warnings: graphic dirty talk, demeaning names, dom themes, mild jealousy, non-penetrative bat play, semi-public sex, unprotected sex
word count: 41,317
description: Majoring in athletic training means you have mandatory observation hours to perform with every single sports team at your school throughout the year, and so far it’s been going pretty great. However, when regrets from your past cause your rotation with the baseball team to become a little rocky, there’s one star pitcher who says that he can make it all better.
note: the symbol (◇) means the scene is in jungkook’s perspective
You were sitting against the cool metal bleachers located inside the dugout. You scowled out at the field as you watched the players prance around on the hunter green turf, cleats pattering with each step. Their orange, clay-stained uniforms passed by one after another, only seeming to do so in order to taunt you with painful memories.
You hated your shift with the baseball team — absolutely despised it.
SUMMARY. Every Christmas, since you were six years old, Jeon Jungkook gave you a kiss under the mistletoe. But when you were fifteen, you were replaced by a revolving door of girlfriends. Thus began your decade-long aversion to the holiday—this year, however, you’ve been tasked with hosting the annual Christmas soirée, and there’s no telling what might be waiting for you under the mistletoe this time around.
pairing. jeon jungkook x reader
word count. 23.8k
warnings/genre. childhood best friends to lovers (aka idiots to lovers if you squint!!!), slight angst, fluff, reader is the grinch reincarnated, jungkook is oblivious, alcohol consumption, smut, oral and fingering (f receiving), multiple orgasms, big dick jungkook bc what else, unprotected sex sorry she’s on the pill, crying during sex (but in a cute way), it’s all just really cute i kinda hate them
note. welcome to the dreamersparacosm golden era… two one-shots over 15k words in one month. my fingers are tired. but it’s all fine n dandy bc it’s the HOLIDAYS!!! and what better way to celebrate than with a friends to lovers fic? believe it or not, this was originally going to be enemies with lovers, but i had a long talk with myself and realized that theres no way in hell i could ever do justice to a e2l in under 304949k words, but rest assured there is enough pining and angst to keep you well-fed 🥰 oc is yearning final boss, jungkook is a slowburner who’s also an idiot. my favorite kind of couple! i hope you all had a wonderful holiday! p.s: stay tuned for an extra special treat from these two later today :)
▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။|||| last christmas by wham
banner creds | masterlist | epilogue blurb
The Grinch has always been your favorite Christmas movie.
Not because it’s particularly funny or thrilling, but because you can relate to that pessimistic green ball of fur. He despises the holiday just as much as you do—and that’s generous, considering your animosity towards the day has reached unfeasible levels. You might be worse than the aforementioned ball of fur.
There’s really no one else to blame for your aversion to the holiday… besides Jeon Jungkook.
Jeon Jungkook has been your best friend since cradle. Your mother and his shared a room at the hospital, and since then, have kept a tight-knit relationship. Growing up, you and Jungkook shared more life experiences than siblings would. Conjoined birthdays, first day of school, puberty, heartbreak. It was hard not to imagine him in your life, when he had already invaded every part of it with his infectious smile and doe-like eyes.
Every Christmas, since you were six years old, Jeon Jungkook gave you a kiss under the mistletoe. It started innocently enough, with your parents cooing sweetly as he pressed his little lips to your warm cheek. Your face burnt like a volcano shortly after, your hand pressing up to touch the spot where his lips met your skin every few minutes.
When you were nine, he upped the ante. He grabbed your face with his grubby hands, and smushed his lips onto yours with a peck. It was precisely three seconds and two milliseconds long (you know because you held your breath). When he pulled away, he smiled that big bunny smile and ran off to play with your toys. Life continued on as such, leaving you behind to pick up the pieces of everything you thought you knew.
At the age of fifteen, he got his first girlfriend, Haeun. They met in Science class, paired up by accident, but the crush he had on her was with such certainty it took you by storm. That Christmas, he didn’t give you a peck on the lips or the cheek. That year, your body felt empty. That fateful holiday, you watched as Jeon Jungkook gave Park Haeun a big, sloppy, romantic kiss under the mistletoe, one that rivaled any one he ever gave you.
And so, Christmas went from your favorite day of the year, to your nightmare.
Even when his and Haeun’s puppy love died out by high school graduation, she was swiftly replaced by Eunji. And then Chaeyoung. And then Sana…and the list went on, and on, and on.
So, yeah. Christmas. Not your best day. In fact, it’s pretty low on the totem pole, right next to the anniversary of your grandfather’s death.
All this to say—this is why you’ve been ignoring your best friend’s pleas for the past thirty minutes on hosting the annual Christmas soiree at your apartment. Your humble abode. Your sanctuary. There’s no way in hell you’ll be stringing red and green lights from your ceiling, singing ‘ho, ho, ho’ and passing around jell-o shots that were crafted by the devil himself. And you most definitely, certainly, will not hang up a mistletoe.
“But why not?” Jungkook whines again, bouncing up and down on your couch cushion like a puppy. His bottom lip juts out slightly, which would be endearing if he was a teenager and not a 28-year old man.
“Because I don’t want to. I don’t like Christmas.” You ignore him as best as you can, thumbing through your Instagram feed. Engagement posts, pregnancy announcements… god, the holidays are the worst. No, you won’t be blowing ‘baby dust’ to your friends trying to get pregnant.
“Since when?” He gawks, pausing his movements to stare at your side profile intently.
“Since forever. You know this,” you say calmly. “The Grinch is my favorite movie.”
He scoffs. “So? It’s mine too. That doesn’t mean I hate Christmas.”
You don’t have the heart to tell him that your abhorrence for the holiday stems from his inability to give you a kiss since the age of fifteen. Thirteen years later, you can’t help but want one still.
You roll your eyes. “You don’t hate Christmas because you like giving gifts and receiving them.”
“That’s not true,” he argues, snatching your phone out of your hand and tossing it on the coffee table. You finally turn to look at him, and he’s all red cheeks and wide eyes, and it makes you want to die. “You have the nicest apartment out of all of us. We can’t do Namjoon’s because they just had the baby, we can’t do Jisoo’s because Tae is allergic to dogs, and we can’t do mine because I’m renovating. Yours is the best option.”
All true points, but none that you want to confront head-on. “Might it also be that you don’t want to do yours because then people will know you haven’t moved on from Hana?”
Jungkook’s face contorts, and for a split second, you feel guilty for sinking that low. You didn’t mean to, but it’s true. His most recent ex-girlfriend, Hana, doesn’t live in that apartment anymore, but it almost feels like she does with the amount of her stuff lingering around. They were together for a year, but mysteriously broke up after Christmas last year.
“Not cool,” he mumbles, playing with his sleeve.
“I’m sorry,” you sigh, “I just really don’t wanna host, Koo.”
“C’mon, do it for me,” he pouts, and it becomes even harder to say no to him. You’re putty in his reliable hands.
“What will I get out of hosting?” You cross your arms over your chest. A hint of a smile creeps onto his face as he realizes you’re slowly beginning to cave. You always do when you start asking questions.
“Namjoon and Dahyun will cook. Taehyung will make the drinks. And I, your trusty best friend, will task myself with decorating the entire place,” he says proudly, chest puffed out like he’s the Superman of Christmas or something equally as idiotic.
“Jeon Jungkook is going to decorate my apartment?” you question, dumbfounded. “The one who put the star on upside down last year?”
The memory plays as vivid as ever, a reel of images flashing through your mind of Jungkook proudly grinning at the miniscule tree he helped construct in your living room. The lights barely worked, the ornaments were hanging on by a thread, and the star was upside down, but he swore Michaelangelo would’ve thought it was abstract art.
He rolls his eyes. “Why can’t you let anything go?”
“And tangled the lights so bad Namjoon had to come over and cut them with scissors?”
Jungkook pouts the same way he used to when he was three. “But—”
“And ate the gingerbread house before we could even display it?”
Jungkook’s mouth opens to defy you, but decides it’s best not to go up against your vicious truths. “I was hungry and you had nothing but expired Chinese food in your fridge,” he grumbles. It’s annoying how easily he can disarm you when he’s boyishly upset at the world.
In the grand scheme of things, hosting the Christmas soiree at your house is nothing. Nada. Zilch. A blip on your radar. It’s not like he’s asking you to loan him a million won, or donate a kidney to his brother (albeit those are all things you would do for him). He’s simply asking you to open your home to your closest friends to spread holiday cheer.
Somehow, some way, it feels like the hardest thing you have to do.
Maybe because in the grand scheme of things, you’re also hopelessly, relentlessly, disgustingly in love with Jeon Jungkook, and the word no is not one that leaves your lips often when he’s around.
“Fine,” you relent. His entire face lights up, and your heart does the same dance it always does. “I have conditions, though.”
“Anything you want.” He scoots closer. You can smell his cologne, a pine and bergamot scent he wears for the holidays. “I’m at your service.”
“We’re gonna do classy Christmas. I’m talking silver decorations, maybe some gold. None of that tacky red and green shit from the dollar store.”
“Uhu.” He nods. “Aligned, captain.”
“All the food will be catered. I’m not making poor Dahyun cook. She has enough on her plate already.”
He salutes you, which makes you snort.
“Lastly, and most importantly, no mistletoe.”
His smile falters. Tips downward so that it’s almost unrecognizable. The light in his eyes dims, and now you almost feel guilty. “Wha—why not?”
See, if this were a Christmas romcom broadcasting on Hallmark, this is the pivotal moment where you’d confess everything. How you’ve been in love with him since you were old enough to feel that feeling of warmth in your chest, how watching him kiss other girls made all your kisses seem foolish, how every Christmas without his lips on yours (even platonically) makes you want to move to a foreign country. He’d probably gasp, pull you close, and kiss you right there on your sofa while snow fell cinematically outside your window. Credits would roll over a montage of you two ice skating and baking holiday cookies, all set to some Kelly Clarkson cover of “Last Christmas.”
But this isn’t a Hallmark movie, and you’re not that brave.
So, instead, you say, “It’s tacky and overdone. I don’t want it in my apartment.”
Jungkook seems genuinely concerned, as though you just informed him you have four days to live and your final wish is to jump out of a plane. “But it’s tradition. Every year, there’s a mistletoe.”
You huff, hugging the blanket wrapped over your legs tighter to you. “Well, I don’t care. That’s my conditions. Take it or leave it.”
He watches quietly for a moment as you inspect the fibers of the blanket. He knows you well enough to not pry further, but he also knows that he’s the only one you’ll talk to if he does decide to investigate. There’s no sound except the rattling of your heater and the sound of cars honking past your window. The television screen remains paused on a scene from The Grinch you could probably recite by heart.
“Okay,” he finally says. “No mistletoe.”
“Good. Glad that’s settled.” You stand up, desperate for distance. “Now get out. I have work to do.”
“First of all, it’s Sunday. Second of all, we’re watching the Grinch. That’s not work,” he points out.
“I’m sure I could find something to do. I’ve been meaning to dust my bookshelf,” you counter.
“Oh, really? You walking your squirrel after that?” he teases, smirking.
“I am actually.” You cross your hands over your chest, the signal you make when it’s time for him to exit your apartment.
He stands, stretching his arms above his head. His shirt rides up slightly, exposing a sliver of toned stomach, and you have to look away. You’ve been down this road too many times.
“I’ll text you tomorrow about picking up supplies,” he yawns, heading for the door. “We’ll need to grab stuff from my place anyway. I’ve got extra string lights in storage.”
You trail behind him. “Fine.”
He pauses at the threshold, turning back to look at you. “Thanks for doing this. I know it’s not your favorite thing.”
Oh, If only he knew it was his fault. “Yeah, well. You owe me.”
“I always do,” he grins, and then he’s bounding down your staircase, leaving you alone with the Grinch and the hollowed feeling in your chest that never really goes away.
When you’re certain he’s finally gone, you lock the door and sink back into the couch, pressing play on the remote. On screen, the Grinch is plotting to ruin Christmas, and you can’t help but think to yourself, same, buddy. Same.
He’s probably got the right idea. If you steal all the decorations before he can hang them, accidentally forget to buy eggnog, or come down with the Black Plague on the day of the party, you could ruin the whole thing.
But you won’t. Despite everything, you can’t actually hurt him. You’d host a thousand Christmas parties, hang a million strands of lights, bake cookies until your hands cramped, if it meant making Jeon Jungkook happy. That’s the real bittersweet tragedy of your situation. Not that he doesn’t love you back, but that you love him enough to pretend you don’t.
Jungkook likes to call his apartment his ‘modest mancave.’
He’s called his bedroom that since you two were old enough to be in school. However, one spring day during Sophomore year, you’d barged in unannounced and found him scrambling to hide a bottle of lotion and suspiciously large pile of tissues. He came up with some daft excuse about allergies, but you knew what the option meant. He knew that you knew. It became just another shared moment in the encyclopedia of your friendship, because that’s what you two always did. You witnessed each other’s embarrassing moments and life continued on.
Which is why his apartment’s state right now doesn't deter you. It's a little messy (okay, a lot messy) with random moving boxes he’s never unpacked stacked haphazardly in corners and furniture pushed against walls at odd angles. There’s a pile of paint swatches on the coffee table, each one a slightly different shade of beige that all look identical to your untrained eye.
He had texted you earlier in the day to get started on Operation: Un-Grinchify Christmas, as he referred to it. You weren’t really up for it, but he sent you three crying emoji’s and then you were halfway out the door with mismatched socks on.
Jungkook swears he has a box of light-up reindeer somewhere when you first arrive to his home. Something about them looking like they’re having a seizure when they’re plugged in. He's so entranced in his search he’s completely forgotten about your own holiday dilemma.
“Koo?” you yell down his hallway. You venture down, stepping over a stack of books and what appears to be a broken lamp, following the sound of muffled cursing.
You find him in his bedroom, halfway inside the closet, ass up in the air. Boxes and random junk are scattered around him—old magazines, a deflated basketball, what looks like his matching Halloween costume with Hana from two years ago.
“I know it’s here somewhere,” he mutters, voice echoing from deep within the closet. Leaning against the doorframe, you cross your arms over your chest, utterly amused by his same old childish ways.
“Need help, or should I just enjoy the view?”
“Shut up,” he says, but you can hear the smile in his tone. “I’m finding an ancient artifact.”
“How ancient is it? We talking middle school? Elementary?”
“I don’t know, all I know is—aha!” He backs out, brown hair flopping around, and cracks his head on the closet rod with a thunk. “Fucking fuck—ow—”
You can’t stop the giggle that falls from your lips, and it turns into full-blown laughter when you catch wind of his appearance. He’s rubbing his head, hair sticking up in five different directions.
But then you see what’s in his hands, and all laughter ceases with a wheeze. It’s the most hideous collection of green and red tinsel garland you’ve ever witnessed. It looks like it’s gonna shed all over your home, and there’s no way you’ll let your cat named Ginger anywhere near that.
“Ta-da!” He holds it up proudly, grinning brightly.
“Are you insane?”
“What?” he gawks, inspecting it for himself. “This is the epitome of Christmas.”
“Jungkook, I said classy Christmas. Elegant. That looks like a drunk elf threw up.” You gesture at the…thing, deeply perturbed at the fact he would even show it to you.
He shakes the garland at you like it might change your mind. “But Christmas needs a little green and red! That’s literally the symbolic colors of the holiday.”
“I don’t care if it was sent down by Santa himself. It’s not going in my home,” you argue.
“But why?” he pouts, and you can already tell which direction this conversation is going. But you’re standing your ground this time, because if you don’t you’ll fold like papier mache.
“It looks like it has dust mites from 2014,” you grimace.
He moves closer, forcing you to look at the grimy strings. “C’mon, just one strand? For your old pal?”
“No.”
“Please?”
“I will leave, Jungkook.”
He sighs, defeated, and holds the garland out to you anyway. “Fine. But you have to be the one to throw it away. I can’t bear to part ways with her.”
Rolling your eyes, you take it from him, and your fingers brush his. Softly, gently, barely even there to the naked eye. You doubt he even notices it. But heat crawls up your spine and nestles a home in your chest.
You snap out of it, tossing the garland in the trash in his bedroom. “Why do you even have that anyway?”
“It was Hana’s.”
You freeze in your tracks, hand hovering over the trash bin. When you look back at him, his ears are pink, eyes trained on some shadow on the wall behind you. “Oh.”
“Yeah.” He clears his throat, rubs the back of his neck. One of his nervous tics from childhood. “I’ve been meaning to get rid of her stuff. What you said yesterday... it kind of stuck with me.”
Guilt settles in your bones. “Koo, I didn’t mean—”
“No, you’re right.” He finally catches your gaze. “I’ve been holding onto things I shouldn’t. Not even because I miss her, really. It’s just—I don’t know. Easier to keep it than deal with it, y’know?
You do know. You know all too well. You’ve been keeping your feelings in a box for years for the exact same reason.
“But I’m trying now,” he continues. “To move on. Actually move on, not just say I am. It still feels weird, throwing away a part of my life. Even if I know it’s the right thing to do.”
Throughout your life, you have continuously kept a square of people in your life that you care about. It mostly consists of your parents, Jungkook, his parents, and your friends. You don’t ever really rearrange it to make space for others, because you already have the ones that matter. You hope that when Jungkook rearranges his square, maybe removes Hana, you take up a bigger chunk of it.
“I’m proud of you,” you smile. Even if the selfish part of you has been waiting for this moment since last Christmas.
He returns your smile with a feeble one of his own. “Thanks.”
For a moment, you two stand there, soaking in the silence. But just like that, it always falls back into place the way it’s meant to be. “I need your silverware for my kitchen, by the way. I’m not using mine for this party.”
“What? Why not?” He furrows his brows.
“Because I don’t want Taehyung's drunk ass dropping my good forks down the garbage disposal like last New Years.”
Jungkook rolls his eyes. “He apologized and paid for new ones.”
“But it wasn’t the same exclusive ones I had,” you sing-song, leading him back down the hallway to his kitchen. “Show me what you’ve got, mister.”
For the next hour, you two bicker over everything. He wants to bring the fork set with wooden handles, but you object with the fact that they look like they belong in a cabin in the forest.
Then it’s the string lights. He’s insistent on multicolored ones, big bulbs of green, yellow, and red that would look outdated against the rest of your apartment. You opt for the warm white ones, and he sticks his tongue out at you and says you’re boring.
He’s a child. You make sure to tell him that about five separate times. On the sixth time, however, he retorts, “You take that back.”
“Make me.”
He waves a serving spoon at you. “I’m not playing with you, young lady.”
“Oh, please,” you wave him off. “You’re the one who begged me to host.”
It’s comfortable, the way it always is. The bickering, the back-and-forth, the way you can read each other’s expressions before the words even come out.
At some point, while you’re debating whether his punch bowl is too tacky (it is), he wipes his hands on a dish towel and tosses it over his shoulder. “You should check the closet in case you see anything else you wanna take.”
“The old shit in there?”
He smacks you with the towel. You yelp, leaping back a few inches. “There’s goodies in there too, I’ll have you know.”
“Sure, Koo. Goodies, otherwise known as old shit.” But you’re already laughing, walking back into his room and diving into the closet.
You push back the ugly garland’s former neighbors. There’s a box of tangled charging cables, some old textbooks from college, a pair of busted headphones. It’s very standard Jungkook chaos. His mind is also disorganized, so it’s no wonder he has the room to match.
You rummage around a bit more, sighing as you wave the dust from your face.
On the top shelf, shoved way back in the top corner, you come across a box.
Small, cardboard, duct-taped on the bottom half into oblivion. There’s a piece of paper taped to the front, and even in the dim closet light, you can make out your name written in his messy handwriting. [Y/N].
For a moment, you blink at the box, heart pounding, and then realize you have no idea what to do.
If you open it, maybe he’ll know. Then you’ll look like a stalker. On the other hand, he’s been your best friend since birth, so finding out you have stalker tendencies might not be a dealbreaker.
You stretch up on your toes, tugging the box toward you just enough to peek inside. A flash of worn brown fur catches your eyes, and then you see the teddy bear ear flopping out. Your teddy bear. You lost it in middle school, and you assumed it was gone forever, donated or thrown away during one of your mom’s delirious cleaning sprees.
He kept it.
“Find anything good?” Jungkook’s voice migrates from the kitchen. You jolt, almost dropping the box. Your hands shake as you shove it back into place, blood whooshing through your eardrums.
“Nah,” you call back. Your voice sounds a bit shaky, but you hide it behind several coughs. “I was right. Old shit.”
You back out of the closet, closing the door carefully. What else is in there?
Later that night, when sleep proves itself to be unfeasible, and you’re tossing and turning underneath your comforter, you ponder what else might be in the box, and if he keeps it for the same reason you’ve kept every birthday card he’s ever written you. Tucked away in your own closet, in your own box, with his name on it.
Apparently, hosting a Christmas soiree is not as straightforward as you’d hoped it would be.
First, there’s Jisoo, who texts a novel about how she’s trying this new clean eating thing and can there please be gluten free and dairy free options? You respond with a thumbs up, and then run to text Jennie to see if she’s actually serious. She sends back a skull emoji, which 1) you’re not sure what that implies and 2) you guess it’s confirmation that yes, she’s serious, but also yes, she’ll quit and eat regular food after two glasses of wine.
Then Taehyung calls to inform you he’s trying to maintain a vegetarian lifestyle, and not the kind that occasionally eats fish, but the kind that will know if you used chicken stock in any recipe. You add “vegetable stock” to your growing shopping list, since catering cost more than your rent, and resist the urge to bang your head against the counter.
Namjoon sends his regrets that he and Dahyun can’t stay long because baby Haewon is ‘in turmoil right now,’ which translates to ‘we’ll be there for an hour max.’ You’re not even annoyed about that one—you’ve seen the bags under Namjoon’s eyes, and honestly, you’re impressed he’s coming at all.
The point is, you’ve given up. By Wednesday, your Notes app looks like a grocery list written by someone having a mental breakdown, and you’re seriously reconsidering this whole thing.
To his credit, Jungkook tries to help as much as possible. Inevitably, this means dragging him to your apartment on weekends, even though you do that often enough already. Saturday morning, he shows up with boxes, four different sets of more lights, some ornaments, all of them white, all of them looking functionally identical.
“Okay,” he says, holding up the first strand. “Which one screams ‘this is a classy Christmas’?”
You squint at it from the couch, hugging your mug of hot chocolate. “Hmm. I don’t know. That one kinda screams dollar store.”
“Cut.” He drops it and holds up the second. “This one?”
“Hmm, uglier than the first.”
“How can someone be so picky?” He holds up the third, and you can see him struggle to hold a straight face. “Fine. This one. Final answer.”
Tilting your head, you study it. It has a warm hue, the bulbs delicate and tiny. It’s kind of pretty, sans the scratches on some of the bulbs. “I think we have ourselves a winner.”
“Sold.” He drops the others in the pile he’s been gathering. The ones on the right are the takers, the ones on the left are getting deposited in your dumpster at 5PM sharp. “See? This is why we make a good team.”
You have to fight not to let your mind wander off when he says things like that. “Barely. When we were five, we were on the same team for kickball and you nearly broke my ankle.”
He frowns, “Okay, but then I patched you up good as new with a Hello Kitty bandaid. That shit wasn’t easy to find.”
It was over two decades ago, but still remains a permanent fixture in your brain. You were sprawled on the playground, crying so hard you’d given yourself hiccups, convinced your ankle was shattered and your legs would be cut off. Jungkook had run to get the teacher, but came back before she did, sliding on his knees beside you like some action hero. He’d pulled a crumpled Hello Kitty bandaid from his pocket (you have no idea why he had it, he’d never explained) and stuck it on your ankle with the utmost seriousness, tongue poking out in concentration. “All better,” he had promised. Miraculously, you’d stopped crying. It wasn’t because the bandaid helped, but because Jungkook looked so proud of himself, you didn’t have the heart to tell him your ankle still hurt.
“You’re still a pain in my ass.”
“Yeah, yeah, but who’s doing this home renovation for free? Me.”
You can’t argue with that.
He continues pulling things from the boxes. More tinsel, garlands, ornaments in muted golds and silvers. Each item gets held up for your approval, and you find yourself less focused on the decorations and more on him. His cheeks flush crimson when you compliment one of his choices. A bright smile overtakes his features when you agree to something halfheartedly just because it makes the smile grow tenfold.
You’d fallen for him a long time ago, but even now you realize how far down you’ve already gone.
“Oh shit,” he exhales, freezing midway through a box. “No way.”
“What?” You shift excitedly on the couch, trying to peer into the box.
He pulls out a photo album, the edges frayed and the cover dusty. You recognize it as soon as you see it. It was one of the many your moms had compiled over the years, chronicling every significant (and insignificant) moment of your joint childhood.”
“I forgot I even had this,” he says incredulously, flipping it open. He moves to the couch, dropping down beside you, and his knee brushes yours.
Your body knows to jerk back instinctively, heart jumping into your throat. He doesn't notice, too absorbed in the photos, but your knee burns where it touched him.
“God, look at us,” he laughs, pointing to a picture of you both at around 7 years old, covered head to toe in mud. “Your mom was pissed at us.”
“Yeah, she was pissed because you pushed me into the puddle,” you remind him.
“And then I got you out of it.”
“You said ‘watch this’ and then did it. I don’t think you really won brownie points with Mom,” you laugh at the memory.
He flips through the book, oohing and aahing everytime you stumble across a cute picture. They’re reminiscent of a time when everything was easy, when you didn’t have to worry about adult things like taxes and bills and groceries. It was just you and Jungkook, conquering the world one playdate at a time.
Jungkook flips to the next page. There’s a photo taped to the page, with your mom’s handwriting underneath. “Christmas, 9 years old, Busan.”
You're both standing under a mistletoe that looks comically large above your small heads. His lips are pressed to yours in that brief, earth-shattering peck you still think about once in a while (or more precisely, when it’s late at night and you’re missing his presence).
You take a deep breath. Your chest feels tight, like someone’s tugging on it by the ends of a string.
Jungkook stares at the photo for what feels like forever, an unreadable expression crossing his face. “I remember this,” he quietly says.
You can’t speak. Your tongue feels like deadweight.
“You held your breath and everything,” he reminisces, and you suddenly feel breathless. Like you’re drowning and gasping for air, but even when you hit the surface, it’s not enough.
He flips the page again, and there's another one. Age 10. Same mistletoe, different living room. It was the year your parents moved homes, but remained down the street from Jungkook’s. You’re wearing a red dress your mom made you wear, and he’s in a sweater that's too big. His hand is on your cheek, and you can see, even in the photo, how red your face was.
“We did this every year,” he notes, and there’s a nostalgic edge to his voice that wasn’t there before.
“Yeah.” The word comes out hoarse. You clear your throat. And then the words are out before you can stop them, tinged with wistfulness, "Until we didn’t.”
Jungkook doesn’t acknowledge that. Just flips again. Through age 11, age 12, age 13, age 14. Each photo is a documentation of a tradition that meant everything to you.
Then he turns the page, and the mistletoe is gone. Age 15. You’re standing stiffly next to Haeun, who’s tucked under his arm, beaming at the camera. You look like you want to disappear.
“Hm,” he hums, frowning. “I guess we stopped here.”
It’s so juvenile, so high school it’s almost embarrassing. He hadn’t cared for the absence of your kiss. For him, it was a silly thing your families let you partake in. “You had Haeun. The mistletoe thing was for kids anyway”
“Was it though?” He studies the photo, and you wish he would stop, wish he would close the album and move on to anything else. The question isn’t meant to be flirtatious but a selfish part of you wishes it was. “I always thought it was fun.”
“Our parents got so excited over it.” He flips back to the earlier photos, running his finger over the vintage picture. “We’d be right under the mistletoe and she’d count down with her camera ready like it was the New Years countdown.”
“She was probably hoping to plaster us on some kids’ Christmas ad.”
“It was cute.” He lands on the photo from when you were six—the very first one. His tiny self kissing your cheek, your hand frozen mid-reach to touch the spot. “Look how tiny we were. Little babies.”
He says it so innocently that something inside you stumbles.
You cover your face with your hands, as if he could see the adoration written all over your face. But even if he could, he probably wouldn’t say anything “I’m mortified. I didn’t realize my mom took so many pictures of us kissing as kids.”
He scrunches his brows, looking over at you. “Was it really that bad?”
Yes. No. It was the best and worst thing that ever happened to you. “Kinda. I mean, I survived, didn’t I?”
“Barely, from the looks of it.” He taps the photo, where baby you looks seconds away from a panic attack. “It’s not like I had cooties.”
You smile. “Oh, yes you did. If anyone had cooties, it was definitely you. You ran that playground like it was your personal dating pool.”
“Rude.” He bumps your shoulder, turning the page slowly, lingering on each mistletoe photo. “I can’t believe we did this for almost a decade.”
“Used me for practice?” It doesn’t feel like there’s enough air in your apartment, even with the window cracked open. It’s taking tremendous effort to breathe.
“Worked well for us, I think.”
“Why’d you stop?”
Oh god, you’ve really done it now.
Surprisingly enough, the embarrassment comes belatedly, but it settles in your stomach all the stronger.
Surprise flashes across his face. “What?”
“After Haeun. I guess… I don’t know. You never—” You wish you could say the words, wish you could be brave, wish you could be six years old again with Jeon Jungkook’s lips on your cheek. “Why’d it just… end?”
He’s quiet. The sound of your space heater rattling and Ginger purring fills the room, but not enough to quell the anxiety that’s rumbling in your stomach. He’s going to let you down gently, you hope. Quick and painless, like a bullet to the head.
“I don’t know. I guess I thought you didn’t want to anymore. We were older. I thought it would feel weird to you.”
Weird.
And this whole time, for you, his kiss was nothing short of ethereal.
“Plus,” he continues, oblivious to the way your heart is splintering, “I figured it’d be uncomfortable doing it once I had girlfriends. Like it would be... I don't know. Inappropriate or something.”
He was being considerate. Somehow, and you know you’re being irrational, that makes it worse.
“It makes sense.” You force a smile. “Relax, Koo. I’m not writing sonnets about your lips every night.”
He snorts. “Oh, please, you wish you could have lips as luscious as mine.”
You push his shoulder, and then it’s just you and Jungkook again. Nothing more, nothing less.
He flips through a few more pages, ogling at pictures even you’d never seen before. He points to one where you're both wearing matching reindeer antlers. “Now, this should be on a Christmas card.”
“I’m shocked my mom didn’t have cards made. I would’ve burned them”
“You’re such a Grinch.” He closes the album but keeps it in his lap, fingers tracing the worn cover. Jungkook is quiet for another moment, and you catch the look on his face, the one he makes when he’s struggling to choose his words correctly. Decisively, he says, “Did you really hate it? The mistletoe thing?”
Your heart hammers. This is it, you think. This is where you could tell him. Where you could say actually, I loved it, I lived for it, I died a little every year you stopped.
But he’s looking at you with curiosity, as if he’s pondering what your favorite color is or what you had for breakfast. As if the answer doesn’t matter beyond satisfying his momentary interest.
You lie. “It was fine. Just a stupid kid thing.”
He sets the album aside, wiping his dusty palms on the front of his pants. “Yeah. Totally.”
Jungkook moves back to the decoration boxes, and you remain frozen on the couch. You grip your safety blanket as tight as you can, until you think you feel your blood flow cutting off. You just want to feel numb.
“You know what is crazy, though?” He pulls out a string of garland, examining it for tangled bits. “You used to be obsessed with Christmas.”
Your stomach does a somersault. “I was not.”
“Yeah, you kinda were.” His eyes linger on the garland, although you’re certain it’s in perfect condition. “You made us watch Rudolph the Red Nosed Reindeer and Frosty the Snowman on repeat. You also made us build snowmen every single time it snowed, even when it was like, two inches.”
“Everyone loves those things when you’re a kid.”
“Yeah, I guess.” he sighs. “But I don’t know. You had a countdown, you’d call me everyday in December to tell me how many days were left. That was your favorite holiday, and now I’m the only one who likes it.”
You shrug, hoping to come across as nonchalant, but you know he can read your face like an open book. “People change.”
“When did you even stop liking it?” He picks up a few string lights, untangling them as he’s doing to you currently.
Your throat tightens. “High school, maybe?”
“Cause of stress or something? School shit?”
“Sure.”
“It’s a yes or no question.”
“That’s the answer you’re getting.” You really, really wish there was a sinkhole that could swallow you entirely right now.
He studies you, and you can see him thinking, piecing together something you don’t want him to figure out. But despite it all, he just shrugs, letting it go. “It's depressing. You used to light up the whole room when Christmas came around. Now you look like someone killed Ginger."
She purrs in the corner.
“Sorry, Ging.” He throws the lights to the yes pile. It’s surprisingly larger than the no pile. “I just want you to be happy this Christmas. That’s all I care about.”
You half-smile at him, nodding. You don’t know how to tell him that you could be happy, could be ecstatic, if just this Christmas, you felt his lips on yours again.
Turns out, it’s a lot easier to throw yourself into party planning when you’re trying to distract yourself from something.
This whole debacle makes you realize you’ve never actually hosted a Christmas party. You actively avoid Christmas. What made you think you could pull this off? (Granted it’s all Jungkook’s fault, but that’s neither here nor there.)
The group chat you made for the attendees is already chaos—Jisoo asking about the playlist, Taehyung confirming he’s still vegetarian (yes, still, it's been four days), Dahyun asking if she can breastfeed in your bedroom. Your anxiety spikes with every notification.
So it’s no surprise that the day before the party, you wake up in a cold sweat at 6AM with the horrifying realization that you have no idea what you’re doing. By the time Jungkook arrives at noon, you’ve managed to rearrange your furniture three times and stress-clean your bathroom until it’s sterile enough to perform surgery in.
“Wow,” He steps inside, taking in the boxes of decorations you’ve laid out for him to tackle. “Did you even sleep?”
“I would, but Jisoo and Jennie are blowing up my phone like this is the fucking MET Gala or something.” You huff, not pausing your incessant scrubbing of your kitchen sink.
“They know it’s just the annual Christmas party… right?”
You puff another exasperated breath. “Yes. But none of that matters to them because they’ve sent me 30 different outfit options like I’m going to be judging them personally or something.”
He bites back a smile. “It’s time to call in the big guns. Where can I get my hands dirty, sergeant?”
You really are grateful he’s here. And exists. And all those other sentimental things that your heart sings about constantly.
You two go full decorator mode, moving through your apartment like a well-oiled machine. He hangs the garland while you untangle lights, arrange the ornaments while he figures out how to make your bookshelf look “festive but not icky.” His words, not yours.
It’s disgusting how much Christmas is invading your space. Your minimal, clean apartment now looks like Santa threw up in it. There are silver bells on your kitchen counter, a wreath on your door that's so aggressively pine-scented you can taste it. There are candles labeled things like “Winter Wonderland” and “Cinnamon Craze” that you know will take weeks to burn through after this is all said and done.
But you keep going, because if you stop, you’ll think. If you think, you’ll remember the photo album, the mistletoe pictures, the dumb kid thing.
“Alright, I need my harshest critic.” Jungkook motions to you to survey the living room.
Standing beside him, you inspect the damage. Warm white lights are strung along your windows and wrapped around your bookshelf. A garland drapes elegantly across your mantle (you don't have a fireplace, but the decorative mantle suddenly feels worth it). There are small golden ornaments scattered tastefully on your side tables, and the wreath on the door is admittedly very pretty, even if it does smell like a forest.
“Not too shabby, Jeon.”
He looks offended. “Yeah, no shit. I deserve better than that.”
“Subpar at best.”
“I’m gonna punt Ginger like a football.”
“I think the lights are nice,” you finally concede, because they are. They make your apartment look warm, cozy even.
“Told you I was good at this." He's grinning like a Cheshire cat, that proud, bunny-toothed smile that makes your chest hurt. “Admit it. I crushed this.”
You roll your eyes. “You did alright.”
He gapes, blinking frantically. “Okay? Okay? I turned your Grinch lair into a winter wonderland!”
“My abode is not a lair.”
“It was before I arrived.” He sticks his tongue out, and you shove his shoulder.
“I think we're done,” you say, more to yourself than to him. “This is... yeah. This is enough.”
“Well… almost.” Jungkook looks like a kid who’s just been told he can’t have dessert before dinner but is already plotting how to sneak a cookie anyway.
Your stomach sinks. “What do you mean almost?” you ask, even though you think you already know.
“I have a surprise.”
You protest, “Jungkook—”
“Wait right here.” He holds up a hand, jogs back toward the entryway where he’d dropped his bag earlier. You stiffen like you’re made of ice, the only thing moving in your body being your heartbeat that thumps along the walls of your ribcage.
Please don’t be what you think it is. Please don’t be what you think it is.
He turns around, and your heart sinks lower than where your stomach sat.
In his hand, dangling from a red ribbon, is a mistletoe.
It’s small, crinkled, fake plastic leaves bent at weird angles like it was shoved in the back of his closet for years. It probably has been.
“No,” you object immediately.
“Come on—”
“No. This is a hard no, Jungkook.” And you know you’re being harsh, but it’s the only way you’ll get him to stop whatever efforts he’s decided are worth his time.
“You said no mistletoe in the apartment,” he argues, walking toward you with that stupid sprig held up. “Technically, this is going above the doorway, which is a threshold. Not in the apartment.”
“That’s the worst logic I’ve ever heard.”
“But it’s tradition!” You can see the hope in his eyes, the genuine excitement, and it makes you want to rip your hair out. “Every Christmas party needs a mistletoe.”
“Not this one.”
“Especially yours. Ours.” His voice softens, and that's worse somehow. “For old times’ sake?”
You hate the tone in his voice, the guilt-tripping, the pity.
“I don’t want it,” you repeat. “I told you this already.”
His smile falters as he realizes you’re truly serious. “Why not?
“Because it’s stupid and outdated and I don’t want people making a big deal about it.”
“Why would any of our friends make a big deal—”
“Jungkook,” you plead, crossing your arms, putting a physical barrier between you and that mistletoe. “I said no.’
He just stares at you, confusion and hurt flickering across his face. “I don’t get it. It’s literally just a mistletoe. It’s supposed to be fun.”
Fun, weird… a list of words that describe the opposite of what mistletoe makes you feel.
“It’s not fun for me.” You burn holes into your floor, refusing to look at his puppy eyes that would make you feel more guilty than you already do.
“Why not?”
Because everytime I look at it, I think about you kissing me when we were kids. Because it reminds me of when Christmas was my favorite day of the year. Because seeing it in my apartment, above my doorway, at my party, will make me think about all the Christmases you kissed other girls and not me.
“Because I don’t like it,” you decide upon, “Can’t you just respect that?”
An awkward silence spreads amongst you two, punctured only by Ginger purring in the corner. Jungkook's hand drops to his side, mistletoe dangling limply from his fingers.
“Fine,” he murmurs. “No mistletoe.”
“Thank you,” you sigh in relief.
He walks back to his bag and shoves it inside, and you should feel relieved. You should feel like you’ve won. But instead, you just feel like you’ve punched him square in the face.
“I should probably go,” he says, not meeting your eyes. “Let you rest before the big day tomorrow.”
“Oh, uh, yeah.” You shift on your feet awkwardly.
He gathers his things timidly, and you know he’s giving you time to take it back, to say you’re sorry, to explain, to undo the angst you’ve created.
At the door, he pauses before reaching for the doorknob. Jungkook turns, clutching his bag strap so tightly his knuckles resemble those of a ghost. “I really don't understand what's going on with you.”
“Nothing’s going on,” you mutter.
“That’s utter bullshit,” he snaps, and you raise your eyes to meet his. The usual warm chocolate shade of his orbs now shifts to onyx. “You’ve been weird about this whole Christmas party thing since day one.”
“I said, there’s nothing going on. I don’t want to talk about it,” you repeat, hoping it’ll stick.
“But I do!” His voice rises, and you flinch. Jungkook doesn’t yell. Not once in your lifelong friendship has he ever raised his voice or laid a finger on anyone. You were never involved in any of his relationship arguments, but you imagine he never argued with them like this. You suddenly feel dizzy, like the world is spinning too quickly for you to catch your breath. “I’ve known you forever. You’re my best fucking friend, and something is clearly wrong, so just tell me.”
Frustration coils in your stomach. Why can’t he ever leave anything alone? “Stop it. Please, just stop. Why can’t you just respect my boundaries? I said no mistletoe. I said I don’t want to talk about it. Why isn’t that enough for you?”
“This obviously is not just about the fucking mistletoe, [Y/N].” He tugs at his hair, rage rolling off him in waves. “Since the moment I brought up you hosting, you acted like I was attacking you.”
“Because you are!” None of it makes sense, not one bit, but you can’t tell between anger and panic and all you can see is red. “Maybe because you just bulldoze through my life, rearranging things, making decisions, assuming you know what's best—”
“We’re best friends. We help each other with everything,” he grits through clenched teeth.
“I’m not Hana, Jungkook. I won’t just let you decorate my life and pretend everything's perfect.”
For a moment, Jungkook seems taken aback by your outburst, recoils a step, landing with his spine against the front door. His face goes pale. “Wow. That’s fucking low.”
“Is it?” You're on a roll now, unable to stop even though you can see you’re hurting him. Maybe you just want him to hurt the way you do. “Because when you kept all of Hana’s things, when your apartment was basically a shrine to her, I never said a fucking thing about it. I just let you deal with it however you needed to. So why can’t you give me the same courtesy? Why can’t you just let this go?”
“Hana and I broke up!” His voice cracks, eyes glassy, “That’s so different and you know it.”
“How is it different? Enlighten me.”
“She was my girlfriend. And it hurt, okay? It hurt to let her go. But I did it. I'm doing it because it’s over and I don’t miss her that way anymore. And you’re the one who pushed me to. So don’t—" He pauses, jaw clenched, and you can see he’s trying to swallow his tears. “Don’t throw that in my face like I’m some pathetic asshole who can't move on.”
Fuck. “Koo—”
“No.” He holds up a hand. It’s shaking. “You want boundaries? Fine. Here’s one: don’t call me until you figure out what the fuck is actually going on with you. Because this isn’t you. The you I know doesn’t make me feel like shit for trying to care about you.”
You swallow around the lump forming in your throat. “Jungkook, I’m so sorry—”
“Save it.” His voice is quieter, and you miss the yelling, because at least then he still cared about you. He’s given up. “I’ll still come to the party tomorrow because I told everyone I would. But after that… maybe we should take a break from each other or something.”
“Oh.”
Throughout the duration of your friendship, you and Jungkook have only ever fought once. It was known as The Great Argument of 11th Grade, and it was so juvenile that even your parents got involved. Now, you don’t really remember the specifics of what went down or who started it, but you do remember that it only lasted a day, because Jungkook said, “you know I can’t stay away from you for too long.”
The concept of space from him is one you’ve never considered.
He leaves before you can say anything more, the door clicking shut with finality, echoing through your decorated apartment.
You stand there, frozen, staring at the space where he was. The mistletoe is still in his bag. He took it with him.
The rest of your unfortunate day is spent spiraling about your argument with Jungkook. You sit on the couch, crying to some stupid Hallmark movie where the girl gets the guy and everything works out perfectly. Then you cry in the shower, the water mixing with your tears until you can’t tell which is which. You go so far as to cry in your car on the way to the grocery store, because you two were supposed to go together to prepare for this stupid party.
Even the supermarket is taunting you. There’s couples everywhere walking around gleefully, hand-in-hand, debating between red or green napkins like it’s the most important decision of their lives. Meanwhile, you’re shuffling through the aisles in a massive oversized hoodie that’s doing nothing to hide your puffy eyes and red nose.
Sniffling, you round the corner to the next aisle, looking for Taehyung’s stupid vegetable broth. Your cart collides with someone else’s with a loud clang, and you’re thrown, apologizing like crazy, “Ohmygod, I’m so sorry, I wasn’t paying attention—”
“[Y/N]?”
Fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck.
Hana.
The last time you saw Hana was last January after the breakup. She was collecting her things at Jungkook’s apartment, and you’d shown up at the wrong moment. Her eyes were bloodshot, movements solemn as she shoved books and clothes into a duffel bag. She’d barely looked at you, just mumbled a quiet “hey” before brushing past you in the hallway. You had felt guilty then, even though you had no reason to be.
At least now, she looks radiant. Her skin reflects off the luminescent overhead lights, cart stocked full of fancy cheeses and wine bottles and overpriced crackers. She looks like someone who has her shit together. Someone who’s moved on.
Unlike you, apparently, who looks like you’ve been crying in your car. Which, by all means, you absolutely were.
“Hana,” you slap a smile onto your face, although you’re 99 percent certain it looks strained. “It’s good to see you.”
“You too!” She seems actually happy about the encounter. It’s not like you two ever had a bad relationship, but you weren’t besties by any means. “It’s been forever.”
“Yeah, almost a year.” You’re too hyperaware of your puffy eyes, your ratty hoodie, the fact that you probably look like you’ve been hit by a truck. But of course, she looks like she just stepped out of Vogue.
“How have you been?” she asks.
“Good. Busy. You know, the holidays,” You nod at your cart, which contains three different types of cheeses, ten bags of chips, and a bag of chocolate chips for yourself because you need to eat your feelings when you get home.
“I do,” she laughs. “Work has been insane lately. I barely have time to go outside.”
“Right, you’re at that new marketing agency now?” You remember Jungkook mentioning it once, back when talking about Hana was therapeutic for him.
“I do.” she nods. “It’s a lot but I love it. What about you? Still at the magazine?”
“I am. I actually just finished a pretty big piece, so that’s good.”
“That’s amazing,” she earnestly responds. You want to hate her—it would be easier if you could hate her—but she’s always been kind. Even when you wanted to despise her for being with Jungkook, she made it impossible.
There’s a lull in conversation, and you debate making a run for it until she asks, “How are you and Jungkook?”
You furrow your brows. She could just ask you about Jungkook. You wouldn’t judge her for wondering. “What do you mean?”
“I just—” A crimson blush creeps onto her cheeks. “I mean, how are you guys doing?”
Why would she ask about you both together? Granted, it’s not that unreasonable. You and Jungkook are attached at the hip; everyone knows that. “We’re… good? He’s good.”
“Cool,” she says, but she doesn’t even look convinced by your answer.
You don’t know why you feel the need to overshare, but it all comes tumbling out like word vomit. “Yeah, he’s actually been helping me plan this Christmas party. Total nightmare, honestly. He’s been at my place basically every day this week, decorating and—”
She cracks a smile. “That’s so cute you guys are still inseparable.”
“I mean… “ you trail off, slightly confused by her angle. “We’re best friends. So yeah.”
“Of course,” she rushes to say. “Duh. Silly me.”
“Is that... weird?” You clear your throat and shift on your feet. You don’t even know what she’s trying to get at anymore, and honestly, you really need to get as far away from this supermarket (or Seoul) as fast as you can.
“No! No, not weird. I think it’s sweet, actually.” She pauses before adding, “I'm really happy for you guys”
Either you must be braindead, or she’s undergoing memory loss. “I’m sorry Hana, I don’t think I’m following.”
She laughs softly, but it’s not mocking. “Come on, [Y/N]. You don’t have to pretend with me.”
Your stupid heart skips a beat, your brain struggling to make sense of her words. “Pretend about what?”
“That you and Jungkook aren’t together, obviously.”
Have you entered an alternate universe? Did you accidentally drive into another dimension in all your sadness, missed the supermarket completely?
“What?” you sputter. “No, we’re not—oh my god, no. We would never, I mean—we’re best friends.”
She reaches out, placing a warm hand over your own. You’re going to die. It’ll be a painful death, but you’ll make it work. Anything to get out of this. “No, it’s okay. You can tell. Honest to god, I’m seeing someone now. I’m not like, jealous or anything.”
It’s confirmed. You’ve entered an alternate world where you’ll soon grow a second head and become the queen of a make-believe land.
“Hana, I’m dead serious. Jungkook and I are not dating.” You need her to believe you. You need someone to believe you, because if Hana thinks there’s something there, what the fuck does that mean? “We’ve never dated. We’re just friends. That’s all we’ve ever been.”
She studies your face, searching for the lies. Confusion replaces her certainty. “Wait, really?”
“Really.”
“But you…” She trails off, shaking her head. “Wow. Okay. I genuinely thought you guys had finally gotten together.”
Your throat constricts. “W-Why would you think that?”
“Because,” she stops, biting her lip. “Nevermind. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have assumed.”
It gives you pause for a minute, and your heart—that idiotic organ of yours that can never let go of anything—trembles in your chest.
“No, what were you going to say?” You’re not sure you want to know, but you can’t let it go now.
She casually flicks her hand. “It’s nothing, I swear.”
You exhale a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “Hana. Please.”
She sighs, shifting on her feet. “It’s just... when Jungkook and I were together, it was always pretty clear that you were the most important person in his life. Which, like, I totally respected! I did, I get it. But it was also kind of hard sometimes, you know? Like I was always competing with this... ghost. This idea of what you two had.”
Ever since you were young, people had this tendency to group you and Jungkook into this category of fate, as if the universe had done you both a favor by placing you in adjacent hospital cribs. It was always “you’re lucky to have each other” and “what a gift to be so close,” that you had never stopped to consider that your luck, your fate, your happiness, your shining star, might cast shadows on the people who tried to love him.
“Hana, I never meant to—”
“No, no,” she rushes to say, “Trust me, it wasn’t you. You did nothing wrong. Neither did he, really. He tried his best. But I could always tell his heart wasn’t fully in it. At least, not in the way it should have been.”
Words fall short of what you want to say. Hana and Jungkook’s relationship had always felt like something out of reach to you. An enigma. The plot of some braindead romance novel. They met at a concert, an underground indie band that only the two of them liked. He had stumbled home that night with a smile on his face that couldn’t be erased, eyes bright as exploding stars, talking so fast his words tripped over each other. You remember thinking this is it, the real thing, the love that rewrites him. You had never imagined that magic would ever run dry.
“Anyway,” Hana continues, “I just assumed that once we broke up, you two would figure it out. The way he talked about you, the way he’d light up when you texted... I don't know. I thought it was inevitable.”
“Well, it’s not.” The words prick your tongue like thorns. “We’re just friends.”
“Oh. Well, that’s still cool,” she offers, but her eyes have gone all soft.
For a while, it’s quiet. She’s staring at you intently, chewing on her lip like she has more to say but needs to mash it down. But you really just want to grab Taehyung’s stupid vegetable broth and get the fuck out of here.
“It was great to see you, Hana. I need to go and—”
“[Y/N], wait.” She latches onto your arm before you get a chance to escape.
You stare at her, wide-eyed, heart racing, mouth dry.
“I probably shouldn't be telling you this. Maybe it should be him, I don’t fucking know," she says, rolling her eyes. "But clearly he hasn’t grown the balls yet. Well, that, or his peanut brain hasn’t pieced it together. But I’m gonna tell you anyway.”
Your hands grip the cart handle. “Tell me what?”
There’s a long pause, and you can feel her weighing her words. Until, finally, she admits, “Last Christmas, when we were under the mistletoe… when Jungkook kissed me.” She takes a deep breath. “He was looking at you.”
Your first reaction is to laugh. Which you do, actually, loud enough to bounce off the cans of corn on the shelves. At the sound, Hana raises an eyebrow.
“What are you talking about?” you giggle. “No, he wasn’t.”
She’s watching you now with something that resembles pity.
“We were under the mistletoe at your friend Jisoo’s apartment. Everyone was there, all your friends. And he kissed me, but…” Hana swallows thickly. “When we pulled apart, his eyes were open, and he wasn’t looking at me. He was looking across the room at you.”
You think you’re going to die in this godforsaken supermarket.
“I didn’t say anything that night. I thought maybe I’d imagined it, but then it kept happening. He’d be with me, but he’d be watching you. Listening for you, waiting for you to text or call.” She laughs dryly, but you’re not sure either of you find this funny. “On New Years, I asked him about it. I asked him if he was in love with you.”
Bile rises up in your throat. You don’t even think you want to hear the rest of this. If she’s right, if it’s true, if you’ve missed this, if, if, if..
“What did he say, Hana?”
“Obviously, he lied and said no. He said you were just friends, and that I was being ridiculous. But then we broke up two weeks later. We both agreed we needed space, and I said that he wasn’t ready for something serious. And maybe that's true, maybe I was reading into things." She finally meets your eyes again. "But I don’t think I was.”
Last Christmas, you were so drunk on Jisoo’s eggnog that you hardly remember anything. You try to piece together the snippets of the night you have. There was dinner, which you scarfed down in under a millisecond. Then you all played pin the cock on the Santa (not suitable for kids, but luckily, baby Haewon only lived in Dahyun’s uterus at that point). You barely even remember the mistletoe portion of the night. That’s got to be some kind of trauma response to the stupid little leaf.
“Why are you telling me this?” Your voice sounds far away, like it belongs to someone else.
“Because," Hana’s lips curve upwards into a soft smile, “I spent a year loving someone who was in love with someone else, and it sucked, but you know what sucks more? Watching two people who are meant to be together waste time pretending they’re not.”
She reaches out and squeezes your arm. “I’m not bitter about it anymore. I’m happy now. I want him to be happy too. I think... I think he could be very happy with you.”
You want to argue. You want to tell her she’s wrong, that she’s misremembering, that she too was poisoned by Jisoo’s eggnog, that there's no way Jungkook feels that way about you.
But then you think about the box in his closet with your name on it. The teddy bear he kept. The way he’s been trying so hard to make you love Christmas again. The mistletoe he wanted to hang in your apartment.
No. It can’t fucking be.
“I gotta go,” you say abruptly.
“[Y/N]—”
But you’re already moving, abandoning your cart in the middle of the aisle, heart pounding so hard you can feel it in your throat. You make it to your car before the tears start again, but this time they’re different. This time, you don’t know if you’re crying because you’ve been in love with someone who doesn't love you back, or because you might've missed the entire thing completely.
There’s not enough wine in this apartment, nor this world, that will get you through this Christmas party in one piece.
It feels like the world is moving around you but you’re just glued to your kitchen, gripping your glass of white wine so tightly you’re surprised the stem hasn’t snapped. Surprisingly enough, everyone arrived on time—even Namjoon and Dahyun, balancing poor baby Haewon on their hip, her tiny Santa hat slipping over one eye. There’s enough alcohol floating around to feed a bar, courtesy of Taehyung’s overenthusiastic mixology skills.
It’s truly a splendid evening. A roaring success. Everything going exactly as planned.
Except, there are two minor (major) insignificant, soul-crushing details that are fucking up your perfect evening:
Hana’s words have been playing on loop in your brain all day.
When Jungkook arrived, he looked at you for exactly 0.5 seconds, said absolutely nothing, and spent the last hour charming everyone else in the room.
Other than that, splendid evening. Gatsby would be seething with jealousy if he saw the kind of party you were throwing.
Jungkook had walked in, present in hand for Haewon (because he was her godfather and she practically got whatever she wanted when he was around), and he’d met your eyes before looking away. No smile. No “hey.” Not even a nod of acknowledgment.
Naturally, since torturing you seems first on his agenda, he chooses this night to become the town jester. Jennie has been laughing at his jokes for what seems like ages, her hand on his arm, her head thrown back in delight. Taehyung keeps pulling him into conversations, clapping him on the shoulder. Even Dahyun, who normally has her hands full, is more entranced by Jungkook than her own daughter.
It’s what you deserve, you know that, but your heart is cracking at the seams and your brain isn’t faring any better.
You feel ill. Fucking ill.
Turning to the kitchen sink, you brace your hands on the counter. Breathe in. Breathe out. You’re fine. You just need to get through the next few hours without having a complete breakdown in front of all your friends.
“You alright?”
You jump, releasing an exhale when you see it’s just Jisoo. She’s holding a glass of red wine, matching with her burgundy turtleneck, eyebrow raised in that knowing way of hers that says she sees right through all your bullshit.
“Oh, yeah,” you reply. “Just taking a quick breather.”
“Mhm.” she eyes you up and down, leaning against the counter. “You’re basically hiding at your own party.”
“Could’ve sworn you did this last year at your Christmas party when your lasagna came out burnt,” you point out.
Jisoo deadpans. “This isn’t about me. We’re talking about you.”
Damnit. You were hoping she would let it go.
“I’m just here making sure everything’s to perfection. Y’know, Taehyung with his… vegetarianism..”
Jisoo takes a slow sip of her wine, “You wanna try that again, or should I just cut to the part where you tell me what’s actually wrong?”
Your heart falls to your ass. Jisoo is the one friend on this planet who has consistently read you down to the bone. She’s going to see right through any lie you try to feed her, so you’re wondering if it’s even worth it.
It’s worth one last shot.
“Nothing’s wrong—”
“Bitch just tell me.”
You close your eyes and try to imagine a beach, somewhere tropical with waves kissing your ankles and sand that burns your feet. Try to imagine a world where you don’t have to answer Jisoo's question, where Hana never ambushed you in the grocery store yesterday, where your feelings for Jungkook stayed frozen at age nine, still innocent and within reach.
Unfortunately, when you open your eyes again, you’re at a Christmas party—your Christmas party, in your annoyingly red sweater—and Jisoo is staring at you expectantly.
“I fucked up.”
Jisoo doesn’t look surprised in the slightest, which, okay. Rude. “With Jungkook?”
You raise an eyebrow. “How did you know that?”
“I mean, you’re not having a fight with any of the girls, or I would’ve heard an earful. That and he won’t glance in your direction and you look like you’re about to throw up. Doesn’t take Einstein.” She places her wine down. “What happened?”
Keeping it bottled up has never done you any favors, so you steady your voice and explain everything. How you didn’t want to host the party in the first place because Christmas makes you miserable. How Jungkook kept pushing about the mistletoe. How you snapped at him, brought up Hana, threw his grief in his face. How he left and told you he needed space and you haven’t spoken since.
You probably could’ve told her more, but you don’t want to tell her about the mistletoe tradition. You don’t tell her about being in love with him for thirteen years. Those truths feel like just yours.
When you finish, Jisoo is quiet for a long moment. Then, she sighs, levels you with a look, and says, “That was a low blow.”
“I know.”
“Like, really bad.”
“I know.”
“He was just trying to help, and you basically told him he’s pathetic for not being over his ex.”
“I know, Jisoo. Trust me, I know.” You press the heels of your palms against your eyes. “I feel like shit about it.”
“Have you apologized?”
“He said he needed space. Hence why he won’t look at me.”
“I mean, space doesn’t mean you can’t say sorry.” She picks up her wine again. “Look, I get it. You were overwhelmed. The party planning, the decorations, whatever else is going on in that head of yours. But Jungkook didn’t deserve that”.
“I know he didn’t.” you reply, now having trouble controlling your voice. “I just... I don’t know how to fix this.”
“The word you’re looking for, my dear, is sorry,” she smiles sympathetically.
You nod, even though the thought of approaching him right now makes you want to crawl into a hole.
The party outside seems to pick up in volume, and through the crack in the doorway, you see Jungkook holding baby Haewon, cradling her carefully against his chest like she’s made of glass. He’s wearing a dark green sweater, the color of mistletoe, and his skin looks golden under the string lights he helped set up. He’s cooing at the baby, making ridiculous faces, and Haewon is giggling, her tiny hand reaching up to grab his nose.
Dahyun is standing next to him, saying something that makes him laugh, and the light sound carries over the music and chatter. It’s his real laugh, the one that crinkles his nose and shows all his teeth, the one you thought you only got to see.
And suddenly you can picture it with perfect clarity: Jungkook, a few years from now, holding his own baby. His and someone else’s, some girl who isn’t you, who doesn’t have years of baggage and unspoken feelings weighing her down. Someone who can give him the uncomplicated love he deserves.
You didn’t even realize Jisoo was talking until you feel her hand on your arm.
Blinking out of your daze, you snap back to the kitchen, to the party, to reality. “Sorry, what?”
But it’s too late—Jisoo isn’t looking at you anymore. She’s following your gaze to the dining room, to Jungkook and the baby, and understanding dawns across her face.
“Oh,” she says.
Who knew a single syllable could carry so much weight?
“How long?” Jisoo questions.
“How long what?”
“Do not play dumb with me, missy. How long have you been in love with him?”
You’ve been tiptoeing around the truth for a long time. But you’re so tired of pretending, and the wine has loosened your tongue, and Jisoo is looking at you with such gentle understanding that the truth just spills out.
“Since I was a kid.”
Jisoo's eyes widen. “Jesus Christ, [Y/N].”
“Yeah,” is all you can offer.
“Does he know?” She lowers her voice, leans more into you like he might somehow hear across the room.
“Absolutely not,” you retort. “He can’t, and he won’t. It would ruin our friendship.”
She opens her mouth to protest, to probably give you some grand speech on how love wins above all, but you hold your hand up to stop her. “I’m serious, Jisoo. You can’t tell him. Pinky promise me.”
She studies you for a long moment, and you can see her debating whether to push. Finally, she sighs and holds out her pinkie. “I promise. But for the record, I think you’re an idiot.”
“I get that a lot.”
From the dining room, you hear Jungkook laugh again, and it feels like someone’s wrapped barbed wire around your heart and pulled tight.
“You really should talk to him, though,” Jisoo repeats. “Like tonight, before it gets worse.”
It’s already worse.
“I can’t,” you disagree, taking a gulp of wine. “You saw him. The man won’t even look at me.”
“Because he’s pissed, not ‘cause he hates you.” She squeezes your arm. “This is Jungkook we’re talking about. Your Jungkook. He’s probably just as miserable as you are.”
The words your Jungkook make you shiver. He’s never actually been yours in any way that matters. But god, the way Jisoo says it makes you want to believe it. Makes you want to crawl inside those two words and live there, in a world where your Jungkook means he’s yours the way you’ve always been his. Completely, irrevocably, in every way a person can belong to another.
“I don’t know, he seems to be the fucking class clown tonight,” you mumble into your wine, and Jisoo snorts.
“I promise you he’s waiting for you to make the first move. He said he needed space, but that doesn’t mean he wants the space. You know how he is—he’s a loverboy. Gets all up in his feelings and shit.”
You do know. You’ve known Jungkook long enough to recognize all his patterns.
Either way, you know just what to say to appease Jisoo. “Maybe later.”
“Later as in tonight, or later as in you’re going to avoid him until you two just forget about it and move on?”
Yeah, exactly that.
“We’ll see.”
Jisoo gives you a look that says she knows exactly what “we'll see” means in your vocabulary. “What’s your therapist’s name again? I want to give them a call.”
You hold up your middle finger.
“It’s gonna be a loooong night,” she exhales a loud breath.
And truly, she must have magical powers or something, because it is nothing short of a treacherous evening for you.
It all starts with Dahyun intercepting you, forcing you to hold Haewon. “Can you hold her for a sec? I need to use the bathroom and Joon’s three drinks deep trying to explain some conspiracy theory to Taehyung.”
You’re halfway through your protest when she just plops Haewon into your arms. She settles against your chest with a little coo, her Santa hat askew. She smells like powder, milk, and Dahyun’s perfume. Her tiny fist curls into your sweater, and despite the trainwreck that is your life, you smile brightly.
“Hi, pretty girl,” you murmur, adjusting her weight. “I bet you don’t know what it’s like to be in love with someone who doesn’t love you back. Because everyone loves you, since you’re perfect.”
Bouncing her gently, you two sway in place, and she makes a happy gurgling sound as if to say “yes, I know I’m perfect.” Someone has put on Nat King Cole, and the crooning voice of “The Christmas Song” fills your apartment with a nostalgic warmth you’ve been trying to avoid all month.
Haewon has the cutest little fingers and even tinier toes, and it amazes you how someone so utterly perfect could exit your friend Dahyun’s body. Before she met Namjoon, she was nothing short of a party girl, but now, her days are filled with Mommy & Me yoga classes and supermarket runs.
It’s your dream life, you think. One that you would give anything to live with Jungkook.
You’re so focused on this fantasy, the one you’ve conjured up in your head and dreams for years, that you don’t even realize Jungkook is blatantly staring at you.
He’s standing near the drinks table, a bottle of beer frozen halfway to his lips. You meet his eyes, and it’s just you and Jungkook (and Haewon).
Haewon squirms in your arms, breaking your gaze. You look down at her, adjusting her hat, heart hammering against your ribcage. When you look back up, Jungkook has turned away, saying something to Taehyung that you can’t hear over the blood whooshing in your ears.
But his knuckles are white around his beer bottle.
Later on in the night, after you’ve tended to Taehyung’s vegetarian needs and listened to Jisoo rant about how clean eating relates to consumerism, you retreat to the kitchen under the guise of refilling the snack bowls. No one needs more chips—there are three unopened bags on the counter—but you need a moment of reprieve.
You rip open a bag of pretzels, and a few go flying everywhere, but you manage to catch them in your hand.
“Need any help?”
Your body goes rigid. You’re certain even your heart has stopped its beat.
Jungkook is standing in the doorway, hands shoved in his pockets, looking anywhere but directly at you. The green sweater really is unfair. The golden undertone of his skin shimmers under your fluorescent light, makes his eyes look lustrous.
“All good here,” you retort. “I’m just restocking.”
He makes a noise of acknowledgment, shuffling closer toward you.
You pour pretzels into a bowl with more force than necessary, and several bounce onto the counter.
“The party’s a hit,” he offers.
“Yeah. Everyone seems happy.”
“The food’s really good too.”
“It was all Namjoon and Dahyun,” you snort. Your dream of getting food catered pretty much died immediately. Then you tried cracking open a recipe book and nearly fainted.
This is excruciating. You’ve never done small talk with Jungkook. Never needed to.
“Listen—”
“Jungkook,” you say in unison.
Words cease to exist. You both stop. A dreadful, awkward silence fills the kitchen.
He clears his throat. “I want us to talk later after everyone leaves. If that’s okay with you?”
Where the idea of talking to him used to excite you, is now replaced by a pit in your stomach that won’t budge.
Hana’s words crash back into your consciousness. He was looking at you.
But what if she was wrong? What if she saw something that wasn’t there because she was hurt and wanted an explanation that made sense? What if you let yourself hope and it destroys you?
“Maybe, Jungkook.”
Disappointment flashes across his face. He nods slowly. “Cool, yeah, uh, just let me know.”
He turns to leave, and you want to say more, want to stop him from leaving.
Your mind runs back to the grocery store, Hana’s words.
You open your mouth—to say what, you don't know. Sorry. Wait. I need to tell you something.
“Jungkook.”
Jennie pokes her head into the kitchen, oblivious to everything. “There you are! Tae’s trying to make everyone play some weird drinking game. You have to come referee before I murder him.”
Jungkook looks back at you, a question in his eyes.
“Go ahead,” you smile. “I’ll join in a sec.”
He hesitates for just a second, then follows Jennie to the party.
By the time you make it back to the living room, Taehyung has indeed corralled everyone into some drinking game involving Christmas trivia. You slide into an empty spot on the couch next to Jisoo, who gives you a pointed look that you ignore.
“Is this a joke?” you ask.
“Tis not, Christmas hater,” Taehyung jokes. He explains the rules of the game, most of which you spend picking at your fingernails. The game begins with Jennie getting a question wrong about Rudolph and has to take a shot of tequila. Dahyun argues that her answer about Home Alone is technically correct. Jungkook keeps score attentively, tongue poking through his teeth.
You're almost starting to relax when Namjoon, flushed from wine and dad-exhaustion, looks around your apartment with squinted eyes.
“Wait,” he says loud enough to make Taehyung’s and Jisoo’s current feud halt. “Where’s the mistletoe?”
Last Christmas by Wham is blaring from your speakers, and you can hear traffic from the street below, but a barrage of red alerts blasts through your brain.
Shit.
Your throat goes dry.
“Yeah!” Dahyun laughs, adjusting Haewon on her lap. “Where is it? I thought mistletoe was like, mandatory at Christmas parties.”
“Maybe she forgot,” Jennie offers, and you could kiss her on the lips.
“Feels like a crazy thing to forget,” Jisoo chimes in, and you shush her with a glare.
“I didn’t forget.” You can feel Jungkook’s eyes on you, but you don’t look at him. “I just didn’t put one up.”
“Why not?” Taehyung interrogates, crossing his arms over his chest. “It’s tradition.”
Tradition. That stupid fucking word.
“It’s not really my thing.” You shrug.
“Since when?” Jennie arches a brow. “In college, you made us all kiss under the mistletoe in Jihyo’s dorm.”
You were obliterated and desperately trying to create some scenario where kissing Jungkook would happen again, even as a joke. It hadn’t worked. He’d kissed Jisoo on the cheek and you’d kissed Namjoon and everyone had laughed and moved on and you’d gone home and cried into your pillow.
“I was drunk,” you argue.
Jisoo is studying her drink intensely, and by the sheer force of mind reading, you beg her not to say something.
“I think it's nice,” Dahyun says, attempting to ease the awkwardness. “More elegant without it, you know? Like out of an Ikea catalogue!”
You throw her a grateful look.
“It does save people from those awkward forced kisses with people they don’t want to kiss,” she adds, and multiple other people nod in agreement.
“Exactly! That’s exactly it.” You practically leap out of your seat.
But you can still feel Jungkook looking at you. You chance a glance in his direction and immediately regret it. He’s not trying to hide his expression anymore. He looks visibly hurt, with his jaw tight and lips twitching.
“Should we keep playing?” Jennie asks, and bless her for it.
“Yeah,” Taehyung shuffles his trivia cards. “Alright, next question is for Jungkook.”
The game resumes, clockwise around the room, but even then, neither you or Jungkook care about anything else but each other.
Jungkook’s not sure when it happened.
There wasn’t a single moment, no dramatic revelation where the clouds parted and you were all grown up. It was more like watching a sunrise, so gradual that he didn’t even notice it was happening until the entire sky was painted in vivid bright colors. One day you were his best friend, the girl who knew all his secrets and laughed at his dumb jokes and fell asleep during movie nights with your head on his shoulder. Then, somewhere along the way, you became something more—flourished into a beautiful flower.
He thinks it might have started in high school, when you showed up to junior prom in that light blue dress that complemented your eyes. Your mother spent thirty minutes poking and prodding at your dress, noting that you were ‘filling out nicely,’ and it had taken all of Jungkook’s might not to ogle at your growing chest.
It could’ve also been in college, after you went through your first breakup and decided the proper next step was to cut your hair short, revealing the curve of your neck. He had stared for the better half of a week, and luckily, it went away once winter rolled around and you wore turtlenecks.
It could have been last year, when you laughed so hard at one of his stories that you snorted wine out of your nose, and instead of being grossed out, he’d thought it was the most endearing thing he’d ever witnessed.
Maybe it’s always been there, lurking underneath your friendship.
The thing is, Jungkook has always been sure he’s not in love with you. He’s never let himself think about it in those terms, never let the thought fully form before shoving it back down where it belongs. You are his best friend, have been since before he understood what friendship meant. You’re the person who knows him better than anyone, who’s seen him at his worst and somehow still shows up. You’re the constant in his life, the thing he’s never had to question.
But in the quiet of his own mind, he can acknowledge that you are utterly and thoroughly beautiful.
You’re brilliant too, in ways that constantly surprise him even after knowing you for years. Sharp and funny and creative, with this ability to see people that makes everyone feel understood. You remember things, stupid little details about people’s lives that they mentioned once in passing. You’re the kind of person who makes playlists for your friends based on their moods.
You made one for him last month. Called it ‘when koo is in his feelings.’
He listened to it on the way to the Christmas party.
And yeah, okay, maybe he thinks about you more than a best friend probably should. Like when he’s dating someone, there’s always this small part of his brain remembering things to tell you later, moments you’d find funny or interesting. Sometimes, he compares every girl he dates to you without meaning to… it’s just the way they laugh never quite measures up, their sense of humor is always slightly off, their understanding of him remains surface-level.
But that’s all normal friend stuff, he thinks.
“Penny for your thoughts?”
Namjoon sidles up beside Jungkook, hugging a beer bottle tight to his chest. It’s the first time he’s drank in a while, and Jungkook resists the urge to laugh at just how drunk he looks.
Jungkook takes a long sip of his beer, watching you over the rim of the bottle. You’re laughing at something Jisoo said, but it doesn’t reach your eyes. “It’s nothing.”
“Shut up.” Namjoon leans against the wall for stability. “Tell me what’s up.”
“Nothing’s up.”
“Shouldn’t you be out there, making my wife laugh harder than I have?”
Jungkook rolls his eyes. “I’m tired.”
“You have the energy of a bunny, so I doubt that,” Namjoon snickers. “C’mon, fess up. I never get involved with drama anymore after Haewon. Enlighten me.”
Jungkook considers deflecting again, but what's the point? Namjoon's going to stand here until he cracks. “We got in a fight. Me and [Y/N].”
“Oh shit, for real?” When Jungkook meekly nods, Namjoon takes another swig of beer. “What about?”
“I wanted to hang up a mistletoe for the party and she said no.” God, saying it out loud seems so stupid. “I pushed it and then she…”
“She what?”
“She said some mean things, then I said some things. It got messy.”
“This sounds kinda dumb,” Namjoon jokes, and Jungkook levels him with a piercing glare. He knows it’s dumb, knows this whole thing is stupid, but he can;t shake the feeling that there’s something unresolved lingering underneath. “You’ll be fine.”
“Yeah.”
“That was not a confident yeah.”
“I mean, I told her we should talk after the party. She said maybe,” Jungkook laughs dryly. “Chances of us talking are looking pretty low right now.”
“Dude,” Namjoon exhales a breath. “She’s not going to stay away from you. That girl loves you.”
“I don’t know…”
“You know where she lives. You have a key, for god’s sake.”
Jungkook does have a key. In his defense, you have one to his place too. It’s never not been a thing—you’ve been trading apartment keys since college, back when you lived in that shitty studio with the broken heater and he needed to water your plants when you went home for your mom’s birthday.
“I think she really wants space this time, though,” he frowns. He doesn’t like the idea of it, but it’s part of his fault you’re even in this predicament right now.
“You guys are idiots.” Namjoon stares at him. “Why do you look so sad about this? It’s just a little fight, right?”
Jungkook opens his mouth to agree, but he chokes on the words forming in his throat. His eyes find you across the room again. You’re holding Haewon, swaying gently, and the baby's grabbing at your hair with her tiny fists. You smile down at her, and even from here, he can see the softness in your expression, and how you’ve adjusted your hold to support her head.
He doesn’t really know why, but his heart seizes.
“Yeah. I think so.”
Namjoon hums. “It’s not like, …anything more, right?”
Jungkook furrows his brows, tearing his gaze away from you. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
“Y’know what I mean…” Namjoon starts doing some weird vague gestures with his hand, and Jungkook’s beer-soaked brain struggles to keep up. “It’s not like that with you two?”
Oh.
“No, no. It’s not like that with us,” Jungkook denies quickly, almost too quickly. He knows it’s not impractical for someone to suggest. Ever since he was a young boy, he’s been curbing questions regarding your relationship status. It never annoyed him; in fact, it filled him with pride knowing people thought he was worthy of what sunshine you had to offer. “She’s my best friend.”
“Could’ve fooled me.”
“Excuse me?”
Jungkook’s chest feels tight.
But Namjoon doesn’t note the way his face goes pale, or the way his fingers flex around his bottle. He continues on, “Bro, I’m not trying to start anything. But I’ve known you since college, and I’ve watched you do this thing where you date someone, it gets serious, and then somehow it always ends. And you know what the common denominator is?”
He really doesn’t want Namjoon to say anymore. Doesn’t want him to vocalize what might actually be true, but has been something Jungkook has been mashing down for decades of his life. Naked, unmistakable fear courses through him.
“Her.” Namjoon points with his beer bottle. “Every single time, you come back to her. You text her more than your girlfriend, or you cancel dates if she needs you. You measure everyone against her without even realizing you’re doing it.”
Jungkook can’t speak, because it’s true. He knows it’s true. He’s done it countless times, like when it was he and Sana’s one-year anniversary, but you had the flu, so he dropped everything to take care of you. Or when Chaeyoung got upset with him because he had responded to your text before even giving hers a second glance.
He can’t help it.
“You’ve been dragging her through your relationships for years,” Namjoon says, “At some point, you need to ask yourself why you keep coming back to her.”
“But she’s my best friend!” Jungkook protests petulantly. “We always show up for each other.”
“Yeah, but do best friends look at each other the way you’re looking at her right now?’
Jungkook hadn’t even realized he’d been staring again. You’ve handed Haewon back to Dahyun and you’re laughing at something, a hand flying up to cover your mouth in that way you do when you think your laugh is too loud. It’s not, Jungkook thinks, It’s never too loud.
“What do you want me to say?” Jungkook mumbles, averting his eyes to his scuffed-up shoes.
“I feel like you should just be honest with yourself, Kook.” Namjoon claps him on the shoulder. “I’m willing to bet money on the fact that your fight wasn’t really about the mistletoe.”
“I don’t think so,” Jungkook scoffs. He hopes he looks nonchalant, but his hands are trembling.
Namjoon doesn’t utter another word, and for a moment, Jungkook thinks it’s over. Namjoon will let it go and they’ll move on. He shifts weight onto his other foot, taking a swig from his beer.
“Jungkook.” Fuck, if the way Namjoon’s looking at him right now is any indication of what’s to come, he’s so fucked. “You know she’s in love with you, right?”
It’s out in the open, and he can’t believe Namjoon just said it, doesn’t know where he even got that idea, but he does know that it must be the truth. It has to be, because he would never suggest otherwise. And the notion should be earth-shattering, world-tilting, but it’s not.
Maybe Jungkook knew this whole time.
“No-No, she’s not—we’re not—”
But the more he ruminates on it, he realizes: you can’t be. You’ve never—there’s never been any indication—you’ve never said anything or done anything or—
In all the years he’s known you, you’ve never dated someone seriously. Like living together, talk of engagement. Sure, there were a few guys here and there in college, but nothing that stuck. Nothing that lasted more than a month or two. He’d always figured you were just picky, focused on your career, not interested in settling down.
Was there more to that? Jungkook’s heart jolts in his chest.
Oh god. Oh fuck.
How long? How long have you been carrying this? Since you were kids? Since high school? College? How many years has he been obliviously parading girlfriends in front of you, kissing them under mistletoe, talking about his relationships, asking for your advice about girls who weren’t you?
His hands are shaking. He sets his beer down on the nearest surface before he drops it.
“I think, maybe, you’ve always known.” Namjoon’s voice sounds like it’s coming from far away.
All those times he came back to you after dates that didn’t go well. All those nights you stayed up listening to him talk about his problems with whatever girl he was seeing. All those moments he chose you over them without even thinking about it because being with you was easy and comfortable and right in a way nothing else ever was.
He can never remember half of those girls’ names. Can’t remember what he saw in them or why he thought any of them were worth it.
But he remembers every Christmas with you.
He remembers all of it.
Jungkook looks up, searching for you in the crowd, and finds you emerging from the kitchen with Jisoo.
Panic claws up his throat. “But she’s never said anything—like, we never—”
“If I were her, I wouldn’t say anything.” Namjoon shrugs.
Jungkook feels like he can't breathe. “You don’t know what you’re talking about. You’re just—you’re guessing—”
“I am assuming, but I know enough. Dahyun has me watching a ton of kdramas, so I know when someone’s pining.”
His credentials are questionable.
“That's—” Jungkook runs a hand through his hair, tugging hard enough to hurt. “Fuck. Why wouldn’t she tell me?”
“Probably because you introduce her to new girlfriends everyday.” Namjoon’s words are blunt, but his expression is sympathetic. “Think about it. When has she ever had the space to tell you?”
Never. The answer is never. Because he’s always been with someone or getting over someone or talking about someone, and even when he wasn’t, he was busy treating your friendship like it was sacred.
Jungkook was so busy protecting what you had that he never stopped to think about what you could be.
“I didn’t know,” Jungkook admits weakly.
“It’s fine. You do now.” Namjoon takes a massive gulp of his beer, placing the empty bottle on the nearby table. “By the way, why did you care so much if she hosted? Why did it matter if it was at her place? You knew Dahyun and I didn’t mind.”
Jungkook’s guilt wraps around him like a hug. He does feel guilty about lying, he truly does, but he doesn’t have a good answer. Namjoon’s place would have worked fine, baby or not. Jisoo’s apartment was an option despite Taehyung's dog allergy. They could have figured something out.
But he had told everyone secretly that you needed to host this year.
For a long, long moment, Jungkook is silent. He pushes through the fear, the nerves, the voices in his head telling him otherwise. He tells Namjoon, “Because Christmas is ours.”
To no one’s surprise, Namjoon and Dahyun are the first to make their exit. Haewon is already fast asleep on her father’s shoulder, snoring peacefully. Then Jisoo leaves, who gives you a long, meaningful look and a whisper of “text me later” that you have no intention of following through on. Taehyung and Jennie linger for a little before they realize they have more pressing matters to attend to (read: their new vibrator they ordered).
You’re certain Jungkook slipped out sometime in the middle of the exodus. You don’t see him leave, but you hear the door close a final time and feel the absence of him.
Wonderful. You can clean up in peace and spend the rest of the night spiraling about Hana’s words, the talk you never had with Jungkook, and how quickly you’ll be able to move countries and change names.
You’re elbow-deep in soapy water, scrubbing at a wine glass aggressively, when you hear footsteps behind you.
What the fuck. Did you leave your door unlocked?
It’s definitely Taehyung. With a gulp, you crane your neck to see behind the doorway.
And then you scream.
You drop the glass into the sink, whirling around with your wet hands up like you’re going to fight off an intruder with dish soap.
Jungkook jumps, hands flying up in surrender. “Oh my god, sorry! Sorry, sorry, I’m sorry—”
“Fucking hell, Jungkook!” Your heart tries to escape from your body. “I thought you left!”
“I was in the bathroom.” His eyes are wide, looking genuinely distressed at having scared you. “I didn’t mean to—I thought you knew I was still here?”
Soap suds drip down your arms. He’s pressed against your bookshelf, trying to camouflage into your books. It’s ridiculous, but it’s so like you both that it makes you giggle.
It’s a soft one, but he notices it and snorts in response. And then you two erupt into endless laughter, your heart soaring at the familiar sound of his timbre. His chest shakes with each laugh, and tears fall from your eyes.
But after a few seconds, the laughter finally fades, and you two stand there, sizing the other up.
“What are you still doing here?” you ask, reaching for a dish towel to dry your hands.
“I wanted to see if you were open to talking.”
You turn off the running water, pivoting to face him fully.
“I am.”
He takes a deep breath, swallowing thickly. Jungkook does this thing where his tongue presses against the inside of his cheek when he’s struggling to find the right words. You’ve seen him do it countless times.
His tongue pokes the inside of his cheek.
“I’m sorry.” Jungkook says. “About the fight…about pushing you to host…and the, uh, the mistletoe thing.” He runs his fingers through his hair. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I just—Christmas has always been our thing since we were kids. It was always ours, and I don’t know… I guess I didn’t want that to change.”
With him, things are always stagnant. They’re stable, trustworthy, and you know they’ll always be there. You’re not sure where his childlike wonder went—all those times he would drag you to unknown places to explore, or made you try new foods even if you knew you’d hate it.
But maybe you’re not worth the risk for him.
“Me neither,” you agree quietly.
You swivel back to face the sink, tears brimming your eyes. Reaching for another glass, you flick on the water, dousing your hands in soap. The water is frigid but you plunge your hands in anyway.
“Hey,” comes Jungkook’s calm voice.
You keep scrubbing.
“Hey.”
His fingers wrap around your arm, and you let out a sigh.
“That’s it? That’s all?”
You can’t look at him. If you look at him, you’ll break. “What else do you want me to say? I forgive you? I do. Jungkook, this is stupid.”
“I don’t know. Something. Anything.” His hand lingers on your bare skin. “Don’t shut me out. We had one fight and for some reason, it feels like I’m losing you and I don’t—” He stops, takes a breath. “Talk to me.”
There’s so much you could say. You could tell him about the mistletoe tradition and how it’s haunted you. You could tell him about watching him fall in love over and over with people who aren’t you. You could tell him about Hana and the grocery store and how you haven’t been able to think about anything else since.
But most importantly, you could tell him the truth: you’ve been in love with him since you were a child, and every Christmas since you were 15 years old felt like getting stabbed repeatedly.
Jungkook’s eyes are red-rimmed, lips quivering. He’s still tethered to your arm, unable to let go as if you’ll disappear. You’re disgustingly terrified of this moment, not of losing him, but because he’s never even been yours to lose. Everything could change. You could say the words and watch your friendship shatter. You could tell the truth and have him look at you with pity, or worse, he’ll look at you and apologize, say he doesn’t feel the same towards you.
What if what you need to move on isn’t to ignore it, but accept the rejection?
You can do that, you think.
You swallow, “Jungkook—”
“Please,” he pleads, “I can’t fix it if I don’t know what’s wrong.”
You finally turn to face him, and his hand slides down from your arm but doesn’t let go completely. His fingers catch yours, wet and soapy as they are, and hold on.
“I don’t even know where to begin,” you admit.
“Start anywhere.” His thumb brushes against your knuckles, and you don’t even think he realizes he’s doing it. “Maybe… start with why you don’t like Christmas anymore.”
That’s the question, isn’t it? That’s the thread that, if pulled, will unravel everything.
“Do you… remember our mistletoe tradition?”
He furrows his brows. You had just reminisced on it a few days ago, but somehow it feels like a lifetime. “Of course.”
“Do you remember when it all started?”
He looks at you like you’re an apparition. “Yeah.”
“We were just kids… but you kissed my cheek and I thought it was the most magical thing in the world. We did it every year, every year until you finally kissed me on the lips.”
Jungkook inhales audibly, nods once, and squeezes your hands tighter.
“It became my favorite day of the year,” you continue, and you sound out of breath. “It wasn’t because of the presents, or the food, or Santa. It was those three seconds under the mistletoe with you. I lived for it. Counted down the days to it. And when we were 15, you got your first girlfriend.”
Understanding starts to dawn on his face, and it’s almost worse than if he didn’t get it.
“You kissed her under the mistletoe that year.” You swallow back the sob that climbs up your throat. “I watched and I stood there and you gave her this real kiss, this romantic kiss, and I realized that all those years… they were just a game to you. A tradition.”
He opens his mouth, most likely to object, but you speak over him.
“It just kept happening. There was always someone there, someone who wasn’t me. I smiled and pretended I was happy for you while I was watching you fall in love with people who… who…” Now or never, you think. “....who got to have what I wanted.”
Tears begin to blur your vision, muddling Jungkook’s features.
“I’ve been in love with you for god knows how long, Jungkook. And every Christmas since I was 15 is just a constant, giant, unavoidable reminder that you don’t love me the way I love you.”
The tears are falling freely, hot and fast, painting your cheeks.
“That’s why I didn’t want to host. That’s why I didn’t want the mistletoe. Because I can’t—” Your voice breaks. “I can’t watch you kiss someone else under it again. I can’t do it anymore. It’s killing me.”
You remove your hands from his, wiping furiously away at the wetness on your face. When you blink, you notice Jungkook’s also crying. Cheeks ruddy and chest heaving, lips trembling. “[Y/N]. I-I… how come you never said anything?”
“You’re my best friend, Koo.” You wrap your arms around yourself, self-soothing the ache that’s built in your chest. “If you don’t love me like that, I completely understand. I do. You’ve never given me any indication that you feel the same way and that’s okay, that’s fine, I’ll get over it eventually—”
Jungkook’s face falls, softening. “[Y/N]-”
“I don’t want to lose you. I can’t. You’re the most important person in my life and if telling you this means you’re going to look at me differently or feel weird around me or—”
“Stop.” he firmly says, and his hands come up to cup your face. His thumbs wipe at your tears and you know you look like a wreck, but he’s looking at you as though you were sent from the heavens above. “Just stop for a second.”
You hiccup, trying to catch your breath.
“Can we stand in the doorway?” he asks.
You deadpan. “What?”
“The doorway,” he repeats like that’s supposed to clarify anything for you. He takes one of your hands in his, peeling you away from the counter. “Can we stand in the doorway?”
“I–what? Why?”
You blindly follow him, like you always do. Let him lead you out of your kitchen. Your living room is a mess—empty glasses and crumpled napkins, remnants of your Christmas party.
Jungkook positions you in the doorway between your living room and hallway. His green sweater brings out his sparkling eyes, and your heart flutters in your chest.
“Jungkook, can you just reject me quickly so we can move on—”
“Look up.” He smiles.
With shaky breath, you crane your neck.
Hanging from your doorway is a mistletoe. There’s a red ribbon tied around it, dangling back and forth to the tune of your oscillating fan.
You snort out a snot bubble, but neither you nor him seem to care too much. “When did that even get there?”
“Well, I had to wait till the end of the night,” he remarks sheepishly, rubbing the back of his neck that iss now flushed crimson. “I thought you might rip my dick off or something if I did it earlier.”
You sink your fingernails into your palms to keep yourself grounded, to keep yourself from leaping paces ahead. Behind your ribcage, your heart stumbles.
He’s the first to laugh—it’s wet and graceless, body shaking in tandem. You’re laughing too, but also crying.
Your heart soars like it’s trying to escape your chest and fly around the room.
Jungkook settles down, and something softer crosses his expression. When he speaks next, his voice is steady, sure of himself.
“You think I don’t feel the same way?” His voice breaks. “You think—Jesus Christ, [Y/N], you’re all I think about. You’re all I ever thought about.”
“Really?” you whisper, voice so feeble you think he can’t possibly have heard it.
But he nods.
“I wake up, and the first thing I do is check my phone to see if you’ve texted me. I go through my entire day remembering things to tell you later—stupid shit, important shit, all the stuff in between. When something good happens, you’re the first person I want to tell. When something bad happens, you'’re the only person I want to see.” He wipes a stray tear that’s made its way down his cheek. “You’re the first person I think of when I wake up and the last person I think of before I fall asleep, and most nights I dream about you too.”
“You…” you trail off, shake your head. There’s no words to describe how you feel, no proper sentence to show how your entire body feels like it’s on fire.
“Let me say this because I should have said it years ago. A decade ago. I should have said it every single Christmas instead of being with people who weren’t you and pretending that was enough.”
Jungkook takes a step forward. His scent envelops you, makes you feel at home. Like you’re six years old again and anything is possible.
“I kissed you under that mistletoe when we were kids because if anyone was going to be my first kiss, it was going to be you. I didn’t even really understand what kissing meant. But I knew I wanted it to be you.”
He lets out a breathy, quiet laugh. And it feels like you’re kids again, standing under the mistletoe, pulling into each other like magnets.
“I kept doing it every year because—because those three seconds were mine. They were ours. It didn’t matter that I was too young to understand what it meant or why it made my stomach feel weird or why I’d think about it for weeks afterwards. I just knew that kissing you under the mistletoe was the best part of Christmas… the best part of my whole year.”
“You know, I was never able to understand why my relationships never seemed to work. Why no one ever wanted to stay with me for the long run. And it took me a long time, but I’ve got it all figured out now.” He has to stop to clear his throat, and it’s then, and only then, that you see the tears glistening in his eyes again. “I think… I think I’ve been looking for pieces of you in every girl I meet.”
Your feet remain frozen to your floor. If you pinch yourself, you’ll wake up from this dream, and you want to live in it as long as life will allow.
“I’d find a girl who had your hair color, or a similar sense of humor, or the way you scrunch your nose when you’re thinking, and I’d think ‘this is it, this is the one.’ But it never was, because they weren’t you,” he says. “I would be on dates, and think about what you’d say about the restaurant, or the movie, or the conversation. I could be kissing someone and wonder why it didn’t feel the way it felt when I kissed you when we were children.”
He takes another step, hardwood floor creaking beneath his weight.
He’s so close you can almost taste his woodsy scent.
“I’m a coward, [Y/N]. I kept dating people, kept trying to make it work with someone else, because I thought if I could just find the right person, I’d stop being in love with you.”
“Koo,” is all you can manage.
“But there is no right person for me. There’s just you, there’s only ever been you. You’re not a piece of the puzzle, [Y/N]. You are the whole fucking puzzle. Every piece, every corner, every goddamn edge. And I’ve been trying to force other pieces to fit for years, but they don’t. They can’t.” His tears are moving faster than he can stop them, and he lets them pour out of his eyes onto his sweater.
“The only reason I stopped kissing you under the mistletoe was because I was falling in love with you.” He’s grinning through his tears. The kind of grin you’ve been the only person to extract out of him. “I was a stupid kid who was falling in love with their best friend and the first thought I had was: what if you didn’t feel the same way? What if I told you and you laughed in my face? And I know I’m stupid, but I stopped because I needed to tell myself I was over it, that it was a phase, that we were just friends.”
Jungkook takes one final step forward until you’re practically nose-to-nose.
His voice is no higher than a whisper. “I never got over it, though. I never stopped loving you.”
Your head is spinning. Jeon Jungkook. Your best friend, your platonic soulmate, your everything…
“You… you love me?”
“I love you so fucking much,” he confirms. “I love the way you sing off-key during all our car rides together, and the way you cry during commercials with pets. The way you remember everyone’s birthdays, even if they don’t remember yours. I love how you scrunch your nose when you’re concentrating and how you chew your lip when you’re nervous. I love your terrible jokes and your beautiful laugh and how magical everything suddenly feels when you’re around.”
Inevitably, you’re sobbing too. Not in a pretty way, but you don’t think it matters anymore. Nothing matters but this.
“I love that I was lucky enough to be born the same day as you, that the universe knew before we knew that there was no me without you. I love that I know everything about you—your favorite color, your biggest fears, how you like your tea. I love that you know me better than anyone else in the world.”
His hands go to cup your face. “So, yeah, I do love you. And I know I wasted time, but I am telling you now with utmost certainty. If you'll let me, I want to make up for all the time I wasted being too scared to love you the way you deserve.”
Your hands come up to cover his, pressing them harder against your face.
“I want you to be mine and I want to be yours, in every way possible, [Y/N].”
And you really, really need to stop crying, but it’s impossible. They well up, like all those emotions you’ve been mashing down for decades, ballooning into something too large for your body to handle.
“Those are happy tears… right?” he chuckles.
“Yes,” you sob. God, he’s never going to let you live this down. “I love you. I love you so much—”
“I love you too.” He kisses your forehead, cheeks, the tip of your nose. “I love you, I love you, I love you. I'm going to make sure you never doubt that again.”
You laugh, a watery bubbling sound.
You look up at the mistletoe hanging between you two. It’s a small piece of plastic and ribbon, but somehow it represents years of longing and heartbreak and fear that just needed time to blossom into something ethereal.
“You still remember the tradition?” Jungkook tucks a stand of hair behind your ear.
You couldn’t forget even if you tried. “When you’re under the mistletoe…”
“You must kiss the person you’re with,” he finishes.
His thumbs linger over your cheekbones, gazing into your eyes. They’re still the same from when he was little. Wide-eyed, full of childlike wonder and innocence. His pupils are blown.
“Can I kiss you?”
You stupidly smile. You nod just as he gets the last syllable out. Nodding so hard and so frantically it’s almost manic, tears streaming down your face, your hands coming up to grip the collar of his green sweater—that goddamn green sweater the color of mistletoe.
“Yes,” you breathe, “Yes, please, yes—”
He kisses you.
And oh.
Oh.
You hold your breath, counting the seconds in your head. It’s longer than three seconds and two milliseconds.
Your knees buckle under the weight of his kiss, with his hands cradling your face gently. Your fingers twist tighter in his collar, pulling him closer, closer, never close enough.
The salt of both your tears mixes on your lips, can feel the way his breath stumbles against your mouth. One of his hands slides into your hair, angling your head just so, and you make a sound you didn’t know you were capable of making. You’re pliable in his arms.
His tongue outlines your bottom lip, and you grant him access immediately, needing to feel more of him, any part you can grasp to know this is real. You’re both still crying—you can feel fresh tears sliding down your cheeks—but you’re also smiling, laughing into the kiss like idiots because this is insane.
Jungkook’s tattooed hands slide down to your waist, pulling you close to him until there’s not an inch to spare between your bodies. Your apartment, the mess of cups and plates scattered around, the snazzy Christmas decorations you’ll throw away tomorrow—it all fades away until there’s just this. Just him.
“I love you,” he murmurs against your mouth, and then he’s kissing you again before you can say it back. “Love you so much, I’m a fucking loser, I—”
“Shut up,” you giggle. “Shut up and kiss me.”
You don’t know how long you stand there, kissing under the mistletoe like teenagers who just discovered what kissing is. It could be seconds or hours—time feels irrelevant when his mouth is on yours, when his hands are holding you.
At some point, you know it’s not enough. You want more.
Finally, you think to yourself.
You’ve never wanted someone this bad. Never craved someone’s brain, heart, and soul like this.
He’s possibly thinking the same thing as you, and if the way he holds you is any indication, you’re the luckiest girl in the world. His hands travel over your waist, until they reach your thighs. In one smooth motion, he picks you up, and your legs wrap around his waist instinctively.
Jungkook is stronger than you though, even though you know he goes to the gym everyday, even though you’ve watched him rearrange the furniture in your apartment on a random Tuesday after work. But feeling him hold you up effortlessly while kissing… your panties might drop before you even reach the bedroom.
You kiss him as he tries to navigate with his eyes closed, stumbling slightly down the hallway, both of you giggling between kisses like drunk teenagers. He nearly crashes into the wall, overcorrecting and spinning you both around.
“Smooth operator, hm?” you tease.
“Shut up,” he mumbles. “I swear to god you switched where your bedroom was.” And then he’s kissing you again, and you forget about his horrible navigation skills.
Miraculously, you make it to your bedroom. Lays you down on your bed, following you down until he’s hovering over you, weight balanced on his forearms on either side of your head. The lamp on your nightstand casts soft shadows across his features. He chews his lip anxiously.
“Do you, um—” He stops, tries again. “Do you wanna maybe—”
You can’t help but giggle. Your hand comes up to cover your mouth when you see the way his face falls. “Koo. I know you’re not a virgin.”
“Oh my god.” He drops his forehead to your neck with a groan, and his face is burning hot against your skin. “I know. I know I’m not. But it’s you, it’s so different. I’m nervous.”
Jungkook is experienced—far more than you, that’s for certain. You were never bothered by the difference. You had lost your virginity solely as a means to an end, to just say you did the damn thing so you weren’t a complete and total loser. But Jungkook has plenty of notches on his belt, and your heart melts at the thought of you being the one to dismantle him completely.
You slide your fingers into his hair, tugging until he lifts his head to look at you. His eyes are dark and vulnerable, full of love it makes you want to cry all over again.
“Hey. It’s just me, Koo.”
“Well, that’s kinda the problem,” he gruffs, playing with the necklace around your neck. “It is you. It matters a lot.”
“It matters to me too,” you rush to agree, cup his face with both hands, thumbs brushing over his scarlet cheeks. “We don’t have to do anything you don’t want to do. We can just—we can just lie here. We can talk. We can—”
He kisses you, cutting off your rambling. Slower, assured. “I want to. I really, really want to. I just… I want it to be good for you.”
Your fingers trace the constellation of moles on his face, and there’s just so much of him you want to uncover, so much golden skin and muscle. “It will be.”
This time, when his lips meet yours, he relaxes into it, earlier nervousness melting away. Your hands slide up under his sweater, feeling the bare skin, the sculpted abdomen you’ve sparingly seen. Your fingers find the hair at the nape of his neck, playing with the soft strands there, and he makes a sound—half-sigh, half-groan—that strikes straight through you. His hips shift slightly, pressing against yours, and now it’s your turn to gasp into his mouth.
“Still nervous?” you mutter.
“A little,” he says through a moan as you roll your hips to press against his growing length. “What if you think I-I’m, fuck, bad in bed?”
“You won’t be.” You kiss down his sharp jawline, down the vein that protrudes from the side of his neck.
“You don’t know that. I could be really bad at this.”
You laugh, tugging him closer, wrapping your legs around his waist. “Jungkook, you’re not going to be bad at sex.”
He nuzzles into your neck, inhaling the scent of gingerbread cookies that still lingers on you even after hours of burning them. “But what if I am?”
“Koo. I love you. I wouldn’t care even if your dick was 2 inches.”
He lifts his head from your neck. “Okay, don’t push it.”
Jungkook kisses you, warm tongue swiping against your bottom lip. His calloused hands slide up your red sweater, feeling the black lace bra underneath. His breath stutters at the realization, fondling your breasts in the way he’s always dreamed of.
Messily, hungrily, your sweater comes off first, then his, a tangle of fabric and laughter as he fumbles with the back of your bra. Jungkook apologizes against your lips, but you don’t care in the slightest, just want more and more and more. He flings your bra across your bedroom, greedily taking your nipple into his mouth, sucking the hardened nub. And you’re so wet, can feel it pooling in your panties, soaking through the fabric. Every roll of his hips, every flick of his tongue sends shocks of lightning through you.
“So fucking pretty,” Jungkook groans, readjusting your body higher on the bed until your head reaches the pillow. He unclasps your legs from around his waist, making room for himself to wiggle down in between them.
You can’t stop the familiar swell of nerves racing through your body, even as he kisses down the valley of your breasts, down to your stomach, past your navel. His lips hover over the button of your jeans, delicately undoing. Taking his time as though not to miss a single moment.
You weirdly get the urge to cover yourself, to hide under the strength of his burning gaze. What if he compares me to all the other girls? you think. What if I’m not as beautiful as Sana or Eunji or Hana?
And then Jungkook says, “You’re so beautiful, baby. Most beautiful girl I’ve ever known.”
Tears threaten to appear again.
He tugs your jeans off, his hair tickling your inner thigh as he goes. His lips follow, pressing chaste kisses along your naked skin. The mattress dips as he adjusts himself, wraps his arms around your thighs and tugs your clothed, soaking cunt to his face. You gasp, your walls clenching around nothing. “Relax, baby,” Jungkook bites your inner thigh, soothing it with his tongue. “Gonna take care of you.”
“Please,” you beg, and you don’t even know what you’re begging for, but when you meet his eyes you know exactly what. More of him, more of his mouth, his tongue, his lips.
He pushes your panties to the side, and without preamble, you’re spreading your legs further.
Immediately, Jungkook’s eyes go to what lies between them.
“So wet, baby,” He lets his pointer finger gather your arousal. “You always get this wet for your best friend?”
You gasp, eyes trained on his. His voice has gone husky, eyes hooded and dark. He presses into your sensitive nub, and you jolt forward, hands tightly gripping the sheets underneath. “Answer me.”
“Y-yes, Koo. Always wet for you, just for you.”
That seems to be enough for him. He leans forward, dragging your underwear down your legs until they’re no longer his concern, and then his mouth is on you.
“Fuck!” You practically scream, body lurching forward, humming violently underneath him. It’s been a while—maybe more than a while, possibly years—since you’ve had someone willingly eat you out, and by the way Jungkook does so, he seems enthralled to get a chance to enjoy the taste of you. His tongue strokes through your folds, wet and wide, working its own rhythm that has you withering underneath his grasp. His hands press into your hip bones, stabilizing your movements. He buries his whole face in it, lets himself soak up every last bit of arousal you’ve produced. Two minutes of this and you’ll be a goner, but you don’t want this to end, not now, not ever.
“Tastes so sweet, baby,” Jungkook moans into your wetness, licking a long stripe from your hole up to your clit. “Been hiding this from me, hm?”
“I-It’s yours, Koo. Always has been,” You squeeze your eyes as tight as you can, stars blooming in your vision. He taps your thigh, and you know he wants you to look at him, but you can hardly breathe or think or speak.
He wraps his lips around your clit and sucks, and your fingers fly to his unkempt hair, tugging and pulling until you’re certain it’ll come off his scalp. Without warning, he pushes one finger into you, testing you. He watches as you keen, profanities falling off your lips. Jungkook’s finger crooks into you at an angle you thought only you could reach, and you’re putty in his unrelenting hands. “Fuck—oh my god, yes, right there Koo, oh, yes—”
“Feel good, baby?” He gathers his saliva, spitting onto your clit and letting it drip down to his fingers, a second digit entering you. “Talk to me.”
He’s gentle about it, tentative, as though he’s trying to learn you, teach himself the new side of you he’s unlocked.
“M-more,” you keen. “Faster, please.”
And he’s so willing, so ready. It’s so wet, unlike anything that happens when you touch yourself. His tongue and fingers fuck you through it, squelching sounds echoing against the thin walls of your bedroom, sweat slicking down the valley of your breasts. You feel your walls clench around him once, twice, and your legs tremble in his hold. You can feel it dripping down your inner thigh, onto your sheets, onto his chin.
“So tight around my fingers,” he groans, and you watch as his other hand travels down to his belt buckle, furiously trying to undo it. “So hard just thinking about bein’ inside you.”
“I-I want that,” you reply breathlessly. “I want you inside me.”
“Fuck,” he grunts, working his nimble fingers quicker, tongue vacuum-sealed around your clit, milking you entirely. “I want to feel you cum for me. I want to taste it.”
You nod, bunching your bedsheets into little fists of agony. When you look up, you can see Jungkook’s hair spread across your lower stomach, tattooed biceps straining. His free hand strokes his cock, and a swarm of butterflies release in your stomach at the sight. You’ve made him so desperate that he has to touch himself. You have.
And the sight is just too much for you to handle. “Aghh–Koo, fuck, I’m gonna—I’m gonna cum.”
He doesn’t say anything, just lets his tongue continue at the same pressure, same speed, until you’re coming undone all over him. You feel it everywhere, in your chest, in your core, in your toes. You arch off your mattress, legs quivering and locking around his head. It feels like time is a myth, Jungkook fucking you through your orgasm until you almost collapse.
You tap him on the head with your foot, falling back onto your pillows tiredly.
Jungkook peers up at you, still the same wide-eyed expression on his face, except this time, your arousal is glistening on his face, scarlet lips swollen and wet. He presses a few kisses on your thighs, stomach, before dragging himself up on his biceps to hover you. He kisses you, letting you taste yourself on his tongue, and you can’t help but moan into his mouth. It’s so dirty, so scandalous, sends a shock through your spine.
“I want you to fuck me,” you whisper between kisses.
His cheeks turn red.
“M-me too. I want to be inside you,” he stutters, kissing down your neck. “But I might need a second.”
You furrow your brows, suddenly self-conscious. “Why?”
He kisses your jaw, avoiding eye contact. “BecauseIcamealready.”
“What, Koo?”
Jungkook sighs, dropping his forehead to your shoulder. “Because I came already.”
Oh.
Your heart won’t be able to handle this much affection tonight. You just know it.
You giggle, unable to hide the smile on your lips.
“Stop,” he groaned into your neck. “Don’t laugh, I’m humiliated.”
“No, I’m not—” you laugh, “I’m not laughing at you. You’re so cute, Koo. I love you.”
He grins toothily. “I love you too.”
And then you laugh again, and he laughs with you, and it feels like your heart is blooming, petals unfurling in your chest.
You wrap your arms around his neck, tugging him to you as close as humanly possible. You kiss him and try to make him understand—through the press of your lips, the desperate grip of your hands—just how completely he owns every part of you.
You use your weight to roll him over, straddling his buff thighs, letting your soaked cunt linger over his growing length.
“Hi,” he smiles big and wide, peering up at you like you hold the entire universe in your palms.
“Hi,” you repeat, kissing his cheeks, forehead, jawline.
Behind you, you reach to grab his length in your hands, trace the veins that protrude. His mouth gapes open, watching as you realize… holy fuck.
You’ve always been respectful of Jungkook’s boundaries. Never once peeped on him or seen him in his boxers. The farthest you ever got was a pair of grey sweatpants, and even then, it didn’t reveal much. There was no way to prepare yourself for this moment.
But as you stroke his cock languidly, you realise one thing for certain: that is not going to fucking fit inside you.
You don’t even need to vocalize it, because he’s already saying, “We’ll work with what we can. But I think you can take it, baby.”
Gulping, you nod. You want to take it. Want to feel every inch inside of your gummy walls, want to hear him wither underneath you.
He’s hard again too, you note. You could cry, knowing just how bad he wants this. Wants you.
You align his tip to your sopping hole, jaw slack as you gather the juices to hopefully make it easier. And then you’re sinking onto him, inch by inch, curses falling from his lips, hands gripping your hips tight enough to bruise. “O-oh fuck, Koo.”
“Keep going, baby,” he moans, guiding you onto him until your clit meets his pubic bone. “Just like that, all the way.”
A sound rips free from the very core of you, both hands landing on his stomach to steady yourself. For a moment, you just sit there, trying to accommodate his length inside you. Feels so painfully good, stings just right.
“You okay?” He reaches to brush a strand of wet hair from your face.
“Yeah,” you exhale, rocking your hips gently, back and forth, figure-eights. You can feel him in your stomach, can see the bulge protruding from your body. His eyes lock onto it, bottom lip tucked behind his front teeth. “Feel so full, Koo. It’s so deep.”
“Fuck, baby.” His fingers dig deeper into your hips, directing your movements. A swell of confidence runs through you, and you brace yourself, lifting yourself off his cock to slam back down on it. He all but screams, thighs quaking beneath your weight.
“You’re a fucking goddess,” he moans, head lolling back against the pillow. “I love you so much, my sweet girl, my best girl, fuck.”
“I love you too, Koo.” Your fingernails scrape down his chest, leaving red marks in your wake.
You can see his abdomen muscles rippling with effort as he tries not to come undone too fast, jaw clenched tightly. His tattoos are slick with sweat.
Your orgasm sneaks up onto you, but you don’t want it to end, don’t want to know the feeling of separation from him. Falling forward, you bury your face into his neck, and he wraps his arms around you, fucking up into you.
His cock hits just where you need him, and your moans bounce off the walls, your headboard creaking with each thrust he makes to meet your movements. “I-I’m so close, Koo,” you moan.
“Me too, baby,” he says. His cock plunges greedily into your wetness, and you whimper. “I love you so so much, can’t live without you.”
You can’t help the tears that stream down your face. It’s too much—not just the sex, but that it’s sex with him. Jeon Jungkook, your best friend since birth, since before you knew anything else. You love him so much you don’t know how your heart will contain all this. It might burst any second.
He feels the tears on his skin, and he’s slowing his thrusts, whispering, “Are you okay, baby? Did I go too fast? Want me to—”
“No, no. I want you to keep going.” You look into his eyes, and his expression softens. “I just—I love you. I can’t believe this is real.”
He kisses you, barely more than your mouths slotting together, and then his thrusts continue, more desperate and sloppy but still full of the same devotion. “I love you,” he murmurs into your mouth. “I-I know I’ve said it so many times tonight, but I love you so fucking much.”
Your warm, wet heat clenches around him. Little moans and whimpers escape you, teetering on the brink of another orgasm. “I know,” he gasps, and he’s crying now too, his whole body shaking. “I know, baby. Me too. I’ve got you.”
You stop moving completely, letting him take over, and the sounds are filthy, but the love that runs between you both is anything but. “My baby. Mine, you’re mine,” His teeth sinks into your shoulder as he thrusts up into you, wetness dripping onto his cock and the sheets below. His hands cup your ass, slamming you up and down his girth.
“Yours,” you cry, clutching him.
He pulls back just enough to look at you, and his face is soaked with tears, eyes red and swollen and so full of love it physically hurts to witness. “I’m never letting you go,” he says, crying so hard he can barely get the words out.
“Me too,” you promise, “I’m not going anywhere. I’m right here.”
“Shit, I’m gonna cum, [Y/N], I can’t—”
Your fingernails dig into his biceps, mouth ripping open to moan out his name along with i love you i love you jungkook please please, and you feel him release inside you, spurts of his cum painting your walls as you tighten around him. You milk him dry until he can’t take it anymore, until you feel so full you think your DNA has been adjusted to match his.
You all but collapse onto him, staying like that with your hearts thrashing against your ribs, reaching for each other through flesh and bone.
You want to stay here. Right here, in this specific moment, where his arm is around you and his breathing is shallow and you feel like you’re at home.
It’s a ridiculous thought. Childish, even.
You’ll have to get up soon—your bladder is already making demands, and reality is waiting just outside this bed. But not yet. You’re not ready yet.
Jungkook sighs into your hair. “I don’t wanna move.”
“Me either.”
“Do you… do you want this with me?” His chest rumbles with the question.
“What do you mean?”
“I just… this meant something to you, right? The fact that we had sex?”
“Of course it did.”
You prop yourself onto your shoulders, brushing the hair out of his eyes. They twinkle and glow underneath your low light. He gulps before speaking, “I want us to be together. Or, at least try. I want us to take the risk because you’re worth every goddamn risk.”
Every birthday candle since you were a child was dedicated to him. Every shooting star, every 11:11 on the clock, every stray eyelash, every penny thrown into a fountain. You wished for this—for him—so many times you lost count. Wished for him to look at you the way he’s looking at you now, like you hung the moon and painted the stars.
You almost want to pinch yourself. But his hand is warm on your waist, heartbeat steady under your palm, and when you dig your nails slightly into your thigh, you don’t wake up to your blaring alarm. This isn’t a dream.
“I want that too. I want to wake up next to you and fight about whose turn it is to do the dishes and learn all your weird habits I don’t know yet.”
“[Y/N],” He cups your face in his hands. “You literally know all my weird habits. Even the fact that I collect Captain Underpants original copies."
“Well yeah but I want to learn the new ones,” you shrug.
He chuckles. “I can’t wait.”
Jungkook kisses you again. When he pulls back, he’s smiling that bunny smile that’s been your undoing since childhood. “Your party tonight was awesome, by the way.”
“It was all you.”
He smiles. “We’re really doing this.”
You know he’s not talking about Christmas anymore.
You laugh, resting your forehead against his. “Having second thoughts already?”
“Not even a little.” He pauses, then his eyes go wide. “Oh my god. Your Christmas gift!”
He shoots up, still naked, peppering your face with a hundred tiny kisses. Forehead, nose, cheeks, chin, eyelids, everywhere he can reach while you dissolve into giggles.
“Koo, what—”
But he’s already scrambling off the bed, running to where his bag is discarded by your front door. You hear his feet padding against your floor as he runs back, jumping onto the bed with enough force to make you bounce. He’s grinning so wide it must hurt, holding something behind his back.
“Close your eyes,” he demands.
“Jungkook—”
“Close them,” he whines.
You do as he says, and you feel the bed shift as he settles in front of you, feel his warmth as he leans close.
“Okay,” he softly says. “Open.”
Timidly, you open them.
He’s holding a teddy bear. Your teddy bear. The one he kept in a box with your name on it.
It’s exactly as you remember—worn brown fur, one ear more floppy than the other, the tiny red bow around its neck that you’d tied when you were 7. He even kept it clean, maintained.
“Oh my god,” you exhale. Tears form in your eyes until they’re streaming down your face as you stare at this piece of your childhood, this tangible proof that he’s been carrying you with him all along.
His face falls. “Oh crap, do you not like it? I thought—I mean, I kept it because I thought maybe one day I could give it back to you, but if it’s weird or—”
“No, no.” Shaking your head frantically, you reach for the bear with trembling hands. “I love it. I fucking love it, Jungkook.”
His smile returns, like’s 6 years old again and just kissed you for the first time under the mistletoe.
Jungkook nuzzles into your neck, and you both burrow under your comforter, teddy bear clutched between you. His arms wrap around you from behind, pulling you flush against his chest, and you’ve never felt safer. Never felt more loved.
It’s quiet for what feels like eternity. His breath syncs with yours, fingers tracing illegible patterns on your hip.
“What was in that box in your closet, by the way?” you quietly wonder aloud as you stroke the bear’s fur.
He pauses. Goes completely still.
“You saw that?”
“It has my name on it.”
He’s quiet for a long moment, and then he presses a kiss to your shoulder.
“Everything I love about you. That’s what’s in there.”
You hug him (and the bear) tighter to you.
After about an hour or so of intertwined limbs and lazy kisses, his breathing begins to slow, face buried in your hair. Sleep always comes easy when he’s around, and your eyes hang heavily.
“Can we watch the Grinch tomorrow?” The words come out slurred with exhaustion.
In the darkness, you smile, tangling your fingers with his over your stomach.
You’d curled up with that green, bitter creature every year, finding solace in his hatred of the holiday because at least someone understood. At least someone else knew what it felt like to watch everyone around you celebrate something that only brought you pain. You’d watch him scheme and plot and try desperately to steal Christmas away, and you’d think yes, exactly, take it all. Because if you couldn't have the Christmas you wanted, the one where Jungkook kissed you under the mistletoe and meant it, then what was the point of any of it?
The Grinch was safe. The Grinch was yours. The Grinch never asked you to be anything other than bitter and broken and sick of watching other people get their happy endings.
But that girl who needed the Grinch, she’s gone. She got her happy ending, her Christmas miracle.
Plus, the Grinch is overrated.
“Actually,” you whisper, “I’m thinking we watch Frosty the Snowman.”
SUMMARY. Life after high school has been pretty mundane. Give or take a few breakups, a few quarter life crises, you’ve done well for yourself. Enter Jeon Jungkook: a blast from the past and your ex-Chemistry tutor, except now, it seems he's traded in his glasses and textbooks for a lip piercing and tattoos. The universe is clearly testing you... or maybe it's giving you one last shot to get it right.
pairing. jeon jungkook x reader
word count. 21.7k
warnings/genre. ex-cheerleader!reader, oc used to be a mean girl, ex-nerd!jungkook, jungkook used to be OBSESSED with oc, like clinically obsessed (what is wrong with him), slight sexting (kinda maybe) alcohol consumption, jimin instigating but what’s new, making out in dirty club hallways, fingering in an uber, he’s HUNGRYYY, he has a d*ck piercing!, oral (f receiving), you bounce on it, he fucks you while carrying you, idk read the rest they have sex, he cums inside you
note. WE NEED TO BRING BACK THE DYING ART OF A 10k+ WORD ONE-SHOT. the concept of publishing a 7k celly when my 6k celly hasn’t even been posted yet… i hate me too. i hit 7k a few days ago but this has been in the works since man’s best friend dropped. i’m quite proud of this, if i do say so myself. also before anyone yells at me, this was NOT on the to-do list but when there’s a will, there’s a way (or in my case, if you get a little tipsy, your brain starts thinking of ex-nerd!jungkook and this happens). this is just a fun little thing. porn with plot! but anywho, thank you all for following me, for engaging with my work, for continuing to give me a platform to share my passions. i love you all. here’s to many more celly’s!
▶︎ •၊၊||၊|။|||| when did you get hot? by sabrina carpenter
banner creds | masterlist
Saturdays. 3 PM. Brunch. It’s been carved in stone since the day you met Park Jimin during your freshman year at Yonsei University, when he was still closeted and you were still treating every night like your last on earth.
Today, he’s on a rampage about his fiancé of two years, Kim Taehyung.
“Do you know what he did? He bought a twelve foot cactus. Twelve. Fucking. Feet. And guess where it is now?” Jimin waves his fork dramatically, almost stabbing two nearby patrons in the process. “In the middle of our beautifully crafted living room. He’s lost his fucking mind.”
You hum, twirling a straw in your iced latte, half-listening and half-focused on the couple next to you who seems to be arguing. “So sorry, Jiminie. I don’t know how you do it.”
“Thank you.” He sighs. “It’s a lawsuit waiting to happen when I inevitably walk into it. You know, when I told Tae to pursue art, I didn’t think it meant this.”
Taehyung and Jimin have the kind of love story that makes romantic comedies look documentary-level realistic. By comparison, your love life is a blooper reel that never made it to air. They’ve been disgustingly in love since senior year of university, and you’ve been their trusty little third wheel. While it’s comforting to hang out with a couple that has a dynamic as healthy as theirs, you do have to fight the pang of jealousy that hits you everytime.
“Last week it was the sculpture made of kitchen utensils. This week, desert plants. Next week? Probably something with a blow torch,” Jimin carries on, poking at his salad mercilessly.
You snort. “Tae doesn’t know how to work a blow torch.”
“He could, is my point. He’ll try anything once.” Jimin’s eyes light suggestively, and the gag reflex hits fast and mercilessly. “Like that one time he wanted to try out suspension and—”
“Jimin. Please. I am trying to enjoy my coffee,” you plead.
He rolls his eyes. “Like you don’t love us.”
“I do,” you reply quickly. “But please spare a girl the details of your sex escapades.”
“Maybe you’re bitter because you need some sex escapades of your own.” Jimin shrugs. He’s not saying it to be rude—the man doesn’t have a mean bone in his body, unless someone’s rude to his fiance.
Poor Park Jimin has been running a one-man campaign to get you laid for months. The last time you remotely showed interest in a man was a year ago, and that catastrophe ended with you sobbing on their couch for 72 hours straight while Taehyung made you soup and Jimin burned sage to ‘cleanse the toxic energy.’
You have no interest in any of it.
Sure, sex is cool and all, but the idea of the emotional turmoil that comes with the territory seems like something you can do without.
“What did I say about bringing up this topic again?” you groan.
“C’mon, please tell me you have something new that’ll make me feel better about my cactus situation.”
Your fingers collect the condensation on your plastic cup, pretending to be deeply engrossed by it. “I have nothing.”
“So as exciting as my cactus?”
Your foot kicks his ankle under the table and the noise he makes in retaliation is enough to get dirty looks from the other patrons. “Jesus Christ. Aren’t you a ball of fucking sunshine?” he moans in agony. “This is why you need to have sex. You get all crabby and violent when you don’t. When’s the last time you had sex again?”
Okay—there was that guy from the marketing conference in March…. No wait. That was last year. February? No, that was the guy who ghosted you after two dates. January? You weren’t even in the country in January. December feels like a decade ago but that was... oh god, was that really eight months ago? Nine? The guy with the man bun who worked at the bookstore and couldn’t find your—
“Don’t worry about it.”
“Yikes.” He gives you a dramatic side-eye, one that screams you are a pathetic loser, but lovingly. “You need to stop getting coffee with me and go get coffee with a man.”
You frown. “Well, you’re a man?”
He rolls his eyes. “A man who doesn’t enjoy the good ol’ cock up his ass.”
Fair play. Jimin leans back in his chair, studying you intently. Never a good sign. “You know what your problem is?”
You pick up your latte, taking a few sips. “Enlighten me, Park Jimin.”
“You’re too picky.”
Coffee snorts out of your nostrils, landing right onto the table. Jimin flings napkins at the mess, disgusted. “I’m sorry, have you met me? I’ve went out with some weirdos.”
“No, no, not the weirdos.” He waves a hand in the air. He;s about to go on one of his famous monologues, and all you can do is sit back in horror and watch. “I’m talking about the good ones. The ones you actually like. You find one tiny flaw and suddenly it's ‘oh, he chews too loud’ or ‘he uses the wrong there, their, they're.’ Like, relax. Nobody’s perfect.”
“Really? Says the guy currently plotting his fiance’s death over a home decor choice.”
“That’s different.” Jimin’s pinching the bridge of his nose between his forefinger and thumb, something he truly only does when you’ve exhausted his last nerve. “Taehyung and I are past the point of no return. We're in too deep. You, my dear sweet angel, are sabotaging perfectly good opportunities because you're scared.”
Of course, you’ve had this conversation with your therapist numerous times, and you’ll do anything to avoid the topic in your personal life.
But before you can open your mouth to argue, a voice cuts through. It’s low but polite, maybe a little uncertain.
“Jimin-ssi?”
You don’t bother looking up to see who it is. Jimin knows everyone and their mother, their cousin, probably their dog too. Walking down the street with him is no easy feat, considering half of Seoul stops to talk to him. So, you do what you always do: focus on your phone and ignore the small talk about someone’s new job or whatever mundane life update they’re dying to share.
You scroll through Instagram, half-listening as they exchange pleasantries. Something about the gym, mutual friends, weekend plans. Standard small talk that you've heard a thousand times.
“Yeah, bro, it’s been forever,” Jimin’s saying. He sounds happier than he normally does when he talks to these people. “I saw your LinkedIn update. How’s the new job treating you? Still insane?”
“Better now that I’m settled in,” the mysterious voice responds, and there’s something familiar about it that tickles the back of your brain, but you’re too busy watching someone's Instagram story about their breakfast to pay attention. “The team’s chill, and I don’t have to be on call on weekends anymore.”
“You deserve it after all that overtime hell,” Jimin laughs. “Oh, hey, you should totally meet my friend [YN] here. [Y/N], this is Jeon Jungkook.”
Your head snaps up. Your phone falls to your lap.
What. The. Fuck.
You haven’t heard that name since high school.
High school you, to put it mildly, was kind of a bitch.
You were a cheerleader, top of the social food chain. Naturally, you failed a few classes because you were too busy making out with Kim Mingyu behind the bleachers and planning which party to hit up on Friday night to care about things like academic integrity.
When your GPA started looking tragic enough to threaten your spot as cheer captain, the guidance counselor assigned you a tutor. And since the universe loves to have fun with you, you were paired with Jeon Jungkook. Lanky, awkward Jeon Jungkook, with messy brown hair that looks like he cut it himself with safety scissors, thin silver glasses that slid down his nose every five seconds, and wide, innocent boba eyes.
All that to say—you did what any mean girl would do and took advantage of him. Batted your eyelashes, laughed at his terrible jokes, and suddenly your chemistry homework was getting done without you having to lift a finger.
Tests? He'd leave his answer sheet just visible enough for you to copy.
Lab reports? Practically wrote themselves, if by ‘themselves’ you mean Jungkook wrote them while you filed your nails and complained about how boring science was.
So, this? This has to be a comedic joke. This is a prank. Jimin is pranking you—it’s an elaborate one, you'll give him that. That's the only logical explanation because there is absolutely no way that the scrawny, stuttering kid who used to turn tomato red everytime you asked him to explain a chemistry problem is now standing here, towering over your table.
The man who stands before you has a lip piercing, one that hugs the curvature of his pink lips. A sleeve of tattoos that curls down his arm in vivid ink. His hair is perfectly tousled, dark chestnut locks falling into each other.
And most importantly, those arms. Biceps. He could probably bench press you. Why are you thinking about him bench pressing you? Stop thinking about him bench pressing you. Oh god, you're staring. You're definitely staring. Say something. Anything. Be cool.
He is—there's no other word for it—buff. Like, really buff.
And he's looking right at you with dark eyes that definitely weren't that intense in high school, a small smile playing at the corners of his mouth.
“[Y/N] [Y/L/N]...” His voice has a deeper timber to it, with a confidence that high school Jungkook could never have. His tone alone is enough to send a shiver down your spine. “It’s been a minute.”
“Uh, I—yeah,” you gulp down a quarter-sized lump that magically appears in your throat. “It has.”
Smooth. Incredibly smooth. Someone needs to hand you a medal for conversational excellence.
His eyes narrow into slits, like he’s analyzing you and your pathetic life. Sizing you up to discover that you’ve lost all importance in the world, and are now just another girl in the world.
Jimin, completely oblivious to everything, beams at the two of you. “Amazing! You two already know each other.” He claps his hands together. “Jungkook, you should sit. [Y/N] and I were just catching up on her sad little love life.”
Damn you, Park Jimin.
Maybe ten years ago, you wouldn’t have cared if he knew about your romantic failures, but with the black shirt hugging his biceps so perfectly, you resent Jimin’s openness.
“I was not—” you protest, but Jungkook’s already got a hand on the empty chair between you two, plopping into it.
“Was she now?” Jungkook tuts, looking over at you expectantly. “How sad is sad?”
“Okay, not sad.” You roll your eyes. “It’s just… quiet.”
His eyes dance with amusement, and you sink into the chair. “I can’t imagine you having trouble in this department.”
If only he knew the half of it.
You open your mouth to combat the embarrassment, maybe to come up with some elaborate lie about how you have three dates lined up tomorrow night, but a server interrupts you before you get the chance. She smiles at Jungkook, and you can't help but note how her eyes twinkle when she realizes how utterly attractive he is. You sink one inch lower into the chair.
Please don’t order, Jungkook. Ordering means staying and your brain (or your ego, for that matter) can’t take a second more.
She asks what he wants, pearly whites on display, and he replies smoothly, “Just a black coffee is fine. Thanks, sweetheart.”
He turns back to you and Jimin, smiling lightly. Behind him, the server trips over her own two feet a bit before adjusting her shirt and walking off. You watch the whole exchange with a weird feeling in your chest. It's not jealousy—you have no claim to be jealous. But it's something. Maybe annoyance that she was so obvious about it. Maybe annoyance that he didn't seem to notice.
“So, how do you two know each other?” Jimin’s smile resembles a mischievous cartoon villain who just tied someone to railroad tracks. Vibrating with joy, eyes gleaming, the whole nine yards. You don’t even need to hear him speak to know what he’s thinking.
“High school.”
You and Jungkook both say in unison, surprising even yourself. He glances over at you before elaborating. “I was her Chemistry tutor.”
The memory alone sends shivers of disgust down your spine. You can still picture it so clearly: high school you in your cheer uniform, sitting across from him in the library with phone in hand, texting Mingyu about whose parents were out of town that weekend while Jungkook explained electron configurations. He’d push his glasses up his nose, stumble over his words when you’d sigh and lean forward, watch him turn crimson red and stutter through the rest of the explanation.
Evil. Pure, unadulterated evil.
“You needed a tutor in high school?” Jimin snorts, taking a long sip of his drink.
“Hey, that shit isn’t easy.” You push his shoulder playfully.
Jungkook cocks an eyebrow, leaning forward in his chair. “Definitely not easy when you’re too busy with cheerleading practice to study.”
“And you were a cheerleader?” Jimin gapes.
“Okay, that’s enough reminiscing for today.”
Jimin raises his hand. “I’m not done reminiscing. I want to hear more about cheerleader [YN].”
Your face falls flat. Luckily, before Jungkook can embarrass you more with tales from a decade ago, the server comes back with his coffee, making sure to toss him the widest smile her pearly whites can muster.
Jungkook’s lips wrap around the cup. Your eyes just so happen to fall on the movement, on the way they hug the rim. Were they always that kissable or did he get lip filler?
He meets your gaze.
Shit.
You turn back to Jimin, who’s eagerly awaiting more from Jungkook. “What else don’t I know about high school [Y/N]? She’s never told me anything.”
“Well,” Jungkook starts, and by the way his lips curve upwards, you can tell the next anecdote won’t be endearing. “She did ask me once if we could ‘skip the math parts’ of chemistry.”
Jimin bursts out in laughter. “You’re kidding me.”
“In my defense, chemistry is like, ninety percent math,” you retort. “That’s a reasonable request.”
“It really wasn’t,” Jungkook counters, and his grin widens. There’s something almost… predatory about it. Like he’s enjoying watching you squirm. “But then again, you always did think the rules didn’t apply to you.”
For a moment, you can’t do anything but stare at him. This confidence, this self-assured way he’s teasing you without a hint of anxiety that used to color every interaction, is foreign.
The absolute worst part of it all is that if he wasn’t currently roasting you for being a shallow human being, this might be the sexiest thing you’ve ever witnessed.
The eye contact, the slight smirk playing at his lips, the veins poking out of his biceps. All of it both excites and confuses you.
“What do you mean?” You tilt your head, feigning innocence.
“Nothing.” He shakes his head, laughs to himself. “Just that some things never really change.”
A pregnant pause fills the space. Jimin’s eyes dart between you two like he’s at the US Open and this is the match of the century.
“You know, she also once asked me if atoms were contagious," Jungkook adds, turning to Jimin like you’re not even there. It’s a fucking power play—one that high school you invented—and you hate how effective it is.
A long exhale leaves your mouth, and you have to bite back a thousand venomous words in retaliation. Jimin laughs. “Oh, don’t worry. In college, she asked me if square roots were plants.”
Okay, so math wasn't your strongest suit. Sue a girl.
Jungkook’s hands wrap around his cup, taking a quick sip. They’re bigger than you remember, rougher, with calluses to match.
Truthfully, everything about him is just… more. Bigger, broader, bolder.
You shift gears, clearing your throat to interrupt whatever powwow Jungkook and Jimin have going on regarding your academic life. “What do you do now?”
“Software development.” Jungkook almost seems surprised that you have an interest in his life. “Started at a startup, but I just moved to a bigger company.”
“What kind of software?” you ask mindlessly, happy to have the attention finally off you.
“Mobile apps. Some web development.” Jungkook shrugs like it’s nothing, but you catch the hint of pride in his tone. “Nothing crazy.”
Jimin chimes in, eyes twinkling with mischief. “You know, [Y/N] works in marketing for a tech company. You guys probably have tons in common now.”
You want to sink through the floor. Actually—scratch that. Sinking through the floor isn’t enough. You need the floor to open up, swallow you whole, digest you, and then launch whatever remains into the sun.
You can see exactly what's happening here. You can see the gears turning in Jimin’s pretty little head. He’s planning your wedding, probably picking out centerpieces. He thinks this whole encounter is fate, some kind of romantic star-crossed lovers nonsense where the nerd gets the girl who was too stupid to notice him the first time around.
He’s going to be insufferable about this. Probably loop Taehyung into this delusion as well. There will be betting pools on when you finally hook up with Jungkook.
Which—okay, fine—you wouldn’t be completely opposed to. Hypothetically. In theory.
“How’s that going for you?” Jungkook turns to you.
“Good. I’ve been at my current company for a few years now. I just got promoted last year.” Your chest puffs out a little. There’s nothing you need to prove to him. But it doesn’t hurt, especially as he validates your words with a slight nod in approval.
“That’s awesome. I’m happy for you.”
Not said with even an inch of malice.
“Thank you.” You flip your hair over your shoulder. “See, and I didn’t even need math or chemistry to be successful.”
He chuckles. “Fair enough.”
“I know how emotionally tolling it was to tutor me, so at least your efforts didn’t go to waste,” you joke, and he cracks a smile at that, bunny teeth poking out.
“It wasn’t that emotionally tolling.” He shrugs, lifting his coffee to his lips. “It was fun. Y’know, when you weren’t texting that guy you used to date.”
He maintains eye contact with you as he takes one, two sips, and you have to clench your thighs to ignore the second heartbeat that’s beating in your vagina.
Jimin opens his mouth—probably to ask approximately eight thousand invasive follow-up questions about your high school love life—but his phone buzzes violently against the table, the vibration loud enough to rattle his fork.
Glancing down at his phone, his expression shifts from pure glee to actual panic. “Shit, I need to head out. Taehyung’s making dinner and if I’m late, he’s gonna put that weird purple pesto in it again.”
You raise an eyebrow. “Purple pesto?”
“You know how he is, babe.” Jimin frantically flags down the waiter, motioning for the check.
You and Jimin always split Saturday brunch. It’s a tradition, one that you don’t plan on breaking. You reach for your wallet in your bag, prepared to pull out your trusty debit card.
But before you or Jimin can get too far, Jungkook smacks his AMEX Platinum card down like it’s nothing.
You blink at the shiny metal. “Jimin and I always—”
“I’ve got it,” he says, all casual, like dropping 100,000 won on lunch for three people is normal for him.
To your left, Jimin has the biggest shit-eating grin of all time. “Thanks, Jungkook. You don’t have to do that.”
“It’s my treat. It’s nice to run into old friends.” He tosses you a side glance when he says the word friends, because that’s hardly what you two ever were.
Jimin’s phone buzzes again, and his eyes widen as they scan the new message. “Oh no. No, no, no.”
“What?!” You lean forward, trying to peek at his phone.
“Yeontan threw up all over the new rug. Taehyung just sent me a picture, it’s…” He makes a sour face. “I gotta go. Code red dog situation.”
“Is he okay?” you ask, because despite Jimin’s dramatics, that little ball of fur is your ray of sunshine.
“He’s fine.” He stands, shrugging on his thin sweatshirt. “He probably ate something he should have. This was great though! We should all hang out again soon!”
And then he’s sprinting out of the cafe, leaving you all alone at the table with none other than Jeon Jungkook.
If you didn’t know better, you’d say Jimin planned this. Although, to be fair, you do know better, and he one hundred percent planned this. You're going to kill him. You're going to actually murder your best friend.
The waiter comes by, charging Jungkook’s card while you sit there awkwardly, twiddling your fingers. You don’t know what to do with yourself, quite frankly.
“Jimin isn’t very subtle,” Jungkook says, signing the receipt and placing it aside.
“Jimin doesn’t do subtle.” You fidget with your napkin. “He probably planned this.”
He quirks an eyebrow. “Oh, really? You think so?”
“I know so. He’s been trying to set me up with someone for months.”
Crossing his bulky arms over his chest, he leans back in his chair. “How’s that working out for him?”
“Well,” you begin, “Considering the last attempt was one of his coworkers who turned out to be married, I would say pretty terrible.”
“Jesus.”
“I’m not really into the whole polyamory thing,” you joke.
Jungkook laughs and stands, and you follow suit, realizing how much taller he is than you. Not that he hasn’t always been tall, but now he has the ego to match it.
“Want me to walk you to your car?” he asks.
You bashfully look down at your feet. In your years of living in Seoul, you’ve never once been embarrassed about taking the bus before. The Korean bus system is efficient and better for the environment. But Jungkook, with his fancy tech job, probably has some sleek car that makes the bus system look like a clown car.
“I took the bus, actually.”
Immediately, without so much as a second thought, he goes, “I’ll drive you home.”
“You don’t need to—”
“I know I don’t need to.” He strolls towards the exit, holding the door open for you to glide through first. “I want to.”
Wait. Is he… is he flirting? That was definitely flirting, right?
If he is very specifically flirting with you, that means he either has a terrible memory or some kind of revenge plot in the works. Both options seem likely and panic-inducing.
When you finally get outside, the crisp afternoon air dances across your skin. The autumn leaves crunch beneath your feet. You keep a few inches for God between you and Jungkook, and he falls into a comfortable pace beside you, matching you.
His hands are nestled into his pockets, kicking leaves as he walks. Now that you two are alone, he’s returned to some of his old habits, like being quiet around you when there’s nothing to fill the noise with.
“How do you like your job?” he finally decides upon asking, and your head lifts to peer at him. He’s gazing at you intently, clearly waiting for an answer.
“I like it. Most days, it’s creative, but we do a good amount of analytical work too.”
“Why did you choose marketing?” He seems genuinely interested in your answer, which sends tingles down your spine. It’s been a while since someone has cared enough to ask about your life beyond the standard two questions.
“Well, you know I suck at math,” you start, and he laughs at that. A deep sound that reverberates in his chest and makes your insides mushy. “I also hate science, so that wasn’t an option. I like being creative, and I’m a visual person. I took an intro class and it stuck.”
He nods, soaking it in. “Was college you the same as high school you?”
You know what he’s asking. Was college you also the biggest bitch alive, or did you grow out of that phase?
“Nah.” You shake your head. “I’m not as shallow… or annoying.”
He smiles. “Good to know.”
You reach his car—a black BMW that looks like it was ripped right off the set of Fifty Shades of Grey—and he unlocks it with a soft beep.
“Your car is nice,” you note, and his cheeks turn a soft pink at the compliment.
“Thanks. I figured I should probably upgrade from the bus at some point.” He opens the passenger door for you, causing you to almost trip getting in at the sheer thoughtfulness.
You frown. “Hey! I still take the bus.”
He raises his hands up in surrender. “Not hating on the bus. I took that bad boy for years.”
Jungkook closes your door, rounding the car to the driver's seat and hopping in. the inside of the vehicle smells like leather, mixed with the faint scent of his cologne. Your brain can’t help but go a little fuzzy—scents are your weakness. Any man who smells good deserves to get their dick sucked, period.
“Address?” he asks, starting the engine.
You give it to him, and he inputs it into the GPS. Fifteen minutes, it spits back. Fifteen minutes in a car alone with Jeon Jungkook, the most confusing blast from your past.
Peeking over at him, you take his appearance in. His jaw is defined and sharp. Could probably cut glass on that thing. His nose juts out, big enough for you to wonder if he’s ever let a girl sit on his face. God, you really need to get laid. You’ve resorted to sexualizing the man you used to tease in high school like some kind of medieval man who just saw an ankle for the first time.
The guilt of your past sits heavy in your chest, but your body doesn’t seem to care. It wants what it wants, ethics be damned.
You don’t deserve to be this turned on by someone you treated like human furniture for two years. But here you are, wondering about the logistics of his face between your thighs, and maybe that makes you exactly as terrible as you’ve always suspected.
Your eyes wander down to his biceps, down to his arms that are cluttered with tattoos. Different designs snake down his skin, some with color, and it takes all your might not to reach out and trace them. Fuck, now you’re thinking about his hands gripping the steering wheel. The veins. Those long fingers—
“You have a lot of tattoos,” you blurt out.
His eyes remain on the road, but his lips curl upwards. A little bit like a smirk. “I do.”
“When did you start getting them?” you wonder aloud.
“College. I started with one, but then I got addicted and kept going.” He glances at you for a second before turning his attention back to the road. “You disapprove?”
“No! No, they’re… they look good. Really good.” You want to die. “But it is different from what I expected from you.”
His gaze hardens. “A lot of things are different from high school.”
Silence fills the air as you two continue along the highway in the direction of your neighborhood. Your town is quaint, not too far outside of the main downtown area of Seoul. It’s so peaceful that your neighbors are two elderly women who treat you like their daughter.
You wonder where Jungkook lives. If you had to guess, he probably lives in Gangnam, the upscale area in Seoul. Fancy tech job, fancy car… he must have a fancy house to match. Or a fancy girlfriend.
“Do you live near here?” you ask, hoping to sound as casual as possible. Although, realistically speaking, there is nothing casual about interrogating your ex-Chemistry tutor.
“Not too far. I’m about ten minutes by car.” His grip loosens on the wheel a little. “Near Hannam-dong.”
So, you were kind of right. Hannam-dong, where all the celebrities and rich people live.
Before you can stop yourself, you say, “Do you live alone, or…?”
It’s possibly the least subtle question in the history of subtle questions, but you need to know.
Jungkook’s grip on the wheel tautens, and when you look over at him, there’s a scarlet flash creeping up his neck. “I—yeah. Alone. It’s just me.”
Is he… blushing?
“Oh, cool.” You try not to sound too pleased by the information. “That’s really cool. I mean, not cool that you’re alone if you don’t want to be alone, but cool that you have your own space and— y’know, everything.”
Nailed it.
“It’s—yeah, it’s good.” He clears his throat, and suddenly, you get a glimpse of the man you remember in high school. Less like the confident, macho guy from the cafe, and more like the boy who used to stumble over his words when you asked him questions. “No one to, uh, bother me or anything. Not that having anyone would be bothering, I just meant—I live alone. No girlfriend or—”
He stops himself, like he’s just realized what he’s saying, and the flush spreads to the tip of his ears. Oh my god. He’s flustered. Jeon Jungkook, with his tattoos and lip ring and his whole sexy confident energy, is flustered because you asked if he lives alone.
The ex-mean girl in you rises to the surface, bubbles in your throat. It’s been a while since you’ve activated her. Not since college, that one time when Park Eunji threatened your spot as sorority president. That version of you knew exactly what to do: touch his arm, squeeze once, watch him stutter. Make him want you so badly it hurts, then pull away. It's muscle memory, this kind of manipulation. You hate that it's still there, your instinct to weaponize attraction.
You want him to be nervous around you. It’s a sick, twisted thought you have, and you don’t know where it comes from, but you want it. “No girlfriend,” you repeat, trying to hide your smile. Reaching out, you place a small hand on his bicep, squeeze once. His bicep is firm under your palm, and the second you make contact, you realize what you've done. That was flirting 101. High school you would’ve done that without thinking twice, but current you? Current you doesn’t have that kind of game anymore. Abort mission. Abort.
You yank your hand back to your lap like he’s made of volcanic ash.
“I didn’t—that’s not—” He runs a hand through his locks, messing it up even more. “I’m just giving context about my living situation.”
“No, I got it.” You keep your eyes trained on the road, even though your heart is doing somersaults in your chest. “Though, I have to admit, I’m shocked.”
He gulps thickly. He pulls up to a red light, finally looking over at you directly. There’s vulnerability in his expression, polar opposite to his earlier reactions to you. “Are you making fun of me?”
Huh. You don’t know why, but the fact that old, anxious Jungkook still lives somewhere deep within him makes your stomach backflip. “I would never,” you reply dramatically, waving your hand for emphasis. “I’m just speaking aloud.”
Jungkook hums at that, focusing his attention back onto the street. It’s quiet again, if not for the sound of the engine purring and the awkward tension that’s loitered in the car since you stepped inside.
He doesn’t need to ask you anything else anyway, since Jimin did a good job of outing you as the most single girl in the history of single girls. He might as well have just admitted you’re a born again virgin.
The familiar road of your neighborhood looms ahead, and a pit of despair swallows your stomach whole. You really don’t want to get out of the car that smells like him. It would be embarrassing how you’ve begun to thirst over him, but after not getting laid in a while, you’re about ready to unzip your pants and jam your fingers in there.
“Is it the building up ahead?” he questions, pointing to the cream apartment complex that you reside in. You nod sweetly, smiling brightly. You dial up the ol’ high school charm.
“Thanks, Jungkook. I really appreciate it.” Another quick flutter of your lashes as he puts the car in park, taking a deep breath and angling his body to look at you.
“Of course. Anytime.” His face remains stoic, probably hoping to not look like you affect him anymore than you already have.
Your fingers land on the handle, pushing it open to let the brisk air in, replacing the suffocating tension in the car. “Well, I wish you the best. It was nice running into you today.”
Maybe you should invite him to come up. Maybe you should invite him for a nightcap? Granted, it is midday and there’s no actual alcohol in your home, but you can think of something real quick.
But he doesn’t move toward you, or show any other inclination of interest. In fact, you’re feeling kind of slutty right about now. He probably thinks you’re some kind of embarrassing gold digger—which like, yes, you might be. For him only.
Quietly, he says, “You too,” and that’s the end of that.
And just as you’re about to slam the passenger door shut and head upstairs to scream into your pillow, Jungkook abruptly speaks. “[Y/N].”
You whip around as fast as your body will let you. “Yeah?”
His big eyes twinkle under the sunlight rays reflecting on the car, two bunny teeth poking out as he sheepishly smiles. You’re going to have fantasies about that mouth later.
“Just so you know, today wasn’t planned. But I’m really, really happy I ran into you.”
Huh Yunjin’s birthday bash has never been an easy feat. Every year, without fail, there’s a table bought at an exclusive club, and your entire friend group blacks out within the hour. You’re not sure how she gets away with it, but your love for her and mild fear of disappointing her clearly gets her very far.
Hence why you’re standing in a shopping mall at 3 PM, trying to decipher what makeup product she would like best. Her birthday gift needs to be top notch, because you’re up against Kim Taehyung and Park Jimin, and those two have some kind of gaydar for gift-giving. Last year, Taehyung got her a vintage Chanel bag he “just found” at a thrift store. The year before, Jimin surprised her with tickets to see Beyonce. You’re operating at a disadvantage here.
You pick up another lipstick, eyeing the two intensely. A salesperson loiters over your shoulder, waiting to pounce at any given moment. In the end, you opt for a sleek red lip gloss, one that you know will pair well with her peachy skin. The relief that washes over you at finally securing her gift is endless.
Pushing past the doors of the shop, you blend into the rest of the mall-goers. It’s pretty packed for an afternoon, but you figure it has something to do with the sales going on. 50% off for shoes… hm. Across the way, you see a sign for 25% off scarves, and you squint to try and make out the tiny writing. Buy one, get one free—
“Oof!”
Your body collides into something firm, something warm. It’s fleeting, and you jump back several feet, immediately armoring yourself with numerous apologies. “Oh gosh, I’m so sorry, I wasn’t looking where I was going—”
A deep chuckle. “I’m not mad about it.”
You know that voice. That voice has been haunting your wet dreams and your poorly-written mental fanfiction.
When you were ten, you got chosen to attend a unicorn retreat. It was a glorified horse camp, but it was five days of pure magic. Horses walking around with plastic horns on their head, offering unlimited rides to anyone who wanted one. Magical doesn’t even feel like the proper word to describe it.
You thought that was the most enchanting moment of your life. But this… this rivals any stupid pony. This makes those ponies look like donkeys. In fact, with the luck you’ve been given, you might rent a unicorn and a castle.
In front of you stands Jeon Jungkook, looking somehow more scrumptious than he did a few days ago. Defying the damn laws of hotness. You’d spent a good few hours tossing and turning in bed, dreaming about his lips, his eyes, his veiny hands. He looks like he stepped straight out of your wet dream, adorned in a zip-up sweatshirt and black t-shirt, fluffy hair askew.
His eyes still carry that same twinkle from the last time you saw him, and you wonder if they’re like this all the time, or if it's just for you.
“Hi,” you exhale breathily.
“Hello.” He smiles at you, and it’s sweet, just a little dopey, and so decidedly adorable that you want to gnaw on his cheeks like a dog with a chew toy. “Must be my lucky day to run into you again.”
“Clearly.” He is flirting. Sure, there were doubts in your mind before this, but anyone who says those kinds of things, is someone who wants to be balls deep inside you. “I don’t normally treat pedestrians like bumper cars, though.”
Jungkook laughs at that, a melodic sound that sends vibrations from your head to your toes. “If I was a better man, I might’ve moved out of the way to make room for you.”
“Well, then I guess it’s my lucky day you’ve decided to not be a better man,” you counter, and he takes a step closer to you, allowing the people behind him to filter around. A mom of three tosses him an evil glare, but you could care less.
“I was actually hoping to talk to you again so I could ask you a question.” His eyes bore into you, the eye contact making the walls of your vagina contract incessantly. His confidence from the cafe has returned with a vengeance, and you’re not sure what’s gotten into him, but you hope it never leaves.
“I might have an answer,” you tease.
His lips quirk upwards into a soft smirk, one that would normally disgust you but doesn’t whatsoever. “I was thinking you and I should get dinner sometime. Maybe catch up one-on-one.”
If this were a game of tennis, you just won match point. He served, you returned, and now the ball’s sitting in his court while he watches it roll away. Checkmate. Victory. Crowd goes berzerk.
But you know how to play this game. Even though you’re a little out of commission, you still invented half the rules in high school. And rule number one: never let them see you sweat. Rule number two: make them work for it.
Tilting your head, you pretend to consider it like you haven’t thought about what underwear you would wear to this hypothetical one-on-one time. “Maybe,” you say, drawing out the syllables. “I’ll have to check my calendar.”
Your calendar is wide open. Your calendar has been wide open for months. Your calendar is begging for plans. Your calendar is weeping with joy at the possibility of having something on it besides ‘therapy 2 PM’ and ‘don’t forget your lexapro.’
But here’s the thing: if you say yes immediately, if you're too eager, too easy, he’ll figure it out. He'll realize you're still that girl who only wants things because they're shiny and new, who gets bored the second the chase is over. Except this time, the thing you want isn’t a spot on the homecoming court or the captain of the basketball team’s attention—it’s him.
“Maybe?” He’s grinning now, full teeth, like he’s finally been let in on how the game works. “I pour my heart out and I get a maybe?”
“You didn’t pour your heart out. You asked to get dinner.”
He scoffs, “Same thing.”
“Not even remotely close, lover boy.” You migrate an inch backwards, so miniscule he hardly notices.
Something flickers across his face at the nickname—amusement, or something darker, more interested. His eyes track your movements like a predator watching prey.
“I feel like you’re just testing fate at this point,” he jokes. You can see the gears turning in his head, shifting and transforming to try and get to his end goal: you.
“It’s worked once before already.” You shrug, taking a few more steps back.
“Alright, well, can I at least get your number? Not really feeling like leaving it all up to the universe.” The color drains from his face slowly as he realizes you’re really, truly, going to walk away. His voice raises a little at the end of the sentence.
“I’ll see you around, Jungkook.”
With that, you turn on your heel, bags in tow, and make your way towards the exit of the mall with what you hope exudes confidence, and not like someone who’s about to sprint outside and scream into the void. His eyes burn into your back the entire way. Don’t turn around. You’re doing so well. You’re a mysterious enigma. You’re unattainable.
You trip over your own two feet and have to do some weird stumble-hop recovery move just so you don’t eat shit in the middle of the mall.
Okay, so maybe not entirely mysterious. But you do make it outside with a goofy grin on your face, caught in some kind of daze, all because your ex-Chemistry tutor has made it abundantly clear he wants to see you again.
The following Saturday, you and Jimin cozy up at a nearby cafe—a different one than last week’s. You suggested it over text a few days ago, after you had run into Jungkook, because there was some perverse thrill to testing fate and the universe’s weird way of working. Jimin, who could care less where he got his cup of coffee, agreed with a shrug of his shoulders.
“So, tell me again why you didn’t give him your number,” Jimin furrows his brows, picking at his limp salad in disgust. He’s trying this new diet that only allows for 1000 calories a day, and it’s made him even more judgmental than usual. “Walk me through your thought process here.”
You sigh. “Jiminie, I told you already. I’m playing the game.”
“The game… I hate straight people.”
“Hey, you did the same thing with Tae when you guys first started out,” you frown, taking a prolonged sip of your iced latte. Senior year, Jimin refused to see Taehyung more than once a week in fear of seeming too desperate and clingy, even though he texted him every five minutes anyway.
Jimin lets out a long-suffering sigh, pushing the soggy lettuce into the corner of his plate. “Tae and I are different. We’re homosexuals. There’s no rules when society already hates you anyway. But you are playing a dangerous game with him.”
Rolling your eyes, you scoff. “I’m not. I’m playing hard to get.”
“How do you know he won’t get bored?” It’s an innocent question that, when asked, makes you want to bash your head into a concrete wall. “I mean, you’ve seen the guy. He probably has a roster of girls throwing their phone number at him.”
You pause mid-sip, straw frozen against your lips. You… hadn’t actually thought about it like that. In your mind, this whole thing has been about you trying to regain an inch of the upper hand, about making Mr. Cocky work for it. But Jimin's right—Jungkook isn’t the same nerdy kid who would wait around forever for a crumb of your attention. You’re also not the cheerleader that everybody’s dying to get their hands on. He could have anyone, and yet his sights are set on you (or well, as far as you know).
“Then I guess we’ll just have to see how into me he is.” You shrug, but no ounce of you feels calm.
Jimin quirks an eyebrow. “Really? Off of one conversation after ten years, he’s supposed to be magically in love with you?”
“Okay, first of all, it was two conversations, and second of all, do you have no faith in your hot and sexy best friend?” You swish your hair for good measure, but Jimin doesn’t buy it for a second. Your charms have no effect on his gay self.
“I do have faith in you. However, I can’t recall the last time you’ve successfully kept a guy around after the first kiss…” he trails off, pretending to count on his fingers. You gasp, appalled by the insinuation.
“Park Jimin,” you scold. He bursts into a fit of laughter, wiping faux tears from his eyes, and you really can’t help but follow suit at the hysterics of it all. “You’re the worst.”
“I’m honest, babe,” he says through another fit of giggles. “You hate to see it.”
“Jimin? [Y/N]?”
The laughter dies down within a millisecond. Somewhere in the distance, you swear you hear a record scratching.
Tentatively, you crane your neck upwards. Lo and behold, Jeon Jungkook stands before your table, holding an iced coffee and looking between you and Jimin in bewilderment. He must have a tracker planted inside you, because although you had daydreamed about this scenario approximately ten times in the past few days, never did you actually think it would come to fruition.
“Why are you here?” you blurt, and Jimin throws you a glare, facepalming. You slap a hand over your mouth. You have the sudden, embarrassing, debilitating urge to vomit.
Jungkook laughs, and you notice the tip of his ears turning pink. “I could ask you the same thing. This is my regular spot.”
“This is—” You glance around the cafe, like the answer will appear written in invisible ink. “Since when?”
“Since I moved to the area?” He’s donning a massive grin now, one that lights up his entire face.
Your face falls flat. In your frantic search for a new cafe, you neglected the fact that the new spot you selected is located in Hannam-dong. Exactly where he told you he lived last week.
Jimin’s completely forgotten his salad, jumping in to save you from the depths of shame. “Jungkook! Join us.” He’s already pulling out an empty chair before he can protest.
Jungkook shakes his head, the hoop earrings in his ear moving with him. “I don’t want to interrupt—”
“Don’t be silly,” Jimin retorts quickly, shooting you a look that both screams: you’re an idiot and this is fate knocking at your door. “Come, sit here.”
Jungkook hesitantly sets his drink down, sitting down in the chair. “So, what were you guys laughing at before?”
You blink a few times, utterly speechless. There’s no universe in which you admit to Jungkook what you two were discussing before his appearance.
“Nothing crazy,” Jimin starts, and he has this glint in his eyes he only gets when he’s about to do something so diabolically crazy you’ll have to second-guess your friendship. “She was just telling me about this guy she’s playing hard to get with. Real shame, honestly. He sounds great.”
What the fuck is going on? you ask yourself silently. Your mind is shooting blanks.
Jimin sips his water nonchalantly as if he didn’t just throw you under the bus.
You finally muster up the courage to speak. “Jimin’s being crazy,” you say, trying to recover some dignity. “There’s no guy.”
“Really?” Jungkook’s smirk is unrattled. “At the mall, you said you had to check your calendar. It sounds like you’re pretty busy.”
Oh, he wants to play this game.
“I am busy.” You lift your chin in defiance.
“Doing what?” Jimin chimes in. After this lunch date, he’s lucky if you ever respond to one of his texts ever again. “You texted me yesterday saying you were bored.”
“I hope you die, Park Jimin,” you mutter.
He turns to Jungkook, a conspiratorial grin plastered on his face. “She’s playing hard to get. I told her it's a terrible strategy, but does she listen? No.”
Jungkook’s eyes don’t waver from your face. “Hard to get, huh?”
“That is not what I’m doing,” you huff, even though that’s exactly what you’re doing, and all parties present at the table know it.
“No, it makes sense.” Jungkook nods, leaning forward in his chair. “After all, you have that busy calendar… you know, the one you need to check.”
“Exactly,” you agree.
“And have you? Checked it, I mean?”
You stare blankly at him.
“I’ve been meaning to.”
“Mm,” Jungkook hums, sipping his coffee. The white t-shirt and grey sweatpants combo he’s wearing today makes you feel like a rabid animal who’s been deprived of food for too long. “Who’s the lucky man?”
“Get this,” Jimin jumps in eagerly. “She met him at the mall.”
“The mall?” Jungkook asks incredulously, dropping his chin into his open palm.
“And she didn’t even give him her number.” Jimin continues this charade as if you’re not even sitting there. Which, you really wish you weren’t. In fact, you might just bury yourself six feet under this cafe after everything’s said and done.
“Wow,” Jungkook tuts. “I hope that guy gets her number somehow.”
“Seems like a long shot.” You shrug, fiddling with your straw.
“Right. I mean, we can’t forget about fate, because fate’s probably working in that guy’s favor.”
It hits you square in the chest, that Jungkook really does know exactly what he’s done, that he is perfectly aware of the effect he has on you.
There's a pause. A long pause. Jimin is grinning like the Cheshire cat, and you're seriously considering faking a medical emergency.
Jungkook’s biceps strain against his shirt, tongue darting out to play with his lip ring. “You know what I think?” His voice drops several octaves, low enough for you and Jimin to hear. “I think this guy should just show up at your door. Skip all the games.”
“That would be weird,” you quip.
“Would it?” Tilting his head, Jungkook observes you. Feels like he’s seeing right through you with x-ray goggles. “Even if you’ve been thinking about him too?”
You’re painfully aware of how close he is, how his knee is almost touching yours under the table, how his eyes keep dropping to your lips. Your brain is short-circuiting. You can’t think, can’t breathe, can’t do anything except stare at him and wonder what would happen if you just gave in.
“There’s rules to be followed,” you finally mumble.
“Rules for what?” Jimin snorts.
In hindsight, that probably wasn’t the smartest excuse you could’ve conjured up. No one seems to understand the dying art of playing hard to get anymore.
But, really, it was only a matter of time before you lost your temper and threw in the towel. You were never good at winning anything besides cheerleader championships, anyway. “The game, Jimin. The fucking game I explained to you already. Just so we’re all clear, by the way, I was trying to enjoy my lunch before you two decided to gang up on me, so thank you both very much.”
Jimin and Jungkook deadpan, eyes wide like a deer caught in headlights.
Embarrassment courses through your veins, choking your throat. It’s not like you meant to have an outburst and openly admit you’re playing the game with Jeon Jungkook, a man who you used to ignore as if he were invisible. Sometimes a girl gets sexually frustrated and it manifests in interesting ways.
“I’m going to the bathroom,” you grumble. You speed-walk as fast as your legs will take you, all the way to the restroom, locking yourself in one of the stalls and plopping down on the toilet. You can’t pinpoint why you’re suddenly overcome with some silly desire to win this ‘game’ you conjured up in your head, why you won’t just give in to what he so clearly wants to offer you.
But maybe—and you don’t want to admit it—there’s a residual guilt that lives deep inside you. One that when you really face, reminds you of just how cruel you were to others in high school. There was a time in your teenage life where you thought being the queen bee of high school meant you were at the apex of the universe. Now that the tables have turned, and you’re not as big as you once were, maybe you don’t deserve what the universe is trying to offer you.
Maybe you don't deserve what Jeon Jungkook is trying to offer you.
It’s Sunday, but it’s hardly peaceful or restorative. Saturday night was spent partying with Yunjin and Chaewon at some club in Gangnam that served drinks comparable to battery acid, which is why you’re currently battling the worst hangover of your entire life. Your head is pounding so hard you can hear your heartbeat in your eyeballs. And you're pretty sure you're still drunk, which means the real hangover hasn't even hit yet.
There’s no one to blame but yourself. Your brain was a broken record last night: Jungkook, high school, the game. The only way to stop the endless loop was to wash it down with copious soju shots.
Groggily, you roll over and unplug your phone from the charger. A quick scroll through your missed notifications and it’s the usual suspects: Jimin, Yunjin, Taehyung…
Wait.
Your eyes squint into slits, trying to make sense of the unknown number that sent you one message at 8 AM. You don’t recognize it. Spam, probably. Or maybe someone from last night asking if you got home okay. You don’t remember giving your number to anyone, but then again, you don't remember much after midnight.
You unlock your phone, rub your eyes, and adjust to the bright white light of your messages.
+823137565798 waited ten years to run into you again, [Y/N]. im not really interested in waiting another ten to see if fate brings us together a fourth time
It doesn’t take much time for you to put together the puzzle pieces.
You gasp, nearly flinging yourself off your bed at the realization. You reread the message one, two, three times, just to confirm he really said your name in it. You try to do a little excited kick under your covers, but your legs are tangled in your sheets and you nearly fall off the bed.
After yesterday’s temper tantrum, you had exited the bathroom to see Jeon Jungkook no longer present at the table. Jimin shrugged, said ‘he was tired, so he went home,’ and that was the end of that. You were under the impression that you ruined the entire charade, that you wouldn’t have to worry about the game because you already lost anyway.
But here he is, in your messages, contradicting your worst fears.
you who’s this?
Squealing, you throw your phone to the side, but within a few seconds, it lights up again with a new message.
+823137565798 wild guess?
you my amazon package?
You snort as you watch him read it and begin typing.
+823137565798 close. even better
An unwarranted smile sneaks its way onto your face.
you enlighten me
+823137565798 it’s your ex chemistry tutor from high school. that weird dude
you weird dude is how you’re choosing to introduce yourself?
+823137565798 trying to be humble
+823137565798 so about yesterday
Your hangover creeps back into your skull, your head pounding to the beat of a drum.
you we don’t need to talk about yesterday
+823137565798 why not?
you because i embarrassed myself?
+823137565798 you didn’t. thought it was cute
+823137565798 may have also told your best friend i needed your number in the name of saving you from your drought, so you’re not the one who embarrassed themselves
Staring at the message, your alcohol-riddled brain struggles to make sense of the words in front of you. Heat spreads from your chest to your neck to your cheeks. The guilt tries to claw its way up—you don’t get to feel this giddy, not about him—but your body overrules it with a decisive vote. Your hangover is completely forgotten now, replaced by a warm flutter in your stomach that has nothing to do with last night's tequila.
It’s so unlike him, the polar opposite of what Jeon Jungkook used to evoke in you, but the mere thought of him ending your sex drought sends a tingle down your spine.
You’re grinning like a foolish schoolgirl now, dignity be damned. You save his number to your contacts, makes it official in your brain.
you are you offering to get me out of my drought?
You fling your phone to the opposite side of the bed, and scream into your pillow.
The buzz causes you to shoot back up, heart thumping in your throat as you read his response.
jungkook possibly
Somewhere in the sky, your guardian angel is doing backflips.
Hands shaking, heart pumping blood erratically, you type back:
you take a girl to dinner first
The three dots pop up almost immediately, and then:
jungkook tried that already. the girl ran away from me :/
Technically, he’s right. You did run away. And now he’s resorted to joking about it, like it doesn’t bother him. But it should bother him. Should annoy him that the girl who didn’t acknowledge his existence in high school is now playing games with him like she has any right to.
You don’t know how to let him be nice to you, how to let him want you, when all you can remember is a younger you rolling your eyes while he patiently explained molecular bonds. You were cruel. Mostly in small ways that probably hurt more than massive shows of dismissiveness, but harsh nonetheless.
Guilt sits burdensome in your chest, a thorn in your side. Deep down, you’re terrified that when he finally sees you clearly—really sees you, not the filtered version you're trying to present—he’ll realize what you already know. That you were never worth the wait.
Your fingers loom over the keyboard, twiddling. The guilt is there, always there, always a dark cloud hanging. You were cruel to him. Casual about it, even. Used him like a tool and never once considered that he was a person with feelings that could be hurt.
But maybe—and this is the thought that's been needling at you since the cafe—maybe the worst thing you could do now is waste his second chance on you by playing games. Maybe the cruelest thing would be pretending you don’t want this when you so obviously, desperately do.
On the one hand, honesty is terrifying and vulnerability makes you nauseous.
But, on the other hand…
you well maybe the girl wants to see if you’re full of shit or not
Your heart speeds up behind the confines of your ribs.
jungkook i’m not the same guy from high school. i don’t play about what i want
With bated breath, you type your response. It’s a question that you know the answer to, and you don’t know why you need him to say it, but he will anyway.
you and what is it that you want?
jungkook you.
The night of Huh Yunjin’s birthday creeps up slowly on you, amidst a week busied with work, adult errands, and most stupidly, thoughts of Jungkook. The thoughts of him play, pause, tape spooling, and then rewind on a constant loop, unrelenting in their nature.
You hadn’t spoken to him much after your last exchange, minus some ‘good morning’ texts from him that you responded to politely. It’s foreplay, if nothing else, because even a few words from him are enough to leave you giddy for days to come.
You fully intend to take him up on his offer, you just don’t know when. .
Sinkhole is packed to the brim, sweaty bodies colliding in an attempt to feel human intimacy. A disco ball hangs loosely from the ceiling, transmitting silver light across the dance floor. The DJ is spinning up cringy Top 40 hits you haven’t heard since college, but the amount of soju shots you’ve consumed within the past hour masks the embarrassment you feel.
“Cheers to my 28th!” Yunjin yells in your ear, raising her shot glass in the air. Jimin abandons making out with Taehyung in favor of lifting his shot glass with hers, and you can’t help but join in on the festivities.
Yunjin keeps toasting to things that get progressively more unhinged. ‘To being 28! then ‘To my IUD!’ then ‘To tax evasion!’
You're not sure she's even joking on that last one.
You’ve lost count of how many you’ve taken, but the liquor burns less with each passing shot.
“Happy birthday, baby!” Jimin leans over the table you’re all perched at, pressing a chaste kiss to Yunjin’s cheek. She giggles in delight, smiling brightly in the way only a drunk person could.
“Oh, why thank you, Jiminie,” she laughs. “And thank you, Tae and [Y/N] for buying the table!”
It was 75% Taehyung and 25% you, but you’ll accept her gratitude. Buying a table at the club with unlimited alcohol was also part of your master plan to get absolutely obliterated and halt all thoughts of Jungkook, at least for the night.
“[Y/N], we need to find you a hot guy tonight. That dress is doing insane things to your legs,” Yunjin whines, pushing your shoulder. “There’s soooo many boys here.”
Jimin and Taehyung share a meaningful look, one that you don’t miss. Rolling your eyes, you say, “I’m not looking for anyone tonight. I want to spend it with you.”
“Booooring.” She pokes your side, raising her voice to be heard over the sound of Usher. “If you ditch me on my birthday to fuck a hot dude, I won’t be mad.”
“But I don’t want to fuck a hot dude—”
Jimin clears his throat. “Well, actually, you do. He’s just not here right now.”
There goes your vow to ignore all Jungkook thoughts this evening.
“Jimin.”
“What? It’s true,” he giggles, cozying up into Taehyung’s side. “The guy practically sexted you last weekend.”
Feeling caught, you busy yourself with the hem of your black bodycon dress. “Whether I fuck him or not is nobody’s business but my own,” you mumble.
“Oh, please,” Taehyung rolls his eyes. “You’ve been needing to get laid for months. We’re your best friends, which makes it our business.”
“She’s just upset that she ignored him in high school and now he’s this big, hunky guy,” Jimin snickers.
Taehyung frowns. “Bigger than me?”
“Okay, enough,” you snap, pouring more soju into the empty shot glasses. “I just wanna get drunk and enjoy my night.”
“I’m sure you would enjoy your night more if you had a big, sexy man to take care of you. I know I would,” Jimin chuckles. Not in a mean way, but your heart does sink a little as you watch him give Taehyung an open-mouthed kiss.
Yunjin turns to you. “Why haven’t you fucked him?”
You don’t know when this became an intervention, but everyone seems arduously interested on whether or not you fuck Jeon Jungkook.
You shrug. “I don’t know. It’s not that I don’t want to—trust me, I do—I just… feel a little bad about how I treated him in high school.”
Your friend snorts, rolling her eyes with an affectionate smile playing upon her lips. “If he felt bad about how you treated him, he wouldn’t be pursuing you.”
“She’s right,” Jimin jumps back in, and you fight the urge to slam his head into the table. He picks up a soju shot. “It’s kinda cute how desperate he seems for your attention. That’s a guy who’s gonna eat you out like his life depends on it.”
The mental image of his moist, plump lips wrapping around your clit has your thighs trembling under the table, but you clamp them before anyone can notice.
“I’m gonna fuck him,” you promise. “I swear.”
Taehyung raises an eyebrow. “I hope you do, before someone else snatches you up.” He tilts his head in the direction of a man eye-fucking you, and your stomach queases.
“He’s cute,” Jimin takes his shot, and you follow suit. There’s no way you’re getting through this night without getting absolutely obliterated.
“Oooo, there’s a really cute guy over there. 12:00,” Yunjin leans into the group, whispering as lowly as she can over the sound of Kesha.
You refuse the desire to look. Taehyung, however, lets his eyes wander to who she’s talking about. Luckily, Jimin is too entranced by pouring himself another soju shot to care. “Oh fuck me. He’s fucking sexy. I would let that man give me a rimjob.”
You slump into the chair. Somehow you have a feeling you’re about to undergo the world’s least subtle setup.
Jimin’s eyes nearly roll into the back of his skull. Slowly, he angles his body to see who his boyfriend is talking about. “He can’t possibly be that hot—oh my god. Oh my god.”
“What?” you and Yunjin say in unison. If you had to guess, based on Jimin’s track record and the specific tone of that ‘oh my god,’ he’s either spotted a celebrity, a firefighter in uniform, or someone from his legendary whore phase. And given that you’re at a nightclub, you're betting on option three. Jimin’s whore phase is the stuff of legend—a six-month period during sophomore year where he worked his way through half of Seoul's gay club scene. He doesn't talk about it often, mostly because Taehyung gets a very specific look on his face when it comes up, but every once in a while someone from that era will resurface and Jimin will make that exact noise.
“Who is it?” you press on, heart thumping in excitement.
Jimin’s blonde hair sways as he turns to look back at you. “Okay, don’t panic.”
Furrowing your brows, you start, “Don’t—”
“That’s Jungkook, you idiots. The fucking guy from [Y/N]’s high school we’ve been talking about,” he says in a hushed tone, punching Taehyung’s shoulder.
There’s a warm feeling hugging your chest, your body feeling as though it’s been lit on fire. It might be the alcohol, or the sheer joke of it all. Out of all the scenarios you’ve conjured up in your daydreams, this wasn’t one of them.
You turn your body to track where your friend’s eyes were just a minute ago. Even though Jimin already confirmed it, there’s a tiny part of you hoping his eyes deceive him. But there he is, Jeon Jungkook, in the flesh, talking to one of his equally attractive friends. He’s wearing all black—black t-shirt that sculpts his biceps, black baggy jeans that sit tightly on his slim waist. His hair is ruffled, hoop earrings dangling from the holes in his ear. And really, the most sickening part of it all: he has two lip rings instead of the usual one. You’re gonna be sick.
“Earth to [Y/N]...” Yunjin waves a shot in front of your face, and without preamble, you take it from her, swallowing it in one easy sip. The alcohol travels down your throat, but you barely feel the burn.
“You good?” Taehyung raises an eyebrow.
“Just peachy,” you lie. You smile at your friends, but they don’t seem convinced.
Jimin guffaws, leaning back in his chair with an evil grin. “Is that why you just downed another shot?”
“I’m thirsty.”
“For alcohol or for Jungkook?” Yunjin bursts into a fit of giggles, high-fiving Jimin across the table.
Groaning, you let your head fall into your hands. “I hope all of you die a slow and painful death.”
“He’s gotten even hotter since the last time I saw him,” Jimin notes, sipping his untouched margarita. “How is that possible?”
“Can we please talk about anything else?” You reach for the soju bottle, pouring the last of the clear liquid into your glass. Your second in thirty seconds. A new personal record.
“We will do no such thing,” Jimin’s eyes are gleaming with elation. “You need to go talk to him.”
You nearly choke on the liquor. “I’m sorry, what?”
“Go. Talk. To. Him.” Jimin enunciates each word like you’re a toddler.
“Are you insane?” you deadpan. “Like, actually stupid? Have you suffered a brain injury I don’t know about?”
Both Jimin and Taehyung share another unspoken look. “I’m trying to help you.”
“But I don’t want help—”
“[Y/N].” Jimin doesn’t often get very serious, but the expression on his face makes you squirm. “I’m not letting you fuck this up.”
“I;m not fucking anything up by staying exactly where I am.” You cross your arms over your chest. Realistically, you know he’s right. If you were more drunk, maybe you would bite the bullet, march over there, and plant a kiss right on those lips you haven’t stopped thinking about. But you’re not, so at the table you will stay.
“This is fate. This is the universe putting him a few feet away.” Jimin gestures vaguely at Jungkook.
“The universe can fuck off, honestly.”
He sighs, “I’m doing this for your own good.”
And before you can process his movements, a lag in your brain, Jimin turns in his seat, arm raising in a wave, mouth opening to call out his name.
“No!” You lunge across the table, knocking over Taehyung’s drink, causing him to groan. You latch onto Jimin’s arm, yanking it down forcefully. “Don’t you fucking dare, Park Jimin—”
It’s too late.
Because in your desperate scramble to stop Jimin from committing social suicide on your behalf, you've made a scene. Swiveling your head slowly, you see Jungkook staring directly at you.
His eyebrows are raised, a hint of a smirk playing upon his lips. His tattooed fingers toy with the straw in his drink. It feels as though time drags on for hours, as if the hands of a clock are being lugged through molasses.
You slowly extract yourself from on top of the table, slinking into your chair with as much dignity as you can muster. Your hand comes up in the world’s most awkward, tentative wave. The tiniest flutter of your fingers.
Jungkook’s lips stretch wider, raising his hand in return. It’s a proper wave, filled with that newfound confidence of his. Then he turns back to his friend, resuming their conversation. It’s not like you expected him to drop everything for you—or well, you kind of did. You exhale a deep breath. “Oh my god.” You slump in your chair. “That was horrible.”
“That was… bad,” Jimin tiptoes around the word, twiddling his thumbs.
“I’m going to have to fake my death and move to a different country—”
“Stop being a drama queen,” Yunjin cuts in, sliding a shot towards you. You don’t even know or care where it spawned from, but all you know is you need it. “He waved back. He probably thought it was cute.”
Sighing, you shake your head. “There is nothing cute about what just happened.” You down the shot, and you’ve completely lost count at this point of how many you’ve ingested.
“Okay, new plan,” you announce, slamming the glass down. “None of that happened. We enjoy Yunjin’s birthday. We do not make eye contact with Jungkook, we do not speak about Jungkook.”
“Yeah, about that,” Jimin trails off, eyes glued to somewhere behind your shoulder. “It’s too late.”
“Too late for what?”
“He’s coming over here.”
Your entire body halts all movement, rigid like a statue. “What?”
“He’s coming here. Right now,” Taehyung repeats, and your heart drops to your feet. A hornet’s nest of anxiety swarms your stomach, filling your body with buzzing fear.
You shake your head frantically. “Please say you’re messing with me.”
Yunjin turns to see where Jimin and Taehyung are staring, and the moment she touches your arm, you realize you’re trapped. There’s no way out but through.
“[Y/N]. It’s nice to see you here.”
His voice is deeper, a low timbre that makes your brain go all fuzzy around the edges. He stands in front of the table, and you peer through your eyelashes to look up at him.
Fuck. Fuck, he looks even better up close.
The two lip rings catch the light of the disco ball. A silver chain dangles from around his neck and you briefly wonder what it’ll look like hanging over you while he pounds into…God, get a grip. You can catch a whiff of his cologne, something citrusy and woodsy that causes a pool of arousal in your underwear.
“Hi,” you manage a smile, struggling to hold the intense gaze he’s sporting.
He breaks it for a moment, turning to your best friend, nodding. “Jimin, good to see you again.”
“You too, Kook. You should join us!” He scooches closer to Taehyung, patting the minimal space beside him. Jungkook stares at it, then looks back at you with a hunger in his eyes that almost has you keeling over.
“Actually,” Jungkook begins, “I was hoping I could steal [Y/N] for a drink. If that’s okay with you all?”
He wants to... what? Steal you? For a drink? Alone? You turn to Yunjin, eyes pleading. Help me. Save me. Make up an excuse. But she was never going to let you escape where he’s involved. She looks you dead in the eye, smiles sweetly, and says, “No, she’s all yours.”
You’re going to remember this. You’re going to bring this up at every possible opportunity for the rest of her natural life.
Jungkook’s hand extends towards you, palm up, awaiting yours. For a brief second, you stare at it, at his long fingers, at the veins running down his forearm, at the silver rings stacked on his nimble fingers. The hand that's now being offered to you, in public, in front of all your friends.
You can either take his hand and let whatever this is happen, or you can make up some excuse and run away for the fourth time.
Your heart starts cartwheeling in your chest. You can’t look away from his hand, the one you desperately want to take. Jungkook watches patiently, confidently, like he knows just what you’re deciding between.
Fuck it.
You place your hand in his, let your fingers intertwine with his warm ones. It’s secure, and his fingers tighten around yours as if to remind you he has you. Jungkook pulls you to your feet gently. He doesn’t let go as he guides you through the crowd toward the bar, and you’re trying very hard not to think about how right it feels, how you never want him to let you go.
He parks you at the bartop, where a woman who looks like she’d rather be anywhere else is serving alcohol to a group of minors. Jungkook pats the stool beside him, and you’re more than grateful to take the chair. Your heels have been hurting like a bitch all night. When you sink into the chair, his eyes follow the way your dress hugs your thighs, revealing more skin than your old cheer uniforms. You debate tugging it down, but a warm feeling is flooding your insides at the thought of him wanting to see more of you. He towers above you, his AMEX hanging loosely from his deft fingers.
“What do you like to drink?” He leans down, whispers it directly in your ear. The heat of his breath makes your entire body feel like molten lava.
The bartender begins to make her way over, eyes gleaming when she spots Jungkook. If you were less tipsy, you might come up with a witty response, but your current state only allows you to say, “A dirty shirley, please.”
He doesn’t make a face at the girly drink, nor bats an eyelash when the bartender touches his arm four times while he recites his order. You can only watch in awe as he hands over his card and turns his attention back to you, body angling toward you as if to shield you from every other patron who might be able to see you. The slight possessiveness he’s exhibiting would normally make you hurl, but he’s so unapologetic about it that you could care less. You hope he puts his mark on you so no man will ever speak to you again.
Jungkook fiddles with his fingers on the counter, unsure where to put them. The only glimpse of high school Jungkook you’ve seen in days. His hand hovers near your thigh, then his jeans pocket, then back to the counter. For all his cockiness over text and possessiveness, still lies a man who’s intimidated by the thought of truly having you.
The soju in your body hums through your veins, making everything feel hazy and like a really good idea. Liquid courage, Yunjin calls it. Liquid stupidity, sounds more precise.
But right now… you’re thinking liquid courage might be onto something.
Because he’s standing so close you can smell his cologne, something that smells like grapefruit and lemon. Because he angled his body to block out the rest of the bar like you’re the only person here. Because his hand is right there, inches from you, and looks like he wants to touch you so badly it’s causing him physical pain.
And you’re tipsy enough to think: yeah, liquid courage is real.
Before the sober, anxious part of your brain can intervene with a thousand reasons why this is a horrible idea, you reach out. Your fingers wrap around his wrist, and his eyes snap to yours, surprise written across his features.
You don’t utter a word, just simply guide his hand until his palm settles at the small of your back. Every place where his skin connects with yours seems to tingle.
“Is this okay?” he asks, voice low and chest rumbling with the sound. Again, his mouth is right by your ear, and you can’t think, can’t breathe, can't hear anything but him.
“Would I have moved it there if I wasn’t?”
His thumb strokes once against your side. “Just making sure.”
“I’m tipsy, not drunk,” you clarify, only because you need him to know this is a choice. This is something you tried to talk yourself out of over and over again, but you want this. Liquid courage is making you brave enough to admit out loud what you only ever thought to yourself sober. “I know what I’m doing.”
“And what are you doing?” His breath hits your cheek, the side of your mouth, and it’s laced with peppermint and whiskey, and you’re dizzy with need.
“Giving you the green light,” you say, tilting your head to meet his gaze. His eyes are hooded, trained on your lips that are coated in shiny gloss. “That okay with you?”
His hand tightens on your waist, pulling you incrementally closer. He doesn’t need to say anything.
“Very okay,” he murmurs into your hair.
The bartender returns with your drinks, but Jungkook doesn’t move his hand. He takes your dirty shirley with his free hand, passing it off to you. His grip becomes more secure, more selfish, like now that you’ve given him permission, he’s never planning on letting go.
Good, you think. You don’t want him to.
Jungkook’s hand wraps around the glass of whiskey, taking a slow sip. “Seems like fate was on my side tonight.”
You take a gulp of your dirty shirley, the sweetness coating your tongue. “I’m starting to think you might be stalking me.”
His eyebrows raise, a tiny upward twitch in his mouth. “How do I know you’re not stalking me?”
“Oh, you would know.”
“Really?” He leans in, brown eyes sparking like pools of chocolate. “And how’s that?”
“Because I’d be better at it,” you proclaim, emboldened by the alcohol. “You wouldn’t catch me three times in two weeks. I’d have a whole system. Disguises, a wig collection..”
He laughs loudly. You notice that his dimples pop when he does so, eyes crinkling. “A wig collection.”
“At minimum. Maybe some fake glasses and a trench coat.”
“Clearly, you’ve thought about this,” he hums.
You raise your hands in defense. “I’m just saying, if I were stalking you, you’d never know it unless I wanted you to know.”
“Should I be concerned?” he questions, but he’s grinning.
“Depends,” you tilt your head. “Are you worth stalking?”
His fingers spread across the expanse of your spine. “I’d like to think so.”
“Confident.” Another sip of your dirty shirley snakes down your throat, your lips toying with the straw as you peer up at him.
His gaze never leaves yours. “Besides, you’re the one who guided my hand to your back. If anyone's being forward here…”
That almost makes you choke on your sugary drink. “I was just—”
“Giving me the green light,” he finishes. “I remember. Trust me, I remember.”
Your mind stumbles, then short-circuits.
You resort to drinking more alcohol, needing something to do with your hands that’s not touching him. “This is crazy, right? Us, here?”
“Crazy how?”
“You know how. I mean, ten years ago, I was copying your chemistry homework, and now you’re so… you’re…”
There’s not a single English word that properly describes what present day Jeon Jungkook does to you, with his tattoos and lip rings and expensive cologne and platinum credit card and… fuck.
“I’m what?” He leans closer, waiting, expecting.
“This.” you say helplessly. “All of this.”
“Is there something wrong with.” he uses his free hand to motion over his toned body, “this?”
“No. Nothing. That’s the problem.” It slips out before you can stop it. “It would be easier if something was wrong with it.”
The hand not looped around your waist moves from the bartop to your dress, fingers finding the hem where it’s ridden up on your thigh. He plays with the fabric absentmindedly, rolling it between the pads of his fingers. “If no one’s told you, by the way,” he mutters just loud enough for you to hear him over the music, “this dress looks insane on you.”
The wind is knocked out of your chest, a jolt of electricity flashing through your core. “No one’s told me yet. You’re the first.”
His eyes drag up from where his fingers are flirting with your dress, traveling up your body until they meet yours. “You look fucking gorgeous,” he says. “There. Now I'm the second to say it.”
It’s hard to breathe, hard to swallow. Even harder to find words, or form a coherent sentence.
“You—I—you can’t—”
“Can’t..?” His hands don’t dare move from your dress, knuckles occasionally brushing against your thigh. “Can’t tell you the truth?”
“You know what you’re doing, Jungkook.”
“I do,” he agrees. “Is it working?”
You want to lie. Want to play it cool. Want to maintain some semblance of the upper hand.
But your downfall was inevitable, right from the moment you saw him standing in the cafe. Like a champagne bottle that someone shook a little too hard, a balloon pressed against a thumbtack. It was always meant to explode.
“Yes,” you admit.
“Good.” Both of his hands move to grip the side of your barstool. In one smooth movement, he turns you to face him completely. His legs spread, creating space, and he guides the stool forward with his toe until your thighs slot between his. He’s caging you in, hands landing atop your thighs, palms warm against your bare skin.
You’re practically pressed against him, his face level with yours, “Is this okay?” he asks again, fingers digging into the flesh.
Suddenly, it’s like you’re painfully aware of all the places where he isn’t touching you. Your faces, your chests. You want more, need more.
“Stop asking me that,” you mumble, looking away, but he guides your gaze back with a finger under your chin.
“I need to know, princess.” His tone is serious, but you want to smile from the pet name. “Tell me if it’s too much.”
“It’s not,” you whisper. “It’s not too much.”
“No?”
“No.”
His hands slide up your thighs, hiding underneath the fabric, pushing a boundary that hasn't been tested in a long time. “What about now?’
You’re going to combust. Right here, in the middle of Sinkhole, surrounded by people, you're going to burst into flames.
“Still okay,” you exhale.
For one exhilarating second, his eyes drop to your lips, and you think you’ll get what you’ve been seeing in your dreams the past few nights. You need to get out of here. Away from the crowd, away from the noise, somewhere you can actually hear yourself think—or not think. Preferably not think.
“Do you want to…” you start, then hesitate. The words die on your tongue.
He cocks his head, hair flopping into his eyes. “Do I want to…”
Your heartbeat reverberates in your throat. “Talk somewhere more private? It’s loud here.”
His composure shifts, and you watch the realization hit him. What you're suggesting. What that implies.
“Private,” he repeats. “To talk.”
“Yes.”
“About?”
You deadpan, brain racking for a subject, any subject. “Stuff,” is what you come up with.
A dry laugh escapes him. “And maybe things as well?”
You pout. “Important stuff.”
“I’m sure.” His smile is lopsided, goofy and full of light. He pulls you up from the barstool until your feet touch the ground again. His hand finds your fingers, easily lacing them. “Whatever you want, princess.”
Where the fuck did that come from? When did he become the type of person to use pet names? And why is it working? Why is that single word making your entire nervous system light up like a Christmas tree?
Tugging you through the crowd, he peers behind him every few seconds to make sure you haven’t floated away. His hand is firm around yours, guiding you through the mass of bodies, and you try and catch a glimpse of any of your friends.
Unfortunately, you do spot Jimin and Taehyung, pressed against a wall, entranced in a makeout session so intense that they’re definitely not coming up for air soon. At least you won’t have to explain to them where you went. Yunjin is nowhere to be found, probably on the dance floor or already home with one of her many flings.
Jungkook pulls you through another section of the crowd, leading you down a side hallway that’s mercifully empty. The music is muffled, bass still thumping through the walls but not deafening anymore. You lean back against the cold concrete, the chill a shock against your overheated skin. The wall vibrates with each bass drop, humming in your chest.
Jungkook stops in front of you, and you have to tilt your head back to see his face. “What did you want to talk about?”
Your mind shoots blanks. In this dim hallway, you’ve become aware of how completely the tables have turned. Ten years ago, you held all the cards. You were the girl who made him nervous, who had him stumbling over words, who could get him to do anything with a smile and a flutter of your eyelashes. But now you’re the one who’s heart is racing, who feels like you might explode from a single touch. He has the upper hand, utterly, entirely. And you handed it to him willingly. Put his hand on your waist, guided him here, and now you’re putty in his hands and he knows it.
“You make me nervous,” you blurt out.
The silence that engulfs you feels like punishment. Your mouth goes dry, palms sweating under the guise of his stare.
He takes a step closer. There’s little to no space between you. “That’s interesting.”
“Why is that interesting?” Your back is pressed against the wall. Nowhere to go.
“You used to make me nervous,” he says, bracing his hand on the wall. His bicep strains and you have to fight the urge to ogle at them. “For years.”
“That was different, Jungkook.”
“Was it?” He studies you. “In what way?”
“Well, because now you’re you, and I’m—“
“I’m me?” His eyebrows raise an inch, lips curling upwards in a smirk. “What does that mean?”
Why did you drink so much alcohol? Why, why, why? Maybe if you hadn’t, your lips wouldn’t be so goddamn loose. Your filter would still be in tact. You wouldn’t be staring at him like you want to devour him whole.
You peer up at him, eyelashes fluttering. His cheeks are flushed from the amount of drinks he’s consumed, and he’s close enough that you can see the moles that litter his face. The one under his lip. The one on his nose. You want to kiss each and every single one of them. Map them out with your lips until you have them memorized.
You give up on any pretense of playing it cool. “You know you’re hot, Jungkook.”
“Do I know?” The smirk on his face grows tenfold, and god, you want to kiss it off him. “You’ve never told me this before.”
“High school was different.”
“You’ve said that a lot, but it’s actually not that different,” he murmurs.
“Hm?”
His gaze drops to your lips for the hundredth time tonight. “Because I’m still so fucking unbelievably, out of my mind, attracted to you.”
Your brain struggles to process it—that he’s felt this way for years. That it never went away. That all the confidence and cockiness is built on top of the same desire that made teenage Jungkook stutter around you.
“You’re just saying things,” you whisper. But you’ve known. You’ve always known.
His hand falls from the wall to cup your jaw. “You think I begged Jimin for your number because I was just being polite? You think I showed up at three different cafes hoping fate would bring us together because I’m casual about this?”
“But you said that cafe was your regular spot—”
He fights to hide the smile creeping onto his face. “I’ve wanted you since I was a teenager.” His thumb brushes across your cheekbone. “Somehow, impossibly, I want you even more now.”
Your heart is trying to break out of the confines of your ribcage. “Jungkook.”
His forehead is almost touching yours. “What’s different is that now I’m not terrified to tell you.”
You don’t know what else to say to him, so you smile as brightly as you can, letting your happiness live on your face.
“How many drinks have you had tonight?” he asks.
You scrunch your brows together. “A lot of soju. That dirty shirley. Why?”
Bluntly, he says, “Because I want to kiss you. But not if you’re too drunk to remember it tomorrow.”
You squeak, back slightly arching off the wall. You’ve never wanted anything more, never ached to feel someone the way you do him. Heat travels through your veins, burning you to your core.
“I told you, I’m tipsy,” you rush to protest. “I’ll remember this tomorrow.”
It should be embarrassing how quickly you reassure him, how the words tumble out of your mouth.
His forehead presses against yours, and it’s a miracle you don’t dissolve into a puddle. “Then can I—”
“Yes,” you interrupt. If he doesn’t kiss you in the next five seconds, you might actually die.
“I didn’t finish the question.” His lips ghost over yours, a gentle taste of what you yearn for.
“I don’t care what the question is,” you exhale. “The answer is yes.”
And then his lips are on yours.
Never in your high school years did you imagine how Jeon Jungkook kissed. Never thought about how his lips would feel against your own. Never cared to think about it.
This past week, however, you’ve spent more time imagining this exact scenario than you’ve spent breathing. But reality is superior to whatever your brain could conjure up. Your imagination could never describe Jungkook’s demanding kiss, or the way his lips melt into yours with utmost certainty. His hand slides from your jaw to your cheek, cradling it. The other hand finds your waist, pulling you flush against him.
A mix of a gasp and a moan falls from your lips, and he swallows it wholly. Your fists find his shirt, tugging on the fabric, pulling him closer even though there’s no space between you. His lip rings are cold against your mouth, a contrast to the heat of his lips and the heat between your thighs. Parting your lips, his tongue sweeps in, tastes just like you smelled earlier—whiskey and peppermint. Your lip gloss is definitely everywhere at this point—on him, on you, probably on the wall behind you—but you couldn’t care less.
His strong hand travels from your cheek down, down, fingers wrapping loosely around your throat. Claiming, holding. The possessiveness of the gesture sends heat pooling low into your stomach. Jungkook’s thumb presses into your pulse point, feeling how your heart is racing.
And when you do finally pull away, your heart is still going berzerk. His lips are shiny with your gloss, pink and swollen and thoroughly kissed. You can't help but giggle at the sight.
“What?” he asks, breathless. The tips of his ears are tickled pink.
“You’re wearing my lip gloss,” you giggle again, reaching up to wipe it with your thumb. But he doesn’t let you get far, catches your wrist and presses a kiss right where your flowery perfume is sprayed. He takes a deep inhale and smiles back at you like you hung the moon and stars. Your heart is pumping so wildly you’re worried it might actually burst out of your chest.
Then his lips are on your neck, trailing down to your exposed collarbone, finding every sensitive spot with ease like he already knows you, like he holds the map to your body. He holds you tight to him, grounding—and thank god because your legs are shaking so badly that you're not sure you could stand without him holding you up.
“Jungkook,” you gasp, and he hums against your skin. His mouth finds your jaw, pressing open-mouthed kisses, and you’re pretty sure you’re going to pass out. Your fingers thread through his unruly dark brown locks, tugging slightly at the nape.
And you can’t really help the intrusive thoughts that leap in your mind, the tidal wave of desire that keeps lapping at your core. He’s insatiable, and you feel gluttonous. “Do you wanna—” you start, but his teeth graze your pulse point and your brain turns to mush. “maybe—ahh—go to mine?”
He halts, pulls back enough to look at you. “Is that what you want?” His voice is strained, the thread of self-control growing weaker and weaker.
Your brain is fuzzy from alcohol and kissing and the feeling of his hands on your waist, but you know what you're saying. You know what you're offering. You’re done fighting whatever decade-old guilt lives inside you, because you deserve him. Maybe you’re finally ready to accept it. To trust that you’ve grown, that you’re growing, that you’re not done growing and thats okay. You deserve all the good that Jeon Jungkook has to offer. “Yes,” you breathe, “I want—I want you.”
His eyes search for hesitation. “You’ve been drinking, and I don't want you to feel like you need to—”
“I’m sure.” Cupping his face in your hands, you cut his sentence in half. Don’t even let it slip between you. “I know what I want.”
Somehow, his eyes have gone darker, fingers tightening for purchase. “Say it again,” he murmurs.
“I want you, Jungkook.” Your thumb brushes against his bottom lip, catching on his lip rings. “Take me home.”
“Fucking hell,” he practically moans, and then his lips are on you again with an urgency that wasn’t there before. “We should probably tell your friends we’re leaving.”
“Jimin’s busy.” If you had to guess, he’s on his knees at home, getting topped by Kim Taehyung. “And Yunjin will understand. Your friends?”
“They know who you are.”
A swarm of butterflies kick up in your stomach.
You tug on his shirt. “Now can we please go before I lose my mind?”
His answer to that is another quick kiss—but still thorough, because who is he if not a man starved—and he pulls you through the hallway, back into the club, into the thick of the chaos still lingering this late in the night. You hardly register any of it. The lights, the bass of the music, the bodies pressing against you as you squeeze by. None of it matters.
You feel like you’re floating, like your feet are moving but you can’t feel the ground, like you’re walking on clouds. His hand is wrapped around yours, pulling you forward, and you’d follow him anywhere right now. To the ends of the earth. Off a cliff.
Once the crisp night air hits your skin, Jungkook is already scanning the street, hand raised to hail a taxi. One pulls up within seconds—it’s got to be fate, or the universe supporting your agenda to get laid—and he opens the door, ushering you inside with a hand on the small of your back.
Jungkook shuts the door forcefully, immediately snuggling into your side, leaving little to no room for you to create space between you two. Not that you wanted to, but you want to giggle at how utterly fearful he seems of distance from you.
“Where to?” the driver asks, eyeing Jungkook in the rearview.
You rattle off your address, and the cab pulls off into traffic. Seoul at this hour is never quiet—in fact, it’s usually more lively, since clubs stay open until the wee hours of the morning. But all you can really focus on is Jungkook beside you, his thigh pressed against yours in the cramped backseat. His fingers lace through yours. An innocent, sweet gesture, a complete contrast from what was happening ten minutes ago against that hallway wall.
You look down at your intertwined hands—his so much larger than yours, rings cool against your skin. A smile bestows upon your lips. When you glance up at him, he’s staring at you with this fond expression that makes your heart stutter.
“What?” you ask, giddy.
“Nothing,” he replies, but the smile on his face doesn’t disappear. “I just can’t believe this is happening.”
“Me neither,” you admit sheepishly.
His hand reaches over, tugging the hem of your dress down where it’s ridden up your thigh. The action would be chivalrous, if not for the way his fingers linger, if not for the way his jaw clenches, if not for the way his fond expression darkens into something sinister.
“You need to stop moving,” he says, a deep exhale following his words.
You roll your eyes. “I’m not even moving.”
“Your… dress is moving.” His hand remains on your thigh, holding the fabric down. “I can’t hold it together if this dress rides up any more.”
“Oh.”
He shifts in his jeans, clearly uncomfortable. You have to fight not to avert your eyes to his crotch.
“Do you know how long it’ll take to get to her apartment?” Jungkook asks the driver. You snort loudly.
He shrugs. Clearly, the man has never shared Jungkook’s predicament, because he looks unbothered by the urgency in his voice. “About twenty minutes.”
Jungkook groans, leaning back into the seat, closing his eyes for a second. When he opens them again and catches your gaze, he has to close them to calm his friend down there. And it does make you giggle again, but what you want more than anything is to feel him. For him to give you a part of him that you didn’t know you needed until now.
You whisper in his ear. “I don’t want you to hold it together.”
His eyes fly open, and you watch his Adam’s apple bob up and down. “Don’t tempt me right now, [Y/N].”
“Why not?” And you pull out your tricks—you bat your eyelashes, tilt your head down, lick your lips to wet them. His face grows pale.
“Because we’re in a cab,” he murmurs, staring at your lips. “And I’m trying to be respectful.”
“Maybe I want you to disrespect me right now.”
The words are barely out of your mouth before he's kissing you again. His hand leaves your dress to cup your face, angling your head so he can kiss you deeper.
The cab driver clears his throat. You both ignore him, too hypnotized by the other to think about stopping. He pulls you as close as he can, and a frustrated noise escapes from your lips. There’s too many layers, too much distance, and he smiles knowingly against your lips.
He seems to know just what you need.
Jungkook’s large hand lands on your knee, caressing the supple skin.
“You know how to be quiet, baby?”
You nod meekly.
His voice brushes against the shell of your ear, hand traveling up your thigh to mask itself under the fabric of your dress. “Good girl. Spread your legs for me.”
Eyes widening, you stare up at him blankly. There is no way on this planet, Jeon Jungkook, the man who you were sure—up until now—never had his first kiss, is about to finger you in a taxi. But his hand moving near your lace panties says otherwise. You jolt forward at the feeling of his deft fingers swiping at the fabric as discreetly as possible. You gasp, and he tosses you a look before you slap your hand over your mouth. Luckily, the taxi driver seems more focused on the fastest route to your apartment than whatever debauchery is occurring in his backseat. It’s also dark in the car, impossible for the naked eye to see Jungkook’s movements.
He presses against the wet spot on your underwear, and heat creeps up your neck at the realization of just how turned on he’s had you since the hallway. Maybe even before then, if you’re being honest. He smiles at the revelation.
Your nails dig into the leather seat of the cab. Jungkook’s tattooed fingers push aside your underwear, his pointer finger collecting the arousal. A whimper escapes you, and when you look at him, the look on his face sends another round of wetness dripping down his finger. “God, baby, you’re so fucking wet,” he whispers into your ear, letting two fingers ghost over your clit, gently pushing the bundle of nerves. “Didn’t know public sex turned you on so much.”
You bite back a moan. The teasing pace he’s set over your clit would be fun, if you had a constant stream of sexual endeavors, but unfortunately, you’re as desperate as a raccoon sifting through trash. Gripping onto his wrist, you push him onto you fiercely. “Needy, aren’t we?” he mutters.
All you can reply with is a quick nod. He chuckles softly, rubbing circles on your clit with the pad of his pointer and middle finger. Your head falls back on the headrest, eyes squeezed tight, tight, tight as you try to calculate how he found your clit so fast. It’s so wet, dripping onto the seat, his hands, that you could cum just from the stimulation of it all.
“What do you want, princess? Hm?” Somehow, it sounds like he’s far away from you, like you’re caught on your own cloud of bliss. You want to ask for more, need more like it’s oxygen. His rhythm slows just a tad, enough to have your eyes flying open. “I asked you a question.”
Oh. Oh. So he’s that kind of guy.
“I want—I want your fingers,” you whisper feebly.
“Yeah? Where, princess? I’ll give you whatever you want.” he kisses your shoulder, your jaw, and it makes your brain fuzzy around the edges.
The tantalizing pace he’s set on your clit makes it hard to speak. “W-want you to fuck me with them.”
His lips curl upwards, eyes blazing. “You like my fingers?” Another nod. He removes his fingers from your clit, slipping back out underneath your dress. You’re about to protest, maybe even kick him out of the car, until you watch him make direct eye contact with you, and place his fingers in his mouth, letting his tongue swirl around the digits. You blink. What the actual fuck have you gotten yourself into?
“Please, Jungkook,” you beg, your nails scrambling to dig in his clothed thigh. He chastises you, laughs at you, before slithering under your dress again, plunging his fingers directly into your sopping entrance. You gasp, loud enough to make the driver look in the rearview, but you bite your bottom lip before any more can escape. “I know you can take it. If you can take that douchebag Kim Mingyu, you can handle me. Although, after I’m done with you, my name might be the only name you moan for the rest of your life.”
You should hate that. You really, really should. But clearly, your dignity has taken the night off, and in its place is a woman who is so endeared over being degraded by Jeon Jungkook.
His fingers pump in and out, achingly slow, making you feel every inch. You’re gripping his thigh so tightly you swear there’ll be claw marks. Your head rests on the back of your seat, chest heaving. If not for the sound of traffic outside, the driver might be able to hear the way your pussy squelches with each movement.
Jungkook’s lips press against your jaw, litter around your neck. “More,” you mumble, sounding drunker than you did in the club.
“God, you’re so fucking wet. I can’t wait to be inside you. Gonna fuck you all night.” Lewd words continue to spill from his lips. Sending waves of arousal onto his fingers, more for him to play with as he picks up his pace. He curls his fingers upwards, reaching that sensitive spot that far and few men have ever found. Your body trembles, thighs shaking, and Jungkook’s hand lands on them to try and steady you.
His thumb finds your clit, rubbing sloppy circles as he brings you to the brink of your orgasm. Your eyes fight to stay open, looking over at Jungkook—and holy hell. His arm veins are popping out, mostly from the amount of effort he’s putting into fucking into you to completion, his dark hair flopping over his face. His silver chain bounces off his chest, reflecting on the city lights outside.
And you don’t even realize how quickly you’re about to cum, tears brimming your eyes from the way his fingers pump in and out you wildly, thumb matching his pace over your clit. “So tight around my fingers, princess. You gonna cum?”
There’s no way you can be quiet about this. Not with how fucking good he looks, not with how easily his fingers slip in and out you, hitting your sweet spot. You bury your head in his neck, moaning into his warm skin, trying to muffle the sound as much as possible. “Fuck, Jungkook.”
“Want you to cum on my fingers, princess. Can you do that for me?” You nod into his neck.
Your walls clench around his fingers one last time, to the point where he can hardly move them, his thumb working you through the orgasm that ripples through your body. Your fingers claw at his arm, teeth biting at his neck. You can feel yourself lose control, heart beating erratically in your chest.
Jungkook’s fingers halt inside you, thumb coaxing you through the rest of your orgasm. “It’s okay, princess. I’ve got you.”
Your body completely slumps into him, still feeling full with his two fingers inside you.
Finally, after he allows you a moment to catch your breath, he pulls them out of your pussy, soaked with your creamy arousal. “Open,” he says gently, but when you look up at him, his gaze is hardly sympathetic. Your lips part for him, and he places his fingers on your tongue. You swirl it around, tasting yourself, sweet and salty and warm, foreign to you. Jungkook’s eyes never leave yours.
“Good job, baby,” he says as he removes his fingers, pressing one, two chaste kisses on your lips.
All things considered, you’re in absolute shock. Somewhere between high school and now, Jeon Jungkook learned how to kiss like he’s trying to ruin you for all other men. Where did he learn all this? Who taught him to do that thing with his fingers? How does he know exactly where to put his hands, exactly how much pressure to use to make you lose your mind?
The thought of him practicing on other people—other girls—makes something ugly twist in your stomach.
You’re an evil, evil girl. “Where’d you learn all that?”
He raises an eyebrow, tucking a strand of your loose hair behind your ear. “Are you asking about my sexual history now?”
“No.”
“You are,” he teases. “You’re not jealous, right?”
If only he knew how ill you felt at the idea of another girl knowing how his fingers can easily find their g-spot.
“I am not jealous.” You feign indifference, but your voice comes out all defensive and petulant, which kind of ruins it all. “Just asking a question.”
“You want to know who I've been with?” he asks, clearly trying not to laugh.
“Never said that.”
He presses another soft kiss against your lips. “There’s been other people. I’m not going to lie about that. But that’s not a big deal.”
You furrow your brows. “Why?”
His thumb traces circles on your thigh. “Because I thought about you during all of it. I wondered what you’d feel like, wondered what sounds you would make. So, yeah,” he continues. “I learned some things. But I only ever wanted to use them on you.”
You kiss him again because you don’t know what else to do with the feeling expanding in your chest. Because he’s looking at you like that and saying things like that and your heart is fluttering out of your body. God, if that doesn’t make you want to drag him upstairs immediately.
The cab pulls up to your building and Jungkook is already pulling out his wallet, throwing bills at the driver without checking the amount. "Keep the change," he says, and then he's out of the cab, pulling you with him.
Your legs are unsteady when you stand—from the alcohol, from the kissing, from everything—and his arm wraps around your waist, steadying you. “I’m not done with you yet, princess.”
And, really, he’s not joking because he’s on you the second you step through the door to your apartment. Barely even crosses the threshold before his lips are colliding with yours passionately, slamming your spine into the wall by your entryway. His hands cup your cheeks entirely. He can’t get enough of you, like opposite poles of a magnet attracting. Shortly after his affair with the entryway, Jungkook moves a little more down your hallway, but you’re too focused on kissing him to direct him. Your shoes are discarded, purse on the floor, and then your back finds another cool wall to rest against.
Jungkook assaults your neck, leaving a trail of bruises that are going to take a hell of a lot of explaining tomorrow. Your apartment probably sounds like the set of some cheap porno, what with Jungkook’s whimpers and your moans, and neither of you are even naked yet. Your hands run over the front of his chest, feeling his sculpted body underneath his shirt.
“Fuck, you’re so beautiful,” he murmurs into your collarbone, where he’s leaving hickeys in his wake. His hands wander over your chest, cupping them over your dress. Without another word or warning, he yanks down the top of your dress, your breasts spilling out. You can’t help the gasp that escapes you as he manhandles you, his lips coming to wrap around your hardened nipple. His tongue swipes over the sensitive nub, eyes peering up expectantly, watching every facial expression that contorts on your face.
Your eyes squeeze tightly, a kaleidoscope of color blooming behind your vision. “Jungkook,” you moan, carding your fingers through his unruly hair.
Without preamble, Jungkook kisses your nipples one last time before dropping to his knees on your hardwood floor with a resounding thump.
You open your eyes. The sight in front of you is fucking ungodly. If you look closely, you can see Jungkook from high school, expectantly looking up at you with puppy dog eyes, pushing your dress up to hang around your waist.
“W-what are you doing?’ you ask.
He looks drunk. “Need to eat you out. I want to taste you, princess.”
You don’t remember the last time a man has looked so needy to feel you, to taste you. Actually, you can’t remember a time this even occurred.
You exhale. “Yes. Yes, please.”
That’s all he really needs. Jungkook doesn’t waste a moment more in burying his face between your folds as though it’s his last meal on earth. His fingers come to spread your lips open for him as he flicks his tongue over your nub, sending you bent over as you scramble for purchase in his hair, his shoulders, anything. “Oh, fuck, Jungkook, right there.”
He notices your struggle to stand upright, and then he’s guiding your leg over his shoulder, toes dangling. He moans into your pussy, a breathy little exhale that sends fire shooting through your veins. Jungkook’s strong arm holds your leg in place over his shoulder. His tongue fucks inside of you shallowly, your eyes rolling backwards. “Tastes so sweet, so fucking heavenly, baby,” he mutters but it barely makes its way into your ears. You can feel his lip rings swiping over your arousal, the cool metal causing your thighs to quake uncontrollably.
And then you’re just babbling profanities, a mantra of his name, curse words. A litany of praise. Some other embarrassing things you hope he never remembers.
“I feel g-guilty. For the way I treated y-you in high school,” you stammer, quivering against his face as he licks another stripe up your slit.
You don’t know why it’s all coming out now, but it is. God, you were such a bitch in high school. Such an egotistical brat who was too caught in her own ways to ever see that there was more to life than social status and cheerleading.
His tongue encircles your clit, one of your hands flying to his hair to tug. “Don’t feel guilty,” he murmurs. “That’s not what I want you to feel right now. I want to make you feel good.”
His tongue travels from your hole to your clit, and normally the rhythm would throw you off, but he’s so skillful about the whole thing that you’re teetering on the brink of an orgasm. And he must know, must be able to read your body like it’s something he spent years studying, because he’s sucking on your clit, letting his tongue flick over it repeatedly, maintaining a rhythm that has you screaming, “Oh fuck, oh shit, I’m gonna—Jungkook, I’m gonna cum.”
That doesn’t deter him the slightest. Spurs him on like he’s entered in some kind of pussy-eating competition. You’ll spend years talking about this experience, you think.
Your fingers tighten in his hair, tangling, tugging, and your entire body vibrates as your orgasm crashes over you in waves. He fucks you through it, keeps going until you’re pushing him away with your toe forcefully. When he finally gives up, he says from between your legs, “Better than Kim Mingyu?”
Maybe you shouldn’t care about high school anymore, but you can’t help but laugh, smile at him. “He never even ate me out, Koo.”
His face softens— whether that’s because of the nickname you adorned him with or the fact that Mingyu was an asshole, you’ll never know—and he’s standing up, pressing a dirty kiss to your lips. It’s messy, sloppy, tongue over teeth, but so undeniably him that you cling to him like a koala. “He’s the biggest idiot of all time to miss out on that.”
“Hmm,” you hum against his lips. They taste just like you, and it sends another gush of arousal pouring out of you. His hands slide down your sides, gripping your waist, your hips, pulling you impossibly closer. You’re drowning in him—his taste, his smell, the way he’s kissing you like he’s been starving for it. You can feel his length poking against your thigh, and your heart skips at just how large it al;ready feels through his jeans.
Your hands roam down his chest, feeling the firm muscle beneath his shirt, tracing lower until your fingers find his belt. You fumble with the buckle, fingers clumsy with desire. Jungkook looks down at your manicured fingers, easily working, speaking to how much experience you have. His cock throbs at the thought.
You’re about to get on your knees, return the favor, but he stops you as soon as you lower an inch.
Jungkook simply says, “The next time I want you to cum, is going to be on my cock.”
Okay, yes sir. He’s all dominating and commanding and it makes your pussy clench around nothing.
His forehead drops against yours, breath punching out of him. “Fuck, I need to be inside you.”
The metal clinks as his pants drop to the floor, his Calvin Klein boxers doing little to hide how big he is. Jungkook kicks them off, eager to remove as many layers as possible. Your mouth salivates, and you’re positive a sliver of drool is slithering out of your mouth. His hands tighten on your hips, bruising the skin.
You kiss him again, but this time, it’s rougher, faster, hand slipping beneath the waistband of his boxers, and he makes a sound between a groan and a whimper that makes you feel powerful. Your hands roam, searching, until—
Holy shit. You gasp into his mouth, feeling his length. He’s big, no doubt about that. But it’s the fucking girth of it that has your mouth watering. He’s thick, and you can feel the veins that decorate his cock.
Jesus Christ. This is what your Chemistry tutor was hiding under his pants. A fucking anaconda.
But you’re not about to admit that.
No shot in hell.
“Mhmm, I feel like you’re kinda small,” you tease, battling your eyelashes at him as you stroke his hardened length dangerously slow.
His nostrils flare. “Yeah? Think I’m small, baby?”
“Tiny.”
Your thumb drags over his tip, and then you feel it. A piece of metal. Jeon Jungkook has a fucking dick piercing.
His eyes set ablaze as he realizes that you know. “Fucking hell, you’re still the same brat you’ve always been.”
Jungkook’s lips collide with yours, and he kicks off his boxers urgently. “Fuck,” he breathes against your mouth. Suddenly his hands are gripping the backs of your thighs, lifting you up like you weigh nothing. You gasp, legs wrapping around his waist as your back hits the wall harder. The new position puts you at eye level with him, head spinning. He reaches down between your bodies to let his cock sit in between your wet folds, ever so teasing.
Your fingernails dig into the nape of his neck, head lolling back against the wall. “Please fuck me, Koo. Wanna feel you inside me.”
“Oh, now you want to beg? After you called me tiny?” He hisses as he swirls the tip over your clit, the cool metal of his piercing sending shockwaves down your spine.
“Please,” you beg. “Pleasepleaseplease.” It’s slurred when it leaves your mouth, breath catching when you look down and see the way the metal reflects off his soaking tip, encased in your juices. “I need it.”
With that, he pushes into you, all inches of his length, squirming in his arms. You scramble to hold onto something, opting for his biceps that are straining with the weight of holding you up. A moan leaves both of your mouths. He waits until you’re fully adjusted, taking every inch of him. “Feels so good, princess. So tight and warm, holy shit.”
“Jungkook,” you pant. You’re so full of him, he’s everywhere. Stopping is the last thing on your mind. You’re a woman made of greed. “You’re so—fuck—big.”
He smiles triumphantly and takes that as his sign to move. He uses his arms to slide you up and down his cock, slamming you onto him, your clit meeting his pubic bone. The piercing drags against your walls with each thrust, hitting the sweet spot inside you that has you screaming a litany of crude words that’ll have your neighbors knocking your door down tomorrow morning. His head falls to the crook of your shoulder, burying himself in your scent.
It’s more than you’ve ever taken, beyond any sex you’ve ever had in your life. You’re going to be ruined for all other men and you haven’t even made it to the bedroom yet. Your past lovers are about to become a footnote. A distant memory. Ancient fucking history.
The sound of your pussy squelching with each rough thrust fills the room, Jungkook’s hairline beading with sweat as he furiously pounds into you, tits bouncing in his face. He begins to babble, “Used to cum so hard thinking about you, baby. You in that—fuck—cheer uniform, with your nipples hard. I wanted to push it to the side and fuck you.”
You moan at the thought. “Yeah, why didn’t you? I would’ve rode your face with your glasses on.”
He presses a sloppy kiss on the side of your mouth. “Bet you would’ve loved that, huh? Deflowering the nerd?”
The mental image flashes through your mind—seventeen-year-old Jungkook, all awkward limbs and nervous stammering, those thick-framed glasses sliding down his nose while you sat on his face in the library after hours. You would’ve been so mean about it too. Would’ve made him beg, would’ve had him so desperate and eager to please that he would’ve done anything you asked. Would’ve probably given him the best night of his teenage life and then ignored him in the hallway the next day because you were dating Mingyu and had a reputation to maintain.
“I would’ve made you cum—ahh, shit—so hard.” You try your hardest to maintain eye contact, but everytime you do, your walls flutter around his cock. “You would’ve been obsessed.”
“I was already obsessed,” he groans, nipping at your jaw. His balls slap against your ass, adding to the horrific amount of sounds eliciting from your apartment. “It couldn’t have gotten much worse.”
He has a very fair point.
You thread your fingers through his hair, already on the brink of another orgasm. Everything about him—his scent, the way his tattoos glisten with sweat, how his bottom lip is tugged underneath his front teeth—sends your mind into delirium. He’s fucking you with enough force to have your head bouncing off the wall every few thrusts, that you feel it resound along your bones.
“Fuck, I don’t wanna cum yet,” he whimpers into your skin. “But god, I don’t think I’ll be able to last.”
Neither will you, but an idea sparks in your pretty little head. You crook a finger under his jaw, making him look at you. His expression is completely fucked out, lips swollen, cheeks ruddy. His thrusts slow, enough so that he can pay attention to your words. “I want to get on top. Let me fuck you, Jungkook.”
He nods, and then he’s readjusting you in his arms, with you clinging to him like a newborn baby. You giggle as he frantically tries to find your bedroom, pausing every few moments to press a few kisses to your cheeks and lips.
Finally, he locates your room, plopping you down on the bed, and you moan at the sudden emptiness you feel with his cock gone. He tosses his t-shirt over his head.
Jungkook sits up against the headboard, gently stroking his length as he watches you move to bracket his thighs, settling over his tip. “Ready for me, princess?”
Eagerly, you shake your head in approval, and you sink down inch by inch onto his length. For some reason, in this position, it feels like he’s stretching you out more, your walls sucking him in greedily. Your hands come to rest on his beefy chest, nails digging into the skin.
There’s not many things you're good at, but one thing you are insanely talented at? Riding cock like it’s your god given right. Your hips undulate wildly, bouncing up and down to accommodate his full length. Jungkook watches in awe, in a trance, as you cream his cock. His hands come to sit at your hips, guiding you the best he can. His head rests against the headboard, lazily watching as you play with your tits. “Ride my cock,” he groans, “just like that, princess.”
“You stretch me out so good, Jungkook,” you moan, thighs trembling with each movement. He can feel you getting closer to the edge, already riled up from the previous position. Your walls clench around him, sucking him in. His thumb falls to your clit again, finding it so easily after so many rounds. “Right there, baby,” you chant, eyes closed. “Right fucking there.”
“Jesus, I'm so close,” he grunts, beginning to thrust upwards into you as your own pace slows. The sounds are beyond obscene—his cock plunging into your wetness, headboard slamming against the wall. You don’t care about any of it, not one bit, as long he keeps fucking into you.
It was always obvious from the moment he kissed you at the club that neither of you were going to last long, anyway.
“Fuck, I’m cumming,” you practically scream, which would have you embarrassed, but he seems just as ruined as you.
Your orgasm washes over you, legs shaking as your mouth tears open around a sound that might be his name, might be something else entirely. Your walls flutter around him, and Jungkook can’t help himself anymore. “Fuck, baby, I’m gonna cum too. Can I—fuck—can I cum inside?”
You nod like a broken bobblehead. Thank god for modern medicine.
He empties into you, bruising your hips with his hold. He’s so attractive when he finishes that you almost orgasm again from the sight. His bare chest heaves, a slight sheen of sweat layered on the skin.
For a few moments, you two catch your breath, letting his cock soften entirely inside you. He looks worn, eyes drooping.
But after an eternity, you finally roll off him. You’re not sure what you were expecting in terms of aftercare, but your heart flutters when he lazily wraps his arms around you, tugging you into his side to rest your cheek on his chest. It’s comforting, with his hands playing with your hair, his own heart thumping along in his chest. Reminding you that you’re here with him, and this is real.
Silence has never been so peaceful.
You think you’ll fall asleep like this, but then he says, “I want to see you again.”
Your heart softens around the edges, at the notion that he believes you’ll never speak to him again after this. You can’t blame him for it. It’s exactly what high school you would’ve done.
But you’re not 17 anymore, and you deserve all the good he has to offer you. No more silly little games.
“I would really like that,” you whisper back.
He presses a kiss to the top of your head. “Mind checking your calendar for me?”
You grin like a lovesick idiot. “Yup. Checking right now. And it looks like I’m free this whole week.”
“Thursday, then. Dinner at 7,” he confirms. “You’re not going to, like, make me beg for a real answer this time, are you?”
Giggling, you respond, “Maybe I should check that calendar again…”
He sits up, pouting. “Don’t. Don’t you dare,” he warns, and then his hands are moving to tickle your sides.
You squeal, squirming away, but he just pulls you back against him. The laughs that escape you are so full of sunshine that you hardly recognize them. You’ve been living under a fog for so long that when it lifted, you forgot how bright life could be.
“Okay, okay!” you gasp, and his fingers still. “Thursday. 7 o’clock.”
“There we go.” He kisses your forehead. “Was that so hard?”
“Hardest thing I’ve ever done,” you say dramatically, resuming your post, nestled into his side.
“Liar.” His fingers resume playing with your hair. “You like me.”
You feel like a kid in kindergarten, caught passing a note in class with “do you like me? check yes or no” scrawled in messy handwriting. Like you’re on the playground at recess, heart racing because your crush smiled at you across the monkey bars. But it’s got you just as giddy. “I guess I do.”
Jungkook reaches over to pull the blanket over you two. “So what happens now?” you wonder aloud. It’s an innocent question, but somehow loaded with more intent than you realize.
“Now?” he yawns. “Now you let me stay the night. Then tomorrow I’m gonna make you the most fire breakfast of all time. Then Thursday, I’ll take you to the best dinner of your life. And then—”
“There’s more?” Your eyes widen in sarcasm.
“And then I keep taking you out until you realize you’re in love with me too.”
Your heartbeat is quick but steady in your chest. “Pretty confident about that, hm?”
“Extremely so.” Jungkook yawns again, voice getting drowsy. “I’ve got years of romcom knowledge. I’ve read those Tumblr fanfics. You don’t stand a chance.”
He’s probably right. You don’t stand a chance. In fact, you didn’t from the moment he stood in front of you at that cafe.
Before you close your eyes and float off into sleep, you mumble out, “God, when did you get so hot?”
i am terrible at uploading, and lately theres been nothing to read (well for me) so heres a list of my 10/10 fics that can keep you occupied
s: smut / f: fluff / a: angst
ONE SHOTS - JEON JUNGKOOK
The Love Bug by @jungkxook (spiderman!jjk x reader) (s, f, a)
summary: every night, jungkook puts on the red mask and flings himself confidently into perilous danger; but that same heart of steel that fuels his will and spirit seems to fail him whenever it comes to you
What if I love you too much? by @taleasnewastime (neighbour!jungkook x single mum! reader) (s, f, a)
Summary: Jungkook. It’s only a name you learn after your son kicks his ball over the fence. Before that you only knew him as the hot new neighbour who mows his lawn topless. And though you have no intention of getting to know him anymore than that, inevitably you do. You don’t necessarily fall, it’s too slow for that, but you definitely develop feelings you don’t intend to feel. Because you know men like him, and you know that whatever you’re feeling, he’s probably not feeling the same. All the same, however hard you try, you can’t help yourself.
Movie goers (additional drabble 20/20) by @missenu (s, f, a) (neighbour!jungkook)
Summary: starting off on the wrong foot with your new neighbor was not on the top of your bucket list, yet you’ve made an enemy of jeon jungkook in less than 24 hours. unlucky for you, he’s not backing down either.
Under the mistletoe by @dreamersparacosm (s, f, a)
Summary: Every Christmas, since you were six years old, Jeon Jungkook gave you a kiss under the mistletoe. But when you were fifteen, you were replaced by a revolving door of girlfriends. Thus began your decade-long aversion to the holiday—this year, however, you’ve been tasked with hosting the annual Christmas soirée, and there’s no telling what might be waiting for you under the mistletoe this time around.
Why are you on tinder? by @jeonette (f, a)
Summary: in which you decide to pull what you think is a harmless prank on your boyfriend by telling him you found his friend on tinder, only for things to go painfully wrong.
Strictly platonic by @jeonqkooks (s, f, a)
Summary: Sometimes, Jungkook can be a little selfish; and sometimes, the lengths you would go to for his happiness mean relinquishing your own.
Handyman by @pjminii (s, f)
Summary: your new neighbor is just numbingly cute, but it’s hard getting his attention. so when you find out he’s handy, you decide to sabotage every single item in your home, trying to lure him in.
The pink pill by @dollfaceksj (s)
Summary: In each of these universes, you find yourself consuming what is known as the pink pill. This pill is essentially a drug that enhances your libido to the max and you’ll quite literally never experience arousal like you do when you’ve taken this pill. Thankfully, in each universe, there’s a man that’s ready to help you explore and reach your peak of sexual euphoria.
Will it fit? by @jeonsweetpea (roomate!jjk x reader) (s, f)
Summary: so what if your roommate caught you masturbating? At least he forgot about it the next day. But he can’t exactly forget the big dildo you left in your shared bathroom…
Trends (extras) by @kookochan (s, f)
Summary: you try some trends and pranks on your lovely boyfriend, but he loves you so much that he can't be mad at you.
Not so casual by @voyter (roomate!jungkook x reader) (s, f)
Summary: with one bathroom in the apartment and jungkook’s strict streaming schedule, he’s left with no choice but to join you in the shower.
Current boyfriend by @girlygguk (s, f)
Summary: the one where you're the ultimate little prankster and your boyfriend doesn't find you very funny
Pavloved by @httpknjoon (f)
Summary: When you accidentally conditioned your friend, Jungkook, through your favorite coffee candy.
PAWS & POUTS by @gukcnt (f)
Summary: in which jungkook gets you the kitty you've always wanted — only to realize he may not be your number one anymore.
00.01% chance by @ctrlhope (hybrid!jungkook x reader) (s)
Summary: His heat is telling him he needs to go deeper. That he needs to do more. That he needs to breed.
Apologise first by @cupidsbling (s, f, a)
Summary: You and your boyfriend have a little argument, so he suggests something filthy and demented to decide who has to apologise first
First date with Jungkook by @kjhmyg (f)
Summary: this one didn't have a summary lol but its basically him screwing up and being a wreck on your first date (it's adorable)
A drunk jungkook is a sweet jungkook by @junqive (f)
Summary: he's really damn stupid it's cute
My lucky star by @jiminsafairy (s, f) (hyrid!jungkook)
summary: when your best friend appears at your door begging for help, who are you to deny it?
SERIES
Rough Edges by @kjhmyg (s, f, a) (THIS IS MY PERSONAL FAV)
Summary: when you uncover your boyfriend's private life, a deep dive into it sucks you in as you try to help save him from himself.
Swinging by a fine line by @hongcherry (spiderman!jungook) (s, f)
Summary: Spider-Man’s role was easy: save everyone, fight the criminals, don’t drop out of school, don’t expose his identity, and make time for his girlfriend. What was so difficult?
Mutual Help by @personasintro (s, f, a)
Summary: in order for you to pretend to be his girlfriend, he helps with you sexual desires⏤he calls it mutual help.
Assistant Jungkook by @starlight-deepestnight (f, a) (smau)
Summary: Jungkook is your assistant, everyone knows he's in love with you. Jungkook knows he's in love with you. Sadly your lack of awareness and awkward nature come in between you.
BBY DADDY SERIES by @muniimyg (s, f, a) (smau + text)
Summary: co-parents that fuck
BOUND BY VOWS by @gukcnt (s, f, a) (arranged marriage)
Summary: your world crumbles when you're forced into a marriage with jeon jungkook, a man whose commanding presence terrifies you, reminding you of your father's cruelty. yet beneath his coldness, jungkook’s unexpected kindness stirs a spark of hope, making you question everything you fear. your life together starts—an emotional journey of two hearts seeking comfort, healing and a chance at love
Lost cause? by @kooksbunnnn (a) (second chance)
Summary: You always wondered, how would your life turn out to be if you and Jungkook had a baby? So, when you finally conceive and decide to tell your husband, that you are pregnant, you didn't expect him to drop this bomb on you. You never would've thought that the surprise you planned would end up in agonized tears because of the shock your husband brings you.
No warranty by @dreamersparacosm (s, f) (blue collar!jungkook)
Summary: Namhae Valley was supposed to be your definition of a “break,” a vacation from all the stress you’ve endured at work. What you didn’t plan for? A broken-down car and a grease-stained, smug mechanic who comes with it.
JUST THIS ONCE by @ggukivrse (s, f, a)
Summary: when you complain to jungkook about your lack of action in the past year, you're not really asking for a solution. but when he casually offers to help, you just can't seem to bring yourself to say no.
Worst behaviour by @luvismenu (s, f) (smau + text)
summary: everyone knows you as the good girl / nerd. except you’re so fucking tired of that image. (and you’re also very… horny.) so when you decide to be bold and finally go after hoseok — things don’t really go as planned. instead, you end up tangled in a fake relationship with his best friend / campus favorite fuckboy ; jeon jungkook
SMOKE SRITE by @inthelow (s)
Summary: you and Jungkook aren’t that close, you were supposedly be dating his best friend… then why is he about to fuck you in the back of his car?.
CHERRY WAVES by @jkin3d (f, a)
Summary: you find out what happens when you get paired with the town reject in a chemistry project… spoiler, he’s not the ‘devil reincarnate’.
Universial truths / (toxic ver.) by @wintrbears (s, f, a)
Summary: You took the risk of falling in love in a world where your perfect match is decided for you by the universe itself. When a name you never could've predicted appears on your wrist, you struggle to resist the intense connection between you and your soulmate.
Internet girl by @jeonette (s)
Summary: in which you move into a new apartment, only to find yourself at war with the neighbour next door. he’s insufferably arrogant as he is handsome. but between settling in and dealing with the jerk next door, what happens if you find out that the jerk next door is the guy you’ve been sexting online?
How to get a guy by @taeshobipop (s, f, a)
Summary: Star basketball player Jeon Jungkook has a reputation as the ultimate fuckboi. He’s loved by everyone. Everyone. And you would have followed suit if he had not broken all your strict Roommate Rules™ within the first week of his stay. Jungkook, on the other hand, thinks you’re absolutely bizarre. But there’s a silver lining — Mr. Fuckboi here knows basketball captain Min Yoongi, your dreadfully clueless crush. He strikes up a deal with you: he’ll teach you the ways of flirting if you lessen your load of rules (so Jungkook can continue perusing his way through the ladies on campus). Yet the longer Jungkook spends with you, the more he realizes that maybe he doesn’t want to be the campus fuckboi anymore. The problem is, how does he prove that to you?
ONE SHOTS - KIM TAEHYUNG
Runner by @vsthv (s, f)
Summary: after a rough break up with the immature man that you thought loved you but ended up cheating on you, you turned to running. it became your coping mechanism. it helped you physically and mentally. you’ve never really noticed the man that would occasionally pass you, jogging every day. until one day, when he asked you to take a picture of him in front of the sunset.
Your messy hair by @vsthv (s, f, a) (blue collar!taehyung)
Summary: you love your boyfriend’s messy hair. you love him. for who he is, and for how hardworking he is.
Hades paints by @vantaenims (f)
Summary: All it took is an off key violin version of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star for you to possibly grow more hatred for your blue haired neighbor but what if your favorite Instagram Painter happens to be that same person.
Exchanging Heat by @jinfizz (s, f)
Summary: When your roommate drops out right before the end of the semester and leaves you high and dry for next month’s rent, you’re forced to turn to craigslist to find an absolute stranger to save you from financial ruin. The shy Korean exchange student you find to replace her seems nice enough despite the language barrier, but what will happen when the heat cuts off one fateful evening, and you’re forced to turn to each other for warmth?
Juicy by @milk-moonbunnies (s, f)
Summary (req): taehyung coming home in the morning to devour MC after a drunk night out with the other members who FaceTimed her to show a drunk Tae crying cause he couldn't eat her pussy
Tripping on skies, sipping waterfalls by @bangtae-sohotddaeng (s, f, a)
Summary: One drink too many at Hoseok’s Halloween party, and you’ve blanked out on the entire night that followed. Now, who’s gonna fill you in when Taehyung looks one second away from breaking into tears when you bring it up with him? From running across the university campus in remnants of your vampire outfit, to dealing with your downtrodden boyfriend’s disappointed stares - you’re left with one hell of a day, and zero recollections.
The Good Boy Diaries by @borathae (s, f)
Summary: When Taehyung realises that you call him Good Boy whenever he is being helpful, he can’t stop himself from being extra productive in the household.
SERIES
Starry night by @kooppss (s, f, a)
Summary: Taehyung was your high school crush. Fuck that—he was everyone’s high school crush. But that was twelve years ago. What does it matter that he’s now a fellow director at your company? It’s not like you have anything to do with him. He probably doesn’t even remember you… does he?
Love at firsk oink by @glodenclosetau (f) (smau + text)
Summary: when taehyung finds himself having to hide his brand new pet from his housemates, he turns to his trusty neighbour to help him keep his cover.
ONE SHOTS - KIM NAMJOON
Placebo Effect by @joons-cinnamon-bun (s, f)
Summary: Namjoon knows you’re a stubborn human being. (Birds of a feather, and all that.) He’s been with you long enough to know exactly what that looks like—whether you’re fighting for him, against him, or just for the sake of it. (Which, if he’s being honest, might be his favorite.)So when you insist that the so-called aphrodisiac pills are nothing but placebo, he doesn’t really argue. He just gives you little push...Now, that’s not to say he expected you to overdose on them just to prove a point! But you do. Because that’s the kind of person he goes for, apparently. What follows is...messy. Hot. Deasperate. Hilarious. (But only after he makes sure you aren’t going to go into cardiac arrest)
HOW WAS YOUR DAY? by @kooksbunnnn (s)
Summary: Just namjoon fingering you in his studio as he asks you about your day.
ONE SHOTS - KIM SEOKJIN
Like this? by @jeongi (s)
Summary: your neighbour, seokjin, teaches you exactly how he likes to be touched.
OT7 FICS
Don't want your sympathy by @sketchguk (s, f) (jungkook x reader x namjoon)
Summary: jeongguk is like an annoying little brother to you, but nevertheless, there’s nothing in this world you wouldn’t do for your sweet, innocent best friend. so what are you supposed to do when he wants to watch your boyfriend fuck you senseless? say no?
PINNED BETWEEN THEM by @gukcnt (s) (jungkook x reader x taehyung)
Summary: what was supposed to be a study night turns into a dangerous game of dominance and desire when jungkook and taehyung trap you between them in the back of their car.
a/n: credits go to all these amazing authors who i love to read. unfortunately for some reason tumblr wasn't letting me tag some of them but I've done my best. I hope you all enjoy these as much as I did. also im a freak i like smut
title: house party
pairing: 3tan!yoongi x reader(f)
series: masterlist | three tangerines | fireworks
rating/genre: pg ; angst ; brother’s best friend au, implied age gap au
summary: what happens at a house party. and what happens afterwards.
warnings: pov switch (just one), house party, pining, alcohol consumption, cursing, timeskips, angst, i am so sorry but yeah there’s angst again, stress, min yoongi…, a brief brother appearance??, the ending :))
note: and we are onto the next part! i… already apologize for what’s in here but don’t hate me too too much until you read it all ok thanks :) huge thanks to @joheunsaram @kookskingdom and @sugasbabiie for being super last minute angel betas!!
note 2: if you haven’t gotten around to the other three tangerines fics yet, i highly encourage you to read those first. it would make more sense!
drop date: january 16th, 2022, 7:17pm est
word count: 10k !!
Summary: Laundry day means you have no clean clothes to wear. Lucky for you, your husband has an entire closet full of clothes. So what happens when he comes home to find you wearing one of his tee-shirts with nothing else on? He fucks you against the washing machine of course
Word Count: 3K
Rating: 18+ Minors Do Not Interact!
Tags: porn with no plot, shameless smut, soft dom Namjoon, dirty talk, swearing, size kink, big body Namjoon, Kim Namjoon has a big dick, fingering, pussy eating, male and female orgasms, fucking raw (wear protection!) this is just filthy sex idk what else to say
Authors Note: So in my part of the world the weather is getting HOT. Last night I was doing laundry in just a tee-shirt which inspired this. Guys I'm just down so bad for big body Namjoon.
Thanks for reading Likes and Reblogs are appreciated
Also don't be scared to talk about it in the tags!
The thing about life is that sometimes you are so busy living it, other things get left behind.
With the heat of summer in full swing, your responsibilities have taken a back seat in favour of bonfires, beach days, and many nights spent drinking on a patio under the stars.
So it's unsurprising when you wake up on a random Tuesday with almost no clothes in your closet and a dejected laundry basket nearly overflowing.
You let out a sigh and swing your legs out of bed, watching as the rays of midday sun create lines on your wood floors.
You strip out of your pyjamas in favour of one of Namjoon’s old shirts while you drag the laundry basket across the floor.
You put the first load in, humming under your breath as you do so, and you get to work tidying up the rest of the house.
The sky is a bright blue with wispy clouds, and you’d love nothing more than to throw open the windows, but heat warnings had been plaguing the city for the last week, and you figured staying inside was the best option.
Grabbing your cleaning supplies, you moved from room to room, dusting and tidying as you went, picking up objects and making sure they went back where they belonged, all the while you padded around on bare feet with Namjoon’s extra-large shirt hanging off your frame.
Once the washer beeped, you rested your broom against a wall and padded over to the laundry room.
You flicked on the light and opened the washer door as you shook out the clothes before putting them in the dryer.
Just as you got to the bottom of the drum, you heard the front door open.
“Hey Joonie!” You called out as you stood up on your tiptoes to stick your head in the washer to get those pesky socks that seemed to stick to the bottom.
That was how Namjoon found you.
Hair wild, face half buried in the washer, miles of skin on display as his shirt provided a lewd sort of dress that kept revealing more of you to his hungry eyes as you reached deeper.
Namjoon swallowed hard as your calf muscles flexed, pushing you deeper into the washer and making his shirt ride up even higher on your body.
Namjoon couldn’t look away.
The shirt rode up enough where he could just start to see the swell of your ass as you extended your arm, hiking the material up and making his cock stir in his pants.
You were a vision.
You were enticing.
Namjoon felt all the blood leave his brain as he watched you work.
He dropped his bag and cleared his throat, finally snagging your attention.
“Hey, baby!” You said, happily holding some socks as you threw them in the dryer and closed the door.
He once again swallowed hard as his shirt skimmed your upper thighs, and seeing you wearing his clothes and nothing else turned him on in a way that all the logic left his brain.
“What are you w-wearing?” He choked out as his eyes roved from your pert nipples to your stomach and finally settled on the apex of your thighs.
You crossed one leg over the other almost bashfully, and Namjoon nearly growled.
He didn’t want you to be shy around him.
“I…sorry, Joonie, I’ve been meaning to do laundry, and I guess it got away from me. I borrowed one of your shirts,” You said, pulling at the hem as Namjoon stalks towards you, eyes flashing and teeth biting into his plush lower lip.
“Don’t you dare hide from me.” He demands, as he grabs your hands and pulls them so they are no longer tugging on the hem of his shirt.
“I just-I didn’t have any clean shorts and your pants would never fit, so I…” Your voice trailed off as you stood there.
Eyes wide.
Innocent.
As if you didn’t do this on purpose to drive him crazy.
And maybe you didn’t
But at this point, Namjoon didn’t give a fuck.
“I come home from a long day, and here you are, doing laundry, wearing my clothes that hardly cover your ass. Fuck... you drive me wild.” He nearly moans as his hands grab your hips and roughly shoves you into the washer.
You wince as the cold metal comes in contact with your back, and Namjoon grins as he cages you in.
His tall frame towers over you, and you can’t help but feel small under the heat of his heated stare.
You can’t help the groan that slips out when he places both hands on either side of your body.
He doesn’t say a word; instead, he presses his front into yours and lets you feel how turned on he is, which makes your head swim as you struggle to process what is happening.
One minute you are reaching the bottom of the washer to grab stray socks, and the next you are caged in by your impossibly hot husband as he stares at you like he wants to swallow you whole.
“Up on the washer.”
His voice is rough and makes you shiver as his lips tease the shell of your ear, causing you to buck your hips into his aching length.
“I-uh? What?” You stammer.
“I said. Up on the washer. Now. Or I’ll throw you up there myself.” He growls as you scramble to do as he says, and you wince as the cold metal of the washer comes in contact with your bare thighs.
“Fuck. You’re a vision.” He complements, as his hand adjusts his glasses before finding a resting spot on your bare thighs, and he takes his sweet time spreading you open for him.
“And nothing underneath? No underwear? No thong? My little minx you wanted me to come home to this, didn’t you?” He purrs as his thumbs run up and down your legs, and you can feel arousal pool in your stomach as you try not to fidget under his searing gaze.
“I-I didn’t. I don’t know.” You manage to respond, as with each swipe of his thumb along your skin, he gets higher and closer to where you are dripping for him.
He ducks down to nibble at your jaw, and you tilt your head back to give him access as you part your legs, allowing his large frame to fit perfectly between them.
His cock is jutting out from the thin material of his shorts, and you shamelessly grind against it as Namjoon sucks on the sensitive skin under your ear.
“My perfect girl. Bet you’re already dripping for me, huh?” He coos as his hands come to the hem of the shirt and he hikes it higher so your lower half is completely bare, and his extra-large shirt pools around your hips.
You are squirming at this point as you feel your pussy aching to be filled with his long, thick cock.
Namjoon finally parts your legs wide and uses his pointer finger to drag up your wet folds, causing you to arch your back and a broken moan to leave your lips.
“Soaked. Fucking knew it.” He chuckled darkly as one finger began to draw slow, teasing circles on your clit as if he had all the time in the world.
You cry out his name and use your legs that are wrapped around his waist to try and pull him closer.
Namjoon’s having none of that as he delivers a light smack to your upper thigh, causing you to gasp.
“I come home and see you dressed like this? You’re not in control here, pretty girl. I am.”
His eyes are narrowed, his cheeks are red with excitement, and you can do nothing but nod as he takes his time gathering your wetness and rubbing slow circles against your clit.
The air is punched from your lungs when he slowly circles your opening and slips a finger inside with ease.
“There’s my girl. Open up for me now. I have to get you prepped for my cock.” He praises as his eyebrows furrow in concentration.
He works the digit in and out of your body, curling it just right and soaking in your moans and whines as he brings you close to the edge with each push of his finger inside your heat.
Namjoon slips another finger in, and you feel yourself clench down on the digits.
He uses his other hand to rub up and down your thighs before he coats the fingers that aren’t buried inside you in your arousal, before once again circling your clit.
This time, there is no soft teasing; he gives you tight, fast circles that make you see stars, and you bow forward, gripping onto his broad shoulders as you bury your face into his neck and cry out his name.
“Take it. Take it like a good girl and cum on my fingers. You want to walk around wearing only my clothes, then take it.” He growls as the callouses of his fingerprints drag against your front wall.
Namjoon’s fingers pound into you, the circles on your clit are only getting faster and more brutal, and with a whine, you lose it as you cum hard.
The wail you let out is borderline banshee as you ride out your high, grinding your hips down to meet his fingers and letting your body light up from the inside out as Namjoon works you through the shockwaves of your orgasm.
Once you come to, your head is fuzzy, and your eyes open in time to see Namjoon slip his fingers out and hold them up to you.
They are stained with strings of milky wetness, and you swallow hard when Namjoon grins devilishly before popping his digits into his mouth to clean them.
“H-holy shit.” You groan as you watch his eyes flutter closed at your taste.
Namjoon laps them up eagerly, and when his eyes finally open again, his pupils are blown wide with need.
“I can’t. I need to…fuck.” He groans as he kneels down and forcibly pulls your legs apart, making you gasp.
“Joon I just. I need a minute…I-” You cry out.
He rips off his glasses and throws them on a pile of discarded towels as he feverishly kisses your thighs before burying his face in your warm, wet heat without any warning.
You moan and writhe, but Namjoon’s hands come to hold you down as he ravishes you.
The heat of his tongue against your sensitive folds makes your eyes roll back as you dig your hands into the sides of the washer, trying to hold yourself steady.
Namjoon’s skilled tongue dances across your folds as his nose bumps and grinds against your clit in a way that makes your legs shake and your heart race under his shirt.
Every time you squirm from the overstimulation, his nails dig into your thighs harder, holding you in place.
You are powerless to stop him as you arch your back and feel him groan against your pussy.
He’s carnal in the way he eats you out. His back muscles ripple under his shirt as he holds your legs as wide as they will possibly go to give him more access to the wetness smeared between your thighs.
Your high is building fast, and you struggle against him as it’s on the cusp of being too much.
Namjoon uses those soft plush lips of his to suckle your clit, and one of your hands leaves the washer in favour of tangling into his soft hair.
You look down in time to see his sharp gaze piercing yours as his eyes are blown wide with lust, and you lose it and orgasm hard against his face.
Waves of pleasure wash over you, and you can’t even scream as you screw your eyes shut and ride out your high, grinding your pussy against his face as he laps it all up.
It seems to take forever for you to come down, and when you do, you are struggling to catch your breath as Namjoon stands up and wipes his face with the hem of his shirt.
“Namjoon I…seriously, what the hell was that?!” You croak as you fan your face with your hand and watch as he pulls his shirt over his head.
“Jesus Christ.” You groan as you eye his strong chest and taut stomach with the happy trail leading down to where his cock is pulsing against the material of his shorts.
“Me? Look at you? I come home to see you wearing that, and you expect me to be a gentleman?” He teases as his hand strokes his cock through his pants.
“I- I don’t know.” You half laugh, feeling delirious from both orgasms so close together.
“I need to be inside you now. Holy shit.” He whines, as he swiftly pulls his pants and boxers down in one go and steps out of them so he is gloriously naked.
His chest is slightly flushed red, and his cock is standing hard and wet as he gives himself a couple of strokes.
“Now?! We can’t go to the bedroom?” You ask in disbelief as he kicks his clothing to the side and once again parts your legs so he can stand between them.
“Can’t wait. Need you now. Nearly blew my load when you came on my face. You’re so sexy, holy fuck.” He admits as he softly squeezes his length before positioning it at your entrance.
He teases his bulbous cockhead against your soaked folds, drenching the head of his cock in your orgasm.
He stares at you for silent permission, and you nod before he slides himself in.
No matter how much Namjoon preps you, the first breach is always painful as his cock is long and impossibly thick.
He slowly inches himself in until he is completely sheathed, and you scootch yourself so you are right on the edge, giving him more room to thrust inside of you.
“Fuck, even after two orgasms, you’re tight. Open up for me, baby. Come on now.” He grits out as he buries his face in your shoulder, and you stroke his hair.
“You’re just too big, Joonie. My big boy who can only think with his big cock.” You praise as you feel him twitch deep inside, and he groans against you.
Namjoon slowly thrusts his hips, and when you moan, he takes it as a good sign and drags your body so you are balancing precariously on the edge as he pounds into you with force.
With every thrust, his cock drags against your sensitive walls, and he fills you in a way that has broken moans spilling from your mouth as you take what he has to give.
Your slick is smeared between your thighs as Namjoon towers over you and pounds into you with low grunts spilling from his lips.
Namjoon fucks like an animal, with his fingers digging into the meat of your thighs as he takes you right there on the washing machine in the middle of the afternoon.
Sweat is dripping from his brow, and he keeps closing his eyes and grinding his teeth as his cock drills into you, making you nearly vibrate on top of the washing machine.
“Fuck you feel so good.” He grits out.
You are a mess as he works his cock into you, and your hands leave the washer to hold onto his shoulders for support as you cry out his name.
In a desperate attempt to get his big cock deeper you curl your legs around his middle and lock him in place as he smirks knowingly.
“Knew you liked it when I’m buried deep inside you. My baby is such a slut for big cock.”
You cry out at his words and nearly bite down on his shoulder to keep from screaming.
His arms flex to hold him up, bicep muscles straining as you grind down to meet his messy thrusts, trying to push yourself as close as possible to his big body.
He begins to pepper hot kisses to your skin as the pleasure builds to a peak, and you feel your body begin to seize up as another orgasm is on the horizon.
The only sounds are grunts and moans as Namjoon pulls all the way out to make you cry, then shoves his cock back in with force.
Your arousal is smeared between your legs and on his stomach, and Namjoon looks down in time to see it dripping off his cock, which makes him grunt out your name.
“Right there. Fuck Joon. Don’t stop.” You beg as your sharp fingernails dig into his shoulders.
Namjoon can feel you getting close, so he uses one hand to dip down between your thighs to rub at your oversensitive clit.
You nearly bend yourself in half and cry out his name as he touches you in the way that makes you see stars.
“Joon. Gonna-”
“I know baby me too.”
With one final wail of his name, your pussy clamps down, and you spasm as you cum hard around him.
Spots dance in your vision, and your entire body tingles as you feel Namjoon’s hips start to falter and he fills you up with shot after shot of his warm cum.
He’s saying something.
You’re almost sure of it.
But you can’t make out what it was over the blood pounding in your ears as you slump forward against his chest.
Your body feels wobbly as he pulls his spent cock from you, and you let out a wince when you feel the mess between your thighs.
“I…don’t even have words for that holy shit Namjoon.” You sigh as you nearly slip from the top of the washer, but his strong arms are there to catch you.
“Yeah. Me too.” He says as he presses a soft kiss to your head before scooping you up and carrying you bridal style to the bathroom to get cleaned up.
“You’re an animal, you know that?” You tease as you snuggle your face into his chest.
y/n seems to have everyone wrapped around her finger and to be quite frank, namjoon's unimpressed
➺ pairing; professor!namjoon x y/n
➺ genre; mostly sfw with a little something something at the end!! namjoon is a philosophy professor who suddenly has to share his precious lecture hall newbie professor y/n!! we all know i am a big fan of enemies to lovers/opposites attract and i love it even more when both of them are total nerds!! y/n’s approach to philosophy is so ridiculous and namjoon can’t stand her!! namjoon is so stuffy and y/n can’t stand him!! god damnit just kiss already!!
➺ wordcount; 7.2k
➺ summary; you’re the newest professor joining the university, and all of a sudden, it feels like namjoon actually has someone to compete with for the first time.
➺ what to expect; “Also, please stick to black, blue, and red ink for future note-taking and grading purposes. Pastel purple is not an appropriate colour for a higher education atmosphere. Thank you.”
➺ currently playing on cee.fm; what is this feeling? — wicked soundtrack
»»————- 📚 ————-««
namjoon isn’t a fan of change.
he’s always liked things in a particular way — he only likes notebooks with a seamless, perfect binding for the spines, he only likes ballpoint pens and never gel, he only uses traditional coloured highlighters and none of that strange, pastel-coloured junk, and he only likes to use a sandalwood scented essential oil diffuser in his apartment and his lecture hall
most of his life has been planned out (he planned out how the next twenty years of his life would go when he was ten, and according to this twenty-year plan, he’s pretty on track) and he likes it that way, so yes, he isn’t a big fan of change when it comes to such an important timeline like this
he’s currently a professor at the university he got his phd from, and because part of his twenty-year plan included going from his bachelor’s degree to his master’s degree to his doctoral degree, it means that he’s actually the youngest professor on the staff’s roster (which, again, was part of his plan all along)
he’s been teaching here for nearly two years now and has built a very solid reputation with his co-workers, he’s the school’s most sought-after professor when it comes to his philosophy classes — he teaches three undergrad classes and two graduate classes and every semester they’re always packed and students will always email him to try and get into the class when the capacity is full — and he’s pretty sure he’s getting a raise soon, which is great because he’s been meaning to splurge on a new electric tea kettle that lets you control the temperature and sings a little song when the water’s done boiling
“alright, let’s bring today’s discussion to a close.” namjoon shakes his wrist, checking the time on his watch before nodding to himself — the lecture ends in five minutes, so he’s wrapping up right on time and he’ll be able to grab a coffee and a croissant before his office hours start, “what we’ve explored today is really just a glimpse into the vast and ongoing conversation about how to engage critically with your existence.” he hums, leaning back against his desk as he looks out at the sea of students in front of him, the sound of pen tips scratching on paper and typing on keyboards coming from all over the room
“after you leave class today, i’d like for you to reflect on the choices you make — not just the big, life-altering ones, but the miniscule, everyday decisions.” he reaches up to adjust his glasses on the bridge of his nose, “are they leading you toward a life of purpose and integrity? or are they dictated by external pressures and unexamined habits? we’ll continue this discussion next time, but until then, i’d like you to keep questioning, keep thinking, and keep living philosophically. as always, i have office hours here from 3:30-6 if you have any questions. class dismissed.” he nods, and almost immediately the class breaks into packing up, murmurs rippling through the vast lecture hall
namjoon smiles lightly to himself as he gives himself a mental pat on the back
yet another successful lecture!
he really does love teaching, and he’s so grateful that he’s able to do something that he actually likes for work
shaping young minds is something that he’s always wanted to do, and he thinks he’s been doing a pretty good job as a professor
…
oh, who is he kidding? of course he’s been doing a fantastic job as a professor!
he smiles politely as his students trickle out the door, turning around to grab his wallet out of his backpack
croissant time!
»»————- 📚 ————-««
“hello, are you here for office hours?” namjoon isn’t surprised when he opens the door to see someone standing by his desk, looking around the empty lecture hall, “it actually starts at 3:30, so it would be great if you could come back in fifteen minutes and i’d be happy to answer any questions you have about the lecture.”
“oh, hi!“ you spin around with a smile, and namjoon returns a polite one as he sets his coffee and pastry bag down on the desk, “no, i’m not here for office hours, i’m here to check out the lecture hall for when i start teaching alongside you next week. you’re namjoon, right? i’ve heard so much about you, i’m y/n y/l/n and i’m really excited to start working together-“ you stick your hand out for him to shake and he immediately frowns, glancing down at your hand before looking back up at you with a scoff of disbelief
“teaching… alongside me?” he tilts his head, reaching over to give your hand a shake after a moment of hesitation (it would be rude of him to turn down a handshake, and he has to admit you have a nice, firm handshake), “i’m sorry, what are you talking about?”
“didn’t you get the email? i’m the newest philosophy professor joining the staff-“ you slide your tote bag off your shoulder and pull your phone out, “they told me i’d kinda be shadowing you before they can determine if i should lead my own lectures or not. so i guess i’m a co-professor for now, but eventually i’ll just be a professor. i’ve seen a few of your lectures online, i’m looking forward to working together and-“
“co-professor?” namjoon interrupts, holding his hand out to make you stop talking, “i’m sorry, this is the first i’m hearing of this.” he fumbles for his phone before looking through his email because there’s no way he would’ve missed an email as important as-
okay there it is
yep
he totally missed that
“i see.” namjoon pokes his tongue against the inside of his cheek, “okay, well… i guess you can just sit with the class and listen to the lectures. i don’t need an assistant professor, but you can help give out handouts or something-“
“well, that would make sense if i was a TA, but i’m not entering this classroom as a TA or an assistant professor, i’m entering it as a co-professor. we’re equals!” you point out, namjoon’s eyes widening when you pull a pen out from your bun and slap a copy of the class syllabus down on his desk
he’s appalled to see that you’ve written all over it, and not only that, you’ve used multiple colours to take notes instead of the traditional black, blue, and red
…pastel purple?!
“i took a look at the lineup you have, and to be frank, it’s a little stiff. your students are drowning in dense readings, and i don’t know about you, but i actually hated reading so much when i was in undergrad-“
“well, that sounds like it’s a you problem, because i liked reading and always appreciated when the professor gave us something dense and enriching to read-“
“why not swap out one of the medieval philosophy lectures for something a little fresher?” you suggest, using the back of your pen to point to the lecture he has planned in a few weeks, “maybe we can do a session on philosophy in science fiction? ooh, ethics in AI might be fun, no? it’s something they can apply to the modern world-“
“philosophy isn’t about chasing trends. it’s about discipline, rigorous thought, and engaging with foundational texts that have shaped human understanding for centuries, professor y/l/n-“
“it’s doctor.”
“what?”
“dr. y/l/n. i just graduated with my phd.”
a moment of silence passes as namjoon processes all of this new information
processing…
processing…
“you-“ still processing… “you what? how old are you?”
“you should never ask a woman how old she is, but i’m two years younger than you. and i know that because i actually took the time to look at your profile on the university’s website after getting the email that we’d be working together for the rest of the semester-“
“rest of the-“ namjoon chokes, reaching up to adjust his tie, “okay, respectfully, dr. y/l/n, my whole point is that students have no business calling themselves actual philosophers if they can’t wrestle with aquinas and avicenna-“
“right, because thirty pages of medieval metaphysical debates on the essence of angels is going to determine whether or not a student can call themself an actual philosopher. i’m not saying to abandon the classics, i’m just saying it’s not gonna hurt to throw in a few discussions that’ll make philosophy feel a little more… alive to them!”
namjoon resists the urge to roll his eyes as he takes a seat at his desk, keeping his eyes glued on the scribbles all over your copy of the syllabus
there’s no way he’s gonna work with someone who thinks pastel purple is an appropriate colour to use when taking notes
he reaches over to grab his coffee, taking a sip and-
his coffee is cold
he waited too long and now his coffee is cold, and he would’ve been drinking perfectly lukewarm coffee if it weren’t for the fact that you came and disrupted his whole schedule like this
“anyway, i’m open to discussing spicing up the syllabus once you have the time. i don’t want to take up any of your office hours, i know you probably have students lined up outside already-“ you fold the syllabus back up into four squares before tucking it away into your tote bag (namjoon is once again appalled you don’t have a folder for your papers and seem to have based your organising system off mary poppins’ purse), “but it was really nice meeting you, dr. kim. you have my phone number and email when you want to arrange a meeting.”
“…right…” namjoon trails off, and for the first time is rendered completely speechless and doesn’t know what else to say
all he knows is that there’s no way in hell he’s going to allow this co-professor business to happen.
»»————- 📚 ————-««
you let out a breath as you shut the door behind you, your shoulders finally slumping
you hated that whole interaction
you can already tell that working with namjoon is going to be a pain in the ass
you’d heard some things about him — you’d heard about how great of a lecturer he is and how he genuinely cares about what he’s teaching and what his students are learning from him, but you’d also heard that he was pretty stuck in his ways and not… super cooperative, which you already saw first hand
at the same time, you had to admit that that was a quality that both of you shared — you’re not exactly a fan of being co-professors, you’d much rather just take the reins and lead the class yourself while namjoon sits off to the side, but you are the new one around here and you do want to be liked
so you can play nice for now, because the most important thing you’re focusing on is securing your place as an official staff member and making a great first impression on your new co-workers and your new students
you’d prefer for namjoon to like you, but he seems to be a tough nut to crack
the both of you should at least try to get along, and you’re willing to do that as long as he’s willing to meet you in the middle
so… let’s just hope he’s willing to meet you in the middle
your phone buzzes in the back pocket of your jeans and you pull it out, surprised to already see a text from namjoon
okay
this is great!
the fact that he’s already opening a line of communication is a good sign, maybe this semester won’t be hell on earth after all
the smile on your face slowly disappears when you finally get around to reading the texts, your eyebrows knitting together instead
Hello, Dr. Y/L/N. This is Kim Namjoon. Please save my number so that we may communicate with each other if needed. The semester has already begun, therefore I don’t think there has to be any changes made to my syllabus. We do not need to discuss this topic any further. Thank you.
you don’t even get a chance to really process his text before another one pops up
Also, please stick to black, blue, and red ink for future note-taking and grading purposes. Pastel purple is not an appropriate colour for a higher education atmosphere. Thank you.
»»————- 📚 ————-««
namjoon sighs to himself as he makes his way up the brick stairs to enter the philosophy building, reaching up to adjust his tie
for the first time ever, he’s running a little behind (only by like, three minutes, he’s not that reckless) but it’s only because he spent the earlier portion of the afternoon speaking with the department head and practically pleading them to change their minds about this whole co-professor situation
he’d gone into the office with many good arguments tucked into a neat little powerpoint presentation
for example, he doesn’t need a co-professor because he knows what he’s doing and you would only slow him down
also his students consistently have high grades and his classes are always packed each semester so there’s no issues with consistency or lack of interest
sure, philosophy can be a stiff subject to work with but he thinks he’s done a great job at teaching it and upkeeping enthusiasm
the point is he doesn’t need you, and if anything you should just be teaching your own class and the students who don’t make it into his class can all go to you!
(maybe he shouldn’t have made that last comment, but it’s true.)
but of course, because luck wasn’t on his side, his presentation didn’t convince the department head to change his mind
apparently you were a “great addition” to the staff and that namjoon should feel lucky he gets to work alongside such a “smart, well-spoken young professional” who is “just as good at teaching as he is”
ridiculous
totally ridiculous
what’s even more ridiculous is the fact that you seem to have become a fan favourite despite only being here for literally a week
your mug is already right next to his in the cupboard in the professor’s lounge
it’s clearly a handmade mug you probably made at one of those pottery places because the edges are a little bumpy which makes it wobble a little when you put it face down
the outside is an eggplant purple and the inside of the cup is painted a shade of sage green and it looks like a child would drink chocolate milk out of it
his mug is sensible and professional
it’s plain white with his initials on the front printed in times new roman
everyone knows it’s his mug and there’s never any confusion
he even heard a rumour about one of the spare rooms in the philosophy department being cleared out for a new office for you if things work out
and yes, he has his own office already, but he just thinks everyone is being a little hasty clearing out an office space just for you
he can’t even imagine how you’d decorate the space
you’re probably one of those people who have little trinkets everywhere and you’ll probably have like a miniature pool table on your desk to play with
he shudders as he thinks about having to sit in oversized beanbag chairs instead of actual chairs
“alright, alright, alright!”
namjoon’s surprised when he opens the lecture hall door to an unusually bustling room, the students chatting animatedly as they flip through their notebooks
the air is alive with the rustling of papers, clinking of metal water bottles, and the occasional burst of laughter and he frowns as he sees a few of them leaning forward enthusiastically compared to the usual scene of them scrolling through their phones or talking to each other
he turns his head and sees you at the front of the room, perched casually on the edge of the desk twirling a purple pen between your fingers before shoving it into your bun, “now, something a little controversial...” you pause dramatically, “red ink for grading. ethical, or a crime against student morale?”
namjoon’s jaw immediately clenches as he rolls his eyes — obviously this has something to do with the text he sent you the other day about your ridiculous coloured pens and your little ego’s been bruised and that’s why you’re being bratty
but whatever, because if anything this is just proving his point — you’re an immature little kid totally unfit to be his equal! and he’s more than happy to let you make a fool of yourself in front of his students, so sure, go ahead and talk about your little purple pen for all he cares
the room erupts in laughter and groans and namjoon silently makes his way over to the front to join you, pulling his chair back to see that you’ve already put your backpack down on it
he picks it up and plops it down on the ground, using his foot to kick it under the desk before taking a seat and hanging his backpack on the back of the chair
“i always feel like i’m being yelled at when i see red ink!”
“exactly!” you laugh, sliding up to sit on the edge of the desk with your legs swinging slightly, completely blocking the class from seeing namjoon, “it’s psychological torture. red ink doesn’t just mark mistakes, it screams them. it’s aggressive. but what about if i used green? or pink? or… pastel purple? would you feel a little different about your grade?”
“it would feel… friendlier?”
“friendlier, right?” you grin, tapping your temple as you look out at the room of enthusiastic students, “then here’s the real ethical dilemma, kids — if something as small as ink colour affects how we perceive feedback, then what do we think that says about bigger, more serious choices? if we can reframe an experience with something as simple as colour, then what other biases are shaping the way we see the world around us? something to think about...”
“are you just about done, dr. y/l/n?” namjoon raises an eyebrow, tapping his fingers against the desk as he leans back against his chair, “because i’d like to get started with class now, if you’re ready to go.”
“ah! dr. kim, sorry — i know you usually like to start your classes with a silent ten minutes of quiet reflection of last week’s lecture, but i figured i’d warm up the class myself since this is my first day as co-professor.” you chirp, sliding off the desk before turning to face the class again, “very lovely to meet you all and i’m looking forward to getting to know each and every one of you as we progress with the semester!”
“kiss ass.” namjoon coughs into his fist quietly, getting up from his seat before smiling warmly at his students, nudging you aside with his hip before clapping his hands together, “alright, class! medieval philosophy, let’s get into it…”
you immediately roll your eyes when you turn to face away from the class, taking a seat next to the desk and crossing one leg over the other
he’s just jealous because the students clearly like you more and you’ve only been here five minutes
but if this is how he wants to play, then you’re more than willing to play along.
»»————- 📚 ————-««
namjoon finds that the simplest things in life bring him the most pleasure
a hot cup of black coffee, the perfect scent of sandalwood in a room, the feeling of cracking the spine on a brand new notebook…
but most importantly, a perfectly toasted buttery flaky croissant from the cafe on the bottom floor of the philosophy building
he’s eaten these croissants ever since he was a student here, and he always has a croissant after he teaches classes here on tuesdays and thursdays — it’s like a reward!
“what do you mean there are no more croissants?!” namjoon slams both palms down on the counter, pulling away immediately when he feels that the surface is a little sticky
gross
“sorry, namjoon!” hoseok shrugs, “i just sold the last croissant to- actually, i think you know her, she said she’s the new professor in the philosophy department-“
you.
“i know who you’re talking about.” namjoon grits his teeth, looking at the pastry case for anything else that might satisfy his midday sweet treat craving but he doesn’t want a stupid sea salt chocolate chip cookie or a raspberry white chocolate scone, he wants his plain buttery croissant that you probably only bought to spite him!
“yeah, her!” hoseok grins, setting namjoon’s coffee down on the counter, “she’s really nice, isn’t she? she said she likes the way i do my leaf design on her caramel lattes, no one’s ever complimented my leaves before- it just feels so nice to be appreciated for once-“
“no!” namjoon snaps, pointing a finger at hoseok, “you have to stop yourself from being charmed by her, it’s all an act and- and- next time she asks for a latte, you should do a giant- a GIANT frowney face-“
“well, i don’t think i’m going to do that but-“ hoseok frowns when he notices a vein starting to bulge out namjoon’s forehead, “hey, you seem a little tense! how about a cookie on the house?” he asks, using his tongs to pick up the sad-looking cookie before putting it in a paper bag for namjoon, “it’s just a croissant, namjoon. i know you like ‘em every tuesday and thursday but if it makes you feel better i’ll save you one on thursday! it seems like both of you guys like croissants so i can definitely save two of them-“
the both of them look over to where you’re sitting by the window with his croissant while you flip to the next page of whatever stupid book you’re reading, and namjoon’s gaze doesn’t waver in the slightest when you look up and over at them
you smile brightly, raising the croissant in the air a little before taking a massive bite out of it, rubbing your stomach and nodding your head exaggeratingly
namjoon’s eye twitches and he turns back to look at hoseok
“it is not just a croissant and you know that, hoseok-“ he snatches the cookie from his friend before shaking his head in disappointment, “she is a siren and you are a helpless, weak little sailor-“
“hey! what the hell, man?!”
“WEAK little sailor!” namjoon exclaims as he storms away, angrily shoving the cookie into his mouth and wiping crumbs off with the back of his hand sloppily
»»————- 📚 ————-««
“tae, have you seen my mug?” you frown, taking a few steps back to see if you can get a better view of the second shelf, “i usually have it on the first shelf but i can’t find it anywhere…”
“is it not there?” taehyung — he’s the janitor here and you guys got along pretty quickly — hums, setting his mop aside before walking over to join you by the cupboards, “i swear i saw it there this morning, that’s odd. i’ll keep an eye out and let you know if i see it anywhere. you sure you didn’t leave it in your lecture hall?”
“no…” you trail off, shutting the cupboard doors gently with a sigh, “hm. i’m sure it’ll pop up somewhere. thanks, anyway…”
you like to think that you’re a pretty chill person, but there’s just something about misplacing something that really irks you
because then you start thinking about when the last time you saw the missing object was and then it turns into a spiral of how you could be so careless and irresponsible and lose something and also it makes you anxiously think about someone else using something that belongs to you and only you
that’s your good luck mug!
you made it at a colour-me-mine in freshman year and you’ve used it ever since
you’re convinced it has some kind of magical power because the mug always happens to be there when you get good news
it was there when you got accepted into your graduate program, your doctoral program, and it was literally in your hands when you got the email from the university accepting you as a new professor
so… hopefully it does pop up somewhere
you used it yesterday after class and you remember washing and drying it immediately before sliding it back on the shelf
you chew on the corner of your lip as you push open the door to the lecture hall, your eyes widening when you see namjoon standing there taking a sip from your mug
you open your mouth to say something but he immediately brings a finger up to his lips to shush you — the class is having their silent time and the last thing you want to do is cause a scene, right?
“that’s my mug.” you whisper through gritted teeth, and namjoon moves his hands to the side quickly when you reach up to try to snatch it out of his hands, “you have a stupid, boring mug already-“
“oh, but your mug is so much fun!” namjoon grins, taking another sip of water from it
(it’s actually killing him having to drink from this cursed vessel. why are the edges so bumpy?! how do you drink from this stupid thing without dribbling all over yourself?!)
“it is on, dr. kim.” you hiss, forcing a smile on your face when a few students look up from their desks, “it is so on.”
“hm.” namjoon clears his throat quietly, the two of you standing side by side with your arms pressed together, “bring it, dr. y/l/n.”
»»————- 📚 ————-««
the next few weeks seem to go by like a blur — maybe because you’re actually having a good time teaching the class and slowly growing more comfortable being a professor (you agreed to stick to namjoon’s syllabus only if he allowed you to teach your ethics of AI lecture) but also because this rivalry between the two of you seems to be keeping you on high alert
after the croissant and the mug incident, the two of you only continued to one-up each other
you replaced the sandalwood essential oil in the lecture hall with a refreshing peppermint (and you really doused it in the machine so it would take multiple cycles to be fully flushed out) and in response namjoon bought the entire jug of caramel syrup from the cafe so you’d be forced to pick another flavour
and then you took all of namjoon’s sensible coloured whiteboard markers and replaced them with bright, fun ones forcing him to write in a fuschia pink and in response namjoon bought all fifteen croissants that day which felt kind of dramatic but at the same time you can’t help but kind of respect it
whatever
all you know is that you despise kim namjoon
every morning when you wake up, you’re thinking about how else you can terrorise him besides just taking the last croissant in the display case
every night before bed, you’re thinking about how else you can make fun of his stupid powerpoint presentations and you even considered hacking his laptop and adding fun transitions to his powerpoints to throw him off
he hates fun transitions
with that being said, you’re willing to put the fight on pause because today is an important day — it’s your first time leading a lecture! you’ve been prepping for this ethics in AI lecture and you’re more than excited to show the class (and namjoon) what you’re capable of
and if all goes well, you will be rubbing this success in his stupid, handsome face.
“handfphome?” you blurt out, toothbrush hanging out of your mouth as you blink at yourself in the mirror
oh
oh no
you don’t actually think he’s handsome, do you?
well, there was that one time he rolled his sleeves up to his elbows and when he turned around you couldn’t help but notice how broad his back was
and that other time you were looking at his hands when he was pointing to something on his stupid powerpoint and you couldn’t help but think that he had such pretty hands
and also he always smells really good — like a combination of smokey sandalwood and his natural musk
and when you listen to him speak it’s really soothing because he has a deep voice that kind of makes you feel like you’re floating on a cloud being rocked back and forth
he’s also very intelligent and incredibly well-spoken
highly educated, charming in his own weird way (not with you, but you’ve seen the way he interacts with other professors), kinda funny sometimes, and you only know he’s single because you overheard two students whispering about it in the hallway — apparently they’d done a deep dive of his socials and there was no partner to be found, his instagram page was full of pictures of plants and quotes from philosophers
so basically he’s a hot single nerd who’s really into philosophy and plants and you guys are only two years apart and hypothetically if you didn’t know each other and you saw him at the bar you would probably feel a little flustered if he flirted with you
and maybe one time you watched him apply chapstick onto his plump lips and you wondered if they were as soft as they looked
…
…
…
you take your toothbrush out of your mouth, your eyes widening in realisation and-
“son of a BITC-“
»»————- 📚 ————-««
“would you let AI decide whether you get a loan? a job? parole? surgery?” you pause, letting the weight of the question settle over the students, “i know, it’s a crazy question. but maybe you already have… algorithms are making these decisions right now — sorting resumes, predicting crime, even diagnosing illnesses. AI is everywhere, and the question isn’t whether it should exist, it’s whether we should trust it…”
the only reason why namjoon is cooperating today is because you’ve (sort of) cooperated with his syllabus over the last couple weeks despite being a total menace to him personally
yes, he’ll let you teach your ethics in AI lecture today because he’s interested in seeing what points you’ll bring up today
he can also tell you’ve been really nervous about leading your first lecture and he still remembers how nervous he was when he was in your position, so he’ll take it easy on you
he caught you practicing your intro in the professor’s lounge and he slowly backed out so that you wouldn’t see him
and he’ll never say this to your face but from the intro alone it sounds like a pretty promising lecture
and it was kind of cute seeing you fumble with your cue cards and going over your lines with your eyes shut
namjoon leans back against his chair as he listens to you speak, keeping his eyes on the back of your head as he crosses his arms over his chest
sure, maybe you’re more than immature when it comes to buying his croissants and replacing his scented oils, but…
oh god
does he respect you as an educator?!
he pauses for a second to think, watching as you reach up to fiddle with a button on your shirt nervously
also you actually dressed up today compared to your usual attire of a sweater and jeans and namjoon can’t help but notice that your ass looks really round in that pencil skirt
he tilts his head slightly as his eyes continue staring at you from behind, the ooga booga man part of his brain wondering how it’d feel to grasp your waist and cup your ass as he-
oh no
he feels his dick twitch in his boxers and he clears his throat quietly, looking down at the desk and focusing on a speck of dust instead
oh
what is this feeling?
he’s pretty sure he hates you
and he’s pretty sure you hate him, so it doesn’t make sense for him to suddenly be thinking about how sweet you smell and how pretty your smile is and how funny it actually was for you to buy the last croissant just to get on his nerves
no
nope
you guys don’t like each other!
that’s how this works!
you just came in here and totally messed up his flow and you just expect him to go along with it but he refuses to do that and after this semester is over he hopes they stick you in another building far, far away from him
he doesn’t need anyone messing with his routine, and especially not some hotshot professor who just got her phd
“now, some of my less adventurous colleagues-“ you step aside to reveal namjoon, and namjoon feels his jaw twitch when the class laughs lightly after you gesture to him, “would tell you that AI is a dangerous pandora’s box, something that we should fear. and sure, it’s got its problems… bias, accountability, control. but let’s not kid ourselves — human decision making isn’t exactly perfect, either. AI didn’t invent discrimination, it just inherited it from us. so can we teach morality to something that doesn’t feel?”
“AI is a threat to ethical stability. we’re delegating moral decision-making to machines that lack genuine understanding, consciousness, or accountability.” namjoon butts in, standing up from his desk with a scoff, “how can we trust algorithms with decisions that affect human lives when they can’t even grasp mortality in any meaningful way?”
you look at him, slightly surprised that he’s interrupted you this early in your lecture for a debate
but sure, you’ll give it a go — the two of you haven’t actually debated over a subject before and you’re down to totally humiliate him in front of the class
“dr. kim is a great example of what sounding like a doomsday prophet is, class.” you smile sweetly, fluttering your lashes at namjoon as the class breaks into a few giggles and chuckles, “AI is a tool. nothing more, nothing less. it doesn’t need to ‘grasp’ mortality than a calculator needs to ‘understand’ math. the ethical responsibility lies with us! blaming AI is like blaming a knife for stabbing.”
“that’s a dangerously naive view, dr. y/l/n!” namjoon laughs, the two of you staring each other down as you stand at opposite ends of the desk, “AI systems are already making high-stakes decisions — these systems inherit biases from their training data and can operate in ways even their own creators can’t explain. if we don’t impose strict ethical guidelines, we’re ceding control to forces we barely understand-“
“you’re acting like we’re summoning some digital god that’ll enslave us all! AI doesn’t have agency — instead of fearing it, we should focus on improving transparency and fairness in these systems. ethics in AI isn’t about rejecting technology, it’s about guiding it responsibly-“
“guiding it-“ namjoon can practically hear his heart thumping in his chest as his frustration rises inside him, “guiding it responsibly?! and what happens when corporations prioritise efficiency over ethics? what- what about when governments exploit AI for mass surveillance? when biased training data leads to systemic discrimination? you’re placing blind faith in a system that rewards profit over morality- you’re playing a dangerous game, dr. y/l/n, AI isn’t just another tool, it’s a tool we may not be able to control. and your reckless optimism makes you too eager to hand over the reins-“
“maybe you just don’t like that i’m willing to embrace the unknown!” you throw your hands up into the air before pointing an accusatory finger at him, “maybe that unsettles you because you have everything planned to a ridiculous degree, like the temperature of your coffee and what time you eat your croissants-“
“what unsettles me is your inability to take this seriously!” namjoon presses his lips into a firm line, feeling his face heating up, “you act as if ethics in AI is some intellectual playground when in reality, it has life-or-death consequences-“
“oh, i take it very seriously, dr. kim, i just don’t think fear is the right response. fear clouds judgement, and i think you just like to have an insane amount of control over things-“
“well, excuse me! someone has to have control, someone has to make sure we don’t create something we can’t contain-“
“you always think you can contain things, don’t you?”
“and you always think you can push boundaries without consequences!”
“you’d be surprised how many boundaries can be pushed safely, dr. kim.”
there’s a beat of silence between the two of you, the air heavy with something that doesn’t feel like loathing, but rather…
you pause, remembering all of a sudden that the students should be debating with each other instead of watching their professors do it
“uh-“ you turn back to face the class before letting out a chuckle, “let’s take twenty minutes to discuss this subject with the person next to you! dr. kim and i have to re-evaluate the structure of today’s lecture, please pardon us-“
the class breaks into discussion and both you and namjoon exchange glares as you head towards the door
the two of you stumble against each other and get caught in the door for a second, both of you wanting to be the first one out to lead the way
“oh, get off me-“
“you get off me!”
“what is your problem?!” you snap as soon as you leave the lecture hall, heading straight for an empty classroom nearby, “you’re supposed to let me lead this lecture, today was my day and you just couldn’t help yourself!”
when the hell is this going to end?!
there’s no way the both of you can work together if he’s going to get this heated in a debate
and sure, he made some really good points and the nerd inside of you is saying that that really good debate session might as well been some form of foreplay but that’s beside the point
“oh, please.” namjoon kicks the door shut behind him, “all we did was get into a debate, you should be glad i participated at all-“
“you know what, i actually do know what your problem is.” you whip around, jabbing a finger into his (firm) chest, “you’re just a little man who’s threatened by me because we both know i can do your job just as well — or honestly, even better than you can, and this is the first time you’ve had any sort of competition. i’m sorry to be the bearer of bad news but you just have to accept the fact that i’m going to be here and i’m sticking around for a long, long-“
“i’m going to kiss you, and if you don’t want that to happen, then tell me now and we can go back to the classroom and i’ll sit there quietly for the rest of your lecture.” namjoon interrupts, and your eyes widen as your breath hitches in your throat
“wha-“ your voice cracks and you feel your face flush, “you- i’m sorry, what?”
“you heard me, y/n.” namjoon looks down at you, and you’re half expecting him to quit the act and say that he’s just fucking with you, but… “so what’s it going to be?”
a moment of silence passes and you feel your thighs press together slightly when namjoon reaches up to loosen his tie slightly, his chest falling and rising in heavy breaths, “funny. you’re so quiet all of a sudden.”
“i…” your lashes flutter as you stare up at him, “fine. you- we-“ you straighten your posture, trying your best not to show how flustered you actually are, “but make it quick because i have a lecture to-“
without another word, namjoon closes the distance between the two of you and in one fluid motion, presses his lips against yours and now you can finally confirm that his lips are as soft as they look
you grip the front of his shirt to pull him closer, deepening the kiss with a fervor that matches the intensity of your back-and-forth over the last few weeks
your lips move against each other’s as namjoon’s hands slide around your waist to pull you in even tighter, his body pressing against yours as if he can’t get close enough
you’re breathless when the two of you eventually pull away, your cheeks flushed and your heart thumping wildly in your chest
“this better not be some weird prank-“ you manage to blurt out, head still spinning from what was a very, very good kiss, “because i’m petty enough to call the catering company and tell them to nix the croissant deliveries entirely-“
namjoon laughs, leaning down for another kiss — this time softer, more deliberate — before pulling away with a playful eye roll
“we’re gonna go back in and you’ll finish your lecture, and if you’re free tonight, i’d love to take you out for dinner.” he murmurs, and if you didn’t know any better you’d think he was being a little shy
it’s cute
“i’ll go out with you… on one condition.” you hum, reaching up to adjust his glasses for him
“hm?”
“next week you let me lead a lecture on examining the moral dilemmas faced by superheroes in film and comics — like how batman has a no-kill rule and-“
namjoon immediately groans as he turns and heads towards the door, “oh my god, you are infuriating-“
“what?! it’s a good subject!”
🎙️ ask y/n about her thoughts on the nature of consciousness (talk to my characters!)
📚 why not explore the rest of the library while you're here? (go say hi to yoongi and y/n in la vie en bonsai!)
💫 or perhaps you want something shorter to read? (drabbles and mini series!)
Jungkook’s newest obsession with vlogging turns into the two of you making your first sex tape together.
Pairing - jungkook x reader
Genre - 18+ established relationship au, smut MDNI
wc -3.3k
Warnings - filming sex ofc, lotss of kissing, pet names, big d jk, marking, biting, oral f. and m. receiving, dom jk, fingering, breast play, unprotected sex, crying, praises, riding, missionary, cumming on body, rough sex, overstimulation, some filthy cum play, they're jst really cutee ((
a/n - every time I think I’ve already written the most filthiest thing I could, I somehow come up with something even more ridiculous 😔 oh n I also plan to post one more fic by this week hopefully!!
The staff guides you to Jungkook’s room and leaves after opening the door for you. You gently push the door open and step inside to find Jin walking out from the living area. He breaks into a smile greeting you before telling how impatient Jungkook’s been waiting for you all day.
Your excitement dims a little when you realize your surprise clearly isn’t a surprise anymore making him laugh. He explains that Jungkook found out you were coming earlier in the morning from one of the staff.
You end up laughing while Jin leaves dramatically rambling about being fed up of Jungkook's camera. Needless to say that the world has been witnessing Jungkook’s current obsession in real time. For the past week he’s been recording absolutely everything.
Once the door clicks shut, you take off your shoes and sit on the edge of the bed.
A few minutes later, the bathroom door opens. Jungkook steps out wearing a black tank top and black shorts. His hair is a little damp, water droplets slide down his neck and toned arms.
He holds his camera in his left hand absentmindedly checking the screen.
The moment his eyes land on you, you stand up and practically run to him. Jungkook drops the camera onto the nearby couch and catches you as you jump into his arms wrapping your legs around his waist.
“Fuck baby, I was waiting for so long,” he breathes against your neck inhaling your scent.
“I wanted to surprise you,” you pout lightly. “Jin oppa told me you already knew I was coming today.”
Jungkook lets out a soft laugh and pulls back to look at your face.
“I can still act super surprised if you want."
You roll your eyes and your pout fades as he leans in and kisses you. The kiss quickly turns hungry as his lips move against yours with weeks of built-up longing.
Jungkook moves carrying you in his arms. One hand reaches out to place the camera on the stand in front of the bed, adjusting it quickly until it faces both of you properly.
A giggle slips from you immediately.
“New vlog?”
Jungkook grins against your lips.
"With your cameo.”
You shake your head fondly while he sits down on the edge of the bed with you straddling his lap. His hands slide down to grip your waist as the kiss grows nothing but more messier.
“I missed you so fucking much."
You pull back to reply the same. “I missed you too,” you take his cheeks between your hands before placing so many more of your kisses.
His hands roam around touching you everywhere. sliding down to grip your ass, then moving back up. “Your tour’s going really well,” you try speaking in between. “Everyone’s doing so good.”
Jungkook hums against your mouth, clearly distracted. His lips trail down to your neck sucking and biting hard enough to leave marks. you throw your head back, letting out a breathless moan.
His thumb brushes over your breasts, making you shiver.
and your eyes suddenly drift to the side.
“kook...” you breath out. “your camera..”
Jungkook slides his tongue deep into your mouth before pulling back to speak against it.
“What about it?”
Your heart pounds wildly in your chest. You both know exactly what’s happening. although you trust Jungkook with your entire soul, the idea of being recorded like this makes nervousness and arousal swirl together inside you.
“You want me to stop it?”
His fingers remain under your top as he waits for your answer.
You bite your lower lip with a little hesitation, but the heat in his eyes and the way your body is aching for him takes over and you slowly shake your head. Jungkook’s smirk is pure sin as he bites your earlobe.
“Good girl."
His hands pull you down harder against his growing erection. mouth crashing back onto yours. you kiss him back just as desperately, your hands sliding up to grip his biceps, feeling his new muscles flex under your fingers.
You start grinding slowly on him. the thin fabric of your pants rubs against him and you can feel everything.
You know he isn’t wearing anything underneath because you can feel the outline of his cock rubbing perfectly against your clit through your clothes.
“fuck... I missed you,” Jungkook’s words come out husky against your lips. “missed you so fucking much, baby.”
wet sounds fill the room as your tongues slide together. his palm is hot against your waist. the other squeezes your ass harder, encouraging you to grind down on his cock.
Jungkook pulls back to tug your top up. You lift your arms for him and he yanks it off. His eyes drop to your chest and his dick twitches at the sight of you wearing his new design.
He curses deeply as his eyes darken the more he takes you in. “You planning to kill me, princess?”
Your breathless laugh quickly turns into a surprised gasp as Jungkook flips you over—caging you in with his arms like you're his prey.
His mouth finds your neck much rougher this time. marking across all over your throat and collarbones.
You squeak with a small laugh when he bites a little too roughly on your shoulder.
“Koo—!” you gasp, half-laughing, half-moaning.
Jungkook chuckles against your skin but doesn’t stop. He soothes the bite with his tongue while his hands slide up to squeeze over your covered breasts.
“You look so fucking good in my design,” he speaks with dripping need. “But I want it off soon.”
He palms your pussy roughly through your pants, pressing the heel of his hand against your clit. The pressure makes you jerk against him.
“jungkoo—” your voice already breaks.
He hums in satisfaction while kissing down your body. His lips trail open-mouthed kisses down your stomach, tongue dipping into your belly button before moving even lower. His fingers hook into the waistband of your pants and tug them down.
“Look at this mess,” he eyes the large wet patch soaking through your panties. He leans down to press a torturous kiss right over your aching pussy.
“Tell me how much you missed me, baby.”
You whimper desperately. “so much, kook... please… I missed you so much.”
Just as the words leave your mouth, Jungkook rips your panties down your legs before diving in immediately like a starved man.
The first long lick from your entrance to your clit makes you moan loudly. his tongue laps at your soaked folds before sucking your clit into his mouth. The metal of his piercing adds a delicious sensation sending shockwaves through your body with every flick.
Jungkook eats you like he’s addicted. pushing in his tongue inside you. your thighs shake around his head as his deep groans vibrate against your core.
your eyes suddenly drift to the side and rush of embarrassment hits you but this time it only makes you wetter.
you almost whine at the loss of his mouth when Jungkook pulls back with lips and chin glistening with your arousal.
He returns back with his camera, placing it in your hands and adjusting it so the lens faces him between your spread legs.
“Hold it steady for me,” he instructs you before settling back.
your hands tremble slightly as you grip the camera. your pussy clenches visibly under his gaze.
Jungkook smirks at your nervousness before diving back in. his mouth latches onto your pussy again with a new vigour.
He circles his tongue over your swollen clit slowly while he looks straight into the camera lens. and you make the mistake of looking down at the filthy scene. the sight only makes your pussy gush fresh slick onto his tongue.
You moan loudly, struggling to keep the camera steady. The pleasure is too intense as your arms start shaking.
Jungkook pulls back slightly before growling at you, “I told you to hold it steady, baby. I need good footage of me eating this pretty pussy.”
He slaps your thigh lightly as a teasing punishment before pushing two thick fingers inside you, curling instantly against your g-spot while his tongue flicks rapidly over your clit.
A few tears slip down your eyes.
“Kook— ahh— I can’t— fuck!”
“Yes you can,” he chuckles darkly against your fold.
As his fingers pump faster, your thighs tremble violently around his head. you’re barely able to keep the camera focused on him with the pleasure making your vision blur. your back arches sharply off the bed, pussy clenching hard around his fingers. Jungkook groans in satisfaction completely lost in your taste.
He laps at every drop of your release drinking you down greedily.
You try to close your legs.
“koo— too much—”
Jungkook lets out an almost angry groan against your pussy and forcefully spreads your legs wider. his mouth continues making sure he gets every last drop.
Tears gather in the corners of your eyes from the overwhelming pleasure as broken moans keep spilling from your lips. Only when your body starts twitching hard does Jungkook finally pull back.
He places one last tender kiss on your sensitive clit before lifting his head.
He rises onto his knees between your spread legs and tugs his black tank top off before wiping his chin with it and tossing aside. You try focusing your teary eyes on him.
Jungkook takes the camera from your shaky hands and places it on the bed for a moment. He leans down to kiss you deeply.
“You good, baby?” he asks softly against your lips.
You hum weakly in response. your hands roam over his bare torso, feeling the hard ridges of his abs.
“You’ve gained more muscles…” you whisper out.
Jungkook hums darkly and you feel him flexing his body under your touch.
“You like it?” his eyes locks on yours.
You bite your lip and lean up to biting his jaw in response. “so much..”
Jungkook chuckles as his hands work to remove your bra leaving you completely bare for him. Jungkook’s hands are back on the camera as he sits on his heels between your legs and angles the lens towards your flushed face.
“Is this good, my love?”
You suddenly feel extremely exposed under the camera’s gaze. Your cheeks heat up instantly. You give him a weak nod unable to speak properly.
Jungkook’s expression softens with pure fondness while his eyes stay dark on you.
“You’re really shy about the camera, huh?”
He reaches out with his free hand and gently strokes your flushed cheek with his thumb then drags it to press against your bottom lip, slightly pulling it down.
“So cute,” he murmurs almost to himself.
Jungkook can't resist but place some loving pecks on your cheeks making you both giggle.
“Say hi to my vlog, baby,” he teases.
You whine shyly, trying to turn your face away. Jungkook breathes out a laugh before cupping one of your breasts, squeezing the soft flesh before his fingers find your already hardened nipple. He rolls it between his thumb and forefinger.
Your eyes flutter shut instinctively, teeth sinking into your lower lip to trap the moan threatening to spill out.
“Don’t hide those pretty eyes from me.”
You eyes lift to meet his intense stare, the moment you do—he brings his hand to his mouth spitting onto his fingers letting a generous amount of saliva coat them before returning his hand to your chest. He spreads the slickness over both buds, coating and tugging them between his wet fingers making your back arch off the bed.
Your legs squirm restlessly beneath him, thighs pressing together as fresh heat floods your core.
His eyes flick down between your legs, watching the way your pussy glistens under the light.
“You like how I ruin you, don’t you?” he rasps with dark satisfaction.
His thumb eventually leaves your nipple and slides up to your mouth. He presses the pad of it against your lips.
You part your lips as he pushes his thumb inside and immediately start sucking on it—swirling your tongue around the digit like you would his cock.
“So fucking greedy for me,” Jungkook hisses.
The sight of you sucking so eagerly on his thumb while your nipples are shiny and swollen from his spit has his cock throbbing painfully in his sweats.
Your eyes drift down his body to his bulge straining against his shorts.
with a needy whimper, you pull him down by his broad shoulders onto the bed. He lets out a surprised chuckle and you climb over him kissing down his body. Your lips press against his warm skin. You trail wet kisses over his chest, paying extra attention to the beautiful tattoos decorating his skin.
Your tongue traces the lines of his ink, tasting the faint salt of his sweat.
God, you wish you could mark him the way he marks you — leave dark hickeys and bite marks all over his perfect body for everyone to see. but for now, you make up for it by worshipping him with your mouth, determined to make him feel as good as he made you.
Jungkook’s free hand comes to rest in your hair as you move further down.
finally, you hook your fingers into the waistband of his shorts and tug them down impatiently. His cock springs free, slapping against his toned stomach. The pink tip glistens with precum.
You wrap your lips around the leaking head and suck, too impatient to tease him. Jungkook curses sharply. Your favourite musky taste of him explodes on your tongue and you moan louder around his cock.
You take him deeper right away, hollowing your cheeks as you bob your head, working the top half of his length with eager sounds.
Jungkook’s head falls back for a second, momentarily forgetting about the camera in his hand. But he quickly recovers, lifting it again and angling it perfectly to capture the sinful sight of his beautiful girlfriend sucking his cock so greedily.
“shit, baby.. look at you,” he groans. “always fucking hungry for my cock.”
His praises only makes you take him deeper until he hits the back of your throat.
Jungkook’s hand tightens in your hair guiding you as he pushes your head down a little more. The pressure makes you gag around him.
“that’s it.. fuck — just like that,” his abs clenching as he watches you through the camera. “my good girl. looking so pretty crying on my cock.”
He starts to thrust up gently, fucking into your warm mouth.
your tears mix with the spit dripping from your chin onto his balls but you don’t stop — you can’t. You want all of him.
Jungkook’s cock twitches in your mouth, the veins pulsing against your tongue. you can feel him getting dangerously close.
but he pulls your head back firmly. a thick string of spit connects your swollen lips to the shiny head of his cock as you gasp for air.
“I need to feel you, baby.. get up here.”
You don’t need to be told twice. while he quickly reaches over and places the camera on the nightstand beside the bed, angling it perfectly to capture both of you, you're already climbing over him.
Your hand wraps around his spit-slick cock, stroking him once before you sink on him. you both moan in unison. Jungkook hisses through gritted teeth biting onto your shoulder.
you whimper, feeling every thick inch stretch you open. He’s so big — always so fucking big that it burns in the most delicious way.
Impatience and pure need take over as you start bouncing on his cock with a desperate rhythm. The slick smack of your soaked pussy taking his cock over and over fills the room.
He pulls you down harder against him, pressing your chests together until your bodies are completely stuck — skin against sweaty skin, your hard nipples rubbing against his chest.
“Give me a kiss.”
You lean in messily, crashing your mouth onto his. moans spill into each other’s mouths. Jungkook thrusts up hard from below, meeting your bounces with powerful strokes that make you cry out into the kiss.
He fucks you like that, reaching you so deep while you ride him like you’re starved for his cock.
Jungkook’s hands slide down to grip your ass, spreading your cheeks as he helps you bounce harder.
He bites into your bottom lip.
“My beautiful baby.. keep riding my cock, princess.”
You clench hard around him, a loud broken moan ripping from your throat as another wave of pleasure crashes through you. The way he’s stretching you and filling you so perfectly just makes your mind go hazy.
Jungkook growls at the feeling and he flips you over with ease. your back hits the mattress before your boyfriend intertwines your fingers and resumes with his rough thrusts.
Your legs wrap weakly around his narrow waist trying to pull him even deeper.
“This pussy is made for me. You are made for me... only for me.”
Your heels dig into his back as he fucks you straight into oblivion.
Jungkook swallows every single moan that spills from your lips. His tongue dominating yours while he rails you into the mattress.
“Tell me, baby,” he demands hotly. “Tell me who you belong to.”
“You, Kook—” you sob. “Only for you... only yours—”
“That’s right.”
Your nails dig desperately into the back of his hands. His free hand slides between your bodies finding your swollen clit.
Your eyes roll back as you fall apart again. Your pussy throbs with creamy arousal gushing around his length with a broken scream of his name.
His thrusts become more erratic as he chases his high.
Jungkook blindly reaches for the camera with one hand angling it down at your stomach.
“Fuck.. look at that." He presses his free hand over the bulge in your lower belly feeling his own cock moving inside you. “So pretty, baby. so fucking pretty with my cock inside you.”
He records himself sliding in and out of you slowly glistening with your arousal.
The overstimulation makes you whimper and squirm heavily underneath him. only then does he finally pull out of you.
He kneels between your spread thighs, wrapping his hand around his cock. He strokes himself roughly eyes locked on your fucked-out face.
with a husky groan thick ropes of his warm cum shoot across your stomach and tits — painting your skin in sticky white.
You barely have time to process the filthy sight while Jungkook films himself dragging the swollen head of his cock through his own release, spreading it messily over your skin.
He rubs his cum into your nipple and across your belly — dipping the tip of his cock between your sensitive folds to smear some over your clit.
You watch him with hazy eyes and a heaving chest.
Sometimes you forget just how nasty your boyfriend can really be.
“Such a pretty canvas." Jungkook finally looks up at you through the camera lens with a wild smirk.
everyone knows you as the good girl/nerd. except you’re so fucking tired of that image. (and you’re also very… horny.) so when you decide to be bold and finally go after hoseok — things don’t really go as planned. instead, you end up tangled in a fake relationship with his best friend/campus favorite fuckboy: jeon jungkook.
:: genre/tropes/au :: smau + written , fake dating / fake relationship , slow burn , strangers to friends (a little bit of frenemies?¿) to fuckbuddies to lovers
:: warnings :: no love triangle, university au, frat boys/frat parties, alcohol consumption, judgy!oc - oc is lowk mean, jungkook who’s full of himself, mutual pining, bad decisions, jealousy, eventual written smut, silly ahh fic.
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index:
𑣲 teaser [written]
𑣲 ch: 01 been on my worst [smau]
𑣲 ch: 02 don't need no savior [written]
𑣲 ch: 03 way outta line [smau]
𑣲 ch: 04 kinda like the way i feel [ lwritten]
𑣲 ch: 05 don’t give a fuck [smau]
𑣲 ch: 06 i’ll be there in five [smau]
𑣲 ch: 07 talk too much [written]
𑣲 ch: 08 show each other [smau]
𑣲 ch: 09 other ways to catch you up [smau]
𑣲 ch: 10 on the phone [smau]
𑣲 ch: 11 can you keep it secret? [smau]
𑣲 ch: 12 this time i know [smau]
𑣲 ch: 13 i’ll stay with you [written]
𑣲 ch: 14 just promise you won't [smau]
𑣲 ch: 15 no pics, no postin’ us [smau]
𑣲 ch: 16 just in my nature [written]
𑣲 ch: 17 to be a littlе troublemaker [smau]
𑣲 ch: 18 so wrong but so right [smau]
𑣲 ch: 19 you really likе the way i [smau]
𑣲 ch: 20 when we kiss [written]
𑣲 ch: 21 you reminisce [smau]
𑣲 ch: 22 this ain’t the last time [written]
𑣲 ch: 23 just stay by my side [smau]
𑣲 ch: 24 this ain’t no game [written]
𑣲 ch: 25 won’t play with you [smau]
⤷ch: 25.5 (extra) girl talk [written]
𑣲 ch: 26 you won’t say nothin’ [smau]
𑣲 ch: 27 don’t you be actin’ like that [smau]
𑣲 ch: 28 postin’ us [written]
𑣲 ch: 29 this love just ain’t disposable [smau]
𑣲 ch: 30 just take what’s yours, don’t run from it [written] the end.
Summary: After graduating university you fulfilled your dreams and became a published author. Your book did well, so well in fact, your team and fans want a sequel. The only problem is they want it to be a little more smutty and spicy and you have no idea how to accomplish that. Enter Kim Taehyung the cocky fuckboy from your past who is willing to lend a hand to a friend in need
Word Count: 4.5K
Rating: 18+ Minors Do Not Interact!
Tags: A/U, friends with benefits, teasing, flirting, Taehyung is a menace, artist Taehyung, not many tags for chapter one but they will change each chapter
Authors Note: sooooo hi again. I'm back with this fic because it's just too good (imo) to be wiped from tumblr forever. If you read it previously you might notice sliiiight changes (not to the story just the wording of some things)
Thanks for reading Likes and Reblogs are appreciated
Also don't be scared to talk about it in the tags!
“Hi, welcome to The Oasis. What can I get…you?”
Your voice trails off as you see the couple standing in the doorway, taking in the small café with its warm brown tones and earthy greens.
Your eyes fall on the man with the dark, ruffled hair, and you recognize him immediately.
Your stomach drops, hands curl into fists at your side, blunt nails digging into the skin as you wish you could evaporate on the spot.
Cocky fuckboy, past captain of the soccer team, Kim Taehyung, and his flavour-of-the-week girlfriend just stepped foot into your workplace, and you had no choice but to serve them because you promised to take over for Morena, who needed to take an important phone call.
This must have been a cruel twist of fate, a punishment for something, because normally, you didn’t work the front counter.
You were much more comfortable in the back, rolling out dough and singing along to songs from the small old-school radio Mi-Suk graciously provided to give you something to listen to while you worked.
Every once in a while, you would choose to listen to music on your phone, opting for songs from your high school and university years that would throw you into a comforting wave of nostalgia.
The man in front of you was a very unwelcome wave of nostalgia, and when his dark eyes finally connected with yours from across the store, they widened in shock for only a brief moment before he was sliding up to the counter with a cocky smile on his face and his girl in tow.
You had not seen him in almost three years, but he still looked the same. Fluffy brown hair that was always a little messy in an endearing way, deep brown eyes, a small freckle on his nose, a wide, boxy smile, and pouty lips that got him out of a lot of trouble.
People tended to bend over backwards for Kim Taehyung, and it infuriated you to no end.
He was just a guy. Sure, he was handsome, but that didn’t give him superpowers or make him important.
But throughout your university years, you watched countless girls fall over themselves just at the mere presence of him walking around.
It was annoying.
“Well, hello. I didn’t know you still worked here.” He said in a smooth baritone voice that reminded you of old jazz music and a warm cup of coffee.
“Yeah, I do, though usually I work in the back. So what can I get you?” You ask, trying to get this interaction over as quickly as possible.
Taehyung’s eyes sparkle with mischief, and you know he isn’t going to let that happen.
Lovely.
“Come on, Baby Blue, work with me here. I haven’t seen you in ages and that’s all you give me?” He croons with a pout on his lips that makes you roll your eyes.
In the back of your mind, you knew you shouldn’t roll your eyes at customers, but you figured someone as infuriating as Taehyung was the exception.
“Don’t call me that ridiculous name, Taehyung.” You bite out as he grins at the furious look on your face.
You thought he would have grown up in the years since you graduated, but it seemed he was still the same pain in the ass as he was back then.
“Oh, sorry Baby Blue, I didn’t know you hated that name. My bad.” He teased in a sarcastically sweet tone as his eyes flicked down to your chest.
That nickname was all his fault anyway.
Taehyung was drunk at a house party and tried to peel you from your very comfortable spot leaning against the wall to dance with him, only to accidentally wobble on his feet and spill his drink all over your favourite baby blue cropped shirt.
Which, unfortunately, was very thin and very see-through, meaning in a matter of minutes, everyone in your vicinity could see your nipples poking through the damp fabric.
Taehyung never once apologized; instead, he said, “Oops,” with a boxy grin, and you had to leave the party early before the stain could set in.
While everyone moved on, Taehyung adopted the nickname Baby Blue for you to commemorate that night.
“You know I hate it, Captain.” You shot back as his eyes widened in surprise, but a grin was still plastered on his lips.
You knew you wouldn’t wound him with that name.
Especially since he was the one to come up with that himself.
“Um, do you two have a history or something?” The girl next to him asks as you finally tear your gaze away from his dark eyes and focus on her.
She is shorter than Taehyung, with long curly hair and full lips, which are frowning as she looks between the two of you.
You look at Taehyung to explain, but he seems to be enjoying the chaos as he leans against the counter and doesn’t bother answering her.
What a great guy.
“Yeah, we went to university together a couple of years back. Took the same program. Had the same classes.” You explain.
Her eyes narrow, and you can practically see the gears in her head turning.
“Nothing happened between us, believe me. We just ran in the same circles, unfortunately.” You continue.
The only reason you were stuck with Taehyung as long as you were was that your best friend Mira, had to go and fall in love with Taehyung’s friend Hoseok, which made you all a big happy group.
You couldn’t hate Mira for it though; she found the love of her life, and Hoseok was a great guy. He popped the question last year, and Mira accepted. They were getting married in four months, which felt crazy to you because you still remember her as the small girl with braids in her hair who offered you half of her snacks at recess one day.
“You mean, fortunately. I’m a delight to have around.” He boasts as the girl next to him giggles and loops her arm around him, snuggling into his shoulder, pleased that you were not an ex-girlfriend.
“I wouldn’t call it that. But sure.” You respond.
“Ouch, you wound me. And here I was thinking we were friends. Besties even.” He croons with an exaggerated wink, and you can’t help it as your eyes roll up to the ceiling once more.
“We aren’t besties; you just pretended we were so you could cheat off me in class.” You reminded him.
“And yet you never once let me cheat. So rude you know. It’s always nice to help a friend in need.” He shoots back, enjoying this.
“We were never friends, Taehyung; we just ran in the same circles.”
He frowns.
“Is this because of the Baby Blue incident? I said I was sorry.”
You scoff.
“No Taehyung, you never did apologize for that one.”
His eyes widen.
“Well, you did look hot in that shirt. So hot, I just wanted to cool you down.” He recovers quickly, shooting you a playful smile.
The girl next to him huffs, and you cross your arms over your chest.
“Kinda gross to be talking to me like that when your girlfriend is right next to you.” You point out as he finally looks down at her and back at you, like he forgot she was even there.
“Oh, she’s not my girlfriend. We just fuck. A lot.”
She playfully smacks his arm and scolds him, as you feel heat rise to your cheeks.
“Anyway, what can I get you?” You say falsely bright, trying to change the subject, as you press the screen in front of you to get it to wake up.
“Can I get a latte macchiato with extra foam?” She says as you smile and punch it into the computer.
“And you?” You ask Taehyung, who is still blatantly staring at you.
“What is good here?” He asks, drumming his long fingers against the counter, seemingly more than okay with wasting your time.
“Everything. Now please, just order.” You almost pleaded.
“You never answered my question.” He quips as you fight the urge to strangle him.
Why can’t he just make your life easy and order something so you can move on and hopefully not see him again?
Or at least not see him until Mira’s wedding.
“You never answered mine either. What. Can. I. Get. You.”
Taehyung finally seems to accept you won’t give him any more information as he straightens up and finally takes a peek at the menu.
About freaking time.
“I’ll take a green tea and whatever dessert you think is best.” He orders with a smile.
“All desserts are the best; I’d know; I make them.” You respond before punching in his order.
His eyebrows shoot up.
“Impressive, Baby Blue,” he teases as his eyes scan the desert case to the right.
You don’t bother to answer him; instead, you turn your back and begin to make the drinks, focusing on deep breaths and not letting him get to you. He won’t ruin today. You won’t let him.
However, it seems the girl next to him isn’t having it, as the second you turn around, she begins to argue with him under her breath.
“What the fuck was that Taehyung?” She hisses as you work on the drinks and try your best to focus on the soft music overhead and not their conversation.
“What do you mean babe?” He asks as you see out of the corner of your eye, her slipping out of his embrace and crossing her arms.
“You were flirting with her. Openly flirting with her in front of me.” She hisses under her breath.
“Baby, I was not. That’s just how she and I talk. We banter,” he explains as you finish making her drink and decide to leave it on the back counter while you work on his. You don’t want to be in the middle of this.
“Calling her some stupid nickname? Calling her hot? Openly eyeing her up and down. You just fucked me half an hour ago, and you already have sights on another girl. What is wrong with you?!” She says, unable to keep her voice down, so you hear everything.
“Baby, all you and I do is fuck. That’s the point of fuck buddies. I wasn’t flirting with her, but I’m also a free man.” He defends putting his hands up.
She promptly loses it, and honestly, you don’t blame her.
“You are disgusting, Kim Taehyung! I thought you would grow up and mature, and want to settle down. And here you are drooling over some minimum wage-making barista.” She shouts as her gaze whips over to you.
“Syd, I already told you when this started, I wasn’t looking for anything serious. We went over this, and you were okay with the arrangement.” He reminds her.
You are caught between them like a deer in the headlights as you turn around and watch it all go down right in front of you.
“You are twenty-seven for fuck's sake, and you don’t act a day over seventeen! There clearly is some unresolved chemistry or some shit going on between the two of you, and I deserve better than to be tied up in it. Have a nice life Tae. Don’t bother calling me for pussy when you get bored with her.” She snaps as she turns on her heel and storms out of the café, slamming the door on the way out, making the wall décor shake.
The silence that follows is so loud you almost wonder if Taehyung could hear your heart beating under your shirt and apron.
“Are you going to…go after her?” You ask meekly as he turns away from the door and once again leans up against the counter, putting on his cool-guy persona.
“Nah, I don’t chase after women. I laid it out very clearly for her, and she thought she could change me. Don’t need to be running after that.” He responds as he runs a hand through his fluffy hair.
“I don’t know what to say here. Sorry? I guess?” You stammer as Taehyung shoots you a grin.
“Nah, don’t worry about it. The last week or so, she had been getting clingy, and I was going to talk to her about it anyway. She saved me from an awkward conversation, so that’s good.”
“Um, okay. So the drinks. Uh….” You trail off, not knowing what to say.
“You never answered my question from before, you know.” He reminded, and all the tension in the room seemed to evaporate as he put on his charming smile and fluttered his eyelashes at you.
“Which one? You asked so many I lost track.” You asked him as you brought both drinks to the front counter.
“The one about you working here. You were top of our class, the smartest person I know, and yet you work here. Nothing against people who do. I have high respect for retail and food workers. I just… Don’t get it.” He explains as you push his drink towards him and pick out a chocolate chip muffin from the case.
“When I graduated, I knew I wanted to be an author, but those things take time. So I asked the owner, Mi-Suk, if I could work full-time while I write. Well, it’s been years, and I have a book published now, but I like working here. I like baking, so I decided to keep it as my main source of income while I write.” You say to him as you place the muffin in a small brown box and close the lid to keep it fresh.
You weren’t sure why you were telling Taehyung all this. Maybe you felt bad that he had just gotten broken up with. Maybe you knew telling him the truth would finally get him to shut up.
All you knew was this was one of the first times you actually had a conversation with him, a real one without teasing and being at each other’s throats, and it was…well. Nice
“You wrote a book? What’s it called?” He asked, clearly impressed, as you wiped your hands on your apron.
“Why? You want to leave me a bad review. Payback for not helping you in university?” You tease as he grins and runs a hand through his hair once more.
“Nah, I want to know what genre you ended up picking. You were undecided back then.”
You are taken by surprise that he even remembers that. You weren’t necessarily close in university. He spent all his time trying to mooch answers off you, and you spent most of your time trying to pretend he didn’t exist.
“Uh, it’s called The Tangled Web of Love and Friendship… I ended up going with romance.” You say nervously.
Before Taehyung can respond, Morena bursts through the office door and immediately apologizes for how the doctor's call was not supposed to take that long and how they lost her files, so they had to put her on hold for an extra ten minutes to find them.
She is talking so fast and in such a hurry that she doesn’t notice Taehyung standing there.
Until she does.
“Oh. Um. Hi.” She says, her demeanour immediately changing as she smooths a hand down her apron and tucks her long hair behind her ears in a shy kind of way.
“Hi. How much do I owe?” He asks, turning back to you as Morena is staring at him in the way most women stare at Taehyung.
Starstruck.
“I’ll pay for both drinks; don’t worry about it.” He says as you ring him through.
He takes both drinks and his muffin and shoots Morena a small, polite smile before turning to you.
“Good to see you again, Baby Blue. And, uh, sorry about the shirt.” He says with a wink before turning around and exiting the cafe.
You watch him go and aren’t sure how to feel. Sure, he was still incredibly cocky and arrogant, but that small civil talk you had was…nice.
“Okay, tell me everything. That man is so hot, I just about melted to the floor. How do you know him?” Morena squeals as she jogs behind the counter to stand next to you, eyes full of excitement.
“It’s just Taehyung. We went to school together.” You say, moving behind her to let her take her spot at cash.
“Is he single? He’s so hot. Wait, are you interested? I don’t want to overstep if you are.” She chirps excitedly.
“I’m not interested; believe me. He’s all yours.” You say as you start to head back to the kitchen, already putting the interaction with Taehyung behind you.
-------
Taehyung stretched his arms over his head and groaned when he felt a pop in his back.
He knew he should have painted at his easel in his spare room, but the light in here was too perfect to miss out on, so he shoved his blankets off his bed and set down a towel before sitting cross-legged and getting to work on painting the dazzling sunset in front of him.
Painting was a way for him to calm down after a long day or to silence all of the thoughts that were buzzing around his head, and he was forever grateful that his mother introduced him to it at a young age.
While his father was all about working hard and being a rough and tough man, his mother let him explore his softer side through photography and painting.
Taehyung found a healthy balance between them, though his softer side often pulled more ladies.
What lady can resist a soft, kind, artistic soul?
Taehyung fumbled around for his phone and saw he had sixteen unread messages in his group chat with his friends, so he stood up, collected his things, and cleaned his room.
He knew if he opened the chat, he would get lost in it for hours, so he took a quick shower before even touching his phone.
The hot spray felt great against his skin, and he tilted his head back and let the warm water trickle down his scalp as he lathered his shampoo.
Taehyung took his time, letting his fingers dance along his tanned skin and letting the water relax his tense muscles from being hunched over a canvas for the last two hours.
Once he stepped out of the shower, he completed his skincare fully naked to let his body air dry, then he pulled on a pair of soft grey sweatpants; he didn’t bother with a shirt because half the time he slept only in boxers or completely naked anyway.
He turned off most of the lights around his home and settled into the warmth of his bed, pulling the covers back on and scooping up his phone to see what he missed in chat.
Jungkook and Jimin were sending pictures and raving about the getaway they just came back from.
They went to a cabin in the woods for five days, and even though they kept sending pictures of the wildlife, Taehyung knew they got away to fuck like rabbits in a secluded cabin where no one could hear them.
Those two were some of the horniest men Taehyung had ever met.
Jimin and Taehyung grew up together and became instant best friends. While everyone thought Taehyung was Jimin’s platonic soulmate, there was no doubt that Jungkook was Jimin’s romantic soulmate.
They met on the first day of university and have been inseparable ever since.
Hoseok rounded out the group chat.
Smiley, Funny, Sunshine in human form. Hoseok, whom Taehyung met through Jimin, got along so well with everyone that he became a permanent fixture in their group.
He was a year older and often seen as the go-to person for advice, as he was always open and ready to listen.
Hoseok met Mira near the end of their first year and started dating her.
Mira had it all. She was tall and smart and honestly made Hoseok so happy.
With all these couples around, you would think Taehyung would want to settle down and find his own forever person, but he liked being single.
He liked the freedom to do what he wanted, when he wanted, with whom he wanted. Sydney’s little outburst today reminded him once again why he didn’t date. It was just too much work.
Taehyung was snapped from his thoughts when another message came through, and he figured he should answer instead of staring off into space holding his phone.
Taetae: Looks like fun guys! Glad you made it back safe!
Kookie: Whoa, he lives!!!
Hoba: We thought we would have to call someone to check on you.
Jiminie: Where have you been Tae?
Taehyung leaned back against his headboard and let his legs sprawl out as he typed.
Taetae: Had a busy day then came back here and painted.
Hoba: Painted?
Jiminie: What happened?
Taetae: Nothing. Why?
Kookie: Nothing? Yeah, except you only paint when something has happened or you need to get out of your head.
Taetae: Australia and I broke up. Not why I painted though. The sunset was just pretty.
A rule of thumb for Taehyung was that he never gave out his hookup’s real name. He knew his friends well enough to know they would go on a cyberstalking spree, so everyone got codenames so they couldn’t be found.
Jiminie: What happened?
Hoba: Oh no.
Taetae: Nothing major. She wanted us to be more. I didn’t and she caused a public scene. She stormed out and I let her go.
Kookie: You told her you just wanted a hookup though… right?
Taetae: I always do.
Hoba: A public scene. Where were you? I thought you guys only fucked.
Jiminie: Are you okay, Taetae?
Taetae: I’m okay Jimin. I was going to talk to her anyway because she was getting clingy so it worked out for the best.
Taetae: Yes, we fucked Hoba but we both got hungry so I took her to a café like the gentleman I am.
Taehyung trailed a hand down his bare torso as he thought back to the incident at the café. He didn’t mean to bring his friends with benefits into your café specifically… It was just the one that had the best reviews.
And he could see why. The muffin you gave him was phenomenal.
Jiminie: I'm sorry that happened.
Kookie: And in public? Please tell me it wasn’t busy.
Taetae: She got mad because she thought I was flirting with the barista.
Hoba: Were you flirting with the barista?
Taehyung barked out a laugh. His friends knew him well.
Taetae: For once no. But Hoba you have been withholding information, you know.
Jiminie: Wait, what? What info?
Hoba: Huh?
Taetae: You didn’t tell me Baby Blue still worked at The Oasis. Imagine my surprise when I see her behind the counter.
Kookie: Oh shiiiiit.
Hoba: What did you do Taehyung? She is my fiancé's best friend. Please, for the love of God, leave her alone. Mira is stressed enough from wedding planning.
Taetae: Nothing! We just talked then Australia flew off the handle
Kookie: So you were flirting then?
Jiminie: I think you can’t help but flirt when you are around her Tae. You’ve been like that for years.
Hoba: Please tell me you didn’t call her that stupid nickname to her face. You know she hates it.
TaeTae: Oops.
Hoba: Oh my God Taehyung.
Taetae: What? She called me Captain right back! And it was not flirting you two! So stop it! We do not flirt.
Jiminie: Yes but you appointed yourself the “Captain Taehyung” title in university because you thought it would get you more women.
Kookie: Did that ever actually work?
Taetae: I’ll have you know I got laid plenty of times because of that name thank you very much!
Hoba: So you flirted with her and your girl stormed out. Classy.
Taetae: We did not flirt. It was playful banter besides, Australia knew she and I were never going to be serious.
Kookie: I agree with Jimin. I think you can’t help but flirt with her. She doesn’t fall for your charms and it makes you mad
Taehyung sat back and bit his lip. He wasn’t flirting with you. He didn’t like you like that. He just liked the flustered look on your face when he teased you. It was…adorable. Plus, you were one of the only girls who didn’t immediately fall at his feet, and something about that always made him want to work harder around you. It kept him on his game because he took pride in the fact that everyone seemed to adore him.
Everyone except you.
Hoba: Please just leave her alone Tae. I’m serious! With the wedding coming up I don’t need you two at each other’s throats.
Taetae: Believe me, I was just as surprised to see her as she was to see me. Did you guys know she is a published author?
Kookie: ...Yeah?
Jiminie: Duh.
Hoba: Yes.
Taehyung frowned.
Taetae: Hoba you don’t count because you are marrying her best friend. Jimin? Kook? How did you know?
Jiminie: Because we ask about our friends we went to school with. We don’t spend our time trying to get under their skin.
Kookie: Jimin and I bought her book. I could loan it to you if you want.
Taetae: I do not spend my time trying to get under her skin. She’s just very easy to rile up.
Hoba: Oh god.
Jiminie: You mean flirt with?
Taetae: Nope. Good try though. And yes Koo I will take a look at her book. Can I come to pick it up after work tomorrow?
Kookie: Sounds good.
Taehyung dropped his phone on his chest and stared up at the ceiling. He felt weirdly proud that you did something with your degree instead of him, who ended up working an office job for his father.
Taehyung quickly pulled up his search engine and searched for your book.
His eyes widened when he saw that it was number fifteen on trending and received a lot of praise. He kept scrolling, reading review after review of people saying it was one of the best love stories they had read in a long time.
Taehyung was pleasantly surprised, as he knew you only dated one guy in university named Simon, who was an absolute pompous dickhead.
When he found out what went down between you and Simon, Jimin had to lock him in the dorm so he didn’t storm down the hall and punch Simon right in his ugly ass mouth.
He was just… protective of one of Mira’s friends, that’s all.
Taehyung set his alarm and turned out the light. He shucked off his sweatpants and pulled the covers over his naked frame.
However, sleep wouldn’t come because all he could think of
you gained a lot from university; a law degree catching dust in your attic, countless arguments with your roommate about laundry schedules, and a best friend whose biggest fear in life is commitment. in essence, jungkook's world gets flipped upside down when you take a trip to london and he finally realizes his feelings for you...only to find out you've come back with a fiancé.
pairing: jungkook x (fem) reader x namjoon
genre: fluff, angst, smut, f2l au, strangers to lovers au, love triangle au, bestfriend!jungkook, fuckboy!jungkook, baker!reader, photographer!namjoon
rating: 18+ MINORS DO NOT INTERACT !
w/c: 63k
warnings: chaotic meet cute, lots of friendly banter, emotional constipation from jk, impulsive decisions made by oc and joon, BRITISH NAMJOON, some unrequited love at one point (right person wrong time), jealousy jealousyyyy, jk does some questionable things for love LMAO, fear of dying alone, some emotional cheating, yearninggggg, crashing a wedding, explicit sexual content; two separate sex scenes, kissing, dirty talk, handjob, oral (m. & f. receiving), breastplay, bigdick!joon, sub!joon, lightdom!jk, switch!reader, unprotected sex, wedding night sex, cowgirl, missionary, creampies.
a/n: FINALLYYYYY HALLELUJAH IT'S HERE Y'ALL 😩😩😩 this fic took me longer than i anticipated but i'm really happy with how it turned out and i hope you all love it as much as i do !!!! it's super duper long and i had to split it into four because of the 1k block limit (which is annoying but it's okay) so sit back and grab some popcorn y'all !! these characters are all a bit flawed and that's okay so please bear with them 🙂↕️ i'd love to hear all of your thoughts and opinions on moh pleassse send all your lovely asks so we can chat because i always love interacting with you guys. and don't forget to like, comment, reblog and ENJOY !! i love you soooo much !!! & banner creds to the lovely and talented @voyter 🫶🏼
main masterlist moodboards spotify playlist moh extras
It's Halloween night on campus, which means three things: a really loud, obnoxious party filled with really loud, obnoxious people, drunk hookups that no one will remember in the morning, and you've locked yourself in your room to avoid all of the above.
The entire university is pulsating with the energy of drunk frat boys in capes, girls dressed in skimpy lingerie calling it their costume, and at least three professors who are far too old to be dressed up amongst the students. You, however, are in your true element: large hoodie, fuzzy socks, a half-eaten Snickers bar on your nightstand, and a thick law textbook open in front of you.
Parties aren't your thing. You'd rather be sued than make small talk with a guy dressed as a ketchup bottle. While your roommate, Jieun, spent hours hot-gluing rhinestones onto her platform space boots for her "sexy astronaut" outfit, you politely declined all invitations and instead declared war on your midterm readings. The only spooky thing in your life right now is the growing realisation that you don't actually want to be a lawyer, the thought that you'll probably die single, and knowing you'll be buried in student debt by the time you graduate.
And honestly? That's still more appealing than the campus party.
You take a break from studying around 2am and finally decide to turn off the light and get some rest. Until the door of your dorm room creaks open.
You pause, blinking your eyes open in the darkness of your room. Maybe Jieun forgot her phone. Maybe she brought back a stray alien from the party. Either way, you don't move, not until the unmistakable dip of the mattress under your legs almost sends your soul flying from your body.
Someone just climbed into your bed.
Your eyes widen to the size of saucers, your heart racing in your chest. It's pitch black, the only light coming from the little slit under the door.
"Jieunieee," the voice whispers, smooth and far too seductive. "Are you ready for the best dick of your life?"
That's it.
You scream as loud as you can, springing straight up. You grab the bottle of Chanel perfume on your nightstand and spray it directly into his eyes.
"AHHH—WHAT THE F—!"
The stranger falls out of your bed with a loud thud, hitting the floor dramatically like he's been shot in a Western.
"What the hell?!" he groans, writhing on the floor with a hand covering his eyes and the other holding his head. "You maced me!"
"That was perfume!" you yell, feeling your heart in your throat, the perfume clutched tightly in your hand, holding it out in case you have to spray him again. "And why are you in my bed, you psychopath?!"
"I was looking for Jieun!"
"You can't just crawl into beds like a raccoon in the night!"
"I thought this was her bed!"
"Do I sound like Jieun?!"
He blinks rapidly on the floor, his voice strained through his agony. "I don't know, it's dark and I was promised a sexy astronaut!"
You switch on the bedside lamp with the force of a woman ready to kill.
And there he is.
Black leather pants. Tight black shirt. Fake bruises and cuts on his face, presumably made with makeup. An eyebrow piercing. Tousled hair. Ridiculously attractive even while clutching at his eyes like he's just been gassed in battle.
Your brain fills in the blanks before he even says it.
"You're Jeon Jungkook, aren't you?"
He lowers his hand just enough to smirk at you. "And you're ___. The infamous roommate I've heard so much about."
You sigh, flopping back against your headboard in disbelief. "Of course she's hooking up with you of all people."
Jungkook is a campus legend. The boy whose reputation includes at least two streaking incidents, three girls who dropped out of the university due to their heartbreak, and a tongue that's done unspeakable things according to the word on the street.
And now he's on your floor, still very much looking like the kind of man your mother warned you about even after being sprayed in the eyes with perfume.
He sits up, rubbing his eyes. "For the record, I've had a lot of entrances, but that was definitely my worst."
"You scared the crap out of me!" you exclaim, tossing your pillow at him. "Who just walks into a dorm and climbs into an unfamiliar bed?!"
"I didn't walk," he scoffs, catching the pillow with an insufferable grin. "I strode."
You glare at him.
He grins wider. "Come on, that was funny!"
"You have a concussion, don't you?"
He wipes his eyes with the heels of his palms, settling on the edge of your bed. "Honestly? If you weren't so terrifying, I'd be impressed."
"Excuse me?"
"You're terrifying," he deadpans. "You sprayed me in the eyes and insulted me all within five minutes. That's worse than most of my Tinder dates. Not by much, but still."
You fold your arms over your chest, raising an eyebrow at him. "Maybe don't go crawling into beds with strangers."
"Technically, you're the stranger," he quips, pointing a finger at you. "And you've maced and verbally abused me. That's a lot for a first impression."
You sigh, rolling your eyes. "Unbelievable. Are you always this irritating?"
"I like to think of myself as…persistently charming," he smiles.
You give him a dry look, your eyes narrowing. "You're the human equivalent of an unsolicited dick pic."
"Oof," he winces, placing his hand over his heart. "Okay, that one hurt. But also...kinda hot that you're this mean."
You blink at him. "Do girls actually fall for this crap?"
"Usually," he shrugs.
"Well, congratulations," you scoff. "You've officially found the girl who's immune to your bullshit."
He holds up his hands in surrender, laughing softly. "Okay, you've made your point. I'm sorry I invaded your bed. I didn't mean to scare you like that. I apologise."
Your face softens ever so slightly, giving him a curt nod. "Thank you."
"But also," he adds, leaning back on his hands, "you're hilarious. And clearly not afraid to defend your space. We should be friends."
You stare at him. "What?"
"Friends," he repeats, like it's the most natural thing in the world. "You and me. I'm serious."
You narrow your eyes once more. "You literally came here to hook up with my roommate."
"Which clearly isn't happening anymore," he sighs, lounging on your bed like he's at a beach club. "But now I've met you. And I like you."
You scoff. "You don't know me."
"I know you don't care about going to a hot party and hooking up on Halloween night, and would absolutely tase someone if you had the chance. Right?"
You pause. That…is not incorrect.
"I also know that girls like you usually avoid guys like me. Which is fair. But still…" He swings his legs off the bed, standing up. "I want to be friends."
"Why would we do that?" you ask, genuinely curious.
He grins. "Because you're the first girl who's actually told me I'm full of shit to my face."
You open your mouth, then close it again, and he takes that as a win.
"Anyway, I'll see you around," he smiles, walking toward the door. "If Jieun asks, tell her I tested positive for an STD or something."
You roll your eyes. "Get out!"
He's halfway out when he turns back and winks. "Nice meeting you, ___."
"Likewise, Satan," you grumble, gesturing for him to shut the door.
He laughs, loud and boyish, and disappears down the hall. And just like that, your quiet Halloween night turned into something totally unexpected.
You met Jeon Jungkook. And he wants to be your friend.
God help you.
The library is dead silent, but your soul is screaming.
You've been staring at the same paragraph in your property law textbook for the past eleven minutes and it's starting to feel unbearable. You've underlined the phrase "freehold estates" three times in three different colours, and it still means absolutely nothing to you. Your highlighter is on life support, your brain is fried, and you'd sell your soul for caffeine.
But instead of caffeine, you get Jungkook. Perfect.
"Hey, bestie."
You flinch so hard your pen skitters off the desk.
He slides into the seat across from you like he owns it, as if you invited him. As if this is a casual meet-up instead of a sacred study bubble you built with blood, sweat, and overpriced stationery.
"Why," you whisper, your eyes narrowing, "are you here?"
He blinks innocently, shrugging. "Checking on my friend. You did say we'd be friends."
You raise a skeptical brow.
He leans in closer, his voice mock-offended and far too loud for the library. "Which is interesting, because I've texted you three times this week and you haven't replied once."
You open your mouth, then close it, unable to come up with a valid excuse.
"I had to force you to give me your number last week when we ran into each other in the cafeteria," he continues, his arms crossed over his chest. "Do you always ghost your friends, or am I just special?"
You groan, rubbing your temples. "I've been busy, Jungkook."
"You probably didn't even save my contact," he mumbles dramatically. "I'm still just a number. I feel so objectified."
You blink at him, fighting the chuckle threatening to bubble up your throat. "You're so dramatic."
"And you're so avoidant. Classic enemies-to-friends arc," he muses. "We're already ahead of schedule."
You roll your eyes, glancing back down at your textbook. You really don't have time for this, but Jungkook props his chin on his hand and looks at you with that annoyingly charming smile of his, like he's got nowhere else to be. Like being here, distracting you, is the most important thing in the world.
You hate how disarming it is.
"You done soon?" he asks.
"I have a property law test tomorrow," you mutter dryly. "So, no. I will never be done. I will die in this library and haunt the footnotes of this stupid textbook."
He laughs loudly, earning a 'shhhh!' from a student two tables away. "What if I bribe you with coffee?"
You look up, contemplating it for a second before going back to the dreaded textbook.
"Not interested," you mutter lowly, though it's not even convincing to your own ears.
"You're clearly tired," he scoffs, raising an eyebrow. "And cranky. And there's a weird twitch in your left eye. Come on, ___. Take a break with me."
You purse your lips, letting out a deep sigh. The twitch is real. And your head is pounding. And caffeine does sound like heaven right now.
"You're really annoying," you mutter. "I mean it."
"I've been told," he grins, rising from the chair like he's already won. "Come on. Twenty-minute coffee break. Your brain cells will thank me."
Against your better judgment, and possibly because you might actually fall asleep in your chair, you shut your textbook and drag yourself to your feet, slinging your bag over your shoulder.
"Fifteen minutes," you grumble. "If I fail this test, I'm blaming you."
"Fair," he shrugs, grinning as he holds the library's door open for you. "But at least you'll have had the best coffee of your life, so it'll be worth it."
The café is warm and noisy, filled with the comforting smell of espresso and baked goods. Students sit hunched over laptops. A barista is arguing with the espresso machine. Someone's crying in the corner over what sounds like an econ midterm.
You're halfway through the line when Jungkook turns to you, holding two fingers in front of the glass display.
"Okay," he huffs dramatically. "Crucial decision. Strawberry muffin or banana cinnamon walnut?"
You blink up at him, your eyes narrowing. "What?"
"I can't decide," he confesses, peering at them like they're ancient artefacts. "I want both but I can't get both. That's too much sugar and fat and I'll lose my abs. A girl licked whipped cream off my abs two days ago. I need them."
You snort, taking a step forward as the line starts moving again. "You're ridiculous."
"I'm serious," he whines. "Pick one for me. I trust your judgment for some reason."
You sigh in resignation. "Do you want nuts?"
"I don't like nuts," he mutters with a grimace. "But I also don't like not liking things. Feels like I'm limiting my potential."
You stare at him like he's actually insane.
He stares at the muffins.
"Banana walnut it is," you nod.
He looks at you like you just sentenced him to death. "Really? I was kinda hoping for strawberry."
"You said you don't like not liking things. Expand your horizons. Live a little. Face your fears. Eat the nut muffin."
He lets out a groan like he's being tortured. "If I hate it, this is on you."
"Oh relax, you'll live," you scoff, a smile tugging at the corners of your mouth.
"What if I die?"
"If you die, I get that expensive laptop of yours."
He nods solemnly. "Deal."
After a long wait that's most definitely over fifteen minutes, you sit down at a corner table by the window, both of you nursing warm drinks. He watches you take the first sip of your mocha like you're some sort of science experiment.
"You were desperate for this, huh?" he chuckles.
"Don't judge me."
He laughs and takes a bite of the banana walnut muffin. He chews slowly, his face unreadable.
You watch him, waiting for the verdict.
He swallows, licks a crumb off his thumb, and looks pleasantly surprised. "…Woah. This is amazing."
You smile, sipping your coffee. "Told you."
"Who knew I liked nuts?"
"I did. You're welcome."
He leans back in his chair and smiles over at you. It's soft, genuine, not the usual grin he uses when he's being annoying.
"I'm starting to think we're meant to be," he quips.
You nearly choke. "Over a muffin?"
"Yeah. You just made a decision that changed my life. This is fate."
You roll your eyes, but your cheeks heat up nonetheless.
He nudges your foot gently under the table, slowly sliding the muffin over to you to taste.
"Thanks for coming with me."
You take a little bite of the muffin, nodding at the taste. "Thanks for the invitation."
And just like that, it starts. A small, insignificant tradition that might mean more some day, but for now, it's just comfortable and easy.
Just…friendship.
—
The kitchen is a mess. There's flour on your cheeks, frosting on your elbow, and a criminal amount of cupcake batter missing from the mixing bowl. Your cousin asked you to bake a batch of vanilla cupcakes for her bridal shower and of course, the new pain in your ass decided to come over to your dorm to 'help'.
"Jungkook," you warn, pointing your spatula at him, "if you eat one more spoon of raw batter, I will throw you out. And no, that's not a threat, it's a promise."
"I'm not eating it," he mumbles, his mouth full. "I'm...quality testing."
"You're gonna get salmonella and die."
"I'll die a happy man because this batter's really good," he grins.
You sigh, scraping the last of the creamy batter into the cupcake liners while Jungkook leans against the counter, licking the spoon you gave him to keep him busy. He has cake batter on the corner of his mouth, and somehow he still looks good. Ridiculously good. Stupidly, unfairly rude levels of good. You pretend not to notice.
"You're supposed to be helping," you sigh.
"I am helping," he says proudly. "You said these are for your cousin's bridal shower. What better way to show my support of the union than selflessly sacrificing my digestive system?"
"You don't have a logical bone in your body."
He grins, his eyes crinkling with amusement. "And yet, here I am, in your kitchen, helping a friend who desperately needed me."
"You invited yourself," you deadpan. "As usual."
He shrugs. "You didn't say no."
You sigh and slide the tray of cupcakes into the oven before setting the timer. The warmth of the kitchen hums around you. It smells like vanilla and feels like a comforting hug in the midst of exams and stress and the impending doom of early adulthood.
Jungkook hops onto the counter, swinging his legs to entertain himself now that the fun part—eating raw batter and watching you stress over quantities of baking powder—is over.
"I still can't believe you made all this from scratch," he murmurs, looking genuinely impressed. "These are, like…actual, professional cupcakes."
You wipe your hands on a dish towel, chuckling. "My cousin's paying me, so that's kinda the point."
He tilts his head, watching you intently. "You're really good at this."
Something in you blossoms at the compliment. He says it so casually, like it's obvious, like it's a fact. It feels good, something you're not sure you've felt before.
You smile faintly and sit down at the little table in the middle of the kitchen, staring at the mess around you; edible flowers, mixing bowls, an empty packet of cupcake liners.
"It's what I love," you murmur softly, a look of tenderness blooming in your gaze.
He raises a brow. "Baking?"
"Yeah," you nod. "Always have. Even when I was a kid. I used to make these terrible little chocolate chip cookies that were more like…burnt rocks...but I'd still force everyone in my family to eat them."
He laughs.
You don't.
"I used to dream about owning a bakery," you add, your voice a little softer, more vulnerable. "Still do, I guess."
There's a pause. He watches you, remaining quiet, waiting for you to elaborate without making a silly comment. You don't look at him, but you can feel it, the shift, his attention going from teasing to genuinely trying to understand you a little deeper.
"But…" you sigh, leaning your chin on your palm. "My parents want me to be a lawyer. That was always the plan. It's respectable. Stable. It makes sense."
"Do you want to be a lawyer?" he asks, his eyebrows knitting together.
You hesitate, letting out a deep sigh. It's as if a gate has opened inside your chest because you don't seem to hold anything back.
"No," you scoff. "Not even a little."
The confession feels heavier than you expected. It feels like you're finally being honest with yourself, which is far scarier than being honest with him. You can ignore his teasing remarks, but you can't ignore that little mocking voice in your head that tells you your dreams probably won't work out anyway.
Jungkook doesn't say anything right away. He just keeps swinging his legs slowly, tapping his fingers against the edge of the counter.
Finally, he asks, "Then why are you doing it?"
You roll your eyes, looking anywhere but his eyes. "Because…I'm good at it apparently...and they expect it. I don't want to disappoint them."
He nods slowly, his eyes downcast.
"You know what would be more disappointing?" he murmurs, his smile barely reaching his eyes.
You tilt your head, looking over at him.
"Waking up ten years from now and hating your life," he deadpans. "And never even trying."
Your chest tightens, your head racing with endless possibilities of a future you thought was already set out for you.
"You're so good at this, ___," he smiles, gesturing to the cupcakes in the oven, the kitchen, the part of you he wants to explore further. "Like, actually good. Not just hobby-good. This is your thing."
You swallow thickly, remaining silent. You don't usually tell people this stuff. You don't usually let yourself say it out loud because then it feels too real. Too scary. But for some reason…with him, it doesn't. You've come to realise he makes you feel seen, which is weird, considering he usually forgets girls' names and faces after a single encounter. This is different, though. You're not a girl he wants to sleep with. You're ___, the girl he wants to hang out with at 2am just because. You're the girl he genuinely wants to spend time with because he enjoys your company, your friendship. You like that. It makes this all feel more genuine.
There's a long beat of silence before you begrudgingly admit the thoughts plaguing you. "You can be really sweet when you're not being an idiot."
He laughs, his nose scrunching up in that way that makes your stomach feel tingly and fluttery. "Don't spread that around. I have a specific brand to maintain."
You laugh, loud and sincere.
"I think you'd make a great bakery owner," he murmurs softly, flicking some leftover flour in your direction.
You wave him off like it's nothing and check your cupcakes, but for the first time since you started studying law, you finally believe you're capable of more than settling, all thanks to the boy on your counter with flour in his hair and sincerity in his eyes.
—
It's almost midnight when Jungkook's phone buzzes on the nightstand. He's half-asleep, sprawled out on his bed, wearing nothing but his boxers, one sock missing. He squints at the screen through bleary eyes, seeing your contact name.
He's awake in an instant.
"Hello?" he croaks, already sitting up, his hair sticking up in all directions. He hears the catch in your voice before you even say a word.
"I'm sorry," you whisper, sniffling. "Did I wake you?"
His heart drops. "Are you okay?"
"...Seungcheol...he cheated on me."
Jungkook is already pulling on sweatpants before the word 'cheated' leaves your lips.
Of course. Fucking Seungcheol. You weren't even really looking for love when you met him. He was just a friend of a friend in one of your classes—a smooth talker who carried around a leather briefcase like he was already a full-time lawyer instead of a sleep-deprived undergrad. Jungkook never liked him, always thought he was a bit pretentious, but of course he wouldn't burst your bubble. Looks like he was right about the dick after all.
"I'll be there in ten."
You open your dorm door in your pajamas, eyes red, nose pink. Your expression crumples the moment you see him, and he doesn't hesitate, just wraps you up in his arms, no questions asked.
Even after just seven months of friendship, you cling to Jungkook like a lifeline, like he'll put all your broken pieces together again. Sure, your relationship with Seungcheol only lasted two months but that means a lot to an eighteen-year-old, so there are still a lot of broken pieces nonetheless.
"He said he didn't mean to," you mumble against his chest while you lie in bed together, willingly this time. "Like that makes it better. Like I should be grateful that it only happened once."
Jungkook exhales hard, like he's trying not to yell. "He's a fucking idiot."
"He said I made him feel…small. That I was trying to outsmart him. That I was too independent. That I...made him feel like he couldn't 'be the man', whatever that means."
Jungkook pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes fierce, his hands cupping your face.
"You are smart. And independent. And so beautiful. And funny. And you make the best desserts in this entire goddamn city. If he couldn't handle that, it's not because you were too much. It's because he just wasn't enough."
Your eyes well up again, tears silently slipping down your cheeks.
"He cheated with a really pretty girl. Blonde. Really big boobs," you grumble.
Jungkook's voice softens, his thumbs stroking your wet cheeks. "Don't compare yourself to some other girl. You are...so fucking gorgeous, by the way."
You snort, shaking your head. "Shut up."
"I'm serious." His thumb brushes away another tear. "You walk around like you're not insanely beautiful, and you think no one notices. But I do, ___."
You stare at him, stunned into silence.
He shrugs, pulling you closer to rest your head against his chest. "Just saying. Don't cry over some knock-off loser when you're literally you."
He stays wrapped around you for as long as you need, one hand gently running through your hair. You sniffle into his neck, your eyes eventually fluttering shut from the warmth and safety of it all.
Eventually, you fall asleep against his chest, breathing steady, a hand loosely clutching his hoodie.
Jungkook remains still, simply looking at you, admiring you in all your glory. Memorising the curve of your cheek against his collarbone. The way your lips part ever so slightly when you dream. The way your fingers curl, even in your sleep, like you're afraid to let go.
He's not the guy who stays for too long. Not the guy who commits. He's built his whole identity around not being that guy, but holding you like this, he kinda wishes he was.
He stares up at the ceiling and sighs, a quiet, hopeless sound.
"I wish I could be the man you need," he whispers into the dark. "But I'm not there yet. I don't know if I ever will be."
And even though you're fast asleep, you still mumble something soft and unintelligible into his chest. You still hold on, and so does he.
—
Your dorm room is lit by a single lamp, the soft yellow glow contrasting violently with the hyper-pink DVD menu of Legally Blonde looping on your laptop. You've watched it a million times before but it's a Friday night and you're having a movie night with Jungkook, so naturally, you're introducing him to one of the classics.
Jungkook is sprawled across your bed, legs crossed at the ankles, one hand buried in a bowl of popcorn and the other dramatically thrown over his forehead as if he's on his deathbed.
"I swear I don't deserve this," he groans. "I mean...I know I call her Number Three but she didn't have to ghost me just because I wouldn't be exclusive with her. I was actually planning on seeing her again and then calling it off, like a gentleman."
You blink, glancing over at him. "Number Three?"
He sighs. "We've been over this, remember? The girl from the accounting party. Short. Cute. Gave me a hickey shaped like a continent. I think South America?"
You stare at him, slowly shaking your head. "You're insufferable."
He brightens. "Thank you."
"That wasn't a compliment."
"You say that," he grins, grabbing another handful of popcorn, "but I feel like you secretly admire my dedication to the craft."
"What craft?" you deadpan. "Being a man-whore?"
He gasps, clutching his chest. "You wound me."
"And you wound women," you chuckle.
"Wow. That hurt, ___."
You toss a pillow at him but he dodges like an athlete. Of course he does. Jackass.
Eventually, when the popcorn is half finished and your patience is half gone, you nod toward the laptop screen. "I'm honestly surprised you're not out tonight."
He blinks. "What do you mean?"
"It's Friday," you deadpan. "Your natural habitat is...I don't know...bars, random beds, broom closets. Anywhere but here watching Legally Blonde with me."
He pouts, actually pouts.
"Hey, I like hanging out with you. I cancelled plans to hang out with you."
You scoff, visibly unconvinced. You secretly feel very special and quite flattered, but that has to be too good to be true, right?
He continues casually, "I'm not completely heartless, you know. I have layers. I'm like an onion. A sexy onion."
You snort. "Please never say 'sexy onion' again."
"But it's true!" he insists, nudging your calf with his foot. "I really like hanging out with you. You're fun, easy to talk to, and you don't pretend to be someone else around me."
"And your other girls do?"
"They pretend to like whatever I like, dislike whatever I dislike. It gets boring listening to them just agree with whatever I say."
You roll your eyes. "Poor baby."
He rolls his eyes right back, as if you don't understand how hard it all is for him.
"You know what your problem is?" you ask, adjusting the laptop and pressing play.
"Oh, here we go."
"You don't believe in romance. Or in actual relationships. Or in…anything that requires feelings."
That's not entirely true, but he shrugs anyway. "Feelings are messy. Hookups are simple. Everyone wins."
"Not everyone," you mumble under your breath, your eyes trained on the laptop screen.
He tilts his head, his mouth stuffed with more popcorn. "What's that supposed to mean?"
You ignore his question and push on. "I just…I don't get it. How can you have meaningless sex with someone? Doesn't it feel empty?"
"Actually when I do it, they usually feel very full," he smirks.
You throw a balled-up pair of socks at his face and he catches it one-handed. What a show-off.
"Look," you clarify, sighing, "I'm just saying, I personally...want something real. Someday. Something that actually matters. A person who actually matters."
"Happily ever after, huh?" he teases.
"Maybe," you mutter, growing defensive. "Why not?"
He makes a face as if you just told him the Earth is flat. "Uhmmm...because that doesn't exist."
"You're so dramatic, yes it does."
"You're the dramatic one!" he argues. "You act like the universe is going to drop Prince Charming out of the sky."
"Maybe it will."
"It won't," he laughs.
You sigh, your eyebrows furrowing in annoyance. "You don't know that."
"I do. I know love ends in heartbreak ninety-nine percent of the time."
"So what? You avoid the one percent just in case it hurts?" you challenge.
"Yes," he chuckles carelessly. "And I'm thriving."
You stare at him for a long moment—this beautiful, aggravating, confusing man who can make you laugh until your ribs hurt and then say something that makes you want to shake him.
He has no idea what he does to people.
Especially you.
Especially because lately you've been catching yourself staring at his hands more when he gestures, or the way his hair falls into his eyes while he plays video games, or the sweet, sincere smile he gives you right before he ruins the moment and says something stupid.
You refuse to acknowledge any of it. Crushes on Jungkook are a disease, and you are absolutely vaccinated.
You distract yourself with the movie. Elle Woods is about to confront Warner. Great scene. Then—
His phone buzzes on the bed. Just once.
You don't mean to look but your eyes flick down instinctively while he rambles absentmindedly about the scene playing out on screen.
There's an unanswered text still waiting on the screen from his friend, Seokjin, asking about some business admin assignment. He didn't bother to respond yet. You're sure Seokjin is used to him taking forever to respond to texts, considering they've known each other since high school and now share a few classes together, which you found out on a tipsy Wednesday night when Jungkook decided to share his whole life story with you.
That's not the text that matters right now. The second text is the one that really catches your eye. The number isn't saved, but you don't have to be a genius to know that it's one of his hookups.
xx - xxx [10:32pm]: i had a lot of fun tonight. same time tomorrow ??
He slept with someone. He had sex with some girl literally right before coming over.
Your stomach drops. It shouldn't—not when you've known him for almost a year and you know him to be this way—but it does anyway. It drops because he said he cancelled plans to be with you, but it turns out you're just leftovers.
And now he's here, laughing with you, acting like you're such good company, when in reality you were the afterthought once again. The backup plan. The safe, comfortable option when he's done with whatever girl came before.
You clear your throat. "Your, uhm...your phone buzzed."
"Oh?" he mutters lazily, not even reaching for it. "Probably Jin. He's obsessed with me," he jokes.
You look back at the laptop screen before he can see your face. Your voice is neutral when you murmur, "You should probably respond. Maybe it's important."
"Nah," he shrugs. "I'm here. I'm hanging out with you."
You nod, forcing a smile.
Something inside you clicks—a silent, sharp realisation. This is who Jungkook is. This is who Jungkook will always be. He's funny, and charming, and a little bit addictive, if you're being completely honest.
But Jungkook will never be yours.
He will never be the perfect man for you. He will never be your one percent. So, you bury the tiny, blooming crush before it can grow roots, and you decide firmly, painfully, that a friend is all he'll ever be to you.
And you're sure you can live with that.
Ten years later...
If someone had told you back in university that the chaotic intruder you maced with Chanel perfume would become your favourite person, you would've recommended they seek help urgently.
And yet, ten years later, here you are.
Somehow, despite Jungkook's questionable life choices, endless line of women, and the fact that he once tried to microwave ramen without water, the two of you grew into something solid. Something constant. Something quietly threaded into every part of your adult life.
You grew up together.
Late-night study sessions turned into late-night grocery runs. His hangovers turned into your "you have to stop being so irresponsible" lectures. Your heartbreaks turned into his "give me his address" threats. You were there to celebrate with him when he landed his first high-paying corporate job and he was there to support you when you were grieving your dad's passing.
You became inseparable. A matched set. A pair of platonic soulmates. And in the past ten years, your life took a path younger you would've fainted over.
Sure, you graduated with your law degree and your family was proud, your grandmother bragged to her knitting group, and you spent several months pretending you were totally thrilled to be entering a profession that slowly devoured human souls.
But the truth? You hated it. The corporate offices. The endless contracts. The panic attacks you had in bathroom stalls pretending everything was fine. Law was stable and respectable, but it sucked the life out of you.
Your dream had always smelled like sugar, butter, and rising dough, so one day, with the determination your professors once called "excessive," you quit your job, emptied your savings, fought with your mom for a full year about your life choices, and opened the bakery you always wanted.
Honey & Hearth Bakery; your pride and joy, your entire heart with an overpriced oven attached. The tiny cake shop that eventually grew into a beloved neighbourhood spot with warm lighting, mismatched mugs, cozy booths, and the smell of fresh bread always lingering in the air.
And Jungkook? Well, he painted the walls baby-pink with you at 1am and drilled shelves with no prior experience. He showed up to your grand opening with an extravagant flower bouquet, three balloons that were far too big and dramatic for a bakery opening, and a promise to always support you and your happiness.
He's been your most loyal customer ever since.
Which brings you to now.
The bell above the front door jingles at 8 on a Thursday morning and you don't have to look up to know who it is.
"Morning, superstar," Jungkook calls out, his voice warm and annoyingly bright for a man who has a meeting to attend in an hour. Working in the corporate world isn't the most thrilling profession in life, but he earns the big bucks and he looks hot wearing a suit, and that's enough for him.
You grin without turning around, already whipping up his coffee. "You're late."
"It's 8," he scoffs, winking at a random woman that walks past him.
"Your usual time is 7:20."
"Sorry. Morning sex happened," he sighs, sliding onto his usual stool at the front counter. "That girl from the bar stayed the night and don't get me wrong, she's hot, but I had to explain the whole 'no overstaying your welcome' rule."
"Is that a part of your 'no back-to-back sex' rule?"
"Yes, exactly," he sighs.
"Isn't that basically the same thing as your 'no more than once a week' rule?"
"No, the 'no more than once a week' rule specifically only works from Monday to Friday."
You scoff. "Oh, so theoretically you could sleep with someone on Sunday night and it wouldn't break the rule if you slept with them again on Monday morning?"
"Now you're getting it," he nods.
You finally glance over your shoulder, listening to him go on a long tangent about his recent sexual endeavours. He's completely different from the mischievous boy who crawled into your bed a decade ago…yet somehow exactly the same. Older now, bigger, broader, jaw sharper, hair perfectly styled. Still stupidly handsome in that infuriating, effortless way.
"Pick one for me," he grins, looking over at the pastry case.
That little tradition certainly didn't end in university. In fact, it's become an every-morning thing. He comes in before work and insists you surprise him with a new pastry to try. Apparently it keeps him on his toes, which he believes is very important in life.
You lean against the counter, your arms crossed. "Hmm. What's your vibe today?"
"I don't know," he sighs, pretending to think. "Handsome. Dashing. Maybe a little mysterious."
"Delusional," you chuckle.
"See? This is why this works," he smiles. "You keep me humble."
"What about a slice of apple and cherry crumble?"
"Nah, I had that one last week," he shakes his head.
"Lemon butter cream cup maybe?"
"Not really feeling a cream cup today," he shrugs.
"Hmmm..." You scan the display of desserts, pursing your lips. "Pistachio croissant?"
"___, come on. You're losing your touch," he teases.
"Okay, okay, uhmmm..." You scan the display once more, picking a popular new item on the menu. "Okay, today you're getting the honeycomb and lavender custard tart."
He lights up instantly, like a puppy being offered a treat. "Yes. Excellent choice. I knew you'd pick that."
"You didn't know anything," you scoff, plating it for him.
"I had a feeling."
"You always have a feeling."
"And it's always right," he grins.
The bell rings at the front door and you quickly turn your attention to the cash register to serve one of your regular customers, Mrs. Park—an elderly woman who always makes pleasant conversation and compares you to her granddaughter. She's incredibly nice and always compliments you on the frilly dresses you wear.
"What will it be today, Mrs. Park?" you smile sweetly.
"My usual, dear," she chuckles warmly. "One of those lovely chocolate eclairs of yours. My daughter tells me I should stop eating them so much because of my blood sugar but what she doesn't know won't hurt her."
You chuckle, wrapping one up for her in a little pastel-pink box, taking her cash with a polite bow of your head. "My lips are sealed," you wink.
She laughs and takes the box before walking off with a little wave of her wrinkled hand.
That brings you back to the man waiting for his breakfast.
"Here," you murmur, sliding the plate and mug of coffee toward him. "Eat and try not to break anything. You already broke two mugs last month and I'm seriously going to start charging you for them."
He takes a big bite of the mini tart and groans in delight. "God, marry me."
"You literally just told me about how you were balls deep in some girl from the bar," you scoff, rolling your eyes. "Besides, you fake-propose to me every morning."
"And I mean it every morning."
You snort. "Please. You'd never."
He leans an elbow on the counter. "Only because you'd divorce me for eating in bed and getting crumbs on the sheets," he sighs, taking a sip of his coffee.
"Correct," you nod, wiping down the counter. "I have standards."
He sets down his mug and straightens up, getting to what he's been meaning to discuss this morning. "So, you busy this Saturday?"
You shrug, mentally checking your schedule. "Not that I know of. Why?"
"Because I need you."
You pause. "You do?"
"It's an invitation actually."
"Okay…" you murmur sceptically, narrowing your eyes at him. "To what?"
"My father's engagement party. Shocker."
Your rag pauses mid-swipe across the counter. "Which one?"
"Engagement or father?" he grins.
"Both."
"Engagement number ten. Father number one."
You blink. "Ten?"
"Ten," he repeats, like it physically pains him. "She's twenty-three, gorgeous, has a skincare routine that could bankrupt nations. I think she was in diapers when my dad got married the third time."
You gape. "Wait, who's the one that sold protein powder on Instagram?"
"That was number eight." He takes another sip of his coffee. "This one does yoga retreats in Bali and says things like 'alignment is a mindset'. Ridiculous, I know. And she only wears bags that are made from real baby alligator, allegedly."
"That's disgusting and inhumane," you grimace. "So...why do you need me?"
"Because," he groans, "he's having some fancy dinner-slash-engagement party and he wants me there, and I am not suffering through that circus alone. And my dad likes you. And you make me look balanced and emotionally stable."
"That's a lot of responsibility for one woman," you tease.
He shrugs. "You used to handle lawsuits for fun."
"Yeah but I don't do law anymore," you deadpan.
"You still look like you could send someone to jail," he grins, taking another bite of his dessert. "Anyway, you know how these things go. Everyone's going to ask why I'm still single, and I'll end up getting irritated because my dad's fiancée—who's younger than me—insists on calling me 'sweetie'. I need backup. Please come, ___. I'll owe you forever."
You laugh softly, leaning across the counter. "You already owe me forever, Jeon."
"Yeah, but this time I'll actually admit it," Jungkook mumbles, meeting your eyes with that boyish half-smile that hasn't changed in a decade.
"Fine. I'll go," you sigh, tossing the rag into the sink.
Jungkook beams, and you pretend your stomach doesn't flip.
"You're amazing," he grins and claps once, pushing off the counter with a mouth full of custard tart. "I'll pick you up at seven on Saturday. Wear something fancy. And also maybe emotionally prepare yourself."
"For what?" You chuckle.
He grimaces. "Stepmom Number Ten is…a handful."
You chuckle. "Aren't they always?"
He points at you as he backs toward the door. "Exactly why you're coming with me."
The bell jingles again as he leaves, and your day continues with familiar customers while he rushes through the morning traffic.
Jungkook's father's estate is something you would never be able to afford even if you opened ten more bakeries. Calling it a house would be like calling the Titanic a canoe. There are fountains—yes, plural. There is a driveway long enough to train for a marathon. There's valet parking and a floral arch made of white roses that look like they cost more than your entire bakery.
And there are people. A lot of people. Champagne clinks in the air, soft jazz plays somewhere in the distance, and laughter rolls in every direction.
You exhale, adjusting the strap on your dress. "I always feel very commoner-in-the-palace when I'm here."
Jungkook tucks your hand into the crook of his arm, pulling you closer as he leans in, looking dapper in his black tux. "Relax. You're one of the only sane people here. That automatically makes you royalty."
"Does it?"
"Yes," he smiles confidently. "And when my father inevitably lets me inherit this place, which I'll force him to do, then I'll make you queen of the fountains."
You snort. "I don't want to be queen of the fountains."
"Too late. You've been coronated." He taps your forehead with his finger. "Boop."
You roll your eyes, but your chest warms. He always does that; makes you feel like you belong wherever he is.
Inside, the party is in full swing. There are waiters weaving between people, guests mingling in glitter and silk, the future bride squealing in a voice that sounds like it's powered by helium and Mr. Jeon himself proudly showing off the engagement ring on her finger that could double as a murder weapon. There's even a towering cake on display, five tiers of gold-trimmed extravagance that you can't wait to recreate in your free time.
Jungkook grabs two flutes of champagne from a passing waiter and hands you one, taking a big gulp.
The moment his father spots the two of you, his entire face lights up.
"There's my favourite duo!" Jeon Jaehyun sweeps you both into a hug—more you than Jungkook. Jungkook gets a pat on the back like a border collie. You get an affectionate double cheek kiss and a squeeze.
"Mr. Jeon," you greet with a polite bow and a soft smile. You've always liked him. He makes questionable choices when it comes to women, but he's nice and he always treats you like you're a part of the family. It's also clear where Jungkook gets his good looks from, not that you ever look for too long or else he'd make you Wife Number Eleven.
"You look stunning tonight, sweetheart," he beams. "I tell you, if I were thirty years younger—"
"You'd still be making terrible decisions, dad," Jungkook cuts in, unamused.
Jaehyun clicks his tongue. "I'll have you know, son, that marriage is an unpredictable thing."
You glance at the fiancée across the room, who is taking a selfie with the champagne tower, not noticing that she's flashing half the guests.
"Unpredictable, huh?" you echo with a soft smile. Sure.
The fiancée, Seulgi—with a gorgeous face, waist-length extensions and breasts that defy gravity—bounces over.
"Kookieee," she sings. Her voice is airy, like her brain has never had to carry anything heavier than a single thought.
"Kookie?" you whisper.
He grimaces. "Don't."
"Oh my gosh, is this your girlfriend?" she asks, looking you up and down like you're a lost child she found at the mall. "I didn't know my future stepson has a special lady!"
"This is ___," he sighs. "My best friend. Strictly platonic."
Seulgi nods, smiling like she understands exactly none of those words, before turning her attention to her future husband. "Love-muffin," she coos, kissing Jungkook's father on the cheek. "The guests are asking when we're cutting the cake."
Jungkook leans toward you, whispering, "My dad's nickname for her is Sugarpuss."
You almost choke on your champagne. "No."
"Yes," he grins sarcastically.
His father pats her waist affectionately, grabbing your attention. "Isn't she wonderful?"
She smiles. "I got my nails done for today."
She wiggles her fingers in front of your face. They're pink and sparkly and probably cost more than your monthly grocery bill.
You smile, nodding. "Very pretty."
"Thank you!" she squeals. "I got them done at—oh look, champagne!" She wanders away mid-sentence.
Jungkook closes his eyes, groaning. "My latest stepmother, ladies and gentlemen."
Jaehyun gives you both an apologetic smile. "Listen, she's...youthful. Nothing wrong with that."
"She probably can't even spell 'youthful', dad," Jungkook deadpans.
Before Jaehyun can respond, another round of shrieking laughter erupts from Seulgi's direction. Jaehyun sighs deeply, chuckling.
You squeeze his arm, a soft smile settling on your face. "Congratulations. I really hope you're happy, Mr. Jeon."
He softens at that, looking between you and Jungkook. "With people like the two of you around? Hard not to be."
Jungkook, knowing how much of a sap you are, drags you away before you can tear up, but that doesn't stop you from clutching your chest like your heart might physically burst right through it.
The buffet tables are the size of actual battle stations. You and Jungkook each grab cake slices and slip outside, where fairy lights glow over small round tables. You sit at one, kicking off your heels with a relieved sigh.
"Vanilla for you," Jungkook says, sliding your plate over. "Chocolate for me."
"And we share," you remind him.
"We always share."
You scoop a bite of chocolate from his plate. He steals some vanilla from yours. It's instinctual.
While you eat, you glance out at the dance floor. Couples are slow dancing under the lights, chins tucked against shoulders, fingers intertwined, faces soft with something that makes your chest ache a little.
"I love that," you murmur softly.
Jungkook follows your gaze. "What? Dancing?"
"No," you scoff, taking a small bite of the vanilla cake. "The...closeness. The comfort. You know, two people who actually like being around each other."
He snorts, stuffing his mouth with cake. "Boring."
"You literally treat dating like a casual sport," you mutter, rolling your eyes. "You can't even do something as simple as cuddling."
"I could cuddle if I really wanted to," he mumbles defensively, his eyebrows furrowing.
"Jungkook, you once pushed a girl off your chest because she said your heartbeat sounded like a lullaby."
He points his fork at you. "Okay, but after I pushed her off of me, I played her an actual lullaby on Spotify, so..."
You laugh so loudly someone glances over at your table.
He leans back in his chair, studying you. "You should be more spontaneous. You fall in love too quickly and you assume every boyfriend is the one. You ever think maybe you'd have more fun if you didn't plan out every part of your life?"
"I'm not planning," you argue, eating a forkful of the chocolate cake. "I just...I like security and stability in life."
"Or," he counters, "you're waiting for this perfect man who doesn't exist."
You shrug, absentmindedly poking the cake with your fork. "I'm not looking for perfect; I'm looking for someone who sees a future with me, not a guy who 'goes with the flow' because he doesn't know how to commit. Someone I can build a life with."
He tilts his head, narrowing his eyes at you. "One; that's kinda delusional. Two; you're twenty-eight, you still have time for all that later in life."
"Not according to my mom. She believes I should have been married and had babies by now."
"That's insane," he scoffs. "I'm thirty and I'm perfectly fine the way I am."
"We're very different people with very opposing views on relationships, Jungkook," you murmur gently. "And besides, I do kinda agree with her to a certain extent. I want to build something soon and not waste time dating men who only want a weekend. I'll die alone if I don't get a move on."
He softens, almost imperceptibly. "You don't have to rush. It'll happen with the right person when it's meant to be."
You nod down at your plate, dragging your fork through some frosting. "Yeah. I guess."
"Besides, do you want to get married just for the sake of being married? Look at my father who's on his tenth marriage and soon, his tenth divorce."
"Don't be so negative," you murmur with a faint smile. "Maybe this one will be his person."
"My mom was supposed to be his person," he grumbles, picking at the vanilla cake. "This one is just another mistake to add to the list."
"Jungkook," you smile. "Even if you know it's a mistake but it's not your place to intervene, you simply say, 'I'm happy you're happy' and move along."
"Yeah, yeah," he scoffs, bringing his fork up to his lips. "You're always right. I hate that."
You chuckle, taking another bite of his slice of cake. The moment settles between you, and you take it as an opportunity to share something with him that's been on your mind lately.
"Speaking of being spontaneous…"
"Oh no," he teases. "That tone is never good."
You chuckle, rolling your eyes. "No, it's not anything crazy, it's just...I've kinda been thinking about going to London for the summer."
His fork freezes halfway to his mouth, his eyes growing double its size. "London?"
"Mhm. For a short pastry course," you explain. "Three months at this prestigious culinary institute. It's kinda a dream opportunity."
Jungkook is silent, his fork gently clinking against the plate as he sets it down.
"When were you gonna tell me?" he asks softly. He's not upset, just very caught off guard.
"Just now," you shrug. "I was on the fence about it for a while."
"Wow," he swallows thickly. "Three months?"
You nod.
He forces a small smile, the kind of smile he uses when he doesn't like something but refuses to ruin things for you. It's a smile that tells you he doesn't know how to live without you for that long, but he'll pretend like he's totally fine.
"That's…wow, that's amazing, ___."
"Yeah." You pick at your cake some more. "But I don't know. It's expensive and I'd be away from the bakery for months, and I've never been out of the country alone before, and—"
"Hey," he smiles, softly nudging your knee under the table. "You can do it."
"I don't know," you mumble. "It feels like…a big jump."
"You like big jumps."
"No, you like big jumps. I like stable ground, a clear path and preferably a railing."
He grins. "I'll install a railing in London."
You glare at him but your laughter slips out effortlessly.
His smile softens even more. "Seriously. If you want it, go for it. The bakery will survive. The other staff can run it. And you should do things for yourself for once. You're always taking care of everyone else."
You open your mouth to argue, then shut it when you realise you don't have an argument. You hate that he's not wrong.
"I'll miss home," you mutter quietly.
"Home will always be here, ___, it isn't going anywhere," he shrugs. "Seoul will always be your home. Three months in London won't magically change that."
You want to tell him that you'll miss him as well, but saying that you'll miss home is close enough. It's one in the same anyway.
"And," he adds, "if you get lost, I'll fly over and find you."
You roll your eyes. "Right, because you're definitely responsible enough for that."
"Hey, I'd bring a GPS."
You chuckle, leaning back in your chair as warm air settles around you, the fairy lights flickering overhead and Jungkook licking frosting off his fork like it's nothing.
"You think I'll do well?"
"Of course," he smiles, nudging your shoulder. "It's you. You're gonna shine. And I'll visit, or we'll video call...or I'll just break into the institute and steal you back."
You laugh, but your chest tightens. He's trying so hard to be happy for you. You can tell.
"You sure you'll survive without me?"
He scoffs dramatically. "If anything, I'll thrive. I'll become stronger, faster, a new man."
"Right," you chuckle. "You'll last three days before you start texting me pictures of pastries and asking which one to buy."
"I give it two," he admits in defeat.
You laugh, the last of the tension easing as the music swells in the distance. Your face slowly melts into a tender smile, your eyes softening ever so gently. It all feels so warm and intimate, and strangely bittersweet.
"Thank you for always supporting me," you murmur quietly.
"Always," he smiles before feeding you a piece of cake on his fork.
You're mid-bite into your cake when Jungkook's entire face suddenly drains of colour.
"Oh no," he whispers.
You pause, your eyebrows furrowing in confusion. "What?"
He doesn't answer in words. Instead, he subtly tilts his head toward the patio doors.
You follow his gaze. A woman in a tight pencil skirt and glasses, hair in a too-tight bun, is clutching a binder to her chest like it's a bible and she's about to testify. Her eyes scan the place with an intensity that could cut steel.
"Uhm…who is that?" you whisper.
"One of my dad's senior analysts." He swallows, setting down his fork. "Her name's Yuri."
"She looks...friendly," you tease.
"She made a blog about me," he hisses.
Your eyebrows shoot up. "What?"
"A blog. It's called 'All Things Jungkook'. Can you believe that?"
You snicker, covering your mouth so you don't get cake everywhere. "You're kidding."
"I wish."
You laugh too loudly and Jungkook shushes you frantically before it can catch Yuri's attention.
"She wrote an entire essay analysing my facial structure," he whispers. "Like, paragraphs. There were diagrams."
You bite your bottom lip to keep from cackling, your face contorting with amusement. "Diagrams?"
"She compared my jawline to Renaissance sculptures," he mutters miserably. "Sculptures, ___."
You wheeze.
"At least she doesn't think my nose is too big or my arms are too scrawny," he adds under his breath, pouting.
You stop laughing, your smile fading.
"Who said that?"
He stares at you.
"You did," he scoffs. "Back in university."
You gasp. "I did not say that!"
"You did," he nods solemnly. "You also said my top lip is too thin."
You slap a hand over your mouth, horrified and amused all at once. "Okay, to be fair, I was an extremely critical eighteen-year-old who was drowning in law textbooks, so I didn't really have a nice thing to say about anyone."
He looks in Yuri's direction, who is still scanning the crowd like a Terminator. "She's gonna see me. She's gonna corner me and ask if I read her four-page analysis about my eyebrows."
You're already laughing again.
"___," he begs, grabbing your wrist. "Dance with me."
"Wait, what?"
"Please," he hisses. "If I'm on the dance floor with someone, she won't approach me."
You arch a brow. "You want me to publicly claim you as occupied?"
"Yes."
You chuckle faintly but stand anyway. "You so owe me."
The music has shifted to something smooth and slow—a romantic melody playing that makes older couples sway like they're reliving their youth. Jungkook places a hand lightly on your waist as you join the crowd. It's familiar but warmer than usual. Or maybe it's the champagne going to your head.
You rest your left hand on his shoulder and your right hand in his palm as you both begin to sway, your faces a lot closer together than they usually are.
"Okay," you smile, "which part of your face did she analyse the hardest?"
"My jaw," he mutters. "Apparently it has a 'mathematically perfect slope', or something like that."
You smile, letting him sway you to the music. "Well, she's not wrong."
He does a double take, staring at you like you said something completely crazy.
"What?" you chuckle.
"What did you just say?" he asks, leaning in closer.
"I said she's not wrong," you shrug.
He squints at you. "You used to call me a pretentious dick."
"That was also true."
He shakes his head. "You're unbelievable."
You grin, then hesitate just a fraction, but he notices.
"What is it?" he asks softly.
You shouldn't say it. You really shouldn't say it, but the music is soft, and the lights are warm, and you're pressed just a bit too close to a man you trust more than anyone in the world, so you blurt it out before you can stop yourself.
"I always thought you were...cute. You know, back in the day. I might've...had a little crush on you..."
His entire body goes still, his eyes growing wide.
"You what?"
"It was a teeny tiny...stupid crush," you clarify. "Very small and insignificant. Microscopic, actually."
Jungkook continues to stare at you, his lips parting in disbelief. "You're kidding."
"I'm not."
"You..." he scoffs, smiling. "You had a crush on me?"
"Don't say it like that," you chuckle, growing flustered.
"No, I'm just..." He searches your face, bewildered and—although he tries to hide it—quite pleased. "I thought you hated me in university."
"Oh, please. If I hated you, I wouldn't have wasted my time insulting you."
He laughs, loud and delighted.
"So, all those insults were, what? You flirting?"
You sigh, rolling your eyes. "Calm down, Jeon."
"You secretly pined for me," he grins smugly, gently twirling you around until you're facing him again.
"Pined? Relax. It lasted, like, two weeks."
"Mhm, sure," he teases. "I bet you were doodling my name in all your notebooks and imagining what our children would look like."
You give him a deadpan stare. "Don't push it. That ship sailed a long time ago."
His smile falters just enough for you to notice if you're really paying attention, but he recovers quickly, tugging you a little closer as the music swells.
"Right, of course," he mumbles softly, looking past you while you sway to the music.
You clear your throat, feeling desperate to redirect the conversation before the air gets heavy.
"So…London," you murmur softly.
He hums, twirling you around once more before pulling you in close. "London."
"I think it'll be good for me," you admit. "A break. Something new."
He studies you—the bright excitement in your eyes, the uncertainty underneath, the hope, and something flashes in his expression that you don't catch, something soft and affectionate.
"Well," he smiles, his voice quieter than before, "I guess I'll have to see you off at the airport, huh?"
You smile, resting your cheek against his shoulder.
He closes his eyes, savouring the moment, his voice coming out just a tad louder than a whisper. "Fuck, I'm gonna miss you."
You roll your eyes, feeling a warmth bloom deep within your ribs. "You're a sap like me now."
He smirks, the earlier tension slipping away. "Don't tell anyone."
"Your secret's safe with me."
He dips you playfully, the two of you laughing, brushing shoulders, standing closer than friends should—close enough that the air between you buzzes with something you both feel.
Outside the dance floor, Yuri is still circling like a shark, but Jungkook doesn't look her way once. Not when he's looking at you.
Incheon Airport buzzes with summer chaos; children dragging suitcases bigger than their bodies, couples taking teary selfies, businessmen speed-walking like their lives depend on it. In the middle of it all, you stand with your luggage, passport, and a rapidly beating heart.
Jungkook is beside you, his hands shoved into the pockets of his jeans.
"So…" he mumbles, rocking back on his heels, "I guess this is it."
You nod, clutching the handle of your suitcase. "Three months."
"Three months," he echoes.
There's a brief moment where the airport noise fades and it's just you and him and ten years of friendship sitting between you.
He reaches out and flicks a piece of fluff from your sweater, even though you're ninety percent sure there never was any fluff to begin with. "You'll text me when you land?"
"I'll text you as soon as I get WiFi," you nod.
"And you'll video call me?"
"Only if you don't answer while you're at the gym and make me look at your sweaty forehead again."
"That was one time," he chuckles.
You grin. He grins back, but his fades first.
"Go be brilliant, okay?" he murmurs softly. "London's waiting for you."
Your chest warms. "I'll miss you."
Something flickers in his eyes but he blinks fast before you can question it.
"Yeah," he sighs. "Me too."
You smile, lightly punching his arm. "I love you, idiot."
He rolls his eyes, his lips twitching at the corners. "Yeah, yeah, I love you too. Now go."
When you finally walk toward the gate, you don't turn around, but Jungkook stays in place, watching until you disappear. When he finally walks out of the airport, he tells himself the heaviness in his chest is pride, not anything else.
Definitely not. It couldn't be.
—
London greets you with fresh summer air, the faint smell of rain, and immediate sensory overload. The taxis are louder, the buildings older, and everyone talks like they're narrating a BBC documentary.
And you feel more alive than ever.
Your first day at the culinary institute feels like stepping into a whole new world. The kitchens gleam like they've been polished a thousand times. The finest plates await your creations. The ovens are fancier than anything you could ever dream of using.
You learn laminated dough, the perfect method for chocolate tempering, advanced patisserie techniques, all things you used to watch on YouTube while telling yourself you'd perfect someday.
Now 'someday' is here and it's better than you anticipated.
You snap pictures of everything—your flaky pastries, your fancy meringues, your messy apron—and send each and every one of them to Jungkook, even if he responds hours later because of the time difference or his busy schedule.
Between classes, you make the most of your London summer. You buy dresses and blouses that make you feel like a character in a Bridget Jones movie, you carry around flowers wrapped in brown paper that will sit in the middle of the coffee table in your hotel room, you sip tea at cute cafés and buy souvenirs for Jungkook every chance you get.
A vintage Beatles t-shirt.
A Big Ben keychain.
A tiny corgi plush.
Your classmates take you in immediately and within your first month, your nights are filled with dinners at pubs where everything is fried, rooftop wine with the funny Brazilian girl from your pastry group and late-night tube rides where you and the others fall asleep leaning on each other. You make memories that will last a lifetime, and at one point, you don't even think about everything waiting for you back in Seoul.
It's a quiet Saturday afternoon when you find yourself wandering through the sculpture gallery of the Victoria and Albert Museum. There's a hush in the air, as if the marble statues are asleep and everyone else is just trying not to disturb them.
You stop in front of Canova's "Psyche Revived by Cupid's Kiss."
It's breathtaking. It's delicate and romantic and heartbreakingly intimate, like stone brought to life. Cupid leans over Psyche, gently cradling her as if she might shatter. You've seen it in pictures before, but seeing it in person makes it that much better.
You step closer, completely mesmerised, but a shutter clicks beside you, catching you off guard and pulling you from your daze.
There's a man standing next to you, tall and broad-shouldered, wearing a dark cardigan and round glasses that slide slightly down his nose. His hair is dark and frames his face, and a film camera hangs from a strap around his neck. He's just taken a photo of the sculpture, and when he notices you looking, he offers a warm, slightly sheepish smile.
"Sorry," he murmurs in a low, honey-smooth voice, the British accent doing something tingly to your insides. "Didn't mean to interrupt your moment."
You smile politely. "You didn't, don't worry about it."
He turns to look at the sculpture again, tilting his head. "It's beautiful, isn't it? There's something timeless about it." He glances back at you. "Makes you believe that it's worth it to wait for a love like that."
Your eyebrows raise, feeling a bit taken aback by the rather romantic stranger.
He laughs softly. "Sorry. That was…dramatic."
"No," you shake your head, smiling wider. "It was really nice...and true."
"I guess that means I'm not being overly sentimental."
"Or we both are," you smile.
"Could be worse," he shrugs. "I'd rather be overly sentimental than chronically indifferent."
You let out a soft laugh. "That's a good line."
"Thank you, I read it in a book once," he smiles down at the ground, fidgeting with his camera.
You both turn back toward the statue, standing in comfortable silence for a beat, watching how the late afternoon light casts golden shadows on the white stone.
"I'm Kim Namjoon, by the way," he says after a moment, holding out a hand.
"___," you smile, shaking it.
"You're not from here, are you?"
You shake your head. "Seoul, South Korea."
His eyes light up. "Really? Me too...well, kinda. My parents are Korean but they met here in England while they were both studying at Oxford. They moved back to Korea after getting married. That's where I was born, but we moved back to England when I was about five. I haven't been back in a while."
You nod, your interest piqued. "And now you…take pictures of sculptures for a living?"
He chuckles. "Not exclusively. I'm a photographer, mostly travel and editorial, but I come here a lot on my days off. It grounds me."
"I get that," you murmur. "Bakeries do that for me."
He looks over at you, his eyebrows raising. "You're a baker?"
You nod. "I own a small bakery back in Seoul. It's kinda why I'm here, actually. I'm doing a summer course at a culinary institute nearby to brush up on my skills. I'm only here for three months."
"That's incredible." His smile is genuine, his eyes shining under the museum lights. "Honestly, I think bakers are like magicians. You turn flour and cocoa into happiness. It's very impressive."
You laugh, nodding along. "That's very nice of you to say, thank you."
"You're very welcome, Miss ___."
He looks back at the sculpture for a moment, then turns back to you, a little more tentative this time.
"I know this is a bit forward, but…do you perhaps have plans after this?"
You feel your heart pound harder, your head shaking almost too excitedly. "No, not really."
He smiles, clearly a little nervous, like he's not used to doing this. "Would you maybe want to grab a coffee with me? I could show you around London if you'd like. There's a place just down the road; very tiny and unassuming but the coffee's good and they have these absurdly large cinnamon buns that are to die for."
He's handsome, has an accent that makes your thighs clench, and he wants to take you to a café. You don't even have to think about it.
"I'd love to."
His face softens, looking like he didn't quite expect you to say yes.
You chat while you walk out together, side by side, stealing one last look at Cupid and Psyche, and somewhere deep in your chest, you wonder if he is a part of the fresh start you've been craving.
—
It all starts with a simple coffee date.
After the museum, you and Namjoon tuck yourselves into a quiet corner of a café near Hyde Park, where he stirs his cappuccino with one hand and nervously fidgets with the strap of his camera with the other. He asks thoughtful questions, listens like he genuinely cares and laughs with the cutest expression that makes your cheeks flush every single time. He walks you home that night—hands brushing, hearts pounding—and from there, it all blossoms at the speed of light.
Your second date is dinner at a tiny Italian restaurant where you end up talking for hours, sharing pasta and trading childhood stories. He shyly admits he once cried when his favourite bakery shut down, and you know then and there that he's your type of person.
On the third date, you sit beside the Thames at sunset, barely an inch between you, and when your head falls against his shoulder, neither of you move. Your first kiss happens in the rain after a trip to a vintage bookshop, hesitant at first—until it isn't. Until his hands are warm on your waist and yours are in his hair, time melting into the taste of his mouth.
You start to crave his presence, his voice, his intellect wrapped in a British accent and kind eyes.
One night, after too much wine and too many loaded glances, you kiss him breathlessly in his hallway and let him lead you to his bed. It's slow and sweet, and he makes you feel like the most beautiful woman he's ever laid his eyes upon. That happens quite often after the first time. You have sex in the shower, the backseat of his car, on the floor of your hotel room, and it's always better than the last.
By the start of August, Namjoon is a fixture in your London summer. He waits for you after class. He carries your shopping bags without a complaint. He reads books aloud when you can't sleep, chuckles at your terrible attempt at a British accent, and takes endless sneaky photos of you mid-laugh just because he loves the way you look when you're at your happiest. He even drives you out to the English countryside to have dinner with his parents.
Somewhere between the late-night talks and stolen kisses, you fall for him harder than you ever meant to. And the scariest part isn't how fast it happens…it's how disappointed you are that it's all temporary.
—
Namjoon unlocks the door to his flat, stepping inside with the same subtle confidence you've come to love. He holds the door open for you—always a gentleman, even when his fingers were just threaded through yours all the way home from the pub, even when his lips were pressed against your neck as you waited for your Uber, even when his voice had dropped into that low, breathy register that made your knees weak.
You step into the warmth of his space. It smells like him, which you've come to love as well. The lights are dim, a large bookshelf lines the wall, vinyl records stacked neatly near a player and a blooming houseplant stands tall in the corner.
He toes off his shoes and reaches for your jacket. "Here," he murmurs softly, pressing a kiss to your cheek from behind.
You slip your jacket off your shoulders, your pulse jumping as he hangs it up with care. He rests his hands in his pants pockets, watching you as you turn to face him. His eyes flick over your lips, your neckline, the way you tuck your hair behind your ear like you're totally not still nervous around him.
"Wanna watch a movie?" he offers.
You shake your head, smiling.
He nods slowly and takes the hint, cupping your face in his large hands. The kiss that follows comes easily, mouths moving languidly, your fingers pressing into the fabric of his shirt. You've kissed Namjoon a million times over the past three months—on couches, in doorways, on sidewalks lit by streetlights—but this time it feels far more gentle and intimate.
By the time he breaks away, you're breathing in shallow little waves.
"C'mon," he murmurs softly, taking your hand in his. He leads you down the hall, into his bedroom. It's minimalistic, very clean. There's no pretence, just him.
He doesn't pull you into bed. Not yet, at least.
He stands beside the low bookshelf near the window, arms folded loosely, watching you run a hand through your hair.
"Is this really just for three months?" he asks softly. "You being in London? You're really going back to Seoul?"
You sigh, realising you'd have to have this conversation eventually. "Yeah. I mean…that's always been the plan, Joon."
He nods slowly. He just needed to hear you confirm it. "Right. Just…three months."
You sit down on the edge of his bed, your hands resting in your lap. "I just...didn't think I'd actually…meet someone here. I just came to bake things and buy overpriced souvenirs for my best friend."
He smiles at that, but it doesn't reach his eyes.
You tilt your head, your eyebrows furrowing. "Why do you ask?"
Namjoon exhales and smiles. "I guess I've just been thinking about it a lot more than I expected to."
He walks toward you slowly, kneeling down so he's at eye level, his hands resting on your knees with the utmost tenderness.
"___, I know we've only known each other for a short while," he murmurs, keeping his voice steady. "But..."
You swallow thickly, sensing a shift in the air.
Namjoon pulls out a small velvet box from his pants pocket.
You freeze, completely at a loss for words. "Wait. Namjoon, is that...?"
He nods and opens it, his eyes moving from the little box to your face. Inside is a simple, vintage ring; an oval-cut diamond set in an antique band. It's timeless and stunning.
"Kim Namjoon, you're insane," you whisper, letting out a soft, breathless chuckle. "You actually bought a ring?"
He smiles up at you, shaking his head. "I didn't buy it."
Your head tilts in confusion.
"It was my grandmother's," he explains. "She wore it for over fifty years. My mum kept it after my granny passed…and last week...I asked her for it."
Your throat tightens, your eyes widening. "You…asked for it?"
He nods, glancing down at the ring. "I called her and told her that I'm serious about you. I told her that you make me feel like I'm a better version of myself just by existing next to me."
You press a hand to your mouth, feeling overwhelmed with a whole mixture of emotions.
"She told me I was a little nuts," he adds with a chuckle. "That no sane man proposes to someone he's only known for three months."
You laugh, nodding. "Your mom's smart."
"She is." His smile melts into something softer, more serious. "But I'm in love with you. And I don't want to wait."
There's a beat of silence, just the sound of your heartbeat roaring in your ears, the hustle and bustle of the city outside his window, and the impossible weight of the moment sitting in your chest.
"I know it's really fast," he says gently, "but when I look at you, it doesn't feel fast or crazy. It feels like I've been waiting for you my whole life without even knowing I was waiting."
You don't say anything right away.
This man wants to marry you. This man who instantly took a liking to you when he met you. This man who's intelligent and kind and effortlessly elegant. This man who just presented you with his grandmother's wedding ring like it was meant to be yours all along.
Namjoon watches your expression carefully, waiting patiently.
Then, cautiously, he smiles.
"Will you marry me?"
—
At first, it all just feels like a mild inconvenience for Jungkook.
You're in a different country, in a different time zone, and of course it's normal that your texts come through while he's asleep or his calls are missed because you're stuck in class. Days pass where your voices never reach each other, just fragments—missed calls, unread messages, half-finished voice notes.
At first, he tells himself it's normal, maybe even healthy. You're living your best life halfway across the world, and he refuses to be the needy friend who holds your back. Still, he finds himself reaching for his phone too often, typing things and deleting them, falling asleep with your chat left open like maybe, somehow, it will make you feel closer.
He goes out a lot in June.
He texts you at 2am after coming home from drinks with Jin and two girls he doesn't remember the names of. The text says, "Miss your dumb face," followed by a blurry selfie. You don't answer until seven hours later with a laughing emoji because you just finished rolling a million croissants and you're too tired to ask how his night went.
He smiles at his phone like an idiot every time your name pops up on his screen, but the more time passes, the more the silence starts to hurt.
In July, he hooks up with a girl he met at a rooftop restaurant. She's beautiful, super tall, wears a silk dress that shows off just enough to have him on edge. She calls him "handsome" and laughs at all the right moments. Her perfume is strong, her lip gloss sticky. He pulls her into his apartment and they undress in a haze of clumsy heat, getting straight to the point of the evening—sex.
Jungkook grunts and squeezes his eyes shut as he thrusts into her in missionary, his head spinning as he desperately tries to focus on the task at hand and not the text he sent you a few hours ago that still hasn't been answered.
When he opens his eyes again to kiss her, he's completely thrown off his game when it's not her face he sees contorting in pleasure—it's yours.
It's the familiar curve of your smile.
It's the sparkle in your eyes when the two of you slow danced at his father's engagement party.
It's the look of longing you had on your face when you said goodbye at the airport.
Jungkook stops moving, his hips halting mid-stroke. The girl moans something but he doesn't hear it, far too distracted by your eyes fluttering in his head. He closes his eyes once more, his breathing ragged, his heart hammering. Once he finally gets it together, he forces himself to finish but it just feels hollow now.
When August arrives, Jungkook decides to soldier on until you eventually get back to Seoul.
He meets up with a different woman on a random Monday afternoon—a friend of a friend. They get coffee, then lunch, then dinner a week later. She's cute and easy company. She asks about the meanings of all his tattoos, kisses slow and rides him fast.
She seems genuinely interested in him, so on their fourth hangout—which he insists on calling it instead of a date because he doesn't want her to get the idea that he's serious about her—he takes her to your bakery.
It's his safe place and it smells like you. It's comforting, and warm, and always welcoming. And maybe he takes her there because some part of him just misses home.
The display case is full of your signature work; dainty cupcakes decorated with edible flowers, fluffy cinnamon donuts rolled into perfect spheres, sticky toffee buns that always taste better each time he eats them.
Jungkook stares at the options, his hands in his pockets. "I can't decide what to get," he sighs, testing the waters. "Pick one for me."
She blinks, her pretty doe eyes filled with confusion. "Why?"
"I don't know, it's kinda fun," he smiles. "Just choose something for me."
She raises a brow, looking at the array of desserts. "Okay…a cookie."
He pauses, glancing at her. "No, like...be specific."
"Okay." She stares at the case, then smiles over at him. "A really big cookie?"
He smiles, but it's so fake it almost physically hurts. "Right. Sure."
She doesn't get it, of course she wouldn't. It's not about the dessert. It's so much more than that.
They end up leaving with one cookie for her and nothing but disappointment for him.
—
The days blur and the nights stretch endlessly.
He scrolls through your texts again and again, reading old ones just to be reminded of how funny you are. He reads the ones where you got into a debate about 'sex weather', in which you insisted that rainy weather is always the best time for sex, or rather "making love" as you put it, because you hate being sweaty while trying to be romantic. He listens to the voice note where you tried to explain a French baking term and got so flustered when you lost your train of thought that you ended it with, "Anyway, I'm a fraud, bye."
He plays that one three times, chuckling to himself in bed like a crazy person.
He wants to call you, to hear your voice and listen to you ramble about oven temperature settings and undercooked soufflé.
He wants to say...well, he doesn't really know what he wants to say. He just knows that no one else makes him feel whole the way you do.
That everyone else feels like a filler. Like static. Never you, though. You feel like home.
He tosses his phone aside and stares up at his bedroom ceiling, running a hand through his hair with a huff. It hits him gently, like a slow wave that unexpectedly knocks him off his feet and drowns him in an instant:
You're not just his best friend or the girl he jokingly flirts with out of habit. You're more than just someone who knows how he likes his coffee or which songs make him cry or why he hates sleeping in certain positions because it hurts his back.
You're it.
You're the one he'll always look for in a crowd of people, the one he still wants to talk to at the end of every stressful, shitty day. The one he hasn't stopped thinking about since the moment you walked through that departure gate—hell, since the moment he accidentally stumbled into your bed ten years ago.
And he doesn't know what the hell he's supposed to do with that.
The thud of the basketball echoes through the gym as Jungkook dribbles, sweat clinging to his skin, his heart pounding from exertion. Seokjin's guarding him—kinda lazily—and Wonwoo's near the free-throw line, his sleeves rolled up and jaw set with focus. Mingyu's off to the side, taking his sweet time sipping water and pretending like he doesn't play the most aggressively of all four of them.
Jungkook fakes left, cuts right, and lands the shot. It bounces once, then rolls in.
"Still got it," he grins, jogging back as Mingyu throws him a towel.
"You've got cardio," Wonwoo pants. "Not game."
"Don't need game when I'm playing against geriatrics," Jungkook shoots back.
"Hey!" Seokjin wipes his forehead. "I may be a father now, but I could still outrun you with one baby strapped to my chest and another in the oven."
"You're not even the one with the oven," Mingyu snorts.
"My point still stands," Seokjin shrugs.
They keep playing—passes, dodges, light-hearted trash talk—but somewhere between defence drills and free throws, Jungkook finds himself zoning out. He leans against the padded wall, bouncing the ball absentmindedly, his thoughts far from the gym.
Seokjin notices first.
"You good?" he asks, tossing his friend a water bottle.
Jungkook catches it, hesitates, then nods. "Yeah. Just thinking."
"That's suspicious," Mingyu scoffs. "When you think too much, you start texting your exes."
"No," Jungkook mutters quietly, shaking his head. "Not this time."
Wonwoo raises an eyebrow, walking over. "What's going on?"
Jungkook rolls the ball along the floor with his foot, sighing. "I think I'm in love with ___."
There's a silence that stretches just a second too long, the guys all shooting each other a look.
Seokjin's eyebrows furrow, his hands resting on his hips. "Wait, what?"
Mingyu whistles, patting Jungkook on the back. "Holy shit. That's not what I was expecting."
Wonwoo just leans against the wall and crosses his arms, his expression unreadable.
Jungkook shifts, scratching the back of his neck. "I don't know. It just hit me all at once. I've been trying to date, distract myself. I took a girl to the bakery the other day and asked her to pick something for me like ___ always does…and she picked a fucking cookie. Just said 'a big one'," he snorts humourlessly. "Didn't even get the point."
"You do realize she's not ___, right?" Seokjin chuckles. "How would she know what you meant?"
"Exactly. That's my point," Jungkook groans. "No one's her, dude. I've been around her for ten years, and I think I convinced myself I'd always have time to figure it out, but now she's in London, living her dream, probably flirting with a bunch of British guys."
"Let's not spiral," Wonwoo mutters.
"I just…" Jungkook exhales sharply. "I don't want anyone else. I want her. And...I actually want to do something about it."
The guys pause before Seokjin grabs his shoulder, smiling. "Well, shit! That's called growing up."
"You're not wrong," Mingyu mutters, grabbing the ball to dribble again. "But don't ask me to relate. I'm good with casual sex and no one touching my closet space."
"You say that now," Seokjin scoffs. "Then one day you're holding a baby while your wife cries watching dog rescue videos and suddenly it's the best moment of your life."
Jungkook laughs quietly, glancing down at the floor. "I never thought I'd want that. Not the marriage thing or the kids. I thought I'd stay the way I was forever. Just…you know, vibing."
Seokjin smiles, fond and a little smug. "Now 'just vibing' feels kinda empty, huh?"
Jungkook nods.
"She's different," he murmurs softly. "She makes everything feel like it matters. Without her, everything feels off."
Mingyu makes a dramatic gagging noise. "Can we go back to basketball now? This sappy talk is giving me indigestion."
Seokjin chuckles, giving Jungkook a hard pat on the back. "Tell her when she gets back. Don't wait."
Jungkook nods, determination setting in as he jogs over to play another round.
He's not sure how you'll react to all this, but he's done running from his feelings. He's finally ready. He just hopes you are too.
—
Jungkook listens to your voicemail multiple times when he gets home from work Friday evening.
"Hey…I'm back in Seoul! I've missed you so much. Can we have dinner tonight around 7? I was thinking of going to our usual restaurant. I have so much to tell you. It feels like I've been gone forever. Let me know, okay? Okay, I love you, bye!"
Your voice is bubbly, laced with excitement. You sound like you dialed his number as soon as you got off the plane, the airport noise in the background a clear giveaway.
Jungkook doesn't waste a second. He showers, sprays himself with his most expensive cologne and pulls out a navy suit he usually reserves for weddings and important meetings. He doesn't usually go out of his way to look good for a woman because he's him—he doesn't have to try, but this is you and he wants to leave a lasting impression when he tells you his feelings. Tonight is different. It's significant, and he doesn't want to screw it up.
On his way to the restaurant, he stops at a street vendor and buys a bouquet of peonies—your favourite. He might not be the most conventionally romantic guy on the planet, but he knows you hate roses because you think they're cliché and typical. He knows that you prefer fish over red meat, and that you hate big gatherings because they make you anxious. He knows you better than anyone else on Earth, and he loves you.
The restaurant is buzzing when he walks in—dim lights, quiet chatter, the smell of red wine and garlic butter thick in the air. He spots you immediately, perched at the bar at the far end of the restaurant, laughing at something.
His breath catches at the sight of you.
You look like London. That's the only way he can describe it. You're glowing, your cheeks rosy, your lips stained red. It's different but still you, like something bloomed while he wasn't looking.
He starts walking toward you, a smile pulling at his lips.
But then he sees him.
A tall man standing beside you, dimples on full display like someone's paying him to smile that brightly. He leans in close, says something in your ear, and presses a quick kiss to your lips. It's all a bit too casual, too familiar.
It stops Jungkook in his tracks. When he starts walking again it's fast and panicked. So much so that he doesn't see the waiter passing by until it's too late.
"Sir, excuse m—"
There's a loud crash, a blur of limbs flying about as Jungkook collides into the poor guy carrying a full tray of glasses. Water, wine, forks, the tray itself, it all goes flying as both men go down in a heap right in the middle of the restaurant.
"Shit—!"
"Oh my goodness—Jungkook?!"
You're off your stool in a second, rushing over with wide eyes. The man beside you joins you just as quickly, crouching down to help both Jungkook and the waiter up.
Jungkook winces, pushing himself up to sit.
You're already reaching for him, pulling him up to his feet. "Are you okay? Are you hurt? You just...you slammed into that guy—"
"I'm fine," Jungkook mutters, straightening up, brushing water off his sleeves. He glances down at the scattered bouquet now lying halfway under the barstools.
You crouch to pick it up, glancing up at him.
"And you bought flowers?" you ask with a hopeful glint in your eyes.
Jungkook freezes, glancing at the flowers. He clears his throat, then grabs the bouquet and abruptly shoves it into the startled waiter's hands. "No. These are his."
The waiter is taken aback, and so are you.
Jungkook claps the poor guy on the back, offering him a fake smile. "Congratulations on your...anniversary or whatever."
You raise an eyebrow. "You okay?"
"Mhm," Jungkook nods, his voice tight. "Just clumsy, I guess. Classic me."
You exchange a look with the man Jungkook is still unsure of, who offers your best friend a faint smile. The three of you start walking toward the table—your table, the one you and Jungkook always request when it's just the two of you.
Jungkook doesn't say anything. He sits across from you and watches as the other man pulls out your chair like he's done it a dozen times before, which makes Jungkook's jaw twitch.
And he waits.
Waits for you to explain.
Waits to figure out why he suddenly feels like the only person in the room who didn't get the memo.
You smile and gesture toward the man beside you, your face lighting up at you look at him, a look Jungkook hasn't seen on your face in a really long time.
"Jungkook, this is Kim Namjoon. Namjoon, this is Jeon Jungkook; my best friend I've been telling you all about."
Namjoon leans over with a warm smile and extends his hand to Jungkook. "It's really nice to finally meet you, Jungkook. I've heard so much about you from this lovely lady."
Jungkook forces a smile, reaches out, and shakes it. "Yeah. Nice to meet you too."
His voice sounds normal but his chest feels hollow.
"I've been trying to picture you this whole time," Namjoon continues in that British accent that makes Jungkook's bile rise in his throat. "___'s mentioned you in almost every story she's told me."
You laugh, your cheeks turning pink. "I might've overdone it."
"No," Namjoon murmurs softly, gazing at you like the rest of the world has vanished. "I loved it. Felt like I already knew him."
Jungkook looks down at the table, wishing he could gouge out his eyes with the silverware. "So…what's the deal with you two? You met in London?"
Your smile widens as you nod. "It was so random! I was at a museum, just minding my business, and I was standing in front of this gorgeous sculpture, and then Namjoon just appeared next to me with a camera."
Namjoon chuckles. "She was so focused on the piece, I wasn't even sure if I should say anything."
"But he did," you grin. "He struck up a conversation, and we ended up at a little café for cinnamon buns and coffee, which was amazing, by the way."
"You had cinnamon buns with a stranger?" Jungkook murmurs, trying to sound amused, not crushed.
You wave him off. "Oh please. It just felt so natural. And after that, we just kept seeing each other. Museum dates, dinners, exploring the city. We couldn't stay away from each other."
Namjoon affectionately rubs your back with his palm. "I couldn't help myself, she's irresistible."
Jungkook watches the gesture, taking note of how you lean into it like muscle memory. "Sounds like it all happened fast."
"It did," you admit, your smile softening. "But it felt so right."
He nods, staring at the breadbasket in the middle of the table, and wishes he could crawl into it and disappear.
"Why didn't you tell me sooner?" he asks, his voice quieter than before. "I mean…I know we missed a lot of calls but I would've wanted to hear about this."
You shift in your seat, your expression falling slightly. "I wanted to, I really did. But things just got so hectic. Classes ran late, we were always on the move, and then the time difference made everything harder. I drafted messages and forget to send them, and after a while, I figured…I'd tell you everything properly when I got back."
You look at him with so much honesty that it only hurts him more.
"I'm sorry for not telling you sooner."
He nods, offering you a faint smile. "It's okay."
It's anything but okay, but he'll suck it up and bite his tongue for you.
Namjoon clears his throat, shifting forward. "I know it's probably a lot to take in all at once, but I wanted to tell you myself. I asked ___ to marry me."
Jungkook's eyes flick up to meet his, his face unreadable.
"And I said yes!" You smile and lift your left hand, showing him your ring. It glints under the restaurant lights, sitting delicately on your finger, mocking him.
Jungkook swallows thickly, a pleasant mask glued to his face. "Wow. It's…beautiful."
You beam. "Isn't it? It was Namjoon's grandmother's."
Namjoon takes your hand, lacing his fingers with yours. "I figured it could be lucky for us."
Jungkook lets out a breath that sounds almost like a laugh, glancing between you and Namjoon. "Yeah. Guess so."
He smiles at all the right moments, pretends like his chest isn't caving in, nods as if he's really listening when you tell him all about your summer with Namjoon, but all he feels is regret and bitterness that some other guy gets to take you home tonight instead of him.
You're in love. You're engaged. You're sitting across from him glowing like a woman who's found her forever. And Jungkook is just the best friend—the one who waited too long to be ready for you.
"So…" you begin, your voice light but a little nervous, glancing at Namjoon. "We've actually already started planning the wedding."
Jungkook looks startled, looking between you two. "Already?"
Namjoon nods, smiling. "We figured there's no reason to wait."
Jungkook's eyebrows furrow, looking back at you. "But…you just got back."
"I know," you murmur. "But we're getting married in England in a church Namjoon's dad helped build. It's near their home in the countryside. It's perfect, Jungkook."
"Mm, it's right across from the distillery," Namjoon nods.
Jungkook looks between the two of you, trying to process. "Distillery?"
"Yeah," you say, brightening. "Namjoon's parents own a whiskey distillery."
Of course they do. Of course his parents own a distillery and build churches and probably rescue injured animals in their free time.
"And the wedding is in a month," Namjoon adds.
Jungkook's eyebrows shoot up, his eyes practically popping out of their sockets. "A month?"
You nod, resting your head against Namjoon's shoulder. "We didn't wanna drag it out. It just makes sense, you know? Why wait when we're sure?"
He doesn't answer. He's too busy trying to remember how to breathe. And then, as if the conversation hasn't already taken a sledgehammer to his heart, you turn to him with a hopeful smile that just about finishes him.
"Anyway, I wanted to ask you something," you murmur. "I know it's sudden, and maybe kinda weird, but…Jungkook...would you be my maid of honor?"
His brain flatlines, his mouth opening and closing as he tries to find something to say that won't be totally offensive right now.
"I mean," you add quickly, laughing, "knowing our relationship, you'd probably want me to be your best man someday, right? So, it's only fair."
Namjoon laughs softly, clearly charmed by the idea. "I think it'd be perfect, actually. You two clearly have such a strong bond."
Jungkook opens his mouth to say something, anything, but nothing comes out. Instead, he stands too fast, knocking his thigh into the edge of the table and spinning sideways just in time to collide for the second time that evening with the same poor waiter from earlier.
The tray clatters to the ground once again. The waiter lets out a yelp of disbelief, flat on his back. Jungkook stumbles, caught between horror and absolute emotional overload.
"Dude, are you serious?!" the waiter yells, throwing a dish towel at his chest.
Jungkook mumbles something that might be an apology, but you're already scrambling to help, wide-eyed and flustered.
"Again?! Jungkook, what is wrong with you tonight?"
Everything is wrong.
Everything has gone so terribly wrong.
—
It's a sunny Monday afternoon in the middle of Seoul and the park is alive with movement—joggers passing through, street vendors preparing fresh teokkbokki, and office workers on their lunch break scattered across benches in a sea of undone ties and styrofoam containers.
Jungkook is sitting on a bench with a hotdog in one hand and a death grip on his dignity in the other.
Seokjin takes a massive bite of his chilli dog, glances over at him, and swipes ketchup off his cheek with a napkin as he prepares to tackle the shipwreck sitting next to him.
"So…" Seokjin mumbles, his mouth full. "You gonna tell me why you've looked constipated since we sat down? I only have ten more minutes left of my break and my boss is already on my ass."
Jungkook stares down at his hotdog, his appetite barely there. "___ asked me to be her maid of honor."
There's a short pause before Seokjin chokes on a laugh, quickly covering his mouth to avoid spraying onions all over the bench. "I'm sorry, her what?!"
"Maid of honor."
Jin is full-on wheezing now. "God, I hope the dress makes your ass look good. You've been squatting for this moment your whole life."
Jungkook slumps further in his seat. "This isn't funny, Jin."
"It's hilarious, dude," Seokjin laughs.
"I'm dying, hyung. She gets back from London and all of a sudden she's getting married."
Seokjin finally reins in the laughter, wiping the corners of his eyes. "Okay, okay. Sorry. It's just...you gotta admit, that's a hell of a plot twist."
"I was going to confess," Jungkook mutters flatly, his voice low. "I showed up in a suit. With her favourite flowers. And then I walked in and watched her get kissed by her fiancé and knocked over a waiter in the process."
Seokjin winces. "Yikes."
"She's getting married at a church across from her new fiancé's family whiskey distillery, in a month." Jungkook groans and drops his head back against the bench. "She even showed me the ring. It was his grandmother's."
Seokjin lets out a soft whistle, nodding. "Yeah, that's a lot."
"I feel like I missed the entire movie and just showed up for the credits."
They sit in silence for a moment, birds chirping merrily around them like little assholes.
Then Seokjin finishes his hotdog, balls up the wrapper, and leans forward with his elbows on his knees. "Listen, it sucks, I'm not gonna lie. But this doesn't have to be the end."
Jungkook gives him a side glance. "You realise she's engaged."
"And you're the maid of honor." Seokjin grins. "Which means you're right there, centre stage. You're planning the whole thing, hearing every detail. You're literally the man behind the scenes."
"You make it sound like I'm in a heist movie."
"You are," Seokjin shrugs. "Except instead of robbing a bank, you're trying to steal a bride."
Jungkook snorts despite himself. "That's so dumb."
"Love is dumb, man," Seokjin scoffs. "I proposed to my wife in a Pikachu onesie, and now we have a kid who chews on HDMI cables. But I wouldn't trade it for anything."
Jungkook stares at the sky, feeling unsure. "You really think I should stay close? Not back off?"
"I think," Seokjin says, "if you're really in love with her and not just having a meltdown because someone else got there first, then don't give up on this. You be her best friend. You support her. And if there's even the tiniest crack in her heart, she'll know you were there the whole time, waiting."
Jungkook lets that settle for a moment. He takes a slow bite of his hotdog, chewing thoughtfully. "Okay," he sighs. "But I'm not wearing a dress."
"I will pay you money to wear a dress," Seokjin laughs. "Like, real money. I want full lace. And cleavage."
Jungkook stuffs his mouth with the hotdog to avoid swearing at his friend, but when he leans back again, squinting up at the sky, the weight in his chest feels just a little bit lighter at the reminder that this isn't over yet.
When Jungkook arrives at your apartment Saturday morning, he's met with the familiar comfort of your sweet scent, frilly pillows scattered across the couch, and little trinkets decorating the shelves.
He's spent countless nights here—binging your favourite shows, eating endless amounts of cake as his way of helping you with new recipes, sitting patiently as you give him a faux fashion show of the millionth pair of shoes you bought—and yet this time is not like any of the rest. This time he's here to help you plan your wedding.
"You rang, future Mrs. Kim?" he calls out, kicking off his shoes in the entryway.
You pop your head out from the kitchen with a smile. "You're late, Jeon. You said you'd be here at 8. It's 10."
He takes off his leather jacket and hangs it on your coat rack, rolling his eyes. "You've been engaged for five minutes and you're already a bridezilla."
You scoff, making your way over to greet him with a hug.
He grins at the short embrace, pulling away to get a proper look at you. "Damn, your hair looks good today. Is that a new thing, or is it just the 'I'm-getting-married' glow?"
You roll your eyes, but your smile shows how flattered you are. "Such a suck-up."
"I'm your maid of honor," he says, smiling smugly. "Sucking up to you is literally my job now."
He walks into the living room and settles onto your couch. It feels normal but there's a certain nervous energy in the air today. It's officially the start of preparations for the wedding party, and he's not sure how ready he is for all that. But today isn't about him. It's your day, and he'll support you even if it slowly kills him.
"The bridesmaids are almost here," you murmur, sitting down with him, turning to face him.
"Do I know them?"
"Well, there's Mina," you smile, knowing how well they get along.
"Mina's great, I like Mina," he nods, scooting a bit closer to you.
"And Jeongyeon. You haven't met her yet but she's really chill, you'll love her."
"Okay, who else?" he asks, reaching out and absentmindedly twiddling a strand of your hair between his fingers.
"Uhm..." You sigh, preparing yourself for his reaction. "And Lisa."
His face falls, his fingers pausing in your hair. "Are you serious? She hates me."
"I had to, Jungkook. She's my cousin," you sigh. "And I mean, can you blame her? You had sex with her then ghosted her the next day."
"She almost broke my nose," he groans.
"It was an accident," you chuckle, rolling your eyes as he goes back to playing with your hair.
"She literally punched me in the face," he deadpans. "I told her it wasn't anything serious and she agreed. I can't help that she caught feelings for me."
You smile in amusement, shaking your head at how truly humble he is. "She's wanted to be my maid of honor since we were little, so she hates you even more now."
The doorbell rings right on cue.
You grin and rush over to get the door, welcoming them in. Jungkook isn't sure if the loud entrance is your bridesmaids greeting you at the door or a pack of hyenas cackling. He lets out a huff and stands up as they enter, plastering a smile on his face.
Mina hugs you first; your bakery manager and unofficial work wife. She's organised as ever, carrying a stack of bridal magazines that she's probably had since forever.
Then Jeongyeon, your friend from high school. She's less organised than Mina but equally as excited for you.
And finally…Lisa, your beloved cousin.
Jungkook fights the urge to roll his eyes when he sees her, forcing a smile to remain civil.
She freezes when she sees him, her eyes narrowing into slits.
You smile, choosing to ignore the tension between them for your own sanity. "Jungkook, you remember Lisa, right?"
Jungkook clears his throat, nodding as he sits back down on the couch. "Yeah. Of course. Hey."
Lisa offers a sweet, pointed smile that could kill him if she really wanted to. "Oh, trust me, I remember Jungkook."
The tension is very palpable.
Mina, sensing the shift, gives a diplomatic little nod and walks over to the couch. "Well, we should probably get started, hm?"
You clap your hands together, trying to regain control of the room. "Okay! So, thank you all for coming. Please, sit. I'll go get some snacks then we can start going over fittings, schedules, things like that."
"Can't wait," Jeongyeon smiles, getting comfortable on an armchair while you head to the kitchen.
"I already know this is going to be chaos," Mina chuckles, sitting next to Jungkook, watching as Lisa stabs him with her eyes.
"Some of us thrive in it," Lisa mutters. "Don't we, Jungkook?"
Jungkook scoffs, shooting her a pointed look. "Are we doing that already?"
"Doing what?" Lisa smiles, feigning innocence. "I just meant you're probably used to this; being around a lot of women, multitasking."
You return to the living room before they can start going at each other, carrying a tray of sandwiches and some iced tea before grabbing your wedding binder and sitting down with everyone else, getting right to business. You start listing off dates and logistics—dress fittings, the bridal shower, the family brunch the morning of the wedding—but the air is already charged. Jungkook asks too many questions, honestly, and Lisa's patience visibly deteriorates with every clueless comment.
"Wait, is the brunch before the church rehearsal thing?"
Mina shakes her head, jotting some things down in her planner. "No. The brunch is the morning of the wedding. We've been over this, Jungkook."
"Oh, right. Right."
Lisa laughs under her breath. "God help us."
Jungkook turns to her, raising a brow. "Got something to say?"
Lisa shrugs, taking a glass of iced tea from the coffee table. "Not really. Just wondering how someone who can't even follow a calendar is supposed to help plan a wedding."
"Lisa," you mutter, shooting her a look that says 'behave, please'.
"Well, I didn't know I was going to be graded on my maid-of-honor performance," Jungkook grumbles.
"Well, just fyi, I'd give you an F," she shoots back.
"Settle down, you two," you sigh, gently placing a hand on Jungkook's arm.
Jeongyeon smirks into her drink. Mina, smiling calmly, jumps in before the room ignites.
"Cut him some slack, Lisa. I'm sure he didn't grow up dreaming about tulle and seating charts."
"Yeah, no kidding," Jungkook mutters.
"Exactly," Mina smiles. "So, let's all just be cool."
Lisa takes a slow sip of her iced coffee and doesn't say anything else, but Jungkook catches the flicker in her eyes that says she should've been your maid of honor instead of the man who clearly doesn't know what he's doing.
Your phone rings on the coffee table, Namjoon's name lighting up the screen. "Sorry, I have to take this," you murmur shyly. "It's Joon."
Your bridesmaids all swoon at the mention of your future husband, and Jungkook has to resist the gag threatening to spill from his lips.
As soon as you excuse yourself to take the call in the next room, Lisa jumps into action.
"I've been a MOH six times before, so I'll organise everything that needs to be done, even though I'm not the MOH here," she mutters, crossing one leg over the other.
Jungkook's eyebrows furrow, clearly clueless. "What's a MOH?"
"M-O-H," Lisa mutters pointedly.
"It stands for maid of honor," Mina smiles over at Jungkook. "That's you."
"Oh, yeah, of course," he chuckles, ignoring the eye-roll from Lisa.
"Okay, so we've got the bridal shower coming up that Jungkook will plan, our bridesmaid hair and make up trials, shopping for ___'s trousseau," Mina lists off, reading from her planner in her lap.
"Trousseau?" Jungkook's eyes narrow, leaning over to peek at Mina's planner. "What is a trousseau?"
"It's lingerie for her wedding night," Lisa deadpans, looking fed up with his questions that she feels are completely unnecessary. "How do you expect to be a good MOH if you don't even know that?"
"Oh wow, look, she's actually talking to me," Jungkook quips.
"No, I'm not," Lisa mutters quickly.
"You just did."
"Oh, my bad, Jungkook," she smiles sarcastically. "Did I break one of your rules?"
"Okay, that's enough!" Mina whisper-yells. "Can you two stop and think about ___? She's happy with an amazing guy, so could we all please, for ___'s sake, just get along, put a smile on our faces and pretend like everything is perfect?!"
"Okay, fine," Jungkook mumbles, holding his hands up in surrender.
The tension in the room is thick, but you don't notice, too giddy after hearing that deep British voice tell you how excited he is to get home to you later. You return after the call with Namjoon, turning your attention back to the ladies—who seem perfectly fine after Mina's little pep talk, all of them smiling brightly.
"Okay, I'm back," you grin, getting comfortable. "So, while we're all over there, we'll be staying at the Kims' holiday home."
Lisa's brow arches, her interest piqued. "Holiday home?"
"Yeah," you murmur while flipping through your binder. "Namjoon's family has this gorgeous house out in the countryside. I swear it's like something out of a Jane Austen novel. It's got over enough guest rooms for everyone. The garden even has an actual maze."
Jungkook blinks. He opens his mouth, closes it, then clenches his jaw in silence.
Of course Namjoon's family has a spare country mansion lying around. Why wouldn't they? Probably stocked with limited-edition wines and antique candleholders. Maybe even a butler named Charles who plays the violin at breakfast.
He forces a tight smile. "Wow. A holiday home. That's nice."
Lisa snorts. "Bit of a step up from your one-bedroom apartment, huh?"
Jungkook slowly looks over at her, smirking. "You'd know. You've been in my bedroom."
You sigh, taking a big gulp of your iced tea. Jeongyeon's eyebrows hit her hairline, finding this all too amusing.
Lisa gives him a razor-sharp glance, crossing her eyes over her chest. "Yeah. Once. Unfortunately."
Mina cuts in with perfect timing, like she's trained for this. "I think this is all amazing, ___. I mean, talk about a dream wedding."
Jeongyeon nods. "Seriously. And Namjoon seems so thoughtful. You guys make a really sweet couple."
You smile bashfully, your cheeks heating up. "I think so too. It all feels like it was meant to be, you know?"
Lisa hums. "Mhm. Must be nice to be that in love."
Jungkook's lips press into a thin line as he stares at the coffee table, remaining silent.
When you flip through wedding magazines with Mina, gushing about colour swatches and invitation templates, he finds himself tuning you out, not because he doesn't care, but because he cares too much.
Wedding planning has his iced tea tasting more like acid than anything else.
due to the 1k block limit, you can read the rest of the story HERE
➬ Summary | Even in the mornings, it is always hard to resist him. His presence alone captivates you, yet there is something else that always catches your eyes, drawing you to touch him. Not so surprisingly, he shares the same sentiment, though he has his own way of showing it to you. And neither of you mind it when things escalate further into something else that is not quite so innocent.
➥ Pairings | Tattooed boyfriend!Jungkook x Tattooed!reader
➥ Genre | PWP, Smut, Established Relationship au
➥ Ratings & Warnings | +18 / M for Mature; explicit sexual scenes, kissing, body (and tattoos) worshipping, sexual stimulation, teasing, edging, begging, hair pulling (Jungkook and his long hair), dirty talk, swearing, breast play, nipple play, nipple biting, biting, biting kink, clit play, fingering (vaginal/female receiver), oral sex (female receiver), hand job, morning sex, overstimulation, orgasm delay, rough sex, unprotected sex, multiple orgasms, creampie, post-sex cuddling, aftercare
➥ Word count | 5,9k words
➥ Author/Posting date | @yoonia / Nov 17th, 2022
➥ Masterlist
➥ Author’s note | I have no idea where this came from. This Jungkook just came to me while I was in the middle of writing In Motion and I just had to write it down before it would drive me crazy. Actually, I blame @hisunshiine for this. All thanks to that incriminating tweet that you shared.
If you could list out all the things that you love the most about being with Jungkook, then you would definitely put small moments like this one right on the very top.
I think I stopped breathing somewhere in the middle there and now I’m trying to remember how to start again 😮💨
The buildup was exquisite like it could not have started softer but by the end…I was as spent as they were 😂 I would also be tracing that man’s tattoos any chance I got
↪︎𝓼𝔂𝓷𝓸𝓹𝓼𝓲𝓼: "Everything freezes at 1:59 AM. You're not supposed to be awake, yet here you are—and so is Min Yoongi, looking at you with years of something you can't remember in his eyes. Your body knows him. Your mind doesn't. And you have exactly 60 minutes to figure out why."
Working at the Chrono Monitoring Center means following one rule: time doesn't break. But when you catch Min Yoongi's golden eyes across a frozen room, you realize there might be more about CHRONOS than meets the eye. Some patterns are written in time itself—no matter how many infinite symbols it takes.
⊹･ﾟ✧ memories ✧ﾟ･⊹
▷ reset 0: noma
▷ reset 5: need
▷ reset 17: before time stops
⊹･ﾟ✧ extras ✧ﾟ･⊹
☆ playlist: temporal echoes
☆ guides: temporal mechanics
☆ moodboards: aesthetic
☆ maps: 7th hour • boston prime
☆ asks : ask the disasters (open) | asks about the fic
☆ readers’ requests ➜ through asks!
⤷ pov reversals (requests: open)
xxx
⤷ drabbles (requests: open)
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☆ disclaimer☆ this is a work of fiction. all characters and temporal activities depicted are fictional. bts members are used for visual reference only.
Pairing: Rich boyfriend Hoseok x Middle class, Fem Reader
Theme: Lovers' quarrel au, hurt to comfort au.
Summary:
In which you decline an expensive gift from your rich boyfriend and later heard him complaining about you to his equally rich friends.
Total Word count: 6.1k
Teaser Word Count: 720
Warnings (for the full fic): Angst, hospitals, crying, fluff, Hoseok is a dumb sweetheart.
Posting date: 6th March, 2026
Minors Do Not Interact!
Masterlinks | Patreon (this one is already posted in Patreon, so, if you want, you can read the story right away)
A/N: Birthday special oneshot for the one and only love of my life, Jung Hoseok.
Read the full story now!
It takes you two hours to complete everything. Once you are done cooking, you change your clothes, put light make-up that you always carry in your bag and head out to make things right with your boyfriend.
Hoseok's office isn't too far away from his home. It's a small four storey space, situated in one of the less busy streets of Gnangnam.
The security guard bows towards you as you push the main door open. Bowing back at him, you walk inside. The office is deserted, which confirms your suspicion of Hoseok using work as an excuse to avoid you.
His cabin is on the first floor, so you take the stairs. As you step on the floor you hear sounds coming from his office room, which is weird because the glass walls are soundproof.
Maybe the door is open?
Turning around the corridor, you see the glass door wide open, letting everything be heard clearly. There is nothing abnormal about it.
Hoseok has two very dear friends - Munjoon and Jian. Both of them are equally rich, self made. They met through networking parties, clarity galas, noblesse oblige kind of events and became friends.
You have met them a couple of times already and got the impression of Jian having a very fat crush on your boyfriend, which never really bothers you because you know Hoseok only has eyes for you.
However, he never once intentionally met up with them on the days he reserved solely for you, so him being here using work as an excuse and meeting his friends, is a tiny bit disappointing.
You know you were extremely stubborn last night but if you two could talk - wouldn't it be better?
As you near his cabin, the voice gets louder, sentences get clearer and a few of them fly inside your ears, registering themselves.
“No matter how many times I hear her, I just couldn't get what she was getting at. I still don't get her point, not even a bit.” You hear your boyfriend say… No, you hear him complain. Your feet halt, not having the courage to introduce your presence. You stand right beside the open door and hear him complaining about your behavior.
“Maybe because she is not accustomed to such things, that's why?” Munjun replies to him. It feels as if he wants to say more but is soon cut off by Jian.
“Oh you shut up, Mun-ah! She just has no class and that's the truth. If she really respected Hoseok, she would have accepted the gift.” She pauses for a second and then continues, “people like these, Hoseok-ah, don't have any idea about sophistication.”
Your eyes blur with the impact of the insults. Yes, you're not as rich as them but having no idea about class and sophistication? How is that even an argument? If you could, you would remind them you are as much educated as any of them.
But you blink your tears away. You know your boyfriend is not going to sit still and listen to anyone insulting you like this.
“I think you are right.” Hoseok says instead. Although his voice is laced with some kind of hesitation as if he is not even present there; but he still… says those words.
Your heart drops to your stomach as you try not to let a loud sob out.
“Why else would she quit a perfectly fine job and open an eatery? The place is not even on social media! Can you believe that?” Jian complains even more, “she really doesn't suit you, Hoseok-ah.”
Hoseok lets out a sigh, “I… I really don't know.”
And that's all you needed to hear. Hoseok not being sure about you anymore is certainly the one big push you needed to believe that this relationship is indeed a failure, that you thinking the class differences didn't matter when love is strong was all a mirage.
You lost in this battle. And you will now retreat.
Turning around, you walk away as quietly as you came.
You wish you could vanish into thin air so that Hoseok never has to see your face ever again but before you can finally call it quits, you have a few questions to answer. And you will answer those standing face to face with your soon-to-be ex-boyfriend.
pairing: hoseok x f!reader | rating: 18+ | wc: 11,5k | warnings: here
genre: childhood bffs, grumpy x sunshine, emotional slow burn, smut
"midnight keys"
You don’t believe in soulmates, but apparently your type is ‘grumpy men who look like they hate their lives.’
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↦ author's note : BAHAHAHAHA okay so if you couldn't tell I have a marketing background, I hope you can now, because Capy is literally my spirit animal here. This chapter let me dive into so many of my favorite little narrative playgrounds and I had the best time. First of all—our little international community!!! You know I'm a sucker for the found family trope, but there's something especially delicious about that shared unity of being foreigners in a foreign country. Cliché? Maybe. Do I care? Absolutely not. You'll have to pry the joy of it out of my cold, dead hands.
And female friendships... please. Inject them straight into my veins. I will never, ever get tired of exploring them. We've had college friendships in FMU, teenage friendships in 5STF, and now here? We've got work friendships. Girlies supporting girlies, holding each other up, hyping each other up, and yes—if you don't like women supporting women, I'm sorry but you can leave my blog immediately. I've had my own pick-me phase, I'm not putting up with anyone else’s. I love women. Hopefully that's very, very clear by now.
Now, moving on—shut the hell up because I am such a SOPE whore. I've been dying to have a fic where both Hoseok and Yoongi get to be the chaotic besties to my main lead. Like. What do you mean I can't have both of them to sandwich me? Who made that rule? Certainly not me. Also, long-haired black-haired Yoongi? That's an attack. Capy, I understand you on a spiritual level.
Did you catch the little Japanese snippet?! You know I live for realism, so yes—Hobi and Yoongi speak Japanese to each other, but the moment Capy joins in (barely speaking it herself), they switch to English. And because I am me, I had to craft a narrative reason for Yoongi to speak English that would actually make sense. Honestly, I'm quite proud of how that little detail fell into place.
And the karaoke scene... tell me I'm not the only one who got butterflies at that sudden "When are you gonna pick me up?" text. Bold. Dangerous. Delicious. GIRL. I bet Hoseok choked on his drink and sprinted there, my simp king in full glory.
As for the ending? I am not—will not—apologize for pelting you with bittersweet melancholy wrapped in fluff. It's only going to get worse from here. <3
The stack of papers on your desk is about eight centimetres thick and radiating the kind of malevolent energy usually reserved for cursed objects in horror movies.
You’ve been staring at it for seventeen minutes, and it’s been staring back with what you’re pretty sure is personal animosity.
The top page reads ‘COLLAGEN EFFICACY ANALYSIS: COMPARATIVE MARKET POSITIONING ACROSS DEMOGRAPHIC SEGMENTS’ in Times New Roman 12-point, because apparently whoever designed this fresh hell believes that Comic Sans would make it too enjoyable.
Your job today—your actual, paid, professional responsibility—is to read through 127 pages of market research data about anti-ageing skincare and transform it into ‘compelling consumer-facing content that leverages core brand messaging while maintaining scientific accuracy.’
In other words: make boring science sound sexy without lying about it.
You’re pretty sure this violates several international laws about cruel and unusual punishment.
“That bad?” Yuki appears at your cubicle with two cups of coffee and the expression of someone who’s witnessed multiple corporate atrocities before 10a.m.
“I reckon my soul just filed a restraining order against my job,” you mutter, accepting the coffee like it’s lifesaving medication. “How did you know I was dying?”
“You’ve been making the same face my cat makes when I try to give her medicine. Also, you’ve been muttering under your breath in what sounds like three different languages.”
“Two languages. The third one was just creative cursing.”
Yuki settles against the edge of your desk, positioning herself so she can keep an eye on the departmental comings and goings.
At twenty-eight, she’s got the particular brand of workplace wisdom that comes from surviving four years in Japanese corporate accounting—which is apparently like regular accounting, but with more bowing and a suspicious amount of unpaid overtime.
“Let me guess,” she says, nodding toward your paper mountain. “Davidson handed you this with that face he makes when he thinks he’s being visionary.”
“He called it a ‘paradigm-shifting opportunity to revolutionize collagen narrative construction.’” You take a sip of coffee and immediately feel marginally more human. “I’m pretty sure he just made up half those words.”
“Oh, he definitely did. Last week he told Tanaka-san that we needed to ‘synergize our human capital optimization protocols.’ Tanaka spent twenty minutes nodding and taking notes before realising Davidson was basically saying ‘maybe we should communicate better.’”
The mental image of Tanaka—a forty-something HR manager who treats corporate buzzwords like sacred texts—frantically scribbling down Davidson’s nonsense makes you snort with laughter.
“Speaking of Tanaka,” Yuki continues, lowering her voice to conspiracy levels, “did you hear about the incident with the British delegation yesterday?”
“There was a British delegation?”
“Three people from the London office. Brianna—you know, the one with the accent that makes Davidson go all red and stammery—she spent the entire meeting asking very reasonable questions about budget allocation. Poor Tanaka kept trying to answer without actually giving her any real information, and she kept asking follow-up questions because, you know, she wanted actual answers.”
“Scandalous.”
“It gets better. Apparently she finally just said, ‘Look, are you telling me you don’t know where the money goes, or are you telling me you can’t tell me where it goes?’ and Tanaka had to excuse himself to ‘consult additional resources.’”
You’re grinning now, because the idea of someone cutting through corporate bullshit with direct questions is deeply satisfying. “What happened?”
“He came back with a spreadsheet that was basically just the same information formatted differently, and Brianna goes, ‘Right, so you don’t know.’”
“I think I love her.”
“We all love her. She’s like a corporate superhero whose power is asking obvious questions that no one else has the courage to ask.”
Your flip phone buzzes against your leg, and you fish it out while Yuki continues her Brianna appreciation society meeting. The tiny screen shows a new message, and you squint at the cramped text—fucking T9 predictive text making everything a goddamn puzzle.
You glance at Yuki, who’s now describing Brianna’s methodical destruction of the quarterly projections meeting, and quickly press the tiny buttons to respond.
Takes forever to spell out ‘Persian’ with this piece of shit keypad.
You shove your phone back in your pocket before you can think too hard about the ‘work so well together’ comment.
“—and then Adao from IT just starts laughing,” Yuki is saying. “Not like, polite business laughter. Full-on wheezing. Apparently he’s been waiting for someone to ask those questions for months.”
“Adao from IT?”
“Portuguese guy, works on the seventh floor? Very quiet, very good at fixing things, very bad at pretending corporate nonsense makes sense. Turns out he’s been keeping a private list of all the times Davidson uses made-up words in meetings.”
“That’s amazing.”
“Right? And Amelie from the Canadian branch was there too—you know, the one who always looks like she’s mentally calculating how much maple syrup she could buy with her salary?—and she just goes, ‘Oh good, I thought it was a translation issue.’”
The mental image of an international delegation slowly realising that Davidson’s meaningless corporate speak isn’t a cultural misunderstanding but actual meaningless nonsense makes your day significantly better.
“So basically,” you say, “our department is held together by confusion and the international staff being too polite to point out that our boss is an idiot.”
“Exactly. Which brings me to my next point.” Yuki glances around, then leans closer. “We’re going for drinks after work. Proper drinks. The kind that help you forget you spent eight hours pretending to care about collagen market positioning.”
“We?”
“Me, Brianna, Amelie, and maybe Adao if we can convince him to leave his computer long enough. You’re coming.”
It’s not really a question, which you appreciate because you’re not sure you have the energy to make actual decisions right now.
“I don’t know,” you start, but Yuki cuts you off with a look.
“You’ve been here two weeks and the most social interaction you’ve had is Davidson explaining synergy to you. You need human contact that doesn’t involve corporate buzzwords.”
“I have human contact—”
“Texting that guy who keeps asking you weird questions about cats doesn’t count.”
You pause, coffee cup halfway to your lips.
“How did you—”
“You get this specific expression when you’re typing responses to him. Like you’re annoyed but also trying not to smile. It’s very obvious.”
Fuck. Are you really that transparent?
“He’s just a friend,” you say quickly. “From back home. He’s… working on a project. Needs advice about… character design.”
“Character design?”
“He’s an artist. Freelance stuff.”
Yuki nods like this makes perfect sense, which it does if you don’t think too hard about what kind of character design requires urgent Maine Coon versus Persian consultations.
“Well, bring him along if you want. The more the merrier.”
“No,” you say, maybe a little too quickly. “He’s busy. Working on deadline stuff.”
Also, introducing your corporate coworkers to the guy who draws pornographic manga and convinces you to wear cat ears would probably raise questions you’re not prepared to answer.
“Your loss. Anyway, we’re going to some bar Amelie keeps recommending, and then we’ll probably do karaoke.”
“I don’t do karaoke.”
“Nobody does karaoke until they’ve had enough sake to forget they have standards. Trust me on this one.”
You look back at your paper mountain, then at Yuki’s expectant face, then around the office where Davidson is currently explaining something to Tanaka using what appears to be interpretive dance.
“Fine,” you say. “But I’m not singing.”
“We’ll see about that.”
Your phone buzzes again, the tiny screen lighting up with another message.
You stare at the cramped text on the tiny screen, heat creeping up your neck despite the office air conditioning.
“Everything okay?” Yuki asks, clearly noticing your expression change.
“Yeah, just…” You quickly flip the phone shut. “Work stuff.”
“Must be some very interesting character design work.”
“You have no idea.”
By 3 PM, you’ve made it through exactly nineteen pages of collagen research and feel like your brain is trying to escape through your ears.
The words are starting to blur together into meaningless corporate poetry: ‘synergistic enhancement protocols,’ ‘bioactive delivery mechanisms,’ ‘age-defying molecular architecture.’
You’re pretty sure you could write a drinking game based on how many times the phrase ‘revolutionary anti-ageing technology’ appears, but you’d die of alcohol poisoning before page thirty.
Yuki reappears at your desk like a caffeine-bearing angel.
“Lunch?” she suggests, even though it’s technically too late for lunch and too early for dinner.
“I need to drown my sorrows in sake,” you announce, pushing back from your desk. “I reckon I’m going to start sweating collagen at this rate.”
“That’s the spirit. Let me grab my purse and we can go find some carbs to absorb the existential dread.”
You follow her through the maze of cubicles, past Davidson’s office where he appears to be having an animated conversation with a potted plant, and toward the lift bank.
The seventh floor is not loud per se, but you can feel the restlessness in the air—that particular energy that comes from people pretending to work while not actually, you know, working.
“Oh good,” Yuki says as the lift arrives, “you can meet the others.”
The doors open to reveal three people who look like they’ve also been beaten down by various forms of corporate bureaucracy.
“Y/N, this is the international conspiracy,” Yuki announces. “Brianna, Amelie, Adao.”
Brianna is tall and sharp-featured with the kind of posture that screams ‘private school.’ She’s wearing an expensive-looking black blazer and has the expression of someone who’s just finished cutting through corporate nonsense.
“The one who’s been suffering through Davidson’s collagen obsession?” she asks, extending a hand. “You have my condolences.”
“It’s like he thinks if he says ‘synergy’ enough times, the skincare will magically become more interesting,” you reply, and her smile becomes genuinely warm.
Amelie is shorter and rounder, with curly brown hair escaping from what was probably a neat bun this morning. She’s got laugh lines around her eyes and the slightly manic energy of someone who’s been surviving on coffee and pure determination.
“Oh honey,” she says in an accent that makes you homesick for Commonwealth countries you’ve never even visited, “you look like you need a drink and a hug. Maybe not in that order.”
Adao is lean and quiet, with dark hair and the expression of someone who spends most of his time fixing other people’s mistakes. He nods politely but doesn’t seem like much of a talker, which you respect.
“So,” Brianna says as the lift descends toward freedom, “Yuki tells us you’re the one who’s going to save us all from dying of boredom.”
“I’m the one who’s going to die of boredom right alongside you,” you correct. “But we can die together, which is nice.”
“See?” Yuki grins. “I told you she was one of us.”
The lift reaches the ground floor, and you all emerge into the lobby.
“Right,” Brianna says, checking her watch, “four hours until drinks. Think we can all survive that long?”
“I give Adao the best odds,” Amelie observes. “He’s got that whole ‘dead inside but functional’ thing down to an art form.”
Adao shrugs. “I just fix computers. Computers make sense. They do what you tell them to, and when they don’t work, there’s usually a logical reason.”
“Unlike Davidson,” you say.
“Unlike most things in this building,” he agrees.
The afternoon crawls by with the special kind of slowness that only comes from reading about ‘bioactive collagen efficacy matrices’ while watching the clock tick toward freedom.
You’ve managed to transform approximately six pages of scientific data into what you optimistically call ‘compelling marketing copy’ and what any reasonable person would call ‘enthusiastic lies about face cream.’
The collagen peptides, according to your current draft, are not just anti-ageing ingredients but ‘revolutionary molecular architects working in harmony with your skin’s natural wisdom.’
You’re pretty sure skin doesn’t have wisdom, but at this point you’re just making things up and hoping no one notices.
Yuki stops by your desk at 5:15 with the expression of someone who’s just survived her own personal hell.
“Budget reconciliation meeting,” she explains before you can ask. “Three hours of Tanaka explaining why we can’t afford new computers but we can afford Davidson’s ‘innovation retreat’ in Hakone.”
“Innovation retreat?”
“Two days of team-building exercises and vision boarding. I’m pretty sure it’s just an excuse for him to practice his presentation skills on a captive audience.”
“Vision boarding?”
“Don’t ask. The less you know, the longer you can maintain your sanity.”
Your phone buzzes insistently, and you flip it open to see several messages from Hoseok. The tiny screen forces you to scroll through them one by one, which is annoying as hell.
“Popular guy?” Yuki observes.
“He’s having some kind of creative crisis,” you explain, quickly snapping the phone shut. “Probably not actually urgent.”
“Artists,” Yuki says with the tone of someone who’s dealt with creative types before. “They’re all drama queens until they need someone to do their taxes.”
which is probably fair dinkum , though you’re not sure what category Hoseok falls into beyond ‘disaster human who persuades you to wear cat ears.’
“Ready to go?” Amelie appears with her coat and purse, looking like she’s been watching the clock as intensely as you have. “Brianna’s already in the lobby threatening to start without us.”
“More power to her,” you say, shutting down your computer with unnecessary force. “If I read one more word about collagen bioavailability, I’m going to start screaming and never stop.”
“Save it for karaoke,” Yuki suggests. “Channel that rage into musical expression.”
“I told you, I don’t do karaoke.”
“And I told you, we’ll see about that.”
As you gather your things and prepare to escape into the neon-lit freedom of Thursday evening, you realise this is the first time since moving to Osaka that you’ve felt like you might actually belong somewhere. Not just tolerated as the foreign hire, but actually… included.
It’s a nice feeling.
Even if it’s happening in the context of collective corporate trauma.
Your phone buzzes again, but this time you ignore it. Whatever artistic crisis Hoseok is having can wait.
Right now, you’ve got collagen to survive and new friends to bond with over shared suffering.
Which is basically the foundation of all the best friendships, when you think about it.
The jazz bar is exactly the kind of place you’d expect to find in the narrow alleys of Shinsaibashi—dark wood, dim lighting, and cigarette smoke hanging in the air like a permanent fog.
The kind of establishment that probably hasn’t changed its decor since 1987 and isn’t planning to start now.
“This place is perfect,” Brianna announces, sliding into a booth that’s seen better decades. “Atmospheric depression is exactly what I need after today’s budget meeting.”
“Atmospheric depression is my natural state,” you mutter, claiming the corner seat where you can watch the room without being watched back.
Old habits from feeling out of place in every social situation since moving here.
Amelie appears with a tray of drinks that she definitely didn’t pay for with her own money. “The bartender took pity on us when I mentioned we work for Synergy International Marketing. Apparently we’re not the first corporate refugees to wash up here.”
“Smart business model,” you observe, accepting what appears to be whiskey that’s probably older than you are. “Cater to the professionally miserable.”
The place is busier than you’d expected for a Thursday evening.
There’s a low stage where someone’s setting up a drum kit as a person who actually knows what they’re doing, and scattered throughout the room are the usual suspects—salarymen loosening their ties, a few couples on dates that are either going very well or very badly, and the occasional person sitting alone at the bar nursing a drink and their existential crisis.
Like the guy three stools down from where your group claimed a small table.
He’s… interesting.
Not in the obvious way that makes you roll your eyes at yourself for looking, but in the subtle way that makes you keep glancing over without meaning to.
Dark hair that looks like he runs his hands through it when he’s thinking, sharp jawline, the kind of understated good looks that sneak up on you.
He’s wearing a simple black button-down with the sleeves rolled up, and there’s something about the way he holds himself that suggests he’s comfortable being alone but not necessarily happy about it.
More importantly, he looks mildly pissed off at the general concept of existence, which is honestly your type in a way that’s probably concerning.
“Earth to Y/N,” Yuki waves a hand in front of your face. “You’re doing that thing where you disappear into your own head.”
“I’m observing,” you correct, taking a sip of whiskey that burns in exactly the right way. “It’s called situational awareness.”
“Mhm not like you’re staring at the cute bartender now, huh?”
You nearly choke on your drink. “I wasn’t—he’s not the bartender.”
“Oh, so you admit you were staring at someone.” Amelie grins with the predatory satisfaction of someone who’s caught you in something. “Details, please.”
“There are no details. I was just… noticing the demographic composition of the clientele.”
Which sounds ridiculous even to you, but you’re committed to the bit now.
“The demographic composition,” Brianna repeats slowly. “Davidson rubbing off on you now?”
“Don’t ever say something like that again.” You gasp. “I’m just a natural people observer.”
“You’re naturally repressed,” Yuki counters, “but we’re working on that.”
Before you can formulate a suitably cutting response, Adao returns from wherever he disappeared to with what appears to be a deck of cards and, by the look on his face, about to suggest something inadvisable.
“Cards?” he asks, setting them on the table with a soft thud.
“What kind of cards?” you ask suspiciously, because you’ve learned to be wary of seemingly innocent suggestions from people who spend their days fixing other people’s technical disasters.
“The kind that go well with alcohol,” he replies, which is both completely unhelpful and probably accurate.
Amelie claps her hands together as if she’s been waiting for an excuse to make questionable decisions. “Are we talking drinking games? Because I have strong opinions about drinking games.”
“Please tell me one of those opinions is that we’re too old for drinking games,” you say, already knowing you’re fighting a losing battle.
“Absolutely not. If anything, we’re exactly the right age for drinking games. Old enough to have good alcohol tolerance, young enough to survive the consequences.”
“I’m pretty sure my alcohol tolerance peaked at twenty-two and has been in steady decline ever since.”
“Only one way to find out,” Brianna says, reaching for the cards. “What are we playing?”
“Kings,” Adao suggests, which is when you realise that the quiet IT guy might actually be the most dangerous person at this table.
“I hate Kings,” you announce, because it’s true and because you’re obligated to at least pretend to have standards.
“You hate fun,” Yuki corrects. “There’s a difference.”
“I hate forced fun. There’s a difference.”
But you’re already reaching for the cards anyway, because despite your better judgment and your well-documented aversion to group activities that require emotional vulnerability, there’s something about this particular group that makes the prospect of ritualized drinking seem less horrible than usual.
Maybe it’s the shared trauma of surviving Davidson’s corporate nightmare. Maybe it’s the whiskey. Maybe it’s the way the guy at the bar keeps catching your peripheral vision and you need something to distract yourself from the fact that you’re apparently the kind of person who stares at strangers in bars now.
“Fine,” you sigh, settling back in your seat. “But I’m not doing anything that involves singing or confessing personal secrets.”
“Don’t give up so soon,” Amelie says with a grin that suggests your objections have been noted and will be completely ignored.
The first few rounds are relatively harmless—basic rules, creative interpretations, the kind of silly nonsense that feels ridiculous but isn’t actually threatening. You end up drinking more than you’d planned, which is concerning given that you’d planned to drink quite a bit already.
By the time someone draws the seven of hearts and declares a new rule about having to speak in accents, you’re warm and loose-limbed in a way that feels dangerous and comfortable at the same time.
Now that jazz music has started—actual live music from actual musicians who know what they’re doing—combined with good whiskey, decent company, and competent saxophone… You can feel your general resistance to human socialization dwindling.
“Your turn,” Brianna nudges you, sliding the deck across the small table.
You draw a card without looking and flip it over.
King of spades.
“Ooh, category,” Amelie announces. “This should be good.”
You stare at the card, your slightly alcohol-fuzzy brain trying to come up with something that won’t immediately reveal too much about your psychological landscape or current fixations.
“Things that are overrated,” you finally decide, because it’s safe and allows you to channel your natural pessimism into something productive.
“Easy,” Yuki goes first. “Team building exercises.”
“Quinoa,” from Amelie.
“Cryptocurrency,” Adao contributes with surprising vehemence.
“New Year’s resolutions,” Brianna adds.
The game continues around the table, with everyone getting increasingly creative and specific with their answers, and you’re actually enjoying yourself in a way that feels foreign but not unwelcome.
You’re reaching for another card when the door opens and someone walks in, bringing a gust of cool night air and the sound of Shinsaibashi foot traffic with them.
You don’t look up immediately—you’re focused on not knocking over your drink and maintaining what’s left of your coordination—but there’s something about the way the atmosphere in the room shifts that makes you aware of the new arrival without having to turn around.
And then you hear it.
A snort of laughter from the direction of the bar. Not polite bar-appropriate chuckling, but an actual snort—sharp and genuine and somehow familiar in a way that makes your stomach do something weird.
The guy you’ve been not-quite-watching is grinning now, looking up from his drink toward whoever just walked in, and there’s something about that smile that transforms his entire face from ‘attractively brooding’ to ‘actually devastating.’
You can’t help yourself. You look up to see what could possibly be amusing enough to break through what appeared to be a fairly solid wall of existential irritation.
And that’s when you see him.
Jung Hoseok.
Ott.
Standing near the entrance in a paint-stained blue hoodie and jeans that have seen better days, scanning the room with that particular brand of casual confidence that somehow makes him look like he belongs everywhere and nowhere at the same time.
The same Hoseok who’s been texting you increasingly unhinged questions about cat anatomy and artistic reference materials.
The same Hoseok you’ve been posing for for his ridiculous manga.
And he’s here. In this bar. Apparently friends with the guy you’ve been staring at for the past hour.
“Oh, fuck,” you breathe, which isn’t quite quiet enough to go unnoticed by your tablemates.
“Something wrong?” Yuki asks, following your gaze toward the entrance.
“No,” you say quickly, sinking lower in your seat and hoping the dim lighting will somehow render you invisible. “Nothing’s wrong. Everything’s fine. Totally fine.”
Which is when Hoseok completely ignores your existence and slides onto the stool next to the guy you’ve been watching. Just sits right down like he owns the place, bumping shoulders with Mr. Attractive Grump in a way that suggests they’ve done this a thousand times before.
Of course. Of fucking course.
The universe has a sick sense of humor, apparently.
You watch as Hoseok says something that makes the bartender snort again—that same sharp sound that made your stomach do stupid things five minutes ago.
Except now you know it’s connected to your ridiculous manga artist friend, which makes it infinitely more annoying and somehow infinitely more attractive at the same time.
“Y/N, you’re doing that thing again,” Yuki observes, dealing out cards for the next round.
“What thing?”
“The thing where you look like you’re mentally calculating the structural integrity of the building while secretly plotting someone’s demise.”
“I don’t plot people’s demise,” you lie, accepting another card and trying to focus on anything other than the way Hoseok’s hair is doing that stupid thing where it curls slightly at the nape of his neck.
Since when do you notice his stupid neck?
“Jack of clubs,” Brianna announces. “Truth or dare.”
“Oh, fuck off,” you mutter automatically.
“That’s not how you play,” Amelie laughs. “Pick one.”
You glance toward the bar where Hoseok is gesticulating wildly while telling what appears to be an extremely animated story.
Why are you like this?
“Truth,” you say, because dares inevitably involve human interaction and you’re already at your social limit for the evening.
“Boring,” Yuki declares. “But fine. Who were you staring at earlier?”
“I wasn’t staring at anyone.”
“That’s not an answer, that’s deflection.”
“Deflection is my natural state.”
“Fine, rephrase,” Brianna cuts in with the kind of tone that probably makes her terrifying in meetings. “Who in this bar would you hypothetically find attractive if you were hypothetically the kind of person who noticed attractive people?”
You take a long sip of whiskey and consider your options.
Lie and pick someone random, thus ending this line of questioning quickly.
Tell the truth about the guy at the bar, thus opening yourself up to endless harassment from your new corporate trauma-bonding friends.
“Dark-haired guy over there.” You grumble, nodding slightly in said direction.
All of them look. Of course they do, subtlety it’s not a mandatory skill in the job descriptions, clearly.
“Oh, he’s cute.” Amelie agrees with a smile.
“You think he’s a bartender?” Briana asks.
“If he is I should go over there and personally order a drink from him.” Amelie nudges her shoulder.
“The guy next to him is cute too.” Yuki joins in.
“Wait, you’re so right…”
You tune out the conversation and flip the phone in your hand before you fully realise what you’re doing.
𝐘𝐨𝐮 (9:47 PM): 𝚈𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚙𝚊𝚗𝚝𝚜 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚒𝚗𝚜𝚒𝚍𝚎 𝚘𝚞𝚝.
The response takes a few minutes, but when it comes back, you can see Hoseok across the room checking his phone.
You watch as he looks down to check his jeans. He twists slightly on the barstool, trying to see the back of his pants, and you have to bite your lip to keep from laughing out loud.
You can see the exact moment he reads your message because his head comes up and starts turning like a confused owl, scanning the bar with increasingly frantic movements.
𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐤 (9:54 PM): 𝚆𝙷𝙴𝚁𝙴?! ヽ(°〇°)ﾉ
𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐤 (9:55 PM): 𝙸 𝚌𝚊𝚗’𝚝 𝚜𝚎𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞!
𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐤 (9:55 PM): 𝙰𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚒𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐?
𝐉𝐮𝐧𝐠 𝐇𝐨𝐬𝐞𝐨𝐤 (9:56 PM): 𝚆𝚑𝚢 𝚊𝚛𝚎 𝚢𝚘𝚞 𝚑𝚒𝚍𝚒𝚗𝚐?? (◉ω◉)
His head is still swiveling when you finally give up and raise your hand in a small wave. The moment his eyes land on you, his entire face lights up with that stupid grin that makes him look like he’s ten years old and just found out school’s been cancelled.
He waves back with both hands like an overexcited golden retriever, nearly knocking over his drink in the process. The guy next to him—your former object of aesthetic appreciation—leans back slightly to follow Hoseok’s line of sight, and suddenly you’re being observed by two sets of eyes instead of one.
Great. Perfect. Exactly what you needed.
You give a much smaller, significantly less enthusiastic wave in return and immediately go back to studying your cards like they contain the secrets of the universe.
“They’re your friends?”
It’s Yuki who asks—but her tone is slightly softer, like she’s picking up on frequencies you didn’t realise you were broadcasting.
“The brown-haired one is.”
“He seems energetic.”
“That’s one word for it.”
Your phone buzzes again, the tiny screen lighting up with new messages.
You stare at your phone, unsure whether to be flattered or concerned that your nihilistic tendencies are apparently attractive to strangers.
“Everything okay?” Amelie asks, clearly noticing that you’ve been absorbed in your phone for the past five minutes.
“Yeah, just…” You glance toward the bar where Hoseok is watching you with poorly concealed curiosity. “My friend wants me to come sit with him and his friend.”
“The energetic one?”
“The energetic one.”
“Do you want to?” Yuki asks.
Do you want to?
That’s the question, isn’t it.
On one hand, you’re finally having a decent time with people who don’t know about your questionable life choices or your tendency to wear cat ears for money. People who think you’re just the new hire who’s good at roasting corporate buzzwords and bad at pretending to care about collagen peptides.
On the other hand, Hoseok is over there with someone who apparently finds your personality defects attractive, and your social battery is starting to run dangerously low from all this group interaction and forced fun.
And on the third, secret hand that you’re not supposed to acknowledge, there’s something about Hoseok’s energy that’s always been comforting when your social battery drops.
“I don’t know,” you admit, which is more honesty than you usually volunteer.
Yuki nudges you gently with her shoulder, the kind of casual physical contact that doesn’t demand anything but somehow communicates understanding.
“Go recharge your social battery,” she says quietly. “I’ll keep them entertained.”
Which is when you realise that Yuki might be more perceptive than you’ve given her credit for.
Or that maybe, possibly, you’ve been more transparent about your social limitations than you thought.
“You sure?”
“Please. After three hours of Hitoshi explaining budget allocations, entertaining this crowd is going to feel like a vacation.”
You look back toward the bar where Hoseok is now apparently telling Yoongi something that’s making him shake his head with what looks like fond exasperation.
Somehow, they look like people who’ve been putting up with each other’s nonsense for years, and something about that dynamic makes you curious despite yourself.
Also, if you’re being honest, which you’re trying to avoid, you want to know what Hoseok told this Yoongi person about you.
And whether the part about you being his type was serious or just the kind of throwaway comment people make when they’re trying to facilitate introductions.
You grab your drink and make your way across the bar, weaving between tables and trying to look like you’re approaching by choice rather than because you’ve been summoned by texts and curiosity.
Small fragments of conversation drift over from the bar through the jazz and general noise. Hoseok and Yoongi are speaking in rapid Japanese, and you can barely make out what they’re saying.
“…本当にそう思う？” (…do you really think so?) Yoongi’s voice, skeptical.
“いや、でも…” (No, but…) Hoseok sounds uncertain, running a hand through his hair. “…五年間も連絡してなかったし…” (…we didn’t contact each other for five years…)
You catch Yoongi’s dry laugh over the saxophone. “…お前がうざいって思ってるわけない…” (…there’s no way she thinks you’re annoying…)
“でも…” (But…) Hoseok’s voice gets swallowed by a particularly loud trumpet solo.
“…心配しすぎ…” (…you worry too much…) comes Yoongi’s response.
The music swells again, drowning out whatever Hoseok says next, but you catch his nervous laugh and something that sounds like “…昔のことだから…” (…it’s from so long ago…)
By the time you’re close enough to hear clearly, they’ve apparently finished their conversation, and Hoseok is back to his usual animated gesturing about something completely different.
“Capy!” he announces when you’re still three feet away. “You made it!”
“I was already here, you disaster.”
“Details.” He gestures to the empty stool on his other side. “Sit. Meet Yoongi. Yoongi, meet my capybara.”
“Your what now?” The guy—Yoongi—looks between you and Hoseok with the expression of someone who’s used to Hoseok’s nonsense but never quite prepared for it.
“Childhood nickname,” you explain, sliding onto the stool and immediately regretting every decision that led to this moment. “He thinks he’s hilarious.”
“I am hilarious,” Hoseok protests. “You laugh at my jokes.”
“I laugh at you, not with you. There’s a difference.”
Yoongi makes that snorting sound again, and you realise that up close, he’s even more attractive than he was from across the room.
Sharp features, the kind of understated style that suggests he put thought into looking like he didn’t put thought into anything, and eyes that suggest he’s cataloguing everything while pretending not to care.
“So you’re the one who’s been helping him with his… art projects,” Yoongi says, and there’s something in the way he says ‘art projects’ that makes you wonder exactly how much Hoseok has told him about your professional arrangement.
“Something like that,” you reply carefully.
“She’s very dedicated to accurate character reference,” Hoseok adds, which makes your face heat up for reasons you’re not ready to examine.
“Don’t listen to him,” Yoongi continues, gesturing at Hoseok with his drink. “He’s been talking about you nonstop for weeks. ‘My friend from home this, my friend from home that.’ Very annoying.”
“I have not been—” Hoseok starts, then stops when Yoongi gives him a look that could cut glass. “Okay, maybe I mentioned you. Once or twice.”
“Once or twice,” Yoongi repeats slowly. “Right. That’s why you spent twenty minutes yesterday talking about your capybara Wikipedia rabbit hole.”
You snort before you can stop yourself, which earns you an approving nod from Yoongi and an indignant squawk from Hoseok.
“That was legitimate artistic curiosity!” Hoseok protests. “Capybaras have very expressive faces! The way their eyes go all judgmental when they’re annoyed?!”
“Like yours right now,” you observe, and Yoongi makes that attractive snorting sound again.
“I like her,” he announces. “She gets it.”
There’s something about the easy way they banter that makes your chest feel weird and tight. Like you’re watching a dynamic that’s been years in the making, seeing a side of Hoseok that you missed entirely during your five years of minimal contact.
Which is stupid. Of course he made friends. Of course he has people here who know him, who’ve been listening to his random artistic rants and putting up with his chaos energy for years while you were… what?
Doing exactly what you’re doing now, just in a different city with different people who don’t know about his stupid laugh or the way he gesticulates when he gets excited.
“How did you two meet?” you ask, because you’re apparently a masochist who enjoys confirming how much of his life you’ve missed.
“Oh, this is a good story,” Hoseok grins, settling onto his stool like he’s about to perform. “So I’d been here maybe six months, right? Still figuring out the whole freelance artist thing, mostly surviving on convenience store ramen and whatever drawing gigs I could find.”
“Mostly the ramen,” Yoongi interjects dryly.
“Mostly the ramen,” Hoseok agrees. “Anyway, I’m wandering around Shinsaibashi at like two in the morning because I’d just finished this marathon drawing session and I was too wired to sleep. And I see this place—” he gestures around the bar “—and think, ’perfect, I’ll have one drink and then crash’.”
“Famous last words,” you mutter, because you know Hoseok well enough to know this story doesn’t end with one drink.
“Right? So I come in, and this guy—” he jerks his thumb toward Yoongi “—is behind the bar looking like he wants to murder everyone who’s ever existed. Just radiating pure ‘fuck off and die’ energy.”
“Still do,” Yoongi says mildly.
He does.
“Still do,” Hoseok confirms cheerfully. “But I’m an idiot, so instead of taking the hint, I sit down and start talking to him. About art, about Osaka, about how convenience store ramen is basically a food group…”
“He talked for three hours straight,” Yoongi adds. “Three. Hours. I’m pretty sure he didn’t breathe.”
“I breathed!”
Yoongi’s response is a mere noncommittal hum.
But you can picture it perfectly—young Hoseok, probably high on caffeine and artistic adrenaline, chattering at a bartender who looked like he’d rather be anywhere else.
It’s so quintessentially him that it makes your heart do something uncomfortable.
“And then,” Hoseok continues, “right as I’m getting ready to leave, this drunk businessman starts giving Yoongi shit about being Korean. Like, really nasty stuff.”
The humor drops out of Yoongi’s expression, something harsher replacing it that suggests this story doesn’t stay funny for long.
“So obviously,” Hoseok says, his voice going quieter, “I couldn’t just walk away. I mean, what kind of piece of shit would I be if I just left?”
“The smart kind,” Yoongi mutters.
“Smartness is overrated. Anyway, I may have… accidentally… spilled my drink all over this guy’s expensive suit.”
“Accidentally,” Yoongi adds.
“Totally accidentally. Very clumsy of me. And then when he got all aggressive about it, I may have mentioned that I’d been taking judo since I was eight and would be happy to demonstrate some techniques.”
“You’ve never taken judo in your life,” you point out.
“He didn’t know that! The important thing is, the guy left, Yoongi didn’t get fired for telling a customer to go fuck himself, and we bonded over shared disdain for racist assholes.”
“And then you kept coming back,” Yoongi scoffs.
“And then I kept coming back,” Hoseok agrees. “Like a stray cat. Eventually he gave up trying to get rid of me.”
“I never tried to get rid of you.”
“You literally told me you were closed when you were clearly still serving other customers.”
“That was… selective service.”
You’re watching this entire exchange with the growing realisation that these two have been taking care of each other for years.
Not in any dramatic, obvious way, but in the quiet, consistent manner of people who’ve decided that the other person’s wellbeing is their responsibility now.
It’s sweet. Painfully sweet.
The kind of friendship that makes you happy for Hoseok and desperately jealous at the same time, because you’re seeing proof of everything you missed while you were busy pretending his absence didn’t matter.
“So that’s how I ended up with this guy as my unofficial Osaka guardian,” Hoseok concludes, bumping Yoongi’s shoulder with his own. “Best decision drunk businessman ever made, really.”
“Debatable,” Yoongi says, but he’s almost smiling.
“And that’s also how I found out he’d lived in LA for four years,” Hoseok continues, apparently not done with his Yoongi appreciation speech. “Worked at this dive bar in Koreatown, did some session work for indie bands, the whole struggling artist thing. His English is actually better than mine.”
“Also debatable,” Yoongi replies, and something about the way he says it makes you pause mid-sip of your whiskey.
Wait.
You’ve been sitting here for the past fifteen minutes, in the middle of Osaka, having a dead natural conversation in English with a stranger. Not broken English, not the careful, formal phrases you’re used to hearing from Japanese people practicing their language skills.
Just… normal English. With an American accent.
“You lived in LA,” you say, less a question than a statement of dawning realisation.
“Four years,” Yoongi confirms, apparently amused by whatever expression is currently on your face. “Americans talk too much, so I learned if you speak fluent English, everyone assumes you want to have long conversations about their personal problems. Here, if I pretend not to understand, drunk salarymen give up faster.”
“Very effective customer service strategy,” Hoseok grins.
The conversation continues—stories about Hoseok’s early disasters in Osaka, Yoongi’s deadpan commentary on the local bar scene, the kind of easy back-and-forth that comes from years of knowing your friend.
And you find yourself relaxing in a way that surprises you.
Maybe it’s the whiskey, or maybe it’s the way Hoseok keeps glancing over to make sure you’re following the conversation, like your opinion on his historical adventures actually matters to him. Like he wants you to understand this part of his life, to see how he’s built something good here.
Like he wants you to be part of it.
“She was always the smart one,” Hoseok is saying, apparently in the middle of some story about your childhood that you missed while drowning in feelings. “Like, scary smart. Teachers loved her because she’d actually do the reading, but she’d also ask these questions that made them realise they didn’t actually understand the material.”
“I was not that bad,” you protest.
“You made Mr. Thompson question his entire curriculum when you argued that Banjo Paterson was deliberately using bush ballad forms to critique colonial social hierarchies.”
“He said ‘Waltzing Matilda’ was just a simple folk song. I had to explain the entire political subtext!”
“You were twelve!”
“Art doesn’t have an age limit, Ott.”
Yoongi snorts. “I definitely like her.”
There’s something about the way he says it—not like he’s flirting, exactly, but like he’s genuinely amused by your existence—that makes you feel weirdly validated.
As if you were passing some kind of test you didn’t know you were taking.
“She was also the only person who could make me sit still long enough to actually finish my homework,” Hoseok adds. “I’d get distracted halfway through math problems and start drawing in the margins, and she’d just… sit there until I refocused. Never made me feel stupid about it.”
Your ears automatically perk up at that, because the casual mention of his attention issues catches you off guard.
He’s talking so openly about it now.
He used to do the total opposite.
“Still draws in margins,” Yoongi observes. “I’ve seen his bar napkins. It’s like a gallery of tiny masterpieces and grocery lists.”
“Hey, those grocery lists are very artistic grocery lists.”
“‘Ramen’ written in calligraphy is still just ramen, Hobi.”
Hobi.
He calls him Hobi.
The nickname settles in your chest with a weird warmth, and you realise you’re staring at the way Hoseok’s hair catches the amber light from the bar.
Messy. He’s always so messy. His hair doesn’t escape the definition.
Yet, somehow, you find yourself thinking it suits him.
And suddenly you’re craving yuzu. Sharp, bright, almost bitter citrus that cuts through everything else and leaves this warm, lingering sweetness that you can’t quite shake.
Which is weird, because you haven’t had yuzu in months and you definitely weren’t thinking about citrus a minute ago.
“—always carrying around this sketchbook,” Hoseok is saying, still apparently telling Yoongi stories about your shared past. “And I’d draw constantly. During class, during lunch, probably during sleep if I could figure out how to hold a pencil while unconscious.”
“Some things never change,” Yoongi says, glancing at a cocktail napkin where Hoseok has apparently been unconsciously doodling during the conversation.
“The amazing part,” you find yourself saying, “is that his grades never suffered. He’d be sketching character designs during algebra, but somehow he’d still know exactly what was happening mathematically.”
“Photographic memory,” Hoseok says with a shrug. “Very convenient for academic multitasking.”
“Very annoying for people trying to catch you not paying attention,” you counter.
“You were never trying to catch me not paying attention. You were trying to make sure I actually learned something useful.”
The way he says that is stupidly fond, and you kind of want to flick his forehead just for the sake of it.
But it brings back those memories of you two sitting in the library while he worked through math problems, you reading beside him just in case he needed help focusing, the comfortable silence that meant neither of you had anywhere else you’d rather be.
Your flip phone buzzes against your leg, breaking the spell. You check the tiny screen to see a message from Yuki.
Yuki (10:23 PM): 𝚐𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝟸 𝚔𝚊𝚛𝚊𝚘𝚔𝚎. 𝚞 𝚌𝚘𝚖𝚒𝚗𝚐?
You glance back toward your coworkers’ table, where Yuki is watching you with raised eyebrows and what appears to be a significant amount of empty glasses.
“I should probably get back,” you say, though you’re surprised to realise you don’t actually want to. “My coworkers are about to embark on what I assume will be a tragic karaoke adventure.”
“Tragic karaoke is the best karaoke,” Hoseok grins. “Very emotionally cathartic.”
“I don’t do karaoke, mate.”
“Everyone does karaoke eventually. It’s like taxes or existential dread—unavoidable life experiences.”
“Speak for yourself.”
But you’re sliding off the stool anyway, finishing the last of your whiskey and trying to ignore the way both Hoseok and Yoongi are watching you.
“This was fun,” you say, which is more honesty than you usually volunteer. “Thanks for letting me interrupt your… whatever this is.”
“Mutual emotional support disguised as drinking,” Yoongi replies.
“Very sophisticated,” Hoseok agrees solemnly.
You’re turning around with a chuckle behind your teeth when Hoseok calls after you.
“Hey, Capy?”
You look back, eyebrow raised.
“I’ll be around,” he says, and there’s something in his smile that makes your stomach do that stupid fluttering thing again. “You know, if you need any more character reference consultation.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” you reply, hoping you sound more casual than you feel.
You walk back to your coworkers and their impending karaoke disaster, feeling his eyes following you across the room.
And for once, you don’t mind being watched.
The karaoke place is exactly as tragic as you predicted.
Amelie is currently butchering “My Heart Will Go On” with the kind of passionate conviction that suggests she genuinely believes she’s Celine Dion reincarnated.
Brianna is providing backup vocals that sound like a cat being slowly murdered, and Adao is maintaining his stoic expression while recording everything on what appears to be a digital camera for what you assume are blackmail purposes.
You’re wedged into the corner of the booth, nursing your fourth—fifth?—drink and trying to pretend you’re not constantly checking your phone like a pathetic teenager.
Hoseok hasn’t texted since you left the bar two hours ago.
Not that you care. You’re perfectly capable of enjoying tragic karaoke without input from your ridiculous manga artist friend who probably went home to draw more anatomically questionable cat girls or whatever the hell he does with his evenings.
Except you keep thinking about the way he said “I’ll be around” with that stupid smile that made you question why you hadn’t joined them earlier.
And you keep thinking about Yoongi, who definitely has the kind of dry humor and general misanthropy that you find attractive in theory but probably terrible in practice.
And about how spongy and soft and marshmallow-y Ott’s hair looked under the bar lighting and why you suddenly crave citrus every time you look at him, which is obviously just your brain making weird connections because you’re drunk and overthinking everything.
“Your turn!” Yuki announces, shoving the microphone in your face.
“Absolutely not.”
“Come on, we’ve all humiliated ourselves. It’s only fair.”
“I don’t do public humiliation.”
“Everyone does public humiliation eventually,” Amelie calls from where she’s collapsed dramatically across the table. “It’s like taxes or—”
“—existential dread,” you finish automatically, and then immediately hate yourself for quoting Hoseok.
“Exactly!” Yuki grins. “See, you get it.”
“I get that you’re all drunk and making terrible decisions.”
“The best kind of decisions,” Brianna declares, which is rich coming from someone who just spent ten minutes singing “Sweet Caroline” in what she claimed was a Cockney accent but sounded more like she was having a stroke.
Your flip phone sits on the sticky table in front of you, screen dark and mocking. You’ve been hovering over Hoseok’s contact for the past twenty minutes, typing and deleting messages like a complete disaster.
Delete delete delete, what the fuck is wrong with you.
“Earth to Y/N,” Yuki nudges you with her elbow. “You’re doing that thing again where you disappear into your own head.”
“I’m not,” you lie.
“You’re staring at your phone like it owes you money.”
Fuck. Are you really that obvious?
“I’m just checking the time.”
“It’s 12:43 AM,” Adao supplies helpfully, glancing at his watch. “You’ve checked six times in the past ten minutes.”
“I’m a very time-conscious person.”
“You’re a very something person,” Yuki observes, but there’s no judgment in it, just a smile.
You sigh, which might have came off rather as a groan, and feel now the sake really sinking in.
The liquor has definitely made everything feel heaps cosier.
Proof of it is the fact that your coworkers have officially crossed from ‘work acquaintances’ into ‘people you actually like,’ which is dangerous territory for someone who’s been carefully maintaining emotional distance from most human connections.
But they’re not pushing. They’re not demanding explanations or making you sing or treating you like the weird foreign girl who doesn’t quite fit.
Which makes sense because, in a way, you’re all foreigners here.
But more than that it’s how they just… let you exist in the corner with your phone anxiety and your tendency to overthink everything.
It’s nice. Unusual, but nice.
“Fine,” you announce, grabbing your phone before you can second-guess yourself into eternity. “I’m texting someone. Happy?”
“Ooh, someone?” Amelie perks up with the interest of someone who’s been drinking steadily for three hours. “The someone from the bar?”
“There was no someone at the bar.”
“The someone you were definitely not staring at.”
“I wasn’t staring at anyone.”
“Right, and I wasn’t just murdering Celine Dion for the past five minutes.”
You look down at your phone, flip it open, and navigate to Hoseok’s contact info. The cursor blinks in the empty message field, and the alcohol has loosened something in your chest, made all your careful boundaries feel suddenly negotiable.
Fuck it.
𝐘𝐨𝐮 (12:44 AM): 𝚈𝚘𝚞𝚛 𝚏𝚛𝚒𝚎𝚗𝚍 𝚈𝚘𝚘𝚗𝚐𝚒 𝚒𝚜 𝚑𝚘𝚝.
Send.
Immediate regret floods your system, but it’s too late now. The message is out there, floating in digital space, broadcasting your drunk thoughts to someone who definitely doesn’t need to know about your aesthetic preferences.
You stare at your phone, grinning despite yourself. Even drunk and anxious and surrounded by the musical equivalent of war crimes, talking to Hoseok feels easy. Like slipping into a conversation you never actually finished.
Your next message types itself without conscious input.
Your drunk fingers apparently have their own agenda, one that involves making assumptions about Hoseok’s evening plans and your own transportation needs.
The screen shows that your message has been delivered, but no response comes immediately. You stare at the tiny screen, waiting for the little envelope icon to appear.
You send him the location, then immediately panic about the implications of asking Jung Hoseok to come collect you from karaoke like you’re some kind of damsel in distress who can’t navigate Osaka’s public transportation system.
Except you are kind of drunk, and the trains have probably stopped running, and the thought of going back to your sterile corporate housing alone makes you want to cry a little.
Even if you’ll never tell anyone that.
“Leaving?” Yuki asks, apparently reading your body language like it comes naturally to her.
You nod, not trusting yourself to explain the situation without revealing more than necessary about your complicated feelings regarding childhood friends and their stupid attractive hair.
“Good call. I think Adao’s about to attempt something by The Cure, and that way lies madness.”
“The Cure is art,” Adao protests mildly, but he’s grinning in a way that suggests he’s absolutely planning to traumatize everyone with his interpretation of ‘Boys Don’t Cry.’
You’re gathering your purse and trying to calculate whether you’re sober enough to walk in a straight line when the karaoke room door opens and Brianna’s head pops up like a meerkat scenting danger.
“Hang on,” she says, and there’s suddenly something sharp and protective in her voice. “You’re not going home with some random Japanese guy, are you?”
The question hits different than it would coming from anyone else.
Because from what you’ve gathered tonight—Brianna’s been in Japan longer than any of you, speaks the language fluently, knows exactly what kind of shit foreign women deal with on a daily basis.
So her concern isn’t patronizing. It’s based.
“Not random,” you say carefully. “Friend from home. Known him since we were kids.”
“The energetic one from the bar?”
“That’s him.”
Brianna studies your face for a few seconds, and you realise right then and there that’s why everyone finds her so terrifying in business meetings. “You sure you’re okay with him?”
You don’t know why the question makes something loose in your chest.
It probably has to do with having someone check, having someone care enough to make sure you’re not making drunk decisions that you’ll regret in the morning.
“Yeah,” you say, and mean it. “I’m sure.”
Hoseok might be many things—chaotic, ridiculous, the kind of person who asks urgent questions about cat anatomy at inappropriate hours—but he’s not someone you need protection from.
If anything, he’s the kind of person who’d throw his drink on racist businessmen and then lie about his martial arts training to back up his friends.
“Okay,” Brianna nods, apparently satisfied. “But text when you get there, yeah? And if he turns out to be a creep, call me. I know people.”
You hug your coworkers goodbye—actual hugs, which is foreign territory for you but feels surprisingly natural—and promise to suffer through collagen meetings together.
Then you’re out of the karaoke dungeon and into the cool Osaka night air, where Jung Hoseok is indeed waiting in the blue hoodie and jeans from when you last left him at Midnight Keys.
“Capy!” he grins when he sees you. “You look significantly less miserable than I expected.”
“The bar was low,” you reply, but you’re smiling despite yourself. “Thanks for coming to get me.”
“Always,” he says. “Want to crash at mine? Your place is like forty minutes by train, and you look like you might fall asleep standing up.”
“Yeah,” you hear yourself saying. “That sounds good.”
And maybe it’s the alcohol, or maybe it’s the way he falls into step beside you like no time has passed at all, but for the first time since moving to Osaka, you don’t feel lonely.
Even if you’re absolutely going to regret every decision that led to this moment when you wake up tomorrow with a hangover and the memory of drunk-texting about his friend’s attractiveness.
But that’s tomorrow’s problem.
Right now, you’ve got Jung Hoseok walking beside you through the neon-lit streets of Shinsaibashi, and his presence feels like coming home to something you didn’t realise you’d been missing.
The walk to Hoseok’s flat is a blur of neon convenience store signs and the distant rumble of the last trains heading toward the suburbs.
Your head has that pleasant floating quality that comes from exactly the right amount of alcohol—not enough to make the world spin.
The same can’t be said for the multiple people laying around on the ground.
“You’re being unusually quiet,” Hoseok observes as you climb the four flights to his floor. “Usually you’re complaining about something by now.”
“I’m saving my energy. Your flat building has the structural integrity of wet cardboard. I need to concentrate on not falling through the stairs.”
“Hey, this wet cardboard costs me thirty percent of my income, thank you very much.”
“Thirty percent? Christ, Ott, what are you spending your money on?”
“Art supplies. Ramen. The occasional luxury of toilet paper that doesn’t feel like sandpaper.”
“Living the dream.”
“Absolutely.”
The familiar ritual of shoes off, keys in the little dish by the door follows.
Momo appears from wherever sugar gliders hide during normal human hours, chittering softly as she glides from her cage to Hoseok’s shoulder in one fluid motion.
“Hey, princess,” he murmurs, reaching up to scratch behind her ears. “How was your evening? Did you miss me?”
She responds with a series of soft trills that sound almost like conversation, and you watch as Hoseok’s entire demeanor shifts into something gentle and nurturing.
It’s the same voice he uses when he’s explaining difficult art techniques or when you’re having a particularly bad day—patient and careful and impossibly kind.
“Still won’t let me near her,” you observe, settling onto the couch and pulling your knees up to your chest.
“She’s working up to it. Trust doesn’t come easy for her.”
“How long did it take for her to trust you?”
“Six months. Maybe seven. She spent the first few weeks hiding in the back of her cage whenever I tried to feed her. Had to leave food and just… wait. Let her figure out I wasn’t going to hurt her.”
Momo settles into the hood of his sweatshirt, curled up like a tiny, fluffy guardian. She watches you with bright, curious eyes but makes no move to approach.
“Patience isn’t exactly your strong suit,” you point out.
“It is when it matters.”
He doesn’t look at you when he says that, but you find yourself glancing at him.
“So,” you say, because the silence is starting to feel loaded in ways you’re not equipped to handle. “What’s the entertainment situation? Please tell me you have something better than those nature documentaries you used to be obsessed with.”
“Hey, those nature documentaries were educational!”
“You made me watch two hours of penguin mating rituals, Ott.”
“And you learned valuable information about Antarctic breeding patterns!”
“I learned that you have questionable taste in educational programming.”
He grins and starts rummaging through a stack of VHS tapes next to his ancient television.
“How do you feel about anime? I’ve got some classics.”
“Define ‘classics’ because your definition and the actual definition have historically been very different things.”
“Cowboy Bebop. Neon Genesis Evangelion. Some Miyazaki stuff.”
You pause, genuinely surprised. “Those are… actually good choices.”
“I contain multitudes, Capy.”
“You contain multitudes of bad decisions and an inexplicable ability to find the one working vending machine in a three-block radius.”
“That’s a bloody specific and useful skill, thank you very much.”
He settles on Cowboy Bebop, which you’re fine with because you’ve seen it before and it doesn’t require much brain power to follow. Plus, the jazz soundtrack feels appropriate for your current state of mind—loose and wandering and slightly melancholy in a way that isn’t entirely unpleasant.
Momo occasionally pokes her tiny head out of Hoseok’s hoodie pouch to observe the proceedings with the judgment only a rescued sugar glider can muster.
You’re about fifteen minutes into the first episode when your feet start that familiar ache—the particular throb that comes from wearing shoes that looked cute in the store but were definitely not designed for actual human locomotion.
“Fuck,” you mutter, shifting position and trying to find somewhere comfortable to put your legs.
“Chuck us your feet,” Hoseok says without looking away from the screen.
You nearly choke on your own spit. “Excuse me?”
He turns to look at you with the expression of someone who’s just realised he said something that could be wildly misinterpreted. His eyes go wide and he starts laughing—that sharp, surprised bark that means he’s genuinely caught off guard.
“What? No! Jesus, Capy, I meant—” He’s still laughing, running a hand through his hair. “You always complain about your feet when you drink. Ever since we were like seventeen and you’d nick stubbies from your dad’s fridge and then walk around in those ridiculous heels you thought made you look sophisticated.”
Oh.
Right. House parties in your hometown where you’d spend half the night complaining about your feet and the other half refusing to take off the shoes because you were convinced they made you look older.
And Hoseok, who somehow always remembered these random details about people’s weird habits and quirks.
“That’s…” You pause, because it’s simultaneously sweet that he remembers and mildly horrifying that your drunk foot problems have been consistent for years. “That’s a deadset thing to remember.”
“I remember lots of weird things. Did you know that alcohol causes vasodilation, which leads to swelling in your extremities? And when you combine that with shoes that were already too tight because you buy them based on aesthetic rather than actual foot comfort…”
“Are you seriously mansplaining my own feet to me right now?”
“I’m providing helpful physiological context for why you’re sitting there making the exact same face you made at Sarah Chen’s Year 12 formal when you wore those silver strappy things that left marks on your ankles for three days.”
Fuck. He really does remember everything.
You look down at your feet—currently free but previously imprisoned in ankle boots that seemed like a good idea eight hours ago but now feel like medieval torture devices.
“Fine,” you grumble, swinging your legs up onto his lap before you can overthink it further. “But if you make it weird, I’m kicking you in the face.”
“Noted.” He glances at the boots near the entry. “Jesus, Capy, how do you even walk in those things?”
“Very carefully and with heaps of internal screaming.”
“Why do women do this to themselves?”
“Because we’re taught that suffering is the price of beauty, and also because these boots make my legs look good.”
“Your legs look fine without torture devices,” he says matter-of-factly, already working his thumbs into the arch of your foot.
His hands are warm when he starts working on the pressure points, and you have to bite back a groan of relief because holy shit, when did he get so good at this?
“Where did you learn to do that?” you ask, settling deeper into the couch cushions.
“YouTube,” he says cheerfully. “Went down a weird rabbit hole about reflexology when I was trying to fix my carpal tunnel. Turns out foot massage is surprisingly complicated.”
“YouTube University strikes again.”
“YouTube University is how I learned to cook eggs properly, fix my broken window latch, and identify seventeen different species of Japanese beetles. Very comprehensive educational institution.”
You close your eyes and let yourself focus on the steady pressure of his thumbs against your arch, the warm weight of his hands.
It’s nice. Comfortable in a way that feels both foreign and familiar—like muscle memory for friendship you forgot you had.
“So,” you say after a while, because you’re starting to feel too relaxed and that’s dangerous territory, “sleeping arrangements. Might as well address the logistics before we’re both too tired to think straight.”
He chuckles, not pausing in his ministrations. “You keep sleeping on the couch, so…”
“You’re so ungentlemanly,” you groan, though there’s no real complaint in it. “What happened to chivalry? What happened to giving the lady the bed?”
“What happened to feminism and women being perfectly capable of making their own sleeping decisions?”
“Don’t use feminism to justify your lack of basic courtesy, you disaster.”
“The couch folds out,” he offers, like this is some kind of magnificent compromise. “In case this becomes a regular thing.”
You open one eye to glare at him. “This isn’t going to become a regular thing.”
“Right. Completely one-time occurrence.” His voice has taken on that particular tone that suggests he’s about to be insufferable. “Except for today. And yesterday. And the day before yesterday when you came over to ‘help with character design’ and ended up falling asleep during that nature documentary about—”
“Okay, I get it. Shut up.”
He chuckles again, the sound vibrating through his chest, and you realise somewhere in the past few minutes you’ve basically turned into a boneless puddle on his couch.
Your head is resting against the arm of the sofa, your legs are still draped across his lap, and Momo has apparently decided you’re safe enough to venture closer—she’s now perched on the couch back, watching the anime with what appears to be genuine interest.
“Seriously though,” Hoseok continues, and his voice has shifted into something more genuine, “you can crash here whenever. I mean, if you want. If your corporate housing gets too depressing or your coworkers try to make you sing Celine Dion again.”
There’s something in the way he says it that makes your chest feel weird. Like he means it. Like the offer isn’t just politeness but actual… friendship.
The real kind, where someone wants you around even when you’re a mess
“My housing isn’t that depressing,” you mutter, though even as you say it, you’re thinking about the beige walls and the fluorescent lighting and the way everything smells like industrial carpet cleaner.
“I’ll have to come see it,” he says. “Get the full experience of corporate-sponsored misery.”
You find yourself looking at his profile as he watches the screen—the way he’s concentrating on the anime like it’s actually important, the slight smile that suggests he’s enjoying himself.
It’s… nice. Having someone who wants to see your shitty living situation not because they’re judging but because they’re curious about your life.
“Yeah, sure,” you hear yourself saying. “But don’t get your expectations too high. It’s like your place, but ten times worse and with the bonus of a neighbour who practices violin at six in the morning.”
“A violin? Like, classical violin?”
“Very bad classical violin. I reckon she’s working through a beginner book. Slowly. With heaps of screeching.”
“That’s… actually kind of tragic.”
“Everything about my living situation is tragic. That’s why I keep ending up here, bothering you and eating your food.”
“You’re not bothering me, mate.” He says it quietly, still focused on the screen, but there’s something in his voice that makes you look at him more carefully. “And you barely eat my food. You bring your own snacks like some kind of considerate house guest.”
“I steal your coffee.”
“I buy coffee specifically because you drink it when you’re here.”
That stops you short. Because that’s… that’s not something you do for someone who’s just crashing occasionally.
That’s something you do for someone whose presence you enjoy.
“Thanks,” you say finally, and your voice comes out smaller than you intended.
“For what?”
You shrug, though he can’t see it with your head tilted back against the couch.
“For picking me up. For letting me crash in your space. For…”
For not forgetting me those five years.
But you can’t say that. Can’t admit that part of you had wondered, during the long stretches of minimal contact, whether you’d mattered enough to be remembered. Whether the friendship that had felt so essential to your teenage self had been as important to him as it was to you.
“For not being weird about it,” you finish instead.
His hands pause in their steady pressure against your feet, just for a moment, and when you glance up, he’s looking at you with an expression you can’t quite read.
“Never weird, Capy. She’ll be right,” he says softly. “Just… glad you’re here.”
And that’s when you realise that somewhere between the foot massage and the comfortable silence and the way Momo has decided you’re trustworthy enough to share couch space, you’ve remembered why you used to be best friends.
Because he’s the kind of person who remembers your stupid problems and fixes them without making it weird. Who buys coffee specifically for you and doesn’t make a big deal about it.
Who makes you feel like coming home to yourself.
if you liked this chapter, please consider buying me a coffee!! ♡'◟(˃̶͈̀ o ˂̶͈́)◞'♡ https://ko-fi.com/jungkoode
⟶ Summary: You thought that your encounter with your past lover would only pass by like a blip. An interlude taking you back to the past before you could continue on with your lives, without each other, just like how it used to. Yet your love affair inadvertently opened the pandora box that you never knew existed. Secrets kept being revealed, and now you had to decide if you were going to go down this path to learn the truth about your relationship, or keep your eyes closed and continue living in your blissful ignorance
⟶ Character | Jung Hoseok x reader
⟶ Genre | Past lovers!au, Infidelity, Second Chance!au, Smut, Mature content, Slow burn, Angst
⟶ Rating & Warnings | 18+/mature: include explicit sex scene, flashback to teenage sex (implied), sexual intercourse without foreplay, dirty talk, rough sex, kitchen sex, semi-public sex, multiple orgasm, forced orgasm, unprotected sex
The familiar wooden door was opened instantly after you merely gave a few soft knocks, and a familiar grin welcomed you from the other side the moment he came into your view.
“Well, fancy seeing you here,” he said, the content look in his eyes changed immediately into a look full of mischief the moment he saw your face.
Your mind was too occupied with questions and doubts that you had no words to respond to him, opting to walk past by him to enter his office quietly instead.
