ADHD KISSES ! mdni
Four years in and you still love Jeongguk like breathing — stupidly, fiercely, the kind that feels like home even when his superstar world and your therapy practice pull in opposite directions. He loves you back just as hard, clingy and all-consuming in that uniquely him way. But God, his brain ticks you off sometimes.
WARNINGS ◦ anxiety talks and triggers ◦ non ironic use of jagi i'm so sorry if you don't fuck with that ◦ traces of nerd!jeongguk ◦ mentions of adhd ◦ mention of smoking addiction ◦ established relationship bc i'm feeling lonely these days ◦ use of the government name to prove that i'm an og wattpad army ◦ descriptions of making out ◦ kisses and fluff stuff but also borderline nsfw (he has a boner and that's it) ◦ mention of alcohol AND alcoholism ◦ THIS IS A MESS ◦ reader farts at some point i'm sorry this is what i have to offer
2,190 ━━━━━ drabble idol!jeongguk x reader
۶ৎ 𝓜 , i'm just too good at writing realistic idol aus i know 😌 that's because i personally know all of these fine men irl yk. jk jk. this is the first time i'm writing for jungkook and the second time EVER that i'm writing for bts WHICH IS SOOO IRONIC because they are my ult group lmao. probably going to post more jjk idol aus because this man is so silly and i love his idol persona sm. anyways, enjoy :P
━━━━━ read on ao3
Jeon Jeongguk was the living, breathing epitome of hyperfixation — and right now, that hyperfixation had locked onto some random mobile game he’d discovered at 2 a.m. last night while you were trying to sleep.
You’re both sprawled on the massive low king bed in his master bedroom, the thick ibul comforter kicked halfway off because the man runs hot even in April. Late afternoon light filters through the automatic blinds he keeps forgetting to adjust, painting soft golden stripes across the room. His weird-practical house vibes are everywhere: guitars hanging neatly on one wall like trophies, the triple-monitor gaming rig humming quietly in the corner with cables that look like they lost a war, a mini-fridge stocked with banana milk right by the bed, and dumbbells chilling on the rug like permanent residents. The air smells faintly of the doenjang jjigae you made for lunch earlier — proper Korean comfort food with a side of rice and kimchi that you both demolished while he rambled about the same damn game.
You’re in your normal pink cotton pajama set (the comfy shorts and loose tank with tiny hearts), legs tangled with his. He’s shirtless again, post-military chest all warm and solid, new LA tattoos catching the light every time he gestures wildly. His bedhair from this morning has settled into something softer — fluffy black strands falling over his forehead, making him look ridiculously cuddly.
You lean in for the third time, lips brushing his jaw, trying to steal a proper kiss. “Guk…”
“—and then the boss has this shield mechanic, jagi, wait wait, look—” He pulls back just enough to lock eyes with you, big doe eyes sparkling with pure excitement, completely missing (or ignoring) your attempt. His hands cup your face gently, thumbs stroking your cheeks like he’s making sure you’re paying attention. “You have to time the dodge perfectly or the whole party wipes. I stayed up till four practicing it. It’s so satisfying when you get the timing right, you know?”
You laugh softly against his mouth, tilting your head to try and capture his lips anyway. He’s so soft right now — cheeks a little flushed, that silly concentrated expression he gets when he’s deep in explanation mode. ADHD brain in full throttle, making him need the eye contact to feel like he’s really connecting. You love it. You love him like this: not the cool idol, just your clingy, silly Jeongguk who can’t shut up about his new obsession.
“Mmm, sounds cool,” you murmur, pressing a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth. He kisses back for half a second — soft, warm, a little distracted — before he pulls away again, still holding your face, eyes wide and earnest.
“No, but seriously—” He’s trying so hard to stay focused on you, brows furrowing cutely as you lean in again, this time aiming for his neck. “The graphics are insane for a mobile game. The character designs? Chef’s kiss. I made this one build that— ya, stop that—” He chuckles when your lips find the spot under his ear, but he doesn’t stop talking. “I made this build that one-shots the mini-boss in under thirty seconds. Wanna see the replay? I saved it on my phone—”
You’re giggling now, climbing half on top of him, hands sliding over his bare shoulders as you try to shut him up with a real kiss. “Jeongguk. Baby. I’m trying to make out with you here.”
“I know, I know—” He finally meets you halfway, lips soft and plush against yours for a sweet, lingering moment. His hand slides to the back of your neck, thumb brushing your skin tenderly. For two glorious seconds he’s all in — warm, gentle. Then he breaks it with a tiny gasp, eyes flying open again, still so close your noses brush.
“But listen, the best part—” He’s whispering now, voice all excited and hushed like he’s sharing state secrets, forehead resting against yours so he can keep the eye contact. “There’s this limited-time event where if you log in every day you get exclusive skins. I already got the black cat one, it matches my tattoos, jagi, look—” He fumbles for his phone on the nightstand without letting you go, still trying to kiss you back while unlocking it one-handed.
You groan dramatically, burying your face in his neck. “Fucking hell, Jeongguk! You’re impossible.”
He laughs — that bright, silly laugh that makes his whole chest shake under you — and wraps both arms around your waist, pulling you flush against him. “I’m multitasking! Kissing and explaining. See? Best boyfriend ever.” His lips find your temple, then your cheek, then the corner of your mouth again, all while he keeps talking in that soft, rapid-fire way. “Okay okay, one more thing and then I’ll shut up, promise. The soundtrack slaps too. It’s like lo-fi beats mixed with— mmm—”
You finally succeed, cupping his face and kissing him properly, deep and slow, cutting off whatever nerdy detail was coming next. He melts into it with a happy little hum, hands sliding under your tank top to rest warm on your lower back — deep pressure, the kind he craves after being away so long.
But the second you pull back for air, his eyes light up again, soft and sparkling.
“…mixed with epic orchestra. Wanna hear it? I can play it right now—”
You drop your forehead to his chest, laughing helplessly. “Guk, I swear on every fucking soju bottle I've ever drank…”
He grins, all teeth and zero shame, bedhair fluffing up as he tilts his head to look at you again, still holding you close. “What? I missed you for three months, jagiya. Now I get to talk your ear off and kiss you at the same time. Best of both worlds.”
You stare at him for half a second, then smack his bare chest with the flat of your hand — not hard, but loud enough to make the sound echo in the bedroom. “You absolute fucking menace, Jeongguk. I’m literally trying to suck your face off and you’re giving me a goddamn TED Talk on mobile game soundtracks. What the hell is wrong with your brain?”
He bursts out laughing, that bright, raspy laugh that always hits different when he’s shirtless and half-hard against your thigh. “Ow—ya! That hurt, you violent woman.” His eyes are still sparkling with that hyperfixated glow, but now there’s a wicked little smirk creeping in.
Before you can smack him again, he flips you. Manhandles you like you weigh nothing rolling you under him so fast your pink pajama tank rides up. His hips pin yours, one big hand grabbing both your wrists and pressing them above your head into the messy ibul. He’s grinning down at you, bedhair wild, new LA ink shifting with every breath.
“Say that again,” he teases, leaning in close enough that his nose brushes yours. “I dare you.”
“Jeon Jeongguk, you horse-snoring, game-obsessed little shit—” You’re laughing even as you curse him out, knees trying to shove him off, but he’s too heavy, too warm, too fucking strong.
He dips down and bites your neck — not hard, just enough to make you squirm — then pulls back with the most dramatic, porn-star moan you’ve ever heard in your life. “Ahhh— fuck yes, keep going baby, it’s working~” He says it in this fake deep, breathy voice, eyes squeezed shut like he’s filming a bad BL scene, hips doing this ridiculous exaggerated roll that’s more comedy than seduction.
You stare at him for a second, completely deadpan, then roll your eyes so hard it hurts. “Get off me, you weirdo—!”
He cracks up instantly, collapsing half on top of you, laughing into your shoulder. You shove at his chest again, trying to get some space, but the movement shifts something in your stomach from all the laughing and the earlier kimchi fried rice. Before you can stop it, a loud, ungraceful fart rips out — right against his thigh.
The sound is unmistakable. Proud. Very Korean-home-cooked-meal energy.
Jeongguk freezes for half a second… then absolutely loses it. He cackles like a fucking hyena, rolling off you onto his back, hands clutching his stomach as he wheezes. “Holy shit—, what the fuck was that?!”
Your face burns but you’re laughing too, kicking at his leg. “Shut the hell up, it’s your fault for making me laugh so hard, you idiot!”
He’s still howling, tears in his eyes, pointing at you like you just told the funniest joke in existence. “That sounded like a damn truck backing up! Babe, I think the rice cooker heard that one.”
“Ya, Jeon Jeongguk!” You slap his arm, half embarrassed, half cracking up with him. “I hate you. Get off me, you horse.”
He’s still giggling like a maniac when he suddenly sits up, the play-fight energy flipping in that classic Jeongguk way — hyperfixation brain doing a 180. “Wait, wait— truce. That fart killed the vibe. I need a drink now.”
You push your messy hair out of your face, still flushed and grinning. Your cheeks are burning hot, hair sticking to your forehead from all the rolling around, pink pajama tank twisted up under your boobs and shorts riding high on your thighs. Jeongguk looks just as wrecked — shirtless, chest and neck flushed a deep pink, sweatpants hanging low on his hips, that ridiculous bedhair now completely chaotic like he stuck his finger in a socket. His eyes are bright, a little glassy from laughing so hard, and there’s a sheen of sweat on his collarbones.
“Finally,” you say, still breathless. “Soju. Peach one. Cold. Right now.”
Jeongguk hops off the bed first, offering you a hand like a gentleman who definitely just got crop-dusted. You take it and slide off after him, both of you padding barefoot out of the master bedroom and down the hallway toward the open kitchen. The house feels warm and lived-in in the morning light — wooden floors cool under your feet, the faint smell of last night’s kimchi still lingering in the air.
You hop up onto the kitchen island, legs swinging, while he opens the fridge and pulls out the peach soju like it’s medicine. He sets two small glasses on the counter, twisting the cap off with his teeth because he’s extra like that.
You watch him pour, the cold liquid glugging, and suddenly your therapist brain kicks in. “Ya, Jeongguk… it’s literally ten in the morning. We can’t just start drinking like this.”
He pauses mid-pour, shoulders dropping a little. The playful grin falters into something softer, almost guilty. His big doe eyes flick up to yours, flushed cheeks still pink, looking suddenly cute and sheepish like a kid who got caught with his hand in the cookie jar. “Shit… you’re right. I didn’t even think about the time.” He rubs the back of his neck, voice quieter.
You watch him and feel that familiar click in your chest — the one that happens when your psychologist brain kicks in even when you’re half-naked on the kitchen island in pink pajama shorts.
He’s doing that thing again. The sudden switch. One second he’s cackling like a lunatic over your fart, manhandling you across the bed, moaning like a porn reject just to be annoying… and the next he’s pulling back, eyes going all soft and guilty because you mentioned the time. You know what this is. Since he dropped the vaping and smoking cold turkey after the military, his nervous system has been running without its old buffers. The ADHD wiring that usually lets him hyperfixate happily on games or music now sometimes spins the volume up too loud in his head.
He’s not saying it, but you see it in the way his shoulders hunch, in how quickly the playful energy drops when reality taps him. He’s trying so hard to be “normal” Jeongguk at home, the one who doesn’t need crutches, but the anxiety is leaking through in these tiny, guilty pauses.
You sigh, dramatic but fond, and reach over to flick his forehead gently. “Ya.”
He blinks, still sheepish, the corners of his mouth twitching like he wants to smile but isn’t sure if he’s allowed.
You grab the glass he already poured anyway. “Fine. One shot. Just one. Because we're adults and we can have this.”
His face lights up instantly — that bright, relieved smile that makes his eyes crinkle at the edges. The guilt melts off him like it was never there. He leans across the kitchen island and presses a quick, clumsy kiss to your lips, tasting faintly like the peach soju that’s about to go down.
You clink your glass against his a little too hard. “To you.”
Jeongguk laughs, soft and warm this time, and downs the shot with you. The cold burn slides down nicely, spreading familiar warmth in your chest. You’re both still flushed — cheeks pink, skin warm from the wrestling and laughing — sitting there in the quiet morning light of his big house, the rice cooker humming softly in the background like nothing weird just happened.
You love to live your life like this.
