your casual hookup - jeon jungkook - texts you in the middle of the night when he’s needy and wanting some company. except - you’re on the 2nd day of your period.
| PAIRING | : student!jungkook x student!reader
| GENRE | : university au, no strings, porn with little plot
| WARNINGS | : 18+, explicit language, explicit smut, oral (m. + f. rec), period sex, raw sex, penetration, fingering, cum/(period) blood eating???, cum play, mild nipple play, dirty talk, crying during sex, 69, face riding, missionary, making out, multiple orgasms, kinda rough sex, jk is the best fuck buddy, praise, mutual pleasure, jk has no shame
| WC | : 3.9k
| FROM ME | : ok so i know I haven’t posted anything in maybe a month and im truly sorry but I’ve just been busy and on holiday lol. I know this is just a short oneshot but I hope I’ll have more free time to write longer fics. not proofread so don’t come for me pls !!!! minors pls dni because i would not like to poison thy innocent mind with 2k words of filth :)
it had been 4 days since you last met up with jungkook. his apartment after a mutual friend’s party, both of you slightly tipsy and stumbling everywhere, and his hot mouth working on your skin like it was his final meal - your favourite combo.
you two had been hooking up for a while now, it was a mutual agreement that benefited you both perfectly. you were too preoccupied with your university studies to even think about bearing the weight of a committed relationship. and jungkook, well, jungkook was just gaming his way through university, not concerned with getting a successful degree as a position in his uncle’s company was promised to him as soon as he graduated. the idea of casual sex whenever you felt like it made him more than happy - no emotional thoughts or feelings to over complicate things.
he’d proposed the idea at a party one night after you’d stupidly drank too much and randomly blurted out to him how sexually frustrated you had been. he didn’t laugh or make fun, just shrugged and said he was up for it if you were. you weren’t strangers, jungkook always saw you around campus with your head in a book or at events where his friends frequently hung out with yours. you were cute, determined, and just seemed in need of some relief - which jungkook could definitely help with.
you always noticed him too, it was almost impossible not to. he was definitely your type - hot, confident, built with tattoos. jungkook gave major fuckboy vibes though, and you weren’t sure whether you’d be walking headfirst into an std nest. however, he quickly assured you he got tested regularly and would send you his results, which was weirdly responsible of him.
you were still hesitant to agree at first, it almost sounded too good to be true. but jungkook offered you one night with him to decide if you wanted to continue - no strings, just both of you harmlessly indulging in each other - and thank god you agreed.
because jungkook was ridiculously good in bed. you’d assumed he was experienced, as were you, but not on this level. he knew exactly where to touch, tease, and focus on to satisfy you. he was just the right level of caring and attentive, which at least showed you weren’t being completely used. he knew and gave you exactly what you needed, what you had been craving for months - you’d be a fool not to go through with it, anyone could see that.
throughout the past few months, you and jungkook met up countless times whenever either of you texted or called. you’d mostly meet at each other’s apartments, but on busier days, jungkook was perfectly happy taking you quickly in his back seats before letting you resume your daily routine or sneaking out of parties with friends just to meet you.
ground rules and boundaries between you were obviously established (mostly on your part): you two were free to hook up with anyone else as long as you got regularly tested, arrangement could be stopped at anytime, no distracting you from your studies, protection was to be used at all times, no feelings or personal life involved, etc.
it seemed both of you were actually good at the whole no feelings to complicate anything thing. jungkook liked that about you - you didn’t beg for more attention from him or expect him to act like a doting boyfriend like some other women did. sleeping over at each other’s places was frequent, but that was only because you’d both be too tired out to move and jungkook didn’t want you collapsing in the elevator on your way back. it was easy, private, and honestly exhilarating.
so, here you were, hunched over your desk on a friday night studying, no - trying to, when you should’ve been at a house party with all your friends instead. they’d begged you to come, but you kept refusing, insisting that your grades were more important (which they were). though it was impossible to study now, it felt like your brain had stopped functioning properly and the words on the textbook were just as jumbled up as your mind.
you would’ve already texted jungkook if only there weren’t two problems. 1. you weren’t sure if he was at said house party, drinking and preoccupied by other things 2. you were at the peak of your period, with a dangerously heavy flow cramps obliterating your lower half. sex was obviously a no-go right now, no matter how much you wanted it or how much better it would make you feel.
you finally huffed and closed the textbook, there was no amount of information right now that could enter your brain and stay there, it was just pointless. your phone remained on the desk as you got up to get another glass of water, the ice cold liquid soothing your dry lips.
your phone suddenly buzzed - you expected it to be another reminder from a study app or a discount for a subscription, but no. jungkook’s name popped up on your screen: 1 new message you were confused, so he wasn’t at the party then? nonetheless, you quickly opened the chat.
jungkook: are u busy tonight?
three dots, then:
jungkook: i can see u read it
another message pops up, it’s a photo of his empty bed - dark, your favourite sheets, the blanket tossed off.
jungkook: come over? ;)
you groaned mentally, why tonight? your thumb hovers over the keyboard, but another message comes before you can even type a reply.
jungkook: i've been thinking about u all day
jungkook: can't focus
jungkook: this is your fault
another photo, this time it’s lower. sweatpants sitting dangerously low on his hips, tattooed hand resting on his lower stomach, the waistband of his boxers visible.
fuck. you can tell he’s probably extra horny from the amount of messages he sends at once, it’s hard to tell him no - but you finally reply.
you: i can’t do anything right now, i’m on my period :(
his reply comes fast, almost annoyed, but then:
jungkook: does that mean you don't wanna come over?
the tone of his messages changes slightly - not angry, but wanting. almost whining.
jungkook: cuz i really need u
jungkook: not gonna lie i’ve been doing it myself all day
oh lord.
you: doing what?
his reply is instant. blunt, a little embarrassed - jungkook backspaces once before sending. your breath hitches as soon as it comes through. why is he doing this to you now?
jungkook: touching myself thinking about you
he sends another photo. the angle shows the bulge straining at the front of his sweats, fingertips just barely grazing the fabric. heat already pulses low in your stomach.
jungkook: it's not enough though
jungkook: waiting for you to say you’ll come over.
you send an eye rolling emoji then type out another message.
you: i just told you I’m on my period.
he reads it immediately. you watch the three dots pop up, disappear, pop up again.
jungkook: i know
his reply comes instantly, shameless.
jungkook: i am aware you’re on your period
jungkook: i literally do not care
another photo follows - his hand is pushed fully down his sweatpants. fucking hell. you know jungkook is completely serious right now, and you can’t help but be a little nervous. the thought of him fucking you whilst you’re on your period does excite you a little, but you’re not sure whether he’ll end up being uncomfortable or weirded out.
you: it’s blood haven right now
three dots, a long pause, then:
jungkook: y/n
jungkook: i will put a towel down
jungkook: we will shower after
jungkook: i really do not care if you don’t.
you bite your lip, then another message.
jungkook: or i can come there
jungkook: i just need u
you think about it for a moment - fuck it. there’s a first time for everything, right?
you: you come here then.
he reads it but doesn't reply. eight minutes later, there's a knock at your door. it’s impatient, two quick raps. when you open it, jungkook's breathless, like he just ran up the stairs instead of waiting for the elevator. he murmurs a ‘hey’ then shoves a plastic bag into your hands.
inside the bag is a dark towel, your favorite chocolate, painkillers, and a heating pad. you blink and realise he’s genuinely prepared and serious about this, and you don’t know whether to laugh or cry.
but jungkook doesn't waste any more time, he shoves you back against the door the second it's closed - lips crushing yours, hands already hiking up your shirt. you pull back breathless, your hands pressing against his chest to steady yourself. “jungkook, I feel a little disgusting, honestly, and I’ve never done anything sexual on my period..” your words are quiet, maybe even a little embarrassed.
he frowns, hands freezing on your hips instantly. the aggressive energy drops away, replaced by something soft. he leans his forehead against yours. "it's not disgusting." he dips his head down to kiss your jaw then pulls back to look you in the eye, dead serious. “it's literally biology. everyone bleeds." his thumbs rub your waist. "and if you've never done it, then tonight we will.."
you nod. “it’ll be messy, though.”
he nods back seriously. "i brought a towel, remember? i don't care about messy if you don’t.”
his lips quickly find yours again, his warm tongue enveloping yours as he leads you to your bedroom. he kicks the door shut behind you, walking you backward until your knees hit the mattress. the bag with the supplies hits your nightstand. he pulls your shirt off effortlessly, and doesn't hesitate to reach for your sweatpants, tugging them down along with your underwear.
he spreads the dark towel over the sheets with practiced efficiency, then pauses and looks at you. "we can stop." his voice is quieter now, thumb stroking your hip as he looks at you. "but I want you to know i don't care about any of it." he kisses your stomach. slow, deliberate, moving lower.
"just tell me if it's too much." jungkook murmurs against your skin. he pulls his hoodie off, then the shirt underneath. his body is already warm as he shifts, settling comfortably between your legs. his thumbs press gently into your inner thighs, coaxing them open.
you subconsciously resist a little, but he leans down, pressing a kiss right above your pelvic bone. "relax." he whispers. "trust me." jungkook gently hooks your legs over his shoulders, lowering his face with no hesitation. his mouth is on you instantly. soft, wet, and unbothered by anything other than making you feel good. “you’re so fucking beautiful, y/n.”
you tense automatically, instinctively trying to close your legs. his hands immediately clamp down on your thighs, holding them open, keeping you pinned. "stop moving, it’s alright." he mumbles against you, then licks a slow stripe up your center, the cold press of his lip piercing making you shiver.
“ah” you moan, hand flying to his hair - gripping, pulling. he groans against you, the vibration makes your back arch off the mattress. jungkook works you slowly and patiently. his tongue circling, his lips pulling. he reads every twitch, every gasp, adjusting for your comfort.
his eyes flick up to meet yours. dark, hungry, chin wet - he doesn't care. your eyes are already rolling back, mouth wide open as a string of breathy moans escape you. you're absolutely soaked. the blood mixes with your arousal, dripping onto the dark towel beneath you. jungkook doesn't slow. his tongue flicks harder, faster. one hand slips up your body to pinch your nipple through your lacy bra.
your back arches again, a choked sob escaping. "jungkook-" the pleasure he’s giving you is becoming unbearable. he just hums, appreciative as feels you already getting close. “so good….” your thighs shake against his ears, he tightens his grip on them, pulling you closer to his mouth. two fingers suddenly slide inside you - easy, wet. he curls them upward - hitting that spot that makes your vision blur.
jungkook pulls back just enough to breathe, thumbs rubbing the inside of your thigh. "cum on my face, beautiful.” he tells you, but his mouth is back on you before you can respond. sucking as your orgasm hits hard, violent. your thighs clench around his face, your hips bucking hard into his mouth. a loud, undignified sound escapes you, one you've never made before.
he doesn't stop, doesn't even slow. jungkook swallows every drop of your release - blood and arousal mixing on his chin, dripping down his throat. once youve come down from your high, he presses a kiss to your glistening core then comes back up. when he comes back up, his mouth and chin are all bloody. you open your eyes and gasp, mortified by the vision. “oh my god, I’m so sorry.”
he sits back on his heels, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand. he’s breathless and hard, pupils blown wide. he looks down at the mess between your legs - blood and cum and saliva mixed together on the dark towel.
jungkook lunges forward again, covering your body with his. his mouth meets yours - bloody, salty, still tasting of you. “don’t be. you’re the best thing i’ve ever tasted.” he whispers against your lips, breath hot. he grinds against you, hard and desperate. his cock is straining in his sweats, pressing against your wet thighs. you taste yourself on his tongue, you taste the iron of your blood - he doesn't care.
his tongue swipes over your bottom lip once more, then he pushes you back down and settles between your thighs once again - hot mouth finding your centre. “be so good again for me, beautiful.”
jungkook doesn't stop eating you out, he doesn't even pause apart from checking you’re okay every few minutes. each time you peak again, each time his mouth and chin are covered more thoroughly in the mixture of your blood and your climax. the towel is soaking.
by the third time, your thighs are trembling uncontrollably. overstimulated, tears streaming down your cheeks. your fingers tangled in his hair so tight it must hurt. jungkook’s relentless, he could eat you out like this all night if you wanted him to. he finally pulls back. face a mess, chest heaving, his lips swollen and red. he wipes his mouth with his forearm then stares down at you - wrecked, ruined, gorgeous.
"you're so fucking hot."
you whimper at his words, your fingers reaching out to tug at the waistband of his sweatpants - you need him, now. jungkook doesn't hesitate, he shoves them down along with his boxers in one rough motion, kicking them off the end of the bed. his cock springs free. thick, heavy, angry red and leaking pre-cum against his stomach. he's agonizingly hard. he strokes himself once, his thumb spreading the bead of moisture over the head. "still okay?"
you just watch him, eyes fixed on his thick length. then your eyes move back up, you nod once and bite your lip. jungkook watches you bite your lip, his eyes darkening. "don't do that." he reaches up, thumb pressing against your lower lip, freeing it from your teeth. "i want to hear you."
you know you’re already soaking again , you can feel your core pulsing for him. jungkook reaches over to your nightstand drawer where you keep the condoms, but you grab his forearm to stop him. “wait..”
jungkook raises his eyebrows, one hand still rubbing your thigh as he waits for you to continue. you take a deep breath then speak again. “we don’t have to use one this time, i want to feel you properly.”
his brain stops working properly for a second. you want him to fuck you raw? it’s not like it wouldn’t be fucking amazing, but jungkook doesn’t want to overwhelm you or make you feel pressured after always having used protection.
you study his face then continue. “it’s fine if you don’t want to. you know I’m on the pill. i know you’re clean, you know I’m clean. i just - think it would be nice.”
jungkook shakes his head so fast you think he might have whiplash, his tongue plays with his lip ring before he replies. “no - fuck, y/n. i really want to, too. i just don’t want to make you feel uncomfortable or anything.” after studying your face and realising you’re serious, he moves closer and reaches out to brush a strand of hair away from your face, his voice low and sultry. “you want to, then?”
he leans down to pepper kisses all down your throat, then he sucks the sweet spot on your collarbone. “are you sure you can handle it?”
your pulse starts going erratic again, it feels like you’ve somehow forgotten to breathe. you whimper quietly at the thought. “Yes, please, jungkook, i can take it.”
the sound of your voice makes jungkook groan and just press his forehead against your neck. you sound so sweet, so needy and ready for him - he doesn’t waste anymore time.
he positions himself between your legs, hovering over you. his cock brushes against your thigh - hot and heavy. "it shouldn’t, but, tell me if it hurts." he whispers.
jungkook lines himself up. slow, careful, pushing forward. the burn is immediate. you're soaked, but the blood makes the friction different - slicker, warmer. he watches your face intently, freezing when you gasp, waiting for you to adjust. he pushes all the way in, bottoming out. you whine at the stretch. “jungkook…”
he groans. "fuck, princess. fuck, baby.." he stills above you for a moment, his forehead dropping against yours, his breathing ragged. his arms are shaking, holding himself back. "you feel so fucking good." his voice cracks as he pulls back slowly then slides back in - deep, deliberate, setting a rhythm that makes your toes curl.
the wet sounds between you are obscene, slick, messy. “Yes! oh. oh god, jungkook…” every thrust drags a sound out of you - high, broken, shameless - you can't control it. the wet slide of him inside you is amplified, the sensation sharper, deeper.
jungkook loves it. "there we go, babe, let me hear you." he groans into your neck, picking up the pace, the slap of skin against skin is deafening. he wants to make you feel even more - he grips your thighs, pushing them higher toward your chest. the angle changes, he hits deeper, harder. “you like that, princess? fuck.”
you're so loud - no filter, too full of him to even register his words. the coil tightening in your stomach almost violently. jungkook looks down between your bodies where you're connected. it's messy, red, slick. "look at it." he pants. "look how pretty you are."
you both come apart at the same time - him thrusting deep, you clamping down. he's growling your name into your shoulder, you're almost sobbing into his hair. jungkook’s release is violent, hot ropes hitting your cervix over and over. your walls clench around him like a vice, milking every drop out of him. the towel underneath is ruined, completely soaked through. he falls forward, chest heaving, your names both stuck in each other’s throat.
jungkook stays buried inside you for a moment, both of you recovering from what just happened. he presses soft kisses to your shoulder and neck then looks back up at you. “that was beyond fucking amazing.” he watches your face - you’re completely fucked out, cheeks flushed and chest heaving as you try to catch your breath again.
he waits another moment before sitting up suddenly, grabbing your hips and pulling you onto his face without warning. his tongue immediately finds your clit, licking through the mess of both your releases. you yelp and gasp, hands flying to his hair as he begins to eat you out aggressively. "ride my face, beautiful, come on."
“oh my god, jungkook-“ you’ve never been in this position before. you’d fantasised about it a lot but never actually imagined you’d ever be sitting on his face - your face reddens again.
but jungkook doesn't let up. one hand tightens in your hair, gently pulling your head back. the other grips your ass, lifting you higher. "grind on it, baby." he commands against your wetness, and you do. you're overstimulated, you're shaking, but you move your hips anyway - rubbing against his mouth. "that's it, babe. fuck, i could die in this pussy.”
a sudden rush of boldness runs through your body. you lean forward, bracing one hand on the headboard while you grind on his mouth. the other hand slips down his stomach, wrapping around his still-hard cock. you start to stroke him fast - tight, rough, desperate. "let me taste you." you whisper.
jungkook’s back arches. he moans loud against your core, vibrations shaking through you. you lean down now, wrapping your lips around the swollen head of his cock. he chokes out a groan against your cunt, the vibration making your hips jerk. you take him deep. hollowing your cheeks, stroking the base. his hips buck up off the mattress, fucking into your mouth automatically. meanwhile his tongue works you harder, faster.
you stroke him faster. the contrast makes you both delirious - him eating you out while you take him in your mouth. your mouth is so full, you can only make muffled sounds of pleasure. jungkook groans loudly, pushing his hips up into your face, forcing himself deeper. “fuck, y/n. take all of it."
you choke on his dick, your jaw stretching uncomfortably as he pushes. his hands grip the sheets, his voice drops to something like a growl. "take all of it." His tongue is also relentless, slapping across your clit with the same aggression. the vibrations make your walls clench, your cheeks hollow deeply.
something snaps, it breaks simultaneously. your orgasm hits you violently - your hips grinding down onto his tongue, screaming around his cock. you shake uncontrollably. jungkook snaps a second later, thick ropes shooting down your throat. you swallow immediately, humming through your nose, milking him perfectly.
you are both an absolute wreck. the only sound is your ragged breathing, the wet slap of sweat and slick hitting the mattress, the ticking clock across the room. jungkook stays there, your mouth still wrapped around him, your body still twitching. your thighs continue to shake uncontrollably against his shoulders.
finally, he shifts. slowly, gently slipping out. he pulls away, his cock leaving your lips with a wet pop. thick strings connect your lips to the tip before breaking. his face is coated, your centre is coated, it looks almost like a warzone.
jungkook looks at you. eyes dark, lips swollen, panting like he just ran a marathon. "jesus christ." you both look down - the sheets, the towel, his face, your thighs, his cock, his stomach. everything is smeared a little red.
he looks at you, you look at him. you both start laughing. exhausted, maybe slightly delirious. he pulls you closer into another kiss, whilst his hand travels up to the back of your neck - it feels so good, so rewarding. “do you feel okay?” jungkook asks, hoping that wasn’t too much for you.
and it wasn’t. that was most definitely the best sex of your life. you dwell on it for a moment, how could anything else compare to this? No, y/n, you think - don’t even go there.
jungkook - sexy, attentive, strictly casual-hookup-only jungkook who just respectfully broke you in half - pulls you in for another kiss, then chuckles against your lips. "i think we need a shower." he murmurs.
and, well, the cold water from the shower was definitely not the only awakening you’d be having that night.
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
i am terrible at uploading, and lately theres been nothing to read (well for me) so heres a list of my 10/10 fics that can keep you occupied
s: smut / f: fluff / a: angst
ONE SHOTS - JEON JUNGKOOK
The Love Bug by @jungkxook (spiderman!jjk x reader) (s, f, a)
summary: every night, jungkook puts on the red mask and flings himself confidently into perilous danger; but that same heart of steel that fuels his will and spirit seems to fail him whenever it comes to you
What if I love you too much? by @taleasnewastime (neighbour!jungkook x single mum! reader) (s, f, a)
Summary: Jungkook. It’s only a name you learn after your son kicks his ball over the fence. Before that you only knew him as the hot new neighbour who mows his lawn topless. And though you have no intention of getting to know him anymore than that, inevitably you do. You don’t necessarily fall, it’s too slow for that, but you definitely develop feelings you don’t intend to feel. Because you know men like him, and you know that whatever you’re feeling, he’s probably not feeling the same. All the same, however hard you try, you can’t help yourself.
Movie goers (additional drabble 20/20) by @missenu (s, f, a) (neighbour!jungkook)
Summary: starting off on the wrong foot with your new neighbor was not on the top of your bucket list, yet you’ve made an enemy of jeon jungkook in less than 24 hours. unlucky for you, he’s not backing down either.
Under the mistletoe by @dreamersparacosm (s, f, a)
Summary: Every Christmas, since you were six years old, Jeon Jungkook gave you a kiss under the mistletoe. But when you were fifteen, you were replaced by a revolving door of girlfriends. Thus began your decade-long aversion to the holiday—this year, however, you’ve been tasked with hosting the annual Christmas soirée, and there’s no telling what might be waiting for you under the mistletoe this time around.
Why are you on tinder? by @jeonette (f, a)
Summary: in which you decide to pull what you think is a harmless prank on your boyfriend by telling him you found his friend on tinder, only for things to go painfully wrong.
Strictly platonic by @jeonqkooks (s, f, a)
Summary: Sometimes, Jungkook can be a little selfish; and sometimes, the lengths you would go to for his happiness mean relinquishing your own.
Handyman by @pjminii (s, f)
Summary: your new neighbor is just numbingly cute, but it’s hard getting his attention. so when you find out he’s handy, you decide to sabotage every single item in your home, trying to lure him in.
The pink pill by @dollfaceksj (s)
Summary: In each of these universes, you find yourself consuming what is known as the pink pill. This pill is essentially a drug that enhances your libido to the max and you’ll quite literally never experience arousal like you do when you’ve taken this pill. Thankfully, in each universe, there’s a man that’s ready to help you explore and reach your peak of sexual euphoria.
Will it fit? by @jeonsweetpea (roomate!jjk x reader) (s, f)
Summary: so what if your roommate caught you masturbating? At least he forgot about it the next day. But he can’t exactly forget the big dildo you left in your shared bathroom…
Trends (extras) by @kookochan (s, f)
Summary: you try some trends and pranks on your lovely boyfriend, but he loves you so much that he can't be mad at you.
Not so casual by @voyter (roomate!jungkook x reader) (s, f)
Summary: with one bathroom in the apartment and jungkook’s strict streaming schedule, he’s left with no choice but to join you in the shower.
Current boyfriend by @girlygguk (s, f)
Summary: the one where you're the ultimate little prankster and your boyfriend doesn't find you very funny
Pavloved by @httpknjoon (f)
Summary: When you accidentally conditioned your friend, Jungkook, through your favorite coffee candy.
PAWS & POUTS by @gukcnt (f)
Summary: in which jungkook gets you the kitty you've always wanted — only to realize he may not be your number one anymore.
00.01% chance by @ctrlhope (hybrid!jungkook x reader) (s)
Summary: His heat is telling him he needs to go deeper. That he needs to do more. That he needs to breed.
Apologise first by @cupidsbling (s, f, a)
Summary: You and your boyfriend have a little argument, so he suggests something filthy and demented to decide who has to apologise first
First date with Jungkook by @kjhmyg (f)
Summary: this one didn't have a summary lol but its basically him screwing up and being a wreck on your first date (it's adorable)
A drunk jungkook is a sweet jungkook by @junqive (f)
Summary: he's really damn stupid it's cute
My lucky star by @jiminsafairy (s, f) (hyrid!jungkook)
summary: when your best friend appears at your door begging for help, who are you to deny it?
SERIES
Rough Edges by @kjhmyg (s, f, a) (THIS IS MY PERSONAL FAV)
Summary: when you uncover your boyfriend's private life, a deep dive into it sucks you in as you try to help save him from himself.
Swinging by a fine line by @hongcherry (spiderman!jungook) (s, f)
Summary: Spider-Man’s role was easy: save everyone, fight the criminals, don’t drop out of school, don’t expose his identity, and make time for his girlfriend. What was so difficult?
Mutual Help by @personasintro (s, f, a)
Summary: in order for you to pretend to be his girlfriend, he helps with you sexual desires⏤he calls it mutual help.
Assistant Jungkook by @starlight-deepestnight (f, a) (smau)
Summary: Jungkook is your assistant, everyone knows he's in love with you. Jungkook knows he's in love with you. Sadly your lack of awareness and awkward nature come in between you.
BBY DADDY SERIES by @muniimyg (s, f, a) (smau + text)
Summary: co-parents that fuck
BOUND BY VOWS by @gukcnt (s, f, a) (arranged marriage)
Summary: your world crumbles when you're forced into a marriage with jeon jungkook, a man whose commanding presence terrifies you, reminding you of your father's cruelty. yet beneath his coldness, jungkook’s unexpected kindness stirs a spark of hope, making you question everything you fear. your life together starts—an emotional journey of two hearts seeking comfort, healing and a chance at love
Lost cause? by @kooksbunnnn (a) (second chance)
Summary: You always wondered, how would your life turn out to be if you and Jungkook had a baby? So, when you finally conceive and decide to tell your husband, that you are pregnant, you didn't expect him to drop this bomb on you. You never would've thought that the surprise you planned would end up in agonized tears because of the shock your husband brings you.
No warranty by @dreamersparacosm (s, f) (blue collar!jungkook)
Summary: Namhae Valley was supposed to be your definition of a “break,” a vacation from all the stress you’ve endured at work. What you didn’t plan for? A broken-down car and a grease-stained, smug mechanic who comes with it.
JUST THIS ONCE by @ggukivrse (s, f, a)
Summary: when you complain to jungkook about your lack of action in the past year, you're not really asking for a solution. but when he casually offers to help, you just can't seem to bring yourself to say no.
Worst behaviour by @luvismenu (s, f) (smau + text)
summary: everyone knows you as the good girl / nerd. except you’re so fucking tired of that image. (and you’re also very… horny.) so when you decide to be bold and finally go after hoseok — things don’t really go as planned. instead, you end up tangled in a fake relationship with his best friend / campus favorite fuckboy ; jeon jungkook
SMOKE SRITE by @inthelow (s)
Summary: you and Jungkook aren’t that close, you were supposedly be dating his best friend… then why is he about to fuck you in the back of his car?.
CHERRY WAVES by @jkin3d (f, a)
Summary: you find out what happens when you get paired with the town reject in a chemistry project… spoiler, he’s not the ‘devil reincarnate’.
Universial truths / (toxic ver.) by @wintrbears (s, f, a)
Summary: You took the risk of falling in love in a world where your perfect match is decided for you by the universe itself. When a name you never could've predicted appears on your wrist, you struggle to resist the intense connection between you and your soulmate.
Internet girl by @jeonette (s)
Summary: in which you move into a new apartment, only to find yourself at war with the neighbour next door. he’s insufferably arrogant as he is handsome. but between settling in and dealing with the jerk next door, what happens if you find out that the jerk next door is the guy you’ve been sexting online?
How to get a guy by @taeshobipop (s, f, a)
Summary: Star basketball player Jeon Jungkook has a reputation as the ultimate fuckboi. He’s loved by everyone. Everyone. And you would have followed suit if he had not broken all your strict Roommate Rules™ within the first week of his stay. Jungkook, on the other hand, thinks you’re absolutely bizarre. But there’s a silver lining — Mr. Fuckboi here knows basketball captain Min Yoongi, your dreadfully clueless crush. He strikes up a deal with you: he’ll teach you the ways of flirting if you lessen your load of rules (so Jungkook can continue perusing his way through the ladies on campus). Yet the longer Jungkook spends with you, the more he realizes that maybe he doesn’t want to be the campus fuckboi anymore. The problem is, how does he prove that to you?
ONE SHOTS - KIM TAEHYUNG
Runner by @vsthv (s, f)
Summary: after a rough break up with the immature man that you thought loved you but ended up cheating on you, you turned to running. it became your coping mechanism. it helped you physically and mentally. you’ve never really noticed the man that would occasionally pass you, jogging every day. until one day, when he asked you to take a picture of him in front of the sunset.
Your messy hair by @vsthv (s, f, a) (blue collar!taehyung)
Summary: you love your boyfriend’s messy hair. you love him. for who he is, and for how hardworking he is.
Hades paints by @vantaenims (f)
Summary: All it took is an off key violin version of Twinkle Twinkle Little Star for you to possibly grow more hatred for your blue haired neighbor but what if your favorite Instagram Painter happens to be that same person.
Exchanging Heat by @jinfizz (s, f)
Summary: When your roommate drops out right before the end of the semester and leaves you high and dry for next month’s rent, you’re forced to turn to craigslist to find an absolute stranger to save you from financial ruin. The shy Korean exchange student you find to replace her seems nice enough despite the language barrier, but what will happen when the heat cuts off one fateful evening, and you’re forced to turn to each other for warmth?
Juicy by @milk-moonbunnies (s, f)
Summary (req): taehyung coming home in the morning to devour MC after a drunk night out with the other members who FaceTimed her to show a drunk Tae crying cause he couldn't eat her pussy
Tripping on skies, sipping waterfalls by @bangtae-sohotddaeng (s, f, a)
Summary: One drink too many at Hoseok’s Halloween party, and you’ve blanked out on the entire night that followed. Now, who’s gonna fill you in when Taehyung looks one second away from breaking into tears when you bring it up with him? From running across the university campus in remnants of your vampire outfit, to dealing with your downtrodden boyfriend’s disappointed stares - you’re left with one hell of a day, and zero recollections.
The Good Boy Diaries by @borathae (s, f)
Summary: When Taehyung realises that you call him Good Boy whenever he is being helpful, he can’t stop himself from being extra productive in the household.
SERIES
Starry night by @kooppss (s, f, a)
Summary: Taehyung was your high school crush. Fuck that—he was everyone’s high school crush. But that was twelve years ago. What does it matter that he’s now a fellow director at your company? It’s not like you have anything to do with him. He probably doesn’t even remember you… does he?
Love at firsk oink by @glodenclosetau (f) (smau + text)
Summary: when taehyung finds himself having to hide his brand new pet from his housemates, he turns to his trusty neighbour to help him keep his cover.
ONE SHOTS - KIM NAMJOON
Placebo Effect by @joons-cinnamon-bun (s, f)
Summary: Namjoon knows you’re a stubborn human being. (Birds of a feather, and all that.) He’s been with you long enough to know exactly what that looks like—whether you’re fighting for him, against him, or just for the sake of it. (Which, if he’s being honest, might be his favorite.)So when you insist that the so-called aphrodisiac pills are nothing but placebo, he doesn’t really argue. He just gives you little push...Now, that’s not to say he expected you to overdose on them just to prove a point! But you do. Because that’s the kind of person he goes for, apparently. What follows is...messy. Hot. Deasperate. Hilarious. (But only after he makes sure you aren’t going to go into cardiac arrest)
HOW WAS YOUR DAY? by @kooksbunnnn (s)
Summary: Just namjoon fingering you in his studio as he asks you about your day.
ONE SHOTS - KIM SEOKJIN
Like this? by @jeongi (s)
Summary: your neighbour, seokjin, teaches you exactly how he likes to be touched.
OT7 FICS
Don't want your sympathy by @sketchguk (s, f) (jungkook x reader x namjoon)
Summary: jeongguk is like an annoying little brother to you, but nevertheless, there’s nothing in this world you wouldn’t do for your sweet, innocent best friend. so what are you supposed to do when he wants to watch your boyfriend fuck you senseless? say no?
PINNED BETWEEN THEM by @gukcnt (s) (jungkook x reader x taehyung)
Summary: what was supposed to be a study night turns into a dangerous game of dominance and desire when jungkook and taehyung trap you between them in the back of their car.
a/n: credits go to all these amazing authors who i love to read. unfortunately for some reason tumblr wasn't letting me tag some of them but I've done my best. I hope you all enjoy these as much as I did. also im a freak i like smut
when you move back to your hometown after a decade away, the familiar feels distant一your childhood bedroom hollow, memories faint, and faces half-forgotten. then, there’s one you almost don’t recognize at all: min yoongi. you expect mint hair, a leather jacket and the permanent scowl plastered across the once troublesome young man’s face. instead, you find your older brother’s reckless best friend and the crush you never quite outgrew to be. . .different. older. composed. magnetic in a quieter, more dangerous light. the edge is still there, but refined and softened into a lazy smirk, sharpened behind wire-rimmed glasses. he carries himself like he no longer has to prove anything and it makes him even harder to ignore. you’re all grown up now, but so is he. standing in front of the boy who stole your first kiss, you realize that the feelings you long buried as a teenager have come rushing back like they never left.
pairing: female reader x older brother's best friend!yoongi
content/warnings: 22.5 k words, forbidden romance (ish), good girl x bad boy but grown up, childhood friends, late 20s reader, early 30s yoongi, yoongi is a reformed troubled youth lol, explicit language, drinking, mentions of neglect/abuse, yearning, typical post grad struggles (hello unemployment and moving back in with your parents!), minor fight scene in a flashback, mentions of blood and bruising, smut (unprotected sex, face sitting, squirting, fingering, multiple orgasms, dirty talk, breast play, missionary, mating press, creampie), light angst, fluff, no use of y/n
notes: this idea has been in my head ever since i realized its been over 10 years since hyyh and mint yoongi + seeing this man in glasses had the gears turninggg lol enjoy! (also let's ignore how this was supposed to be a 10k word one shot that doubled in length out of nowhere)
Min Yoongi lives in your memories as one specific image: a cocky-half smirk, dyed mint hair, vanilla and cigarettes. He’d always been a little out of reach, like a candy jar on a counter that you couldn’t tippy-toe your way to grab. A fantasy, a wishful thought. The vision you’ve etched is represented by his loud motorcycle and a bad attitude—the kind of boy a mother warns her daughter about.
“Mom! Is it okay if Yoongi stays the night?”
Not yours, though. Other than his own parents doing less than the bare minimum to play their role, the details of his home life remained murky at best. However, you caught on at an early age that they simply weren’t good people, which explained his constant presence at the breakfast table several times a week.
You’re ten years old the first time Yoongi is at your home for a sleepover and your mom smiles when your brother asks for permission, noting the hope in both boys’ eyes. They high five happily after approval is granted, scurrying back to the backyard to play soccer.
Before Yoongi slips outside, he makes eye contact with you in the living room, where you watch television alone.
He says your name, exasperated. “Well, are you coming?”
Momentarily taken aback, you pause; you’re too used to vanishing into the backdrop at school and home. Quiet, well-mannered and taking a backseat to your more extroverted friends and popular older brother. But Yoongi always had that ability to draw you in, some strange power he perfected over people. You end up hopping off the couch and trailing after him.
The next few months, Yoongi would come over once a week to watch a movie with your brother, Owen, and often times, your parents would nag the latter to include you. You end up in the basement sandwiched between the two boys, skimming through a mountain of DVDs with them and gave your opinion every once in a while.
"Stop hogging the popcorn,” Owen grumbles once the movie has started, reaching over Yoongi on the couch to snatch the bowl away from you.
When he did that, Yoongi would wordlessly pass you the bowl back right after, even if Owen complained that he wanted it on his side.
He’d found an escape through Owen, his best friend that opened your home to Yoongi whenever he needed it. This proved to be a constant necessity and soon enough, your family welcomed him like their own. You came home after school and never blinked twice when you saw Yoongi sitting on the basement couch, playing video games with Owen. Passing rice to him at the dinner table and waking up the next morning to board the school bus as three became a normal occurrence.
Sleepovers turned into more at some point and you’re not exactly sure when it started, but you remember one night when you noticed the change for the first time. You’re in your brother’s room, the two of you messing around on Mario Kart, cross-legged on the floor when the window creaks open. Violently, even, but neither you or Owen flinch at the sharp noise.
He doesn’t flinch when Yoongi effortlessly jumps in either, shoes hitting the carpet with a light thud that interrupts the sound of Mario collecting coins on the screen. His best friend’s green hair is tousled by the wind and as usual, you glance at the visible purple skin on his knuckles that no one ever comments on, even in spite of the constant stares. The red in the whites of his eyes are just as hard to ignore, as he gives you a little wave.
You’ve always been there, like a shadow. You don’t say or do much, but your presence is lucid and just enough for you to offer a wave back. Nothing more, like you usually do. Owen greets him without looking up from the game.
“Yo.”
“Hey, man.”
Yoongi nonchalantly plops his backpack underneath Owen’s desk and makes himself comfortable in between the pair of you. Your knee bumps against his and you hope that he doesn’t notice your blush as much as you hope he doesn’t notice your Hello Kitty pajamas.
“You gonna let me have Princess Peach or what?” It takes a second for you to realize it, but Yoongi is talking to you. He has a lazy smirk on and your ears burn—not because of that, but because he remembers what character you like to play.
You clear your throat. “S-Sure. Go, uh, right ahead.”
There’s something automatically enchanting about your older brother’s best friend that makes you feel like a fool. It could be the mystique of it all, the seemingly older and wiser experiences of the boy next to you that felt untouchable.
The three of you play the game and the night goes on like it’s a normal hangout. When you leave Owen’s room to go to bed, Yoongi remains there. You don’t think he ever actually leaves after this night.
A pattern carves itself out over time and soon, your mom gets sick of Yoongi accidentally knocking over her garden decorations when he sneaks in. After sitting him down for a conversation, Yoongi begins walking through the front door. He gets his own pair of house slippers. His own set of keys. He comes along for family vacations and helps your dad with the turkey at Thanksgiving.
When you start high school that year, you begin to piece things together even more. Rumours float around that consistently align with your suspicions and not only do you see a different side of Yoongi, you start seeing him around campus doing things he shouldn’t be doing.
You watch him slam guys from the soccer team into lockers for just looking at him wrong, teachers yelling at him for smoking on school property, making out with girls underneath the bleachers. You read sharpie written about him on the stalls of the bathroom and hear warnings about getting too close to him. People either talked about him like he was the devil or like he was every girl’s biggest fantasy.
But, you don’t see him that way. You never did. To you, Yoongi is your older brother’s angry best friend that the world misunderstands.
“Are you okay?”
You’re surprised that you’re able to will your voice to be louder than a whisper when you approach Yoongi after class.
The school hallways are deserted at this point in the day. You’ve stayed back for a student council meeting and when it’s time to head home, you accidentally walk in on the sounds of grunts and clanking metal.
He got into another fight. You hide behind a corner and watch Yoongi hammer his fist into some guy’s face, wincing at a cracking noise. The latter eventually has a friend come and yank him away, leaving Yoongi alone and panting. He slides down a wall, unceremoniously dropping on the ground.
When you approach, blood is already drying around his nose and as usual, his knuckles are bruised. Flesh split open. His eyes are empty and his jaw is set, as if hardened from head to toe.
Yoongi’s head snaps up, rooted to his spot at the sudden voice. His eyes do soften when he realizes that it’s just you.
He makes a joke out of it, like he always does. “Just peachy,” he muses, turning his hand over to admire his work.
You roll your eyes, but to your surprise, your body moves for you. Taking a few steps forward, you hold out your hand in front of him. You don’t know why, but you do. He doesn’t look helpless or anything, but like a magnet, you're drawn to him yet again.
“Come,” you mutter, ignoring the steady rhythm bellowing in your ears from your chest.
Yoongi blinks blankly. He’s just as surprised as you are and opens his mouth, unable to find words of protest. Then, he envelopes his palm into yours and you help him to his feet.
In silence, you lead the way to the nearest empty bathroom. He leans against the wall as you dig into your backpack for a band-aid. Neither of you talk, not even when you run some toilet paper under the water and he hisses through his teeth when you dab at the blood on his face.
“Thank you,” he says and you don’t know if you’ve ever heard him say such words to anyone but your parents.
You can count the number of eyelashes fanning cheeks from this close and all you can do is nod.
Yoongi was a little mean and arrogant, but never to you personally. He looked at you like you were something precious—the meek little sister that mostly minded her own business and focused on her academics. You saw the way he treated other people that crossed him, how Yoongi never held back his sharp tongue or already bruised fists. He never cared about the whispers about his either, whether it was the kind that circulated around your high school hallways or even around town about how the apple never falls far from the tree.
You may be biased, but you never understood why people viewed Yoongi the way they did, even with the mean-spirited attitude he exerted. He was a little rough around the edges, but you knew that he’d been through a lot for someone his age. Instead, you see the boy that cuddles with your family’s cat and helps your grandmother walk up the stairs during her visits. Still, he keeps up that image to the rest of the world.
It’s clear that the walls he’s erected aren’t for fun or the reputation, but to keep everyone at arm’s length. He refuses to let anyone get too close and it takes you years to realize that it applied to you, too.
Yoongi buys a motorcycle as soon as he’s old enough to get the license and eventually, you lose count of the different heads of flowing locks in the school parking lot at the back of his bike. Always gripping onto his waist, as he zooms off with each girl and by the month’s end, with another one.
If you had enough nerve, you’d admit that you wished you were one of them—even if you’re more than aware that each of those girls were temporary.
One day, you get the chance.
Some boy from your math class asks you to be his date to the homecoming dance and you have the worst time. He spends the entire night trying to spike the punch bowl and flirts with girls on the cheerleading squad right in front of your face. By the second hour of the event, you make the executive decision to get the hell out of there, irritated.
When you burst out of the gymnasium doors and find yourself in the parking lot, Yoongi is leaning against his motorcycle with a cigarette hanging out of his mouth. Typical. You make eye contact with him and silently wave, as usual, expecting him to carry on. You’re too preoccupied with figuring out if you have enough change to take the bus home.
Instead, he calls your name. Twice. You initially think you’re imagining the sound as you walk past his figure, but he repeats himself—firmer and impossible to ignore.
You spin around and he’s stomping on the cigarette, abandoned on wet pavement. Dew floats in the air from rain earlier in the day, a mist that surrounds you and brings goosebumps to your exposed arms. Yet, Yoongi is clear as day through the fog.
“Where are you going?” he asks, eyebrows raised. The last thing you expected was him prodding into your business.
Actually, the last thing you wanted to do was admit your failed date, all too embarrassing in front of a boy who probably never encountered any difficulties in his love life. You can tell that Yoongi already knows, though, by the way you’re weighed down by a look of pity.
You inhale deeply. “I’m going to walk home.”
He almost looks offended at that statement.
“No, you’re not,” Yoongi scoffs, gesturing to your attire.
You feel even more stupid at the observation. You’re in platform heels that you can barely walk in, a baby pink gown that you’ve been tripping on all night, and you have nothing but your clutch and phone. With a frown, you watch Yoongi approach closer.
To your surprise, he wraps his hand around your wrist. His touch is icy hot and your heartbeat drums even louder. You let him tug you towards his bike, wordlessly.
When Yoongi passes you his spare helmet, you hope that he doesn’t notice you gulp. “You don’t have to,” you insist.
A smile quirks up at the corner of his lips. “You scared?” he asks, his eyes flickering towards the motorcycle. “Just trust me. I got you, kid.”
The nickname leaves your chest fluttering again. You look over at the bike and swallow your nerves, having never ridden one before.
“No,” you reply defiantly, even though you both know you’re lying. Yoongi sees through you like glass, as usual. Still, you do trust him. You know that he wouldn’t let anything happen to you.
He’s always shown a subtle protectiveness over you, the way way yours hovers over him, even if he doesn’t look like he needs any kind of protection. But, you take it as a given and don’t look anything into it when you’re his best friend’s little sister—even if you notice every time his voice softens just for you or how he always grabs your favourite snack without asking on convenience store runs with Owen.
Yoongi’s teasing smile mellows and he places the helmet on your head, fingers brushing along the underside of your jaw as he secures the straps. You try to not move an inch, but it probably makes you more obvious. His movements are uncharacteristically gentle and he follows with draping his leather jacket around your shoulders. It smells like him, intoxicating and warm.
He says, “Put that on.” You can’t ever argue with that tone nor the sigh that leaves his mouth.
“Why aren’t you inside?”
“Pft, not my thing. I’m only here because I had detention and they told me that I need to help set up for the dance.”
You nod slowly. “Right,” you reply awkwardly, unsure of what to say.
Before he turns the key to bring the engine to life, Yoongi turns back to you.
“Don’t ever settle for shit you don’t deserve, alright?”
That night, you wrapped your arms around Yoongi’s waist as the two of you sped off on his motorcycle. You captured this moment like lightning in a bottle, like the gust of wind that sends dandelions flying; though, you prayed the entire time for him to not feel how fast your heart went as you pressed up against his back. You would do anything to replay that moment again and again.
More than enough people were surprised when Yoongi was accepted into a nice university, but you knew better. He was smart—maybe too smart for his own good. That was Min Yoongi to you, the version of him that last existed when you were sixteen and before he moved away for college with your brother.
Witty, strong-willed, and had a hunger to become more than what people thought of him. This was the last time you saw Yoongi, when he gave you a kiss at the end of the graduation party your parents threw for him and Owen.
Your parents loved Yoongi like a second son, so the celebration was as much for him as it was for your brother. The house was packed wall to wall and after a little while, you became desperate for breather and decided to slip away for a walk outside.
A block away, there’s an old playground that you and Owen frequented as kids, which you make your destination for the night. He’s back at the house, his presence taking up an entire room and being the life of the party as always, and you have an easier time slipping away without anyone noticing because of it. You usually do, as the quieter of one between you two.
When you get there, you don’t notice someone sitting on the swings. The sun is just about setting, as clementine skies bleed into soft clouds and the warm breeze unearths a certain calm that you’d been looking for. You’re distracted by the streaks of pink in the sky, as you climb your way to the top of the slide and screw your eyes shut to let the peaceful quiet fill your ears.
Then, you smell it. The waft of weed in the air, sharp in your nose. Footsteps approach softly and you’re nearly spooked until you see a flash of mint hair.
“What are you doing here?”
Yoongi climbs the ladder with ease and slots himself right next to you, not much room on the slide made for children. His eyes are reddened and there’s a curious glint shining in them.
You shrug. Owen made you take a shot or two with him when your parents weren’t looking, so you don’t feel the usual nerves in your muscles like yo usually do when you’re left alone with Yoongi. Otherwise, you’d be mostly silent. Even with him constantly around, he still leaves you shy and breathless.
“House was packed,” is what you settle on, burying that shyness underneath your skin. “Needed some air.”
Yoongi nods. He’s put out the joint, recognizing the way your nose scrunches slightly whenever he lights one near you.
He tilts his head up slightly, watching the same clouds drift lazily above. “Yeah. Me too.”
“It’s your party,” you remark. “Graduation is a big deal.”
Shrugging, Yoongi replies, “I guess. Parties aren’t my thing, though.” He chucks a pebble across the playground aimlessly.
“Congratulations. I guess I never got to say that.”
“Trust me, I’ve heard it more than enough from your parents,” he chuckles, nudging you. “Owen swears they’re happier for me than him.”
“They’re proud of you,” you say, smiling softly. You can tell that Yoongi isn’t used to that kind of thing or even congratulatory words, by the way he shrugs everything off.
“Yeah.”
“I, um—I’m proud of you.”
Yoongi pauses momentarily in his movements and even his feet stop swinging off the slide. He looks at you and it’s the kind of look he only gives when the two of you are alone. The tension he seems to constantly carry in his body dissipates, even for just a moment, and the corners of his mouth twitch into a real smile.
He says your name, gently. “Thank you. I mean it.”
You’ve never really been good at change. No sixteen year old ever is. When you look back at Yoongi, the idea of how things aren’t going to be like this anymore hits you as if you’ve ran into a brick wall. It reminds you of the way you let rings turn your fingers green and how you wince when cutting off the dead ends of your hair.
Only, this time, it’s a person. A person you’ve only really watched from afar, but admired up close.
“You guys are really moving away soon, huh?” you blurt out before you can help yourself.
The liquor in your body gives away your despondence, whether you like it or not, and Yoongi’s half-smile softens.
“You’ll see Owen during the holidays.”
“I don’t care about Owen.”
He pauses at that, your honesty freezing him in place. Meanwhile, you’re looking off into the sky like he was a few moments ago with a blank stare. You don’t know why the words fall out of your mouth. You’re not that drunk, but you also can’t stop yourself. In the darkening sun, your cheeks turn noticeably rouge and evading eye contact is the most natural thing to do.
Yoongi reaches out to brush some hair out of your face and your flinch—not out of fear, but because you don’t expect that gesture. It’s delicate in a way that Yoongi isn’t. He chuckles, continuing to tuck it behind your ear when you don’t verbally protest.
“Why do you get jumpy around me? When it’s just us?”
“Not jumpy,” you shoot back in a mutter, still not looking at him.
“Do I…do I make you nervous?”
For a second, the strain in his voice makes you realize that he thinks you might be scared of him because of who he is. His reputation. At first, you think he’s intentionally reaching for you to rile you up—maybe even flirting with you. Instead, you notice how his smile disappears and a frown threatens to pull at his lips.
The last thing you want him to think is that you’re afraid of him. Your heart aches because you wouldn’t ever see him that way, not when your family treats him like family and when you somehow show up for each other when you need it most. Funnily enough, you’ve never been scared of him.
You shake your head rapidly.
“No! God, no, I just—” you swallow hard, turning your face away even further to hide your embarrassment. “I just don't talk to boys that much, okay?”
A half-truth. You don’t need Yoongi knowing about your crush on him, not with how things have unravelled over the years and how he’ll be gone sooner rather than later.
You can’t see his expression, but you can feel the tension ease at your shameful admission.
Yoongi remains patient and doesn’t even acknowledge it. “Want me to go? Or walk you home?”
“….No.”
He chuckles and decides to flip the topic to moving away for college. You’re able to loosen your shoulders ever so slightly.
Yoongi says, “So, you’ll miss me when I’m gone?” He’s not even mocking, just clarifying casually. He speaks like he’s talking about the weather.
“Yeah,” you concede, looking down at your feet. Considerable progress from completely turning away from him. “It’ll be weird when you’re gone.”
“It’ll be weird without you for me, too.”
Your shoulder brushes against his. The two of you are sitting closer than before.
Yoongi is still trying to read the expression on your face. “Are you really that nervous around guys?”
Your face burns hotter. “Oh, please. Don’t tease me now.”
“I’m serious,” he responds, eyebrows raised.
And, you believe him. He almost sounds concerned, like he cares about trivial things like your lack of love life. You just let out a dry laugh.
“Sometimes, I guess. I think I’m just bad at it,” you sigh and think back to your failed homecoming date with how you haven’t had the guts to talk to another boy since.
“That’s surprising,” Yoongi remarks casually, like he’s explaining one-plus-one. “You’re a pretty girl, you should have an easy time.”
You scoff, thinking he’s trying to just butter you up, but when you look at him, you come up empty when you search for any signs of dishonesty. It doesn’t matter, anyway—with the painful nature of this conversation, you’d rather die than talk to Min Yoongi about how you have zero game.
“Well, I don’t,” you huff, trying to deflect with frustration. “You know that. I’ve never even had a boyfriend or anything like that.”
“What, don’t tell me that you’ve never kissed anyone either.”
Yoongi is still trying to lighten the mood, but you only grow more flustered. His features melt when he sees the sheepish blush painted across your cheeks. You try to hide behind your hands, shielding your face away further with the curtain of your hair.
Instead, you feel a gentle tug when he reaches out to them. They fall to your lap and your breath hitches when Yoongi inches closer—so slight, but enough for you to notice. His eyebrow knit together and you can tell that he’s not judging, but…thinking. Yoongi is thinking and you couldn’t guess in a million years about what.
You frown. “It’s not a big deal,” you mumble, but you’re unable to avoid his gaze this time.
“Do you want to kiss someone?”
The earth stops spinning in its rotation and the entire world feels like it’s closing in on you. It may even tilt on its axis. Your eyes go wide as saucers at the question and Yoongi chuckles. Again, you think he’s making fun of you and this time, you’re ready to climb down the slide, but he reaches out again.
“Hey,” he mutters, hand on your cheek and his skin stings icy hot. “It’s okay. It’s just me.”
The deepening summer evening is unnerving and uncertainty, echoing in the silence of the park. In this light, Yoongi is striking. He draws you in, like he always does, but in this moment, you’re acutely aware of it.
"Yeah, I want to.” The words fall out of your mouth like a landslide before they’re even processed through your brain.
Yoongi’s eyebrows shoot up, not expecting that answer. But, he doesn’t move. You also think you’re frozen. He doesn’t do anything until you do, letting you go at your own pace.
“Okay.”
“Are you sure?” he says, scanning your eyes for any hesitation. “You know you can trust me, right? It’s just a kiss.”
“Yeah, I know,” you reply, then pause. “And, yeah. I know I can trust you.”
He smiles with a kindness that he doesn’t just trust with anyone. You swallow your nerves until you’re certain that they’re buried deep beneath the pit in your stomach.
Yoongi managed to teach you a lot of things before he left that summer. He taught you to stand by what you know you deserved. He taught you that goodbyes can be okay and change happens no matter what. He made it all feel okay.
When you close your eyes and his lips brush against yours, the surroundings fade until frost and the only clarity is him.
Your first kiss, first crush, first goodbye. You always thought that Yoongi would remain that way forever—just a teenage memory—and you moved on with your life like everyone else does.
So, when you walk into a bar on the first night after moving back to your hometown, you don’t even recognize him.
“Thanks for helping me unpack!” you sigh happily, letting Aya lead the way out of the Uber.
Moving back in with your parents after years away working towards multiple degrees was seemingly as plausible as the sky falling. However, reality struck and you recognize that there isn’t much you can do when you’re stuck in the eye of the job market hurricane.
You make the decision to come back home temporarily while looking for a place of your own with some interviews lined up, returning after over a decade. You thought it was the safest thing to do with no guaranteed job offer on the table just yet and between some years living abroad, you missed your family.
Your best friend from high school, Aya, drags you to the nearest bar after you spend the entire afternoon sorting through boxes in your childhood bedroom. Standing in a room that still has boy posters pinned up on painted baby blue walls and a myriad of manga lined up on your shelf was a bit jarring. Being reminded of just how much time has passed was a wake up call.
Things change. You learned that the hard way many years ago and you still carry that with you today.
Aya’s lips stretch out into a wide smile, as you make your way through the front door. “Of course, this is is so exciting,” she squeals.
She hasn’t seen you for more than a few times a year since going to the same university for your undergraduate degree. While you moved away a second time to another country for graduate school, Aya moved back home and your friendship was relegated to meet-ups for special occasions and milestones.
It’s one of the things that you’ve forced yourself to get comfortable with in your twenties. Life moves fast for everyone and people naturally carve their own paths that lead you in different directions. Adjusting to living five minutes away from your best friend to only getting to hug each other at Christmas was hard.
Yet, even with the years that have passed, being right back in your hometown has you feeling like you’re sixteen again.
“Feels strange,” you remark, taking a seat at the bar with her. “Can’t believe that I’m actually back for good.”
The place is relatively congested for a random Monday night, which Aya mentions is the norm, given their populatiry. You’re surrounded by clinking glass, the roar of a hockey game on the televisions, and melodic chatter flowing from every corner of the room. Dim lights glow for an intimate atmosphere in the room and you’re able to relax for the first time all day.
For now.
Everything around you feels exactly the same, yet completely different at the same time. From what you remember, there used to be a toy store instead of a bar on this lot. The city buses have been painted a brighter shade of blue. The park a block away from your house has new playground equipment that lacks rust.
“Something to celebrate!” Aya says, as she tries to wave over a bartender.
Your phone buzzes as a momentary distraction with Owen’s name flashing on the screen. He’s asking how you’ve settled in so far, inviting you over to see his apartment when you’re free. You type up a reply, letting him know that you and Aya are out after getting some unpacking done.
Without looking away from the text thread, you ask, “Hey, what’s the name of this bar again?”
The voice that answers startles you—not because it doesn’t belong to Aya, but because it’s one that you haven’t heard in over a decade.
“Static. The bar is called Static, kid.”
And that nickname. Despite just a two year age difference and how overused it became, he never failed to call you that.
Your head snaps up.
It is him.
The realization stutters because Min Yoongi no longer fits in the mold that you’ve crafted for him in your head. You have to do a double take because you don’t see wind-tousled mint hair, but shaggy brown locks that fall just below silver hoops on his ears. Wire-rimmed glasses are perched on his nose, but the same hardened eyes remain behind them—the unmistakable signature of Yoongi’s that not even time can mitigate. Still, your eyes don’t decieve you.
“Yoongi.” It’s not a question nor a statement of any kind. You breathe his name, despite feeling like it’s been stolen away.
The man is like your hometown—exactly the same, but completely different. He’s older and it’s not just the kind that lives in the subtle crinkle at the corner of his eyes when he smiles or his broadened shoulders. There’s an aura of calmness that you’ve never associated with Yoongi. When you were teenagers, you only ever felt the vibrations of a certain chaos with him.”
“Hi,” you say dumbly, lips parted in shock.
At a glance, he doesn’t look like the boy who cut class everyday to smoke at the beach, but a man that holds confidence in himself. All your life, you’ve always known Yoongi as a guy who had everything to prove to the world, Now, he stands behind the bar and casually learned on the counter without clenched fists. You can’t help but trail your eyes over those shoulders again and his sharpened features.
He looks good. Mature. Grown. Needless to say, you struggle to form an actual sentence when you could have never predicted this reunion.
This is not the Yoongi you grew up with at all. You’re not sure if you should stand up or hug him, especially with how he’s in the middle of work, so you offer a hesitant wave. An awkward one that that and in your peripheral vision, Aya is holding back a snicker.
He sports a plain black shirt and jeans with a silver chain that dangles around his neck. Sleeves rolled up just enough to expose his forearms, you notice that the one thing that hasn’t changed is how he can pull off hair so perfectly out of place that it looks like he didn’t have to try very hard. Your eyes flicker towards Yoongi’s glasses again, thinking about how much they suit him, framing his face like a damn painting.
You don’t remember the last time a man’s presence made you blush like a school girl like this and it’s pathetic. However, you do know that it makes you feel just the way it used to when you would steal glances at Yoongi from afar as kids. You try to not sink into your seat.
Yoongi drawls your name like honey on his tongue. “I heard from Owen that you’d be back home,” he says, head tilted as his eyes scan your appearance. His expression is mostly unreadable.
You can tell that he’s sizing you up, not unlike the way you did.
“She came back today!” Aya cuts in and you’ve never been so grateful. “Can we get two tequila shots, Yoongi?”
He clears his throat, realizing that he was staring. The question snaps both of you back into the real world.
From what Owen has told you, he and Yoongi remain close. They went to the same university and you heard his name enough in Owen’s stories to assume that he lives nearby. Still, you didn’t expect to see him and especially not like…this.
Yoongi nods with a lazy smile, grabbing a bottle to pour for the two of you. One of the other bartenders call him over for something, but he waves them off and directs somebody else to go help them. His attention is fixated on you, even as he prepares your shots.
You’re still. Something about his older self draws you in just as much as you did when you were younger, subconsciously leaning towards him and watching him. It’s quieter, but just as dangerous.
Your eyes meet and he raises an eyebrow.
He holds himself like he knows it, too, and it makes things worse.
Noticing that he’s holding some top-shelf blanco, you shoot a hand out. “Actually, can we get well?”
Yoongi waves you off without hesitation. “Don’t worry about it, it’s on the house.”
From your side, Aya shoots you a look to not protest. You normally wouldn’t decline free drinks either, but you’re seconds away from stammering and making a fool of yourself from just sitting in front of Yoongi for the first time in years. You’re not sure how you’ve even made it this far in conversation, just watching him with an awkward smile.
He’s still studying your appearance, in the way Yoongi always has—silent and with a magnetism that is intimidating.
“Sorry,” Yoongi apologizes, catching himself as he finds lime wedges and even chuckles a bit as he does so. “You’re just all grown up.”
In your teenage years, you definitely had yet to come out of your shell. Not only were you quiet, but relatively soft in other aspects. You wore big sweaters and long skirts. You braised your hair for school with ribbons and spent the majority of your time with your nose buried in a book. All you wanted to do was blend into the background.
Your blush burns hotter. “Yeah, it’s been a long time, Yoongi.” You clear your throat, hoping your nerves will disappear with the imminent liquor your way.
Now, you sit in front of Yoongi as a woman. Your eyes are sharp and fierce, lined with a smudgy black pencil that brings out the best of your features. A dark blue bandage dress hugs your curves and lifts your cleavage just right. You don’t hesitate to speak up when you want to and you know when you turn heads. Things have changed.
Except for the way Min Yoongi still manages to redden your cheeks without trying.
“That is has.”
You look up and that this proximity, you spot the same scar that drags along the underside of his lip that he’s had since you were kids. It’s only ever noticeable when he laughs.
Yoongi slides over the shots filled to the brim with amber liquid, along with two wedges of lime. He watches you and Aya throw the tequila back without hesitation, whistling. You wince ever so slightly, but you’re not stranger to drinking after getting through university going to parties on Greek row or partying abroad. The warmth spreads throughout your body and you hope it translates into easiness.
You glance over him, now with a steadier breath. “Thanks.”
“You’re good at that,” Yoongi muses with a chuckle, grabbing the empty glasses. “I remember back when you couldn’t handle your liquor.”
“What, when I was fifteen?” you huff and it makes him laugh again. When he does, it feels like you’ve won a prize.
The corners of his lips curve up into a smirk, likely imagining the same memory as you—Owen’s first house party that he threw when your parents went out of town, where he dared you to take your first ever shot. You choked and Yoongi was there to instantly hand you a red solo cup full of water—at the time, you were mortified, but he didn’t laugh once.
Someone calls Yoongi’s name yet again, even though the man looks like he’s two seconds away from telling them to fuck themselves. Now, that’s the Yoongi you know.
“Hold on, I'll be back,” he grumbles. “Just call if you ladies need anything,” Yoongi says before shuffling over to the employee that has been trying to get his attention for five minutes now.
When he’s out of earshot, you send a glare to a grinning Aya.
She was right there in high school, snapping you out of blatantly staring at Yoongi from across the cafeteria at lunch. She listened to your wishful rants about him during sleepovers and encouraged you to make a move on him during the entirety of his senior year. And now, she’s watching you make a fool out of yourself in front of him yet again.
Aya pretends to fix her lip gloss. “What?” She asks innocently.
“You took me to a bar where Min Yoongi works?”
“Actually, he owns this place,” she corrects with a laugh, pointing to where he stands.
Yoongi is showing one of the employees something on a tablet, presumably explaining something. You take a look around and you notice that the bar is very…him. Simple, dark, and sleek. Nothing too flashy, but there’s an element of effortlessness that speaks to his personality. It reflects his appearance, from the new glasses and shaggy hair. Different from the Yoongi you grew up with, but somehow not.
He walks around like he indeed owns the place, giving orders and checking in on everyone. Calm, collected, and sure of himself. Yoongi has always carried himself that way, but it’s more evident now.
Still, your heart stutters all the same.
-
Yoongi thinks of himself to be a decently upright kind of guy. He got his life together during college, putting in all the hard work to figure out a path that didn’t involve metal bars or a lifetime of running away from the demons he always feared he inherited from his parents. Owen played a major influence in that, keeping him on the right track through the years and diffusing the temper that made Yoongi notorious. He owed a lot to his best friend and his family, who made Yoongi part of theirs.
So, when you come back to town over a decade later, glowing with a dangerous hue of perfection, Yoongi is screwed.
He notices you before you notice him when you walk into his bar. Yoongi is here nearly every night and has been for the past year since buying the place, creating a name for himself and engineering a confidence that his younger self lacked. There was arrogance and anger and then there was fortitude that only growing the hell up could build in a man. Yet, all of hard work nearly crumbled in a seconds’ notice at the sight of his best friend’s little sister.
You’re all but enchanting in the way that he remembers, an effortless charm that is rare in its subtlety. Yoongi isn't the only one that sees it either, watching the way several heads turn when you walk past and are unable to notice.
During the short interaction you share, Yoongi feels like an idiot. He points out the obvious and internally winces with each: you're back and you're all grown up. He thinks the years have been kind to him when it comes to talking to women, considering he had no problem with exuding a certain charm going so far back as high school. Yoongi can be enamouring, a true Casanova once upon a time, and he knows it.
He wonders why it immediately crumbled in front of you.
Now, Yoongi doesn't think it was obvious. He kept things short - that's the way he always does, given his nature. However, he doesn’t feel any less stupid. His jokes didn’t exactly hit, he nearly stuttered, and he’s sure that if he stared any longer, you’d be officially creeped out.
Worse than a wire short-circuiting, as soon as he turns away from you, his mind goes completely white. Blank. He nearly runs face first into one of the bartenders, Adam.
Adam attempts to shield himself until Yoongi catches his balance. “Woah—”
“Shit,” Yoongi curses, rubbing his jaw when he finally snaps out of whatever blank space he lost himself in. “Sorry, man. You okay?”
Adam is baffled. He’s been working at Yoongi’s bar since it opened and he's always seen his boss as pretty straight-forward —calm, cool, collected. Barely smiles at his own customers, who love his nonchalant allure and somehow end up always coming back for it.
Right now, Yoongi looks…dazed. Not entirely flustered, but definitely out if it.
For the rest of the night, he steals glances over to where you sit with Aya. He even thinks about whatever excuse he can make to check up on the two of you, but it’s a busy night for a Monday and the world decided they need Yoongi to be taking care of a thousand different issues at once. Problems with the register, training two new hires, listening to customer complaints. He can’t even make time to listen to the group of older women in the corner that have become regulars for the sole reason of being able to flirt with Yoongi.
By the time he’s actually gotten a second to breathe, Yoongi realizes that you’ve retired for the night.
He can still smell the floral of your perfume—something so sweet, but classy. Poised. You really do look so different now. Are different. The ghost of your presence lingers as Yoongi’s eyes hone in on the seat that you left behind.
It’s not like Yoongi hasn’t thought about you once over the past ten years. You were an integral part of his teenage years, even if you thought of yourself as nothing more than background noise to his friendship with your brother. You were always there and treated Yoongi the same way your parents did; you always gave him consideration, respect, and unconditional kindness. That kind of heart is priceless and can’t be forgotten. He’s not sure if anyone has every shown him that unwavering faith, even now.
By the time Yoongi finished college, you were off doing your own thing and seldom visited for the holidays. Every time you came back to town, he missed you by a narrow margin. One missed Christmas turned into several, then you started your master’s degree and eventually your PhD, and then all of a sudden, ten years passed.
When he gets home, Owen is asleep in his room as usual. Yoongi always works late hours because of the bar—not that he minds when the business is everything he could have ever wanted. It get hectic, though, and he looks forward to being able to sleep in when he has the following day off.
Or, rather, Yoongi looks forward to staying up and doing whatever bullshit he wants. Sometimes, it’s binge watching a show. Tonight, he’s decided to internet stalk.
“Fuckin’ pathetic,” he mutters under his breath, as he settles into bed with his phone in his hand, screen open to Instagram.
Yoongi feels ridiculous, with his old man glasses on his nose and his plaid pajamas. There’s a cup of steaming hot tea on his bedside table. He looks like this and what is he doing? Looking up his best friend’s little sister.
He already stays away from social media to begin with and has to actually install the app on his phone to log into his private account with less than twenty followers. There’s a reason why he hired someone to do marketing for Static as opposed to doing any of that shit himself.
Quickly, Yoongi finds your profile by way of Owen’s and he exhales deeply when he sees that you’re no different than him. Private account, about one hundred followers. You have your degrees and alma maters in your bio and nothing else. If Yoongi zooms in enough, he can make a profile picture of your dog. Owen doesn’t post you in anything either and before he knows it, Yoongi’s thumb slips and taps on the ‘follow’ button.
The next morning, Yoongi didn’t even realize that he did such a thing until he notices a notification for an accepted follow request.
“Shit, shit, shit—”
Owen sits on the couch, eating breakfast as Yoongi pauses his watch over his scrambled eggs to check his phone.
“What?” He asks upon Yoongi’s outburst, eyes remain fixated on the television.
Yoongi clears his throat, hastily turning off the heat on the stove. The absolute last thing he needs is Owen looming over his shoulder and noticing his best friend’s newfound interest in his little sister.
“Uh, nothing. Just saw the score from the game last night.”
“Weren’t you at the bar?”
“Was busy,” he says, clearing his throat and turns away.
Owen doesn’t question further, leaving Yoongi to his own devices - specifically, taking a closer look at your Instagram. The only picture uploaded is a picture of yourself and some friends on what appears to be your last birthday.
You wear a stunning black dress and pose with a wine glass in your hand. He quickly puts his finger on exactly what has captured his attention and why you feel so different—you’re absolutely radiant. Time has been more than kind to you and it’s not just your appearance, but the energy that exudes off of you.
Not only that, but you hold the same unwavering determination after all these years. He knows how well-travelled and educated you are and seeing it up close is all but impressive. It’s unfair to be not just kind and beautiful, but intelligent.
Owen is talking in the background all of a sudden and Yoongi isn’t paying attention until his ears perk up to the sound of your name.
“—gonna go help her with unpacking in a bit.”
Yoongi almost jumps up to offer his help, but resists. It’s not noticeable at all, as he sits firmly in his seat, but the joints of his fingers twitch ever so slightly. His eyes dart up. Still, he keeps it to himself.
Between working long nights and the seemingly endless amount of errands that take up his days, Yoongi doesn’t often get the opportunity to enjoy his time at home. He’s always had a strange itch for constantly affirming productivity. The second the fridge needs milk, he’s already at the store. When their elderly neighbour, Mrs. Lopez, needs someone to walk her dogs? Yoongi is out the door with the heathen of a poodle. If he’s not busy, he’s not comfortable.
Yoongi spends all day deep cleaning the bathroom and fixing the leaky faucet in the kitchen. He even puts on an educational podcast in the background to ensure maximum usage of his “day off.” It’s easy for him to get lost in the motions, the hours passing by like sand.
When his concentration finally breaks, it’s because there’s a light rap on the front door.
He’s in the middle of cleaning out the fridge when he hears it and a hint of hesitation graces his features. He rarely has guests and surely did not invite one over tonight. So, Yoongi takes a glance at his phone left on the counter, wondering if he missed a text or call from Owen indicating he didn’t have his keys.
Nothing. Yoongi makes an irritated noise at the back of his throat, wondering who could be bothering him at this hour. Mrs. Lopez goes to sleep at eight on the dot, but the couple next door has a kid that they sometimes send over with leftovers. Or, likely, it’s those sales people that have been popping up more often than not lately.
“Damn solicitors,” he mutters with an eye roll.
He trudges over to the door and doesn’t bother looking through before swinging it open.
Now, it didn’t occur to you that your brother would have a roommate. Owen didn’t make any indications that he did, so you assumed otherwise. It should have crossed your mind —being in medical school equates a lot of debt with little help from your parents’ humble income. You would know after first hand three degrees and countless of earned academic scholarships.
When you come by your brother’s apartment to drop off the laptop he left behind earlier that day, you arrive thinking you would be personally handing it off to him. In just the span of a few hours, he’d helped you build your bed frame and a dresser, so when you noticed the forgotten item, you decided that personally coming by to return it was the least you could do. Owen seemed to agree, as he texted you to just show up whenever.
You eventually got tired of hanging up clothes and folding up boxes, so by dinner time, you decided it would be a good time. Not bothering to change clothes, you set out for the noodle place that your family has frequented since before you were born and searched your text thread with Owen to find his address.
A mistake, you realize.
When Min Yoongi opens the door, you think you could sink into the ground in shame. It’s more revealing than what you wore at the bar, wearing leggings and a sports bra. Not anything you would care about on the regular, but standing in front of Yoongi last time already had you feeling like an idiot that’s never spoken to a man before.
Thankfully, if he notices your attire, he doesn’t make it known. Yoongi opens the door with a grumpy expression painted all over his face, but it drops when he sees you. In fact, he blinks blankly, like he’s not sure if what he’s seeing in front of him is real.
Yoongi says your name, eyebrows raised. “Uh, hey. What are you doing here?”
You don’t know how to answer and you’re also just standing there, stupidly blinking right back at him. He has to repeat your name again to get your attention, but you’re too hung up on the velvety way he pronounces your name.
Each syllable briefly takes you back to various memories of the past: Yoongi greeting you in the morning at breakfast, calling you across the hallway after school to walk home together, the way he said it before he took your first kiss.
Surely, he doesn’t even remember any of that. Owen never mentioned it—not like it would be wise for Yoongi to mention kissing his little sister to him. You figure that between the dozens of other girls he was spending time with when you were all younger, it was all but an insignificant thing to him. A favour to you and you both carried on with your lives.
Yoongi says your name a third time and now you have to snap out of your thoughts. If you didn’t look dumb earlier, just standing there, you’re sure you do now.
“Sorry,” you shake your head rapidly, a nervous laugh falling out of your lips. “Had a really long day. Got no sleep either—um, anyway, hi Yoongi.”
“That’s okay,” he chuckles, cocking his head to the side, still waiting for some sort of explanation.
He’s dressed down today, looking far more casual than he did at static. An oversized hoodie and basketball shorts, along with those same wire-rimmed glasses. They catch the light slightly when he moves his head. You gulp.
By some miracle, you manage to collect your thoughts—well, after you stammer and stumble on your words a bit. Jesus, you haven’t had this happen in so long.
“Uh, I—” you pretend to cough to hide your delayed reaction, but Yoongi just waits patiently. “I have Owen’s laptop. You guys, er. . .live together?”
You’re taken aback, but at least you confirm you’re at the correct address when you look over Yoongi’s shoulder and notice your brother’s comic book collection on a shelf.
He fights a smile, noticing the rosiness spreading on your cheeks, unlike the way they did last night or even how you used to blush when you were younger. Cute.
“Owen didn’t tell you?” Yoongi replies.
“No, he’s a bastard who never mentions anything.”
“Yeah, well,” Yoongi murmurs, trying to push away the way you’d been plaguing his thoughts ever since last night, “that I can agree on.”
It would have been nice if Owen mentioned you in any capacity beyond “she’s doing good” in the past ten years. Maybe Yoongi would have been less caught off guard when he saw you at the bar—not that it’s an excuse for ogling his little sister.
You pinch the bridge of your nose. “I’m so sorry for intruding -”
But, Yoongi waves you off. “You’re never intruding, kid. You’ve known me too long for that.”
Kid. Of course, he’ll still call you that.
At that, you can’t argue. “I guess so, huh?” You shake your head again with a nervous laugh. “Um, so, Owen’s not home?”
Yoongi looks back at his phone, where the last text Owen sent him was about sleeping over at his girlfriend’s apartment.
“Of course he forgot to mention that to you, too,” he mutters, then turns back to you with an apologetic smile. “Nah, he’s not. He’s at Daisy's until tomorrow.”
“Oh.”
Technically, when Owen told you that you could come by, he didn’t say he would be there. Your hand tightened around the plastic bag holding takeout containers—this is what you get for being a good sister. Never again.
Yoongi steps aside and opens the door wider. “Sorry about that. You’re welcome to just leave the laptop in the living room,” he says. “Do you want a drink or anything?”
This time, you swallow your nerves and do something that you have grown to learn: being confidence.
“Actually, have you eaten any dinner yet?”
Not even twenty minutes later, you’re sitting at the dining table with Yoongi, slurping on noodles. The offer comes out of nowhere, as you’re not even sure at what point your brain decided to ask that question. It just happened and although it took Yoongi off guard, he just ended up smirking and telling you to take a seat.
That damn smirk. Some things really do never change.
The apartment is nicer than you expected for your brother’s living quarters, but you figure that has nothing to do with him and all with the man who sits across from you. The interior is fairly spacious with a dimly lit lamps emitting a terracotta gleam. All kinds of greenery line the walls, vines crawling up shelves, and are perched on top of surfaces in clay pots. Other than that, there are few embellishments and minimal furniture that decorate the seemingly spotless apartment.
Yoongi pours you a glass of water, eying the way you observe your surroundings. “What is it?” he asks amusedly.
“I just didn’t think of you as a plant lover,” you admit.
He just laughs at that. “How did you know the plants are mine?”
You send him a pointed look as you accept the water from him. “Oh, please. Owen couldn’t keep a cactus alive to save his life.”
“Nah, you’re right. Remember that goldfish he had when we were kids?”
Yoongi didn’t show it often back then, but he had the most endearing gummy smile. He had what appeared to be a permanent scowl stained on his lips for years. So, every time you managed to crack one from him, it felt special.
Right now, he wears the easiest kind of smile and you can’t help but think about how good it looks on him.
You huff out a chuckle at the memory. “Yeah, the one that ‘mysteriously’ died after a week? Can’t forget.”
The conversation is more fluid than you expected. It’s not like Yoongi is a stranger by any means, but you’re not the most talkative person in the first place.
Two full days have finally passed since you dragged all of your belongings out of a moving truck and back into your childhood home. For some reason, this is the first time that you're at ease. Not worried about the move, not trying to hard to relax like you were at the bar. Everything goes just a little quiet.
“So…how’d the move go?”
“As smooth as it can be when you’re ancient and moving back in with your parents,” you huff jokingly, picking at some green onions in your bowl.
He snorts. “Watch it,” Yoongi warns, pointing at you with his chopsticks. “Wait until you’re in your thirties.”
“Pft, you’re barely there.”
“Tell that to my back.”
“Maybe it’s from years of hunching over that bike of yours,” you retort, noting the pair of motorcycle gloves strewn across the coffee table as the only form of clutter.
Yoongi just chuckles. “You sound like your mom.”
When the noodles are all finished, he leads you around the apartment for a tour. You briefly duck your head into your brother’s room after Yoongi shows you where it is, scrunching your nose up at the mess, and promptly shuffle over to the next part of the tour. This happens to be Yoongi’s room and he gestures for you to come in.
He opens the door wider, chuckling. “Don’t worry, this one doesn’t smell like a toxic wasteland.”
The room is not unlike the one that Yoongi used to have at your parents’ house growing up—minimalist, neat, but still cluttered with small things that reveal parts of his usually guarded personality. A desk with motorcycle trinkets, a bookshelf lined with what appears to be textbooks and other non-fiction, and a made bed with dark bed sheets. There’s even abandoned dumbbells on top of his dresser. You also notice a few frames on his wall, which appear to be some pictures posing with Owen and Daisy, along with his college degree in business administration.
Approaching the wall, you look up at the piece of paper, impressed. “I guess that’s how you found yourself starting your own business?”
Yoongi leans against the wall next to you, shrugging. “Yeah. Turns out I have a knack for that shit.”
“Don’t sell yourself short,” you reply and raise an eyebrow at him. “You’ve obviously done pretty good for yourself.”
He hums, eyes trained on his feet instead of trying to conjure another witty response. You move along his room and notice that his wall closest to his closet has a few film posters pinned up.
Yoongi says, “Remember seeing that one in high school?” He points to a poster of a horror comedy that you’d seen with him and your brother, at a late night drive-in theater. That was the summer you turned sixteen and right before the boys left for school, back when everything seemed like the end of the world and you had no idea who you were.
It was also the summer that Yoongi took your first kiss. You wonder if he catches the goosebumps prickling at your skin when the memory comes back to you and if he does, he doesn’t show it. After all, it was a long time ago, you remind yourself. It probably still means nothing to him, even if it was everything to you.
You clear your throat. “Yeah. I guess you’re still a big movie guy, huh?” you inquire, fingers running over the posters on his wall.
“For sure. Owen and I try to watch at least one movie a week.”
“Aw, how cute,” you tease and he rolls his eyes. “Movie night, huh?”
He nods, pushing off the wall and takes a step towards you. Pausing for a moment, you watch as he seems to deliberate something in his head. You open your mouth to question it, but then he finally asks.
“Do you want to join us? For movie nights, like old times?”
A quiet routine emerges twice a week where you find yourself on Yoongi’s couch at seven in the evening, no later and no less. Owen joins, but more often than not, it’s just you and Yoongi. He didn’t mention this when he offered for you to join in, but Yoongi is often left alone or cancelled on last minute because of Owen’s inconsistent and ever-changing work schedule.
However, you still join Yoongi each time.
Your brother thankfully doesn’t bat an eye, either too busy with work to care or he simply doesn’t see an issue with the two of you hanging out. He even encourages it.
“You need more friends,” Owen deadpans one movie night, after Yoongi excuses himself to go to the bathroom and leaves you both alone. The flicker of the television reflect off his face, as he sighs.
You’re mid-chew with popcorn stuffed in your mouth when he says this. “What?” you scoff, voice muffled.
“I’ve watched you do nothing but go to job interviews and lock yourself up in Mom and Dad’s house since you moved back,” he says. “You know you need a social life, right?”
“I have Aya!”
“That’s one person. Have you met anyone else since?”
Chucking a kernel at his face, you pout at your brother. “Wow, way to make me sound like a loser.”
“There’s no such thing as a loser with a PhD,” Owen retorts and slaps it out of the way perfectly in time. “At least you have me and Yoongi.”
From then on, your place in that apartment is solidified—even when your brother’s notorious cancelling habit comes up and leaves you alone with his brooding roommate.
On Yoongi’s end, he tries to convince himself that this is normal and perfectly fine. On paper, it should be, especially since he isn’t doing anything wrong. You’re both grown adults that share evenings together platonically, nothing that is out of the ordinary. He finds your presence a fresh breath of air and it’s likely because he has the same problem as you do, lacking a meaningful number of friends that he can count on beyond one hand.
Plus, if Yoongi had to admit it, he’s always been comfortable around you. Easygoing, like he can be himself without judgement. He’s surprised to learn that over a decade apart hasn’t changed that and you’re laughing and bantering together sooner rather than later.
“Well, it’s different for you,” you grumble by the third movie night and the first without Owen after mentioning that your brother has essentially labelled you a loser with no friends. “You’ve always been Mr. Big-Bad-I-Don’t-Need-Anyone.”
Yoongi had been trying to reassure you that your brother just wants to make sure you’re settling back into town and that he also doesn’t exactly have a large circle.
He snorts, not denying the fact. “Don’t psychoanalyze me.”
“Someone should’ve a long time ago.”
“Yeah, maybe it would have decreased my suspension load in high school,” Yoongi muses dryly and you snort.
“Whatever. Thanks for having me over regardless.”
Tonight, you sit at opposite ends of the couch, trading stories about what kind of lives you’ve led in the decade wedged in between. Everything falls into place easily, spending more time filling in the gap than watching the movie on the screen. You think you spend more time trading stories in one evening than you’d ever spoken to Yoongi between the ages of ten and sixteen.
Yoongi lounges back with his feet on the coffee table and balances a beer bottle on his knee. A bowl of popcorn sits in the middle and you catch a glint of his silver rings when he reaches out for it. Every time he does so, you’re hyper aware of your own hand after he accidentally brushes fingers against yours.
However, you’re not nervous at all. Maybe it helps that your eyes aren’t on each other the entire time, or maybe it’s the fact that you’re no longer a teenager.
“By the way, your taste is movies is still awful.”
He hurls a single kernel into your hair, not unlike the way he used to back then. “When did you get so talkative?”
You don’t even have to look up from the screen to dodge. “Since I was evidently named the town loner by my dumbass brother,” you retort.
“Probably better than being known as the town delinquent for years,” he says, smirking.
“What a pair we are.” You playfully roll your eyes, adjusting the sleeves of your sweatshirt. “But, seriously, I’m not that talkative. You’re probably used to me keeping to myself.”
“Well, I think it’s nice,” he eyes you and it’s the first time you hold his gaze, even if it’s just a second. “You’ve always had…spunk.”
Your nose winkles. “Spunk? What am I, the Energizer Bunny?”
All it took was a couple of years away in college for you to finally shed your reserve and come into your own. You remained thoughtful and observant, but no longer in a quiet way and began to voice this dialogue. Like most, you found a new sense of confidence and identity that you hadn’t quite grasped in your teenage years and learned how to occupy spaces without apologizing for it.
Yoongi chokes out a laugh. “See. That’s what I mean,” he replies and at this point, he has no idea what’s going on in the movie. “This has been there the whole time.”
For as long as you’ve known each other, he’s seen this quality in you—between being the only person who could hear your muttered sarcasm at the dinner table back when you were kids and the way that, despite your quiet nature, you would never let anyone give you shit.
There are four times when Yoongi realizes just how different you are now. The first was at the bar, when you first walked in; all legs and a chin held up high, carrying a grace that only time has afforded you. Tonight is the second, as you find an easy rhythm in conversation that makes over ten years feel like less than one.
Before you go home, you do momentarily falter when Yoongi wordlessly tosses his phone onto your lap.
“Put your number in,” he says, turning away to recycle your glass bottles in the kitchen. “Your stupid brother is horrible at answering urgent messages. If you need anything for any reason, you can at least text me.”
You can’t read his face, but you’re sure as hell glad that he can’t see yours because your mouth parts in surprise. Clearing your throat a beat later, you tap your number into his contacts app. When you recover, you think of the next lame quip you can think of.
“Gonna come rescue me when I get a flat tire?” you ask, tone sweet. “Or when I get too drunk at the bar with no ride home?”
Yoongi just snorts, but you notice the way he scratches his neck. “Whatever. Yes, actually.” he answers, then adds, “Owen would kill me if I didn’t.”
“I’m sure.”
What you don’t expect is how your text thread is not at all used for emergencies. Instead, Yoongi sends memes about the movie you just watched. You ask Yoongi about restaurant recommendations in town, now that you have no idea what the food scene looks like anymore. He asks for pictures of your parents’ dog, even though he could surely text them himself.
yoongi: how was your interview today
you: thought i was wowing them with my knowledge and charm, but the dude ended up hitting one me
yoongi: yikes thats fucked
yoongi: you’re way too overqualified anyways
you: maybe i should just settle and become a server at your bar
yoongi: impossible. you don’t like smiling at people
you: neither do you and you’ve made it this far in life
yoongi: touche
yoongi: also, movie night? owen has another shift at the hospital though
When the next week of movie nights roll around, you start showing up with takeout from the noodle place next to your old high school, where you used to have lunch with Yoongi and Owen. Meanwhile, he’s already ready to defend his suggestions of action movies after you complained that you don’t want anything to do with a plot that involves exploding cars or a world war.
Movie night becomes a when rather than an if, assumed rather than planned. The third week blurs into the fourth and when Owen makes his return, he’s taken aback by the way inside jokes appear where old memories had left off.
“Hey, don’t gang up on me!” Your brother protests when you and Yoongi make fun of him for crying at the end of Coco.
The latter is still snickering when he walks over to the kitchen cupboards, pulling out both of your favourite bags of chips. “Dude, it’s okay to cry,” Yoongi assures, tossing the snacks onto the couch.
“Whatever—gross, when did we get those?”
You cut Owen a glare, embracing your veggie chips close to your chest.
Yoongi laughs again, settling in between the two of you. “It’s her go-to,” he says. You don’t show it, but you’re surprised he even remembered the off-hand comment you made about veggie chips last week.
Owen just scoffs. “As if I’m supposed to remember which nasty foods my sister likes,” he retorts, which earns him an attempted smack from your end that is blocked by Yoongi.
When your brother is unavailable and movie night remains with just the two of you, you become more comfortable with each other and you’re no longer stupidly nervous around your childhood crush. You let your guard down in a way your younger self refused to do and you’re surprised at how well your personalities bounce off of each other. It was always there, though, in the same way Yoongi’s quiet consideration is.
One night, you stir awake to a warmth laying beneath you, soft and strong at the same time. Eyes peeling open, you’re in your brother’s apartment with the lights dimmed and the flickering of the television momentarily stinging your vision.
Then, you feel it. The shift of a body against yours. Your cheek is pressed against not a pillow, but a chest.
When you finally get your eyes fully awake, Yoongi has also woken up. He wakes up to the scent of jasmine and honey, one that is unmistakably you. Confused for a moment, he groans and readjusts his glasses, which he had accidentally fell asleep with.
“Yoongi?” you murmur.
The sound of your raspy voice sends him chest into an irregular rhythm, but Yoongi catches himself.
“Fuck, sorry, I fell asleep,” his own voice rasps out, looking down at your figure that has yet to move.
You realize what position you’re in and with rouge painted on your cheeks.
He rubs his eyes, yawning and stretches without sitting up. “Guess we, uh, both fell asleep,” Yoongi mutters, not meeting your gaze.
The last thing you remember is bantering with Yoongi and insisting that you're “not tired,” after he pointed out that you were visibly fighting to stay awake.
“Pretty sure you fell asleep first,” you huff, smoothing out your hair.
“Did not.”
“Definitely did.”
You hesitate for half a second before scrambling to sit up. The clock reads just past one in the morning on the oven and although you instantly miss the heat of Yoongi’s body, you clear your throat and adjust your clothing once you’ve detached yourself from him.
Yoongi snorts, willing himself to his feet. “You drool, by the way,” he says nonchalantly, pushing away this accident as nothing but humourous. There’s the sound of the fridge opening and he’s grabbing water for the two of you.
You’re grateful for that and you clear your throat, letting the electricity on your flesh fizzle for the time being. “Shut the hell up,” you snap.
Then, with perfect timing on your end, the front door creaks open. Owen, with his shoulders slumped with the exhaustion of a twelve hour shift, trots inside and dramatically sighs as he kicks off his shoes.
“What a long fucking day,” he grumbles, nodding to Yoongi in greeting. His eyes locate yours and he isn’t fazed. “You still here?”
You’re just glad that you and Yoongi woke up at the right time because the questions your brother would send your way would not be desirable at all.
Still, you can’t shake off the feeling of Yoongi’s warmth or his strong arm that was haphazardly slung around your torso as your slept. The smell of laundry detergent and musky cologne filling your senses. His chest vibrating with laughter against your cheek.
Neither of you mention how there was no hurry to move.
The end of the month comes around and while you remain in what you believe is the longest interviewing process ever, your biweekly movie nights pass the time. Meanwhile, Yoongi is confident that whatever tension and restless thoughts about you have dispersed.
That is, until the third time Yoongi realizes something different about you. Today, you’ve dragged him out to the grocery store to buy snacks for later on. Owen refused, naturally, and cited his busy schedule at the hospital. Yoongi also groaned and gave a little push back, but he can never say no to you.
“You…you’re oddly health conscious.”
Yoongi raises a single eyebrow at you from where he stands in the organic pantry aisle, two different boxes of chickpea pasta in his hands as he deliberates on which one to get. He’s in charge of pushing the shopping cart, his rolled up sleeves on his button up exposed as he leans on it.
“How is that odd? I’m an adult,” he scoffs, putting one of them back on the shelf.
“Guess it comes with getting old. Just didn’t expect it of you,” you chide. “You used to smoke like a chimney—”
“—Ah, ah. Key word: used to.” Yoongi walks over to you and you catch a whiff of his cologne, smelling of cedar and lavender. He looms over you momentarily, just to poke you in between the eyebrows and you snap out of the daze.
You slap his hand away, but you’re laughing. He tries again and you swat, but miss, accidentally stumbling a little bit. Yoongi is there to steady you and he’s close enough for you to see the mole on his temple, the one he’s always had.
“Whatever. Lead the way to the condiments aisle, old man,” you snap. “You’re out of ketchup.”
"I know, it’s on my list.”
“And you have a grocery list?” you gasp dramatically, trailing just behind Yoongi as he pushes the shopping cart. “Who even are you?”
Yoongi pokes you again and he manages to succeed, even with the way you laugh loudly and grab his wrist right after. He’s smirking wide when a middle aged woman walks past the two of you with an exaggerated eye roll, muttering something about couples.
The two of you make eye contact when you hear that, which confirms that neither of you imagined it.
Instead of letting awkward air fill the space or ignoring it, Yoongi breaks the tension immediately. “And that is what it sounds like when you’re miserable and unhappily divorced,” he jabs.
Blinking, you suddenly break out into a laugh. “Don’t be rude.” You feel nothing but relief when the moment is skipped over and even made a joke out of.
He’s never really quite had a filter and you’ve gotten used to it at this point, but it’s nice to have someone like Yoongi around. Honest, no nonsense, and still had a sense of humour.
“To Mrs—sorry, Ms. Wu?” Yoongi exaggerates her title on purpose, as he turns past the shelves of vinegar and towards the plastic bottles of sauces neatly lined up next to them. “She’s awful. Works with my neighbour, Mrs. Lopez, at the daycare and apparently scares all the kids.”
The two of you continue chatting until you find what you’re looking for, which is a big wall of nothing but various shades of red and cartoon tomatoes. Yoongi is busy checking his phone for the grocery list to notice you struggling to reach the bottle you want on the shelf above.
“Oh, come on,” you grumble, just fingertips away.
You’re about to step onto the lowest shelf for leverage when you feel a presence behind you, strong and sturdy. That’s when you hold your breath, as Yoongi’s hand gently grips your shoulder to tell you to stay put. The other softly brushes over yours, just enough to grab what you need.
His chest is right up against your back and he reaches above you, grabbing the ketchup with ease. Your surprise is stuck in your throat, his fingertips electric on your skin and the scent of his cologne making you go dizzy.
A beat of silence emerges and for some reason, Yoongi doesn’t move nor put the item in the cart.
You clear your throat. “I had that.”
He just hums, unconvinced. “Sure you did, kid.” Yoongi’s voice is unusually lower, even raspier.
You turn around and he’s still standing so close to you, looking up into his dark eyes. The light bounces off the metal of his glasses slightly and for some reason, you’re reminded of that day in the park all over again—where the surroundings fade into something blurry until all you can see is Yoongi.
Back then, he brushed it off and led you back to your house. Now, he stands still and you can’t imagine what kind of thoughts are running through his mind, as his heavy lids bear into your gaze.
Yoongi notices the little crease in between your eyebrows, right where he would poke you. It’s a new thing, likely coming with age, and he decides that he really likes it. It always comes with some sort of pout, whether you’re in deep thought or when he teases you. Regardless, Yoongi loves seeing it.
He thinks he’s fucked for that.
When he sees it again, it’s just a couple of nights later at his own damn bar.
You’re celebrating finally being able to secure a full-time job after weeks of horrible interviews and sending out your resume like a message in a bottle. Stumbling in, you’re surrounded by Aya, Owen, and your brother’s girlfriend, Daisy. Yoongi is behind the bar and running around the place, as he usually is on busy Friday nights without fail, but stops talking mid-sentence to one of his employees when you enter.
The first thing he sees is a spine tattoo that is framed by your backless dress that falls mid-thigh, chiffon a pale yellow in hue and held up by a halter. Your hair is tied into a sleek ponytail and it’s obvious that you’ve already had a few drinks. mostly by the unusually wide smile on your face. Well, obvious to Yoongi, who is used to your more guarded demeanour.
He already has the bottle of tequila in his hand when the four of you approach the bar, pouring shots for the entire group.
“Yoongi!” you exclaim, a little shrill, but you’re bouncing off your heels.
He sends a fist bump in Aya’s way, gives Daisy a half-hug, and does the little secret handshake that he and Owen came up with when they were little when your brother greets him. When you approach him, though, you’re met with a raised eyebrow and a smirk.
“You’re drunk,” he blurts out, but you only laugh.
“And you’re cute.”
That, he did not expect. While Owen’s face scrunches up , the other two girls look like they want to facepalm. Aya tugs you towards your stool, giving Yoongi a meaningful look when she catches the way he momentarily stutters.
Daisy clears her throat. “We’ve all been drinking for a hour now,” she says.
At the very least, you refrain from mentioning that you told your friends that you only wanted to come to his bar to celebrate. The girls also keep it to themselves that you mentioned that you wanted Yoongi one of the first to know about your good news.
Still, even without mentioning, he’s happy that you’ve chosen to come straight to Static, even if you just wanted free drinks. He’s able to look after you, if anything.
Yoongi nods curtly, lips thin as he tries to ignore your previous comment and the race of his heart. “Right,” he responds, moving smoothly back behind the bar and gestures to the four shot glasses in front of them. His steady, too-neutral tone masks his true feelings. “Go wild. And congratulations.”
The liquor in your system pauses to register the genuine tone in Yoongi’s voice and you smile up at him. However, you’re too preoccupied by your rowdy friends, talking loudly amongst themselves and trying to pull you back into conversation.
Throughout the evening, Yoongi isn’t able to get much time with you, not while he’s working and while you’re busy celebrating. One of his bartenders, Enzo, is serving your group and Yoongi finds himself keeping a close eye the entire time—even if he knows he doesn’t need to.
He’s running all over the place tonight and he still somehow ends up looking your way every so often, as if disaster will strike if he doesn’t check in. It’s irrational, especially when Owen is there and wouldn’t let a thing happen to you.
When Owen and Daisy momentarily leave for the dancefloor, Yoongi notices Enzo hovering a little too long over you and Aya. He’s laughing and clearly trying to work the crowd with jokes, maybe even flirtation. Meanwhile, you’re smiling, but Yoongi notices the way it doesn’t reach your eyes.
Even though he should be checking on an issue with the dishwasher in the back, Yoongi’s legs work for him and he approaches the bar.
“Yeah, ladies, I get off at around one—”
“—Everything okay around here?”
Yoongi’s deadly calm voice interrupts the conversation, pretending to have been walking past casually.
A look of relief washes over your features, while Enzo halts in his place. Yoongi likes the guy and all, but he’s gotten a complaint about how talkative he can be and doesn’t like the way you shifted uncomfortably on your stool just seconds prior.
Enzo presses his lips into a tight line when he feels Yoongi looming over him. “Just chatting, boss,” he coughs unconvincingly.
“You’re due for your break,” Yoongi responds flatly, ignoring the excuse.
Now, he’s made quite a bit of progress when it came to his anger management and patience, but the old Yoongi still breaks through every once in a while amidst frustration. His simpatico doesn’t go unnoticed by his staff, but they all know that Yoongi is more than capable of shedding this warmth for the personality he once retired.
Your eyes flicker to the look in Yoongi’s eyes and feel a rush of heat in your lower belly. The intense, protective stare that you’ve never seen him show for anyone else.
Enzo leaves immediately and Aya lets out a breath that she’d been clearly holding.
“Thank god,” she says, shaking her head. “He’d been trying to hit on her for the past ten minutes.” Her thumb jabs in your direction, where you roll your eyes.
“He was just…outgoing,” you say tentatively, burying the warmth in your body away, and turn to Yoongi with a casual msile. “You’re a lifesaver.”
Something unknown flooded his veins when he saw Enzo earlier, but Yoongi doesn’t want to acknowledge it. Instead, he lets a beat pass before loosening the strain in his shoulders.
Leaning over the counter, Yoongi’s voice is low and finite when he says, “If anyone else bothers you tonight, call me over,” he says, almost demanding.
At the space decreased between the two of you, you visibly gulp as you meet his eyes. Yoongi watches the way you press your lips together, the glossy nude shiny underneath the dim lights above. You can’t say no to that.
If you had to dissect it, you wouldn’t want to turn to anyone for help but him. That thought sobers you instantly.
“Yeah. Yeah, of course, Yoongi.”
You’re breathless as you speak, but cover it up quickly by bringing your straw to your mouth. He has to turn away before you wrap your lips around it, waving the two of you off like he has something to do.
Yoongi definitely doesn’t. He retreats into the kitchen, pretending to check in on the chefs, when he’s really wishing that he still smoked and could escape outside for a damn cigarette.
He does get you alone later that night, even when the last patron leaves the bar and your friends return home.
“Just drive her home, please!” were Owen’s last words before his girlfriend dragged him out the door, giggling and clearly having a plan in mind for the rest of their night.
Aya eyes you when you don’t get up from your stool. “You sure you’ll be okay?” she asks, looking between you and Yoongi. She knows that the two of you have grown close over the past month, but is surprised when you insist on staying behind when the clock nears four in the morning.
Last call happened a while ago and Yoongi’s employees are wrapping up for the night, wiping down the last of the tables and others bidding their goodbyes. You remarked that you still hadn’t finished your drink, even though the ice melted long before last call. The rum and pineapple sits lukewarm, just enough liquid left to act as your excuse.
You nod. “I’ll see you later, text me when you get home,” you say, watching her boyfriend’s car pull up outside.
That leaves you with Yoongi and the two of you resume your previous conversation, chatting about your new job and the previous tension dissipated. You’re definitely sobered up at this point in the night and when time stretched into closing hours, Yoongi was able to slow down from running around all over the place and actually take time to talk to you.
You’ve been feeling restless all night, trying to figure out why until it stands right in front of you. He happily banters with you as he closes up the registers, your dynamic and humour bouncing off of each other like clockwork.
“Pft, you’re still an overachiever,” he teases dryly when you mention your past job experience before moving back home. “Glad to see that some things never change.”
“Some things don’t,” you repeat, noting the fluid way Yoongi cleans his surroundings. He’s quick, waving goodbye to each employee that makes their way out the front door. They all smile at him when they do and it reminds you of how he’s always been able to connect with people around him—that is, should he let them in the first place.
Yoongi chooses the people around him carefully and you admire that about him. The people who are permitted past his walls are treated the same way.
He recognizes the pondering expression on your face. “Uh oh. I know that face. It’s never a good one.”
“What, me thinking?”
“Exactly.”
You stick your tongue out at his grinning face. He grabs a water bottle, twisting the cap off and taking a gulp, seemingly not exhausted in the same way you aren’t. From what you’ve gathered, Yoongi loves his job and his job loves him back, from his regulars to the employees.
Tapping your fingers in a rhythm against the wood grain of the bar, you ask, “Why did you decide to open up a bar?”
Without a doubt, Yoongi has always been charming in the way a good entrepreneur should be, but he wasn’t necessarily the most outgoing guy. People just naturally gravitated towards him, like magnets. Not only that, but he’s a genuinely good person. You’ve watched him help his elderly neighbour bring her groceries up, treat his employees with dignity, be a rock to your overwhelmed older brother. There’s a lot to Yoongi, more than what meets the eye.
He pauses in his movements and set the water bottle down. “I guess…I don’t know. Ever since I was a kid, I always wanted to open a place like this.”
Yoongi gestures around the place: the booths where a crowd of women celebrated a bachelorette party a few hours ago, to the television where a few older men had been watching the football game, and to the dancefloor where the DJ played old school R&B the entire night. Full of life, laughter, and people.
“Well, you did a damn good job,” you said. “I always thought you’d be successful. No other way when you were so determined back then.”
In a way, you like to think that you share the same quality. Years of working your ass off and figuring out your independence could have only been fuelled by a certain resolve to become more than what you used to be. When someone is hungry to prove themselves, the fire is often hard to miss.
Yoongi holds his composure well, but you notice the way deep thought fogs his eyes.
“Most people would beg to differ,” he mutters. “I think everyone thought there was a good chance I’d rot away in prison or something, maybe be a deadbeat like my dad.”
He says this without flinching like he used to when speaking about his parents. You knew there was an anger that lived inside of Yoongi because he made it known with clenched fists and ears that listened to nobody but himself. The rebellion was mysterious years ago, attractive even.
Still, you shake your head.“Well, no. I never thought your parents would hold you back from doing great things.”
The Yoongi in front of you is no longer that fantasy that you fell for when you were younger. This mild-mannered version that shakes dark hair away from his eyes and adjusts his glasses to pinch his nose when he gets frustrated, is softer, yet still captivating. You don’t think he could ever lose that.
Silence stretches to the corners of the room, a patient listener to the revelations settling in his chest.
“Never understood that, but I do now,” Yoongi responds, looking down at his shoes. “When you come from nothing, sometimes you think you deserve nothing.”
Years have passed and you can tell that he’s mostly grown past the doubt shovelled his way throughout his growing up, but there’s a kind of hurt that even Yoongi can’t forget when it comes to his upbringing. You lean forward slightly and tentatively touch his hand on top of the counter.
You’re making the face again. The one with your furrowed eyebrows and deepening pout.
“Good things come from not-so-pretty places, you know. Like flowers that grow on train tracks.”
The eye contact held weighs heavy in the air, tension thick as molasses, as if you could reach out and touch it yourself. Anything feels more interesting at this moment—your shoes, the ceiling, your hands—but all you can do is stare right back. Yoongi opens his mouth once, twice, but can’t settle on the words in his mouth.
Then, he sighs and lets out a chuckle.
“I don’t know if anyone has ever seen me the way you do,” Yoongi concludes quietly, eyes now torn away from yours.
An intimate confession, one that stuns your chest and steals away the quietude in your mind for days to come. You grasp it close to the cage of your ribs, unable to contain the leap of your heart, and instead bury the words with a soft smile. You’re just not sure what the feeling means and you don’t have the guts to untangle it into something you can understand, likely afraid of what revelations you’ll conclude with.
So, you offer a flat joke instead. “What, no kid?” you tease, chuckling through the thick tension that you hope only exists in your mind.
He pauses his movement over the glass he wipes, hand over the rim.
“Nah. No kid.”
Meanwhile, for Yoongi, this is the fourth time he’s noticed something different about you. It’s clear that you’ve gathered a lot these past few years—a sense of self, dreams, and grace. But, he’s captivated by your prudence and the kind eyes that you see the world in. You’ve always had that.
Yet, Yoongi can’t get over it. Your heart has only grown in your time away and he can’t help but remember your younger, meek self that exuded such solace that he’s now even more drawn to. It’s always been his favourite thing about you.
A week later, you return to the apartment for movie night. One hand sticks out to knock on the front door, when it flies open to reveal your exasperated looking brother with his work bag slung around his shoulder and keys in his hand. You squint at him.
“You’re bailing tonight?”
“The hospital needs emergency last minute coverage,” Owen grumbles, as he nearly drops his phone while trying to slip past you. “Yoongi’s in the shower! See you later!”
Your hurricane of a brother sprints to the nearest stairwell, not even bothering with the elevator, and you’re left standing with a plastic bag full of takeout and huffing. Typical. Not that you can even blame Owen, but watching his fickleness happen in real-time at least once a week borders on comedic.
Carefully stepping into the apartment, you take off your shoes and head to the kitchen counter to drop the food down.
Then, you hear it. Footsteps. You’re already too close to the hallway, where their bathroom is, to escape and by the time you process everything, Yoongi appears with nothing but a towel slung low on his hips and steam curling around him.
He doesn’t notice you at first. “Owen, where the hell is my—oh.” Yoongi has another towel in his hand, drying off his wet hair as he approaches and realizes that you are most definitely not the person you’re looking for.
You’re staring. Hard. He knows it, too.
Water droplets trail down his bare chest and if you step forward, you could trace the scar that runs down the side of his abdomen. Yoongi’s slender, yet broad and strong build that clearly indicates he’s spent time working on himself physically in the past decade, leaves you without words. Your eyes drag further down, unable to hide your gaze on where his smooth skin disappears underneath the towel.
A hot flush billows on your cheeks and you whirl around on your heels, facing the wall.
“Owenjustleft,” you say, scrambling all of your words together into one semi-coherent string and somehow losing your breath when you do so.
You just hear the deep rumble of his laugh and footsteps retreating. When you realize that Yoongi is returning to the bathroom, you let out an exhale that you hope he doesn’t pick up on.
“No worries. Make yourself at home, I’ll be out in a bit.” Yoongi’s tone is so casual and if you think too long about it, you may even think he sounds amused.
He’s seemingly not concerned at all. At least this doesn’t make things awkward and it’s up to you to ensure the situation doesn’t get weird just because you just saw this man half-naked. You rub your face and make your way to the couch, as you always do.
A few minutes later, Yoongi emerges and thankfully, he does so with clothes on. He wears a white tank top and sweatpants, still not doing much to conceal the figure that you were just ogling, but you train your eyes on the television in front of you instead.
“Thanks for bringing food,” he says, even though you always do, and begins plating the takeout in bowls.
“Mhm.”
You preoccupy yourself with scrolling through a streaming service with no actual genre or movie in mind, but letting the action take up your hands. He doesn’t comment on your short answers or the way you refuse to look over, instead calmly padding over to the couch. The dishes clank lightly when set down on the coffee table, but not enough to break your artificial focus.
Soft chatter fills the room, mostly mundane small talk that you force in order to keep your mind off that sinful image of Yoongi in that towel.
His voice trickles in from the kitchen. “How’s the new job going?”
Somewhere in the past few weeks, the space on the couch between you and Yoongi disappeared; a knee brushing against the other no longer felt accidental, he stopped thinking twice before stretching his arm across the back of the couch, and nobody thought anything of fingers brushing together when grabbing popcorn. Tonight, when Yoongi approaches, he’s already tossing you a blanket because he knows that you get cold.
“Take this before you use me as a personal heater,” he says, as the blanket lands on your head.
You scoff. “I fell asleep on you one time!” you shoot back, but it doesn’t wipe the smirk off Yoongi’s face.
“You liked it a little too much.”
That, you don’t deny, even if he’s joking. You don’t care if he notices.
Weight dips into the cushions, as Yoongi makes himself comfortable next to you, close enough where you can smell a hint of soap and minty toothpaste. Feeling a bit self-conscious, you’re still in your work clothes having come from the office. You pull the edge of your pencil skirt down and shift awkwardly against the strain of your button up top. Originally, your plan was to borrow something to wear from your brother and you open your mouth to announce this, when Yoongi’s phone buzzes against the grain of the coffee table.
Owen’s name and picture flashes on the screen, probably now at work.
“What could this goof want now?” Yoongi mutters, as he grabs the device and answers. “Hey. What’s up?”
A beat passes as he listens to whatever your brother has to say, sighing when he does. Yoongi rises to his feet once more and hovers over the window, pulling away at the curtains. That’s when you see it—a violent cascade of snow fall hanging over the city skyline. The intensity is unlike when you pulled up to the building, although you did have to run fast from the small stretch of outdoors between your car and the lobby doors. Sometime since that half an hour ago, the snow has doubled, tripled even.
Meanwhile, Yoongi is still on the phone. “Yeah. Yeah, of course, that’s fine,” he says. “I’ll let her know.”
As he speaks, you’ve flipped the channel over to the weather forecast, which confirms your suspicions: a crazy snow storm. Not only that, but roads are closed.
“You’re kidding,” you exhale, lips pressed together.
Yoongi hangs up the phone and returns to his seat next to you, sighing. “Owen said that he barely survived trying to walk to work,” he muses.
You can only imagine how bad the roads and sidewalks are if your brother struggled to make it to the hospital that’s just a block away. From where you are on the couch, you can only see a blanket of pure ivory out the window and not a single car or pedestrian in sight. This is bad. Not only that, but reality sets in when you realize that you’re stuck here.
“Yeah, he’d probably need a damn sleigh with all of that snow,” you murmur, eyes still fixated on the window and running the possible ways of how you can make it home.
Instead, Yoongi answers for you. “He said you should stay the night here. It’s not safe for you to go outside,” he says, shaking his head with a serious expression knitted in his eyebrows. “And I agree. It’s fucked.”
When he confirms this, your palms go sweaty and you bite the inside of your cheek. Yoongi’s determination doesn’t waver, displeased with the idea of you trying to make it home in these conditions.
“I can wait it out.”
“Like hell you will,” he retorts. “You’ll be waiting until morning. And I’m not letting you go outside with the weather like that.”
Throughout the night, you think you’re imagining lingering eye contact, the quiet kind that rips away once the other person notices. You don’t catch Yoongi staring once, but you can feel it throughout the night; especially with the knowledge that the night won’t end at any point and the tension sifting through the air because of it.
When the movie ends, neither of you rush because you don’t have to. The storm outside is louder than the television at this point, snow tapping against glass and rattling the windows. Both of you had been laughing and bantering about the film, but it dies when the credits roll and reality sinks in.
You’ve been keeping movie nights securely fixed in a box where the routine ends at a goodnight and goodbye for weeks. Yoongi sits there, arm slung over the back of the couch behind your frame. There’s no goodbye tonight, just an awareness that you’re sitting shoulder to shoulder and uncertainty about what to do next. When you speak, you don’t realize just how much closer you’ve been sitting together than you originally thought until you turn and accidentally brush against his side. He doesn’t move.
“I guess it’s time to get ready for bed,” you murmur, looking up at him through your eyelashes.
If he’s feeling awkward about the situation, Yoongi doesn’t show it. “Do you want to use the bathroom? I’ll lend you a towel and some clothes.”
“I, uh, are you sure?”
He responds, another small smirk on his lips. “I promise you, your brother is a week behind on laundry and I’d rather you wear clean clothes.”
Yoongi disappears into the hall and returns with a folded t-shirt and a spare toothbrush still neatly sealed in plastic.
You remain on the couch, fiddling with your phone and checking the weather too many times to be considered normal in the short span that Yoongi left the room. The roads are still hopeless and in a way, so are you. You don’t know how to cast aside your growing nerves or why they’re even present. It’s just Yoongi and it’s just a storm.
“Here. There’s spare towels in the cabinet.” Yoongi looms over you, offering the items to you with an unreadable expression. “If there’s anything you need, just tell me, okay?”
Back when you were younger, Yoongi was always one to tease, just a little bit. He still does now, but you recognize a certain maturity and genuine concern that leaves your heart fluttering. This is when you realize that you haven’t stopped thinking about him in that way, the way involving twinkling eyes and a heartbeat a touch too fast.
Your voice is softer than usual. “I appreciate it.”
You once fell for Yoongi because of a fantasy laced in mystery and rebellion. Now, standing in front of you, is an older man with the same quick wit and quiet consideration. A refined version rooted in reality and the years that have gone past. Your eyes flicker to the lines crinkling at the corner of Yoongi’s eyes when he smiles gently and how there’s no longer an anger that lives inside him.
Now, you think you’ve fallen for the real him.
There’s no doubt about the way he makes you feel, not even when you stand under the shower and let hot water sting your skin—as if you’re trying to will yourself out of these thoughts. But, the feeling stick like honey and remain glued to your skin and bones. You’re thinking about every quiet moment over the past month and how being alone with him now sends a rush through your veins.
If there’s anything you need, just tell me.
Yoongi’s t-shirt is too big, pooling down to your thighs. You intentionally don’t ask for pants and you wonder why he didn’t offer any. As you look into your reflection, brushing your teeth, your heart hammers because you want to show just how different you are now, too.
He’s waiting for you in the living room, laptop propped in front of him and you know that he’s likely checking emails or something for the bar. You emerge from the bathroom and Yoongi looks up, zeroing in on the sight of you in his t-shirt. He’s in the middle of typing on the keyboard, but freezes when you come outside.
“You doing okay?” Yoongi speaks with neutrality, but you make out a fine crack in his tone that betrays his attempt at aloofness.
You nod, staring at your outfit and the way the shirt barely hangs low enough to cover your thighs. “Yeah, I appreciate it.”
He clears his throat and shuts the laptop off to make his way over to where you stand in the hallway.
“Checked Owen’s room and it’s clean. Changed the bed sheets and pillowcases, just in case.” Yoongi leads you to the bedroom door, which is slightly ajar enough to reveal a neatly made bed.
You raise an eyebrow. “Wow. You’re an absolute saint for that charity work.” Over the last little while of getting to know him all over again, you’ve discovered that he’s become a bit of a neat freak.
“Tell me about it, he should thank me,” Yoongi mutters and you share a laugh.
Then, silence tightens around your surroundings once more.
The two of you just stand there, unsure of what to say or do next. He’s closer than he was on the couch—if you tilt your head up, you would just be a breath away from his face. Yoongi doesn’t move either, hands stuffed into his pockets as if he’s restraining them in place. You think about how soft those hands had been over yours at the grocery store. You think about his protective gaze that never falters, even in small moments like being snowed in for the night. You think about the flex of his arms when he adjusts his glasses, the droplets of water cascading down his chest earlier, the way he refuses to leave you alone. Not before and certainly not now, as he looks at you without moving an inch. Something buzzes in the small space between the two of you, something warm stirring.
“Well, goodnight—”
“—I, um,” you cut Yoongi off, tongue tied before you even speak. “There’s actually something else that I need.”
He stares back at you, an unknown glint in his eyes. You wish you could read the meaning behind them, as you notice that he still hasn’t moved, feet glued to where they stand barely a foot away from you. Meanwhile, your lungs seek air that refuses to come. For a brief second, your gaze drops to his lips—but, not quick enough to evade his attention.
Yoongi does the same, except when his vision fixates on your lips, he makes sure that you’re aware by taking his time. His eyes cloud in that second, like he’s seeing something for the first time.
Neither of you move away, even now. The lack of oxygen funnelling to your brain leaves you dizzy and you realize that you’ve subconsciously tilted your head up. Yoongi inches closer ever so slightly, until you share the same breath.
“Yeah?” he murmurs, voice strained.
He doesn’t want to move first or maybe he feels as though he can’t. Shouldn’t. Just lets out a shaky exhale.
So, you do it.
You’re reminded of the way Yoongi stole your first kiss all those years ago—hesitant and soft, but knowing. Back then, it’d been easy when the gesture felt like a favour more than anything.
Somehow, you find yourself in the same spot, as your lips brush against his to test the waters.
A beat passes before Yoongi realizes what’s happening and his arms slide around your waist with a groan, barely, so you take the initiative to heighten things. Your hands wind around his neck, fingers tangling into his hair, pulling him closer. He responds eagerly, tipping your head further back to explore the heat of your mouth.
You kiss him back, hard, and feel the way your entire body throbs as you tug him tighter around you—all for Yoongi to grab you by the hips and push you up against the hallway door. The impact leaves you gasping and he takes the opportunity to slide his tongue across your bottom lip, tugging in between his teeth until you’re moaning his name.
Yoongi’s teeth scrape down your throat, nibbling at sensitive spots along your neck and soothing them with his tongue. The pants that leave your breath are so pretty, the taste of mint still lingering.
Hardness presses against your lower body and against your better judgement, you hook a leg around his waist and experimentally roll against his clothed length, mouth hung open in bliss.
“S-Shit,” he hisses with a clenched jaw, pausing where his mouth trails along your collarbone after noticing that you really didn’t bother to put on anything underneath the t-shirt.
You whimper, as Yoongi’s hardened gaze lands on you and the eye contact leaves your heart lurching upwards, while desire pools in your core. The way he slots a knee in between your legs is intoxicating, the shirt hiking up your lips and revealing how soaked you’ve left your panties. He grits his teeth, pressing his knee against your pussy and you can’t help the moan that escapes your mouth.
“Please,” you mewl, unable to do anything but cry out for more. The most you can do is grind pathetically on his leg, watching his eyes darken as you do, but the hot friction isn’t enough for you.
For a second, Yoongi lets out a deep breath, as if trying to negotiate with himself. “Tell me what you want,” he manages to rasp out, as one of his hands come up to hold you by the face.
You lean into his touch, wrapping your lips around his thumb and he groans out again, pathetically almost, when you lewdly suck on it.
“I need you.”
Without warning, Yoongi scoops you up with a strength that surprises you both. You arch into him, meeting his mouth against in a hungrier kiss than before. Messier. A string of saliva trails between your lips and down your jaw before you notice that he’s carried you into his room. He unceremoniously drops you on the mattress and you squeal, bouncing lightly on the mattress at such force. You watch as he carefully takes off his glasses, placing them on the nightstand and revealing his darkened eyes.
He doesn’t waste any time climbing over you, caging you against the bed by pinning your wrists down. “Been thinking about this for weeks,” he roughly admits.
“Yoongi,” you choke out, wrapping your legs around his waist again.
He kisses you fiercely once more, his hands letting go of you to grab the bottom of your t-shirt. You’re fumbling the same exact way and drag the tank top off his body, while immediately undoing the drawstrings to his sweatpants soon after.
“So fucking hot,” he says, tossing the article onto the floor without a second look.
As you discard his clothes, Yoongi is taking his sweet time exploring your body, kisses dragged down your neck until he reaches the valley of your breasts. Your nipples harden under the sudden exposure to the chill air, but you’re warmed up instantly when he attaches his lips to them. He starts by sucking hard on one, his free hand drawing lazy circles on the other.
“Oh—fuck, that feels so good.” You’re whimpering loud, as you continue rolling against his clothed cock. You can feel how rock hard he is, throbbing even with the barrier in between your bodies.
“Mhmm,” he murmurs, releasing the sensitive bud with a pop that leaves it puffy and wet from his mouth. “Spread your legs for me.”
Yoongi pushes your hair back out of your face as he makes his demand, tone too sweet for the hungry gaze he holds. You move automatically, laying back and parting your legs.
“Like this?” you whisper with swollen lips, completely red from his work.
He smirks in the way you’ve always loved, leaning in to kiss on your neck and lick a nasty stripe on the shell of your ear as two of his rough fingers yank your panties to the side. His touch slides over your clit and sink into your heat—a filthy squelching noise fills your ears, as you moan from where you’re pinned beneath the strong planes of his body.
Yoong’s voice remains low, in control. “Just like that, let me hear you,” he says and slides in a third finger with ease between your folds, messy and desperate for you get louder.
The cold of his silver chain, dangling from where he hovers above, brushes against your sensitive nipple and you squirm, which results in Yoongi splaying his free forearm across your lower belly and pinning you firmer into place. His fingers stretch your cunt with ease, as he mutters about how wet you are. You can barely hear between the ringing in your ear from pure pleasure and tighten your grip in his hair, drawing another moan out of him.
It doesn’t last long once Yoongi dips his head in between your thighs and you could feel the smirk against your clit.
“You’re soaking my sheets,” he teases roughly, before finally parting the lips of your pussy with his tongue and licking a languid trail up to your desperately puffy bud.
You know it’s not going to last long.
Your back arches off the mattress, dizzy with arousal with each curl of his finger and the way he circles his tongue perfectly around your clit, sending shockwaves throughout your system. “Wanna cum on your face.” Each laboured breath and sigh spurs Yoongi on, lapping and playing with the wetness of your pussy like he’s starving.
Then, he forces you off. Yoongi sits up, chin glistening with your essence and a predatory glint in his eyes.
“What the fuck, I was so close—” You’re whining like a brat and without shame, only for him to suddenly yank your panties off fully.
He drags them down your legs, past your ankles and flings them onto the floor, hissing when he gets the full view of how wrecked you are on top of the soaked mess you’ve made of his bed. Then, Yoongi grabs you by the hips and forcefully flips your positions, which leaves you gasping. You plant your knees on either side of his torso and balance yourself with palms flat against the bed, leaving your tits dangling just shy of Yoongi’s mouth.
He captures one of them with his lips once more and your head tilts back in moans, while he murmurs something against your sensitive nipple.
“Want you to ride my face.”
You mouth hangs open in bliss and he hasn’t even touched your cunt again. Yoongi taps your ass once, twice, and it’s enough for you to get the message to scoot upwards and hover over his face.
A redness spreads across your cheeks. “A-Are you sure?” you sputter, even with the way his thumbs draw soothing circles on your hips, as if to calm you down. “I don’t want you to not be able to breathe—”
“—That’s the point, baby.” Yoongi chuckles, amused by just how riled up you are. “You say that, but your eyes and your pussy say something different.”
As if to prove his point, he trails his finger just outside of your folds—not enough to fully plunge in, but enough to feel the way your walls clench at just the slightest of his touch.
“You’re too cocky,” you gasp out, but don’t refute the obvious. You rut pathetically into his touch, even, and the argument is settled.
“And I’ll show you why,” he shoots back, his hands now gripping your hips and leaving no room for argument, not when the tension in the air is this torturous. “Be a good girl and come here.”
You don't hesitate. You line your cunt up with Yoongi’s face, bracing one hand against the headboard and the other fisting in his hair as you sink down with a broken moan.
He works tirelessly with no teasing, no patients, but just the raw, filthy pressure that has your thighs trembling within seconds. His mouth is focused on only giving you pleasure, sucking and licking loudly like you’re his last meal and letting you hear each carnal sound. You try your best to grind down, hips moving in small circles to chase the feeling of his hot tongue. Yoongi moans just once and the vibration nearly undoes you.
Your begging doesn’t stop and you don’t care about how much noise you’re making. “Please, please, please,” you babble mindlessly. “God, Yoongi, just like that—”
Yoongi palms the fat of your ass cheeks as his mouth devours you, smacking the supple skin that echoes throughout the room. When he feels the way you clench harder at the stinging sensation, he takes the liberty of doing once, twice, and three times more until you’re sure the skin is left rouge. You hope his handprint stains your flesh.
He spreads your legs even wider, forcing you to fully sink down and he lifts his head to catch your clit between his teeth—just enough to make you cry his name out once more. Sucking on your clit until the pressure building in your lower half finally snaps, Yoongi is relentless. Your thighs squeeze hard around his head, fucking down on his greedy tongue messily until your wetness mixed with his saliva coat his entire face.
Then, time slows and your vision goes white. All you can tell is that your eyes are screwed shut as the most intense orgasm of your life ripples through your body and you come with a damn near scream, gushing and dripping down your thighs, onto Yoongi’s face, and ruining even the bed sheets. You don’t stop for a while, riding out your high while chanting his name.
“Fuck, Yoongi, Yoongi, Yoongi—” you sob, skin prickling and you feel his moans against your cunt again.
When you finally pull off of his face, you’re flushed with embarrassment after not just climaxing so hard, but so fast. You settle next to him on the bed and he sits up, completely coated with your arousal and lips swollen.
It’s the hottest thing you’ve ever seen.
Yoongi seems to think the same way about how absolutely destroyed you look—hair completely sticking up in every direction possible, panting heavily, marks left all over your breasts and hips. He shows this by immediately tugging you in once more for a wet, nasty kiss that has you worked up all over again. Teeth clicking, sucking on your tongue and tasting yourself on him, you can’t get enough of it.
“Fuck, I almost came from just eating you out,” he murmurs against your lips, satisfaction dripping from every word, and you can’t help but chuckle into the kiss.
You’re nowhere near done, though. “Oh, yeah?” you say, scooting closer even closer until you’re nearly on his lap..
Yoongi’s cock is still painfully hard, the tip red and angry with precum. He grabs your wrist before you can touch, eyes dark with want.
“We can stop here, if you want—”
You interrupt with a scoff, shaking off his grip. “We’re both adults here,” you purr, eyes half-lidded when you’re finally able to wrap your hand around his thickness, rewarded with a hiss from his lips. “And I want you inside of me.”
At your demand and touch, Yoongi groans and his hips jolt into your hand. “Yeah?” he husks, expression darkened with want. “Fine. Be careful what you wish for.”
He can’t protest nor deny you, not when you look at him like this. Hazy-eyed and wrecked from his mouth, you nod without hesitation. Then, Yoongi rolls you both over in one smooth motion, pinning you back onto the mattress with his body, his lips brushing your collarbone.
You dig your fingernails into his back muscles, just enough to leave crescent moon shapes. “Been wanting this for so long.”
“Shit, me too,” he confesses immediately, breath hitching at the way you’re spread out so prettily for him. Yoongi has no shame, not after spending weeks pretending like you don’t affect him. “How do you want me, baby?”
You arch against him, fingers digging even more into his skin. “Just—fuck—just please fuck me. Don’t hold back.”
“I won’t be gentle—”
“—Then, don’t,” you heatedly mewl, eyes trained on the way he pumps his cock with his fist.
Yoongi groans at your words. He momentarily pushes off the bed to lean towards his bedside table, but your hand shoots out and grabs his wrist before he gets any further. Turning to you with a questioning look, you shake your head at him.
“We don’t need one if you want.” Your whispers stuns Yoongi and he freezes in place with slightly widened eyes. “I’m clean and I have an IUD.”
He doesn’t need to be told twice.
Yoongi climbs over you once again, grabbing your leg and hooking it over his shoulder. You bite down on your lip at the first feeling of his cock head, hard and heavy, smearing the mess dripping from your folds all over your pussy. He teases his tip along your slit and uses your arousal to coat his thick length. You’re unable to stop from trying to grind down, seeking for more and squirming desperately.
He grits his teeth and screws his eyes shut, trying to take it slow at first. “So fuckin’ needy,” Yoongi rasps out.
“Fuck me, please, I’ve been waiting for so long.” Your reply is breathless and insatiable, despite having just came not even a few minutes before.
Yoongi starts off by sinking into your pussy inch by torturous inch, trying to not overwhelm you. When he bottoms out, he pulls out entirely before finally burying himself to the hilt once more with a single thrust, the angle of his cock stilling inside of you, deep and messy.
“So tight and wet,” he grunts. “This pussy is fucking taking me so well.”
You gasp out at the sheer pleasure that crashes over you, especially when his thumb finds your clit once more. He draws lazy circles that match the steady rhythm of his cock filling you up and stretching your walls, capturing your cry with a bruising kiss. He licks into your mouth, swallowing your moans.
“God, you’re filling me up so nicely—so, so, so good—” You’re lightheaded with each word against his mouth, drowning in the feeling of his cock as if you’re drunk.
Yoongi’s pace turns brutal, the lewd noises of his balls slapping against your ass and your skin rippling under his thrusts encouraging him to fuck into you even harder. Each snap of his hips drives you deeper into the mattress and the headboard against the wall rattles violently with your shared movements.
“You’re incredible,” he groans as your pussy flutters tighter around his cock and you roll your hips to try and match his pace, trying to anchor himself by gripping your thighs.
You don’t bother to cover your mouth when Yoongi adjusts the angle by grabbing your other leg and slinging it over his shoulder, leaning forwards and folding you in half. You curse loudly, blood roaring in your ears and Yoongi growls when you grab your ankles to pull them back even further, until they dangle next to your ears.
Tilting your hips, his cock drives in so deep that he find the spot that makes you gush again, wringing filthy sounds from you. “Hottest thing I’ve ever seen,” he groans.
Yoongi doesn’t stop either, slamming into your g-spot, completely entranced with the way you soak the sheets. He pushes himself up slightly, hands still around your ankles, just to watch you erupt.
“M-More, I’m close again.” You mewl at how he’s absolutely manhandling you with no mercy, tits bouncing against his strong chest with each deep thrust. “Right there, Yoongi, just fuck me harder—”
He groans as your pleas vibrate against his neck, where your face has buried into the crook. His own control frays at the edges and obliges immediately, snapping his hips harder, faster—chasing your breath that comes in sharp, fractured gasps against his skin.
“Fuck, baby, feels so good.” Yoongi’s voice cracks when you clench around him, back arching off the bed as you finally shatter.
Your expression is shameless, mouth hung open in bliss and panting pathetically, as Yoongi’s name dribbles off your lips. To your sides, your hands shoot out to clutch the bed sheets, fist twisting at the covers as your climax jerks your body. Yoongi’s focus is carnal, as his own orgasm approaches and the sight of you coming undone sends him over the edge.
The noises you’re making are more than just filthy, but sweet and intoxicating to his ears.
“Please cum inside of me, please, I want you,” you gasp out, his cock twitching inside of your pulsating pussy.
It’s not long before Yoongi comes with a shout and gritted teeth, spilling hot into your greedy hole and thrusts deep with each spurt. He shudders hard, milking his cock inside clean of every last drop and you wrap your legs around his waist as he does.
Rolling you onto your sides, Yoongi continues with shallow thrusts into your ruined cunt, one arm hooked underneath your thigh and you bring him in for a dirty, messy kiss. Your tongues swirl against one another as he finally stills inside of you, pulling away as you’re both half-lidded and delirious.
When he slides his cock out, you whimper at the empty feeling. Yoongi curses under his breath when he sits up, parting your thighs to watch his spend drip out of your puffy slit. He traces a finger along your folds and up to your clit, which results in a shudder of overstimulation from you.
Yoongi just chuckles, looking up at you. “You okay?” he murmurs, voice gentle and contrasting greatly from his demanding tone earlier. “Stay here. Don’t move.”
He rises to his feet and disappears to the bathroom, returning with a wet towel. Sauntering back to the bed, he hovers over you and runs the damp fabric all over your thighs and in between, making sure to clean up everything he’s left. You’re still trying to catch your breath the entire time, the situation crashing down on you, and recovering from the pleasure that still shoots through your muscles at the sight of Yoongi in between your legs.
“Thanks,” you manage to say, chest rising at a more controlled pace at this point.
Yoongi isn’t finished. He’s always been quite attentive these past few weeks, so it shouldn’t take you off guard, but the way he moves and looks after you is so thoughtful. He brings you a glass of water, clean clothes, and even ties your hair up for you.
You gingerly get to your feet and practically waddle to the door when he informs you that he started a shower.
He notices this and snorts. “Having trouble walking?” Yoongi dryly comments, grinning when you flip him off. “I’ll be there in a second, okay?”
Whatever tension you anticipated has surely failed to appear. Instead, things feel…natural. Yoongi’s eyes twinkle with a question, as if to say is this alright? You just nod, a smile threatening at the corner of his lips. He does the same.
Your chest warms at the promise. You didn’t ask, but knowing Yoongi will join you in the shower causes butterflies that you can no longer deny.
Standing under the hot spray and steam rising from your surroundings, your muscles loosen and you sigh aloud at the calming sensation. A few minutes later, the shower door slides open and you don’t have to look behind you, not when strong arms wrap around your waist.
"I don’t do hookups.”
The sudden statement roots you to the tiled floor, a realization chord striking you. A slew of thoughts set off in your head, but only ones fades clearly and it’s that you just want to lean into him even more, needing more of his body heat. So, instead of answering, you do just that. You tilt your head into his neck, inhaling deeply and you feel his lips brush against your temple. His arms tighten around you even more.
“You know I’ve had a crush on you for, like, fifteen years, right?”
“Yeah, I’m not blind. By the way, you’re a much better kisser now.”
Yoongi yelps when you dig your elbow into his ribs, but it doesn’t wipe the wide grin on his face. Laughing, you spin around, facing him, and he doesn’t let go of your hips. The grip steadies you, as you brush away wet pieces of hair nearing his vision.
“Was it obvious even now?” you murmur, hoping your voice is anchored in spite of your embarrassment. The heat on your cheeks isn’t unwelcome with the stinging shower raining down from above, engulfing both of your bodies in a comfortable warmth.
He chuckles softly. “I wasn’t sure, probably too worried about me being too obvious,” Yoongi confesses, coolly and casually, like he’s talking about the weather.
Except, you catch the way his eyes flicker briefly away from yours, the way he always does when he’s nervous. It’s easy to miss, but it doesn’t escape your attention and your breath hitches because this means he’s being serious.
So, you bite.
“I like you a lot,” you admit back, holding eye contact in a way that you’ve spent years trying to work up the courage to.
Yoongi’s gaze doesn’t falter, almost encouraging you when he digs his fingers into your hips again.
You continue. “I liked you back then, too, but I think that was more of me falling for this..I don’t know, fantasy of you. The brooding bad boy that every girl wanted, and like every time you smiled at me, it was just a secret between us,” you say, shyly smiling. “But, I like you even more now. You’ve changed, but in a good way. Your patience, your passion, and how you see the best in people.”
“Funny you say that because I’ve always thought the same about you,” Yoongi responds, thumb brushing over your soft lips. “You have this huge heart and you’re incredibly smart. Gorgeous, too, it’s unfair. I thought that even back then.”
“Liar.”
“And by the way, it’s not because we’re older now and you’ve suddenly turned into this beautiful woman, but I want to be with you for who you are. Who you’ve always been.” Yoongi’s voice doesn’t waver one bit and you hold your breath when he admits this.
"I—” you start, heart skipping like rocks on water. “Me too. You just felt so…out of reach.”
“You've always been a little untouchable to me,” he chuckles. “Still, it’s hard to stay away from you when you bring out the best in me. Always have and fuck, I hope you keep doing that.”
Before you can reply, Yoongi leans into and this time, the kiss is unlike before. Slow, deliberate, and as if he’s wanting to taste all of you. You melt into his arms, just moving in tandem as if you’ve done this a million times before. Like Yoongi, you also hope that you can keep doing this.
It’s a sweet kiss until you bite softly down on his lip and he groans, pulling away. His hand comes up to cup your cheek, holding your jaw in place.
“Don’t start because it’s going to be a long night if you do,” Yoongi warns, genuinely pained and screwing his eyes close to shut down any desires, at least not right after how intense the two of you were not too long ago.
You do laugh at this, amused by how easily Yoongi is set off. “Right,” you say.
He clears his throat after a moment, opening one eye reluctantly. “Well.”
“Well.”
“Now, what?”
Shaking your head, you peck his lips once more. “Owen’s going to kill us.” The thought of having to explain this to your brother feels like an impending headache, especially since you’re under his roof. You know he’s not going to disapprove when it’s his best friend, but the nerves of it all are pushed away when Yoongi presses a kiss in between your eyes.
He sighs against your skin. “How about we don’t talk about your brother while you’re naked in my shower?”
A sense of relief settles into your skin as Yoongi peppers another kiss on your lips, between your shared laughter bouncing off the shower tiles.
You’d imagined this scenario a hundred times since you were fourteen, but nothing could prepare you for the quiet when you expected fireworks. Instead of a flurry of emotions or the nerves of wondering, waiting, and daydreaming that she used to feel about the man in front of her, it’s even better. He wears a fresh pair of eyes and a quiet certainty that he’s missed his entire life. A peace that he’s sought out for years. Yoongi is no longer a memory or a fantasy, but the first person you turn to when you need help, the first person you want to celebrate with, and the only person you want to share your heart with.
The two of you look at each other clearly—not as the people you used to be, but everything you’ve become and more.
──── 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.
( 𝓑𝐎𝐍𝐔𝐒 𝐌𝐎𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐀𝐓𝐈𝐎𝐍 ) 𝗷𝘂𝗻𝗴𝗸𝗼𝗼𝗸 𝘅 𝗳𝗲𝗺!𝗿𝗲𝗮𝗱𝗲𝗿. ˖Ი𐑼⋆ sfw +++ suggestive. you try to trick your boyfriend into restarting his entire push-up routine for a few extra kisses, but he decides to ditch the workout entirely to pin you to the floor and claim his reward.
it started because your boyfriend was complaining about needing to get a quick workout in before the shower. and you, being the incredibly helpful girlfriend you are, casually suggested you could provide some bonus motivation.
now, you were lying flat on your back on his plush rug, and JUNGKOOK was positioned directly over you in a perfect plank. but the real challenge wasn't the workout; it was the rule you’d established. every single rep required him to drop all the way down and steal a kiss from your lips before pushing himself back up.
"twenty," you murmured, his lips pressing firmly against yours before he pushed back up.
"twenty-one," another sweet, but quick kiss landed on your mouth.
jungkook was a beast by the time you reached ninety. it was a very hard achievement, while holding himself back from completely ravaging you was taking a toll. his breathing was hot against your cheeks. his veins were popping beautifully along his forearms, and you could see the defined stretch of his chest muscles under his tight tee every time he lowered himself down. you had been leisurely gazing up and down at him the entire time, thoroughly enjoying the view.
"ninety-eight," your voice a soft hum as his lips pressed firmly against yours, before he pushed up again. his biceps were trembling slightly, but nothing he couldn't handle.
"ninety-nine," his mouth lingering a little longer this time, pulling back and holding himself in a plank as he waited for the final count. instead, you sighed, your bottom lip jutting out into a fake pout. you looked up at him through your lashes, tilting your head innocently. "hmm... seems like we're one short of a hundred."
jungkook raised a pierced brow in confusion, his chest rising and falling heavily. gazing down at you, and he did not like that look. it meant trouble.
"what do you mean one short?" he panted, completely wrecked from the exertion. "i just did ninety-nine. the next one is a hundred."
you hummed, tracing a finger up the ink on his forearm in a very teasing manner, "you know the rules, baby. if it's not a full set, you have to start all over."
jungkook chuckled, his head dropping for a second before he looked back at you. the audacity of his pretty girlfriend doing this to him. he was exhausted, and you were sitting there playing mind games.
"oh, really?" he whispered, a playful smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.
suddenly, his arms gave out on purpose. he didn't drop hard, but he let his entire heavy and warm body collapse directly on top of you, burying his face in the crook of your neck. he groaned loudly, pinning you to the rug with his full weight, his nose nuzzling into your skin.
"kook! you're heavy, get off!" you giggled, tossing your head back as his fluffy hair tickled your chin.
"never," his hands coming down to grip your waist tightly to prevent you from squirming so much. "you want a restart, baby? fine. but we're doing it my way."
propping himself up on his elbows to look down at you, trapping you beneath him, because you are not running away until his motivation to do better goes away, or if he decides he is done playing games.
"rep number one," and before you could even count yourself, his lips crashed into yours, completely abandoning the workout for something much, much better.
Summary: Jungkook is your husband who believes he lost his chance with your sister because of you. Now you're married to him, and revenge was the only reason he said yes to this marriage.
Warnings: jungkook is a walking red flag and oc is a dumb girl in love so read at your own risk? again, neither of their brains is fully developed here. toxic relationship, angst.
Word count: 11k
check out my: masterlist
a/n: nine days in the making and here we are.... anon, i hope i did your request justice!! there will be a part two because yall i genuinely don't even know where to begin with this man’s redemption arc.... at this point, i fear the redemption arc alone is going to take over 10k words (lmk if you have any ideas, lend me ur creativity bbgs). all I can say is: please do not date men who do not kiss the ground you walk on!!!
taglist: @jiwikiwi @scriptved
You remembered the first time you saw him.
Your sister, Suji, was two years older than you and ever since you were ten, she brought her friends home nearly every weekend.
There were four of them: Jimin, Yejin, Taehyung, and Jungkook.
They were inseparable and exactly the kind of friendship you only ever read about in books or watched in movies. On weekends, your house was always filled with their voices and you never minded it, especially since two-years was not much of an age gap, hence you were included in almost everything they did.
That only changed after they graduated from high school and scattered across the country. Even then, the distance never truly separated them. They would stay in touch, called regularly, and planned a holiday together at least once a year.
As a child, being included in their group made you feel important. There was something exciting and cool about being ten and spending most of your time with older kids.
It did not take long for you to realise that Suji was the one holding them all together and her friends always orbited around her without noticing they were doing it. That never surprised you because Suji has always been the main character wherever she went, both at home and everywhere else.
You never resented her for it because she was the kindest sister you could have asked for. She never made you feel smaller than her, she invited you to parties you were too young to attend, defended you when Taehyung teased you about your missing front tooth, and let you borrow her clothes without ever complaining about it.
Her friends were kind to you too.
Jimin and Yejin were the first ones you met. You remembered them sitting beside you at the kitchen table, patiently helping you with your maths homework. Now they were married, with a daughter who was as cheerful as the two of them.
Then there was Taehyung, around whom fourteen-year-old Suji started acting differently. She became shy in his presence, more careful with her words, and she would glance at him now and then whenever she thought no one was looking. They were married now and, as far as you could tell, still having the time of their lives together.
And then there was Jungkook.
You, Suji, and the rest of her friends had been playing hide-and-seek throughout the house one Saturday afternoon, and Jungkook was the seeker. You hid behind the living-room curtain, holding your breath as you listened for his footsteps.
You were certain you would be caught first, because you barely had time to find a proper hiding place.
And you were right, Jungkook did find you first.
He pulled the curtain aside just enough to see you. But instead of dragging you out and gloating the way Taehyung or Jimin would have done, he merely smiled at you and ruffled your hair.
Then he let the curtain fall back into place and walked away to find the others.
You stayed behind the curtain for another full minute, your heart beating so loud that you considered asking your mom to call an ambulance.
At ten years old, what was that if not a knight in shining armour?
You have been in love with him ever since.
By fourteen, you assumed the feeling would have disappeared. It was supposed to be puppy love; something harmless and embarrassing that you would laugh about with Suji over wine in ten years time. But it did not just disappear like you thought it would.
In high school, Jungkook became one of the popular boys. His face made insecure boys resent him and hopeful girls imagine they had a chance with him. Yet he never seemed interested in any of it, he only cared about being around Suji and the rest of their friends, and he never seemed to mind having you around either.
Well, mostly because you were his best friend’s little sister.
♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡
At fifteen, you finally told Suji about your little embarrassing crush.
She was not surprised when you confessed that you had a crush on one of her best friends. Jungkook was handsome too so it wasn’t really weird. You learned much later that she had known for years, but that night, she only laughed softly and said, “I’ll help you get together with him when you’re a little older, okay?”
Not long after you told her, Jungkook stopped coming to the house.
The rest of the group continued gathering in your living room every weekend as loud and inseparable as ever, but his usual seat was always empty. You still caught glimpses of him in the school hallways. He never said hello, though that wasn’t really strange since he rarely greeted you at school even before he stopped coming around your house.
Then you noticed that Jungkook started spending time with a different crowd. And it happened around the same time Suji and Taehyung finally started dating. These two quickly became the school’s “it” couple, with every photograph of them posted online always accompanied with the same ‘#CoupleGoals’.
But them getting together never surprised you.
What surprised you was that the moment Suji and Taehyung got together, Jungkook noticed you again, but not the way you wanted him to. The time your paths crossed again, he spat onto the ground in front of you and looked at you as if the sight of you disgusted him.
You didn’t understand it. You’ve adored him for five years by then, and you had no idea what you did to deserve that kind of hatred.
When you asked Jimin whether you somehow offended Jungkook, he only sighed and told you not to take it personally. And that Jungkook started spending time with wealthy, arrogant boys, and he has changed.
To you, it made sense for him to hang out with a different crowd, especially since he came from a different tax bracket than you did.
♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡
You were twenty-two when you received the phone call from your mother.
By this time, Jungkook was somewhere not in your life; he was just a name that came up at your school reunion and nowhere else. You’ve heard things about him; that he helped his father ran their family’s company, then him eventually becoming the CEO.
Your mother has been a single mother almost your whole life, and she has never once, in twenty-two years, called you sounding like she was preparing for you to leave her life.
"Can you come home?" she asked, "tonight, if you can. I need to talk to you about something and I don't want to do it over the phone."
You asked if everything was okay, and she said she'll explain when you were there, which is somehow worse than any answer she could have given you, and you spent the whole drive over with your stomach tightened in knots.
Your mom was waiting at the kitchen table when you arrived, two cups of tea already going cold in front of her like she made them an hour ago and forgot they existed the moment she poured them.
“Mom?” you asked as you sat down in front of her, “this is reminding me of horror movies,” you chuckled.
"I need to tell you something," she said, "and I need you to not hate me."
You immediately became silent and didn’t even dare to say anything. So you let her say whatever she wanted to say in her own time, because she seemed as if she was going to burst into tears.
"I owe some family a great deal of money," she said, finally opening up after what felt like fifteen minutes, "forty million dollars. It's to the Jeon's family. Jeon Jungkook, do you remember him? From when you were kids, Suji's friend.."
You couldn’t help the gasp that followed, "How?" was all you could manage to respond with.
forty million dollars was more money than you have ever seen in your life. Your mother was an investment banker at a small firm, so your family has never been poor, but you were nowhere near forty-million-dollars rich. But then, compared to the Jeon family, you might as well have been poor.
“I’d been at the firm for three years by then,” your mother said, her eyes fixed on the table, “I was young enough to be desperate for a win. I wanted to prove myself, especially in rooms full of men who called me sweetheart and honey during meetings and constantly tease me.”
She paused, playing with her fingers in her lap, “One of my colleagues brought me a deal. It was a startup that was supposedly going to be bought out within eighteen months. It was the kind of tip that could make someone’s career if it worked.”
“And you believed him?” you asked.
“I believed in the startup,” she corrected, “enough to pass it on to a client I’d been trying to win over for months. Jungkook’s parents. I told them it was a sure thing,” your mother said, her voice slightly breaking on the word sure, “I wasn’t lying to them. I believed it too.”
She looked down at her hands, “That’s the part that still keeps me awake. I didn’t do it because I wanted to hurt anyone. I did it because I wanted them to trust me. I wanted it so badly.”
“And it failed?”
“Not at first. For a few months, everything looked promising, then the company’s lead investor pulled out after a fraud investigation. None of us saw it coming and the entire company collapsed within six weeks.”
She paused before continuing, “Jungkook’s parents lost almost everything they invested. And because I was the one who brought them the deal and told them their money would be safe, they came to me. forty million dollars was what they believed they would have earned if the deal had succeeded, added to everything they had lost.”
“They expected you to pay all of that?” you asked in disbelief.
“They said I could take as long as I needed and I could repay it at whatever pace I could manage, and they would never tell anyone what happened,” she said, before finally looking up at you.
"How much have you paid so far?" you ask, though some part of you already knows the answer will hurt you.
"Five hundred thousand. A little more, actually, slowly but steadily I was paying it off, but it has been years since the deal, ____," she said, her eyes filled with tears.
You have never seen her crying this much, not even at your father's funeral where she held back her tears for her children, "I didn't want you or Suji to know. It’s a debt I don’t want the two of you to carry.”
"And the rest of it?" you finally asked, "you wouldn't have called me here just to tell me about the debt or the amount. There's something else, right?"
Your mother's hands tighten in her lap, "They want to erase the whole forty million debt, if.. "
"If what?" you asked nervously.
"If you marry their son, Jungkook."
You laughed at your mother, because what she just said sounded like an opening line of a story or a cringe fan fiction you read on Wattpad years ago.
Then you looked at her face and understood she wasn’t trying to fool you at all.
“Mom,” you quietly said, your voice shaking out of anger, confusion, and sadness, you couldn’t really tell.
“I barely know him anymore. We haven’t spoken in years, and he’s not the boy from my childhood anymore. I don’t even know who he is now.”
“I know,” she said, and she sounded as if she dreaded saying the idea aloud, for even thinking of asking you to do this, “I’m sorry. I’m sorry for even considering asking this of you,” her voice trembled, “I’ve thought it over in my head for weeks, and I feel so bad as a mother, it feels as if I’m selling you to fix my own mistake.”
She drew in a breath, “It’s fine, you don’t need to do this. I’ll find another way. I will not make you responsible for a debt that belongs to me.”
“Jungkook is a good-looking man, Mom. He’s rich too and he could have anyone he wanted,” you hesitated before asking further, “so why would he agree to this? Why me?”
“He’s refused everyone his parents have introduced him to,” she said quietly, “for years, apparently he has refused half a dozen women. From what I understand, he turned every one of them down.”
She paused before adding, “But this time, his parents told me it was his idea,” her eyes lifted to yours, “he chose you.”
You thought it was bullshit, why would Jungkook choose you out of all people? It was clear as days that his eyes were never on yours, and all of the sudden he has chosen you?
Jungkook was an old friend you spent years hoping never to see again. What could someone like him possibly want from you now?
You couldn’t help but wonder if being chosen meant being wanted by Jungkook, or if you were simply the easiest answer to him; something he agreed to because saying yes was easier than arguing with his parents over a marriage he did not care enough to refuse.
♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡
You said yes.
Because when you did the math more than once that week, lying awake in the dark, trying to picture your mom at seventy still working even during the weekends to pay down a debt that is almost impossible to pay off.
You just couldn’t make yourself accept a future that looks like that when you have the power to end it with a single word.
You said yes because you have spent your whole life being the person who helps everyone around you. The little sister who never made anyone feel lacking in anything, the daughter who learned early not to add her own weight to a household already struggling with just one income. You were always the person who takes care of others when they are sick and never asks anyone to do the same for you.
It is the only thing you have ever known what to do. And some part of you just does not know how to look at someone who needs you and say no, even when the person who needs you most is yourself.
Then there is the other reason.
That small part of you that is still ten years old, still standing behind a curtain while Jungkook smiled at you, has never fully stopped hoping there might be a version of this where Jungkook looks at you without hatred.
You know how ridiculous that sounded.
You know it is not the kind of reason anyone sensible enough should agree to a marriage. But you were ten when you fell for him, and somehow, despite everything, a part of that girl never really went away. When your mother said Jungkook had chosen you, that little girl came rushing back.
You understand, even as you agreed to the marriage, that this is a stupid reason to ruin your life. Yet you said yes anyway, because you have never been as rational as you would like to believe when it comes to Jungkook.
Because some part of you would rather walk willingly into the fire than spend the rest of your life wondering what might have happened if you had turned away.
♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡
Two weeks later you were standing in a hotel lobby, your hands were trembling despite the summer heat outside, because his mother suggested or insisted, really, that the two of you meet before anything was finalized.
You spent forty minutes deciding what to wear and hated yourself for even caring about it.
Jungkook was already there when you arrived, sitting at a corner table with his jacket off and his sleeves pushed up, and his phone in his hand. He didn't stand up when you sat down.
Up close, he still looked familiar, only older now. He had tattoos all over his right arm and there was very little left of the boy who used to smile at you like the two of you shared a secret.
"You're late," Jungkook said, not even looking up to look at you.
"By only four minutes," you answered.
"Four minutes I didn't have."
"Then you should've told your mother not to schedule this in the first place," you scoffed.
That finally made him look up from his phone. Something changed across his face, you could tell that Jungkook was surprised that you answered back at him instead of backing down like he seemed to expect you to do.
You remembered, vaguely, a boy who was gentle to you. There was very little of him left in the man frowning at you now, and you hated that some part of you still mourned the loss of someone you barely knew anymore.
"You don't remember me, do you?" Jungkook asked.
"Oh, I remember you," you said, “though you used to be nicer."
"You used to be shorter," Jungkook said, rolling his eyes at you.
You ordered coffee neither of you touched and spent the next forty minutes arguing about the wedding neither of you wanted.
And some small, foolish part of you enjoyed that meeting because arguing with Jungkook meant he was looking at you. It meant you mattered enough to annoy him.
It meant, for those forty minutes at least, you managed to take up space in his mind.
♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡
You married him six weeks later, on a bright Saturday in August, in a dress that cost more than your mother's monthly salary, in a ballroom filled with flowers your mother-in-law chose without consulting you.
The man standing in front of you was not the boy who once found you behind a curtain during a hide-and-seek game.
Jungkook shook your hand instead of kissing you when the officiant told him he could. He even came up with a charming joke about how shaking hands was an inside joke between the two of you, which made the room laugh.
When you told Suji and Taehyung that you were marrying Jungkook, neither of them believed you. It happened too quickly, you have never told them you were in a relationship, there was no engagement or anything that might have explained how the two of you have gone from never speaking to planning a wedding.
You could not tell them about the debt. You didn’t want them to be angry with your mom, so you insisted it was a long time coming. You told them you have always loved Jungkook and that, somewhere along the way, he secretly started to feel the same way.
Suji and Taehyung did not believe that either, of course they didn’t, they knew Jungkook has always liked Suji. They just didn’t want you to know it, that was what they have been protecting you from since you were ten. So, at the wedding, neither of them cried. Even Jimin and Yejin didn’t bother to congratulate you either.
Suji only held your hands for a moment, while Taehyung stood beside her with an expression you couldn’t bring yourself to read.
“We’re here for you,” Suji said.
“Anytime,” Taehyung added.
You couldn’t tell whether that was a warning, but you knew then that they knew something you didn’t.
♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡
Jungkook’s hand on your waist during the first dance felt cold, because he was touching you only because the event expected him to. He never pulled you closer or whispered something sweet in between of the dance. His eyes stayed fixed somewhere over your shoulder, while you moved together with the applause of people who believed they were watching two people in love.
Later, in a hotel suite far too large for two people who had nothing to say to each other, you and Jungkook sat at opposite ends of the couch, still dressed in your wedding clothes.
Jungkook's tie had been pulled loose and the top buttons of his shirt were undone. Your veil was folded beside you and the hand bouquet of flowers were placed right between the two of you.
“Just so we’re clear, we’re only married on paper,” Jungkook eventually said.
Jungkook didn’t think he was being cruel to you. If anything, he believed he was doing you a kindness by being honest from the beginning.
“I won’t cheat on you. I can’t afford to have my company being caught up in a scandal,” he continued, “but I’m not going to treat you like a wife. As far as I’m concerned, you’re just my roommate.”
“Okay,” you said.
It was the only word you could utter at that moment.
You did not know how to explain how his words made you feel. You only knew that you already decided Jungkook would never see you cry over something he clearly would never think was worth grieving.
You changed out of your wedding dress in the bathroom because it felt strange to do it in front of a husband who barely looked at you since the ceremony.
That night, you slept on opposite sides of the same bed, with a pillow placed between the two of you like a line neither of you was meant to cross.
By the time you woke up the next morning, Jungkook was already gone.
At the very least, Jungkook had the decency to leave a note on the counter with his flight time. Much later in the marriage, you would realize it was the first of countless mornings that started the same way:
waking up to find out that Jungkook already left.
♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡
first year of marriage
Jungkook moved into the guest room during the very first day you started living together. That first night, you lay awake in the enormous bed you were apparently meant to have all to yourself, listening to the faint sounds of Jungkook moving around the apartment.
Then during the first year of your marriage, you found yourself keeping track of everything Jungkook never did.
You stupidly believed that if you counted the nights he came home, the meals you shared, and the times he looked at you like he cared about you, then you might be able to prove that things were getting better. And when they did not, the numbers became proof that you had not imagined how lonely the marriage made you feel.
You hated that you cared enough to count it all and you hated yourself even more for still waiting for Jungkook to change.
Pathetic did not feel like a strong enough word for measuring your marriage by how little your husband gave you, only to find yourself disappointed each time the answer was almost nothing.
You counted the nights he came home before midnight: 11 out of 365 days.
You counted the meals you ate at the same table: 4, and two of those were during the week his grandmother visited. To Jungkook, keeping up appearances to his family mattered more than whatever existed between the two of you.
You counted the number of times he asked how your day was: 0.
Well, what did you really expect?
This was an arranged marriage, and Jungkook chose you because he knew you would be easy to please without ever having to worry that you might leave the marriage. At some point, you realized maybe Jungkook had always known how you felt about him. Perhaps that was why he had chosen you as his wife in the first place.
Yet what some stupid part of you wanted was to know undoubtedly that he cared for you, even just a little.
Whenever you were out with friends and thought of him, you would bring something home and leave it on the counter with a note telling him it was his to eat or drink.
By morning, the food was always still sitting there on the counter, clearly untouched.
Jungkook never ate any of the food you brought home for him, not once that entire year. So eventually, you stopped being surprised and then, sometime near the end of the first year, you stopped bringing anything home at all.
♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡
Family holidays were the worst because Jungkook never bothered to show up. So you had to act and lie to everyone around you that the marriage was fine and Jungkook is just one busy businessman.
“He’s on a business trip,” you told your mother at Chuseok, “the company’s expanding into three new markets this quarter. He barely has time to sleep.”
“He’s swamped with work,” you told Suji at your father’s memorial dinner. That was the one day you truly wanted him there. Just once, you wanted your fake husband to stand beside you at your father’s grave, so you didn't have to lie when you were already drowning in grief and sadness. “Jungkook sends his condolences,” you added.
He did not.
You made it up, the way you always did. He did not come because he did not want to, because you were not worth giving up even a single hour of his life for. You could not say any of that to the people who loved you, not yet and maybe not ever.
Besides, you had no one to blame but yourself.
No one had forced you to say yes. Your mother would have been fine if she had to keep paying the debt, even if it took the rest of her life, and you could have helped her without marrying Jungkook. There were always other choices you could have picked, harder ones perhaps, but they always existed.
Yet you chose this route.
You walked into the marriage willingly because some foolish part of you wanted an answer to the question you’ve always had since you were ten: what would happen if Jungkook chose you to be his partner?
Well, now, the adult version of you know.
♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡
What you didn't know that first year was that Jungkook noticed all the empty containers more than he let on, he noticed all the food you brought home for him to consume.
Jungkook would come home late most nights, and sometimes later than he actually needed to, because coming home early meant having to sit in the same room as you, and Jungkook never knew what to say to you.
He would see the food you left for him on the counter with a small note on top of it. And every time he saw it, something in his chest felt weird. Jungkook told himself what he felt had to be guilt, there was no other reason for him to care about you.
A few times, Jungkook found himself standing in the kitchen in the middle of the night, holding the food you brought home and he would just stare at it for a while before putting it back exactly where you left it. Because he didn’t want you to know he had even looked or noticed the effort you put in for him.
To Jungkook, the whole point of this marriage was revenge.
You ruined his life, so he was ruining yours.
♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡
second year of marrtiage
By the second year of your arranged marriage, you were used to the coldness between you and Jungkook. You stopped hoping for him to change his ways, you stopped waiting for him at dinner and setting out a second plate.
You started going to Suji's for girls’ nights and coming home late on purpose, just to see if Jungkook would notice and he never did. Thankfully, it didn't hurt you as much as it would have in the first year. Most nights, he was either still out or locked inside his study. Sometimes the light under the door was the only sign that he was even home.
The apartment stayed exactly the same whether you were there or not.
At New Year, your aunt cornered you before dinner, “Where’s your husband? We’ve only met him twice in two years, and one of those times was at your wedding.”
“He’s closing a deal in Singapore,” you answered easily as lying about Jungkook was almost natural by now, “it’s a big one, so he had to be there.”
What she did not know was that you cried in your car before coming upstairs. You gave yourself exactly ten minutes to cry, sitting in the dark parking lot with the engine off and your forehead pressed against the steering wheel. Once ten minutes were over, you went upstairs to greet your family and smiled as if nothing was wrong.
It was also during the second year that you flew to Jeju for the wedding of one of Jungkook’s business partners.
You assumed you would sit together since it was still a public appearance. It felt stupid now, standing at the gate of priority passengers with your boarding pass in hand, but you didn’t think to check your tickets until Jungkook told you.
“I’m flying first class,” he said, “you’re in economy.”
“Oh,” you forced a small laugh, trying to sound as if it didn’t bother you, “I thought you would’ve booked us seats next to each other.”
“Economy seat should be fine for you. It’s only three hours.”
You spent the flight in a middle seat between two strangers, leaning past the person beside you whenever you wanted to look out the window.
Years ago, you believed being noticed by Jungkook would feel like winning something.
Now you were his wife, and he couldn’t even be bothered to sit beside you.
When the plane landed, he was not waiting for you, just as you expected. You had to book a taxi to the hotel alone and texted him to say you have arrived. And his only reply was the number of the room you had to share together since most of his colleagues and friends are staying in the same hotel.
When you let yourself into the room, he was on a call, feet up on the balcony railing as he sat on the balcony couch. It was thankfully an ensuite room with 2 separate beds, so you didn’t have to share a bed with him. Your only interaction with Jungkook then was when he lifted his finger in front of his mouth to tell you to be silent as he was talking on the phone.
At the wedding reception, you sat at a table full of his friends, who happened to be the group he used to hang out with at school, and you smiled throughout a dinner where no one asked you a single question about yourself, because to them you were simply "Jungkook's wife.”
You weren’t paying much attention to the conversation until one of the women at the table turned to you, “Is that even a real Van Cleef?” she asked, nodding at your bracelet, “it doesn’t look like it.”
“It isn’t,” you said, “it was handmade by a small business.”
“Huh,” she looked at it again, her mouth twisting slightly in disgust.
Another woman leaned closer, “Don’t you think you should make more of an effort with Jungkook’s friends? You never come to any of our gatherings. We barely know anything about you besides the fact that you’re Suji’s younger sister.”
Jungkook has never invited you to any of those gatherings, but you couldn’t tell them that, it would only give them something else to laugh about, “I’ve been busy,” you said.
“Jungkook is much busier than you,” one of the men cut in.
The first woman looked at you again, “You should be more careful about how you dress too, wearing cheap jewellery makes your husband look bad.”
It was not as if Jungkook has ever given you money to buy anything, not that you would have taken it even if he had.
“I see,” you muttered.
You stared at her bracelet before standing up from your seat, “Well, at least mine was made responsibly by someone who was paid fairly,” you said, “can you say the same about yours? Or do you just not care about the children who had to mine the diamond and stones as long as your jewellery came in an expensive box?”
Then you picked up your bag and walked away before any of them could answer.
Later, near the bar, you overheard your husband's name.
"Jungkook, honestly, I always thought you would end up with the sister. Suji, right? The one who's married to Taehyung now? She would've made more sense since you had always fancied Suji too. I mean, no offense, your wife seemed sweet, I guess, but.."
"She doesn't really fit in with us, does she?" someone else said, finishing the sentence the other couldn’t.
You turned away before you could hear Jungkook’s response, already heading back towards a table where you felt just as out of place, then his voice stopped you mid-step.
“Yeah,” Jungkook answered, sounding almost bored, “I guess Suji would’ve made more sense for me.”
That was the day you found out Jungkook fancied your sister.
You waited until you were in the hotel bathroom to cry. You locked the door, sat on the closed toilet lid, and pressed both hands over your mouth because Jungkook was somewhere on the other side of the wall and you could not let him hear you.
It should not have hurt as much as it did, you knew he did not love you. Jungkook made that clear from the first night of your marriage.
But knowing he did not want you was different from finding out he liked your own sister.
Suddenly, everything made sense to you.
The way Taehyung and Suji looked at each other when you announced the marriage to them and the way they never congratulated you. They knew, everyone knew except you.
And the worst part was remembering that you told them you have always loved Jungkook, and that he secretly liked you too.
♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡
A few weeks later, back home, you went to dinner at one of Jungkook’s business partner’s houses. You wore the nicest outfit you owned, but you knew the second you walked in that it still was not enough for them.
One of the wives looked you up and down before smiling, “Cute,” she said.
And you knew it was not a compliment.
“No ring upgrade yet?” another woman asked during dessert, nodding at the plain band on your finger, “Jungkook usually doesn’t do anything halfway. I guess he’s saving the good jewellery for later.”
“She likes simple things,” Jungkook said without looking at you and then he continued, “Suji always said less is more too.”
You quickly excused yourself and went to the bathroom before your face gave you away. When you came back, they were talking about Suji, about how smart and impressive she was.
“You know,” one of his friends said to you as he refilled his glass, “we always thought Jungkook would end up with your sister. You seem sweet, but Suji and Jungkook would’ve made much more sense together.”
“None taken,” you said. This was a conversation you have heard before, so you didn’t really care much of it, at least that was what you thought.
You looked at Jungkook across the table and waited for him to say something, but he didn’t. Jungkook could have told them to stop. He could have done anything that made you feel like you were not just the wrong sister sitting in Suji’s place. But instead, he looked away and didn’t even bother to correct them.
You didn’t speak during the entire drive home, Jungkook didn’t ask what was wrong or maybe he didn’t even notice how your silence was different, or maybe every silence with you sounded the same to him.
♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡
The next morning, you tried to talk to him about it, because some stubborn, hopeful part of you still believed that if you just explained it clearly enough, he would understand how you felt.
"You compared me to my sister in front of your friends," you said, over coffee he was drinking standing up, already half way out the door.
"It wasn't a big deal," he said, checking his watch, “it was a joke."
"It didn't feel like a joke."
"I don't have time for this right now," he said, "can we talk about it tonight?"
You knew, even as you nodded, that tonight would turn into tomorrow, and tomorrow would become some vague promise of “later”. By then, you already knew what later meant with Jungkook, it meant never.
♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡
What you did not know was that Jungkook kept thinking about what he said in Jeju.
“Suji would’ve made more sense.”
The words came back to him at random times; in the shower, in the elevator, during meetings when he was supposed to be listening, and he kept telling himself it was true. Suji was always the one he wanted and everyone knew that.
Still, he could not understand why saying it had made him feel so bad.
Jungkook should not have felt guilty. You were the reason he lost Suji in the first place. You were the reason she had chosen Taehyung and left him behind.
So if anyone deserved to feel guilty, it was you.
Later that year, on a night you were out, he opened the cabinet and took out two plates without thinking. He stared at them for a few seconds before putting one back.
You stopped setting a place for him months ago, but he watched you do it so many times during the first year that the habit had somehow stayed with him. He stood there longer than he needed to, wondering why he reached for two plates when he knew you were not coming home.
For years, Suji had been the person Jungkook believed he wanted. His friends still mentioned her like she was some great love he lost, and he let himself believe that was true because it gave him a reason to stay angry.
But whenever Jungkook tried to remember her, his mind kept going somewhere else. He remembered sitting at your family’s kitchen table, helping you finish a puzzle because no one else wanted to. Jungkook remembered finding you behind the curtain during hide-and-seek, and he remembered how easily you used to laugh around him.
Jungkook has not heard your laugh in a long time and that bothered him more than he wanted to admit.
One night, while you were out celebrating a friend’s birthday, he sat alone in the living room with a drink in his hand. He remembered you mentioning the party, though he couldn’t remember whether you told him directly or if he saw the birthday card on the counter.
Jungkook looked around the apartment and thought that you were probably happier when he was not there.
And Jungkook did not like that thought. He did not like knowing that you could leave the apartment and become a completely different person around everyone else; someone happier.
He poured his drink into the sink and went to bed early.
Jungkook told himself what he was feeling towards you was guilt that would pass if he ignored it long enough.
It did not.
♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡
third year of marriage
By the third year of marriage, you stopped hoping at all.
Whatever hope you carried into the marriage was nowhere to be found. You could not remember the exact moment it happened, you only knew that one day, you stopped expecting anything from Jungkook.
The two of you have been living separate lives under the same roof.
You paid for half of everything, the groceries, bills, and all the other small expenses neither of you ever discussed.
You have also gotten even better at lying during family gatherings; “he’s travelling,” “he’s busy,” or “the company is going through an important season.” You said the same excuses so often that the lies came out without any effort nowadays, even Suji stopped asking you questions about Jungkook.
“You know you don’t have to keep covering for him,” Suji said quietly at your mother’s birthday after you finished explaining Jungkook’s empty chair for the hundredth time, “we’re not going to think less of you if you tell us the truth.”
“I know,” you said.
You just didn’t have the energy to say it out loud. Once you told them, they would worry, they would ask what you planned to do, they would want you to leave him, and then you would have to explain why you even stayed for so long.
Some nights, you sat alone in the apartment and thought about how long it has been. Three whole years; you have spent three years living with someone who barely knew you.
You counted everything during the first year, but eventually, you stopped doing so. The amount of things Jungkook has done for you has become too embarrassing. There was no point keeping track of shared meals when there were barely any to count.
You feel like a different person now, sometimes, you almost feel sorry for yourself.
You waited so long for your knight to choose you, never knowing that when he finally did, it would be the very thing that broke you apart.
♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡
Sometime during the third year of the marriage, Jungkook finally began to understand something he spent most of his life getting wrong.
It has never really been Suji.
For years, he has been so sure she was the one he wanted. Suji was beautiful, confident, and always at the centre of everything. Everyone liked her, so wanting her had always made sense to Jungkook, especially when everyone around him seemed to expect it.
But when Jungkook thought back to the years he spent at your family's house as a kid, the memories that stayed with him were never really about Suji.
It was you sitting beside him at the kitchen table, asking for help with a puzzle even though you were too shy to look directly at him. It was you hiding behind the curtain during hide-and-seek and him trying not to laugh when he found you. It was the way you used to save him a seat at lunch, the way you followed him around when you were younger, the way your face lit up whenever he paid attention to you, as if he'd done something far kinder than he actually did.
Somehow, Jungkook took all of those memories and put Suji's name all over them instead. Maybe it was because Suji was his age, and she fit so easily into the rest of his life. You have only ever been Suji's little sister, or at least that was what he always told himself. And the truth came to him slowly, then all at once.
It would have been easier if Jungkook could have kept blaming you.
Jungkook was sixteen when he finally found the courage to tell Suji how he felt, he was certain she felt the same way, only for her to turn him down. Suji told him she liked Taehyung, not him. Then she told him that even if she felt differently, she could never be with him. She told him that she couldn't bear the thought of you finding out that the boy you adored since you were ten had fallen for your own sister instead.
That was the day Jungkook decided you were the reason he lost Suji. He never could decide who he was angrier at; you for telling her first or Suji for choosing you over him.
And Jungkook found it easier to be angry at you.
He told himself for years that marrying you was a way of taking back what he lost, except somewhere in the second year of your marriage, the plan stopped feeling like justice and started feeling like something he will regret his whole life.
Because somewhere in that same year, without meaning to, Jungkook started noticing you.
He noticed that he memorised the sound of your keys in the door. He noticed he wasn't surprised your mug was blue, because he remembered you telling him back when you were still a kid that blue was your favourite colour.
Jungkook started noticing the shows you watched in the living room that he could hear from his room, the nights you came home late and laughed quietly on the phone before disappearing into your bedroom, and the way the apartment felt different when you were gone.
He noticed you took your coffee black in the mornings but liked your tea with milk at night. Jungkook noticed the light under your door usually went out around midnight, and on the nights it didn't, he found himself lying awake wondering what was keeping you up.
Jungkook noticed how you would go still for a second before answering your mother's calls, then soften your voice the moment you picked up. He noticed you still bit the inside of your cheek when you were concentrating, exactly the way you did at ten years old.
He spent years insisting he had no interest in getting to know you, and somewhere along the way, he memorised you completely.
He even started coming home earlier on the nights he knew you would be there; early enough that he could hear you moving around in the kitchen, or catch a glimpse of you before you went to bed.
Jungkook remembered that night in Jeju more clearly than he wanted to. He watched you leave the table after his friends made fun of your bracelet, and for a second, he almost went after you. Yet he did nothing instead and later at the bar, he told someone that Suji would have made more sense for him. It was just easy to say because he has been telling himself the same thing for years.
It was easier to believe he lost Suji than to admit he was ruining whatever chance he had with you.
The night he finally realised it, he tried to think about Suji, tried to search for whatever he spent years insisting was still there and there was nothing. Whatever he felt for Suji disappeared a long time ago. Jungkook only kept holding onto it because it felt familiar, because blaming you was easier than admitting he was the one in the wrong.
He knew more about you than he ever bothered to learn about Suji, and that was when he finally understood that all along, the person he has been thinking about was you.
Somewhere in the middle of an arranged marriage he agreed to as a revenge, Jungkook had fallen for the person he was punishing, and he only realised it after you had already stopped caring whether he came home.
The only question left was whether Jungkook had realised he witnessed your devotion too late.
♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡
You didn’t come home that night, instead you called your sister for an emergency meeting at your mom’s place, "Come by mom’s house tonight," you pleaded, "please."
Suji and Taehyung were already there when you arrived.
You sat down at the kitchen table where you grew up doing homework, "I need to tell you guys something," you said.
So you told them about how he treated you, you told them the reason behind the empty chair at every holiday, and every single thing that happened during your marriage.
The moment you stopped talking, your mother went to her knees in the middle of the kitchen. You have never, in twenty-six years, seen your mother on her knees for anything, not even at your father's funeral where she stood so straight and so still you worried she had forgotten how to bend her knees
"I did this to you," your mother cried out, and she was frantic in a way you have never once witnessed, her hands were shaking as she reached for yours, "I owe them the money, not you. I sold you to fix my own mistake and I have watched you smile through three years of a marriage that's been eating you alive and I told myself it was fine because you never once complained, because you're so good at never complaining, and I am so sorry, I am so sorry, please forgive me."
You dropped to your knees and held her, and you cried the way you haven’t let yourself cry in years. You cried until your throat was hurting, until Suji came around the table and wrapped her arms around both of you, until Taehyung stood a few feet away with his jaw tight and his hands curled into fists.
"It's okay," you said, when you could speak again,"I'll always help you, Mom. I mean that, I’ll help you pay that debt. But this time, I want a divorce."
Suji was already standing next to you, and the look on her face was one you'd never seen there before, "I am going to kill him," she said, “I’m sorry, ____. I never.. I should have known. I should have asked you harder. I should have protected you."
"Don't," you said, “please. I don't want any of you doing anything. I don't want him in my life anymore, and I don't want to spend one more minute of my energy on him. I just want it to be over. I want to be done."
They didn't like it.
You could see in all of their faces that it was hurting them not to do anything in your stead. But they loved you enough to hear you out.
For the first time in three years you slept in your childhood bedroom, and that night, you slept better than you have in a long, long time.
♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡
At first, Jungkook didn’t think much of it when you weren’t home. You went out sometimes. Three years of marriage taught him your routine; Tuesdays with your girlfriends; the occasional weekend at your mother’s.
Jungkook came home the first night to an empty apartment, ordered food, and ate it standing at the kitchen counter. Your disappearance didn’t seem unusual enough for him to question it.
By the second day, the apartment felt different and he couldn’t immediately work out why. The coffee maker hadn’t been used, there was no bitter smell in the kitchen when he walked in that morning and the mug you always used for tea was still sitting where he left it two days ago.
Jungkook looked at it for longer than he should have, then he checked the entryway for your shoes and they weren’t there. An hour later, Jungkook checked again, and still you weren’t back home.
By the third day, he texted you.
Jungkook: You okay?
No message came back. He stared at the screen until it dimmed in his hand again, and when Jungkook unlocked it, there was still nothing.
By the fourth day, the uneasiness became too loud for him to ignore. It followed him into the shower, the car, and the office. Jungkook sat through meetings without taking in a word. Jungkook asked his assistant to repeat what they just said three times, and afterwards Jungkook still couldn’t remember what they were even discussing.
Jungkook called you once in the afternoon, then again on the drive home, but both calls went to voicemail.
Jungkook wasn’t used to this.
Jungkook is used to handling problems, hell, he has built companies and sat across from men twice his age and made them agree to terms they had sworn they would never accept. Jungkook knew how to remain calm when everyone else in the room was losing their mind.
But that night, at two in the morning, Jungkook lay awake thinking about one unanswered text, thinking about where you were, if you were eating well, if you were sleeping soundly, if you will ever come back home to him.
When did he become like this?
By the fifth day, Jungkook drove past your mother’s street twice.
The first time, he told himself he had taken the wrong turn. The second time, he slowed down near your house and looked for a light in the windows. Jungkook wanted proof that you were there, that you were somewhere and you didn’t simply disappear beyond his reach.
Jungkook hated how badly he needed you. He opened your contact on his phone again and again but never pressed call, his thumb only hovered over your name until the screen went dark again.
The past three years of marriage have been made up of small things he never should have done. The meals you prepared that he barely touched, the questions he answered without looking at you, the evenings when you sat beside him and eventually stopped trying to start a conversation.
You tried to make a life with him, yet Jungkook treated every attempt as an inconvenience.
For years, he told himself that he was the victim, that Suji was the person he should have been married to. But when Jungkook forced himself to remember exactly why he liked Suji, he felt nothing.
What Jungkook remembered was always you and everything the two of you had done together. He remembered a girl half his size sitting across from him, looking up at him like he was her world. He remembered playing hide-and-seek with you and he remembered pretending not to see you.
Jungkook always said Suji was the person he was the happiest with, but all the memories that felt warm to him, belonged to you.
Admitting the truth would have meant admitting that Jungkook spent years hurting the wrong person. And tonight, Jungkook sat alone in the living room and finally clearly admitted the one he always wanted was you.
Jungkook didn’t want a divorce and he did not want you to leave him.
When he imagined the apartment being empty of your things, Jungkook’s chest started hurting. When he imagined another man hearing you laugh, learning what food you liked, being invited to your mother’s house, he felt something pressing against his chest that it was hard for him to breathe.
Jungkook wanted you to remain his wife and the thought made him feel ashamed of all the things he had done to you the past three years.
“My wife,” Jungkook said to his empty apartment.
♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡
Jungkook tried to call Suji, but she didn’t answer. So, the next morning, he called Taehyung and to his surprise, Taehyung answered on the second ring.
“Stay away from my family,” was all Taehyung said when he picked up.
“I knew you had feelings for my wife,” Taehyung continued, “I have known for years, I knew since we were children, Jungkook. I didn’t say anything because I thought you would get over it. I thought it was some pathetic thing from when we were younger that would eventually die out.”
“Taehyung,” Jungkook tried to cut him off, but Taehyung wouldn’t let him.
“No. You don’t get to say shit. It’s been years,” Taehyung said, “and while you were busy feeling sorry for yourself, you destroyed her sister. Three years, Jungkook. She carried your marriage alone for three years and still smiled through every family dinner because she didn’t want anyone worrying about her. We recently found out it was an arranged marriage, fine, you didn’t have to love her, but you could have treated her decently.”
“You knew she didn’t deserve it,” Taehyung continued, “that’s the part I can’t understand. You knew exactly who she was, and you still treated her like she was responsible for everything you hated about your life.”
“I know.”
“No, you don’t,” Taehyung let out a short and bitter laugh, “But I hope you do now. I hope you finally understand what you’ve done, and I hope you feel every second of it.”
Then the call ended.
Jungkook spent years blaming you for a decision neither of you had made. Every humiliation, disappointment, and every bit of grief he carried since he was seventeen, he somehow found a way to make it yours.
It was easier than looking at you, who stayed beside him and asked for so little, and realising he had still given you even less than that.
Now you were gone and there was no one left for him to blame but himself.
Jungkook was not the man he always imagined himself to be. He was pathetic, petty, cowardly, and far smaller than the woman he spent three years treating like nobody.
Jungkook has been nothing but a pathetic, petty and frightened boy wearing a man’s face.
♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡
The next day, Jungkook went to your mother's house.
She opened the door and just looked at Jungkook with disappointment across her face. It was the same look she gave him when he didn’t kiss you at the altar.
"I'm not here to see her," Jungkook quickly said, before your mom could close the door, "I know she doesn't want to see me yet. I'm here because I need to say something to you, and I need you to hear me out."
She didn’t say anything, yet she opened the door wide enough to let him in. Unlike the other guests who have visited her home, your mother did not offer Jungkook tea. There was no need to treat him like an acquaintance, soon Jungkook will be her ex son-in-law and someone whom she’ll never ever meet in her life again.
She sat him at the same kitchen table where you cried just a few nights before.
"I owe your family a lot of money," she said, folding her hands in front of her, "I understand that. I understand this was an arranged marriage none of you asked for or wanted, and that you were as much a pawn in it as my daughter was.”
She drew in a small breath before continuing, “What I do not understand, Jungkook, is how you could treat another human being, my daughter, the kindest person I have ever raised and the one who never once in her life made anyone feel small… How could you have treated her the way you have done the past three years? I am in as much pain watching what this did to her as she is living it, maybe even more, because I was the one who put her in this situation with you in the first place. So tell me, why should I forgive you? Why should I let you anywhere near her again? What exactly do you intend to do?"
Jungkook has never been shaken by anything in his life, not until tonight, sitting in front of your mother.
"I don't have a clear answer," he said, "I wish I did. I spent years being angry at _____ for something that was never even her fault, something I won't even go into right now, because it's mine to explain to her first. And then I spent three more years married to her and still treating her like she was the one who wronged me. I'm not asking you to forgive me."
Jungkook looked at her, and he looked so broken your mother couldn’t help pitying him, "I'm asking for the chance to keep showing up until it means something to her. I'll beg for her forgiveness, I'll keep coming back even when she tells me not to, even when she has every right to slam the door in my face. But we'll talk, we'll argue, we'll probably fight, more than once, because I don't think she's going to make this easy for me, and she shouldn't and I wouldn’t want her to. I just know I can't bring myself to just let this end without actually trying for the first time in this whole marriage. I want to be someone worth her time. Without knowing it, I realised that the small things she has done throughout our marriage was never small at all. She loved me despite the ugly things I have done. I was just too busy being furious at my past to notice I was standing next to the person I actually wanted."
Your mother stared at him for a long moment, long enough that Jungkook thought she might ask him to leave without another word.
Her marriage to your father hadn’t always been easy. There were years of arguments over parenting, finance, and many more. There were years where she wondered if she married too young.
But when he died, something in her broke apart and it never quite put itself back together.
She remembered how you used to climb into their bed on Sunday mornings, how your father would let you win at cards, how you cried at his funeral so quietly like you were trying not to take up too much space even in your own grief.
you see, your mother knew about your crush on Jungkook. She watched you for sixteen years, she saw the way your face changed whenever Jungkook's name came up at the dinner table, and pretended not to notice the way you used to volunteer to answer the door whenever Suji’s group of friends came around, just in case it was Jungkook. She knew, long before you ever confessed to it, that you had loved him since you were a child.
And when she told you about the arranged marriage, some small, guilty part of her had let herself believe that maybe this could help. Maybe if she was going to ruin your life with her mistake, it could at least be with the one person you had always wanted to have a relationship with.
She was wrong.
She watched that hope change into something else these past three years, watching you get smaller in ways you thought she hadn't noticed, watching you repeating lies about a man who could not even be bothered to accompany you for your own father’s death anniversaries.
She was, is, a bad mother for that.
But she also knew you. She knew that if she asked you right now, whether some part of you still wanted to know if he was willing to try, you wouldn’t say no.
"Sit up straight," she finally said, and Jungkook blinked at her, caught off guard.
"I'm sorry?"
"You heard me," your mother’s voice was firm and steady, "If you're going to sit in my kitchen and tell me you intend to fight for my daughter, you're not going to do it slouched over like a boy waiting to be punished. Fighting for her means showing up like you mean it, every time, starting now."
Jungkook immediately straightened his posture.
"I'm not telling you this because I forgive you," she continued, "I will not forgive you for a long time, and that will be my right to decide, just as it will be hers."
She took a deep breath, before continuing, "But I have spent three years watching my daughter lie to the people who love her because she didn't want anyone to know how badly you have hurt her. If you're serious, then you do not need to convince me. You show her, you keep showing it to her, and you need to accept that she may never let you back in, and you don't get to be angry about it, not after all the years you've taken from her already."
"She was ten years old the first time she talked to me about you," she said quietly, "I used to think it was sweet. I didn't know I was watching the beginning of something that would be a long time pain for her. So if she gives you a second chance, you do not waste whatever time she gives you, Jungkook. She has given enough of it away for free, do you understand me?"
"I understand," he said.
♡━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━♡
You came home from a work trip three days later and found Jungkook sitting at your family home’s dining table, his laptop open and a stack of papers beside him like it was any other weekday.
He was sitting there as if it wasn’t your first time seeing him since you walked out of the home you shared with him.
"What the fuck are you doing here?” you sneered.
Your keys were clenched in your hand, and your entire body went rigid at the sight of him sitting in a chair at your family home.
"I'm here to date you," he said, slowly looking up at you.
You stared at him in disbelief, "You are here to what?"
“Date you,” Jungkook said as he closed his laptop, “I want to date you properly this time.”
For a second, all you could do was look at him.
"I know what I did,” Jungkook continued, “I know what three years of this marriage to me did to you. I'm not asking you to forget it. I just.. I want the chance to earn what I should’ve earned before we ever got married.”
You let out a dry and humourless laugh, before asking, “What the fuck?!”
You dropped your keys onto the counter, and they hit harder than you intended it to be, “You think you can just show up here and ask to start over?”
“No matter what you do, my heart is not going to change, Jungkook. I'm not a child anymore. I know better than to give you a second chance, hell, I gave you a hundred chances over the last three years and you didn't take a single one.”
“You are beneath me now,” you said quietly, “do you understand that?”
“Then give me one last chance,” Jungkook said, almost pleading.
“Let me court you,” he continued, “let me date you the way I should have the past three years.”
You didn’t answer.
You just walked past him and went to get changed.
You were meeting your friends that night, and had no intention of spending another minute in that kitchen listening to Jungkook act like he could fix three years with a few words.
He stayed where he was while you moved around the house, but you could feel his eyes on you. It shouldn’t have felt unfamiliar, he was your husband. Still, you couldn’t remember the last time he actually noticed you.
but you hated that your body enjoyed the feeling of being noticed by him, hated that some part of you still wanted to be seen by him.
"Can I come?" he asked, from the living room, he sounded quieter than you have ever heard him speak, “I would love to get to know your friends.”
You scoffed out loud in response and left without answering him.
When the door shut behind you, something in your body felt at ease because for the first time in years, your life felt like it belonged entirely to you again.
Dealing with tantrums, especially at the grocery shop, isn’t something Jungkook wants to deal with, ever. Yet here he is.
➪ PAIRING; jungkook x reader
➪ GENRE; fluff
➪ TAGS; established relationship, girl dad jk, fluff, dealing with toddler tantrum, jk is highkey stressed
➪ WORDCOUNT; 1.6k
𐚁₊⊹
▎21 JULY 2026
Jungkook was no stranger to tantrums. Life with a toddler came with its fair share of screaming, tears and dramatic flops onto the floor. They were practically a normal part of his life, and yours too. He had seen it all, or so he thought.
It was more of an event than a tantrum. Even your cat Marshmallow would retreat upstairs in your shared bedroom and hide under the bed when she would hear the first series of your daughter’s high-pitched cries. Even she knew better than to get involved.
But today’s meltdown deserved its own category, because it was a whole new level. He was talking about full-volume wailing, fists pounding and legs kicking.
Jungkook held Areum tight against his chest as she screamed like her world was ending. Her tiny face was blotchy and soaked with tears, while she thrashed her legs and flailed her arms like she was fighting for her life. Every kick hit with surprising force for someone barely three feet tall. Her cries bounced off the aisles and echoed down the rows of cereal and canned soup.
People were definitely staring, there was no doubt about that. Some gave that ‘I’ve been there’ look of sympathy, while others pretended not to look while clearly listening. A few just sighed or whispered to each other, probably judging both your parenting skills from a safe distance. Jungkook could feel some heat rising in his face, but he didn’t let go. He survived public tantrums before, but this one could probably be heard in the parking lot.
You walked a few steps ahead with both hands on the shopping trolley, trying to look calm and composed. Your face was the picture of neutrality. There was no frustration nor embarrassment. But Jungkook knew you way too well. The tightness around your mouth and the way your shoulders tensed every time someone turned to stare gave it all away of how it was getting to you.
Letting out a slow breath, you looked back at your husband. “She’s really going for it today” you said, almost in disbelief.
“Oh, you think?” Jungkook muttered, tightening his hold as Areum twisted like a tiny hurricane which nearly smacked his baseball cap clean off. “She wanted the chocolate chip cookies and I said no. Apparently that was the worst mistake of my life.”
You gave a small, weary laugh that didn’t quite reach your eyes, then reached out to grab a box of cereal. Any cereal really, just something to make it look like you were still focused on shopping and not the human siren wailing behind you.
“People are staring Jungkook” you mumbled loud enough for your husband to hear you.
Jungkook didn’t even need to look up to know people were staring. He could feel the burn of every side-eye and judgmental looks shooting the back of his neck. The sound of Areum’s cries was basically filling every quiet gap in the store.
An older woman pushed her shopping trolley past while shaking her head with that tight-lipped expression only grandparents seemed to have mastered. The ‘in my day, kids knew how to behave’ look. While a man by the dairy section paused mid–milk grab and shot Jungkook the ‘control your kid’ kind of look.
Jungkook bit back a sigh. He wasn’t oblivious. He knew it was chaos. But what did they expect him to do? Negotiate with a two-year-old terrorist in aisle seven? He strengthened his grip on Areum as she kicked again, her sobs turning hiccupy and wild. He tried to focus on breathing instead of bolting for the exit.
Jungkook adjusted his grip again and started bouncing Areum gently, trying to soothe her even as she squirmed and kicked against his chest. “Bubba, please,” he cooed to her. His voice was soft, but fraying around the edges.
As he brushed a few damp curls off her forehead, he could see how her little face was hot and streaked with tears. “I know you’re upset baby, but we can’t get cookies right now. We’ll have a snack when we get home, okay?”
But Areum wasn’t having it. She arched her back even more and threw her head back with a shriek that could’ve shattered glass. Jungkook flinched, and his patience was starting to hang by a thread. He was usually good at staying calm, but this was draining the life out of him. He shot you a look that said ‘please save me’ before actually saying it out loud.
“Any ideas?”
You pursed your lips and thought. Then, you reached into the trolley and pulled out a bag of baby carrots. You crouched a little so you were eye level with your daughter, “Areum, look,” you said as you held the bag up like it was a treasure. “Want some carrots?”
For a moment, there was hope. Areum hiccuped and sniffled as her teary eyes flicked towards the bag. Then, with all the fury a two-year-old could muster, she slapped it away, “NO!” she screamed.
You exhaled through your nose and straightened up before dropping the bag back in the trolley. “Well,” you said dryly, “it was worth a shot.”
Jungkook let out a long, exhausted sigh. His shirt was sticking to his back, his arms ached from holding a squirming toddler, and he could practically feel every judgmental look boring holes into him from all directions. He was done — mentally, physically and emotionally.
But then an idea popped up in his mind. Desperate times, desperate parenting. Maybe it wouldn’t work, but at this point, he was ready to try anything.
He shifted Areum in his arms so she was facing him. “Hey, Bubba,” he said softly with a little playfulness in his tone. “Can you take a deep breath with Daddy?” he asked as he brushed her curls away again.
Areum hiccupped, her tiny chest jerking as she sniffled. She looked at him through her wet lashes, then shook her head with a stubborn little scowl.
Jungkook smiled anyway. He was still surprisingly patient, but clearly running on fumes. “That’s okay,” he said, still rocking her gently. “Daddy’s going to do it anyway.”
Jungkook drew in a loud, exaggerated breath, puffing out his cheeks until they looked ready to pop. “Biiiiig breath in—” he said, drawing out the words like it was part of a magic spell. Then he leaned forward and blew a gentle whoooosh of air right into Areum’s face.
She blinked, clearly startled. Her little chest still heaved from all the crying, but something about the goofy sound, or maybe the puff of air, caught her attention for just a second. Her brow furrowed in curiosity in spite of herself.
Jungkook caught that sparkle of calm and ran with it. “And another one!” he said, doing it again. This time it was even sillier, and with a cartoonish puff of his cheeks. “Whoooosh!”
Areum hiccupped, then let out a small, shaky giggle. It wasn’t much, but it was enough to make your heart unclench. Jungkook grinned in victory. “One more?” he asked softly.
She hesitated, still sniffling, then took in a tiny, uneven breath. With her best attempt at copying her father, she blew it out with a quiet pfff.
And just like that, the grocery store went quiet again. The screaming had stopped and the air felt lighter than ever.
“See how easy that was?” Jungkook said softly, tapping Areum’s nose with his finger. “Screaming and kicking like that won’t get you anywhere Bubba,” he added gently, tone more loving than scolding.
You stepped closer and pulled a tissue from your bag to wipe her tear-streaked cheeks. “You’ve had plenty of sugar this week sweetheart,” you said.
“But Mummy promises she’ll make you a yummy snack when we get home, okay? Something special just for you.”
Areum had clearly run out of steam. Her little shoulders sagged and her sniffles faded into quieter hiccups. Whatever energy she had left from her earlier tantrum was gone and replaced by tiredness. With a few gentle words from you, she was convinced, nodding and resting her head against Jungkook’s chest.
“That’s my good girl,” Jungkook murmured, pressing a kiss to the top of her head and running a soothing hand through her hair.
The rest of the shopping trip was blessedly calm. No more tears, no more ‘I want that one’. And by the time you both reached the car to put the shopping away, she was completely out, fast asleep in her father’s arms.
Jungkook let out a quiet laugh as he buckled her into her car seat. “All that over chocolate chip cookies,” he said, shaking his head.
“But she has to learn that no means no. She can’t always get what she wants.”
You shut the boot door and leaned against the car for a second. “True,” you admitted, though your heart softened as you looked at her peaceful face. “But my poor baby. I hate seeing her cry like that.”
Jungkook looked up at you with a small smile. “Me too. But if we give in once, she’ll think it works every time. Some days we just have to ride it out.”
You sighed, brushing a stray curl from Areum’s cheek. “Parenting is so hard.”
“Yeah,” he said with a quiet laugh, sliding an arm around your waist. “But I think we’re doing alright as a first time parents, you know?”
You rested your head against his arm as he closed the car door. As Jungkook sat in the driver’s seat and you next to him, you saw Areum stir slightly and mumble something about cookies in her sleep. You both couldn’t help but laugh softly.
“Guess she’s still dreaming about them,” you said.
Jungkook smiled. “She’s definitely your daughter.”
