from someone who is not normal about him ☆ part two
✦ one shots
an abundance of mondays - ao3 (was on tumblr by diortae)
childhood best friends to lovers, college au, idiots to lovers, mutual pining, smut mdni
“Why the fuck would it be easy? You’re disgustingly in love with your best friend. Of course it’s complicated.” He pauses to roll his eyes, as if he hasn’t just laid out the most secret parts of you here in the middle of the campus dining hall.
Or, it’s an old cliche, falling in love with your best friend. It’s a shame none of the stories ever told you it would feel like this.
cold nights & blurred lines - ao3 (was on tumblr by awrkive)
college au, fwb, basketball player!jk, he’s a bit emotionally constipated it’s ok bc so is the reader, smut mdni
jungkook and you have been keeping a sexual relationship with each other for four months now, and it’s casual for the most part. but as time passes, you can’t help but feel that some of the lines suddenly got blurred in the process. is it a cliché to blur the lines with your fuck buddy? it definitely is. will you do something about it? both of your emotional constipation have a hard time saying yes.
there is also a drabble after the events of cn&bl
the wedding planners - @gukyi
enemies to lovers, wedding au, fluff, slight angst, smut mdni
jeon jungkook is three things: cocky, terrible, and your worst enemy. then your best friend hoseok gets engaged to the love of his life, and suddenly jeon jungkook is four things: cocky, terrible, your worst enemy, and the man you will be spending the next seven months with in order to plan your best friend's wedding.
and then, as if your life couldn't get any shittier, you make the poor decision of sleeping with him on the first day of the job.
forever hold your peace - @seokbite ⟢ my personal fav rn
infidelity au, bestman!jk x reader & fiancé!taehyung, kook is tae’s best friend, angst, physical violence, smut mdni
Forever was a long time to spend with someone you weren't in love with. Saying yes to Taehyung's proposal had been a mistake, one you didn't think you could walk away from in fear of destroying everything you've ever made for yourself. But, your heart laid with Jeon Jungkook, your grooms best man and best friend.
idealizations concerning real life relations - @venusiangguk
strangers to lovers, fuckboy!jk x hopeless romantic!reader, fwb, angst, smut mdni
jungkook loves to be loved, but he doesn't love in return.
something in the water - @vankoya
friends to lovers, camping au, mutual pining, slight crack au (tae funny as hellll) smut mdni
Sleeping in is a foreign concept to Kim Taehyung and his awkward,mismatched gang of pals. This is made all the more apparent when they rock up at ____'s doorstep at the ass crack of dawn, as if it is a natural time for any college student to be awake.
But when she is informed that it was the youngest of their group who insisted she join them on their spontaneous camping trip, she is suddenly not as reluctant to play along than when she was first awakened by her enigma of a best friend, slamming his fist against her front door.
chasing butterflies - @ddaenggtan ⟢ my favourite fic 4ever
idiots to lovers, college au, coffee shop au, weeb!jk x jock!reader, endless humour and anime jokes, mutual pining, losers in love.., smut mdni
you never meant to be a jock in school. the volleyball team had just needed people and you were there and then you had a knack for it. you just happened to be good at it and went with it. similar to how you saw jeon jungkook in your friend's orientation group and thought he was absolutely radiant and just went with it. for two years. you've spent the entire time pining from afar, mostly because you always seem to make a fool of yourself when he's around, but also because jungkook is part of that exclusive crowd, the ones that you never can seem to penetrate: the weebs. that is, until your friends get sick of your hopeless pining and decide to do something about it.
there is also a drabble after the events of cb
we can’t be friends - @taegularities ⟢ my fav author
exes au, college au, so much angst, smut mdni
Jungkook once planted a garden in your chest that he watered when he smiled and you killed when he left. But flowers withering isn't enough; that doesn't mend the ache. No - you want this entire story to die.
Or: If living on can't mend the pain of losing him, maybe forgetting him for good will.
mature - @jiminrings
friends to lovers, jealousy, fluff, kook kinda sucks sometimes but he gets a redemption arc
the good thing about professing your feelings to jungkook is that it'd be over with, whether or not he likes you back — the bad thing is that he rejects you, even if you haven't confessed.
alternatively, crushing on jungkook who's in your friend group is, has, and will never be a good idea.
divine feminine - @gimmethatagustd
fwb, college au, fluff, kook yaps about anatomy n then tries a hands on approach, smut mdni
No one can make you feel like a goddess better than Jeon Jungkook.
melomaniac - @jungkxook
friends to lovers, band au, punk!jk, mutual pining but it’s kinda forbidden, a tatted jk fantasy b4 it became reality, smut mdni
you're wholeheartedly, madly in love with jungkook and yet you shouldn't be because he's supposed to be your best friend and nothing more. worst part of it all is that you know he's in love with you too.
skirt chasers - @1kook
friends to lovers, college au, campus crush!kook ‼️ the end of this fic is my fav thing ever btw, kook has a thing for skirts, smut mdni
"Baggy clothes are in, but you wouldn't know that, Miss I Draw Inspiration From Catholic School Girls."
drabble list for sc 1 2 3 4 5 misc 1 misc 2
zipper - @taeshobipop ⟢ another fav author of mine
frenemies, college au, fratboy!jk, smut mdni
Jungkook isn't your date to the annual BTS gala, but he's the only one available to take you dress shopping. So when a zipper emergency arises in the boutique's tiny dressing room, who's there to help you?
the train of lost souls - @inktae
fantasy au, mentions of past death, angst, some fluff
The moment you step inside the train, you are given two options.
You can choose to live, to be given a second and a last chance in life, in exchange for your memories and your previous existence. You can choose to be alive again, but it can only be an entirely new life. Everyone you've ever crossed paths with would forget your name. All the pain and the love you knew, all the ups and downs that made you hurt and made you smile - all of it, completely gone.
Or you can choose to move on, to give your life away while keeping your memories until the end of time. To step out of the world of the living and to embrace a new kind of loneliness, but with the warmth of your past always safe between your cold hands.
politico - @hamsterclaw
politics au, smut mdni
Jungkook and you are staffers in the office of the Secretary of State. He's cut-throat, sneaky and goddamn it, everything you love about politics in one irresistible package. Ft Yoongi, Namjoon and Jimin.
i heard a rumour - @taeshobipop
friends to lovers, college au, campus crush!jk, mutual pining, smut mdni
One slip of a finger, and you realize you've liked an Insta photo of college hotshot Jeon Jungkook...from two years ago. You manage to unlike it within seconds, except it's too late - Damn Kim Namjoon and his lightning-fast eyes. Do not tell a soul, you hiss.
The man merely smirks. Next thing you know, a rumor is spread throughout campus. Y/n likes Jungkook...and now he knows.
morning rush - @atdawnsuga
strangers, college au, exhibitionism?, slight smut mdni
You develop a strange relationship with the boy you share your morning commute with.
You'd remember Jungkook with every life you lived. Only he'd never remember you, never recall how your fates were written in the stars since the beginning of time.
catharsis - @junghelioseok
college au, fwb, ft. jimin, smut mdni
no matter what kind of release you need, he's there.
how long will we fall - @jiminrings
friends to lovers, soulmate au, unrequited love, so much angst, kook is emotionally constipated
if it's fate, it should already be set onto your skin - that's why jungkook's initials are already on your finger. he's always there for you, but not only for you. if you're his fate, he'd rather not have it.
alternatively, jungkook's your soulmate, but he doesn't want to be.
all i want for cockmas - @junqkook
jk is a mall santa lmfao, crack fic, smut mdni
you tell santa exactly what you want for christmas.
✦ series/multi-shot
incoming: elite chatboy - @kookingtae
ongoing 5/?, sex chat worker!jk, text au, humour, smut mdni
welcome to Elite Chatroom, a sex chat company with a wide variety of services such as text messaging, phone call, and video chat. you signed up online for the most basic text service plan not knowing what to expect, but you certainly didn’t think you’d end up actually liking the man behind the screen.
read part one here
the turing test - @fortunexkookie
indefinite hiatus 7/?, still added it :( cuz it’s my fav, android au, android!jk x creator!reader, mutual pining, shared tension, angst, smut mdni
"The Turing Test, developed by Alan Turing in 1950, is a test of a machine's ability to exhibit intelligent behavior equivalent to, or indistinguishable from, that of a human."
Jungkook fiddled with your hands in his, humming softly, as if deep in thought. You noted the way his eyebrows had furrowed, the sweet way his lips formed a pout, and wondered what could possibly be troubling him so much. What had he learned today?
"Creator," he began, dragging his gaze up to meet your own, "you gave me a mind that thinks, hands that feel, and a heart that beats, but did you give me a soul?"
read part one here
falling skies - @fortunexkookie
completed 6/6 enemies to friends to lovers, childhood friends au, slow burn, major angst, fluff, smut mdni
Jeon Jiyeon was your childhood best friend; her twin, Jungkook, was something else entirely.
prologue
you can also read part one here
killah - @citrustan
ongoing 9/?, strangers to lovers? maybe, infidelity au, managing partner lawyer!jk x spoilt brat! reader, angst, smut mdni
you wanted jeon jungkook the moment you laid eyes on him and the fact that he had a girlfriend wasn't going to stop you.
You and Jungkook have been friends since diapers, and one day you decide to hook up for the fun of it, but then you end up pregnant with your best friend's baby. Chaos ensues.
series masterlist can be found here
cowabunga, baby! - @jungshookz
completed 2/2, lifeguard!jk, kook surfs as well he’s rlly hot, crack fic, fluff, slight smut mdni
you'd blow his whistle any day - if only you weren't such a wimp.
part 1 2
to build a home - @soft4gguk
ongoing/author hiatus 16/? strangers to lovers, ceo dilf!jk x nanny!reader, angst, kook becomes a single parent, fluff, slow burn-ish, smut mdni
at twenty-eight, jungkook sees himself go from a family of three, to one of two - heartbreak never comes easy, but nothing could've prepared him for being a single parent as a result of Ira walking out on him. pain brings chaos and he's in need of help. it's only fateful that you so happen to be a blessing in disguise... in many ways than one.
series masterlist can be found here
colour me in - @taegularities
ongoing 15/? fake dating, fwb, college au, fuckboy!jk, this fic is the best thing to ever happen to me btw, misunderstandings, fluff, angst, smut mdni
Jungkook's door only opens for you when there's a barter: a trade of lust and haze. But today you knock for something more, as intriguing as it is frightening - and you hope it doesn't close his door forever.
series masterlist can be found here
please make sure to support the authors who’ve been tagged <3 and by all means, please lmk if you’d like your fic removed.
this hasn’t even scratched the surface of all the jk fics i’ve read over the years, in fact i’ve got 10 years of reblogs & likes on this tumblr from the beginning of my bts era til now..
might make another one later, this took me 3 hours
synopsis: packed and ready to go for your best friend’s destination wedding in italy? check. hot, broody senior manager jeon jeongguk as the groom’s best man? nothing could’ve prepared you for that. alternatively, what happens in italy, stays in italy … right?
pairing: sr. manager!jeongguk x fem colleague!reader
wc: 15.6k
genre: forbidden love, coworkers au, smut, angst
cw: slice of life, age gap (jk 37, oc 22), cold jk (#TroubledMen), hopeless romantic oc, grief, negative family dynamics, side character death, corporate lingo, light fluff, rich privilege, yearning, one sided grudge, oc gets harassed, hurt with some comfort, 18+ ONLY, porn with lots of plot, sexual tension, fingering, oral (f receiving), unprotected sex, creampie, slight overstimulation, multiple orgasms, riding, missionary
a/n: pls go wish my queen n goat of dilf jk @lovieku the happiest bday! this was written as a gift to her <3 SHE DESERVES THE WORLD AND SO MUCH MORE
Auntie Lin’s only piece of advice after you announced your acceptance of your first corporate job: Small talk is your best friend. The advice hadn’t registered in your mind until you facilitated a meeting with executive management where the first five minutes of silent judgement nearly made you quit the job until you asked, “Any weekend plans?”
You learned the power of small talk and how obsessed executive leaders were when it came to bragging about their personal lives outside the office. The advice worked so well, management gave you an unprompted promotion two weeks later.
Nothing wrong with being the personality hire if it helps you climb the corporate ladder.
Okay, well, no, you had history with this company.
Your father’s connection with the talent acquisition management landed you an internship at this very company right out of high school, so you didn’t need to reestablish your rapport after graduating from university.
You’re still a hard worker. Yes … objectively speaking, nepotism played a part in your current successes — you don’t shy away from that fact.
Your charming and curious personality only got you so far, but the magic always stopped with one person.
Jeon Jeongguk.
Hard case to crack and even harder to not stare at when he’s within your vicinity.
He’s polished, well-spoken, and … let’s just say there are things you shouldn’t say or think about in a place of work, let alone towards someone in the senior management team. He hardly smiles and if he does, it’s never towards you.
Right now? You think the least Jeongguk could do is crack a smile at your joke to break the tension in the virtual meeting. No one liked hearing bad news and you became the bearer of bad news as you explained to the client why a deliverable will not be made by the proposed timeline.
Delivering bad news was a manager’s job and unfortunately, your manager entrusted you with this responsibility right before she left for maternity leave, raving about how it’ll build your leadership and communication skills … right, right.
Jeongguk was the other leader overseeing the project. His team met all the deliverables, so there was no real need for his attendance other than pure formalities.
This was your chance to show him what you were capable of.
“Mr. Choi, we apologize for not making the deadline. With half the team on leave, the estimated completion date will need to be extended as a result.” You explain.
Jeongguk sits and watches you exchange words with the client. The mic button remained on mute during the many moments you would’ve benefited from his direction or support. You didn’t think you’d have to go through a humiliation ritual the day before your big trip for your best friend’s wedding in Italy. It’s your turn to have your mic button on mute as you let the client chew you out in front of your peers.
“Mr. Choi.” Jeongguk interrupts.
Thank god, finally.
“The deliverables will be completed by the original proposed due date. I will personally see through that.”
You exhale in relief once the client settles back into their chair, demeanor shifting from their outburst moments ago.
You [3:32 p.m.]: Thank you, Jeongguk.
As expected, he doesn’t reply.
The meeting wraps up on a positive note thanks to Jeongguk’s interception. Everyone bids each other farewell until you hear a call of your name.
“Stay on the call. Need to discuss a few things with you.”
Confused, you aren’t sure why he doesn’t ask you to walk ten steps to his office to chat privately. You swallow and one by one, all of your colleagues leave the meeting until it’s just you and him.
He sighs, letting his agitation come out freely now. He loosens his tie and fixes his frames on his nose.
“So …” you begin.
“Do you know what your first mistake was on that call?” He sneers, a complete one-eighty from the well-mannered speaker he was during the meeting.
“I’m–uh, not sure.” You reply honestly.
“‘We apologize,’” he repeats your words, “there is no ‘we’ in this — you were the one that didn’t meet the service level agreement. Learn to take accountability for your own shortcomings.”
Ouch.
He continues, “You also failed to offer any alternatives or incentive for the delay. This is about being reputable — customer experience dictates future collaborations with new clients. If this one goes sour, we lose our clientele.”
Each word morphed into daggers piercing and digging into your self-esteem.
The finishing blow?
“That being said, you will finish what we originally promised the client.”
“But,” your heart drops at the mention of working during your time off, “I’m not going to be in the country.”
“I’m sure there’s internet wherever you’re going.”
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“And then! He said I’m paid salary, not hourly, so it doesn’t matter how long I need to work — I just need to get it done.” You complain to your colleague, Mina, who happened to work under Jeongguk’s section.
“Oof, sorry girl.” She pours the coffee into her cup, unsurprised by her boss’ expectations. Setting the pot back onto the warmer, she leans against the counter. It’s just the two of you in the breakroom, free from prying eyes and ears. “So what are you gonna do?”
You groan. As much as you’d like to ramble and moan about how unreasonable Jeongguk’s demands were, you knew he was right about needing to take accountability.
“Well, if I push in some work in the early morning and night the first couple of days in Italy, I should be able to get it done.” You sigh. “Just hate it.”
Mina pats your shoulder and gives you a reassuring smile, which soon changes into a bewildered expression as she digs her fingers into your shoulder.
“Oh, hey bossman, here for a coffee refill?” Mina’s voice strains, projected to the space behind you.
You turn and there stands Jeon Jeongguk in all his glory. While you had the privilege to see him earlier today during the virtual meeting, nothing compared to the real deal. Dressed in an all-black suit, Jeongguk looks ever immaculate. His face is free from his metal-framed glasses, but they leave their small indentations on the sides of his nose. The deadliest combo came in the form of his hair pushed back, exposing his wrinkle-free forehead.
If it weren’t for his wired earphones and outdated iPod you caught him with during his walk, you would’ve never guessed his age. Technically, you still don’t know the exact number but Anna in Human Resources hinted he’s in his mid to late thirties.
Whatever. Age is just a number and hasn’t stopped you from trying to befriend the older man.
“Yes, my third one today.” He muses.
“Anything the team and I can do to help wrap up things for you before your vacation?” Mina probes.
Wait. You never caught wind of that.
“No,” he shakes his head, “thank you, though.”
Your heart stirs at the low timbre of his chuckle, surprised at his abilities in displaying any other emotions outside his stoic expression. You theorize it comes easier with an established rapport.
Maybe you’ll try your luck today.
“How long are you going to be out for?” You ask, moving to the side so he has better access to the coffee pot. His scent naturally fills your space — a mixture of fresh laundry and cedarwood.
“Two weeks.”
“Oh, same here!” You beam.
“Yes, you’ve mentioned that quite a bit this month.”
You warm in embarrassment; though, the feelings get swept underneath the rug at another fact.
He listened — more importantly, he remembered your many musings.
“I’m going to Italy.” You remark, hoping he’d give a little more detail on his own vacation if you shared a bit about your upcoming adventures.
Jeongguk freezes momentarily and clears his throat before setting down the nearly empty pot.
“That’s nice.”
Seizing the moment to continue the conversation, you throw out details of your trip, namely for the wedding you’ll attend as maid of honor for your best friend.
“And they’re going to have this lovely venue near the beach. It’s going to be great.” You marvel.
“Ugh, I’m jealous,” Mina pouts. “Are you going to be doing something fun during your time off, Jeongguk?”
You watch him with expectant eyes.
“Tending some family matters.”
That’s corporate lingo for: it’s personal, so none of your business. Everyone knows to back off on the topic at that point.
Taking a sip of his coffee after mixing a pack of Splenda, he offers a tight-lipped smile, “I have to head back to the desk. Enjoy your break.”
Alone with Mina once again, you look at her with defeated eyes.
“He’s just introverted and private, babe. I wouldn’t sweat it.” She waves.
“I’ve been here for over a year and he’s never like this to management or clients.” You sigh. “Maybe I’m the problem.”
It’s hard to not take things to heart being a natural born people pleaser. You want to be liked and if you’re not, at least know why; except, Jeongguk kept things strictly work related with all the little pocket of interactions you’ve had with him.
If you were brave enough, you’d ask him about it over coffee or lunch — anywhere that might give you a glimpse of who he is outside of work.
“Don’t mind him. In about twenty-four hours, you’ll be in Italy! Last time you updated, the best man was a little wishy-washy about the wedding? How’s that going?”
“Jihyo said Seojun got it sorted out, so they’re okay.” All you know from the matter is how much of a struggle it was to get a definite answer from his best man. Prick move and unnecessary stress for the wedding party. Had you been in Seojun’s position, you would’ve cut losses and moved forward without the best man early on.
Planning a wedding was difficult enough, let alone dealing with difficult people in the wedding party. You pray he steps into his role as the best man to lessen the to-be-wedded couple’s worries.
“Good. Wedding drama’s the worst.” Mina nods. “Still haven’t recovered from finding out my cousin’s husband was fucking his cousin.”
The gossip session goes for another fifteen minutes until you begrudgingly head back to finish up some last minute tasks. You weren’t going to be that coworker who leaves a bunch of unfinished work for your backup.
Another thing you didn’t want to be was like your father, but you’re no different by the time you finish your pending tasks at 9:52 p.m. You do a quick once-over your automatic out-of-office notice and send out a list of items for your backup to look after before stuffing all your belongings into your workbag.
Going home was always your favorite time of the day, granting you the chance to walk past Jeongguk’s office. Even from where you’re standing, the lights in his office are the only ones still on out of all the managers on the floor.
His door remains slightly ajar throughout the day aside from the times he’s on a call or speaking to one of his employees. An ‘open door policy,’ Mina explained. Wants the folks on his team comfortable coming to him with their needs or questions.
You didn’t need anything, per se. There were plenty of questions floating in your head, but none that would qualify as work-related or professional. Things like … where are you going for vacation? Would you like to grab dinner together? … Are you seeing anyone?
Your short almond shaped nails tap on his metal name plaque outside his office.
He looks up from his computer, the monitor’s brightness setting doing little to hide his exhausted stare. One brow raised, he cocks his head to the side.
“Come in.”
You take in your surroundings: a shelf containing all his Employee of the Year awards, empty “In” bin as opposed to a stacked “Out” bin, and half-finished cup of coffee. Above all, no pictures of his family or signs of life outside of work.
A stark contrast in comparison to your cubicle full of small trinkets, pictures of your loved ones, and cards you’ve received from both your coworkers and clients.
“Just wanted to say goodnight and thank you again for joining the meeting.” You say. “I followed up with the client with your recommendations and they’re happy with the timeline.”
He nods. “I’m glad it worked out.”
“Well,” You rock on your heels, not wanting to leave just yet, “I’ll see you in two weeks. Hope you have a nice time off, Jeongguk.”
He leans back into his deskchair, glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose as he studies your face. His black dress shirt stretches and expands tightly at a passing thought; at the last second, he makes his resolve in foregoing the notion for simpler words.
“Likewise. Safe travels to Italy.”
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Despite the two layovers and many near-death turbulences later, you arrive in Venice, Italy in one piece. Your best friend, Jihyo, was the first person you see at the gates, smile lighting up the building when she finally spots you through the crowds. These days, she glows more with her soon-to-be husband, Seojun.
You’ve met him only a handful of times and he’s always been kind. You don’t know him well enough, but as long as your friend was happy, so were you.
Which is why she’s going all out for her wedding — it’s her chance to do what she wants with those who care for her. Jihyo’s parents unfortunately did not extend their support and care. They were so against the idea of her marrying a person of no status, her father threatened to cut off all ties and funds if she were to go through with marrying Seojun.
“My favorite person is finally here!” She squeezes you in her arms. “How was the flight? Are you hungry? We can go get a quick bite.”
“Jihyo, love, slow down,” Seojun comes from behind and offers you a kind greeting. “You must be exhausted. We can head back to the hotel. Just waiting for my uncle to clear customs.”
“Oh! Do you know when he landed?” You ask.
“I think he was on the same flight as you, so he should be out soon.” He pulls out his phone to answer a quick text before scanning the area.
“Think that’s him.” He squints. “Uncle, over here!” He extends his arm above his head.
You expected a fifty year old balding man, not senior manager, Jeon Jeongguk.
Fuck.
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You didn’t think you’d ever ride in the same car as one of your managers, especially one you had a dire crush on. You definitely didn’t think you’d be seated in the back of a rental car with him in Italy for your best friend’s wedding.
This whole scenario has to be straight out a romcom … or, in your case, a horror film.
You open up the notes app in your phone and type out a quick message: Do we tell them we know each other?
What you really wanted to ask was: Why the hell didn’t you say anything about this being the “family matter” you had to take care of?
He takes your phone from your hand and begins typing something before handing it back to you. Nothing from your original note was edited, but a second later a notification comes through.
Jeongguk [4:56 p.m.]: No. Too complicated.
You [4:56 p.m.]: Okay..
“Uncle.” Seojun looks at the rear mirror. “How’s work been?”
“Busy,” he sighs. “But it’s been getting better.”
“I’m glad. Hope these two weeks will give you the break you need. You didn’t bring your work laptop, right?” He presses.
Kind of cute seeing the younger male lecture his uncle — cuter seeing Jeongguk grumble at his nephew’s nagging.
“No promises.”
“Speaking of work,” Jihyo chimes in, “How you coping with work?” She turns her entire body from the passenger seat to look at you.
The passengers in the car go silent for your reply, feeling Jeongguk’s shift from the work status inquiry.
“Fine.” You answer quickly.
“Really? That one manager didn’t give you more shit right–”
“Jihyo!” You interrupt, quickly covering up with an awkward laugh and stiff smile, “ Ha-ha … no, it’s been great!”
“Wha–? But you were venting about having to work during the trip … Honestly, that manager’s lucky he’s hot.”
“Ji–”
“Hot?” Jeongguk asks with a raised brow. There’s a lift in his voice, forcing you to bury and shrink deeper into your seat.
“Allegedly.” Jihyo replies mindlessly. Oblivious to your discomfort of the topic, Jihyo continues, “You still gotta sneak a picture of him when you can, babe. I need to see if his pretty privileges warrant this sort of power trip.”
You’ve heard summers in Italy were magical. You wish for some of that magic to touch you right now — the kind good enough to make you disappear all together from this awkward conversation.
“Huh.” Jeongguk props his elbow by the car’s window ledge, palm covering his mouth. “I’m curious too.”
Jihyo changes the topic to the itinerary she made for the wedding party; however, you couldn’t be bothered to tune into the details. Knowing Jihyo, she’ll eventually send the party a spreadsheet of the schedule.
You [5:02 p.m.]: Please ignore Jihyo 🥹
Your heart accelerates at the appearance of the infamous dots signaling Jeongguk’s reply in the making.
Jeongguk [5:03 p.m.]: I’ll try. Power trips make it insanely hard to.
You chew on your bottom lip out of habit, feeling the sweat gather behind your neck. Hand fanning your face, you glance over and notice a slight shake in Jeongguk’s stature. He’s still facing away from you and towards the window, but from the reflection, you can see the corners of his mouth lift.
Endorphins rush through your bloodstream at the thought of making him happy.
While chasing your happiness has always been your life motto, you wouldn’t mind chasing for Jeongguk’s happiness too.
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On Jihyo’s itinerary, she deliberately left Venice off from the rest of the wedding party arriving later at the actual wedding site. The next two days were solely meant to spend more time with the maid of honor and best man.
The first day in Venice naturally got cut short with your arrival time; so, the only thing Jihyo planned was a nice dinner after you and Jeongguk settled into your respective rooms. Dinner rolls by with just you, Jihyo, and Seojun perusing the menu for the umpteenth time. The seat, meant for Jeongguk, remains cold and empty. After about thirty minutes and a couple text messages, Seojun confirms with the waiter to remove the utensils and plate — something about his uncle not feeling well.
“Okay, but he’ll be at dinner tomorrow, right?” Jihyo frowns, eyes full of worry.
“Yes, love.” He smiles. “Just old man tendencies and jetlag got the best of him. He’ll be there tomorrow.”
Back at the hotel, you had half a mind to check in on him and just as you built up the courage to knock, the door swings open to reveal a Jeongguk you’ve yet to ever witness: dark grey compression shirt with five-inch inseam shorts. He has his wired earphones in and looks well rested, contrary to what Seojun mentioned at dinner about two hours ago.
“Oh, are you feeling better?” You ask, hand retracted and tucked behind your back.
His brows twitch, fingers removing one of the buds out his ear. “Sorry?”
“Seojun mentioned you weren’t feeling well. Are you better now?”
“Yep.” He answers.
Awkward.
“Where you headed to? It’s late.” You rock on your heels, afraid you might’ve overstepped with your light interrogation.
“Saw a small running trail nearby, just wanna get some movement in.”
“Would you like—”
“Well, goodnight.” He places the earpiece back in and walks off, the scent of his fresh linen deodorant trails along with him.
“—company?” The end of your sentence comes out in a tiny whisper, the question dying on the tip of your tongue as his figure disappears in the distance.
It was going to be a long two weeks, but you’re optimistic for a chance to change the tides with Jeongguk. Maybe even get to know him a little better or collect more versions of who he may be outside of work before this trip ends.
Arms linked with Jihyo, you walk down the small alleyways of Venice the next day, marveling at the tiny trinkets on display. Seojun and Jeongguk were always a couple steps behind, mainly taking note of the repeating gelato flavors at each stand. Your ears perk when Jeongguk chuckles at Seojun’s excitement of finally finding a stall with a new flavor. His laugh rings deep and rich, something you’re rarely afforded at the workplace.
You hold up two carnival masks to your face. “Which one suits me better?” You preferred the pink one in your left hand, but the green in your right hand spoke to you as well.
“Mm, you know I’ll always favor pink, but is there room in your suitcase?” Jihyo inquires.
Well, no, but you could always buy another suitcase.
“All going to end up as clutter once you’re home.” Jeongguk mutters to himself, eyeing the other trinkets on the shelf.
Whether or not it was directed at you, you put the mask back with the rest. The shop owner smiles, a little dejected at the missed sale, but with the numerous tourists filtering through the alley, he’s bound to make his daily quota by closing time.
The rest of the day is spent on trying new food — your favorite being the bruschetta flight near the waters. Again, Jeongguk and Seojun were always a couple steps behind, chatting about god knows what while you and Jihyo swap gelatos between every two or so licks. Venice was packed — mainly with tourists, but in a specific alleyway you all decided to turn into held a different kind of danger.
Pigeons. Lots of them.
One could argue Venice might be the motherland to birds; you’re not in any position to disagree as you cower between the birds staring down at your group from the railings. They swarm around your feet, begging for whatever you’d offer or accidentally drop.
Lucky for you, a shop owner comes and throws out bits of their baguettes. All the pigeons flock over in pursuit of their (probable) tenth snack for the day. You breathe a sigh of relief for the small deterrence, walking quicker to escape from the flock.
“Phew, thought we were goners back there.” Jihyo jokes, looking back at the boys.
At the last second, a seagull swoops in and takes the unfinished gelato right from your hand. You let out a blood curdling scream, hand immediately letting go of the cone. You grab Jihyo by the shoulder and chant for the birds to take her as an offering instead.
Everyone within the vicinity laughed, some tourists offered a sympathetic smile and asked if you were okay. Among the laughter, Jeongguk’s chuckle echoes loudest in your head. It had never been your goal to become the group’s court jester, but you wouldn’t mind making it your life’s sole purpose for this version of him.
Seojun checks his watch. “Jihyo, baby, we still have five more hours to kill before our flight over to Sicily. Should we head back to the hotel? Uncle said he’s tired—”
Smile wiped off his handsome face, Jeongguk nudges the young man in the arm. “Don’t use me as a scapegoat.”
You never realized how much the two men resembled each other, catching you off guard when Jeongguk hooks his arm around Seojun’s neck, and rubs his knuckles over his nephew’s head. Their laughter comes out the same, pairing well with their toothy grins.
“We only have one last item on the itinerary.” Jihyo says, a fond smile at the sight of her happy fiance. “I wanted to do a little gondola ride.”
Most tourists seized the golden hour for their boat ride too, which sent you and your group on a hunt for an unoccupied gondola, eventually finding two docked boats on the opposite entrance of Venice.
“I’ll pass.” Jeongguk says with a hand up.
Jihyo pouts, pointing in your direction. “But she’d be all alone.”
“Oh, um, I don’t mind staying behind.” You smile, doing your best to not sound disappointed at the lost experience. “Can always ride a boat at home.”
“But Miss, when will you ride a gondola in Venice while the sun is setting?” One of the gondoliers pitches.
“He’s right.” Jihyo nods. “Please, Jeongguk?”
He’d rather not waste money on a tourist trap … one look at Jihyo’s pleading eyes in combination with his nephew’s displeased stare has him folding on the spot.
Defeated, he sighs, “Fine.”
Jihyo cheers, skipping over to the first boat lined up where Seojun waits patiently with a hand out for her.
Their boat rows off first and five minutes later, it was yours and Jeongguk’s turn to step into the gondola. He holds out his hand to steady your step, boat wobbling as you plant your first foot down. His hold lingers a little longer even when you’ve successfully made it into the boat. Eyes peering up at Jeongguk’s tall stature, your body heats up under his watchful gaze.
“Steady now?”
“Yes.” You chirp.
“Good.” He lowers you both carefully onto the small seats. Once secured, the gondolier begins his descent through the canals.
Naturally, you strike up a conversation with the gondolier, asking how many rides he averages a day to which he politely answers, ‘too many to count.’ The conversation goes on for another five minutes until Jeongguk sighs, a subtle signal for you to stop and take in your surroundings instead.
Despite the on and off whiffs of the decade old sewage lines rooted in the city, the ride descends to the narrower alleyways one would miss on foot. Water levels rising, the gondolier signals you both to duck at an approaching bridge. You hadn’t realized you didn’t duck low enough until you feel Jeongguk’s warm palm at the base of your head, urging you lower.
His hand rests there until it’s time for you both to lift your heads up again. So warm and thoughtful, unlike how he’s been treating you at work.
You might explode at the silence, finding the need to address the elephant in the room. What were the odds you’d be alone with Jeongguk again? What are the odds you’d be riding on a gondola in Venice, Italy with Jeongguk?
“Do you hate me?” You blurt out, immediately embarrassed at your sudden forwardness. The gondolier peers from the side and looks forward again, slowing his rowing motion with his oar.
Jeongguk’s brows furrow, lips pressed into a thin line. “I don’t hate you.”
“It seems like you do. You always are just so …”
“So …?” He trails along.
“Mean.” You frown. Feeling more foolish for your lack of proper vocabulary words for such a serious confrontation, you do your best to explain. “You seem to get along with everyone else at work and even here. You’re nice to everyone but me.”
He stares straight ahead, tongue probing against his cheek. He doesn’t respond right away and you deflate at your wasted effort in an attempt to understand Jeongguk beyond the cubicle. You only hear the waters splashing against the gondola as the oar steers you both to another quieter route.
If Jeongguk didn’t hate you before, he probably does right now. So evident in his silence and unwillingness to discuss this topic, you wonder to yourself … were older generations this bad with expressing their emotions and thoughts? Your father was a great example, and while you don’t want to generalize an entire generation, Jeongguk drives a hard bargain.
“How’d you get into Cientra Corporations?” The question rolls out of Jeongguk with no hint of curiosity.
What did your place of work have anything to do with his alleged animosity?
“I applied for an opening.” You answer.
His chuckles, full of mock and taunt. “When?”
You frown, a little taken aback by the conversation now turned into an interrogation.
“I think a month before my graduation?” Your stomach churns from the unpredictability of his next words.
“Right, of course.” Jeongguk looks to the side, eyes tracing the water stains on the old brick buildings.
“I’ve had plenty of internships during undergrad and I graduated early with honors.” His demeanor only makes you overexplain your qualifications. “My recruitment was done through a fair hiring process.”
“The position was not in the budget.” He rolls his eyes, his crossed arms accentuates his muscular build. If you were more shameless, you’d let your eyes linger at his chest for a little longer despite how his next words batters your pride. “Freshly graduated with little to no experience landing a mid-entry position?”
You’re not ashamed to admit you had a foot in thanks to your connections. Of course, you were unaware a position had been created just for you, but to insinuate you didn’t deserve your place … now, that was not something you’d take lightly.
“I’ve worked hard with all the opportunities—”
“As one should.” He interrupts. “But all your ‘opportunities’ only became yours because they were taken away from someone else. There were at least ten other highly qualified applicants in the candidate pool.”
You open your mouth, but Jeongguk beats you to it, “One summer internship at Cientra wouldn’t have gotten anyone else into the company.”
Now that shatters you. You had really thought you stood out in the pool considering you had previously applied and interned for the same company. Now you’re rethinking whether you’ve also gotten the job purely from connections.
Fighting through your imposter syndrome, you stand your ground. “At the end of the day, I was chosen and I take my job seriously. I can’t change what’s already set in stone.”
“That’s your privilege speaking.” He leans against the backrest. “I’ll only repeat this once: I don’t hate you.” Extremely hard to believe after your self esteem’s been kicked to the curb.
And despite the sour mood, you still try to salvage what you can. “Okay,” You breathe, “Regardless of how you feel about me, can we get along for the sake of the wedding?”
“Of course.” He rolls his shoulders, discomfort clear from the small chair setup. “Trying to make this wedding as seamless and pain-free as possible.”
You piece his aversion to the wedding now. The last minute confirmation of his attendance and lack of enthusiasm for the trip’s activities … it all checks. The gondolier rounds to the ride’s starting point and docks the boat where you and Jeongguk need to quickly alter your attitude in front of the unsuspecting couple.
Jeongguk stays behind to tip the gondolier, murmuring his apologies for the tense ride. From a distance, you overhear the gondolier snort, saying something on the lines of how he should be tipping Jeongguk for the soap opera level conversation.
Your act works — neither Jihyo nor Seojun suspected any shift in moods because Jihyo was too busy begging for another cannoli and, of course, Seojun being the exceptional fiance he is, advised you guys to return to the hotel first to prepare for the flight while he ran to the specific stall Jihyo requested for.
“Uncle, you go on ahead with the girls.”
Jeongguk shakes his head. “I’ll come with you.”
On the train ride back to the hotel, Jihyo lays her head on your shoulder. “I think Uncle Jeongguk hates me.”
That makes the two of you.
She continues, “I know this wedding was rushed, but I thought he’d warm up to the idea of us by now.”
Very out of character for Jihyo to sulk over the minute things in life. You’re not one to talk, knowing firsthand what it’s like to wish for someone’s approval.
“Hey … it’s been less than two days. And who cares what he thinks? You and Seojun are in this for life.”
“I know, I know. Seojun just adores his uncle, you know? That’s his only family.” Jihyo frowns. Unlike him, she’s grown up in a big and affluent family her entire life — well, now cut in half since her choice to marry Seojun, a man of no title or status. She can bear the disdain from her own family, but she doesn’t want Seojun to lose his one and only family member over their choices.
“I was thinking,” Jihyo begins, suddenly sitting upright with determined eyes. “You know, you’re always so fun and great with people … could you maybe get to know Uncle Jeongguk and put in a good word for me? Just until the time of the wedding at least.”
You’ve never seen her this desperate. You ponder back to the conversation on the gondola and if there were little to no chance of making things right with Jeongguk yourself, how were you going to do it for Jihyo?
You’re no better than Seojun and eventually give into her plea.
“Okay.” You smile, arms embracing her.
All checked out of the Venice hotel, your party makes it through the airport’s security checkpoint just in time for the flight to the actual wedding destination: Sicily.
Italy is magical and Sicily proved every part of that belief even in the cab ride over to the rental property. Windows down, you let the warm breeze run through your locks, uncaring if the sea salted air clung onto your hair and skin. The tips of your hair unknowingly float over and graze Jeongguk’s arms, marking and reminding him of your presence whether or not he welcomed it.
Jihyo really went all out and booked the dreamiest villa. The villa had everything: a fifteen minute walk to the wedding venue, close to local shops and restaurants, and here’s your favorite: the beach. It’s perfect … almost as perfect as the living situation Jihyo had planned out. No brainer, she and Seojun would get the main house while you and Jeongguk would occupy the cottage a couple steps away.
“Dinner in fifteen minutes? I have a reservation with the restaurant down the street.” Jihyo shrugs her duffle bag higher on her shoulders to which Seojun immediately takes after he unloaded all the other suitcases from the trunk.
“Isn’t it a little late for dinner?” Jeongguk reads his watch.
“Customary to eat later in Italy.” Jihyo smiles.
Jeongguk checked off all the body cues to decline. His resolve crumbles yet again from another one of Seojun’s stares, ultimately agreeing to dinner after settling in.
The first thing you and Jeongguk noticed upon entering the cottage was the stuffy and warm air from the windows being closed for too long. No matter how hard you push and yank the panes, the windows just wouldn’t budge. With a sigh, a strong source of heat presses against your backside.
The scent of fresh linen only welcomes you after laundry day and whenever you’ve switched out your bedsheets. Your mind wanders around scenarios of being welcomed by this exact scent and warmth in bed, sheets needing to be constantly changed afterwards.
Fuck.
Jeongguk’s fingers pull at the knobs above the window sill. Using way less force and energy, the window cracks open with ease and the crisp crash of waves in the distance meets your ears. Nothing was louder than the beating in your chest — must’ve been your imagination when you thought Jeongguk stayed a beat longer behind, breath sucked in from the proximity.
You replay the scenario in your head even at the dinner table.
The times you’ve looked up from your plate, you’ve unconsciously caught Jeongguk staring in your direction too. He looks away, suddenly mesmerized by the shoreline. His attention pulls at some clapping in the background, waiters and waitresses nearing your section of the restaurant. Your smile widens as they circle your table, confused but pleased by the grand gesture.
Setting a small cake down on the table and resuming their singing, you peer over at the frosted words: Happy 37th Birthday, Jeongguk!
Jeongguk keeps his smile at a sensible level, not wanting to show too much excitement.
After the employees leave, Seojun beams, “Jihyo arranged this. Nice, huh?” He has his arm around her shoulder.
“Yes, very. Thank you, Jihyo.” Jeongguk smiles, warm and sincere.
Bellies full, you all walk back to the property. Everything seems to fall into its natural place. Jeongguk lets you shower first and because you’re self conscious of taking too much time, you cut your usual routine by half. You’re seated at the same window sill again, watching the shoreline.
The lights in the room turn on and you startle. Looking back, you catch a half naked Jeongguk drying his wet hair with a small towel. Bare torso on full display, you gulp at the sight while unknowingly clenching your thighs together.
Thirty-seven looked good on Jeongguk.
You hope you looked this good at that age, but you have a long way to go. At twenty-two, you know your two little tattoos, one on your lower back and the other on your forearm, will look completely different in fifteen years. They’re nothing like Jeongguk’s, especially with all the intricate tattoos going up his arm, stopping at his chest — both old and new ones. In the office, you’ve only seen a snippet of his tattoos on his forearm, now you’ve been granted full access. Which you’re reminded that everything that happens in Italy will have to stay here. Water break chatter with Mina will exclude these details, saving these memories just for yourself on lonelier nights.
Jeongguk sucks in a breath, surprised at the sight of you. Should be in bed and knocked out from today’s festivities, but you’re there in your silk pajamas, shorts riding dangerously high in your seated position with your knees hiked up to your chest. His jaw clenches, fixing himself a glass of water at the kitchen sink. Hips pressed against the sink counter, he drinks the water, letting a couple droplets dribble past his chin and sharp jawline.
Summers in Italy were magical, but were they usually this hot?
You edge closer to the window sill, praying for the night breeze to snap you out of whatever spell you caught at this hour.
“Jetlagged?” He asks, rinsing the cup. You blink at his question, a little confused at his initiation. It warms you, but you know better than to latch onto this small exchange.
“A little.” You let out a disgruntled sound as you get up. You think you must’ve hallucinated Jeongguk’s frustrated exhale at your change of position. “You?”
“Mhm. Not as bad as the first night. The run helped.” He replies.
You have all the reason not to get along with him, let alone strike a normal conversation; though, you bare your warmest and genuine smile, “That’s nice. I’m glad.”
“Yes. Well. Goodnight.” He clears his throat.
The lock on your door clicks first, back pushed against the door for some grounding and support. Your bones click against the hard surface, ears cluing in for any sounds from your temporary roommate on the other threshold. His door shuts too, followed by a deep sigh.
There’s some shuffling followed by a drop of what you assumed were clothing. Hot and consumed by your thoughts, your mind spirals at the image of him in nothing but his briefs.
God, this was going to be a long trip.
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The internet connection in this villa was probably the worst thing Jeongguk has ever encountered in his life — even worse than the time he went abroad for school during his prime. It was another neighboring country, but still … how hard was it to get an adequate signal?
He’s tried everything. Sitting in odd places, being closer to the router — nothing’s worked.
He looks out the same window you were seated at last night, hoping to find an answer before he hurls his laptop out.
Until he sees you.
You’re seated outside near a lemon tree between the two accommodations, laptop perched on the patio table while you tug at one of the nearby branches for a quick sniff at the fruit. Your eyes shut in bliss, lemon distracting you with its fresh scent.
You’ve done well to distract Jeongguk from his work too. As much as he’d like to hold onto this vendetta, he knows the grudge was misdirected and undeserving. He also knows a part of his hesitancy with you is who you are. Knows the reasons why you were hired aside from the connections you had. And although you had a good personality, he can’t call you a personality hire if you knew how to do your job.
He won’t deny your accomplishments in school, allowing you to graduate with high honors by the time you were twenty. You were an adequate worker, but again, only because you were given unfair advantages — tools and resources that were taken away from someone else more deserving and eligible.
His grudge stretched beyond that, having been on the other receiving end of losing opportunities because of his upbringings. So yeah … maybe he’s biased.
You, on the other hand, want to hurl your laptop for other reasons. The laptop sits on top of the patio table, waiting for you to begin your long half day of work.
The metal legs of the empty chair across from you scrape against the concrete floor.
“Mind if I join you?”
You straighten from your slouched posture, surprised eyes meeting his neutral expression. Vacations were meant for fun, not the work you were trying to escape from. With Jeongguk here, you really can’t slack off. You quickly clear your items from the small table and gesture for him to sit.
“Terrible connection in the cottage.” You remark. “Gave me problems all morning.”
He hums, typing away on the laptop to make up for the lost time. You fall back into your work too seeing that there was a good motivator.
On your left side, there’s a small bowl of olives paired with the wine Jihyo delivered to your shared cottage. Jeongguk stares at the bowl, following one of the olives held by your fingers and popped in between your plump lips.
A small puff of air escapes through his nose at your winced expression from the initial burst of flavors, washing it down with a swig of wine.
“Would you like to try?” You push the bowl towards him.
“Didn’t look all that good.” He stares up, glasses slipping down the bridge of his nose. Though small, you detect a teasing tone in his comment.
“It was … different. But!” You perk, “When will we be in Italy again, in a beautiful villa eating olives while working?”
Answer? Never.
Such a ridiculous thought that he reaches into the small ceramic bowl to plop an olive into his mouth. The bitter tang of the small fruit amplifies on his tongue from your expectant stare.
Not unpleasant, but there were plenty of other cuisine choices in Italy worth trying.
Though, when will Jeon Jeongguk be in Italy again, in a beautiful villa eating olives while working with your melodic laughter resonating in his ears as you scoot your wine glass over to him?
Tongue no longer graced with the olive’s bitterness, a new type of bitterness spreads as Seojun and Jihyo announce they’re headed to the beach.
“How much longer do you need to work?” Jihyo pouts, hands on her hips as she peers down at your laptop. She’s not reading anything you have opened, deeming them unimportant especially when you should be spending time with her.
You offer a sheepish smile, afraid to voice your true thoughts in front of management. Jeongguk keeps his face trained to his screen, brows twitching in an attempt to hide his bemusement.
Had it been anyone else in front of you, you’d throw your hands in the air and say ‘Fuck it.’ But it was Jeongguk … one of the higher-ups you’d always admired — whose opinion you immensely cared for.
“Uncle …” Seojun frowns. “You promised you weren’t going to work.”
“Code red. Need to take care of this.” Jeongguk explains.
Seojun sighs, the expression resounds his frustration to his uncle’s work habits.
In the short span of time working at the company, you’ve never seen Jeongguk falter; yet, the man seated across from you wavers at his nephew’s disappointment.
“It’ll be quick.” He remedies.
You also know Jeongguk took his time. He’s meticulous and wants everything right the first time around. It appears Seojun knows this too, not taking his promises too seriously, and grunting a small ‘okay’ before he takes Jihyo’s hand to lead them both to the beach.
Jeongguk purses his lips, a vexed expression he doesn’t let linger for long. You shouldn’t meddle with family affairs, but you couldn’t help thinking back to the missed dinners, absent parent recitals, and text messages telling you to not wait up late from your father.
“Work’s never that important.” The words slip past your mouth before realizing it.
Jeongguk isn’t afraid to voice his response too, seemingly prepared for your judgment.
“Easy for you to say.” His eyes narrow. “Some people aren’t afforded breaks.”
You take another bite of the olives, hoping the flavor would conceal the shame. The invisible wall between you and Jeongguk grows higher and thicker, making it impossible to penetrate. You refocus on the task at hand.
Three hours pass with the sound of birds and ocean in the background — the sounds would have been enough for anyone to relax into their work, but all it does is make you yearn for fun. Makes you think anything might be better than being with the man seated across from you. Which is so unlike you when just a week ago, you’d do just about anything to be closer to him in the office.
Every five minutes, you have to look at the shoreline and the people enjoying the summer rays. It was a good distraction until the envy sets in.
Another deep sigh.
“Go.”
“Huh?” You look up from your laptop.
“I have access to your document in the shared drive. You won’t be leaving any time soon at the rate you’re moving.” He takes off his glasses, index and thumb pinching and rubbing to relieve himself of any tension. “Go spend some time with Jihyo.”
You almost think it’s a test until he looks at you questioningly for not having moved. You scramble to close out everything after a quick thank you before going back into the cottage to change. You shouldn’t feel guilty as you slip into your swimsuit and cover-up … shouldn’t feel guilty exiting the property, sneaking one final look back at the patio.
You shouldn’t ache the way you do for Jeongguk’s content smile when he nears the lemon tree.
Even Jeon Jeongguk needs breaks too.
You blame the aches from having laid down in the sand for an hour and not at the image of him back at the villa taking on your unfinished work. He made his decision, so why are you still feeling this way?
“Uncle!” Seojun beams. “You made it.”
At the acknowledgment, you lift your head up and it’s none other than the man who’s plagued your mind since you’ve left the villa. He’s changed into lighter clothing, a short-sleeve button up over his white tank top with some beach shorts. The tight tank top hugs around his figure, ab ridges outlined from his small chuckle. The contraction intensifies when he looks down at you and over your stringy two-piece bikini.
He clears his throat. “Was able to wrap up what I needed to get done for the day.”
“Good.” Seojun replies. “Should enjoy our time while we can.”
Jeongguk’s face falls; immediately, the moment’s swept away when Jihyo calls for Seojun to help her take pictures.
The older male settles next to you, mindful to not kick up any sand in the process. The couple eventually go to get some refreshments, leaving both you and Jeongguk under the rays of the sun.
He doesn’t say much … actually, he doesn’t say anything as he stares out to the bluest waters.
“Thank you, Jeongguk.” You say. “You didn’t have to.”
You wonder if your father had acted the same at work, taking on additional workload he didn’t necessarily have to at the expense of missing out on moments in your life.
Jeongguk isn’t your father. He didn’t have obligations to you. Didn’t need to sacrifice his own time for your sake.
The center of a candy was usually the sweetest — perhaps if you keep at it, you’ll discover more of Jeongguk’s sweetness too.
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Being around Jeongguk has been a tad more tangible now that you’ve spent a few hours together the next couple of days working in the morning, ending the nights over dinner with the couple.
The next evening, Jihyo has you all crammed in a kitchen for a cooking lesson with a private chef. You’re on garlic peeling duties with Jeongguk, fingers sticky from the essence of the individual cloves, so sure this scent was going to linger on your skin.
Jeongguk remains unaffected, diligently peeling away. At the sight of you rubbing your sticky fingers together, he chuckles.
“Just wash your hands in between.”
The advice works. While you’ve barely peeled half a clove, Jeongguk was already on his second.
“Did you have ‘pro-garlic peeler’ on your resume?” You try teasing.
He pauses, a small smile on his lips as he continues peeling the cloves.
“My sister had me on garlic peeling duties whenever we cooked.”
As far as you’re aware from Jihyo, the topic of Seojun’s mother was unspoken … only knowing she passed when he was very young.
You work a little harder peeling the leftover cloves, running your hands under the faucet to rid yourself of the stickiness. The stickiness retained in your chest whenever Jeongguk peers over at your pile of perfectly peeled garlic. It’s retained throughout dinner and the glasses of wine served during and after a meal, following you as the group takes a walk on the beach the night before the rest of the wedding party was scheduled to meet for the rehearsal dinner tomorrow.
Jihyo yawns and announces she’ll head back to the villa to rest. Naturally, Seojun follows along. You expect Jeongguk to do the same, but he sits on the brick wall staring out at the beach.
You tuck your hair behind your ear and a strong, pungent scent greets you. Hand discreetly at the front of your face, you sniff.
“The smell doesn’t leave for a bit.” Jeongguk says. “My sister always recommended lemon juice and a little bit of soap.”
“Have you tried it?” You ask, tucking your hands underneath you to hide the excitement of Jeongguk initiating a conversation with you.
He shakes his head, “I like the smell of garlic.”
Be it from the glasses of wine served over dinner, you’re bolder as you ask about his sister. And he’s just as loose-lipped as he recalls memories of her. You learned she was four years older than Jeongguk, her first job was at their aunt and uncle’s convenience store, and they were ultimately left to fend for themselves the moment she had Seojun at eighteen.
Every story, small chuckle, and silence of the memory of his sister only softens the hard, jagged edges around Jeongguk.
“She sounds lovely.”
“She was,” he concedes, “Would’ve loved Italy too.” He speaks into the sea-salted air. He leans back, hands anchoring himself up as he looks up at the clear night sky. “Maybe give her son an earful about marrying too early.” She’d know firsthand how she lost out on her own developmental years as a result of having Seojun early with a man that wanted no part in fatherhood. Though, a small part of Jeongguk knows his sister would’ve adored Jihyo.
Back at the villa’s garden, you make a quick detour to the lemon tree, picking one from the bottom branches.
The lemon doesn’t get used quite yet when you both enter into the stuffy cottage. You and Jeongguk reopen all the windows to let some fresh air in.
You eye the unopened wine bottle — the night’s gone too well to end like this. Lemon placed on the counter, it’s spared and unscathed for the time being as you pop off the cork.
Wordlessly, you pour and slide the glass over to a receptive Jeongguk.
One glass turns to three over the course of the night. The alcohol loosens the year’s worth of work tension, eyes blinking slowly as he swirls the glass around.
“Do you plan to stay with the company until retirement?” You ask.
“Depends.”
“On?”
“If I have to keep overseeing project leads who can’t make their deadlines.”
Had you both been less drunk and not seated on the high stools of this lovely cottage in Sicily, you’d be more offended. Eyes bemused and lips curved at your exaggerated gasp, Jeongguk brings the glass of wine to his mouth, red staining and deepening the natural shade of pink on his lips.
You’ll take this. It’s a development in comparison to what you’ve experienced in working with the company … not to mention the ride on the gondola. You like this Jeongguk. Where he isn’t going on a tangent about deliverables and Key Performance Indicators.
“What about you?” He asks.
You swallow the last of the wine in your glass. “I’m not sure.”
Honestly, you thought you’d be at another place of employment after your one year anniversary at the company. Yet, you’re still here.
“Huh.”
“What?”
“Answered like a person with one foot out the door.” He shrugs.
“I don’t mind the company.” You pout.
He rolls his eyes. “You’re young. There’s more out there.”
“You’re staying.”
“Never said I was.”
Wait … you hadn’t accounted for the fact of Jeongguk leaving one day. He has so much more years of experience than you, so having a promotion elsewhere would be a cake walk. One of your incentives to stay might disappear one day without warning and it frightens you.
“The benefits are nice.” You reason. “It’s worth staying for.”
“The benefits are standard. Hm.” He purses his lips. Then, an expression you’ve never once witnessed stretches across his face. “That hot manager Jihyo mentioned can’t be enough incentive to stay.”
“She’s lucky she’s my best friend.” You groan.
He laughs through his nose, “You’ll know if a company is worth staying for. Don’t be afraid to venture out.”
Friends and family have often told you to look for a higher paying job after every promotion — never concerned whether you’re content with where you’re at.
You find it hard to believe just a couple days ago, Jeongguk was grilling you for being a nepo-baby, and now he’s mentoring you over wine. You take in his words, letting them swirl in your mind before shaking away thoughts of the future.
“Thanks, I’ll keep that in mind.”
He nods, taking another small sip, “If only Seojun listened more like that. That brat.” He lowers his head with a fond smile, orbs glimmering like the wine glass caught in the light.
You should hold off from asking any overbearing questions and end tonight on a high note, but that just wasn’t your style.
“Do you not support their marriage?”
“It’s unfavorable.” He sighs. “I’m sure Jihyo’s nice—”
“She is.” You interrupt.
“But she’s reckless and so is my nephew. They didn’t think this through.” A pause. “Doing things out of love only gets you so far.”
If life wasn’t about love, then what could it possibly be about?
He chuckles and mumbles to himself, “She’s too much like her.”
“Huh? Who?” Your brows scrunch from the cryptic words, trying to decipher who he was referring to. Foolish of you to think he’d answer as he gets up and empties his glass of wine into the sink, eyes locked on the counter where the lemon resides.
You were going to ask if he’d like to use the lemon too; though, he beats you to your question when he tucks in the stool.
“Get some rest, we have a long day tomorrow.”
You exert all your energy into the lemon, squeezing and wringing out the halved fruit to distract you of the confusion. Have you pushed for too much? Were you out of line wanting to know more about Jeongguk? You hope the lingering thoughts of your cottage mate disappears with the garlic stench after a thorough soak.
After your shower, you take one last peek at his door and the light emitting from the small slit persists even through the late hours. Was he still working or also plagued with the thoughts of tonight’s conversation?
It’s a little past midnight when you emerge into the kitchen again to get a glass of water only to notice a slightly ajar front door.
101 Dumb Ways to Die would commend you and your efforts to close the door. Your fingers touch the doorknob, ready to twist and secure the locks.
You die a little inside when you spot a figure outside near the lemon tree.
Jeongguk.
He sits there, staring at his hands before he lifts one of them up to his face. A small sniff, then his hand falls onto his lap again.
You lean against a nearby wall, hand clutching the glass of water close to your chest.
He bends down from his seated position and grabs a fallen lemon, uncaring if it came from the top or the bottom branch. Suddenly, he stands up and makes his way back to the cottage again.
“Fuck!” You whisper yell, scrambling to go back to your room but your foot catches onto your other ankle and you’re sent flying to the floor with the glass of water held close to your chest to brace the fall and potential damage.
Aside from a wet shirt and the bruise forming on your knee, the glass was still intact. What wasn’t intact was your pride as Jeongguk opens the door to find you laying on your side.
His eyes widen, immediately crouching down to check your conditions. “Are you okay?”
You could fake an episode of sleepwalking and walk back to your room, wet shirt and all, but then you’ll be labeled as the colleague who sleepwalks.
“Oof,” You grab his extended hand, the one without the lemon, and pull yourself up to a sitting position. “Y-yeah, um, just wanted some water.” You peer down at the pool of water around you and flush harder.
He grabs a nearby cloth to clean up the mess and when he’s done, he holds his hand out again, “Can you stand?”
You nod, hand engulfed in his warmth as he tugs you up along with him. You walk stiffly next to him and thank him after he hands you a spare towel in the kitchen.
You should return to your room to nurse your broken pride; yet, your feet stay planted as Jeongguk gets out the cutting board.
“Oh, there’s still half a lemon in the fridge.”
Nodding, he retrieves the lemon and he squeezes the sliced half with ease. He dips his fingers in first, spreading the juice all over his hands and in between the crevices just as you did. You watch his fingers spread the juices all over the top of his veiny hands, light from the kitchen emulating the glisten on his skin.
A tingly sensation starts at your fingertips and you clench your fists tightly before it travels up your arms, unsure why your body is reacting at the simple act.
God, did you hit your head on something during the fall?
“You sure you’re okay?” He asks, breaking you out of your daze.
You blink, body automatically moving around to check for any soreness. High knees in place and a twist to your side, you confirm your health condition. You do one last stretch, intertwining your fingers and reaching up to the ceiling.
All’s well, so it seems.
Actually, no.
The action lifts your camisole, exposing the lower half of your stomach. Jeongguk’s gaze dips to your full hips and areas where the sun can’t fully reach.
“Yeah, all good.” You swallow, arms coming down and holding your hands behind your back.
Lights shut off, you and Jeongguk make your way back to your bedrooms, steps heavier as you near your door.
Suddenly, your hand reaches out, weak fingers wrapped around his wrist. He looks down at you with a raised brow, unmoving, so you tighten your grip around him.
“I saw you outside.” You confess, voice small and hesitant. “Are you okay?”
Jeongguk didn’t owe you an answer. But after all the time spent leading up to this moment, you think something should’ve changed by now.
His jaw clenches, eyes swirling with a mixture of uncertainty and discomfort as he considers the option of being honest.
He purses his lips and shakes his head no.
Be it your underdeveloped prefrontal lobe or your innate desire to fix a troubled man, your fingers tighten around his wrist.
“Is there something I can do–” The latter part of your question gets cut short at another shake of his head.
Your default solution is to deflect and lessen the embarrassment with cynicalism and a humorless laugh. “I know you hate me and all–”
He laughs, too — the dullness masking the irritability behind your unfinished statement.
“I don’t hate you.” He pauses and ponders his next words. “Whatever I’m going through right now has nothing to do with how I feel about you.”
Maybe … if you do make it about you, Jeongguk might forget about his bigger worries. The day has gone so well and all your effort’s about to be undone with what you do next. You step closer, gleaning at his reaction and any indication of his repulsion from your proximity.
“If we didn’t work at the same company, how would you feel about me then?” You ask.
His stare darkens. Pattern recognition from all the other fleeting moments in Italy only pushes you to do something you’d never have the courage to in a professional environment where you’d both break all code of conduct.
What happens in Italy, stays in Italy … right?
“We’d get along.” You answer for him.
“We’d be strangers.” He corrects. “I don’t need twenty year old friends listening to my problems.”
Good thing you’re not twenty and good thing you don’t want to be friends with Jeongguk. In the span of this conversation, you and Jeongguk now share the same air and warmth as you press your front to his hard chest. He doesn’t pull away from your softness whether it be through the silky camisole, your nature, or exposed skin … he lets himself soak in what you offer him.
And when you tip-toe closer to his face, he doesn’t move, allowing you to do as you like despite all signs in his head telling him to turn you away.
“We’d get along.” You repeat, eyes bold and hopeful as you stare into his hooded ones. “You’d let me help you forget about your problems.”
Cause you’d create new ones for Jeon Jeongguk as you press your lips to his.
The original hold you had on his wrist ceases as your nimble fingers find refuge on the ends of his cotton shirt. Your thighs tense from the vibrations of his small groan, the pleasure pangs intensifying when his hands cup your jaw. Lips soft and so rightfully slotted on yours, your eyes flutter shut and embrace the abundant hues of yellow and green similar to the villa’s lemon tree.
The crisp citrus scent from his fingers warms and melts you further into his lips. He parts his mouth slightly, and for a moment, just a moment … you hope he’d run his tongue on yours.
Your hope gets wringed out like the used lemons residing in the wastebin the exact moment he says your name and pulls away, chest moving in tandem with his strained breaths.
“This isn’t right.” He breathes, swallowing as he steps back to create some space between your bodies.
“I–”
“Goodnight.”
His door shuts, no different than how he shuts you out of the life you hoped to get a better glimpse of. Your fingers trace your lips, remembering how he felt against you before he took everything including your pride with him. You also shut your door, only bringing humiliation and rejection back in with you.
⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆
You barely slept.
Instead, you chose to put in the extra work you needed to meet your deliverables for your client. You locked yourself in the bedroom — rather brave through the shitty internet connection until it was time to meet up with the rest of the bridal party who arrived last night.
“So,” Yebin starts, “I hear the best man is a hottie and you’re staying in the same cottage as him?”
You splutter into your drink, quickly grabbing the napkin on your lap to dab away the cascading liquid on your chin.
“Uh, wha–”
“Jihyo mentioned it in the group chat. What? Been too busy with him to catch up in the thread?” She wiggles her brows with a playful grin.
You push your body forward to give Jihyo a tiny glare. She sits prettily at the top of the table, the only person wearing white while the rest of you were in different variations of yellow to match the wedding theme.
“What?” She says with a mouthful. “He is objectively handsome. Not a surprise, I mean, look at my Seojun.”
“Isn’t he in his forties?” Another one of the girls asks.
“Thirty-seven.” Jihyo corrects. “We celebrated his birthday recently.”
“Basically forty.” Yebin retorts and turns back to you. “So what’s he like?”
You’re thankful for the soft breeze in the midst of Italy’s humid summer — helps you cool the sweat sitting uncomfortably on your skin, both from the rising afternoon temperatures and last night’s memories.
“He’s … fine.” You pause and try to come up with other adjectives to better describe him, ultimately coming short and resorting to a foolproof excuse. “We haven’t really spoken.”
“Oh, please. Aside from his nephew, Jeongguk’s more friendly with you than he has been to me.”
Yeah, ‘cause you also work in the same building as him forty hours a week for the past year, but no one here needs to know that. The conversation eventually shifts over to Jihyo’s wedding itinerary, makeup and hair plans, and what the other girls plan to do after the wedding dinner rehearsal. You enjoyed your time in the smaller group, but you also valued the community the other girls brought in this part of the trip. You visit the nearby boutiques, splurge on things you could most definitely find back at home, because … when were you going to be in Italy with your girls again?
“Remember, be there at 8 p.m. The venue’s gates close five minutes after.” Jihyo reminds.
“Yes, ma’am. Got it marked down in our calendars.” Yebin yawns, still slightly jetlagged and ready for a much needed nap after the day’s festivities. You and Jihyo drop off the girls at the front of their hotel and begin the walk back to the villa. Would’ve been quicker to take a cab, but Jihyo wanted to walk off her second gelato and you didn’t mind not being in the same vicinity as your cottage mate all that soon.
“You nervous for tomorrow?” You ask, steps slowing as you both near the villa.
“No,” she smiles fondly at a passing thought. “But I am anxious for the future. Don’t know how long it’ll be till my parents want to talk to me.”
You’ve thought about the times you’ve fought with your parents — nothing as big as marrying someone they didn’t approve of. Hopefully Jihyo’s parents will come around. Love, from a parent at least, should be unconditional.
She reads your thoughts with a chuckle and nudge to your shoulder. “Hey, I’m okay. It’s me and Seojun against the world.”
“They’ll come around.” You reassure. “You also have your friends too, so you’re never alone.”
⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆
“And then, the maid of honor and best man will walk here.” Violetta, the wedding planner, points down the long stretch to the altar.
She looks over to the group, trying to single out the girl with that title since Jeongguk was the only male aside from the groom. You step out, having avoided Jeongguk all day with the wedding party, there are just some things you can’t avoid.
You avoid looking at the older man, keeping your stares locked on the wedding planner and aisle markings.
“Oh, to be maid of honor.” Yebin mumbles jokingly and the group of girls erupt into a small fit of giggles.
Jeongguk pays no mind and extends his arm for you to hold. Practice. Yes, this was still a rehearsal. You might’ve imagined his tense inhale as you press your body closer, breast pushing against his arm to see if the action could produce a similar sound or reaction.
Nothing.
After the rehearsal, you and Jeongguk still avoid each other like the plague, unwilling to address the elephant in the room. You try to sleep, tossing and turning all night until you made the executive decision for some much needed fresh air.
Part of you worries Jeongguk might also be outside, claiming the lemon tree as his area of respite. Can’t be his if you claimed it first. Unfortunately, the spot was occupied … not by him at least.
Pulling the metal chair, Seojun looks up, startled, but relaxes at the sight of a familiar face.
“Can’t sleep?” He asks.
“Yeah. Too stuffy in the cottage.” You lie, unwilling to admit the actual source of your unrest. “You?”
“Yeah.” He looks into the distance, worries swirling in his orbs. “I think my uncle’s right.”
Your brows pull together, head tilting in confusion.
“We’re too rash. Jihyo’s parents might never speak to her again and it’s all my fault. And I,” Seojun begins to crumble at the weight of his realization. “I don’t know if I’m enough for her to lose everything.”
You know more than anyone that there are some things money and power can’t buy. Jihyo wasn’t risking anything because Seojun was everything. Because if life wasn’t about love, then what was it about?
“You’re enough for Jihyo.”
“Uncle said–”
“Screw what Jeongguk thinks.” You interrupt, gasping at your sudden abrasiveness. “Wait, I don’t mean any offense to your uncle …”
His laugh could’ve woken up the entire villa, but you’re thankful to see this side of him in comparison to how he was a moment ago.
“No, no,” he chuckles, “I know he’s not the most likeable person.”
“He’s not … awful.”
Seojun nods, tilting his head down to conceal a tender smile you’ve witnessed whenever he was around Jihyo — now you understand those were reserved for his loved ones. “He used to be different … lighter, does that even make sense?”
You agree, waiting for Seojun’s next words.
“Uncle was fun.” You learn how Jeongguk would take little Seojun to the zoo every year because his mother would be too busy with work, along with the late night video game sessions he would partake in despite his busy university schedule.
“He was in his second year of university preparing to study abroad … I don’t know much, but something didn’t work out and another student was chosen instead of him. Mom worked hard so that she could support uncle and his dreams.”
“Worked too hard — damn workaholics.” His smile doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “I know he means well not wanting me to rush into things without a proper safety net.”
You think back to a younger Jeongguk navigating life alone with a young child … he couldn’t have been any older than you — a baby raising another baby with no one to turn to.
“Ah, I’m sorry,” Seojun shakes away some thoughts, “I didn’t mean to dump all of this on you. I’m sure you’re tired–”
“No, no,” You wave your hands. “I don’t mind. You’re marrying my best friend and whether her family or Jeongguk approves, it doesn’t matter. I’ve seen how happy you make her — how relaxed she is around you.” You offer a warm and comforting smile to which Seojun returns at the mention of your friend. “We’re both in this for Jihyo’s happiness. You deserve to be happy too.”
“Yeah, we do.” He replies, shoulders sagging in relief.
You linger outside a little longer after Seojun’s departure, begrudgingly going back into the cottage. Before entering your room, you take one look at Jeongguk’s room, noting the small sliver of light from underneath his door.
You remember all the late nights waiting for your father’s lights to turn off … wondering when you’d be enough for his attention. And as you shut your door to your room, you hope that was enough to garner Jeongguk’s attention too.
⋆｡𖦹 ˚ 𓇼 ˚｡⋆
Jihyo loved everything about yellow. Loved the song by Coldplay and loved her flowers yellow — thinks she saw yellow when she met Seojun. Her bridesmaid dresses had to be yellow, as with everything in the wedding.
You see yellow everywhere too: the sand in the distance, wedding favors in the form of bagged perle di sole candies, and the boutonniere pinned on the left side of Jeongguk’s vest.
Yellow blurs around you during the ceremony, tearful gazes exchanged with the other bridesmaids.
Jihyo had always centered her world around her friendships — no man has ever been enough to pull her away from that value. Though, as she stands across from Seojun, her hands in his, it seemed as though nothing could’ve pried them apart from each other’s gravitational pulls. Your eyes peer over the wedding attendees, taking in their expectant stares and proud smiles — even Jeongguk seemed to have softened at the sight.
When it was time for the vows, you hand them over to Jihyo from behind, who took them without turning around, eyes still locked onto her soon-to-be husband.
She takes a steadying breath before speaking: “Seojun. These past years with you have been the happiest of my life. I could’ve never imagined meeting anyone like you. Now, I won’t call you my best friend, because that spot is taken and I think my lovely maid of honor might have some things to say about that–” The wedding party sounded a collective chuckle. You smile to yourself, eyes instinctively finding Jeongguk’s, who had already been looking your way in confirmation of your title.
“But I’m so happy to have found you, that I’m able to call you my friend, lover, and now, husband. I know a lot of people thought we were rushing into this, and they might be right. It is early, but I’ve never been as certain about anything as I am about wanting to spend the rest of my life with you. Seojun, you are the most wonderful and kindest person — better than I can ever hope to deserve, I love you.” Her voice had become increasingly more unstable as she went and she quickly wiped her eyes, not wanting to ruin her bridal make-up. Seojun wasn’t fairing any better, softly cupping her cheek and kissing her lips, whispering a small gratitude to her.
“Excuse me?” The officiant interrupts. “We’re not quite there yet.”
Laughing, the pair separates and refocuses their attention back to the ceremony. You turn to your fellow bridesmaids after hearing a quiet sniffle from Yebin. You carefully lean back into her, nudging her shoulder in comfort.
“Jihyo, you son of a bitch.” The girl mutters, dotting the corner of her eye with a tissue.
You chuckle, moving back into your position after assessing everyone’s conditions.
When you find the confidence to check on Jeongguk, he’s just as affected and politely turns away from the couple to hide his emotions.
At the wedding reception, you watch Jihyo and her husband dance to every song on their playlist, joined by their guests, eventually being the last ones standing as the night progresses. The ache on the soles of your feet grow by the hour, and you find yourself sitting alone, nursing your drink and watching your best friend soak in happiness.
Yellow persists in the form of strung lights on the small dance floor. Though, a new opponent, green, enters when you catch some wedding guests approaching an unsuspecting Jeongguk.
As the maid of honor, you should stay for the night even if it’s nearing 2 a.m. Selfishly, you can’t bring yourself to. You tell Jihyo you’re not feeling well and that you’re going to walk back to the cottage to rest. She looks at you with concern, but she nods and asks you to text her once you’ve made it back.
Ten steps out the venue, you hear some whistles and chuckles. Shit. You walk quicker and a slimy hand wraps around your wrist.
The men smile at you, saying something you can’t really decipher. If all fails after your persistent ignorance to the Italian language, your heels make an excellent weapon of defense.
“C'è un problema?” A familiar voice says in the distance.
Immediately, the man releases your wrist and holds his hands up. The group of men shuffles away, mumbling to themselves as they look back at your savior.
“You okay?” Jeongguk asks.
“Yep.” You answer quickly, steps resuming in the direction of the villa.
Jeongguk follows closely behind you, silent as he has been all night.
“Aren’t you supposed to stay with the bride? Maid of honor duties.”
“Aren’t you supposed to stay with the groom? Best man duties.” You retort with no malice.
“Touché.” He contemplates his next words. “I’ve got an early flight tomorrow.”
Your brows furrow, and an immature part of you assumes you’re the reason for his early departure. He quickly follows up with, “There’s a fire I have to put out at work.”
The bitter memories of your father leaving for work resurfaces again. Would it be so awful to not think about work and be with his loved ones?
You wave off those feelings and express your gratitude instead. “Thanks for helping me back there. You never mentioned knowing Italian.”
Would’ve come in handy during the ample times you all had to order food, but this was not the right moment to joke.
“Studied some basic phrases before going abroad. Didn’t end up in Italy though.”
You freeze a little, remembering the small detail Seojun mentioned the night before about Jeongguk’s missed opportunity.
Silence takes over and continues even as you both face your bedroom doors.
“Jeongguk.” You say, before he enters his room. “I hope what happened between us doesn’t impact our work. Please forget it happened — I’m truly ashamed and sorry.”
He nods, jaw clenched and tense.
“Have a safe flight home. See you in the office.” No other words are needed in your retreat back into your room.
The knot at the back of your neck strains and you can’t wait to finally shed your makeup, tight bun, and dress.
You [2:18 a.m.]: Made it to the cottage 💛
Bestie Ji [2:19 a.m.]: GOOD
Bestie Ji [2:19 a.m.]: JEONGGU SAI HES HEDIN TO COTT TO
Bestie Ji [2:19 a.m.]: ILY
Bestie Ji [2:19 a.m.]: im drun
You smile at your phone, typing a quick reply and before you hit enter, you hear a knock on your door.
Door swung open, your eyes widen at the sight of Jeongguk, tie loose around his neck and hair tussled as if he ruminated for an eternity before knocking your door.
“It’s been nice with you in Italy.” His arm from behind comes to the front with a small object. You remember it from your last day in Venice: the green masquerade mask. “Safe travels home.”
You take the little green mask in your hands, frown deepening at the sentiment.
“Why would you get this for me?” You ask.
His tongue probes against his cheek, eyes coming down to look at your figure in your yellow halter dress. The same fleeting stares you’ve grown accustomed to in the time spent in Italy, unaware these glances have always existed without your knowledge back at home. He laughs through his nose and shakes his head.
He brings his eyes back to your face. “You’re a smart girl, graduated with honors and all … so think a little harder for me.”
You shake your head, afraid of the aftermath of another wrong move that could jeopardize your heart.
“I don’t know if I can …”
Leaders take initiative — you’re nowhere near that point in your career and life. Jeongguk recognizes this too, which is why he walks you backwards into the room. His fingers trace the intricate beadings on the mask still in your hands.
“Here, we’re just two people who met through the people we love. No roles or responsibilities. I only know you as Jihyo’s friend. You’re just … you, and I’m just Jeongguk.”
“And who are you, Jeongguk?” You place the mask onto a nearby dresser, eyes never leaving the man in front of you.
He looks down at you again, a type of stare only capable of burning and tainting every inch of your being. He’s afraid to admit who he really is — what he actually wants, knowing he can’t fully have even if it was ready for him to take. Though, with only a couple hours to spare in Italy, he wants to use what little time he has on an experience he would never let himself indulge in back at home.
It’s what vacations are meant for, right?
“Someone that wants your help. Someone that wants to finish what you started two nights ago.” He answers.
It doesn’t make sense with you — he doesn’t make sense with you just like when he leans down to press his lips on yours. The kiss is punishing, no colors of yellow like the kiss from two nights ago. Yellow is only meant for lovers and Jeongguk is no lover. Would be the only logical reason you’d now see black and blue — colors of old bruises and wounds left unattended for too long, and Jeongguk has far too many to count.
“Fuck,” He says in between kisses, shrugging off his vest, “Tell me to stop.”
You whimper, shaking your head and looping your arms over his neck to bring him closer. He pushes his tongue past your lips, savoring the way you moan around and suck on his wet muscle.
The only thing that makes sense is how your dress, the only yellow left, needs to come off. Your hands move behind your neck to undo the tight knot, letting the top fall down your front. Taking Jeongguk’s large hands, you take note of their softness, like sand — so malleable and so much harder to hold. You place them on your breasts instead.
He groans, the sound so painful and full of want to give into his desires.
“This can’t mean anything.” He says through a harsh breath. “You know that, right?”
“It’s okay.” You reply, moaning again as the pressure from his hands increases. “I’m … I’m okay with that.”
You’re not and Jeongguk knows this too. He’s aware of the subtle glances in the time he’s worked with you, your shift in demeanor when he enters a room, and how your eyes search for his approval when none was ever needed. He knows you won’t be okay with this just being a one night stand or quick fuck, but it has to be because you and Jeongguk don’t make sense.
Not under the dull fluorescent lights of the company building, not in Italy.
His teeth grazes your skin, leaving a trail of pain and pleasure behind its wake. You quiver and his body presses harder against yours in panic that if he leaves any space in between, the distance would only grow should he second-guess.
Dress bunched up at your midsection, he turns you away, eyes immediately landing where your mistake from your teenage years resided right above your pert ass.
Was this going to be another mistake too?
Your hands brace yourself on the dresser, arching from his hand tracing down your back and down your ass. He pauses and waits for your nod to proceed. Palm up, he runs his hand over the pathetic cloth you’d call your underwear now completely soaked through and scrunched to the side of your pussy.
He sucks in a breath, “Kissing gets you like this, hm?”
You shudder, praying he eventually moves. His middle finger probes gently at your sodden folds, gathering your arousal. He stays doing this for a couple minutes, listening to your soft sighs, wondering when you’d begin to beg for him to continue.
And when you don’t ask for more, it aggravates him realizing he’s the one who needs more out of something that’s supposed to be meaningless. As the older adult, he should be the gentleman with better restraint, but he’s here in your room seeking something he can’t find anywhere else:
A distraction from all the buried guilt and pain — for once, he wants to win.
He somehow gets you perched on the dresser, head between your thighs as he eats you out both as a punishment and reward. The bottom half of your dress hangs over the side of your hips, thighs spread wide open as Jeongguk thrusts his tongue into your cunt.
He knows this is just sex … worse that you’re a younger colleague whom he has vehemently denied his attractions for. But he’s here in Italy where he’s tasted olives, rinsed his memories of past loved ones with citrus … he should enjoy this trip — enjoy you. Because when was Jeongguk going to be in Italy again fucking you in a shared cottage?
“Jeong–fuck, m-yeah, right there.” You cheer, fingers carding through his hair.
Your encouragement only spurs him on to work harder, lapping over your swollen clit until you tense and cease all noise in concentration for the impending orgasm. It’s all over when you fight his hold and win the battle with your legs clamped tightly around his head. You cum with a small sob, thighs shaking around him as he continues to eat you out.
He replaces his tongue with two fingers, lazily pumping his digits in you while he kisses your lips with the taste of you still on his tongue. Meanwhile, you fumble clumsily with his buttons and zipper, jaded by how much you want him.
He’s just as eager, moaning and grinding his cock into your hand when you’ve finally freed him of his confinements.
Hoisting you in his arms, he brings you to the edge of your bed, groaning at how you automatically spread wider on the softer surface. So ready for him to do more with you until he realizes:
“Shit, I don’t have a condom.”
You hold yourself up with your forearms, legs still spread wide open for him despite his hesitance to move forward. His teeth sink onto his bottom lip, troubled dimples appearing as he stares at your glistening pussy clenching around nothing.
“I’m on birth control.” You assure and add, “You can pull out if you want.”
What’s another bad idea added into the pile?
He strokes over his length, squeezing harder at the tip and lines himself up. You whine and circle your hips from the hard poke at your entrance, arousal coating his bare cock. He doesn’t push himself in just yet, watching as a bead of precum smears at your opening … a silent territorial marking.
You’re his for tonight.
His thumb lands on your clit, rubbing it up and down. You keen, eyes shutting to concentrate on the added stimulation around the bundle of nerves.
“You’ve always been too rash on your decisions.” He pushes the tip of his cock into you, teeth biting the inside of his cheek. “Gotta work on that.” As if he’s not about to make an irrevocable mistake himself.
“High risk, high rewards … r-right?” You stammer through a shaky breath as he pushes more of him into you, uncaring that there’d been little to no prep. But that doesn’t matter, all your fantasies were coming true at this very moment and you’ll take whatever he gives you.
He gives you two more orgasms. One with your ankles by his ears. The other one where you lay on your side, memorizing the way his fingers dig into your skin as he pumps his thick shaft into you. You hike your knee closer to your chest to allow him to sink even deeper into you, hitting a specific spot repeatedly to burn figments of stars behind your lids.
The room’s hot and musty — didn’t help that neither of you remembered to air out the cottage upon arrival, but no one cared about that at the moment. Your sweat gathers behind your knees and drips down the slope of your thighs as Jeongguk continues fucking you into the mattress with an intense need.
“Gonna cum.” He announces, jaw going slack as his balls grow heavy with the need to release. “Fuck, I’m gonna cum.”
“Want you to cum for me.” You nod, and the slapping of his skin on yours grows as he moves quicker and harder.
You moan, brows scrunched in anticipation for Jeongguk to pull out and the feeling of being stuffed full by him will cease all together. And through your past experiences with other men, sex typically ends once they cum, so you ready yourself for the mirage to end — ready yourself to face reality again. Your lower half relaxes, waiting for him to turn your body so that he could unload everything on your stomach.
Two things happen.
He pushes deep inside you, stilling as he fills you with his arousal.
Hands soft as sand, cradle your jaw for a searing kiss to conceal words he shouldn’t utter to a colleague, let alone a direct report.
Minutes pass like this and you come to find out: sex doesn’t stop when Jeongguk finishes inside you.
He lays down next to you and hoists your body on top of his, movements swift in slipping his sensitive cock back into your cum-filled hole. He hisses, fighting through the overstimulation in acceptance of the punishment for all the terrible acts he’s committed with you. Again, both a punishment and a reward as he lets you ride him, watching the way your hips roll smoothly over his. Your mixed juices trail down his length and over his balls the more you move and bounce.
He doesn’t tell you to give him another orgasm, knowing you’re working hard to get there again.
“Don’t wanna stop. Wanna do this with you all night long.” Your breath hitches as the pleasure shifts into a type of pain no one can see. And no matter how you try to fight the physical effects of the hardest orgasm of your life, your body gives into the exhaustion and slumps over Jeongguk’s sweaty body.
In your slumber, you feel the sand, the breeze, and the absence of another human body. The next morning only proves your reality when you wake up clothed and sore from last night’s affair … with Jeongguk nowhere in sight.
You frown, tucking the sheets closer to your chin and watching the tree branches scrape against your opened window. The air in the room was no longer stuffy, ridding any evidence of what you and Jeongguk did.
Summers in Italy were magical.
Though, the fact stands: magic was nothing but illusions, deluding you from the truth. And you feigned indifference when Jihyo tells you Jeongguk had gone home for an important project — you ignored the hurt and betrayal. You had never been enough for your father to come home, so it was easy to turn a blind eye at the heaviness in your stomach from the thoughts of hoping you’d be enough to make Jeongguk stay.
Another couple of days in Italy go by with those illusions till the truth sets in the day you return to work.
A couple coworkers stop you on the way to your cubicle, asking you for a trip recap. Your debrief takes longer as intended — half due to wanting to avoid work and the other half as a result of your efforts to leave out key details of a certain someone.
You could’ve taken another path to your desk — one that kept you from the usual ajar door. Perhaps the magic followed you back home and you’ve alluded to think Jeongguk’s stares trail after your figure when you walked past his office.
The magical illusions continue as you settle into your cube, a bright yellow sticky note on your keyboard with a familiar handwriting reads: Lunch at Romano’s. - J
Even if the center of the candy happened to be sour, you have to see through it — you want to see through it.
fin.
a/n: missed me? cuz i’ve been missenU. ahh, ahh?? 🥹 i’ll see yall in about 1-2 months with something new! in the meantime, go send your well wishes to the bday girlie!! toodles ♡
also s/o to my bestie @takeitawaykenny for beta’ing!! love ya pookie
──── where the addition of a new member in the Jeon family had the both of you busy as hell. And indeed, Jungkook has kept his hands to himself for a long, long time. Until you quit doing the same.
──── ❪ 전정국 ❫ ㅤㅤ: : ㅤㅤ♱ ㅤㅤHusband!Jungkook x Wife, Female!Reader ㅤㅤ married life AU ㅤㅤ slice of life AU ㅤㅤ mention of breastfeeding ㅤㅤ somnophilia if you squint ㅤㅤ nigh drive ㅤㅤ smoking ㅤㅤ sharing a cigarette ㅤㅤ arousal ㅤㅤ dirty talk ㅤㅤ flirty ㅤㅤ teasing touches ㅤㅤchecking out ㅤㅤsexual frustration ㅤㅤuse of pet names ㅤㅤmaking out ㅤㅤ desperate ㅤㅤcussing ㅤㅤnudity ㅤㅤhandjob ㅤㅤblowjob ㅤㅤhair pulling ㅤㅤorgasm ㅤㅤsucking ㅤㅤhickey ㅤㅤfingering ㅤㅤedging ㅤㅤthe reader has slight prading kink ㅤㅤchoking ㅤㅤcar sex ㅤㅤlotus ㅤㅤblushing ㅤㅤsexual tension ㅤㅤunprotected sex ㅤㅤthe reader rides him ㅤㅤdom!Jungkook x sub!reader ㅤㅤclit rubbing ㅤㅤaftercare. ㅤㅤ ㅤwc : : 8k+.
You barely register the soft creak of the bedroom door first, that familiar low groan of hinges as Jungkook nudges it open just enough to peek inside. The dimmed lights must have tipped him off that you’d already tapped out for the night. He slips fully into the room, the cool draft from the hallway brushing your bare legs for a split second before he closes the door behind him with a deliberate, quiet click that seals the space.
Moonlight strains through the massive floor-to-ceiling glass window dominating one wall, painting silvery streaks across the floor and bed, tangled up with the low, golden haze from the nightstand lamp. It bathes everything in this hazy, intimate glow that makes the air feel thicker, warmer. Jungkook takes those slow, small steps toward the bed, shoulders loosening as he peels off his suit coat, the fabric whispering when he drapes it over the back of the chair in front of your dressing table. His fingers linger on the wood a moment, like he’s grounding himself after whatever bullshit the outside world threw at him.
His eyes lock onto you immediately, dark and full of that raw adoration that always seems to hit him harder in these stolen quiet moments. You’re fast asleep on your back, oversized shirt (which belongs to him) twisted from the day’s chaos, with seven-month-old Jae nestled right on your stomach—his little cheek smushed against your skin, tiny fists curled, breathing in that deep, trusting rhythm that syncs with yours. The weight of him anchors you even in sleep, warm and solid, his soft exhales tickling your belly through the thin fabric.
The exhaustion clings to your bones in the best-worst way; days blur from early feeds to those midnight wails that rip you awake, but you handle it with this fierce, stubborn grip. Barely twenty-three and already owning the mom role like it’s second nature, your body tuned to every shift of Jae’s, every tiny sound, while still carving out space to look after Jungkook when he drags himself home wrecked. You’ve been running on barely five or six hours, eyes heavy, muscles sore from rocking and carrying, but the thought of handing any of it off to a nanny never crosses your mind. This is yours—messy, relentless, and so fucking real it hurts in the sweetest spots.
That middle-school spark you two carried through high school and into this love marriage still simmers under everything—no big fights, just this lived-in understanding where he offers help at every turn and you push back because wearing yourself down for them feels like the only right move. Well, Jungkook was just as stubborn. He did as much work as possible before going to work, like the dishes, laundry, and so on.
His breath catches a little as he watches Jae’s tiny hand flex against you, the way your arm stays curled protectively even in deep sleep. It’s all present, all consuming—the faint baby-powder scent mixing with your usual warmth, the quiet hum of the room, his own pulse kicking up at how perfectly wrecked and beautiful you look tangled in this life you built together.
He’s won in life, no contest, the thought hitting him square in the chest as he stands there a second longer.
You look so damn peaceful, features relaxed in that deep sleep only new parents steal when the baby finally crashes too. Jae’s the same—tiny chest rising and falling right on your stomach, those soft tiny snores filling the room like the world’s most effective lullaby, warm and trusting against your skin.
Jungkook’s eyes trace your face slow, carving out every detail he already knows by heart: the faint crease between your brows that’s finally smoothed out, the way your lashes fan against your cheeks, lips parted just enough for those quiet breaths that pull at something low in his gut.
He lowers himself onto the edge of the bed, movements deliberate and slow, the mattress dipping under his weight as he braces his hands beside him, careful not to disturb the perfect pile of you and Jae.
Then his gaze slips. It trails lower without permission—from the soft lines of your face down the column of your neck and collarbone, catching on the way the top two buttons of your shirt was undone probably from breastfeeding Jae, that teasing peek of cleavage rising with each inhale under the mixed moonlight and lamp glow. It follows the dip of your waist, the curve of your hips hugged by the sheets, illuminated like they’re begging for attention, all the way to the smooth stretch of your thick thighs where your shorts have ridden up. God, he would love to bury his face betwee—
He jerks his eyes away hard, suddenly hyper-focused on the curtains like they’re the most fascinating shit he’s ever seen, jaw flexing as he tells himself he wasn’t just checking out his wife while she’s dead asleep with their kid on her.
Wasn't he feeling warm-hearted a moment ago? His heart isn't the only warm thing now.
You’ve had this body that’s ruined him since forever, perfect in that effortless way that makes his brain short-circuit. Carrying Jae only smoothed everything out and emphasized those curves harder, leaving him stealing extra fifteen minutes in the shower way too often just to shake the constant pull.
Intimacy has turned into this rare, almost mythical thing since Jae showed up. The little guy is the ultimate cockblocker without even trying—tiny demands at all hours turning what used to be easy, constant touch into stolen glances and quick brushes that leave you both aching in the quiet.
Jungkook isn’t some hormonal kid who doesn’t get self-control. He’s been solid about it, the respectful type who reads the room and never pushes, even when the want sits heavy under his skin.
You let out a slow yawn, body shifting under the sheets as sleep starts to loosen its grip. He snaps his attention back to your face instantly, clearing his throat like he’s been caught mid-thought, shoulders tensing for a beat.
Your lashes flutter, eyes cracking open heavy and unfocused, the room’s soft glow filtering in as awareness creeps back in slow waves. The weight of Jae on your stomach grounds you first, his tiny snores still humming steady, then Jungkook’s solid presence right there on the edge of the bed, close enough that his warmth cuts through the sleepy haze.
“Little guy’s got better taste in pillows than I do,” he teases, voice low and rough from the long day, dragging his gaze down to Jae with a small, crooked smile tugging at his lips. There’s that playful glint in his eyes, the one that always sneaks in like he’s trying to lighten the exhaustion weighing on both of you.
You blink harder, glancing at the clock on the nightstand. Your frown deepens quick. “You’re home?” The words come out thick with sleep, eyes widening when the numbers hit—four whole hours had slipped by since you crashed.
He looks back up at you, that steady gaze softening around the edges as he nods. “Yeah. And don’t worry about it, I’ll hit the rest of the house chores later. You can sleep more.” His voice drops a notch, reassuring and warm.
“I don’t wanna sleep more,” you murmur, voice still scratchy from the nap. “And you sure you can handle the rest? I mean, you must be wiped from work—”
“I can and I will,” he cuts in, firm but gentle, that no-argument tone he pulls out when he’s decided.
You feel a small smile tug at your lips despite the fog in your head. “Thanks.”
“You’re always welcome, love.” The words roll off him easy, low and warm, wrapping around you like the blanket you’re half tangled in.
You move slow and careful, easing Jae off your stomach with practiced hands. His little body stays limp and trusting as you lift him, settling him down beside you on the bed. You tuck the blanket up to his chin, fingers brushing his soft cheek for a second before you push yourself up to sit, back against the headboard. The motion makes your shirt slip lower on its own, the undone buttons giving way and exposing more of your cleavage in the warm lamp light.
Respectful or not, he’s still a man at the end of the day. His eyes drop immediately, tracking the movement before he can stop himself, that familiar heat flashing quick across his face.
He drags his gaze back up with visible effort, jaw tight like it’s taking every ounce of willpower he’s got. You rub at your eyes, another yawn slipping out as you stretch your arms overhead, body still heavy with leftover sleep.
“You must be tired from doing the same grind every day,” he says, clearing his throat. “Wanna go out tonight? Like a drive or something?” The suggestion comes out casual.
You frown, head tilting. “To where?”
“Not every drive needs a fixed destination. Count on the night to take us wherever it wants to.”
“You can’t be for real,” Jungkook mutters, cutting a sideways glance at you while the car idles at the red light, city glow reflecting off his eyes. The engine hums low beneath you, mixing with the distant buzz of traffic.
You’re staring straight ahead at the empty crosswalk, mind half elsewhere. “Really, I’m not hungry. Now stop arguing about it,” you tell him, turning your head to meet his gaze while your fingers scratch lightly at the back of your head, trying to shake off the leftover sleep fog.
He sighs, long and defeated but fond, shaking his head with the smallest curve at the corner of his mouth. “Nevermind. I’d rather make you something when we get home anyway. My way tastes better than whatever greasy spot we’d hit.”
“It’s been months since we got alone time like this,” you murmur, rolling your shoulder in a slow, deep stretch that pulls a contented sigh from your chest, the tension unraveling bit by bit in the quiet car. Then worry crashes in fast, tightening your expression. “But I hope Jae’s doing okay. What if he wakes up or—”
“Shh, baby,” he cuts in, voice soft and steady. “He’ll be just fine. Kid passed out hard before we left, belly full, and we handed off every single thing he could possibly need to your friend. She’s got him covered, promise.”
“How about you focus on me instead?” he mutters, voice dropping low as his hand slides over, palm warm and deliberate, settling high on your thigh. His thumb starts tracing slow, lazy circles against the fabric of your shorts, the pressure just firm enough to pull your attention fully into the car.
“I am,” you mutter back, eyes flicking down to watch the path of his hand for a beat before lifting to meet his gaze again, the city lights flickering across his face.
“I don’t think so,” he murmurs, his tone dipping into that deeper octave that always seems to vibrate through you. His fingers inch higher up your thigh in no rush at all, drawing light, teasing patterns along the way, taking his sweet time like he’s memorizing the feel of you under his touch after too many rushed nights. The weight of his hand feels grounding and electric all at once, cutting through the quiet hum of the engine.
“You got a cigarette on you?” The question makes him jerk his head your way for a split second, eyebrows lifting in that surprised, amused way he does when you catch him off guard.
“Bad habits die hard, huh?” he asks, the low chuckle rumbling through his chest as he shakes his head.
He eases the car into a long, deserted lane, tires crunching softly over gravel before he kills the engine. Silence settles heavy around you both, broken only by the faint tick of cooling metal. Jungkook leans over and pops open the hidden compartment, pulling out the familiar pack of your favorite—Marlboro Red—and holds it out without a word.
You pluck one from the pack, the paper smooth between your fingers, and wait as he fishes out the lighter. You slip the cigarette between your lips, the filter resting familiar and comforting. You flick the flame to life, the small orange glow lighting up the space between you for a moment as you lean in, inhaling slow until the tip catches and burns steady. The first drag fills your lungs with that sharp, smoky hit, tension easing from your shoulders
You glance sideways at Jungkook and catch him staring, that dark, unreadable intensity locked on you like he’s memorizing every little shift in your expression. Grinning, you lean in closer on purpose, lips parting as you blow a slow, deliberate stream of smoke right across his face. It curls around his sharp jaw and lingers in the space between you, hazy and intimate under the dashboard lights.
To him, the whole thing is pure heat.
You pull the cigarette from between your lips and hold the filter out toward him, pinching it lightly between your ring and middle finger, the paper still warm from your mouth.
He watches you for a long second, eyes heavy, before his fingers wrap around your wrist—grip solid and warm, thumb pressing just enough against your pulse point. He leans in, takes the cigarette between his lips, and pulls a long, unhurried drag. The ember glows brighter for a moment. Then he rolls every window down, letting the cool night breeze rush through the car, carrying the smoke out into the empty lane. He drops his head all the way back against the seat, as he exhales a thick cloud.
You freeze right there in your seat, the rest of the world fading for a second. The sight hits different—his relaxed shoulders, the sharp cut of his jaw in the low light, throat exposed, neck veins popping, the effortless way he owns the moment. Your breath catches without meaning to, pulse thrumming louder in your ears. It might honestly be one of the hottest things you’ve witnessed in your life, simple as it is, leaving the car feeling smaller, the air thicker, and your thoughts a little scrambled.
You take another slow drag, deliberately turning your face away toward the open window, desperate for anything to distract from the unfairly hot man sitting right beside you. The cool air does little to settle the sudden warmth crawling under your skin.
You pass the cigarette back and forth a few times, letting each of you steal a couple drags in comfortable silence, the smoke mingling with the night breeze. Then he snatches it smoothly from your fingers, bringing it to his lips for a long, deep pull without asking.
You don’t complain. Not even a little.
Your eyes drift over him instead—his hair still a little messy and damp from the quick shower he took before you left, half-lidded eyes heavy with that post-work exhaustion mixed with something sharper. That prominent big nose you’ve always had a weakness for (whatever Doja Cat said about big noses), the full cupid’s bow lips you’ve almost forgotten the exact taste of after so many tired nights, the sharp jawline that cuts straight through your better judgment and sanity, the strong column of his neck, those muscular arms flexing casually, the broad chest and defined lines under his plain t-shirt, and the very obvious, massive outline straining against the gray sweatpan—
You freeze hard, head snapping up so fast it’s almost embarrassing. You did not just look there.
Heart hammering, you gather the nerve to sneak one more millisecond glance downward, confirming the prominent bulge the soft fabric does nothing to hide, especially in the dim lighting. Then you jerk your eyes back up to his face, only to find him already watching you, that dark, knowing look pinned right on your expression.
The gray sweatpants make everything stand out even more in the low light, impossible to ignore now that you’ve seen it. The air in the car suddenly feels ten degrees warmer.
He keeps his lips parted, slowly exhaling the smoke in a lazy, controlled stream that curls toward the open window. He taps the ashes out with a flick of his finger, then turns that heavy stare back on you—like a predator eyeing prey he’s forcing himself not to pounce on, the tension thick enough to taste.
“What?” you ask, voice coming out quieter than you mean it to. You snatch the cigarette right from his fingers and twist toward your window, staring hard at the empty lane outside. Your face feels way too warm, probably bright red, and you keep it turned away on purpose so he can’t see the flush creeping up your neck.
“Don’t look at it like that if you can’t do something about it, yeah?” he murmurs, the deep rasp of his voice cutting straight through the quiet car and sending a rush of heat straight down your body. “Gives me all kinds of wrong ideas.”
You’d be lying if you said you didn’t miss this—the easy, skin-prickling intimacy that used to happen without thinking, back before Jae turned your nights into a constant rotation of feeds and exhaustion. The hunger is mutual. He’s desperate for you in that quiet, restrained way, and you’re every bit as desperate for him. He’s just holding back, staying respectful and patient like the man you married.
He holds the eye contact when you finally glance back, the moment stretching thick between you as you pull a long, deliberate drag from the cigarette. The smoke burns down your throat, grounding you for a second, before you toss what’s left of it out the window into the dark.
You let your eyes wander over him freely now, no more pretending. Why should you? He’s your husband—your person.
Your man.
You let your eyes drift deliberately now—down the strong column of his neck, over the flex of his arms where the muscles shift under your stare, across the broad stretch of his chest and the defined ridges of his abs visible through the thin t-shirt. His body reacts under the attention, arm tensing visibly as you keep looking. Your gaze drops lower again, settling on the prominent bulge in his gray sweatpants, and he spreads his legs a little wider on purpose, manspreading across the seat in that casual, devastating way.
Fuck, it’s stupidly hot.
It’s been so long since you’ve had this kind of uninterrupted moment, and you’d almost forgotten how perfectly you two used to fit together, like you were molded for each other in every sense.
Again— every sense.
Your hand moves almost on its own, sliding across the center console before coming to rest on his thigh, fingers settling warm and tentative right below where the fabric strains so obviously.
You hear him exhale sharply through his nose, the sound rough in the quiet car.
“Y/N,” he says, your name coming out half warning, half like he’s talking himself down from whatever pull is threatening to drag him under. His hand covers yours on his thigh, not pushing it away, just holding it there—warm and steady.
You glance up for a second, catching the raw hunger burning in his eyes—dark, barely leashed, the kind that makes your stomach flip. You look back down almost immediately, breath shallow.
Your fingers start inching higher up his thigh on their own, slow and exploratory.
“Y/N,” he murmurs again, voice strained. “You gave birth to our son just seven months ago. I don’t know if you’re healed enough. And honestly, I think it’s probably those ovulation hormones messing with you right now. I don’t think you’re ready. I’m trying to be nice here, so don’t do this.” The words come out in a low whisper, but he holds eye contact the whole time, steady and intense. You’ve known him long enough to read what he’s not saying—the need is written all over his face, screaming in the tension of his jaw and the heat in his stare.
“Jungkook…” you murmur back, barely above a breath.
“Yes, love?”
“Didn’t you just tell me to stop looking unless I wanna do something about it?” you say, a small, teasing,challenging smile tugging at your lips. “I’m working on that.” With that, you gently push his hand off yours, freeing your fingers to keep moving at their own slow pace.
Your fingers trace the hard outline of his bulge through the soft fabric, deliberate and slow, as you lean across the center console for better reach. The position puts you half out of your seat, shoulder brushing his, the console digging lightly into your ribs. He doesn’t stop you this time.
He knows you both need this—the months of careful distance cracking open in the quiet dark of the car.
You slide your hand beneath the waistband of his sweatpants, fingers finding the warm, thick base of his cock. His head drops back against the headrest with a heavy, relieved sigh, throat working as he lets you explore.
He helps without a word, lifting his hips just enough to tug the sweatpants lower. His cock springs free, hard and heavy, the cool night air hitting heated skin as it rests against his stomach. The sight of him like this—laid out in the driver’s seat, chest rising faster, jaw clenched—sends a fresh wave of want through you, sharp and undeniable after so long.
You pause with your hand wrapped around him for a second, heart hammering too loud to ignore. Then you grab the collar of his shirt with both hands and yank him toward you, crashing your mouths together in a hungry, fierce kiss that’s been building for months.
He meets you just as hard, one big hand sliding to the back of your neck, fingers threading into your hair as he kisses you back with raw need. He tastes like cigarette smoke and mint, the combination dizzying, making your head spin. You can feel yourself getting wetter, panties clinging uncomfortably as heat pools low in your belly.
He breaks the kiss just long enough to grab his phone, connect it to the car’s speaker, and blast some random R&B track on full volume. The deep bass fills the space as he yanks all the heavily tinted windows up, sealing you both inside, as well as turning the air conditioner in the car on. Then he looks back at you, both of you breathing hard, lips swollen.
You crash your mouths together again because once isn’t enough—you’re addicted, and so is he, tongues sliding, teeth nipping, desperate and messy. That manly scent rolling off him hits you harder with every inhale, warm skin and faint cologne and pure Jungkook, working on you like some kind of aphrodisiac drug that makes your thighs press together on instinct.
You break the kiss when oxygen becomes non-negotiable, pulling back with a sharp inhale, both of you breathing hard and fast. Your face feels flushed, lips tingling and swollen, the taste of him still lingering on your tongue.
Your hand drifts back down without hesitation, fingers wrapping snug around the thick base of his cock. You stroke him slowly at first, a few firm pumps that draw a deep, contented hum from his throat, the sound vibrating through his chest and straight into you.
With your other hand you tuck loose strands of hair behind your ear, then bend down over the center console, leaning in close. You drag your tongue in one long, slow stripe from the base all the way to the flushed tip, feeling every ridge and vein under the wet heat of your mouth.
He lets out a low, guttural groan the moment you sink your mouth down onto him, lips stretching wide around his impressive girth. The fullness of him on your tongue is overwhelming in the best way, warm and solid after so much time apart.
His hands are careful but possessive, gathering your hair and twisting it into a loose ponytail at the back of your head. He holds it there like his own personal grip, fingers flexing against your scalp as you start to move, the bass from the speaker pulsing around you both in the sealed, slightly space of the car.
His hips jerk up instinctively when you take him deeper, pushing more of his thick length into your mouth. You can barely handle halfway before his tip nudges the back of your throat, making your eyes water slightly at the stretch and fullness.
His head falls back hard against the headrest, a strained “Fuck…” slipping from his lips like a prayer and a curse all at once.
The raw reaction only fuels you more, heat curling tight in your belly as you work him with renewed hunger.
Your hand and mouth move together in a steady rhythm—fingers wrapped tight around the thick base your lips can’t reach, stroking in time with the way you bob your head. You swirl your tongue around the sensitive tip on every upstroke, tasting the salty bead of precum that leaks for you, sucking lightly as your cheeks hollow out. The car fills with the wet sounds of your mouth and his low, broken breaths, the music still thumping low in the background.
“You’re doing so fucking good,” he breathes, the words rough and strained. You lift your gaze through wet lashes and meet his eyes—half-lidded, burning down at you with that raw, unguarded hunger that makes your stomach tighten. “Good girl.”
The praise sinks straight into your bones. The second you feel him twitch against your tongue, you pour everything into it, sucking harder, taking him deeper, hollowing your cheeks as your hand works the base in tight, slick strokes.
He groans deep in his chest and tightens his grip in your hair, using it to bob your head up and down at the pace he needs. You let him take control, relaxing your throat as much as you can, eyes watering from the stretch and the way his thick cock fills your mouth completely. Saliva drips down your chin but you don’t care, humming around him, the vibrations pulling more broken sounds from his lips.
His breaths turn ragged, groans getting louder, hips jerking up every few seconds as he twitches more frequently on your tongue. The tension coils tighter in his body until it finally snaps. His orgasm hits hard with a loud, guttural groan, head slamming back against the headrest, eyes rolling back as thick, hot ropes of cum flood your throat. His body jerks with every pulse, thighs trembling under your touch as you swallow around him, taking everything he gives you.
He keeps you there for a long moment, fingers still tangled tight in your hair, holding you close as the last tremors run through his body. His groans gradually fade into heavy, satisfied breaths that brush warm against the top of your head.
Then he tugs you up gently by the makeshift ponytail, guiding you until your mouth meets his in a fierce, claiming kiss. He doesn’t hesitate for a second, tasting himself on your tongue and groaning softly into it, the kiss turning deep and messy, filled with raw gratitude and the kind of hunger that hasn’t been fed in months.
You grab onto his shoulders for balance, but he’s already pulling you closer, strong hands gripping your waist as he maneuvers you over the center console. You end up straddling his thighs in the driver’s seat, knees pressing into the leather on either side of him, the position intimate and close in the cramped space.
“I missed this…” he murmur against your lips, voice breathy and rough.
He proved his point by trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down the line of your jaw and along the curve of your shoulder. You tilt your head to the side without thinking, giving him better access, a shiver running through you as his lips and tongue work over your skin, hands sliding possessively up your back under your shirt.
“Mmh… Jungkook…” The gasp slips out sharp when he bites down on that sensitive spot along your shoulder, teeth grazing just hard enough to make your eyes flutter shut and your nails dig into the front of his shirt.
“Mhm,” he hums against your skin, soothing the sting with a slow drag of his tongue, the vibration sending sparks straight down your spine.
His hands are everywhere at once—one gripping your hip possessively, fingers digging into the soft flesh like he needs to anchor himself, while the other trails down your stomach, teasing along the waistband of your sweatpants. The light touch makes your breath hitch, anticipation curling tight in your core.
Your eyes fly open the second his hand slips inside your pants, palm cupping your soaked mound with confident possession. A thick finger slides through your wet folds, parting them easily, and a full-body shiver runs through you at the contact, thighs clenching around his lap as the car suddenly feels impossibly smaller.
“Fuck, you’re dripping down my hand,” he growls against your skin, pulling back just enough to look up at your flushed face. A wicked grin spreads across his lips, eyes dark with satisfaction.
“Eyes on me, baby,” he murmurs, voice low and commanding. He waits until you manage to lock your gaze with his, pupils blown wide, before he plunges two thick fingers deep inside you in one smooth thrust.
Your hips jerk hard against his hand, a sharp gasp tearing from your throat at the sudden stretch and fullness. He doesn’t give you time to adjust, capturing your mouth in another hungry kiss, swallowing every moan that tries to escape as his fingers start moving—deep, steady, curling just right inside you.
The pads of his fingers brush against that perfect spot with every stroke, making your thighs tremble around his lap, pleasure sparking sharp and hot through your body as he works you open with practiced precision.
As he pulls back from the kiss, you’re both panting hard, lips swollen and breaths mingling in the steamy confines of the car. His free hand slides up your body with purpose, long fingers wrapping around your throat in a firm, possessive grip. Not hard enough to restrict your air, but just tight enough to send your head spinning—blood pounding in your ears, a delicious dizziness washing over you that only heightens the arousal flooding your system.
His thumb presses tight, perfect circles against your swollen clit, the pressure steady and maddening, pulling whimpers and sharp little gasps from your throat with every rotation. You’re close already, core clenching around his fingers, as your eyes shut closed, thighs trembling around his lap as the pleasure coils tighter and tighter—until he suddenly stops moving entirely, fingers buried deep but still.
You groan in pure frustration, brows pulling together as you open your eyes and stare at him with heavy-lidded eyes, face burning flushed and chest heaving with every desperate pant.
“I said eyes on me,” he murmurs, voice dark and commanding, one brow arched in that teasing challenge. “Don’t you dare look away or close your eyes, or else I stop, hm?”
You nod frantically, too far gone to argue back or do anything else, cheeks blazing even hotter.
He’s reduced you to this needy, dripping mess—embarrassingly aroused, hanging on every word and touch like he owns you. And right now, he absolutely does.
“Such a good girl for me,” he hums against your lips, voice thick with satisfaction and something darker, the praise sinking into your skin like a brand.
You don’t wait for more permission. You start moving your hips again, grinding down onto his fingers, fucking yourself on them with desperate little rolls that make obscene wet sounds fill the car. He matches your pace instantly, thrusting deeper, curling those long fingers against that perfect spot with devastating accuracy.
A few more relentless strokes and the coil inside you snaps violently. You clench hard around his fingers, orgasm ripping through you with a loud, broken cry that bounces off the tinted windows. Your whole body shakes, thighs clamping tight around his lap as wave after wave crashes over you, soaking his hand and the front of your sweatpants while your vision whites out for a second.
He doesn’t stop right away. He slows his movements instead, drawing out every last tremor and pulse of your orgasm with long, lazy strokes, milking you through it until you’re a trembling, whimpering mess in his lap, aftershocks still sparking through your oversensitive nerves.
You lean your forehead against his shoulder, still breathing hard, eyes closed, the aftershocks of your orgasm leaving your limbs shaky and your mind hazy. The solid warmth of him grounds you even as your pulse continues to hammer.
“Breathless already, baby? We just started,” he teases, the grin clear in his voice as he turns his head and drags his tongue slowly over your earlobe, teeth grazing the sensitive skin just enough to make you shiver.
Somehow, in the tight space of the driver’s seat, he manages to work your sweatpants the rest of the way off, the fabric sliding down your thighs with a soft rustle. His hands grip your hips firmly, angling them back so you’re positioned perfectly above him, the head of his still-hard cock brushing against your soaked entrance.
You open your eyes, swallowing hard, the lump in your throat thick, your breathing still uneven and your pulse racing under your skin. The cool air of the car hits your bare skin, contrasting with the heat rolling off his body.
He leans back, reaching down to recline the seat a little further so there’s more room, settling deeper into the leather. His dark eyes lock onto yours, voice low and rough with command as he murmurs,
“Now… ride me.”
Your eyes snap open wide the second the command hits your ear, a jolt of nervous heat racing through you. He raises a brow at your reaction, that cocky, knowing look already in place.
You gulp hard, nails digging into the fabric of his shirt as your fingers tighten against his shoulders for support.
“C’mon, baby. Don’t act all shy now,” he grins, clearly enjoying the deep flush that floods your cheeks. His hands grip your hips firmly, guiding you down slowly, letting you feel every thick inch as he sinks into you.
The moment you bottom out, a low, guttural groan rips from his chest at the same time a sharp gasp escapes your lips. He fills you so completely it borders on overwhelming—stretching, hot, and so deep it feels surreal after months of nothing. Your thighs tremble around him, the full, heavy pressure of him inside you stealing the last of your breath.
You stay still for a second, adjusting to the overwhelming stretch, forehead pressed to his shoulder again as you try to catch your breath. He’s thick and deep, filling every inch of you until it almost hurts in the best way.
His hands stay locked on your hips, thumbs stroking slow circles over your skin. “Fuck… look at you,” he rasps, voice rough. “Taking me so well.”
You start to move—small, tentative rolls of your hips at first, testing the angle. The friction is immediate and intense, every shift dragging him against that sensitive spot inside you. A soft moan slips out of your mouth before you can stop it.
“That’s it,” he encourages, guiding you into a steadier rhythm. “Just like that.”
You plant your hands on his chest and push yourself upright, finding a better angle. The new position lets you sink even deeper, and you both curse at the same time. Your thighs burn already from the effort, but the pleasure is sharper now, building fast as you start to ride him properly—rising up until only the head remains inside, then dropping back down in one smooth motion.
The wet sound of your bodies meeting fills the car, mixing with the low bass still thumping from the speakers. Jungkook’s head falls back against the seat, eyes half-lidded as he watches you, jaw tight, every muscle in his abdomen flexing under you.
“God, you’re so tight,” he groans, hips lifting to meet your downward thrusts. “Missed this pussy so fucking much.”
You lean forward again, bracing yourself on his shoulders as you pick up the pace, chasing the heat coiling low in your belly. His hands slide up your back under your shirt, then down to grip your ass, helping you bounce harder on his cock. Every time you take him to the hilt, a broken little sound escapes you—half moan, half whimper—and he drinks every one of them in like he’s starving.
The pace turns messier, more desperate. You bounce harder on him, the wet slap of skin against skin echoing in the sealed car. Sweat starts to dampen the back of your shirt; his palms slide over it as he grips your ass tighter, helping lift you up only to drag you back down harder each time.
“Fuck—just like that,” he groans, the words punched out of him every time you sink all the way down. His hips snap up to meet yours, driving deeper, making your breath hitch on every thrust. The fullness is almost too much, stretching you open in a way that makes your thighs shake and your nails dig into his shoulders.
You drop your forehead to his again, panting against his mouth. He captures your lips in a messy kiss—open, wet, all tongue and teeth.
“Come on, baby,” he murmurs against your lips, voice wrecked. “Let me feel you come around me.”The underside of your thighs burns from the strain, muscles trembling as your pace starts to slow. Jungkook notices immediately. His hands clamp down on your thighs, fingers digging into the soft flesh as he thrusts his hips up hard whenever you lag, forcing himself deeper.
“Keep going,” he orders, voice rough and breathless.
Every time you sink back down, a loud, broken moan spills from your lips, the sound echoing in the small space of the car. He’s so deep it steals the air from your lungs, stretching you open with every downward roll of your hips.
You try to obey, bouncing on him again even as your legs shake. The friction is relentless—wet, hot, and perfect. His grip on your thighs stays firm, guiding your rhythm when your body starts to give out, using his strength to keep you moving.
“That’s it… fuck, look at you,” he groans, eyes locked on where your bodies meet. “Taking every inch like you were made for it.”
You drop forward, bracing your hands on his chest, forehead pressed to his as you keep riding him through the burn. The new angle makes him hit even deeper, and another loud moan rips out of you, louder this time. His hands slide up to your waist, holding you steady while he starts thrusting up to meet every downward motion, the wet slap of skin filling the car along with your shared, ragged breathing.
One of his hands slides down between your bodies, thumb finding your clit with unerring accuracy. He rubs tight, firm circles over the swollen bud while continuing to thrust up into you, the dual stimulation so intense it makes your vision blur.
You’re seeing stars almost immediately.
Your hips stutter, a high, broken moan tearing from your throat as the pressure builds at a dizzying speed. Every deep thrust combined with the relentless circles of his thumb pushes you higher, the pleasure sharp and overwhelming. Your thighs shake violently around him, walls fluttering and clenching around his cock as you race toward the edge.
“That’s it—come for me,” he growls against your ear, voice rough and strained.
The command snaps the last thread of your control. Your orgasm crashes through you hard, ripping a loud, choked cry from your lips as you clamp down around him. Your whole body seizes, trembling violently in his arms while wave after wave of pleasure tears through you. Your hips jerking weakly as he keeps thrusting up into you, dragging out every pulse until you’re oversensitive and gasping against his shoulder.
He groans deeply when you clench around him, the tight, rhythmic squeeze of your walls pulling a raw, broken sound from his chest. His hips stutter for a second as he feels every pulse of your orgasm, forehead dropping against yours while he rides it out with you.
“Fuck—just like that,” he rasps, voice strained and breathless. His hands grip your hips harder, holding you down as he thrusts up through the aftershocks, chasing his own release now that you’re fluttering and dripping around him.
You cling to his shoulders, still trembling, oversensitive but not pulling away. Every deep stroke sends little sparks of leftover pleasure through your body. His breathing turns ragged, muscles tensing under your palms, the wet sound of him moving inside you growing louder and more desperate.
“Gonna fill you up,” he warns through gritted teeth, the words punched out between thrusts. His pace turns short and hard, burying himself as deep as he can go with every snap of his hips.
A few more powerful strokes and he comes with a low, guttural groan, head snuggled against your neck. His body jerks with each pulse, holding you tightly against him while he spills everything he’s got, cock twitching deep as he rides out the last of his orgasm.
You both stay locked together for a long moment afterward, chests heaving, bodies slick with sweat. His arms stay wrapped tightly around you, keeping you pressed against him while he softens slowly inside you. The car is quiet except for the fading bass of the music and your shared, uneven breathing.
Jungkook presses a soft kiss to your temple, then another to the side of your neck, the earlier intensity melting into something gentler. His hands stroke up and down your back in slow, soothing motions, grounding both of you.
“You okay?” he murmurs against your skin, voice still rough but softer now.
You nod weakly against his shoulder, too spent to form words yet. Your thighs are still trembling, the dull ache from riding him mixed with the pleasant, heavy fullness of him still inside you. He doesn’t rush to pull out. Instead he holds you there, one hand sliding up to cradle the back of your head while the other rests warm on your hip.
Outside the heavily tinted windows, the empty lane remains dark and still. Inside, the air is thick with the scent of sex, smoke, and the faint cologne clinging to his skin. He shifts just enough to press another lingering kiss to your lips—slow this time, unhurried, tasting of gratitude and leftover hunger.
“Missed this,” he whispers against your mouth. “Missed you.”
“Thank you so much for taking care of Jae,” you say with a bright smile, glancing between Yuna and the baby now settled in your arms. He’s wide awake, tiny fingers already tugging curiously at the neckline of your shirt.
“Of course,” Yuna replies, looking proud of herself. “I was gonna stay up all night anyway, so it wasn’t a problem if you left him here a bit longer. Feel free to drop Jae off whenever you want—I honestly believe a couple deserves some time alone too.”
She worked as a babysitter for about six months back in high school, but you hadn’t expected her to be this good with kids.
“Oh, surely… only if Jae doesn’t cause you too much trouble,” you offer with a soft laugh.
“Nah, he’s chill. One of the nicest kids I’ve seen. Barely troubled me at all.” Yuna tilts her head, smiling. “But I hope you and Jungkook had a great time. Where did y’all go, though?”
Your smile drops instantly. You look down at Jae, suddenly very interested in adjusting his little onesie, trying to fight the flush you can already feel creeping up your neck and cheeks.
Of course you can’t exactly tell her that Jungkook fucked your brains out in the car.
“Somewhere,” Jungkook answers for you, leaning against the doorframe with his arms crossed over his chest, eyes fixed on you.
You know better than to look at him right now. One glance and the heat already crawling up your neck will turn into a full-blown flush that Yuna will definitely notice.
She frowns slightly at Jungkook, then shifts her attention back to you, waiting for a better answer.
“We—… we went to a cinema,” you say quickly, forcing a casual tone as you bounce Jae lightly in your arms.
Yuna’s frown disappears, replaced by an easy smile. “Oooh. That’s great.”
At least she buys the lie. You risk a tiny glance toward Jungkook and catch the corner of his mouth twitching like he’s fighting a smirk. You immediately look back down at Jae, pretending the baby’s tiny fist has suddenly become the most interesting thing in the room.
“Alright, I’ll take a leave then. Good luck for your exam, yeah?” you say to Yuna with a smile.
She nods and walks you both out to the car, standing on the curb and waving until the vehicle pulls away and her apartment building disappears from view. Jae remains nestled in your arms the whole time, tiny and warm against your chest.
The car is quiet for a few minutes as Jungkook drives, the city lights sliding across the windshield. You glance over at him, catching the soft, satisfied look on his face, one hand loose on the wheel, the other resting casually on the gear shift.
Jae makes a small cooing sound, pulling your attention back down. You adjust him carefully, brushing a thumb over his soft cheek.
“You think she bought it?” you ask quietly, keeping your voice low even though the baby can’t understand.
Jungkook’s mouth curves into a small smirk. “Cinema, huh? Cute.” He glances sideways at you, eyes dark and amused under the streetlights. “You’re a terrible liar, by the way. Your ears were bright red.”
You huff, looking out the window to hide the fresh heat crawling up your neck. “Shut up.”
He chuckles low, the sound warm and familiar, then reaches over to rest his hand lightly on your thigh—nothing heated this time, just steady and present. “You good?”
You nod, leaning your head back against the seat, still cradling Jae. The ache between your legs is a quiet reminder of everything that just happened, but the contentment sitting in your chest is stronger. For the first time in months, the exhaustion feels lighter.
You see, perverted or not, life just feels better when you’ve got a capable—actually insane—sex partner. Like, hell yeah. Fuck anyone who claims sexual frustration isn’t a real need.
The love prognosis by awrkive (91k, completed)
For as long as you can remember, you've always been a hopeless romantic. the girl who’s always dreamt of cheesy encounters with her soulmate, grand love declarations, and a cute little beach wedding to boot. but reality pretty much slaps you hard right on the face, because love, unfortunately, doesn’t come grand — it’s simple and it’s quiet, but it is quite painful, especially when the love that you’ve been seeking for all your adult life has just been right under your nose all this time.
Rattled by gukslut (69k, completed)
TEMPORARY FRAGMENTS by inthelow (+200k, completed)
When you meet Jungkook— an older man who is amazing in bed, you thought it would be a simple arrangement of casual sex. Except things start getting serious and before you know he’s asking you on dates and introducing you to his daughter… Of course, he doesn’t know that you’re bad with kids and never wanted one of your own— well, at least it was just something temporary… right?.
GET HIM BACK! by inthelow (Series, completed)
After a hard breakup with who, you thought, would be the one, the only thing in your mind was a sad playlist of Taylor Swift songs and red wine. But, what happens when your neighbour— who is done of hearing you cry at 2 am every day — puts the idea in your head of getting your ex back? but with a good and sweet revenge… of course everything will be easier if you didn’t have any feelings for your ex and if your neighbour wasn’t a superstar idol who doesn’t have a problem at pretending to be your boyfriend to piss off that ex— who also happens to be his ex best friend— What a mess, right?
When Love Arrives by DelusionTillIDie (180k, completed) (ao3)
You're quite literally stepping on toes after being invited to the Grammys as part of Halsey's PR team.
Sugar Fairy by foxymoxy (229k, completed) (ao3)
Bunny Hybrid Jungkook is at that age… he needs a mate, and it's making life miserable for everyone in the family. The obvious solution is to bring home a girl. The obvious problem is that while it's love at first site for Pippa when he walks into the adoption tent, Jungkook is far more into the sexy cat to her right. Will there ever be peace in the family again?
In Motion by dailydoseofdia (176k, completed) (ao3)
The rule is simple - you can look but you can’t touch. You’ve been attending the event for a few times but it was only when a certain boy arrives at one occasion did you feel the fire of lust burning inside
Little Bean by foxymoxy (541k, completed) (ao3)
Nothing has been normal for Jungkook since he moved to Seoul to become a trainee as a boy, and yet noticing a beautiful girl in a coffee shop is the most normal thing a young man can do. Asking her out, super normal. Falling in love, totally normal. Everything about Sasha makes him feel normal and important, and yet nothing can ever be truly normal when your relationship has to be secret.
Flux by foxymoxy (712k, completed) (ao3)
Tour has ended but life only moves faster as Jungkook prepares for another album and Sasha gets exciting new career opportunities she just can’t say no to. What seems so pure and strong on summer vacation struggles under the onslaught of external pressures, internal demons, and missed connections. How can they ever find stability together when both their lives are so full of churn? And if the currents do tear them apart, how will they find their way back to each other?
My Matryoshka by foxymoxy (226k, ongoing) (ao3)
Jungkook and Sasha are grateful for the newfound stability of their relationship as careers seize the spotlight. Sasha has a thesis to focus on in a hostile academia environment. Jungkook is eager to share his maturing identity with the fans, the world, and his hyungs. But with so much looming change, it’s easy to feel like the golden days have already passed. Can they be enough for each other through it all? And really, who could have predicted what one little full sleeve tattoo would cause?
★ snow and ice (a,f,s) | by @hayjeon
⤷ a friends w benefits au featuring snowboarder! jk and figure skater! reader during the Olympics! this was an amazing read. the tension, the jealousy, the pressure as participants in the olympics was soo well written. made me reread at least thrice.
★ in the dark ft. jimin (f,s) | by @jksangelic
⤷ wild sex with two of your hot best friends while stuck in a car in the middle of nowhere on Halloween night?? where do I sign up.
★ beneath his love (a,f,s) | by @ctrlsht
⤷ this fic had me hooked from start to finish 😭 what starts off feeling like a sweet romance slowly turns into something so much darker and more unsettling. the way jungkook's controlling/yandere tendencies were so subtly mentioned in the beginning of the fic and slowly progressed into full-blown emotional manipulation truly shows how well written this story is. i haven't been this invested in a yandere fic in a long time. the tension had me on edge the entire time, and i kept wanting to know just how far things would go. definitely one of those stories that stays in your head long after you've finished reading.
★ handle with care (f,s) | by @dreamersparacosm
⤷ the plot of this one is straight out of a porn movie but I have to agree. blue collar dick is infact a lifestyle. (esp if jungkook owns said blue collar dick) I need someone to fix my sink and rearrange my soul.
★ play you like a game, boy. (a,f,s) | by @lilliankoo
⤷ "he's mean to everyone but worships the ground you walk on" AHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH I NEED A MAN LIKE THAT WHERE DO I FIND HIM PLSPLSPSLPL
★ one night only (f,s) | by @mei-mei-fics
⤷ this fic was absolutely unhinged in the best way 😭 i came for jimin and stayed for the insane chemistry between all three characters. the dynamic between jimin and jungkook was so well balanced, and the tension just kept escalating with each word. definitely not for the faint of heart, but if you love filthy, intense, and completely addictive reads, this one delivers.
Summary: When you're dragged to an underground party by your best friend, the last thing you expect is to be thrown into a game of Seven Minutes in Heaven — especially not with Jeon Jungkook, the brooding, sharp-tongued heartbreaker with a reputation that precedes him. You barely know him. He barely looks at anyone. But behind that locked door, time slows down, sparks fly, and he's done for. You're sure he'll forget you. He does. But now he’s on a mission to figure out who “Closet Girl” is — and your friends are doing everything they can to mess with him while keeping your identity secret.
genre: University AU | strangers to lovers (sort of)
warnings: flirting, mild romantic tension, social anxiety, embarrassment, minor illness, playful pranks, friendly manipulation, study stress, mild language, sarcastic banter, JK being so whipped, slow-burn romance, light comedy/drama, no serious harm
WC: 18k words
a/n: tumblr wouldn’t let me post it unless I split it into two parts…t’was too long…enjoy
Campus is buzzing. Not the usual hum of sleep-deprived students dragging themselves to class, but the kind of chaotic energy that only comes around when the weekend stretches ahead, warm and wide open.
The quad is drenched in golden late-afternoon sunlight, and the air smells like grass, iced coffee, and the subtle hint of sweat from people pretending they aren’t trying to look hot in 85-degree heat.
You’re weaving between bodies, textbooks tucked under your arm, when it catches your eye: a bright neon flier taped to nearly every lamppost, tree, and bulletin board in sight.
SINS & SAINTS
BIGGEST PARTY OF THE SEMESTER — 10PM @ THE PIT
SEVEN MINUTES IN HEAVEN GAME 🔥 DON’T BE LAME
Yanni snatches one off a pole as you pass. “This is the moment, ladies.”
You don’t even give the flyer a second glance. “What moment? The one where you both fail your ethics paper because you were too busy shotgunning White Claws in someone’s moldy basement?”
“Oh my god, relax,” Jenna says, laughing. “It’s not moldy. They fixed the leak in April.”
You roll your eyes but let yourself smile as the three of you walk along the sidewalk, the late sun casting long shadows across the pavement. Yanni and Jenna look like they just stepped out of an Urban Outfitters ad — crop tops, layered jewelry, and enough confidence to set fire to half the student population.
And then there’s you. Not quite invisible, but definitely more “background character” than “main event.”
“You know this party’s gonna be huge, right?” Yanni says, waving the flier like it’s a golden ticket. “Last year someone jumped off the roof into the kiddie pool.”
“And broke their collarbone,” you point out.
“Legendary,” Jenna says, smirking.
You snatch the flier from Yanni’s hand, skimming it again. “Why would anyone voluntarily go to something with a ‘Seven Minutes in Heaven’ game advertised like a feature? We’re adults.”
“Are we?” Yanni asks, eyes twinkling.
“Technically,” Jenna adds. “But also—imagine the chaos. What if someone pulls Jungkook’s name?”
Your heart does a completely unacceptable little stutter at that.
Jeon Jungkook.
Tattooed, mysterious, chronically late to lectures (if he shows up at all), and very much the guy every girl on campus either wants to date, make out with, or get over. He’s got a motorcycle. He barely talks. He shows up to parties, hooks up with girls, then disappears like smoke.
And he’s beautiful. Obviously.
You’re not immune. You’ve had a crush on him since last semester, when he walked into your shared Intro to Media class twenty minutes late, helmet under his arm, chewing gum like he wasn’t the reason every girl in the room forgot what the professor was saying.
But Jungkook is a walking red flag. A whole carnival of them. And you’re smarter than that.
At least, you pretend to be.
“Literally everyone wants him,” Jenna says, reading your mind. “Even the TA from psych. She was full-on blushing when he asked for an extension.”
“Not surprised,” Yanni mutters. “He has that look — like he’s good at everything and knows it.”
“He probably is,” you say before you can stop yourself, then immediately regret it.
Your friends both stare at you, smirking like sharks.
“Wait,” Jenna says slowly, “do you have a thing for Jungkook?”
“No.” You say it too quickly. “God, no. I mean—everyone does. But I’m not stupid.”
“Just stupid-adjacent,” Yanni teases.
“Shut up.”
Before they can press you further, a familiar voice cuts through the noise.
“Well, well, well. Look who we have here.”
You look up to see Park Jimin approaching, all sunshine and mischief, with Kim Taehyung sauntering behind him like he owns the sidewalk.
Jimin’s wearing a denim jacket over a mesh tank, and Taehyung’s got sunglasses on even though the sun’s nearly down. Between the two of them, they look like trouble you want to get into.
“Hey, ladies,” Jimin says, flashing a grin as he throws an arm over Yanni’s shoulders. “You’re coming to the party tonight, right?”
“Obviously,” Yanni replies, leaning into the attention.
“Can’t miss the annual disaster,” Jenna adds, high-fiving Taehyung like they’re in on some secret joke.
You cross your arms. “You guys seriously hyping up a party where people get locked in closets like it’s summer camp?”
“It’s not just any party,” Jimin says. “It’s The Pit. Sins & Saints theme. Black lights. Fake angel wings. Maybe some fake confessions.”
“Cages,” Taehyung adds casually, like that’s normal.
You blink. “Cages? What kind of party is this?”
“The fun kind,” Jimin winks. “You coming, Y/N?”
“I have an essay due.”
“So bring it with you. I’ll give you moral support while you drink tequila.”
“Tempting,” you say, deadpan. “But I actually want to pass this semester.”
Taehyung leans in, smirking. “Well, in case you change your mind… Jungkook’s gonna be there.”
There it is again. The name. The spark that lights your nerves like a match to gasoline.
You try to play it cool. “Why would that matter to me?”
Yanni coughs loudly. Jenna bites her lip to keep from laughing.
Jimin just grins, already turning away. “No reason. See you at ten.”
And with that, the two boys melt back into the crowd, leaving you with your friends, your unfinished essay, and the creeping sense that this night might not go according to plan.
The quad’s stretched out like a painting, glowing and slow, the heat bleeding off the pavement in soft waves. Everything’s dipped in gold — the trees, the brick buildings, even the stupid neon flyers plastered to every pole.
The bench — their bench — is right where it always is, half in shade, half in sun, like it can’t decide whether it wants to be chill or dramatic. Typical.
Jungkook drops down into his usual spot on the backrest, boots braced on the seat like he owns it. He probably does, at this point — nobody ever sits there unless one of them’s already claimed it.
Taehyung arrives next, flopping into the grass with a sigh so theatrical it could win awards.
“Dying,” he declares. “Melting. This is my final form.”
Jimin shows up with a popsicle he definitely didn’t pay for. “It’s like 85. You’re from Daegu, you’ve survived worse.”
“I have delicate lungs now,” Taehyung replies. “I’m an artist.”
“Your lung capacity’s fine, bro,” Jungkook says. “You were yelling at Rocket League until three.”
Taehyung scowls but doesn’t argue.
A group of girls walks by — upperclassmen, probably — and Jungkook doesn’t miss the way they glance over, not subtle at all. One of them straightens her hair in her reflection on a car window.
He ignores it. Sips his drink. Lets the sun warm his tattoos.
“Party’s gonna be insane tonight,” Jimin says through a mouthful of cherry ice. “Everyone’s going.”
“You say that like you’re not part of the chaos,” Jungkook mutters.
“I am the chaos.”
Jungkook smirks. “You’re five feet of glitter and bad decisions.”
“I’m five-nine,” Jimin says automatically.
“You’re lying.”
“Anyway,” Taehyung cuts in, flopping back so his head hits the grass with a dull thump, “I heard there’s gonna be like… cages. Real ones. Hanging from the ceiling.”
“Where the hell are they getting cages?” Jungkook asks.
“Probably the theater department,” Jimin says. “They owe me after I fixed their soundboard last semester.”
Jungkook makes a face. “You fixed it by slapping it until it stopped buzzing.”
“And it worked.”
They lapse into a comfortable silence for a bit — the kind only friends with a lot of shared damage can fall into. People keep walking past, all heading somewhere, all talking too loud, dressed like they're auditioning for the same indie film.
A guy on a skateboard nearly eats it trying to check his reflection in the library windows. A girl in a baby tee trips on absolutely nothing when she sees Jungkook watching her. Classic.
He doesn’t react. Barely blinks.
“You know,” Taehyung says, eyes still closed, “I was thinking about that Seven Minutes thing.”
“Oh god,” Jungkook mutters.
“No, listen. Imagine someone wild pulls your name. Like that girl who wears fangs and drinks blood out of a Hydro Flask.”
“She’s a performance artist,” Jimin corrects. “You’re so uncultured.”
“Imagine,” Taehyung continues, undeterred, “you walk into the closet and it’s just like—BAM. Straight-up vampire romance. Feral energy. No escape.”
“I’d rather die,” Jungkook says.
“Sounds like fear,” Jimin singsongs.
“It’s common sense,” Jungkook replies. “That game is high school energy. It's gonna be twenty minutes of giggling and some drunk dude falling through the door trying to kiss someone who already regrets being born.”
Jimin snorts. “Wow. Poetic.”
“Look, I’m going,” Jungkook says, “but I’m not doing closet games. Not my scene.”
“You say that,” Taehyung mutters, cracking one eye open, “but if someone hot pulls your name…”
Jungkook shrugs. “Then she’s unlucky.”
And he means it — mostly. It’s just that… parties like this always end the same. Music too loud, drinks too warm, somebody crying in the bathroom, somebody making bad decisions on a lawn chair.
He doesn’t know why he keeps showing up. Maybe he’s bored. Maybe it’s the thrill of it — the crash of noise, the lights, the way nothing matters for a few hours.
Or maybe it's that feeling.
The possibility.
The moment right before something happens — when everything is charged and uncertain, and the right glance could flip the night on its head.
He exhales, eyes flicking toward a passing group of students. One girl — vaguely familiar — walks by clutching a tote bag and a half-melted iced matcha. Her face jogs something in his brain. A lecture hall, maybe? Media Studies?
He thinks he remembers her — quiet. Always early. Never looked at him, not even when he showed up late and took the seat next to the plug.
But it’s gone in a blink. Just another girl. Just another day.
Taehyung claps his hands suddenly, breaking the silence.
“Alright, sluts. Waffle truck or convenience store noodles?”
“Why are those the only options?” Jimin asks.
“Because I’m a man of taste.”
They get up, stretching, moving like they’re already vibrating with pre-party adrenaline. Jungkook trails behind, helmet in one hand, unread messages buzzing in his pocket.
He doesn’t look back.
He doesn’t notice the girl from the quad still sitting under the tree, book open, eyes half-lifted just as he passes.
He doesn't know her name.
Not yet.
The Pit is already pulsing when you arrive.
Bass thumps under your feet before you even step inside — not just music, but vibration, like the building itself is alive and slightly pissed off. The air smells like tequila, cheap perfume, and those weird vanilla vapes everyone insists are “barely noticeable.” Spoiler: they are very noticeable.
You stop just inside the doorway, blinking.
The party is absolutely unhinged.
There are blacklights everywhere — mounted on the rafters, strung across the ceilings, probably duct-taped to questionable surfaces. Someone’s set up an old confessional booth near the far wall, graffitied and backlit in red. A girl in a rhinestone halo is taking selfies in front of it while a guy dressed as a fallen angel — shirt unbuttoned to nowhere — does a keg stand behind her.
Above it all, a massive banner reads:
SINS & SAINTS: ENTER IF YOU DARE.
...which feels both deeply dramatic and deeply accurate.
There are actual cages suspended from the ceiling — only waist-high, like glorified birdcages, but still. One of them has a guy in white mesh pants swinging in it like it’s Cirque du Soleil. He howls something about forgiveness. No one knows what’s going on.
You take all of this in with wide eyes.
“Okay,” you say slowly, “what the hell.”
“I TOLD YOU,” Yanni shouts over the music, eyes lit up like a kid on Halloween. “They WENT OFF this year!”
“They should be arrested,” you mutter.
Jenna laughs beside you, tugging at the hem of her dress. “I feel like I just walked into the end of the world but make it horny.”
Yanni is wearing a sheer black top over a bralette made entirely of tiny silver crosses, her eyeliner winged out to her temples. Her skirt is so short it might be a threat to public safety.
Jenna went full Saint — white silk slip dress, little feathery halo bobbing over her curls, but with Doc Martens that say she’d still throw hands in the bathroom line.
And then there’s you.
You’d protested the theme all afternoon, but eventually gave in. You’re wearing ripped black jeans, a mesh top over a tank, and a red ribbon choker Yanni tied on you with too much enthusiasm. You didn’t go all-out like them, but you’re here. You showed up. That’s saying something.
Yanni loops her arm through yours and yells, “I swear to God, if I don’t end up in a cage by midnight, I’m suing.”
“They have cages, Yanni,” you say, scandalized. “That’s not normal.”
“I’m not normal,” she grins.
“That’s not comforting!”
You’re halfway toward the drink table when a blur of movement passes you — a guy in a leather jacket, dark hair, jaw like a hate crime. You don’t get a good look, just the impression of tattoos, combat boots, and a casual arrogance like he’s got the party rigged in his favor.
You turn back to the drinks.
Jenna, meanwhile, is adjusting her halo in her phone’s camera. “Okay, I’m thinking I make out with someone with wings. That’s my only rule.”
“Are they required to earn them first?” you ask.
“No, they just have to not be annoying.”
“So… no one here, basically,” you deadpan.
Yanni dumps some suspicious jungle juice into a cup and hands it to you. “Drink. Or at least pretend to. You’re giving off ‘I’m only here for field research’ energy.”
You take a sip and grimace. “This tastes like Hawaiian Punch and college debt.”
“Exactly,” Jenna says. “We’re setting the tone.”
You pass by a hallway draped in red curtains — probably where the Seven Minutes game is happening. Someone stumbles out with smeared lipstick and a dazed smile.
“Oh my god,” you say. “This is summer camp. This is hot, humid, horny summer camp.”
Yanni beams. “A dream come true.”
You’re halfway across the room when you bump into someone — solid chest, sharp elbows. You step back, muttering, “Sorry,” but the guy’s already moving, weaving through the crowd like he’s done it a thousand times.
Again, you don’t get a good look.
Again, you feel that flicker — like something important just brushed past you.
“Who was that?” you ask, mostly to yourself.
Jenna squints after him. “I don’t know. Pretty sure he walked out of a Calvin Klein ad though.”
You shake it off.
This night is too much already — too loud, too crowded, too… Jungkook-shaped. And you’re not here for that. You’re here to survive, observe, and possibly rescue your friends from questionable decisions.
So far, you’re one-for-three.
Yanni grabs your arm. “Okay. I’ve spotted three girls from my art class, two guys I ghosted, and a literal priest costume. Where are the drinks that don’t taste like regret?”
“There are none,” you say. “We are the drinks that taste like regret.”
Jenna raises her cup like a toast. “To sinning responsibly.”
“To surviving this chaos,” you mutter, sipping again.
And across the room, under strobing lights and smoke machine haze, Jungkook leans against the wall near the DJ booth, scanning the crowd.
His eyes flick right past you.
Just a blur of black mesh, red ribbon, and glittering annoyance.
He doesn’t even register it.
But something in him shifts — like he knows he’s missing something. Or someone.
He adjusts the cuff of his sleeve, lifts his drink, and watches the crowd move like waves around him.
You’re both here.
You’re both waiting.
You just don’t know it yet.
Jungkook leans against the wall like he’s not trying.
He isn’t.
He’s dressed in all black — ripped jeans, oversized button-down left open over a tank, silver chains catching just enough light to look intentional. His boots are scuffed from the bike ride over, and he hasn't even bothered to fix the strands of hair falling into his eyes.
Still, people look.
People always look.
The Pit is packed. The lights strobe like they’re malfunctioning, bodies moving in all directions, glitter and sweat and wings everywhere. The blacklight catches on teeth, neon paint, the rims of Solo cups. Music throbs like a second heartbeat, drowning out anything that sounds like common sense.
Jungkook watches it all unfold with the calm detachment of someone who’s done this a hundred times.
Which, to be fair, he has.
“Cages,” he mutters, mostly to himself. “Really.”
Taehyung reappears at his side, holding two drinks and no sense of subtlety. “You say that like you’re not impressed.”
“I’m not not impressed,” Jungkook says, eyeing a girl in LED horns who’s currently being hoisted into one of the hanging cages by two frat boys in priest collars. “I’m just wondering if this place passed fire code.”
Jimin sidles up on the other side, chewing gum like a menace. “God, I love when everyone’s desperate and underdressed. The vibe tonight is filthy.”
“It’s not a vibe,” Jungkook says, deadpan. “It’s a liability.”
“You’re just mad because you haven’t been recognized by someone hot yet.”
“I literally got here three minutes ago.”
“That’s three whole minutes too long, lover boy.”
Jungkook rolls his eyes, but he’s smiling faintly.
He scans the room again, letting the visuals wash over him: angel wings, devil horns, fake blood, fake rosaries, someone with a real sword (???), a couple making out aggressively near the “Confess Here” booth. Typical Pit energy, just turned up to eleven.
His gaze passes over a trio near the drink table — glitter, halos, fishnets — then slides away again, uninterested.
Then—
No.
He pauses.
Barely.
There’s a girl in black mesh, red ribbon tight around her throat.
Not the type trying to be seen. Not the type posing or pouting or clinging to someone’s arm. Just… there. Head tilted. Brows drawn. Like she’s trying to make sense of the chaos.
She’s not looking at him.
He doesn’t know why he notices.
Something about the way she holds herself — casual, a little stiff. Like she showed up for the party but didn’t want to. Like she’s in it, but not of it. It’s a detail, but he’s always been good at catching those.
He’s pretty sure he’s seen her before.
Class maybe? One of the early ones, back when he still showed up?
He narrows his eyes. Something tickles the back of his mind — a row of seats, a laptop screen, a girl who never once looked his way even when he was late and loud and trying not to be noticed by a professor.
He’d filed it away as nothing.
And maybe it still is.
He watches her for one more second — how she crinkles her nose at the drink in her hand, how her friend with the silver cross top yells something and throws her head back laughing.
Then someone claps a hand on his shoulder, and the moment breaks.
“Hyung,” a guy shouts over the music — some junior he’s barely talked to — “the Seven Minutes room is right there. You better hope someone sins you into the closet.”
“I’m good,” Jungkook says without missing a beat.
“You sure?” the guy winks. “Heard even the quiet girls are wild tonight.”
Taehyung lets out an ungodly laugh.
Jimin fans himself. “God, I love this place.”
Jungkook exhales slowly and glances back toward the girl in the mesh top, the one he maybe-kinda remembers from Media Studies.
She’s walking away now, swallowed by bodies and wings and fog machine haze.
And just like that, she’s gone again
SINS & SAINTS
10:47 PM — The Pit
You’re halfway through your second regrettable drink — something red and radioactive that tastes like melted cherry Jolly Ranchers and lies — when you realize:
Jenna is gone.
Not lost in the crowd gone. Not hooked up with some guy in a halo gone.
Like, vanished.
You scan the sea of limbs and glitter, the swirling blacklights and wall-to-wall bass drops.
No halo. No white silk dress. No Doc Martens stomping some poor frat guy’s foot for getting handsy.
“Wait,” you say, turning to Yanni. “Where’s Jenna?”
Yanni’s still dancing, holding her drink above her head and vibing to something bass-heavy. She doesn’t hear you.
You poke her side. “Yanni. Where. Is. Jenna.”
She freezes, eyes scanning the room with the same dawning horror you’re feeling.
“Oh my god,” she says, gripping your arm. “She was just here.”
“She was literally next to us two minutes ago.”
“She does this sometimes,” Yanni says, frowning. “Remember Halloween? She disappeared for an hour and came back with a matching tattoo with a guy named Car Battery.”
“That was ONE time,” you groan. “And she still won’t tell us where the tattoo is.”
Yanni downs the rest of her drink like it’s going to give her psychic powers. “Okay, we split up. You check the front half, near the drinks. I’ll do a lap by the DJ booth. Scream if she’s in a cage.”
“Or if you end up in one,” you mutter.
She kisses your cheek and takes off, glitter trailing in her wake.
You push through the crowd, slipping past a group of devils grinding to a slowed-down Britney remix, dodging a couple who are definitely fighting and definitely still holding hands.
You pause near the drink station again, heart thumping a little harder than it should.
Still no Jenna.
Just more suspicious liquids in plastic cups and a guy pouring straight vodka into a Capri Sun.
Then—
“Y/N!”
You whip around just as Yanni reappears, hair a little more disheveled, glitter smudged under one eye like war paint.
“I found her,” she pants, grabbing your hand. “You’re not gonna believe where she is.”
“Dead in a bathtub?”
“No.”
“In a cage?”
“Worse.”
“Yanni—”
“She’s at the Seven Minutes in Heaven room.”
You blink. “You’re lying.”
“I swear on my third ex’s face tattoo.”
You let her drag you toward the back hallway — the one that’s been curtained off with red velvet and glowing like Satan’s waiting room. A line snakes down the corridor, people laughing and hollering and shoving toward a closet door guarded by two dudes in fake pope robes.
You round the corner and — yup.
There’s Jenna.
Sitting on a stool like royalty, halo tilted sideways, red Solo cup in hand, absolutely thriving.
She’s laughing, clapping, cheering as two strangers stumble out of the closet, sweaty and flushed and looking either victorious or traumatized. Probably both.
You stop in your tracks. “She’s a ringmaster.”
“She’s drunk on power,” Yanni adds, mouth open.
Jenna spots you both and waves like you’re long-lost war heroes.
“MY GIRLS!!” she yells. “You made it!!”
“You left us,” you shoot back.
She shrugs like that’s a problem for another timeline. “I was recruited.”
“What does that even mean?”
“They needed a hostess! I’m very charming!”
Yanni sighs. “This is how cults start.”
Before you can pry her off the stool, someone shouts, “NEXT UP!” and the line shoves forward. A girl pulls her own roommate in by the arm, both of them shrieking as the door slams shut behind them.
You look at Jenna. “This is out of control. We’re leaving.”
“Not until you try it!”
“Absolutely not.”
Yanni laughs. “Let’s just grab her and go—”
But the line moves again, someone shoves forward, and suddenly—
Everything goes wrong at once.
Hands. Shouting. Laughter. Some guy yells, “MAKE ROOM!”
You’re trying to yank Jenna off her unofficial throne, still yelling about how this is not how a party should go, when chaos breaks loose.
Someone shoves the line.
A drink spills.
People are yelling.
The couple in front of the closet stumbles out like they’ve just done three laps around a football field.
You try to back away — but too late.
Hands shove you forward. “Next up!”
Yanni screams, “Wait, she’s not playing!”
“I’m not playing!” you yell, too.
Doesn’t matter. The crowd’s already decided.
The closet door swings open.
You get pushed inside — completely alone.
Click.
The door slams shut behind you. Darkness swallows everything.
You stumble, trip over a shoe or someone’s forgotten dignity, and land against the back wall, trying to breathe.
“Oh my god,” you mutter. “Oh my god. I’m gonna die in here. This is it. I’m gonna be found in a party closet.”
You fumble toward the doorknob, already plotting your escape—
And then the door opens again.
A warm body stumbles in, tall and solid and smelling unfairly good — like cedarwood, clean laundry, and a bad idea.
The door slams shut again.
Across the party, Jungkook is just trying to find a bathroom that doesn’t reek of four Loko and sin.
He’s halfway through a hallway that looks suspiciously off-limits when someone calls his name.
“Jeon Jungkook!”
He turns.
It’s some girl he barely knows. She’s got lipstick on her teeth and one shoe in her hand.
“Come ON,” she says, “we need more hot people for the closet game. You’ll save this party. I swear.”
He blinks. “I’m not doing that.”
“Too late!” she says, grabbing his arm with terrifying strength. “Come on, it’ll be funny! You’re hot and mysterious and your face should be illegal.”
“I’m going to sue this entire building,” Jungkook mutters, but the girl is already dragging him.
He doesn’t know why he lets her.
Maybe he’s bored. Maybe he doesn’t care.
Maybe it’s because this party has reached new heights of ridiculous and he needs a story to make it worth the hangover.
They reach the red curtain. The line parts.
You don’t know who you hate more — Jenna for signing a blood pact with the party demons, or the crowd for shoving you into this glorified coat coffin like it’s part of the plan.
You've been in here for maybe a minute. Two tops. But time moves differently when you’re trapped in darkness, breathing the humid remains of other people’s bad decisions.
It’s cramped. It smells like body spray and spilled White Claw. The door has no handle from the inside. And you're about to start monologuing to the ceiling when—
The door opens again.
You freeze. “Wait—”
A guy stumbles in. Tall, broad-shouldered, all dressed in black with just enough chain action to suggest this person owns at least one motorcycle and zero alarm clocks.
You recognize him in an instant — because your subconscious hates you and made sure to memorize that face like it was an exam topic.
Jeon Jungkook.
He doesn’t see you at first. He’s too busy brushing off whoever just shoved him in.
“Okay, okay—Jesus. Don’t break my arm,” he mutters. Then, to the closet, “Sorry, whoever you are. I’m not here voluntarily.”
You don't say anything.
He finally glances your way.
A pause.
“…Huh.”
You cross your arms. “Not who you were expecting?”
“Not even close,” he says, like it’s a compliment and a complaint in one.
The door slams behind him. The lock clicks.
Now it’s just you. Him. Darkness. And a six-inch gap of air between you that’s slowly shrinking the longer you try not to acknowledge how small this closet actually is.
Jungkook shifts, probably trying to give you space, which is hilarious because there is none.
“Look,” you say, “I’m only in here because someone shoved me.”
“That makes two of us.”
“Cool. So neither of us is having fun.”
“Yet,” he says, too easily.
You narrow your eyes, not that he can see it. “You really think that line works on girls in closets?”
“I don’t know,” he says. “You tell me.”
You make a noise somewhere between a scoff and a laugh. “Okay, no. You’re not allowed to be hot and full of shit.”
“Not full of shit,” he says. “Mildly irritating at most.”
“Mildly?”
He leans back against the wall. “Okay, moderately. Maybe.”
“Glad we agree.”
You try to shift your weight without brushing against him, which fails, because there’s nowhere to move. Your elbow bumps his arm. Your knee grazes his boot.
He lets out a dramatic sigh. “Alright, I’m putting you on a movement ban.”
“Excuse me?”
“You keep flailing around like that, I’m gonna get accused of starting something in here.”
“You are starting something. With your whole… vibe.”
He grins. “My vibe?”
“Yeah, the ‘mysterious party menace’ thing.”
“Didn’t realize that was my brand.”
“Oh, come on. You walk into every lecture like you’re arriving late to your own funeral.”
“You know me from lecture?”
Shit.
You freeze.
“I—” You recover, sort of. “I mean, yeah. You’re not exactly hard to notice. Motorcycle helmet? Black hoodie in May? The whole tortured poet aura?”
He raises an eyebrow, amused. “You’ve been paying attention.”
“No, I—shut up.”
He steps closer, just barely. His voice drops into that annoying, amused register that you suspect makes girls fall in love against their will.
“You’re flustered.”
“I’m trapped. There’s a difference.”
“Still,” he says, tone low, teasing, “you’re very talkative for someone who didn’t want to be in here.”
You suck in a breath. “I’m trying to defuse the awkward tension.”
“Well,” he says, leaning slightly closer, “you’re not doing a great job.”
You go still. “…Why?”
“Because if you don’t stop fidgeting and talking at a hundred miles an hour,” he says, voice light but just a little dangerous, “I’m gonna kiss you just to shut you up.”
Your brain whites out.
You forget how to stand.
You definitely forget how to breathe.
You make a noise that could be a laugh, or possibly a system reboot.
“…That’s rude,” you manage.
Jungkook grins. “Is it working?”
You blink at him. Slowly.
“…That’s your solution? Kissing as a silencing tactic?”
Jungkook smirks. “Efficient.”
You squint at him in the dark. “That’s assault with extra steps.”
“Only if it’s not well received.”
“Oh my god,” you mutter, shoving lightly at his arm. “You’re actually worse in real life.”
He laughs, like that didn’t wound you at all. “In real life? What, you’ve imagined a better version of me somewhere else?”
You hesitate for half a second too long.
He catches it. Of course he does.
His smile shifts — not smug now, but curious. “Wait. Do I know you?”
“Nope.”
“You sure? You’re acting like you’ve had a whole character arc about me.”
“I just have good observational skills.”
“And a little crush?”
You snort. “Please. I only crush on emotionally available people.”
“Ouch.”
“You’ll live.”
“I’m not emotionally unavailable,” he says, mock offended. “I just don’t like… people.”
“That’s literally the definition.”
Jungkook moves a little closer. Not enough to touch, but enough to invade. Like someone stepping past your comfort zone just to prove they can. His voice is quiet, playful.
“Okay, but be honest — if I had kissed you, what would you have done?”
You meet his gaze in the dim light. Your heart does an actual backflip, but your mouth?
Deadpan.
“Bitten you.”
He grins, all teeth. “Kinky.”
You roll your eyes so hard you almost see god. “You are unbelievable.”
“I get that a lot.”
Another beat passes.
The party noise pulses outside. The door shakes once, like someone bumped into it. Neither of you move.
He tilts his head, watching you more carefully now. “So who are you, anyway?”
You blink. “What?”
“You know who I am. Everyone knows who I am, apparently. But I don’t know you.”
You shrug, trying to sound unfazed. “Just a girl in your class.”
“Which class?”
“I’m not telling you.”
His eyebrows shoot up. “Why not?”
“Because I’ve seen how your brain works. The second you find out, you’ll start showing up late on purpose to make an entrance.”
He grins, wide and dangerous. “So you have been watching me.”
Damn it.
“That’s not—”
“Obsessed,” he says.
“Oh my god, I’m going to strangle you with one of those dumb chains on your pants.”
“They’re not dumb. They’re functional.”
“For what, exactly? Attaching yourself to reality?”
“Wow,” he says, smiling now like he’s thoroughly enjoying himself. “You’ve got jokes.”
You glance at the door. “Seven minutes better be almost up.”
“Why?” he asks, voice dipping just slightly. “You scared you’re starting to like me?”
You look back at him. “I’m scared you’re starting to like me.”
That shuts him up for half a second.
Then—
“…Touché.”
There’s a pause. You can hear your own heartbeat in the quiet.
He steps just a little closer. “Okay. Serious question.”
“Unlikely, but sure.”
“Are you always like this?”
You blink. “Like what?”
“This,” he says. “You know—snarky. Quick. Unimpressed. Kind of mean in a fun way.”
You stare at him. “Are you into being bullied?”
“I’m starting to wonder.”
The door bangs open just then, and the light hits both of your faces. You flinch at the sudden glare. Outside, someone yells, “ALRIGHT, CLOSET DWELLERS, TIMES UP!”
Jungkook doesn’t move.
Neither do you.
Finally, he leans a little closer and says under his breath, only loud enough for you to hear:
“You still didn’t tell me your name.”
You raise a brow.
“You didn’t earn it.”
He laughs, and it’s way too genuine. Like he didn’t expect this night to go like this at all — and somehow, that makes two of you.
As you duck out of the closet, brushing past him in the doorway, you hear him murmur:
“I’m gonna find out, you know.”
You throw a look over your shoulder, smile tugging at your lips despite yourself.
“Good luck.”
The door flings open.
Air, light, freedom.
You stumble out like someone just dragged you back from the underworld. The world is louder now, messier. Colors sharper. Sounds distorted, like everything’s underwater and also on fire.
Your heart is still pounding.
Your brain? Gone. Missing. Presumed dead.
Your dignity? Filing a police report.
You turn in a daze, blinking through the chaos—and find Yanni, breathless, holding a very giggly and wine-drunk Jenna by the elbow.
“THERE you are!” Yanni yells over the music. “We thought you got kidnapped by the Pit goblins!”
Jenna cackles. “I told her you were probably in the closet making out with a stranger. I WAS RIGHT.”
You blink at them.
Open your mouth.
Immediately close it again.
Yanni frowns. “Wait. Are you okay? You look like you just got hit by a really hot bus.”
You stare at her.
Then—
“I need air. I need, like, seventeen breaths of non-sweaty air. I—do you have water? I think I forgot how to swallow. I forgot—I forgot my name.”
Yanni’s eyes go wide. “Did you actually make out with someone?! Oh my god, who was it? Was he hot? Did he have a tongue ring? Was it that guy with the fake angel wings? Please tell me he had wings.”
“I—no. No wings.”
“Okay, so not a red flag. Good start.”
You grab both of them by the arms and start dragging them away from the closet, feet moving on autopilot. “We need to go. Just—somewhere. Away. Outside. Antarctica. I don’t care.”
Jenna, still loopy from the cocktail she stole from a girl dressed as the Pope, squints at you. “You’re acting weird.”
“Something happened,” you say, voice a little unhinged. “Something catastrophic.”
Yanni gasps. “Did you black out?!”
“No, worse.”
“Did you throw up on someone?!”
“WORSE.”
Yanni pulls you down onto a sagging patio couch under a string of flickering lights. The Pit’s back deck is quieter — only a handful of people out here, laughing or making out or both.
You sit between them, trying to remember how to form human sentences.
Jenna leans her head dramatically on your shoulder. “You definitely kissed someone.”
“I didn’t.”
Yanni narrows her eyes. “You wanted to.”
“I didn’t!”
They both stare at you.
You sigh. Long. Shaky.
Then you say, very quietly, like it might summon him if you say it too loud:
“I was in the closet with Jeon Jungkook.”
.
.
.
Jenna sits up so fast she elbows you in the boob.
Yanni chokes on her drink and coughs, “I’m sorry—WHAT?”
You hold up your hands, like it’ll protect you from the emotional storm about to erupt. “It was an accident! I got pushed in first, and then some drunk idiots shoved him in after me, and then the door locked and we were just there. Together. In the dark. Breathing the same air.”
Jenna is vibrating. “YOU WERE BREATHING JEON JUNGKOOK’S AIR. DO YOU KNOW HOW MANY GIRLS WOULD PAY FOR THAT EXPERIENCE.”
“I didn’t ask for the experience!”
Yanni grabs your arm, shaking it. “Okay but what happened?! Tell us everything. Did you talk? Did he recognize you? Did you touch his hair? Did he touch you? Did your souls kiss?!”
You stare at her. “What the hell is a soul kiss?”
“Shut up and answer me!!”
You drag your hands down your face. “We talked. He was annoying. And hot. And annoying about being hot. He said if I didn’t stop panicking he was gonna kiss me and I think my nervous system flatlined for like ten seconds.”
Jenna screams. A real one.
Yanni grabs her cup and throws it into a bush just so she can clap. “That’s it. That’s the plot of a Netflix movie. I’m calling a casting director right now.”
“Guys, stop—”
“Did he know who you were?” Jenna asks, eyes wide.
You deflate. “No.”
Yanni freezes.
Jenna gasps like she’s watching a baby deer get hit by a truck.
“He didn’t recognize you?”
You shake your head, slumping into the couch like your spine is giving up. “Not even a little. I told him I was in his class, and he just blinked at me like I was an off-brand yogurt at the back of the fridge.”
“But—but you sit in the second row!”
“Yeah, apparently that’s not enough to pierce through the wall of apathy and leather jackets.”
Jenna is personally offended. “You’ve been thirsting over him for MONTHS.”
“Not out loud!”
“Your search history says otherwise.”
“That was ONE TIME—”
“‘Does Jeon Jungkook have a girlfriend’ is not a casual search, Y/N.”
Yanni throws an arm around your shoulder. “Okay. So. We have a situation.”
You groan. “No, we don’t. The situation is over. I will simply crawl into a hole and never speak to anyone again.”
“OR,” Yanni says, grinning, “we make him fall in love with you.”
You snort. “Hard pass.”
“I’m serious!”
“So am I! The guy barely knows what day of the week it is. He didn’t even know my name, and I was two inches from his face.”
Jenna fans herself. “God, I wish I was two inches from his face.”
Yanni is already spiraling into scheming mode. “Okay but hear me out: what if this is your origin story?”
“I don’t need an origin story. I need ice and maybe a lobotomy.”
“You’re gonna end up married to him.”
“I’m gonna end up IN A STRAITJACKET.”
They both lean in at the same time, grinning like devils.
And somewhere inside you — beneath the panic and the humiliation and the complete collapse of your self-esteem — something sparks.
A very tiny, very traitorous thought:
He doesn’t know who I am yet.
But what if he wanted to?
.
.
.
No.
Absolutely not.
You refuse to be delusional.
But still…
You clutch your drink with both hands and whisper to yourself like a prayer:
“…I cannot go back in that closet.”
Jungkook steps out into the warm night air, the noise of the party still thrumming behind him like a heartbeat that’s had too much sugar and zero regard for consequences.
He barely gets two steps out the door before he sees movement near the gate — a blur of color, of bare shoulders and tangled hair and wild, frantic energy.
Her.
The girl from the closet.
She’s running.
Well, not running — but walking very quickly in a way that screams “I just made a horrible decision and I’m trying to disappear into the night like it never happened.”
He watches as she yanks her friends down the sidewalk, arms waving, words too far away to make out. One of them glances back at the house, laughing. The other throws her arm around the girl’s shoulder like she’s trying to keep her from disintegrating.
Jungkook can’t hear them. Can’t read their lips.
But he doesn’t need to.
He’s seen that look before.
People don’t leave parties like that unless something got to them.
And apparently… that something was him.
He watches them disappear around the corner. The wind shifts, warm and sweet and heavy with the scent of grass and spilled vodka.
Jungkook runs a hand through his hair, the edges of his mouth tugging up, involuntarily.
He doesn’t smile a lot.
But right now?
He’s grinning.
11:18 PM — Inside, Kitchen
He finds Jimin first, leaning against the fridge, sipping from a red cup with glitter smeared across one cheek like someone tried to make out with a rave.
Jungkook walks up, casual as hell. “Hey.”
Jimin lifts a brow. “You’re still vertical. Closet girl didn’t kill you?”
Jungkook leans on the counter beside him, eyes scanning the room lazily. “Nope. She was fun.”
Jimin grins. “Define fun.”
“Annoyed. Loud. Mean. Called me out within the first two minutes.”
“So, your type.”
Jungkook gives him a lazy look. “Do you know who she was?”
Jimin blinks. “You mean you didn’t?”
“No. She said we’re in the same class, but…” He shrugs. “I wasn’t exactly focused on academics in there.”
Jimin sips his drink, way too amused. “You’re telling me you spent seven minutes pressed up against someone and didn’t bother to ask her name?”
“I didn’t get her name. She wouldn’t give it to me.”
Jimin whistles. “Damn. Girl’s got boundaries.”
Jungkook turns his full attention to him now. “So… do you know her?”
Jimin smiles. Slow. Evil.
“Maybe.”
Jungkook straightens. “What.”
“I mean, I’ve seen her around. Could be anyone.”
“That’s not an answer.”
“It’s an answer adjacent.”
“Jimin.”
Jimin just grins wider, like this is his favorite hobby. “Why? You wanna see her again?”
“No.” Jungkook’s voice is too quick, too defensive. Then: “I just—she seemed familiar.”
“Sure. Let’s go with that.”
Before Jungkook can retaliate, Taehyung appears, wearing someone else’s sunglasses and holding a plate of mini cupcakes he absolutely did not make.
Jungkook turns to him like salvation. “Tae. Please tell me you know who the girl in the closet was.”
Taehyung pauses, cupcake halfway to his mouth.
Then, slowly, he lowers it and says:
“Ohhhh. You mean the girl with the smart mouth and trust issues?”
“Yes!”
“Yup. Definitely know her.”
“Who is she?!”
Taehyung smiles with all his teeth. “Can’t say.”
Jungkook stares at him.
“What do you mean you can’t say?”
“Non-disclosure agreement.”
“That’s not a real thing!”
“It is now.”
Jungkook throws his hands in the air. “Are you both insane?”
“Yes,” Jimin says, grinning.
“We’re protecting the plot,” Taehyung adds solemnly.
Jungkook blinks. “What plot?”
“The enemies-to-lovers one,” Jimin says, sipping his drink. “You’re in the first act. Don’t be weird about it.”
“I’m not—!” Jungkook cuts himself off, pinches the bridge of his nose, then mutters, “You guys are the worst.”
“You’re welcome,” Taehyung says cheerfully.
Jungkook turns, heading for the living room, but Jimin calls after him:
“You really gonna let a girl roast you in a closet and disappear without finding out her name?”
Jungkook doesn’t stop walking.
But he does smirk.
“Of course not.”
11:42 PM — Later, Upstairs Hallway
Jungkook leans against the wall, scrolling mindlessly through his phone. But his head isn’t in it.
He’s thinking about the sound of her voice.
The way she said, “You didn’t earn it.” The way she pushed past him and didn’t look back.
He still doesn’t know her name.
But he’s starting to think he needs to.
Desperately.
You’re early.
Not obnoxiously so, but early enough to get your usual seat — second row, slightly to the left. Close enough to focus, far enough to keep your laptop screen hidden when you’re secretly Googling niche references during class.
You’re wearing jeans and a loose t-shirt. Nothing fancy. Hair pulled back. Glasses on.
A normal girl living a normal life, unbothered and deeply uninterested in emotionally reckless men with perfect jawlines and leather jackets. You are zen.
You are healed.
...You are lying to yourself.
Your leg has been bouncing under the desk for a solid five minutes. You haven’t even opened your laptop. You’re just staring at the professor’s slides like they personally betrayed you.
And then—
The door opens.
You hear it before you see it. That faint creak of poorly oiled hinges and the collective inhale of every girl in the room.
You don’t turn around.
You don’t have to.
You know it’s him.
Because everyone in a ten-foot radius straightens like they’re about to be graded on posture. There’s a flutter of lip gloss applications. Someone actually whispers his name.
You pretend to be deeply focused on the “Media Ethics and Digital Responsibility” slide.
Jeon Jungkook walks in. On time.
The professor blinks like he’s hallucinating. “Huh. Welcome, Mr. Jeon. Look at you.”
Jungkook just nods, loose and casual, but you can feel it.
He’s different today.
He doesn’t do his usual routine — no airpods, no gum chewing, no half-lidded stroll like he’s walking into a photoshoot instead of a lecture.
No, this time… he’s scanning.
Not in a weird way. Just—calculated.
Eyes moving across each row like he’s checking a list in his head.
Looking for something.
Someone.
Your stomach tightens.
And then—
His gaze glides right past you.
Doesn’t pause. Doesn’t flicker.
Nothing.
He slides into a seat a few rows back, drops his bag, and leans back like he didn’t just steamroll your entire emotional ecosystem last night.
You blink at your screen.
Wow.
Okay.
Coolcoolcoolcoolcool.
So he just… forgot you existed? Already?
You tell yourself it’s a good thing. That you’re off the hook.
But still—
Your phone vibrates in your lap.
Then again.
And again.
You glance down.
YANNI [9:57AM] FIND US AFTER CLASS
JENNA [9:57AM] LIKE IMMEDIATELY
YANNI [9:58AM] BIG. SHIT. IS. HAPPENING.
YANNI [9:58AM] HUGE.
JENNA [9:58AM] YOU MIGHT BE FAMOUS
You: 🙃
11:07AM — Campus Library, Third Floor (aka Gossip HQ)
You find them between the graphic novel section and the fake potted plant that hides the worst Wi-Fi signal on campus.
Yanni is pacing. Jenna is sitting on the floor with a laptop open, half a croissant in her mouth and murder in her eyes.
“FINALLY,” Yanni breathes, grabbing your wrist and yanking you down beside her.
“What is happening?” you whisper. “Did someone die?”
“YOU might,” Jenna says around a bite. “From cardiac arrest.”
You blink. “Why?”
Yanni flips her phone around.
It’s an Instagram story. Jungkook’s account. You recognize the handle from your extremely short-lived stalking phase.
The video is short. A dim hallway, flashing lights, the thump of party music in the background.
Text overlaid:
"7 minutes wasn’t long enough. If you know who she is… tell her." 👀🖤
Your heart stops.
You stare at the screen like it might explode.
“Wha—”
“He’s looking for you,” Yanni whispers, eyes wild.
“He’s trying to CROWD-SOURCE you,” Jenna adds. “LIKE A MISSING PERSON.”
You genuinely don’t know what to do with your hands. “I—I don’t even have Instagram. I didn’t see this.”
“Well, now the entire internet has,” Yanni says, scrolling through dozens of replies and reshared stories. “People are putting up theories. One girl swears it was her and her friends are backing her up.”
You feel a little sick.
“I—he doesn’t even remember me.”
“He does now.”
Before you can spiral further, a voice cuts through the quiet.
“Aha. Found you.”
You whip around.
Taehyung and Jimin are approaching, looking like they just stepped out of a K-drama fight scene. Jimin is in an oversized hoodie and glasses, sipping from a matcha latte. Taehyung is holding a leather-bound journal like it’s a prop.
“Oh my god,” Yanni whispers, straightening like she’s about to present a thesis.
Jimin nods at you. “Closet girl.”
Taehyung gasps. “I knew it!”
You slap both hands over your face. “I am going to dissolve into the carpet.”
Jimin flops down next to you. “You’re literally a phenomenon.”
“I don’t want to be a phenomenon! I want to be anonymous.”
“Too late,” Taehyung sing-songs. “He’s obsessed.”
“He’s not—”
Jimin cuts you off. “He made us look through the security footage of the Pit to try and find you.”
You blink. “There’s security footage?!”
“That’s not the point.”
Yanni claps like she’s been waiting for this all her life. “Okay, okay, okay. NEW PLAN.”
Jenna nods. “Mission: Keep Her Hidden.”
You snap your head to look at him. “Wait, what—?”
“We cannot let him find you too easily. The mystery is part of the power.” Yanni explained, a smile that was a little too enthusiastic spreading across her face.
“She’s right.” Jimin chimed in.
You blink between them all, a growing sense of terror blooming in your chest.
“I feel like I’m in a YA novel.”
Taehyung beams. “You are. And it’s about to get so much worse.”
If Jungkook knew his Instagram story would cause an actual phenomenon, he would’ve thrown his phone in the nearest sewer.
He’s seated on the edge of the fountain, legs stretched out, black boots dusted with dry grass. Sunglasses perched on his head, arms crossed, regret pouring off of him in waves.
There is a line.
A real, breathing, giggling line of girls waiting to speak to him.
“I swear,” the third one in a row says, flipping her hair, “it was me. I had this red tank top on—”
“You weren’t wearing red,” Jungkook says flatly, not even looking up.
She blinks. “You remember that?”
He sighs. “Unfortunately.”
She pouts, tosses her hair again, and walks off.
The next girl steps forward with more confidence than he’s emotionally prepared to deal with.
“Hey,” she says, batting her lashes. “So, I was totally gonna come up to you last night, but I got pulled into beer pong, and—”
“Not you either,” he says, already tired.
Behind him, Jimin is sprawled on the grass like a cat in the sun, sipping iced coffee and watching the chaos like it’s live theater.
“I don’t know, man,” he says. “Closet Girl’s starting to sound like a fever dream.”
“She was real,” Jungkook mutters.
Taehyung, perched dramatically on the fountain’s edge, hums. “This feels like a modern fairy tale. Only instead of a glass slipper, she left behind unresolved sexual tension and a mild existential crisis.”
Jungkook doesn’t respond. Just drags a hand down his face.
“You know,” Jimin adds, “you could just let her go. Move on. Forget it happened.”
Jungkook stares at him like he’s just suggested licking a subway pole.
“I mean it,” Jimin continues. “Is this really worth it?”
Jungkook leans back, letting the sun hit his face.
And after a pause, he says:
“…She was funny.”
Taehyung blinks. “Funny?”
“She was… sharp. Gave me shit. Told me I didn’t earn the right to flirt with her.” He shrugs. “I don’t know. It was just… real.”
Jimin and Taehyung exchange a look.
But before either can respond—
“Hey, Jeon.”
They all glance up.
A girl in a glittery top and too-high heels struts up like she’s approaching a casting call.
“I was wearing angel wings last night,” she purrs.
“Congratulations,” Jungkook says dryly.
“I think I’m the girl you’re looking for.”
“You’re not.”
“How would you know?”
Jungkook blinks slowly. “Because I just would.”
She scoffs and storms off, muttering something about him not being that hot anyway.
Jimin snorts. “The delusion is wild today.”
Taehyung raises his brows. “You know, you did make her a mystery. People love a good mystery.”
“I hate this mystery,” Jungkook mutters.
And then—
Taehyung straightens suddenly.
“Oh,” he says, too casually. “There she goes.”
Jungkook’s eyes snap up.
“What?!”
“She’s walking past,” Jimin adds, barely containing his grin.
Jungkook jumps to his feet, scanning the path just ahead of them.
He sees a group of students. A couple laughing. A guy with a skateboard. A girl in a floral skirt. Another in an oversized sweater.
But no one familiar.
No her.
“Where?” he demands, turning back to them.
Taehyung just shrugs, biting back a smile. “Hm. Maybe she slipped away again.”
Jimin’s grinning like the devil. “So mysterious.”
Jungkook stares at them.
And then slowly, slowly, sits back down, glaring at nothing.
“I hate you both.”
“You’re welcome,” Jimin says cheerfully.
Meanwhile — You, Just 20 Feet Away
You’re clutching a smoothie and telling Jenna that you swear to God if Yanni says the words “power move” one more time, you’re going to commit a crime.
You do not see Jungkook.
You do not see the crowd of girls.
You do not see your entire romantic fate spiraling out in a perfect storm of timing, ego, and extremely bad luck.
But you do hear Yanni’s voice crackling through your group chat ten seconds later:
YANNI [12:43PM] HE’S OUTSIDE RN. WALKING DISTANCE. I REPEAT: JEON JUNGKOOK IS WITHIN WALKING DISTANCE.
You pause. Look up.
“…The universe is playing games with me,” you mutter.
Jenna just takes your smoothie and sips like it’s none of her business. “Welcome to Act Two.”
Three Days Later – 12:19PM Campus Lawn, under the shade of an old oak tree
Yanni is dramatically slicing into her overpriced salad like it’s personally offended her.
“I swear to God,” she says, spearing a piece of lettuce, “if she doesn’t just tell him soon, I’m going to combust.”
“She doesn’t even want him to know!” Jenna laughs, peeling the wrapper off her sandwich. “She’s surviving off vibes and secondhand embarrassment.”
Across from them, lounging on the grass, Jimin snorts into his iced chai. “Honestly, mood.”
Taehyung is lying flat on his back, sunglasses on, using Jimin’s thigh as a pillow and holding his phone above his face like it’s too exhausting to lift it further.
“It’s better this way,” he hums. “Mystery. Intrigue. Emotional damage.”
Yanni points at him with her fork. “See? That’s the energy we’re all riding on.”
“I don’t know how she hasn’t just imploded,” Jenna says, sipping her drink. “She had a panic attack in the psych building bathroom yesterday because someone said Jungkook's name too loud.”
Taehyung laughs. “That could’ve been anyone.”
“No,” Yanni corrects. “She knew exactly how he said it. Deep voice. Tiny rasp. A little pouty. ‘Jungkook.’” She mimics it, exaggerated and ridiculous.
Jimin wheezes.
Taehyung props himself up on one elbow, turning to the girls with mock-serious eyes. “You guys are evil.”
“Thank you,” Yanni says, deadpan.
And then—
“You’re evil,” comes a familiar, slightly exasperated voice behind them.
All four turn.
Jeon Jungkook walks up, hoodie sleeves pushed to his elbows, black jeans, silver chain catching the sunlight.
He looks… tired.
Not in a tragic way. More like haunted by the choices that led him to this exact moment.
Taehyung lifts two fingers in a lazy peace sign. “Ah. The lover boy returns.”
Jimin just grins like Christmas came early. “How’s your army of imposters?”
Jungkook drops onto the grass with a groan. “Still growing. I got ambushed by three more girls outside the business building this morning.”
“Business building girls,” Jimin mutters. “That’s a bold demographic.”
“She said she left her earring in the closet with me,” Jungkook says, running a hand through his hair. “She was wearing cat ears.”
“Oh no,” Jenna whispers behind a laugh.
Yanni coughs into her drink.
Jungkook narrows his eyes at them. “Do I know you two?”
“Nope,” Yanni says, biting into a cherry tomato. “Just enjoying the show.”
Jenna shrugs, fighting a grin. “Free entertainment.”
Taehyung watches them both like he’s just realized something.
Jungkook leans back on his palms, legs stretched out, expression a mix of exhaustion and suspicion. “You guys ever regret making me post that?”
Jimin doesn’t even blink. “Nope.”
“I knew this would happen,” Jungkook mutters.
“You didn’t know people would create full conspiracy boards,” Taehyung points out. “Someone literally mapped out Closet Girl’s shoe print from the party photo.”
“Don’t forget the girl who recreated the closet,” Jimin adds. “Like. Bought a closet. Filmed a fake interaction.”
“God,” Jungkook groans, scrubbing his face. “I’m an idiot.”
He exhales through his nose, still half-distracted, when—
“Well, it’s even funnier,” Jenna says, not quite under her breath, “because she doesn’t even have socials.”
Yanni chokes on her soda.
Jimin and Taehyung both freeze mid-laugh.
And Jungkook—
Whips his head around so fast it’s a miracle he doesn’t get whiplash.
“Wait.”
Yanni slaps Jenna’s arm.
Jungkook’s eyes are wide. “You—” He points between them. “You know her?!”
Jenna blinks. “Who?”
“Closet Girl,” Jungkook says, sharp now, sitting up straighter. “You just said she doesn’t have socials—how would you know that?”
Yanni lifts her cup to her mouth, speaking through her straw. “Could’ve been anyone.”
“But it’s not,” Jungkook says, eyes narrowing. “You know who it is.”
He looks at Taehyung and Jimin like they’ve personally betrayed him. “You said you didn’t know!”
Taehyung holds up his hands, unbothered. “We didn’t say that.”
“Yeah,” Jimin says, already laughing. “We just didn’t say anything helpful.”
Jungkook glares. “You assholes.”
Yanni leans in, chin resting on her hand, absolutely loving this. “Why do you want to find her so bad?”
Jungkook hesitates. Just for a beat.
And then, quieter than expected, he says:
“…Because I can’t stop thinking about her.”
Taehyung blinks.
Jimin’s mouth parts a little.
Yanni and Jenna exchange a look.
“That was almost sweet,” Jenna says.
“Almost,” Yanni echoes.
Jungkook looks at them like he’s debating a crime. “Please. Just give me one clue.”
Jimin just smiles, stretching out on the grass again. “Mmm. No.”
“Not even her name?” Jungkook tries.
Taehyung grins. “Where’s the fun in that?”
Jungkook scrubs his hands over his face. “You people are evil.”
Yanni smiles sweetly. “We’ve been over this.”
After another beat of sulking, he finally stands, brushing his hands off on his jeans.
“You’re all the worst.”
“We know,” Jimin says, cheerful as ever.
Jungkook sighs, starts walking away—
And turns back around.
“If she ever asks about me—”
“She won’t,” Yanni says.
“Okay, if she does,” he presses, “can you just tell her I’m not as annoying as I seem?”
“No promises,” Jenna says.
He groans again and walks off, muttering something under his breath.
The moment he’s out of earshot, the group erupts.
“THAT,” Jimin says, sitting upright, “WAS TOO CLOSE.”
Yanni fans herself. “I panicked, okay?! I didn’t mean to say it—he just appeared.”
“You almost ruined the whole thing!” Taehyung says gleefully. “But also… he’s losing his mind.”
“And she has no idea,” Jenna adds, grinning.
Jimin leans back with a content sigh. “This is better than television.”
Same Day — 4:42 PM Campus Library — Second Floor
The study area is quieter than usual, with just the occasional cough, a rogue phone vibration, or someone smacking their space bar like it owes them money.
You, Yanni, and Jenna are huddled around your usual table — highlighters scattered, tabs open, coffees half-melted. It’s productive chaos. Or it was, until Jenna froze mid-sentence.
“...Don’t look now,” she says, voice already breathless with suppressed panic, “but Jungkook and his friends just walked in.”
Your soul immediately ejects from your body.
“WHERE—”
“Don’t look,” Yanni hisses, stabbing her pen in warning. “You’ll give us away.”
You stare down at your laptop like you’re trying to astral project into it.
Footsteps shuffle closer, closer—
And then.
They sit at the table directly behind you.
Your chair is now back-to-back with Jungkook’s.
There is a shared inch of air between you.
You can feel the heat off his stupid, beautiful, back-in-black hoodie.
Jenna mouths OH MY GOD. Yanni is gripping her iced latte like she’s about to squeeze it into mist.
Across from Jungkook, Jimin and Taehyung sit — and the moment they spot Yanni and Jenna?
They grin.
Smug. Pleased. Silent little devils.
Not a word — not a wave — just the occasional flicker of laughter and shared glances while you sit there about to spontaneously combust.
“I swear to god,” Jungkook says behind you, low and miserable, “if one more girl corners me between classes and asks if I like strawberry lip gloss, I’m dropping out.”
“She had a presentation,” Jimin offers. “She brought visual aids.”
“She brought a poster board,” Jungkook groans. “With a QR code to her TikTok.”
“Impressive,” Taehyung hums.
Jungkook thumps his head gently on the table. “I just wanted to meet her. One girl. Now I can’t go to class without hearing someone yell ‘closet king’ at me.”
Yanni chokes into her drink.
You’re doing breathing exercises you learned in a freshman wellness seminar.
They are not working.
“I hate all of you,” Jungkook mutters. “You said you’d help.”
“I did help,” Jimin says, like it’s obvious.
“You gave me nothing.”
“False,” Taehyung says, adjusting his sunglasses indoors like a menace. “We gave you... ✨context✨.”
Jungkook scoffs. “No. You gave me trauma.”
There’s a pause. Then, Jimin goes, “Fine. Want another clue?”
You tense so hard your back pops.
Jenna grabs your thigh under the table.
Yanni is vibrating.
Everyone is vibrating.
“Yes. Something real this time.”
“...She has elbows.”
There’s a pause.
A very long one.
“She has what?” Jungkook asks, flat.
“Elbows,” Taehyung says innocently.
You almost die.
“Taehyung,” Jungkook says slowly, like he's speaking to a small child, “everyone has elbows.”
“Exactly,” Taehyung nods. “She fits right in.”
Jimin is snorting into his hoodie sleeve.
You, meanwhile, are clamping your hand over your mouth to keep from screaming.
“Is this a joke to you?” Jungkook asks, exasperated. “Do you want me to suffer?”
“I’m not lying,” Taehyung says, clearly delighted. “She definitely had elbows. Two, even.”
“Wow,” Jungkook deadpans. “A girl with two elbows. I’ll just walk around campus asking people to show me their joints.”
Jimin shrugs. “Could work.”
Your hand is cramping from clutching your pencil so tightly.
Yanni is in physical pain from holding in her laughter.
Jenna scribbles onto her piece of paper, turning it to you.
THEY SAID ELBOWS. I’M LOSING IT.
Jungkook groans behind you, slumping so hard in his chair you feel it through the back of yours. “I’m going insane. I’m actually insane. This is what insanity feels like.”
“And yet,” Taehyung says, completely deadpan, “she walks among us.”
Jimin sips his drink with a smirk. “Right under your nose.”
Behind your screen, you scream silently.
Jenna writes out another message:
RIGHT UNDER HIS NOSE. THEY’RE DOING THIS ON PURPOSE.
You’re certain of two things:
You will never emotionally recover from this.
Jungkook is going to need a therapist when he finally figures it out.
And the worst part?
He doesn’t even turn around.
Not once.
He gets up after ten minutes, mumbles something about “going to get gum,” and walks off—shoulders tense, head down, frustration rolling off him in waves.
The second he’s gone, your table explodes.
“I CAN’T,” Jenna whispers, doubled over.
“ELBOWS?!” Yanni wheezes. “HE’S GOING TO BE HAUNTED BY ELBOWS NOW.”
You drop your face into your arms. “If he finds out it was me, I’m changing schools.”
Jenna wipes a tear from her eye. “You’ll be a myth. A cryptid. A legend with joints.”
Taehyung and Jimin?
Still sitting there.
Still smirking.
Still saying nothing.
Later That Night, Jungkook’s Dorm
“I’m not giving up,” Jungkook mutters, scrolling through his DMs.
“What are you even looking for?” Jimin asks from the other bed.
I know, I know, I know I took way too long to post this even though I said I’d upload it last night, but life happened (ahem, work) and I didn’t have the time. But now I’m finally super free and really excited to share the Jungkook fanfics that have stayed with me the most.
P.S. I read a lot of these stories a long time ago, but! I still love them just as much as the first time <3 Also, feel free to tell me in the asks or in the comments which member you’d like to see next (or if you’d prefer a specific trope!).
One-shots:
THE PROPOSAL by @hansolmates
-> Summary: Jeon’s the editor-in-chief for Big Hit Publishings, a closet romantic with a penchant for antagonizing his assistant on the reg. When his work visa is in the process of being renewed and he takes a trip to Norway, his eligibility to stay in America is on the line. However Jeon Jungkook doesn’t go without a fight, and in order to save his job he offers you a proposal you can’t refuse.
-> Review: Have you ever watched The Proposal and wished you could find a fanfic inspired by that movie? Well, you don’t have to keep searching anymore! This is THE The Proposal-inspired fanfic (and don’t lie, I know you thought about it too, we all did). As you can see from the summary, the roles are reversed here, and Jungkook is the boss this time (grrr). It’s obviously not a super faithful adaptation of the movie — it’s an adaptation, not a copy — but it’s incredibly fun, keeps all the elements that make that rom-com one of the greatest ever, and has a super satisfying ending <3
ROCK GOD by @venusjeon
-> Summary: You’ve got one year left to either finish your novitiate and become a nun like your parents always wanted, or leave the order and live a secular life like you’ve always wanted. but the fact that a sister’s flirty nephew is staying in the convent for the summer provides a perfect distraction to such headache.
-> Review: Do you know that empty feeling you get when you finish reading something too good and suddenly have no idea what to do with yourself afterward? So you just sit there staring at your phone screen, trying to process what the hell just happened? That’s exactly how this fic made me feel when I read it two years ago (uff, time really flies). I’m not gonna lie, my relationship with this version of Jungkook is… complicated, but! That doesn’t change the fact that I absolutely adored this fic from beginning to end, and I’d read it all over again just to experience that feeling one more time.
ACCIDENTAL ROOMMATES by @jjkeverlast
-> Summary: Moving apartments is stressful and difficult enough as it is. all the planning and packing and multiple moments of rearranging furniture; all you crave is peace. yet it seemed like peace was far within reach as the owner of the apartment had left out one tiny crucial detail from the ad — a ripped tattooed adonis, coupled, with a tiny baby daughter will come as your roommate.
-> Review: I have to confess that dilf aus are way too powerful for me, so finding this fic, with a tattooed Jungkook, father of an adorable baby girl, who also happens to be oc’s neighbor? It genuinely felt like striking gold. I really loved the relationship between these two, and obviously the baby as well. Also, the little touch Nam brings to this fic is chef’s kiss. It was brief, but perfect, and it gave me one of my favorite scenes.
Series:
HOT BOT by @httpjeon
-> Summary: Purchasing a Hot Bot wasn’t exactly something you ever really planned on. when you do, however, it sends your life down a path of convoluted government schemes and dark secrets.
-> Review: Okay, so, this series actually includes several members, but I only read Jungkook’s part (it had my favorite plot, and I am weak). It’s only four parts long, and all four of them are wonderful. Android aus are genuinely fascinating to me. I’ve read a few over the years I’ve spent here, and I still remember this one fondly because not only was it the first one I ever found, but I also feel like it does an amazing job showing the android’s evolution and, at the same time, the consequences that can happen if their system gets reset or damaged (I still get anxious thinking about that chapter). Seriously, I’m begging you guys to give this series a chance, it’s really, really good.
FLESH AND BLOOD by @kinktae
-> Summary: You are living in a society that is just now picking up the scraps that the Great Outbreak left behind after the government killed off the majority of the zombies. Still, some remain, and fear still lies within society’s walls. So imagine your surprise when the very thing you’ve been taught to fear ends up saving your life, showing you that maybe two beating hearts aren’t always required when it comes to love.
-> Review: Guys. Guys, this one? This one is PURE GOLD AHHH. So, I’m actually a huge fan of monster romance (sue me!), which means that when I look for apocalypse aus, I’m not looking for survivors, I’m looking for zombies, because why not? And somehow, in the middle of my nearly impossible search, I found this absolute gem right here. Three parts. A Jungkook who slowly starts learning how to be human again. And smut (because I know you all love that ;)). This is one of the very few stories on here that I recommended to friends outside of Tumblr because that’s how much I loved it. It’s the kind of story that leaves this warm feeling in your chest and makes you want to come back and read it all over again someday.
SHATTER WITH ME by @colormepurplex2
-> Summary: Your best friend, Jiyoon, and her husband, Jungkook, have faced years of hardship trying to start a family. In a last-ditch effort to have their dream life, they seek solace in surrogacy. Wanting to see your best friend smile, you offer to become the bright beacon at the end of the tunnel, giving them what they have always wanted. But what happens when you begin to shine your light on their darkness? Things aren’t always as they seem—happiness can be a façade, shattering under the lightest pressure.
-> Review: The amount of anxiety this story gave me is honestly not normal. I still remember how uncomfortable I felt every single time Jiyoon showed up or whenever there was a tense moment between Jungkook and OC because, duh, he was a married man. Anyway, I’m completely in love with this story and its characters. I love stories that make me anxious, that make me unable to stop reading, that force me to keep going until I finish the first part because UGHHH I LOVE when authors make me absolutely devour their stories by sheer force of how good they are. And this is definitely one of those stories. You’re going to eat this up in one sitting, trust me.
-> Review: Just like with Hot Bot, this series has side stories for other members too, but Jungkook’s is the main one (also the longest lol) and OH. MY. GOD. AHHHH. I love it, I adore it, it’s one of the very few series where smut is kind of the “main theme” (in the loosest way possible) that I genuinely really enjoy. The whole concept surrounding this universe is fascinating to me. Like, the Club LaRouge?? Absolute genius. The author is a genius, seriously. And the side stories are incredible too (you have no idea how excited I got when I saw they uploaded Jimin’s). You need to read this one, no excuses. Pure art.
THE WIFE TRAP by @wintrbears
-> Summary: There are two boys but only one girl, leaving Jungkook hopelessly in love with someone he can never have, and doesn’t want to have, because that would mean taking you away from the person he loves most. Then suddenly there’s only one boy and one girl, but it’s the wrong one.
-> Review: This space was way too small for me to give you my full review, so here’s the link to the reblog where I talk in depth about this incredible ongoing story.
it took me some time but the 5th list is finally here!!! i promise the next one won’t take so long hahahah i hope u enjoy and give these authors so much love! minors dni!
ps: i’m obsessed with arirang and i can say that this one is definitely my fav bts album! and i am so beyond happy that i’m hearing them live for the first ever in october!!! :’)
⭑ part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4
a- angst f- fluff s- smut
series (completed)
mnemonic by @solecize
friends to lovers college au, swimmer!jk x female reader, slow burn, slice of life, no villain just life, coming of age, friendship (a, f, s)
in which a little box of memories tells the story of how you and jeon jungkook slowly, but surely, fell in love against the backdrop of the growing pains of your college years. jungkook presents this box to you as a final gift at graduation and each item in the box is a snapshot frozen in time, capturing the forces that brought the two of you from strangers to friends to more.
please love me by @ahundredtimesover
arranged marriage, childhood “friends,” CEO kids (a, f, s)
As the only unmarried Jeon and Kim children, your families propose a union to symbolize your unbreakable bond that spans generations. But despite developing an affection for Jungkook growing up, he never returned it; he never seemed to like you, actually. You’re okay with the proposal, but surprise surprise, he isn’t.
crimson park (ao3) by @/heartbeaten
strangers/enemies to lovers, organized crime au (a, f, s)
don’t have a summary for this one but this is a masterpiece! trust me!!!!!
rattled by @gukslut
e2l/f2l, singledad!jk (a, f, s)
in love with love (with you) by @yoongihue
office!au / coworkers!au, frenemies to lovers, idiots to lovers, holidays!au (f)
you’re a romantic. jungkook? jungkook is not.
series (ongoing)
help wanted by @merakoo
single dad!jungkook x nanny!reader, 1980s au, slowburn, age gap (jungkook is 30, reader is 20) (a, f, s)
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.
iris by @oddinary4bts
drummer!Jungkook x writer!female reader, enemies (annoyances?) to lovers!au, celebrity!au, rockstar!au (a, f, s)
when you move to Seoul to do some research on your upcoming book, your life gets tangled with the city's celebrity scene. It leads to you crossing paths with Jeon Jungkook, whose confusing behaviour convinces you that he hates you. Only, you might have misread his intentions from the beginning...
oneshots
starlight (three shot) by @solecize
friends to fwb to lovers au, famous athlete!jungkook x reader, unplanned pregnancy (a, f, s)
you've been best friends with nba star jeon jungkook since he was a skinny point guard for your high school team in the middle of nowhere. over ten years later, you remain the one calm constant amidst his hectic life of chasing greatness on the court. you've seen jungkook through all - his struggles, his successes, and especially his god-awful love life. when his recent engagement goes awry, he decides he's had enough following heartbreak after heartbreak. meanwhile, you've grown numb to the mere idea of love in favour of building your career. pent up frustrations come to a head and caution is thrown to the wind, as you and jungkook promise it's just one time. a drunken night between two friends and two lines on a pregnancy test later, your lives change. unsurprisingly, jungkook promises to stick by you no matter what. marrying your best friend shouldn't be a bad idea, especially when he's the father of your child. when the two of you continue to cross unexplored territory, you don't know if you have the guts to admit that you want more.
deal by @jeonstudios
demon!jk x reader (a, f, s)
what do you do when your teenage brother’s cancer is too far gone? well, you summon a cocky crossroad demon to make a deal; your life for Taehyung’s.
begin by @taegularities
s2f2l, fallen angel/fantasy!au (a, f, s)
Being a human isn’t that bad when he gets to be one with you by his side. Before everything shatters like a mirage of an impossible dream, you teach Jungkook how to live a fulfilling life far from Heaven. His numb heart starts to gradually light up again; you make him begin believing in love and hope when not even starting afresh could. But then... everything shatters.
many moons by @onlyswan
royalguard!jk x princess!reader, strangers to lovers (a, f, slightly suggestive)
your father sets off to find a way to get you the moon, not realizing he has already given it to you.
paint me naked (ao3) by @/daddytaehyungie
friends to lovers, college au (a, f, s)
After the mysteriously hot guy in your university class starts taking an interest in you, should you really trust that he’s not like all the other college fuckboys? Especially when his best friend is the guy who broke your heart?
miss taken by @junghelioseok
teacher!au, single parent!au, e2l (f, s)
you pride yourself on being a professional, but sometimes your students' parents really test your patience.
heart of the storm by @ladyartemesia
secret feelings, strangers to lovers, college au (a, f, s)
Jeon Jungkook was the handsome RA that you could never quite bring yourself to talk to, and you were the ice princess whose status kept you far out of his reach… But a selfless act of kindness in the midst of a terrible storm forges an unexpected bond between you - one that could break your guarded heart… or finally set it free.
concrete king by @bratkook
skaterboy!jk x reader (f, s)
when a cute boy in a tacky hawaiian shirt lands a trick in your honor theres no way you could ever say no to him
