how invested he was
it was supposed to be a chill night. drinks, loud music, half-watched sports on tv.
mingyu had ordered too much fried chicken. someone was already halfway through the whiskey. the group was scattered across the couch and floor, tossing dumb jokes and old stories back and forth like always.
but jungkook had been quiet.
not moody. just… not his usual self.
he hadn’t even touched his drink. was just sitting there, elbow on the back of the couch, thumb running over his bottom lip like he had something stuck in his teeth — when really, he was stuck in his own head.
mingyu caught it first.
“bro. what’s with you tonight?”
jungkook blinked, like he’d just been pulled out of a tunnel.
“huh?”
“you haven’t said a word since the food showed up,” mingyu said, already grinning. “you got a girl or something?”
the others hooted.
jungkook didn’t smile. not at first.
he looked down at the label on the beer bottle in his hand. thumbed the edge. then, quietly:
“kind of.”
that got their attention.
mingyu leaned forward. “wait — what?”
“what do you mean ‘kind of’?” someone else asked. “either you do or you don’t.”
jungkook hesitated. let the words roll around in his chest a little before saying them out loud.
“i think i like her,” he said finally. “for real.”
“woah.”
“damn.”
“wait — is this the bartender you kept talking about?”
jungkook nodded once.
“the one from that bar we go to on fridays?”
he nodded again. sipped his drink. said nothing.
“holy shit,” mingyu said, sitting back. “no wonder you always offer to go in early. i thought you just liked the fries.”
one of them whistled.
“she’s hot. like, crazy hot. but i didn’t know it was like that.”
jungkook ran a hand down his jaw.
“yeah,” he said. “it’s like that.”
mingyu’s smile softened a little. “okay… so what’s the problem?”
jungkook looked up then. really looked at them.
“she’s twenty.”
“...huh.”
“wait. like. just turned twenty?”
“second year uni,” jungkook muttered, eyes on the table.
“she doesn’t,” jungkook agreed. “she’s sharp. independent. works two jobs. she’s… grounded.”
“and fine,” someone else added. “like. fine.”
they all nodded.
jungkook cracked the tiniest smile. “yeah. that too.”
“you said you think you like her?” mingyu asked.
he swallowed.
“i know i do.”
and he did.
he thought about the way your fingers curled around your tumbler. the way you challenged him with your eyes when you were tired. how soft your voice got when you were concentrating behind the bar.
he thought about how you looked up at him last night — wide-eyed, nervous, beautiful — and asked if it was a dealbreaker.
he hadn’t stopped thinking about it since.
finally admitting it
it starts quiet.
you close up the bar a little after midnight, exhausted but still wired. he’s waiting outside like always — leaned against his car, hoodie sleeves pushed to his elbows, hair tied back, jaw slack from chewing gum. his eyes soften when he sees you.
“drive?” he asks.
you nod. don’t even have to think about it.
you change quickly, and the two of you don’t say much as he opens the passenger door for you and climbs in.
it’s easy, by now. being with him.
like muscle memory.
he drives slow. one hand on the wheel, the other resting loosely between the seats.
the windows are cracked open, letting in the night breeze. you’ve got your legs pulled up, head leaned back against the headrest, watching city lights blur into nothing.
“you tired?” he asks, voice low.
“a little.”
you look over.
he’s already watching you — one eye on the road, the other on you.
his gaze dips to your thighs for just a second. then back up.
“thanks for coming out with me,” he adds, like it’s something you could’ve said no to.
you smile faintly.
“thanks for waiting.”
the car hums beneath you. the radio plays something old, something soft. and for a moment, everything feels suspended — like the night’s holding its breath.
you glance at him again.
“what?” he says, catching your stare.
you shrug. “just thinking.”
“about?”
“you.”
he glances at you. his lip lifts a little. “yeah?”
“yeah.”
his fingers tap once against the wheel. then:
“can i ask you something?”
you nod.
he pulls into a quiet overlook — just far enough from the city that the lights below look like stars.
he parks, kills the engine. the silence that follows is louder than the car itself.
he turns in his seat to face you. eyes dark. unreadable.
“we’ve been doing this for a while now,” he says, voice steady. “hanging out. driving around. texting. talking.”
you nod, slow.
“i know.”
“and i like you,” he says, without flinching. “i don’t want to pretend that i don’t.”
you look at him carefully.
his fingers are flexing against his thigh. subtle nerves.
this isn’t the cocky, calm version of him you met at the bar.
this is him. honest.
“i like you too,” you say softly.
he nods once. takes a breath.
“then let me ask you the real question,” he says, voice even lower now.
he shifts closer, elbow resting near the center console. his knee brushes yours.
“can i pursue you?” he asks. “properly. like— no more tiptoeing around the age thing. no more pretending we’re just... hanging out. i want to see where this goes. and i want to stop holding back every time i look at you.”
you blink.
your chest feels too tight all of a sudden.
you whisper, “jungkook…”
“i know we haven’t talked about it in a real way,” he says quickly. “i know you’re young. i know what people might think. but none of that changes what i feel when i’m with you. i want this. you. just tell me if you want it too.”
you stare at him.
he looks wrecked.
not in the messy way. in the sincere way — like he’s putting something breakable in your hands and hoping you don’t drop it.
you reach over, fingers brushing his knuckles.
“i do,” you say. “want it.”
his breath catches.
“but—” you add, voice quieter now, “—i’m scared too.”
his hand flips under yours. his thumb grazes your wrist.
“me too,” he admits.
you smile — small, nervous.
“so we’re both scared?”
“guess so.”
“okay,” you say. “then let’s do it scared.”
he exhales. laughs under his breath.
then leans forward, pressing his forehead to yours.
“you’re unreal,” he murmurs. “you know that?”
you whisper, “you’re mine.”
he kisses you then.
finally.
not rushed. not desperate.
just full of every almost they’d ever tiptoed around. every look. every long drive. every time he stayed late. every time you wished he’d say something and he didn’t — until now.
and you kiss him back.
when you told your parents
you didn’t mean to say it that night.
you’d gone home for dinner — hair still damp from your post-shift shower, sleeves rolled up as you helped set the table. the kitchen smelled like garlic and soy sauce, and your dad was complaining about traffic like always. your mom was humming some old song under her breath, slicing green onions into a bowl.
it was… normal. safe.
which made it worse.
because the second your mom said, “are you seeing anyone lately?”
you froze.
“kind of,” you said, too fast.
your mom looked up, curious.
your dad raised a brow. “kind of?”
“it’s new,” you said, grabbing plates from the cupboard, trying to hide your face behind the clatter.
“i’ve been talking to someone. just… getting to know him.”
you could feel the shift in energy across the room — not bad. just sharper. more aware.
“someone from school?” your mom asked.
you swallowed.
“no.”
“work?”
“...kind of.”
your dad narrowed his eyes.
“he’s older,” you blurted out.
silence.
you turned to set the plates down, keeping your gaze low.
your mom’s voice came gently after a moment.
“how much older?”
you sighed. fingers tightening around the stack of forks in your hand.
“he’s twenty-eight.”
your dad sat back in his chair, didn’t speak at first.
“what does he do?” he asked eventually.
“a few things,” you said. “accounting. marketing. he’s smart. has his own place. drives me home sometimes after work.”
“does he treat you well?”
you nodded without hesitation. “he’s… protective. but not controlling. respectful. careful with me.”
“does he know how old you are?”
“yeah,” you said softly. “he found out a few weeks after we met. he didn’t run. but he didn’t push either.”
your dad exhaled through his nose.
didn’t look angry. just quiet. thoughtful.
later that night, your mom knocked gently on your bedroom door.
sat beside you on your bed, folded her hands in her lap.
“you’re still young,” she said quietly. “but you’ve always been sharp. if he’s good to you — and i mean really good to you — then we’ll support you. but if he ever makes you feel small, or scared, or less than you are…”
you nodded.
“i’ll leave,” you said simply. “no matter how much i like him.”
your mom smiled. kissed your hair.
“that’s my girl.”
the night he asked you to be his girlfriend
it had been six months.
six months of drives after your shifts, long texts that turned into longer calls, forehead touches that almost became kisses. six months of brushing hands in his car, thighs touching under restaurant tables, his hoodie on your body like it belonged there.
you weren’t just “getting to know” each other anymore.
you knew him.
his silences. his soft spots. the way he spoke without speaking when he touched your back to guide you through crowds. the way he always made sure you were on the inside of the sidewalk. the way he looked at you — quiet, reverent, like he was holding back.
but not tonight.
tonight, something felt different.
he showed up early.
you opened the door in a simple dress, nothing dramatic — but the second he saw you, his mouth parted slightly. not in a loud, obvious way. just a small, stunned moment before he smiled and said, “you look beautiful.”
he took you somewhere nice.
the kind of place with candlelit tables and soft jazz in the background.
he held the door open. pulled your chair out. didn’t check his phone once.
he was nervous, though — you could tell.
his knee was bouncing under the table. he played with his rings more than usual. even his laugh was a little too careful, like he was afraid to mess something up.
“you okay?” you asked after the appetizers, sipping your drink.
he nodded, eyes flicking to yours.
“yeah. just— been thinking about tonight for a while.”
you smiled, heart starting to race.
he didn’t say more after that.
after dinner, he offered to drive you home.
but he didn’t take the usual turn.
he took a left. toward his apartment.
“just for a second,” he said. “i want to show you something.”
you didn’t ask questions.
his building was quiet this late — only the soft echo of your shoes in the hallway, the hum of the elevator, the pounding of your heart in your ears.
he unlocked the door. stepped aside so you could go in first.
and when you did —
you froze.
there were decorations.
not over-the-top, not tacky.
just enough to make your breath catch.
soft lights around the window. a little banner across the wall that read:
“will you be my girlfriend?”
gold lettering. tiny hearts at the ends. a few candles on the counter. a quiet song playing from the speaker — something you’d once said you liked.
you turned around slowly.
he was standing in the doorway, one hand behind his neck, the other in his pocket. trying to look casual.
but his ears were red.
“you did all this?” you asked, voice small.
he nodded once.
“yeah.”
you laughed softly. “you’re serious?”
he stepped closer.
“dead serious.”
“after six months?”
“you thought i was gonna leave it at drive-thrus and shy flirting forever?” he said, smiling now. “baby, i’ve been dying to ask you. just didn’t want to scare you off.”
your chest tightened.
“you didn’t.”
“good,” he said.
then softer — “so?”
you looked up at him.
his eyes were dark, warm, a little nervous.
and you said it, without hesitation.
“yes.”
his shoulders dropped with relief.
his grin broke wide.
he pulled you into his chest, arms tight around your waist, lips brushing your temple.
“you have no idea how long i’ve waited to hear that.”
you tilted your head up, smiling.
“you should’ve asked sooner.”
his mouth hovered over yours.
“you would’ve said yes sooner?”
“yeah,” you whispered. “every time.”
and when he kissed you, it wasn’t like all the almosts before.
it was full. certain. grounded.
when you started overthinking the future
one minute you were lying on his couch — legs draped over his lap, movie playing in the background, his fingers tracing soft circles into your knee — and the next, your brain was spiraling into places it hadn’t in a while.
you were twenty.
still figuring yourself out.
still unsure what you wanted long-term. still occasionally crying over dumb essays and roommate drama and things that felt small until they weren’t.
he was twenty-eight.
stable. confident. already there.
and even though he never made you feel small, even though he never treated you like you were less than, the thought hit hard:
what if he outgrows me?
you shift slightly, try to pull your legs off his lap — but he doesn’t let you.
his hand wraps around your calf, firm.
his eyes flick to you.
“where you going baby?”
your throat tightens.
“nowhere. i just— i don’t know. my legs are cramping.”
“bullshit,” he mutters, but there’s no venom. just curiosity. a little warning.
you press your lips together.
he tilts his head, watching you too closely now.
he knows you.
“what’s going on?”
“it’s nothing,” you lie.
his jaw ticks. he turns the volume on the tv all the way down.
then shifts, arm sliding behind you on the couch, hand settling on your hip.
“i’ll ask again,” he says quietly. “what’s going on?”
you hesitate. but there’s no point lying to him.
not when he’s looking at you like that — like he sees every cracked piece of you you try to hide.
so you say it, low and messy:
“do you ever think about… what this looks like in a few years?”
his brows twitch.
“this?”
“us.”
he doesn’t answer.
so you keep going — because now that it’s out, you can’t stop.
“i’m twenty, babe. i don’t have a real job yet, i still live with roommates, i’m stressed about midterms. and you’re—”
“older?”
you look down. “yeah.”
he’s quiet for a beat.
then you feel it — his fingers slide up your thigh, slow. grounding.
“you done?”
your heart skips.
“what?”
he leans in, close enough that you feel his breath at your cheek.
“you done tearing yourself apart, baby?”
you blink.
“i like you as you are. i’m not looking for some polished version of you that checks a list. i’m here. with you. not some fantasy version of who you think you need to be.”
you swallow.
“but what if you change your mind—”
he cuts you off.
with a soft laugh. but there’s no humor in it.
“listen to me,” he says, voice low. serious. “if i didn’t want this — if i had even the smallest doubt — i wouldn’t be here. i’m not that guy.”
you stare at him.
“so stop waiting for me to disappear,” he mutters, thumb brushing your jaw now. “i’m not going anywhere.”
your chest tightens.
his words hit low and deep.
“you mean that?” you whisper.
he nods. once.
“you got me.”
jungkook getting protective when you’re drunk
it’s someone’s birthday. loud music, strobe lights, bodies pressed too close. you’re tipsy — not gone, but definitely softer around the edges. your lip gloss is half-faded, your heels are killing you, and you’ve lost count of how many drinks your friends have shoved into your hand.
jungkook’s not far.
he’s leaning against the wall near the bar, black shirt clinging to him in all the right places, a drink untouched in his hand, eyes fixed on you like you’re the only thing in the room that matters.
some guy brushes past you. not a full-on grab — but his hand lingers on your waist longer than it should.
jungkook’s across the floor in seconds.
he doesn’t make a scene. doesn’t yell.
just slides his arm around your waist, pulls you close, and speaks low against your ear:
“you good?”
you nod, a little dazed. “yeah— jus’… a lot of people.”
his fingers press gently into your hip. “don’t wander off without me.”
you pout, tipsy and warm. “you weren’t even dancing with me.”
he smirks. “you want me to dance with you?”
you nod again, eyes glossy.
he kisses your forehead, wraps his arm tighter around you, and says, “you’re mine. don’t let anyone forget it.”
the first time you have sex
he carries you to the bedroom. doesn’t rush.
your thighs around his waist. his mouth at your neck. his hands firm under your thighs, fingers digging into skin like he needs to anchor himself to you. he lays you down slow, like he’s laying you into something sacred.
“look at you,” he says, eyes raking down your body as you peel off the hoodie.
he’s kneeling between your legs now, shirt half unbuttoned, flushed and focused.
“so fucking pretty. you don’t even know.”
his hands drag down your sides. over your stomach. up under your bra. when he finally pulls it off, he just stares — jaw flexing, breath uneven.
“you’re unreal,” he says.
he kisses every inch of skin like it’s something holy.
your collarbones. the slope of your breasts. the soft skin under your ribs.
when he mouths over your nipple, slow and wet and open, you arch up without meaning to.
“there she is,” he murmurs. “that feel good, baby?”
you nod.
when he finally slips his hand into your panties, he groans under his breath.
“you’re soaked.”
you bite your lip.
he smiles against your neck.
your breath catches as his fingers slide through your folds — slow, unhurried. he touches you like he’s learning you, studying every reaction.
you whimper when his thumb finds your clit, and his lips curl against your skin.
he makes you fall apart with two fingers inside you and his mouth on your tits.
whispers filthy, worshipful things while your legs shake around his wrist.
“you’re so tight, fuck—”
“look at you, baby, taking me so well—”
and when you cum, it’s hard. sudden. your whole body arches. your hands claw at his arm. you moan his name so brokenly he curses under his breath and kisses you through it, palm cradling your cheek while you twitch under him.
“there you go,” he coos. “that’s my girl.”
he groans, forehead dropping to yours.
and then he’s inside you.
slow at first. thick and deep, stretching you open. you gasp — he holds still, whispering, “i got you. you’re doing so good for me.”
his voice wrecks you.
the way he starts moving — hips rolling deep, slow, grinding into you like he’s trying to leave a part of himself inside you — wrecks you even more.
his hands are everywhere. holding your hips, cradling your face, gripping the sheets when he loses control.
and when you cum again — again — it’s with your name falling from his lips like a prayer.
“that’s it,” he groans. “cum on my cock, baby. that’s my girl.”
spoiling you without even thinking
you mention once in passing that your headphones broke — and two days later, there’s a new pair in a box on your pillow. “they’re noise cancelling,” he says. “figured you could use the silence.”
you get a cold? he shows up with soup, your favorite tea, a new blanket, and a humidifier.
your period starts? there’s a heating pad plugged in and three tubs of your favorite ice cream waiting in the freezer.
he does your skincare for you when you’re too tired — ties your hair up with gentle fingers, massages cleanser into your cheeks like you’re made of porcelain.
and when he rubs moisturizer into your face, he always ends with,
“can’t have my girl breaking out. you’re too pretty for that.”
he’s paid for a course you were too embarrassed to ask about. just sent you the login one night.
“i enrolled you. you’re gonna kill it.”
every time you say, “you didn’t have to,”
he just replies:
“yeah, but i wanted to.”
like it’s nothing.
like it’s the easiest thing in the world to take care of you.
when you met his friends
he warned you in the car.
“they’re gonna be annoying. don’t let them scare you.”
you walked into the apartment and immediately understood what he meant.
they were loud.
taehyung was the first to spot you.
“oh shit— this her?”
“don’t be weird,” jungkook warned.
jimin grinned. “you’re the one who’s been hiding her.”
namjoon was more subtle — warm smile, firm handshake. “nice to finally meet the reason jungkook’s been soft lately.”
you expected it to be awkward. it wasn’t.
within thirty minutes, you were sitting between jungkook and jimin on the couch, laughing at some story from their high school days while jungkook sat back, arm slung behind you, looking quietly proud.
taehyung caught him smiling and said, “bro. you’re down bad.”
jungkook just smirked.
“yeah,” he said. “i am.”
and when you glanced over at him, cheeks hot, he leaned in and kissed your temple.
Jungkook runs a major company with a packed schedule. Y/N is a well-known YouTuber and influencer who spends most of her life online. They match on Tinder with zero expectations, just casual flirting that quickly turns intense. Between missed schedules and busy lives, they never get the chance to meet. Attraction and curiosity take over instead — late-night texts, video calls, sexting, and sending each other videos and photos from opposite sides of the screen.
pairing: ceo!jungkook x influencer!reader
genre: oneshot , age gap , online to offline , friends to lovers? , strangers to lovers , smut , some fluff , online romance , voyeur , exhibitionism
warnings: use of online dating app , sexting , sex on camera (literally called cyber sex) , masterbation on and off camera , voyeurism (by jungkook) , dirty talk , degradation kink (oc) , tit play , cum swallowing , oral (f & m receiving) , unprotected sex (wrap b4 u tap!) , 69
word count: 574
playlist: cyber sex - doja cat
sha’s note: i was listening to cyber sex and forgot how bomb this song was. i got inspired to write this 😝. also you guys voted for “cyber sex” as your most anticipated oneshot so lemme feed you.
The building is dead quiet — the kind of quiet that presses against your skin, that makes you too aware of your own breathing.
Jungkook’s office is the only thing awake on the forty-fifth floor, lights still on like he’s got something to confess. Midnight pools against the windows. The city below flickers, restless, alive. Unlike him.
His tie loose around his neck. Jacket abandoned somewhere he can’t remember. Sleeves rolled up, forearms tight where the fabric cuts in — like his body’s been wound too long and never let loose.
He could’ve gone home. He didn’t. The monitor held him there like a bad habit.
Her Instagram glows on his desktop. Not his phone this time nor absentmindedly. Alone, finally, he scrolls without interruption, without employees asking “is this okay, sir?” or “what are your thoughts, boss?”. Nothing to pull his attention away from what he wants. Or more precisely — what his dick has already decided it wants.
Scroll.
Travel photos. Festival crowds. Sweat and glitter and laughter caught mid-motion. Club bathrooms. Hotel balconies. A photo dump, spoiling her next YouTube video.
He knows her rhythm now. When she posts. When she disappears. Her signature pose—a wink with her lips puckered. Sometimes even sticking out her tongue which damn made Jungkook feel himself stiffen inside his pants. How sometimes he’d imagine her tongue dragging up his cock from base to tip.
His shoulders ache — that dull, familiar stiffness from too many late nights and not enough release. He rolls his neck once, sharp crack echoing too loud in the empty room.
Scroll.
Then stop. Coachella. Last year. The photo hits him slow and deep, like a bruise forming.
Sunburnt confidence. Bare skin and reckless joy. Her top clinging like it’s losing a fight, skirt so short it feels illegal, like one wrong move would change everything. Tongue out like she could taste him through the screen. Wink sharp. Fingers pressed against boobs like she owns the moment — like she knows she’s being looked at.
Jungkook’s breath hitched before he can stop it. “Fuck,” he mutters, voice low, unused.
His body reacts before his brain catches up — heat pooling low, spine tightening against his back rest, pulse thudding somewhere he can’t ignore. His cock throbbed against his thigh in his sickeningly tight pants, already hard enough to hammer nails. He shifts in his chair, jaw tightening like he can physically bite the thought back.
“Jesus Christ,” he exhales, slower this time.
The office feels warmer. Smaller. His shirt clings faintly to his back. His hands curl once on the table and on his mouse, then flatten against the desk like he needs something solid to ground him.
This isn’t porn. This isn’t fantasy. This is worse. This is real. A woman who exists in pixels and soundwaves and algorithms — who doesn’t know his name, doesn’t know he’s memorised the curve of her smile—and body—in less than a day.
Jungkook exhaled sharply through his nose. Fucking pathetic—mid-thirties, ceo, jacking off to a twenty-something influencer in his luxury office like some horny intern.
He could smell his own desperation—sweat and pre-cum and the stale tang of too many long, sometimes lonely nights.
His hand lifted from the mouse. The belt buckle clanked against the armrest as he wrenched it open. His zipper snarled halfway down, caught on the bulge straining against his briefs. Jungkook swore, shoving the fabric past his hips with one rough yank. His cock sprang free, slapping against his stomach with a wet smack. Precum already beaded at the tip, glistening under the sterile office lights. Fingers wrapped around himself, calloused grip pulling a hiss from his teeth.
|| jungkook finds himself pathetically begging for you to stop ignoring him - to the point he's quite literally, on his knees.
content : age gap relationship !! (22 & 31) , implied jealousy, slight argument and silent treatment, subby kook !! grumpy but obsessed, SMUT. begging, praise, male whimpers !!! <3, oral fem.- rec., multiple orgasm, cowgirl p in v, lots of talking, hes so needy guys,, lil tit play, clit play, light hair pulling, aftercare <3
♡ bunny´s notes : our fav dilf is back !! do we like this version of mr jeon? thank u to anonie for requesting !! may contain typos & errors as usual,, even more so bc its late and not proofread lolz
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If bringing over Jukyung to Soojin's house was a sin, Jungkook would be a sinner right now.
It's not like he brought him over to Soojin, he thinks - their kids have been friends before you had even stepped foot in Jungkook's house, much less, expressed your dislike toward Soojin.
Yet, in your book, Jungkook has definitely sinned.
"But don't you understand what i'm trying to say here?"
He watches your hands gesture the way they always would when you're frustrated; palms up, moving up and down with every word coming out of your mouth - empathizing their weight appropriately.
"I do, but he wanted to visit his friend. What was i supposed to do baby, say no because you weren't there?"
"Yes, that's exactly what. You could have waited those 30 minutes until i came to bring him over myself"
Jungkook groans, running his promise ring adorned hand through his messy hair, rolled up sleeves reveal the beautiful stories trapped in his body art. Somehow that made the situation at hand ten times worse in your mind.
"You're being immature __ , nothing happend and i promise i won't do it again but we don't need to drag this out"
Immature.
You hated this word so much- and Jungkook knows, the moment his eyes find yours again, narrowed below the soft frown blooming between your eyebrows. The age difference between the both of you is an unspoken sore spot, a sensitivity you bump into often - without ever really speaking of it.
For the moment of silence, your hearts beat in sync, lining up only to be rattled by the soft scoff passing through your lips.
It stayed silent for long after that.
During dinner about an hour later that was eaten separately, one person on the couch - one in the kitchen, and during the thirty minutes afterward, when jungkook had enough of washing dishes and being in the wrong. The water shuts off, he shakes his hands once before walking over to where you're laying on the couch.
"Baby" he says, your eyes flicker toward him in reaction - only to glue themselves back on to the screen in front of you. Voices of a show you hate watching fill the room quietly, but the remote is too far away to grab and there's no way you're acknowledging Jungkook right now.
"Come on love" he sighs, sitting down next to you. The presence and smell of his fresh scent is a comfort you try your hardest not to welcome, though it doesn't work quite as much as you want it to.
From the outside however, you don't budge. Eyes trained foward, head resting in your hand, silent as a statue.
Jungkook is a patient man.
" __ , i'm sorry baby. I should'nt have.. said that. It was important to you. Maybe i don't.. see it the same way, but i should have respected it anyway"
His large palm moves up and down on the curve of your hip, down the the edge of your silky shorts. Warm and sweet even through the fabric, the warmth of his words also seep through to you - reaching the stubborn part that's been holding on to your heart.
But not fully, not yet.
Jungkook's doe eyes run over the smooth expanse of your legs, up to the neutral expression on your pretty face. When you fail to acknowledge him again, the hand on your hip tightens it's grip slightly, squeezing,
"Baby"
"Baby? Come on, please"
There's nothing youre giving him, not after his sincere apology, not after repeatedly kissing your cheek and jaw,
Nothing.
With nothing left to do for him either, he groans, mumbling about you being a brat while making his way down from the couch - knees hitting the carpeted floor with a light thump.
Your heart skips a beat when his hands find your hips again, only for them to run down your thighs, pulling them off the couch.
Finally, your gaze collides with his.
"I said, i'm sorry. Please baby, you can stop ignoring me"
There's a want in his eyes, a needy glint for attention shining up at you. You hum, the sound low and barely audible - nonetheless more than you'd granted him so far. With your knees still in his hands, he waits for more.
"Talk to me" he mumbles between kisses, dragging his plump and pierced bottom lip down the side of your leg, against the risen goosebumps that betray your pissed off act wordlessly.
"Don't do this to me hm?"
You sigh, the breath coming from the bottom of your lungs - releasing any ounce of annoyance you truly had for him. His tongue flicks over your inner thigh the instant one of his hands found grounding there, resting promisingly. The breath of his needy voice dances against your skin like a slow walz, complimenting the rhymic steps of his lips on your skin, traveling closer to the edge of your shorts.
"I'm mad at you kook"
"I know you are. But please, please stop ignoring me" he rasps, the flat tip of his round nose grazing just under your shorts, fingers skimming the lines on either thigh with an underlying ache in their tips. He wants to touch you, kiss you, feel you - all of your affection, your attention.
"I can't stand this, please baby, i'm literally on my fucking knees here"
You reach down to cup his chin between your thumb and pointer finger, his focus redirects to your face obediently - to your lips as they move with more than just a passive reply.
"You're sorry right? Won't do it again, not without talking to me, yeah?"
He nods, a messy strand of his dark hair falling over his forehead, the desprate edge in his grumpy tone makes more heat pool on your lower tummy - where it'd started acquiring the moment his knees had hit the ground. As much as he pretended to be convinced by your act, jungkook and you both know - this is just a little powerplay to you, a way to reclaim what he took by calling you immature.
And to hell if he isn't deeply, deeply into it.
"I swear, and i said it a million times baby, just - fuck, just let me make you feel good. C'mon"
Your shorts are tossed away, his hands hold your thighs open wide and secure, making space for his face to nuzzle into the space between without a second to spare. Nose running against your damp cotton panties, tongue eager to taste the tangy sweetness off the fabric.
He's starving for you.
Groans of his satisfaction sink into your dripping cunt alongside a single one of his thick fingers. Your own, softer moans fill his ears like the prize he worked oh so hard for. As his greedy tongue laps on your clit, accompanying the shallow thrust of his digit, your sounds of pleasure grow louder - more rewarding.
"That's it - ahh - right there"
"Mhhh- yes, yeahh, you're so good, good job"
Jungkook's cock strains painfully against his slacks, the outline of his curved, girthy length giving away as much of his own enjoyment as the furrow in his brows and the whimpers shamelessy spilling from his busy lips.
As he sucks on your clit, feeling your walls spasm around him - his eyes stare up at your blissful expression, chaining your gazes together, intertwining your joined pleasure further. He lets his spit run down your puffy folds, lapping it back up to spread on your swollen pearl as he whines beneath breathy words,
"Gonna cum for me? Please baby, give it to me"
You nod, a broken up yes managing to escape as well. With your fingers tightening around his hair, you pull him closer between your thighs, his entire tongue grinds against your pussy - his moans vibrating against the wet skin adding to final push.
The taste flooding his mouth is enough to nearly tip him over, his hand quickly stalling their rough palming - he wanted to be fully indulged in your high - your open mouth, lolled back head and twitching cunt. Tasting the forgiveness on his lips as he licks them, he's making his way on the couch, kissing up your neck, thumbing your sensitive clit.
"You taste so good, so so good for me"
The sore feeling in his knees fades into the background even as you swing your thighs on either side of him, hands swift to reach for his zipper. The noise rings in your ears similar to a bell realising everyone after a long day. The addition of rough, open mouthed kisses on his jaw make Jungkook circle back to helplessly whimpering - suppressing the itch in his hands to flip you over and dominate, claim, take.
You deserve this control.
"Want my attention don't you?" you speak against his ear, nipping at the lobe briefly. Jungkook exhales, relaxed back against the cushions, eyes heavy lidded.
"Yes angel, all of it"
You push up the bottom of his shirt, revealing the lower part of his toned stomach, burning your fingerprints into him and wishing they'd be as visible to everyone else as they are to you two. He nibbles on his bottom lip, pushing his hips upwards in hopes to feel something, some part of your body meeting his ache.
Feeling generous, you finish undoing his pants and wrap your delicate hand around the twitching cock beneath his boxers. His breath hitches, abs tensing once skin to skin. You move your hand for one beat, spreading the drop of saliva you'd spit down before raising your hips.
Both of Jungkook's hands couldn't stay off of you for too long, finding their rightful home on your waist right over your baggy tshirt, feeling out the familiar curves and dips underneath. His reddend tip nudges your tight hole - intruding the clenching slowly, way too slowly for his liking. His chest bristles as your hands support your weight on it, hips sunken down until you meet his pelvis.
"Fuck, fuck baby" he mumbles roughly, opening his shut eyes to find you staring at him already - looking for approval. With a chaste kiss to his lips, your hips start off languid - adjusting to the deep pressure, riding out the initial stretch until a consuming sense of satisfaction settles in, motivating sloppier, faster movements. His hands on your waist stabilize every rise and fall, his moans and higher pitched praises mirror your own in a submission you weren't used to seeing from your older boyfriend.
"You feel so good baby, yeahhh, yeah take it. Take what you need" he says, dropping his hands to fumble with your t-shirt, tossing it over your head, baring your torso into view.
"Keep going, take what's yours angel, this cock is allll yours" he murmurs into your neck, squeezing your chest in his hands, the small weight feeling like it was made just for him, him and him alone. You moan, arching your back into his touch - then into his mouth once his slick lips enclose your stiff, pink tips.
He tugs with his teeth, soothes with his tongue all while gripping your full ass in his desprate and grateful hands. Your movements narrowed down to deep grinds, your vocal praises reduced to half breathed groans in a mess of skin slapping and raw, honest love.
Without announcing it- rather , without needing to, he spills, tipped over by a kiss that's equal parts messy and gentle.
The warmth welcomes your own orgasm to wash over for a second time, whispering encouraging words into his mouth, pulling from the roots of his raven strands as if it were possible to mold him closer.
Your kisses linger past sliding him out of you, continue between smiles and rooms as he carries you into the nearby downstairs bathroom.
"You know i really am sorry, don't you?"
He asks, running the damp cloth under more warm water. His wrist flexes, turning the faucet off. You rub his shoulders, hiking up one knee for his better acess. As the warm cloth runs carefully between your thighs, you find your words to his question.
"Yeah. I know baby"
"Good" he starts, pressing a kiss right in the center of your forehead, "For calling you immature too. You aren't. Your mind doesn't work like mine, that's okay, i have to be more sensitive" he mumbles, dragging the kiss down to your temple, your cheek, then your jaw. Smiling a little, you swat his hand away as it finished cleaning you up.
"It's okay. I didn't have to make it a big deal"
He lets out a huff, rolling his eyes at your last words. Picking up his touch to line up your shaky thighs, his lips attach to yours, speaking against them with the hint of a grin hiding behind the kiss.
"If it's a big deal to my baby, it's a big deal to me. We're picking him up together later. Got it?"
You nip at his piercing, giggling when he hisses in response.
"Brat"
"I love you" you say, catching his fingers before they can start their slick plan of tickling your sides. He smiles, amused at how easily you read him - but his voice remains low and grumpy, sounding into another comforting kiss,
SUMMARY -> in which jungkook can’t resist his star student.
WORDS -> 6.8k (approx 30 min read time)
WARNINGS -> jungkook x female reader, unprotected sex, praise kink, age gap (if you squint), power imbalance (professor and student), slowburn, size kink, jungkook is kinda pathetic
now playing: silk lingerie, - kali uchis˚.⋆♪
epilogue
you had been a teacher’s pet since grade school.
all of that hard work got you into one of the most prestigious universities in your country. you were proud of your grades—the teachers and professors throughout your academic career were happy to give them to you.
professor jeon was nothing like any of them.
the first day, you showed up to class early and sat in the front (of course). you didn’t know what to expect. professor jeon was fresh meat, the newest professor in your school. no ratemyprofessors profile, no student horror stories, no face.
he fascinated you the moment he left his office and awkwardly stumbled into the lecture hall. you leaned in to take a closer look.
he was young, not that much older than you and heart achingly handsome. when his eyes met yours, a strange warmth coursed through your veins.
matters of the heart were foreign territory for you. yes, you had heard about your roommate’s various talking stages and hookups, but you never thought this would be anything like this. your heartbeat picked up. you couldn’t take your eyes off of him and he hadn’t even said a word.
he nearly dropped his laptop bag on the podium, fumbled with the hdmi cable to his slideshow, making the screen flash blue. he muttered an apology.
professor jeon cleared his throat, “um—hello. good morning. i’m professor jeon. jungkook. i mean—or dr. jeon. either is fine. not jungkook. not just—anyway.”
he laughed nervously.
silence.
you stared.
he ran his fingers through his jet black hair. “this is my first semester teaching. so, um. be gentle.”
the class laughed lightly.
you didn’t. you felt something shift in your chest. not authority, not intimidation.
but tenderness.
you were hooked.
art history became your favorite class. it met on tuesdays and thursdays from 5pm to 7pm. you heard your classmates complaining about how they were bored by the material, how the class was too long, but you just never understood why.
you could listen to professor jeon talk for an eternity. the way his eyes lit up when he saw a certain brush stroke. how he talked with his hands when he was excited. how he fumbled with his hdmi cord, always having problems with the connection before every class. you’d always get up to help him.
“you had the magic touch,” he said to you one day, “you always fix it.”
you replayed that moment in your head for days.
a week into the course, he announced a new resource for you all: homework videos. he filmed them weekly to explain core concepts.
“they’re probably unnecessary,” he said, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose, “but i know the content can get…intense.”
you were the first one to watch the video the night it was uploaded.
he was in his office, books stacked behind him. he stumbled over terminology, corrected himself mid sentence, and laughed awkwardly.
“okay,” he said in the video, “that made no sense. let me start over.”
you rewinded that part three times. you didn’t need the help. you have a 100%.
but you watched every video. every week. the moment they drop. sometimes twice. sometimes to hear his voice.
you wondered if professor jeon had a wife. he was young, yes, but someone like him couldn’t be single. you imagined him with a woman, looking at her with the same brightness in his eyes he has when he talks about his favorite art pieces.
it made you sick.
you wanted to be that woman.
when he sent an email to your class about office hours, you knew you had to be there.
you didn’t have any questions. you just wanted to “clarify something.” he looked surprised to see you, like he expected no one to come.
“oh! hi. it’s you—um. front row? hdmi?” he ran his fingers through his hair.
“yes, professor.” you smiled.
he gestured to a chair, “everything okay with the reading?”
you nodded. “i just wanted to ask about the emotional framing of the baroque martyrdom.”
he blinked, just staring at you for a moment.
you swallowed.
“that’s… actually a really great question.”
you talked for thirty minutes.
you noticed him relaxing with you. he smelled like fresh laundry up close, which somehow felt more intoxicating than any cologne would.
by week three, you were there every monday. he started to expect you.
・・・・・
jungkook squinted as he reread your paper for the third time.
the subject does not desire possession. only closeness. only the warmth of standing near something luminous and being allowed to witness it.
he had that part circled since the first time he read it. something about it stuck with him in ways he couldn’t describe.
he knew educators weren’t supposed to have favorites, but if he was honest, he did and it was you. teaching at this university was a very impersonal experience and you were one of the only students he’s gotten to bond with. you were brilliant, your papers a delight to read. when you answered questions in class, he felt immense relief.
when he got excited to see you at office hours, he told himself it was because you were academically engaged.
not because you sat too close.
not because you smelled vanilla and paper.
not because of how your lip gloss caught the light.
and definitely not because he let his eyes wander to how your perfect legs would cross under your desk.
you were beautiful. that was a simple, undeniable fact.
office hours with you became the highlight of his week.
you really listened to him. chin resting on your palm, eyes steady on his mouth as he explained to you, brows knitting together ever so slightly.
“so, in caravaggio’s work, the light is meant to…”
you bit your lip in concentration. his brain short circuited.
he trailed off into silence, taking you in for a moment. heat crawled up his neck.
“dr. jeon?” you asked softly.
hearing his name come from your lips made his heart skip a beat. he ran his hands through his hair.
“yes, i’m sorry. i lost my train of thought. what was i saying?”
you blinked up at him so innocently, adjusting yourself in your seat. you somehow ended up closer to him, “the light reveals what the subject can’t say.”
“that’s right.”
he stared at you for half a second too long. you made him feel smart. seen. important when he was so afraid of being seen as incompetent.
one day, he checked your name on the gradebook out of pure curiosity. you had the highest average by far. you didn’t need office hours. yet you never missed them.
that night, he replayed his conversations with you.
the way you looked at him.
it’s not normal student interest. it’s softer. lingering. he swallowed.
you’re just enthusiastic, he told himself. but he knew what a crush looks like. he’s had them.
he disregarded that thought.
it was pathetic to think that someone like you wanted him. you were brilliant, beautiful, and had a bright future ahead of you. and most importantly you were his student.
he was awkward, and you probably thought he was incompetent but were too nice to show it. he was projecting.
but a part of him wished he wasn’t.
at office hours that week, you showed him a draft of an upcoming paper. he stood behind you, scanning it over your shoulder.
he leaned down slightly, his hand gingerly rested on your shoulder.
he could smell your coconut shampoo. he swallowed. his voice lowered subconsciously.
“this line stood out to me,” jungkook said. “the way you describe longing… it’s intense.”
you just nodded.
jungkook reread it.
the tragedy is not that he is distant. the tragedy is that he believes himself unworthy of being wanted.
something about that felt too personal.
he pushed it down.
you followed the prompt, right?
it’s art analysis.
you couldn’t be writing about him.
that night, he couldn’t get the sweet scent of your shampoo out of his mind.
when he finally got your paper in his hands on a late night in his apartment, he was very impressed. you were his star student, of course.
just his star student.
not the girl he counted down the days till he saw.
not the girl who made mondays his favorite day of the week.
not the girl who bit her lip when she was concentrating.
not the girl who made his body feel things he definitely shouldn’t.
just his student.
he loved reading your papers. your syntax was perfect and your analysis was refreshing. the prompt was about longing and devotion in the assigned piece. he wanted to see what you had to say.
but something was strange.
the cruelest irony is that he fears crossing a line that has already blurred.
his brows furrowed.
what did that mean?
it was a stretch to say it was relevant to the piece.
jungkook leaned back in his chair, the paper still in his hands.
he read the line again.
the cruelest irony is that he fears crossing a line that has already blurred.
his stomach dropped.
that wasn’t about a painting.
that wasn’t about some baroque martyr suspended in dramatic lighting.
that sounded like—
no.
he shook his head and scrubbed a hand down his face.
you were just good at this. you wrote with emotional precision. that’s all. you were perceptive. intense. maybe a little dramatic.
he kept reading.
the viewer aches not because he is unattainable, but because he cannot see what she sees when she looks at him.
his throat went dry.
she.
not the viewer. not the audience.
she.
jungkook’s fingers tightened slightly around the edge of the page.
it was probably stylistic. plenty of critics used gendered language. it didn’t mean anything.
he forced himself to keep going.
he stands illuminated before a room full of people and still insists he is ordinary. that is the greatest misunderstanding in the composition.
his chest felt tight.
illuminated before a room full of people.
standing in front of a room.
insisting he was ordinary.
he thought about the way he apologized during his first lecture. the way he said be gentle. the way you had looked at him like he wasn’t something fragile but something worth protecting.
his pulse started to thrum in his ears.
this is ridiculous, he told himself.
he is projecting.
he is lonely.
he is reading into things because he wants to.
she didn’t mean it like that.
but then—
he flipped back a page.
devotion often attaches itself not to grandeur, but to sincerity. to the quiet way he fumbles with cords before speaking. to the nervous laugh he cannot seem to outgrow.
his breath stuttered.
that wasn’t—
that couldn’t—
he actually dropped the paper this time, the soft rustle loud in his silent apartment.
fumbles with cords.
nervous laugh.
those were details.
not abstract traits.
details.
jungkook stood abruptly, pacing once across his small living room before running both hands through his hair.
no.
you wouldn’t.
you couldn’t.
you were brilliant. careful. disciplined. you followed prompts. you didn’t blur lines.
he was the one blurring them.
he was the one noticing how close you sat.
the one replaying your voice saying dr. jeon late at night.
the one counting down to mondays.
this had to be him reading what he wanted to read.
but when he picked the paper back up, his hands weren’t steady anymore.
the tragedy is not that he is distant. the tragedy is that he believes himself unworthy of being wanted.
his jaw clenched.
unworthy.
he had said that word before. not to you. never to you. but to himself. in the mirror. in quiet moments when imposter syndrome clawed at his ribs.
how could you possibly know that?
unless—
unless you were paying attention the same way he was.
unless when he thought you were just listening, you were seeing.
really seeing.
a slow heat crept up his neck, down his spine.
shock first.
then disbelief.
then something far more dangerous.
hope.
he sank back into his chair, staring at your name typed neatly at the top of the page.
you.
you with the highest average in his gradebook.
you who didn’t need office hours.
you who sat too close.
you who bit your lip when concentrating.
you who looked at him like he mattered.
how could someone like you—
want someone like him?
the thought made his head spin.
it was impossible.
and yet the evidence was sitting in his hands in twelve-point times new roman.
he pressed his thumb lightly over the line again.
fears crossing a line that has already blurred.
a line.
between what?
student and professor.
he inhaled sharply.
this was wrong.
this was dangerous.
he should shut it down immediately. draw a boundary. grade the paper objectively. pretend he never read between the lines.
but instead, he found himself wondering—
when you wrote he, were you picturing him?
when you wrote she, were you picturing yourself?
his heart hammered harder at the possibility.
that wasn’t academic curiosity.
that was desire.
he stood again, restless, pacing a second time.
this is inappropriate.
he is your professor.
you deserve better than his loneliness.
but the image of you at that desk, looking up at him with those wide, steady eyes, wouldn’t leave him.
what if he wasn’t imagining it?
what if you really—
he stopped that thought before it could fully form.
he dropped back into his chair and grabbed a red pen.
his hand hovered over the top of the page.
for a long moment, he didn’t write a grade.
instead, almost without thinking, he wrote:
see me after class.
he stared at the words.
his pulse thundered.
he had no idea what he was going to say to you.
he just knew he couldn’t keep pretending he didn’t see it anymore.
and he couldn’t keep pretending he didn’t want it to be true.
he dreamt about you that night.
・・・・・
see me after class.
your heart dropped. as you reread the line on top your paper.
no grade. just that written in red pen.
what could he mean? professor jeon loved to read your papers. he told you that it was a delight to grade them.
you had tailored your writing style to fit his tastes. to get the praise and approval from him that you grew to crave. the thought of him suddenly disapproving was heartbreaking.
you knew you couldn’t have him, but at least you had his professional admiration.
did you just lose that too?
that class was the first to feel slow.
professor jeon avoided eye contact with you, directing his attention away from the front row for the whole two hours. he called on other students, and pretended as if you weren’t there.
you were addicted to his attention, and you could feel the withdrawals.
when class finally ended, you stayed in your seat, looking over your notes as everyone else filed out of the lecture hall.
he closed the door behind the last student and locked it.
you swallowed.
“professor, i—“
“one moment please,” his tone was colder than normal as he tidied up his podium and approached you.
you were silent, your heart pounding in your chest.
“i wanted to talk about your essay,” he went to sit in the chair next to you.
you looked down, fiddling with the hem of your skirt, “is it… inappropriate?” you were quieter than you wanted to be.
“no,” he said. you felts his eyes boring into you but you refused to look up. “just… very honest.”
the silence stretched.
“you write longing like you understand it intimately.”
that was when you looked up, meeting his searching eyes. your breath trembled.
“maybe i do.”
you had no idea why you said that. he slid closer. “is there… someone you’re writing about?” his eyes softened.
you couldn’t lie to him. “yes.”
his head tilted, “does he know?”
you studied his face. his skin was perfect, free from blemishes that you’d normally see from someone this close. his thin rimmed glasses slightly slipped down his face and framed his beautiful brown eyes.
you still couldn’t lie to him.
“i think he does now.”
the silence was suffocating.
your heart is slamming against your chest. heat crawled up your neck. he could probably see the slight blush on your cheeks.
professor jeon nervously laughed the way he does when he mixed up his words or lost his train of thought.
you could hear the disbelief in his voice, “you’re… you’re brilliant.” he ran a hand through his hair, “you could have anyone.”
you leaned in, “i don’t want anyone.”
he slid closer.
“why me?”
his voice was raw, honest. his professor persona was gone, replaced with something softer.
“you look at me like i matter.”
that was his undoing.
he had never been the object of someone’s longing.
he was always replaceable. invisible. occasionally admired for his usefulness.
and here you were—beautiful, bright, the top of his class, looking at him like he was sacred.
something snapped.
“this is a terrible idea,” he whispered.
“tell me to leave.”
he couldn’t.
his hand moved, almost involuntarily cupping your cheek.
it was soft against your cheek. you melted into the touch.
he inhaled sharply.
you kissed him first.
soft, uncertain. he froze for a moment, shocked.
he caved.
he kissed you back, hands hovering over your waist. it was clumsy. breathless. desperate. you pulled away, stunned. he stared at you like he just jumped off of a cliff.
“w-we can’t do this,” he muttered.
you grabbed his hands, guiding them onto his hips.
“then stop.”
he doesn’t.
you climbed on top of him, hips bracketing his.
he kissed you this time. deeper, slower, memorizing. it was overwhelming for the both of you. you had never been wanted like this.
then reality slammed back in.
you were on campus. the door was unlocked. the building was probably empty, this was a night class, but it wasn’t empty enough. if anyone saw you, he would be fired and your scholarship would be in jeopardy.
the risk seemed to process in his head as well. you climbed off of him, expecting him to push you away.
instead, he said, “we have to get out of here.”
we.
・・・・・
this was idiotic and jungkook knew it.
you walked out of the lecture hall first, and he set a five minute timer to leave after you.
you met him in the empty faculty parking lot. the air was cool, the sky was dim. he unlocked his car with shaking hands.
this was insane.
you got in the car anyways.
the moment the door shut behind you, he looked at you.
then it all started over. you gave him a kiss before buckling your seatbelt. it was urgent. his hands framed your face like he couldn’t believe you were real. he pulled back, starting his car.
he was grateful his apartment was clean when you walked in. you stepped inside like it was sacred ground. he closed the door, locked it, and shut the blinds.
he just stared at you, nervously standing in his living room.
“you deserve someone better,” he blurted, breaking the silence.
it wasn’t modesty. it was insecurity.
“i don’t want better. i want you.” you said matter of factly.
he sat on the couch. you climbed on top of him again, gingerly positioning your clothed heat on top of his crotch. his hands hovered over your hips.
“can i?”
you nodded. his hands rested on your hips, rubbing light circles that made you melt further into him. he kissed your again, his tongue curling with yours as your hips began to subconsciously rock into his. he didn’t stop it.
jungkook hadn’t done anything like this since he was in grad school, your touch making him realize how starved he’s been. he shuddered as your hips found a rhythm grinding against him.
he tilted your chin up, trying to to deepen the kiss. you did your best to keep up, and he pulled back.
he pulled back, cupping your face. “relax,” he whispered, “let me.”
and when he kissed you again, you obeyed, melting under him as you let him take control of the kiss. he smiled into it.
you were always such a good listener.
your hips began to rut into him faster and faster, clearly chasing something you didn’t fully understand. he noticed your movements were clumsy, uncoordinated, a coil tightening in your stomach that needed release.
his hands tensed on your hips, stilling you.
“easy,” he murmured, “let me help you.”
his fingers slid down, slowly inching underneath your skirt. “can i?”
you nodded, breathless. his knuckles brushed against your panties. you gasped, leaning into the touch.
“so responsive,” he made eye contact with you. “has anyone touched you here before?”
you shook your head, unable to form words. a possessive rush ran down his spine.
he slipped his hand into your panties, finding you soaked and swollen. you cried into the touch, hips bucking against his hand.
“shhh,” he soothed, his other hand coming to cup the back of your neck, “i’ve got you, just feel.”
his fingers explored you slowly, deliberately. he watched every expression that crossed your face, cataloging your responses like he studied art. when his thumb softly massaged your clit, you whimpered and tried to grind against his hand again.
“p-professor…”
he slowed down, cupping your cheek. “look at me,” he coaxed.
you obeyed immediately.
“can you call me by my first name here?” he asked, thumb rubbing circles into your cheek.
it felt wrong to you to call your professor by his first name. he was someone of greater knowledge. someone older. someone to respect.
someone with his hand in your panties as you sat in his lap.
the way he studied you melted your heart. he stared at you with a reverence that you never thought you would receive.
you couldn’t say no to him.
“j-jungkook,” you whispered.
he felt himself twitch in his pants. something about the way it rolled off your tongue had him dizzy.
he cursed under his breath. “again, please baby.” he asked with pleading eyes.
that nickname made you shudder. you obeyed, “jungkook.”
jungkook gave you a quick kiss, “good girl. just my name. only my name.”
the praise was addictive.
he circled your clit with his thumb while sliding one finger inside you. you clenched around him instinctively, your body reacting to the foreign intrusion. the sensation made you whimper.
“baby…” he rested his forehead against yours, “you’re so perfect for me.”
you whined.
something in him snapped. he added another finger, pumping them in and out and stretching you while he rubbed circles on your clit. his doe eyes stared down at you.
his bottom lip trembled. “i can’t believe i let you sit in my office hours for weeks and didn’t know you wanted this. i-i tried my best to not look at you,” he rambled between open mouthed kisses to your cheek and her jaw, “you’ve always been so good to me… so sweet. i could’ve had you so much sooner.”
you gasped as he found the sweet spot on your neck. he took a moment to suck and nibble on it. “if i tried to touch you like this right in that lecture hall, you probably would’ve let me… just spread your legs and let me take what i wanted, right? because you want this as bad as i do, right?”
you bit back a moan and nodded as the pace of his fingers picked up. the combination of the fingers and the pressure on your clit was overwhelming. your breath came out in short pants.
you came with cry, your body shaking as waves of pleasure washed over you. jungkook held you through it, his movements slowing as you rode out your orgasm.
when you finally gathered yourself, you were slumped against him, your face buried in his neck. you could feel his hardness pressing against you through his slacks. he removed his fingers, the loss making you whine.
you had never experienced anything like that before.
“did you like it?” he asked, his voice rough.
you were still staring at your lap, overwhelmed. he tilted your chin up with his finger.
“eyes up,” he corrected softly.
you looked up at him with wide, yielding eyes. he wanted to devour you. he wanted to rip all of your clothes off, bend you over on the couch, and take you over, and over, and over until you couldn’t walk. until the only thing you could say was his name. you were so eager to please that you probably would’ve let him.
but you didn’t deserve that. you deserved something sweet and slow.
he smiled at you, “we’re not done yet.”
he lifted you effortlessly, body going limp in his arms as you clung to his shoulders. you were in a daze and he could tell.
jungkook didn’t waste any time. he opened his bedroom door, kicking it shut behind him with his heel.
the first thing you noticed about the room was that it smelled like him—sandalwood and old books.
he laid you out on the bed like you were something precious, his soft mattress dipping under your weight. you stared up at the ceiling, your heart still hammering against your ribs, your skin tingling all over. your skirt rode up to your waist.
“look at you,” he murmured, “so pretty.”
he crawled onto the bed. your thighs spread instinctively. he noticed, grinning.
he positioned his head between your thighs, looking up at you as his fingers brushed your waistband.
“what are you doing?” you whispered.
he looked up at you, “can i taste you?”
your breath hitched, “…yes.”
he pulled off your skirt, unbuttoning your shirt and taking off your bra for good measure, leaving you only in your panties. he pulled back for a moment to take you in. you blushed.
he pulled your panties down slowly and tenderly, letting out a soft gasp as he saw the remnants of your orgasm slipped out of your panties and dripped down your thighs.
“oh baby,” he said, “you made a mess, didn’t you?”
you whimpered. it was music to his ears.
“it’s okay,” he coaxed, taking off his fogged up glasses and setting them on the nightstand. “i’ll clean you up.”
that was when he bent down and licked a stripe against your sensitive flesh. your thighs instinctively closed against the sides of his head. he moved his hands to rest on your knees.
“keep your legs open,” he commanded softly.
the second swipe made you cry out, back arching off the bed. he groaned, the sound going straight through your core, feeling that coil tighten all over again in your tummy.
“jungkook…” you whined, hands tangling in his hair.
“just relax,” he mumbled against you, vibrations sending shockwaves through your body. “let me take care of you.”
your back arched again, and he held your hips down. the restraint made you dizzy.
he was a starving man, and you were the feast. he ate you out with desperate, enthusiastic hunger, his nose nudging against your clit as he lapped at you. he didn't just want to please you—he wanted to consume you.
you were melting into the mattress, completely overwhelmed. you wanted to grind against his face, to chase the friction, but his hold forced you to stay still. you were his to use, his to taste. you let him do all the heavy lifting, letting his tongue and his hands do the work while you just surrendered to the sensation.
you whimpered. high, helpless, embarrassingly sweet. the praise, the quiet command, it unraveled you faster than you thought possible.
he could tell.
your breathing turned ragged and your stomach started fluttering again, he sealed his lips around your clit and sucked. it was soft at first, then with steady, pulsing pressure. your whole body locked up. a broken little sob tore out of your throat as the second orgasm crashed through you, sharper and deeper than the first.
he didn’t stop.
he licked you through every aftershock, slower now, almost tender, until your whimpers turned into soft, overwhelmed sniffles. only then did he finally pull back, lips glossy, cheeks flushed, pupils blown so wide the brown was nearly gone.
he crawled up your body carefully, caging you without crushing you. his forearms bracketed your head. you could smell yourself on his mouth, on his chin, and the realization made fresh heat bloom low in your belly.
jungkook looked… ruined.
his hair was a mess from your fingers, shirt half-unbuttoned, chest rising and falling too fast. he stared down at you like you were the most devastating thing he’d ever seen.
“you’re shaking,” he whispered, brushing your hair out of your face. his thumb traced your bottom lip. “was that too much?”
you shook your head immediately, eyes glassy. “n-no… it felt so good…”
his expression softened into something dangerously fond.
he kissed you then, letting you taste yourself on his tongue. you moaned quietly into his mouth, small hands clutching at his shoulders like you were afraid he’d disappear.
when he pulled back just enough to speak, his voice cracked.
“baby…” he swallowed hard. “can i… can I be inside you?”
your breath hitched.
the question hung between you, heavy and reverent.
you wanted to say yes. you did want to say yes. but the sudden rush of everything, body over yours, the damp heat still pulsing between your legs, the sheer size of him pressing against your thigh through his slacks—made your brain short-circuit.
you stared up at him with wide, dazed eyes. lips parted. no sound came out.
jungkook’s face fell the tiniest bit. misreading your silence as hesitation, he started to pull back.
“i’m sorry—i shouldn’t have—”
your hands grabbed his shirt before he could retreat.
he froze.
you didn’t speak, just looked at him—soft, overwhelmed, trusting—and slowly shook your head no. not no to him. no to him stopping.
understanding flickered across his face.
he exhaled shakily. “you want me to keep going?”
a tiny nod.
“but you’re… you’re not saying anything.”
another tiny nod. your cheeks burned. you liked this, seeing the normally composed, fumbling professor come apart. liked the way his voice was starting to shake.
jungkook dropped his forehead to your shoulder, breathing hard.
“you’re gonna kill me,” he muttered. then, quieter, almost broken: “please. sweetheart, please. i need to feel you. i need it so bad. i haven’t—fuck, i haven’t let myself have anyone since i was studying for my master’s. i buried myself in books and data and—and then you walked into my class and i… i can’t think straight anymore.”
his hips rolled once, involuntarily, grinding his clothed length against your soaked core. he groaned low in his throat.
“i’ll go slow. i swear. i’ll stop the second you want me to. just… please let me inside you. please.”
the please sounded almost pathetic. desperate. nothing like the quiet authority he carried in lecture halls.
and you loved it.
you stayed silent a little longer, letting him unravel.
his breathing grew uneven. he started pressing soft, pleading kisses along your throat, your jaw, the corner of your mouth.
“i’ll take such good care of you,” he whispered against your skin. “i promise. i just… i need you. need to feel how warm you are. how tight. please, baby. please say yes. i’m begging you.”
your heart squeezed.
finally, soft, barely audible—you breathed:
“…yes.”
jungkook made a broken sound in the back of his throat.
he kissed you fiercely once, then sat back just enough to yank his shirt over his head. belt. button. zipper. he shoved everything down and off in one impatient motion.
when he settled back over you, completely bare, your eyes widened.
he was… big.
thick. long. flushed dark at the tip and already leaking. the sight made your thighs tremble.
“i—i don’t think…” you whispered, suddenly small and unsure again.
jungkook noticed immediately.
he leaned down, cupping your face with both hands.
“hey,” he soothed, voice velvet-soft. “it’s okay. it’ll fit. i promise you it will. we’ll go as slow as you need. you’re so wet for me already… it’ll be so easy. is that okay?”
you swallowed. nodded.
he reached between your bodies, guiding himself to your entrance. the blunt head nudged against you—hot, slick, insistent.
“breathe,” he murmured. “just breathe for me.”
you did.
he pushed in barely an inch.
your breath caught. the stretch burned immediately. sharp. intense. you whimpered, fingers digging into his biceps.
“shhh, shhh,” he kissed your temple, your cheek, your lips. “you’re doing so good. so perfect. look at you taking me already.”
another slow inch.
the burn sharpened. tears pricked your eyes.
“jungkook—it hurts—”
“i know, baby. i know.” he stilled completely, trembling with the effort of holding back. “just stay with me. relax around me. let me in slow. you’re so tight… fuck, you feel incredible.”
he kissed you through it. soft, open-mouthed, distracting. whispered praise against your lips.
“you’re the most beautiful thing i’ve ever seen.”
“so good for me.”
“taking me so well even though it’s your first time.”
“i’ve wanted this for so long.”
little by little, the sting began to melt. the fullness turned heavy, aching, good.
addictive. your hips shifted experimentally.
a soft moan slipped out.
his eyes fluttered shut. “that’s it… that’s my girl.”
he sank the rest of the way in one careful glide.
you both groaned.
he bottomed out, hips flush to yours, and stayed there—letting you adjust, letting himself feel every fluttering pulse around him.
“you’re perfect,” he whispered, voice wrecked. “so perfect. feel that? that’s us. just us.”
tears slipped down your temples—not from pain anymore, but from how full you felt. how wanted. how seen. he kissed them away.
“move,” you breathed after a long moment. “please… please move.”
he did.
slow. deep.
every drag of him inside you lit up nerves you didn’t know existed. the ache turned molten. sweet. you wrapped your legs around his waist instinctively, pulling him closer.
he groaned your name like a prayer.
“you feel so good,” he rasped. “so warm. baby, you’re squeezing me so perfect.”
you keened at the praise, nails raking lightly down his back.
“more,” you whispered. “please.”
he gave it to you—still controlled, still careful, but deeper now. harder. the bed creaked softly beneath you.
“look at me,” he murmured.
you did.
his eyes were liquid dark, reverent.
“i’m so proud of you,” he said, voice shaking. “letting me have you like this. trusting me. you’re everything. you know that? everything.”
your eyes fluttered. the coil was building again—different this time. deeper. all-consuming.
“jungkook—”
“i’ve got you,” he promised, hips rolling in that perfect grind. “come for me, baby. let me feel it. please, baby.”
you shattered.
harder than before. clenching around him so tightly he cursed under his breath. your whole body shook, soft cries muffled against his shoulder.
he followed right after, hips stuttering, burying himself as deep as possible as he spilled inside you with a long, broken moan of your name.
for several long minutes you just held each other. breathing hard. sweaty. trembling.
he pressed the softest kisses to your hairline, your closed eyelids, the tip of your nose.
“you okay?” he whispered eventually.
you nodded against his chest. smiled sleepily.
“more than okay.”
he exhaled, relieved. wrapped both arms around you and rolled so you were tucked against his side, still connected.
“stay,” he murmured, almost shy now that the urgency had passed. “just… stay with me tonight?”
you nuzzled closer, already drifting.
“always.”
the apartment was quiet in a way it had never been before.
not tense.
not forbidden.
just quiet.
the kind of quiet that settled after something life-changing.
you were wrapped in his sheets, hair messy, lips swollen, limbs pleasantly heavy. the world felt softer around the edges. unreal.
jungkook was sitting up beside you, chest rising and falling slowly, still trying to steady himself. he looked wrecked in a way that had nothing to do with exhaustion and everything to do with disbelief.
you were looking at him like you had just discovered something sacred.
he ran a hand through his hair and let out a small, almost shy laugh.
“are you sure you okay?” he asked, voice lower than usual.
you nodded immediately. “perfect. all because of you .”
that made his ears turn pink.
he disappeared into the bathroom for a moment and came back with a warm cloth. the gentleness in his movements made your chest ache. he knelt beside you on the bed like you were fragile porcelain.
“let me,” he murmured.
he was careful. attentive. not clinical, but reverent. like this mattered. like you mattered.
you watched his face while he cleaned you up, the concentration in his brows, the softness in his eyes. he kept glancing up to check your expression.
“tell me if anything feels uncomfortable,” he said quietly.
you shook your head. “it doesn’t.”
he exhaled, relieved.
when he was done, you sat up slowly and took the cloth from his hand.
“my turn,” you said.
he blinked at you. “you don’t have to.”
“i want to.”
that softness again. that eagerness that kept undoing him.
you guided him back onto the bed, pushing him gently until he was the one lying down. he let you. completely.
there was something so vulnerable about him like that, broad shoulders against white sheets, hair falling into his eyes, chest rising steadily under your gaze.
you were just as careful with him.
your touch was slower, lighter, almost curious.
he swallowed hard.
“you’re staring,” he muttered.
“i am.”
he huffed a breath that might have been a laugh.
“why?”
you shrugged slightly. “i never thought you’d look like this.”
“like what?”
“soft.”
that made him go quiet.
when you finished, you tossed the cloth aside and crawled back toward him without hesitation. skin to skin. you pressed yourself against his side like it was instinct.
he stiffened for half a second. not because he didn’t want you there, but because he wasn’t used to it. not used to being held.
then his arm wrapped around you, pulling you closer until there was no space left between your bodies.
you rested your cheek against his chest.
he smelled like clean laundry and something warmer now. something entirely his.
“was this okay?” you mumbled sleepily.
his arm tightened around you.
“yeah,” he said softly. “it was more than okay.”
your fingers started tracing idle patterns against his skin.
that was when you noticed it fully. the ink winding down his arm.
you lifted your head slightly, eyes scanning the dark lines and shaded details of his sleeve.
“i never thought you’d have tattoos like this,” you murmured.
he looked down at you, amused. “like what?”
“like this,” you repeated, dragging your fingertip slowly along the edge of one design. “i thought you’d have, like… a tiny minimalist one. something academic.”
he laughed, the sound vibrating under your ear.
“a tiny minimalist one?”
“maybe a paintbrush,” you said seriously. “or something pretentious.”
he laughed harder at that.
“i’m not that bad.”
you hummed, tracing another section carefully. “it’s pretty.”
“pretty?”
“yeah.” your voice was soft, sincere. “i liked that it didn’t match what people expected.”
he watched you with an expression that shifted from amused to something deeper.
“you didn’t seem surprised,” he said quietly.
“about what?”
“that i wasn’t what people expected.”
you rested your chin on his chest and looked up at him.
“i’d known that since the first day.”
his fingers slid into your hair absentmindedly.
“you were full of surprises too,” he murmured.
you smiled sleepily. “like what?”
“like how brave you were.”
you flushed at that.
“i was terrified.”
“you didn’t look it.”
you tucked yourself closer into him, your leg sliding between his instinctively. he inhaled softly at the contact but didn’t move away.
“i liked being close to you,” you admitted, barely above a whisper.
his hand stilled in your hair.
“i liked you being close,” he answered.
the room went quiet again, but it was different now.
comfortable.
your fingertip continued tracing the lines of his sleeve, slowly, carefully, memorizing. you followed each curve like you were studying something important.
he watched you the entire time.
like he still couldn’t believe you were there.
like he was afraid if he closed his eyes, you’d disappear.
“don’t look at me like that,” you mumbled without opening your eyes.
“like what?”
“like i’m going to vanish.”
his breath caught.
you opened one eye and smiled faintly.
“i wasn’t.”
his arm tightened around you again, pressing a soft kiss into your hair.
“good,” he whispered.
and for the first time since the line had blurred, neither of you felt like you were falling.
you just lay there, skin to skin, quiet and tangled together, tracing ink and memorizing warmth, like you had all the time in the world.
author’s note: this took forever to write bc i got super self indulgent😭 i hope you enjoyed it, i’ve had this idea for a while. thank you for reading<333
being supervised for a week sounds humiliating enough. being supervised by your older, cocky, unfairly attractive neighbor who the entire town worships? absolute torture.
when your parents ask him to live in your house while they’re away, he takes the job a little too seriously. surviving the week together quickly becomes less about supervision — and more about resisting something neither of you are willing to admit out loud.
⸝⸝ pairings : babysitter!jungkook x f!reader
⸝⸝ tags : dominant jungkook, forced proximity, power dynamic themes, brat/brat tamer dynamics, mutual pinning, reader is a bit mean, two year age gap, explicit sexual content, wealthy neighborhood au, praise / teasing elements
⸝⸝ word count est : 14k (not proofread)
monday 7:56 am
monday morning feels louder than it should.
cabinet doors opening. footsteps moving back and forth. your mom calling your name from somewhere upstairs even though you’re already awake.
you stare at the ceiling for a second before rolling over with a quiet groan, sunlight cutting through the curtains in thin gold lines.
today.
right.
they’re leaving today.
a week-long trip. conferences. dinners. whatever adult things they do when they disappear together. and that means...
jungkook.
your stomach does something small and annoying at the thought.
you shove the feeling down immediately and sit up. it’s not a big deal. he’s just the neighbor. family friend. the golden boy your parents trust with literally everything.
including, apparently… you.
you pull on shorts and an oversized tee before heading downstairs, the smell of coffee already drifting through the house.
your parents are in full departure mode bags near the door, your dad checking his watch, your mom doing that last-minute “did we forget anything” loop through the kitchen.
“there she is,” your mom says when she sees you. “good morning, honey.”
you mumble something back, grabbing a mug from the cabinet. and that’s when the front door opens. you don’t need to look to know it’s him.
there’s just… a shift.
a presence.
footsteps that are heavier than your dad’s but familiar enough that your body recognizes them before your brain does.
“morning,” jungkook says.
his voice is confident. you look up. and there he is.
black hoodie. gray sweats. hair slightly messy like he ran a hand through it on the way over. he looks annoyingly good for someone who probably woke up ten minutes ago. your parents light up immediately, of course they do.
“jungkook! perfect timing,” your mom says, walking over to hug him.
he hugs her back easily, smiling that polite, respectful smile he always pulls out around adults.
“ready to escape?” he teases your dad. your dad laughs. “don’t tempt me.”
you watch the interaction over the rim of your mug, trying very hard not to notice how broad his shoulders look under the hoodie. or how his eyes flick toward you for half a second. just long enough to acknowledge you’re there. then back to your parents.
golden boy mode activated.
“seriously,” your mom says, lowering her voice slightly like you’re not literally five feet away. “thank you again for keeping an eye on her.”
your jaw tightens. keeping an eye on her. like you’re twelve. jungkook glances at you then quick, unreadable before looking back at her. “don’t worry,” he says easily.
then, with the smallest curve of his mouth: “i’ll take good care of her.”
your stomach flips. you hate that it does. you roll your eyes dramatically. “i’m standing right here.”
your dad chuckles. “we know, we know. but humor us.”
jungkook’s gaze returns to you. steady and amused. like he’s enjoying this way more than he should. and you suddenly feel very aware of yourself. of your bare legs. of the oversized shirt slipping slightly off one shoulder.
of his eyes noticing.
your mom starts running through instructions food in the fridge, emergency numbers, don’t forget to lock the doors--while your dad grabs the last suitcase.
you half listen, half don’t. because jungkook moves closer. not touching.
just… near.
close enough that you can feel his warmth at your side, close enough that his shoulder almost brushes yours when he shifts. your pulse picks up. it’s ridiculous. he hasn’t even done anything “you good?” he murmurs quietly, low enough your parents can’t hear.
you glance at him.
he’s looking down at you slightly, expression calm, but there’s something else under it. something observant. like he’s already reading your mood.
“i don’t need supervision,” you mutter. his mouth twitches. “didn’t say you did.”
“you literally did.”
“your parents did.”
“same thing.”
he leans a little closer.
voice softer.
“relax,” he says. “i’m not here to babysit you.”
your stomach drops. because the way he says it doesn’t sound reassuring. it sounds like a promise of something else.
before you can respond, your mom claps her hands together.
“okay! we have to go or we’ll miss the flight.”
quick hugs happen. your mom kisses your cheek. your dad squeezes your shoulder.
then they’re grabbing bags, heading for the door. jungkook helps carry the last suitcase out like the perfect son-in-law prototype he is.
you follow more slowly. the driveway is bright with late morning sun. car doors slam. last reminders are shouted. then your mom points at jungkook again. “call us if she gives you trouble.”
you groan. “mom-”
jungkook laughs under his breath. “i’ve got it,” he says. your dad gives him a knowing nod. and then they’re in the car. engine starting. waving goodbye. you stand there, arms crossed, watching until they pull out of the driveway and disappear down the street.
silence settles.
thick.
sudden.
different.
you don’t realize you’re still staring at the empty street until you feel it--
him. behind you. close. very close. “so,” jungkook says.
low. you turn.
and nearly collide with him. he didn’t step back. you didn’t either. for a second you’re just… there. face to face.
his eyes drop briefly to your mouth. then back up. heat floods your chest instantly. “guess it’s just us,” he finishes.
your throat feels dry. “…yeah.” a slow smile spreads across his face. not the polite one. not the neighbor one. this one is different.
more cockier and aware.
“try not to get into trouble,” he says softly.
you scoff, defensive immediately. “i don’t get into trouble.”
his eyebrow lifts.
amusement flickers in his eyes.
“we’ll see.”
and for the first time since your parents left--
you realize something that makes your pulse spike.
this week isn’t going to be normal.
not even close.
the kitchen still smells faintly like citrus cleaner and whatever protein shake powder he’d dumped into the sink earlier.
you’re perched on the counter stool with one knee pulled up, a glass of water sweating in your hand while jungkook moves around like he owns the place.
it’s distracting.
not just because he looks good --which he does, annoyingly so but because he’s comfortable.
too comfortable. your kitchen. your house. and somehow he’s the one acting like you’re the guest.
he shuts the fridge with his hip, twists the cap off a bottle of water, and drinks half of it in one go. his throat moves when he swallows, head tipped back slightly, damp hair still clinging to the sides of his neck from the gym.
you look away. immediately. because staring would be obvious.
“you should eat,” he says, voice casual.
“i just got back from my run.”
“exactly.”
you roll your eyes. “i’m not five.”
“didn’t say you were.” he leans against the counter across from you, forearms braced behind him, posture loose but deliberate. like he knows you’re looking. like he wants you to. “what do you want?” he asks.
“for what?”
“lunch.”
you shrug. “i don’t know. takeout?” he makes a face. “what?”
“you had takeout yesterday.”
“and?”
“and you complain about feeling tired all the time.” your eyes narrow. “are you judging me right now?”
“i’m observing.”
“that sounds like judging.”
he smiles a little. cocky. “i could cook,” he says. you snort. “you? cook?” his eyebrow lifts slowly. “you’ve seen me cook breakfast,” he reminds you.
“eggs aren’t cooking. that’s survival.” he pushes off the counter, stepping closer. you feel it immediately --that shift in space when someone enters your personal bubble. your pulse does something stupid.
“i make a pretty good stir fry,” he says.
“wow. impressive.”
“you’re rude.”
“you’re bragging.”
he stops right in front of you. close enough that you have to tilt your chin up slightly to meet his eyes. close enough that you can smell his body wash again — clean, warm, faintly masculine — mixed with the lingering scent of sweat from the gym.
it shouldn’t smell good. it does. “you always like this?” he asks quietly.
“like what?”
“defensive.”
your spine straightens. “i’m not defensive.”
“sure.”
you cross your arms. “i just don’t need someone telling me what to eat in my own house.”
“your parents asked me to make sure you were taken care of.”
“i can take care of myself.”
his gaze drops briefly — your crossed arms, your legs, the flush creeping up your neck — then returns to your face.
there’s something different in his expression now. less teasing. more focused. “i know you can,” he says.
pause.
“doesn’t mean you always do.” your chest tightens. you hate that he’s not entirely wrong. you look away first.
“fine,” you mutter. “cook whatever you want.” his mouth curves slightly, like he just won something.
—
you expect him to move away.
he doesn’t.
instead he reaches past you toward the cabinet behind your shoulder. your breath catches. his arm brushes your side — barely — but enough that heat sparks under your skin. he grabs a bowl, then another, still standing too close. on purpose.
definitely on purpose.
“you’re crowding me,” you say.
“you’re sitting in the middle of the kitchen.”
“it’s my kitchen.”
“still in the way.”
you glare at him.
he just smiles. cocky. patient. infuriating.
—
cooking with him turns out to be… worse than you expected. because he’s competent. like actually competent.
knife moving quickly through vegetables, movements efficient, confident, controlled. you lean on the counter watching, pretending you’re not impressed.
“you can help,” he says without looking up.
“i am helping.”
“watching isn’t helping.”
“moral support.”
he chuckles under his breath. “come here.” you hesitate. then slide off the stool and step beside him. he hands you a cutting board. “slice those.”
you pick up the knife. “i know how to cut vegetables.”
“we’ll see.”
you start chopping. after about ten seconds he reaches over, stopping your hand. his fingers wrap lightly around your wrist.
warm.
firm.
your pulse jumps instantly.
“like this,” he says. he shifts behind you. close. too close. one hand guiding yours, the other resting lightly against your hip to adjust your stance.
your brain goes completely blank for a second. you can feel his chest near your back. his breath near your ear. “relax your grip,” he murmurs. your throat feels dry. “i am relaxed.”
“you’re not.”
his fingers slide over yours slightly, correcting the angle of the knife. the contact lingers longer than necessary.
definitely longer.
heat spreads through your stomach. you pull your hand back quickly. “i got it.” his eyebrow lifts. “didn’t say you didn’t.”
“you were hovering.”
“i was helping.”
“controlling.”
“guiding.”
you scoff. he smiles again. god, you want to wipe that smile off his face.
—
you end up back on the stool while he finishes cooking. watching him.
again.
it’s embarrassing how easy it is to just… look at him. the way his shoulders move under his shirt. the flex of his forearms when he stirs the pan. the concentration on his face. you catch yourself staring at his mouth when he tastes the sauce.
you immediately look away.
he notices. of course he does. “hungry?” he asks.
“…maybe.”
“good.” he plates the food and sets a bowl in front of you without asking what you want. like he’s decided for you. you hate that a tiny part of you likes it.
you take a bite.
it’s good. really good. you try not to react. fail slightly. he sees. “told you,” he says. you roll your eyes. “don’t get cocky.”
“too late.”
—
for a few minutes you eat in comfortable silence. then he speaks again. “you dating anyone right now?”
you blink. “…what?”
“it’s a question.”
“why?”
he shrugs. “curious.”
you narrow your eyes. “since when do you care about my dating life?”
“since your parents asked me to look out for you.”
“that has nothing to do with dating.”
“it does if some guy’s wasting your time.”
your stomach flips unexpectedly. you poke at your food. “…no.”
“no what?”
“no, i’m not dating anyone.”
he nods slowly. “recently?”
you hesitate. “…kind of.”
“kind of?”
“it didn’t work out.”
“why not?”
you sigh. “he was annoying.”
jungkook’s mouth twitches. “that’s descriptive.”
“he just… didn’t get me.”
“how?” you shrug, staring down at your bowl. “he thought i was too much sometimes.” jungkook goes still.
“too much?” he repeats.
“like… opinionated. stubborn. emotional.” you laugh lightly, but it comes out a little forced.
“you know. difficult.”
there’s a quiet pause.
then--
“that sounds like his problem,” jungkook says.
your eyes lift. his expression is serious now. focused. “not yours.”
something warm spreads through your chest before you can stop it. you look away quickly.
“…you don’t have to say that.”
“i’m not saying it to be nice.”
his gaze stays on you. steady. intent. “you’re not too much,” he says. your stomach flips hard. “you just need someone who can handle you.” your heart starts beating faster.
“…handle me?”
the corner of his mouth lifts.
“yeah.”
pause.
“you’re a little bratty sometimes.” your head snaps up.
“excuse me?”
he chuckles softly. “you are.”
“i am not.”
“you argue about everything.”
“because you’re wrong about everything.”
he leans closer across the counter. “and you hate being told what to do.”
“i don’t—”
“you do.” his voice drops slightly. “especially when you know you should listen.”
heat rushes up your neck. “you’re unbelievable.”
“and you’re predictable.”
“i am not predictable.”
“sure.”
you glare at him. he just looks amused. patient. confident. like he knows exactly how to push your buttons. and worse --like he knows you like it.
—
you stand abruptly, grabbing your bowl. “i’m done.”
you move toward the sink. he steps into your path. not blocking. but definitely not moving either. you look up at him. your chest feels tight again. “what?” you ask. his eyes flick briefly to your mouth. then back to your eyes. “…nothing,” he says.
but his voice is quieter now. rougher. and for the first time since he got here, you realize something that makes your stomach drop slightly.
this isn’t one-sided. he’s feeling it too. and that’s way more dangerous than you expected.
the afternoon settles into something quieter after lunch.
not calm. just… charged.
like the air in the house has shifted a few degrees warmer without either of you acknowledging it. you tell yourself you’re going to go to your room. get space. reset your brain.
instead you end up in the living room, curled into the corner of the couch with your laptop open and absolutely no idea what you’ve been staring at for the last ten minutes.
you hear him before you see him. footsteps slow. he leans against the doorway, arms crossed loosely over his chest. just watching you. you feel it instantly --that awareness crawling up your spine.
you glance up. “…what?”
his mouth curves faintly.
“you’ve been on the same page for a while.”
heat creeps into your face.
“i’m reading.”
“sure.”
you glare at him. “why are you staring at me?”
“i’m not.”
“you are.”
he pushes off the doorway and walks in, dropping onto the opposite end of the couch. close enough that you feel the cushion dip. close enough that your knee is maybe six inches from his thigh.
which suddenly feels like nothing. too close. you shift slightly. he notices.
of course he does.
“relax,” he says lightly.
“i am relaxed.”
“you look tense.”
“maybe because someone keeps hovering around me.”
he chuckles under his breath.
“i live here right now.”
“temporarily.”
“still counts.”
you roll your eyes and try to focus back on your screen.
you fail almost immediately.
because you can feel him looking at you again.
your skin prickles.
you snap the laptop shut.
“what?” you ask.
his eyes flick over your face. slow. intent. like he’s studying something. “…nothing,” he says. your stomach flips. you hate that word from him. nothing. like there’s something he’s not saying. “you’re being weird today,” you mutter.
“how?”
“i don’t know. just… weird.” he leans back slightly, arm draped along the back of the couch behind you. not touching. but close enough that you feel surrounded. “maybe you’re just noticing me more,” he says.
your heart stutters.
“that’s not--”
“it’s okay,” he continues, voice calm, almost amused. “i notice you too.”
the words land heavier than they should. your throat feels dry. “…what does that mean?”
his gaze drops briefly to your mouth. then back up. “whatever you want it to mean.”
your pulse jumps.
you look away first.
coward.
—
an hour later you’re both still in the living room.
you switched to a movie at some point, more for background noise than actual interest.
jungkook ended up closer without either of you acknowledging when.
your feet are tucked under you.
his knee brushes yours occasionally when he shifts.
every time it happens, your stomach does something stupid.
you pretend it doesn’t.
halfway through the movie he nudges your foot with his.
“what?” you say.
“you always sit like that?”
“like what?”
“curled up like you’re five.”
“it’s comfortable.”
“you’ll cramp.”
“i won’t.”
he reaches over suddenly, grabbing your ankle.
you jolt.
“hey—”
he pulls your leg gently, stretching it across the couch toward him.
“there,” he says. “better.”
your heart is beating way too fast.
his hand is still around your ankle.
warm.
firm.
you swallow.
“…you’re bossy.”
“you’re stubborn.”
“same thing.”
“not really.”
his thumb shifts slightly against your skin.
barely. but enough that heat sparks up your leg. you pull your foot back quickly. he lets you. but his eyes are on you now. sharp. focused. like he noticed exactly what that did.
—
“you wanna do something?” he asks after a minute.
“we are doing something.”
“you’re half watching and half overthinking.”
you scoff. “you don’t know what i’m thinking.”
“i know you.”
“you don’t know me that well.”
his head tilts slightly.
“i know more than you think.”
your stomach flips again.
“…like what?”
he studies you for a second.
then:
“you act tough when you’re uncomfortable.”
your chest tightens.
“i don’t--”
“you do,” he says calmly. “you get sarcastic. defensive.”
you cross your arms.
“maybe because you’re annoying.”
he smiles faintly.
“maybe.”
pause.
“or maybe because you feel things more than you want to.”
your pulse stumbles. you look away. “…you’re overanalyzing.”
“am i?” you don’t answer. because he’s not entirely wrong. and that’s the worst part.
—
he stands suddenly.
“come on.”
you blink. “where?”
“outside.”
“why?”
“because you’ve been in your head all afternoon.”
“i’m fine.”
“you’re coming.”
you narrow your eyes. “you don’t get to decide that.”
he steps closer. right into your space. “yeah,” he says quietly. “i kind of do.” your breath catches.
“why?” you challenge.
his gaze drops briefly to your mouth again. then back to your eyes. “because you won’t say no.”
your stomach flips violently.
“…watch me.”
you grab your phone, standing up.
he reaches out, fingers closing around your wrist. not rough. but firm enough to stop you. electricity shoots up your arm. your heart starts racing instantly. “don’t,” he says softly. your chest rises and falls faster. “don’t what?”
“run away every time something feels different.” the words hit somewhere deep. you stare at him. he’s close. so close you can see the tiny scar near his eyebrow.
the darker ring around his pupils.
his thumb shifts slightly against your wrist. not letting go. not tightening either. just there. steady. grounding.
“…i’m not running,” you whisper.
“you are.”
your pulse pounds in your ears. “from what?” you ask. his voice drops. “from me.” silence stretches between you. thick. heavy. your stomach twists. because you know exactly what he means. and you don’t have a comeback.
—
he releases your wrist slowly. “come outside,” he says again. this time you don’t argue.
—
the backyard is warm with late afternoon sunlight, shadows stretching across the grass.
you sit on the patio steps while he grabs two water bottles from the outdoor fridge. the quiet feels different out here. definitely less suffocating, but the tension between you is still there. maybe worse.
he sits beside you, shoulder brushing yours lightly. neither of you moves away. for a few minutes you just watch the sky shift colors.
then he speaks;
“why do you think you pick the wrong guys?”
you blink.
“…what?”
“earlier,” he says. “you said you haven’t found someone who gets you.”
your stomach tightens.
you shrug. “i don’t know. bad luck.”
“no,” he says softly. “not luck.”
you glance at him--his expression seems thoughtful.
“you go for people who don’t challenge you,” he continues. “or people you think you have to prove something to.”
your chest feels tight again.
“…you don’t know that.”
“i do.”
“how?”
his eyes meet yours.
steady.
“because you’re used to being the one in control.”
your pulse jumps.
“i am not controlling.”
“not controlling,” he corrects. “independent.”
pause.
“but you still want someone who can handle you when you push.”
your breath catches.
the words land deep.
too deep.
“…and you think you’re that person?” you ask, trying to sound unimpressed.
his mouth curves slightly.
“maybe.”
your stomach flips.
you hate how confident he sounds.
how certain.
“you’re cocky,” you mutter.
“you like it.”
“i do not.”
he leans closer.
just a little.
“yeah,” he says quietly. “you do.”
your heart is pounding now. his face is closer. your knees brush. neither of you moves. the air feels thick. charged. you can feel his breath. warm. your eyes drop to his mouth without meaning to. he notices.
of course he does. his voice drops to almost a whisper. “see?”
your pulse is racing so hard it feels like your ribs are vibrating. “jungkook,” you say softly. you don’t even know what you’re going to say. his hand lifts slowly.
fingers brushing a strand of hair away from your face gently. the touch lingers. your stomach flips violently.
“you know this is going somewhere,” he murmurs. your breath catches. the world feels very small suddenly.
just you.
him.
the space between your mouths. he leans in slightly. not all the way. giving you time to move. you don’t. your eyes flutter. your heart is pounding.
and for a split second you think he’s going to kiss you-
then he stops.
forehead almost touching yours. breath mixing. “not yet,” he says softly. and somehow that feels more dangerous than if he had.
the argument starts small.
so small you don’t even realize it’s turning into something bigger until it already has. you’re both back inside after the backyard moment ,--after the almost kiss, after his stupid not yet that’s been replaying in your head on a loop you can’t shut off.
you’re restless. on edge. and he’s watching you too closely. like he knows. like he can see exactly what’s happening under your skin.
you grab your phone from the counter, scrolling without actually reading anything.
he leans against the island across from you, arms crossed. “you’re quiet,” he says. “i’m fine.”
“you don’t look fine.” you sigh sharply. “why do you keep doing that?”
“doing what?”
“analyzing me. watching me. acting like you know what i’m thinking.”
his jaw tightens slightly. “because you’re obvious.”
your head snaps up. “i am not obvious.”
“you are when you’re flustered.”
heat shoots up your neck immediately. “i’m not flustered.”
his eyebrow lifts.
“you’re impossible,” you snap. “you’re defensive again.”
“because you keep pushing.”
“maybe because you keep running.”
your chest tightens.
“i’m not running from anything.”
“you are,” he says calmly. “from this.” his hand gestures lightly between you. the implication lands heavy. dangerous. “there is no this,” you say quickly. his eyes narrow slightly.
“right.” the sarcasm hits a nerve. “you’re so full of yourself,” you mutter.
“am i?”
“yeah. you think every girl wants you.”
his mouth twitches.
“most do.”
your stomach flips with irritation.
“god, you’re insufferable.”
“and you’re lying.”
“about what?”
his voice drops.
“about not feeling this.”
your pulse jumps.
“you don’t get to decide what i feel.”
“i don’t have to,” he says quietly. “your body does it for you.”
your heart stutters. you hate that he’s right. you hate that he knows it. “you know what?” you say sharply. “maybe you should worry less about me and more about your own ego.”
something shifts in his expression then. subtle. but real. “my ego?” he repeats. “yeah. you walk around like you’re some perfect golden boy who has everything under control.”
his jaw tightens.
“that’s what everyone thinks,” you continue, words coming faster now. “you’re always helping people, always so patient, so nice--”
“you think that’s fake?”
“i think you like the attention.”
silence.
you realize you crossed something. but pride keeps you going. “and maybe you think you can control me the same way,” you add.
his eyes darken slightly.
“control you?” he says quietly.
“yeah. telling me what to eat, where to go, acting like i need supervision.”
he pushes off the counter slowly. steps closer. the air changes instantly.
“your parents asked me to look out for you,” he says.
“i didn’t.”
“no,” he agrees. “you didn’t.”
you swallow.there’s tension coiled in his posture now. not anger exactly. but restraint. tight. coiled. you look away first.
“i’m getting snacks,” you mutter, turning toward the pantry.
—
you stand there staring into the shelves without really seeing anything. chips. granola bars. cereal boxes. your chest still feels tight from the argument. from the way his voice changed. from the way he looked at you. footsteps approach behind you. you don’t turn around. “we should go out,” he says.
“no.”
“yeah.”
“i’m not going anywhere.”
“you are.”
you scoff. “you’re unbelievable.”
“put your shoes on.”
you turn then, glaring. “why?”
“because you need to get out of the house.”
“i don’t.”
“you do.”
his voice isn’t loud. but it’s firm. decisive.
the same tone he used earlier when he said come outside. your stomach flips. “…fine,” you mutter.
—
the walk to the convenience store is quiet. the sky is darker now, evening settling in with soft streetlights flickering on. you’re hyper aware of him beside you. his shoulder occasionally brushing yours. his presence steady.
grounding.
you hate that word.
grounding.
inside the store, fluorescent lights buzz overhead. you grab a basket, wandering down aisles without really thinking.he stays close. not hovering. but close enough that you feel him whenever you move.
you reach for a bag of chips on a higher shelf. before you can grab it, his hand reaches past you.
his chest brushes your back slightly.
heat shoots through you instantly.
he hands you the bag without a word.
your fingers brush. linger. you both feel it. neither comments.
—
you’re near the drinks when it happens. a guy steps into your space. too close. “hey,” he says, smiling. you blink, surprised. “hi?”
“you come here a lot?” you shift slightly, uncomfortable. “not really.” he leans closer. too close. “you’re beautiful,” he says. your stomach tightens. you glance past him instinctively. jungkook is already moving. his hand lands on your lower back.
firm, and possessive. pulling you slightly toward him. the guy notices immediately.
jungkook’s voice is calm. low. but unmistakably sharp. “she’s with me.” the tension in the air shifts instantly. the guy hesitates, eyes flicking between you. “…oh. my bad.” he backs off. jungkook doesn’t move his hand. not until the guy is completely gone.
your heart is racing. “i could’ve handled that,” you say quietly. “i know,” he says. but his hand stays on your back another second longer.
then slides away.
the absence feels noticeable.
—
the walk home is different. quieter. charged. jungkook’s jaw is tight. his posture tense. you can feel it radiating off him. inside the house, you set the snacks on the counter.
neither of you moves for a second.
then he speaks. “you okay?” you nod. “…yeah.” he studies your face. like he’s checking. like he needs to be sure. something warm spreads in your chest. you look away quickly. “i told you i could handle it,” you mutter. “i know.”
“then why did you--”
“because i wanted to.”
the words land heavy. you turn toward him. he’s closer now. you didn’t notice him step forward. your pulse jumps. “you don’t have to protect me,” you say softly. his eyes lock onto yours. “i know.”
pause.
“i want to.”
your heart stutters. the air feels thick again. charged. dangerous.
“jungkook…” you whisper.
his hand lifts slowly. fingers brushing your jaw. tilting your face up. your breath catches.
his voice drops.
“you have no idea what you're doing to me,” he murmurs. your stomach flips violently.his other hand slides to your waist. pulling you closer. your bodies touch. full contact. heat explodes through you instantly.
“you push,” he says softly. “you argue. you act like you don’t feel it.” his thumb brushes your bottom lip. your knees feel weak. “but you do,” he murmurs.
you nod slightly before you can stop yourself. that’s all it takes.
he kisses you.
like he’s been holding back all day.
your hands grab his shirt instinctively. his grip tightens on your waist. pulling you flush against him. the kiss deepens. heat spirals fast. dangerously fast. his mouth moves against yours again and again, slower now, more deliberate.
like he’s savoring. your head spins. his forehead presses briefly to yours. breath uneven.
“last chance, tell me to stop,” he murmured. but you didn’t.
you shake your head immediately.
that control in him snaps. his fingers curled around your wrist, tugging you forward before you could second-guess the heat pooling low in your stomach. jungkook didn’t give you time to think--his mouth crashed against yours, insistent, all teeth and desperation.
You gasped, and he took advantage, slipping his tongue past your lips like he’d been waiting years for permission. you clutched at his shoulders just to steady yourself.
one hand slid up your side, fingers pressing into your ribs like he was memorizing the shape of you. the other cupped your jaw, tilting your head back just enough that you had to rise onto your toes.
Jungkook groaned, low and rough, when your nails scraped against the nape of his neck.
“fuck,” he muttered against your mouth, and then he was walking you backward, never breaking contact, until your hips hit the edge of the kitchen counter.
the cold marble bit into your thighs, but you barely registered it--not when jungkook’s hands were sliding under your thighs, lifting you onto the counter like you weighed nothing. his hips slotted between your legs, and you arched into him instinctively, your breath hitching at the hard press of him against you.
he laughed, breathless, his lips trailing down your throat. “you’re so-” he bit lightly at your collarbone, and you jerked, your thighs tightening around him.
“fucking responsive.”
you didn’t have time to retort. jungkook’s mouth was on yours again, swallowing your whimper as his hands gripped your waist, pulling you flush against him.
the friction was maddening, just enough to make your toes curl but not enough to relieve the ache building inside you.
you rocked against him, desperate, and he broke the kiss with a sharp inhale. his eyes were blown wide, pupils swallowing the warm brown you loved so much.
“bedroom,” he growled, and before you could nod, he was tapping your ass twice--a silent command.
you didn’t hesitate. jumping down, you wrapped your arms around his neck, and Jungkook hooked his hands under your thighs, lifting you effortlessly.
your legs locked around his waist as he carried you down the hallway, his mouth hot against your neck.
the trip felt endless and too short all at once, every step sending a jolt of anticipation through you.
when the back of your knees hit the mattress, jungkook dropped you onto it with a quiet thud. he followed immediately, his weight pressing you into the sheets as his lips found yours again. there was no hesitation now, no teasing--just hunger, raw and unchecked.
his hands were everywhere, tugging at your clothes, his touch leaving trails of fire in their wake.
you reached for the hem of his shirt, desperate to feel skin, but he caught your wrist, pinning it above your head with a smirk. “patience,” he murmured, though his breathing was just as ragged as yours.
you arched beneath him, trying to free your wrist, but jungkook only tightened his grip. his free hand slid down your side, slow and deliberate, until his fingers brushed the waistband of your pants.
He paused, his gaze locking onto yours, and you knew--this was the last chance to stop.
you didn’t.
jungkook’s fingers dipped beneath the waistband of your pants, his touch searing even through the fabric.
you gasped, your hips lifting off the mattress involuntarily, seeking more of the pressure his hand denied you. he chuckled, dark and satisfied, his thumb tracing slow circles just above the sensitive skin he hadn’t quite reached yet.
“you’re so fucking eager,” he murmured, his breath hot against your ear.
“like you’ve been waiting for this forever.”
you wanted to snap back, to tell him he was the one who’d been driving you insane all night, but the words died in your throat when his fingers finally slipped lower, brushing against the damp fabric between your thighs.
your back arched, a broken sound escaping your lips as jungkook pressed his palm firmly against you, his eyes never leaving your face. “fuck,” he breathed, his own hips grinding down into yours, the hard line of his cock unmistakable even through his sweats.
“you’re already-”
you cut him off by surging up, catching his bottom lip between your teeth.
jungkook groaned, his control slipping for just a second--long enough for you to twist your wrist free from his grip. you didn’t waste the opportunity.
your hands shoved at his shirt, pushing it up until he had no choice but to pull it off, the fabric hitting the floor with a soft rustle.
his chest heaved as you dragged your nails down his stomach, reveling in the way his muscles tensed under your touch.
“who’s eager now?” you taunted, though your voice was shaky, betraying you.
jungkook’s eyes flashed, and before you could react, he flipped you onto your stomach, his body pressing yours into the mattress. one hand tangled in your hair, tugging just enough to make your breath catch, while the other yanked your pants down your hips in one rough motion.
the cool air against your bare skin was a shock, but not nearly as much as the feel of his teeth grazing the curve of your ass.
you whimpered, your fingers clutching at the sheets as his tongue replaced his teeth, laving over the spot he’d just bitten.
“jungkook--” you choked out, but he ignored you, his hands spreading your thighs wider as he settled between them.
his mouth was relentless, kissing and biting his way up the inside of your thigh until you were trembling, your nails digging into the mattress.
when he finally, finally dragged his tongue over your clit, you nearly sobbed, your hips jerking against his face.
jungkook growled, his hands clamping down on your hips to hold you still. “stay,” he ordered, his voice rough, and then he didn’t give you a chance to disobey. his tongue circled you, slow and deliberate, before he sucked lightly, just enough to make your vision blur.
you were already close, teetering on the edge, when jungkook slid two fingers inside you without warning. your cry was muffled by the sheets as he curled them, his thumb pressing against your clit in tandem.
it was too much, not enough you couldn’t think, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t do anything but writhe under his touch. jungkook didn’t let up, his pace relentless, his mouth trailing wet kisses along your spine as he murmured filthy praise against your skin.
“that’s it,” he coaxed, his fingers fucking you deeper. “come for me.”
your body tightened like a coiled spring, every nerve alight as jungkook's fingers worked you mercilessly.
you tried to muffle your cries against the pillow, but he wrenched your head back by your hair, forcing you to take gulps of air between choked moans. "no hiding," he rasped, his breath hot against your ear.
"i want to hear every fucking sound." his fingers crooked again, hitting that spot inside you that made your thighs tremble, and you shattered with a sob, your back arching off the bed as pleasure ripped through you.
jungkook didn't let up, dragging out your orgasm until you were limp, your muscles twitching with oversensitivity.
he pulled his fingers free with a wet sound, and before you could recover, he flipped you onto your back.
the smug look on his face would've pissed you off if you weren't so desperate for more. his sweats were tented obscenely, the fabric straining against his cock, and you reached for him instinctively, but jungkook caught your wrist. "ah-ah," he tutted, pressing your hand back into the mattress.
"my turn." his fingers hooked into your panties, dragging them down your legs so slowly you wanted to scream.
when they finally hit the floor, he knelt between your thighs, his gaze raking over you like he wanted to memorize the way you looked spread out, wrecked, his.
jungkook's fingers traced idle patterns up your inner thigh, stopping just short of where you needed him most.
you whimpered, bucking your hips, but he just smirked. "so greedy," he murmured, his thumb brushing lightly over your clit. just enough to make you jerk.
then, without warning, he gripped his cock, stroking himself slowly as he watched you.
the sight of him--veins standing out along his length, his tip flushed and leaking--made your mouth water.
"you want it?" he asked, though the way his voice cracked betrayed how badly he wanted it too.
you nodded frantically, reaching for him again, and this time he let you.
his breath hitched when your fingers wrapped around him, your thumb swiping over the slickness at his tip.
jungkook’s hips jerked forward involuntarily, his eyes fluttering shut for a second before he forced them open again, dark with need.
“fuck,” he gritted out, his hand covering yours to guide your strokes, showing you the pace he liked slow, then rough, his grip almost painful as he dragged your hand up and down his length.
you could feel the way his thighs trembled, the way his abs flexed with every movement, and it sent a fresh wave of heat pooling between your legs.
jungkook suddenly stilled your hand, his fingers tightening around yours.
“enough,” he rasped, his voice wrecked. before you could protest, he was pushing your thighs apart wider, his hands sliding under your knees to hook them over his shoulders.
the position left you exposed, vulnerable, and you barely had time to register the blush creeping up your chest before he leaned down, his tongue dragging a slow, torturous line up your slit.
you gasped, your fingers tangling in his hair as he licked into you, his mouth hot and insistent. he groaned against you, the vibration making your back arch off the bed, and you tugged at his hair desperately. “jungkook, please--”
he pulled back just enough to smirk up at you, his lips glistening. “please what?” he taunted, his breath fanning over your clit.
you whined, your hips bucking, but he held you down effortlessly, his grip bruising. “don't worry i know what you want”
you swallowed, your throat dry, and jungkook’s patience snapped. he ducked his head again, his tongue circling your clit with ruthless precision while his fingers slid back inside you, crooking just right. your moan was loud, unrestrained, and jungkook drank it in, his free hand clamping over your mouth to muffle the next one.
“shh,” he murmured against your thigh, his teeth grazing the sensitive skin there. “you’ll take it quiet, yeah?”
you nodded frantically, but quiet was the last thing you could manage when jungkook added a third finger, stretching you deliciously.
his mouth was relentless, his tongue flicking over your clit in quick, sharp strokes that had your toes curling into the sheets. the pressure built too fast, your orgasm cresting before you could stop it, and jungkook knew--of course he knew.
he pulled his fingers out abruptly, leaving you gasping on the edge, your body trembling with denied release. “no,” you sobbed, your nails digging into his shoulders. “jungkook, don’t--!”
he ignored you, rising onto his knees to shove his sweats down just enough to free his cock. the sight of him--thick, flushed, the tip dripping--made your mouth water. jungkook gripped himself, stroking lazily as he watched you, his chest heaving.
“you ready?” he asked, though the way his voice cracked made it clear he was barely holding on.
you nodded, spreading your legs wider in invitation, and jungkook’s control snapped. he lined himself up, his tip pressing against your entrance, and then he was pushing in, slow and relentless, until his hips met yours.
the stretch was exquisite, the burn making your breath hitch.
jungkook paused, his forehead dropping to yours as he fought for control. “fuck,” he panted, his fingers digging into your hips. “you feel-” he cut himself off with a groan when you clenched around him, your body adjusting to his size.
then he was moving, pulling out almost completely before slamming back in, the force of it driving the air from your lungs.
jungkook set a brutal pace from the start, his thrusts deep and unforgiving, his hands keeping you pinned beneath him.
every snap of his hips dragged a moan from your throat, every grind of his pelvis against yours sent sparks shooting up your spine.
he leaned down, capturing your lips in a messy kiss as his hand slid between your bodies, his thumb circling your clit in time with his thrusts.
the dual stimulation was overwhelming, your orgasm building faster than before, your nails raking down his back in desperation.
jungkook groaned into your mouth, his hips stuttering. “come on,” he urged, his voice ragged.
“let go.” his words tipped you over the edge, your body clamping around him as pleasure crashed through you in waves.
jungkook followed with a broken moan, his hips jerking erratically as he spilled inside you, his forehead pressed to your shoulder.
for a long moment, the only sound was your ragged breathing.
then jungkook shifted, rolling onto his back and pulling you with him, your body draped over his chest.
his fingers traced lazy patterns up your spine, his heartbeat loud beneath your ear.
"fuck," he muttered finally, his voice rough, "that was-" he broke off with a breathless laugh, and you felt his chest rise against you as he inhaled deeply.
you lifted your head just enough to see his face. his lips swollen, his hair sticking to his forehead with sweat--and something possessive twisted in your chest.
jungkook caught you staring and smirked, his thumb brushing your lower lip.
"what?" he murmured, his fingers tangling in your hair to tug lightly. you didn't answer, just leaned down to kiss him again, slower this time, your teeth catching his bottom lip when he tried to deepen it.
jungkook groaned, his hips jerking beneath you, his half-hard cock pressing against your thigh. "you're insatiable," he breathed, but he didn't stop you when your hand slid between you, your fingers wrapping around him.
he hissed through his teeth as you stroked him slowly, his grip on your hair tightening. "thought you were done," you taunted, though your own voice was shaky.
jungkook's eyes darkened, his free hand sliding down your back to grip your ass. "never with you," he growled, flipping you onto your back again with terrifying ease.
you gasped as he settled between your thighs, his cock dragging against your clit before he pushed back inside with one smooth thrust.
this time, he took his time, his movements languid, his mouth hot against your neck as he murmured filth into your skin.
the slow drag of him was maddening, every inch of him pressing against spots inside you that made your vision blur.
you dug your nails into his shoulders, your legs locking around his waist to pull him deeper.
jungkook groaned, his forehead dropping to yours. "you're gonna be the death of me," he muttered, but he didn't speed up, just kept that same torturous pace, his hips rolling against yours in slow, deliberate circles.
when your orgasm hit, it crept up on you, washing over you in waves until you were shaking, your thighs trembling around him.
jungkook watched you fall apart beneath him, his lips parted, his own release following soon after with a choked gasp, his fingers digging bruises into your hips.
afterwards, he collapsed onto his side, pulling you against his chest with a sigh. "fuck," he breathed again, pressing a kiss to your temple.
"we should—" he gestured vaguely at the mess between you, but his arms tightened around you when you tried to move. "later," he mumbled, his voice already thick with sleep.
you laughed quietly, curling into him as his breathing evened out. outside, the moon hung low in the sky, casting silver light across the rumpled sheets and tangled limbs. jungkook's fingers twitched against your waist even in sleep, like he was afraid you'd disappear if he let go.
you closed your eyes, letting the steady rhythm of his heartbeat lull you under.
you wake up slowly. not all at once. first there’s warmth. heavy. comfortable. your brain registers it before your eyes even open — the weight across your waist, the heat along your back, the steady rise and fall of someone breathing behind you.
someone. your stomach drops. memory hits in flashes.
his mouth. his hands. the way he said your name.
your eyes snap open.sunlight spills softly through the curtains, pale gold across the sheets.
you’re in his bed. no. he’s in yours. his arm is wrapped around you, hand resting low on your stomach, fingers splayed like they belong there.
your body is pressed against his chest, his legs tangled loosely with yours under the blanket. and you’re very aware that you’re not wearing much.
heat rushes to your face instantly.oh my god.oh my god. last night wasn’t a dream.
your pulse starts racing. you stay completely still, afraid to move, afraid he’ll wake up and you’ll have to face him immediately. but then—his arm tightens slightly around you.
a soft exhale against the back of your neck.
he’s awake. you know it before he even speaks. “…you’re thinking too loud,” he murmurs, voice rough with sleep.
your heart jumps into your throat. “i—” your voice cracks. you clear it quickly. “i’m not thinking.”
he hums quietly behind you.
“liar.”
his nose brushes lightly against your hair.the intimacy of it makes your stomach flip.panic mixes with something warmer. dangerous.
you shift slightly, trying to create space.his arm tightens again, pulling you back against him. “don’t,” he says softly. your breath catches.“jungkook…”his hand slides slowly along your waist, settling again just above your hip.
not sexual. not demanding. just… there. grounding. possessive. “you okay?” he asks quietly. the question hits you harder than you expect. because he sounds careful. not cocky. not teasing. careful. you swallow.
“…i don’t know.” honest. he’s quiet for a second. then he shifts, propping himself up slightly behind you. “look at me,” he says gently.you hesitate. then turn. your heart stutters immediately. his hair is messy from sleep, falling over his forehead, eyes still heavy but focused completely on you.
there’s no regret there.no awkwardness.just intensity. and something softer underneath. your chest tightens. “…we-” you start. his mouth curves faintly. “yeah,” he says. heat floods your face. “that wasn’t supposed to happen.”
“wasn’t it?”you blink.he studies you. serious now. “you think that came out of nowhere?” he asks quietly. your stomach twists.
“…i don’t know.” he brushes his knuckles lightly along your arm. slow.reassuring. “i’ve wanted you for a while,” he says. your breath catches. you stare at him.“…what?” his expression shifts into that familiar confidence again, but softer. less sharp than usual. “you’re not exactly subtle,” he adds.
your eyes widen. “i am subtle!” he huffs a quiet laugh. “sure.” you shove his shoulder weakly. he catches your wrist easily.
holds it. not trapping. just holding. his thumb traces lightly over your pulse point. your heart is racing again.
“…are you freaking out?” he asks.you hesitate. “…a little.”
he nods slowly. “okay.” no judgment. no teasing. just acceptance. it makes your chest feel tight in a different way.
“do you regret it?” he asks after a second.
your stomach flips violently.because the answer comes immediately. “no.” his eyes soften. his grip on your wrist loosens, sliding down to your hand instead. fingers threading with yours.warm.steady. “good,” he murmurs.
silence settles between you again. but it’s different now. not tense. not awkward. full. you study his face.
“…are things weird now?” you ask quietly.
his eyebrow lifts slightly. “you think i’d let them be weird?” your stomach flips.
“you’re very confident.” “about you?” he says.
“yeah.”
heat spreads through your chest.you look down at your joined hands. “…what does this mean?” he tilts his head slightly.
“what do you want it to mean?” you hesitate.
your heart is pounding. “…i don’t know yet.” he nods once. “that’s fine.” his thumb brushes lightly over your knuckles. “we’ll figure it out.”
we.
the word settles deep.warm.safe.you look back up at him. “…my parents are going to kill us.” he grins. full cocky now.
“they trusted me to take care of you.”
you scoff. “this is not what they meant.” “debatable.” you laugh despite yourself. he watches you for a second, something soft flickering in his expression.
then he leans forward. presses a slow kiss to your forehead. gentle. protective. your stomach flips again.
“…you okay?” he asks one more time. this time you nod. “…yeah.”and for the first time since waking up, you actually mean it.
because whatever happened last night--whatever this is now, it doesn’t feel like a mistake. it feels like something that was always going to happen.
˙⋆✮ They say having feelings for your brother’s best friend is never a good idea…
But loving Jungkook feels like the easiest thing in the world.
He’s been by your side for as long as you can remember, so it’s only natural for you to feel devastated when your brother, Dohyun, tells you that Jungkook is about to get married.
For the first time ever, loving him doesn’t feel easy at all.
𝙥𝙖𝙞𝙧𝙞𝙣𝙜 : brother’s best friend!jungkook x f!reader
𝙘𝙬 : age gap (jk is 32, reader is 22 ops), tension, reader is WHIPPED, pining, initial unrequited love (my fav), eventual smut (!!adding new warnings when needed!!), slow burn
· · ♡ · · tysm to the amazing creative minds of the writers for giving me sevaral moments of joy reading your creations
pls reblog if you like any of my recs and don´t forget to support authors!❤️
riding jungkook´s nose - ( @euphoricfilter ) we´ve ALLL thought about this, and if you haven´t you´re lying, periodt. pRAISINGGG, he´s in a pussy-drunk frenezy, he likes feeling used, he likes getting his hair pulled, he likes getting his face wET, it´s sickenINGGGG goreaditplease
fucking in the gym - ( @euphoricfilter ) this was inspired by that one pic of him and jimin with their back out, I SEE THE VISION, fucking with ceiling mirrors
wicked - ( @noteguk ) smut, incubus!jk, big big corruption kink, lots of dirty ploting and dirty talk, yupppp this is a good one, so detailed, love me a fic that lit makes me see what i´m reading
strings attached (to my heart) - ( @jungkoode ) smut, crack, fluff, IT HAS IT ALLL, spider man au, college au, spider-man!jk x journalist!reader. READ THE TAGS BC ITS GOOD AF, bc wdym you combined sub-loser-desperate jk who also has a noona kink wITH a superhero au??? it´s like you wrote it for me,, (also, this deserves many many more notes imo)
think i need someone older - ( @redcherrykook ) smut, whipped rich older bf!jk (PERIOD!!) x younger!reader. JESUS FUCKING CHRISTTTTTTT!!! no more words needed, this one´s pulled right out of my maladaptive daydreaming folder
fade into you - ( @nmjoo-n ) SMUT, fluff, fwb to lovers au. barista!jk, possessive obsessive toxic lovesick!jk (LETS FUCKING GOOOOOO). this is a whole 2022 masterpiece, they way this is written, and the way jungkook is borderline PSYCOTICH (or in love ig) for her is so hotttttttt. deff one of my favs
this is how you fal in love - ( @jeonqkooks ) fluff, smut, angst if you squint. rockstar!jk au, est relationship. this is beautiful, a 2022 gem. love love love how lengthy and detailed this is
frost impressions - ( @fortunexkookie ) soccer coach!jk, teacher!reader, gamer au, work au, idiots to lovers, one sided pining at first, it´s a longggg one. another 2020 masterpiece, one of my favorite fics out there, he´s so disgustingly smitten with his new coworker that he ends up making a terrible first impression. so so so entertaining and fun to read, jk is silly af lmao, can´t stop putting his foot in his mouth, theres a bunch of cute second hand embarrasment situations
Over The Odds | The Confession - ( @jungk0oksthighs ) ceo jk, sugardaddy jk, jealous bf jk, sugar baby reader, he gets mad and yells bc he is lowkey insecure of her ex but reader is equaly in love. this is a series
wrong time - ( @spideyjimin ) smut, angst, dilf!jk, ceo!jk, exes to lovers, workaholic as a scape mechanism, the one that got away type of stuff but she broke things up first for valid reasons, big big heartache but she´s still the love of his life
don´t blame me - ( @ctrlsht ) sugar daddy!jk, ceo!jk, soft yan!jk, obsessive!jk, student!reader, unhealthy behavior on his part, manipulative behavior on her part, jealousy on both parts, he goes a lil too far but reader is bitchy and annoying, he lit gives her everythinggg she asks for, the man is..creazy about her in a very unhealthy way and she takes advantage of that, toxicc
failed quickie - ( @vminizzle ) cowerker jk, suggestive, they´re about to fucc on an elevator but shit happens, he likes his hair pulled!!1!
someone older - ( @bonny-kookoo ) smut, ceo jk, divorced jk, 30 something yo jk, taehyung has a kid, younger oc, its a nice read, would do it again
titsay
germansingergirl
prguitarman
jacobvanloon
discoholicmusic
areudirty
