𓄲 In order to make ends meet you pick up a side job as the nanny of a brooding, cold perfectionist by the name of Jeon Jungkook — while in the process of doing so, you might've ended up twisting the narrative about your education just a little. Watching over a few children couldn't be too hard, right? Only Jungkook is very peculiar about how he wants things done — strict routines, meal plans and tedious study hours that make the Jeon estate feel more like a military camp than a home — and it's only a matter of time until cracks in the seemingly perfect facade begin to form.
전정국 x f!reader ˖ ࣪ ꉂ🗯˙ ‹— cw dilf!jungkook single dad jungkook nanny!reader 1980s au slowburn fluff angst explicit content age gap (jungkook is 30, reader is 20) jungook keeps secrets & so does reader
⧽ word count ⋮ 196.2k+ and counting
total reading time ⋮ 15 hours and 55 minutes
Help Wanted receives updates every week, usually around 4-6 days apart <3
[ Pinterest Board] ╱ [ Timezones For Updates ] ╱ [ Read Help Wanted On Wattpad ] ╱ [ Help Wanted Spotify Playlist ] ╱ [ Read Help Wanted on Ao3 ]
𝗖𝗛𝗔𝗣𝗧𝗘𝗥 𝗜𝗡𝗗𝗘𝗫
chapter 01 "daddy doesn't sleep in there anymore" [5.7k]
reading time ⋮ 30 minutes
chapter 02 "your clothes are dirty" [5.5k]
reading time ⋮ 30 minutes
chapter 03 "could you stay?" [7.3k]
reading time ⋮ 40 minutes
chapter 04 "when mom was here" [6k]
reading time ⋮ 30 minutes
chapter 05 "are there some messes that can't be fixed?" [5.2k]
reading time ⋮ 25 minutes
chapter 06 "hide and seek" [8.3k]
reading time ⋮ 45 minutes
chapter 07 "pancakes for lunch and empty fridges" [6.8k]
reading time ⋮ 35 minutes
chapter 08 "I didn't know you wore glasses" [6.2k]
reading time ⋮ 30 minutes
chapter 09 "dirty dancing" [5.9k]
reading time ⋮ 30 minutes
chapter 10 "whiskey tears" [7k]
reading time ⋮ 40 minutes
chapter 11 "checkmate" [6.1k]
reading time ⋮ 35 minutes
chapter 12 "guilty as sin" [6.4k]
reading time ⋮ 35 minutes
chapter 13 "the truth" [5.8k]
reading time ⋮ 30 minutes
chapter 14 "you should be careful with that" [6.7k]
reading time ⋮ 35 minutes
chapter 15 "crumbling resolve" [11.4k]
reading time ⋮ 1 hour
chapter 16 "tainted skin" [6.3k]
reading time ⋮ 35 minutes
chapter 17 "daddy-daughter dance" [5.9k]
reading time ⋮ 30 minutes
chapter 18 "Birthday Girl" [6.8k]
reading time ⋮ 35 minutes
chapter 19 "Dancing Queen" [9.7k]
reading time ⋮ 55 minutes
chapter 20 "Be Quiet" [11.5k]
reading time ⋮ 1 hour
chapter 21 "Heartbeat" [9k]
reading time ⋮ 45 minutes
chapter 22 "The Day Before" [10k]
reading time ⋮ 50 minutes
chapter 23 "Give and Take" [7.3k]
reading time ⋮ 40 minutes
chapter 24 "Twig Snap" [8.3k]
reading time ⋮ 45 minutes
chapter 25 "Jeon Jungkook" [20.6k]
reading time ⋮ 1 hour and 30 minutes
synopsis: going to the beach won’t stop you and your needy boyfriend from having some summer fun.. warnings: 18+ mdni, size difference, pwp, clit/nipple play, semi public sex, ‘good girl’, unprotected sex (don’t), nsfw, soft dom!jjk (no rough sex/ daddy kink!)
⋆˙⟡ most recent works: ⟡ ⟡ ⟡
⋆˙⟡ currently playing: so high - doja cat
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‘Be quiet baby or someone is going to hear us’ Jungkook murmurs as you whimper his name when you fully sink down on his cock. Although you highly doubt if the small tent will hide all your noises you bite your lip trying to mute your moans.
Jungkook’s hands find your hips as you begin to ride him, whimpering as it hurts since you’re not fully used to his size yet. ‘Are you okay love?’ He murmurs as he notices you struggling to fully take his length, he pressed soft kisses along your jaw while rubbing soothing circles on your back.
‘Mhm I can take it’ you manage to say as you take a deep breath lifting your hips and sinking back down slowly making your eyes roll back in pleasure, causing Jungkook to loudly groan as he lays back letting you ride him.
‘Ah kook.. you’re so big..’ you whimper as you find yourself bouncing up and down his girthy cock. ‘Mhm you can take it, just be a good girl and bounce up and down for me can you do that?’ He murmurs as his lips find your right nipple, his tongue lapping circles around your areola as he fully takes the peak of your breast into his mouth. Biting it softly and then soothing it with his wet tongue causing you to sigh in pleasure. His other hand finds your left tit, he lightly squeezes it as he rolls the hard peak between his fingers. Giving both your tits attention he switches to sucking your left boob, also lightly biting it causing you too whimper his name uncontrollably.
‘Kook.. I’m close-‘ you whimper as the double stimulation is making you go insane, you feel a familiar coil in your stomach as he keeps on hitting your g-spot with each of his deep thrusts. your body running out of energy. Jungkook immediately notices as he rolls you onto your back, he hovers on top of you as he sucks hickeys on your neck, leaving a mark to make sure you remember him the next day.
He now thrusts into you from a deeper angle causing you too moan loudly. He slowly sucks a hickey right under your pulse point causing you too cry out in pleasure, the teasing being too much. He quickly stuffs two fingers into your mouth muffling your sounds, wanting to avoid getting heard by other visitors on the beach. ‘Mhm be a good girl and suck on my fingers’ he groans as you eagerly suck on his pointer and middle finger. Your orgasm building up as you clench around his hard cock.
He then soothingly presses wet sloppy kisses over his hickeys knowing they sting from the soft biting. You dig your nails in his back leaving red marks as you are on the verge of cumming.
‘Are you close baby’ he asks noticing how you continuously clench your gummy walls around his cock, your only answer being a weak whimper. He releases his fingers from your mouth capturing your lips in a deep kiss as he speeds up his pace, also chasing his own release.
He starts circling your puffy and neglected bundle of nerves in quick circles as your orgasm crashes over you like a truck, your vision turning black for a second as he burries his face in your neck painting your walls white with his hot seed. You squirt on his cock, your mixture of arousal and his cum leaking onto your towel as you breathe heavily.
‘Mhm good girl take all my cum’ he groans as he falls limp onto your body pressing soft kisses all over your face. ‘You did so good baby, squirting all over my cock’ he praises as he pulls his cock out of your leaking hole with a small plop, causing you to pout as your hole is left empty. He rolls onto his back pulling you on top of him, making sure to not touch your oversensitive clit or pussy. ‘Thank you baby’ he coos as you relax against his toned chest tracing his tattoos with your finger.
‘Mhm love you koo’ you whisper as you press a soft kiss to the mole under his lips.
‘I love you more pretty’ he murmurs as you close your eyes and melt into his touch.
He is yours, forever.
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.𖥔 ݁ ˖ authors note: tysm for reading! Hope yall enjoyed don’t forget to leave a like and reblog <3
.𖥔 ݁ ˖ ! important note: please do not copy or spam interact my posts. I appreciate your support but it will sadly shadow ban me and I will have to block u :(
✿ Synopsis: What began as a quiet marriage of convenience—a contract of mutual respect and minimalist peace—slowly transforms into an agonizingly beautiful slow-burn as Jungkook and Y/N discover that "convenience" is no match for a soul-deep connection. Behind the closed doors of their serene home, the air grows thick with the scent of vanilla candles and the unspoken hunger of two people desperate to cross the final line. Jungkook, a man of profound tenderness and playful charm, spends months worshiping his wife through small gestures and flirty whispers, waiting for the moment their hearts finally sync. When he presents her with a delicate gift of baby-pink lace, the restraint finally snaps. In a sanctuary of rose-gold light and silk sheets, the shy housewife and her devoted husband shed their roles, uniting in a worshipful, vocal, and desperate night of intimacy that proves they were never just roommates—they were the missing halves of each other’s souls.
POSTED THIS ONESHOT, CLICK HERE!!!!
✿ Pairing: Jeon Jungkook x Y/N (Reader)
✿ Genre: Slow Burn Romance, Domestic Fluff, Explicit Smut, Married Life.
✿ Word Count Goal: 8k-9k
✿ Status : COMPLETE
✿ Trope: Arranged Marriage, Convenience to Love, Only One Bed, Virgin/First Time Together.
— Detailed Warnings —
✿ Heavy Romance & Love: Emotional depth, soul-bonding, and mutual pining.
✿ Explicit Sexual Content: Highly detailed descriptions of missionary sex, penetration, and physical fluids.
✿ Body Worship: Extensive breast and nipple playand manual stimulation.
✿ Vocal Intimacy: Heavy use of soft and desperate dirty talk, praise, and vocal expressions of pleasure (groaning/whimpering).
✿ Aftercare: Deeply emotional and physical aftercare, skin-to-skin cuddling, and sleepy pillow talk.
✿ Morning Intimacy: Needy, playful morning-after play and flirting.
———————————-✿ ✿ ✿————————————
A/n: comment for the taglist… and this fic is for all my readers —who supported and loved INK WITHOUT NAME — and specifically to my lovely @amorsarasstuff and @mikrokookiex . The love and support you guys gave me was incredible 🥹
for as long as you remember, you’ve always had the fattest crush on your childhood friend, jeon jungkook. it never blossomed into something more though, because that’s what happens when life naturally takes it course—you grow up, you move on, and you pretend that those feelings never existed in order to maintain the good friendship that remained between the two of you over the years.
so when he visits you after work one day, asking you to marry him, you do everything you can to refuse, because the reason he’s asking you isn’t due to the fact that he finally realized that he loved you after all this time, but because he thinks he’s doing you a big favor.
or at least, that’s what you think.
pairing: jungkook x reader
word count: 13.2k
rating: 18+
content: fluff, semi-angst, childhood friends to lovers au, pining au | ft. naval aviator!jungkook + brother’s best friend!jungkook; professor!reader + editor!reader | inspired by purple hearts
warning/s: swearing, potentially wrong medical & military information (i’m sorry but i tried to do as much research i can 😭), mentions of having type 1 diabetes, making out, heavy petting, implied sexual content: oral (f. receiving), fingering, penetrative sex, unprotected sex (this is only fiction!)
MINI PLAYLIST:
♫ die with a smile — lady gaga, bruno mars
♫ juno — sabrina carpenter
♫ selfish — *nsync
♫ nandito na ako — benj pangilinan, angela ken
opening note. omg this is my first full length fic in two damn years i think??? certainly took a long time before i had the motivation to write again but i hope y'all like this! to my og readers who still keep up with my shenanigans, this one's for you 🥹💗
“Any questions?”
A boy wearing half-rimmed glasses raises his hand and you gesture for him to speak. “Can we get an extension on the Save the Cat project due tomorrow?”
You sigh, just as several of your students begin agreeing with him and muttering reasons of their own why the extension should be approved. It’s the week before finals, and you’re aware that the class must be packed with assignments and projects for several of their classes because of it, hence the rather last minute request. They look tired and pleading, a complete reflection of how you were when you were the one in their position nearly a decade ago, begging for an extension from a professor who you thought was kind enough to be swayed with the proposition.
You scan the crowd. “How many of you are at least 70% with it, hm?”
More than half of the class raises their hands.
“Okay, that’s honestly unexpected,” you say, pleased to know that they aren’t slacking on your subject. “Does Monday sound good? That’s three more days, to be fair. I don’t want to extend it further because I have to read everyone’s work and you guys know I don’t like rushing it before turning in your final grade.”
A chorus of relief and thanks echoed in the room, all of your students either dramatically sinking in their chair or erupting in an animated conversation with their seatmate or making crying faces to portray how grateful they are.
“Thank you so much, Ms. ____!”
“I love you, Ms. ____!”
“Ms. ____, I will offer my first child to you,” one theatrically adds and you smile a bit, rolling your eyes at students like this one who is now opting to flatter you way too much for your act of kindness.
“Alright, alright. Just get it done and I’m expecting quality work, okay? Class dismissed.”
The whole class begins to gather their things at the cue and you don’t stay there a minute longer after your announcement, exiting the lecture hall to head to the faculty room where you’re certain half of the teaching staff have gone home already. It’s already 8:47 p.m., and all you want to do is head home to get the rest you deserve after an eventful day.
There was a time that having a schedule from 6 p.m. to 9 p.m. wasn’t the norm for you. You used to value work life balance so much—it was even a nonnegotiable you used to say in interviews, saying that if you didn’t get enough rest within the week, then the job most likely wasn’t for you. But things have been very different for the past months; you have definitely grown out of that mindset due to the fact that you’re simply in need of another source of income to pay for your monthly rent, utility bills, and now your medication. You’re in a stage of your life wherein you consider working part time as a professor was a blessing rather than a big nuisance.
Making a right turn to where the hallway to the faculty room is, you’re too busy rearranging the papers inside the folder you’re holding to notice a man sitting on the bench placed just beside the entrance. He notices you the second you appear in his line of vision though; he straightens his posture and proceeds on standing up immediately upon seeing you closer, calling your name softly when you failed to look at his direction, too preoccupied with the thought of finally coming home that you’re oblivious that the man trying to catch your attention is Jeon Jungkook.
“____,” he calls again and this time you notice him, your eyes widening instantly.
“Holy shi—” You stop yourself from finishing that sentence. “Jungkook?”
He grins. “Hey, lamb chop.”
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“Is that how you greet an old friend?”
“Oh, fuck off.”
He laughs, following suit to you who’s already giggling just by his presence alone, outstretching his arms then. “You gonna hug me or what?”
You beam and step forward to embrace him. He returns it without hesitation, muscular arms circling around you and squeezing tightly that it lifts you up from the ground for a quick second. The faint smell of fabric conditioner on his clothes enters your nostrils and you feel like a teenager again, warmth rushing to your face while your heart hammers loudly in your chest. Regardless of how old the both of you are, you think your hopeless crush on the guy will forever live on and constantly transform you into a middle school girl whenever opportunities like these to have him near arise. You’re just happy you’ve trained yourself to be better at hiding it now compared to when you were younger.
“Aren’t you supposed to be in base or wherever it is that you’re designated?” you ask, the first to let go from the hug.
“Actually, I returned from deployment three days ago. I’m on leave for two weeks.”
“Wow. Two weeks, huh?”
“Yep. It’s the longest break I’ve gotten in a while.”
“That’s good. Everybody needs a break from time to time.”
“Says the girl has a day job and a night job.” He points out with a smirk; your heart does a little leap at how handsome he looks doing that. “When the hell did you get into teaching, by the way? I never pegged you to be the kind who can tolerate it. You hate kids.”
“You’ll find yourself tolerating lots of things in this economy.” You snort. “And my students aren’t kids. They’re in college.”
“Yeah, which you graduated from six years ago. Still technically kids.”
“Are you seriously jabbing at my age when you’re two years older than I am?”
He rolls his eyes at that one, an indication that you won the argument. “Anyway,” he starts again and you grin, “I didn’t come here to compare how old we are—”
“You didn’t?”
He sends you a look. Your grin gets even wider.
“I’m here because I was hoping to treat you to dinner.”
“Dinner?” you repeat, not masking the surprise from your voice.
Let’s get the facts straight before we proceed to this conversation.
It isn’t a lie when you say that you and Jungkook are great friends. You have been since you were 7 and your family just moved into the house next to theirs. He was a natural playmate, a companion when you couldn’t tolerate the antics of your older brother, the boy who looked out for you aside from said older brother, and the person you’ve shared significant history with throughout your youth that you can never seem to forget nor disregard.
It’s just that you never deemed that you were great enough friends for him to go out of his way and visit you at your workplace, offering to treat you for dinner. Gestures like that were reserved for your older brother, Seowon, who’s the same age as he is and who you’re sure is considered as his best friend. Compared to them, yours and Jungkook’s dynamic shifted slightly after graduating from college. What once was a really close friendship turned into a casual one, with mostly just teasing, light talks, and the occasional welfare checks at times you hear certain news from the other that’s worth speaking directly about.
At the mention of that, realization dawns on you on why he must be here.
“Jungkook…” You’re trying not to sound mad but you can’t hide the exasperation from your voice. “That’s not the real reason you’re here.”
“Of course, it is. Why else would I be here?”
“He told you, didn’t he?” you ask, not willing to drag this out. “You’re just going to give me another lecture that I definitely don’t need.”
Jungkook frowns, like he’s dismayed that you caught on pretty swiftly.
“I’m right, aren’t I?” You pressed.
“He meant well, ____.”
You scowl. To remark that Seowon is unnecessarily nosy and coddling would be an understatement. That man hasn’t left you alone the second he was aware of your condition. Usually, whenever he gets into his ‘big brother tendencies’, his girlfriend Winnie steps in and helps you lay him off your back. However, it’s different this time; no matter how much you reinstill your independence and insist that you’re fine, it’s like you’re talking to a wall.
“What exactly did you hear from him?” you query.
He seems hesitant in answering that. “That you got diagnosed with type 1 diabetes.”
You wince.
“Look,” he steps forward towards you, “I wasn’t going to bring it up unless you did, okay? I’m just here because I’m genuinely worried about you and I want to know how you’re doing.”
“I’m fine.” You murmur. “You don’t need to worry.”
“Worry doesn’t vanish magically just because someone says so.”
“Well, it should—because I’m fine.”
“You sure? I heard that you’re struggling to buy insulin among other things you’re having a hard time paying.”
“Fuck. Seowon told you that too? That’s private.”
“My parents know. He just filled me in because he wants you to have as much support as you can get.”
“I don’t need that. I’m an adult. I’ve lived by myself for years. I can fend for myself just fine.”
“It doesn’t look like it from what I’ve been hearing.”
“All you’re hearing is a warped and exaggerated version of the story told by Seowon who won’t listen to a word I say.” You huff. “I’m fine and I’ve been doing everything I can, alright? I’m taking care of myself. I’m going to the doctor whenever I need to. I’m making ends meet, buying treatment for this goddamn disease and regulating my sugar levels all the fucking time. Why do you think I’ve been working two jobs for the past year? It’s because I’m doing everything I can to stay alive.”
Jungkook doesn’t reply, he only remains gazing at you.
“If you’re here to offer me money or whatever because of what he said,” you add, already embarrassed that you can’t even look at him anymore, “then I don’t want it.”
“That’s not what I’m here for,” he says.
“Then are you really just here to treat me to dinner?” you question sarcastically.
He laughs and you dare return your eyes at him, catching him peering at you with a fond expression. “Yes. It’s my way of doing a welfare check.”
“Welfare check.” You echo with squinted eyes. “Well, in that case, here I am—alive and healthy.”
“I can see that, and I’m glad.” He smiles. “But I need more than just seeing you. I need a conversation and an apology.”
“An apology?”
“For being the last person to know about your condition.”
“And we’re still talking about that apparently.” You mutter under your breath. “Sorry. I didn’t think that you wanted to know.”
“Of course, I would have wanted to know. It’s you we’re talking about here.”
Something about how he said you causes your lips to twitch as you fight off a smile. This isn’t a good time to dive into your romantic feelings for your childhood crush, but when he’s letting go of lines like that which are sure to have your heart soaring out of your chest, it’s hard to keep on a cool and unfazed facade. You just convince yourself that he sees you as a little sister and that’s why he’s so worried; you should already be past your ‘delulu’ phase at this age to be affected by such statements.
“I didn’t want to add to your worries,” you reason. “You already have your life to think about. Add to the fact that you’re a naval aviator—so you literally have your own life first to think about.”
“I can make space for you.”
Is he flirting? Is this a normal thing to say between friends?
You blink. “Okay, uh, that’s… that’s completely up to you, I guess.”
“I just like knowing those things first hand. It makes me worry less.”
“Got it. Next time I learn I’m dying, I’ll tell you.”
“____,” he says your name in warning, and you know he’s serious.
“Sorry.” You heat up. “I couldn’t resist.”
“Don’t be a pain in the ass.”
“I promise that’ll be the last time I make a dark joke, Lieutenant.”
Jungkook’s nostrils flare. You prevent yourself from grinning like a fool again in success of getting on his nerves.
“Are you done here? Because I’m hungry and would really like to get going now.” He changes the subject and gestures to the faculty.
“Yeah. I’ll just get my things and then I can get out of here.”
“Great. You’re letting me take you to dinner, right?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“No.”
“Fine.” You deadpan.
This time, he’s the one who’s beaming at you. “I’ll wait for you here and we can go.”
“Okay.”
****
When Jungkook discovered that you had type 1 diabetes through a phone call with Seowon, he spent the rest of the night staring at the ceiling, ignoring the snores of his squadmates and overthinking what’s supposed to happen to you now that you had an autoimmune disease which he was told didn’t have a cure. He was assured that you were okay despite it, that there was medication to treat it, and that you had access to them and have been very careful with your lifestyle due to the diagnosis ever since.
He still couldn’t be put to ease though. As ridiculous as it may sound, he had this overwhelming realization that life truly was short, that you had to make certain decisions all the time because you need to adjust to what the universe is only willing to give you. It was funny coming from a person who risked his life for a living. He thinks that perhaps he never understood the philosophy of the quote ‘time is gold’ until he had a loved one on the same trajectory, always one step closer to possible death.
And so that same night, he decided to file a leave for two weeks, effective immediately after his deployment.
He wasn’t sure what his game plan was exactly in filing that two-week leave. Was he supposed to barge in your life and force you to let him take care of you? Was he supposed to demand why you ended up having diabetes? Was he supposed to act as a big brother like your actual big brother because he was that worried about you? But if Jungkook was going to be truthful, he already had an idea on what he wanted to do in the back of his head—he just didn’t want to execute it because it was absolutely insane.
Until he heard Seowon suggest it himself when they met up at a bar to share a drink together.
“She would never say yes,” Jungkook said, beyond doubt that you won’t be persuaded that easily with a plan like that.
Seowon made a face. “I know. That girl is so hyper independent—she’d rather die than accept help.” He scoffed. “She needs it though. It’ll help with her medication and she won’t have to pay rent for that shit apartment she’s living in. Plus, she'll actually get the chance to take care of her body if she’s not juggling two jobs to have sufficient income.”
“You’re right.” Jungkook shrugged.
“You’ll do it then?”
He took a sip of his beer. “Yeah. I’d do anything for ____, you know that.”
“Even as crazy as marrying her?”
“Sure.”
Seowon stared at him, narrowing his eyes and morphing his expression into a teasing one. “Are you sure you’re not just considering this because it’s a perfect excuse to marry my sister? I know you like her.”
“I don’t like her.”
“You’re in love with her.”
“I don’t—” Jungkook began to deny but Seowon was staring him down. “Fuck you, man. Don’t make me some kind of pervert who’s trying to lock her into marriage because he likes her. You’re the one who brought the idea up.”
Seowon laughed out loud. “I know, I just can’t believe you’d agree. It’ll benefit ____, that’s for sure—you, on the other hand? It’s career suicide.”
He shrugged. “I’m okay with the thought that she’ll be okay.”
“Because you love her, man.” Seowon pushed. “Why on earth would you consider this if you weren’t? It’s a fraudulent marriage. You’ll be thrown in the brig and be dishonorably discharged if you get caught.”
“We don’t even know if she’ll agree to this whole thing. You said it yourself, she would never say yes.”
“Yeah, unless maybe you’re the one who tries to persuade her.”
“Me?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want me to buy her a ring and kneel down before her or something?”
“That can work.”
“What?” Jungkook laughed.
Seowon raised an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me you don’t know how she’s been crushing on you since we were kids.”
He barked out a laugh again. That he knew; it was impossible not to when a lot of friends and cousins kept on teasing you before, especially at instances Jungkook was in the very same vicinity. “We’re not kids anymore and I barely see her though.”
“Still, it ought to count to something. It raises the chances of her agreeing.”
“You’re really cool with me marrying your sister, Won?” Jungkook asked.
Seowon placed down the beer bottle he’s consuming on the counter. “Yeah. You’re a good guy. You’re not perfect, but I know you enough to know that you won’t do anything that will purposely hurt her. Besides, if this sham marriage ends up to be a real relationship and then for some reason, you fuck up and decide to break her heart—I’ll easily know what to do, where to find you, and then I’ll do everything I can to fuck you up.”
Jungkook pressed his lips together to stifle a chuckle.
“Noted.”
****
It’s always been a big wonder to you how no matter how long it’s been since you saw each other, it still feels like no time has passed between you and Jungkook. You think that’s why you can never get over him; he always had this comforting and familiar aura that you appreciate—something that you sought for in every other person that you liked. Maybe it was impractical, maybe it was the reason you can never hold a relationship for more than two years, but unless you gain the courage to confront your feelings and tell Jungkook about it, then you constantly dispel any doubts you might have whether this was good for you or not.
You don’t want to lose him. Admitting that you harbored romantic feelings for him would just make it awkward for everyone: your brother, your family, and then his family. You don’t think you can ever trade his smile, the sound of his laughter, and all the good things about him for anything in the world.
“Are you dating anyone?” he asks.
You choke on your drink, having just poured yourself and Jungkook a glass of water after the server arrived with the pitcher. You’re in a Japanese restaurant near the university, aware that the cuisine was a favorite for the both of you hence why it’s what you recommended when he asked where you wanted to dine. The place is packed with people from the workforce and students; you’re thankful that you don’t see any of your students within the mix.
“We’re getting straight to it, huh?” you say.
Jungkook smirks. “I’m just making sure I’m not upsetting a boyfriend by meeting you tonight.”
“Don’t worry, you’re not upsetting anyone.”
He nods in understanding. You don’t want to add more meaning to his actions for the evening but he seems glad about the information.
“How about you?” you ask back. “Are you dating anyone?”
The ends of his mouth lift a bit upwards. “Nope.”
“Why? You don’t have the time for it?”
“Precisely.”
“It must be really hard dating when you’re in the Navy then.”
“Kinda. We’re away a lot and stationed in different places most of the time. It can get really dangerous for us too and people don’t like the stress that comes with that.”
You bob. “Does it get lonely?”
“Sometimes, but when you’re on duty, you don’t get to think about those things.” He chuckles. “Besides, I don’t know if this sounds fucked up or not—but it can get exciting. Flying a plane can be fun, you know. Not to mention that it helps when you’re surrounded by good men in your squadron.”
“You’ve always been an adrenaline junkie.”
“And you’ve always been a scaredy-cat.”
You scoff at the declaration. “No, I’m not.”
“Remember when Seowon and I forced you to ride that ship in the amusement park that sways left to right and as it goes on it falls from a higher standpoint?”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
But you do, and Jungkook knows you do, it’s evident by how your expression is trying to feign innocence. That memory is your villain origin story; the whole pretext of why you refuse to ever visit the amusement park or ride an exhilarating ride again. Yet you can’t help but recall that it’s one of the rare instances wherein you got to hold Jungkook’s hand when you two were younger, as his hand was the one you were clinging for dear life when it happened while the other was too busy slapping Seowon in irritation.
He snickers, appearing like he’s replaying the scene in his head. “We should do that again with Seowon during my break.”
“Hell no.”
“I thought you weren’t a scaredy-cat?” He challenges.
“I’m not.” You give him a kittenish glare. “But I am busy. I have to send the final manuscript of this book I’m editing to the chief editor next week and it’s about to be finals week for my students as well.”
He fakes a shiver. “I don’t know how you can do two jobs like that, ____. Truly.”
“You work as a naval aviator so I’d say we’re pretty even.”
The waiter arrives with your orders not long after, and you and Jungkook carry on with your conversation, jumping from topic to topic without difficulty. You’re not certain when was the last time you saw each other like this to have so much to talk about—was it last Christmas? Or was it more recent or longer than that? Nevertheless, it feels good and you find yourself blushing multiple times throughout the night, whether it’s because of how his words can have two meanings or how his eyes are staring at you so intensely whenever you’re the one who’s talking.
You like the undivided attention, the back and forth that’s occurring as you discourse, the subtle touches one of you does when something funny arises, how your knees are touching underneath the table. You wonder what’s so different with this encounter that the energy feels so bizarre in a good way? As far as you’re concerned, you’re positive that you’re acting like you always have in his presence—lively, smiley, sarcastic—and aside from the little touches of flirting here and there, Jungkook’s acting like he always has too.
When dinner was done, Jungkook offered to drive you home. You obliged, no longer in the mood to annoy him for you were tired to make the effort. Before stepping outside the restaurant however, you excused yourself to the restroom first, checking your blood sugar with the glucose meter you brought along wherever you went. It’s a hassle but it’s necessary, largely because you’re still in the middle of saving up for the insulin pump that would help you regulate your sugar levels easier.
After administering yourself with the insulin injection you have, you spend a few more seconds inside the enclosed room. You should be past the point of feeling sorry for yourself, but it’s times like this wherein you’re with a loved one that the dejection hits and you wish that you’re in a better predicament than you are right now. You’re close to being broke, you’re overworked, you’re somehow fatigued all the fucking time—those factors aren’t soothing your worries at all. It’s a miracle how you manage to keep an optimistic mind amidst everything.
“Ready to go?” Jungkook smiles at you once you’re back at the table and you nod, clutching your bag tighter against your body and following him to his car.
He drives you to your place, turning the radio on, and letting it play while the both of you sit in silence. You’re both tired and you almost even sleep during the ride. It’s only when Jungkook gently shakes you awake that you realize that you’ve arrived in front of your apartment building.
“I’ll walk you up,” he insists as you’re unbuckling the seatbelt.
“That’s no need, Kook.”
“Of course, it is,” he says. “I’ll walk you up. That’s nonnegotiable.”
So, you allow him.
It takes five minutes tops to reach the door leading to your apartment. As you rummage through your bag to grab your keys, Jungkook patiently stands there, occasionally glancing around the hallway and even smiling when the old lady that resided in the same floor got out of her room to throw out the trash. He receives a smile in return which you notice and grin fondly at.
“Well, this is me.” You turn to him, done unlocking your door. “I’d invite you inside but you should probably get going. It’s quite a long drive back home.”
“Yeah.” He breathes out a chuckle. “Hey, tonight was fun. It made me realize how I missed you.”
Your brain temporarily malfunctions; you force yourself to recover quickly. “Me too. I had fun tonight. Maybe we should do this again whenever you’re on a break.”
“Agreed.”
You flash him a smile. “You can go now. Goodnight.”
Jungkook nods, however doesn’t move a muscle. He’s looking at you, like really looking at you, his eyes moving from one feature to another, as if he’s memorizing your face or having a hard time arranging the words he wants to say. You guess it’s the latter, familiar with a tongue-tied Jungkook that it takes you a few good seconds before you’re demanding why he’s impersonating a mannequin.
“There’s something I want to say,” that’s what he utters and you almost snort due to your assumption being right.
“Okay…” The smile is still on your lips. “What is it?”
“Promise me you won’t get mad first.”
“Well, if you’re making me promise that then it’s probably worth being mad about.”
“It’s not as bad as you think.”
“That’s not convincing at all.”
“It’s just…” He begins and trails, biting his lower lip, “it’s… it’s why I went here. Why I went here to see and meet you, I mean.”
You unconsciously recoil at the revelation. It’s certainly a rookie mistake to believe that there was no ulterior motive in Jungkook meeting you today. You just didn’t reckon you’d actually be truly disappointed at that—at the idea that he just didn’t randomly decide to visit and be with you earlier until now.
You draw a long breath. “Well, I knew you weren’t just feeling generous and wanted to treat me to dinner out of nowhere.”
There’s a pause and then he resumes. “Just—before I say it, you have to hear me out, okay? You have to let me explain before you berate me.”
“I can’t promise that either.”
“You have to.”
“Why do I have to?”
“Because what I’m about to say is for your own sake. You know I always have your best interest at heart, don’t you?”
You wrinkle your forehead in further confusion. “Can you just get on with it? The vagueness is making me more annoyed.”
“I just don’t want you to misunderstand.”
“Misunderstand what?”
“What I—and Seowon—genuinely think is the best option.”
“Oh, and Seowon is in on this too?” You bellow. “Have you and Seowon just been conspiring behind my back the whole time?”
“Calm down.” Jungkook puts his hands on your shoulders, a chuckle inevitably escaping him. “I’m sorry for dragging it out. You should know I’m high key afraid of you, that’s why.”
“You should be.” You grumble.
Another chuckle, but he’s back to appearing anxious. You want to shout that this isn’t healthy, that you’re close to giving him a real reason to be afraid of you—yet once he blurts the confession out, you’re speechless, gawking at him and staggering backwards in complete shock. Perhaps you would have bolted as far away from him as possible if not for his solid grasp.
“What?” You hiss.
He swallows hard.
“I want you to marry me, ____.”
You don’t bolt away running. You shake off his hold on you though, and before he gets another word in, you’re hastily rushing inside your apartment and slamming the door to his face.
****
Jungkook was your first kiss.
It happened in a game of truth and dare. You were at a party of a mutual friend and when the bottle miserably pointed in Jungkook’s direction, the person who was tasked to think of his dare when it was his pick said that he dared him to do 7 minutes in heaven with you.
He profusely refused at first, especially since Seowon was in the same party, but everybody began booing and next thing you know, Jungkook was agreeing as long as it was fine with you. When you nodded to make your consent apparent, your friends were quick to shove you both in the closet, some of them pulling Seowon back who was complaining how it wasn’t right to bully you into doing 7 minutes in heaven with Jungkook. They calmed him down once they bullied him into agreeing too.
“We don’t have to do anything,” Jungkook told you in the darkness, his breath fawning over your face. “You don’t have to feel pressured. It’s just a stupid game.”
You blushed.
Secretly, you were hoping that he’d kiss you or touch you. Who didn’t want to do anything with their crush at the age of 15? A lot can happen in 7 minutes. You were aware that sometimes people made out, went as far as third base, and although you didn’t want to go that far with Jungkook, you wanted something to happen while you were stuck in this small closet with him. There weren’t a lot of instances that put both of you in this kind of situation; you wished that you were brave enough to ask him to kiss you or do the first move yourself.
5 minutes in, Jungkook turned towards you.
“Is it true that Taehyung kissed you last week?”
You whipped your head so fast that you might have given yourself whiplash. “That’s—that’s not true. Where did you hear that?”
“During homeroom. Some girls were talking about it.”
Your cheeks burned. “Oh.”
“So, it’s not true?”
“No.” You shook your head. “I haven’t even had my first kiss yet.” You laughed weakly.
It was his turn to seem stunned. “You haven’t had your first kiss yet?”
You shook your head again, then realized he might not see you doing so. “Not yet.”
“Want me to change that?” he asked, grinning.
He said that with a boyish grin and teasing tone, but you sucked at social cues (plus, you really couldn’t see shit that much) that you started nodding.
“Okay,” you told him.
“Huh?”
“You can kiss me.”
“Oh, oh, shit—I didn’t—” He was blabbering, about to take back what he offered. “I mean, I was just joking but—”
You widen your eyes. “You were? Oh my God, I’m sorry, I thought you were—”
“No, it was my fault. That was a little out of line for me. I’m sorry.” He was laughing and you felt like burying yourself 6 feet under. “It was a stupid thing to say. But if you want me to kiss you, it’s cool.”
“It is?” Hope sparked within you.
“Yeah. It’ll just be a peck anyway.” You can tell he was smiling through his voice. “Just don’t tell Seowon because he might punch me in the face for kissing his sister.”
You cackled. “Deal.”
56 seconds before the 7 minutes were up, Jungkook leaned down to match your level and placed his lips on yours.
****
You’re seething with rage, the embodiment of Godzilla, channeling the God of War, Ares, in your body; you harshly press Seowon’s number on your phone to call him and he answers after three rings.
“What’s up?”
“I will fucking murder you,” you snarl.
A beat. You hear shuffling. Then he answers, “you already talked with Jungkook?”
The nonchalance and calmness in his voice drives you to be more frustrated than you already are. “Yes, I have! What is wrong with you? Why would you plant that idea on his head?” You yell, not caring that your walls are thin and that your voice can probably be heard by the couple that lived next door. You’re feeling a mixture of anger, embarrassment, and every negative emotion that exists at the moment. You’re comparable to a bull who just saw the color red.
“____, it won’t be a big deal if you don’t make it to be.”
“Are you hearing yourself right now?”
“Did you even let Jungkook explain?”
“I don’t need him to spell everything out. I know why he’s asking me to marry him.”
“Then you know too that it’d be good for you.”
“Marrying him won’t be good for me.”
“Why not?”
“It just won’t!”
“You’ll get health insurance benefits that you don’t get with your current jobs. You can pay less rent once you move in at Jungkook’s place—there’s a huge chance he won’t even let you pay him while you stay there too. He’s away most of the time anyway, so staying there wouldn’t be a problem. Plus, you can start studying for a masters degree like you’ve always wanted.”
You groan. “Not like this. This is crazy.”
“The both of you can divorce once you’ve saved up a little. It really isn’t that complicated.”
“It’s a sham marriage!”
“It’s a sham marriage with Jungkook.”
“That doesn’t make it better.”
“Are you sure? Your grade school diary might disagree.”
“Oh my God, that’s fucking low of you to bring that up. You just gave me another reason to hate you.” You stomp around the living room, acting like a teenager because of your brother’s behavior. This isn’t the first time he revealed that he’s read your diary before; that doesn’t mean it’s less infuriating to be reminded that he has. “I swear, you better fucking sleeping with one eye open tonight. I’m choking you to death.”
Seowon laughs out loud. “Just marry him. He’s surprisingly amicable with the idea.”
“That’s because you’re pressuring him! I bet you and Mom devised this entire thing together.”
“Mom doesn’t know. To be fair, she’d probably have the same reaction as you. It’s all me and Jungkook.”
“Wow. You have two brains and yet none of you thought this was goddamn stupid?”
“It’s not stupid. It’s genius if you come to think of it,” he says. “Jungkook just wants to help you, dude. He wants to make sure you’ll be okay and all that shit. You’re the reason he filed for a two-week leave, did he tell you?”
Your heart does that jumping thing again. “No.”
“Well, he did. He’s on a break for two weeks because he wants to convince you to marry him and actually marry you within that time frame.”
“This is nuts.” You sigh, finally flopping down the sofa and rubbing your face with your free hand. “The both of you are nuts. How are you okay with this?”
“It’s Jungkook. I trust him. Don’t you?”
“Of course, I do, I just—” you cut yourself off and frown, “I just feel like it’s unfair for him. I’m marrying him because of military spouse benefits and what does he get?”
There’s a long pause, and you almost check your phone to see whether Seowon has already hung up on you or not.
“It’s better that Jungkook answers that question,” he tells you finally.
“Why? You can’t answer it on behalf of him?”
“Something like that.” You can imagine him shrugging. “All I know is that he’s genuinely concerned about your health and your financial status right now. So, just think about it, okay?”
“God, fuck it, fine. I’ll think about it.” You grimace.
You hang up and glance at the door.
You don’t think the conversation you just had with Seowon took that much time. The initial rush you had upon having your longtime crush propose to you is wearing off and you’re realizing that it was a dick move to literally slam the door right in Jungkook’s face earlier, leading you to stand up from your seat and look through the peephole to check if he’s still there.
He isn’t, which you sigh in relief at.
As you lean against the door and regulate your breathing, you think how funny it is that Seowon is right about one thing—and that was grade school you would have been delighted at the thought of getting married to Jungkook. He’s your dream guy; your parents loved him, his parents loved you, the both of you got along very well, and his personality and looks are everything that you’re looking for in a partner. It sucks that you live in a world where the only reason he wants to marry you is because he’s afraid you’ll die because of self-neglect.
Your phone pings and you unlock the screen to look at the message that flashes on it.
Jungkook: hey, seowon just messaged me to say that you two already talked
Jungkook: i’m sorry for jumping on you with a topic like that…
Jungkook: i’m shit at confrontation lol
Jungkook: also it’s the first time i’m proposing so give me some slack
You scoff at his audacity to joke about it this soon.
You: it’s okay
You: i’m sorry too for what i did
You: the answer is no btw
Jungkook: already???
Jungkook: let’s talk about it first
You: no need
You: i don’t want to marry you
Jungkook: oof that’s harsh
You: sorry not sorry?
He doesn’t respond and you think you’re safe. Maybe Jungkook does take no for an answer and you’re confused because you’re a little disappointed that he’s not falling on his knees, begging you to marry him like what your imagination is supplying you.
However, after you took a shower and went to check your phone again, you see that Jungkook messaged you a few minutes ago in response to your last message.
Jungkook: give me 10 days and i’ll change your mind
You have the urge to go take a shower again because of how hot your body is feeling at the statement.
You: hate to break it to you but you’re not matthew mcconaughey
Jungkook: 🤣🤣🤣
****
It’s not part of Jungkook’s branding to chase a woman. Typically, women chase him; they chase him in every city and country that he gets stationed in, flirting with him and hoping that they’ll get the chance to take him home for the night for a mindblowing one-night stand. They never succeed though, for despite their pretty faces and sultry gestures, Jungkook only smiles and declines every offer, saying that he had a girl waiting back home that he loved very much.
He used to think that he only used that as an excuse because he’s not the type to hook up with every attractive girl he meets. There are times when he succumbs, when he gives into the temptation of a little fun, especially after a life threatening or highly stressful mission—but most of the time, he thinks he declines and use that pronouncement of his because his mind reverts him to the idea of you, to what would happen if he just gained the balls to ask you out.
Evidently, although asking you out and asking you to marry him are two completely different things, he’s a bit afraid that your answer will always be a hard no. It’s what you’ve been literally spelling out to him since the day he presented the idea, regardless of how he’s trying his best in swooning you or explaining how this is the perfect plan to help you gain an upper hand with your diagnosis.
“I’ll file a restraining order against you, I’m serious,” you say to him when he appears yet again outside the faculty room, waiting for you to gather your things and head home. You’re wearing a white button up shirt and pinstripe wide leg trousers, an outfit combination that he ogles at before he goes down to business.
“You wouldn’t.” He glares at you. He gestures for you to let him take your backpack, and despite what you said, you let him. “Also, what the fuck is in this thing? You’ll break your back if you keep using this.” He swings your backpack on one shoulder.
You laugh. “My laptop, its charger, a couple of notebooks, books, pens, then the outputs of my students.”
“Aren’t they supposed to submit virtually? What happened to Google Classroom?”
“I still use it, but sometimes I like to have their work printed out so I can write the comments better. How do you know Google Classroom?”
“I have a squadronmate whose kid uses it for class.”
“Ah.” You nod in understanding.
You two continue walking forward.
This has been your program for the past few days. Jungkook goes to the university you work at, he’ll wait outside, you’ll threaten him with something ridiculous, he’ll take your bag, he’ll offer to take you to dinner, you’ll decline, and then he’ll drive you home anyways. Before that routine ends, he’ll lean on your door frame and give you his best puppy eyes, asking you to marry him for the sake of your welfare, and you’ll scowl at him, insisting that you don’t need his help to survive.
“Dinner?” he asks, right on schedule.
You glance at him. “No. I want to go home and sleep for 12 hours.”
“Busy day?”
“Yep.”
“You know, if you marry me, you won’t have to work two jobs and overexert yourself.”
He doesn’t need to turn to you to know that you’re giving him a dirty look. “I won’t marry you, Jungkook.”
“Why not?”
“Because marriage doesn’t work that way.”
“It does. Billionaires do it all the time. The mafia does it too. It’s always been some kind of transaction.”
“Well, if I marry you, what do you get?”
“The assurance you’re taken care of.”
“That’s cheesy.”
You share a laugh and he grins.
“It’s true,” he says. “I’ll be fine as long as you are.”
He waits for you to quip back a reply, flickering his eyes to you when it takes longer than usual. Instead of the sneer he’s expecting, you appear to be flustered, an expression that is very recognizable for him who’s known you since forever—an expression that makes it too obvious for Jungkook that the crush you had on him that he thought has been long gone was still there. He’s been seeing it a lot lately, particularly when he’s uttering lines that sound flirtatious on purpose; he’s positive that you’ll threaten to kill him when you discover that he basks on the fact that he can still make you all flustered and cute, which encourages him to do and say anything that would elicit a reaction from you. Was it unethical to seduce you into marrying him? He might have to rethink that part too.
Reaching the parking lot, he unlocks the doors to his vehicle and places your bag inside the backseat. He watches you walk around the car, about to go to the passenger’s side, but then you wobble a bit and his attempt to get inside is instantly forgotten.
“Hey,” he strides to where you are, gazing at you as you now hold onto the hood, “you alright?”
You raise your chin up. “Kook, can you get my bag?”
Jungkook doesn’t need to be told twice. He’s swinging the door again and getting your bag from the other end of the backseat while you get on the passenger’s seat, keeping the door wide and placing your legs outside, your feet planted on the concrete.
“What do you need?” he asks, crouching in front of you and zipping the bag open.
“Glucometer.”
He halts. “What does that look like?”
“It’s in the yellow bag. There.” You point at it right when he rummages through a certain part.
He brings it out and you take it from his grasp. Your movements are sluggish but he can discern that you’re doing your best not to be too slow; he’d present to help but he knows that he might prolong what you’re doing due to his cluelessness, so he just observes, noting how you’re pricking your finger with a device and then pressing it lightly to the glucometer which shows that your blood sugar is low.
“Apple juice,” you mutter to him and he finds it faster than the last one.
You grab the juice pouch from his grasp, prying the straw attached on the back, pushing its end for it to pop out of its plastic cover—then your hand shakes, preventing you from continuing and punching in the straw properly.
“Let me do it,” he says.
You don’t fight him, you just slump against the seat as Jungkook picks up from where you left, and the moment he does the job and guides the straw to your awaiting lips, a long exhale through your nose escapes you.
“How are you feeling?” he whispers. He didn’t notice that he was holding his breath the entire duration of the scene.
Another sigh. “Better.”
“Does this happen a lot?”
You seem to hesitate. “Not a lot. Just when life gets a bit too hectic.”
“____—”
“Just take me home.” You don’t give him the chance to lecture you. “Please, Jungkook.”
Defeated, he nods. “Alright.”
“Thank you.”
He helps you position yourself properly on the passenger’s seat. “But we’re talking about this at your place.”
Before you can protest, he closes the door.
****
Lee Hyunwoo was the name of the guy that you brought home for Christmas Eve eight years ago. It was the first time that you did, and Jungkook hated how Hyunwoo was considerably handsome, intelligent, and kind—the exact kind of person he always imagined you deserved.
In the short time Hyunwoo spent with theirs and your family that night, everybody loved him and was already inviting him to the next gathering, all the while Jungkook avoided him at every cost, puzzled by this strong dislike he was feeling for your guest. He was annoyed at the manner in which Hyunwoo had an arm around your waist the entire evening, how you grinned up to him, eyes sparkling and all that shit. Hell, you used to look at him like that.
“Honey, can you get the mango float we have in our freezer?” Jungkook heard your mother tell you, and without thinking, he stood up from his chair and made a beeline to where you were, telling you he’d accompany you to your house.
“That’s fine,” you told him. “It’s literally next door.”
“Yeah, but it might be heavy.”
“It’s not.”
“Better safe than sorry.”
You rolled your eyes and agreed then, excusing yourself from Hyunwoo who was in an engaged conversation with Seowon. The pair were geeking out because of their mutual love for the MCU and the next film slated to be released the following year.
Upon arriving at your home, you dashed to the kitchen with Jungkook trudging behind you. He wasn’t sure what his next course of action should be now; all he wanted was some alone time with you, away from the presence of that college boyfriend of yours, but now that he had that, he couldn’t think of anything that he wanted to say or do. He wasn’t even sure why he was feeling a bit jealous—was it because of that saying? Wherein people are bound to want what they can’t have? Or was it that you only appreciate what you had when you’ve already lost it?
“How long have you and Hyunwoo been dating?” he asked, leaning against the counter as you pulled your freezer open.
“Four months, I think.”
“Four months? And you already brought him home?”
You snorted at his tone. “His family is in another country so I thought it’d be nice to invite him.”
“You must really like him then.”
“Yeah, but I’m not in love with him or anything.” You placed the mango float on the space beside Jungkook on the counter. “He’s nice, and he likes me too.”
“Does he treat you well?”
You flashed your eyes at him, amusement dancing in them. “What’s with that question?”
“What’s with it?”
“Nothing, it’s just that…” you trailed, a smirk etched on your face. “Wait a minute, are you… you can’t possibly—” Jungkook was widening his eyes, ready to deny your accusation once you questioned whether he was jealous of Hyunwoo or not— “are you pulling an overprotective brother skit on me, Kook?”
Fuck, thank God, he thought.
“I prefer ‘overprotective friend skit’,” he said.
“That doesn’t have a nice ring to it.”
“But I’m not your brother.”
“You don’t have to be, I’m just saying that you and Seowon have been acting similar since Hyunwoo and I arrived.”
“Nonsense. Seowon likes him.”
“Oh, so you don’t?”
He pressed his lips into a tight line.
“Did you just admit that you don’t like Hyunwoo?” you asked, chuckling. He was grateful that you didn’t seem to be offended by it.
“I didn’t say I didn’t like him.”
“Instead you implied it.”
“No, I didn’t.”
“You kinda did.”
He heard you laugh and he couldn’t help but allow himself to laugh as well.
“I’m sorry,” he apologized. “Maybe I’m just not used to you dating anyone. You are chronically single.”
“Can’t say you’re wrong.” You snorted and picked up from the mango float, marching back to his house and gesturing for him to follow you.
He did, no words spoken between the both of you once more. Though when you were entering their place again, with Jungkook holding the door open for you, he mentioned something he never reckoned he’d have the guts to mention out loud.
“When you open my gift,” he began, “don’t do it in front of Hyunwoo, okay?”
“Why not?” You weren’t paying attention to where you were going, intrigued by his warning.
“He might not like it. You’ll see.”
That night, at the comfort of your bedroom, Hyunwoo nowhere near but instead sleeping at the coach downstairs in your living room, you opened Jungkook’s gift and saw that it was a necklace with your birth flower as its pendant.
You smiled, rolling your eyes to yourself, and slept with that giddy look never leaving your face.
****
“Not so fast,” Jungkook grunts.
Did he think that you were going to be less difficult since he was helpful earlier? Yeah, he did. He likes to think that if it wasn’t for him, you would have taken longer in feeding yourself with apple juice, so he at least wanted a thank you in the form of your willingness to have an adult conversation with him tonight. However, that clearly isn’t the case because when he walked you up to your apartment like he always did, you’re attempting to lock him out, shutting the door as fast as you can once you’re inside, thus trying to prevent him from initiating that talk he wanted the two of you to have.
“Seriously?” He successfully pries the door open and you scowl at him.
“Jungkook—”
“No, you don’t get to reason your way out of this. I’m done hearing you out. It’s your turn to listen to me.” He steps inside your apartment.
You groan, striding to the sofa and throwing your bag there. “You can’t force me to marry you.”
“Is marrying me so fucking bad that you can’t get over it for health insurance benefits that can really help you?” He demands, infuriated.
“That’s not the issue.”
“Then what is?”
“You can get arrested!” you exclaim. “And so can I! Does that not freak you out?”
“We’ll only get arrested if we get caught.”
“I’m not willing to take the risk.”
“I’m not willing to see you die.”
You scoff out a laugh. “Who the fuck said anything about dying? I’m not dying.”
“You almost passed out on me. You almost—”
“It’s an error on my part, I admit.” You sigh. “When I get busy and preoccupied, sometimes I forget to check my sugar levels regularly throughout the day. I’m sorry.”
“And you expect to be convinced that you have everything handled?”
“God, I’m not a child. Stop treating me like I can’t do shit for myself.”
“Please, ___,” he approaches you with the most pleading expression he can muster, and he watches as your hard expression crumbles, “just accept my help. It’s really not a big deal—you won’t even see me often, so keeping up with the whole marriage ploy wouldn’t be difficult. We’ll divorce in two years, we can pretend we never got married after that.”
“You just don’t get it, don’t you?”
“What do I not get? If you think I don’t understand something, then explain it to me—”
“I can’t marry you,” you say. You do so like it’s final, like there’s no point in arguing with you because he can never change your stand on this. As he’s pleading with his eyes to urge you to agree, you’re communicating with your eyes in a similar way that’s wishing he would just drop this. “It’s wrong.”
His eyebrows furrow. “This isn’t the time to go on your high horse and decide what’s wrong and what’s not. It’s a fraudulent marriage—of course, it’ll be wrong to some degree.”
“No, I mean…” You turn away from him, rubbing your face in exhaustion. “It’d be wrong of me to marry you. I’m taking advantage of you if I do, and I don’t like that.”
Jungkook shakes his head, frustration worsening at the childlike excuse. Surely, you weren’t that naive, were you? “You’re not. I’m not doing this against my own will. Besides, we get extra pay just for being married. If it makes you feel better, I won’t split it with you.”
“That won’t make me feel better.”
“Then what will?”
You flop down on the coach and lean back, closing your eyes. He knows he’s being a pain in the ass but he can’t just stand here and do nothing. He thinks he’s already come too far in convincing you, he isn’t going to back out now. Every single day spent together, he can feel you warming up to the idea of marrying him for health insurance. Your connection and entirety of your relationship has been off the charts recently that it’ll be harder for him not to be assured that before he leaves for his job, you’ll be taken care off.
Jungkook goes to the spot beside you, sitting down. Your knees bump together, he keeps on gazing at you, waiting for you to focus on him; a minute passes and his gaze moves to your hand that’s laying on the small space between you.
Without overthinking, he stretches out and clasps it, allowing his fingers to play with yours that finally captures your attention. The moment he glances up, he sees that you’re staring at him and he doesn’t let go, he even smiles, a quiet promise that he’s always willing to listen to whatever you want to tell him.
You hesitantly smile back. “You know,” your eyes train back to your intertwined fingers, Jungkook reveling in the warmth of your skin, gaining more confidence in acting out his feelings, “there was a time wherein I would have said yes immediately if you asked me to marry you.”
He smirks, can’t deny how hearing that inflates his ego a bit although this route in the conversation isn’t where he expected to go. “What changed?”
“For one, I grew up.”
“Ouch.”
You laugh. Then you stay quiet for a while before speaking. “Can I confess something?”
That piques his interest. “Anything.”
“But you have to promise not to make fun of me.”
“That’s impossible.” He teases. “What is it?”
You stall, readjusting your position so that you can directly face him. Jungkook doesn’t let go of your hand, he keeps it in his grasp, his thumb rubbing along the expanse of your knuckles.
“I like you, Jungkook. I really really do,” you finally say and he blinks, startled.
It shouldn’t surprise him, considering that it’s been long established that he knew of your crush already, though he doesn’t seem to have anticipated for you to boldly admit it when all these years, it’s only been some kind of unspoken understanding that neither of you downright acknowledged.
You continue speaking. “In fact, I like you so much that maybe it developed into love at some point—I’m not sure. I’m at this stage of no longer being afraid of what I feel, I think? Most of the time, I just let it occur like it’s something so natural. Like it’s a feeling that I can never get away from? Like whatever I do, there’s no way to shake you.” You chuckle half-heartedly. “Though never in a million years would I have thought that I’d confess all of this. What for anyway? I don’t want you to be burdened with what my teenage heart couldn’t rub out.”
His mind is racing; hundred thoughts, hundred scenarios, hundred experiences he’s spent with you since the day you met. Jungkook never realized how much he needed you to say that you liked him—that maybe you even loved him—until he heard it from your very mouth that you did, causing every inhibition and doubt he had to vanish. Now, he only wants to engulf you in an embrace and shout Yes, I feel the same way! Sorry for being a fucking corward and not doing this first!
He would have done all of that in a flash if it didn’t appear that you still had something to say. Based on your rather constipated posture and the hand he’s holding that’s becoming clammy, he discerns that you’re just in the first part of what you wanted to admit.
“Actually, that’s also why I can’t let myself marry you,” you say. “I know it sounds ridiculous, but I don’t know… it feels really icky somehow. I feel like I’m holding you hostage, or that I’m tricking you because of an ulterior motive, or that I’m defying the laws of the universe by having the chance to marry you. I’m not sure. I just know that I don’t want to marry you if it means I’ll only get to do so because you think you’re doing me a huge favor. I don’t want to be your charity case, Kook—I deserve to be more than that, you know? I’m not traditional or whatever but if it’s not for love, I’m not keen on getting married.” You abruptly pull away from his clutch, embarrassment washing on your features by what you stated. “Plus, two years might not be that long but what happens when you meet someone and you like her? How can you explain that you’re only married to me because I need it for my medication? It’ll just be unnecessarily messy. I don’t want to hold you back from those kinds of things. I don’t want to be a hindrance.”
That’s his cue. That’s when he knows he’s supposed to kiss you and take your breath away, to admit that he’s certain that he has loved you since that one time when he was in the Naval Academy and although the training was hard as fuck, the thought of you gave him strength and he didn’t want to see anyone as much as he wanted to see you after—that when you and Seowon visited him, that familiar urge to have you alone was all he felt the entire time, solidifying the idea that perhaps he didn’t just see you as a friend.
“You’re unbelievably dense, ___,” he murmurs, smirking at the play of events, and you glance at him, expression showing disbelief that he’s somehow treating this matter lightly.
“What?”
“Do you honestly think I go around and offer marriage to every woman out there who can benefit from being a military spouse? Do you think I’m that generous? I’m not. I wouldn’t ask anyone to marry me for the same reason if they weren’t important to me—or if I didn’t like them. I’m not that much of a saint,” he adds. “I mean, I’m taking a two-week break to convince you to marry me. I’m spending time with you every single day. I’m driving for almost an hour and a half, enduring the traffic to get from my apartment to the university you work in to do that—and you think this is because I want to be charitable?”
Silence. Your forehead wrinkles. He thinks you’re still not getting the point.
“I’m in love with you, ____,” Jungkook says.
Your breath hitches in your throat. You’re opening your mouth, then closing it, then opening it again, then pressing it into a thin line. He thinks you look cute, being taken aback like this, and he’s wishing that he’s done this sooner so that the last five days of him chasing you around like a lost puppy was spent with talking more about what’s possibly waiting for yours and his relationship next.
“Are you serious?” you ask after what seems like forever. “Or are you just saying that because you’re that desperate to have me on board with the whole fraudulent marriage thing?”
“God—” He’s inching closer to you now, laughing, watching your lips twitch at his reaction— “I’m convinced that you were born into this earth to drive me fucking crazy.”
And just like that, he no longer restrains himself from kissing you.
It takes you a few good seconds before you will yourself to move. You can’t seem to process the reality of Jungkook admitting that he was in love with you and then taking the liberty to plant his lips on yours. You’re not complaining, of course, but you are a bit overwhelmed that it literally makes you freeze, unaware of what you’re supposed to do now that your fantasies are coming into life.
However, once you feel him angle his head to the side, doing so to deepen the kiss, your reflexes kick in and you’re kissing him back, encircling your arms around his neck and leaning towards him, Jungkook sighing in what appears to be relief. He grips your hips to support you as you try to straddle him, but your movements are so clumsy that you end up sprawling against his chest instead, perched on a leg of his that provides pleasure on the spot you need him the most. He chuckles at your lack of gracefulness, gliding his lips to your cheek and down to your jaw, nipping.
“This okay?” he whispers with a palm drifting to your bottom.
You nod and Jungkook’s mouth is back on yours in an instant. He squeezes your ass, takes his time in fondling with it, cheekily slapping whenever you get brave yourself and push your tongue past his lips, before he skims his hand lower to your thigh and signals for you to mount him. Upon being properly sat on his lap, you get an immediate feel of his hard length through his jeans, prompting your imagination to run wild and induce the filthiest things he can do to you if neither of you stops.
“Holy shit,” he curses, your kisses roaming to the base of his throat where you lap and suck.
It becomes a dirty pattern for a while. The both of you will take a brief pause from making out to remove a piece of clothing or kiss every other exposed skin there is: the cheek, the jaw, the neck, the collarbones, the shoulders. Then one of you hauls the other back for another passionate kiss, hands skating everywhere on your bodies, sounds of arousal echoing inside the room; you’re starting to get lightheaded but you’re positive it’s not because of your sugar levels running low.
“I hate that it took us so long to get to this point,” he mutters.
You grin. “I’m sorry.”
“Don’t apologize. I’m the man—I should have confessed long ago.”
“Why didn’t you?”
“I don’t know. ‘Was afraid to lose you, I guess.” He draws his head back and admires your blissed out expression. “But then when Seowon told me you had diabetes, I panicked and thought that I might lose you either way.”
You go back to making out, Jungkook guiding your hips in grinding on his clothed length. It’s addictive—the intimate feel of him, how he’s not shy in making sure you know how much he’s craving to be as close to you as you are to him. You think you can spend the whole night just doing this and be okay with it.
“Fuck, Kook,” you groan against his mouth, a hand descending to his stomach and to his manhood, “you’re so… so fuckin’ hard.”
You’re palming him now, tracing the erection evident under his boxers.
He lets out a grunt. “Yeah, baby, I know.”
“Do you… do you want me—” You’re breathless, not able to continue whatever it is that you want to say.
He understands you just fine though. “No.” He shakes his head. “Don’t do anything.”
You’re not sure what Jungkook means by that. How are you supposed to do nothing when you want to do everything to him? You soon comprehend what he means when he guides you to lay down on the sofa, when his lips skim lower and lower, passing your breasts, giving them the attention they deserve, until he goes lower than that and discards your underwear, kissing you in between your legs.
It’s like he’s releasing all the pent up emotions he’s been keeping all these years. His tongue and fingers are relentless, his voice is telling you that he’s eager to coax an orgasm out of you, and as he lifts himself up to return to his previous position, face hovering yours, you’re positive that he’ll get everything he wants because without a doubt you’ll give him everything he wants from you too. Hell, if he uses this opportunity to ask you to marry him again, you might answer yes straight away, no longer bearing in mind the worries you expressed to him earlier.
Although did that even matter anymore? Jungkook said he loved you. He said you drove him crazy. You never thought you’d come to see the day he’d utter those words but here you are. The man of your dreams is kissing you, pleasing you, and looking damn enthusiastic as he does all of that.
“Last chance to stop me,” Jungkook teases. His eyes are glassy and you can feel his cock nudging on your thigh.
You giggle, bringing his head closer to press another long kiss on those pink and plump lips of his. “Please never stop.”
“Never?”
“Never.”
“I’m going to take you up on that.”
“Please do.”
After this night, you’re certain that you’ll never allow yourself to be with another man aside from Jungkook. At the back of your head, you always thought that you were his, regardless if that wasn’t true or that there was no real relationship to prove that—however, at this moment, as he thrusts in and out languidly, you unquestionably know that you are. You belong to him now and he belongs to you; he lets you know through his love-filled gaze, his passionate kisses, and the manner wherein he moans your name.
“I love you,” he says, like he’s still in deep longing for your touch and affection.
You hum, tangling your fingers through the strands of his hair. “I love you, Kook.” You stare at his eyes. “I can’t remember a time I didn’t.”
A boyish grin erupts on his features.
Time passes by quickly. In a few more of his kisses, of the intoxicating slam of his hips, of his seductive whimpers, you’re coming beneath him, Jungkook pulling out and jerking his length until he too comes, his seed landing on the base of your tummy. You have the nerve to giggle at that, grinning at him with low-lidded eyes, and Jungkook hastily wipes his cum off your skin, attacking you with another passionate kiss that leaves you breathless.
“There’s no way you’re not marrying me after this,” he murmurs.
You teasingly graze your teeth on his bottom lip. “I’ll think about it.”
He groans. “Don’t think about it. Just say yes.”
“At least let me sleep on it, Kook.”
“Fuck—fine.” He grabs your sides and pulls you flush against his body. “Guess I’ll have to keep on convincing you until you agree.”
****
“God, why is this so difficult?” Jungkook whines, keeping you in his embrace, head tucked between your cheek and shoulder.
The air is very humid and Jungkook’s in his naval aviator uniform, which doesn’t look cool in a sense that air is properly flowing through the material. He doesn’t care though, doesn’t care that it’s sticking to his skin as he refuses to let you go, not even when you complain playfully.
“Kook, I’m fucking sweaty.”
“I don’t care.”
You laugh.
He’s leaving to return to his duty and you’re here with him outside the base before he enters, being with him until the last possible minute because that’s how much of a good wife you are.
Yes, you and Jungkook did get married. Three days ago in fact, at the city hall’s courtroom. Neither of you invited your parents; they didn’t know about the occasion and you refused to tell them, afraid that they may be critical about yours and his choices when they discover the true reason why you’re rushing to be wed. The only people that remained to be aware of it was Seowon and his girlfriend, Winnie, who served as the witnesses, which was fine by you. In your understanding, this was just for the papers and your health, and not the real deal yet to be celebrated lavishly.
“I’ll propose to you again after a couple of years,” Jungkook promised after the ceremony. “Let’s renew our vows and I’ll give you an amazing wedding.”
You would have told him that there was no need, but who were you kidding? You did want a proper wedding with Jungkook. The previous week didn’t even feel like you were newlyweds. Yes, the both of you compacted all of the dates you could have if one of you weren’t such a chicken in five days, and yes, though the honeymoon stage was experienced and practiced—it was only because you were a new couple who after years of hiding their feelings for one another, was now finally free to express it as much as they desired.
“Call me everyday?” you ask when he finally pulls back, Jungkook pecking your lips one more time.
“Definitely.” He smiles. “Visit me whenever possible?”
“Of course.” You kiss him too.
His smile transforms into a grin. “Take care of yourself, alright? Keep me updated all the time. No sugarcoating allowed.”
“Yes, Lieutenant.”
Rolling his eyes, he gives you another kiss and engulfs you in a tight hug, lifting you off the ground that causes you to giggle.
“Okay, pack it up, love birds!” Seowon shouts.
The two of you turn to your brother who’s leaning on his car, the vehicle that was used to transport the three of you today. You’re still in the middle of moving your belongings at Jungkook’s place and Seowon was kind enough to volunteer helping, always dubious that you could do stuff on your own. Despite your reluctance, you let him assist you, mostly because you’re trying to make a conscious effort in not upsetting him again.
Let’s just say that when the judge hailed you husband and wife at the civil wedding, Seowon wasn’t thrilled to see that the kiss shared between you and Jungkook wasn’t as fake as the supposed sham marriage, leading him to the conclusion that in the middle of Jungkook’s ruse of convincing you to be his wife, something must have happened that led to your approval and that rather 18+ rated kiss. Mostly though, he’s just offended that neither of you thought of telling him that you were an official couple before the wedding.
Jungkook unwillingly places you down.
“I think I need to go,” you say.
He nods with a sigh. “I’ll miss you.”
“I’ll miss you too.”
“Call you tomorrow?”
“Yes.” You affectionately caress his cheek, bringing his face down for the very very very last kiss.
He leans into it. “Fuck, I don’t want to leave.”
“Seriously—hurry up!” Seowon shouts and you pull back.
“I will kill him,” you tell Jungkook.
“He’s your brother,” he says. “And now, my brother-in-law, so I can’t let you do that.”
“That might be your very first red flag, Jungkook, insinuating that you’re choosing my brother over me.” You cross your arms. “Tell me, if the both of us were drowning, would you save me or Seowon?”
“You,” he answers without missing a beat.
You narrow your eyes. “Is that the truth?”
“Of course. Seowon would probably undrown himself anyway and you’re shit at swimming. It’s an easy choice.”
You punch him hard on the shoulder and he feigns hurt, snickering. “For the record, I don’t think anyone can ‘undrown’ themselves—but fine, you pass the test.”
Jungkook faces Seowon’s direction and does a final salute, your brother returning it swiftly, and just like that, you and him share your last farewells. You watch as he goes through the entrance of the base and sends you a wave of goodbye; you weakly copy the gesture and stand there for a few seconds, just watching him fade from your view the further he trudges inside. You don’t think saying goodbye to him ever felt this heavy, and you blame it on the fact that after all this is the first time you’re saying goodbye to him with the assurance that he loves you too—and that alone weighs millions.
You spin on your heel and go to Seowon who’s already in the driver’s seat. As soon as you get in and wear your seat belt, he’s giving you a dirty look.
“What?” you ask.
“Please never do that in front of me again.”
His statement makes you smirk. “Why? Didn’t you want this?”
“Want what?”
“Me and Jungkook to be together.”
“When on earth did I say that?”
“You previously admitted that you were lowkey playing cupid by suggesting that Jungkook marry me for health insurance.”
A short pause. “Yeah, but that doesn’t mean I have to watch you two reenact a porno every fucking time.”
“We’re not—”
“You are. Don’t deny it.” He grumbles. “God, every time I see you two, it’s like I’m Ross from that one Friends episode where he accidentally sees Monica and Chandler doing it from the window of his apartment.”
“Yeah, I remember that.” You laugh. “In my defense, you haven’t seen me and Jungkook actually do the deed so—”
“Wait, so the two of you have?”
Your expression drops. His tone is approaching older brother protectiveness territory and you’re quick to attempt diffusing the situation. “I will not dive into that. All I’m going to say is that I’m a grown adult and so is Jungkook.”
He grimaces before starting the engine. “Yeah, never dive into that. I don’t need to hear the details.”
You share a laugh and then silence fills the car.
You press your lips together, looking at him while he backs out from the parking spot. “Hey, thanks, by the way. For driving today, and for offering to help me later, and maybe for also never minding your own business.”
You recall how Seowon was the one who couldn’t stop worrying about you and finding a solution when you told your family that you had type 1 diabetes. Your parents were concerned, they pestered you for months to force you to accept financial assistance from them, but they gave up soon after. Seowon though? He never did. He persisted through every outburst you had; he tolerated your bitchiness and your dirty looks all the time. Out of everyone in your life, you always felt like regardless of how stubborn and prideful you could be, Seowon was worse—in the best way possible.
A crooked smile illuminates his face. “You’re my kid sister. It’s my job to never let you experience peace in your whole life.”
You scoff. “Well, you’re damn great at what you do.”
When you reach Jungkook’s apartment, unloading the boxes and arranging your stuff to its designated places, your heart swells in happiness as the reality sinks in that your life is heading in the right direction after months of feeling hopeless. It drives you to be more thankful to the little things, to the people who were always by your side, to your previous circumstance that although wasn’t ideal was still manageable. A lot don’t get to have that kind of privilege and you promise yourself that you’ll make an effort to find more things to be grateful about from this day forward.
“Oh, I forgot to mention,” Seowon approaches in the middle of you arranging your books on Jungkook’s near to empty shelf, “Winnie wanted to give you this. She would have handed it over herself but she’s going to be busy for the next few days.”
You take the frame from his hand and see that it’s the picture Winnie took of you and Jungkook after the ceremony. It’s in the restaurant that you ate at to celebrate the civil wedding. Jungkook was grinning at you with an arm around on the backrest of your chair, you were leaning towards him, smiling at the camera—and the absolute selling point of why this was the best picture ever taken was because of how cake icing was scattered on your faces, places on spots in an artistic manner like it was planted there on purpose for the picture and not because the both of you were being silly that instance.
You think it showcases your relationship with Jungkook marvelously. It’s playful, it’s sweet, and most of all, it demonstrates how you two are clearly great friends.
“This is so beautiful, Seowon,” you say.
You immediately send Winnie a heartfelt thank you message for the gift and continue to take a photo of the frame, sending it to Jungkook as well.
Once you hit send, you type out a message to accompany it.
You: look how cute we look 🥹
You’re certain it’ll take hours before he replies so you keep your phone again, going back to staring at the picture which is now placed on one of the shelves. It’s the sole picture frame you have with Jungkook. In fact, it’s the only picture that Jungkook has in his apartment, and you like to think that this might be the mark of the new beginning you’ll have with him. Even though your relationship wouldn’t be traditionally explored given his occupation and how he’s most likely going to be away a lot, you don’t mind.
If there’s one thing you really believe in, it’s that waiting for Jungkook—whether consciously or unconsciously—always brings out the best outcomes.
gentle reminder: this author loves feedback! let her know your thoughts if you enjoyed reading this fic and you’ll add 100+ points in her writing motivation meter ♡
+18 mdni; namjoon-shaped, late night studio smut; oral (m!receiving), slight dirty talk, extremely domestic vibes, set during the la sessions, established relationship, f!reader, no "y/n"
they'll never call him effortless in the same way that hoseok is, never fluid like jimin in the practice rooms, but there is an undeniable magnetism to the way his hands move when he's "in the zone", fingers flickering and flitting through the space around him -- dragonfly-wings and hummingbird-things. you allow yourself a breath, a moment of admiration before tapping him on the shoulder.
"-- joon -- kim namjoon --"
"mm?" he tugs off the headphones; music filters through the air, crackling, popping, fizzing with energy. his eyes are dark and too-focused when he turns to you. it takes a moment before he sees you and you just know (with a familiar pang of guilt) that you'd just pulled him out of some creative flow-state.
you shoot him an apologetic smile.
"you gotta eat, babe."
his lips purse, his eyes dart back to the multitude of dials and knobs in front of him, a glittering mass of man-made stars.
namjoon's lips lilt into a smirk, eyebrows cocking up.
"oof -- babe, huh? it must be really late."
he spares a glance at the large digital clock on the wall -- 3:32am.
you give him a half-hearted shrug as he reaches out to pull you into his lap, resting his chin on your exposed shoulder, his breath warm, his heartbeat thudding against your arm as he holds you. you feel him groan more than you hear him, the gravel of it rumbling through his chest to send goosebumps dancing along your skin.
you twist, looping an arm behind his neck, fingers gentle as you massage at his skin. he sighs, letting his eyes fall shut. you lean forward to press your lips to his forehead, smiling against his skin as he lets out another (now audible) sound caught somewhere between a moan and a whine. his fingers dig into your waist; his hips shift.
you swallow down a giggle.
"joon..."
"man's gotta eat -- you said so yourself."
you swat at you, pulling back, "you know that's not what i meant!"
he laughs, dimples digging deep into his cheeks, looking somewhat abashed. you feel your stomach clench as his eyes tilt up to meet yours. he's looking at you the way he usually looks at music or a line of lyric he's particularly proud of. there's a world-hungering darkness swallowing the width of his gaze, even as he leans in, pausing half an inch before his lips meet yours -- waiting.
you allow yourself a tiny grin, your heart a tiny skipped beat (yes, even after all these years.)
"such a gentleman."
even after all these years.
his laugh is a half-caught breath before you lean forward to swallow it whole. somewhere between one kiss and the next, it melts into another mind-fizzling groan, deep enough to ground through your bones, leave you shaking.
by the time you come up for air, he's shuffled you into his lap proper, your thighs bracketing his hips, your fingers tangled in his stress-mussed hair. you lean your forehead against his and force a long breath.
"let's go home -- i can make you late-night ramyeon and --"
he steals another kiss, large palms slipping up the edge of your oversized shirt.
"-- and?" he asks, his voice whiskey-drenched, smoke-crisp at the edges, and for a second, you feel drunk -- the witching-hour lateness sticky against your skin.
you suck in another breath between your kiss-bruised lips, pressing your hands to his cheeks to hold him still before he can lean in for yet another kiss.
"and, we can finish this."
you feel his cock twitch through the fabric of his shorts, pressed against your inner thigh as you rock your hips down over him. he hisses out between his teeth, eyes half-lidded, his lips plump and spit-slicked.
"mm... but i'm almost done, baby." he casts a look over your shoulder at the dim glow of the monitor screen. you lean back, the edge of the table digging into your lower spine.
"wow, baby -- you must really wanna finish this, huh?" you tease.
namjoon grins again, dipping his head, his hand leaving your waist to scratch at his forehead.
"yeah, it's the first album after everyone's back so --" he sighs, rubbing at his eyes.
"no, i get it," you say, reaching forward to push his hair back, "but you're always telling me that chasing perfection is like chasing the horizon -- you're never gonna reach it and --"
"-- you'll be too tired to admire all the sunsets along the way --" namjoon rolls his eyes, "baby, you don't gotta quote my own sayings back at me."
you poke your finger into one of his dimples.
"don't i? cause you seem real good at forgetting them."
he puffs out a laugh before shrugging.
"what's that one saying again -- do as i say --"
"-- not as i do?" you finish for him, your own grin spreading wide as he nods, shuffling the studio chair forward to cage you against the work desk. he noses into your neck with a long sigh and you soften.
you let the moment linger, the silence unspooling around you like so many silken threads, feathering over the shape of you and him, bodies entwined, your breaths caught in tandem. you absently card your fingers through his hair, nails scratching against his scalp and he makes that soft, low sound again.
you fight the urge to roll your eyes as you push against him, slipping off his lap onto the floor by his feet, pillowing your cheek on his thigh as you grin up at him.
"10 minutes."
namjoon lets out a choked, strangled noise as you press your mouth to his growing cock over his shorts.
you smirk, "maybe not even."
his fingers find their way to your hair and he gives your head a tiny, firm shake (you silently thank the gods that he can't see the way your thighs squeezed beneath the shadow of the desk).
"behave, baby, please."
you bite back a giggle, nosing into the growing bulge with an indulgent sigh. you've always loved this -- just this -- the slow, sensual, sweetness of it all. even with the sharp yellowjacket sting of desire prickling up your spine, his fingers tight in your hair, there's comfort caught in the negative spaces, in the way your palm rests against his thigh, in the way he whispers your name --
so much like a prayer, or a plea.
you tug at the waistband of his shorts (la summers have never been forgiving, even in the odd hours of the early morning) and find the fingers of his free hand already scrabbling there, pushing it down. you let yourself laugh this time, batting your lashes up at him even as he lets out a chuckle of his own, breathy and needy and warm.
"c'mon babe," he says, his voice crackling along the edges.
you glance up to catch his eyes, holding his gaze as you lean in to lick a slow strip along the underside of his cock. the sound he lets out is animal and deep.
you let out a small, pleased hum as you push up to swallow around his leaking tip, your mouth watering at the familiar taste of him -- salt and bitterness coating your tongue.
"shit -- ah -- fuck --"
you work him slow, your hand stroking along the base where you can't quite reach without bumping your head against the bottom of the table. namjoon laughs, pushing his chair back a few inches so you can crawl out from beneath it's shadow.
he strokes your hair with loving fingers, pressing his thumb to the bulge in your cheek as you take him into your mouth again, this time, pressing down till you feel him hit the back of your throat.
"sweet fuck -- baby --"
you smile to yourself, letting your spit run down the shaft, thumbing at the pulsing vein running up the underside. he loves it like this -- sloppy and slow, midnight and messy. the sleepy kind of urgency as he ruts up into the heat of your mouth, the way you always try to keep yourself from gagging, but you can't help the noises that spill from you anyway.
"could write some shit about this mouth," he murmurs, fingers sinking into your hair again, guiding you as you start to work along his cock in a steady rhythm. you'd like to think that if you didn't have your mouth full, literally, you might've had a good retort. but as is, you settle for deepthroating him again, long enough for him to fold over you, hissing out as his whole body convulses with the pleasure.
"gonna cum, babe -- fuck -- where -- where d'you want it?" he loosens his grip, giving you the option to pull back if you want to. you don't. instead, you suck in a deep breath and swallow him down again, drawing out a deep, guttural moan.
it doesn't take long after that, a few more pumps of your spit-slick fist, and he's spilling hot and needy into your mouth, the bitterness hitting the back of your tongue. you huff slightly, but when he pulls back to hand you a tissue, you stick out your tongue.
namjoon's eyebrows fly up; his dick gives a kick even as he tugs up the waistband of his shorts and boxers.
"i thought you didn't like swallowing?"
you roll your eyes.
"didn't feel like holding it in my mouth -- it tastes like cum for way longer if i do."
namjoon laughs as he helps you up, pulling you into his lap again and handing you a half-finished bottle of water. you make a show of gargling before swallowing, eliciting a soft laugh from your boyfriend.
"damn, i'm hungry," he says, after a second's pause, this words punctuated by a loud growl from his stomach. you dig your finger into one of his dimples, making a face.
"i told you -- you gotta eat!"
"yeah, yeah -- okay, lemme just finish this last bit --" he wheels the chair forward with you bracketted between his arms, reaching around you for the wide variety of dials and knobs.
"wanna hear?" he asks; you nod, even before he finishes asking, kicking your feet as he hits play. the beat is heavy, fresh, but not unfamiliar, the and the melody catchy, if a bit moody. you nod along, turning to grin at him over your shoulder.
"wow, this is nice."
"yeah? you think so?"
you lean back against him, feel his heartbeat thudding in his chest, faster than it's usual steady beat.
"i do. i really, really do."
"good... i'm glad -- and this is the bit i was working on --" he taps a button and the song breaks off. a tiny frown carves into his forehead as he puts on the headphones and starts fiddling with the dials again. you let him, taking the time to admire the planes and contours of his face, the sharp forward jut of his chin that tells you he's really thinking about something.
he pushes a thing here, twists another one there.
then, a smile breaks across his face as he starts to jive with whatever he's hearing in those massive headphones. you smile with him, happy to see him happy. when finally, he tugs them off, he leans forward to give you a kiss.
"wow, i really think i got it. i'll have yoongi listen to it tomorrow but... i think this is it!"
you laugh as he wraps his arms around you and buries his face in your chest.
"woohoo!!! one down, a hundred more to go, or something like that, right?"
you giggle as he nuzzles against your skin with a tired groan.
"c'mon, let's go home."
together, the pair of you slip out of the darkened studio, fingers laced, letting the quiet seep from the soundproof walls into your skin.
"you still gonna make me ramyeon when we get back?" he asks, pulling you into his side you reach for the car keys to the single bmw parked in the long-empty lot. you grin as you slide into the driver's seat and hit the ignition, namjoon buckling himself into the passenger's side.
"depends," you answer, "are you gonna finish what you started?" you let your gaze flick down to his lap, where the outline of his half-hard dick is clearly visible through his pants. he lets out a loud bark of laughter, reaching over to pat your thigh, leaving his hand there as you pull out of the parking lot.
"i did say i was hungry," he says, giving your thigh a teasing squeeze. you bite back a shiver, glancing in the rear view mirror. at this hour, even the notorious la traffic has slowed to a thin trickle, leaving the roads largely empty.
you floor the gas and the beamer shoots forward.
"then, yeah. i'll make as much ramyeon for you as you want."
summary • 𓂃𝜗𝜚 In the quiet of Yoongi’s birthday evening, sharing a secret bottle of whiskey leads to a late-night kiss that changes everything between you…
pairing • 𓂃𝜗𝜚 yoongixf!reader
word count • 𓂃𝜗𝜚 5.6k
elements • 𓂃𝜗𝜚 attraction; humour; birthday; friends to lovers; first kiss
author's note • 𓂃𝜗𝜚 Thank you to Anon for this request. I tried to get it done as soon as possible, but time constraints, life etc prevented that from happening. Anyway, I’ve finally managed to get it finished - sorry it's a bit late but I hope it is close to what you had in mind? 🥹 It's my first for Yoongi, so I was a little nervous to write this one but the idea was so cute I had to try! As ever, please excuse any errors I may have overlooked.
bts masterlist • 𓂃𝜗𝜚
Finally, the apartment is reaching a sort of quiet.
Music still drifts in low tones from the speaker in the corner, some mellow playlist Yoongi must have put on hours ago and forgotten about −but the loud laughter and overlapping conversations from earlier are gone and only now do you feel the air around you loosen and you can begin to breathe.
You lean back into the couch, nudging aside a few empty bottles and crumpled napkins as you stretch your legs across the coffee table.
“Your friends are messy,” you state.
From the kitchen, Min Yoongi snorts. “You were one of them.”
“I was the neatest one here.”
“That’s not impressive,” he replies, voice dry.
You watch him from the couch while he methodically rinses two glasses at the sink. His sleeves are rolled up, exposing his wrists, and the soft glow of the light above the counter makes the silver rings on his fingers glint when he moves.
You’ve known him long enough to recognize the way he’s relaxed now that everyone else is gone. His shoulders are lower, his movements slower and less guarded. When other people are around, Yoongi always carries a thin layer of alertness, discreetly monitoring the room, but when it’s just you, and the world has narrowed to just the two of you, he lets that drop.
Yoongi brings the glasses over and sets one down in front of you. “Last drink,” he says.
You glance at it. “Is that a rule?”
“It’s midnight.”
“That’s not how alcohol works.”
“It is in my apartment.”
You smile and pick the glass up anyway to take a small sip of the whiskey. It’s smooth and definitely not cheap.
You wrinkle your nose slightly. “You only bring this out on special occasions.”
“It’s my birthday,” he says flatly, settling into the armchair across from you. “I thought we could share the good stuff.”
You smile. “You do realise it’s officially not your birthday now, we’ve passed twelve.”
Yoongi leans back and for a moment you just look at him. You’ve seen him a thousand times at late-night studio sessions, lazy movie nights and grocery runs where he complains the entire time −the two of you sitting on opposite ends of the couch like this, talking about nothing for hours.
But tonight something feels ever so slightly different. Perhaps it’s the drinks, or the leftover warmth of the party −or maybe it’s just that birthdays have a way of making people pause and re-examine things they might usually ignore.
Yoongi catches you staring. “What.”
“You’re old now,” you tease.
He exhales through his nose. “You’ve told me that already.”
“Just making sure it sinks in.”
“Thanks, I appreciate the emotional support.”
You grin. “For someone who claims to hate birthdays, you seemed to be enjoying yourself earlier.”
“That’s because everyone was drinking my expensive alcohol.”
“So generous.”
“They’ll never see it again.”
You laugh, swirling the whiskey in your glass so the ice clinks the sides. “Your friends really love you, you know.”
Yoongi makes a noncommittal noise. “They love free food.”
“That too.”
A warmth descends on you, almost too warm, and you pull your sweater sleeves up slightly.
“Thanks for staying,” Yoongi says suddenly.
Your eyes flick back to him. “You say that like I had somewhere better to be.”
“You could’ve left with the others.”
“Why would I do that?”
He shrugs one shoulder. “I don’t know. People usually leave eventually.”
You tilt your head slightly. “Do you want me to leave?”
“No.”
The answer comes almost too abruptly, and Yoongi seems to realize that a second later. He clears his throat, glancing away toward the kitchen. “I mean−,” he starts, then stops.
You watch him struggle with the sentence for a moment before deciding to rescue him. “You like having me around,” you say.
“Don’t make it weird.”
“I’m not making it weird. I’m stating facts.”
He gives you a long look. “You’re very confident tonight.”
“I had two drinks.”
“The whole evening?” he asks incredulously.
You nod in confirmation.
Yoongi shakes his head in disbelief. “All this expensive stuff flowing and you’ve only had two drinks?”
“Careful,” you say, pointing your glass at him. “I might start recalling some of your embarrassing stories next.”
His eyes narrow slightly. “You wouldn’t.”
“Oh, I would.”
“Y/N.”
“Remember the time you fell asleep on the studio floor and Jungkook drew a moustache on your face−.”
“That never happened.”
“You still had the marker on your cheek when you woke up.”
“You’re lying.”
You grin wider. “You panicked when you saw yourself in the mirror.”
“I did not panic.”
“You absolutely did.”
Yoongi leans forward, looking at you with a mix of denial and resignation. “You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?”
“Your suffering brings me joy.”
“That explains our friendship.”
You giggle, and for a moment, neither of you says anything. Yoongi studies you across the table, his expression thoughtful, almost distant.
“What?” you ask.
“Nothing.”
“You’re staring,” he observes.
“I’m thinking.”
“That’s worse.”
He huffs quietly. “You talk a lot.”
“You like that about me.”
“I tolerate it.”
“You’d miss it.”
“I’d enjoy the silence.”
You raise an eyebrow. “Then why do you keep inviting me over?”
Yoongi doesn’t answer right away. Instead, he reaches for his glass and takes a slow sip, eyes still on you over the rim. The look lingers just a second longer than usual before he sets the glass down.
“You’re easy,” he says.
Your eyes widen. “That sounds insulting.”
“I don’t mean it like that.”
“How do you mean it?”
He leans back again, head tilting slightly as he searches for the words. “You don’t expect things,” he says finally.
“Like what?”
“I don’t know.” He gestures vaguely. “−Energy, attention, constant conversation.”
You stare at him. “You literally just complained that I talk too much.”
“That’s different.”
“How.”
“You talk,” he says, “but you’re not… demanding.”
He says it carefully, as if trying not to offend.
You think about that for a moment. “So I’m low maintenance.”
“Yes.”
“That’s your birthday compliment to me?”
“It’s a good thing.”
You smirk. “Wow. I feel cherished.”
He rolls his eyes slightly, but there’s the faintest hint of a smile pulling at his mouth. “You know what I mean.”
You do, because you’ve always understood Yoongi in ways most people don’t. The quiet parts, the pauses, and the things he doesn’t say.
Your gaze drifts to the small cake box sitting forgotten on the counter. “Did you even get to try your birthday cake?”
He follows your gaze. “Oh.”
“That’s a no then.”
“I forgot.”
“How do you forget your own cake?”
“There were like twelve people here.”
“You’re unbelievable.”
You set your glass down and push yourself off the couch, walking to the kitchen. The floor is cool under your feet as you grab two forks from the drawer and bring the small cake box back to the coffee table.
Yoongi watches you the whole time. “You’re very bossy tonight,” he says.
“You’re welcome.”
You open the box. Inside is a slightly lopsided chocolate cake with a crooked candle still stuck into the centre.
You glance at him. “You didn’t even blow it out.”
“Everyone started singing and I got distracted.”
“You got embarrassed.”
“I didn’t.”
“You did.”
He rubs the back of his neck. “It was loud.”
You laugh softly and push the cake box toward him. “Fine, birthday boy −do it properly.”
“It’s already melted.”
“The wax isn’t in it.”
“You checked?”
“Just blow out the candle, Yoongi.”
He sighs like this is the most exhausting task anyone has ever given him, but he leans forward anyway. The small flame flickers when he exhales and darkness swallows it instantly. For a second the two of you just sit there as the faint smell of smoke curls upward.
You hand him a fork. “Well,” you say. “Happy birthday.”
He looks at the cake, then at you, then back at the cake. “You’re not going to sing again, are you.”
You bite your lip and smile slowly. “Don’t tempt me.”
He points the fork at you. “If you start singing, I’m kicking you out.”
“You’d miss me.”
He huffs quietly. “Probably.”
It’s so quiet you almost miss it, but you hear it and something comforting spreads in your chest. You take a bite of the cake before he can protest.
“Hey!” he says with mock offence.
“You were taking too long.”
“You just stole my first birthday bite.”
“You hesitated.”
“You’re impossible.”
You hold the fork out toward him. “Fine, here.”
Amusement flickers across his face, along with something you haven’t seen before. It’s soft and precious.
He moves his head forward and takes the bite. Your hand stays there a moment longer than it needs to, but neither one of you comments on it −but when Yoongi leans back again, his gaze lingers on you just a little too long, and the atmosphere in the room has changed somehow.
The cake is better than you expected.
It isn’t fancy, more like something someone grabbed from a bakery on the way over, yet it tastes rich enough that the chocolate sticks to the roof of your mouth. You take another bite while Yoongi watches with mild suspicion, as if he’s not entirely convinced you won’t eat the entire thing.
You take a third bite before passing him the fork, and he cuts a piece for himself this time. The vibe has settled into that comfortable late-night quiet where everything seems softer at the edges like a vignette.
The remains of the party linger everywhere in the dim lighting; empty glasses, a jacket someone forgot draped over a chair, and even a stray gold balloon sagging against the wall.
Your leg grazes against Yoongi’s under the coffee table, reminding you how close he is to you. It’s happened multiple times before, except this time a strange feeling seeps into you at the contact.
Yoongi takes another bite of cake, resting into the cushions of the armchair with a sigh. His hair has fallen into his eyes, slightly mussed from where he’s run his hand through it throughout the evening. He looks tired but content, and you’ve always liked this version of him best.
“You survived your birthday,” you say eventually.
He glances up. “Barely.”
“Everyone seemed happy to see you.”
“That’s because they only see me occasionally.”
“Don’t pretend you weren’t smiling earlier.”
“I smile sometimes.”
“You smiled at Jimin’s story about the couch.”
“That was because he exaggerated it.”
“You did fall off the couch.”
“I slid off.”
“You fell.”
Yoongi sighs quietly, like he’s already losing the argument and knows it. “You remember everything.”
“Someone has to.”
He studies you for a moment thoughtfully. You’ve noticed that about him over the years, how observant he is when he thinks no one’s paying attention. Small things rarely escape him, and sometimes you wonder what he notices about you.
You reach for your glass again, the ice long since melted into the whiskey. “You’re quiet,” you say.
“So are you.”
“That’s suspicious.”
He shrugs slightly, gaze drifting around the apartment as if seeing it for the first time tonight. “I was thinking.”
“About?”
“How lively it was earlier.”
“That’s pretty normal for a birthday.”
“I don’t usually have people over like that.”
That part is true. Yoongi’s not antisocial exactly, but he guards his space carefully. The fact that he opened his apartment to a room full of friends tonight probably took more effort than he let on.
Your eyes wander toward the kitchen counter again. “You got a lot of gifts.”
“Mm.”
“You didn’t even open most of them.”
“I will later.”
“You say that every year.”
“And I always open them eventually.”
You smile faintly. There’s something endearing about the way he treats birthdays, as if he were slightly baffled by the whole ritual of it.
You watch as he turns his empty glass slowly between his hands, the movement drawing your attention to his fingers. Long, precise fingers with small silver rings that catch the light when he moves.
“You’re staring at me again,” Yoongi says without looking up.
“Am not.”
“You are.”
“I was thinking.”
He finally looks up. “About my hands?”
You immediately feel heat rise to your face. “You’re insufferable.”
He huffs softly, something close to a laugh, and the sound changes the atmosphere in the room, loosening something between you. You reach forward and slide the cake box slightly closer to him.
“Finish it,” you say.
“I’m not eating that whole thing.”
“You’re the birthday boy.”
“That doesn’t mean I want a stomach ache.”
“Coward.”
“You eat it then.”
“I might.”
The music in the background shifts to a slow song that melts into the air. Suddenly your senses feel heightened, aware of how Yoongi’s eyes linger when you move, and the way your foot is still touching his.
You pull your leg back slightly, and the loss of contact is immediate. You don’t look at him when you do it, but you notice the faint way his ankle shifts afterward as if he had noticed too.
Your throat feels suddenly dry −it was probably the whiskey.
“You’re thirty now,” you say.
He groans softly. “Don’t start.”
“I’m just acknowledging reality.”
“You’ve been acknowledging it all night.”
“It’s a milestone.”
“It’s a number.”
“You’re reflective now,” you tease.
“I was reflective before.”
“Were you?”
He glances at you again, and something about the look makes your stomach tighten slightly. “I think about things,” he says quietly.
“I know.”
Yoongi lives in his head more than most people realize. The songs, the late nights, the way he sometimes disappears into silence mid-conversation because a thought has pulled him somewhere else.
Right now though, his attention seems very firmly on you, and it’s strange how noticeable that feels.
You sit up slightly, the question slipping out before you can stop it. “What are you thinking about right now?”
“Us,” he says eventually.
Your stomach flips unexpectedly. “Us?”
“Our friendship.”
You relax slightly, though something still hums under your ribs. “What about it?”
He shrugs. “We’ve known each other a long time.”
“Seven years.”
“Seven,” he repeats quietly.
The number sits between you. You remember the first time you met him, how quiet he was, how difficult it was to tell if he liked you at all. Over time that distance had melted into something steady and reliable. Yoongi has always been one of the most consistent people in your life.
You smile faintly. “You didn’t like me at first.”
“That’s not true.”
“You ignored me for three hours.”
“I was observing.”
“You were avoiding conversation.”
“I was tired.”
“You were rude.”
“I warmed up eventually.”
“You tolerated me.”
“That’s basically affection.”
You laugh quietly, the tension easing a little −but Yoongi doesn’t look away this time. His eyes stay on you, and there’s something in them you can’t quite figure out. Something quieter than flirting, deeper than casual.
The heat of the whiskey spreads slowly through your chest, and you realise just how late it is. Yoongi’s fingers stop moving on the glass, and for a second his gaze drops to the floor before lifting back to you. Your pulse feels louder in your ears.
“I’m glad you’re here,” he says. “You always−.”
You frown faintly. “I always what?”
“Stay.”
The way he says it makes something in your chest tighten because the moment doesn’t feel casual anymore. It feels like the edge of something, and for the first time tonight, you’re not entirely sure which direction the night is going to tip.
Yoongi focuses on you intently, fingers laced together, the empty glass dangling forgotten from one hand.
Your heartbeat feels louder than it should and you reach for the cake box again, mostly so your hands have something to do. The fork presses into the soft chocolate, leaving a clean line through the frosting. The motion feels strangely loud in the silence.
“You should put this in the fridge,” you murmur eventually.
“Later.”
Everything with him is later. Emails later, sleep later, cleaning later −the man could delay the end of the world if it inconvenienced his schedule.
You set the fork down again and the music shifts to another slow track, heavier on piano. The bass hums softly through the floorboards and Yoongi’s foot taps once in quiet rhythm.
You shift slightly on the couch. “You must be exhausted.”
His head tilts. “Not really.”
“You’ve been awake since early this morning.”
“Birthdays are chaotic.”
“That’s a diplomatic way of saying people invaded your apartment.”
A faint smirk touches his mouth. “They meant well.”
“You sound unconvinced.”
He shrugs a little, stretching one leg out further and his foot touches the side of your foot accidentally again. The contact is brief, but it sends a strange little spark up your leg anyway.
“Do you ever think about how weird it is we’re still friends?” you say after a while.
Yoongi’s eyebrow lifts. “That’s an odd question.”
“Seven years is a long time.”
“It happens.”
“With you?” You glance at him. “You’re not exactly easy to befriend.”
“That’s slander.”
“It’s accuracy.”
He exhales quietly through his nose, clearly amused despite himself.
Your eyes drift over him again. The loose hoodie, relaxed posture and the softness in his expression that only shows up when he’s completely comfortable. You realize that you don’t see this side of him as often anymore. Fame and schedules and constant noise have taken more of his time in recent years.
But tonight feels like earlier days again, more personal.
“What are you analysing now?” Yoongi asks, catching your eye.
You hesitate. “Just thinking.”
“That could be trouble.”
You ignore the comment. “You’ve changed,” you say slowly.
His expression doesn’t shift much, but you see the subtle alertness return. “How.”
“You’re more patient.”
“That’s because I’m older.”
“You’re less guarded.”
He studies you carefully at that. “That’s debatable.”
“Not with me.”
“You’re still observant,” he says, his thumb absently rubs the edge of one silver ring, a habit he has when he’s thinking.
“You trust me, don’t you?”
“I do.”
The simplicity of the answer makes your chest tighten slightly. “I trust you too.”
Yoongi suddenly stands, stretching his arms above his head, hoodie lifting just enough to reveal a glimpse of pale skin at his waist before falling back into place. You try not to notice, but your brain fails immediately.
He walks toward the kitchen. “Water,” he says over his shoulder, as if explaining his sudden movement.
You nod even though he isn’t looking. The sound of the tap running fills the apartment briefly. When he returns he carries two glasses, setting one in front of you. He sits down beside you on the couch instead of returning to the armchair.
That’s new. You sip the water to give yourself something to do.
“You remember the first time you came over here?” Yoongi asks.
Your eyebrows lift. “This apartment?”
“Yeah.”
You think for a moment. “You had just moved in.”
“And you criticized the furniture.”
“It was ugly.”
“It was practical.”
“You had a single chair.”
“I still have it.”
“You’re sitting in it earlier.”
He glances sideways at you. “You stayed late that night too.”
You smile faintly. “I remember you falling asleep mid-conversation.”
“That was intentional.”
You glance at him, and he’s already looking at you. Your pulse kicks unexpectedly as something unspoken flickers between you −something that has existed quietly for a long time finally being acknowledged.
“Now you’re staring,” you whisper.
His lips twitch slightly. “You started it earlier.”
You concede graciously with a nod as Yoongi studies your expression. “You’re nervous,” he states.
“I’m not.”
“You just took three sips of water in ten seconds.”
You glance at the glass and realise he’s right. You set it down quickly. “That proves nothing.”
“It proves everything.”
Your eyes narrow at him, but the challenge in his gaze is unmistakable now. Your heart thuds harder.
“Yoongi,” you say quietly.
He doesn’t look away and the electricity in the air around you crackles with a sudden anticipation. You suddenly realize that you are very aware of his breathing, he hasn’t looked away since you said his name.
There’s something thoughtful in his expression, but there’s also a faint hesitation that you rarely see from him. Yoongi is normally someone who decides things quickly once his mind is made up, but when he pauses like this, it means he is weighing something carefully.
“What?” you ask quietly after a moment.
Yoongi’s arm settles along the backrest behind you, not quite touching your shoulder, changing the space between you immediately.
“You’ve been overthinking something all night,” he says.
“I could say the same about you.”
“That’s normal for me.”
“That’s fair.”
“You asked earlier why I was thinking about our friendship,” he continues.
“Yes,” you say carefully.
“I didn’t answer properly.”
A quiet tension gathers in your chest. “You said we’ve known each other a long time.”
“That was the safe answer.”
You let out a soft breath. “And the real one?”
Yoongi’s gaze drops briefly to your hands where they rest loosely in your lap. His fingers move slightly against the back of the couch, brushing the fabric once before becoming still again. When he speaks again, his voice is calm, but there’s a noticeable seriousness underneath it.
“I was thinking about the fact that you’re the person who always stays,” he explains.
You feel your stomach tighten slightly. “You already said that.”
“I know.” He pauses, choosing his words more carefully now. “But I didn’t explain what I meant.”
You don’t interrupt him. Something tells you that if you do, he might abandon the thought entirely.
Yoongi shifts slightly so he’s turned toward you more fully now. The movement is small, but it places you closer together, the side of his knee almost touching yours. “People come and go a lot in my life,” he says. “Schedules change, work gets intense and sometimes friendships fade without anyone meaning for them to.”
His tone is matter-of-fact, but you can hear the truth behind it. You’ve seen it happen around him for years.
“But you don’t disappear,” he continues. “You show up even when I’m busy. You sit around while I’m working. You complain about my furniture and steal my food.”
You smile faintly. “That last one is your fault for leaving it unattended.”
“My point is that most people don’t do that for seven years.”
The quiet sincerity in his voice makes it difficult to joke this time. “You make it sound like a loyalty contract.”
“It isn’t.”
“Then what is it?”
Yoongi exhales slowly. When you glance back up, his eyes are on you again. “Important,” he says simply.
You’ve always known that you and Yoongi were close, it’s never been something either of you needed to define out loud −but hearing him say it like this has you feeling something stir deep inside you.
“You’re important to me too.”
“I know.”
“You do?”
He nods once. “You wouldn’t still be here if I wasn’t.”
“That’s a confident assumption.”
“You could have left hours ago.”
“But I didn’t.”
“Exactly.”
Your pulse begins to pick up slightly, and you try to focus on the calm rhythm of the music behind you instead of the warmth spreading slowly up your leg where it touches his.
“You’re overthinking again,” he says.
You huff softly. “You’re the one who started a serious conversation at midnight −and now you’re judging my reaction.”
“I’m observing it.”
You roll your eyes, but the tension between you doesn’t disappear. If anything, the light teasing only makes the awareness sharper. Yoongi’s hand shifts along the back of the couch, his fingers grazing your shoulder.
Your breath catches slightly and Yoongi’s voice lowers just a little when he speaks again. “You’re definitely nervous.”
“I’m not nervous.”
“You’re avoiding eye contact.”
You force yourself to look directly at him. “Happy?”
“Not yet.”
“Why not?”
He tilts his head slightly, studying you again with that calm intensity that has always made it difficult to hide anything from him. “Because you’re pretending this feels normal.”
Your stomach flips. “Maybe it is normal.”
“You’re a terrible liar.”
You open your mouth to argue, but nothing comes out −because he’s right. Yoongi watches the realization settle across your face and leans a little closer.
Your heart stumbles.
Yoongi’s expression changes slightly as if he’s remembered something. “Wait here,” he says.
You raise an eyebrow. “Where exactly do you think I’m going?”
He doesn’t answer, disappearing instead toward the kitchen. You hear the low creak of a cabinet opening, followed by the soft clink of glass. Curiosity pulls you halfway up from the couch so you can glance toward the kitchen. Yoongi is standing with his back to you, one arm reaching into the highest shelf above the counter, the one he rarely uses.
When he turns around again, he’s holding a dark glass bottle you’ve never seen before. The label is minimal and elegant, the kind of bottle people keep for years before opening.
Yoongi returns to the couch and sets the bottle on the coffee table with a careful kind of respect, then reaches for two clean glasses from the shelf underneath.
“You’ve been hiding this,” you accuse.
“Saving it,” he corrects calmly.
“For what?”
He twists the cap slowly, the quiet crack of the seal breaking sounding oddly loud in the quiet apartment.
“A good night.”
The amber liquid catches the light as he pours a small amount into each glass. The smell alone is richer than the whiskey you had earlier; deeper, almost smoky.
You watch him with narrowed eyes. “You didn’t bring this out for everyone else.”
“No.”
Your suspicion grows. “That feels suspiciously intentional.”
Yoongi hands you one of the glasses and you take it. “It is,” he admits.
You stare at him for a moment, trying to figure out if he’s joking, but his expression remains calm in that quiet way he gets when he’s made up his mind about something.
You glance down at the glass. “This must be expensive.”
“It was a gift.”
“That’s not what I asked.”
“You’re not paying for it, so stop worrying.”
You bring the glass closer, letting the scent rise for a moment before taking a careful sip. The flavour is smooth enough that the warmth spreads slowly instead of burning, settling comfortably in your chest.
You look at him again. “Okay, yeah. That’s good.”
Yoongi nods once, clearly pleased with your reaction. He lifts his glass slightly in your direction. “Happy birthday to me,” he says dryly.
You smile and tap your glass lightly against his. “And to questionable decision-making.”
His eyebrow lifts. “Oh?”
“Opening your secret whiskey stash with me.”
Yoongi considers that for a moment before taking a slow sip. “That might actually be the best decision I’ve made all night.”
Yoongi sets his glass down after another sip, his gaze lingering on you a little longer this time.
“Can I ask you something?” he says. You nod slowly. “Have you ever thought about us differently?”
The question hangs in the air between you and for a second your brain refuses to process it. “Differently how?”
His gaze doesn’t waver. “You know what I mean.”
You do. That’s the problem.
You swallow slowly, your mind racing through years of small moments that suddenly feel more significant than they did before. Late nights like this, the comfortable silences, the way he always seems to notice when you’re upset before anyone else does, and the quiet ways he makes space for you in his life. You hadn’t labelled any of it before because you were afraid of what that label might mean.
Your voice is barely above a whisper when you answer. “Sometimes.”
“That’s honest.”
“You asked for honesty.”
He nods once, his hand moving again now. This time it doesn’t stop at your shoulder, his fingers sliding lightly along your sleeve until they reach your wrist. The warmth of his hand wraps gently around you and a smile appears at the corner of his mouth.
“Definitely nervous,” he murmurs.
You give him a look. “This is your fault.”
“I’m okay with that.”
Yoongi’s thumb shifts slightly against your wrist. He leans closer, slow enough that you see it coming. You don’t stop him. Your breath mixes with his in the small space between you. Up close you notice things you’ve somehow ignored for years, like the faint scent of whiskey still lingering and the softness in his eyes when he’s looking at you this carefully.
“I’ve wanted to do this for a while.”
Your heart stutters. “You chose your birthday to confess that?”
“It seemed memorable.”
You laugh softly, the sound barely escaping before his other hand lifts gently to your jaw, his touch warm on your skin.
And then he kisses you.
Yoongi kisses the way he does most things. Carefully at first, testing the moment, making sure it’s real before committing to it. His lips move slowly against yours, warm and deliberate, and the tension that has been building all night finally releases in a rush that makes your head spin.
Your hand instinctively finds the front of his hoodie, gripping the fabric lightly, and that seems to be all the confirmation he needs as the kiss deepens, still unhurried but more certain now. His hand slides from your wrist to your waist, drawing you a little closer against him.
For a while after the kiss, neither of you says anything, both of you slightly breathless. Yoongi hasn’t moved very far away from you, and your hand still rests against the front of his hoodie where you grabbed it earlier. Only when you notice do you slowly release the fabric.
“Well,” he says quietly after a moment, his voice slightly rougher than before. “That happened.”
You let out a short breath that turns into a nervous laugh. “That’s one way to acknowledge it.”
He tilts his head slightly, studying your face as if making sure you’re okay. “Too much?” he asks.
The question surprises you. Yoongi rarely asks for reassurance out loud; he usually just observes until he’s certain.
You shake your head quickly. “No. I just−” You trail off, searching for the right way to say it. “I didn’t expect that tonight.”
His mouth curves faintly. “Neither did I. Not exactly like that.”
You raise an eyebrow. “So you were expecting something?”
“I was thinking about it,” he admits.
That doesn’t shock you nearly as much as it probably should. If anything, it explains the quiet intensity in his behaviour all evening, and the way his attention seemed to stay fixed on you even when the apartment had been full of people.
The quiet stretches again before Yoongi leans in again, taking your face in his hands. “Can I do that again?” he asks.
You nod before your brain can overthink it, and he kisses you again. The hesitation is gone now. Yoongi’s hand slides more confidently to your waist as he pulls you closer, and the warmth of him settles around you in a way that feels strangely familiar despite the newness of the moment.
Your fingers slip into the fabric of his hoodie again, anchoring yourself there as you pull back. Yoongi exhales quietly.
“Well,” he murmurs. “That answers that question.”
“What question?” you ask, looking up at him.
He nods towards the half-empty whiskey glasses on the table. “Whether opening that bottle tonight was a good idea.”
You laugh softly. “And?”
He studies your face for a moment before answering. “Best birthday I’ve had in a long time.”
And judging by the way his hand stays warm against your waist, neither of you seems in any hurry for the night to end. You study his face, noticing the faint flush in his cheeks that probably isn’t just from the whiskey.
“Your standards might be dropping with age.”
He exhales a quiet laugh, the sound rumbling softly in his chest. “Or maybe my priorities are improving.”
“That sounds suspiciously sentimental.”
“Don’t get used to it.”
You smile, but you don’t move away either. Instead you lean into him, liking the way his arm slides more comfortably around your shoulders.
Yoongi glances down at you after a moment. “You realize,” he says thoughtfully, “−That this is going to complicate things.”
“Complicate how?”
He considers the question, his thumb absently tracing a slow circle against your arm. “I’m probably going to want to kiss you again.”
“That sounds like a manageable problem.”
Yoongi hums softly, clearly agreeing.
Somewhere between the expensive whiskey, the quiet conversation, and the first kiss you’ve shared in seven years, Yoongi’s birthday has turned into the beginning of something neither of you had planned, and neither of you seem interested in stopping.
synopsis: you went to morocco to heal from your ex. you did not plan on body slamming someone, assaulting a stranger with your face, or sharing a bed with him...
𓇼 pairing: jeon jungkook x reader
𓇼 genre/warning: e2l, sunshine x grumpy, strangers-to-lovers, modern au, travel romance, airport meet-cute, forced proximity, one-bed energy (hotel room next door edition), mutual pining, tension, sun-drenched holiday vibes, light bickering, flirting, slowburn-but-fast-burn, smut (18+), soft angst
𓇼 word count: 6.8k
𓇼 status: completed
𓇼 playlist 𓇼 series masterlist 𓇼 main masterlist
｡⋆𓇼 day six | hate at first text
Morning in Essaouira tastes of salt and sugar.
You surface slowly, like you’re swimming up through layers—sleep, half-dreams, the memory of hands on your body, the sound of the wind.
For a second, you don’t know where you are. Just that everything is warm and heavy and soft. The sheets smell faintly of rosewater and something that’s definitely not hotel detergent. Then you try to move your leg and it hits resistance. A very human, very solid resistance.
Your brain boots up all at once.
Riad. Essaouira. One bed. Jungkook. Last night.
Heat slams into your face before the rest of your body can catch up. You stay absolutely still, every muscle going tense.
Maybe he’s asleep. Maybe you can teleport. Maybe—you risk the tiniest peek.
He’s already awake.
He’s on his side facing you, head propped on his hand, elbow sunk into the pillow. The duvet is hitched low over both of you—exposing one of his bare shoulders, the curve of his collarbone, the ink wrapping his bicep. His hair is a mess, falling into his eyes, and there’s a faint red mark at the base of his throat you’re sure is your fault.
He’s looking at you.
The morning light does him no favours in terms of hiding anything. It pours in through the gap in the shutters, soft and pale, striping his face. His eyes flicker over your features, slow and careful—like he’s cataloguing that you’re here, that you’re real, that last night wasn’t some extremely vivid stress dream.
Your heart punches your ribs. You squeeze your eyes shut on instinct, as if that will make any of this less true.
Smooth, you tell yourself. Very convincing.
There’s a beat of silence. Two. The riad is waking up underneath you—voices floating up from the courtyard, the clink of dishes, somewhere outside, a gull shrieks like it also had a weird night.
You feel Jungkook exhale. “You’re awake,” he says quietly.
Busted.
You open one eye, then the other. “…No, I’m dead,” you mumble, voice rough. “This is the afterlife.”
His mouth hitches, just a little. “That would explain a lot.”
You become acutely aware of three things at once. You are completely naked under this duvet. So is he. Your legs are tangled together.
You shift slightly, trying to untangle yourself. The duvet rustles; the movement drags skin against skin. His jaw tightens almost imperceptibly.
Panic tap-dances up your spine. Okay. Okay. You slept with him. That happened. There is no Ctrl+Z for this. But you are adults. You can be normal. Casual. Chill. Whatever the emotionally competent version of you would do—channel her.
“Morning,” you say, aiming for breezy and landing somewhere near breathless.
“Morning,” he answers. His voice is low, still half-asleep, a little wrecked. It doesn’t help.
For a second, neither of you moves.
The room looks different in daylight. The whitewashed walls have gone from intimate and moody to soft and simple. The rose petals on the floor are slightly wilted, some stuck to the tiles. The ocean light sneaks in wherever it can, painting faint blue-grey bands across the walls.
Essaouira’s wind is still at work, but its rage seems to have burned out. Now it’s a constant rush—less howl and more breath—threading through narrow streets, rattling shutters lazily.
You suddenly remember the riad owner calling you habibti and Jungkook habibi, and saying couples get the best room.
Oh God.
He seems to remember at the exact same time. You see it in the way his eyes flick briefly to the door, like he’s imagining walking out of here with I definitely just slept with this woman written all over his face in neon.
You sit up too fast, clutching the duvet to your chest. “We should—uh—we should probably get ready. The van. The tour company said—”
“Eight,” he supplies, automatically. “They’ll pick us at eight.”
You stare at him. “You remembered that?”
He shrugs one bare shoulder. “I remember a lot of things,” he says, then seems to realise how that sounds and looks instantly like he regrets talking.
Your brain throws up brief, disjointed flashbacks—his hand on your waist, his mouth at your throat, the way he said your name. You clear your throat, heat prickling under your skin. “Right. Cool. Great. So. We have time.”
“Yeah.”
Another silence, sharp-edged and fragile.
“Okay, uhm,” you say. “Can you turn around so I can find my clothes?”
He obliges without argument, rolling onto his other side, his back to you. He pulls the sheet with him, giving you more duvet and shielding himself. His shoulders are bare and broad in the morning light, tattoos disappearing under the fabric pooling around his waist.
You stare at his back for a second longer than necessary, then shake yourself and scoot to the edge of the mattress.
The room is cool when you slip out from under the covers, the tiles shocking against your bare feet. The air smells like last night’s rose petals and the faint tang of salt that sneaks in through every crack in Essaouira.
You locate your clothes in a trail that is… incriminating. Shirt by the chair. Underwear half under the bench at the foot of the mattress. You scoop everything up with as much dignity as you can muster and retreat to the bathroom, closing the door with a soft click.
You lean back against it for a second, eyes shut, heart pounding like he’s still touching you.
You catch your own reflection—hair a mess, lips a little swollen, faint marks blossoming on your neck and collarbone like evidence.
You touch one lightly, half-scandalised, half… pleased. “Oh my God,” you whisper to yourself. “What have you done?”
Essaouira answers with a seagull scream and wind rattling the tiny bathroom window.
The riad feels different on the way down.
Last night, the courtyard was soft and golden, lanterns turning the fountain into a small galaxy. This morning, it’s brighter, all blues and whites and real life. Light falls through the open square above—landing on mosaic tiles, on a broom leaning against the wall, on a stack of folded tablecloths waiting to be used. Mint tea steam curls from a doorway, carrying that familiar sweet-sharp smell.
The owner appears from behind a pillar, wiping her hands on her apron. Her face lights when she sees you.
“Ah, you’re awake,” she says. “The driver already arrived—he’s having tea. You have time for a quick cup?”
You open your mouth to say no, because your social anxiety is already at capacity, but Jungkook beats you to it.
“That’s okay,” he says politely. “We don’t want to make him wait.”
She clucks her tongue, clicking it against her teeth. “He will not leave without you this time, don’t worry,” she says, amused. “But as you wish.”
Her gaze flicks between you—your careful distance, your matching avoidance of eye contact, the way Jungkook’s hand tightens momentarily on the strap of his bag.
For a second, you’re terrified she’s going to wink and say something about last night. Instead she just smiles, small and knowing. “You’re always welcome back,” she says simply. “Next time, stay two nights. Essaouira likes to keep the people it likes.”
You don’t know how to answer that, so you just murmur, “Shukran,” and hope you don’t sound as flustered as you feel.
Jungkook dips his head in thanks too.
You follow the owner through the carved front door and let Morocco rock you back toward Agadir—wind and waves and arguments.
Back in Agadir, the resort looks offensively cheerful.
The van pulls up under the same palm-framed archway as before, tyres crunching over the pale gravel. Nothing here knows you accidentally spent the night in Essaouira with Jeon Jungkook.
The driver hops out, opens the door with a flourish. “Agadir, my friends,” he announces.
You climb down first, blinking in the sudden heat. You feel Jungkook step down behind you, close enough that you can sense him without turning around.
The memory of his hands on your skin flickers through you. Nope.
“Thanks,” you tell the driver, voice a little too bright. “The trip was—great.”
He smiles, unconvinced. “You’re welcome,” he says. “Maybe next time, you don’t miss the bus.”
You give a strangled laugh.
You turn, finally looking at Jungkook. He’s got his bag slung over one shoulder, shirt clinging a little from the drive, hair pushed back off his forehead. Sunglasses are hooked in the collar of his shirt instead of on his face, which feels cruel, frankly—his eyes are right there, dark and direct and far too easy to drown in.
“So,” you say, aiming for normal and landing somewhere closer to breathless. “We—survived.”
“Yeah,” he agrees. “Not bad for people who almost got abandoned twice.”
You almost smile. Almost. There’s a tiny beat—space for do you want to get lunch, for should we talk, for what are we now.
Your fight-or-flight reflex slams the emergency button. “Well. See you around,” you blurt.
Then you grab your bag and escape through the sliding doors before he can answer.
Avoidance Plan: engaged.
Lunch is out of the question.
Not because you’re not hungry—you are. But the mental image of walking into the buffet and potentially seeing Jungkook standing at the tagine station—both of you reaching for the same ladle, hands brushing, your brain short-circuiting?
No, thank you.
You beeline to your room instead. The hallway is cool and quiet, all polished tiles and soft carpet runners. Your key card light flashes green, the door clicks, and you’re swallowed by your temporary sanctuary—white sheets, balcony light, the distant hiss of the sea through the glass.
You throw your bag down, peel off your clothes, and head straight for the shower.
The water is lukewarm, but it still feels like being rinsed in a different language—Essaouira’s wind, the dust, the smell of grilled fish and rose petals and his cologne all swirling down the drain. You press your forehead to the tiles and breathe until your heart stops pretending it’s a drum solo.
When your fingers prune, you finally get out.
You dress in the brightest thing you own—flowy patterned skirt, a loose tank top, your favourite ridiculous sunglasses—like colour can armour you. You twist your hair up and stab it with a claw clip.
The girl in the mirror looks like she has her life together enough to drink something minty by the pool. The girl behind her eyes is screaming, but that’s a problem for later.
Your stomach growls.
“You’ll live,” you mutter at it, grabbing your book and your room key. “We’re eating anxiety for lunch.”
The resort has three main pools.
You pick the furthest one—the quiet pool, tucked at the edge of the property. No slides. No blaring kids’ music. Just a long curve of turquoise water edged with palms and white parasols, the tiles underneath already hot.
Perfect for hiding.
You slip through the garden path, the air thick with the smell of sand and sunscreen. Somewhere closer to the beach, the entertainment team is shouting instructions over a microphone—Arabic, French, English all tangled together. The bass from whatever song they’re playing floats across the complex in a muffled thump.
Here, though, it’s calmer.
Older couples read paperbacks under umbrellas. A woman in a wide straw hat paints her nails. A man floats lazily on a donut-shaped inflatable, face tipped to the sun.
You pick a lounger near some tall ornamental grasses and a large potted olive tree—half-shade, half-sun, fully out of the main path. You spread out your towel like you’re staking territory, and collapse into the cushions with a sigh.
You open your book. You do not read it.
Instead, you lie there and rehearse your new role—Anonymous Resort Guest Who Is Totally Fine and Definitely Not Avoiding a Man She Just Slept With in a Different City.
For almost an hour, it works. You only break character when your water runs out.
The sun has climbed higher. Your bottle is empty; your mouth feels like the Sahara. You glance around, see the bar only a short walk away—white counter, seats in the shade, rows of bottles, a silver teapot steaming away.
No sign of him. You can do this.
You slip your sandals back on and pad across the hot tiles, dodging a small child dragging an inflatable crocodile twice his size.
The bar is half-full—two guys in football shirts with pints, a woman in a bright kaftan and huge sunglasses, a staff member polishing glasses.
You order a big bottle of water and, because you’re trying to be nice to yourself, a mint lemonade.
The bartender grins. “Best choice,” he says. “Very fresh.”
While he crushes mint and ice, a voice appears at your elbow.
“Hey,” someone says. “Love your sunglasses.”
You turn automatically.
The guy is maybe mid-twenties, sun-bleached hair, deep tan, festival wristbands climbing his arm. He’s got the easy swagger of someone who believes the phrase you only live once is an actual personality.
“Thanks,” you say, polite, turning back to the bar.
“You here alone?” he asks, undeterred. “Or with friends?”
You can feel a headache brewing in the place where polite social interaction lives. “Just me,” you say, because technically, that was true when you booked.
He leans on the counter. “That’s brave,” he says. “Most girls don’t like travelling alone.”
Most girls also don’t accidentally get stranded in Essaouira with a tattooed man who ruins their life in stages, but here we are.
“I like the freedom,” you say, sipping your water to signal conversation over.
He doesn’t read the signal. “I’m here with the lads,” he goes on. “We’re going into town later for shisha. You should come.”
Before you can craft a polite decline, something shifts in the atmosphere behind you. The hairs on the back of your neck stand up.
“Hey,” Jungkook says, voice suddenly at your shoulder, low and flat. “You done?”
You turn.
He’s in loose black jeans and an oversized dark t-shirt now, the fabric soft and draping over his shoulders. His hair looks like he’s let it air-dry and then shoved his hands through it a few dozen times. The ink on his forearm stands out stark against his skin as he hooks his thumb in his pocket, rings catching the light.
His gaze flicks once to the other guy, then settles on you. You could swear the air temperature drops by two degrees.
“Friend of yours?” the guy asks, not picking up on the warning sirens blaring in the universe.
“Not really,” you say at the same time Jungkook says, “Yes.”
You both look at each other.
Jungkook’s jaw tightens. “She’s with me, mate,” he says, enunciating clearly.
Your brain throws up its hands. Your heart executes an undignified cartwheel.
The guy raises his eyebrows, hands going up in surrender. “My bad, man,” he says, backing off with the speed of someone who knows when he’s outmatched. “No disrespect.”
“None taken,” Jungkook says, but the words feel like they’ve been dragged through cement.
The guy disappears into the general resort noise.
You whirl on Jungkook. “What was that?” you demand, clutching your water bottle like you might throw it at him.
He shrugs one shoulder. “He was bothering you.”
“He was—talking,” you say. “It’s allowed. It’s a hotel, not a monastery.”
“He wasn’t listening when you were done,” Jungkook counters. “Also, his shirt was ugly.”
“That is not a crime,” you snap.
“It should be.”
You glare at him. He glares back—eyes dark, mouth annoyingly pretty even when flat.
The bartender coughs softly, setting your lemonade on the counter. “Enjoy,” he says, wisely stepping out of the blast radius.
You grab the glass. Condensation slicks your fingers, ice clinking against the sides. “Thank you,” you tell the bartender pointedly, and stalk back toward the pool.
Of course Jungkook follows.
You flop back onto your sunbed, slamming your book down a little harder than necessary. The lemonade is very refreshing, which only annoys you more—how dare the universe make things taste good when your emotional life is a mess.
Jungkook stops beside your lounger, shadow falling over your legs. You ignore him, adjusting your sunglasses and turning a page you didn’t read.
He doesn’t move. “You’re ignoring me,” he says eventually.
You take a long, deliberate sip. “I’m hydrating.”
He huffs a short, humourless laugh. “You’ve been avoiding me since we got off the van.”
“I have not,” you lie.
“You fled the lobby,” he counts off, ticking points off on his fingers. “You didn’t come to lunch. You circled the entire resort twice and pretended not to see me at the bar. And now you’re letting random dudes invite you to shisha just so you don’t have to talk to me.”
“That’s not—” You pause. “Okay, that last one is unfair. He came to me.”
He drops down on the empty lounger next to yours with a sigh, jeans creasing, elbows braced on his knees. A curl of hair falls onto his forehead; he doesn’t bother pushing it back. “You’re mad,” he says.
“You’re mad,” you retort.
“I’m confused,” he corrects. “You spent the night with me and now you’re acting like making eye contact will turn you to stone.”
You wince internally. The words hit too close. “I’m allowed to be—weird,” you say, picking at a loose thread on your towel. “Apparently I process things by hiding behind sunglasses.”
He looks at you, brows drawing together. “Do you regret it?”
There it is.
You stare at the glittering surface of the pool, at the palm trees swaying lazily, at a small boy arguing with his mother in rapid-fire Italian about why he absolutely must bring his inflatable flamingo into the shallow end.
“No,” you say quietly. “I don’t.”
Something in his shoulders eases. Not a lot, but enough. “Then why are you running?” he asks.
Because everything felt too good. Because you liked the way he looked at you in the dark. Because this is supposed to be a trip to get over someone else, not catch feelings for a stranger with a perfect mouth.
“Because I don’t know what it is,” you say instead. “And I don’t want to be some—holiday story you tell your friends about later.”
His jaw tightens. For a moment he looks like he might snap back. Then his face softens, just a fraction. “You’re not a story,” he says. “Whether you want to be or not, you’re—kind of real.”
The words are honest and clumsy and very him.
Your heart lurches. “Kind of real,” you repeat, half-laughing. “Wow. Impressive.”
He gives you a look. “I’m not good at this,” he mutters. “In case it wasn’t obvious.”
“It’s a bit obvious,” you agree.
He exhales, rubbing a hand over his face. The tattoos on his forearm flex; silver glints at his fingers. “I just—don’t like you pretending I’m not here,” he says finally. “If you don’t want to see me again, say so. I’ll back off. But don’t act like what happened doesn’t exist.”
You stare at him, surprised at the rawness of it. “It exists,” you say. “Trust me, my entire nervous system is painfully aware it exists.”
His mouth curves, helpless and small. “Okay, good.”
A breath of wind swirls through the courtyard, ruffling the grasses, carrying the smell of grilling meat from somewhere near the snack bar. Above the resort walls, Agadir is going about its hot, dusty afternoon without caring that you and Jungkook are trying to define a thing you don’t have words for yet.
“So what now?” you ask, because someone has to.
He leans back on the lounger, eyes on the stretch of blue sky overhead, lashes dark against his cheeks. “Now,” he says slowly, “you stop avoiding me. And we—spend the day together. Like normal people. Who talk and get to know each other.”
“Normal people don’t usually start there,” you point out. “They start with coffee.”
He side-eyes you. “You want coffee?”
Your stomach picks that exact moment to growl loudly, betraying you. “Okay, maybe food first,” you admit.
“Great,” he says, sitting up again. “We’ll hit the snack bar before everything good is gone. Then we’ll go into town. Marina, promenade, whatever you want.”
You blink at him. “You’re planning a whole-day itinerary now?”
He shrugs. “You’re terrible at doing things for yourself and very good at getting run over. Someone has to supervise.”
“That is slander,” you say automatically.
“Is it?” he asks.
You think about nearly missing your flight, ramming into him at check-in, claiming the wrong plane seat, half-dying in turbulence, almost getting flattened by a motorbike in the souk, missing your tour pickup, and waking up naked in a riad next to him because there was one bed.
“…Okay, fine,” you concede. “It’s lightly accurate defamation.”
He huffs a laugh. “Come on,” he says, pushing to his feet. He holds a hand out to you, palm open. “Lunch, before you pass out and I get blamed.”
You look at his hand, at the familiar ink curling around his wrist, at the faint red mark on his neck just visible above his collar when he moves.
Taking it feels like admitting something. Not taking it feels worse.
You slide your fingers into his. His grip closes around yours, firm and warm, hauling you up in one smooth pull.
“Fine,” you say, giving his hand a squeeze before you let go. “But I’m not doing any of the weird pool games with the entertainment team.”
“Deal,” he says. “I don’t like sharing.”
You raise an eyebrow. “Did you just admit you’re jealous?”
He gives you a look that says drop it and yes at the same time.
You grin, unable to help it, the first real grin of the day that isn’t laced with panic.
He rolls his eyes, but there’s a small, unmistakable smile tugging at his mouth as you walk together toward the heart of the resort—toward food, and the marina, and a day you’re suddenly not dreading anymore.
Agadir in the late afternoon is unreal.
The heat eases off just enough to be gentle; the light turns syrupy, dripping gold over the white hotels and the curve of the bay. The promenade stretches out in a long sweep of tile and palm trees, lined with cafés and juice stands and kids on scooters weaving through tourists.
You walk beside Jungkook with a paper cup of coconut ice cream, the cold sweetness melting faster than you can eat it. Sand grains cling to the sides where the wind has thrown them.
“Slow down,” you tell him around a mouthful. “You’re walking like you’re late to work.”
“This is my normal speed,” he says.
“For what, fleeing crimes?” you ask.
The corner of his mouth twitches. “Maybe.”
You grin, bumping your shoulder lightly into his arm. He doesn’t pull away.
Below you, Agadir Beach is a wide stretch of soft beige. The Atlantic is rolling in with long, even waves. Kids play football near the waterline, their shouts carried on by the wind. Farther out, kite surfers cut across the surface, bright sails tugged and dipped by the breeze.
A cluster of camels lounges near one of the beach entrances, all decorated saddles and patient eyes. Their handler calls out, “Camel ride, my friends! Beach experience! Very romantic!” at couples walking past.
You and Jungkook both say No at the same time, way too fast. You catch each other’s eyes and break into matching laughter that’s too easy, too warm.
“Well,” you say, licking a drip of ice cream from your thumb, “at least we agree on something.”
“I’m not sitting on a camel,” he mutters. “Absolutely not.”
“Scared?” you tease.
“Of breaking my neck? Yeah.”
You laugh again and he shakes his head, a little amused and a little fond in a way you pretend not to see.
Eventually you ditch the promenade for the sand.
Shoes off. Sandals hooked in your fingers. The sand is still warm from the day, soft and fine, squishing between your toes as you head for the waterline. Tiny shells glitter under the pinkish light like someone spilled crushed glass all over the shore.
The ocean is a darker blue now, froth catching the sunset. Waves roll in and out with a steady hush—reaching for your ankles, retreating, reaching again.
You’re mid-story about some disaster from your first year of university—the one where you pulled an all-nighter, drank three energy drinks, and then forgot to actually submit the assignment—when Jungkook suddenly reaches out.
“Careful,” he says, fingers wrapping around your wrist.
You stop so fast the next wave slaps around your ankles.
He nudges your foot with his own, jaw tightening. “Shell,” he explains. “You were about to step on it.”
You look down. A broken white shell lies half-hidden in the sand, edge sharp enough to slice skin. “Oh,” you say. “Thanks.”
He drops your wrist like he just remembered he’s not supposed to be gentle. “I just don’t want blood on my shoes,” he mutters.
“You’re barefoot.”
“On my—metaphysical shoes,” he says.
You stare at him. “That doesn’t even make sense,” you say, but you’re smiling.
He huffs, almost a laugh. “You’re one to talk. You just said your assignment emotionally submitted itself.”
“It did,” you argue. “It had the spirit of being on time.”
“Your professor must’ve loved that.”
“She did not,” you say. “She wrote next time, please also submit with your body on my feedback.”
He snorts, properly this time. The sound gets stolen by the wind, but you feel it in your chest.
You walk on. It becomes a thing. Every few metres he’s steering you around something—another broken shell, a half-buried plastic cup, a small dune the tide hasn’t flattened yet. Sometimes he uses words. Sometimes it’s just a hand at your elbow, a palm at the small of your back, a grip on your wrist that’s firm but careful.
“So,” you say after the third rescue, side-eying him. “Is this an overprotective eldest-child thing, or are you just committed to saving my feet?”
He scoffs. “I’m not overprotective.”
“You’re literally herding me like a baby goat.”
“You attract accidents,” he says. “Someone has to manage your—chaos radius.”
“My chaos radius,” you repeat. “Wow. Rude.”
A wave rushes up farther than expected and smacks into both of you, soaking your ankles. You squeal; he swears. You hop back, laughing as water drips off your calves.
“See?” he says, shaking water off his jeans. “Chaos.”
“That was the universe,” you argue. “The universe thinks you’re being mean.”
He gives you a look that says he refuses to engage with theology.
“So, oldest,” you say. “That explains a lot.”
“Like what?” he asks warily.
“The energy,” you say. “Oldest sons always have that I’ll ruin my life and my mum will still cook for me vibe.”
He actually chokes. “What?”
“Tell me I’m wrong.”
He presses his lips together, thinking. The wind ruffles his hair, strands falling into his eyes; he doesn’t bother pushing them away. “My mom doesn’t—cook for me anymore,” he says eventually. “She texts me pictures of food and says you should eat properly. Does that count?”
Your heart squeezes a little. “That’s so cute,” you say. “Weaponised guilt.”
He laughs under his breath. “Yeah. She’s good at it.”
“Do they know you’re here?” you ask. “Your family?”
He hesitates, then nods once. “They think I’m on a work trip,” he says. “I mean, technically I did work the week before I came, so—not a total lie.”
“So, Eldest,” you say. “What do you actually do when you’re not bullying me away from sharp objects?”
He hesitates, then shrugs, eyes on the line where the sea meets the sky. “I work in pharmaceuticals,” he says. “Production and research stuff. Mainly quality control. Very glamorous. Lots of hairnets.”
You blink. “Shut up,” you say automatically. “You?”
He glances at you. “What do you mean, you?”
“You look like—this,” you say, waving your hand at his tattoos, the piercings, the black t-shirt, “but you say pharmaceuticals like you own a lab coat and a favourite centrifuge.”
His mouth quirks. “I do have a favourite centrifuge.”
“Oh my God.”
“It’s not that deep,” he adds. “We just make sure the stuff people take won’t kill them. Or—help them, ideally.”
You picture him in a lab—hair tied back, sleeves rolled up, arm tattoos half-hidden by a white coat, eyes narrowed at some tiny label. Somehow it fits. The seriousness. The carefulness. The way he keeps quietly positioning himself between you and danger, even if it’s just a broken shell.
“That’s—actually really cool,” you say before you can stop yourself.
“It’s kind of boring,” he says. “Same machines, same paperwork, same people forgetting basic protocols.”
“Yeah, but you’re helping strangers stay alive,” you insist.
He walks in silence for a moment, thinking. “What about you?” he asks. “Degree girl with the emotional assignment. Marketing, right? I’m guessing.”
“Mm.” You drag your toes through a line of foam, watching it vanish. “Digital campaigns. Lots of pretending to care deeply about things I don’t care for.”
“You don’t like it,” he says, not a question.
You shrug one shoulder. “I like parts,” you say. “The ideas, the planning. I hate staring at spreadsheets while my soul leaves my body through my eyes.”
“Relatable,” he murmurs. “Different spreadsheets, same soul escape.”
“Is that why you’re here?” you ask. “Escaping?”
He chews on his lip ring for a second, considering. “Work,” he says. “And family. And—everything being too loud in my head.”
Eldest son, you think. Pressure. “You said you have siblings,” you prompt gently.
He nods. “Little brother,” he says. “He’s still in school. My parents still treat him like a baby and me like a third parent. It’s—fun.”
You hear the weight under the joke. “You help them out a lot?” you ask.
“In theory, he’s an adult,” Jungkook says dryly. “In practice, my mom calls me if he sneezes twice.”
You laugh, but it softens quickly. “That’s a lot,” you say. “Being the default responsible one.”
He shrugs, but his shoulders stay tight. “Someone has to be,” he says. “My dad works too much. My mom stresses over everything. I’m just—easier to dump it on, I guess.”
“Do you ever let anyone take care of you?” you ask.
He doesn’t answer that. Instead, he nudges a bit of driftwood out of your path with his foot. “What about you?” he deflects. “You ran away for—work and an ex?”
You kick at the foam of an incoming wave, watching it collapse around your toes. “Yeah,” you say slowly. “Work. And a relationship that felt like living in a house built on sand. Every time I thought it was solid, a wave came and took another chunk.”
“That’s… detailed,” he says.
“I had a lot of time to think on the plane,” you reply.
He doesn’t push. The silence that follows isn’t heavy; it’s… available. Like the space is there if you want to fill it, but he’s not going to force you.
So you do what you always do when things get too sharp—you wrap them in something crooked. “Also,” you add, “everyone at work couples up like it’s Love Island. I couldn’t handle watching any more people pack Tupperware lunches together.”
He huffs a real laugh. “So you escaped to a country where strangers keep calling us a couple,” he says.
“That’s different,” you protest. “This is—situational delusion.”
“Sure,” he says, but his mouth tilts.
Another wave rolls in, higher this time, catching your calves. You both stagger and grab for balance—your hand catching his forearm, his fingers finding your hip for half a second before dropping away.
You pretend you’re fine. The ocean pretends it didn’t just conspire with gravity to shove you into him.
“But you like it here?” he asks, voice a little rougher now.
You look out at the water, the line of palm trees, the hillside glowing with white letters.
“Agadir feels—soft,” you say. “Like it’s loud, but not at me. Like the city is busy with its own life and I can just—exist next to it for a while.”
He studies you, expression unreadable. “Yeah,” he says finally. “I get that.”
A moment stretches between you—your footsteps syncing, the tide tracing patterns around your ankles.
He doesn’t stop quietly pulling you away from sharp things.
The sky slowly shifts from gold to peach to a soft, impossible pink, streaked with faint purple clouds.
You’ve been walking for so long your legs ache, but you don’t really feel tired. The breeze keeps you cool; the constant hush of the waves is a background lullaby.
At some point, Jungkook falls a half-step behind you.
You spin around, walking backwards for a few paces. “Am I boring you?” you ask. “You look like you’re regretting this day.”
He shakes his head, eyes crinkling. “You talk a lot,” he says. “But it’s—not boring.”
You pretend the word sticking in that little pause doesn’t lodge itself under your ribs. “Wow,” you say. “Write that on my tombstone.”
“You’ll trip on the way there,” he mutters, but he’s smiling properly now, teeth flashing, eyes bright.
You quickly pull your phone out. “Don’t move.”
He freezes. “Why?”
“Just—stay like that,” you say, fumbling your camera open. The light is perfect—sun behind him, sky pink and soft, his hair ruffled by the wind, smile still tugging at his mouth.
You snap the photo before he can scowl it away. He notices the shutter sound. “Did you just—”
“Yes,” you say, turning away so he can’t snatch the phone. “You looked nice. It’s a crime to waste it.”
He groans. “Delete it.”
“No.”
“Please.”
You glance back at him. “You’re not camera shy,” you point out. “You literally let me take like twelve pictures of you with that cat in the souk.”
“That was the cat’s photo,” he says. “I was a prop.”
You snort. “You’re impossible.”
“Let me see,” he demands, suddenly behind you, warm and close.
You stop walking, bring the phone up. You scroll to the photo. For once, you don’t want to make a joke.
The shot is stupidly good. He’s halfway through a laugh, eyes crinkled, head tipped slightly back. The tattoos on his arm are visible where his sleeve has ridden up. The light catches on his lip ring, on the edges of his hair.
He looks soft and open and young in a way he rarely lets himself be. You feel your chest go weird.
He sees your face before he sees the picture. “What,” he says, suddenly wary. “Is it that bad?”
You swallow. “Just look.” You hold the phone out.
He steps closer, head ducked, shoulder brushing yours. You can smell his cologne again—that clean, smoky thing that’s already filed itself under comfort in your brain.
His eyes lock onto the screen.
You watch his throat work, a small swallow. His hand comes up, fingers hovering near the phone but not quite touching it, like he’s afraid it’ll shatter.
“That’s not me,” he says quietly, after a long moment.
“It is,” you say. “I swear I didn’t hire a stand-in.”
He huffs, but it doesn’t quite land as a joke. “I don’t—look like that,” he says.
“Okay, well,” you say, voice gentler than you mean it to be, “I’m the one with eyes here. So you’re wrong.”
He finally looks away from the photo—to you.
You’re suddenly aware of how close you’re standing. Bare feet in the same patch of damp sand. The wind tugging at your clothes. The sky washing everything in soft peach.
His gaze is intense in a way that makes your pulse trip—like he’s seeing you properly. Layers peeled back, no jokes, no deflection. “You always look at people like that?” he asks, voice low. “Or just me?”
Your heartbeat lodges somewhere in your throat. You try for light. “Just the ones who nearly die in souks with me,” you say.
He doesn’t smile. He just keeps looking at you, eyes dark and unreadable, the weight of it pressing into your skin.
You realise, too late, that you’re still holding the phone between you like a tiny glowing barrier. Your hand has started to shake.
He notices. Slowly, Jungkook reaches up.
His fingers brush your temple, sliding lightly through the hair that’s been whipped across your face by the wind. He tucks it behind your ear, a simple, thoughtless gesture—except it doesn’t feel thoughtless at all.
His fingers linger a fraction of a second too long against your skin. The air thickens. Your breath stutters.
“Jungkook,” you say, or maybe breathe.
He steps in. Just enough. Your phone lowers between you.
The waves hush in and out. The kids’ voices blur. The world pulls back, leaving just the circle of space that contains you and him and the almost of his mouth.
He dips his head, eyes flicking to your lips.
Stops there.
You can feel the heat of him now—the steady, fast beat of his heart where your chest almost touches his. The scent of salt and coconut and his cologne wraps around you, dizzying.
You tilt your chin up. He starts to close the distance—
—and your phone buzzes in your hand.
Once. Then again. Insistently.
You jerk a little at the vibration, startled, breaking the taut line between you. His eyes flick down, then back up, something raw flashing and vanishing.
Your body is already reacting, traitor that it is. Because your brain, lightning-fast and merciless, has recognised that particular notification pattern.
You glance at the screen. A preview banner sits there like a curse.
can we talk?
Three words. That’s all it takes for the ground to tilt under you.
Your ex’s name glows at the top of the message, a ghost summoned by bad timing and unresolved grief.
Memory slams into you—voicemails unanswered, calls ignored, the hollow ache you thought you’d outrun by getting on a plane. You suck in a breath, fingers tightening around the phone. The warmth you’d been sinking into a second ago turns to a different kind of heat—embarrassment, panic, guilt.
Jungkook sees everything. Not the words, maybe, but enough. The way your face falls, how your shoulders curl in, how you take half a step back like you’ve been pushed.
He straightens, tension snapping back into his body. “Who is it?” he asks, already knowing.
You open your mouth. Nothing comes out.
The sky seems suddenly too bright. The waves too loud. The wind too sharp against your skin.
“I should—I need a minute,” you say, stepping farther away, putting actual space between you. “I’m sorry, I just—”
“It’s him, isn’t it?” he asks, not unkindly, but not gently either.
You swallow. “I didn’t—ask him to text,” you say, because it’s the only defence you have. “I didn’t—”
“I know,” he cuts in quickly.
But his jaw is clenched, eyes fixed on a point over your shoulder. Hurt flickers across his face, exposed and unguarded—there and gone in a breath, but you catch it.
It punches more than it should. The sand under your feet feels unsteady.
You wrap your arms around yourself, suddenly cold despite the lingering warmth of the day. “I just need a second,” you repeat, because you don’t know what else to do with the storm in your chest.
Fear of falling into old pain. Fear of hurting someone new. Fear, full stop.
Something like a wall slides back down behind his eyes. “Take all the time you want,” he says, voice quieter now, almost flat. “I’m not—I’m not going to compete with a notification.”
It’s a stupid line. It still hurts.
You bite the inside of your cheek. “That’s not fair.”
“Maybe,” he says. He looks toward the water, inhaling deep like he’s trying to steady himself on the smell of salt alone. “But it’s true.”
Silence drops between you, heavy and awkward where it had been light all afternoon.
Down the beach, the call to Maghrib prayer rises, floating over the city in waves of sound that echo the ocean.
You look at your phone again. You look at him. A dozen words sit on the back of your tongue.
Stay. It’s not what you think. I don’t want him. I want—
None of them make it out. Instead you shove the phone into your pocket, as if that erases what he’s already seen.
“We should head back before it’s dark,” you say, voice small. “The tide comes in fast.”
He nods once, expression smoothing into something that isn’t really neutral, but wants to be. “Yeah,” he says. “Sure.”
You fall into step side by side, but the easy bubble of before is gone. He keeps walking with you anyway. By the time you reach the steps back up to the hotel, your phone has buzzed twice more in your pocket.
Jungkook hasn’t looked at you since the first one.
And you have never been more aware of how quickly a day that felt like beginning can tilt toward ending.
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a/n: hiii my loves!! here is day 6, and gosh, trouble in paradise??? would it even be something written by me if there weren't almost kisses at sunset on the beach that turn into something gut-wrenching (ellipsis reference, which, if you haven't read, what are you waiting for?)? Please let me know your thoughts and theories on what will happen next! also love me a jealous jungkook hahaha
target: y'all smashed the last target, with some of you coming back daily to spam! i love the commitment. on that note, the final chapter on UY will be yours as soon as we reach 315 notes. i know you guys can do it!! spam me in the comments, reblog like there isn't tomorrow and scream at me in my asks with what you loved, hated and what you think will happen next (we encourage spams in this space!! you are NEVER bothering me).
taglist: please send an ask or comment on the series masterlist if you would like to be added!
summary: it's your first christmas together after jungkook's return. however, you always spend the holidays back home. and this time, he's invited. jungkook has to overcome his fear of facing your family after all that's happened. he soon realises what he was avoiding is what he needed all along.
from the rough edges series
pairing: jungkook x f!reader
genre: fluff, romance, college sweetheart, ex-gang member jk
words: 8k
the alarm rings on your side table, and you wince, eyes still shut, willing to continue the dream you were having. behind you, there’s movement and shifting as jungkook reaches over, hand fumbling about as he tries to dismiss the alarm.
peace resumes seconds later and his warmth blankets you, arms pulling you close, resting his face in the crook of your neck. “time to wake up.” he mutters.
you protest with a whine and feel his smile against your skin, rolling over to melt into his arms. “don’t wanna.”
jungkook sighs, cherishing moments like these where he gets to wake up next to you on the weekends, and laze around. despite your unwillingness to get up, you don’t go back to sleep, choosing to lay in his arms, head against his chest while jungkook runs a soothing hand on your back.
his eyes flicker out the window, where the sun would usually come shining in by this hour. but a new season has taken over, and the clouds leave a trail of shadows behind.
“two weeks till christmas.” he mutters and your eyes flip open.
“excited?” you say, shifting your head to look up at him. “our first time celebrating together since college.”
jungkook stretches his free side and shifts to lie on his back, hand behind his head. “i’m just glad i don't have to spend it cooped up with jaemin.”
“aw but the pictures of you two wearing christmas hats together was so cute.” you chuckle.
it was one of the few pictures they took together, and he’d explained how they missed celebrating christmas so much that they put hats on and had a christmas movie marathon that day.
jungkook smiles but pretends he doesn’t know what you’re talking about. then he rolls back over and rests his top half over yours, making you groan as he lets his weight rest on you. “much rather be right here.” he comments, face smooshed into the pillow next to your head.
“yeah,” your voice comes out strangled beneath him and he laughs, lifting himself. he lowers himself comfortably to your chest and your hands gently brush his hair.
you stay that way for a moment, feeling his body rise and fall against you as he fights falling back asleep.
“my dad’s really excited to meet you.”
jungkook’s eyes snap open suddenly, no longer drowsy, or calm. they find your as he lifts his head. “your dad- oh are we- for christmas?”
his reaction tickles you, but he’s absolutely serious now, abandoning his comfy position and sitting up on the bed, facing you. your hand rests on his. “you know i always spend christmas back home.”
“right.” his body deflates. “i forgot.”
“and you’re coming with me,” you say, getting up yourself, “you’ve been invited.”
“more like summoned.” jungkook gulps, pouting when you break into laughter. “does he…approve…of me? of us?”
“if he didn’t, he wouldn’t bother.” you reassure him. “he’s dying to finally meet the person i was willing to risk my life over.”
jungkook’s mind goes into a frenzy every time he thinks about facing your dad. how could he, when he’d put you in danger all those years ago? landed you in the hospital with a concussion after being held hostage with a gun to your head?
“you know actually…” jungkook clears his throat, “i might stay and look over the studio. if everyone’s going home then i’m gonna need to…you know…take on clients or…walk-ins…”
the blank stare in your eyes tells him you’re not buying it. jungkook had avoided every trip back home since. there was always something. and you always gave him the benefit of the doubt. but logically, you know what he’s doing, and you know why he’s so skittish.
you tilt your head, “jungkook, you can’t avoid him forever.”
“i’m not-” he snorts, fumbling over his words, “i w- it’s just not- you’re crazy.”
you raise a brow, resisting the urge to burst out laughing. jungkook winces at his own pathetic attempt.
“sorry.” he mutters quietly. “you’re not crazy.”
you laugh, shoving him hard enough to make him fall against the mattress. he bounces right back with an embarrassed smile, dimples showing.
“come on,” you say, “he’s my dad. don’t you want to meet him too?”
“i do.” he says quickly, suddenly realising how this might affect you. “it’s just that i…”
“you’re scared, i know.” his body relaxes with your touch, hand wrapping around his. “but why? what exactly are you afraid of?”
“baby, i put his daughter in harm’s way, almost got you killed, how could he ever look at me and think i’m worthy of being with you after all that?” he asks quietly, and it hurts you to know he’s still punishing himself for the past.
“except that’s not all you did…you also took a bullet for me that night.” you remind him, and he leans into your touch. “and he knows why you did what you did.”
jungkook’s eyes widen slightly, “wait you told him everything?”
“i had to, jungkook.” you tilt your head, “he saw me out cold for two days in the hospital, then woke up hysterical thinking my boyfriend was dead.”
it doesn’t make him feel any better, and he buries his head in his hands, groaning. “oh my god. yeah he hates me.”
you giggle when he topples over, staring up at the ceiling in despair. “well if he does, this is your chance to change his mind.”
he lifts his head, prompting a double chin. “so you agree, he hates me?”
“he probably thinks you hate him.”
jungkook sits up at that, grabbing the nearest pillow for support. “don’t-”
“i mean you’ve avoided every possible interaction with him,” you shrug, “maybe he thinks you think you’re too good for him. he’s probably really sad. all he wants is to meet the love of his daughter’s life, excited to show off his wine collection, and the pretty flowers he has in the garden and yet, he’s never gotten the chance to.”
jungkook stares at you. “you’re mean.”
“i’m not the one who won’t give my dad a chance.” you raise both palms in the air and he breaks into a chuckle, diving towards you till your back is against the mattress and him on top of you.
he showers you with kisses despite your squirming, ending with a final, tiny kiss on your nose.
you lie back, staring at him. “he’s gonna love you. just like i do.”
jungkook sucks in a breath, with his mind already made up. looking into your sparkling eyes, wondering if they’re the same as your dad’s, thinking maybe it wouldn’t be so bad.
“alright.” he says softly, a smile on his face. “we’ll go back for christmas.”
you can’t contain the glee that escapes you, an excited and childlike giggle which spreads through even jungkook. he plants a gentle kiss on your lips.
–
a mixture of horror and jitters spread through jungkook’s being. he’s already practiced what he’d say, and learnt by heart the schedule your family operates by every christmas. he wanted this to be the perfect meeting, make a good first impression, and most of all he wanted you to be happy.
in all the time he’d spent avoiding a meeting with your dad, you’d been patient enough to tell him to take his time, but now that this is set and he sees how thrilled you are, he realises how much you’ve been wanting this. a part of him feels guilty for delaying this for so long, but now, his heart melts each time you talk about it with a smile from ear to ear.
the journey there is long, but nice. you decided to take the train back since there was no rush. you also wanted to show jungkook the usual route you take when you head home.
what was meant to be a couple of days, ended up being a week at your childhood home, which did slightly elevate jungkook’s stress level. a whole week with your dad, and cousins, but it’s something he figures he’ll worry about when he gets there.
“do you think he’ll like the gift?” jungkook tears his eyes away from the window and to you sitting next to him. you look up from your book and smile.
“you bought him like ten different things,” you chuckle. “i’m sure he’ll like something.”
he pouts, “only three…”
to cover all bases, he ended up buying your dad a wine preserver system, some vinyls of his favourite band, and a craft knife, after finding out what his hobbies are.
you put your book down and interlace your fingers. “i think he’s going to appreciate the fact that you put in so much thought into the gifts.”
jungkook calms down a little, and you let him go on about the latest tattoo designs he’d come up with for the next hour of the train ride just to distract him. it goes by quickly, and you arrive in your city in no time.
with all the luggage, and the cats, jungkook suggested getting a rental car, successfully persuading you to drive instead since you know your way around.
“i like being a passenger princess.” jungkook grins, munching on snacks he’d bought back at the station, showcasing his bunny teeth.
“don’t get too comfortable now.” you remind him, navigating through the familiar roads, finally leaving the busy station and driving at a comfortable speed with no one honking at you from behind for taking more than half a second to react. “i’m a little-”
the car jerks forward as it comes to an abrupt stop when you step on the wrong pedal.
“rusty.” you breathe out. “sorry.”
“okay.” jungkook heaves, shifting back properly into his seat. “i think i’m a little more worried about making it there now than meeting your dad.”
you laugh as you get the car moving again, slowly easing down the roads. as you reach the vicinity of your town, you take your time to show jungkook around the different places, giving him bits and pieces of your childhood. he takes it all in with a smile on his face, though his growing silence tells you he’s still nervous.
“there it is,” you say, nodding to your house up front, “the one with the purple flowers by the gate.”
jungkook straightens up without saying a word. his jaw tenses and his fingers fiddle in his lap while his eyes are glued to the house as you drive around it to enter the driveway. the engine dies down into a soft buzz and jungkook’s eyes dart over to you when he feels your hand on his shoulder.
“it’ll be fine.” you reassure him, pulling him into a hug. he sighs into your shoulder, warm breath tickling your neck. “everyone’s going to love you.”
“promise?” he asks teasingly as he pulls away.
you hold out your last finger. “pinky promise.”
he hooks his pinky around yours and leans in for a kiss. you stare at each other for a minute. and in that time you start to feel a little nervous yourself, thinking about jungkook and your dad finally meeting.
“don’t tell me you’re getting the jitters too.” he says, noticing the change in your body language.
“i guess it’s contagious.” you close your eyes and sigh, shaking the nerves away. then you cup one side of jungkook’s face. “let’s do this. ready?”
jungkook nods. you exchange a sweet kiss before exiting the car.
the air is crisp and cool. snow has been meticulously shovelled off the driveway, and a neat track laid out towards the front door. jungkook smiles at the details he assumes your dad has done to make it easier for his daughter’s return.
he rounds to the back of the car and unloads your luggages, one of yours, one of his, and one filled with the presents and treats from the city. and your two cats from the back seat. as you walk up to the front door with your stuff, your heart almost leaps out of your chest. you look back to see jungkook, setting the luggages right by his front, waiting for you to open the door, raising his brows.
he goes right up to where you stand, and you fix the scarf around his neck, brushing off cat fur from the black sweater he has on. as the two of you stand at the front door, both reeling with nerves, you reach for each other and melt into a hug.
pulling away, jungkook gives you a warm, encouraging smile.
you fit your key through the lock and push the door open, immediately getting hit with the smell of fresh cookies your grandmother makes every holiday.
“i’m home!” you call out, and a head peaks out from the living kitchen.
“y/n!”
your cousin calls out, pulling off the oven gloves while she runs up to you. while you greet her, jungkook takes the chance to drag the baggage inside, then stands there awkwardly as you chat with your cousin. she looks about the same age, with the same smile. it’s about ten seconds later when she realises jungkook’s waiting presence and her eyes light up. “oh hello!”
“hi,” jungkook clears his throat, and extends a hand. “i’m jungkook.”
“nice to finally meet you jungkook,” she takes his hand, “i’m seoyun.”
“nice to meet you too.” he gives her a polite smile.
“seoyun, is that my granddaughter you’re talking to?” a voice comes from the living room on the right, and your cousin rolls her eyes while shaking her head.
“yes grandma, your favourite granddaughter is home.” she smiles at the two of you, grabs on to your wrists, and drags you both towards the living room.
jungkook’s eyes go everywhere, to every corner of the house, the fairy lights around the room, christmas decorations around the fireplace, and the large christmas tree in the corner. the sight strangely brings back a pang of nostalgia, and jungkook’s suddenly transported back to his childhood, standing in his own living room, in front of the tree his own father brought home, while his mother and siblings put up the decorations.
lost in his own thoughts, he snaps out of it when you hook your arm around his, giving it a slight tug. he quickly puts on a smile. “this is jungkook, who i told you about.”
“oh my goodness!” your grandmother gets up from her armchair, leaving the knitting she was working on. if he didn’t know, he’d have never guessed she was your grandmother. skin as smooth as ever, and still steady on her feet, though her roughness of her voice gives her age away.
she places her hands on jungkook’s face. “you’re as handsome as they come!”
“okay, back off grandma.” you comment, and jungkook laughs.
“it’s nice to meet you, i hear lots of great things about you.” he says.
“well i’d hope so,” she turns to raise a brow at you, then turns back to jungkook. “welcome to our home jungkook. i’m glad you could make it this year.”
jungkook nods, and she gently pats the side of his face before turning to seoyun. “how are the cookies coming along darling?”
“perfect! finished the first batch, last tray’s in the oven as we speak.” she stands proud.
“wonderful,” your grandmother taps her nose tenderly, “could you get a plate out, i’ll work on some tea for our guests.”
they strut off into the kitchen, and as they disappear getting to work, you turn to jungkook, raising your brows in question. he breathes out, nodding his head. “that was less scary than i thought it would be.”
“i told you.” you let him hold your hands in his, and you realise how freezing cold they are. “looks like my dad and aunt aren’t home yet. so you have some time to get used to things.”
jungkook nods, looking around the place once again.
–
after tasting a fresh plate of your grandmother’s cookies and talking about your trip here, you decide to show jungkook around the house. the cats were let out of their carriers, taking a couple of minutes to sniff around before recognising the place, and finding their favourite spots around the house.
the pictures on the walls, the 90s home decor, the smell of a lived in house. jungkook is obsessed. it almost felt like he was walking round a museum, studying each corner and every trinket.
on the second floor, you drag him towards your old bedroom. “this was me.” you grin adorably, standing at the doorway.
“wow.” jungkook says, eyes round and sparkly. “not sure what i was expecting but this is very you.”
yellow walls, a single bed in the corner, ending right by the window, a desk by the foot of the bed and an open wardrobe. most of the place looks untouched, except for the bed, which seemed like it had a change of sheets in anticipation of your return.
photographs are plastered over the walls by your desk, of you when you were little up till your teen years. letters written by friends, evidence of a fangirl phase with pictures of your favourite stars fill the rest of the space. on the table, a couple of old text books are neatly arranged by the wall. jungkook could imagine little you hunched over the desk, working on homework, exactly how you used to at your old apartment during college.
he takes his time to look at the pictures of little you, pointing to one where you were clearly upset, face scowling, frowning at the camera, arms crossed in front of you. you couldn’t have been older than ten. “this one’s my favourite.” he claims.
“of course it is.” you roll your eyes, walking over to your dress table, where you’d stuck a picture of you and jungkook on your mirror.
“i’m there too?” he asks excitedly, looking at it.
“all my favourite people are here.” you say, blinking away when he looks at you, suddenly feeling a little embarrassed. standing in your old room, filled with memories of your past, with jungkook feels so intimate. like sharing parts of you that no one else would have access to.
before he can say anything else, you hear the swing of the front door, and a couple of voices follow. you look at jungkook, eyes wide. his mirror yours minus the excitement.
jungkook stays rooted to his spot, listening to your hurried steps and the squealing of voices that follow as you run towards your aunt. his steps feel heavy as he follows your trail, hovering over the second floor to see you both hugging. but it isn’t until a man who stands two feet taller than you appears at the door frame, face softening at the sight of you, that jungkook’s heart drops to his stomach.
“oh my baby.” he coos, enveloping you in his arms, lifting you off the ground. you fit right in there, nestled against him with a wide smile on your face. “i’m so glad you made it.”
“of course!” you say, pulling away to take a good look at him. you’d miss a couple of visits back since japan happened. “how’ve you been? i’ve missed you.”
“oh i miss you more honey. but i’m better now that my favourite girl is here.” he laughs, planting a kiss on the top of your head.
neither of you notice jungkook’s slow descent down the steps, awkwardly standing there waiting for an opening. it’s not until your dad’s attention lands on him, making jungkook’s heart leap, that you extend your hand to jungkook who comes to your side.
“hello.” jungkook bows. “i’m jungkook. nice to meet you.”
your dad's smile widens and he exhales as if he were relieved. jungkook had extended his hand for a shake, but your dad accepts it only to pull him into a hug. for a moment, jungkook freezes. only ever receiving hugs from you or jimin, this felt new. he feels small within your dad’s big frame. he feels warm, and comfortable.
jungkook eventually heaves out a loaded breath. your dad places his hands on jungkook’s arms, giving him a once over. “welcome home, jungkook.”
–
dinner was nothing short of amazing with jungkook helping himself to multiple servings, much to your grandmother’s pleasure. it took him a while to get used to sitting at the table with everyone, quiet at first, until your aunt prompts questions about his job, to which he was more than excited to share about.
not knowing which parts of his life they were aware about, jungkook was careful with what he shared. he’d squeeze your hand under the table ever so often when he felt a little unsure of things or even if he just wanted to. with your help, things went smoothly and by the end, he was a little more comfortable with everyone.
after dinner, your aunt and cousin take their leave for the night. living just five minutes away, they’d be back again in the morning. the house is quieter without them, just the four of you now.
jungkook helps you get your bags upstairs, rolling your luggage up to your room. grandma walks past just then, giving him a pinch on the cheek and a kiss on yours before heading right to her own space.
“you can have the guest room,” your dad appears down the hall and looks between the two of you, “unless-”
“the guest room is perfect, thanks.” jungkook interrupts.
“alright.” your dad chuckles, winking your way, “come, i’ll show you to the room.”
the layout of your house forms a u-shape with the stairs in the middle, so the guest room, his room is conveniently right across from yours. “there you go.”
“thank you.” he stands politely as he looks at your dad. “for letting me stay here.”
“of course,” he pats jungkook’s shoulder, “you’re family.”
jungkook stands there for a while, even after your dad heads off. he washes up and gets into clean clothes, then sits on the edge of the neat bed. it all feels so foreign yet familiar.
he sighs, letting himself lie back on the mattress, resting his back properly for the first time the whole day. he reaches for his phone and smiles at the notification from you.
[12:50AM] you: u forgot my goodnight kiss
[1:12AM] jk: in front of your dad?
[1:12AM] you: wimp
[1:13AM] jk: big wimp
[1:13AM] you: miss u :(
[1:13AM] you: come over
[1:13AM] you: you should’ve said ure sleeping in my room
[1:14 AM] jk: sorry i dont have a death wish
[1:14AM] jk: miss u too btw
[1:14AM] you: my door’s unlocked
[1:14AM] you: if you really miss me…..
[1:14AM] jk: stoppp
[1:14AM] jk: you’re gonna get me kicked out
[1:16AM] you: :( :( :(
[1:17AM] jk: you’re tipsy from the wine aren’t you
[1:17AM] jk: go to sleep baby, it’s 1am
[1:18AM] jk: i’ll give u a kiss tmr
you don’t reply after that, and he figures you’ve dozed off. but no matter how comfortable he got, jungkook just can’t fall asleep. he tosses and turns for a while before giving up. he gently opens the door, a single lamp in the corner giving off a warm orange glow. then he carefully goes down the steps headed for the living room.
he flips one of the lights on and settles on the couch, pulling his legs into his chest, staring up at the lit up tree. over the time he was away, he’d only seen trees through the windows of different houses. and kim, had always put up a tree for show, but it never really meant anything to him. the last time he had a proper tree, a proper celebration, was when he was a kid.
he shuts his eyes and takes himself back to the past. a place he’d tried to erase from memory. but he still remembers somehow, snuggled up on the couch like he is now, the sound of his siblings running around the house, laughing as they play. his mother by the stove, stirring a pot of his favourite soup while his dad puts up a mistletoe above the doorframe. when times were good. when everyone was happy, before-
“can’t sleep either?” a low voice catches him off guard and he jumps as if he were caught doing something he wasn’t supposed to. the older man raises his palms to calm him. “sorry, didn’t mean to scare you.”
“sir- sorry i-” jungkook fumbles his words.
but your father simply smiles back, urging him to sit, “relax, nothing to apologise for.”
jungkook sits hesitantly, running his palms over his knees, scrambling to find something to talk about. maybe this is where your dad would tell him he’s not good enough for you. he’ll hand you a check, give you an ultimatum, leave my daughter or else-
“it’s a nice tree isn’t it?”
jungkook turns to it once again. “yeah. it’s beautiful.”
jungkook doesn’t realise that he’s far away again. “penny for your thoughts?”
“oh.” jungkook chuckles. “nothing i just…haven’t had a christmas tree in a long time. it brings back memories.”
“good ones i hope.” your father smiles, and he sees your smile. “i’m glad you could join us this year. i was hoping you would.”
“you were?”
“why are you so surprised?” he chuckles. “you have been dating my daughter for the last eight years haven’t you?”
jungkook flinches, the reality hitting him like a brick. he breathes out, “didn’t realise it’s been that long.”
“time really flies, doesn’t it?” your father says. “she talks about you a lot. can you believe after all that time, this is the first time we’re meeting in person.”
“right.” jungkook laughs nervously, hand rubbing the back of his neck. “that’s my fault. i’ve uh…”
“been avoiding me?” your father laughs a low laugh at the panic that settles on the younger man’s face. but his reaction eases jungkook, as he slaps a hand on jungkook’s knee. “it’s alright. i know how it is.”
jungkook chuckles, “sorry. it’s not that i was avoiding you, i just…was worried about how this would go.”
“how do you think it’s going?”
jungkook wonders if this is a trick question. “good?”
your dad gives him a warm smile. “you’re doing great so far, jungkook.”
“thanks.” jungkook bites his bottom lip.
after a quiet moment, your dad excuses himself for a cup of hot cocoa. as he walks away, jungkook sinks back into his thoughts, this time, thinking about you. his worries about your dad come to the forefront of his mind again, wondering if your dad would say anything even if he felt this was wrong.
despite jungkook declining a drink, your dad comes back with a mug of warm milk for jungkook and a plate of cookies.
jungkook’s uneasiness doesn’t go unnoticed. and your dad can tell it was more than just nerves. jungkook sits there fiddling his thumbs, blinking incessantly like he’s fighting with himself in his mind. your dad scoots to the edge of his seat and reaches across to place a hand on jungkook’s knee.
“are you okay?” it was a question jungkook didn’t know how to answer. it felt loaded, like there was something more.
“i have- i wanted to…” jungkook swallows the lump in his throat, and takes a deep breath. “are you really okay with y/n being with me?”
your father watches him for a couple of beats, the longest stretch of seconds in jungkook’s life as he waits for a reaction. with a smile, your father takes a sip of his drink. “that’s what you were worried about?”
jungkook nods.
your father leans forward, elbows on his knees, palms together. “listen i know, a lot has happened. some things, i can’t even comprehend. and i would be lying if i said i was never worried about her. and the things that you were involved in.”
“but i knew the girl i raised, so i trusted her.” he pauses. “then the incident happened. i’ll never forget getting that call, i thought i’d lost her.”
jungkook winces, feeling a bitter taste in his mouth. “i’m sorry. that was- that was my fault.”
your father exhales, looking down at his hands. “she did tell me you still blame yourself.”
“she ended up getting hurt because of me. i didn’t protect her enough.” jungkook says, eyes glossing up. “i tried to keep her out of it all, i knew the risks. but then things got out of hand and i was trying to- it all just- happened and i-”
“you took a bullet for her.” your dad says, “it’s not your fault things turned out the way it did. i know why you did what you did, she told me everything.”
jungkook hangs his head low. despite the gentleness of your father, his embarrassment is greater. “i never did get to apologise to you for that…”
“i don’t blame you for any of it.” he says. “i know you protected her as well as you could. you did the right thing.”
jungkook stays quiet.
“did you think i would not approve of your relationship?” jungkook looks up sheepishly and your father hums in understanding. “you know it would take a lot more than me saying no for y/n to stop loving you right?”
jungkook looks up at him, nodding slowly.
“it’s been years. the perpetrators are gone. you’re safe, she’s safe. i don’t have any reason to keep her from being with you. and, she loves you a lot. why would i ever want to take away the person she loves most?”
jungkook smiles at that. “i love her too.”
“i know.” he nods. “you’ve taken good care of her in the last year. i’ve seen her lose her spark and have it return the moment you reappeared in her life. i only want her to be happy, and you make her happy. i hope you’ll continue to do that.”
“i can’t imagine a life without y/n in it.” jungkook says. “she’s everything to me, and she’s all that i have. she likes to say that i saved her life…but really, she’s saved mine.”
your father smiles warmly, and jungkook heaves out a relieved sigh. the conversation moves to a lighter subject, and neither of them notice when you walk down the steps, walking in on them laughing mid-conversation.
jungkook’s eyes light up at the sight of you.
“what’s this? no one thought to invite me?”
your dad laughs, “just warning him about that attitude of yours.”
“excuse me?” you turn, standing in front of them with your hands on your hips. “i don’t have an attitude.”
“oh yeah, no attitude.” jungkook hums. “just as stubborn as they come.”
you raise your brow at him.
“but also the prettiest, kindest, loveliest as they come.”
your dad laughs, and you nod affirmingly, bending at your knees in a curtsey. he watches as you squeeze right next to jungkook, hugging his arm against you. jungkook allows it, kissing your cheek.
“i’m gonna call it a night.” your dad says, excusing himself. “don’t stay up too late you two, we have a whole day ahead tomorrow. goodnight.”
“goodnight.” you two call out, watching him slip into the kitchen then up the stairs a minute later before his door closes upstairs.
you immediately climb onto jungkook, straddling him on the couch. “what were you two talking about?”
“i was right.” jungkook says solemnly, shaking his head. “he hates me. we’re gonna have to break up- ow!”
“seriously, what did he say?” you hiss, keeping your voice low.
jungkook snickers, holding on to your thighs as you sit on him. “he’s alright with us.”
you grin, chewing on your bottom lip. “i told you!”
“he also said you talk about me a lot,” you roll your eyes, leaning against him, “that you’re madly in love with me.”
“well, he’s not wrong about that.” you comment and he wraps his arms around you. “no one can tear us apart. not even santa.”
–
a pre-christmas clean was something jungkook had anticipated on your family’s schedule. two days before christmas, and the whole house was busy. grandma worked the kitchen, your cousins worked the living area, you were assigned the rooms and jungkook got to shovel the snow.
it didn’t take very long, mostly because the house is always kept tidy. after a quick vacuuming upstairs, some dusting and a little wipe down, you were done. you head outside to find jungkook peacefully shovelling the show from the sidewalk, humming as he goes. snow crunches under your boots as you walk up to him.
“can’t believe you got the easiest task.” you comment, huffing, and a cloud of vapour forms.
jungkook shrugs, smiling handsomely, not even able to deny it. your dad had already done a perfect job of tidying up the snow, and all jungkook had to do was remove the bulk that had built up over the last couple of days.
“this is favouritism.” you cross your arms.
“can’t help it if grandma loves me more than you.” he plants the head of the shovel in the snow and rests his arms on it.
“whatever,” you stick your tongue out, then eye your surroundings. “do you need any help?”
“i’m almost done actually.” he says and you nod.
jungkook shifts the last bit of snow into a pile at the base of the tree in front of your house, then holds the shovel by its handle as he slips his fingers into yours. you make your way to the back, heading for the shed.
“are you excited about christmas?” you ask, wiggling closer to him for warmth.
“yeah. presents in the morning, you said?”
jungkook opens the door to the shed and you follow behind, stepping into the little area your dad built for his gardening tools and other stuff. he even has a little desk for himself to work on crafts. you smile at the wood carvings he’s made and placed on a shelf above the desk.
“mhm, a nice, slow morning together as a family.” you say, “the party will be at night.”
jungkook has his back turned to you while he places the shovel back in its place. when he faces you, you study his face, tilting your head and he raises a brow in question. “is it all too much for you?”
jungkook smiles at your concern. “i’m fine.”
“we can always skip the party if you think you need a break.” you suggest and he leans in to kiss you, pulling you in by the waist.
“i’ll be okay, i think.” he says, “all that hosting during college is gonna come in handy.”
you laugh, cringing at the parties they used to have. it already feels like a lifetime ago. “you were barely there.”
“that’s cause i was always with you.” he says as a matter-of-factly, planting a kiss on the tip of your nose.
“true.” you smile, wrapping your arms around him. “there’ll be a bunch of old ladies instead of college girls, so i guess i have nothing to worry about?”
“i don’t know…” jungkook presses his lips together. “i’m quite the killer among older ladies.”
–
jungkook wakes up bright and early christmas morning. your aunt and cousin stayed over, prompting him to give up the guest room despite them saying they’d sleep in the same room as grandma. but jungkook was insistent, choosing to sleep on the couch instead. although, when the house went quiet, he snuck back upstairs to sleep with you.
“we don’t need to sneak around, everyone knows we live together.” you whisper, making room under the blanket.
he fake gasps. “i don’t want them to think we’re having s e x.”
you stare at him in the dark. “we’re literally old enough to do whatever we want.”
“stop talking about sex.”
“you started it!” you hiss, and he chuckles, running his palm over your face, forcing your eyes close.
the house is quiet and still, the air smells of peppermint and cookies. jungkook washes up, puts on his favourite sweater, and heads back to your room. you’re almost done yourself, smiling at him through the mirror.
“merry christmas.” he says, coming up behind you.
“merry christmas, my love.” you turn in his arms, reaching up for a kiss.
jungkook quite likes how your family spends christmas morning. the joy of christmas lingers in the air, but it’s slow and calm. perhaps it’s because everyone’s an adult, that there’s no rush to open presents, nor does it feel like a competition to see who’s got the better gift. despite that, jungkook starts sweating the moment he spots the gift he got your dad under the tree, while he digs into his breakfast.
a nice holiday movie plays on the television while you and seoyun sit by the tree, passing the gifts around. grandma starts handing everyone something she had personally knitted, gifting jungkook and you matching scarves and socks. though she doesn’t care much for gifts anymore, you both got her a vintage tea set which she gushed over.
everyone opens their presents at the same time, which made jungkook feel a little less burdened. he thinks he’s doing well as everyone opens gift after gift, getting into the rhythm of things, until he sees the package in your dad’s hand.
“ooh this is a big one,” your dad says to no one in particular. jungkook keeps his eyes on him as the wrapping paper is removed and your dad scans the box. he wastes no time and starts unboxing. “wow.”
“what’s that?” your aunt’s interest is piqued at the sight of the machine.
“i’ve only seen this online. this is amazing.” your dad starts gushing, paying special attention to the details of the system, fully engrossed.
“what is it though?” seoyun asks, raised brow.
jungkook clears his throat. “it um- basically lets you pour out wine without unscrewing the cork, and when you don’t remove the cork-”
“it preserves the wine.” your dad continues, eyes full of awe.
finally tearing his eyes away from the gift, he looks at the young man, “thank you, jungkook. this is…wow.”
jungkook’s heart swells, he could almost jump up and down himself. carefully placing his gift back in its box, he goes over to where your boyfriend is. jungkook jumps up from where he sat on the floor next to you, accepting a hug from your dad. “i figured you’d like it. y/n told me you have a wine collection.”
“i love it.” he shakes his head. “you’ll get the first sip of my finest wine tonight!”
jungkook chuckles, a tingling feeling bubbling inside of him. seoyun pokes her nosy head into the bag the box came in and realised your dad had missed something else in there. “there’s more!” she digs inside, and pulls out two, square sealed lp jackets.
“oh,” jungkook eagerly makes a grab for them, handing it to your dad. “these are yours too.”
the older man takes one look at the cover, recognising his favourite band, and gives jungkook a look. “this is all too much.”
“i couldnt really decide what to get you,” he admits, glancing down at you, “so i decided to give you both.”
he thanks you with his eyes, for suggesting he choose only two gifts for your dad out of the three he brought. you wink, feeling emotional as you watch the hopeful look on jungkook’s face, knowing how this had proved to be so pressurising for him. you watch as they bond over the gift, jungkook seemingly already forgetting how nervous he was before.
a little while later he joins you, and your dad disappears to put his new wine system in a safe spot. jungkook watches your family, albeit a small one, exchanging laughter and smiles. almost as if you were in a movie. the warmth that spreads through him feels new. you mindlessly hook your arm around him, leaning against his side as you yap away with seoyun.
“what did you get for jungkook?” seoyun asks, smiling at him.
she had raved about the jewellery set he got you, starting with a simple diamond necklace, its matching earrings to match the limited edition bracelet he gifted you for your birthday earlier in the year.
you almost refused to accept it, not even wanting to know how much he had spent on them, but he was adamant on getting you to wear it right then. “please? i don’t always get you nice jewellery.” he says, ignoring you when you brought up the bracelet.
“i got him this famous wireless tattoo gun machine thing,” you say, and jungkook pulls it out from under the scarf grandma gave him. “he’s been geeking about it for the whole year.”
“that’s why you stopped me from getting it the last time.” jungkook recalls, having already adding it to cart, but you caused a big fuss, telling him he has enough tools already, and that it would be a waste of money. “thank you baby.” he leans in to press a kiss on your cheek.
coming back into the room, your dad catches your eye, giving you a knowing smile. in his hand, he carries a small, neatly wrapped box. “jungkook.” he calls out, walking towards him.
jungkook gets to his feet and your dad grabs his hand, gently placing the box in his palm. “merry christmas.”
jungkook’s eyes go round and he tries not to show it, but from the way his hands are trembling, you can tell he’s excited. the room falls silent as he unwraps it, your dad, grandma, aunt, seoyun and you, focused on the gift. he does it delicately, like its too previous to even open.
when he does, he finds a velvet black box, a little bigger than his hand. his heart almost leaps out of his chest as he opens it. inside, the sight of his gift takes his breath away. jungkook recognises the matte black ceramic body of the watch, with its black dial and gold hour and minute markers. as if it isn’t beautiful enough, he spots an engraving on its side, with his name on it: jeon jungkook.
jungkook is speechless. it’s one of the most exquisite watches he’d ever seen. his lips part and close again, lost for words.
a card peeks out from the side.
“to jungkook:
it’s been a joy having you here this christmas. i can see why y/n loves you so, it’s hard not to! watching you and y/n together, and seeing just how well you fit right in with us, has truly been one of my favourite parts of this holiday. here’s to making more memories together.
welcome to the family.
love, dad.”
while the watch gets its five minutes of fame with the ladies, jungkook’s glossy eyes turn to your dad, immediately letting himself be held. a single tear falls down the corner of his eye, which he’s quick to wipe away. there’s so much he wants to say, but he holds it in.
around them, everyone starts moving. your aunt initiated a family photo, prompting seoyun to get the tripod, and everyone else trying to find their position.
jungkook pulls away from your dad, straightening himself out. without saying a word, your dad nods, giving him a squeeze on the arm.
your dad and grandma keep to the left, while you next to your dad, and jungkook on your other side. his sniffing gets your attention, and you notice the shine in his eyes, to which he shakes his head smiling. you graze your finger against his cheek, planting a quick kiss.
“ready!” seoyun clicks the button and runs to her spot in the front with her mother. the six of you huddle closer in front of the christmas tree, smiling brightly.
snap.
–
by the evening, the house was filled with guests, neighbours, some cousins and even old friends you haven’t seen in a long time. you had planned to stick with jungkook, just in case it all got too much for him, besides, he wouldn’t know anyone here.
but your dad had other plans, keeping jungkook by his side as he served some special wine to the guests. they took turns handling the wine system, it was adorable. of course, they drew a crowd around the table and everyone was enamoured with jungkook, especially the older ladies.
when the wine stopped, jungkook floated around, mingling with the guests. he puts on his best smile, getting stopped pretty often in his search for you among the crowd, eventually getting sucked into a conversation he planned on avoiding. some of your cousins were particularly interested, only having ever heard of your mysterious partner, who is real after all.
an hour passes, and the mingling finally brings him to you, jungkook sighs in relief at the sight of your face. “you. you were supposed to hold my hand throughout.”
“you looked like you were having a good time!” you reason, interlacing your fingers with his. “do you know how many people have come up to me just to ask about you?”
“sorry, it comes with being so handsome.” he cheeses and you punch him in the gut.
“oof.” jungkook rubs his middle. “keep that up and some sugar mommy will come and swoop me off my feet.”
with a roll of your eyes, you let him lift your chin with his finger, landing a soft kiss on your glossy lips. his hands wrap around your waist, and eyes your surroundings with a fake smile on his face. “how much longer will this go on for?” he asks through his fake smile.
“a little more.” you whisper. “one of my uncles will probably start bursting into a song, and everyone will join in…we’ll dance…and then the toasts.”
jungkook sighs. but not in a negative way. he looks down at you, and the new diamond necklace hanging around your neck. “as long as i’m with you, i’m enjoying myself.”
your cheeks heat up, hoping no one around you heard that. “i’m happy you’re here with me. it feels…complete.”
jungkook resists the urge to crash his lips into yours. one of your aunts tap you on your shoulder and he lets you catch up, though your hand never lets go, keeping him right next to you. jungkook barely hears what you’re saying, only focused on how beautiful you look tonight.
he looks around at everyone, taking in the atmosphere. the holidays have never felt so bright, so warm, so full of love. it finally feels like christmas.
–
the guests are gone and the house is clean and tidy again. the lights are down, and it’s quiet. grandma was the first to tap out, heading up to bed first while the rest of you chat over supper.
one by one, everyone heads off to wash up after the tiring evening. you’re already in bed when jungkook comes out of the shower, drying his hair with the towel. he watches the way you try to fight your sleep, but fails as your breaths start to even out. the space you leave for him remains empty. he switches off the lights, and quietly shuts the door, heading back down.
stepping into the kitchen, jungkook grabs a mug, before looking out the window to see your dad sitting out on the veranda out back, smoking a cigar. he gets a quick drink, and places the washed mug back in its place.
when the door to the veranda opens, your dad turns in surprise, breaking into a smile at the sight of jungkook. he gestures to the cigar. “want one?”
“oh no thanks.” jungkook waves him off. he finds a spot next to the pillar by the steps, crossing his arms from the cold. “thought you might like some company.”
“i’d love that.” your dad smiles.
“do you always spend time out here?”
“oh yeah,” he nods, “i like the quiet. the calm. after a long day it’s just nice to sort of…exist, don’t you think?”
it’s something jungkook could imagine you saying. “yeah, i get it. i like the night too.”
“i can tell. you’re always up.” your dad chuckles.
jungkook looks out into the dark, street lights in the distance giving a warm glow. he glances at your dad, sitting there peacefully. “thank you for the watch. and for welcoming me into your family.”
“don’t mention it.” he puts the cigar down. “i hope this hasn’t been too much for you. it is your first christmas since being back, right?”
the idea about discussing that part of his life with your dad still feels odd to him. jungkook clears his throat, “yeah.”
he hesitates a while longer.
“but even before that…it’s not like i celebrated the holidays in any way. i was just wasting my life away. no family. no christmas. i only ever felt that little bit of christmas spirit whenever y/n would come back to the city and bring me grandma’s cookies.”
your father nods, and the quiet takes over for a couple of minutes. jungkook hopes he hasn’t just crossed a line. “she told me what happened…with your family.”
jungkook falters, readjusting himself against the pillar and looks away, swallowing.
“i’m sorry you had to go through that.” he says solemnly. “it’s definitely not easy to lose a sibling that way, especially at that age. and your parents, well..”
“i’m over it.” jungkook says a little too quickly.
your dad decides not to push it. “you’ve gone through a lot jungkook,” he starts, “got lost somewhere along the way…but i’m glad you’ve managed to find your way back.”
jungkook smiles. “i couldn’t have done it without y/n. she believed in me when no one else did, supported me through everything.”
“she’s a special one indeed.” your dad says, nodding.
“she’s everything to me. she’s all i got.”
your dad gets up from his seat, slipping his hands in his pockets. “not anymore. you’re part of our family now, jungkook. you have us.”
family. jungkook bites his bottom lip when it starts to quiver. there’s something about your dad that makes him feel safe enough to show his vulnerability, though he’s still learning to let it all out. your dad steps closer, placing a gentle hand over his head, the gesture triggering a well of tears. “you dont have to fend for yourself anymore. you’re not alone anymore. you have us, lean on us. y/n, me, and grandma packs a mean punch too.”
jungkook chuckles, wiping the tears away as they stream down his cheeks. your dad pulls him in, letting his head rest against his shoulder. jungkook heaves out a heavy sigh as your dad rubs his back tenderly. “as far as i’m concerned, you’re my son now. and i love you.”
jungkook lets his tears fall, quietly choking up. your dad’s strong embrace melts his cool exterior, opening him up to a feeling he’s never felt before.
he feels…safe.
–
your luggage lingers by the door to your room, all packed and ready to go. the cats are in their carriers, napping before the journey. jungkook and you sit on the roof outside your bedroom window, something you used to do in the spring when the weather isn’t threatening hypothermia.
but jungkook persuaded you, dragging along a couple of blankets and some heat packs. you sit between his legs, letting him keep you warm while he packs on the layers of blankets over yourselves.
though you must admit, since the sun has decided to come out today, that it doesn’t feel as bad as you thought it would.
“thanks for a great christmas.” jungkook says.
“thanks for coming home with me.” you look up at him, head against his chest. “i’ve always imagined what it would be like when we spend christmas together. i’m so glad it’s finally happened. and you’ve finally met my family.”
“sorry it took me so long.” jungkook sighs, kissing your cheek. “you have a beautiful family. i think this is my favourite christmas ever.”
“you’re cute.” you giggle, pinching his cheek. “i hope we can spend more holidays together from now on.”
jungkook hums, seemingly lost in thought. he seems to do that a lot these days, you think.
“i was thinking…” jungkook starts, feeling his own heart skip. “maybe we should stay for the new year?”
you jolt upright, turning your body to face jungkook, surprise etched all over your face. “what?”
“we’ve been here for five days,” jungkook shrugs, “what’s a couple more?”
squealing, you wrap your arms around him, and he falls back on the hard tile. peppering kisses all over him, you let out the most adorable laugh he’s ever heard. “are you for real? we’re staying?”
jungkook laughs, nodding as he pushes himself back up. “i love your family, and i’d love it if we got to start the new year with them.”
you chuckle, tears welling up in your eyes and jungkook wipes them away with his sleeve. “i love you so much.”
“i love you too, baby.”
snow starts to fall as your lips meet in the middle, moving gently against the other. for the first time in his life, jungkook understands what it meant to have a happy holiday. for the first time in his life, he’ll start the new year with a family.
he’d once wished for a christmas miracle, the longing of a lost boy sent out into the universe one cold night. and now holding you in his arms, he realises that maybe his wish had finally come true.
