#college!bts | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

sparklingchim · 3 months ago

Text

next move; m | jjk

pairing: jungkook x reader

word count: 13.7k

tropes: hockeyplayer!jungkook, richgirlie!oc, college!au, fwb, brother's best friend

rating: 18+

warnings: alcohol consumption, lots of teasing, jk hooking up with someone else 🤢, oc goes a bit insane <3, smoking (ew), angry koo 😠, messy blow job, spit, cum on boobies, gagging, multiple orgasms, cum play, dick slaps on face n pussy, doggy, overstimulation, dirty talk, eating out, hair pulling, mirror sex, doggy, a few spanks, sum butt stuff, oc is addicted to shopping 🫂 (we both need help), pretends to help with uni stuff just to get dick, naughty thoughts abt jk at dinner with friends??, vulnerable oc <3, proud jk <3

summary: pov: you’ve spent so long pushing jungkook away, but now you’re the one trying to pull him back in.

a/n: i hope this feeds ur tummies well ! 😋

masterlist

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“What is wrong with you?”

These being the first words Taehyung directs at you when you enter the kitchen at 9 in the morning makes you want to claw his eyes out and head back to bed again.

“I’d fight you if I wasn’t sleepy right now,” you mutter as you shove past him to get to the coffee machine.

“No, I’m being for real,” Taehyung says, inspecting you through critical eyes.

“I’m not wearing make-up. Get over it.”

“It’s not that,” he presses. “You’ve been acting strange the past few days.”

He catches you off-guard with that. You can’t think of a lie fast enough to cover up the fact that you’ve been kinda dumped by his best friend and are no longer fuck buddies, hard times, so you blink a few times to keep your composure.

Your brain, struggling to function at this hour, lands on the most groundbreaking response: “Huh?”

“You didn’t want chicken when I asked if I should bring you some yesterday.” Taehyung crosses his arms, leaning against the counter.

“I already ate when you called,” you quickly – maybe too quickly? You don’t know – defend yourself as you watch the coffee stream into your mug.

“Right. Tell me one time – just one – where you’ve turned down chicken.” He raises an eyebrow. “By the way, I still got you some. It’s in the fridge. But I knew something was up, because you never-”

“Wait, really?” you cut him off, perking up. “You got me chicken?”

You rush to the fridge, flinging the door open. There isn’t much in there to begin with, so it’s easy to spot your beloved meal. You grab it and get it ready for the microwave.

Taehyung completely ignores your excitement over the food and continues his questioning.

“You didn’t react when I switched one of your reality tv shows for something else the other day.”

Did he? You don’t even remember that happening.

“You came home after a long day. I was just being a sweet sister,” you deflect, waving him off.

“Point is – I can tell when my baby sister is sad. And I don’t need you to feign indifference for me, because it’s okay not to be okay,” he says, gentle. “And I wish you’d come to me about whatever this is to make you feel better, because, I don’t know, I thought that’s what we’ve been doing as siblings.”

Your heart squeezes.

He just wants to comfort you. Be there for you. And it clearly pains him that you’ve been keeping this from him.

“No, yeah, I know, it’s just.” God, you hate this. Having to lie to him. “It’s honestly not that serious, Tae. I’m just being dramatic about it, you know how I am.” You try to laugh it off, but he doesn’t let it deceive him.

“It’s about a boy, isn’t it?”

You need to tweak your acting skills. And your reactions too, because why did you look away after he asked you that?

“A boy?” You stretch the word out in an exaggerated drag to make his inquisition sound ridiculous. “There’s no boy in my life.”

“If I find out Eunwoo is causing trouble, I’ll-”

“God, no.” You shake your head vehemently. “He’s fine. He’s not doing anything.”

You retrieve the chicken from the microwave and set it next to your coffee. A questionable breakfast choice, but right now, comfort food is comfort food.

“Want some?” you offer, grabbing your chopsticks.

Taehyung sighs deeply, shaking his head. His lips press into a thin line, but there’s no anger – just concern softening his features. “Wanna talk about it?” He pauses, voice dropping lower. “Who do I have to fight?”

Your stupid best friend, who walked out on me because, apparently, he doesn’t like it when I’m with other boys and was so dramatic about it, but I lowkey do understand him because I don’t like seeing him with other girls too but I can’t tell him because I don’t want him to know that I care and maybe everything is my fault but I am sad and upset and I can’t tell you anything about it because you’d hate me for it.

You keep these thoughts to yourself though and bite into a piece of chicken instead.

“Tae, no.”

“To both of my questions?”

“Mhm-hmm,” you answer with your mouth full.

His shoulders slump in defeat.

Placing your chopsticks down, you step forward and wrap your arms around him.

“You’re an amazing brother, Tae,” you mumble against his chest. “And I promise that I’m doing fine. You’d know if I wasn’t. I think I’m just getting my period soon, honestly. I’ve been hating everything and everyone lately.” You squeeze him tight. “But I love you.”

“I love you,” he replies, resting his chin on your head. “You’d come to me if you needed me, right?”

“Of course. I love to annoy you about my problems.”

You feel his chuckle rumble through his chest.

“You’re coming to dinner with us after the game, right?”

You draw you head back slightly, peering up at him.

“Define us.”

Taehyung’s brows knit together.

“Like, everyone.”

You so don’t want to see Jungkook. It’s been a week since he left you confused in your room.

Detangling yourself from Taehyung, you shoot him an unimpressed pout. “I don’t know if I’m in the mood for that many people.”

“I’m not gonna let you lock yourself up in your room, ___,” he says, a slight edge creeping into his voice. “You can bedrot another day.”

He’s right – you probably should socialise a little more. And with so many people around, you might not even notice Jungkook’s presence.

“I’ll come,” you relent defeatedly, picking up your tray with breakfast. “Good luck with the game.” You reach up on your tippy toes to ruffle his hair with your free hand, earning an exasperated groan from him.

So, when you thought you could just ignore Jungkook at dinner, you failed to consider one crucial detail – the universe lives to humble you. Because, of course, out of all the empty seats, he had to take the one right next to you. Rookie mistake. Amateur behaviour. A tragic miscalculation on your part.

Now, you’re stuck playing the world’s most intense game of Pretending He Doesn’t Exist, which, unfortunately, is pretty difficult when he’s breathing in your general direction.

“Can you guys believe that I got a C for my essay?” Seokjin announces after chomping down a big piece of meat.

“Was it the one with the ducks?” Jungkook questions.

“Yeah, I was so excited to hand it in ‘cause I had so much fun writing, and then I get a C.” Seokjin tilts his head in remorse. “I was at a Lotte World parking lot when I got the notification, and it felt like someone stole my firstborn. I hope that never happens to me, I don’t think I could go through the emotions a second time. Honestly, not even the bumper cars could distract me after that.”

“Sure you don’t wanna sign up for drama class?” Taehyung teases. “You’d be such an asset to it.”

“I’m so close to doing it.”

“Wait, you wrote an essay about ducks?” you ask.

“Not just about ducks, silly,” Seokjin explains. “I wrote an essay on whether someone would rather fight 100 duck-sized horses or 1 horse-sized duck. You know, deep stuff like answering questions if it is morally better to fight one large opponent or many small ones.”

“What would the world do without you, Jin,” Yoongi chimes in.

“I’d choose one horse-sized duck, I think,” Eunji says, who thankfully sits next to you, so you’re not completely surrounded by people who you dislike (yes, you might’ve forced her to come with you – she wanted to study in the library, but you dragged her here with the promise of showering her with your never-ending love).

“But a duck so big is scary, no?” you ponder, tapping your chopsticks against your mouth as you think.

Listening in on your conversation, Jungkook says, “The horse-sized duck would be easier.”

You frown, turning to him. “That thing would be massive, and it’s a duck. Ducks are unpredictable.”

“Okay, but 100 duck-sized horses would overwhelm you,” he argues. “You’re assuming they’re just gonna stand there like cute little ponies. What if they’re really aggressive? They’d be all over you, biting, kicking. That’s chaotic.”

“How would you manage fighting a huge duck, though? I don’t see that happening,” you scoff.

“I’m not saying it wouldn’t be hard, but at least it’s just one thing to focus on. It’s straightforward.” Jungkook leans back, dragging his gaze over your face before he says, “But of course you’d prefer the more chaotic solution.”

You raise your eyebrows. “What are you on about?”

You’re talking about ducks and horses. Or so you thought.

Jungkook shrugs. “Nothing. I just think your decision is stupid.”

His eyes don’t waver, and you don’t back down either, because what the hell? Jungkook’s picking a fight over nonsense and has the audacity to glare at you like you personally offended him. His brows are drawn tight, frustration evident in the sharpness of his expression.

As you glare back, you can’t stop your brain from taking an unexpected detour to memories in which Jungkook wore a similar expression. On top of you, a little sweaty, cheeks flushed and – oh my god, you feel the heat rush to your cheeks and swiftly turn away.

“You’re annoying,” you mumble under your breath, picking up your chopsticks again.

Where did these thoughts come from? Do you miss him? It’s been one week. You need a distraction.

"See how riveting my essay topic is?” Seokjin chimes in, pointing his chopsticks at the two of you. “A C is criminally underappreciated.”

“I don’t think anyone can get under ___ skin like Jungkook,” Taehyung chuckles, placing more meat onto your plate.

“Oh no, don’t worry, you still take the first place,” you quip.

“Don’t say that too loud. Jungkook’s too competitive.”

“He’s a mini version of you.” You turn to Jungkook when you say it, scrunching your nose to display your dismay.

“There’s nothing mini about Jungkook,” Yoongi interjects.

The boys laugh while Eunji and you choke on your food.

“Okay, gross?” Eunji coughs.

“What? Have you not seen his muscles? He’s a big guy,” Seokjin defends, eyes wide as he studies Jungkook’s physique. “That’s no secret.”

“That’s why Sooyoung wants him again,” Jimin teases with a wicked grin stretching across his face.

“Oh, fuck off.” Jungkook kicks him under the table. “I said we’re not talking about this.”

At the mention of a name that rings a bell but you can't quite place it yet – one Jungkook clearly doesn’t want brought up – you perk up. “Not talking about what?”

It’s silent next to you.

Jungkook tenses, his posture stiff, the only giveaway a rough, forced clearing of his throat.

One game. You miss one game, and apparently, all the drama unfolds without you.

“You should’ve been there, ___,” Jimin drawls, eyes twinkling with mischief. “His ex was practically his personal cheerleader.”

Your brows lift as you turn to Jungkook. “Sooyoung, huh?”

You never got the chance to meet Jungkook’s ex. He was dating her during your senior year of high school, and they broke up while you were still in school.

His jaw tightens, but he doesn’t look at you. Instead, he focuses way too hard on his plate, shoving a piece of meat into his mouth like it’s the most interesting thing in the world and then finishing his beer in a few, big sips.

Jimin, on the other hand, is thriving on the attention. “Oh, yeah,” he hums. “Front-row seat. Didn’t take her eyes off him.”

At that, Jungkook kicks him again, harder this time. “Can you not?”

“Oh, come on, man. It was cute.”

You tilt your head, watching Jungkook’s reaction. “And you didn’t like that?”

His eyes finally flick to yours, the slight curve of his mouth betraying him. “I didn’t say I didn’t like it, I just don’t want to talk about it.”

“She waited outside the locker room for him,” Jimin continues.

You hold back a roll of your eyes. You don’t care. You don’t care at all.

“Did she?” Eunji fuels the fire with her excited question.

“She said hi. That’s it,” Jungkook mutters.

Jimin snorts at Jungkook’s reply. “Man, that’s not what I saw.”

“And you,” Jungkook directs at Jimin. “You were eye fucking her friend the entire time, so don’t act all high and mighty when you could barely keep your hands to yourself.”

“Sue me!” Jimin exclaims. “Yeah, I do think her friend’s hot, lock me up for it. I need her ig handle or something. I wanna see her again.”

“You’re both hopeless,” you comment, nails tapping against your glass.

“Hey, if she’s hot, she’s hot.” Jimin shrugs, grinning from ear to ear. “You can’t blame me for appreciating the view.”

Yoongi gives him a pointed look. “I’m pretty sure you’ve been ‘appreciating’ the view from every girl in the restaurant for the last hour.”

Jimin laughs loudly, clearly unbothered. “Guilty as charged.”

“What else is new?” Eunji asks. “Besides Seokjin thinking being unhinged will get him an A in his philosophy class, Jungkook having an over-attached ex, and Jimin being a total playboy? Anything else exciting happened this week?”

“I bought a blind box today,” you announce. “And got upset because I didn’t get the one I wanted.”

“The sonny angel figures?” Jungkook asks casually – way too casually.

His tone is so easy, so natural, that for a split second, you forget, just like he forgot. You almost answer just as effortlessly, almost fall into the usual rhythm of conversation with him. But then it hits you—the sharp, perfectly timed reminder that you’re pissed at him.

So instead, you hesitate, fingers tightening around your glass. “Yeah,” you say, a little clipped “Those.”

“I say you stop spending so much money for dust-collecting shit,” Tae comments, and you don’t even have the chance to defend yourself, because Seokjin calls him out for his own questionable spending habits.

While they bicker, you giggle at their antics, distracted for a moment. You reach to dip your dumpling into the sauce, but just as your fingers hover above the dish, you brush hands with Jungkook, who was doing the same.

You kick his hand with yours, expecting him to pull back, but he doesn’t budge.

“Do you ever stop being annoying?” you ask.

“Not when the person I’m annoying is you.”

“You gonna be like this all night?” Your hand sinks, touching the table. “I thought you were mad and would want to ignore me,” you say, much quieter now, even though everyone else is too caught up arguing whether Taehyung’s fifa pack spendings are justified.

“Weren’t you trying to do the same?”

Well, yeah. You were trying to ignore him – that was the sole reason why you even came – but you somewhere along the way, you veered off that plan, and now here you are.

“I guess you’re just too pretty for me to ignore.”

Jungkook freezes at that. You use the opportunity to nudge his hand aside and dip your food into the sauce.

“Funny, didn’t seem to be a problem when you were texting that dude next to me the other day.”

Your chewing slows. The words hit exactly where he intended, sharp and precise, a reminder of exactly why he’s pissed in the first place.

The conversation around you carries on, oblivious, but between you and Jungkook, the tension is suffocating.

You pull away completely, shifting in your seat so your legs are angled away from him and into Eunji’s direction.

Ignoring him is easier, less of a headache – and less of a heartache – than acknowledging his existence.

Later that night, you drown yourself in reality tv, letting the mindless drama fill the living room and keep your thoughts from wandering to the interactions you had with Jungkook tonight, because you really need a break from that boy.

You and Eunji had left the restaurant before the boys, her excuse being that she wanted to study, and yours being that you’d had done enough socialising for the day and it was time to go back home. Yeah, you do realise that you have a self-destructive tendency to isolate when things get difficult.

So, here you are, curled up on the couch, journaling about feelings and situations and –

Beep. Beep. Beep. Beep.

You freeze, pen hovering above the paper as the sound of the front door code being punched in echoes from outside. The lock clicks, and the door swings open.

A familiar head of dark hair peeks inside first, followed by annoyingly familiar second one.

“You’re still up?” Taehyung asks, shrugging off his jacket and toes off his shoes.

“Tae,” you say slowly, looking at Jungkook. “Why is he here?”

“Figured we’d hang for a bit more. Play some fifa together.”

“You figured?” You turn to Tae with a deadpan expression.

Taehyung shrugs. “He looked sad.”

“I didn’t look sad,” Jungkook mutters, finally stepping inside and shutting the door behind him.

“You looked all emo when everyone got up to leave,” Taehyung says.

“Whatever.” Jungkook rolls his eyes and heads towards the kitchen, like this is his house now.

You exhale through your nose, pressing your fingers to your temple. “Do we look like a halfway house for emotionally constipated men?”

Jungkook’s voice calls out from the kitchen. “I can hear you.”

“Good.”

“Please try and act civil while I go change,” Taehyung pleads, already disappearing down the hallway.

Jungkook emerges a second later, settling onto the couch, a glass of water in his hand. His tatted fingers wrap around it, long and steady, as he takes a sip. You watch the way his Adam’s apple bobs, the way his throat moves, how the tiniest droplet of water escapes before his tongue swipes it away – completely unbothered. Casual. Like he isn’t taking up too much space in your head already.

“Headache from all that beer?” you ask, trying – hoping – that you sound unaffected by whatever it is about him that’s making your stomach flip.

He exhales, tipping his head back against the couch, stretching his neck just enough to make it unfair. The angle sharpens his jaw line.

His gaze flickers to you. “Something like that.”

Jungkook looks at you. Really looks at you.

His eyes drag over your bare legs, stretched out in tiny shorts that are basically just suggestions of clothing. They hesitate on the curve of your thighs, the hem barely covering anything, before sliding up to the delicate strap of your camisole, the curve of your shoulder. His fingers tighten around the glass just enough for you to notice.

You meet his gaze, unblinking.

Jungkook’s fingers twitch.

You smirk, stretching deliberately, arching your back slightly as you reposition yourself.

And then – his eyes flick downward, landing on the open journal beside you.

You don’t think anything of it at first – until his brows furrow slightly, head tilting as he squints.

“Wait,” he mutters, leaning forward. “Did I just see my name in there?”

Your stomach drops.

Panic sets in at lightning speed.

You slam the journal shut so fast it’s borderline violent.

“Mind your business.”

Jungkook blinks, then grins, slow and smug. Oh, you hate him.

“There is literally nothing for you to see.”

“Oh, but there was something,” he muses, stretching an arm along the back of the couch like he isn’t about to drive you insane. “You wrote about me?”

You cross your arms. “What if I did?”

“Depends,” he says, just momentarily allowing his gaze to drop to your chest. “What exactly are you writing about me?”

Jungkook’s smirk deepens, eyes flicking between you and the journal.

“You’re acting awfully guilty right now,” he taunts, shifting slightly, his thigh pressing against yours.

“Because you’re being nosey.”

“No, because you’re hiding something.”

You roll your eyes, gripping the journal tighter. “You’re not that interesting.”

He hums, tilting his head. “Then lemme see.”

“Absolutely not.”

It happens so fast you barely have time to react. One second, Jungkook is sitting there, all relaxed and smug. The next, he’s lunging forward, reaching for the journal with one hand, the other bracing against the couch to trap you in place.

“Jungkook—stop!” you shriek, twisting away, holding the journal out of his reach.

But he’s relentless.

He shifts closer, practically caging you in, his body warm and solid against yours. His arm brushes your bare thigh as he reaches again, fingers grazing the cover. You twist further, laughing, but the movement only makes things worse—your back presses into the cushions, and suddenly, he’s right there, hovering over you, weight balanced between his knees and one hand pressed into the couch beside your head.

The laughter dies in your throat.

Because now it’s just you and him, tangled up, breathing the same air. His face is inches from yours, the heat of his body seeping into your skin, the scent of his cologne mixed with something distinctly him. His gaze flickers downward – just for a second – but it’s enough. Enough for you to feel the shift. Enough for the teasing to suddenly feel like something else entirely.

Jungkook swallows.

Your heart is in your throat.

His gaze drops to your lips.

You freeze.

His fingers tighten slightly where they rest near your hip. The journal is still caught between you, forgotten, and for the first time, neither of you moves to break the moment.

Until –

A door creaks open down the hallway.

You both jerk back at the same time.

Jungkook moves first, clearing his throat as he drops back onto the couch, running a hand through his hair like that’ll somehow erase the past ten seconds. You sit up just as Taehyung strolls back in, glancing between the two of you with mild suspicion.

“Did you guys kill each other yet?”

“Nearly,” you retort, fixing your hair.

Tae grabs two controllers and plops onto the couch next to Jungkook. “Why’d you scream?”

“Your idiot of a best friend is obsessed with me and tried to sneak a peek into my journal,” you huff, dramatically clutching said journal to your chest.

“Oh, boy,” Tae clicks his tongue. “She’s serious about this thing, Jk. Wouldn’t advise you to –” he waves a hand vaguely, “–poke the bear.”

Jungkook looks like he is actually considering telling Tae what he saw in your beloved journal. His lips party slightly, brows furrowing, before he shakes the thought off. Good for him. You wouldn’t even know where to begin explaining why Jungkook’s name is written in there.

Taehyung hands one of the controllers to Jungkook.

“Is this my cue to turn off my show?” you ask, lips forming a natural pout of disappointment.

“Sorry, spontaneous boys' night,” Tae says with a shrug.

“Please never say that again.”

Jungkook snorts, finally looking at you.

You raise a brow. Challenge him silently.

He just grins, popping his dimples, rolling his shoulders back like he has the upper hand.

God, you hate him.

You stay in the living room while they game – despite considering retreating to your room multiple times when Jungkook and Tae started yelling at each like an old married couple.

But you quickly realise how fun it is to mess with Jungkook, especially when he gets roasted for his lack of skills by an oblivious Taehyung. Which, judging by the way Jungkook’s jaw keeps ticking and his grip on the controller tightens, is absolutely getting to him.

“Want more snacks?” you ask sweetly as you rise to your feet, collecting the empty bowls. One slips from your grasp, landing on the carpet. You bend over to grab it, in front of Jungkook, and maybe, just maybe, you move slower than necessary. Maybe shifting your hips a little too much. Maybe giving him a view he definitely does not deserve.

Tae, completely unbothered, waves you off like a fly buzzing around his screen. “___, get out of the way,” he complains impatiently, fingers rapidly clicking on his controller. “But I’ll have some more chips, thanks.”

Jungkook, however, isn’t saying shit.

You glance over your shoulder, just in time to catch the flicker of his eyes meeting yours before he collects himself and redirects his attention back to the game.

“You good, Jungkook?” you ask innocently.

His nostrils flare. Through gritted teeth, he mutters, “Just move.”

So you do, slow and smug, your shorts sliding back over your thighs as you pad toward the kitchen.

Right as you’re reaching for the drawer, you hear Taehyung ask, “What are you gonna do about that Sooyoung girl?” Your movements slow. “You interested?”

The nosiness and urge to gossip definitely runs through your genes.

“Nah, I don’t want her back.”

When you glance back, Jungkook’s still focused on the game, but there’s something absent in the way he’s holding the controller – like he’s playing on autopilot.

“That bad, huh?”

“Just wasn’t that deep.”

You busy yourself with the drawer, fingertips grazing over the handle as you bite back the urge to comment. Just listen.

“You never really said why you two broke up.”

“No, I did tell you,” Jungkook says, easy but firm. “You just never believed me.”

“That’s because it always felt like there was more.”

“There wasn’t. We just didn’t fit.”

Didn’t fit how?

You open the drawer and grab more snacks.

“Yeah...I don’t know. You never seemed truly happy with her.”

Jungkook exhales sharply through his nose. "I wasn’t miserable," he finally says.

“You weren’t happy either.”

“I don’t know. Maybe I stayed with Sooyoung because it was easy. No drama. No real emotions involved.”

With the snacks in tow, you walk back to the living room. “That sounds really sad, Jaykay,” you say, not trying to hide that you’ve been listening to them.

He shrugs. “Maybe. But at least it didn’t mess with my head.” His gaze lingers on you. “Didn’t make me feel like I was losing my mind.”

“Fuck, no, if someone makes you feel that way – leave, immediately,” Taehyung says.

You grab a bag of chips, tearing it open as you lean against the side of the couch. “You guys done being dramatic yet?”

Taehyung glances over his shoulder, narrowing his eyes. “You’re still here?”

“I live here.”

“Unfortunately.”

“Unfortunately?” you repat. “You were the one who happily agreed when mum and dad suggested that I move in with you. I wanted my own place!”

“Oh no, the princess didn’t get what she wanted. How dare they?” Jungkook mocks you.

You faintly remember the discussion of moving into an even bigger place, where all three of you would live together, but Jungkook denied that idea back then, saying the dorm that his athletic scholarship is providing him is good enough for him.

You scoff, shoving his shoulder as you pop another chip into your mouth. “Okay, first of all, you don’t get a say in this. Second of all, I’m not a princess.”

Jungkook tilts his head, a smirk playing on his lips. “Sure you aren’t.”

Taehyung snorts, eyes still glued to the screen. “You literally whined for two weeks straight about not having enough closet space.”

“That was a valid complaint,” you argue. “You take up, like, half of it with your stupid jerseys.”

“They’re collectibles.”

“They’re ugly.”

Jungkook laughs, finally leaning back into the couch, looking far too amused. “I see living together is going great for you two.”

“Oh, it’s fantastic,” Taehyung deadpans. “Every day is a blessing.”

“You’re so dramatic,” you mutter, but you can’t help the way your lips twitch. “I liked this conversation more when you gossiped about Jungkook’s life.”

Taehyung rolls his eyes, then jerks his chin toward Jungkook. “Dude, hurry up and lose so we can switch games.”

Jungkook, who has barely been playing at all, huffs. “I’m not gonna lose on purpose.”

“You’re already playing like shit,” Taehyung points out. “What’s up with you? Did Sooyoung get into your head or what?”

“Quit mentioning her,” Jungkook grumbles, jaw tightening.

Sooyoung?

No, that is not who is on is mind.

Why would he be thinking about her when – okay, you need to calm down. It’s not that serious.

You just need to call it a night, crawl into bed, and sleep it off.

“Heading to bed,” you announce, grabbing your journal from the coffee table.

“Alright, sleep tight,” Taehyung replies.

“Night, princess.” You flick the back of Jungkook’s head for that.

“Okay, very out of character for me, but we need to stop drinking for a sec and you need to tell me why the hell you keep looking back at Jungkook?” Eunji asks you all of a sudden, voice barely carrying over the muffled bass shaking the walls of the packed frat house.

The kitchen is one of the only semi-breathable spaces in the frat house, though the counters are a war zone of spilled liquor, sticky cups, and questionably abandoned drinks. The air reeks of cheap booze and sweat, but none of that is stopping Eunji from interrogating you.

You blink perplexed. “Out of character for you?” you ask back, eyeing the way she pulls back the cup you were just mixing a drink in. “I think that is very true to your character – very you. I’d be out of character for me to stop us from drinking.” You snatch back your cup.

“Did I say that?” She’s lost in her mind for a moment. “I don’t even remember. Am I that drunk already? I don’t wanna wake up hungover tomorrow.” She laments. “I still got this assignment due, and I wanted to get most of it done tomorrow, but – oh my god. Do not distract me from the question I just asked you.” She stares at you with sharp eyes. “Why do you keep looking back at Jungkook?”

“Am I?”

She huffs. “You don’t get to play this game with me, ___.” She pokes your tummy. “Answer me.”

You fully turn to her, abandoning the cup with the godawful alcohol mix – yes, it’s your creation, no, you’ve never had any talent for mixing drinks.

“I might have to tell you something.”

Her eyes widen. Immediately. Mouth opening in an unbelievable expression of pure, unfiltered drama. One that belongs in a reality show confession booth.

“Shut up. You did not – did you? Oh my god, shut up!”

“We might have hooked up for, like, a good few months.”

Her palm flies to cover her mouth. “Behind Taehyung’s back?” she whisper shouts.

“Well, obviously.” You point to yourself. “You think I’d be alive if he knew? You think he’d be alive if Tae knew?”

“You whore!”

“For Jungkook? Kinda,” you admit defeatedly.

You take a glimpse into his direction. Eunji shoves you on the shoulder for that.

“Don’t make it obvious!” she exclaims. “But you need to tell me everything. Right now.”

You sigh, leaning against the counter.

“The first time we hooked up was before I enrolled in uni. It was the summer before when Tae and Jungkook spontaneously visited and-“

“Okay, I need you to stop,” Eunji interrupts, fingers massaging her temples. “The summer before uni?” she repeats, exasperated. “You’ve been keeping it a secret since summer? I need more booze before you continue.”

“I’m sorry for not telling you, but we didn’t want anyone to know. He’d be pissed if he knew I told you.”

“No, don’t be sorry. I get it, I really do. I just didn’t expect this at all.” After pouring something inside her cup, she takes big gulps from it.

“I mean, what was I supposed to do? He’s hot, he’s pretty, and I’ve had a crush on him since, like, forever. I had to give in when he showed interest. What’s a girl gonna do?”

“How have you been able to keep it from Taehyung? They’re with each other 24/7.”

“He comes over when I know Tae’s gonna be out for a while. Or the other way around,” you reply, shrugging like it’s no big deal. “You can make anything work if you really want to, and I really wanted Jungkook.”

Still do, if you’re being honest.

You pause, then wave it off dramatically. “But that’s ancient history. We’re totally over that weird situationship.”

“What?!” Another shocked gasp escapes her. “Why?!”

“I don’t even know, to be honest. He just – we fucked, and then he...I dunno.” You grab your cup and down the rest of your drink, grimacing at the taste of whatever you concocted. “He got mad at me for texting Eunwoo after we had sex. I didn't even think he’d be all sensitive about it, especially since, you know, he’s with other girls too. But he got so pissed and we argued. And guess what?!” You throw your arms out, face dramatically incredulous. “He just leaves me in bed! Like, straight up walks out, saying stupid shit like I sleep around and only text him when I’m bored. Acting like we’re some exclusive thing, which we’re not! How dare he get so upset?” you argue theatrically, voice rising in pitch. “I’ve got better shit to do than this,” you mimic in Jungkook’s deep voice, eyes rolling for extra effect. “He’s so annoying.”

Eunji scrutinizes you for a brief moment before coming to her conclusion.

“Oh, he wants you bad.”

“Huh?” Your brows furrow. “He left me.”

“Because he wants you two to be exclusive and you don't. Why should he stay?”

Why should he stay?

You stare at Eunji, her words settling over you like an unwanted truth.

“He did ask me to be exclusive before,” you admit, twirling the empty cup in your hands. “But I always thought it would be a bad idea. Because being exclusive is so much more serious, and I want to be anything but serious with him. We don’t work that way. I can’t have that happening and risking Tae finding out. It would ruin everything.”

Eunji gives you a long, unimpressed look. “But being exclusive friends with benefits doesn’t have to mean more. It could just stay that way. Why do you always make things complicated?”

You huff, frustration bubbling up. “I don’t know.” You drop your forehead against her shoulder.

She pats your back like you’re a lost puppy.

“You’re and idiot, babe.”

“I know.”

“You also like him.”

You groan into her shoulder. “Shut up.”

“Just saying,” she singsongs.

It’s only now that you realise just how much you needed this – to talk to someone. To get all these tangled thoughts out of your head instead of letting them fester in silence. You’ve spent so much time convincing yourself that none of it mattered, brushing it off like it was nothing, but saying it out loud makes it real. And weirdly, that feels... good. Cathartic, even. Like exhaling after holding your breath for too long.

“Do you think I should-“ You start to lift your head, but Eunji pushes you back down with a firm hand.

“Everything will be fine, ___,” she babbles, patting your head a little too aggressively. “Just, you know, don’t be too sad.”

“What are you on about?”

“Just stay here for a sec.”

“Eunji.” You force yourself out of her grasp.

She’s looking somewhere past you, eyes flickering toward the living room, but when she realizes you’ve caught on, she quickly averts her gaze. Too quickly. Suspiciously.

You turn around, scanning the area to find what she doesn’t want you to see.

Your tummy churns in an instant when you see it.

Jungkook.

Heading up the stairs.

With Nayeon.

Even in the hazy lighting of the party, he stands out – broad shoulders wrapped in a dark, well-fitted tee, his silver chain glinting against his collarbone. He moves effortlessly, the easy confidence in his stride something you know all too well. His hand rests low on Nayeon’s back, fingertips grazing the thin fabric of her dress as she leans into him, whispering something into his ear.

Your throat tightens.

Eunji shifts beside you, watching your reaction carefully. “Hey, maybe it’s not-“

“I’m gonna throw up.”

The words leave your mouth before you can even think. You grab Eunji’s cup and down the last of her drink, but the alcohol does nothing to wash away the bitter taste in your mouth.

Your eyes scan the room frantically. “Wasn’t Eunwoo somewhere here too?” You rise onto your toes, searching the sea of bodies. “I think I just need to get my mind off things.”

“Oh, no, no, no, no,” Eunji immediately cuts in, grabbing your wrist before you can make any rash decisions. “We are not doing this.”

“Doing what?”

She levels you with a look. “You are not about to make a dumbass decision just to get back at Jungkook. Not on my watch.”

“I really, really hate him right now.”

“I know,” she soothes. “But no petty comebacks for situations where we absolutely do not need to make fools of ourselves, yeah?”

Your brain is screaming at you to make Jungkook feel just as shitty as you do, to do something reckless and distracting, but deep down, you know Eunji’s right.

You steal another glance at the staircase. They’re gone.

The realization sinks in, and suddenly, the air in the frat house feels suffocating. The bass of the music thrums in your chest, the chatter around you blurring into an overwhelming hum.

“I need air,” you mutter, pushing past Eunji before she can stop you.

She sighs but doesn’t follow. She knows you need a moment alone.

You slip through the crowd, weaving your way toward the back door. The night air hits you instantly, cool against your heated skin, but it does little to settle the storm raging in your chest.

Leaning against the railing of the porch, you inhale deeply, forcing your nerves to settle.

This is fine.

“Can you promise you won’t puke on me?”

“I mean, I can, but I don’t know if I can keep the promise.”

You spotted Chanyeol with another guy—Jackson, you think—smoking and went over to chat with them. It wasn’t until they finished their joint that curiosity got the best of you. One thing led to another, and Jackson went inside to roll you one. Now, all three of you are standing outside, two pairs of curious eyes fixed on you.

“She’ll be fine,” Jackson says as he exhales a slow stream of smoke, watching it curl into the night air.

Chanyeol eyes you warily as he sparks up your joint. “I don’t know how much you drank tonight, but please tell me if you feel sick.” He holds it out for you.

You hesitate for half a second before taking it between your fingers. It feels weird, unnatural. “So I just…?”

“Inhale, but not too hard. Hold it for a second, then let it out,” Chanyeol instructs.

You follow his guidance, pulling in a slow drag. The taste is harsher than you expected, earthy and a little burnt, making you cough almost instantly.

“Classic first hit,” Jackson says, but it’s not as reassuring as he thinks. “Give it a sec.”

“How do you feel?” Chanyeol asks, watching you closely.

“Feels very icky,” you tell him, nose scrunched up. “But I’m feeling okay.”

“Yo, Jackson!” some dude yells from the back. Jackson disappears, leaving Chanyeol and you alone.

“You sure you’re fine?”

The night air feels heavier now, the music from inside muffled like you’re hearing it through a wall. Your fingers tingle slightly, warmth spreading through your limbs. You shift on your feet, suddenly hyper-aware of the way your body moves.

You blink at him. “I think my brain is moving slower than my body.”

He laughs. “Yeah, that happens. Just ride it out.”

You exhale, watching the smoke swirl in front of you.

“The fuck?”

Your head snaps toward the voice.

Jungkook stands a few feet away, brows furrowed, looking like he just walked into some kind of crime scene. His eyes flick between you and the joint in your fingers, then to Chanyeol, before settling back on you.

For some reason, your eyes wander to his hands. He’s probably touched so many things tonight, so many body parts. Did he wash them?

“The hell you’re doing?” Jungkook asks, walking towards you.

“Uhm, having fun?” you try, watching his frown deepen.

“This is not something you do, ___.” Jungkook directs his glare at Chanyeol. “Why the fuck would you give this to her?”

“Fuck, Jungkook, if you wanna be angry be angry elsewhere,” Chanyeol says, rolling his eyes.

“You fuck off,” Jungkook counters.

“As if you have never smoked.” Chanyeol raises his brows.

“I don’t smoke.”

“Trying to maintain a squeaky-clean image for those scouts who might be watching?”

“Mind your fucking business.”

“Jungkook, you’re being rude.” You turn to him, pointing a finger at his broad chest. “You’ve been going around, having fun yourself but can’t let other people have fun. That’s not nice of you.”

You stare up at him, a sullen pout on your mouth before pulling another slow drag and trying hard to not cough, but a small cough slips out anyway.

“Get that shit away, ___,” Jungkook demands, unimpressed by the smoke surrounding his face.

“Why do you care? Lemme have fun.”

“This shit fucks with your head.”

My brain’s already fucked, you think. Thanks a lot.

“It’s just weed?”

“Taehyung will lose his mind.”

“Is Tae with us now?”

Jungkook arches his brow.

“Oh, you wouldn’t.”

“Stop right now or I’ll call him.”

You hold his gaze, daring him. “You’re bluffing.”

Jungkook pulls his phone out of his pocket without hesitation, thumb hovering over the screen. “Try me.”

You wait, staring at Jungkook’s screen until he actually calls Taehyung.

Before the call can connect, you groan and shove the joint into Chanyeol’s hand. “God, fine, I’m done.”

He hangs up before Taehyung can answer.

You glare at him, but he only tilts his head toward the house. “Let’s get you some water.”

He guides you towards the house with his hand splayed across your side. At first, you shy away from his touch, mind racing with thoughts you’d rather not acknowledge. But as the night air presses cool against your skin, you let yourself relax, leaning into him slightly as you walk up the stairs.

“You’re so mean, you know that?” you huff.

“I’m just looking out for you,” he replies, in a softer tone than before.

“You didn’t have to be mean with Chanyeol. It wasn’t his weed. Chanyeol was actually very kind, made sure I was feeling okay-“

Jungkook stops at the threshold of the house.

“I’m gonna have a little chat with Jackson.”

“How do you know-“

His hand slips from your waist. He turns, leaving you standing on the porch, and disappears in the crowd.

Because that’s just easy for him – leaving you.

Why should he stay?

You don’t care.

And if you keep telling yourself that, maybe – just maybe – you’ll start to believe it.

Flash forward a week, and you can now say –proudly, with your full chest – that you do care.

You’ve never not cared. Pretended? Yes. But gotten over it? Not even close.

Which is why it’s not surprising that you find yourself at yet another party, drink in hand, scanning the room without meaning to. Or maybe you do mean to. Maybe you want to see him. Maybe you want him to see you. Maybe you want him to know that he didn’t get to you. Even though he did.

You’re sunk into the couch, surrounded by your friend group, half-listening as they go on about today’s hockey practice – boy gossip, oh how you love it.

“Coach told him he’s probably getting benched next game,” Jimin says, shaking his head as he leans back against the couch. “Too many penalties last match. Dumbass just keeps throwing hits for no reason.”

“That’s what happens when you let your ego get ahead of you,” Jin chimes in, stretching his legs out. “Coach is tired of his shit. And honestly? Fair.”

“I heard he almost fought Yoongi in the locker room,” Taehyung adds, arching a brow as he takes a sip of his drink. “Over something stupid too, like warm-up drills.”

“Swear to God, that guy needs to chill,” Jimin scoffs. “He’s got all the talent, but he plays like he’s trying to prove something every damn game.”

When Taehyung gets up to grab himself another drink, you catch him by the sleeve.

“Can you get me one too, please?” You hand him your empty cup.

Taehyung eyes the cup. “You’ve been drinking a bit more lately.”

“It’s just my second drink?”

His sharp eyes linger on you for a moment before he reluctantly takes your cup and walks off. He hasn’t missed the shift in your behaviour these past few weeks. You try to hide it, but there’s only so much you can do.

“Could say the same thing about Jungkook, though,” Jin says.

Jin’s words linger in the air, but you don’t dare react.

“Jungkook’s always been like that,” Jimin says, tipping his drink back. “Plays like he’s got something to prove, but I guess he kinda does. He wants to go pro, so it’s not like he can afford to slack off.”

It’s stupid, silly even, how easily his name can unravel you. How even when he’s not here, he’s everywhere.

“Isn’t your dad gonna come to the next game?” Jimin directs at you.

You shrug. “Maybe? I dunno.”

Given that your dad is an NHL executive, former team owner, he tries to find time in his busy schedule to attend the hockey games. The boys probably see him more than you do.

“Where is Jungkook anyway?” Hobi asks. “Is he gonna come over at all?”

Dear god, you hope, pray, he won’t.

You can’t live through seeing him disappear with another girl upstairs. You don’t have Eunji with you today to keep you from doing reckless decisions.

“He’d be all over Nayeon anyway. Doubt he’d even remember we exist,” Jin chuckles, unknowingly ruining the rest of your night.

The sound of their laughter grates against your nerves. The more you sit here, the more unbearable it becomes. The thought of him, of her, of what they could be doing, poisons your mind until you can’t take it anymore.

Taehyung returns, pressing a fresh drink into your hand. He barely gets a word in before his gaze sharpens. “You okay?”

You nod stiffly. “Yeah.”

“Liar.”

His voice is quiet enough that no one else hears, but it makes your stomach flip. He knows you too well. And if you sit here any longer, he’s going to drag the truth out of you, whether you like it or not.

So you stand abruptly, mumbling something about fresh air before slipping through the crowd, out into the cool night. The moment you’re alone, you let out a breath, pressing your fingers to your temples. It doesn’t help. Nothing does.

Before you can talk yourself out of it, you pull out your phone, scroll down to the name you should ignore, and press call.

Jungkook answers on the second ring.

“Did you call me on accident?”

You ignore his question, your fingers tightening around your phone as you shift your weight from one foot to the other. Instead, you ask, “Are you gonna come to the party?”

“No, I have some assignments to do,” he answers, hesitantly. “Why’d you ask?”

“Are you sure?” Your eyes close, waiting for the confirmation that you won’t have to see things (Jungkook and a girl that isn’t you) that you don’t want to see (him hooking up with someone that isn’t you).

“Yeah, positive.” There’s a pause, and then he adds, “Is there something you don’t want me to see? Or—wait, are you just making sure I won’t be around to ruin your night?” Jungkook laughs and you realise how you’ve missed that sound. “It’s your lucky day. You won’t see my face poking around in the crowd. You can have fun.”

You frown at the nonsense he’s saying. He couldn’t be more off.

“No, you don’t get it.”

“What am I not getting?”

You stare into the night sky, the stars blurred by the city lights. You consider hanging up, letting the moment pass, but then you remember what Eunji told you. Talk to him. Get the discomfort out of the way.

“You know I’m not an insecure person.” You cross one arm over your body, rubbing your bare skin against the rising cold. “Like, I’m confident in who I am. I don’t compare myself to others because, y’know, I don’t care enough about stuff like that.”

“Yeah, of course I know that. You’re a confident girl. Have always been.”

“But you know what makes me go crazy?”

“What?”

“Seeing you with someone else.” The words slip out before you can catch them, but now that they’re out in the open, you can’t take them back. You don’t want to. Or – I dunno if it’s just that. I want you to want me. And you don’t. Which I get, I’ve been a bit shitty, so you deserve to want someone that isn’t like me, but – it just makes me go a bit insane, because I thought you did want me again the other night. At my place.” Your voice drops on the last sentence, barely above a whisper. “But then I see you with Nayeon and you just don’t care.”

You take a break, trying to organise your thoughts, but it’s fruitless because it’s just a tangled mess up there.

“Eunji said to talk with you but still give us a bit time, but oh my god I just want it to be okay between us again. I’m feeling so confused, and I don’t even really know what’s going on, but all I know is that I want things to be like before. When you still wanted me, and I wanted you and everything was good, easy,” you say, exhaling a helpless breath. “Do you think that’s possible?”

It’s silent for a beat. You don’t blame him – you couldn’t recite half the stuff that just poured out of your mouth.

“Fuck, ___.” He sounds a bit helpless himself.

Jungkook sighs on the other end, and you hear the faint rustle of fabric, like he’s shifting, maybe running a hand through his hair. “I don’t know what to say to that,” he finally admits.

“Say anything,” you murmur.

“What do you want me to do, ___?” His voice is quieter now, more controlled, but there’s something simmering beneath the surface. “Stop seeing other people? Pretend like none of this ever happened? Or do you just want me to tell you that, yeah, I still want you?”

Your breath hitches. “Do you?”

“I thought I made that obvious,” he mutters. “But every time I think we’re on the same page, you pull away and act difficult. So, forgive me if I stopped trying to figure you out.”

“I don’t mean to act difficult.”

“Then why do you?”

You don’t have an answer. Or maybe you do, but you’re scared to say it.

Jungkook waits, but when you don’t respond, he lets out a dry laugh. “You know what’s funny? I wasn’t even gonna go to the party tonight. But now I kinda want to.”

“Why?”

“Maybe I wanna see what happens when you have to look me in the eyes.” His voice is lower now, rougher. “Because talking like this? It’s too easy for you.”

“No, don’t come.” You think of the worst-case scenario – arguing with Jungkook, him getting frustrated, turning to Nayeon because she’s easier, likes her more than you. And you couldn’t stand seeing that.

“Or maybe do, if you want,” you add, voice quieter. “I think I’m gonna leave anyway. Wanna go home.” Avoiding situations – your strong suit.

“How much have you had to drink?”

You stare at the untouched drink in your hand before lifting it to your lips. The sweetness hits first, masking the barely-there burn of alcohol (thanks, Tae). “Starting my third drink now.”

“I can walk you home,” he offers.

“It’s not a long walk to my place. You don’t have to.”

“I want to.” A rustle of movement on the other end before he adds, “On my way right now.”

“I’ll wait at the front for you.”

You weave your way back inside the house to find Taehyung, who’s still in the living room chatting with one of his teammates.

“Gonna go home, Tae,” you say, your voice cutting through their conversation. He glances up, distracted for a moment, before raising an eyebrow. “Also, here–” You hand him the drink he made for you. “This is not fun to drink at all.”

Taehyung rolls his eyes at your sassy comment but takes the cup from your hand. “Learn how to enjoy a party without getting drunk.”

“You tell me to get out of my room more, and when I do, this is what you say? Pick a side,” you grumble.

“Why do you wanna go home?” His fingers adjust the top of your strapless dress absentmindedly as he asks. “You okay?”

“Eh, just a bit bored.”

“We’re gonna play truth or dare in a bit,” Taehyung’s friend pipes up, raising his eyebrows in an exaggerated manner. “Maybe you should stick around.”

“I think I’ll skip,” you say. “But please do me a favour and fill me in on all the drama I’ll be missing out on.”

He winks at you. “Will do.”

“I’ll walk you home,” Taehyung says, stepping towards you.

You know he won’t allow you to go home by yourself, so you opt for telling him the truth. “Jungkook’s coming to take me home.”

“Jungkook?” he asks, surprised. “Did you call him?”

“Yeah, I asked him. Didn’t wanna annoy you. Go have fun doing...” You glance over at Jimin and Hobi, who are holding an impromptu drinking competition. Hobi’s attempting to chug straight from a bottle of something clearly too strong for him, while Jimin’s pretending to be the host of a weird, offbeat game show. “...whatever that is,” you finish, trying to hold back a laugh.

“You really can’t leave those two alone for a second, can you?” Taehyung lets out a low chuckle, shaking his head. “Tell Jungkook to swing by here once he drops you off.”

“He didn’t sound like he was in the mood to stop by, but I'll tell him.”

“Text me when you get home, yeah?” he says over his shoulder, already walking back toward Jimin and a very much unconscious Hobi, who’s sprawled out on the couch looking like he’s had one too many rounds.

Jungkook finds you almost immediately. You barely have time to register his presence before he’s already slipping his zip hoodie over your shoulders, his hands smoothing over the fabric like he’s tucking you in for the night.

“You should’ve waited inside,” he mutters, fingers lingering at the collar like he’s seriously considering zipping it up for you too.

You swat his hands away, glancing around quickly. “Jungkook, don’t – everyone’s watching.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Who’s watching?”

You look over your shoulder. “I dunno. People.”

Jungkook huffs a laugh, stepping closer. “Right. Because me making sure you don’t freeze to death is so scandalous,” he jokes. “But smoking weed the other day was okay to do outside? With all the people there?”

“As a friend you’re supposed to forget my mess-ups, not remind me of them.” You huff, faintly remembering when you tried weed for the first time. You did puke that night. Luckily not on Chanyeol. “You didn’t have to come,” you grumble, even as you tug the hoodie tighter around yourself, his warmth and the faint scent of his detergent wrapping around you like a second skin.

“I know,” he says, tilting his head. “But I wanted to.”

And then, because he’s annoying, he reaches up and tugs the hood over your head, effectively swallowing half your face in fabric.

You let out a muffled noise of protest, pushing it back down immediately. “Stop that.”

Jungkook just grins, stuffing his hands into his pockets as he starts walking. “You look cute like that, though.”

You glare at him but fall into step beside him anyway, the hoodie still draped around you like it belongs there. The night air nips at your skin, but his warmth lingers, and you swear he notices the way you pull the sleeves over your hands like it’s yours.

“So…” His voice is quieter now. “What you said on the phone earlier.”

Your stomach twists. “What about it?”

“I just—” He starts, then pauses. “I don’t know what you want from me, ___. One second, you’re pushing me away, and the next, you’re telling me you can’t stand seeing me with someone else. You –” He falters, his voice catching slightly. “Do you even know what you want?”

“I know that you ruined me for other boys, for one,” you say, sighing deeply before you continue. “I want things to be like before,” you reply. “When everything wasn’t so…” You gesture vaguely. “Complicated. I don’t like this. And I don’t like how I feel when I see you with –” You cut yourself off before the name can leave your lips. He knows anyway.

Jungkook watches you carefully, hands still stuffed into his pockets, shoulders slightly hunched. “I wasn’t trying to rub anything in your face,” he says after a pause. “I didn’t think it’d… affect you.”

“Well, it did,” you say, a little too fast, a little too defensive. “And I hate that it did, because it’s not like I have a right to be mad about it.”

Jungkook tilts his head. “Don’t you?”

That stops you in your tracks.

Because – do you? You don’t know what this is, don’t know what you want from him except for more. More of his attention, more of his time, more of him. But not all of him, right? Because that would mean–

“God,” you mumble, rubbing your hands down your face. “Why are you making me say things?”

Jungkook chuckles, nudging your side. “You called me, remember?”

You groan. “Worst decision I’ve ever made.”

“Harsh.”

“Accurate.”

Jungkook lets out a short laugh, but then he’s quiet for a beat before he says, “Look, I don’t wanna play games. If you want me, then say it.”

You swallow. “I do.”

“But we don’t want each other like that,” he adds.

“Yeah, no.” You chew on your lip, pulling his hoodie tighter around yourself. “I just… don’t want to see you with other people. And I don’t want to pretend that it doesn’t bother me.”

“I don’t wanna see you with anyone else either.” Jungkook exhales, running a hand through his hair. “You want to keep fucking but be exclusive.”

You wince. “Could you not say it like that?”

“What, say it like the truth?”

You purse your lips, staring at him. “Is it a no?”

Jungkook doesn’t say anything for a second. Then, he sighs. “It’s not a no. I’ve been asking you for this, and you always pushed me away.”

“You know am not good with serious conversations. I like it when things are easy.” You cross your arms, trying to shield yourself, but your eyes can’t help but flicker towards him. “I don’t mean to push you away,” you admit. “I just– I get scared.”

His lips part slightly, like he wasn’t expecting that. And then – without a word – he reaches out, pulling the hoodie up so the zipper meets your chin, like he’s tucking you in.

Your heart trips over itself. “What are you doing?”

He grins, hands still lingering near your collar. “Making sure you don’t run away before you finish talking.”

“I wouldn’t run,” you protest.

Jungkook raises a brow.

“…Okay, maybe I would,” you mutter.

His grin softens into something fonder. “Well, you didn’t,” he says simply. “You’re talking to me now.” His thumb brushes over the fabric near your shoulder. “And I know that’s not easy for you.”

Your face grows hot. You roll your eyes, looking away. “Okay, don’t be nice about it.”

Jungkook laughs, bumping your forehead lightly with his. “Sorry, can’t help it. I’m proud of you.”

Your stomach flips. You shove at his chest. “Ugh. Shut up.”

He just laughs harder, catching your wrist before you can push him again. “Too late.”

You elbow him, but he catches your arm, smirking as he tugs you closer. “So that’s it?” His voice drops slightly. “You’re mine, and I’m yours, but we don’t call it anything?”

The words send a shiver down your spine. Mine.

“…Yeah,” you say. “Something like that.”

Jungkook hums, his grip on your wrist loosening but not quite letting go. His fingers brush against yours for a second before he shoves his hands back into his pockets.

“Just stay with me.” You glance at him. “Don’t leave.”

“I’ll stay. Don’t worry.”

You continue walking, the quiet hum of the streetlights and distant city noise filling the silence.

“Taehyung said he wants you to stop by at the party once you drop me off,” you tell Jungkook, letting the information hang in the air before you ask, “But hang out with me instead?”

“You know, I was doing very important things before you called.”

“You never do uni stuff and this is the day you’re deciding to do a personality rebrand?”

“What do you mean? I’m on top of my grades...Kinda.”

You huff at his response. “Then, I dunno. Wanna be nerdy together? I can help you with your assignment.”

You’re pretty sure your marketing major and fashion design minor won’t do much to help him with stats, but you’re definitely down to stick around just to be close to him.

“I don’t think you can, but being nerdy together sounds extremely intriguing, so come on.” He holds his hand out for you and drags you the other way around to his dorm.

It’s not far, just a few blocks over, but the way his fingers loosely wrap around yours makes the walk feel shorter.

Here’s how the rest of the night goes: Jungkook, the ever exemplary student, continues working on his assignment, while you – an accomplished liar who successfully deceived Jungkook into believing you would help him – pretend to help for all of five minutes before succumbing to the far more important task of online shopping for cute clothes.

It’s being nerdy together (your version).

Every so often, he glances at you, probably wondering if you’ll suddenly become useful. You do not. Instead, you kick your feet up on his bed, adding yet another item to your cart that you definitely don’t need.

Your thumb hovers over the screen, eyes locked on the top that has no business being so cute. A strapless, velvety pink crop top. The entire front is held together by a line of sparkling, rhinestone heart clasps, leaving slivers of skin exposed.

“Do you think this is cute?” You turn your phone toward Jungkook.

“Very pretty.” Jungkook nods in approval, until his eyes flick down to the price. “What the fuck, ___.”

“What?” Add to cart. “It’s cute, no?”

“You’re a terrible study partner,” he mutters, typing on his laptop.

“I never claimed to be one,” you say, scrolling past a top that you absolutely do need. “Isn't being in my presence motivating enough?”

Jungkook snorts. “Right. I’m so motivated by your commitment to retail therapy.”

“Good,” you say, adding another item to your cart. “Then I’m doing my job.”

You watch him work on his assignment, your gaze drifting to his hands resting on the keyboard. His fingers are long and lean, the veins running along his wrists just noticeable under his skin. It's like every little movement is getting your attention, and suddenly, all you can think about is how good those hands would feel on you.

“What about this,” you say, a ghost of a smirk dancing at the corner of your lips. “When you finish your task, we can look through some lingerie. You can help me pick out a few things.”

The back of Jungkook’s head hits the wall. His eyes wander to the mirror on the opposite side of the room. You catch him staring – specifically at your propped-up legs, his gaze lingering a little too close to where your dress has ridden up, just enough to reveal a peek of lace.

“Hey, no peeking,” you scold, snapping your legs shut and stretching them out flat on his bed again, smoothing your dress down for good measure. “That’s also for later, when you finish your assignment.”

Smirking, you shift on the bed, just to test him.

“Must be so hard,” you muse, pretending to stretch as your dress slides just a little higher on your thighs. “Having a mirror right there, nowhere else to look.”

He scoffs. “If I wanted to see, I wouldn’t need a mirror.”

Jungkook doesn’t break eye contact, like he’s daring you to react. And maybe you should. Maybe you should roll your eyes, call him cocky, say you wish – but your brain isn’t working fast enough to form words.

“Remember how I fucked you against it?”

In his jersey. How could you forget?

And the way Jungkook’s lips twitch, like he knows exactly what he’s doing to you, makes your face heat up instantly.

“When has it become so easy to make you shy?”

“I’m not.” You glare at him, but it only seems to amuse him more. His lips quirk higher, that same infuriating twitch like he’s enjoying this way too much.

You sit up straighter, leaning forward just enough so your dress pulls a little higher on your thighs, the movement slow and deliberate.

Jungkook’s eyes move to your legs, and you see that flicker of desire flash across his face. His fingers twitch, like he wants to do something – anything – but he stays still.

“Wanna have a little taste to get some motivation to finish your work?” you tease, the giddy rush that heated your body fading as you flash him a mischievous smile.

“Anything to distract me from this shit,” he replies, already pushing the laptop off his lap, the screen still filled with charts and statistics problems. Ugh.

You shift to your knees and grab the back of his neck, crashing your mouth against his. He deepens the kiss a little, his lips soft against yours, the taste of him sweet and familiar. His breath mingles with yours, warm and steady. His hand lands on your waist, fingers lightly tracing the curve of your body.

You pull back just a little, eyes fluttering open to meet his, and for a second, you both just smile at each other, breathless and giddy.

“Should’ve been doing this instead of staring at those charts,” he murmurs, his thumb brushing your cheek as he gently tucks a strand of hair behind your ear.

You laugh softly, heart fluttering, before kissing him again – this time with more confidence, more warmth. His arms wrap around you, pulling you closer as if he can’t get enough. His touch is gentle, but you can feel the quiet desperation behind it.

His rosy lips are swollen after a few more minutes of kissing and touching and grinding.

You slide off the bed and drop down to the floor, your hands running over his thighs, silently urging him to move closer. He shifts toward you, letting out a sharp breath when your palm him through his grey sweatpants.

You want to start of slow, want to take your time, but you’re also so needy and greedy for him, that you can’t help but tug his sweatpants down his legs, along with his briefs.

You take his semi hard dick in your hands and begin to stroke him. You let a drop of spit fall onto his cock for lubrication.

Jungkook puffs out a deep breath. You want to hear more of that.

“What happened to a little taste?” he asks, barely able to contain the moans that leave his mouth.

“Can’t help it,” you shrug, watching him grow bigger and harder in your hand.

His hand reaches for the hoodie he gave you earlier, which was carelessly thrown on his bed. He places it gently on the floor in front of you.

“Sit here,” he says, smoothing out the fabric. “Don’t want your knees to hurt.”

You shuffle your knees onto his hoodie, adjusting yourself, and continue stroking him up and down. At some point, you use both of your hands. You missed feeling his heavy cock in your hands, sitting beneath him and just playing with him.

“Spit on it, baby,” he says, voice low as he grabs his cock by the base and holds it for you to spit on. “Good girl.” He watches you with hooded eyes rub your spit all over him, mixing it with the precum leaking from his tip.

His cock is shiny, glistening with veins adoring his length. You stick out your tongue, gently swiping it over his head. Jungkook hisses when you swirl your tongue around his tip, teasing him with slow moves. He strokes himself while you play with his tip.

“Missed this view.” He pulls away his cock and starts slapping it against your tongue, the heavy feeling and wet noises immediately making you press your thighs together. “Look so pretty on your knees. Such a pretty girl.” Jungkook slides his head into your mouth. “Suck, baby.”

You close your mouth around his cock while you lock eyes with him. Slowly taking him deeper until you can’t take more. Your eyes are already watery and you didn’t even get most of him inside your mouth. You bob your head up and down in a slow, leisure pace.

“Fuck, that’s it,” he praises, threading his fingers through your hair to push it away from your face. “Relax your throat for me, yeah?”

When you do, he presses his hand on the back of your head, pushing your down on his cock and forcing you to swallow nearly half of him. Jungkook lets out a pretty moan when he feels the tightness of your throat around his cock, closing his eyes for a moment. Tears sting your eyes when he pulls you back, your hands gripping his thighs for leverage.

He lets you catch your breath before pushing you down again, moving your head in a tempo to his liking. When he shoves his cock particularly deep into you, you gag, tears rolling down your cheeks. You’re an absolute mess when he pulls out.

“What a good girl you are,” Jungkook says, his voice hoarse and low. “You just love sucking cock, don’t you?” He rubs his sticky cock against your mouth before slapping his head against it. He moves to your right cheek, smearing the mess over your skin and lightly tapping his cock. “Hm, princess?” he asks softer, almost with fake sympathy. He raises his brows in question, looking down at you like there’s just you and no one else.

“Love it so much,” you agree, moving your head along to the mess he’s making on your face.

Putting his cock back into your mouth, Jungkook leans back, watching you with pleasure etched into his expression as you move your head swiftly, twisting your hand around the part you can’t reach.

“So good,” he mutters, his tatted hand against your cheek just to feel you.

You tug your dress down and bring his cock down to your tits. You spit between the valley of your tits, using his tip to catch it and spread it across your boobs. You moan when his head brushes over your perky nipples. You circle his cock around them in small movements, breathy puffs escaping your mouth with how sensitive you are.

“You’re so fucking hot.” Jungkook fondles one breast with his hand, kneading it with his long fingers. He lets a little drop of spit fall onto your chest too, hungrily watching as you rub it against your soft skin with his cock. “Just want a mess everywhere, right?”

You nod, dragging his cock back into your mouth because you just need to taste him.

Jungkook curses under his breath when you start playing with his balls with your other hand. “Fuck, baby. Gonna cum if you keep going.”

Music to your ears.

You continue, swirling your tongue around his cock as you move up and down, trying to go as deep as you can. You can tell he doesn’t want to cum yet, but he doesn’t drag you off his cock, he’s too needy and horny.

“Cum on my tits.” You shift, jerking his cock in front of your chest.

“You want me to?”

“Please,” you beg, pushing your tits together with your arm, looking up at him with big eyes.

He moans at that sight, spurts of cum shooting across your chest. He paints your tits white with a big load. Your mouth hangs open slightly at the cum dripping from his cock. You lick his cock clean before looking down at your tits.

“You came so much.” You hold your tits in your hands. You flick your finger through some of the cum, putting it in your cum afterwards.

“Fuck, ___, please.”

You giggle at his reaction. You rub the cum into your skin with his still hard cock before it can drip down and create and even bigger mess. Your tits are all shiny from his cum when you’re done.

A shaky breath bubbles from Jungkook’s mouth when you stroke him once more, for good measure. “Pretty sure you got every drop.” He taps your elbow, motioning for you to get up. “Come here.” He pats the bed. “Get on all fours for me.”

While you get comfy on your knees on his bed, he takes off his clothes. Jungkook pushes your dress up your ass, the fabric bunched around your waist.

Jungkook slides one finger between your legs, slowly tracing your pussy through your panties.

“My dick in your mouth got you so wet, huh?” He pushes your panties aside, uttering a soft groan at the sight of your slick pussy. “So needy for me.” He bends down and you can feel his breath on your folds.

“Jungkook, please,” you whine.

“Please?” he repeats. “Such a well-mannered girl.” His tongue darts out, licking a stripe across your pussy.

You’re so incredibly sensitive, been yearning for this for so long, that you back arches immediately, thighs starting to quiver at Jungkook’s mild torture with his tongue.

Jungkook moves to your clit. He switches from little flicks to your nub and sucking on it, creating wet and filthy noises. He’s skilled with his mouth – perhaps a bit too skilled for your liking. But right now, you don’t have the energy to think too deeply about it, you’re just focused on the tingling pleasure that shoots through your tummy.

“Right there, Kook. Don’t stop.”

You watch him through the mirror – the way he is keeping your cheeks apart with his hands, face buried between your thighs, fluffy hair bouncing along with his movements. So handsome, so pretty, so yours.

“Pussy tastes so fucking good,” He mumbles, his fingers sinking deeper into your skin.

“So close. Wanna cum, Jungkook.”

Jungkook hums against you, the vibration making your breath hitch. It’s just his mouth on your pussy, but he knows his way around, knows how to make you squirm.

The pressure builds, winding tight in your core, seconds from snapping. “Jungkook,” you gasp, voice wrecked. “I’m–”

He groans into you, gripping harder, and that’s it—that’s all it takes. The tension in your body breaks all at once, pleasure hitting so hard your vision goes hazy. A choked sound spills from your lips, legs trying to squeeze shut, but he doesn’t let you. Just stays there, working you through it, dragging it out until you’re nothing but shivers and gasps, completely undone beneath him.

Only then does he pull back, breathing heavy, lips slick and swollen. He looks up at you through the mirror, something dark, almost possessive in his gaze, and swipes his thumb over his mouth like he’s savouring the taste.

You look back at him, smiling at his shiny face. His lips are covered along with his chin and his nose and a bit of his cheeks.

“This is, like, one of your best looks.”

“What, fresh out the pussy?”

You giggle. “Yeah,” you mutter, swiping your finger over the tip of his nose to clean him.

“I could have my face buried down there forever. I don’t think you realise how good you taste.” You feel his finger spreading your folds. “But I know my girl is very needy, so she wants cock, hm?”

You sigh, melting into his touch when you feel him slap his dick against your pussy instead. “You know me so well.”

The dick slaps are so wet, and your haze-filled mind craves nothing more than for him to shove his cock inside you, raw and deep, filling you the way you need – no barriers, no hesitation.

But Jungkook is actually able to still form sensible thoughts through the horny haze and grabs a condom from his nightstand.

He doesn’t tease you much before he enters you, just slowly, inch by inch, sliding his cock inside you.

“You good, baby?”

“Uh-huh, you can move.”

You gasp, the feeling almost overwhelming but exactly what you wanted. His hands grip your hips, pulling you back toward him as he starts a steady pace from behind, each thrust making your head spin.

“Missed this pussy,” Jungkook rasps, sneaking one hand down to your ass to spank it, eliciting a surprised moan from you. “So tight, so perfect.” He grabs a handful of your ass. “So mine.”

He fucks you rough, doesn’t give you any chance to think of anything but him. Your hands are clutching at his covers, holding the fabric tightly in your palms.

You feel him spit down on your ass. He rubs his finger over your puckered hole, making you whine and bite your lip at the feeling.

“Oh, Jungkook.” He slides his thumb inside, just the tip of his finger, and yet it feels like so much more, the pleasure intensifying.

“You’re such a slut for me, aren’t you?” he asks, not stopping his relentless pace. “Love getting all your holes filled. So, so dirty.” Contempt is dripping from his voice, and you can’t help but have your pussy throbbing at that.

“Just for you,” you breathe. “Just you, Jungkook.”

“That’s, right.” He pushes his thumb a bit deeper, making your fingers tighten around Jungkook’s sheets. “You’re my girl.”

Your heart is racing, pulse pounding in your ears, and all you can do is nod, your body responding to him without thought, your need for him overwhelming.

With his other hand he tugs at your hair, wrapping it around his hand and creating a makeshift ponytail.

“Look at how pretty you look.”

You turn your head to the mirror. Your back is fully arched, and Jungkook’s all over your, his muscled and tatted body towering over you with his cock deeply buried inside your pussy.

He withdraws his thumb from your hole, delivering another spank to your ass.

“Make me go fucking crazy,” he mumbles, wrapping his hand around your tummy and pulling you up against his chest.

“Kook,” you mumble, resting your head in the crook of his neck. You don’t know what you want, only that you’re feeling this irresistible pull to him, like you want to be even closer to him.

He lets your hair go, moving his hand to your tits and squeezing them.

“Cum with me,” he whispers into your ear, immediately sending shivers down your spine. “Look at yourself when you cum, baby. Want you to see how pretty you are.”

When he sneaks his hand that was wrapped around your tummy down between your legs and starts flicking his fingers over your clit, it’s officially over for you.

You still try to keep your eyes open like Jungkook told you so as you teeter off the edge, your climax consuming you. You watch him come undone too, his brows knitted together, and bottom lip caught between his teeth.

You’re weak on your knees, but Jungkook keeps you firm to his chest, not letting fall as he thrusts into you in a slower, sloppier pace. He peppers your neck and shoulders with little kisses, and you giggle a little, delirious on your high. Your hand reaches for his bicep and you squeeze it.

His skin is hot under your touch, muscles flexing as he holds you up, keeping you steady against him. The slow drag of his movements sends waves of overstimulation through your body, but you don’t pull away.

“I know, baby.” Jungkook hums against your shoulder, his lips still ghosting over your skin, pressing lazy kisses between heavy breaths. “Still with me?” he murmurs, voice low, teasing, as his fingers brush down your sides.

You nod, melting further into him, body pliant against his.

Jungkook pulls out. You whine at the loss. He tosses the condom on the floor – you're too spent to tell him how gross that is – and shifts on the bed, lying down together with you.

His arm drapes over your waist, pulling you close, your body naturally moulding into his like it’s second nature. His skin is still warm, his breaths deep and steady as he settles beside you.

You glance down on yourself – you’re a mess. Panties still on, just pulled to the side like he liked, dress bunched around your waist, evidence of him all over you.

“Can I take a shower before I leave?”

“Sure.”

You wait.

You look up at Jungkook. “You’re not gonna ask if you can join me?”

“I thought that was clear?”

You smile. “Good.”

“Hey – will you now tell me what you wrote in your journal about me?”

“I know we’re back to being friends with benefits, but please know your place.”

“It was worth a try.”

4K notes · View notes

youthguk · 2 months ago

Text

Entropy | jjk (m) | one-shot

College AU | Fuckboy Jungkook x Physics Student Y/N

“The universe tends toward chaos.” You thought that only applied to black holes and entropy equations — not boys with lip rings and midnight eyes. You were wrong.

genre: smut, one-shot, college AU, fuckboy!jungkook, explicit sexual content, strong language, alcohol consumption, casual hookup, reader is sexually inexperienced but very willing, Jungkook is fully feral and obsessed

Wc: 10k

author's note: your feedback means the world to me. 🖤

The second law of thermodynamics states that the universe naturally tends toward disorder. That every system, left to its own devices, will eventually fall apart.

You never thought it would apply to people, but by the third week of finals season, everything begins to decay.

Not in any spectacular, cinematic way—no dramatic breakdowns in the hallway or rain-soaked monologues—but in smaller, quieter disintegrations. You begin to lose the will to care whether your iced coffee is more milk than caffeine. Your drawers become a graveyard of crumpled hoodies and socks that don’t match. Your planner, once color-coded with obsessive devotion, now lies somewhere under your bed, abandoned and blank.

Entropy, you think. The tendency of systems to slide into disorder. You remember the diagram from second-year thermodynamics: the universe’s cruel, inevitable drift toward chaos. You’d once found peace in it. A kind of comfort, knowing it wasn’t your fault when things fell apart. It was just nature.

These days, you’re not so sure. You stand in front of the mirror in your dorm’s bathroom, toothbrush hanging from the corner of your mouth, hair piled into a loose, too-honest bun that makes your ears look uneven. You’ve been wearing the same oversized MIT hoodie for three days straight. Not because it means anything to you—you didn’t even apply there—but because it smells like clean laundry and covers the fact that your bra is somewhere inside a laundry basket you no longer have the energy to dig through.

You look exhausted. Not dramatically so, but in the way that makes people hesitate before asking you for anything. You’ve started getting that look in the lab, in lectures, even from your professors: the quiet, pitying glance that says, You’re doing too much, and it’s starting to show. And still, you keep doing it.

Physics doesn’t reward soft emotions. It rewards answers. You know how to calculate momentum, how to model projectile motion, how to explain wave-particle duality to a room full of distracted undergrads—but you don’t know how to mourn something that was never truly yours. You don’t know how to feel cleanly. You only know how to function.

You open the bathroom cabinet, close it again, stare blankly at your own reflection. Your eyes are ringed in fatigue. Your lips are chapped. Your last kiss was over a month ago and didn’t even taste like goodbye.

You don’t miss him. Not really. He was nice. Predictable. Gentle. He always held your hand like he was asking permission. But the moment he ended it—voice calm, like he was discussing his meal plan—you didn’t feel heartbreak. You felt relief.

And maybe that’s worse. Your phone buzzes on the sink. You glance down and see Hyeri’s name.

Hyeri: *I swear to god if you ghost me I’m breaking into your room.*Hyeri: *Put on a dress. He’s throwing a party.*You: *Who.*Hyeri: *Jeon fucking Jungkook.*You: No thanks.

Your thumb hovers over the keyboard.

There it is—that name again. A name that lives in the background of your life like ambient noise. Jeon Jungkook: a boy you’ve never actually spoken to, but whose existence seems to follow you in ways you can’t explain. Shared classes. Group projects. Dorm parties where he arrived shirtless and left with a girl on his arm. Mutual friends who describe him with exasperated fondness. A smirk that belongs on someone far less academically average.

You’ve never had a reason to care about him. Not really. Except for that one night at the start of second year, when you sat across from him at a friend-of-a-friend’s birthday and watched him lick whipped cream off his thumb while explaining something about SEO strategy. You’d gone home that night and googled what the hell SEO actually was.

You’d forgotten about him after that. Or tried to.

Until your best friend started playing matchmaker in group chats you weren’t in. Until the campus gossip pages kept posting blurry photos of his arms. Until his name started appearing in conversations he wasn’t even part of, and every girl said the same thing:

Jeon Jungkook fucks like it’s a contact sport.

For a brief moment, you let yourself imagine what it would feel like to be tackled by him, but quickly buried that thought beneath a mountain of coursework, equations, and meticulously organized lab notes - all those neat, contained systems that made sense.

Hyeri: Come. Please. One drink. One dance. You’re not allowed to rot in that hoodie forever.

Chewing your lip, you glance from the worn hoodie to your reflection, then finally to the door. Maybe this isn't about Jungkook, or even your ex - maybe it's simply time to feel something real before summer consumes what's left of you. With a quiet sigh, you make your decision.

You: Fine. But if it’s weird, I’m faking a panic attack and leaving.

✧.*✧.*✧.*✧.*✧.✧.

You don’t know when the universe started to unravel.Maybe it was the breakup. Maybe it was that lab partner who kept messing up your simulations. Maybe it was all the times you sat through lectures with tears threatening at the corners of your eyes and no one noticing, not even once. But tonight, it feels like something bigger. Like the universe itself has decided to press its thumb against your spine and push.

Entropy unfolds around you like a slow dance. The universe's natural descent into disorder feels inevitable tonight as you stand before the mirror, half-heartedly curling your lashes. Mascara won't fix the exhaustion in your eyes, won't erase the weeks you've spent hiding from your reflection. You barely recognize the person staring back at you anymore.

Hyeri’s outside your door, already half-drunk, yelling through the crack like she owns the world. “If you’re not out in five minutes, I’m breaking in and dressing you myself!”

You shout back a profanity, then drop your towel and step into the dress she brought you. It wasn’t made for physics students. That much is clear. It’s navy satin, too short to be safe and too tight to be responsible. The neckline dips like a threat, the fabric clings like it knows something you don’t. You smooth it down your sides, catching your reflection by accident — and then not looking away.

Your hair’s still wet from the world’s fastest shower. You didn’t bother with foundation. Just a bit of liner, a swipe of something sheer on your lips. You look like someone you don’t quite know. Someone who might dance. Someone who might say yes to something reckless. The zipper sticks halfway up your back, and when you reach to fix it, a strand of hair slips free and falls across your face. You look messy. Unpolished. A little chaotic.

A laugh escapes your lips as you realize that in your disheveled state, you've finally aligned with the universe's natural tendency toward chaos.

There’s a knock at the door. “I swear to god, Y/N—”

You open it before she can finish, and Hyeri shuts up mid-rant.

“Holy shit,” she breathes.

You grab your bag. “Don’t say anything.”

“Okay,” she says, eyes wide, “but if Jungkook doesn’t try to kiss you tonight, I’m checking him for a concussion.”

You roll your eyes, but your stomach flutters with a newfound awareness - the whisper of satin against skin, the cool night air dancing across your thighs.

Following Hyeri through the dimly lit stairwell and into the waiting Uber, you can't help but notice how different the city feels tonight. Summer lingers in the air, heavy with possibility, as if the universe itself is contemplating what kind of chaos to unleash. For once, you're ready to embrace whatever comes.

✧.*✧.*✧.*✧.*✧.✧.

You smell the party before you hear it. It’s not unpleasant — not the kind of sour, suffocating stink of undergrad dorm parties you’ve long since grown out of. No, this one smells like summer. Like too-sweet alcohol and chlorine and night air that clings to bare shoulders. There’s music, loud enough to rattle the pavement beneath your heels, bass bleeding through windows too big to hide the chaos inside.

Jungkook’s house is exactly what you’d expect from a rich boy with too many friends and too little restraint. Modern, massive, perched on a hill just far enough from campus to feel forbidden. The front door’s already wide open. People flow in and out like blood through a vein. Someone’s laughing on the porch. Someone else is making out against the railing. You pause before going in.

Hyeri’s already halfway up the steps, turning back when she notices you hesitate. “Don’t look like you’re here to study. Shoulders back. Chin up. You look hot as hell.”

You follow her inside. The temperature rises immediately. The music hits your chest in waves, something fast and rhythmic that people pretend they know the words to. There’s a sheen of sweat on everyone’s skin, cups half-empty and already sticky with fingerprints. Lights pulse in warm golds and deep reds, designed to make everyone look better than they are.

You keep your eyes low at first, weaving through bodies, careful not to bump into anyone. You’re not used to being seen. Not like this. Not in something this tight, this short. You feel the way the fabric pulls across your hips, how it shifts with each step. You’re suddenly aware of the line of your thighs, the exposed stretch of your back.

The weight of someone's stare draws your attention upward, and there he stands: Jeon Jungkook, watching you with deliberate intensity.

Slouched on the arm of an expensive couch, drink in one hand, tattooed fingers curled around plastic like they’ve never had to hold anything heavier. He’s wearing a black button-up — open halfway down his chest, sleeves rolled to his elbows — and a pair of dark jeans that might as well be a crime. His lip ring catches the light when he smirks at something one of his friends says, and his head tilts just slightly — because he’s looking at you.

You almost miss it, the way the smirk dies and reforms into something slower. Sharper. His gaze lingers, dips — not in a crude, hungry way, but in a way that makes you feel scanned. Like he’s logging every inch of skin, every tilt of your body, every second you hold eye contact.

His expression remains neutral as his gaze lingers, drinking in every detail of your presence. The intensity of his stare follows you across the room as Hyeri pulls you toward the kitchen, chattering about shots and mixers while reminding you to "hydrate between drinks, you nerd." Even through the press of bodies and pulsing music, you can feel the weight of his attention like a physical touch.

The kitchen is a chaotic display of solo cups and liquor bottles, with fruit swimming in something that promises tomorrow's regret. You grab a drink more for something to occupy your hands than anything else, the cold plastic a flimsy shield as cherry and vodka touch your lips.

When Hyeri tugs at your hand with an excited "Come dance!", you pause. The familiar heat of his gaze draws your attention back across the room. He's standing now, drink still in hand, and when your eyes meet, his lips curve into a smile that's neither cocky nor practiced. It's something more dangerous - slow, curious, possessive - as if he's already seen how this night ends. As if the universe itself has chosen its preferred form of chaos.

✧.*✧.*✧.*✧.*✧.✧.

You lose Hyeri somewhere between the kitchen and the music.

She disappears into the haze of bodies with the kind of confidence you’ve never been able to fake—throwing her arms around someone you don’t recognize, laughing too loudly, swaying like she’s part of the beat itself. The living room’s been cleared just enough to form a makeshift dance floor, though calling it that feels generous. It’s a swarm. Sweaty, uncoordinated, pulsing with bass and alcohol.

You hover at the edge for a moment, half-expecting yourself to turn back. But your feet don’t move. You feel warm. Lightheaded. A little less real with every second. And you know, before you even look again, that he’s still there.

He doesn’t approach like he’s chasing something. He approaches like he’s already caught it.

You feel him before you see him—something magnetic pulling at the corner of your awareness. Then you turn your head, and he’s suddenly beside you, crowding your space without brushing you once. His shirt clings to the lines of his chest. His breath smells faintly of whiskey and mint.

“Didn’t know physics majors danced,” he murmurs, not loud but close enough that the words slide against your neck.

You don’t flinch. “Didn’t know business majors could form full sentences.”

That earns a laugh. Low. A little sharp. He doesn’t look away. The song shifts, something slower, bass-heavy, almost liquid in the way it pours over the crowd. His hand doesn’t touch you—not yet—but you feel his presence pressing in, daring you to move first.

“You wanna?” he asks, a single word softened by the tilt of his mouth. It’s not polite. Not romantic. But his tone says he already knows the answer.

You shouldn't dance with him, but nothing about tonight has followed any semblance of reason. When you nod, he steps behind you, eliminating all space between your bodies. His hands find your hips with casual precision, thumbs brushing the exposed skin between your dress and thighs - not quite inappropriate, but enough to make your breath catch and spine straighten.

You let the music guide your movements, following pure instinct rather than practiced steps. The weight of his hands sets your rhythm, his grip subtle yet firm as heat radiates from his chest against your back. He stays silent, letting his touch speak volumes - possessive, intentional, marking.

When his lips graze your ear, he murmurs, "You're not what I expected."

"And what's that supposed to mean?" Your voice emerges unfamiliar - soft, low, wrapped in heat.

“I don’t know,” he says. “You just… move like you’ve been pretending not to want this.”

You lean back—not into him, not quite. Just enough to let your head fall against his shoulder, enough for your cheek to brush the edge of his jaw.

“Maybe I have,” you whisper.

That makes him exhale through his nose, a near-silent sound of disbelief.One of his hands slides lower, fingers dragging down the side of your thigh through your dress, subtle under the colored lights. You don’t stop him. Don’t even flinch. You’re past that now—past logic, past caution. You gave up control the second you walked through the door. Your hips roll against his, slow, testing. He curses under his breath.

“You’re gonna kill me,” he mutters.

You smile, dizzy with the rush of power you didn’t know you had. “Good.”

The beat slows again. He doesn’t move. Neither do you. You're suspended there, in the strobe-flecked dark, wrapped in the tension of something neither of you is ready to name. You can feel the way his body hardens against yours. The restraint in the way he keeps his hands from wandering farther. The storm gathering behind his eyes.

And then someone spills a drink, somewhere close, and the moment fractures just enough for you to step away.

You walk toward the back door without a word. Toward the warm night air, toward the sound of water, toward the next inevitable collapse in this universe gone fully to chaos.

Behind you, Jungkook follows.

The patio is cooler, but it doesn’t help. Not really.

You step out into the night air with your plastic cup still clutched in your hand, the condensation sliding between your fingers. The hem of your dress clings to the backs of your thighs, slick with sweat and static, and your pulse hasn’t slowed since the dance floor. You try to blame it on the alcohol. On the heat. On the music still throbbing behind you.

Not on him. You don’t dare glance behind you. You don’t have to. You already know he’s there. The pool glows in blue and gold, lights flickering beneath the surface like someone bottled the stars and poured them into water. A few people are floating lazily, limbs draped over inflatable chairs, laughter drifting up like smoke. The jacuzzi hums beside it, steam rising from its surface, soft and almost cinematic. Someone’s speaker plays a slower song now—trance-like, sensual, too low to sing along to.

And there he is again. He emerges from the shadows like the night belongs to him. Still shirtless, only now his skin shines with a sheen of sweat. His boxers ride low on his hips, exposing just enough to make your mouth dry. His chest is cut, stomach taut, tattoos black against golden skin. A towel slung over one shoulder. That stupid, crooked grin.

“You look hot,” he says. His tone is casual, but his eyes aren’t. They’re scanning every inch of you, unhurried. “You should cool off.”

You take a slow sip from your drink. “What, in there?”

He nods toward the jacuzzi. “It’s basically mandatory.”

You raise a brow. “I don’t have a swimsuit.”

Neither does he, clearly. He steps closer anyway. “Neither do I.”

Before you can respond, Hyeri appears beside you with a shriek, nearly stumbling as she tugs off her dress in one motion. Her red bra and matching lace panties flash under the porch lights like it’s the most natural thing in the world. “Come onnnn,” she whines, laughing, already halfway into the water. “It’s just underwear! No one cares!”

“I care,” you mutter, gripping the hem of your dress like it’s the last thing tethering you to reality.

“Then stop being so uptight,” she says—and with no warning, she shoves you forward.

You stumble with a yelp. The cup flies from your hand. Your knees buckle as hot water surrounds you, silk dragging against your skin, heavy and clinging. You surface gasping, soaked from head to toe, hair plastered to your forehead.

“Hyeri!” you snap, voice shrill, but she’s laughing too hard to answer.

Someone whistles. Someone else claps. Jungkook’s smirking as he lowers himself in across from you, water sloshing up over his chest. He leans back, spreads his arms wide across the edge, like this is his throne and you’ve just been delivered to it.

And your dress—god, your dress. The satin is ruined. It sticks to your stomach, your thighs, your chest. The neckline’s slipped almost indecently low, and you know without looking that the fabric is nearly see-through now, the curve of your bra showing underneath. You tug at it beneath the surface, cheeks flaming.

“It’s not that kind of party,” you mutter, voice tight.

But he’s already watching you like it is. “You’re overdressed.”

You shoot him a look. “Not anymore.”

He smiles, slow and lazy, and leans closer. “Then lose it.”

You hesitate. But the water is warm, the music hazy, the alcohol swimming in your bloodstream like a tide. And your dress is clinging like second skin, dragging with every breath. You sigh. Slide the straps off your shoulders. Shimmy out of the fabric under the surface until it floats around you like a drowning petal. You drape it over the side without ceremony.

Now it’s just you in your bra and underwear. Bare legs. Wet skin. Nothing left to hide behind. And he’s watching you like he wants to ruin you with just his eyes.

Conversation rises around you—someone retells a wild hookup story, someone else splashes a drink over the jets—but none of it registers. You can feel Jungkook's thigh brushing yours beneath the water. His hand finds your knee. Slides just above it.

You breathe in. Let it happen. The moment holds like that. Suspended. Like a physics problem with no solution—just two bodies and friction and heat, variables with too much potential energy, waiting to snap.

Then someone splashes. Water flies up into your face, and you blink hard, flinching.

“Shit,” you mumble, rubbing your eye. Your contact is out of place—stinging, burning, blurring your vision.

"Everything okay?" Jungkook's voice softens with concern as he moves closer.

"Just got something in my eye," you manage, blinking rapidly.

He pulls himself out of the water in one fluid motion, muscles glistening as he reaches for a towel. "Bathroom's inside - I've got eyedrops upstairs. Plus something dry you can change into."

The offer hangs between you. Water drips from his hair down his neck, his soaked boxers clinging to his frame as he extends his hand. You pause, just for a moment, before accepting both his help and what it implies.

The hallway is quiet—eerily so after the chaos of the party below. The music becomes nothing but a muffled hum, thudding through the floorboards as if the house is holding its breath with you. Water drips from your hair to your bare shoulders, your bra clinging uncomfortably to your skin beneath the oversized towel Jungkook threw over you. The soaked fabric of your underwear sticks between your thighs as you walk, your steps squelching against the hardwood.

He walks just ahead, shirtless and dripping, his boxers clinging to every muscle of his thighs. His back is broad, his tattooed arm flexing as he opens a door on the left, pushing it open with casual ease.

“Bathroom,” he says, flicking on the light. “Eyedrops are in the cabinet.”

You step inside. The air is cool, the tile colder beneath your feet. A dim light above the mirror flickers before settling into a soft glow. You avoid looking at yourself in the mirror—you already know you look like something undone. Makeup smudged. Hair clumped into wet strands. Skin flushed from heat and embarrassment and him.

You open the cabinet, find the eyedrops instantly. Your fingers tremble as you tip your chin back, blinking the liquid in. The sting fades slowly.

When you lower your gaze, he’s leaning in the doorway, shoulder against the frame, arms crossed over his chest. He doesn’t speak. Just watches. Like he’s cataloging every movement, every breath, every second you give him.

You clear your throat. “Thanks.”

He nods. “Didn’t want your eye falling out on my watch.”

You laugh, quiet. “So thoughtful.”

“I am,” he says, straightening. He steps toward you, slow. Measured. “You should let me show you.”

Your pulse skips. “Show me what?”

His eyes dip. “How thoughtful I can be.”

You roll your eyes, but it’s weak. Your body’s already reacting, legs stiffening slightly, breath catching when he stops in front of you, close enough that the heat of his skin warms yours. The water still dripping from his hair catches the light.

“You’re wet,” he murmurs, glancing down.

“Sharp observation.”

He hums. “Not just from the jacuzzi, I think.”

Your eyes snap up. His are burning now—darker, lower, slow-burning coal beneath thick lashes. His voice dips.

“You gonna let me dry you off?”

You don’t answer.

He leans in, lips brushing your ear. “Or should I make you wetter first?”

Your knees threaten to give out.

He steps back before you can respond, smirking like he already knows he’s winning. “Come on,” he says, holding out his hand. “I’ll give you something dry to wear.”

You hesitate. You shouldn’t. You know what this is. But you take his hand anyway.

The bedroom is dim, lit only by a lamp in the corner and the moonlight spilling through half-closed blinds. The air is warmer here. Softer. And everything smells like him—spice, skin, shampoo. The bed is rumpled. There’s a hoodie thrown over a chair, a single black ring on the nightstand, and a half-empty glass of water.

You stand awkwardly at the edge of the room, arms crossed tightly over the towel. He crosses to a dresser, pulls out a black T-shirt and a pair of soft-looking sweatpants, both oversized. He tosses them to the bed and turns to face you.

“You can change here,” he says. “I’ll be good.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You don’t even believe that.”

He grins. “No. But I like hearing you say it.”

You glance at the clothes, then at him—and slowly, deliberately, your fingers move. The towel slips from your grasp, pooling at your feet. The air changes, caught between breath and silence—suspended, reverent.

His eyes drag down your body in a slow, devastating sweep. Your wet bra clings to your chest, nipples clearly visible beneath the sheer fabric. Your underwear is nearly transparent, stretched taut across your hips, the waistband twisted from the way you shifted under the water. Your skin is flushed, dotted with goosebumps. You don’t cover yourself.

He doesn’t move. For a moment, he just stares—mouth parted, throat working as he swallows hard. His cock twitches in his boxers, and the fabric can no longer hide it.

You speak first.“Thought you were gonna be good.”

His gaze lifts—slow, hungry. His voice is hoarse when he answers. “I lied.”

He sits on the bed, legs spread wide, his cock hard and obvious beneath the wet fabric. He leans back on his hands and looks at you like he already owns you. “Come here.”

You move towards him with slow, measured steps, each movement drawing his gaze along the curves of your body. Your soaked bra clings to your skin as you approach, and when you finally stop before him, his exhale is strained with barely contained desire.

He tilts his head. “Can I touch you now?”

You nod. It’s barely a breath.

He reaches forward, hands sliding up the backs of your thighs, then over your hips, thumbs brushing the waistband of your underwear.

“You’re so fucking pretty,” he murmurs, eyes flicking up. “You don’t even know.”

“I think I do,” you whisper.

And he grins, wild and crooked and starved. “Good girl.”

His eyes are on your mouth when you breathe.

“Come here,” he says again, voice husky, deeper than it was downstairs. There’s no playfulness in it anymore. Just want.

You step forward, letting your knees brush the outside of his. He doesn’t move. Then, slowly, deliberately, you lift one leg over his thigh, then the other, and lower yourself into his lap.

The second your hips meet his, you feel it — the hard line of his cock pressing against the thin cotton of your panties. You both freeze. His breath stutters, jaw flexing as his fingers curl into the sheets beside him. He looks up at you like you’ve just ruined him.

“You feel that?” he murmurs, voice barely above a whisper. “That’s what you do to me.”

Your cheeks burn, but you don’t look away.

He reaches for your waist, fingers spreading wide as he guides you gently — forward, then back. The friction is slow. Torturous. His cock slides along the soaked crotch of your panties with every pass, dragging over your clit in a way that makes your thighs twitch.

“You’re soaked,” he whispers, like it’s a confession. “You’ve been wet since the dance, haven’t you?”

You open your mouth to argue, but it comes out a moan instead.

His hands roam. Over your waist, your ribs, thumbs grazing the undercurve of your breasts. He doesn’t touch your nipples — not yet. He’s savoring. Mapping you like something rare and sacred. Your fingers dig into his shoulders for balance, and he lets his head fall forward, lips grazing the slope of your neck.

“You smell like heat,” he murmurs, mouth brushing your pulse. “Like you’re meant to be fucked.”

The air leaves your lungs in one sharp exhale. He sucks at your throat once — soft, then harder — enough to leave a mark. Your hips grind down harder by accident, and he groans into your skin.

“God, baby,” he breathes, voice crumbling, “I want you to ride me just like this. Slow. Fuck—just like that.”

You drag your hips again, letting your soaked panties rub over his cock, and his fingers dig into your hips hard enough to bruise.

“You like that?” you whisper, breath shaking.

He looks up at you, hair falling into his eyes, and smiles like the devil.

“You have no idea.”

He rolls his hips up into yours once, sharply. You gasp.

“Wanna feel you come on me like this,” he mutters, pressing a kiss beneath your jaw. “Make a mess all over my lap. Let me ruin these pretty little panties you wore just for me.”

You whimper. His cock pulses beneath you, hot and thick and aching against your soaked center.

“Say you want it,” he whispers. “Say you want me to fuck you.”

“I want it,” you gasp, breathless. “Jungkook—please…”

And he groans, deep and raw.

“I’m gonna take my fucking time with you.”

You don’t realize how hard you’re breathing until he stills you.

His hands slide beneath your thighs, gripping them firmly, and with a strength that shouldn’t feel as gentle as it does, he lifts you. You gasp as he lays you back across the bed, your legs draped over the edge, your hair fanning against the pillows like you were made to be framed like this—bare and gasping beneath his stare.

He follows you down slowly. Drops to his knees like it's instinct. Not cocky. Not rushed. Like he’s been waiting to kneel here since the second he saw you. Your thighs tremble as he presses them open, fingers leaving faint imprints against your skin. He slides his palms under your knees, pushing them farther apart, and for a second, he just looks at you. At the damp curve of your panties, the way the fabric clings, the way you shift slightly under his stare like the heat between your legs has turned unbearable.

“You’re fucking perfect,” he breathes.

His hands grip the waistband of your panties, and you lift your hips without thinking. He peels them down slowly, watching them drag over your skin like he wants to memorize every inch. When they reach your ankles, he tosses them somewhere behind him—but his eyes never leave you. Then he leans in.

The first touch of his tongue is almost too soft to process. Just the tip, a teasing flick across your clit that makes your entire body jolt. You clutch at the sheets, your back arching when he does it again—firmer this time. He groans the second he tastes you.

“God, you taste so fucking good,” he murmurs, dragging his tongue from your entrance all the way up. “How the fuck do you taste like this?”

Your thighs twitch. He presses his palms against them to keep you open, steady, and lowers his mouth again.

This time, it’s not soft. His tongue laps at you with purpose, flattening against your clit in slow, deliberate strokes that make your legs tense and your fingers curl. He moans against you like he’s the one being pleasured, and the vibrations send shocks through your entire body.

You cry out. It’s instinctual—your hips trying to buck, your hand flying to his hair. He doesn’t stop. Doesn’t let you run. He wraps an arm around your thigh, holds you down, and slips two fingers inside you without warning. Your moan is wrecked.

The stretch, the heat, the way his tongue moves faster now—circling, pressing, teasing just to the edge of pain. It’s too much. Not enough. Everything. Your head falls back against the mattress.

“Jungkook—” It’s a whimper, broken. “Oh my god…”

He groans again, tongue working faster, fingers curling inside you like he knows exactly where to find you, exactly how to press until you’re gasping like you’re drowning.

“That’s it,” he rasps against you. “Fuck, baby… let me feel you come on my mouth. Right here. Come for me.”

The pressure builds with each movement of his tongue, your body trembling on the edge as pleasure coils tight and hot within you. When release finally comes, it hits you like a wave — back arching, thighs shaking, lips parting in a cry you can’t control. You feel yourself pulse around his fingers, your orgasm ripping through you in hot, wet pulses that make you sob his name.

He groans low against you and keeps going, tongue flicking as your body shudders, milking every second out of it, chasing every last twitch of pleasure until your hips collapse and your legs fall open. He finally pulls back, face glistening, lips swollen, pupils blown. You’re panting and he stares at you like he’s just won a war. And then—without giving you a second to recover—he grips your thighs and says, voice rough, “Get up.”

You blink, dizzy. “Wha—”

“Mirror,” he says. “Now.”

You’re still catching your breath when he grabs your wrist. Not harshly. Not with force. Just enough pressure to tell you you’re not going anywhere. Your skin is hot, oversensitive, your thighs still twitching, and he’s already pulling you upright like he hasn’t just made you come with nothing but his mouth and two fingers. You follow, unsteady on your feet, your knees weak. Your bra is twisted around your chest, half-askew. Your hair’s stuck to your neck. You feel undone.

And he’s still hard. You catch a glimpse of it as he steps in behind you — the thick outline of his cock straining against the wet cotton of his boxers. You must’ve soaked through his lap earlier, because the front of them is completely dark, clinging to every inch of him. Your throat goes dry.

“Come here,” he murmurs, breath hot against your ear, already steering you toward the mirror in the corner of his room. Full-length. Gold-rimmed. Slightly fogged at the edges from the humidity of your bodies.

“I can’t—” you start, still dazed, and his hand cups your jaw from behind.

“You can,” he says, soft but firm. “You’re not done. Not yet.”

He stops you just a step in front of the mirror.

“Look,” he tells you. His voice is low, breathless now. “Look at yourself.”

You do and the girl in the reflection is… not you. Her lips are swollen. Her bra half-off. Her thighs gleaming. Her chest rising and falling like she’s been running for hours. You can see Jungkook’s frame behind you—tall, shirtless, flushed—his arm reaching around your waist, the other pressing flat against your lower back.

Then his hand slides down. Over your stomach. Your panties are gone. You’re bare for him, wet and pulsing and still aching from before. His fingers dip between your legs again.

You gasp. Your head drops forward—but his voice sharpens, right against your ear.

“No. Eyes up. Watch.”

You do. You watch the way your mouth falls open when two fingers slip back inside you, slow and deep. Watch the way your body rocks forward slightly, forced to brace against the glass as he curls them perfectly, his palm dragging over your clit just enough to make your knees buckle.

He wraps his other arm around your waist to keep you upright.

“Good girl,” he whispers, lips brushing your neck.

Your hips twitch. The angle is too perfect. Too much. Every thrust of his fingers sends you crashing forward against your reflection, breath fogging the glass, lips parting with every ragged moan.

“Look how pretty you are when you fall apart,” he murmurs. “You see that?”

You nod, barely. He pumps his fingers harder. Deeper. You feel them hit that spot again, and your entire body shudders. His hips are pressed to your ass now, his cock grinding against your skin with every movement, leaking through his boxers as he fingers you mercilessly.

“You like being watched?” he growls, voice breaking. “Like seeing yourself like this?”

You whimper. “Yes…”

“You wanna come again, don’t you?” His fingers slam into you harder now, knuckles wet, your slick echoing obscenely in the quiet. “You wanna do it while you’re looking me in the eye?”

You lift your head and meet his gaze in the mirror.

And that’s what breaks you. You cry out, loud and raw, body shaking against his, pressed full-length to the glass as your orgasm rips through you again — messier this time, faster, overwhelming. Your legs quake. His fingers never stop. He holds you through it, one arm locking you in place as you fall apart a second time in front of yourself, because of him.

Your breath fogs the mirror in quick, shallow pants. He finally pulls back, wet fingers sliding free with a low, satisfied groan. He looks at you in the mirror—flushed, panting, nearly gone—and leans in to press a slow kiss to your shoulder.

“I could watch you come all night.”

And somehow, you believe him. He pulls back just enough to let you breathe. The mirror’s cooled now, the glass smeared with your fingerprints and fog, the reflection a blur of tangled hair and sweat and wrecked pleasure. Your thighs are shaking. Your skin is damp. You feel like you’ve melted and there’s no putting yourself back together.

Jungkook turns you gently, hand on your waist, guiding you like he’s still not done claiming you.

The backs of your knees hit the mattress, and you let him push you down until you’re flat on your back. Your arms fall limp beside you, and for a moment all you can do is stare up at him. His chest is heaving. His skin is flushed. His cock — thick, red, twitching — strains beneath the cling of his boxers, soaked and sticking to every outline.

Then he hooks his thumbs in the waistband. You can’t look away. The cotton peels down slowly, catching on the head of his cock. He frees it with one hand, and it slaps up against his stomach, flushed and dripping. Your breath catches.

You’ve seen porn. You’ve read things. You’ve imagined. But nothing could’ve prepared you for the sight of him — him— standing between your knees, eyes dark, cock hard, and so clearly turned on by you. Your thighs press together instinctively. He sees it and smirks then climbs onto the bed. He doesn’t ask. He just leans over you, one hand sliding beneath your back, the other tugging the straps of your bra off your shoulders. You lift your arms without thinking, too far gone to hesitate, and he slides it down and off, tossing it carelessly to the floor.

Your breasts spill free, heavy and flushed and still damp from sweat.

He freezes. Just for a second. “Jesus fuck,” he breathes.

His hand comes up, fingers splayed, and he cups one breast gently, reverently, like it’s something sacred. His thumb grazes your nipple. You shudder.

“You’re unreal,” he murmurs. “So fucking soft… I’ve been staring at these all night.”

You laugh breathlessly. “You haven’t even seen them until now.”

He leans down, presses a kiss between them. “Didn’t have to. I just knew.”

And then he’s straddling your hips, cock in his hand, eyes dark as sin.

You watch, completely still, as he spits into his palm, slicks it over his length, and nestles the head of his cock between your breasts.

Your stomach tightens. He reaches down, gently lifts your hands, guiding them to your own body. “Hold them together for me.”

You obey. Press your breasts around him, the weight of them closing snug around his cock. His breath stutters.

“Just like that,” he whispers. “Fuck—just like that.”

And then he starts to move. It’s slow at first. The head of his cock slides up, nudging under your chin, wet with pre-come. You gasp as it drags back down, gliding slick between your breasts, your skin burning with friction and arousal and humiliation, but god, it turns you on more than you thought possible. You’ve never done this before. Never even thought about it.

But the way he moans? The way his eyes fall half-lidded, hips starting to stutter as he watches his cock disappear between your breasts? It wrecks you. Your thighs press together again. You can feel the wetness leaking out of you — fresh, sticky, proof that even after everything, your body’s still begging.

“Fuck, baby,” Jungkook groans, one hand gripping the headboard for balance, the other fisting your hair. “You have no idea what this does to me.”You whimper.

“Look at you,” he pants. “Tits so fucking perfect. Taking all of me. You’re so good—so fucking good—”

The head of his cock taps your chin again, your lips, your throat. You open your mouth on instinct, and he moans loudly.

“You wanna taste it?” he growls. “Wanna suck the tip while I fuck your tits?”

You nod, breathless, and tilt your head just enough to catch him on your tongue the next time he thrusts up. The sound he makes is filthy. His hips falter. His jaw clenches. The hand in your hair tightens.

“Fuck—fuck, I’m not gonna last like this,” he chokes out. “You feel too good. You’re so fucking hot like this. I could come all over these perfect tits and still not be done.”

You whine while he pulls back.

Not because he’s finished — but because he’s holding on. Barely. And because he hasn’t even been inside you yet. He’s panting above you, knees sunk into the mattress on either side of your waist, sweat beading down his chest as his cock pulses between your breasts. The tip is slick, flushed red, twitching with restraint. His eyes are locked on the mess he’s made of your body — your breasts shining, lips parted, your entire body still trembling beneath him.

But you’re not done. You should be. You’ve come twice, your legs are jelly, your skin is hypersensitive — but none of that matters. Because the longer you stare at him, the more you realize that this isn’t enough. Not yet. Not until you’ve had all of him. Not until you’ve tasted the way he’s falling apart.

Your voice is gone. Your mind’s gone too. All you can feel is heat — liquid and pulsing, low in your belly and behind your knees. You want to be good for him. You want to be filthy for him. You want to know what he tastes like. You want to feel his cock on your tongue.

So you shift beneath him. Lift your hands to his thighs, fingers sliding up slowly, dragging over the thick muscle until you reach his hips. He watches you with hooded eyes, breathless, lips wet and parted. You look up at him. And then — without a single word — you stick out your tongue. The way his expression breaks…

“Holy fuck,” he whispers.

His hand comes down, cradling your jaw, thumb brushing your cheek as he stares like he can’t believe what he’s seeing.

“You want to suck me off that bad?” he asks, voice rough. “After everything I’ve done to you?”

You nod. Keep your tongue out. Your eyes never leave his. He growls.

“Say it,” he whispers, thumb pressing into your chin. “Be a good girl. Tell me what you want.”

Your voice is hoarse. Desperate. “I want your cock in my mouth, Jungkook… I want to suck you until you lose it. I want to feel you on my tongue, in my throat. I want to taste all of you. Please…”

His jaw clenches. His hips jerk forward instinctively, the tip of his cock brushing your bottom lip.

“Fuck, you’re gonna kill me,” he mutters. “Open your mouth.”

You do and he guides himself in slowly, head pressing past your lips, the taste of salt and musk blooming over your tongue. You groan softly, and he shudders.

“That’s it,” he murmurs, hand slipping into your hair, wrapping it around his fingers like reins. “Fuck, baby. Look so pretty like this.”

You hollow your cheeks, take him deeper. Inch by inch, tongue curled beneath the shaft, your lips stretched wide. His cock slides in heavy, hot, and you let it, eyes fluttering closed as he presses against the back of your throat.

He hisses through his teeth. “God—fuck, your mouth…”

You moan around him. The vibration makes him groan, hips rolling forward just slightly — enough to make you gag softly around him. Your eyes water. You don’t stop.

Your fingers curl around his thighs. You suck him hard, wet and steady, letting spit drip down your chin, letting it get messy, wanting it to get messy. You want him undone. You want him to lose control.

“Fuck, just like that,” he pants, voice cracking. “You’re so good. You’re fucking perfect.”

He begins to move. Not roughly. Just slow thrusts of his hips, sliding his cock deeper with every pass, using your mouth like he’s been dreaming about it for months. His hand holds your hair tight. His stomach flexes. You can feel him trembling. You flatten your tongue. Let him fuck into your mouth. He starts muttering now — barely coherent.

“Shit… you’re gonna make me come—your fucking mouth—baby, I’m gonna—”

But then he pulls out. You gasp, mouth open, spit trailing from your lips to the head of his cock. He’s shaking.

“I can’t,” he breathes. “Not yet. I need to be inside you.”

You’re still panting when he leans down to kiss you. It’s not gentle. He licks into your mouth, like he can’t bear the space between you anymore. Then he reaches for the drawer.

Pulls out a condom and looks down at you like you’re the only thing in the universe.

“Lie back,” he says. “Let me fuck you right.”

You’re already open for him when he returns. Laid bare, legs parted, lips swollen, chin still shining from spit. Your body aches in the best way — used, touched, ruined — but it’s nothing compared to what you feel when you watch him roll the condom on. His chest is heaving. His thighs are flexed. And his cock, flushed and twitching in his grip, looks almost angry with need.

He climbs between your legs slowly. Like he’s in control. But you can see it now — the tension behind his smirk. The tremble in his breath. He’s been on the edge since you got on your knees, and he’s barely holding on.

“Look at you,” he murmurs, voice rough and low. “All spread out for me. Wet as fuck. And you still want more?”

You nod, breathless and he grins. Then lowers himself, his cock brushing against your folds — not pushing in yet, just slapping it lightly across your entrance.

Once. Twice. A third time, with a wet sound that makes you twitch.

You gasp, hips jerking. “Jungkook…”

He groans. “You hear that? That’s how wet you are for me. All this for my cock, baby?”

You whimper. “Yes. All for you.”

He drags the head of his cock through your folds, slow and filthy, coating himself in your slick. Then he holds himself there — right at your entrance — and still doesn’t move.

“Tell me you want it.”

“I want it,” you breathe.

He growls. “Nah. Say it right.”

You whimper again, voice breaking. “Please, Jungkook… I want your cock. I want you to fuck me. I want to feel you inside.”

He exhales like you’ve punched the air from his lungs. “Good girl.”

And then he pushes in.

It’s slow. Torturous. You feel every inch — the stretch, the pressure, the way your walls cling to him. You gasp, head falling back against the pillows, thighs trembling as he slides deeper.

“Fuck,” he groans, his voice guttural. “You’re so tight. So warm… shit—like you were made for me.”

Your mouth falls open. “You feel so good, Jungkook… so fucking big…”

He growls at that — hips pressing all the way in until he’s bottomed out.

“Yeah? You like this?”

“Yes,” you pant. “You fill me so good, I—I can’t think—”

“You don’t need to think,” he breathes. “Just feel.”

Then he starts to move. Slow thrusts at first — deep and deliberate. His hips rock into yours with precision, dragging his cock against every sensitive spot inside you. His body presses into yours with heat and weight and intent, chest nearly touching yours, forearms braced on either side of your head.

“You’re so fucking perfect,” he murmurs. “Tight little pussy taking all of me like that.”

You moan — helpless, wrecked, desperate.

“Say it,” he whispers. “Say it’s mine.”

“It’s yours,” you breathe, voice trembling. “It’s all yours, Jungkook…”

“Say no one else fucks you like this.”

“No one. Just you—only you—”

He groans loud at that, pace faltering for a beat before he starts pounding harder. He fucks you like he’s trying to leave a mark. Every thrust hits deeper, sharper, hips slapping against your ass. His hand slides up to your chest, gripping one breast, squeezing until you gasp. His other hand tangles in your hair, pulling just enough to tilt your head back.

“You wanna come for me, baby?”

“Yes,” you gasp. “Please…”

“You gonna let me watch you fall apart again?”

“Yes—fuck, please, Jungkook—”

He shifts, changes the angle, and suddenly every thrust is grinding against your clit just right. You cry out, back arching, thighs trembling. You’re so close. So fucking close.

“Come for me,” he growls. “Come all over my cock, baby. I wanna feel you tighten around me—come like you fucking mean it.”

And you do.

Your orgasm hits like a supernova — legs locking around his waist, mouth falling open in a scream. Your body pulses around him, walls clenching so hard he nearly loses it with you. He fucks you through it, whispering filth in your ear the whole time, praising you, owning you. When you finally come down, panting and wrecked, he kisses you like he’s starving but he’s not done yet.

You’re still pulsing around him when he pulls out. You gasp, empty in an instant, your body twitching from aftershocks. He kneels back for a breath, staring down at you like he’s trying to burn the image into memory — your legs splayed, your skin flushed, your mouth swollen and wet with the ghost of his name.

And then he flips you fast. You land on your stomach with a surprised moan, face sinking into the pillow, arms collapsing beneath you. Before you can breathe, he’s behind you again, spreading your thighs with greedy hands, pressing his cock between your folds.

“Fuck,” he growls, dragging himself through your slick. “You look so good like this.”

He grabs your hips, lifts you slightly, and pushes back in with one rough thrust. You cry out. Your fingers clutch the sheets. He doesn’t give you time to adjust. He just fucks into you—deep, fast, like he’s finally letting go. The sound of skin against skin fills the room, wet and sharp, paired with his ragged moans and your helpless gasps.

“Oh my god,” you whimper, spine arching. “Fuck—Jungkook—yes—”

“You like this?” he snarls. “You like getting fucked like this? Bent over like a toy?”

“Yes,” you pant, no shame left. “I love it—I love your cock—don’t stop—”

He laughs, breathless, feral. His hand slides up your back, tangles in your hair, and pulls. Your back arches instinctively. The burn in your scalp shoots straight to your cunt. You moan like it’s oxygen.

“Good girl,” he growls. “Take it. Take all of it.”

He thrusts harder, faster. Every stroke knocks a sound out of your throat. Your body jolts forward with the force of it, and he only pulls you back harder. And then suddenly his palm lands on your ass, hard and hot. You jerk. Whine. Grind back against him.

“Oh, you like that?” he grits out. “You want me to spank you while I fuck you?”

“Yes—yes, please, Jungkook—”

Smack. Again. Your ass stings, skin heating under each slap, but it just makes everything worse — your walls clamp around him, another orgasm building before you can even prepare for it.

“You’re gonna come again, aren’t you?” His voice is sharp now, breathless. “Fucking dripping. So messy. You love being used like this.”

“I love it,” you sob. “I love it—I love being fucked by you—please—please, Jungkook—”

He grabs both your wrists and pulls them behind your back, holding you open while he slams into you, deep and fast, until your vision goes white.

“Come again,” he orders. “Come for me. Let me feel it.”

And when you do, it hits harder than before — your body convulsing, vision tunneling, mouth dropping open in a silent scream as your pussy clenches tight around him.

“Fuck—fuck—I’m gonna—”

He groans loud, one final thrust punching deep into you and then he’s coming. Hard. You feel it — the way his whole body tightens behind you, the heat spilling into the condom as he presses as deep as he can go, panting against your spine, voice raw. He holds there for a long moment. Breathing. Trembling. Then slowly, gently, he loosens his grip on your wrists. Brushes a soft kiss over your shoulder. Collapses beside you.

The room is silent now. Just two bodies, sweat-drenched and sore, trembling from everything they weren’t supposed to feel. Your body’s gone heavy. Limbs lax. Muscles aching in the best way. You’re still on your stomach, hair matted to the back of your neck, thighs sticky, lungs slow to catch up. The sheets are wrinkled beneath you. The whole room smells like sweat and sex and the kind of satisfaction that seeps into the bones.

And then he touches you again. A hand slides along your hip — warm, calloused — trailing over the curve of your ass and down your thigh. Then it shifts. Moves up. His thumb grazes the underside of your breast, and his mouth follows a heartbeat later.

“Jungkook,” you murmur, voice soft, half-dazed.

He doesn’t answer. He just mouths at your nipple, lazy and slow, tongue swirling in wet circles while his hand cups the other breast and gives it a greedy squeeze. You gasp. Your back arches instinctively. He hums low in his throat like you're dessert.

“Thought you were done,” you whisper, eyes fluttering.

He pulls off your nipple with a wet pop. “I’m never done with you.”

You whimper. Laugh. Try to turn your face away — but he follows. Crawls up your body, kisses you deep and messy, his hand still palming your breast while his tongue slides into your mouth like he owns it. His lips are sticky, hot. You taste yourself on them.

And you melt all over again. His fingers dig into your ass next. Squeezing. Spreading. Possessive.

“You know,” he rasps, breath fanning over your ear, “I could fuck you like this every day.”

You laugh again — breathless, flushed. “Yeah?”

“Every fucking day.” He groans. “You’d let me, wouldn’t you?”

“Yes,” you breathe, turning your head slightly, kissing his jaw. “You fuck so good…”

He moans. “You make it easy. Being inside you is like… holy fuck, it’s unreal.”

You roll onto your back, too lazy to fully fight him off. He’s still kissing your chest, dragging his mouth from one nipple to the other, circling slow. His tongue’s warm. Wet. Wicked. Every touch makes you twitch. And your voice—when it comes—is low and teasing.

“You gonna get off on my tits again, or let me put some clothes on?”

“Don’t you dare,” he mutters, pulling back only slightly, eyes dropping to the mess of your ruined panties on the floor. He picks them up with two fingers, holds them hostage. “I’m keeping these.”

You blink at him in shock. “Jungkook.”

He grins. “For science.”

You snort, still breathless. “That was…” You exhale hard, letting your head fall back. “So fucking needed.”

He grins. “Anytime. I’m very committed to supporting women in STEM.”

You laugh — fully this time. He tosses you his hoodie, then shimmies into his boxers like he isn’t still half-hard just watching you move. You stretch slowly, aching all over, before sitting up and tugging on your dress without underwear. His eyes darken. And then, before you leave, you do it — that final little flick of power he never sees coming. You hook your finger in your mouth. Suck it slowly. Loudly. Let it pop free. Then glance back at him over your shoulder with a sweet, filthy smile.

His jaw drops. He groans. “Oh my fucking god.”

You smirk. “See you around, Jeon.”

And just before you slip out the door, he mutters under his breath, half-wrecked:

“…I’m so fucking in trouble.”

part 2

your feedback means the world to me. 🖤

#jungkook smut #jungkook imagine #bts smut #jungkook ff #jungkook x you #jeon jungkook #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x reader #jungkook #jeon jungkook smut #jjk smut #college au #campus fuckboy jungkook #dom!jungkook #bts jungkook #jungkook please

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curse-of-art · 3 months ago

Text

JUNGKOOK FANFIC RECOMMENDATIONS

🔞 All of these fics contain smut, so please take your own risk 🔞

-BEWARE OF THEIR WARNINGS-

୨ৎ─ Jungkook Part 2 ─୨ৎ─ Taehyung ─୨ৎ

❥ Friends Within Touching Distance (series/completed, friends with benefits to lovers ) by @dailynnt

❥ One Night as the Price of a Request (series/ongoing, fake relationship au, enemies to lovers) by @dailynnt

❥ Captive of His Attention (series/ongoing, enemies to lovers, university au) by @dailynnt

❥ Aurora (oneshot, exes to lovers) by @dailynnt

❥ Between Feigned Hatred and Real Desire (oneshot, brother's bestfriend) by @dailynnt

❥ A Quarrel, Alcohol and You (oneshot, friends to lovers) by @dailynnt

❥ Truth or Dare : Kiss a Friend (oneshot, friends to lovers) by @dailynnt

❥ Not Their Wedding Car (oneshot, enemies to ??) by @dailynnt

❥ The Alpha Omega Series (werewolf au, childhood bestfriends to enemies to lovers) by @borathae

❥ Cold Gun (oneshot, arranged marriage, gun play) by @borathae

❥ Fuck Me Up (series/ongoing, enemies to lovers) by @jungkoode

❥ Bed Chem (mini series/completed, frenemies to ?) by @muniimyg

❥ Close To You (series/completed, friends with benefits to lovers) by @muniimyg

❥ Bad Habit (series/ongoing, soulmate au, strangers/friends to lovers) by @muniimyg

❥ Dissonance (series/ongoing, enemies to lovers, slow burn) by @bangtan-junkie

❥ The Only One (series/completed, mafia au, contract relationship) by @armpirate

❥ Red (series/ongoing, demon au) by @armpirate

❥ The Beast of Busan (yandere/dark themes, optional ending) by @trivia-yandere

❥ M.I.L.F (series/ongoing, yandere, age gap) by @trivia-yandere

❥ Cruel Intentions (series/completed, yandere, mafia au) by @explicit-tae

❥ Ungodly Hours (series/completed, college au) by @explicit-tae

❥ Ruin You (series/completed, ft.Taehyung) by @taegularities

❥ Meraki (oneshot, enemies to lovers) by @taegularities

❥ Lowkey (series/completed, fake dating au, friends to lovers) by @xpeachesncream

❥ We Are All Dreamers (oneshot, soulmate au, enemies to lovers) by @yoonia

❥ Lost & Found (oneshot, something like ex crushes to lovers i guess??) by @kooktrash

❥ Better Than Him (oneshot, fake dating au, friends to lovers) by @margotw10bis

❥ Polarity (series/completed, yandere) by @darkestcorners

❥ Unspoken (oneshot, boyfriend's friend) by @armpirate

❥ Over the Odds (series/completed, sugar daddy au, ceo!jungkook) by @jungk0oksthighs

❥ Christmas & Chill (christmas themed mini series -seperate fics-) by @girlygguk & @lovieku

❥ Kkangpae (series/ongoing, enemies to lovers, forbidden love, slow burn) by @jungkoode

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trivia-yandere · 27 days ago

Note

sending request:

College senior jungkook took interest to freshman yn

(I think this would be so good if there’s manipulation and dumbification in it)

ok im thinking best friends jungkook but make it college - got it :3

nerviosa

that time your cousins boyfriend, jeon jungkook; college senior, took a certain interest in you, a college freshman.

word count: 8.622

warning: slight age gap, power imbalance, naive reader, she's just a girl frfr, manipulation, affair/cheating, corruption kink, dry humping, dirty talk, breast play, nipple sucking, car "sex", fingering, kissing/making out,

teaser | taglist

The sweet aroma of cinnamon could be considered amazing and something you’d want to consume entirely. Yet it was still a spice with a bitter taste if taken in large amounts. Your relationship - if you can call it that - with Jungkook was only sweet in theory, but bitter in reality.

Much like cinnamon.

Loving Jeon Jungkook was sudden. It happened in a blink of an eye,surprising your own self entirely. The way your body would warm when he was around. The way you couldn’t wait to speak with him whenever he and you were in the same room - so much so that you would count the minutes until he did.

Loving Jeon Jungkook was also bitter. It had consumed you entirely, having you fall into a black hole that was him and him only. It had chewed up your heart and spit it right out. It left you feeling lonely.

Cold, lonely and painful.

And yet, like each and every time Jungkook had shown you who he was, your heart, of course, refused to believe him. He came back into your life time and time again after ignoring your existence when certain people were around, only sparing you a longing glance.

You supposed you couldn’t blame Jungkook more than you blame yourself. Jungkook was a taken man and the person he was taken by was someone you knew far too well. Still, your heart continued to pound rapidly whenever he was around. Your body would warm whenever his eyes flicker to yours, the hair on your skin rising. The way he’d lick his lips and offer you a small smirk - that’s where it always started.

“You’re mad at me.” Jungkook murmurs, leaning against your closed door. You’re sitting on your bed, a book open in your lap. You try not to look at his exposed arms and at the way they’re flexed.

“How so?” you respond, glancing back down to your book.

“You’ve been ignoring me.” Jungkook responds. You’re underneath your covers, but it stops at your waist. Your tank top is loose at the shoulders and only one strap is down your arm. “All week.”

You decide to close the book and place it onto your night stand. You grasp your phone and open an app. You decide to dim the lights in hopes of him not fully seeing your expression

You offer Jungkook your full attention now. “Where’s my cousin?”

Jungkook snickers softly. He leans away from your bedroom door, making sure to lock it before he does, and comes closer to you.

“Why?” Jungkook asks, at the foot of your bed.

“She’s your girlfriend.” you respond. You have yet to tell Jungkook to leave like you should have. You should have stopped yourself from the beginning, but you didn't.

“I’m aware.” Jungkook rounds the foot of your bed, “She’s mad at me.”

“I suppose that’s why you’ve come to me.”

Your tone is sharp, Jungkook notes.

“That’s not true.” Jungkook retorts. “You’ve been ignoring me all week. You walked right past me as if you didn’t see me.”

Your eyes watch as Jungkook sinks down onto your bed. His hand lays on your covered leg, squeezing it a bit.

“What do you suppose I do?” you shrug your shoulders. “Sit in your lap in front of everyone?”

You wish you had the passion like your cousin does. To speak your mind and tell anyone off. You wanted to punch the smirk right off of Jungkook’s face and tell him to get out of your room, but you couldn’t.

“Of course not.” Jungkook tilts his head a bit. “But I missed you. You haven’t missed me?”

Jungkook knows the answer. The way you bite your lip, glancing at the sleeve of tattoos on his arm. He enjoyed the way you’d trace them at times, fascinated with how much he had.

“Can I get a kiss?”

Your eyes snap to Jungkook . Your attempt at a glare is cute to him, but you’re far too slow in dodging him. You being underneath the covers gave him an advantage. He throws himself onto you, wrapping his arms around you. His nose slides across your cheek and dramatically, he inhales. “You smell soooo good.” he hums before his lips press to your cheeks. He kisses up your cheek, to your forehead, to down the next cheek.

You couldn’t help the bubbles of laughter falling past your lips. Your attempts to be upset with him were failing miserably. This is something you hated about yourself - how little it took for you to forget about everything he’s done. About everything you allowed him to do.

Yet and still, you’re fully aware that you cannot be more angry with Jungkook than yourself as you allowed him into your life after fully knowing who he was and what his intentions were.

Your relationship with your cousin was similar to that of an older sister. She was always there growing up and filled the role as one - even if that meant being a total bitch at times. Still, you knew this was wrong just as much as her boyfriend did.

“Can I?” Jungkook repeats, tone lowered to a mere whisper. His lips are only inches away from yours. He knows full well that if he kissed you, you’d do little fighting. But this was Jungkook, after all, and he wants you to tell him to. To admit that even now, with your tiny glares and rebuttals, that you still wanted him.

“We shouldn’t.” you breathe, but you don’t push him away.

When you first met Jungkook was when your cousin had brought him along to a dinner she had invited you to. She had told you so many things about Jungkook - how handsome he was, how athletic and competitive he was whenever sports was involved. Apparently, he was a good cook and also an amazing singer.

That was nearly a year ago, you think, before you started the same college they'll soon be graduating from.

Your first impression of Jungkook was that he was one of those boys that was arrogant - and he fit the descriptions. The tattoos and piercings. The way he walked as if he was the main character, and in a way, he is. Especially with your cousin on his arm. There was no way someone like him was as golden as your cousin said - until you met him and he indeed was such.

“I’ve missed you.” Jungkook doesn’t make a move. His nose gently rubs against yours. “I went to the diner and got our usual all alone. The old lady asked about you.”

You snort. You became fond of the old lady who always served you and Jungkook extra pancakes because she thought you two were a cute couple. When you went to correct her the first time, Jungkook had wrapped an arm around you and kissed your cheek. Maybe that’s where he had you wrapped around his finger for the very first time.

“You took me to that diner because it’s far from anyone who knows us.” you retort, swallowing the lump in your throat.

“I took you there because it’s my favorite diner.” Jungkook corrects. “And when we first went, you needed something comforting.”

Your eyes close, the memory coming back.

Jungkook had found you seated all alone after one of his classes. You appeared like all the other freshmen, so burnt out already but still overachieving. You sat alone in the college’s cafe, books surrounding you and airpods in, though you weren’t listening to anything. Jungkook had come up and asked if you wanted to come with him to get pancakes. “Pancakes are best in the evening.” he stated, and before you knew it, you were in his car driving to the diner that you and he now frequented weekly.

“It’s just one kiss.” Jungkook’s weight was starting to crush you. “Or I’ll lay on you until you do.”

“You’re so frustrating.” you groan, but you cannot help the smile that forms onto your lips. “And then you’ll leave?”

Jungkook hums, pecking your lips. “Do you want me to?” he asks, going in for another intoxicating kiss, this time deeper.

You hum into his lips. You’re still beneath the covers and otherwise trapped beneath him entirely. Jungkook’s tongue forces your lips apart to glide right into your mouth.

You grunt. “You said one kiss.” you protest, but he knows you aren’t upset.

Jungkook smirks. “The first one doesn’t count. It was just a peck.” he states. “And if you wouldn’t have stopped me, then we would have still been having our first kiss.”

Your body feels the relief when Jungkook slides off of you, but now forces his way into the covers. You should’ve known that he wasn’t going to leave - yet you can’t expect him to if you never push him away.

Jungkook peaks at your pajama shorts. They’re fluffy and patterned with soft pink polka dots that he finds cute.

“You’re such a liar.” you snort as Jungkook snuggles beneath your covers with you, an arm wrapping around you to bring you closer to him.

“You can tell me to leave whenever you want.” retorts Jungkook, his arm bringing you closer to him. He inhales your scent and hums. “But we know you miss me just as much as I miss you.”

You hated how right Jungkook was. Your mind is screaming at you to let him go - to push him away and demand that you and he end this. Whatever this was exactly- but for one it was an affair. A pure slap in the face to your cousin who always brought him around you because she trusted you and him.

And you betrayed her.

But that knowledge doesn’t have either of you moving away.

“What were you reading?” Jungkook questions, his arm that's wrapped around you slightly caresses your arm as your head rests onto his chest. “One of your smutty books?” he jokes.

Your hand slams against his stomach and Jungkook cackles. “I’m just joking!” he exclaims. “I looked up that one book I saw you reading though…”

Your body warms, contemplating if you wanted to slam your fist into his stomach again. It wasn’t going to hurt him, but he’d know you were serious about attempting to cause him damage.

“…good girls like you shouldn’t read books like those.” Jungkook’s fingers lightly tap your arm, so much so that it causes goosebumps to form.

“What is that supposed to mean?” you scoff, but you cannot help the way your palms begin to sweat with nervousness.

“It means exactly what I said.” Jungkook’s finger continues to glide against your skin. “Those books are filthy. You’re too…” he hums. “...innocent.”

You’re silent for a few moments. You’re unsure of what to say in response.

“I’m not that innocent.” you murmur, nearly inaudible.

“Oh?” Jungkook chuckles. His hand stops caressing your arms, but his finger lightly begins to play with the fallen tank-top strap on your arm.

Your head lifts up so you can look at his face. He returns your look, a glint in his eyes that you cannot understand.

You lick your lips. “What’s funny?” you mumble, your brows knitting together.

Jungkook couldn’t help but laugh again. He doesn’t want to appear as if he’s laughing in your face, but he does find you cute.

“You’re just so cute.” Jungkook quips. “I can’t imagine you doing anything they do in those books.”

Your heart is jumping at how the conversation is steering elsewhere. Somewhere it hasn’t gone before.

Sure, Jungkook and you had developed something deeper than a regular friendship. You had allowed him to kiss you often; kisses that turned to makeout sessions. However, Jungkook always pushed himself back, pecking your lips a few times before it got any further.

“What do you do?” Jungkook asks. His fingers never stop toying with your tank-top strap.

“What do you do?” you repeat his question right back at him. Maybe it wasn’t something you should’ve asked - after all, everything he does has to be with your cousin.

Jungkook doesn’t respond, instead he continues to look at you. His gaze causes you to look away for a moment, pondering if this is a conversation you and him should be having. Specifically in this position, he and you so invasivly close to one another.

“I do a lot.” Jungkook speaks so suddenly that you almost miss it. You turn your eyes back to him, holding his gaze. “In these books-”

“They’re not all smut.” you blurt out and immediately regret it. Jungkook doesn’t laugh but his smirk is evident. “I mean…I read all types of stuff. Mystery books and stuff…”

Jungkook slowly nods his head. “I’m aware,” he responds. “I just want to know what they do in the books that are smut.”

You bite the inside of your cheek. “You’re not going to make me say it…”

Jungkook shakes his head. “I suppose not.” he hums. His fingers finally relax and for a mere second, you and him are still. That’s until he changes your position again. This time, you’re brought on top of him. He’s wearing jeans and he wishes he would’ve worn something to feel you better in.

That didn’t mean that he couldn’t feel you at all.

Jungkook grasps both of your hands and places them onto his chest, your eyes slightly wide with shock. Your thighs are on either side of his waist.

“Come here,” Jungkook uttered softly, tugging your wrist a bit. He slides his hands cooly away from your hands so they can lay onto your hips. He squeezes them as your face hovers above his, mimicking the position he was in not too long ago. “you can show me instead.”

You’re positive Jungkook can hear how fast your heart is beating. Your hands tremble slightly against his chest.

Jungkook decides to take the lead, pressing his lips to the corner of yours, pecking ever so slowly. He trails them down to your chin, then jaw until they reach your neck.

You shudder, your legs nervously shaking. His hands roam up your sides. If he meant to or not, his hands slipped beneath your tank top and pulled you closer to him.

“Jungkook…”

Jungkook’s hands stop moving. They’re warm to the touch and they stop at the center of your back.

“...what are we doing?” You couldn’t help but ask. You weren’t wearing a bra and his trailing kisses mixed with his hands caressing your skin had caused your nipples to harden and they were directly in his face.

“Nothing bad.” Jungkook responds against your neck. “I just wanted to show you what I do.”

The feel of your bare back shouldn’t be as enticing as it was, but Jungkook was just a man. Having something so soft, cute and delicate on top would drive anyone crazy.

“Unless…” Jungkook’s teeth grazing your skin. “...you haven’t done this before. Then I’ll stop.”

You feel the bottom of your tank-top ever so slowly being pushed up. Jungkook’s waiting for you to say anything - or do anything - to stop him.

“Have you done this before?” Jungkook voiced.

You bite your lip. “Y-Yes.”

Jungkook hums. “Then it should be okay then,” he responds. He continues to trail kisses from the side of your neck to your throat, hands pushing the tank top further and further up your back. “There’s nothing to be shy about.”

Your tank-top stops right beneath your breast, Jungkook waiting for you to say something. Anything.

“We shouldn’t…do this.” you whisper. You hadn’t noticed how tight you were clenching Jungkook’s shirt until now.

“Is it because of her?” Jungkook asks. He allows his head to fall back against your soft pillows so he can look you in your eyes. “Are you going to tell her?”

“No!” you exclaim. There was no way you could ever tell your cousin that you’ve gone this far with her boyfriend. The question itself was ludacris and even the thought of it made you want to throw up.

“Neither will I.” Jungkook speaks. “It can be a secret you and I share, right?”

You aren’t able to answer before Jungkook pecks you on the lips.

“Whatever happens here…” Jungook’s hands move from your back and instead focuses on your shoulders now. The straps are already down and it’s nothing to further pull them down. His eyes never leave yours. They’re daring you to stop him - to push him away and be adamant that you didn’t want to do this.

You remained silent. Even as Jungkook fully pulls the strap from your arms and begins to push your tank-top down, you don’t say anything. “...stays here.” Jungkook finishes, his eyes flickering down to your now exposed breasts. “Okay?”

This was wrong, you think.

But you nod your head slowly, watching as Jungkook offers you a curt smile before his hands engulf your breasts entirely.

You yelp, the sensation shooting straight to your core.

“Relax. You’re so tense.” Jungkook murmurs, his thumbs directly onto your perky nipples. He rubs slow circles. “Talk to me.”

“Sorry…” you murmur, face warm.

“You don’t have to be sorry, baby.” Jungkook licks his lips, flickering his eyes to you.

The pet name sends another shot to your core. Your eyes widen a bit.

“I want you to be comfortable with me, okay?”

You nod hesitantly.

“You’re very beautiful.” Jungkook compliments. “When you read those books, how do they make you feel?”

Please, for the life of you, you didn't want to talk about the books. They’re just books that happened to have smut in them, not just entirely full of sex.

But you think of his question. You recall the way they made you feel, the shudder that ran up your spine with how descriptive they were, imagining that it was you in the position the protagonist was in.

“I…they’re interested to read.”

Jungkook hums, the pads of his thumb continuing to rub along your nipples. Your breathing becomes a bit hitched with how good it felt.

“What part exactly?”

You swallow.

“You don’t want me to know?” Jungkook leans forward to leave a single kiss right between your breasts. You’re positive it’s to tease you further, leaving you even more flustered than before. “It’s okay. You can tell me, baby.”

You let out a breath. “When…they touch each other, I guess.”

Your voice is so soft and embarrassed. Jungkook finds it cute.

“And where do they touch each other?”

“You know.” you sigh.

“Why are you so embarrassed?” Jungkook observed. “You’re so cute, baby. You don’t have to be shy.” he coos. “How about…you show me?”

Your hands are already on his chest. It rises and falls along with his chest. Dark eyes watch you closely, saying nothing more as he awaits what you’re going to do next. His large hands still has your breast perfectly in the palms of his hands and he makes no move to remove them.

You already told Jungkook that you’ve done this before - if a few hookups prior to your freshman year of college counted. You aren’t even sure yourself if you came from the acts and you’re unsure if you’d ever truly know.

So, to not further embarrass yourself, you sit fully onto Jungkook. Your clothed crotch sits directly onto his jeans, unable to look away as you do so. Jungkook’s chest continues to rise and fall, his thumbs moving slowly on your nipples, yet not halting.

“Are you sure you’ve done this before?” Jungkook doesn’t blink. He can feel his bulge in his jeans ready to be released and feel you better.

Your fingers grip at his shirt and for a moment, Jungkook thinks you’re going to say a smartass rebuttal. But you don’t, and something flickers in your eyes that has him curious.

“A few times.” you respond, voice small. “Am I doing something wrong?”

Jungkook hastily shakes his head. “You’re doing good, baby.” he murmurs, his voice cracking a bit. His stomach sinks in a bit as his mind thinks of the countless ways he could have you. So innocent and barely experienced life yet. So easy to mold into the girl he knows you can be. “What have you done?”

“Just…” your heart jolts. “…casual sex.”

You and him were actually doing this, you think. Even if it doesn’t go all the way, it’s gone far enough. Would you even be able to look him in the eyes after this?

“So…” Jungkook moves so instead of laying down, he’s seated right against your headboard. He’s now face to face with you. “…just casual sex?”

If Jungkook understood correctly, that meant it was just him fucking you until he came. High school boys weren’t much giving people. They were selfish and they take, take and take, but never give.

You nod your head slightly.

“Did he make you feel good?”

You shrug your shoulders. “Somewhat…I don’t think I…you know.” you laugh nervously.

Jungkook’s right hand trails down to your shorts. He touches the hem of it, glances between your eyes to your shorts, then back to you.

“Cum.” Jungkook deadpans, his lip twitching upwards at how flustered you appear by a simple word. “Do you want to cum?”

There’s a throbbing between your legs that you hope Jungkook cannot feel. Your hands grow sweaty, eyes widening a bit.

“H-How?”

Jungkook’s fingers crawl into your shorts. Your skin is just as soft, he thinks, and he cannot wait to see the rest of you.

“We can start off slow.” Jungkook starts. Tugging at your shorts.

“You just want me naked.” you rebuttal. Jungkook is glad to see you’re able to joke, your nerves slowly subsiding. “You’re still fully clothed.”

Jungkook snickers. “All you have to do is ask. Here,”

Jungkook gently pushes you off of him so that you’re seated on your bed. Your tank top is now around your stomach, breast fully exposed.

Jungkook proceeds to stand. His eyes look down at you. “What do you want me to take off?” he asks.

You swallow, your eyes glancing at his sleeveless shirt to his jeans.

“You can start with your shirt like you did me.”

“Okay.” Jungkook nods. “Take if off of me.”

Your hands shake as you come closer to Jungkook, his unblinking eyes watching your every move. It’s nerve-wrecking being in this position, you think, while he’s adamant on watching you.

You grab the end of his shirt and light pull it up, glancing at him to make sure you were doing this right - how else could you possibly take off a shirt anyways?

Jungkook pulls his arms up as you tug the shirt over his head, dropping it onto the floor beside him. His bare chest stares back at you and you have to fight yourself not to ogle him.

“Is that all you want me to remove?” Jungkook asks. “Because I want you to remove these,”

Jungkook’s hands are around your waist again, tugging you to stand before him. He watches your every movement as he tugs your shorts down. They fall effortlessly, leaving you in nothing but the cotton panties you wore. You’re thankful that they at least were cheeksters and looked good on you.

Your hands go to Jungkook’s belt next. You unbuckle it and then unbutton his jeans. This time, Jungkook focuses on your hands and how hot you looked half naked touching him.

Jungkook’s underwear are briefs and black - calvin klein. You immediately look away from the bulge that you see, your face growing even hotter.

“Come,” Jungkook says, tugging you onto the bed with him in the same position as before. He assures to press you directly on his lap so you could feel all of him. He doesn’t hide the groan that comes from his lips.

Your clit is throbbing, begging to be stimulated. You can feel the way Jungkook’s cock twitches immediately on impact.

“Do you touch yourself?”

The question shouldn't be invasive. After all, you willingly told him that a boy hasn’t made you cum before. At least, you didn’t know if they did or not - and honestly, if that was the case then the answer was an obvious no.

“Sometimes.” you admit.

Jungkook closes his eyes for a moment. He imagines you laying right here in bed, all alone. Your fingers trailing between your legs and playing with your clit until you’re sopping wet. The way your thighs would tremble with such pleasure and overstimulation and-

Jungkook shudders, his cock twitching again. He opens his eyes to look at you. His hands are directly on your hips now, squeezing them encouragingly. “Move.”

As you go to remove yourself from Jungkook, he pulls you back down.

“I meant grind.” Jungkook corrects.

You do as you’re told. You’re shy at first, only moving slowly. But you’re new to this and Jungkook understands that. Rome wasn’t built in a day, and neither were you.

“Circle your hips,” Jungkook instructs, his breathing increasing a bit. He swallows a lump in his throat, dark eyes watching the way you listen to him so well. “like that…”

You can feel your panties grow sticky against you, moist with your arousal. Your head falls back a bit as you quicken the pace, grinding your clit against Jungkook’s bulge.

“You’re doing good, baby.” Jungkook’s tone has darkened, now huskier. His left hand remains on your hips while his right slides up, capturing your breast. “It feels good, doesn’t it?”

“Yes,” you moan, nodding your head a bit. Your gentle hand falls right on top of Jungkook’s against your breast, eyes fluttering. “so good.”

Jungkook groans. He’s never been a fan of dry humping - it was nothing but a tease. But doing this with you, someone so young and innocent - utterly forbidden to him - made it hotter.

“I bet you’re so wet right now.”

Jungkook would do anything to feel your bare clit right on his cock right now, but he wasn’t going to rush things. You and him had time, he thinks. He doesn’t want to think of his girlfriend now, but his mind flashes with her face. A part of him knows that this is wrong - he was taken advantage of someone young and naive and too close to her. But he couldn’t help but want to ruin you. Show you just how good he could make you feel - how good he could fuck you.

“I am wet.”

Jungkook slides his hand upwards. He glides past your shoulders and neck and grabs your cheek. Your eyes open to look at him, finding him already watching you. His thumb traces your pouty lips while licking his own.

“Has anyone ever touched you there?”

It could be a dumb question, of course, but the ways he wishes to touch you, he’s positive those dumb high school boys you associated with could never.

You shake your head and Jungkook scoffs. He knew it.

“Do you trust me to?” Jungkook questions. His left hand slides towards your ass, squeezing it in the palm of his hands. “I could make you cum, baby. You’d want that, right?”

There was nothing to be embarrassed about now as you grind against Jungkook and allow him to touch you so freely. The thought of his hands, so invasive and willing, between your legs causes your mind to spin. Your pussy clenches around nothing in particular, grinding a bit harder against his clothed cock.

“You would,” Jungkook commanded. His eyes dance between your face that he holds between his hand, to your greedy pussy sliding against his cock so needily. You’re so beautiful, he thinks, and feverish. Your lack of experience has him wanting to give you exactly what he knew he could give. “you would let me touch you. You want me to.”

“I-”

Your back slams against your bed suddenly. You let out a yelp, your eyes snapping open. Jungkook hovers above you, licking his lips.

“I’ll make you feel good, okay?” Jungkook assures, pressing his lips to your forehead. “I’ll make you cum, baby, okay?”

Your heart pumps at his words, so soft in tone but entirely dirty. Your body is warm with embarrassment, but you’re highly intrigued. “Yes.” you breathe.

The way Jungkook’s tongue, warm and wet, slides across your skin. From your neck, to your collarbones to between your breasts - he couldn’t remember the last time he’s done this to his own girlfriend. Not because he was selfish and didn’t want to - but because she had no time to. Neglecting him and pushing him away until he fell into the arms of another woman.

“The boys you’ve been with are too young to know how to pleasure you.” Jungkook scoffs, engulfing your breasts into his palms, pressing tender kisses onto them. “But I’m not.”

You gasp at the feeling of Jungkook’s tongue wrapping around your nipple. His large hands squeeze your bosom, his tongue flickering back and forth onto the small, hardened bud. He’s gripping onto your breast so tight that you feel as though his fingernails are going to sink into your skin.

Jungkook’s lips pop your nipple from his mouth to now focus on the other one, giving it the same attention. There’s excitement that flows through him to hear your pitched breathing and sharp moans. It only gives him more satisfaction to latch onto your nipple, suckling and slurping onto it.

“You’re so reactive.”

Jungkook pops the second nipple from his lips, flicking his eyes up at you.

“It feels…” you swallow, your warm body shuddering. “…good.”

“I know it does, baby.”

The pet name has you shuddering even more, the hair on your skin continuing to rise. Your hand rests on Jungkook’s shoulder, fluttering eyes watching his handsome face form a short smile.

“You’re so cute, baby.”

Jungkook’s hand slides down from your breast. His fingers lightly tap against your stomach, then abdomen before he feels the light hem of your panties.

“I…I don’t know…”

Jungkook knits his brows. “What do you mean?”

“I don’t know if we should…you know?” you swallow the lump in your throat. “I wasn’t expecting to do this today. I don't think I’m prepared.”

You can feel the heartbeat right between your legs. The need to be touched is high, but your mind continues to yell at you that this is wrong, not just because of who Jungkook was but because you aren’t sure if you were ready to do anything with him. Your lack of experience compared to someone like Jungkook is laughable, and you didn’t need him laughing anymore than he already has.

“You don’t mean that.” Jungkook’s finger taps at your panties, eyelashes blinking a bit. “You’re just a bit shy. You don’t have to be shy with me.”

Jungkook hooks his fingers into your panties, offering you an otherwise sweet smile that you are oblivious to not noticing the mischievous intent beneath it.

“Unless you don’t…trust me.” Jungkook’s voice lowers. “Have I done anything for you not to?”

“No,” you say hurriedly. “of course not!”

Jungkook removes his hands from your panties, clicking his tongue. He’s silent for a moment, tilting his head as he watches you. His silence causes an unease to flow through you and you were pondering if maybe he was upset with you. “Jung-”

“You should probably go to bed.”

Your mouth is slightly agape when Jungkook speaks.

“You have that test in the morning, right?” Jungkook continues, raising a single brow. “At least, that’s what you told me.”

“Right.” you nod your head, voice low. “Are you…are you leaving?”

Jungkook’s eyes watch you for a moment too long before he shrugs his shoulders. “Do you want me to?”

“No.” you admit far too quickly for your liking.

“Then I won’t.”

The bed is strangely cold by the time you wake up. You don’t notice at first until your mind registers the night before. The way Jungkook held you against him, his legs entangled in yours to keep you close. Your warmth radiated off against one another, and now that he was gone, you realized just how cold you felt without him there.

It takes you a few minutes to get up from your bed. You are not upset that Jungkook left. After all, he wasn’t supposed to be there. Still, it does leave a sting in your heart knowing that you’ve allowed things to go as far as they had. You trot down the hall to the bathroom, closing the door behind you. It takes exactly ten minutes to do everything you need to do before making your way down the same hall to go to the kitchen.

You had a test in an hour, that part wasn’t a lie. You hoped you could focus on said test and get your mind off of the man that is Jeon Jungkook.

You aren’t lucky, however. You round the corner to enter the kitchen and immediately stop in your tracks.

Your cousin is leaning against the counter, dipping a tea bag right into her streaming cup. You recall that it’s her favorite mug - a glass one that’s shaped like a skull. It matches her personality perfectly, you think.

“Morning.” your cousin says, glancing at you from the corner of her eyes. “Kook cooked breakfast.”

Your heart pounds outside your chest. It isn’t hard to notice the taller man behind her, but you were trying your best to avoid looking his way at all. But, of course, you fail. Your eyes make their way to him to find that he’s already looking at you. When your eyes meet one another, Jungkook offers a smile. He holds up a bowl, signaling that he had indeed cooked breakfast.

“I…Im not hungry.”

Jungkook slowly lowers his hands. He glances at his girlfriend - your cousin.

“You’re not?” your cousin asks. She turns her head to fully face you. “DId you even eat before bed? I saw your plate in the microwave.”

You let out a short breath. Nothing ever got past her, you think. You were lying about not being hungry. You just didn’t want to be caught between her and Jungkook during breakfast and be left in such an awkward situation that only you and he knew about.

Your stomach rumbles, causing your cheeks to heat up. Your cousin snorts, turning back to her tea.

“Sit and eat.” your cousin insists.

“Breakfast is the most important meal of the day.” Jungkook sing-songs, placing the bowl onto the kitchen island. “ was even thinking of making a protein shake.”

You sit on the stool, looking down at the eggs before you. You glance up at Jungkook to find him looking at you already. His smile doesn’t falter. It’s soft, you think, and awaiting for you to do…anything.

“Thanks.” you murmur.

You begin to eat, your foot bouncing nervously as your cousin blows and sips onto her tea. Jungkook does what he says and begins to make a protein shake - adding different variations of fruits, yogurts and a powder you haven’t seen until today.

“So,” your cousin turns to face you. She doesn’t look your way, too consumed with the tea she’s attempting to not burn her throat with. “how’s school? I feel like I haven’t seen you lately.”

That’s because she was busy. Your cousin consumed herself with work and you applaud her for being able to handle that and school. You, like most freshmans, are far too in your head that you don’t even believe you could handle anything.

“Alright. Just…studying.”

“College isn’t all about school.” she places her mug onto the island. Jungkook is behind her, the blender sounding loudly. “You should live a little, too. When’s the last time you saw your friends?” she speaks louder.

“We facetime all the time.”

Your cousin snorts. She furrows her brows. “You should see them. Invite them over!” she encouraged . “Or go out. There’s parties everywhere.”

The blender stops. Jungkook begins to pour the semi-thick shake into a shaker bottle - something else you were positive you hadn’t seen until now.

“Do you go to parties?” you asked her, plucking some more egg into your mouth. There's white rice on the bottom, you note.

“Sometimes.” she nods. “Recently, no. I've been working on volunteering and building my resume along with references. But you have time.”

You swallow as Jungkook places the bottle in front of you. He offers a short wink that only you catch. “So you can have enough energy throughout the day.” he tells you.

“Kook keeps trying to get me on making shakes and smoothies everyday.” she rolls her eyes playfully. “I can’t be bothered.”

“Try it.” Jungkook insists. “She doesn’t know what she’s missing.”

Your hands tremble under pressure as you do as you’re told. It’s good, the taste of strawberries are evident. You could understand why Jungkook would make them daily - he was a “gym bro”. His words, not yours.

“It is good.” you agree, licking your lips. “I should get ready soon.”

“How are you getting there?” your cousin questions. “Kook can give you a ride.”

“I can walk.” you shake your head, glancing to Jungkook who’s eyes hasn’t left you. “It’s only around a fifteen minute walk.” You were grateful your cousin lived so close to campus and allowed you to occupy her extra bedroom. Granted, it was being paid for by both of your parents so it was a win-win regardless.

“I don’t mind.” Jungkook shrugs his shoulders. “It’s spring and you never know when it’ll rain.”

“I can bring an umbrella-“

“Just accept the ride, Y/N.” your cousin deadpans. “Stop being weird.”

You’re silent, blinking a few times. Your lips are pressed thinly together, and for a moment your eyes turn into slight slits. Here you were trying to keep your cousin's boyfriend at a respectable distance, and she was calling you weird.

Granted, she doesn’t know about what her boyfriend does - you’ll never tell her. You couldn’t bring yourself to be annoyed with her persistence in making sure you got to school safely and on time.

“Okay.” you murmur, pushing the stool away from the island with a curt nod. “I’m going to get ready now.”

Jungkook watches the way you scurry out of the kitchen. He turns his eyes slowly to his girlfriend and clicks his tongue. “You can be a little easier on her.” he suggests, grasping the bowl you were once eating out of and bringing it to the sink. “She’s only a freshman.”

Jungkook hears a scoff just as he turns the sink water on, preparing to wash the dishes.

“I have been going easy on her.” she says. “I want her to have a normal college experience. She coops herself in her room all the time and allows herself to waste away.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes at his girlfriend's words. He doesn’t say anything on topic, however.

“What are you doing tonight?” Jungkook questions, scrubbing a dish clean.

“Networking.”

Jungkook hums. He felt like he knew as such. Ever since she’s managed to get an internship - not including the many volunteer work she does while also maintaining an actual job and school - she’s been a busy person. He’s unsure how she manages to come home and cook almost 4 days a week and keep track of you.

“I see.” Jungkook turns off the sink water. “Tae keeps asking about you. They miss you on game nights.”

Her lips form a low smile. “I miss beating his ass in connect 4.” she laughs. “But not all of us can have wealthy parents like you guys.”

Jungkook doesn’t respond. He’s gotten used to his girlfriend's “playful” jabs. He was told too many times that her going to college wasn’t a side quest like it was for him and his friends. It was interesting to see how serious she took life while also telling you to live a little more.

“I’ll see you later.” Jungkook decides to speak instead. He comes closer to her, wrapping an arm around her waist. “Whenever you’re free…” he murmurs, his lips against her forehead.

You aren’t sure why you’re nervous entering Jungkook’s car. You’ve been in here before. It’s clean and always smells like fresh linen. The dark seats are always warm - you later realized that his seats are heated and he always assures they’re the right temperature before you enter.

Jungkook, as he begins to drive down the quiet street, places a hand onto your thigh. You don’t say anything, only watching the way his tattooed fingers tap along.

“What are you doing tonight?” Jungkook questions.

There’s music playing low in his car. The roads are empty, only a few cars on them this early morning. You glance out the tinted windows and take a deep breath.

“Nothing.” you reply. “Leave it to my cousin, I should be going to a rave.”

Jungkook snorts. He squeezes your thigh, wishing it was the sensitive, soft flesh he felt last night.

“She just wants you to have fun.” Jungkook says. “Live a little, you know? Go out. Party. Be a college student.”

You want to roll your eyes. Of course he would defend her - you don’t expect him to take your side, either way.

“I have a few friends who always throw parties.” Jungkook speaks up. “You can go.”

You slowly turn your head, your interest somewhat peaked.

Jungkook stops at a red light. He faces you. With furrowed brows, he asks, “Why are you looking like that?”

You swallow. “I have never been to a college party before.” you murmur, cheeks burning with embarrassment. “Um,” you continue, licking his lips. “is it…tonight?”

Jungkook’s lips slowly turn upwards. “Sure is.” he says. “I can take you…if you’d like. This party isn’t going to be as crazy as it would be if we were, let’s say, sophomores.”

Jungkook recalls the many crazy parties they’d throw - the pool parties, costume parties that always ended with someone being overly offensive. The amount of fist-fights that ended in a big brawl; the full college experience.

Jungkook remembers his girlfriend being by his side at a few of them. Until she stated that she couldn’t continue to associate herself with “mess” - her words. That, and then state that she wasn’t like them. She didn’t have her parents' money to get her out of trouble if needed be.

“You can invite some friends, too.”

You feel Jungkook’s hands creep higher. He continues to drive, his eyes focused on the road.

You should push his hand away, you think. Distance yourself from this man that doesn’t belong to you.

You don’t. You never do.

“I’ll try.”

Pulling into the parking lot, Jungkook comes to a stop. He doesn’t cut the engine - he doesn’t need to be here until later. He does, however, remove his seat belt. He turns towards you, watching the way you take off your own seat belt.

“Thanks-”

“You don’t have to be in there for another 10 minutes.”

Jungkook, who had lifted his hand from your thigh when he took off his seatbelt, had made it his mission to put it back. This time, his fingers - ever so gently - slide into your inner thigh. His dark eyes glance at you innocently, but you aren’t that dumb to think that he only wanted you to sit here and talk.

“I have a project due later,” Jungkook begins, his tattooed fingers tapping lightly. “but then I’m free.”

“Okay.” you murmur, licking your lips. “Why are you telling me?”

Jungkook’s own lips form a low smirk. You were cute when you were this way - feigning uninterest. He knows if you truly didn’t care, you wouldn’t have asked in the first place.

“Don’t you want to hang out with me?” Jungkook pokes his bottom lip out.

“I’m going to the party, aren’t I?”

You try to relax, but you can't. You hoped desperately that your face didn’t show how nervous you were being with Jungkook. You would think after last night, him squeezing your thigh and seemingly growing closer wouldn’t affect you. But this was Jungkook and of course whatever he did had an effect on you.

“You’re right.” Jungkook hums, tilting his head a bit. “Wear something…cute but relaxed. You can meet my friends.”

Jungkook wonders if you would feel the same way about them that your cousin did. She didn’t not like them. They were the same group of friends they hung around for years. Only, she matured a lot faster than either of them had, thinking about a future far ahead than they ever did.

You swear your heartbeat is in sync with the low beat of the music. You don’t say anything, only returning the look that Jungkook is giving you. He’s probably waiting for you to tell him to move his hand - to stop inching closer and closer to the warmth between your legs. Or, maybe he’s waiting for you to get out of his car and get to class.

You don’t do anything.

“Can I get a kiss before you go?”

Your heart flutters at his question, body warming. You swallow.

“You don’t just want a kiss.” You retort.

Jungkook chuckles low - you were right. If it was up to him, he would have his way with you right in the backseat. But he was a patient man and you were worth more than a simple hookup in his car.

“I’ll take whatever you give me.”

You don’t realize who initiated it, but your lips are on Jungkook’s far too easily. Like you knew, the man wasn’t going to let you go off with a single kiss. Instead, he replaces his right hand with left one and wraps his right arm around you to keep you in place. His tongue pries your lips open, sliding it into your mouth.

The kiss is hot, growing heavier by the second. His arm lightly tugs, wishing he could pull you right into his lap. Instead, his left hand swipes between your legs, lightly rubbing.

You’re the first to break the kiss, breathing in as much air as you could before Jungkook found his tongue back in your mouth. But, he doesn’t. Instead, he pulls you closer and allows himself to do the same, his wet lips falling to your jawline.

“You trust me, don’t you?”

Jungkook’s tone is deep, breath tickling your jawline as he kisses down. He makes his way to your neck, tongue circling your flushed skin.

“Yes-“

You don’t get to finish. Jungkook slides his hands into your pants, those greedy and invasive fingers cupping you through your panties. You yelp, eyes widening.

“W-What are you doing?!” you hiss, turning your eyes to the nothingness that is outside the car. The windows were a dark tint so even if someone was there…

You take a deep breath.

“I just want to make you cum.” Jungkook says against your neck. “Before you go.”

Your heart continues to pump rapidly. You don’t make a move to stop him, even if the denial is on the tip of your tongue. Instead, your eyes slowly trail down to watch the way his hand slides further into your pants.

“It’ll feel good, I promise.” Jungkook says. “I can make you cum in 5 minutes. You’d want that, right?”

If you had any sort of respect for yourself and your cousin, you would’ve ended it right here. Push him away and tell him you no longer wanted anything like this from him.

You hadn’t. Your silence, to Jungkook, was consent. He knew you wanted him to. Short breathes come from those parted lips, your chest rising and falling. Your thighs even widened a bit to allow him to feel more of you.

You jerk when Jungkook’s fingers make their way between your panties, sliding past your clit. Jungkook sucks in a breath, “You’re wet.” he groans. “I knew you wanted this, baby.”

“This…we can’t-”

“No one’s here.” Jungkook’s fingers twirl around your clit. You swallow the moan you want to let out. “Look at me.”

You do without hesitance. Jungkook holds your gaze while your body warms. His fingers continue to rub along your clit, keeping pressure on the already sensitive bud. You let out a soft gasp, unknowingly opening your legs wider.

“There you go,” Jungkook murmurs, continuing to hold your gaze. He leans in a bit more, appearing to be hovering above you. “you’re so wet right now. You must feel good, right?”

“Yea,” you nod your head, voice strained with nerves.

“Don’t be shy.” Jungkook chuckles at the way your face looks. So pretty and young, he thinks, so full of life yet lacking of experience that only one with years could give you. “Give me a kiss.”

Jungkook doesn’t move. Instead, he continues to rub along your clit, circling the bud faster and faster. You managed, somehow, to capture his lips in your own. It causes your moan to die down, but either way, you manage.

The kiss is just as hot as before. Jungkook forces his tongue inside, suckling on your own as his greedy fingers find your hole. His pants are tight, cock throbbing and twitching to be let free. His fingertips tease your hole - so tight and new to all of this, he thinks. He couldn’t wait to show you the world of pleasure he could expose you to if you’d let him.

You gasp out when Jungkook’s long fingers enter you. The feeling is different. It wasn’t as filling as a cock, sure, but the way he manages to thrust them in and out of you tells you that he knew what he was doing.

Jungkook groans against your lips when your soft hand grasps his cheek. The act causes Jungkook to thrust his finger even faster inside of you. His forehead pressed against yours and his teeth clamp down onto your bottom lip. “Feel good, baby?”

“Yes!” you nod your head.

You made the mistake of looking down. Your eyes catch Jungkook’s hand hidden inside your pants, only his fis wrist visible. The veins on his arm pulse and the sight alone has you moaning a bit louder - why did it look so hot? It’s nothing too sexual, you think, but it was also Jungkook. Everything on Jungkook was hotter than it should be.

“Kook,”

You don’t realize you’re holding his face until you feel your nails dig into the skin of his cheek. Jungkook doesn’t mind, however. A bit of pain never hurt him. “You gonna cum all over my fingers?” he asks. “You’re such a dirty little girl, Y/N.”

Why did that have you clenching around his already pumping fingers? Did dirty talk really excite you, or was it just Jungkook?

Regardless, you nod your head, eyes meeting his again. Your mouth opens slightly to let out hushed, drawn out moans that you only heard when you were making yourself cum - and even then, it never felt like this.

“Say it,” Jungkook continues, pecking your lips. “say you’re my dirty girl, Y/N.”

It’s an insane statement to make when he wasn’t a single man. Yet, you knew that. You knew who he was and know fully that what you and he are doing is wrong- but you comply. “I’m…I’m your dirty girl,” you breath, thighs shuddering and stomach clenching.

You were cumming - all the while still having another five minutes left until you needed to be in class. Your eyes squeeze shut as the pressure consumes you, higher-pitched moans coming from those sweet lips.

Jungkook brings his fingers out of you just on time, his lips coating kisses on your neck. His cock continues to throb but he tells himself that even now, you weren’t ready - but that didn’t mean you wouldn’t be soon.

@investedreader @sweetempathprunetree @mar-lo-pap @ami-s-k

#jungkook x reader #jungkook smut #trivia-yandere #explicit-tae #cinnamon #btswritersclub #bangtan smut #bangtanwritershq #bangtanwriters net #btswriterscollective #bts smut #btswritingcafe #bts college au #nerviosa

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alphabetboyluvr · 1 year ago

Text

habits of a clandestine nature | jjk

pairing: collegejk x female oc (angst, smut)

warnings: college!jk, rich!jk, he's a college nepo baby!!!, waitress!oc, flashbacks to summer, (mild) enemies to lovers, oc lives with tae (they're besties), jk is besties with jimin, mentions of parents infidelity, mentions of oc's virginity (lost prior to the story starting), a little angsty, jk is nawt a fuckboi, but he is stewpid, unprotected sex, bathroom escapades, multiple positions, oral (f), mentions of blowjobs, house parties, jackson wang!!!!!!!, yoongi has no lines but is also one of my fave characters lmao

wordcount: 16k

note from holly: this was written as a commission over on ko-fi!! it went through soooo many changes and edits - at one point it was over 24k lmao. i have so much lore and backstory for this couple, but I'll save it for a rainy day!! one of the main prompts was the 2004 classic a cinderella story, and there are little nods to it throughout the story, including the diner name!! a commenter on wattpad said the pairing reminded them of danny and sandy from grease and like... i see it lmao. anywaysss enjoy!! <33

minors dni // cross posted to wattpad

It's a well-trained habit, your fleeting glance towards the door of Montgomery's Diner when the bell rings.

Though the clatter of cheap porcelain being stacked on a tray almost manages to drown out the chiming metal, it's never quite enough. Softening your hardened expression, you continue on with your work, careful to not let your contempt show too much.

You already know who it is—or at least, who it could be. Only saw the girl leading the pack, but know that where Claudia goes, the rest of The Untouchables will surely follow.

Gorgeous in a way that money can't buy, and careless in a way that money makes up for, she's never taken personal issue with you. Barely even registers your existence.

From your quick look, you know that it's not just the girls today. It's the guys, too.

All with parents on the college board, they're regarded as campus royalty. Are aptly known as The Untouchables, 'cause the rules that apply to you don't apply to them. They'll likely continue with their lives in a similar manner for years to come, and will pass these attributes off to their offspring, whom they'll name after countries or distant relatives who were once regarded to be regal.

Gathering up the last of the discarded napkins on the table, you take one final, fleeting look just to see if a familiar face is with them.

It's not that you actively want to see him.

You just haven't seen him in the best part of a fortnight, which is odd.

He's been in your section of the Diner near enough every single night of the past three months—but school is starting up again, and he's got appearances to keep.

God-forbid Jeon Jungkook—son of the Admissions Director and heir-apparent to an unholy amount of real estate tied to the university—ever associates with the lowly scholarship kids like you.

The only reason The Untouchables ever come to this Diner is because it's the last remaining place close to the university that hasn't been snapped up and integrated into the campus. You guess it must feel like freedom to them, in a way.

In fact, you know this is the case. Jungkook has told you himself.

Has told you a lot.

Told you far too much.

Such candid honesty from him, shared during the lonely heat of a sweltering summer, is what makes it so jarring when he looks away as soon as his dark eyes meet yours.

Tall, broad, handsome; he's everything the gossip magazines you read during your downtime swoon over, but also everything they warn against. Too pretty for his own good, the resident agony aunt would call him if she were ever to see him. Would assume his ego is far larger than his shoe size; superiority complex embedded into his skin like the ink of his tattoos.

And while you think that perhaps those assumptions could be true, you also know the reality of him; how gentle his hands can be. Helpful, too. Delicate. Ornate, almost, when they fold bills into five petal flowers. Strong, when they grip the back of your neck. Commanding, when they're wrapped around his leather steering wheel.

You shouldn't know the way his car smells. Shouldn't know how he presses the heel of his palm against the wheel when he's reversing, or just how easy it is to clamber into the backseats over the centre console.

But you do, and it rests on your tongue like a dirty little secret desperate to escape: I know you.

You're not sure if you know him better than The Untouchables, but you know him independent of them. Not many people do.

It's rare to find him without Jimin cracking a joke by his side, or Claudia making a slightly mean remark masked as innocent ignorance as she leads him astray.

But summer happened, and so did Jungkook. With his friends away at their holiday homes, and his father's infidelity ripping his family apart at the seams, he'd needed something to stitch himself back together. Let you thread yourself through his very being, and once you'd tied yourself in a pretty little bow around his heart, he'd cut you off.

Is that not what all craftsmen do, though? Discard what no longer serves a purpose?

Memories of him, in all the places you never should have let him in, ravage your thoughts.

The scent of his aftershave lingers on the childhood plushie he used to tease you for having on your bed, but would also automatically hug into his chest every single time he entered your room.

The things he did—and the things he didn't do—corrupt your dreams and leave you restless when you wake.

The smudged mascara under your eyes hides the bags from your lack of sleep, and your only respite is that the little puffs beneath his eyes are extra prominent today. He's tried, too.

For a minute, you feel vindicated.

It doesn't last.

For the past few months, if he's been sleeping badly, you've known about it. Kept him company in this very Diner, or in the basement of a party house he was dumb enough to take you to, forgetting he'd have to return there after summer finished, too.

The walls might not talk, but Jackson Wang certainly does. Jungkook knows it's only a matter of time until his dirty little secrets—no matter how pure they actually are—become the talk of the town.

He always slept well in your bedroom, though.

Funny, that.

He's dressed simply, today: white t-shirt, black jeans, chunky black boots on his feet. It's still warm out, even if the sun does begin to set a little earlier than it had been during the hotter months. He's got no need for a jacket, and you despise how undeniably gorgeous his arms are in the dewy humidity. Tattoos trailing up and down his skin, you'd be forgiven for thinking he was a man of complexities.

Turns out he's just like every other good-for-nothing fuck boy who wasn't worth your time.

The Untouchables sit towards the front of the Diner. Your section is at the back, and there's no way in hell you're deviating from your set section. Not today. Not when he's with them.

"I thought we were free," your colleague, Maria, grumbles as you bring your tray to the counter.

Like you, she's a scholarship kid. Is the one who got you the job at the Diner after you both moved into the shared house you live in off-campus. Three of you live there—you, Maria, and Taehyung—and you all share the same disdain for The Untouchables.

"It never ends," you tease in reply. Glance over your shoulder, back at the table.

They're laughing and joking about something you can't quite decipher. All of them, except Jungkook.

There's a sternness to him. One of which you'd forgotten about. With one hand on the table, the other in his lap, his thumb fidgets over his tense knuckles. Sunglasses rest on the crown of his head, pushed up into his hair to hold it back off his face. Staring at nothing much, he's chewing up his bottom lip until he feels the familiar burn of your eyes on him. Looks your way.

It's curious, how looking at you halts his body from its self-soothing actions. He no longer nibbles on his lip. His tightly balled first eases.

"What do you think, Kookie?" Claudia drawls, drawing his attention back to the group. "You coming tonight?"

"Hm?" He questions, eyes pulling away from you. He begins to rub his thumb over his knuckles again. "Sorry, was just looking at the menu board. What are we talking about?"

"Party at the Conservatory," Jimin says from across the table. Though he's the one sitting beside Claudia, everyone knows Jungkook is the one that she's really interested in. Has been since their first day of college. "First of the semester. It's one of their birthdays. Reckon it'll be a big one."

On campus, but close enough to the boundaries that it's never infringed upon by security or university officials, the Conservatory isn't what it seems. A boarding house for the creme-de-la-creme of the Botany and Conservation PhD students, it's surrounded by land. Has rows upon rows of greenhouses for their projects.

Of the few times you've been there, you've always thought it was like a maze. The perfect place to get lost. The perfect place to get found, too.

Unfortunately for the PhD students, the house custodian took on the role for one thing and one thing only: to throw the biggest ragers on campus. Knows fuck all about growing anything that isn't illegal. Only managed to get the role, 'cause like the rest of The Untouchables, his dad works high up in the college. He's a few years older than them. Belongs to a different generation of campus royalty, but is keen on making sure his legacy remains.

After all, there ain't no party like a Jackson Wang party.

Namjoon—one of the Botanists and the birthday boy himself—has started padlocking the greenhouses.

Another one of them—Yoongi—minored in mechanical engineering. Has a coin-operated lock on his bathroom door. Makes enough money from a single Jackson Wang party to sustain himself for an entire month.

Hoseok and Jin, the remaining two, are just as messy as Jackson. Have only started PhDs because they don't know what else to do and don't want their youth to abruptly end. Live for the parties; survive for the studying.

"Now, who's told you that?" Jungkook smiles, as if the prospect of showing up at the Conservatory doesn't make him feel a little bit sick. "Jackson?"

"Obviously."

"Well, of course he's gonna tell you it'll be big," Jungkook laughs. "Wants to rope as many of you fuckers in as he can."

"And it works every time," Jimin smirks back. "If everyone thinks it'll be a rager, everyone will want to go. He's a marketing genius, if you ask me."

Jungkook rolls his eyes. Is fond in how he interacts with his friends. Has grown up with most of them. Whether or not they're everyones cup of tea is debatable, but they're his people.

And yet he finds himself glancing back over to the counter. You're not there anymore. Are out back, he assumes. Knows the layout, now. Where the walk-in freezer is. The little nook that you sit in during your break. He doubts any of his friends have ever been in a commercial kitchen, let alone one at a place like this.

While yes, his friends have only ever been good to him, he knows that it isn't the case for everyone they interact with. Is well aware that his friends would be confused beyond belief if they ever found out he knows how to click through the Diner's cash register and find the discount section. Would be even more perplexed if they were to see his initials hidden in one of the codes.

But summer was lonely.

Or at least it was.

Lonely, until it wasn't. Isolating, until he sought solace in someone he can't even bring himself to speak to in front of his friends.

Casting his eyes back down to the table, well aware that he's got no reason to feel as cut up as he does, he fakes a laugh. Looks up again at his friends with a grin so sincere that they'd never guess the way it feels like his heart is in his throat. "Alright. You're on. What time?"

The conversation dissolves into plans—what to wear, what drink to take.

After a summer apart, Jungkook thought it would be nice to be with his friends again. Thought he'd be excited; that he'd welcome them all back with open arms. Ask them about their summers, and lament his time spent here.

When Jimin asks him why he didn't go to the Italian villa his parents normally insist they spend the summer at, Jungkook shrugs.

"Dad has some stuff to sort out, so it was better to stay here," he says, minimising the reality of what really happened. Even you don't know for certain. All you know is that his father did something incredibly immoral, to the point where Jungkook can't even stand to look at him.

Is why he spent all those nights in the diner.

Was confusing at first. He was always angry. Always frowning. Always ordering black coffees and nothing else, huddled up in the corner booth, away from the world.

But with summer comes monsoons, and with monsoons come terrible conditions for walking home.

He expected you to say no when he offered you a ride. You expected to say no, too—but then a please and thank you had escaped your lips.

A routine grew. Habits formed.

Curious little thing, habits are. 21 days. That's all the time they take to develop.

Jungkook spent 63 days of summer with you in varying capacities. Enough time to learn a habit three times over.

The one that haunts him most is how it felt to have your hand beneath his on his gear stick. Finds the absence of you when he drives unbearable. Knows he's got no one to blame but himself; not just for creating distance, but also for minimising it in the first place.

He's the one who offered you a lift. He's the one who messaged you on your days off to see if you fancied going for a drive. He's the one who didn't turn the AC on just to get you shaking your jacket off your shoulders.

And he's the one that drove you out to the coast one evening for no other reason than wanting to hear the waves. He's the one who opened up to you about his family. He's the one that made things more than what they were.

Had walked along the shore with you, too scared to hold your hand beneath the lunar light. Opted for playful banter instead, nudging you into the lapping waves.

But the waves got bigger, and Jungkook's unbridled desire to have you close did just the same. Like always, he took things too far. Drenched in sea water, you'd laughed with him for the entire ride home.

Invited him in. Said, "The salt will ruin your clothes. We should wash them."

"Hand wash only," he'd said, pinging his damp t-shirt against his chest. It stuck to him in such a way you learned all of his edges before you ever saw him naked—not like there was much time between these two instances. Ended up in your shower with him, clothes beneath your feet, the excuse of hand washing disregarded the second he had you naked.

You learned three things about Jungkook in that shower.

The first is that he giggles. Lips on yours, hands clutching your jaw, whenever the water was a little too intrusive, he'd separate with a laugh. Would kiss you again, a smile still on his face. Would pretend as if he wasn't giggling.

But he was, and it was lovely.

The second was that he's the type to lean his head forward, not tip it back. With his hands pressed to the shower tiles behind you as your fingers wrapped around his thick shaft, he let his head dip to his chest. Gave him ample opportunity to press kisses to the top of your head—or at least it did until you got to your knees and started taking his hard cock in your mouth.

"Shit," he had husked. Whined. Praised. "Fuck. You're so fuckin' good at that."

It was around then that you became aware he was a head pusher, too.

Almost as if he was saving the best until last, the third thing you learned was how he likes to cum; in your sheets, cock buried in your pussy, your hands clasped above your head. Missionary, 'cause he likes to kiss you through it. In your bed, 'cause he likes losing himself in everything you are. Prefers finishing inside you, but you refuse to fuck him without a condom so he never gets exactly what he wants. It's close enough, though.

Spent weeks—months—laying unfair claim to your body, and now he can't bring himself to look in your direction. It infuriates you.

But more than anything else, it embarrasses you.

Even your reflection laughs at you. Cackles 'told you so' every time you look in the mirror.

You always wondered why you never heard much about Jungkook's hook ups around campus. Everyone knows about Jimin and how his cock has been perpetually wet since the first day of freshers week, but there's always been a secrecy when it comes to Jungkook.

It's something you've teased him about; in your sheets, bodies clammy, his heart beating so fast in his chest you'd been forgiven for thinking he'd just run a marathon.

"When do I have to sign it?" You had giggled.

"Sign what?" He'd husked, voice all wispy and fucked out.

"The NDA," you'd replied as if it was obvious. "It's been, like, what? A month? Surely it's about time you made sure I kept my mouth shut like all your other girls do?"

On your front, your arms were folded over his chest, and he was gently rearranging the pretty little updo he'd made a mess of. Though he was looking at his hands as he replied, you kept your eyes on his. Studied his sincerity.

"Reason you don't hear about other girls is 'cause there aren't any."

A smile twitched at the corner of your lips, but you didn't let it shine for him.

"Sure."

There was a small jerk to his torso as a breathy smirk formed on his face.

"You think I can't be trusted?"

"I think it's foolish to trust any man."

His deep, dark eyes sank down to focus on yours. Offered you all the sincerity you'd be searching for, and more.

"That's all I am, huh?" He'd challenged you. "Just another one of your men?"

"One of the many," you'd teased just to rile him up a little.

"Ah," he'd played along. "So that's why I always have to wear a condom?"

With a saccharine smirk on your lips, you'd gotten back in position, legs straddled over his hips. Had kissed him. Whispered, "No. That's just because I know it annoys you."

"You annoy me all the time," he'd mumbled into your lips, hands gripping your waist to get you grinding against his still sensitive cock. Barely fifteen minutes since he'd last finished, there was no way he was ready to go again.

"Hm?" You'd hummed against his kisses, then began to work your way down his neck in a way that always got him a little moany. "If I'm so annoying, why are you getting hard again, baby?"

"You can be annoying and hot," he told you as he desperately tried to not let his insatiable need for you show.

"Is that how you like your girls?" You'd ribbed once more, just to piss him off a little. It was never serious. Never something you would actually fret over.

Perhaps you should have done, but then he told you with a little too much candour, "No. It's how I like my girl. Singular."

Loose lips sink ships, and Jungkook was one iceberg away from greeting the ocean floor. Closing his lips back down on yours, he was making sure you were just as insatiable for him as he was for you. He didn't cum again that evening, even if you did more times than you cared to count.

A greedy lover, is Jeon Jungkook. Edacious.

And so you understand, now, why the girls he gets entangled with stay silent; how the hoaxes he plays leave them utterly hysterical. They're subject to silence, because who would possibly believe all those sweet little lies he tells? How mad would they be considered if they tried to convince anyone he has a heart?

His brazen lack of humanity is proven when he comes to pay for the table. Any of them could have done it. Yet he elects to stand in front of your till and wait for you to serve him.

Have you not served him enough?

You refuse to utter a single word in his direction. Don't look at him, don't give him any satisfaction. He can read it for himself, he can pay, and he can fuck off.

"Keep the change," he mumbles tossing down the bills—but like fuck are you gonna keep anything he gives you.

He begins to walk away, a little shrunken in his stature.

"Excuse me, sir."

Stopping dead in his tracks, Jungkook is perplexed to hear you address him so coldly.

"Your change," you say, holding a closed hand out for him to hold his own hand beneath. He doesn't want to cause a scene. Obliges. Is surprised when notes, not coins, fall into his palm.

More specifically, notes folded into the shape of flowers. His handiwork, he's certain. Was something he used to do in the early hours of your late night diner shifts. If he said something a little mean, or bickered with you a little too hard, he'd fold his notes up like posies and give them to you as a remedy.

Never used those notes to buy you real flowers, mind you.

Back when things were still easy, you pulled him up on it. Told him that you'd be far easier to seduce with a little wooing. He'd told you that you were easy to seduce regardless.

You didn't speak to him for the rest of your shift.

Ended it with fourteen folded bills in the shape of a bouquet, and when the backseat windows of his car had a thick veil of condensation coating them that same evening, he'd drawn you flowers on them.

"No point in flowers," he'd told you. "They just wither up and die."

Which is funny, 'cause it kinda looks like Jungkook is doing that very same thing right in this moment. He goes to speak, but nothing comes out.

Disappointing, you think, then realise of course he is. Has done nothing but disappoint you.

You smile. Jungkook looks like he wants to cry. Good.

"Don't let the door hit you on the way out."

21 repetitions. That's how many times it takes to form a habit. You know this.

You also know that 90 days of this repetition will form a habit to last a lifetime.

As you hook up your apron, and free your hair of the ribbon that had been tightly wrapped around your ponytail, you know these are 'lifetime' habits. Apron, then ponytail. Always.

But when you say goodbye to Maria, and ask if she'll be at home this evening, you find yourself leaning into a recently formed habit. It's not anything particularly noteworthy. Not something anyone would notice.

Well, not anyone who matters. You don't think Jungkook counts as someone who matters, anymore.

But he'd noticed; how you'd started glancing across to his parking spot whenever you clocked out. Had teased you for it. Asked you if it was the highlight of your day, seeing him there, as if it wasn't the highlight of his.

You should have known the playful banter when he told you not to get used to it wasn't really banter at all.

Yet here you are, glancing across to his parking spot only to see it empty.

It's not even like it's his spot. Whenever he's with his friends, they walk. Live right on campus, so don't need to drive, and if they do, they'll park right by the doors.

In the height of summer, when the lot was empty and Jungkook wasn't driving for his sake but for yours, he liked to park in the far corner. Said dumb shit about not wanting any weirdos scratching it. Whined and moaned whenever someone performed the very human act of parking next to the only other car in an empty parking lot.

"So many spaces!" He'd blather on. Would speak with his hands. Get deliberately more animated, 'cause it always made you laugh. "And they choose here?!"

The memories make you smile, until the yellow headlights of another car flood into the parking lot. They reveal what's right in front of you; a crowd of cars and not a single one of them you care for.

It's not like you cared for Jungkook, either. Was just something to pass the time when the streets were quiet and his head was loud.

In turn, you gave him quiet, and he made your summer feel loud.

But the leaves are turning brown and the water in the roadside puddles is becoming stale. The seasons have changed and so has the nature of your interactions. It's fine. You don't care. Really. Couldn't think of anyone you'd want to hang around less. Would rather die than associate with The Untouchables.

You never needed a lift, not really. Especially not when it always took you an hour to get home 'cause Jungkook just wanted to keep on driving.

Grumbling to yourself just to try and divert your mind from thoughts of him, your heart almost skips a beat when your phone vibrates in your pocket. For a second, you wonder if it could be him.

Where you at? It could read. I'm here.

Or maybe, I miss you.

I can't sleep without you.

This is so stupid. Can I come over?

It won't say of those things and you damn well know it.

Your text thread is dormant. The last message is from you, two weeks prior.

You: you not coming in tonight?

You: you'll be pleased to know my fairy godmother turned a pumpkin into a carriage to make sure i got home safe x

You: ... at least let me know if ur alive?

Rolling your eyes at how mortifying your desperation feels, the scowl that settles into your expression is comical. It's like you're fighting with the wind that's threading itself through your hair.

Pulling your phone out, the scowl only intensifies.

Jackass Wang: party tonight

You: so????

One thing about Jackson is that he's not gonna leave anyone on read, especially when he's trying to drum up attendees for his parties.

Jackass Wang: so i haven't seen you around for a while, montgomery

"Fuckin' Montgomery," you mutter at the nickname.

It's the one that all of Jungkook's friends seem to refer to you as, as if you don't have a personality outside of your job.

Still, at least Jackson is a little bit inventive with it. Calls you Monts. Monty, Monstera Plant, Monte Carlo, and god knows what else. If it starts with 'Mon,' he's found a way to end it with a cheeky smirk and smug anticipatory look in your direction, as he awaits your reaction.

You: i like it better when i don't see you x

Jackass Wang: you know that isn't true. loverboy will be there. come with him. or don't. i don't care. you can bring your little friends with you.

You: they'd rather die :) x

Jackass Wang: y'know, you're replying an awful lot for a girl who's not interested ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

You: you just can't take no for an answer

Jackass Wang: yes i can - but you haven't said no yet. c'mon. loverboy has been moping around all week. i can't be arsed with his mardy ass energy all evening.

You: so don't invite him???? i don't see why it's my problem?????

The fact that you don't need clarification of who Jackson means is proof enough that perhaps Jackson's onto something.

Jackass Wang: conservatory any time after 9. be there or be square montgomery. or don't be. i'm sure loverboy can get his dick wet without you, but it's easier for everyone if he doesn't.

You: charming x

Jackass Wang: it's why the ladies love me.

You: all of them except this one, apparently. have a nice party. stay away from the drugs.

Jackass Wang: can't be tamed, monte carlo. nor can loverboy. come keep him company.

The block button towards the top of your message thread looks incredibly tempting. Just a single click and you'll never have to deal with Jackson Wang and his dumb parties ever again.

Part of you can't believe you've ever been associated with them, as it is.

Summer defied the conventions of the life you've built for yourself. You weren't the person you thought you were.

Kicking off your shoes when you arrive home, the door slams shut behind you. A gentle voice calls through to check if it's you.

"Maria's still working," you say as you walk into the kitchen, tossing your bag down on the floor and your phone on the counter.

Taehyung, your best friend since your first week at college, is cooking himself dinner, but offers you a spoon of the tomato sauce he's making. Humming as you taste it, you're amazed by how he manages to make even the simplest thing delicious.

"S'good. What is that? Cumin?"

Nodding, he smiles. "A little paprika, too. You want some?"

His hair is dishevelled, blonde and sunkissed from the sweltering summer skies. He always looks great with a tan; radiant and full of youth.

Shaking your head, you really don't have an appetite. "Think I'm gonna have an early night."

He's about to reply when your phone buzzes. Both of you glance down. Your skin feels red hot, and when Taehyung almost chokes on the spoonful of sauce he's just tried, he's all sorts of confused.

"Why the fuck is Jackson Wang messaging you?"

"Hmm?" You hum as if you have no idea what he's talking about. Realise from the look on his face that he doesn't buy it for a second. "Oh! That Jackson Wang. Think he sent a text to his entire contact list. Something about a party."

"No," Taehyung asserts. "Absolutely not. You cannot bullshit out of this one."

"It's not bullshit," you whine as you pretend to look in the fridge for something to drink. Settle on a beer left by one of Taehyung's friends at a party held last semester. It wasn't quite a Jackson Wang level party, but nothing ever is. "He's just trying to drum up numbers for his stupid party tonight."

Taehyung is many things, but stupid he is not. Though he's blonde (thanks to a bottle of bleach and a few too many jack and cokes), he bends all the stereotypes. His tuition is covered by a scholarship for academic excellence.

"Don't give me that bull."

"It's not bull!"

"So you're telling me, out of everyone at our college, the Jackson Wang is texting you to make up numbers for his party?"

"Yes!" you exclaim, partially a little offended at it being such an unfathomable idea. "And he said you can come too, so maybe you're the one he's really after!"

His expression is flat. You are paper thin.

He's known you long enough to know when you're giving him half-truths.

He also knows you spent the summer alone in this house, and that there's a new toothbrush in the bathroom next to yours.

"You're hooking up with him, aren't you?"

"No!"

Out of everyone to be accused of sleeping with, Jackson Wang is, like, the worst of the worst. He's handsome, sure, but he's also slept with pretty much every girl on campus. Is a teenage boy in a grown adult's body. You'd rather not fornicate with a guy who still finds 'your mum' jokes funny.

Taehyung gasps at your immediate denial. "You are!"

"I'm not!"

"All that talk about saving it for someone special, and you mean to tell me you went and lost it to Jackson fuckin' Wang?!"

Everything about this conversation is making you want to punch yourself in the face. The topic of sex, and just why you've never gotten around to it, has dominated many conversations around this dining table. If you have to discuss it again, you might move out.

"Oh my God," you whine, throwing your head back. "We are not having this conversation."

"Yes, we are."

"No, we're not, because I didn't lose my virginity to Jackson Wang!" You stress. The more you think about it, the more offended you are.

"To Jackson Wang," Taehyung echoes, as he begins to join invisible dots. "But you did lose it to someone."

"No," you insist, but Taehyung refuses to buy it. Knows you too damn well.

He always thought he'd know when you lost it. That it'd be a boy you'd been dating. Committed to. Someone good. Someone worthy. Not someone you keep in the shadows.

"There's something you're not telling me," he frowns. "What the fuck happened this summer?"

With a sigh so deep it's a miracle you're still breathing, you relent. Never signed one of those NDA's you're convinced Jungkook must hand out like candy, as if he's some sort of celebrity and not just some college reprobate.

"Jungkook," you feebly admit. Take a sip on your beer. Don't look at Taheyung, 'cause you're afraid to see his reaction. "Wasn't Jackson. Was Jungkook."

You tell Taehyung everything. How Jungkook never knew you were a virgin. How he still doesn't. How you blame yourself for your hurt, but him for not getting you any band aids to help deal with it; for not kissing you better when he was the one to cause you such hurt in the first place.

As you recite you memories, you play a game against yourself: take a sip every time you want to cry.

By the time you've told Taehyung the nitty-gritty truth, the bottle of wine that had been in the fridge is finished, as well as your beer.

"I can't believe this," Taehyung says for what feels like the billionth time.

There's a certain shame that comes with Taehyung's confusion.

Embarrassment, like the way Jungkook would cringe at himself whenever he stumbled on his words, or the way you'd covered your reddening cheeks with your hands when he teased you for looking at him in the way you did.

Remorse of time wasted before him, and time wasted with him.

Regret of the things you did and the things he didn't.

It's all very confusing. Exhausting. If you were to really think about it, you'd spend a week in bed with a box of tissues. Would ask Taehyung why he didn't warn you that a heart could feel this horrid.

But he did, and you damn well know it.

Shrugging, you reach for the bottle and split the final few glugs between your glasses.

"We were just bored," you play it off. "Had nothing better to do. No one better to do."

But Taehyung shakes his head. "You don't have to do that, yanno. Pretend like it didn't matter. It's okay that it did. Even if he is a prick, and even if he's no better than the rest of them. It's okay that it hurts."

You're silent when he says this.

Despite your teasing, you never really thought Jungkook was much of a player.

But his friends are back now, and you've been relegated to the sidelines. Doesn't matter if he spent weeks—months—playing in no field but yours. Greener pastures have presumably sprouted. Your turf is wrecked from his carelessness, and he's left you to heal yourself while he goes and wrecks another.

Whoever he was pretending to be in the summer isn't who he is now that his friends are back—but when they're laughing and joking in the basement of the Conservatory that evening, Jungkook knows which version of himself he prefers.

"You need to get laid," Jimin tells Jungkook with a laugh. "Never seen a man look so bloody miserable at a party."

Of all the things Jungkook needs, getting laid is not one of them. In fact, he thinks it would be a very sensible idea if he never got laid again. Sex is messy. People get all emotional over it.

Or more so, he gets all emotional over it.

Had never been the type to, before. Always thought it was something that just happened to other people. Not to him.

He pushes the thoughts aside. Feels a little sick. Shrugs off Jimin's remark.

"If I wanted to get laid, I would get laid."

"So why don't you? Will do us all a favour. Claudia's been—"

"I couldn't give a fuck," Jungkook interrupts Jimin. "I'm not interested."

He never has been. Wants nothing to do with this university, and the men that run it, and so would never date one of their daughters.

They're all corrupt. Every last one of them. All cheat on their wives. All throw their families under the bus for their own selfish exploits. His own father's affair has proven this to him.

Jungkook pities his friends. Just because their parents haven't fucked up yet, doesn't mean they won't.

"Oi, Loverboy," Jackson calls from across the room, breaking the tension only to replace it with a headache for Jungkook. "Where's your little girlfriend? I told her to come."

"Who?" Jimin chirps.

Jungkook grates his jaw. Is deadly serious when he says, "Leave it, Jackson."

"Trouble in paradise for our lovebirds, huh?"

"I said leave it."

"Who the fuck is he talking about?" Jimin continues to ask, incredibly curious about this turn of events. Leave town for a couple of months, he thinks, and everything changes.

"No one."

"That one from the diner," Jackson just continues fuckin' talking. Jungkook wants to scream. "The one with a stick up her ass—"

"Jackson, cut it out," Jungkook snaps. "She's no one. Just fuckin' leave it."

"You ashamed, huh, Loverboy?" Jackson berates him a little bit. He isn't trying to be a dick, but he thinks Jungkook is acting like a tool. Jackson is no saint, but at least he doesn't ever pretend to be something he's not. "Poor girl. Wear her like your favourite pair of shoes all summer and then throw her to the trash when your friends come back? I thought better of you. So did she, probably. Shame."

Of all the people Jungkook ever expected to receive lessons in morality from, Jackson Wang was not the one. He parades himself around the Conservatory like Hugh Hefner reincarnated, his class attributed to money and not behaviours.

"The fuck have you been doing this summer, Kook?" Jimin laughs, utterly dumbfounded by his reactions.

They've all had their fair share of less than conventional lovers. If Jungkook has been fucking around with a girl from the Diner, then so what? Who cares?

"Nothing," Jungkook snaps.

It's not that he's ashamed.

It's that you're separate.

When he's with you, all of this—the bullshit of college life and calamity of his family falling apart—dissolves into nothingness. He doesn't have to think. Finds himself at ease.

If you were to ever become a part of his life—his real one, not the one he got so used to living in with you over the summer—then it'd all change.

He doesn't want that.

He wants you to be a safe haven.

A refuge point can't be in the midst of a fire, though. He has to keep you away. At arms length.

But god damn, he wishes you would come and put out his fire. He's struggling. Finds existing without you so fucking hard. Doesn't know at which point he became so dependent, but knows his oxygen is running low.

He's suffocating. Isn't sure how much longer he can keep this up.

"Yeah, sure seems like nothing," Jimin smirks with a shake of his head as Jungkook storms off to get some much needed air. "Oi, Jackson, what was that all about?"

With a shrug, and yet another girl on his arm, Jackson grins. Puts on a pathetic little voice to mimic Jungkook's tantrum. "Fink baby boy has a wittle cwush."

"Girl from the diner?" Jimin implores, still smirking at Jackson's dumb humour. "Which one?"

"You really have to ask?"

For all of his mystery, Jungkook has never been a man of subtleties. His eyes give him away.

They always have done.

When he was looking at the menu board earlier that day? It was obvious.

Before college broke up for summer, and how Jungkook would always cast his eyes down to his hands whenever you, specifically, came to take their order? It was obvious.

How Jungkook would always make sure he was on the side of the booth that gave him ample opportunity to steal glances of you? It was so fucking obvious.

Sometimes he'd laugh at the slightly sarcastic remarks you gave Claudia whenever she would ask irritating questions about the menu.

When they were deciding where to eat, Jungkook would suggest the Montgomery's Diner, always.

So, no, Jimin doesn't really have to ask.

"Stupid prick," he sighs, sipping on his beer. Loves Jungkook to absolute death, but will never understand him. Figures that maybe you do. Worries that Jungkook is about to wreck it all. He calls after Jackson, "She here tonight?"

"Invited her," he calls back. "But she's got an attitude problem to rival his. Fuck knows if she's around. You'll feel her ice before you see her."

Which is funny, because the lingering summer heat sticks to your skin as you nervously meander up a driveway you know all too well.

The Conservatory is decidedly not a conservatory.

It's a complex. A maze of buildings, and greenhouses, and fuck knows what else. You've no interest in gardening, but if excelling at it meant living somewhere like this, maybe you'd consider taking it up as a hobby.

The buildings are mostly redbrick, with large windows, and even larger doors. It's the kind of place you'd imagine a Duke of some far away land prancing about in. Playing croquet, or secretly courting a lowly village girl that his parents will never approve of.

The irony isn't lost on you.

"Wait, how do I look?" Taehyung asks for what feels like the hundredth time. "Not too dressy?"

"You're wearing a waistcoat," you reply, face twisted in affectionate condemnation. He looks great, but he also does look far too dressy. It's his 'look', though, and one that'll get him attention, both good and bad.

If Kim Taehyung walked around with the arrogance his handsome face warranted him with, he'd be the heartthrob of the campus. You think even Claudia would want a slice of him—and given his distaste for the elite yet pining desire to be on their level, it'd be quite the complex pairing.

All of the other men here are in t-shirts, but Taehyung has never been like other men. It's part of the reason you like him so much.

One thing, however, you don't like about Taehyung is his domineering need to 'fix' things. It comes from a place of love, and he only ever does it because he cares, but it's not always in your best interest.

When he told you to go and get changed out of your work uniform, you thought he was planning on taking you to a bar. That you'd be drowning your sorrows over wine you can't afford.

You would never agree to go to the Conservatory. Not now.

Which is why he didn't tell you of his plan.

Instead, he ordered a cab and didn't give you the chance to protest. You were already halfway there by the time you realised.

"Why don't we just go home?" You whine, tugging on his arm as you stand by the gate that leads through the gardens—the same ones you used to traipse around in with Jungkook. "We don't need to be here."

"Uh-uh," he shakes his head, firmly standing his ground. "I've avoided this place for two years, and the second my back is turned it becomes your new home. The least you could do is invite me round for dinner."

"It's not my new home—"

"MONTGOMERY!"

The voice of Jackson Wang yelling across the front lawn makes you want to shrivel up and die. Sink down into the ground. You'd make great compost for the botanists.

"Y'know, you and Loverboy really need to stop lying so much," he says with an incredibly intoxicated grin as he lumbers towards you. You'll never admit it, but part of you is pleased to see him. "First you saying you weren't coming, then him telling everyone nothing happened between you. Both as bad as one another."

Nothing happened between you.

It doesn't surprise you, but it does sting. And it also confuses you. Why on earth would you be a topic of conversation? The people here know you as Montgomery. The girl from the diner. You're nothing but a background character to them.

"What did he say?" You ask, disregarding everything else, not even bothering to introduce Taehyung. He's finding all of this incredibly bewildering.

"Oh, Jimin was grilling him," Jackson waves his hands around, disregarding it. "Kept saying you were no one. Refused to admit that he'd practically tied his laces with yours for the whole summer. Don't you worry, though, Monte Carlo. I had your back. Set the record straight."

Jackson Wang having your back isn't something you ever expected to happen.

Jeon Jungkook's absolute denial of your clandestine affaire de cœur is, disappointingly, something you expected.

It doesn't mean that it comes without hurt. If anything, it's far more visceral, for you only have yourself to blame. These wounds are self-inflicted, even if they're carved with a knife Jungkook crafted out of silly affirmations he never should have made.

"Where is he?" You ask, cold in your tone.

Jackson shrugs. "Try the basement. S'where I last saw him."

As Jackson saunters off to find another poor partygoer to mildly offend, you're left with a bad taste in your mouth. You've been irritated since you saw Jungkook earlier that day.

How he can just show up at the diner and act like he doesn't even know you, let alone knows what it's like to wake up next to you, is beyond insulting.

"C'mon," Taehyung urges you along. "I need a drink, and you could use three."

Conversely, you think you need an entire bottle.

A bottle of what, you don't care. Just something strong. Anything other than the shitty, overpriced whisky Jungkook always insisted on drinking.

"Fine. But we're not going to the basement."

It's perplexing to walk the halls of the Conservatory without Jungkook; to pass by strangers who have no idea who you are, but who know and admire him as if he's some sort of Hollywood celebrity.

They don't know him like you do. Don't know what it feels like to have his hand around their throat, or his fingers gently intertwined with theirs. They've never heard him laugh like you have.

And yet when you're a few drinks deep, and on the verge of calling a cab to go home, you hear that laugh again and wonder how he can bear to be happy right now.

Glancing up, his face is unreadable. The lights are dim, and the shadows obscure the painful furrowing of his brows. He looks just the same as he did back in the diner earlier that day. Perplexed. In pain. Somehow perfectly fine, too.

The group he's in is small. Some of them you know, some of them you don't.

Claudia sits across from him on the lap of some other guy, yet she doesn't take her eyes off Jungkook. She laughs a little harder at his jokes. Directs questions to him. Flirts with other people in front of him to no avail.

Not even now, after summer when her skin is sunkissed and her radiance is rejuvenated, can she keep his attention.

In fact, none of them can once he spots you from across the room. The big lights are off, fairy lights strung up, and a sunset lamp pours a clementine hue over you.

Summer becomes you, he thinks—adores—from afar.

The year is a body, and you're eternally condemned to its heart. That's where he'll keep you. Where you belong.

Had it been spring—the brain of the year—when he'd been hauled up in that diner, he never would have let things get as far as they did.

Had it been winter—the cunt of the year, for lack of a better term—he would have let it get that far, and he wouldn't have felt bad about it, either.

But Autumn is drawing close. The gut. The time to trust his intuition, and he damn well knows it.

A hand wraps itself around your wrist, dragging you away from his car crash eyes. Jungkook slips into the dull shadows of the room, right where he belongs. Was foolish of you to ever think otherwise.

"Do you mind?" you snap, but let yourself be dragged away regardless. Part of you hopes it'll make Jungkook do something. You're not sure what. Just something.

The man who is leading you astray is familiar. Recognisable. Park Jimin.

Though he's not aggressive, he definitely isn't gentle as he leads you out to the gardens. Lets go of your wrist by an overgrown shrub just beyond the benches that are made for drunken DMC's. He isn't after one of them. Wants the facts.

"Cut the bullshit," he says.

"No hello?" You chirp. "Nice to see you? Or better yet, an introduction?"

"You know who I am," Jimin tells you, expression flat. You hate that the arrogant fucker is right. "But I know fuck all about you, and apparently you're the reason Jungkook is walking around like death warmed up. So cut the bull. What happened?"

Frankly it's none of Jimin's business. Even if he's done you wrong, Jungkook trusted you. You're not gonna throw that back in his face and air his dirty laundry—especially not considering that Jimin is Jungkook's friend. If Jungkook wanted him to know, he'd have told him.

"Nothing," you tell him. "Barely even know him."

Jimin sighs. Jackson was right. There's a reason why you and Jungkook got along so well. Are both insufferable.

Glancing behind you, Jimin raises his brows.

You turn to face his line of vision, and fail to hide your surprise when you see Jungkook by the back door. Like a deer in headlights, he's frozen in place, his darling bambi eyes so startled he almost looks scared.

"So if you barely know him," Jimin continues as you and Jungkook stare one another out. "Why the fuck is he looking at you like he's seen a ghost?"

It takes a second or so, but you manage to pull your gaze away. Turn back to face Jimin. Shrug. Play dumb.

"Mistaken identity."

"Oh, I get it," Jimin smirks, knowing you aren't gonna give him an easy way out. Needs to bamboozle answers out of you. "You both went to the same bullshitting classes over summer? Is that it?"

You're surprised to find yourself smiling. Surprised that you find humour in Jimin's words. Surprised that you aren't rolling your eyes.

He's always been the Untouchable that has annoyed you the most. Is too loud. Laughs at the most obnoxious things.

"Top of the class," you reply because it somehow feels okay to joke with him. Perhaps spending so much time with Jungkook has lowered you Park Jimin-related intolerance. Not cured it, by any means, but definitely made it easier to manage.

"Academic rivals," Jimin supposes, realising that maybe there's a little more to you than he's ever given you credit for. "That's pretty hot."

"He seemed to think so," you lament, knowing that you're revealing a far more truthful rendition of your time spent with Jungkook. Or at least, admitting that time was spent together.

With a sigh, you walk a little further into the garden. Cross your arms. Look back over your shoulder to the door, only to find Jungkook is gone. It shouldn't upset you like it does, but you find your lips pressing together in a small pout.

"Look," Jimin says, exhaling a breath so deep you're sure his lungs must be empty. He comes to stand beside you, looking across the vast expanse of the gardens. "I'm not asking for your life story. If you don't give a shit about Kook, then that's fine, I'll leave you alone. But he's my best friend, and I've never seen him like this."

Glancing at Jimin, there's a taut discomfort on your face. Guilt, almost—but you've not done anything wrong. It's on him. He's the one who chose for things to be this way.

"I give a shit," you quietly admit as you look back out towards the garden, then sigh out a pitiful laugh. "You know him. You know what he's like. Of course I give a shit."

Quite honestly you think it's impossible to not fall for Jungkook. He's everything you're hardwired to appreciate: hardworking, charming, incredibly funny. You lost count of how many nights dissolved into laughter with him. Had never known your cheeks to hurt so much.

He was gentle, too. Stroked his thumbs against your cheeks just as often as he made them ache.

It's your heart that's aching now, and he's not around to soothe your woes.

Back inside, Jungkook feels so viscerally unwell that he thinks he might be sick. Or maybe he's actually dying. One of the two.

This is everything he didn't want. You were supposed to be separate. Supposed to be a sanctuary away from this all.

You're in the thick of it, now. Jimin is grilling you, and Jungkook doesn't know what to do. It's too much. All of it. The party, the people, the fact that you look at him with ice in your eyes when he knows damn well they used to harbour the warmest of fires.

Beelining for the basement, he kind of hopes the ground will swallow him up. Stop him from making the bad decisions he seems to find so god damn irresistible.

As he yanks open the small fridge at the back of the basement, Jungkook doesn't care what he drinks. Just needs something to help soothe his fragile mine; to make him feel better, 'cause lord knows you won't.

Reaching for a beer, he doesn't ask around to see if it belongs to anyone. Finders keepers. He's an Untouchable. This place is basically his by birthright. No one is gonna argue against him.

But Kim Taehyung isn't just anyone.

"So, when you apologise for being a gargantuan pillock, are you planning on also trying to win her over? Or will you just clean your conscience and wipe yourself clean of her, too?"

Jungkook's jaw tenses as his teeth grit together. "Don't know what you're on about."

"Had a girl in tears at my dinner table earlier tonight," Taehyung exaggerates. Just wants Jungkook to feel as awful as he knows you do. "Your friends might not give a shit about your well-being, but I give a shit about mine."

And for some reason, this irks Jungkook. He gives a shit about you. Cares so much he's been torturing himself by staying away. Thinks it's better for you both.

If it truly was, neither of you would be feeling so gut-wrenchingly awful.

He knows you're angry. You've made that perfectly clear.

But he also knows you do cry when you're frustrated. Was a lesson learned when you were stressed over the diner roof leaking one night during the monsoons when no one else was in to help you fix it.

It was the first night he offered you a lift home. Had taken pity on you. Had also liaised with the college maintenance guy to check it out the next day, even if the diner wasn't technically part of campus.

Because Jungkook does give a shit about your well-being, and he refutes the claim that he doesn't.

"So what? You here to tell me to stay away?" Jungkook scoffs as he prizes off the cap of the bottle. Swigs down a sip. Then another, 'cause he's not wankered enough for this.

"I'm here to tell you that you're an asshole," Taehyung asserts. "She didn't deserve to be used by you for the summer and then tossed to the trash just because semesters starting up again."

The roll of Jungkook's eyes is so weighted that it almost feels as if they'll get lodged in the back of his skull. The last time they'd rolled that deep was in bed with you. Back then it was because his body was so divinely out of sync that his muscles couldn't keep up with his actions. This time, pleasure is the furthest thing away from how he's feeling.

"You want me nowhere near her, but the fact I'm staying away makes me an asshole?" Jungkook petulantly laughs. "Can't ever fuckin' win, can I?"

"This isn't about winning or losing," Taehyung argues back. "She trusted you."

Jungkook doesn't understand what that has to do with anything. He's not betrayed your trust. Has kept all your secrets. Tried his best to keep you secret, too.

"What was she to you, huh? Some project? A virginity to get under your belt? Something to pass the time—"

"I don't know who you think I am," Jungkook snaps, fed up being accused of something he's not. "But not once did I ever treat her badly, okay? I—" He cuts himself off. Doesn't know how to articulate himself. "We— Look, you just don't get it. You don't know me. I was nothing but fuckin' nice. Okay? And she was nice. And it was nice. And we..." He trails off. Realises what Taehyung said. "The fuck do you mean, 'virginity to get under your belt'?"

It's about now that Taehyung realises he's said too much.

But every cloud has a silver lining.

"Talk to her," Taehyung shrugs as he begins to walk away. "Not me."

He leaves a scowling Jungkook by the fridge. Heads to the stairs, and once he reaches the top, is yanked away by a small but mighty force.

"You," Jimin asserts. "With me. Now."

The sound of three knocks on the bathroom door serve as a signal: let me in.

A panicked text from Taehyung had practically begged you to go to the basement bathroom and wait for him there. Said there was drama that he needed to talk with you about.

And you believed him, 'cause you're a few too many drinks deep and honestly could do with the respite.

Perched up on the countertop by the sink, you reach over and unhook the latch, giving Taehyung the all clear to come on in. Your legs languidly swing and your shoulders are slumped, this party well and truly over for you.

The only reason you're still here is because you know Taehyung's secretly been revelling in his first Conservatory party. You fear he'll want to come every weekend, now.

"You better not have your cock out," a playful voice you know all too well jokes, as the door pushes open. Eyes closed as he enters, he shuts the door behind him. Asks, "Am I safe to open my eyes?"

You're gonna kill Taehyung.

In the most loving but brutal way, you will absolutelymurder him for setting you up like this.

"Safe," you grimace.

Jungkook doesn't open his eyes. In fact, he presses them even tighter together. Frowns. "Jimin isn't in here, is he?"

"We've been bamboozled," you sigh, and as much as he doesn't want to, Jungkook smiles at your choice of words. Tips his head down, and open his eyes. Is a little too scared to look your way, for fear of being greeted with wrath.

"Their days are numbered," Jungkook assures you, quickly glancing across to try and work out how you're feeling.

"My sentiments exactly."

Jungkook goes to speak, but you both notice a grating metallic noise by the door. Immediately, Jungkook presses his hand down on the door handle, but there's absolutely no give. It won't budge

"Jimin," he calls, voice strong and domineering through the wooden panels. Hastily painted white, they're chipped and tarnished; covered in numbers and Instagram handles, rumours and declarations of love. It's not your first time locked in this bathroom with Jungkook, but the last was of your own choice. Had been you turning the lock with a smile and glint in your eyes that had promised him trouble. "Open it up."

"No can do," Jimins smugly sings from beyond the door. "Sort your shit out."

Hopping off the counter, you nudge in front of Jungkook to pound against the door with an open fist. Though he steps back, it's still the closest you've been with him since he left your bedroom a couple weeks ago. Part of you laments the fact he moved away from you. Part of him does, too.

"Tae," you try calling instead, hand banging on the door, but you're met with the exact same response.

"Figure it out," he calls back, but also adds, "And if he's still an insufferable asshole in five minutes time, I'll come let you out."

Despite everything, you laugh at this. Not so much because of Taehyung's words, but because Jungkook's face screws up like an old newspaper.

"What is it with him and calling me an asshole?" Jungkook mutters under his breath with a shake of his head.

The bathroom is small—just a toilet and sink built into a cabinet. There's a mirror covering the back wall over it, and another cabinet above it that you assume is filled with empty bottles and misplaced lipglosses. There's barely even enough room to breathe, although there is enough room to make Jeon Jungkook come undone in the least dignified of ways. You should know.

You wish you didn't.

"He calls you one because you are one," you assure him.

"Excuse me?"

"What?" You scoff, hopping back up on the counter, your eyes on his 'cause you want to watch the way he gets nasty. Wanna remind yourself of how horrible he can be. Replace the memories of him in this bathroom, 'cause in all reality, they're actually really lovely. Nice, even. Warm. Everything you're trying to convince yourself he's not. "Gone deaf as well as turned into a massive prick?"

"Jesus Christ," he says, rolling his eyes, turning back to face the door. Shakes at the handle. "Give it a rest."

"Why?" You ask as if butter wouldn't melt on your tongue. "Would it make life easier for you if I just wasn't around?"

Jungkook knows what you're doing. Has bickered with you enough times to understand your tricks. This is how you start; put words in his mouth that he can't defend against.

And so he doesn't try.

"Yep," he declares, turning to face you. "Way easier. Can you tell your friend I'm an asshole, still? Get us out of this place?"

You recline in defiance. Perched up on the counter next to the basin, your back is against a mirror. Legs crossed, you're in the same white summer dress you wore to your first party at the Conservatory.

Nearly everyone had been away for the summer.

You had spent the evening tucked up together on an armchair meant for one, him in the seat, you perched on the armrest, feet in his lap.

"People will talk, y'know," you'd assured him, elbows on your knees, chin in your palms.

"So let them talk," he'd smirked. "What's there to say? We're just sitting?"

It was strange for him to be seen with you. Even Jackson has been confused, but let it slide 'cause another partygoer is another partygoer. He cared for numbers, not names.

"Dunno," you had teased. "Might start talking about the way you look at me."

"Yeah?" He'd husked as his long fingers wrapped around your wrist. Gently pulled you closer.

"Yeah," you'd whispered, the sound of the music keeping your conversation obscure. "How long has it been that you've been looking at me for? A minute, already? Only one more until you fall in love, according to science."

"You tryna make me fall in love with you, Montgomery?"

"No," you'd innocently chirped, then pulled back. "Why? Were you?"

He'd shrugged. Sipped on his beer. "Guess we'll never know."

Looking at him now, you find it hard to believe he's the same person as he was back then.

"Why would I do that?" You feign naivety. "You're not an asshole?"

He doesn't reply. Knows you're going somewhere with this. Leans his back against the wall opposite you and folds his arms as if to say, go on.

"Assholes fuck people over," you state. "You'd never do that. And you'd definitely never spend your summer in some poor girls sheets and then pretend like she doesn't exist in front of your friends—"

"There is it," he confirms. Knew it was coming. Didn't expect you to actually try and speak about things like adults. So fuckin' childish.

"Oh?" You chirp. "So you're well aware of the fact you're an asshole? Good. Glad we have that one sorted out."

"Yep," he confirms, mouth drawing to a thin line.

The fact he isn't engaging in the fight infuriates you. Just proves he doesn't care. That he fucked you over for sport.

"I'm an asshole," he says, voice full of snark. "You know it, I know it. There's no reason why you should want to be around me. No reason why you should waste your time."

"It's so funny," you gasp in fake surprise. "I was thinking the exact same thing! Isn't it so great that you came to this conclusion after you already wasted months of my life?"

He's silent, now. Cowardly.

"Y'know I always knew you were an obnoxious prick," you say, voice now soberly quiet. "But I didn't think you were this cruel, Kook."

"You know that's not—"

"What?" You interrupt, voice growing louder with each question. "Not true? You woke up in my bed one morning, and then never spoke to me again. Who does that? What the fuck is wrong with you?"

"I don't know!" He shouts, and it surprises you both.

Raking his hand through his hair as he turns away from you, Jungkook wishes he had an answer. Wishes he could explain himself in a way that made sense to you both. Instead, he harshly swallows down his anger. Turns to face you again. Looks like he might cry.

Feels like it, too.

"Why didn't you tell me, huh?" He quietly asks.

"Tell you wha—"

"That you were a virgin."

Your previous thoughts about murdering Taehyung return. Of all the things he could have divulged to Jungkook, and that's what he chose?!

Men, you internally scoff. All fuckin' idiots.

"Hardly relevant, is it?"

"Of course it is," he snaps, turning back to face you. "If I'd have known—"

"You'd have what? Ghosted me sooner? Made it into a fun little competition?"

"I didn't ghost you."

"Gaslighting, too, now are we?" You scoff. "Hold on, let me go and get my bingo card. Things Jungkook does that are absolutely fucking infuriating. Wanna cross it off the list. It's right next to how fast you drive your car, and how much I hate your stupid fucking alarm tone."

"Well good job you never have to hear it again, isn't it?"

"Why not? 'Cause you are ghosting me?"

"No, because this is fuckin' stupid," he says, yanking on the door handle, on the off chance it will finally budge. It doesn't. "You think I'm the devil reincarnated. You don't want me, so why bother with this? This is done. Us. Whatever the fuck it was. You never trusted me in the first place. Would have told me if you did. So just call your friend, tell him I'm an asshole. We're done."

"Oh, well you're two weeks too late for this conversation, don't you think?" you argue back with a cold laugh. "But has it ever occurred to you that my life doesn't revolve around you? That you aren't the reason I'm here? Jackson invited me."

"Ah, so that's what it is?" Jungkook sarcastically exclaims, your insatiable need to fight finally sinking into his skin. "You were just using me, huh? Getting those V-plates off, so you could be ready for him? Is that why you didn't tell me? Huh?"

The mere thought of hooking up with the college's very own Hugh Hefner makes you wanna gag—but if it'll piss off Jungkook, maybe you'll consider it.

"Why would you care if I let him fuck me?" You ask with such pointed anger Jungkook can't help but feel like you're driving knives into his chest. "Do that thing you like with my tongue? You think he'd like my pussy, huh? Maybe I'd let him fuck me raw."

You never let Jungkook go unprotected. Insisted on it each and every time, and he complied even if he was a little pouty about it after you'd been fucking for a while. The trust was there. You were on the pill. He knew he was clean and had told you as such, but it made no difference.

To even suggest you'd let Jackson fuck you raw is laughable.

With a smirk on his lips, Jungkook edges towards you.

Put his hands on your crossed knees. Waits for you to jerk him away—but you don't. Instead, you watch on with salacious confusion. Say nothing. Not even when he uncrosses them, nor when he spreads them apart.

With a hand either side of your head against the mirror, Jungkook stands between your legs.

Looks down at you.

Is so close you can smell his aftershave.

A month ago, in a position like this, you'd have kissed him.

"Hm?" You cock your head. Repeat your question. "You think he'd like my pussy? How long do you think he'd take to cum? Longer than you, I hope."

Jaw tense, Jungkook swallows down the way he wants to curse you out. Closes his eyes. Lets his head dip further, his forehead now resting against the top of your head.

The contact is minimal, but God, you've missed it. Trapped in position by him, you'd forgotten how lovely it was to lose yourself to Jungkook.

"You're not being fair," he whispers. Whines, even.

"Fair?" You laugh, but it's gentle. Matches his tone. "You can hardly take the high ground on fairness, Jungkook."

He nods. Takes a second, and then pathetically begs: "Don't fuck him. Please."

"Why shouldn't I?"

"You know why," he says. Stands straighter, now. Rakes a hand through his hair. Looks down on you with such pained desperation you almost feel bad. He tries to speak, but struggles with his words again. Takes him a few attempts to get anything out. "I didn't like you because I was fucking you. I fucked you because I liked you. You know that. You know it wasn't...Fuck. You know what it was."

The past tense he speaks in cuts you up inside.

Jungkook shrugs in defeat when he's met with silence. Purses his lips. Eyes on yours, they're glassy. Watery, almost.

Yours are just as bad, because what the fuck are you supposed to say to that? He's the one that cut you out. He did this.

"What did I do?" You ask, voice meagre and pathetic. Your vulnerability is mortifying, and yet you just can't help yourself as a tear streaks down your cheek. "What the fuck did I do that was so wrong, Kook?"

The heat of his hand scalds your skin as his thumb wipes away your tears. After his cold shoulder for the past two weeks, your body doesn't know how to respond. Should you be angry? Hurt? Comforted?

All you know is that you're more confused now than you ever were when you first started hooking up with him.

"Nothing," he quietly promises. Holds your cheeks in his hands. Rests his nose beside yours. Is far too close for a man who's been trying to stay away from you. Is beginning to realise that maybe his self-preservation was thinly veiled self-sabotage instead. "I thought I was doing the right thing, but it's been so fuckin' miserable, and then I didn't know how to fix things, and then it was all such a mess and—"

The words Jungkook is yet to speak are lost in the soft press of your lips against his.

Brows furrowed, Jungkook's grip on your face tightens. Keeps you close, 'cause he feels the pressure of your lips waning but doesn't want you to pull away.

And so you don't. Instead you apply more pressure. Harder. Deeper.

It's not like kissing Jungkook is a new experience. You've done it upwards of a thousand times, now. You know his lips and his tongue, and how it likes to flick against yours; his piercings, and the frequency of his moans that vibrate into your mouth.

Kissing Jungkook is just as easy as it is hard. Easy, in the way he takes not a single considered thought. Hard, in how it becomes your only tangible thought for minutes, hours, days afterwards.

An eternity and a millisecond is lost in the kiss, just like the summer that lasted an age and yet was gone with the wind.

When your lips finally part, there's silence. Forehead resting on yours, Jungkook shakes his head ever so gently. Doesn't know how to articulate his thoughts. How to say sorry, or how to fix his mess.

While his logic was flawed, and his execution careless, his intentions had been good. As much as he had a life to go back to, and friends that wouldn't get it, so did you.

He knows they hate him—isn't ignorant to the roll of Maria's eyes every time they walk into Montgomery's, and has experienced Taehyung's disdain first-hand this evening.

He'd spent his summer getting out of the house to avoid the fall-out of his father's infidelity. Knows how much his family is suffering all because of a man who just couldn't control himself. Was trying to be better. Trying not to wreck both of your lives.

As he stands in the dingy bathroom of a party house, the lingering burn of your lips on his still smouldering, he knows that he wrecked you both regardless.

And so it's up to him to put you back together again.

"I'm sorry," you say as you break the kiss, mortified at how stupid of an impulse it had been. You don't that. Not anymore. A month ago, sure, kissing Jungkook in a dingy bathroom at a party house would have been exciting. Now, it just feels embarrassing. "I shouldn't have—"

His lips are on yours again, stealing your words from you. He doesn't want to hear you apologise. Knows that you don't need to. Also knows that he does need to.

"Don't," he quickly says between kisses. "Please, don't say sorry."

"But I—"

"Shut up," he smiles against your lips, shaking his head ever so slightly. He kisses you again, and this time it's soft. Pretty. Poetic, almost in how it makes you feel. And then he speaks, and you're reminded of just how easy it is to adore him, even when you know you shouldn't. "You know how much I've missed this? God, I've missed you so much. Please don't say sorry. I'm sorry. It's on me. I made a mistake, alright? I fucked up."

He pulls back. Has your cheeks in his hands as he makes sure your eyes are on his. They're dark, now, in the dim light of the bathroom you're in, but they've never been warmer.

"I mean it. I'm so fucking sorry," he whispers. Brows furrowed, lips pouty, he's got the kind of face you're hardwired to trust. To adore. Or maybe, it's just him, in general, that you're inclined to feel this way about. "Okay?"

His large hard hands are still holding your cheeks, as yours wrap around his wrists. With a shake of your head, you shrug. Pout, too.

An apology is appreciated, but it's just words. It's his actions that have been upsetting you. Not his words (or lack thereof).

"We're gonna leave this bathroom and you're gonna pretend like I don't exist again," you tell him.

The frown on his face deepens. "That's not true. And that's not what I was trying to do in the first place, either. I just thought—"

"What? That it was a good idea to kiss me on my doorstep and promise you'd pick me up from work, only to never show? To ignore my texts? To—"

"No," he quietly admits, dropping his head between his shoulders. "I made the wrong calls—but I can make it up to you. I want to make it up to you." He rests his forehead against yours. Quietly begs, "Please."

Slowly, Jungkook nudges his nose up against yours. Waits for permission.

Beyond the door, loud music thuds through the room. It obscures the conversation you've been having, keeping you just as secret as you always have been.

It's not like you told any of your friends, either, and when it came to telling Taehyung, you weren't exactly forthcoming. Perhaps you would have been the one to pretend like he didn't exist, had he not done it first.

"I want you," he husks against your lips.

"You wanna fuck me," you correct him, lips tantalisingly brushing his with every word.

"True," he admits. "But I also wanna send you dumb memes again, and go for drives after work, and wake up in your bed. I wanna go for breakfast, and I still need to cook you my world-famous makguksu. I want to have not been a dick for the past two weeks, but I can't change that. I just wanna be what I once was to you again."

"And what was that?" You encourage.

There was never any label. Realistically, there's no right answer.

Or at least there isn't, until Jungkook just simply says, "Yours."

And what else can you do when confronted by such a pathetic, yearnful admittance from him, except to give into how you're feeling, too?

Frantic in the way your hands are on his body—his arms, his waist, around his throat—there's a neediness to you. One he's missed. One he reciprocates, as his large palms stroke up your spread thighs, then get your legs wrapped around his hips.

The movements of your bodies are so well nurtured by now that you know what comes next; how the bulge in his trousers will press against your covered pussy, and how you'll whine at the contact no matter how minimal.

"Fuck," you whine as his hands slip under the skirt of your dress. It's an old routine at this point. He knows exactly where to go, what to do. His fingers press against the wet fabric of your underwear, just gently enough to make you moan a little harder into his mouth.

"Oh?" He smirks when he realises just how needy you are, his fingers stroking against your slick panties. "Missed me, too?"

"You're an asshole," you tell him with a smile. As his fingers get firmer, you can't help but whine. "You know I have."

He pulls back to look down at your body. Pushes the fabric of your dress out of the way. Curses when he realises the underwear you're wearing. Is his favourite pair. Red and lacy, there's a suspender belt to match it. While you're not wearing it right now, he's got pictures of you in it that belong in a fuckin' museum.

"Did you wanna fuck me tonight, huh?" He mumbles into your lips.

"Not everything is about you," you say with a smile, wrapping your arms around his neck.

Except it is. They're your favourite pair too, simply for how insanely he reacted to seeing you in them. Sure you're not in the full set up, but it was enough to have you feeling ever so confident as you left the house with Taehyung.

As his lips press against yours, his finger hooks beneath your underwear. Tugs them to the side. Gets you exposed for him.

"No?" He husks, as his fingers begin to sink between your soaked folds. "So this isn't about me, huh?"

You shake your head. Lie. "Never been less turned on."

He plays into your little theatrics. Has always enjoyed them.

"So you don't want me to do this?" He asks as his middle finger sinks into your entrance.

"Can't even feel it," you pretend, as if his thick knuckles aren't stroking against you in just the right way.

"No?" He grits. Sinks a second finger inside you. Gets you whining again, nails gripping onto his arms. His fingers slowly pump into you, easing you into the way it feels for him to be inside you.

There's something electric about Jungkook. Sends shivers through your spine. Always knew exactly how to manipulate your pussy into doing whatever he wanted, and now is no different. As you clench around him, he's overcome with satisfaction.

"This is just my fingers," he reminds you. "I don't think you can handle my cock."

Scoffing, you're desperately trying to pretend you aren't melting for him. "Please, I can handle it just fine."

"Sure you can, baby," he teases with so much arrogance you kinda wanna fight him again—but it's also why you like him. He challenges you. Gets your brain in overdrive.

And when he crouches in front of the counter, eyes aligned with your exposed cunt, you think you might actually lose it entirely.

His hands are on your thighs, spreading you further, getting a good look at the mess between your legs. When he sighs, the shallow breath that escapes his lips feels like absolute sin against your wetness.

"Oh, you really haven't been fucked since me, have you?" He teases again. "Look at how fucking keen you are. Been missing my cock, huh?"

"My vibrator's been doing the job just fine," you assure him, but it has him pulling back to cock a brow in your direction. He knows many things about you that other people don't, but he was not aware you owned any sex toys. Finds that his cock only throbs even harder in his pants at this revelation.

"Maybe so," he husks, leaning closer just so he drags his flat tongue up your folds. Has to stop himself from moaning, 'cause the taste of you is somehow even better than his memories. "But it's not better than me."

With a point to prove, and a desperation to reclaim you as his own, Jungkook doesn't entertain chitchat any longer. He dives back in, tongue lapping against your lips as his fingers push back inside you. The way he curls them just right as his tongue flicks against your clit is enough to make anyone lose their head.

Hands tangling in his hair, you find your body responding to him in the way it always does; pathetically, needily, hungrily. There's no dignity to be found.

His tongue works against you like a well trained craft, until his lips latch around your swollen bud and begin to lightly suck on it. When he hums in satisfaction—which he does often—the suction only grows stronger.

Gets you whimpering, "Like that. Fuck. Like that."

The build is just as undignified as you are. Your grip on his hair gets tighter, and the shake of your legs grows stronger. Dragging his tongue up and down your folds, he settles back on your clit. Flicks his pointed tongue against you until he knows you can't take it any longer and begins to suck again. Curves his fingers just right. Strokes you so gently that orgasm pours out of you like liquid gold. Guilds him into the most gorgeous aureate glow.

He doesn't ease. Keeps his lips wrapped around your clit. Makes sure you're spent.

When he finally releases you, he's breathing just as heavily as you are. Gets to his feet, fingers still plugged in your tight pussy. Is pleased to find you're just as insatiable as he is, pulling him in for the messiest of kisses as soon as you can. There's no care given for the fact he's covered in your arousal. You just want that tongue of his in your mouth—and when it is, you find yourself moaning from the withdrawal of his fingers.

Your hands reach to the waistband of his jeans to unhook his button. Get his zipper down. Your hands down the front of his trousers, when his thick cock is restricted by his tight boxer briefs. By the tip of his cock, a small wet patch resides; his desperation for you obvious. Gently rubbing your thumb across the pre-cum, all you can think about is his slit, and how you wanna kitten lick across it.

But it's been two weeks of near-constant pining, and all Jungkook wants is to bury himself inside you.

"Let me fuck you," he begs. "Please, baby."

If the girl who had first seen Jungkook in a shared lecture hall two years ago would have known she'd end up in a shitty bathroom with him begging for her, she'd have laughed. Wouldn't have believed it for a second.

Fresh-faced and so out of your comfort zone, the first few days at university were full of potential. It was before you had wised up to your place in the pecking order; when Jungkook was just a boy in your orientation class.

Skin kissed by European sun, there had been a radiance to him that seemed to captivate just about everyone. You weren't the only girl who had been sneaking glances his way.

You'd thought about him a lot in those first few weeks. Came to learn of his family ties around the same time you befriended Taehyung. Stopped seeing him around campus so much, and rarely ever thought of him.

But on those rare occasions you crossed paths, your gaze would always linger.

As he frees himself of his boxers, trousers suspended midway down his thighs, he gently rubs the tip of his cock between your folds and husks, "Always thought you were so pretty, y'know?"

Looking up at you for just a second, he smirks. Looks back down. Continues to rub himself against you, prepping himself with your slickness.

"Freshers week," he continues. "You never came to any of the parties."

The tip of his cock kisses your entrance, but doesn't penetrate. You stay in limbo just shy of what you both want.

"Had a stupid fuckin' crush on you," he admits. Has never acknowledged it before, but has always known. Kept it hidden. Safe. Secret.

"No, you didn't," you smile. He didn't even give you a second glance. Was always you seeking him out in lecture halls.

"I did," he says with absolute certainty. "You wore that little black sundress on our first day. Had ruffles on the shoulders."

It hangs in your wardrobe, a little out of style but still sweet in the right setting. You know the exact one he's talking about, because he's right. You did wear it on that very first day.

His cock nudges a little deeper. Enough to make you gasp, but not moan. Not yet. Gripping his arms, brows furrowed, you nod. He sinks himself just a little bit further. The feeling is overwhelming; fire on ice.

"Would have fucked you in that lecture hall, if you'd have let me," he smirks.

"You didn't even know my name," you counter, but he cuts your questioning off as he edges a little deeper, still. His hand dips to gently rub languid circles on your clit. He's not pushing himself any further, not yet. Wants to ease into how this feels.

"I did," he admits. "Listened extra hard during the roll call."

"So this has all been some big elaborate scheme to get into my pants, huh?"

"Is it working?" he jokes, leaning over to yank the cabinet above the sink open. A few random bottles and packets clatter into the sink, but he doesn't care.

He's looking on the top shelf, rifling through old boxes, sending more miscellaneous objects to their untimely demise. Spotting what he's after, he's assertive as he knocks the cabinet shut. Passes you the box.

"S'all there is. They alright?"

"Sure," you say, pulling one of the foil packets from the box. You check the date stamped on the front—only to see it's a year out of date. Some protection would be better than none, regardless of the date, but fuck it. You're on the pill. "You haven't fucked anyone else? In the last couple weeks?"

"What?" His brows contort in confusion. "No."

His expression softens, but is still laced with confusion when you toss the box of condoms down into the sink.

"I don't care. I don't want them—"

You're cut off by the way Jungkook clasps your jaw, keeping your eyes locked on his. There's a seriousness to him now; the same demeanour he holds himself with when he was taking photographs. He's intentional. Assertive.

"Promise me," he says with stern certainty. "You want this?"

When he's got you like this—legs spread, body his to claim, your soul to take—it's impossible to do anything but comply. See, things with Jungkook are reciprocal. Your feelings, your tortured misunderstanding of how a relationship could ever work, and his seriousness, now, too.

"I promise," you swear.

As a chaste kiss is pressed to your lips, his hands stroke down your spread thighs, pushing you a little further open for him.

"Can't unfuck me," he softly reminds you. Is taking his time not for the anticipation, but because he's scared. "If you fuck me raw—"

"Then I fuck you raw," you simply repeat, knowing that it's up to you to ease his woes. If anyone should be scared, it's you—yet there's a safety that comes with being with Jungkook. Smirk, then say, "Trust me. I know I can't unfuck you. I've been trying to forget—"

"Ouch," he laughs, nudging his nose up against yours.

"—but you're just..." you tailed off, not wanting to compliment him too highly. He's still in the dog house. "Memorable."

With a sardonic smile that he knows only means trouble, you reach down to grip his incredibly pert ass cheeks. Squeezing, just because you can, you encourage him to push even deeper into you—and he's the one who whines, now.

"God, you're so fuckin' tight," he praises with such pained desperation it almost sounds like he'll cry. He won't. It's just that he can't quite believe that he's raw inside you right now, and that you feel just as good as he always imagined. Better, even.

"Yeah?" You question, as you pull his hips closer, gasping as he finally sinks his full length into you once more. His fingers were thick, but they've got nothing on his cock. Like he's taken all the air from your lungs, your voice is all light and airy. Makes Jungkook even more insane.

"Yeah," he mumbles as he nods into a kiss that is just as feverant as his need to pulse his hips. He doesn't dare do it yet. Is waiting for you. "Feels so fuckin' good."

"So just fuck me," you hungrily moan into his lips.

You're challenging him deliberately, and it works a fucking treat when he pulls back with a grin. He doesn't withdraw himself, but he does pulse his hips ever so slightly. Keeps you plugged. Is just nudging even deeper into you as he keeps a hold on your thighs, keeping them spread nice and wide.

"Say please," he grunts as his pulsing becomes a singular deep thrust.

Your argumentative streak wants to fight.

You'll berate yourself later for the way you whimper, "Please."

His thick cock withdraws just a little to push back into you. He groans. Curses. Builds momentum. Speed.

The sound of his skin slapping against yours as he pounds himself into you is impossible to ignore. Your moans build. Double. Treble. He's grunting too, and then his lips are on your neck. It's a mess, quite frankly.

In the sordid shadows of this bathroom, your bodies become acquainted with an intimacy not yet bridged before. You can pretend to ignore each other in the hallways of your shared lecture buildings, but you'll never be able to ignore the desperation you have for one another. Jungkook was right. You can't unfuck him. And now he's fucking you raw, it only make it even more potent.

Harshly pulling himself out of you, Jungkook almost fuckin' cums on the spot when he realises how soaked he is from your arousal. It's not like it's a new thing, but skin on skin, it's so much more intense. Gasping from the sudden loss of pressure, you're a little unsteady. Lurch forward as if your body could stop him from withdrawing.

Holding the base of his thick shaft, Jungkook spanks against your pussy with his cock. Rubs your slick wetness around with his tip. Hooks his elbows under your thighs. Pulls you closer. Instructs, "Arms around my neck."

Wrapping an arm around your back, the other one tucks under your ass as he lifts you.

He turns. Presses your back to the wall, and lines himself up.

"Legs around me," he tells you, and as soon as you do, his cock pushes up into you again. He keeps you pinned against the wall as he begins to fuck himself into you, his lips pressing wet kisses to the curve of your neck.

The sight in the mirror behind him is lethal; his broad back covered by his shirt, but it doesn't matter. You know what he looks like. Know his muscles, and the valley of his spine, like the back of your own damn hand.

You wanna see it though. Give it a tug. Send him the right message. Get him tearing his shirt off and dropping it to the floor for you. Victory is so damn sweet.

"Kook," you whine as he really begins to get deep. "You're gonna make me cum."

"All over my cock, huh?" He grunts. "Gonna cum on cock, are you?"

His taunting only makes you whimper even more. "I'm so close."

And because he just likes to get you all whiney and needy, Jungkook stops. Puts you down. Gets you facing the mirror as you protest his unfair stealing of an orgasm.

But then he's lining himself up again, getting ready to take you from behind. Spanks your ass ever so quickly.

Sinking into you again, Jungkook curses. "Tighter like this."

"Good?" You pathetically check, and Jungkook can't help but think it's sweet.

"Yeah, babe," he promises, and pretends as if it's completely usual for him to speak to you so tenderly. "Feels so fuckin' good. Missed you so much, gorgeous. You and this tight cunt."

"Romance," you joke through your needy whines. He smirks at this, and delivers a curt little spank to your ass.

"I can be romantic," he assures you, as if you aren't being soundtracked by the sound of your skin slapping together, his thick cock fucking itself into your soaked hole.

His eyes rise from the steady gaze he'd had on your ass to your eyes.

Slowing himself, Jungkook holds his cock inside you without thrusting. Says, "I made that photo you took of us in your room my fuckin' phone wallpaper. I listen to that asmr guy you like before bed, every single fuckin' night. I keep one of your ribbons tied around my gearstick. That romantic enough for you?"

There's an incredibly bashful smile on your pretty face, which contradicts the way in which your pussy is tightening around him in the most lewd of ways. You're giggling when you say, "Shut up and fuck me."

But then he's giggling too, just how you like him to be. Says, "I missed your body, but I missed you more. Stupid."

"You're stupid."

"You're stupider."

"Kook," you laugh, as he's completely forgotten the task at hand. The way that he looks at you, you'd be forgiven for thinking he has. Truthfully, the connection he has with you is so much more than what sex has ever been for him before.

His hips lightly pulse, as he says, "Sorry. Where were we?"

"Think you were gonna make me cum."

"Ah, yeah. That. My bad."

His gentle thrusts begin to build pace once more. The grin on his face drops a little as he begins to concentrate on you. Watching him in the mirror, you're perplexed to be reminded of just how ethereal Jungkook looks when he fucks.

The deep ridge between his brows intensifies, as his mouth hands slack. His cheeks hollow a little, and his eyes remain entirely focused. Dark. Deep. Brooding.

As his hand dips around to gently stroke against your clit, Jungkook is just as taken away by the way you look. He isn't sure what it is that gets his heart so heavy in his chest, but he knows that he wants you to cum. Doesn't give a fuck about himself.

The walls of your cunt begin to tighten around his length as your moans deepen. You whine his name and he encourages a response, but neither of you can really talk. A numbness is washing over you, your balance unsteady.

"I'm gonna..." you begin, but find it impossible to finish.

"I know, baby," he nods all out of breath and desperately fucked out. "Give me what I want. Cum for me."

You trust and keep your eyes on him, but the nudging on his cock against your g-spot and the slow rubbing of your clit is just enough to tip you over.

"Kook," you whimper as your walls begin to tighten around him, but it's fruitless. There's a shake to your legs, and he's the only thing keeping you supported.

"Oh, fuck," he curses from the strength of your pussy around him. He's shaking just as much as you are. "Cream on this cock, baby. Oh, fuck. Yeah.Just like that. You're gonna make me cum, too. Gonna make me cum so fuckin' hard. All in your pussy. You want that, huh?"

It's as you're desperately whining, cumming all around his thick shaft that Jungkook feels his body lose control. There's a tightness to his balls, and a shudder to his sternum, that he hasn't felt since the last time he was in your bedroom. Last time he was in you, more specifically.

"Kook," you whimper his name, and that's when Jungkook really can't hold back.

"Yeah, babe," he rasps, as his hard thrusts become pathetic stutters. "I'm cumming."

The announcement isn't needed, for you swear you can almost feel it as his thick cum begins to fill you. The lack of a condom makes it all the more primal, the way his body shudders indicative of just how much cum he's filling you up with.

His body collapses on yours a little, his clammy torso pressed to your back. The dress you're wearing is barely on properly, and the feeling of his skin against yours is catastrophic. As intimate as sex is, it's this right now, the beat of his heart thrumming against your spine that is the real disaster. How you can ever look him in the eye again is beyond you.

But then his lips are pressing chaste kisses to the curve of your neck, and his hands are squeezing at your hips. He doesn't pull out. Keeps himself warm inside you. Says, "How the fuck am I ever supposed to give you up, huh?"

That's the thing.

He isn't supposed to, and you damn well know it.

Reaching back for some tissue to help you out, Jungkook slowly withdraws. Holds his hand beneath your pussy, then replaces it with tissue. Turns you around and lets you take over.

"Here's a radical idea," you offer, not looking at him as you quickly make sure you're decent. Stay standing with your legs crossed, just in case. "Don't."

Pulling his shirt back over his head, Jungkook presses his back to the wall. There's a distance between you, yes, but you don't really feel it, 'cause it's purely physical.

And it's not like it lasts for very long either, 'cause Jungkook decides he needs to kiss you all over again.

"Alright," he whispers against your lips. "Say we don't. Say I wanna be yours. What the fuck do we do now?"

You shrug. The answers aren't yours to decide. It's up to you both.

"Well, firstly I'm gonna text Tae," you hum. "Tell him you're still an asshole and that I need to be let out immediately."

It's been half an hour.

He came to check on things about ten minutes ago.

The music might be loud, but not loud enough to drown out the way you guys fuck.

Summer had been quiet. In his car, in your empty house, you've never had to keep it down before. Didn't even realise quite how loud you were being.

Which is why Jimin is the one who unlocks the outside bolt with a smirk a few minutes later, Taehyung watching on with a little disgusted grimace a metre or so back.

"Gross," he whisper shouts at you, but then he's smiling, too. Notices how Jungkook touches you—the hand he has on the small of your back, and the way he clasps your hand as you begin to walk ahead of him—and finds it impossible to be mad.

"C'mon," Jimin calls behind himself, leading you up and out of the basement. "We're going to the diner."

"We?" You question, incredibly confused.

"We." He simply says. Doesn't leave it up for debate. Gathers up the rest of the Untouchables (though Claudia is noticeably absent), and tells them the same thing he told you. Drags Taehyung along as well.

Jungkook was scared of integrating you into his life, but there's no other way to do it. Has to rip the band aid off.

As you walk into Montgomery's, hand in hand with the boy who had spent his summer wasting away with you in here, both of you realise that maybe it isn't such a huge deal.

Or at least, you do until Maria clocks you. Eyes darting from you, to Jungkook, and then to your gently clasped hands, she's in a state of absolute shock. Almost drops her tray.

"Sorry, what the fuck?!"

#byholly #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fanfiction #jungkook angst #jungkook smut #jungkook ff #jk ff #jungkook x reader #jungkook imagine #bangtan fic #jungkook fluff #college!jungkook #non idol au #bts fanfic #bangtan ff #jungkook fic #jeon jungkook x reader #college au

6K notes · View notes

jungkoode · 5 months ago

Text

Strings Attached (to my heart)

→ PAIRING : Spider-Man!Jungkook x F!Reader

→ RATING: Explicit, 18+.

→ DATE POSTED: January 20, 2025.

→ GOAL FOR PART 2: 1000 notes. ✔️ NEXT

→ SUMMARY : You were a journalist at Yonsei University when you started noticing the strange coincidences between your favorite bumbling freshman and Seoul's newest superhero. The way Spider-Man's voice cracks on 'noona' exactly like Jungkook's does. The way they both bring you the same snacks, have the same nervous energy, the same tendency to ramble when flustered. You tell yourself it's just a coincidence, because the alternative means admitting something you're absolutely not ready to deal with.

→ TAGS : second person perspective used, female pronouns used, college au, spider-man au, noona kink, slight age gap (he’s 21, she’s 24ish), dry humping, virgin jungkook, first time, inexperienced jk, creaming his pants, sexual content, explicit content, library smut, clothed getting off, breast play, grinding, praise kink, crying during sex, crying after sex, embarrassment kink, humiliation kink, slight dom reader x sub jungkook, size difference, pining, jungkook has a big fat crush on you, secret identity, touch starved, protective jungkook, closet sexual activities, desperate jungkook, gentle domming, aftercare, emotional intimacy, fluff and smut, Korean setting, university setting.

→ PLAYLIST: set the vibes.

→ MASTERLIST | TAGLIST REQUEST | WORDCOUNT: 11.8k

→ A/N: Hi everyone! Welcome to my first attempt at a Spidey!JK AU, where he somehow manages to be an even bigger mess than Peter Parker 😭. This story is very close to my heart because it dives into the dynamic between a confident noona and her adorably flustered freshman—who just so happens to be Seoul’s clumsy new superhero. To be honest, this Spiderkook oneshot was heavily inspired by Tangie, aka @rpwprpwprpwprw (love you bb!!!). I’d been lowkey daydreaming about Spiderkook for ages but thought, “Nah, that’s too silly.” Then I discovered there’s an entire community sharing the same brain cell as me??? Like, you’re welcome for my service, I guess?? Originally, this was supposed to be a short, smutty 5k romp. But do you think I can write smut without plot? I CAN’T. IT’S A MEDICAL CONDITION. Now it’s a 12k beast with feelings, webs, and chaos. Sorry (but not really). If you enjoy this, I might turn it into a mini-series because, let’s be honest, spider powers in… certain scenarios… sound very intriguing. Hihihi. Hope you enjoy this mess I’ve unleashed on the world! 🕸️

Edit: also, yeah. Tae is older than Jimin and Jungkook here because my sleep deprived brain slapped a ‘hyung’ on Jimin’s mouth and I’m not editing again. (≖͞_≖̥)

The thing about Spider-Man is that he reminds you too much of a certain freshman.

A freshman named Jeon Jungkook who keeps hovering around the journalism building with his messy hair and his wide eyes and his endless supply of convenience store snacks.

You've been telling yourself it's just a coincidence. The way Spider-Man's voice cracks on 'noona' exactly like Jungkook's does. The way they both bring you the same snacks, have the same nervous energy, the same tendency to ramble when they're flustered. It's just a coincidence, because the alternative means admitting something you're absolutely not ready to deal with.

Maybe that's why you're hiding in August Coffee, your usual spot tucked away in one of Sinchon's winding side streets.

The late autumn breeze carries the scent of roasted coffee beans through the open window, and your laptop screen glows with half-finished articles and interview transcripts. Your notebook lies open beside a rapidly cooling americano while the café's jazz playlist provides a gentle backdrop to your furious typing. You're on a deadline for tomorrow's paper, and the last thing you need is—

A flash of red and blue swings past the window.

You pretend not to notice. Maybe if you focus hard enough on your screen, he'll take the hint and—

"Noona!"

—of course he doesn't.

There he is, hanging upside down outside the second-floor window, the eyes of his mask wide and eager. A plastic convenience store bag dangles from his hand, swaying in the autumn wind. Several patrons are already pulling out their phones, and you can feel your carefully cultivated productivity slipping away.

"No," you say firmly, not looking up from your laptop.

"But noona—" His voice cracks on the honorific, and you absolutely refuse to find it endearing. "I haven't even said anything yet!"

"I'm working." You take a pointed sip of your americano, grimacing when you realize it's gone cold. Perfect. "Some of us have actual responsibilities, Spider-Boy."

"I brought you snacks!" He awkwardly maneuvers through the window—you're not sure if the owner keeps it open for him specifically or if he's just that persistent. "You know, the ones you like with the matcha filling? The new ones from that fancy Japanese brand?"

You pause, fingers hovering over your keyboard. "How do you know I like the ones with matcha filling?"

"Uh—" Even through the mask, you can tell he's flustered. His hands fidget with the plastic bag. "Lucky guess? Not that I know you, noona. Uh, I mean, you look like a noona. Not that I know for a fact you're a noona—"

"Stop talking." You pinch the bridge of your nose, painfully aware of the phones still recording this interaction. This will definitely end up on some university Instagram page later. Again. "You're making it worse."

He deflates slightly, shoulders hunching in that familiar way that reminds you too much of a certain someone who keeps "accidentally" running into you at the journalism building. The same one who somehow always knows your coffee order and brings you snacks you oh so casually mention fancying—

No. You're not going there. You're not connecting those dots, because connecting those dots leads to complications you absolutely don't need in your final year.

"I can leave if you want," he offers, but he's already approaching, placing the snacks on your table with careful precision. "But you've been here for four hours, and you always forget to eat when you're working on a big story."

You stare at him. "How do you know how long I've been here?"

"I, uh—" His mask's eyes widen comically. "Spider-sense?"

"That's not how spider-sense works."

"You don't know how my spider-sense works! Maybe it's... hungry-noona-sense?"

A laugh escapes before you can stop it, and you quickly cover it with a cough. "That's the worst excuse you've come up with yet."

"Yet!" He perks up. "So you're keeping track?"

"Go away." You open the snack bag anyway, pretending not to notice how he straightens up eagerly when you do. "Don't you have a city to protect or something?"

"Seoul can handle itself for ten minutes while I make sure my favorite n—while I make sure hardworking journalists eat properly."

You raise an eyebrow at the slip, and he fidgets under your gaze. "Your favorite what?"

"Nothing! No one! Just, you know, doing my friendly neighborhood Spider-Man duties. Very friendly. Very neighborly. Nothing specific or personal about it at all."

You bite into one of the matcha-filled snacks—they're fresh, which means he must have bought them recently. Specifically for you. Just like how a certain freshman keeps bringing you fresh triangle kimbap from the convenience store near your morning lecture hall...

No. Stop it. You're not doing this.

"Sit down," you sigh, pushing the chair across from you out with your foot. "And stay quiet, or I’ll kick you out."

He practically collapses into the chair, bag already placed on the table. You notice his hands shaking slightly, and something in your chest tightens.

You shouldn't find it endearing. You really, really shouldn't.

But then again, you probably shouldn't find anything about this situation endearing — a masked vigilante bringing you sweets in the middle of your favorite cafe, stammering through excuses that sound exactly like the ones Jungkook uses when you catch him "accidentally" walking the same way as you after class.

You really need to stop noticing these things.

You try to refocus on your notes after that, but it's hard—mostly because Spider-Man is still sitting there. Quietly. Staring.

And not in a "just glancing around the cafe" kind of way, either. No, he's full-on watching you, eyes darting between the scribbles in your notebook, the crumbs on your plate, and, worst of all, your face. Like you're the most fascinating thing in the world. Like he's never seen someone drink a mediocre americano and type furiously into Google Docs before.

It goes on for five minutes. Five full, agonizing minutes of silence, punctuated only by the occasional click of your keyboard and the muted sounds of espresso machines in the background.

Finally, you sigh, your fingers pausing mid-typing. "Don't you have better stuff to do?"

"No." The response is immediate. Too immediate. His tone is absurdly casual, like the very idea that Spider-Man—the literal defender of Seoul—could have anything more important than sitting in August Coffee and bothering you is completely ridiculous.

You raise a brow, glancing at him out of the corner of your eye. "No supervillains to fight? No cats stuck in trees? Nothing?"

"Nope," he says, popping the 'p' for emphasis. "Pretty quiet day."

You shake your head and turn your attention back to your laptop. "Must be nice."

There's a pause. You can feel him shifting in his seat, the chair creaking slightly under his weight, and when he speaks again, his voice is just shy of hesitant.

"How are the pastries? Do you like them?"

Your fingers freeze over your keyboard. Slowly, you turn to face him again, narrowing your eyes.

"You didn't spit in them, did you?"

"Wha—no!" he sputters, his whole posture stiffening in obvious horror. "Why—why would I—noona, I would never spit in your pastries!"

You let him sweat for a second longer, just to amuse yourself, before breaking into a small, satisfied smirk.

"Relax, Spider-Boy. I'm kidding." You reach for the bag of snacks he brought. "Yeah, they're good. Wanna try?"

His eyes widen a little—well, as much as they can through that mask—and he seems to hesitate, like he's not sure if you're serious or trying to bait him again. You wave one of the pastries in his direction. He glances at it, then back at you, before finally nodding.

"Okay. Yeah, sure."

You watch as he carefully rolls his mask up just to his nose, revealing his mouth for the first time. You don't know what you expected, but… it's a good mouth. Maybe annoyingly good, given how little you want to admit that very obvious fact to yourself. Full lips, slightly pink, with just the faintest hint of nervousness as he bites at his bottom lip before leaning forward.

He takes a bite of the pastry you're holding out to him, and the pleased groan he lets out immediately makes you regret offering him anything at all.

"God, that's delicious," he mumbles around his mouthful, crumbs falling onto his suit. He barely finishes chewing before continuing. "Now I know why you like them so much. I mean—why people say they're so good. Not you specifically. Just, you know, people."

You snort, shaking your head as you turn back to your laptop. "You're a terrible liar."

"And you're a terrible bossy noona," he mutters, mostly to himself, stuffing the rest of the pastry into his mouth before leaning back in his chair.

You're about to toss another sarcastic remark his way when something catches your eye. Or, more specifically, half of something. A small smudge of green—matcha filling, you realize—lingering on the corner of his mouth.

It's instinctive, the way your hand moves—completely unthinking, like muscle memory kicking in before your brain has a chance to catch up. One moment, you're perfectly stationary in your seat; the next, your thumb is brushing against his lip, swiping the smudge away with a gentle, practiced motion.

He startles at the touch, his whole body jerking slightly as his eyes snap to yours. And then, just like that, reality crashes back in.

Your hand freezes midair.

His mouth parts for half a second, like he's about to say something, but then his tongue darts out—slow, deliberate—to lick the exact spot your thumb had just brushed.

You snatch your hand back like you've been burned, your face heating despite yourself.

The silence that follows is awful. Deafening. Inescapable.

He shifts in his chair, his eyes flickering to the table, then back to you, then down again. He clears his throat—once, then twice—before adjusting the edge of his suit with what you can only describe as frantic energy.

"So… uh…" His voice is tight. Way tighter than usual, cracking slightly on the first syllable. "Thanks for that. The, uh. The whole… lip thing. That was. Uh. Cool."

You blink at him, deadpan. "Cool?"

"Yeah. Cool. Totally normal and cool. Happens all the time. Super casual."

If you weren't so flustered yourself, you'd have laughed at the way he's fidgeting in his seat, his hands gripping his thighs under the table like he's trying not to explode.

"Right," you say slowly, leaning back in your chair. "Casual."

"Exactly."

He nods a little too enthusiastically, and you notice his knees bumping against each other under the table before he quickly crosses his legs. His hands drop to his lap almost immediately after, like he's trying to adjust the spandex near his thighs.

Your gaze is momentarily drawn there before—

"Anyway!" The word comes out nearly an octave higher than it should. He's already standing—or, more accurately, bolting to his feet—his hands still awkwardly hovering in front of him. "I should, uh, get going! Supervillains don't wait, you know? Gotta, uh… save the people of Seoul. Yeah. Big hero stuff."

You stare at him, unblinking, as he starts inching toward the door. "Uh-huh."

"Thanks for the pastries, noona! Great talk, as always!" He clears his throat again, audibly struggling to keep his voice steady. "Okay! Bye!"

And then he's gone, practically sprinting out of the cafe before he can embarrass himself any further.

You sit there for a long moment, still frozen, your brain catching up to what just happened. Then, slowly, you reach for another pastry.

Whatever just happened? Definitely not your problem.

"I'm such a fucking idiot."

Jungkook's voice is muffled by his hands, currently covering his face in what can only be described as unrelenting shame. He's lying on Jimin's couch, legs splayed out haphazardly, the picture of a man defeated by his own existence.

Across the room, Jimin raises an eyebrow, lazily popping another chip into his mouth. The bag crinkles loudly, much to Jungkook's dismay. "It's not that bad, Kooks. She probably didn't even notice."

Jungkook groans, dragging his hands down his face until his eyes peek out dramatically between his fingers. "She 100% noticed. It was—like—a five-minute interaction. FIVE minutes, and I made it weird. Now she's gonna think I'm a fucking weirdo and a creep."

Jimin doesn't even try to hide the snort that escapes him, his expression somewhere between entertained and unimpressed. "Yeah, because stalking her as Spider-Man didn't have her thinking that already."

Jungkook bolts upright on the couch, eyes wide with panic. "She told you that?!"

Jimin chokes on his chip, wheezing as he waves his hand for Jungkook to calm down. "No! Shit, man, calm down. I'm just saying. Like, I guess? I mean, you do kind of… hover. A lot."

"I don't hover," Jungkook protests, indignant. But even as the words leave his mouth, he hesitates. "Do I hover?"

Jimin gives him a look.

Jungkook groans again, flopping back onto the couch like his limbs have given up on life. "Oh my god, you're right. I hover. I'm that guy. And now it's worse because who the fuck pops a boner from someone—" He pauses, embarrassingly aware of the words about to leave his mouth. "—touching their lip? What is wrong with me? I must be insane. She must think I'm insane."

Jimin, now thoroughly entertained, leans back in his chair with his bag of chips, one leg crossed over the other. "I mean... it's not great," he says unhelpfully, though there's a smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

Jungkook lets out a strangled noise, somewhere between a groan and a whimper, and buries his face back into his hands. "She's never gonna look at me the same. I probably freaked her out. GOD, she's gonna think I'm some kind of pervert. Or—worse—she's gonna avoid me completely now. And then I'll never see her again. And then—"

"Okay, okay," Jimin interrupts, holding up a hand to stop whatever spiral Jungkook's about to drag them into. "First of all, she offered to share her snack with you, so I don't think she's avoiding you anytime soon."

"But that was BEFORE—"

"Second of all," Jimin continues loudly, ignoring Jungkook's interjection, "maybe just... stop calling her 'noona' every chance you get? It's not helping your case."

Jungkook frowns, peeking out from behind his fingers again. "What's wrong with calling her noona? That's respectful!"

"Yeah, but it's also kinda... you know," Jimin winces, waving a hand vaguely. "Weird, coming from you. Like, you're already bumbling around her like a lost golden retriever. Adding 'noona' into the mix just makes you look—what's the word?"

"Adorable?" Jungkook tries hopefully.

"Pathetic," Jimin finishes, deadpan.

Jungkook groans for what feels like the millionth time, throwing his head against the couch cushion. "Why do I even talk to you? You're supposed to make me feel better, hyung. Not worse."

"Hey, I'm here for the truth," Jimin says, pointing at him with a chip in hand. "You want a cheerleader, go call Taehyung."

"Taehyung's just gonna laugh at me," Jungkook mutters into the cushion.

"And yet, you're shocked I'm doing it too."

Jungkook mumbles something unintelligible, his face half-smashed into the cushion now as he replays every excruciating detail of his interaction with you earlier. The way your thumb had brushed his lip. The way he'd immediately been unable to control the—well, reaction. The way he'd panicked like an idiot, stammered something incomprehensible, and practically bolted out of the cafe without even finishing his sentence.

"Kill me," he says dramatically, still face-down in the cushion. "Just end me. I can't show my face again."

Jimin laughs, leaning forward to pat Jungkook's shoulder in a way that's more mocking than comforting. "Relax, man. You'll survive. Just... maybe keep your hormones in check next time, yeah?"

Jungkook flips him off blindly, his hand waving somewhere above his head.

"Love you too, Spider-Menace," Jimin quips, taking another chip like this is the best entertainment he's had all week.

The crunching sound of Jimin biting into another chip is loud enough to make Jungkook groan into the couch again. "Do you ever stop eating?" Jungkook mutters, his voice muffled by the cushion.

Jimin raises an eyebrow, unbothered, and is about to throw a smartass reply back when his phone buzzes on the coffee table. He glances at the screen, sees Taehyung's name, and shrugs, casually placing the phone between his shoulder and ear as he picks up without pausing his snacking.

"What's up?" Jimin hums lazily, chips still in hand, completely ignoring Jungkook's existential crisis unfolding just feet away from him.

Jungkook's ears perk up despite himself—because why else would Taehyung be calling Jimin right now? He lifts his head just enough to peek over the cushion, his hair mussed and sticking up in odd directions.

Jimin's expression doesn't change at first, eyes still fixated on the bag of chips in his lap as he listens. "Yeah, he's with me," he says vaguely, gesturing aimlessly toward Jungkook, who frowns at being referred to like some stray dog Jimin found.

But then Jimin freezes. His chewing slows. His eyebrows shoot up toward his hairline as Taehyung says something that causes him to do a violent double take at Jungkook.

"What?" Jimin coughs, choking on the chip he was mid-swallow. He pounds his chest a little before leaning forward sharply. "He—what? What, what, what—? Tae, calm down—!"

"What's going on?" Jungkook asks, sitting up now, his stomach twisting uncomfortably at Jimin's sudden change in tone.

Jimin waves him off with a quick flick of his hand, signaling for him to shut up. "No, yeah. Yeah, no, I know," Jimin mumbles into the phone, his tone getting increasingly more exasperated as he listens. "Tae—okay? Can you just—okay?"

"What's wrong??" Jungkook asks again, panic creeping into his voice. He hates not knowing what's going on, especially when Jimin looks... concerned? Flustered? Whatever it is, it's not good.

Jimin twists his head toward Jungkook, eyes narrowing as he motions aggressively with his entire head for Jungkook to shut the hell up.

"Okay, let me— what? You wanna talk to him?" Jimin repeats, his voice pitching higher in disbelief. "Oh, now you wanna talk to him? Fine! Okay, okay, okay, here."

Before Jungkook can process what's happening, Jimin is all but shoving his phone into Jungkook's hands, plunking the bag of chips onto the bed with a dramatic sigh.

"Take it," Jimin mutters, irritation bleeding into his tone.

"Wait, why do I have to—"

"Take it," Jimin repeats, louder this time, his hand already retreating as he grabs another chip to munch on, clearly done with whatever chaos Taehyung just unloaded on him.

Jungkook swallows nervously, holding the phone to his ear as Taehyung's voice immediately fills it in a panicked rush.

"Jungkook! Oh my god, dude, you're not gonna believe this—" Taehyung starts, and Jungkook feels his entire stomach plummet before Taehyung can even finish his sentence.

"Believe what?" Jungkook half-yells into the phone, his voice cracking just slightly at the end, betraying the anxiety bubbling under his skin.

"Don't freak out," Taehyung begins, which, of course, makes Jungkook's blood pressure shoot straight through the roof. His knuckles grip Jimin's phone tightly, and he shares a panicked look with Jimin, who's now leaning against the coffee table with a chip halfway to his mouth, watching the scene unfold like it's prime-time drama.

"I'm already freaking out, hyung! Just tell me!" Jungkook demands, pacing the room like a caged animal.

"Okay, so," Taehyung starts again, and Jungkook can hear the smirk in his voice, which immediately makes him want to fling the phone out the window. "You know Y/N, yeah?"

"Do I—what do you mean, 'do I know Y/N'?! Of course I know—just get to the point!" Jungkook's frustration is mounting by the second. He's wound so tight he feels like a single flick might send him spiraling.

"Okay, Mr. Touchy," Taehyung says innocently, and Jungkook can practically see him holding back a laugh wherever he is. "So, uh… apparently, she's been asking questions."

Jungkook stops dead in his tracks. His heart lurches in a way that makes his hands clammy against the phone. "Questions?" he repeats, voice barely above a whisper.

"Yeah," Taehyung continues, tone far too blasé for Jungkook's liking. "You know, like... about Spider-Man."

Jungkook swears his brain short-circuits. For a second, all he hears is static, like every neuron in his head has collectively stopped firing.

"...What kind of questions?" he asks quietly, his voice taking on an edge that immediately grabs Jimin's attention.

"Oh, you know." Taehyung's voice is light, purposefully teasing. "Like, how he seems to always show up when she's around, or how he just happens to bring her favorite snacks, or—oh, this one's my favorite—how his voice cracks exactly like a certain freshman she knows at Yonsei."

Jungkook's knees buckle, and he collapses back onto the couch like his strings have been cut. Jimin is now openly laughing, clutching his stomach with one hand while pointing at Jungkook with the other.

"She—oh my god," Jungkook mutters into the phone, his free hand running through his hair in frantic tugs. "She knows. She knows, doesn't she? I'm so fucked."

"Hey, hey, calm down!" Taehyung says hurriedly, though his voice is still laced with amusement. "She doesn't know know. I mean, I don't think so. She's not like, accusing you or anything. Just... putting pieces together. Y'know, connecting dots."

"Connecting dots?!" Jungkook hisses, his chest tightening as his worst nightmare begins to unfold in real time. "Do you have any idea how many dots there ARE, hyung?! I'm like a walking... dot-factory!"

Jimin absolutely loses it, doubling over in laughter as crumbs from his chips scatter across the floor.

"Okay, Kook, you need to calm down," Taehyung says, though his tone suggests he's also suppressing a laugh. "She's just curious, that's all. You know how Y/N is. She's a journalist. She's always sniffing around for a good story, right?"

"She doesn't need THIS story!" Jungkook yells, his hand clenching into a fist against his thigh. "Oh my god, what if she writes about it? What if she—what if it ENDS UP IN THE SCHOOL PAPER?!"

"Relax, relax, relax," Taehyung says in quick succession, his voice almost soothing now. "She's not gonna write about it. I don't think she'd do that to you... unless, you know, you give her a reason to."

Jungkook groans, leaning forward to bury his face in his hands again. "I'm so dead. She's gonna out me. My life is over. My life is literally over."

"Hyung," Jimin finally pipes up, gasping for air as he wipes away a tear from laughing too hard. "Tell him to just confess already. At this rate, she'll figure it out before he ever grows the balls to tell her himself."

"Confess?" Jungkook sputters, jerking his head up to glare at Jimin. "Are you insane?! You want me to walk up to her and go, 'Hey, Y/N, funny thing—remember how you thought I was stalking you? Well, surprise! I was, but it's okay because I'm Spider-Man!' That's your plan?!"

Jimin shrugs, smirking as he tosses a chip into his mouth. "Worked for Andrew Garfield."

"THIS IS NOT A MOVIE!"

Taehyung's laugh echoes through the phone, loud and clear. "Oh man, I wish I was there to see this meltdown in person. Seriously, Kook, stop freaking out. Just... play it cool, okay? She doesn't know anything for sure. Yet."

"Yet?!" Jungkook exclaims, horror-struck.

"Gotta go!" Taehyung says way too quickly, the call disconnecting before Jungkook can yell at him further.

Jungkook stares at the phone in disbelief, his chest heaving as Jimin's smug laughter reverberates in the background.

"Cool," Jimin repeats mockingly, curving his lips. "Yeah, Kook, just play it cool. You're so good at that."

Jungkook groans, tossing the phone onto the couch and collapsing after it. "I need new friends."

"You love us," Jimin chirps, reaching for another chip.

Jungkook screams into the pillow.

You were expecting something, anything, really. A subtle slip-up. A sheepish confession. Hell, maybe even some stammering and nervous sweating.

But the moment you confronted Taehyung—cornered him, really, by the vending machine in the student lounge—and the words "Do you know if Jungkook's Spider-Man?" left your mouth, all he did was cackle. Loudly. Mockingly. Like a full-on villain in a Saturday morning cartoon.

"Spider-Man?" he wheezed, doubling over and clutching his stomach like you'd just told him the funniest joke in existence. "Jungkook? Jeon Jungkook? Noona, you're joking, right?"

You blinked, momentarily thrown off by how visceral his reaction was. "No. I'm not joking," you said stiffly, crossing your arms. "What's so funny about it?"

Taehyung straightened up, wiping a fake tear from the corner of his eye as he glanced at you with barely contained amusement. "Do you know Jungkook? Like, know him? Because that kid has two left feet. I've literally seen him trip over air. How would he even swing that gracefully?"

For a brief, fleeting moment, you felt the smallest hitch in your resolve. Because, well, the evidence did kind of contradict itself, didn't it? Jungkook is clumsy sometimes. That much is true. You've seen him knock over a whole stack of textbooks just trying to nod hello at you in the hallway. He once walked into a doorframe because he was too busy staring at his phone.

Spider-Man, by comparison, is supposed to be graceful. Quick. Precise. Not... whatever it is Jungkook embodies most of the time.

But then you think about the stupid coffee shop incident. The way Spider-Man stammered and fidgeted and tripped over his words like a nervous wreck. The way he dropped his entire cool superhero persona when he handed you those damn matcha pastries. He wasn't exactly graceful then, was he?

And okay, let's talk about those pastries for a second. Because the more you think about them, the more your brain starts spinning. You distinctly remember mentioning them once—to Eunjae, over lunch in the cafeteria, weeks ago. How the hell would Spider-Man know about them if he wasn't there to overhear?

You frown, chewing on the inside of your cheek as the pieces start stacking themselves again in your head. Jungkook might be clumsy, sure. But Spider-Man was clumsy too. At least, that day he was. And the matcha pastries aren't just a coincidence. They can't be.

Your inner spiral is abruptly interrupted by a bright, familiar voice calling out behind you.

"Noona!"

You whirl around at the sound like a guilty kid caught stealing candy, heart practically leaping into your throat because you know that voice anywhere. And there he is, the devil himself—Jeon Jungkook, all floppy hair and dumbly wide grin, bounding toward you like an overexcited golden retriever.

He sidesteps a couple of students in his path, his long legs moving with just a little too much energy. Honestly, it's a miracle he doesn't trip.

"I brought you these!" he announces, holding up a plastic bag like it's some kind of trophy. His grin stretches so wide it practically touches his ears, and you hate that your first thought is how stupidly adorable he looks.

Stupid, you think, swiping the bag from his hand. Not adorable. Definitely not adorable. You're sure of it.

Peeking inside, your brows furrow. "Hotteok?"

Jungkook presses his lips together, humming as he nods eagerly. "Yeah! You—" His smile falters just a touch. "You don't like it?"

The way his face drops shouldn't make you feel so guilty, but it does, and it's annoying. "No, uh, I mean…" You struggle for the right words, because… hotteok? Really? You'd been expecting the matcha pastries again. This feels almost purposeful—like he's playing dumb. Is he? Or is this proof that you've been completely off base this whole time?

You're overthinking again. Shaking your head, you wave off the thought entirely. "Yeah, thank you, Jungkook-ah," you mutter, tone softer than you mean it to be.

The banmal slips out without much thought, but the effect it has is immediate. His eyes go wide, and then his whole face lights up in the kind of beam that makes you want to smack yourself for fueling his enthusiasm.

"This is the first time you dropped honorifics with me," he says, looking downright gleeful.

You clench the bag a little tighter and wish you could hate him. Why is he so excited over something so small? Why does it make your chest feel weirdly tight? And why is it so hard to stay annoyed at him when he looks at you like that?

God, this kid.

"Don't get used to it," you mutter gruffly, turning away before the growing warmth in your cheeks betrays you completely.

"So," he begins, falling into step beside you as you start walking toward the journalism building. "What are your plans for today?"

You don't respond. Not out of spite or anything—you're just not in the mood to entertain whatever puppy-dog energy he's radiating right now.

"Writing notes?" he prompts, glancing sideways at you, his tone just a little too hopeful for your liking.

Still, you say nothing.

"Coffee?"

Nope.

"Gonna catch leads for Spider-Man's identity?"

That one makes you stop dead in your tracks. You whirl around so fast he nearly collides with you, blinking like a deer caught in headlights. "Huh?"

His eyes widen marginally, mouth opening and closing like he's trying to come up with a quick excuse. "Taehyung told me!" he blurts, the words tumbling out in a rush.

For a second, you just stare at him, blinking once, then twice. "Huh," you reply, eyebrows quirking upward.

"Yeah!" he adds, voice pitching slightly higher, probably in an effort to sound casual. "He said you were, uh, investigating? Like, Spider-Man and all that? You know, trying to figure out who he is?"

Your head tilts as you study him, arms crossing instinctively. "Did he now?"

"Uh-huh," he nods enthusiastically, though the way his hand rubs at the back of his neck gives him away almost immediately. "I mean, not that I think that's, like, bad or anything? It's cool! Totally cool! I mean, you're a journalist, so, like, it's your job, right? Investigating stuff and—"

"Jungkook."

He freezes, looking way too much like a kid caught sneaking cookies before dinner.

"Why," you ask, narrowing your eyes just slightly, "do you sound like you're trying to convince me not to?"

"I-I'm not! I'm not," he stammers, waving his hands frantically. "I was just, you know, saying! Like, uh, if anyone were trying to find his identity, it'd definitely be you because, uh… you're smart? And observant? And not at all easy to fool?"

Your brow arches higher, his stream of nervous compliments only fueling the suspicion building in your chest.

"Right," you say slowly, dragging out the word as you step closer, watching the way his Adam's apple bobs nervously when your gaze meets his. "So hypothetically…"

"H-Hypothetically," he squeaks, leaning back like he's mentally bracing himself for whatever's coming next.

"If I was trying to find out who Spider-Man is," you continue, voice calm and steady, "you wouldn't happen to have anything to do with that, now would you?"

The way he freezes, body rigid and eyes darting everywhere but at you, would be funny if it weren't so telling. The sheer panic written all over his face is practically criminal.

"I—uh—no? N-No. Definitely not," he stammers, the pitch of his voice betraying him entirely. "W-Why would I have anything to do with that? I'm just a freshman! I don't even know Spider-Man! I mean, who even is Spider-Man? Could be anyone, right? Crazy world we live in, haha…"

You take a moment to just stare at him, fighting the urge to roll your eyes so hard they might actually get stuck. "Right," you deadpan, turning on your heel to start walking again.

Jungkook exhales audibly behind you, feet scrambling to catch up. "Y-Yeah, right! That's what I thought too!" he says quickly, clearly desperate to steer the conversation in another direction. "Anyway, uh, where were we? Oh! Notes! Are you writing notes today, noona?"

You don't respond. Again. Mostly because you're too busy replaying his very suspicious reaction over and over in your head like a mental highlight reel.

Yeah… no way this kid isn't up to something.

You keep walking, your steps steady, purposeful. Jungkook, as always, trots along beside you like he's afraid you might disappear if he doesn't keep up. And unlike you, who values peace and quiet, Jungkook doesn't seem to understand the concept of shutting up.

"So, like, I was thinking," he starts, voice bright and eager. "If Spider-Man's around all the time, do you think he lives nearby? Like, maybe he's a uni student? Or—or maybe he's secretly a professor? Oh my god, imagine Professor Kim as Spider-Man—he'd probably web someone for being late to class, right? Oh, oh, or he'd use his powers to booby-trap the lecture hall if we don't submit our midterms on time! Haha—what do you think, noona?"

You don't answer.

"And have you noticed he wears, like, the same colors as Yonsei's? Like, blue and red? Do you think that's on purpose? Maybe he's trying to rep the school spirit! Or maybe he's trying to throw us off! Who knows, right? I mean, what's your theory? You must have a theory—you're always so smart about these things—"

"Jungkook," you interject, your voice flat as you stop abruptly in your tracks. He almost trips trying to halt beside you, blinking wide-eyed like he didn't expect you to actually respond.

"Yeah?"

"Don't you have class?" You ask, turning your head just enough for him to see the pointed look you're giving him.

He licks his lips, and you know he's about to lie before the words even leave his mouth. "No?"

"Liar," you deadpan, already turning back to face forward.

"You know my schedule?" he shoots back, voice teasing as he trails after you again.

You roll your eyes but don't give him the satisfaction of a retort. If you respond, he'll just milk it—probably tease you further, or worse, distract you with another string of nonsense questions about Spider-Man. No, you're better off ignoring him.

So, you keep walking. He keeps rambling.

And then—

The sound of a bus engine roaring down the street takes you off guard. You don't even register the rush of movement until it's too late.

Suddenly, there's a firm pressure against your shoulders, and you're stumbling—but not forward, no—backward. Stumbling directly into Jungkook's chest, his arms bracketing your body like they're the only thing stopping you from tumbling straight into the pavement.

Your breath catches, your heart pounding against your ribs. You freeze, blinking up at him in shock. "What the—"

He's close. Too close. His face hovers just inches from yours, his expression wide-eyed and… strained.

"Are you okay?" he blurts, his voice laced with breathless concern like he's just sprinted a marathon.

You don't answer. You can't answer. Because all you can think about is how the hell he even managed to grab you like that.

He was five meters away. Five meters away, Jungkook. There's no way he could've—

"What the fuck," you murmur under your breath, your mind racing a mile a minute as you shove yourself upright, still staring at him like he's grown a second head. "How—when—how the fuck did you just—"

"It was nothing!" he rushes out, cutting you off before you can finish your sentence. His voice cracks, and he's already letting go of you, stepping back like he's afraid of the scrutiny in your eyes. "I-I mean, reflexes? Adrenaline? Fight or flight? Haha…"

You narrow your eyes, suspicious once again. "…Right."

Jungkook scratches the back of his neck, the tips of his ears turning red. "Yeah, uh… it's all good. You're fine, right? Totally fine! So, uh… should we—keep walking? Yep, let's keep walking!"

He starts to turn away again, clearly desperate to move on, but you don't budge. You're too busy trying to piece together what just happened, trying to figure out how Jungkook keeps doing things that defy all logic and common sense.

And that's when it hits you.

Spider-Man. Fast reflexes. The ability to move like that without warning. You glance down at his feet, planted firmly on the ground, and then back up at his sheepish grin.

No fucking way.

"I'm leaving."

"No—come on, Tae, you promised!" Jungkook whines, clutching at Taehyung's shoulder like a child trying to stop his older sibling from walking out the door.

Taehyung stops mid-stride, turning to glare at him with an expression that's this close to murderous. "I promised you I'd study with you at the library," he hisses. "Not that we'd come here so you can sit there and drool all over her."

Jungkook freezes, eyes wide. "I—what?!"

"You heard me," Taehyung deadpans, shoving Jungkook's hand off his shoulder.

"I have no clue what you're talking about," Jungkook mumbles, feigning innocence as he suddenly averts his gaze.

Taehyung rolls his eyes so hard it's a miracle they don't get stuck. "Kook, you've been staring at her table since we walked in. Don't even try to deny it."

"I—have not!" Jungkook protests, voice pitching just slightly higher than normal. His head jerks around, and of course his eyes instinctively flicker to your table. The one three meters to the left. The one where you're currently sitting, completely engrossed in your notes, pencil moving methodically across the page like it's the only thing that matters in the world.

You're breathtaking. Ethereal. Like a beam of light in the dull, dusty gloom of the library.

And honestly, Jungkook's not even sure why he's into you. Okay, maybe he's a little sure. Or a lot. But that's not the point—the point is—he is definitely not staring. Not staring, not drooling. Definitely.

"You're doing it right now, man," Taehyung mutters, arms crossed.

"I'm not!"

"You are."

"I'm not! It's just—" Jungkook swallows, gesturing vaguely in your direction. "I was just… checking out the table. It's a nice table! Good wood quality, sturdy legs. The craftsmanship is—"

"Good wood quality?" Taehyung repeats, staring at him like he's lost his mind.

Jungkook groans, throwing his hands up in defeat. "Fine! Okay! Maybe I glanced at her for a second. It's not a crime, hyung!"

Taehyung lets out a long-suffering sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose like he's already regretting his life choices. "I am so done with you," he mutters. But even as the words leave his mouth, he walks toward one of the tables anyway and plops his bag down into one of the vacant chairs.

"Sit," he grumbles, motioning vaguely to the chair across from him. "And don't make me regret this."

Jungkook doesn't need to be told twice. He practically trips over himself as he sits, trying to act cool and not-at-all-focused on the fact that you're sitting so close. So close that he can see the faint furrow in your brow as you concentrate, or the way you absentmindedly tap the end of your pencil against your notebook.

He's not staring. Definitely not staring. Probably.

"You're staring again," Taehyung says flatly, not even bothering to look up from his own notes.

"No, I'm not!" Jungkook hisses, slouching lower in his chair.

Taehyung snorts. "Okay, Mr. 'Good Wood Quality.' Sure."

Jungkook tries. He really does. He's here to study—or at least, he's here to pretend to study—and he's determined to do something productive. Something library-like. Something that doesn't involve spending the entire time sneaking glances at you like some lovesick idiot.

So, step one: grab a book. Easy. People in libraries read books, right? He can do that. Simple.

He meanders through the shelves, grabbing the first book that catches his eye. He doesn't even check the title. Doesn't matter. A book's a book.

Step two: sit down. Done. Chair, occupied. Book, open.

Step three: look at the book like he's actually reading it.

He squints at the text, hoping his brain will absorb something through sheer willpower because god knows his mind sure as hell isn't cooperating right now. Every five seconds, it drifts back to the table three meters away, where you're still sitting, still taking notes, still looking unfairly... breathtaking.

"Jungkook," Taehyung mutters, his voice barely above a grumble as he glances up from his own book. "Why the fuck are you reading that?"

"What?" Jungkook blinks, startled, then looks down at the book in his hands for the first time.

Advanced Theoretical Physics.

Oh.

"You don't even study physics," Taehyung points out flatly, his tone dripping with judgment.

Jungkook flushes, slamming the book shut and fumbling to shove it under the table. "I—uh—thought it looked interesting."

Taehyung stares at him. "Sure you did."

Before Jungkook can come up with anything to salvage what's left of his dignity, you—of all people—decide to stand up, and all the air in Jungkook's lungs promptly decides to leave with you.

Oh, god. You're moving. Why are you moving? Where are you going? Should he say something? Should he act casual? Should he—

You shift slightly, gathering your things, and suddenly Jungkook's heart is doing this weird thing where it's racing and stuttering and flipping over itself, and now his body is moving before his brain can even think to stop it.

"Gotta go," he blurts, practically tripping over his chair as he bolts to his feet. "To the bathroom. I have to—pee. Yeah, really super really need to pee right now. See you in a bit!"

Taehyung looks up, stunned, as Jungkook all but sprints toward the library exit. "What the—wait—"

But Jungkook's already halfway across the library, muttering curses under his breath as he tries not to make it obvious that he's absolutely not going to the bathroom.

Taehyung sighs deeply, dragging a hand down his face before muttering to himself, "He's gonna get us banned from this place, isn't he?"

Jungkook's halfway to the library exit, heart pounding, when he realizes something odd.

You're not heading to the exit.

You're not even walking toward the bathroom.

He skids to a stop, trying very hard to play it cool, to act like he's not absolutely clocking your every move. His hands find their way into his hoodie pocket as he leans against the nearest bookshelf, pretending to scan the titles like he's not also sneaking glances at you over his shoulder.

Okay, so you're not leaving. That's fine. Totally normal. You're just… heading deeper into the library. Toward some distant corner, weaving past tables and shelves like you've got some secret mission.

And Jungkook? Jungkook is absolutely not a stalker. He's not. He's just curious. That's it. Normal behavior. Normal library behavior for a normal freshman.

Totally not unhinged.

But then you disappear behind a bookshelf, and his feet are moving before his brain can step on the brakes.

He follows, not too fast—just casual-like. Normal person stuff. Nothing suspicious. His eyes dart between shelves as he tries to spot where you went, his stomach doing this weird twisty thing that's part nerves, part excitement, part oh-god-why-am-I-like-this anxiety.

And just when he thinks he's catching up, just when he rounds the corner of yet another shelf and is about to spot you—

Yank.

Jungkook barely has time to register what's happening before soft hands grab him by the hoodie and pull him into a small, cramped room. His back bumps into something solid—he thinks it's the door—and suddenly you're standing right there, close enough that he can see every detail of your face, from the faint line of concentration on your forehead to the subtle curl of your lips as you exhale sharply.

Oh fuck. Oh fuck, oh fuck, oh fuck.

"You," you exhale, your voice sharp but quiet. "Have some explaining to do, young mister."

Jungkook's mouth opens, but nothing comes out. His brain is short-circuiting, sparking like a broken circuit board, because—how? Why? When? What?

"I—uh—I—what?" he stammers, blinking rapidly as his eyes dart around the tiny supply closet you've dragged him into. It's all brooms and cleaning supplies and the faint smell of lemon disinfectant, and holy fuck, it is too small in here. You're too close.

"Don't play dumb," you mutter, arms crossing as you lean back just slightly—not enough to give him actual breathing room, but enough to make him feel like he's being scrutinized under a microscope. "You've been acting… weird."

"Weird?" He squeaks, his voice cracking embarrassingly. "Me? Weird? No, I'm not weird! I'm—uh—normal! Super normal! The most normal person ever!"

Your brow arches, the skepticism written all over your face making his knees weak. "Normal people don't act like they've got something to hide," you reply evenly.

"I don't have anything to hide!" he says way too quickly, voice pitching high again.

You don't look convinced. Not one bit.

Jungkook swallows hard, his throat suddenly dry as he tries to come up with an excuse, a cover, a way to escape both this tiny-ass room and the weight of your accusing gaze.

But all he can think about is how close you are. How your voice sounds louder in this little space. How your shampoo smells faintly like citrus. How utterly and completely trapped he feels—not just against the door, but under the intensity of your stare.

And he's so screwed. So screwed.

"The bus thing," you say, and Jungkook feels his entire soul leave his body for approximately three seconds before crash-landing right back into his chest with a painful thud.

"What bus thing?" he asks, trying for innocent confusion, but his voice comes out more like a strangled whisper. "There are lots of bus things. Buses are everywhere. Seoul's public transport system is very efficient and—"

"Three days ago," you cut him off, eyes narrowing. "When I almost got hit."

Oh.

Oh fuck.

The memory hits him like a freight train. Three days ago. That stupid bus driver who didn't see you crossing. The way his heart had stopped dead in his chest when he realized you were about to—and he'd just—without thinking—

He'd used his webs.

On you.

In broad daylight.

As Jungkook.

Not Spider-Man.

Just... regular freshman Jeon Jungkook, who definitely shouldn't have access to web-shooters or superhuman reflexes or the ability to yank someone out of harm's way from five meters away.

"I don't—" he starts, but his mouth is dry, his tongue feeling too big for his mouth. "That was just—"

"Just what?" you press, leaning closer. "Just adrenaline? Just reflexes? Just another totally normal thing that totally normal freshmen do?"

"Yes?" he squeaks, pressing himself further against the shelf on his back like he might somehow phase through it if he tries hard enough.

Your eyes narrow further. "Really."

"Really!" He nods frantically. "I mean, haven't you heard those stories? About moms lifting cars off their kids? Same thing! Totally the same thing. Chemistry major stuff. Very scientific. Fight or flight response. Cortisol. Adrenaline. Biology... things."

"You're not a chemistry major."

"I could be!"

"You're in communications."

"...Minor in chemistry?"

You stare at him for a long moment, and Jungkook swears he can feel sweat beginning to bead at the back of his neck. This closet is too small. The air is too thick. You're too close, and your eyes are too sharp, and oh god, he's really messed up this time hasn't he?

"Jungkook," you say, voice low and steady. "How exactly did you pull me away from that bus?"

"I... ran really fast?"

"You were five meters away."

"I'm... very athletic?"

"Five meters, Jungkook."

He swallows hard, adam's apple bobbing nervously. "Would you believe me if I said I've been working out?"

The look you give him could probably melt steel. "Try again."

"Yoga?"

"Jungkook."

"Pilates?"

You lean even closer, if that's possible, and Jungkook's pretty sure his heart is about to explode right out of his chest. "One more chance," you murmur. "Tell me the truth."

And god, he wants to. He really, really wants to. Because you're right there, looking at him with those eyes that see right through him, and he's tired of lying, tired of pretending, tired of—

"I just..." he starts, voice barely above a whisper. "I couldn't let you get hurt."

Your expression softens, just slightly, but your gaze remains unwavering. "How did you do it?"

"I—"

Just as Jungkook's about to bolt, there's a distinct click that makes both of you freeze.

"What the—?" You whirl around, pushing past him to grab the handle. It doesn't budge. You try again, yanking harder this time. Nothing.

"You must be fucking kidding me," you mutter under your breath, jiggling the handle with increasing frustration.

And that's when Jungkook realizes several things at once:

1. Someone's locked you two in.

2. The closet is tiny.

3. You're pressed up against him trying to open the door.

4. Your ass is—

Oh god.

This cannot be happening. Not again. Not after the coffee shop incident. Not after he literally had to swing away to deal with his... situation.

"Fuck," he breathes, trying to press himself further into the piece of furniture behind him, but there's nowhere to go. The shelves dig into his back as he attempts to create even an inch of space between your bodies.

His hands hover awkwardly at his sides, not daring to touch you, not daring to move. His breath catches in his throat as you shift again, still wrestling with the door handle, completely oblivious to the way each movement sends sparks of electricity through his entire body.

"Hey!" you call out, banging on the door. "This isn't funny!"

Focus on something else, Jungkook tells himself desperately. Anything else. Math. Chemistry. Professor Kim's boring lectures. That time Jimin ate an entire jar of kimchi and—

You shift again, and Jungkook has to bite his lip to suppress a strangled noise.

"Seriously," you growl, hitting the door again. "Whoever's out there better unlock this right now or I swear to god—"

Think unsexy thoughts. Think unsexy thoughts. Dead puppies. Tax forms. Spidey suit chafing. Anything but how soft you feel against—

"Jungkook?" Your voice cuts through his desperate mental gymnastics. "You okay? You're breathing kind of weird."

"Fine!" he squeaks, voice way too high to be convincing. "Totally fine! Just, uh... claustrophobic! Very claustrophobic. Super claustrophobic. Did I mention I'm claustrophobic?"

You turn your head slightly, and even in the dim light, he can see your brow furrow. "Since when?"

"Since... right now?"

Another shift of your hips as you try the handle again, and Jungkook has to close his eyes, silently praying to whatever deity might be listening to either kill him now or get him out of this situation before he combusts from sheer embarrassment.

Because if you notice... if you realize... oh god, he'll never live it down. He'll have to transfer schools. Change his name. Move to a different country. Become a hermit in the mountains where no one will ever find him—

"Can you try pushing while I pull?" you ask, completely unaware of his internal crisis.

Jungkook makes a sound that might be agreement, might be distress, might be his soul leaving his body. He's not really sure anymore.

All he knows is that he's trapped in a closet with you, with your body pressed against his, and his spidey-sense is absolutely no help because apparently it doesn't warn him about situations that might kill him from pure mortification.

"Jungkook?" you prompt again, and he realizes he hasn't moved to help with the door.

"Right!" he says quickly, voice cracking. "Sorry! Just... give me a second to... uh... mentally prepare."

You snort. "For pushing a door?"

"Yes," he says weakly, because what else can he say? 'Sorry, I need a minute because you feel too good pressed against me and I'm trying very hard not to embarrass myself'?

Yeah, no. He'd rather die.

Jungkook does what you say. He really does. He plants his palms flat against the door, muscles tensing as he tries to push in time with your pulls. But it's too much. Too much to focus on, too close, too you.

His very healthy, very 21-year-old brain is absolutely screaming some unfortunate, very, very filthy thoughts right now, and no amount of silently yelling at himself to stop it, stop it, STOP IT seems to be working.

Push and pull. Yeah, he's thinking of that in an entirely different context, and honestly, sue him. He's a guy. A guy experiencing literal hell because your ass keeps brushing against him every time you shift, and it's doing things to him.

You move again, and Jungkook swears he's going to lose it. Like, right here. On the spot. His knees are weak, his palms are sweating, and his brain is running on some kind of autopilot loop of, "Abort mission! Shut it down! This is a disaster!"

Fuck him. Fuck his life. Just take him now, death. Send the reaper. Hell, send Taehyung to throw him into the Han River. Anything but this.

But then—just as his brain reaches critical overload—you stiffen.

Oh no.

You turn your head slightly, glancing at him over your shoulder, and the look in your eyes is... not great. In fact, it's terrifying.

"Jungkook," you say, his name an ominous warning.

His whole body seizes, every alarm in his mind blaring at full volume as sweat beads at the back of his neck. "Yeah?" he squeaks, his voice cracking so hard he wants to dig his own grave and lie in it.

"Are you hard?"

Oh, fuck.

Oh FUCK.

His brain short-circuits. His entire being freezes. His soul? Gone. It has left the building. His vision blurs at the edges as the words echo around the tiny closet, bouncing off every surface and hitting him square in the chest over and over again.

"I—uh—what?" he stammers, his voice so high-pitched it might as well be a dog whistle.

You straighten, still half-facing him, and your brow furrows with that look of realization that makes him want to throw himself into the sun.

"You are," you say, your tone shifting between disbelief and a growing edge of... amusement?

"I—I—no—what? No, I'm not! That's—no, that's ridiculous!" He tries to back away automatically, but there's nowhere to go, and his shoulders slam against the wood behind him.

You fully turn at this point, arms crossing as you raise a suspicious eyebrow. "Really, Jungkook?" Your eyes drift ever so slightly downward, and oh no oh no oh no don't look down don't look down don't look down.

He flails. Not physically, thankfully, but mentally? He's losing it. He's scrambling for something, anything, to salvage even a shred of dignity.

"It's—it's not what you think!" he blurts out, his hands flying up defensively. "It's—it's the—the door! Yeah! This stupid closet! I told you I was claustrophobic, right? That's gotta... do something... biologically... right?"

You stare at him, unimpressed. Completely, utterly unimpressed.

"It's not me," he continues, voice cracking again because his body is betraying him. "It's—it's like—science! Random reaction!"

"...Random reaction." Your expression is unreadable now, which somehow makes this worse.

"Totally random," he insists, nodding way too quickly. "You know, like... blood flow! Hormones! Human anatomy! It's a thing! You can look it up!"

"Oh, I'll look it up," you mutter, the corner of your mouth twitching like you're trying very hard not to laugh.

"Please don't," Jungkook whispers, his face burning so hot he's genuinely worried the fire alarm's going to go off.

And honestly? He doesn't even care if the fire alarm goes off at this point. He'd happily burn in this library right now if it meant escaping the absolute mortification of this moment.

Jungkook is fairly certain he's about to pass out, maybe die, and definitely disintegrate into dust when it happens. You turn around, shift again, just slightly, your body brushing against him in a way that feels… deliberate?

Or is his brain just playing tricks on him now?

Oh god. Oh fuck. Is this some cruel, sick hallucination brought on by his overactive imagination? Is his mind punishing him for thinking all those filthy, traitorous thoughts earlier? Why can't he have some kind of superpower to read minds right now? Be Professor X or some shit, because at this point, anything would be better than not knowing what the hell is going through your head right now.

Do you think he's a creep? A weirdo? A perverted little freshman who can't keep it together for five fucking minutes?

Or—

The thought makes his stomach flip violently, a spark of something hot—and definitely dangerous—shooting down his spine as you shift again.

Or do you find this… fun?

Amusing?

Arousing?

Because there's something about the way you're not stepping back, the way you're not recoiling in disgust, the way your breaths are just slightly heavier than before, that's making Jungkook's head spin.

And then you chuckle—low, quiet, but unmistakable.

"This is the first time this has ever happened to me," you mutter, the sound light but laced with something he can't quite name.

But he doesn't care what it's laced with. He doesn't even care what it means.

Because oh god, that chuckle—he'd bottle it if he could. He'd trap it in a jar and keep it with him forever, listen to it on repeat like a favorite playlist, let it echo in his head until he went insane from the sound of it alone.

His mouth opens, but no words come out. His body is frozen, his brain completely fried, every single one of his senses hyper-focused on the fact that you're still right there, pressed against him, closer than you've ever been before.

Say something, dumbass, his brain screams at him. Anything. Literally anything.

"I—it's not my fault?" he manages weakly, his voice cracking so pathetically he wants to punch himself.

You laugh again, and this time there's no mistaking it—there's something mischievous in it, like you're enjoying watching him squirm. And oh no, oh god, you're enjoying this.

"I didn't say it was," you reply, your voice smooth, calm, fucking deadly.

Jungkook swallows hard. His legs feel like they're about to give out any second now. His palms are clammy. His heart is doing that thing where it feels like it's both racing and stopping entirely at the same time.

"I—uh—should we try the door again?" he stammers, trying desperately to redirect the situation before his entire body spontaneously combusts from the sheer tension in the air.

You hum softly, not answering right away, and Jungkook feels every muscle in his body tense in response.

You keep moving, but now it's with purpose—up and down motions that are too deliberate to be anything but intentional. Like you're actually trying to... to get him off. Right here. In this tiny closet. In the fucking library.

Jungkook's mind is gone. Absolutely fucking gone. His consciousness has left his body, floating somewhere near the ceiling as he tries to process what's happening. He's honestly shocked he hasn't passed out yet, given how fast his blood is rushing south.

His hands hover awkwardly over your hips, trembling with the effort not to touch. His teeth dig into his bottom lip, desperate to hold back the embarrassing sounds threatening to escape. Because he refuses to pant like some desperate animal, even though that's exactly what you're reducing him to.

But then—oh fuck—you reach back, grabbing his hands. And before his brain can catch up, you're placing them firmly on your hips.

"It's okay," you murmur, your voice low and honey-sweet. "You can touch me."

The permission makes him shudder, a full-body tremor that he couldn't suppress if he tried. Your hand slides over his, guiding it upward, and his breath catches in his throat as you move it higher, and higher, and—

Oh god.

You press his palm against your breast, and Jungkook's brain completely flatlines.

A pathetic whimper escapes him before he can stop it. His fingers twitch against the soft swell under your shirt, and he's pretty sure he's died. This is death. This is heaven. This is some kind of fever dream his horny brain has cooked up.

"Is this really happening?" he whispers, his voice raw and desperate. "Like, actually happening? Not just another dream or—"

He cuts himself off, realizing what he just admitted, but it's too late. The words are already out there, hanging in the heated air between you.

"Another dream?" you repeat, and he can hear the smirk in your voice. "You dream about this often, Jungkook-ah?"

Fuck.

"Way too often," he confesses, the words spilling from his mouth before his brain can catch up. And yeah, that's definitely because his mind has completely checked out. Because normal Jungkook? Coherent Jungkook? Would rather die than admit something like that.

But normal Jungkook isn't here right now. Normal Jungkook left the building the moment you pressed his hand to your breast. Now there's just... this Jungkook. The one who can't think straight because you're letting him squeeze and touch and feel, and your ass is doing absolutely criminal things against his cock.

His forehead drops to your neck, breath coming in heavy pants that he can't control anymore. Fuck trying to be quiet. Fuck trying to be composed. His hips move on their own, grinding forward to match your rhythm.

Because you gave him permission, right? You said he could touch. You guided his hands. So this is okay. This is allowed. This isn't just another fevered fantasy his desperate brain cooked up at 3 AM.

"Noona," he breathes against your skin, the honorific slipping out again because his filter is completely gone. His fingers flex against your breast, testing, exploring, learning what makes your breath hitch. "Fuck."

You guide his movements with a confidence that makes his head spin, showing him exactly how to touch you. His fingers find your nipple through the fabric, and the way it peaks under his touch makes him dizzy with want. Your hand stays over his, encouraging him to squeeze, to explore, to learn.

And Jungkook? He's never been this hard in his entire fucking life.

He's pathetic, really. Getting this worked up from some dry humping and breast play like he's fifteen instead of twenty-one. Sure, they're absolutely amazing tits—perfect, actually, fitting in his palm like they were made for his touch—but still. He's broadcasting his virginity like a fucking neon sign, getting this desperate this fast.

But he can't help it. Can't stop the way his hips keep rolling against you, seeking more friction, more pressure, more. He knows he's close—can feel it building in his abdomen, that telltale tingling that makes his toes curl in his stupid mismatched socks.

"Noona," he whimpers against your shoulder, the sound muffled by your shirt. "Noona, I'm—fuck—"

His breath comes in sharp, desperate pants. He's making these absolutely embarrassing sounds—little whimpers and moans he has to muffle against your skin because if anyone heard him like this, he'd actually die on the spot.

The pressure builds, and builds, and builds, until he's grinding back helplessly, practically sobbing because it feels so good he can't stand it. His free hand grips your hip like a lifeline, probably too hard, definitely leaving marks, but he can't help it.

"Please," he chokes out, though he's not sure what he's begging for. "Please, I'm—I can't—"

He's going to come in his pants like a fucking teenager, and the worst part? He doesn't even care anymore.

"It's okay, Jungkook-ah," you murmur, voice honey-sweet and deadly. "Let go for noona."

And that's—that should be illegal. The way those words hit him is criminal, making his whole body seize up like he's been electrocuted. His hips stutter, losing rhythm as everything goes white-hot. He groans against your shoulder, embarrassingly loud even muffled against the fabric, as his orgasm hits him like a fucking freight train.

He came. He just—he actually just—came in his pants. Like some inexperienced kid who's never been touched before.

Mortifying. Absolutely fucking mortifying.

A hiccup escapes him, something between a sob and a whimper, and he wants to disappear. To evaporate. To cease existing entirely.

"Hey," you whisper, so soft it makes his chest ache. Your hand reaches back, fingers threading through the hair at the nape of his neck, and his skin erupts in goosebumps immediately at the gentle touch.

He wants to cry. Wants to apologize. Wants to explain that he's not usually this pathetic (lie), that he can last longer than three minutes (another lie), that he's not always this embarrassingly eager (the biggest lie of all).

But the words stick in his throat like clay, thick and suffocating. Because what can he possibly say? 'Sorry I just creamed my pants from some dry humping and titty grabbing?'

"It's okay," you murmur, and another hiccup escapes him.

No. No, don't do that. Don't pity him. Don't say those words like anything about this situation is remotely okay. Because it's not. It's the furthest thing from okay. He just—he literally just—

"I really liked that," you add, voice soft but sure.

Jungkook's head snaps up so fast he nearly gives himself whiplash. "What?"

You… liked it? How could you possibly have liked that? He barely lasted three minutes. He came in his pants like a middle schooler. He probably squeezed your tit too hard and left bruises on your hip and made the most embarrassing sounds and—

"How?" he croaks out, voice raw and disbelieving. "How could you—that was so—I'm so—"

Pathetic. Desperate. Inexperienced. Embarrassing.

His brain supplies about fifty different self-deprecating adjectives, but none of them make it past his lips because he's still trying to process the fact that you said you liked it.

The dam breaks.

Jungkook is crying. Tears spill over his flushed cheeks, unbidden and hot with shame, and oh god, he's really lost it now. He's crying, actually fucking crying, because apparently, being mortified isn't enough. No, his body has to betray him in every possible way all at once.

His blurred vision catches you turning around to face him, and then your hands—soft, warm—reach up to gently brush the tears away from his eyelids. The gesture makes him hiccup, and he immediately wants to crawl under the floorboards and die.

"It was cute," you murmur, and your tone is soft but steady, like you actually mean it.

"Don't say that," he mumbles, voice cracking as he ducks his head, his tears threatening to spill faster. He can't handle this. He really, really can't.

You smile—a smile so kind it feels like a dagger to his chest. "Why? I'm not lying."

"You are."

"I'm not."

"It was so embarrassing!" he bursts out, the words tumbling from his mouth in one long, panicked string. "I made such embarrassing sounds and—and I—I came in my pants and—"

"It's what I wanted," you interrupt, your words cutting through his spiraling like a blade.

He freezes, the tears still clinging to his lashes. His breath catches, the air suddenly clammy.

"...What?" he croaks, the word so small and broken it barely makes it past his lips. His mind blanks, unable to process what he just heard. Surely he misheard you, right? Surely this is some kind of cruel, shame-induced hallucination because there's no way.

"It's what I wanted," you repeat, your voice unwavering as you look him straight in the eye, your gaze too steady, too certain.

His breathing stutters. His tears momentarily forgotten, he stares at you, wide-eyed and silent, like you've just flipped his entire world upside down.

Your hand is still on his cheek, thumb brushing away the lingering wetness under his eye, and Jungkook can't look away from your face. Can't process the way you're looking at him—soft but certain, like you actually meant what you just said.

"But—" he starts, voice wavering. "But why would you—I mean, I—" He swallows hard, his face burning. "I barely even touched you. I just... got off on you like some desperate—"

"Because," you cut him off, your other hand coming up to frame his face, holding him still when he tries to look away. "I liked making you fall apart like that. Liked knowing I could affect you that much."

His breath catches. "But—"

"And," you continue, your thumb trailing down to brush over his bottom lip, making him shiver. "I liked how honest you were. How you couldn't hide how much you wanted it."

Jungkook's brain short-circuits again. Because what the fuck? What the actual fuck? You liked that he was desperate? That he was pathetic and needy and—

"The sounds you made," you murmur, leaning closer, close enough that he can feel your breath against his lips. "Were fucking hot."

He makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat, caught somewhere between a whimper and a groan. Because this can't be real. This has to be some kind of fever dream. Some kind of post-orgasm hallucination.

"Noona," he breathes, his hands twitching at his sides, unsure if he's allowed to touch you again. "I—"

And then the door clicks.

Both of you freeze, heads snapping toward the sound. Light floods the closet as the door swings open, and there stands Taehyung, looking entirely too pleased with himself.

"Time's up, lovebirds!" he announces cheerfully. "Did you two work out your... tension?"

Jungkook is going to kill him. He's actually going to murder his best friend. Right after he dies of embarrassment. Again.

"Hyung," he croaks out, face burning hotter than the sun. "Did you—was this—did you plan this?!"

Taehyung just grins, wiggling his eyebrows. "You're welcome!"

Yeah, Jungkook is definitely going to kill him.

Just... maybe after he changes his pants.

2K notes · View notes

euphorajeon · 1 year ago

Text

trippin' over, gettin' lost on you | jjk (m)

— pairing: jk x f. reader

— genre: fluff, smut | college au, slight coffee shop au (?)

— word count: 12.4k

— warnings: pov change after the first part (its kinda obvious.. i hope), sleeveless jk, jealous jk, like really jealous, side character yoongi, cameo jimin and hoseok, they work tgt in a coffee shop, boxer!jk is back to his nature (he's boxing again, at last), cocky jk (but he's hot so its ok), usual banter between jk and oc, also banter between oc and jimin, mentions of cuts and bruises from boxing, references to the movie Real Steel, uhh what else i dont rmb anything else this thing is GIANT for me, smut in the form of: kissing, marking (hickeys), making out, an attempt at dirty talk, dry humping, cumming in pants, hint at unprotected penetrative sex at the end (don't do this!). [pls lmk if i missed smth]

— summary: a visit to the coffee shop you work at rewards jeongguk not only with a cup of coffee and a plate of brownie, but also with something else simmering deep in his veins. a challenge is issued, and all hell breaks loose.

— author's note: okay first of all full disclosure i started this in sept 2022 and just finished it today ^_^ i tried to edit it as best as i could, so if you see any mistakes, pls kindly... ignore... thank you... ^_^ that aside, i also feel the need to disclose that this is only my second time attempting to write smut so pls.. be kind.. hehe. okay! i hope you enjoy this absolute giant baby of mine!!

masterlist | boxer!gguk masterlist

There’s an advantage to knowing someone for years. Jeon Jeongguk can attest to this fact from first-hand experiences he’d had with you throughout the many years you both have known each other. He’s seen you cry after you almost drowned when you were ten and you’ve seen him throw up his breakfast after drinking skimmed milk when he was twelve, where both life-threatening experiences had been deemed not serious by young-you and young-Jeongguk who used both experiences as means to roast each other. (Though growing up, your hands automatically grabbed the whole milk carton when grocery shopping with him and he’s never let you go within a five-meter radius of a swimming pool without his supervision.)

Years of friendship with you has also given him the advantage of being familiar with your likes and dislikes, from trivial ones like how you don’t drink coffee because it upsets your stomach to more serious ones like the type of boys you would date in your teen years. He’s never had a problem with the former, instead using it as another mean to annoy you (“You can’t drink coffee? What are you? A child?”), but the latter had always bugged him for reasons unknown prior to his big epiphany a little over a year ago. (Spoiler alert: it was the first time he came home with piercings on his eyebrow and lower lip, when he tempted you into kissing him stupid.)

Now he’s confident that the type of a boy you’d date would be someone who is handsome, tall, has a great smile and tattooed bulging biceps on the side. Add a lip piercing (and a fake tongue one!) as well and he’s sure you’re never going to look at other boys ever again. If you do, well, he’d just make the piercing on his tongue a permanent one, even though that means he wouldn’t be able to kiss you for weeks after. But as said earlier, he’s confident that you only have eyes for him alone.

With that same confidence, Jeongguk struts through the glass door of the coffee shop you’re working at for the summer, going up to the counter with a grin painted on his features. Said grin goes unnoticed by you, though, as you’re busy taking the order of the person in front of him. His lips stay tilted upwards as he watches you work, writing the customer’s name on the cup with your big, round, cute handwriting. Only when you’re done taking the order and the customer’s cup has been given to your coworker do you notice his presence, eyes lighting up at the sight of him.

“Hi, what can I get you today?” you greet him in your customer-service voice and smile like you do any other customer that has come before him. Jeongguk gives you an amused smile, making you chuckle as you key in his order even before he says it himself. He eyes the small screen in front of him that displays his usual choice of beverage, making a sound to stop you from ringing him up.

“Actually,” he says when you hum in question, “could you add milk to that? Make it a latte?”

“You want a latte?” you emphasize the last word, making sure you didn’t hear him wrong. “Like, with milk and foam on top?”

“Uh-huh,” Jeongguk confirms, leaning his elbows on the counter to stare at you as you change his order from an americano to a latte. “Can I also order you on the side? Look too good not to be devoured,” he adds, a sleazy smirk on his lips.

You scrunch up your face at his innuendo, his words hard to believe when you’re wearing a murky brown apron and a matching cap on your head. “I’m adding a brownie,” you deadpan. “That would be seven dollars.”

“You don’t want anything?” Jeongguk asks as he straightens up, hand reaching for his wallet to take out his credit card. “No coffee though, babe.”

“Nope, I’m good,” you answer as you accept the card Jeongguk hands you, swiping it through the card reader. “Yoongi said I can try the new menu in large for free! I’m saving calories for that so no sugar allowed for now.”

His forehead creases upon hearing the new name. “Yoongi? Who’s Yoongi?”

“Him,” you tilt your head towards a mint-haired guy who’s busy making all the drinks, hands skillfully moving from one cup to another. It’s a wonder how he doesn’t spill even a drop of liquid. “I’ll introduce you later but now you have to move, there’s a line. Shoo.”

Jeongguk gives you a playful pout as a protest but complies with your request to move, sliding down to the pick up counter as you greet the next customer in line. There are two people lined up after him, barely a line like you made it sound like, but he figures because it’s an hour before closing that you consider any amount above one person a line. He also notices that you and the mint guy (Yoongi, was it?) are the only ones manning the counter, so it’s not like you have any spare time to deal with him given the amount of work that has to be done.

“An iced latte and brownie for Jeongguk!” Mint guy shouts as he slides the drink and dessert on the counter, lingering for a second when he sees Jeongguk’s hands reaching for his order. Mint guy’s gaze trails up his arms to his face, eyes meeting Jeongguk’s confused ones. Recognition bleeds into his cat-like eyes as his mouth forms into an O shape.

“Kiddo’s boyfriend?”

The low baritone of his voice is unexpected, though that’s not the only thing throwing Jeongguk for a loop. ‘Kiddo’? He has a nickname for you??

Mint guy—Yoongi!—doesn’t take his lack of response personally, instead opting to turn around and talk to you who have just finished taking orders from the customers. Jeongguk can’t hear what words you and Yoongi are throwing around, but from the way you glance at him, it looks like the mint-haired guy is just trying to confirm the answer to his two-worded question directed at Jeongguk earlier.

Your response to Yoongi’s inquiry makes the guy give you double pats on your cap-covered head, triggering a laugh to come out of both of you. While Yoongi’s laugh looks like he’s teasing you good-naturedly, yours looks like a shy one if the pink dusting your cheeks are any indication. It prompts a scowl to appear on Jeongguk’s handsome visage, furrowed brows and clenched jaw. It is not in your nature to get shy.

As much as he wants to stay rooted to the pick-up counter to keep you and Yoongi in his close watch, he has to move his ass somewhere less crowded to avoid getting eye-fucked by the girl next to him who has been staring at his tattoos for the past five minutes. Prior to dating you, anyone who displays interest in his tattoos would make pride swell in his chest, an ego-booster guaranteed to make his day a thousand times better. He used to subtly flex whenever he caught someone looking at his sleeve tattoos, an equally subtle wink on the side if that someone is a girl he found attractive. But after dating you, he realizes that the only attention he wants (and matters) is yours. Now anyone staring at his tattoos with the intention of flirting or getting in his pants just makes him shiver in disgust.

Though, in this particular instance, Jeongguk admits it’s his own fault by showing up to the coffee shop in a sleeveless shirt. It wasn’t intentional, he just grabbed anything within reach when he packed for the gym earlier in the day, but the way he left his hoodie in the car is definitely intentional. He thought he would give you a distraction surprise by baring his sleeve when you’re working, but you seemed unaffected even when he leaned on the counter to flex his muscles. Which is weird, considering you never missed any chance to ogle his inked bicep whenever he’s boxing.

As Jeongguk plops a small piece of brownie into his mouth, he just realizes that your roles are reversed now, with you doing your thing and him doing the staring. His eyes never leave your figure as you ring up three more customers since he sat down, transferring plastic cups onto Yoongi’s never-ending queue of orders. He watches as you take the last two cups by yourself, re-reading the order before moving to grab the ingredients needed for the drink. Your hands don’t work as fast as Yoongi’s, the muscle memory not yet settling in, but Jeongguk can tell that your help is appreciated by the way the mint guy smiles at you while patting your shoulder.

When the orders are all done, you go up to the glass door to flip the sign so it shows the Sorry, we’re closed! side. A glance at the clock tells him that it is thirty minutes until closing time, meaning thirty minutes until you can get out from behind the cashier and into his waiting arms. He hasn’t seen you all day today and all he wants to do is kiss you breathless the second you get rid of that horrendous apron and cap. Jeongguk starts counting down from the thirty-minute mark, hoping time would tick by faster.

Behind the counter, Yoongi is still busy making one more drink while refusing your offer to help. It’s weird seeing your kindness being offered to someone that isn’t him, but Jeongguk supposes this time it’s strictly work-related as he knows Yoongi has been making all the drinks (except the last two that you did) ever since he sat down with his order. Though, it seems like the drink in his hand is not an order at all, because he gives the plastic cup to you instead of putting it on the counter for a customer to take. There’s an almost childish grin on your face as you sip on the drink, eyes lighting up as you shoot Yoongi a thumbs up. After you exchange some more words with Yoongi, Jeongguk watches as you skip happily to his table with your drink in hand.

You place said drink next to his cup of latte on the table before your hand reaches for his drink to steal a sip. “I just have to clean up and wait for everyone to leave, then we’re good to go.” You steal two more sips of the latte just because you can.

“Okay, babe, but I still want my latte, you can put it down now,” Jeongguk chuckles, watching you do as he says with a guilty smile on your face. But then your hand takes the little spoon that came with the brownie to cut a sizable chunk from his half-eaten treat, quickly plopping it into your mouth. “Finish your brownie so I can take the plate away to wash it.”

“Are you just here to steal all of my food?” Jeongguk jokes, no menace behind his words as he reaches up to thumb away a stray piece of brownie from the corner of your lips. “And you said you didn’t want anything when I offered earlier.”

“I didn’t,” you confirm, “stealing from you is just too hard to resist.”

Jeongguk would’ve continued the banter if not for Yoongi calling your nickname from behind the counter, signalling for you to get back to your job.

“Boss calls,” you say, sneakily stuffing some more brownie into your mouth. “Should get back. Bye!”

“He’s your boss?” Jeongguk asks incredulously, glancing at the mint-haired guy who’s still busy moving around behind the counter. “That young guy is your boss??”

“Yeah, I’ll explain later,” you wave your hand dismissively, turning to leave. “Don’t steal my drink!”

In true Jeongguk fashion, of course he steals a sip from your drink. He does it just to be petty that you won’t explain anything about Yoongi, but he’s also curious what the new menu tastes like. He doesn’t remember seeing any banner for a new menu when he entered the shop earlier, so he’s guessing it hasn’t gone on sale yet.

He scrunches up his face the moment the drink touches his taste buds, tasting the bitterness of coffee among the layers of other flavors. It’s not as strong as the americano he usually has, but he can still feel it linger even after he swallowed the drink. Definitely not the type of drink you’d order on your own, though, so why were you so excited to try this new menu?

Looking around the shop, Jeongguk’s gaze falls on Yoongi. You did say he was your boss, didn’t you? Could it be that this free drink is just a plot to use you as a guinea pig for his experimental weird recipes, knowing that you can’t refuse your boss? Was that why he refused your help earlier? So he could make the drink taste as bizarre as it is right now?

His eyes continue following your and Yoongi’s figures behind the counter, squinting them in distaste whenever he sees you laughing at something the mint-haired guy said. Your smile, your lowered gaze, your shy demeanor, all remind him of a feeling he thought he had buried a long time ago—the same feeling he got whenever you got a boyfriend in your adolescent years. Suddenly, Jeongguk feels fifteen all over again—a clueless doe-eyed boy who donned t-shirts in every color of the rainbow every day of the week and strutted like he owned the school just so you can see that he was cool, only for you to deny him of a Sunday together.

Those years have become a core memory for him that it inspired him to get one of his tattoos: Rather be dead than cool, because he realized the way to your attention was not by being cool, it was by just being himself. (Yes, the ‘him’ who showed up unannounced at your doorstep after two years and ended the day with you on his lap stealing all the breath straight from his lungs.)

Anyways, all of that doesn’t matter because currently, your eyes are not on him but on your mint-haired boss who’s busy grinning while washing some equipment. Why are you both smiling so much around each other? Do you have some kind of inside joke that’s so funny you can’t stop laughing? What is so pleasing about Yoongi’s presence that you keep beaming at him?

Jeongguk chews the straw of your drink in anger, not realizing that he has inhaled almost half of the cup’s content despite claiming that he hates the taste. Sipping on your drink has become an afterthought as he was busy analyzing how wide your smiles are while working with Yoongi and how friendly the shoulder and head pats you give each other are. It’s sickening.

Eventually, everyone else in the coffee shop left and you’re in front of him once again to get rid of the brownie plate from his table, whining when you see the half-empty cup in Jeongguk’s hand even as you’re chewing the rest of his brownie in your mouth. Fair trade, he says as you walk away with the plate and spoon in hand.

Not even five minutes has passed since you left his table, yet Jeongguk feels tired of being patient, taking your and his coffee cups in each hand before coming up to the counter. It seems like Yoongi senses his presence, because he looks up from the calculator app on the tablet in front of him to give Jeongguk a curious glance. Their eyes meet for a split second before Jeongguk moves his gaze past Yoongi’s shoulder to you, who’s still busy wiping down the counter. A knowing smile curves on Yoongi’s lips.

“Hey, Kiddo,” Yoongi turns towards you, the nickname still irritating to Jeongguk’s ears. “I’ll finish closing up, you can go. Great work today.”

“No it’s okay, I can help you mop the floor after I’m finished with the counter.” You don’t even look up as you wave him off, oblivious to Jeongguk’s presence and his increasing impatience in front of your boss. He clears his throat comically loud, making you turn around to see a frown etched on your boyfriend’s face and Yoongi tilting his head towards him with a small, almost teasing smile on his face.

“Oh.” You pull your lips into a thin line. “Okay then. Sorry about him, Yoongi.”

“No worries, Kiddo.”

Yoongi’s nonchalant response is laced with a chuckle, which for some reason, upsets Jeongguk even more than the nickname he keeps calling you by. Is Yoongi not scared of him? Of his tattoos, of his muscles? Is he not intimidating? Can’t he feel the piercing stare Jeongguk keeps giving him ever since he walked into the coffee shop?

“You.” Your stern voice tears his hot gaze away from the mint-haired guy, whose focus is back on the calculator on his tablet to count the sales they made today. “I’ll clock out first then we can go. Please don’t do anything weird in the five minutes that I don’t have my eyes on you.”

Jeongguk follows your figure with his eyes until you disappear into the backroom, leaving him alone with Yoongi. Yoongi, the guy with the mint hair, whose surname he doesn’t even know, who is your boss that strangely have an endearing nickname for you. Things that stream steady questions into his head, about your initial meeting with Yoongi to the extent of your relationship with him. It’s the nickname he can’t seem to shake off of his mind, the way it rolls easily off Yoongi’s tongue, as if he’s been calling you that for years. Has he known you for years like Jeongguk has? Been through near-death experiences with you like Jeongguk has? Has he deserved the right to call you by a nickname like Jeongguk has?

“You can stop shooting daggers at my head, you know,” Yoongi’s low drawl almost makes Jeongguk think that he’s talking to himself, but the sentence is clearly directed at him. The older guy finally looks up from his tablet to look at Jeongguk in the eyes for longer than a second, no coffee orders to complete to interrupt their interaction this time. “Kiddo’s boyfriend, Jeongguk, right?”

As Jeongguk gives a nod to confirm Yoongi’s question, a hand is extended towards him to complete the introduction. “I’m Yoongi, Kiddo’s coworker-slash-boss.”

Jeongguk grips Yoongi’s hand with more strength than necessary, unintentionally flexing his muscles too. He thought that would be enough to tell Yoongi that Jeongguk is your boyfriend and he has no business being so friendly with you, but Yoongi only glances at his tattooed arm before letting go of his hand with a comment about how strong his grip is.

“Thanks, I do boxing,” Jeongguk mutters curtly, upset at the degree of nonchalance Yoongi is showing. He starts glancing at the door to the backroom where you currently are, wishing you would emerge right this second so he can go and doesn’t need to face Yoongi’s mint hair ever again.

“Yeah, Kiddo might have mentioned that a few times, just like she won’t shut up about your sleeve tattoos,” Yoongi says, going back to his tablet. “I used to box too, by the way.”

If you asked Jeongguk what Yoongi used to do, he wouldn’t be able to answer at all as he chooses to focus on the part where Yoongi said you won’t shut up about his sleeve tattoos and tune out the rest of his sentence. “My tattoos? What about them?”

“She said you have tons. Shoulder to fingertips. That’s how I recognized you when giving your order,” Yoongi answers lightly, which piqued Jeongguk’s interest even further. Wouldn’t it be fun to use this coworker-slash-boss of yours to get information about what you’ve been saying about him at work? What else does Yoongi know about him other than he does boxing and has a sleeve tattoo?

“Really? Does she gush about how hot they are to you, too?”

It’s not a question meant to be answered, its sole purpose to show off that you indeed gush to him about how hot his tattoos are. Though, if one thinks about it, why would Jeongguk need to boast to Yoongi about the compliments you give him about the strokes of ink on his arm? What business does Yoongi have knowing about it?

Yoongi seems to be unaware of Jeongguk’s inner dilemma as his face breaks out into a grin. “I think she’d be mad at me if I told you half the things she gushes to me about you.”

So you do gush about how hot his tattoos are to Yoongi. Interesting.

The fact that Yoongi insinuates there’s more to that is both endearing and terrifying to Jeongguk, because while he’s giddy that you talk about him with other people with so much enthusiasm, too much of it could end up in you sharing something about him that you should not have. Not to mention you’re sharing it with your boss, someone you should keep at an arm’s length when it comes to sharing about your significant others. One wrong move and he could use it against you.

Jeongguk is just about to ask Yoongi to elaborate further on his statement when you step out of the backroom, now out of the murky brown cap and apron and in a white t-shirt that looks like it belongs to Jeongguk. All thoughts of Yoongi knowing all sort of things about him evaporates right away, his mind focusing on how cute you look instead. If only Jeongguk doesn’t know basic human decency, he’d pull you by the waist to taste the mouth he’s been deprived of for the whole day, not giving an ounce of care about your boss watching the whole thing.

No, he’s a good boyfriend so he opts to pull you by the shoulders instead, letting your arms go around his waist before squeezing you in his arms. The kiss he drops on your cheek is chaste yet lingering, like he wants to let you know just how much he missed you. You tighten your arms around him in return, wordlessly saying the same thing back.

“Ready to go?” Jeongguk mumbles into your hair, not yet letting go of the hug.

“Ye—oh, wait!” You pull your face away from its initial position on Jeongguk’s chest. “You haven’t met Yoongi yet.”

“We did, Kiddo,” Yoongi waves you off. “You’re free to go. Your boyfriend here has been waiting long enough.”

“No,” you say, pulling away from Jeongguk’s hold. “I mean I haven’t introduced you two properly.” You gesture to the both of them back and forth as you say their names. “Yoongi, meet my boyfriend, Jeon Jeongguk. Jeongguk, meet my boss, Min Yoongi. His family owns this coffee shop.”

“That’s what you mean by proper?” Jeongguk says to you as he takes Yoongi’s hand for the second time that day, regular grip this time because you’re watching his every move like a hawk. “I didn’t know you own the shop. Nice place,” he nods to the older guy, releasing his hand.

“Thanks. It’s my dad’s, though. I just help from time to time,” Yoongi shrugs.

“You ‘just help from time to time’ but willing to dye your hair mint in honor of the new menu.” You nudge his elbow playfully. “Speaking of the new menu, did you finish the whole cup, Jeongguk? I’ve only had a few sips.” You frown as you bring the cup to your eye level, examining just how much of it is left. It’s an exaggeration, obviously, as the cup in your hand is still half-filled. But Jeongguk plays along, saying the reason why he inhaled your drink is because he’s tired from having just gone back from boxing.

“You have your own latte,” you point out, finally taking a much-deserved sip from your free drink. It still tastes okay, so you stop grilling Jeongguk about stealing your drink (even though you kinda stole his too, in the middle of your shift nonetheless.) “Oh, and did you know Yoongi also—”

Yoongi clears his throat loudly before you can finish your sentence. You look up from your drink, alarmed, afraid you might have said something wrong. Your eyes meet Yoongi’s and he gives you a tiny shake of his head, one Jeongguk doesn’t notice because he’s busy taking sips from his own cup of latte. (And because he’s more focused on you than Yoongi.)

“He knows, I told him I used to box too,” Yoongi says.

“You did? I didn’t catch it,” Jeongguk averts his eyes from you, turning to look at Yoongi. “Wanna have a match? I could use an opponent for my session tomorrow.”

“I said I used to, Kid,” Yoongi re-emphasizes on the two words. “I have a shoulder injury. It’s healing, but I still shouldn’t do too much to it.”

“Oh come on, I’ll go easy on you.”

“Jeongguk!” A slap lands on his bicep courtesy of you.

“What? He said it’s healing!”

It’s only now that Jeongguk witnesses the exchange between you and Yoongi using only your eyes, yours looking frantic while Yoongi’s looking as cool as a cucumber. Maybe he should dye his hair a shade of green resembling a cucumber rather than a mint.

After watching you and Yoongi have a silent conversation for a minute, Jeongguk lets out a sigh as he takes the final sip from his latte. “It’s okay, babe, I was just kidding. It’s fine if Yoongi doesn’t want to have a match with me.” He throws the empty cup into a trashcan nearby. “It just means that he backs down easily from a challenge.”

You physically face-palm at his sentence, missing the way Jeongguk throws a challenging smirk Yoongi’s way. The older doesn’t seem fazed at all, instead letting a small smirk take over his features as well. “That’s not a really nice thing to say to someone you’ve just met,” he drawls.

Jeongguk shrugs. “Just stating the truth.”

“Jeongguk, please stop,” you whine from behind your hands, still facepalming because you don’t want to become a witness in case this coffee shop becomes a crime scene.

“Alright, I’ll have a match with you,” Yoongi says finally, tone resolute. You peek out from the cocoon of your hands, glancing back and forth between your coworker-slash-boss and your boyfriend who are having a staring contest, both refusing to back down. “Tomorrow after my shift works? Kiddo here can take the same shift so she can watch us too.”

“Sure,” Jeongguk agrees without a pause. “It ends at three, right?”

“Yep.”

“Cool. See you then.”

Then Jeongguk puts his arm around your shoulders, pulling you away from the counter to finally go take you home as it’s the reason he came here in the first place. You hastily give your coworker a wave goodbye over your shoulder, getting a wave back accompanied with a laugh. Jeongguk uses the opportunity to steal yet another sip from your drink.

“Stop it! You’re gonna finish it all!”

“What even is it? It tastes really weird.” Jeongguk scrunches up his face.

“It’s mint mochaccino, you ass.” You pull the cup away from him, who chases the straw with his mouth while grinning wide. “Stop or I won’t kiss you until tomorrow morning.”

“Always withdrawing kisses when I need them the most,” he pouts, retreating from your drink to let you finally finish the cup yourself. “Can I kiss you in the car or should I wait until we get home?”

(Does not matter what you answer is, because he grips the back of your neck in the car to make out with you for five minutes, and then finish what he started in the safety of his room, under the blankets.)

“Are you sure you want to fight with Yoongi later?”

You and Jeongguk are back in his car, on the way to the coffee shop for you to start your shift and for Jeongguk to get his americano to kick off the day. His nod to your question is firm.

“Yeah. My coach said it’s good to train with an opponent sometimes.”

“You could’ve fought with your coach instead, then,” you point out.

“True, but—” Jeongguk tilts his head, sucking in a breath. “He’s the one who trained me, so he knows my fighting style and pattern. It’s good indeed, but it’s missing that element of fun.” He drums his fingers against the steering wheel. “Besides, I want to know what your Yoongi is made of.” He casts a glance at you to see your reaction.

“What ‘my’ Yoongi, what are you talking about …” You heave a sigh, massaging your temple. It’s not even 9 AM yet but you can already feel a headache coming. Sometimes you wonder why you’re willing to date this childhood friend of yours, knowing all of his flaws and bad habits like this. Though it’s given you the advantage of being able to read between the lines of his actions, often you wish he’d just say things outright without you having to dig it out of him.

“You know, the Yoongi you work with? The Yoongi who gives you head pats? The Yoongi who has a nickname for you?” Jeongguk’s tone gets more annoying near the end of his sentence, almost as if he’s trying to get a certain reaction out of you.

“The Yoongi who owns the cafe I work at, which is the sole source of income I have?” you reply instead, refusing to give in to Jeongguk’s silent provocation. “Also, the Yoongi who used to box. I think you should keep that in mind when you fight him later.”

“Yeah, yeah. Bet he wasn’t even that good.”

You manage to arrive at the cafe unscathed, only losing a tiny piece of sanity because your boyfriend couldn’t keep his mouth shut about Yoongi and his non-existent boxing skills (Jeongguk’s words, not yours.) It doesn’t help that the Yoongi in question is already standing behind the register, greeting you with a smile and throwing a lopsided smirk your boyfriend’s way. You don’t like the thick tension between them at all so you quickly slip into the backroom to let Jeongguk be a big boy for once and order his own americano for the day.

Stepping out of the backroom in your mandatory work apron and cap, you’re kind of relieved when you see the shop is still intact, not thrown upside down courtesy of your boyfriend and his inability to control his strength (and emotion) in the face of a threat (read: Yoongi.) Upon seeing you, Jeongguk pushes himself off the counter he’s leaning against before reaching for your waist despite your boss standing just a few feet away. The cup of americano on the counter tells you that you took too long in the breakroom, which if anyone asks, you’d justify with adjusting your work attire. In reality, you just don’t want to face your boyfriend and the sour look he has whenever he so much as glances at your boss.

“You can always cancel the fight with Yoongi, you know,” you murmur, biting your bottom lip in worry. “You could hurt him, he could hurt you … it’s not ideal.”

“Hmm.” Jeongguk purses his lips. “What’s not ideal is your boss having a nickname for you.” There he goes again, always having something to say about Yoongi. “Aside from it being highly unprofessional, it’s also inappropriate since you have a boyfriend and that is me. Jeon Jeongguk. I am your boyfriend.”

“Jeongguk, he knows,” you groan, fed up with the back-and-forth about this whole Yoongi thing. You don’t even know why your boyfriend is so threatened by the older guy when he’s a whole lifetime ahead of him. “It’s not even a nickname. You’re just seeing what you want to see.”

Jeongguk’s reply never makes it out of his mouth as he’s interrupted by Yoongi clearing his throat, making you both look at him tapping on his wrist to signal the time. It’s a reminder that you’re here to work, not to continue the argument that sparked in the car. Your boyfriend rolls his eyes at your boss, sharing a hard stare with him before deciding to do something one should not do in front of their boss: dip down to kiss you, using your surprised gasp as a way to slide his tongue inside your mouth. In the five seconds he manages to tangle his tongue with yours, you completely missed the sound of the glass doors opening and the low whistle that came after, along with Yoongi’s chuckle and greeting to the person who just came in.

Shoving Jeongguk away by your hand on his chest, you try to cover your burning face with your other hand as an attempt to save your dignity in front of Yoongi, though you doubt it’s working at all. Jeongguk licks his lips then winks at you, squeezing your waist in his grip before stepping back to grab his cup of americano, now full of condensation sliding off the plastic cup. He takes a sip to taste test before scrunching up his nose.

“Could’ve been better,” he sneers, making you glare. “Alright, I’ll let you get to work. See you later, babe.” Then, after a second, turns to Yoongi to add: “you too.”

When Jeongguk disappears into his car, you put your head in your hands and let out the loudest groan known to man. “I’m sorry, Yoongi.”

The mint-haired guy only gives you a gummy laugh, eyes turning into crescents as he shakes his head. “Your boyfriend is really something, Kiddo,” he muses. “A really … fun early morning entertainment, you could say.”

“Entertaining it was!” You hear the voice first before you see the person, the one who must’ve come in when you were rather preoccupied with your boyfriend. Park Jimin, your other coworker, slides behind the counter in a brown apron identical to yours and Yoongi’s, just minus the cap. Good, that means he doesn’t have a bad hair day today and can take the position at the register instead of you. You could use some more time to learn to make the drinks, anyway.

“Didn’t know you and your boyfriend were such exhibitionists, Kim,” Jimin taunts you, his eyebrows wiggling suggestively. “Although, if my boyfriend were that hot, I would have wanted to exhibit him too…” He purses his lips in an exaggerated manner of faux thinking, obviously trying to rile you up. “Lucky you, Kim.”

“Shut up, Park,” you seethe through your teeth, slapping him with a dish rag while he cackles happily. “We’re not exhibitionists. You just have terrible timing.”

“Oh, it was perfect I’d say, just in time to catch sight of his tongue going into your mouth—”

“JIMIN!”

When Jimin continues making fun of you by making gross kissing sounds, you turn to Yoongi for help. As the oldest amongst you three, he must have a sound solution to get Jimin to stop making those awful sounds and put you out of your misery. Although, your trust in him is probably misplaced as Yoongi just chuckles and tells you something your own mom would tell you whenever you’re telling on Jeongguk: “Just ignore him, Kiddo.” The sacred word of ignore. “Go prepare the breakfast pastries now.”

So much for sound solution.

You go about your shift as usual, with Jimin manning the register like you planned to. Time goes by quickly when you’re busy working (and when your coworker is Park Jimin) that you didn’t realize it’s almost time for your shift to end. You glance at the line in front of Jimin and see that there are still three more people he needs to serve, while you and Yoongi still have about five tickets to finish before you can clock out and leave. Scratch that, might be eight tickets to go considering the workers who have their shift after you aren’t here yet. It’s gonna be a while before you can see your boyfriend and be a witness to an unnecessary fight between him and Yoongi.

“Hey, Kim, where’s your boyfriend? Didn’t you say he was gonna pick you up from work?” Jimin nudges your elbow when he finishes taking one customer’s order, sliding a plastic cup into the queue in front of you. “I want to see just how hot he really is,” he continues while wiggling his eyebrows.

Before you can slap the guy with your dish rag again—it’s looking more like your weapon rather than a cleaning tool at this point—Yoongi pipes up from his position in front of the sink. “Just look for someone with a tattoo sleeve. He loves brandishing it.”

“Ooh, a hot guy with tattoos,” Jimin whistles. “Add some piercings and I might steal him away from you.”

“Jimin, quit drooling over my boyfriend,” you sigh, taking the next cup in line as your coworker turns back to the register. He’s already starting to greet the next customer when you decide to give him a taste of his own medicine, sliding next to him to brew the espresso needed for the order you’re making. “He has one on his lip, but he’s mine. Note that, Park,” you whisper to him while he’s keying in an order, earning a light chuckle from the man.

“He’s just messing with you, Kiddo, don’t mind him,” Yoongi chuckles from beside you, eyeing Jimin whose focus is currently on the cup he’s scribbling a customer’s name on. “He has his eyes set on someone else already.”

“Gossiping, aren’t we?” Jimin turns to you and Yoongi with a sleazy smile. “Careful now, unless you want Hoseok to know about your hot boyfriend too, Kim.” He gestures to the glass doors, where Hoseok from the next shift just walked through. He’s a great guy, but you’ve only shared a couple shifts with him, so you think you haven’t got to the point of sharing about significant others.

With the mention of Hoseok, you and Yoongi move to finish the orders you have left before handing over the shift to the aforementioned man. When all your orders are done and you’re ready to head to the backroom, you turn to ask Jimin to go with you only to find him still rooted in front of the register. “Jimin, you’re not going?”

“Oh, I’m actually covering for Eunbi.” Jimin shrugs, sliding a cup into Hoseok’s line of orders. “Go, Kim. Have fun with your boyfriend,” he grins, sending you a teasing wink.

Hoseok, a clueless witness, looks at the both of you with a scandalous stare. “What, what, what did I miss? Why are you winking like that, Park Jimin?” he says, urging Jimin to elaborate while pouring drinks into a plastic cup.

“You should ask her, Hobi,” Jimin snickers into his hand as he turns to greet a customer. Hoseok turns to you, his expression hopeful that you will shed light on the reason behind Jimin’s wink.

“My boyfriend is about to fight with our boss and I don’t know how to talk him out of it,” you say through your teeth, giving an overly-sweet smile to a confused Hoseok. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I have to meet him and make sure he’s not gonna bite Yoongi’s head off.”

“Bye, Kim,” Jimin sing-songs, waving his hand to you. “Say hi to your boyfriend for me!”

You’re already walking away, turning to tell Jimin off when you bump into Yoongi who’s just came out of the backroom, void of his work apron and ready to go. He grabs your shoulders to turn you around, pushing you into the backroom to prevent anymore banter between you and Jimin. “Let it go, Kiddo.”

In the backroom, you catch a text from Jeongguk saying that he’s already in the coffee shop, ready to go when you are. You emerge from the room after clocking out, moving your feet to the dining area of the cafe while waving to Jimin and Hoseok behind the counter. Scanning the room, you search for a familiar mop of black hair that belongs to your boyfriend.

It’s easy to spot Yoongi’s mint hair amongst the sea of other natural-colored hairs. What’s not easy is believing your eyes when you see the person sitting in front of Yoongi waving wildly at you, grinning like a mad man. It’s your boyfriend, the person you’re supposed to see after work, the person you’re supposed to supervise when he fights your boss later, alright, that part you know. The part that you don’t know and have a hard time believing is:

Jeongguk’s hair is mint.

Not black, not brown, not the experimental half-half he tried in high school. Mint.

The exact same shade as Yoongi’s.

It feels like you’re on autopilot when your feet carry you to their table, jaw on the floor while your eyes are stuck on Jeongguk’s freshly-dyed strands.

“Hi, babe,” your boyfriend has the audacity to say, lips stretching impossibly wider. He reaches up to run his fingers through his mint hair, an act so deliberate even Yoongi sighs at the sight of it, but it makes your heart skip a bit nonetheless. “Do you like my new hair?”

The light green strands previously tangled with his fingers fall back to cover his forehead and frame his face perfectly, the light hue somehow blending well with Jeongguk’s skin tone. It also accentuates his jaw more, making it appear sharper when the grin on his lips morphs into a smirk once he notices that you can’t stop staring. Oh, that smirk. Usually hot with his previously black hair, it is now lethal with his mint hair, toeing the line of playful and dangerous at the same time.

You want to scream at the obvious and cheesy question.

Yoongi, the third person who’s been watching the entire interaction unfold before his eyes, clears his throat. “If you’re done eye-fucking your boyfriend, can we go now? I have somewhere else to be after this.”

“Yoongi!” you whisper-shout, half scandalized, half disbelieving that your boss can say something so crude in the middle of his own buzzing coffee shop. Maybe he’s been hanging out with Park Jimin too much. (Or maybe he’s just sick of you drooling over your boyfriend time and time again … yeah, maybe that.)

“Can’t wait to lose to me, Min?” Jeongguk snickers, taking your hand in his as he follows Yoongi—who pointedly ignores his taunting question—towards the glass door of the coffee shop.

You catch Jimin’s eyes as you’re stepping out, his eyes rounding in surprise before a sly smile takes over his features. Have fun! he mouths, giving you a wink. Ugh, you’re gonna face a lot more questions the next time you have a shift together with him.

After another futile attempt at talking Jeongguk out of fighting with Yoongi, you’re seated where you usually are, on the sidelines of Jeongguk’s gym, this time with heightened anxiety out of fear that your boyfriend and your boss could hurt each other. You’re worried less about the physical part—boxing is a very physical sport, after all—and more about the mental part.

Boys are full of pride, full of ego. They pride themselves on their ability to box, delivering punch after punch until their knuckles bruise. They pride themselves on their muscles, bulging biceps that took years to build and maintain. They pride themselves on their strength, how they are able to hold you up against the wall when you’re busy sucking air off each other’s lungs.

Oh, and in case it’s not clear, by boys you mean Jeongguk.

You have a lot of faith in your boyfriend, of course, but knowing Yoongi’s boxing skills, no matter how long ago it was, the outcome of the fight today could just be the one that would hurt Jeongguk’s pride. The possibility of it happening is so high that you’re already preparing yourself for when Jeongguk comes back to you with his ego bruised. God, you can only hope Yoongi won’t hit too hard.

You’re too busy thinking of the many possible outcomes of this fight that you don’t realize when Jeongguk is back from putting his gloves on and warming up, now standing in front of you. “Wish me luck?” he says, along with a toothy grin your way.

“Yeah, good luck, Ggukie,” you reply, lacking your usual sarcastic bite. Jeongguk seems to pay no mind to it, though, ducking down to peck your lips before turning around to face his opponent for the day.

You catch Yoongi’s eyes when Jeongguk has his back to you, quickly mouthing don’t hurt him! to your boss, which he only responds with a smirk. All the blood drains from your face. Looks like your worries about someone getting his ego bruised won’t be just worries after all.

When the fight has started (Jeongguk’s coach started it—you’re grateful he’s there because then you don’t have to worry too much about Jeongguk and Yoongi beating each other to a pulp), you can’t help but watch. You just realize, in the years you’ve known Jeongguk and watched him box, you’ve never actually seen him fight anyone else other than his coach. He’s said before that he only took boxing as a way to work out, not to actually fight, so you guess that makes sense.

You don’t watch boxing matches a lot (actually, you don’t watch them at all), your only knowledge of boxing you get from watching Real Steel, a movie about boxing matches for robots, set in the far future when human boxing is not interesting anymore due to the limited brutality. You’re not sure how much information you retained from the movie, and how accurate they are, but you’re pretty sure you don’t need much boxing knowledge to know that right now, Yoongi is playing defensive while Jeongguk is playing offensive.

Alright, you admit, you have no idea if the terms you’re using are right, but it’s the simplest ones you can use to describe the sight in front of you. Since the start of the fight, Jeongguk has been throwing punches continuously, while Yoongi has had his gloved hands covering his face the entire time. Okay, not the entire time, but he’s only thrown one punch compared to Jeongguk’s one hundred ones.

As the fight goes on, Yoongi starts throwing punches here and there while still dodging Jeongguk’s aggressive fists. You’ve never seen Yoongi move this much in the entire time you’ve known him, and it surprises you how agile he is. The way he ducks under Jeongguk’s arm and throws him off balance is admirable, sometimes a little bit funny (just a bit, you promise) because it shows just how calm he is compared to Jeongguk’s aggressive, almost-angry boxing style.

When Jeongguk’s coach declares a break, your boyfriend walks back to you with his brows furrowed, tearing off one of his gloves so he can remove his mouth guard and grab his water bottle. After chugging down half of its content, Jeongguk heaves a frustrated sigh.

“I can’t grasp his fighting style,” he grumbles to himself. His eyes are set on Yoongi, who’s on the other side of the room, drinking from his own water bottle. “Who the fuck ducks all the time while boxing?”

“Maybe it’s because you keep throwing angry punches at him, babe,” you say, initially to keep his frustration at bay, but instead it makes him raise his eyebrow at you in a duh way. You backtrack immediately. “Okay, okay. But it’s just your first time fighting him, isn’t it? Be patient, Jeongguk, and maybe let up your punches a little bit?”

“Baby, it’s boxing,” he says exasperatedly. “Someone has to throw some punches.”

“I know, but you just seem so … angry. Yoongi’s only ducking to dodge that. I’m saying maybe you can tone it down so he could stop dodging, so then you can see his fighting style better.” You’re saying this while gripping his biceps, hoping your words can go through his seemingly-clouded mind. “When you see his fighting style, won’t it be easier to figure out a way you can beat him? Isn’t that what you taunted him with at the cafe?”

You know it’s not even remotely possible to learn one’s boxing style just from a single fight, let alone “figure out a way to beat him”. Somewhere in his fogged mind, you believe Jeongguk stores this fact as well, he’s just currently too deep in frustration to place it in the front of his mind. You’re not even sure your suggestion to learn Yoongi’s fighting style is registered well in his head, considering your boyfriend is now back to eyeing your boss with fire in his gaze.

“Jeongguk?” You give his shoulder a firm grip as he puts his mouth guard back on. “Tone it down. Yoongi could just be waiting to punch back. You don’t want that.”

Jeongguk parts ways with you with an absent-minded nod and two pats to your head with his heavy gloved-hand. On the other side of the room, Yoongi looks ready to go back into his fighting stance. You sigh internally. Jeongguk is so going to punch him aggressively, again.

The next thirty minutes of the fight goes like a blur in front of your eyes. Jeongguk throws a hook that Yoongi dodges, Yoongi retaliates with a jab to Jeongguk’s side which makes you wince, rinse and repeat. Maybe you’re wrong about your boyfriend for once, you think, seeing his calmer fighting style now. With the way he left your conversation minutes prior, you really thought he was gonna continue raining punches on any part of Yoongi’s body he could reach. You’re relieved that that’s not the case.

Although, perhaps your relief came too soon because a boxing match isn’t over until it’s over.

Watching Jeongguk fight with Yoongi is like watching a cartoon character with an energy meter atop his head, except for Jeongguk, it measures his patience instead. As the minutes went on, you feel like you could see the patience meter above his head depleting until it’s all gone, and that’s the moment he went back to his initial fighting style: aggressive and angry. You almost pull your hair out in frustration because you just know that this is what Yoongi has been waiting for ever since the fight started.

The next thing that happens reminds you a lot of one fighting scene in Real Steel, where Atom was waiting for his opponent to run out of energy so he can fight back. In the movie, Atom knocked the other robot down with a final uppercut, gaining him a win and advancing him to the next round. Well, uh, in this case, just replace Atom with Yoongi and the other robot with Jeongguk.

Yoongi’s clean uppercut wiped your boyfriend out, who’s now lying on the ground clutching his face—which you’re sure is beginning to swell right now. Despite already knocking Jeongguk down, Yoongi is still in his fighting stance, never lowering his guard even as Jeongguk’s coach counts to ten. Your boyfriend remains immobile, though, and the second the count is up you’re running towards Jeongguk’s limp body.

“Gguk, are you okay? Baby, look at me,” you say hurriedly as you try to pry his arms away from his face. He doesn’t budge, and for a second, you’re scared that Yoongi has maimed your boyfriend for life. “At least let me know you’re alive,” you continue when his silence becomes concerning.

“Hmmph,” Jeongguk grunts. You heave a huge sigh of relief.

“Okay, good.” You run your fingers through his sweaty hair, trying to offer some comfort even though you know he had this coming. Gigantic ego, big talk, cocky as shit? Yeah, you understand that Yoongi would want to knock him down a few pegs. But now is not the time to launch into an ‘I told you so’ spiel, not when Jeongguk is still freshly bruised—both his body and his ego.

So instead, you lash out at your boss.

“I told you not to hurt him, Yoongi,” you snap-slash-whine, a frown on your lips. You thought, as the oldest among all of you, Yoongi could be trusted to knock some sense into Jeongguk’s mind without physically hurting him like this. As it turns out, all boys are the same.

The older guy just shrugs. “Probably wouldn’t get my point across if he weren’t knocked down.” He shakes the sweat out of his hair as he starts taking off his boxing gloves. When he sees you’re not impressed, he chuckles. “Relax, Kiddo, I didn’t even hit him that hard. He’ll be okay.”

“Really, Yoongi?” You roll your eyes. “You gave my boyfriend an uppercut just to prove a point!”

Yoongi just continues laughing as he chugs from his water bottle. His nonchalance about this is starting to piss you off. Maybe it’s your turn to put on the boxing gloves and sock him in the face, give him a taste of his own medicine. You scoff to yourself, picturing your own body lying next to Jeongguk if you really did that.

“Just tell your boyfriend here that there’s no need to be jealous of me, Kiddo,” Yoongi says, picking up his bag. Just then, Jeongguk’s coach appears with an ice pack in his hand, offering it to you so you can place it against Jeongguk’s swollen jaw. Despite your attempt to coax him out of his arm cocoon, he still refuses to move.

“Yoongi, look at him, you really broke him.” You’re flat-out whining now, kicking your feet like a child. It doesn’t even occur to your mind that you’re all still in the middle of a public boxing gym, with other people around you, being witness to this ridiculous scene.

“Oh my God,” Yoongi laughs before crouching down at Jeongguk’s legs. “Hey, Jeongguk, you hear that? Your girlfriend is worried about you,” he says, nudging Jeongguk’s leg lightly. “She only has eyes for you and your tattoos, too, you don’t need to be jealous at all.” You smack him on the shoulder for that.

Jeongguk finally removes his arms from his face at Yoongi’s words, his doe eyes menacing. “Go away,” he grits out at the older male, his scratchy voice making him sound less threatening than he intended. Despite that, Yoongi still holds his hands up in surrender.

“I’m going, I’m going,” Yoongi relents, standing up while adjusting the hold he has on his bag. “Was gonna go anyway, I have a date to get ready for,” he throws a grin your way. “Alright, I’ll be going first. Take care of your boyfriend, Kiddo.”

Yoongi retreats with a wave towards you both.

Jeongguk lets out a groan, shifting your attention away from your boss who’s already backing his car out of the parking lot. “Quit your job tomorrow,” he says. “I hate your boss.”

“Stop moving around!”

“It hurts!”

You’re both back at Jeongguk’s house now, with you sitting atop his outstretched legs on the bed, attempting to take care of his battle wounds courtesy of his fight with Yoongi. Aside from the swollen jaw, Jeongguk has a cut on his eyebrow and a split bottom lip. For a boxing match, you’d say these are minor injuries—proving Yoongi’s words right, he didn’t hit Jeongguk that hard—but your boyfriend is acting like a baby. He keeps jerking his head away every time the alcohol swab comes in contact with either of his cuts, it irritates you to no end.

“You have a goddamn full sleeve of tattoo and a lip piercing, quit acting like this hurts more,” you hiss, pressing the cotton in your hand to the cut on his lip as Jeongguk hiss back in response.

“At least when I got my tattoos and piercing, the artist didn’t do it while yapping my ear off,” he lisps through the cotton. “What happened to the caring girlfriend at the gym? Did she go away too, alongside Yoongi?”

“Oh, shut up, if I yapped back there Yoongi would’ve stomped on your ego more than he already did, do you want that, Jeongguk? Huh?” Your words are harsh, but you try hard for your hands to be the opposite, gentle as they cover the cut on his eyebrow with a band-aid. Jeongguk’s forehead is still damp from his quick shower earlier, beads of mint clinging to his skin. He might look smoking hot with his newly dyed hair, but the way the color rubs off on anything is starting to get onto your nerves. You wipe lightly at the color to make sure the band-aid sticks to his skin and does not come off the second he jumps around again.

“My ego is fine, you don’t need to protect it like this,” Jeongguk grumbles, adjusting the ice pack he’s holding to his jaw as you press a new cotton ball on his lip, discarding the one stained crimson red to his bedside table. “Maybe if you care about me as much as you care about my ego, everything would’ve been better.”

The way he’s rambling like he got his sense knocked out of his head as well makes you roll your eyes to the back of your head. “Don’t test me, Jeon. If I didn’t care about you I wouldn’t be here sitting on your thighs patching your minuscule injuries like they’re fucking wounds from a war.”

“Maybe,” Jeongguk half-agrees, a pout on his lips. “But you haven’t kissed me even once ever since the fight ended. Do I not deserve a kiss because I lost? Do you not want to kiss me ever again because I can’t beat Yoongi in boxing? Do you think Yoongi is way better than me now? Do you want him to be your boyfriend instead of me?”

With every nonsensical question, his pout deepens, and his eyes droop to stare blankly at nothing.

“Hah, ‘my ego is fine’ my ass,” you mumble, mostly to yourself as you turn the gears in your head on how to stop the bleeding on Jeongguk’s lip. It keeps gushing out blood, and you can’t exactly stick a band-aid to it like you did his eyebrow. At last, you just hold a cotton ball against it and hope it stops bleeding soon.

“Yoongi was right, you know,” you say clearly now, the tumble of Yoongi’s name out of your lips making Jeongguk glance up and focus his sight on your face. “You don’t need to be jealous of him at all. Heck, you don’t need to be jealous of anyone, Jeongguk. I’m your girlfriend and will always stay your girlfriend, no matter what. You don’t need to beat anyone in boxing or dye your hair the exact same shade as anyone for me to stay. You, Jeon Jeongguk, are enough.”

Jeongguk’s eyes, gazing into yours, are glassy with unshed tears. You don’t know if they are there because he’s touched by your words or are leftovers from crying over his bruised ego from the fight with Yoongi. Either way, it throws you off balance. Next thing you know, you’re being tugged down by the nape for a kiss.

Jeongguk’s lips are warm, like usual, but the tinge of metal you taste on your tongue is making you worry. Before you lose yourself in his kiss, you pull away to thumb at his lip lightly, seeing streaks of red on your skin. You’re about to continue pressing the cotton ball in your hand to his lips and stop all forms of kissing immediately, but your boyfriend has a mind of his own as he instead sucks your thumb into his mouth, wrapping his lips around the digit delicately as he holds eye contact with you.

Gone is the trace of any tears from his eyes, now replaced by something you can only identify as lust. As flattered as you are that Jeongguk finds you desirable in your current situation, it also makes you confused. He’s hurt and the only thing in his mind is getting his dick wet? Unbelievable.

The ice-cold feeling on your waist tears your attention away from Jeongguk’s dark eyes as you yelp, hand instinctively prying the cold thing away. The ‘thing’ turns out to be his hand, which was previously holding the ice pack to his swollen jaw. He’s sneaked his fucking cold hand under your shirt to hold your waist when he should’ve kept holding the ice pack to his jaw—his swollen jaw!

Your boyfriend has a swollen jaw, a busted lip and a cut eyebrow. This is not the time to be screwing around.

Pulling away your thumb out of Jeongguk’s mouth at the speed of light, you attempt to climb off his lap, but he’s read your mind even before they are conjured up in your own brain. His hands are back on your waist—yes, the cold one too—and they hold you firm in place. The side of Jeongguk’s lips turn up into a sickeningly sweet smile, before he tugs your body towards his, making your hips come in contact with his crotch. He’s hard. Oh, fuck.

“You know, I never really understood why you’re so bratty whenever you’re horny and I can’t tend to you right away, but I think I get it now,” he says right by your ear, making a shiver run down your spine. “I’ve been trying to will away my boner ever since you sat on my lap, but your weight on it is so damn distracting, it’s hard.”

“So,” he punctuates the word with a kiss on your neck, “I started saying anything to get my mind off it, but the way you care for me just … turns me on even more, if that was even possible.” He noses his way down your throat, coming to a stop at your collarbone. “And then all that talk about how I am enough … holy shit, I lost it. All I could think about was how I want to kiss you and fuck you into next week on this very bed.”

You can barely hear the last few words Jeongguk is saying, because he’s mumbling them into your skin as he peppers kisses and nips there. His fingers are now pressing into your back, pulling you closer and closer to him until there is no space left between you. You crane your neck so he can have more room to splash reds and purples onto your skin, sighing to the top of his mint head.

“You know, for someone claiming to be horny, you’re doing a terrible job at dirty talk,” you jab at your boyfriend, earning you a bite on your neck and a tightened grip on your body, making you close your eyes with stuttered breath.

“Easy, babe,” Jeongguk chuckles. “You talk as if you won’t be a moaning mess by the end of this,” he continues with much confidence. “But also, my lip is still kinda bleeding and my sides are still throbbing from the bruises. Kinda debating should we continue or just go to sleep.”

“Jeon Jeongguk I swear to God if you leave me high and dry—”

“Maybe you should kiss them better,” he cuts you off with a suggestion, his lips still trailing butterfly kisses on your neck and collarbone. The hands still on your back sneakily climb up and up until they’re reaching for the clasp of your bra, easily opening it to free your breasts from its confines. Your sound of protest gets stuck in your throat as a strangled moan comes out instead when Jeongguk massages your breasts tenderly with his fingers.

“Maybe I would—fuck—if you get rid of your shirt,” you say, tugging on the offending piece of fabric still covering your boyfriend’s gorgeous body. It’s not fair that he’s got you half naked already and he’s still fully clothed.

Jeongguk parts himself from your body long enough to tug his t-shirt off from the back of his neck in one smooth motion, exposing the golden expanse of his skin to your hungry eyes. If you thought his mint hair was smoking hot with his shirt on, it’s literally burning a flame of desire deep in your belly with his shirt off. You’re tongue-tied as you marvel at the sight in front of you, you almost jump when your own shirt and bra are taken off your body.

Now both bare from the waist up, Jeongguk wastes no time leaning back in for a kiss on the mouth, this time open-mouthed so he can slide his tongue inside. You keen happily, slipping a sigh in between as he slowly lowers you to the bed. Jeongguk anchors his hands on your hips, teasing at the waistband of your sweatpants as he keeps your mouth busy with his own. In contrast, your hands are everywhere, from his broad shoulder to his firm back, from his bulging biceps to his rock-hard abs. You even tease your fingers past his waistband, grabbing onto his ass and squeezing, making him groan hotly into your mouth. It’s only when your fingers brush against his sides that he winces, reminding you of his earlier request.

“Flip around,” you whisper against his lips, “so I can kiss your bruises better.”

“Hmm?” Jeongguk hums, your words a murmur in his head. “But I like having you like this. Under me, naked, panting, wet,” he says, slipping his hand beyond your sweatpants to prove his words right—you’ve soaked through your panties. He drags a finger slowly up your center. You shudder.

“Yeah? I can be naked, panting, and wet on top of you as well.”

“Ooh, tempting.” Jeongguk licks his lips. He flicks your clit with a cheeky smile dancing on his lips, before settling his hands back on your waist. “Alright, I’ll flip over.”

The next second, you’re staring at him from up top, admiring how his mint hair looks against his dark grey bed sheets. Although, his hair is the least of your concern right now, as you’re tugged back down for another bruising kiss. Now that you’re on top, Jeongguk takes the opportunity to return the favor that is slipping his hand into your pants to squeeze your ass, but his version involves pulling your hips down while his thrusts up, creating a delicious friction between your body that makes you exhale a moan into his mouth.

You move away from his lips, down to his jaw where you take care to land a kiss light as a feather, before moving to his neck and collarbone where you have your own share of bites and licks. Aside from your infatuation with his tattoos and biceps, you actually have another one with his collarbone, this one you keep secret from him lest he goes around the house shirtless more often just to brandish his clavicle. But maybe he’s already noticed from the way you always make sure to cover that body part of his in blooms of red and purple, taking care to trace each and every bite mark slowly with the tip of your tongue.

While you’re busy with his collarbone, Jeongguk keeps dragging your crotch steadily over his, like he can’t get enough of the feeling and wants to keep chasing it. The delicious pressure on your center is a bit distracting, so you smooth your palm across his chest to pinch at his nipple in warning. Jeongguk lets out a broken whine from his throat.

“Stop humping into me, do you want to cream your pants?” you chide, fingers still giving tiny pinches to his nipple to keep him on his toes.

“Was trying to get you to cream your pants,” Jeongguk grins guiltily, his hips snapping up yet again to collide with yours. Even if you roll your eyes at his antics, you still continue your journey of kissing down his body, making sure to suck and lick on his sensitive nipples. You love the moans and groans that slip out of his throat every time you do things to his nipples. He likes it so much that his hips keep chanting up, searching for friction, that you have to pin them down so you can slide down to pepper kisses on his abs and waist.

Jeongguk works really hard to maintain the body he has, clearly evident in the eight pack he’s sporting on his stomach and the tiny, minuscule waist that’s way too slutty for a man to have. Sometimes you’re jealous of how nice his body looks, how firm it is to touch. You told him this one time, along with your regret that you couldn’t give him a similar experience, but he’d only laughed and said that admiring and appreciating him was enough, before proceeding to show you how he admires and appreciates your soft body (he kept biting into your inner thigh as he was eating you out, coaxing you into four orgasms back to back that day.)

And so, you admire his body by kissing the taut muscle one by one, tracing the lines outlining them with your hot tongue, caressing his bruised waist with the pillow of your lips and the feather of your touch. You know he’s hurt, but you can’t hold yourself from nipping on his slutty waist, gifting him another bruise that’s not a result of a punch. From the choked sob that rips out of his throat and the jump of his dick somewhere on your stomach, you take it he likes the bite.

“So,” you say as you mouth at the seam of his waistband, hand massaging his hard cock through his pants. “Do you want to cum in your pants, in my hand, in my mouth, or—?”

“Fuck, in you, please,” Jeongguk begs, eyes glassy from your ministrations. “But can we go back to dry humping for a while? Kinda like the friction on my sweatpants,” he breathes.

“Like this?” You move your hand up and down his cock, dragging the material of his sweatpants with it, paying special attention to the head. With every rub of the sweatpants against his head, a bead of precum comes out, with Jeongguk throwing his head back in silent pleasure. “Yeah, fuuck, that feels good.”

“But babe, want you, on top,” he demands, making grabby hands at you. “Was serious when I said I wanted you to cum first,” he continues, sighs in content when you oblige, resuming your position on top of him and lining your clothed crotch with his. He starts dragging your hips against his, building the pleasure up the faster he goes. “Want to fuck your swollen pussy, dripping with cum. Oh, I’ll slide right in, no problem, so wet, warm … fuuuck.”

The grip Jeongguk has on your hips is bruising, you have no choice but to let your body be manhandled by him. Slowly but surely, the band inside your stomach begins to tighten as your hold on his shoulders does as well. You’re so close, just one more move to tip you over the edge. When Jeongguk sucks one of your nipples into his mouth, the band inside you snaps and you come with a jerk of your hips and a whine from your throat.

Jeongguk slows down his move, taking care not to cum before being inside you, before stopping altogether and wrapping his arms around you to bring the both of you into a sitting position. Your limbs feel like jelly, still trying to come down from your high, when Jeongguk pecks your cheek before carefully lying you back down on the bed with your face down. He then maneuvers himself behind you, lifting your hips off the bed. You’re starting to have an idea what position he wants you in when he spreads your knees and slowly peels back your pants and panties to reveal your bare ass and pussy.

He takes his time caressing the globe of your ass, inching his fingers towards your pussy lips before spreading them apart, tearing a low whine from your chest. You guess he’s admiring the way cum still drips out of your cunt, because he’s silent, immobile for almost a minute.

“Gguk…” you whisper out. “You gonna fuck me or not?”

Jeongguk scrambles to get his pants off. “Fuck, yes, of course, baby, you just look so beautiful like this, I want to stare all day long,” he breathes, lining up his dick with your entrance.

God, I’m so thankful you’re mine, is his last warning before he slides home in one thrust.

Later, when you’re both freshly showered and cuddling on Jeongguk’s bed—with blue bed sheets this time, because you forced him to change the sheets as the grey ones smelled gross after your activities—you ask him a question.

“Are you still jealous of Yoongi?”

There’s a three second pause before Jeongguk’s answer comes. “Maybe a tiny bit,” he says, nearly connecting his thumb and forefinger together in a ‘tiny’ motion. “Of his boxing skills only. Amazing how he could still move like that with an injured shoulder. I want to be like that too.”

“You want to injure your shoulder?”

He gives you a flat look. You giggle.

“His shoulder is actually healed, you know, so he’s still actively boxing until now. He trains the boxing club at my campus whenever our coach can't, that’s where I know him from and how I’d gotten the job at his cafe.”

Jeongguk purses his lips. “So he lied to me.”

“Hmm,” you agree. “I figured it was to ‘teach you a lesson’, that’s why I asked him not to hurt you before your fight. Did you, though? Learn your lesson?”

“What? To not be jealous of him?”

You pinch his waist. “To knock your ego down a peg and stop feeling insecure whenever I interact with other men?”

“Baby, the guy had a nickname for you. My insecurities were valid!”

“You mean the ‘Kiddo’ one?” you ask. Jeongguk nods. “He calls Jimin Kiddo. He calls Eunbi Kiddo. He calls you Kiddo. He calls everyone younger than him, Kiddo.”

More silence ensues.

“So … my jealousy was for nothing?”

“Yes! What I’ve been saying!”

Jeongguk giggles. Then he kisses you. Then he giggles again, while still kissing you.

“How about an apology?” he offers.

“In what form?” you challenge.

“Round three?”

“No.”

Well, at least he’s not jealous anymore.

a/n: thank you for reading!! please let me know what you think of this, i literally almost cried in the process of writing it and when i finally finished it :') and yes this started because of that one mint jeongguk in memories 2020/2021, i think? the one with him in a black sleeveless and a pair of sunglasses, hahah. wish he'd dye his hair mint again (he looks rly good in it ugh)

→ request is open for my 1k folls celebration!

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mi55delulu · 25 days ago

Text

toss up

synopsis: friday night football games, all day marching band competitions on saturday, and sunday schoolwork catch up — the schedule you’ve religiously maintained throughout high school and now college. that is, until you found respite in jungkook’s company.

☼ pairing: tenor drummer!jungkook x colorguard captain!fem reader

☼ wc: 26.5k

☼ genre: marching band/college au, fluff, angst, smut, romcom

☼ cw: jk as loser stuck in a hot body, uptight oc (not too much on my girl ok? i love her) past misunderstandings, miscommunication (i know i hate it too), negative family dynamics, yearning, pining, jealousy, lots of nickname usage, marching band terminology, physical injuries, 18+ ONLY - MINORS DNI 🔞, mature language, sexual tension, dirty talk, switch jk & oc, masturbation (m), oral (f receiving), handjob, fingering, brief nipple play, spitting, praising, cum eating, semi-overstimulation, oc gets teary from the good o, riding, missionary, multiple orgasms, penetrative sex, unprotected sex, creampie.

☼ a/n: little miss liar here 😌 got ahead of my editing schedule, so might as well release early. anyway! happy bts month!! we are so back, bangtan babes 💜 here’s a very niche fic inspired by real life events. it’s been over 10 years since i’ve marched so pls be easy on me.

banner by the lovely @lovieku *･☆ i also wanna dedicate this fic to her bc she rly gets me so excited to write! nicest person ever like you don’t even know 🥹💖 (pls come back n also open commissions)

”FIVE, SIX—FIVE, SIX, SEVEN, EIGHT!”

No matter the number sequence, your body always knew when to move.

Having done colorguard since you were 15 years old, you took pride in being section leader for the third year in a row at your university. The band director typically picked their section leaders based on seniority, but skill sets may outrank that on very rare occasions. Everyone was shocked when Director Lee selected you, a first-year at the time, over another fourth-year colorguard member. You would be too had you been in their position.

Except, you weren’t.

You put in the extra hours when no one else did and arrived on time to every practice. To you, that was the bare minimum.

Being a good leader, now, that was the hard part.

You took what you’ve experienced from your past captains: stern in how they led practices, soft in how they uplifted the team during difficult times. Director Lee immediately recognized those qualities in you. Older members rebelled against the decision, but eventually followed suit or left the university marching band due to graduating.

Colorguard was a sport — you’d argue that it rivaled football. Because who could toss a flag, run 20 yards on the field, and catch between your legs? Yeah. An athlete. Above that, colorguard was a form of visual arts — the storytellers of the marching band. You had a love-hate relationship with colorguard, but the final results were always worth it … be it through winning competitions or feeling a sense of accomplishment. It’s the start of the field season and you’re currently at the ‘hate’ part.

“Shit!”

The music and band members come to a halt after Hoseok signals the band to stop. Everyone’s visibly upset, sunburnt, and probably dehydrated. This was the sixth time in the last hour of practice the band was forced to stop and reset for a mistake, which meant another five push-ups got added onto the post-practice punishment.

You squint your eyes down the field and realize the commotion involved one of your colorguard members and someone from the drumline.

Fuck.

“JUICEBOX!” Director Lee yells from his megaphone in the stands. “Fix it before I do!”

You’d assume he was yelling for a beverage, but no. It was common to have nicknames in marching band. One could acquire a nickname for the following reasons: long name, director hated you, director loved you, or memorable moment. Unfortunately, you got yours when Director Lee witnessed you chugging down five apple juiceboxes after your first tryout. Memorable moment … at least he didn’t hate you, so you think.

You spot Yuri, your colorguard member, arguing with Jaehyun, a tenor drummer.

“Dude, you fucking hit me with your flag and you want to complain that I was in your spot?” Jaehyun seethes.

“Well, like I said, it wouldn’t have hit you if you weren’t in my spot!” Yuri huffs and drops her flag in frustration.

“Yuri, what’s wrong?” You jog over.

“Mr. Irrational over here is pissed off because he walked into my toss. But look, my drill told me I’m on the 40. Not my fault I need to cut through them to get to my spot.”

Sometimes the drills didn’t mesh well with the choreography. It wasn’t the end of the world, just annoying to fix. From behind, you hear instruments shuffle — specifically another set of tenor drums.

“Juice.”

You sigh. Not from the nickname, but from the person saying it.

“Set #10 shows Yuri with the baritones on the left. She’s not at the wrong spot, but she shouldn’t be cutting through the tenors, instead going around us. There’s 16 counts in this set, so she’ll have plenty of travel time.”

Jeon Jungkook, third-year, lead tenor drum player. You haven’t gotten the chance to know him … how could you when there’s over 200 members, 18 of which belonged in your section. Based on what you’ve heard and witnessed, he’s an average drummer. Nothing noteworthy. And because of that, you don’t understand why everyone fawned over him. Sure, he’s tall and conventionally good looking. Had a nice head of hair and a distinct laugh that’d grab anyone’s attention. Maybe that’s why? Jungkook was like any other boy in college … the only difference was that he knew how to play the tenor drums.

To be clear, no, Jungkook wasn’t a section leader. That was Yoongi’s role as center snare. Which makes you wonder why he’s trying to resolve this with you when you should be hashing it out with Yoongi. Ignoring him, you walk over to Yoongi to confirm the coordinates.

“Yeah, Kook is right.” He nods after reviewing the drills. From the side, you see Jungkook beam from the acknowledgment.

“Ha! See, you were wrong,” the other tenor player says to Yuri as he sets his drums down.

“Jaehyun.” Jungkook’s stern voice catches you off guard.

“What? It’s true!”

“You were two counts early to the spot. Wouldn’t have gotten hit if you were on time.”

Jaehyun scoffs and rolls his eyes. “Whatever.”

Noobie ego. If you didn’t nip it early on, it was going to cause issues in the future. You had a few of those in your years of being a captain; consequently, you left some unchecked and those became the biggest lessons for you.

You look at Yoongi with your brows raised, silently asking him, ‘You gonna take care of that?’

He merely stares back with a look that said, ‘Too tired … it’s my last season. Give me a break.’

Yoongi wasn’t lazy. He’s one of the many section leaders you respected and enjoyed working with. He remained factual and cleaned up things before they became a problem. Most importantly, Yoongi was fair and reliable. You’ve got a lot to learn from him before he graduates this semester.

“Alright,” Jungkook stuffs his sticks back into the side pockets. “Tenors, give me ten.”

The other two tenors groan and take off their drums and harness. Jaehyun, along with the tenors, drop to the ground and begin their push-ups. What surprised you was Jungkook also going down to do the push-ups too. You've always been a firm believer of the saying ‘when a ship sinks, the captain will go down with it.’

They’re back up within seconds. Jungkook looked like he barely broke a sweat outside the sweat lines on his shirt caused by his harness.

“All good?” Hoseok, the drum major, calls out from his stand. You and Yoongi throw a thumbs up.

“Reset! Take it from the top.” Hoseok calls out to the other band members.

Director Lee waits till everyone gets back into position before turning on his megaphone. “You all wasted seven minutes of practice, so add another five push-ups.”

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ─────

Practice ended two hours later with 75 push-ups. Not bad, but also not good. At least it didn’t hit the triple digits. Jungkook always saw push-ups as a way to condition his body.

Long hours of practice with his section, ensemble, and individually filled up his day. A wonder how he manages to juggle marching band and school at the same time, but he gets it done. Jungkook knows he isn’t the best, but he’s a hard worker. He loves a good challenge and what better way to challenge himself by playing tenor? Sure, he could’ve stuck with a single bass drum, but tenors had four drums. How cool was that?

You certainly didn’t think so.

Never once batted a single eyelash in his direction in the last three years he’s marched with you. Jungkook exhales deeply after finishing his Gatorade. “She hates me.”

“Who?” Jimin asks while rolling up his flag silks.

“Your captain.” Jungkook pouts.

“Juicebox? Nah.”

“Then why does she always look like she smells something bad when she’s around me?”

“Rude, what if that’s just her face?” It wasn’t. In all his years of spinning with this school, Jimin has a good idea of who you are. You’re strict, but a sweet person underneath that tough exterior.

“She’s just …” Jimin follows Jungkook’s line of vision where you’re laughing with the woodwinds section lead, Kim Namjoon. “Anyway, maybe it’s because you do smell.”

Jungkook scoffs. He knows for a fact he doesn’t smell. Everyone gets a little musty after practice, but Jungkook prides himself on good hygiene. Literally the bare minimum to shower after every practice and reapply deodorant throughout the day. Unfortunately, not the case for certain band kids.

“Just kidding. You know the smelliest title goes to Ryo,” Jimin teases, “need to start gifting him some body wash this Christmas.”

“Don’t bother,” Yoongi chimes in. “This is his last field season. Let the man live a little. Saves you a couple bucks too.” He finishes locking up the instruments and bends down to tie his laces.

“Cap,” Jungkook deadpans, “don’t you think she hates me?”

Yoongi stands up and squints at Jungkook, “I think you need to worry about cleaning up your solo in the opener. JB is the least of your concerns.”

“But—”

Yoongi sticks up a finger to Jungkook’s face. “More drumming, less JB fixation. Gotta bounce to a section leader meeting. Catch y’all later.” With that, Yoongi joins the small group of people at the front of the band room, you included. You look back to where Jungkook and Jimin stood. Jimin waves at you and you wave back. Jungkook does the same and receives a tight-lipped smile.

“Yeah, she hates you.”

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ─────

“So as you all know, this year’s show is a spy theme, specifically Mr. & Mrs. Smith.”

Hoseok stands at the front of the lecture hall, the projector displaying the mood board Director Lee had him make. He wasn’t at the meeting, but he trusted Hoseok enough to get his message across. It’s not that he didn’t want to be here, but he preferred a more hands off approach — thinks it’s building your communication and teamwork skills. Though, Namjoon theorizes that budget cuts to the performing arts department was the driving factor and Lee hasn’t been able to hire any instructors or technicians to help out. Nonetheless, this brought you all closer together.

“I swear, Lee sees one movie with his wife and gets inspired.” Minji, one of the assistant drum majors, says.

“Agree. Last year he had us do Pirates of the Caribbean because he went on a cruise with his wife.” Namjoon cackles and the rest of the group joins in.

“Alright, alright. Reel it back in,” Hoseok claps.

“He wants to tell a story … said there has to be an opposite attracts meets forbidden love kind of thing. So I’m going to really need to lean on visuals for this.” Hoseok looks in your direction and you are unphased. The visual part of the show was just as important as the music. Where band members held a stoic expression during the show, colorguard told a story using their body, face, and equipment.

“I’m thinking Juicebox can be one of the spies, but we need one from the band. Any volunteers?” Hoseok looks around the room.

Namjoon raises his hand. For a moment, you thought he was going to volunteer. “Think me and my section will have to pass on this one. Almost got taken out by Jimin’s sabre last season.”

“That’s cause you were supposed to catch with your hands and not with your head,” you retort.

“I blame the wind,” Namjoon grins. “Anyway, since sax did something last season, woodwind folks should have immunity.”

“Eh, let’s check in with our sections and see if there are any takers.” Yoongi suggests.

The hour goes by quickly with some distractions here and there. What do you expect from a bunch of college students? Still, you wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ─────

To your luck, no one volunteered. As a result, Namjoon begrudgingly offered himself to the task. This was his final season, so he thought he’d go out with a bang.

And indeed, he did. During practice, you demonstrated a toss you planned to do in the show. Upon turning your back to get some water, Namjoon thought it was a good idea to mimic what you did … unsupervised, which landed him in urgent care with two fractured fingers.

“Shit … I’m sorry, Joon,” you say after the doctor left the room with the aftercare summary. A minimum of three to four weeks to heal. You know it was no fault of yours. He’s technically not out for the season, but missing a bulk of practices will be too much to catch up on. A duet with you is out of the question.

“Ha … this was on me. What I get for undermining what you guys do on the field.” He jokes. It was true to some extent, people think all you guys do is twirl around a flag. It was always so much more than that. “I’m the one that should be sorry, Juicebox. Now we have to find someone else for the duet.”

“Don’t worry about it. Just focus on healing. Our first halftime show is in about three months. So you’ll be back on the field at least.” A small part of you worries about not finding a replacement in time. There’s about another 180 band members to ask — one was bound to volunteer, right?

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ─────

snare lord [10:28 p.m.]: Duet position with JB is open. Lmk if you still want it. DON’T be weird.

Jungkook drops his sticks on his drumming pad and sits up from his bed, eyes widening at Yoongi’s message. He waits about 30 seconds before typing up a response so that he doesn't come off desperate. He threw a mini tantrum when Yoongi (deliberately?) failed to mention that the spy duet was with you, but Namjoon had already volunteered by then. This will be a good chance to get to know you and figure out if you truly disliked him. Plus, he’s always been interested in colorguard — interested in you.

Jungkook [10:28 p.m.]: waaaat? wat happened to joon?

Jungkook panics when 10 minutes pass and Yoongi doesn’t respond. Fears that he missed his window and someone else said yes to the part. Perhaps playing nonchalant wasn’t for him.

snare lord [10:41 p.m.]: Injured :/ Do you want to do it or not? Jungkook [10:41 p.m.]: yes snare lord [10:42 p.m.]: 👍👍 I’ll give her your contact and you guys can chat more.

This entire ordeal felt surreal, like a fan finally meeting their idol. Simply put, Jungkook admired you. Your work ethics, facial expressions … oh, and flexibility. Yeah. Sure, Jimin can do the splits too. Well, 90% of the folks in your section can, but there’s something so captivating about how you’d slowly drop down into the splits like it’s second nature.

Unknown [11:01 p.m.]: Hey. Is this Jungkook?

He nearly falls out of bed. It’s you. Has to be.

Jungkook [11:01 p.m.]: yours truly. juice??? Unknown [11:01 p.m.]: Yep. Yoongi told me you’re interested in the duet. When’s your first class tomorrow? Jungkook [11:02 p.m.]: 8 😬 why? 🧃 [11:02 p.m.]: Cool, meet in the band room at 5:30am tomorrow. Wear comfortable clothes you can move in. Thanks for volunteering btw.

He reacts to the message with a thumbs up, smiling as he locks and sets his phone down on his nightstand. Jungkook has never been this excited to wake up early.

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ─────

Early morning practices were not ideal. Having Jungkook as a partner? Not your first pick either, but it’s too late into the season to complain. Beggars can’t be choosers. You’ve got a limited time to train and teach him a routine. You arrive at the band room by 5 to stretch and Jungkook comes through the door by 5:16, eyes and cheeks still swollen from sleep but he greets you with a warm smile. He’s in an all black attire: gym shorts and a fitted long sleeve. His physique doesn't quite match up to Namjoon’s, but you know he’s strong. Got to be when he’s carrying those 35lb drums the entire show.

“Morning,” he sets his backpack to the side and sits in front of you to stretch.

“Hi,” you greet, while going down lower in your butterfly stretch, “thanks again for volunteering.”

He smiles softly with a nod. “So what’s on the lesson plan for today, Cap?”

Today’s practice only involved the basics: ballet positions, floor work, and equipment overview. Nothing crazy. And yet, Jungkook finds himself drenched in sweat an hour into practice. Who knew jazz runs would require him to use all the muscle groups in his ass?

“Remember to turn out. Do it again.” You say with your hands on your hips.

This was the 10th time you made him start over. Jungkook was frustrated. Didn’t realize how stiff his body was from drumming all these years. Also didn’t realize how nervous he’d get under your watch. Jimin warned that your serious mode competed with Hoseok’s. He never doubted this. Jungkook wants to crawl into a hole every time your face fights a scowl when he forgets what to do next. He thought you’d be a little more lenient during the first practice. Was Namjoon subjected to this too?

Practice ends a little before 8 to allow him to cool down and get ready for class. Jungkook watches you put on your hoodie and fix your hair. He didn't think there was a single hair out of place before, but what did he know about perfection when he’s been a total mess the entire practice?

“Good work today,” you say.

“Don’t lie, that was rough,” he jokes before grabbing his stuff.

“Yeah, it was.” You agree and Jungkook’s stomach churns from your bluntness.

He goes on with his day in classes, half thinking about the show’s new drill, half thinking about ways to impress you. Would he earn your approval if he came into practice remembering all the 27 points on the flag? Was this desperation? Possibly. He returns to his dorm room later that evening. Sits on his desk chair and mindlessly drums his hands on his thigh. Wonders if he should ask you if practice was going to be that early every time because he physically doesn’t think he can do that again. Jungkook fishes for his phone in his pocket and sees a couple of notifications, but the only ones that mattered were yours.

🧃 [7:23 p.m.]: No one’s good the first time. Just keep practicing. 🧃 [7:23 p.m.]: Also don’t forget to stretch. You’ll be sore tomorrow. 🧃 [7:25 p.m.]: I know drumline has practice on Monday and Wednesday afternoons. Let me know if Wednesday evenings work for you.

Jungkook didn’t care much for the days of the week, but Wednesdays became his favorite.

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ─────

Weeks go by and Jungkook has made significant improvements. He’s still somewhat stiff, but his passion makes up for what he lacks. The show is about a third written. Homestretch, as Director Lee would say.

“CUT!” Director Lee yells from the stand, “Juicebox, Jungkook, the work looks fine but I’m not feeling the energy. Don’t know what it is, but fix it. Let’s do a 10 minute water break and we start from the ballad.”

“So … how’s working with Jungkook?” Jimin asks. He’s shirtless and unfortunately sunburnt — almost all the band members are. Hard to avoid when it’s blazing outside. Field season essentials were sunscreen and aloe vera.

You knew Jungkook needed some whenever he’d flinched from your touch during a specific part of the show. Maybe you’ll give some to him after practice today.

“It’s fine.”

You look over at Jungkook. He’s with the rest of the drumline, gulping down his water and letting some drip down his neck. Yeah. Definitely hotter today. The weather, that is.

Yuri sighs. “Is it too late to swap, Cap? I don’t mind being Mrs. Smith …” she twirls the ends of her hair and watches Jungkook put on his harness.

“You wanna toss a six on sabre while spinning under it?” Jimin snorts.

Yuri immediately shakes her head and you laugh. You had no doubt that Yuri could do it. She’s an exceptional dancer, but lacked the stamina and confidence when it came to weapons. She knows this too and rather have a special part of the show be done by someone more consistent with their catches.

Jimin turns to you again. “Only asking because Lee has been on you guys for looking … odd.”

There’s a small period of adjustment when it comes to dancing with someone new. Jungkook was … different. Makes you feel weird how he looks up at you in his kneeled position. Makes you feel weirder every time he tenses when you need to sit on one of his thighs for part of the choreo. Bad enough to where you forgot two counts and you never forget.

“Choreo is still fresh for the both of us. It’ll take some time.” You reason. “Anyway, can everyone come over here?” Your section huddles closer. “First show is next week. It’s crunch time, so I need you all to stay an extra hour after the ensemble to clean our work.”

There were some complaints, but no major protest. Everyone knows how important the first show of the season is. It wasn’t like homecoming or anything, but everyone will be there — football parents, band parents, and students.

Director Lee sounds the buzzer on his megaphone and everyone jogs back into position. Jungkook smiles at you in passing and you nod in acknowledgment. His smile drops a little and you feel a small rush of guilt. Maybe you’ve also been difficult too. You think back on Jimin’s question … you know what he’s hinting. You and Jungkook were an important piece of the show. The routine was good. What lacked was chemistry and you knew it was your fault.

How do you go about being more natural with Jungkook when you’ve been holding a grudge? An age old grudge that anyone should’ve forgotten by now, yet you’re reminded of it every time you see him.

You’re on autopilot as you dance around Jungkook during this run through for the evening. This was the part where Jungkook moved his hands at the last minute so that you could pierce the ground with the sabre. Not realizing you were a count ahead, you pierced his hand instead.

He hisses in pain. Minji spots the accident and immediately signals Hoseok to stop.

“I’m so sorry, Jungkook,” you apologize frantically. Hands were a big part of a musician’s career and you’d be damned if you were responsible for hurting Jungkook.

“It’s fine, think I just need some ice,” he winces and holds his hand close to his chest.

“Jungkook, Juicebox, take care of things off the field,” Director Lee calls out, “everyone else, from the top.”

You and Jungkook walk to the bleachers where Director Lee stood.

“Let’s see the damage, kid.” Director Lee holds his hand out. Lee was multifaceted. Truly jack of all trades. The university got really lucky with him … band director, golf coach, and physical therapist. He’s no longer in practice, of course, but he brings a wealth of knowledge and experience to the university. Plus, he’s able to treat folks with minor injuries. You hope this was a minor one.

“That’s a big one,” he turns Jungkook’s hand to one side, pressing down on the top of his palm to inspect the bones. Jungkook grimaces and pulls his hand back.

“Flex and clench your hands,” he hums, “okay, there’s still mobility. Will bruise and hurt for a few days, but I recommend checking with the school nurse tomorrow if you can’t close your fist. Ice up for the rest of practice.”

You jog to Minji’s special cooler for situations like this. Injuries happened to band kids more than you’d imagined. It is, of course, still a sport. You return to Jungkook with a tied bag of ice. He massages his hand and winces in pain when he gets to the center of the injury. As you near, he masks his pain with a smile and you feel even more guilty.

“Thanks,” he says when you hand him the bag. He exhales at the icy touch.

“I’m sorry,” you apologize again, “I was a count early and I didn’t realize your hand was there,” It’s one thing to be in the wrong, it’s another to admit it. You’re only as good as your pride.

He shakes his head, “I knew you hated me but I didn’t think you were trying to take me out the season too.” He tries to joke to lighten the mood, but regrets it when you frown.

“Uh, my bad,” Jungkook apologizes. “That wasn’t—”

“I don’t hate you …” you admit softly.

He pauses, leans against the bleachers, and exhales through his nose, “I know.”

You and Jungkook watch the show from the bleachers. It’s interesting seeing gaps in your respective sections. The show will still go on, but your absence does not go unnoticed.

“Ah, Jimin dropped his flag. That’s another five push-ups.” Jungkook whispers to you.

You snort and chuckle. Jungkook looks shocked for a moment then softens. You’ve always been closed off around him, strictly choosing to discuss the show as his duet partner. This was different.

He likes this side of you. Hates to be those guys who say a woman looks better when they’re smiling. True and false in your case. Cause objectively, you’re an attractive woman. Finds you super cool when you’re expressionless and in the zone.

Jungkook always hated the sun — spent his early years in life constantly running away from it whether it be staying indoors or under a tree. He had the choice to pick between taekwondo or marching band. As much as Jungkook hated the sun, he picked the sport with the most time spent in it. Thinks he can make amends with the sun now.

Because as you smile, Jungkook never thought he’d be so easily swayed at the sight of sunlight hitting your cheekbones.

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ─────

Practice ends with 30 push-ups. You get down from the bleachers to complete yours — not without scolding Jungkook to remain seated since his hand wasn’t in the right condition to do anything strenuous at the moment. He pouts, but adheres to your orders.

Yoongi checks up on Jungkook after he sets his drums down. He whistles at the gnarly bruise and shakes his head at you, mimicking something close to disappointment. “First Namjoon, now Jungkook? You’re actually an undercover agent trying to sabotage us huh, JB?”

“You would’ve been my first target if that were the case.” You shrug. Yoongi chuckles and turns back to Jungkook, who looks at you both peculiarly like the cogs in his brain are slowly piecing something together he doesn’t quite favor.

“Don’t worry about cleaning up. I’ll have one of the guys put away your drum. Just head home.” Yoongi pats Jungkook’s shoulder as he leaves the field.

Before running to get your equipment, you turn to Jungkook again. “Hey, I’m sorry—”

“If you’re gonna apologize again, I’m gonna make Yoongi have you put away my drums instead.”

You sigh. “Fine. I can reschedule our practices if your hand still hurts. Just let me know.” You part ways from Jungkook to wrap up practice with your section. From afar, you spot a hoard of band members gathering around Jungkook to either check on him or admire the injury. He’s cared for by many. If he was anything like the version you’ve conjured in your mind, you don’t think people would be so concerned for his well being.

People change and maybe your perception of Jungkook should too.

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ─────

“Juice? Uh, what are you …” Jungkook looks shocked to see you at the doorway of his room. Didn’t even think you’d know where he stayed, but here you are in all of your glory looking up at him like you shouldn’t be here too. It’s Wednesday, the day after you accidentally stabbed Jungkook's hand, but also the day you’re both supposed to be practicing. Jungkook texted you this morning asking you to reschedule practice because something came up. You had a feeling he was lying about his injury to spare you from guilt.

“How’s your hand doing?” You try to look down, but he has it hidden behind the door.

“It’s alright,” he answers quickly. “Wait, how do you know where I live?”

“Yoongi.” You rock on your heels and look awkwardly around.

“Oh.” He’s unsure why he feels uneasy about this answer. You could’ve just asked him.

“Is there something you need?”

“Not particularly?” God. This was uncomfortable and a part of you wants to apologize for bothering him and leave.

“Would you like to come in?” He looked back at his room to make sure it was presentable. Other than some laundry on his bed he’s been procrastinating on folding and some music sheets on the floor, it’s not half bad.

“Yeah, just for a bit, if you don’t mind. I won’t be long.”

He opens the door wider for you to walk through. No turning back now. His room was utterly plain. Navy blue fitted sheets, spotless desk, and no posters or wall decorations in sight. It’s as if his only use for the place was to sleep. Jungkook gestures over at his desk chair for you to sit. You set your backpack down, not before grabbing a small jar of ointment out. He sits on the edge of his bed and peers over with curious eyes.

“Let me see your hand.” You nod your head at his injured hand. He reluctantly pulls his hand to the front and your eyes widen.

“It’s not as awful as it looks …”

“Jungkook.”

“Okay, yeah, it’s pretty bad.” He chuckles.

You roll the chair closer to him to examine the bruise. Bruises were common in colorguard — in fact, you’ve got plenty on your forearms and legs. The one on Jungkook’s hand tops them all. You unscrew the cap of the ointment jar and scoop a dime sized amount on your finger. Your other hand holds his from the bottom while you carefully dab the medication on the injury. With years of tending to your own wounds, you’ve learned that you should never rub a fresh bruise, but it always speeds up the healing process when you warm the area. Soft in your ministrations, the ointment quickly melts from the warmth of your touch. Jungkook never expected to receive this sort of treatment from a classmate let alone you of all people. This was expected from someone like his mother — someone that cared for him.

Do you?

He doesn’t know what to do with himself. Doesn’t know where he should stare at. Doesn't know if he should feel the way he does.

“Tell me if it hurts.” You don’t look up, strictly focusing on the task at hand.

His hands were much larger than yours. He kept his nails cut short and clean, palms calloused from all the years of drumming. Yours were no different. Manicures weren’t a necessity as you preferred to keep them short. Despite the roughness of your hands, there’s an unexplainable softness in your touch.

A couple of minutes go by and you’re quite impressed Jungkook has gone this long without talking to you. The silence makes you wonder if you should say something. After all, you did barge into his space to apply ointment out of guilt.

“Are you and Yoongi close?”

“Who’d you march with in 2010?”

You and Jungkook look up at one another after asking a question at the same time.

“Yoongi?” Your brows furrow.

“Yeah,” he relaxes at your touch. Your fingers pull at his to release any tension and Jungkook has to fight the urge to moan.

You think for a bit. Were you close to Yoongi? He was one of the few that didn’t give you shit or questioned your capabilities when Lee initially selected you as captain. The bond you shared was built on mutual respect. You suppose that’s one of the important foundations of a friendship. But you wouldn’t say you were too close to him on a personal level. He’s a friend nonetheless.

“Sort of? Why?”

“Nothing. Just wondering.” His shoulders drop. “And 2010? Was still marching in high school.”

Obviously. You internally roll your eyes. Perhaps you need to be more specific.

“Summer 2010. Have you done drum corps?”

Drum corps were independent marching band groups. Similar to intramural sports, people from all over the country tried out for these groups and only the best got selected. Certain groups had an age cap. After that, you “aged out” and joined other groups that accepted all ages, typically less rigorous and accommodating to a wider age range. The circuit you’ve marched with was more competitive … maybe because there was a time constraint to be young and good.

“Summer 2010 …” he repeats back to himself. “Ah! I tried out for Red Angels.”

That was all the confirmation you needed. “I see.”

“Why?”

“Nothing. Just wondering.” You mimic his answer and refocus on your ministrations.

He's lost. One moment you seem fine, but now it feels like you're shutting him out. “Did you do drum corps?” He tries.

“Yup.”

Jungkook lights up. He’s always been a fan of drum corps. Didn’t know you’ve done them too. Though, it shouldn’t come as a surprise. You’re very good at what you do. Hell, half, if not all, of the band could be marching in drum corps, but it was rigorous and costly. After getting cut from auditions back in high school, he hasn’t tried for drum corps again.

“What? I didn’t know that. Who have you marched with?”

“Phantoms and Red Angels.” You recount.

“No way! Wait, Red Angels? When?”

“2010, 2012.”

Jungkook pauses. He doesn’t recall seeing you, but then again, he didn’t make the cut after two weeks of tryouts to remember any faces.

“Alright, I think this is enough,” you say, unsure if you meant the ointment or the conversation.

He’s learned so much more about you in these couple of minutes than he has in the weeks of practice with you. Feels a bit disappointed as you release his hand to grab your stuff.

You place the jar of ointment on his desk. “Make sure to rub some on every night, but be gentle with it. Should speed up the healing process.”

Jungkook is in a daze as he thanks you and walks you out. He’d like to think the tingles on his hand were from the ointment worked into his skin and not from you.

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ─────

You designated Sundays for schoolwork. Because you were rarely home, you preferred working from your apartment, but on rare occasions you’d be forced to go on campus. Today was one of those days. Your internet was down and you had a virtual call scheduled with all the section leaders later. Coffee shops were not ideal due to all the coffee grinding and foot traffic. When in doubt, you head to the campus library to grab a private study room or table. You should’ve known that it would be obsolete, especially on a Sunday. That’s when everyone’s trying to study or get their assignments done. You opt to sit outside instead. Except … the connection was awful and it was warm out. This might be the driving point for you to upgrade your home internet package.

“Come on ...” You try to move closer to the facilities for a better connection. But you keep getting that circle of death on your screen. Maybe you also need a new laptop?

“Juice?”

“Oh, Jungkook. Hi.” You wipe away some of the sweat from your hairline.

Jungkook looked casual in his slides, t-shirt, and sweats. You personally wouldn’t have picked to wear sweats in this weather, but you assume he was just here to pick up his food from the dining corner judging from the greasy brown bag in his hand.

“Whatcha doing?” He asks.

“Homework. Er, trying to at least. Think I’ll go somewhere else … Internet connection is pretty bad out here.” You place your bag on the bench and begin packing.

“Would you like to study at my dorm? Got air conditioning and the connection there isn’t too shabby.”

You want to say no. That night where you helped him with his hand was to absolve your own guilt for physically hurting him. A one off. But you’ve already driven all the way here and you’re not sure where you would go if not just back home. Plus, gas was expensive. ‘Just this once,’ you tell yourself.

He looks at you with eager eyes, smiling wider when you nod.

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ─────

Jungkook was on strike two at the 30 minute mark of studying in his room. The first time was when he started practicing on his drumming pad. The second was when he started humming all his parts in the show. He didn’t lie though — the wifi speed was great here and the air conditioning was nice. Since you occupied his desk, he took his spot on his bed. The times you bent down to get something from your backpack, you’d sneak a peek at what he was up to. He had his earphones in and drummed on his stomach with his hands. The color of his bruised hand looks infinitely better. You’d like to think it was thanks to your ointment, but you know a big part of it was because he was diligent with your instructions. Him and his cooperative nature. He was a good listener — valued what you had to say.

Jungkook turns and catches you staring. You immediately turn back to your laptop. He sighs, “can we talk?”

“I know you said you don’t hate me,” Jungkook starts, “but I can’t help but feel like I did something wrong. Did I?”

“You didn’t.” Half truth.

He doesn’t buy it. “Come on. We’ve been working together and it feels like there’s always this wall—”

“Jungkook,” you run your hand down your face, “has it ever crossed your mind that not everyone’s compatible as friends?”

His face falls. Jungkook was kind enough to offer his space for you to study and here you are being an asshole. Hell, he’s been nice all season from offering to take on the duet after Namjoon’s injury to showing up to all the practices on time. You’re not being fair at all. You don’t understand why you’re like this. Well, no, you do. Maybe if you talked about it, it would give you some closure too.

“You tried out for Red Angels that one summer.” You mumble.

He furrows his brows in confusion. “Yes.” It comes out as a question.

“I remember you.”

“Okay?” He sounds a little frustrated and rightfully so since you’ve been dancing around the topic of you and Jungkook in circles. You also feel a bit stupid now that you’re finally expressing what’s been bothering you.

“I overheard you talking to the other drummers that time. You said something about how colorguard are the cheerleaders of marching band.”

“I did? Juice … I promise I’m not trying to be dismissive, but I don’t understand what you’re getting at.”

You know he’s not. This shit was over five years ago. It’s dumb and the more you talk about it, you realize how stupid of a grudge it was to hold over Jungkook for something that happened to you in high school.

“During my freshman year of high school, I dated a senior,” you reveal.

“Yikes. I’m sorry.”

“I know, big mistake.”

Jungkook internally tries to correlate the two pieces of information, but comes short. He’s confused. So you tell him. Told him how your ex was the drum major of your high school marching band. Told him how you thought he liked you a lot. Told him that you lost your virginity to him one month into dating and how he broke up with you the following week.

“Asshole.” Jungkook mutters.

You smile, “right?”

You clear your throat before continuing, “he said some shit about how colorguard are the cheerleaders of marching band. Was a dig at colorguard and cheerleaders. Like that we’re ‘easy?’”

“I guess … I was upset when I heard it again at the Red Angels tryouts. Fuck, is that stupid?” You palm your forehead. You weren’t expecting to drop your past lore to someone, let alone Jungkook.

“What? No! First off, fuck him. I’m sorry he treated you like that.”

You soften at his words. You don’t really talk much about the things that happened in high school because … honestly, the only good thing that happened in high school was colorguard despite the situation with that senior. Outside of being a pubescent teen, you never cared to reminisce about the past. Found it odd knowing people who called their high school years “the glory days.” You initially decided to go to this university because of their marching band program, but also, you wanted a fresh start. Seeing Jungkook was a reminder of the past.

“It was the past. I associated that situation with what you said at tryouts. We obviously didn’t know each other and I didn’t know I’d be seeing you again in school.” You shake your head.

“Juice,” he says softly.

“In hindsight, it’s stupid. I know. You’re probably a nice dude and you’re free to feel what you feel about people in colorguard—”

“It’s not stupid,” he interrupts. “Fuck that dude. You didn’t deserve that. And no, I don’t think of you or anyone in colorguard that way.”

“But you said …”

Jungkook exhales, “this is going to sound dumb, but back then I thought the saying meant that colorguard were the highlight of the marching band performance … kind of like the fact that cheerleaders are the highlight of football games. I honestly didn’t know there was another meaning.” He mumbles.

“Oh.”

You and Jungkook stare at each other with pursed lips now that everything has aired out.

“I’m glad you told me about your past. That explains some things …” he looks to the side, “I hope you know I’m not that kind of person. And I understand what you mean about people just not being compatible. Friendships can’t be forced and I won’t force that on you either.”

You nod, “thank you.” You’ve been difficult all this time and now that Jungkook was respecting your boundaries, you feel out of place.

“Don’t you have a section leader meeting soon?” He nods at his digital clock.

“How did you know?”

He smiles sheepishly, “Yoongi complains about it in the group chat. Says it’s overkill.”

You snort. “It is, but Lee thinks it’s good for us.”

“Yeah, well … I’ll just be here,” he puts his earphones back in his ears and lays back on his bed. Your stare lingers before you turn back to your laptop. You’re a little embarrassed about how this transpired in the last couple of minutes, but there’s relief in knowing you were wrong about Jungkook. More than that, you realize why people appreciated him.

Your virtual meeting starts and you assume it’ll be a quick one, that is until Hoseok gets to your updates. “Sooo, Juicebox. Lee has this crazy idea …”

You tilt your head. Whatever Lee wants, Lee gets. Just the matter if he’ll give you enough time to execute it.

Hoseok smiles sheepishly, “last time, we had Namjoon catch a sabre tossed to him. What if we had a band member toss AND catch something? Jungkook, specifically. Lee was thinking … a five. Is that unreasonable?”

Unreasonable was an understatement. Namjoon’s catch was different … for one, it was just a triple, three rotations in the air. Second, Jimin was the one that tossed it to him. A five? There were people that have spun for years and never reach a five on a weapon. Not that they were bad, but people had different strengths and skill sets. Jungkook was just your partner in this show. You’ve only taught him the basics in the event Lee wanted something extra. You weren’t expecting this.

“I don’t know if it’s possible. I can try to train him, but no promises.”

“Don’t think it’s a good idea,” Yoongi interjects, “Jungkook is lead tenor. I need him in top condition … if he gets hurt again …”

“Not saying it’s a must or anything. Let’s explore that idea and if it’s a no go, we won’t move forward with it.” Hoseok says.

Everyone on the call reacts with a thumbs up. The call shifts over to the topic of a fundraiser. “Rehearsathon,” as Namjoon calls it, involved each band member reaching out to sponsors for donations to pledge they’ll rehearse for 12 hours straight. It sounds ridiculous, but Namjoon swears it works. Raises money for the band and everyone gets in extra practice time — hits two birds with one stone. He thinks it’ll be a great opportunity to chat up with some folks at the upcoming football game to get some sponsors.

Having ended the call an hour later, you think you’ve overstayed your welcome. You pack up and mentally prepare to tell Jungkook you’re leaving.

“What’s not possible?” Jungkook straightens himself up on his bed.

“Were you eavesdropping?”

“Guilty,” he confesses, “can’t blame me … I’m literally two feet away and these earphones aren’t exactly noise cancelling. So, what’s not possible?”

“Lee wants to add another wow factor into the show.” You get up and Jungkook stands up as well, “wants you to do a five on weapon.”

“I don’t see why not. It’s worth a try.”

You put on your backpack and look at Jungkook incredulously. “Namjoon got taken out for a couple weeks by accident.”

“Okay, but you’ll be teaching and watching me, right?” He looks at you with those big, hopeful eyes again and you wonder to yourself if you both aren’t as compatible as you deem.

“Fine. We’ll try it next practice. Thanks again for letting me work here … you didn’t have to.” You mumble.

“Yeah, cause this space is only reserved for friends.” He jokes. “Kidding, Juice. It’s really no big deal.”

Ever so the gentleman, Jungkook walks you to your car even after you reassured that it’s not needed. He made up some excuse that he just wanted some fresh air.

You both arrive at your car and you turn to him. “Well, thanks again.” You unlock your car and toss your backpack into the backseat. He waves and tells you to drive safely. The distance between you and Jungkook grows as he walks back to his dorm.

You don’t know what compelled you to call out his name, but he turns quickly as if he’s also been waiting for this moment. “I never said I didn’t want to be friends with you. And yeah, you’re right. Colorguard is the highlight of the show.”

He smiles, and it’s devastating. How your body warms from just his smile. How it dismantles the walls you’ve built up around Jungkook. The foundation was weak to start, waiting for the right moment to crumble and start anew. You’re sure you can.

“I know. See you at practice, Juice.”

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ─────

Men in colorguard dominated the weapon line. They had the strength and stamina to toss a rifle with little to no struggle. Pain tolerance though? You question that. Jungkook had the energy, but his control was off. It’s not his fault. This was his first time touching a rifle. The average person isn’t tossing and catching random objects. Anything that goes up, will have to come down. And having a rifle barreling down your head isn’t anyone’s idea of fun.

“You have to squeeze.” You say after another lofty toss that has you both dodging the drop.

“What does that mean?” He complains, “I am squeezing, see?” Jungkook shows his hands gripping the rifle harder.

“No, your core.”

“What even is that?”

You place your hand on his stomach and another one on his lower back. Skinship in colorguard was normal, especially in dance. You’re used to it. You’d think Jungkook would be too. After all, there’s never a point in the show where you’re not touching each other. Yet, he tenses up under your touch.

“Think of it as sucking in air and a string is pulling from your back.” You look up at him, “try it.”

Jungkook tries to follow your instructions but ends up with his back hunched over like a turtle. You laugh, now moving in front of him as you grab one of his hands from the rifle. Instinctively, you place it on your own stomach. His hand spays over your abdomen — big, warm, secure. You freeze. You shake off the feelings and take a step closer to Jungkook, not quite able to look up from your position.

“Like this,” you demonstrate the technique, “feel the difference?” You press his hand harder against you. You certainly feel it … the lightest change of pressure in his fingertips, the small movement from his thumb. No one would have noticed, but you do.

You hear him swallow and exhale a shaky breath, “uh huh.”

“Good,” you step back and let his hand fall back to his side, “reset and do it again.”

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ─────

Jungkook’s #1 remedy to a sore body was a hot shower.

He’d run up the water bill back at home with the amount of hot showers he’d take after practice. At school? No difference. Even better now that he didn’t have his family breathing down his neck for taking up all the water. These days, he finds himself doubling down on his showers. He definitely underestimated the level of difficulty to perform as a musician and colorguard.

It hurts. His feet, shoulders, hands … literally everything.

All worth it though, especially on those rare occasions where your eyes light up after he’d reach another milestone in those private sessions.

He’s greedy for more. A smile. A compliment. A high five. Anything. Jungkook collects them in his invisible stamp book of accomplishments. Didn’t think he’d unlock something new today — something foreign within himself.

The hot water beats down on his skin. It’s scalding, borderline painful. Even so, it doesn’t compare to how punishing his hand is wrapped around his hard, leaky length. Jungkook supports himself upright with one hand on the shower wall. He shakes. Grunts lowly. He shouldn’t feel this way for you. Shouldn’t think this way of a teammate. A section leader, at that. You’re in his head whether he likes it or not.

Damn you and the innocent stunt you pulled during practice.

Damn you and those short shorts.

Damn you and your pretty eyes.

Because he’s here thinking about how you’d feel pressed against him, shorts pulled down, eyes watery from how good he’d make you feel. Would you praise him? Lose yourself on him? Encourage him to keep going? His hand speeds up.

Then, the unthinkable happens: your name slips out.

Shame needs no welcome.

“Fucking hell,” Jungkook groans, orgasm slipping away as he abruptly lets go of his cock at the last second. He cranks the shower knob to the coldest setting. This was so wrong. You deserved better — shouldn’t be reduced to some weird fantasy.

He pushes his wet bangs away from his forehead. Shakes his head as he scolds himself, “get a grip, man.”

Hot showers were his #1 remedy for a sore body.

Cold showers became his #1 remedy for you.

Jungkook quickly finishes his shower to rid himself of those sinful thoughts. Tucked in bed by 10pm, he scrolls through his social media, praying he’ll find something worthwhile of a distraction. Just as he was going to call it quits and step out for a walk, his phone rings.

Incoming call: Chaewon.

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ─────

You never really understood football. Didn’t really bother to pay attention to it when you were in high school since your team was notorious for losing. You were only there to perform for the halftime shows. College football was different. More lively. You still didn’t get the rules of the sport, but you appreciated the school spirit. Also was nice that your band played music whenever your school scored.

Hair and makeup was done thirty minutes before the show since nobody wanted to sweat off their work during the practice run throughs. You give a quick pep talk to your section. There’s always first show jitters, but you all worked so hard. Mistakes were inevitable and will motivate you all to improve for the next performance. So will push-ups, if Director Lee catches any in the stands.

“Hey.”

You turn at the familiar voice. Jungkook has on his uniform, harness hidden underneath it so it looked like the drums were floating in front of his body. Hat with the signature school feather tucked at his side, he looks polished.

“Ready to crush our duet?”

“Of course,” you grin, “if you make a mistake, you’re doing my push-ups.” Banters come a lot easier after the confrontation you had with Jungkook awhile ago. You feel more at ease with him these days.

“Cruel. Aren’t captains supposed to sink with their ship?”

“You’re on your own ship.”

“Ouch.” He chuckles. “Hey, can you zip me up? Forgot to ask one of the guys for help before coming over here.” He turns and bends lower for you to reach.

“All done.”

“Thanks, you’re a gem.” He turns slowly just to make sure he doesn’t hit anyone with his drums. Jungkook studies your face for a brief moment, clears his throat, and smiles.

“I like your eye makeup by the way. Blue suits you.”

“Yeah? Thanks,” you flush at his words.

Most show makeup was done heavier so that the audience could see. Realistically, no one can see your face from the stands. Perhaps that’s why your parents never came to your shows. Too many band members, too hard to spot. No parent wants to waste time playing Where’s Waldo with their kid.

“Jungkook!”

Jungkook looks around for the source of voice and he waves excitedly, “Ma!”

You watch a short middle aged woman weave through the crowds. Her bangs were pinned away from her face. There’s an uncanny resemblance between her and Jungkook. It’s all in the eyes. She side steps his drums and gives him a hug with lots of pats on his back.

“I told you I was going to meet you all later after the show, Ma,” Jungkook says with a sweet smile, “how’d you even find me?”

“I always know where my son is!” She chuckles. In a sea of band kids and a filled stadium, it would be hard to locate your kid. Though how hard would it be to spot a boy with tenor drums? There were only four of them in the band. “Look at how tan you’ve gotten. Don’t forget to wear sunscreen. I know you burn easily.”

“Ma …” he grumbles. He knows it comes from a place of endearment. After all, his parents supported him all throughout high school and college by coming to his shows, even volunteering to carpool and host meals for the marching band. It’s a type of community and support he won’t take for granted.

Jungkook looks out to the crowd, “where’s dad and Junghyun?”

“You know them. They’re in line for some nachos.”

You slowly back away to let him chat with his mom. It’s not that you disliked social interactions … you just really didn’t know what to do or say.

“Oh, Ma, this is Ju-,” he recovers quickly by saying your actual name, “she’s the colorguard captain.”

“Oh! Is she my favorite one to watch, Kookie?”

“Wha-? I thought I was your favorite to watch …”

“We got cameras for a reason.”

You giggle and shake her hand. You can tell where Jungkook gets his energy from.

“Your parents must be very proud of you. Such a lovely performer.” She praises.

Your smile doesn’t quite reach your eyes at the mention of your parents, but you nod your head in agreement, “thank you.”

Sensing your discomfort, Jungkook jumps in, “Ma, we gotta go warm up now. Make sure you watch me. I’ve got a special part in the show.”

She pinches his cheeks, “wouldn’t miss it for the world, hon. Good luck, you two.” His mom quickly makes it through the crowd and up the stands.

“Sorry, my mom can be a bit eccentric.”

You shake your head. “She’s cute. I can see where you get your personality from.” Wait. Pause. That came out wrong and you hope Jungkook didn’t catch that either.

“You think I’m cute?” Nothing flies over his head.

“I think you need to worry more about pointing your toes during our routine.”

“Ugh, you sound just like Yoongi.”

“Wrong. I haven’t made you do push-ups. Though I probably should with the amount of times you dropped the rifle.” For that reason, you let the director know that the toss won’t be in the show … at least for this performance. It’s still too fresh and you would rather have a clean show with an easy routine.

“Cruel.”

You smile, “I’ll see you on the field.”

“Hey, Juice?”

“Hm?”

“Full out?” He says with a playful grin.

It’s a term he’s picked up from you over practice when you want him to perform at his best. This was your life motto. If you had to do something, you were going to do it full out. Do it so well that when the moment is finished, you could look back fondly and proudly at your accomplishments.

“Full out.” You mirror his smile.

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ─────

The halftime show went well. Some mistakes were made, but what’s done is done.

“Gah! I can’t believe I dropped when I was on the diva spot.” Jimin complains. The diva spot, a.k.a. the 50 yard line, was every colorguard member’s dream. For a moment, you were the center of the show. It’s one thing to be on it, it’s another if you had to do something big. And Jimin had a major toss that he missed. Nerves probably. Happens to the best, but it’s still not a good feeling for opener night.

“I hate this uniform. I’m soaked in my sweat.” Yuri says as she carefully wipes her face, avoiding her eyes.

“My feet hurt.” Another girl whines.

Your mind races, still trying to catch your breath from the show. Performing in front of an audience was different. The cheers, the lighting, the adrenaline. You do your best to soak in the moment, but all you want is a bottle of Gatorade and to get out of this uniform.

“Pain is just weakness leaving the body,” Director Lee comes from the corner. Ah, another one of his sayings he got from Pinterest.

“Nice work, guard. I saw that drop, Jimin. Tighten things up.” Director Lee comments while noting down something on his clipboard.

“Yes sir …”

“Director Lee, is there any way we can order new uniforms? It’s like a body sauna in this one.” Yuri inquires.

“Huh? Aren’t you kiddos into that bodysuit look?”

“Not when we look extra sweaty.”

“It’s not sweat, it’s glow.” Everyone groans at another one of his Pinterest quotes. Compared to the rest of the band, he’s a lot nicer with colorguard. He doesn’t know much about colorguard, but knows how hard you all work. As tough as Director Lee was in general, he’s a softie with guard … even with all the cringy dad jokes he makes.

“Juicebox, I thought the duet with Jungkook was nice. I’m expecting Jungkook to be ready for the five next show. Still think something is not clicking. Don’t know what though,” he writes down another note in his clipboard, “but I trust you’ll get it fixed.”

“Yes sir.” You don’t know what to fix if he doesn’t tell you. One of those moments where you feel like you’re trying to hit a moving target. Perhaps talking to Jungkook about it may help. He hit all his marks in the show. You’re proud of his growth. Think it’s only right you expressed that, just as you do with your members whenever they hit a milestone.

The band sets up their equipment in the stands again after the show. You look for Jungkook. He isn’t hard to spot. Not because he was tall or anything, but because of the swarm of people around him. Specifically cheerleaders. You liked your cheer team. Their work ethics mirrored closely to colorguard. What you don’t understand is the weird gnawing feeling in your stomach the moment you catch Jungkook and the rest of the girls laughing at something he said.

What’s that about?

He spots you. Smiles wider. Says something quick to the girls before he tries to walk away. Seemingly in your direction at least, but the girls don’t let him leave for whatever reason.

Like the other band members, you gather around the cooler for some refreshments.

“Damn it. Jungkook is a genius for rounding up sponsors from the cheerleaders,” Jaehyun takes a bite of his granola bar.

“You say it like they’d give you a single penny if you asked,” another member says. “He’s always been popular with the cheer team. Probably the dude with the most charisma unlike the majority of us band geeks.”

“I’ll have you know that my flirting skills—”

“Anyone who needs to talk about how great their flirting skills are, has none,” Yuri interrupts.

“You’re just a hater,” Jaehyun rolls his eyes.

“And you look like…” more insults get fired back and forth between the two.

You take the stairs up to where the guard sat during the games. There’s not much for you to do until call time. If you really wanted to, you could choreograph something, but being at the game was already enough. That’s what the cheer and dance teams were for anyway.

Yoongi groans in his descent to the seat next to yours. Says he has old man knees. Ridiculous claim for a 22 year old, but you’re sure every band member has some sort of long term injury at this rate. Yoongi juts his chin to the bottom of the stands. “Think they’re gonna date?”

“Who?” Your eyes zero on Jungkook and the cheer captain. He still hasn’t departed from the group.

“The noobs.” Yoongi puts his feet on the empty bleacher.

“Jaehyun and Yuri?” You laugh. “No way. They hate each other.”

“So did Romeo and Juliet.”

“Okay, but they died too.”

“Ugh, JB, you’re such a pessimist.” He snorts.

“No, just a realist.”

You look down to where Jungkook stands. He’s no longer focused on the surrounding conversation. Has this antsy body language like he’s in search of something … or someone? Keeps looking back and forth between whoever was talking to him and the bleachers. Specifically, in your direction.

“He likes you.”

“Jaehyun?” You avert from the obvious answer. “Not interested in noobs.”

Yoongi squints his eyes and smirks. “You’re no dummy, JB.”

“Don’t know who and what you’re talking about, Yoongs.”

“He’s not a bad kid,” Yoongi continues, “a little rough around the edges, but he tries hard. I’m sure you’ve noticed.”

“Since when have you started playing wingman for Jungkook?”

“See, I knew you were no dummy.”

You stick your tongue out. Yoongi takes the hint and drops the topic, choosing to stare at the open football field.

“I’m gonna miss this,” he says after a beat. “Should I fail one of my classes to be a super senior?”

“I wouldn’t hate graduating with you. We’d get our captain plaques together on senior night.”

“Dad would kill me if he had to pay for another semester.”

You chuckle and lean back. Hoseok calls the band to prepare as the game starts up again. Yoongi goes back down with his section and you’re with yours. Being at the top of the stands, you’re also closer to the stadium lights where all the gnats and moths gather. Can’t help being tempted by the light. You have a lot in common with them. Feel for them, actually. Because much like them, you’re also helplessly drawn to Jungkook’s light.

You don’t understand football, but it’s a nice distraction to put out the little spark of curiosity for a certain tenor drummer.

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ─────

You’re off.

Maybe it’s cause of what Yoongi planted in your head. Maybe. Because you find yourself looking for Jungkook on the field whenever Hoseok signals the band to stop. With only four tenors in the band, he’s not hard to spot. Jungkook was always the last one to fall out of attention after Yoongi taps on his snare. You also find yourself fixated on his bare back and how it flexes when he leans to tilt his drums up. You tell yourself you’re only looking because of what his mother said at the recent football game. He burns easily — shoulders look a little raw and the harness rubbing against it doesn’t make it any better.

Jungkook is just as equally to blame for these weird times. He texts you every day and sends you corny marching band memes. Honestly? They weren’t that funny, but you chuckle nonetheless when you see Jungkook follow up with a ‘LOLOLOLOL us.’ Serves to only confirm he’s also thinking about you.

You spend most of your days in practice with him — you’re bound to think of him outside of it. Especially when you’re at the local drugstore to get some tampons and you come across a bottle of aloe vera. All you have to do is hand it to him. And yet, the bottle remains with you for the next two weeks, burning a hole at the bottom of your backpack.

Granted, you had plenty of chances to give it to him since you’re over at his dorm every Sunday to study. Don’t know when this routine started, but you’d have to thank your spotty wifi for that. It doesn’t take much to convince you either. Good air conditioning, decent wifi, clean space … and Jungkook. Speaking of which, he’s on the floor drumming on his pad. Your brain tricks you to think of it as white noise at this point — loud and comforting. Not sure if you could fall asleep to it, but probably for the better during these study sessions.

His drumming comes to an abrupt stop, “Juice?”

“Hm?” You don’t turn around, too fixated on annotating your lecture notes.

“Do you always bruise around your legs?”

It’s not uncommon for colorguard members to bruise, given that accidents occurred on a daily basis. Whether you miscalculate a toss or there’s overuse of certain body parts, injuries were inevitable. The bruises on your knees are an unfortunate byproduct of all the floor routines you’ve endured. They’re your battle scars. Pretty like the galaxy. That’s one way to view them outside of the pain.

You turn around. Big mistake.

Jungkook looks up at you with starry eyes. It doesn’t help that his five-inch inseam shorts have lifted in his seated position. You’ve always had a weird obsession with tanlines and the ones on Jungkook’s thighs blend perfectly together.

His eyes move from your face and down to your exposed legs. He points at one of the bruises on your shin, “that’s a new one.”

“Very observant of you.” You reply.

He goes red. As if he got caught red-handed doing something forbidden. You quickly follow up with a lighthearted chuckle to diffuse the awkwardness. “But yes, I do bruise easily. Takes a while for it to heal too,” you cross your legs.

“That sucks … guess we all have a weakness, yeah? You with bruising and me with burning.” He chuckles, “B&B.”

“The harness doesn’t help with the sunburn, huh?”

Jungkook smiles, “very observant of you.”

You roll your eyes, think this would be a good time to give him the aloe vera, so you dig through your bag and toss him the bottle. Jungkook catches it with ease and fumbles around his nightstand and tosses you an unopened box. “Trade you.”

It’s the same ointment you brought him a while ago for his hand. You already have some at home, but it felt nice knowing he also thought of you too.

He sits on his bed, grabs his shirt from the back of his collar, and tugs it off his body. Most people shy away from nudity, but band kids are a different breed. You’ve seen people practice in nothing but their undergarments in the past. You should be used to this — to Jungkook’s body. Keyword: should.

You swallow at the sight of his broad back, lean waist, and defined biceps. You should avert your eyes. Again, keyword: should.

Your eyes follow his hands as they reach around his shoulders to smear the liquid on his skin.

“You missed a spot.”

“Huh,” he turns to his floor-length mirror to see and attempts to reach back around. Fails again.

“Want me to help?” The wheels on Jungkook’s desk chair squeak as you roll closer.

“Yeah, if you don’t mind.” He hands you the bottle and turns around. You squeeze the bottle and watch the dime sized liquid dribble on his back. He shudders and exhales softly.

You wonder if the deep shade of red on the tip of his ears was just another place he burned easily. Jungkook’s skin feels hot at the touch. Find the freckles and moles on his back endearing. Find it more endearing that he could never see them like you do. Much like his starry eyes, his back mirrors the constellations in the sky, begging to be traced and mapped by your fingers. By you.

“There, all done.” You close the cap and set the bottle on the nightstand.

He clears his throat, “want me to help?” Jungkook points at the ointment in your lap.

Now it’s your turn to feel shy. “I can do it myself.”

He tilts his head, “I know you can.”

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ─────

You’re surprised at yourself — surprised you agreed for his help, surprised you’re seated on Jungkook’s bed with your foot perched on one of his thighs. You position your hands behind to support you upright.

“This okay?” Jungkook asks as he starts on the smaller bruises around your ankle. You’re not sure if he means this entire ordeal or the pressure he’s kneading into your skin. Regardless, you nod and bite the inside of your cheeks. You never realized how sensitive you were — never realized how much the bruises ached outside of your own touches. It’s been a long time since anyone has tended to your wounds, so this was different. A good different.

“You can go a little harder. Those are old.”

He does as he’s told. Always good, ever so obedient.

Jungkook eventually makes it up to your knees. You’ve let out a few shaky breaths in the time he’s worked the ointment into your skin, all while noticing the way his mouth parts at your reactions.

He eyes the last bruise between your thighs, and back up to your eyes, “there, all done.”

Something shifts in you.

“But you missed one.” You tilt your head, feigning ignorance just to see what he would do. He always does as he’s told, but you sense some hesitancy. Not because he’s uncomfortable, but because he’s unsure what will happen next if he touches you beyond what’s appropriate.

“Juice …”

“What?” You stare at him through hooded eyes, “I thought you wanted to help me.”

“And if I don’t?” He leans in, watches if you’d move away. You don’t, so he takes the chance to rest your leg down on his lap.

“Push-ups.” You say without another thought, also leaning in.

He laughs through his nose, “might do something that’ll warrant that anyways.”

“Like what?” You ask, “show me.” You have an idea of what will happen next. At least, you hope. There’s no doubt something changed between you two since that talk. Sure, you feel more comfortable around him, but lately? You’ve also been feeling other things. As much as you’d like to blame Yoongi, you know it’s your own attraction for Jungkook.

“Yeah?” His face is centimeters from yours.

“Yeah,” you nod, nose grazing his.

He kisses you.

Nothing more than a small peck to test the waters, but he waits a millisecond, which earns himself a soft whine from you as confirmation to continue. Your hand cups his jaw and pulls him in.

“Again,” you breathe, “do it again.”

It’s the same order you’d give to anyone making a mistake in colorguard, but this was no mistake. Call it a Pavlov response or whatever; Jungkook always does as he’s told. Tries his best to make it good for you — doesn’t take much. He angles his head a little, does this pouty thing with his lips that has you feeling warm all over. You lick at his lips. It’s tentative, careful, and slow — gets him breathing heavier.

“Fuck,” he muffles a small groan.

Jungkook parts his mouth and the rest is history. Every lick, every nibble, every breathy moan felt experimental and deliberate all at once. Thumb tracing your cheek, the pressure of his fingertips on your hips has you keening. Time is an illusion because you’d spend the entire afternoon kissing Jungkook if you could. He pulls away first, lips pink and swollen with a sheen of saliva you’re unsure who it belonged to.

He swallows, “well?”

“Well, what?” You say, slightly out of breath.

“Do I still need to do push-ups?”

You snort. He beams. You do spend the rest of the afternoon kissing Jeon Jungkook.

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ─────

“I’ve got to say, Juicebox,” Namjoon pauses to chug the rest of his water, “I don’t think I could’ve pulled off what Jungkook is doing with you.”

You almost spit out your water. “H-huh?”

Did Namjoon know something happened between you and Jungkook?

“The duet. You guys are killing it.”

“Oh. Yeah,” you relax, “extra practice helps.”

Practice does help. And so do the kisses in between breaks that Jungkook swears by makes him improve. You don’t require much persuading to fall into his requests. Enjoy it too much to be restrictive of his affections. As a result, things get a little … difficult during ensemble practices because all Jungkook wants to do is pull you away to kiss you silly. Deprivation of each other works out in your favor because Director Lee no longer mentions how you both need ‘more chemistry.’

“Nice. Hoping for a solid show for all of us by the end of the month. My high school is going to be there.” The marching band was scheduled to perform at the end of a high school circuit competition. Director Lee says it’s a good way to get the school’s name out for prospects thinking about which university to attend.

“Also, is Jungkook okay? He keeps looking over here.” Namjoon nods his head from the side.

You don’t even have to look. Jungkook’s been doing this every practice. Like a touch starved puppy waiting for their owner to come home. As endearing it is, you’re worried. If Namjoon noticed, eventually the other band members would too.

“Think he’s just zoning out.” You lie.

“True. Eyes are giving pug.” Namjoon stands up and pulls the neck strap over his head, “alright, last run through for the day.”

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ─────

“You need to stop staring so much during practice,” you say in between kisses. Jungkook was over at your place under the guise to troubleshoot your shitty Internet connection. Quite confident it wasn’t your internet tier, but that it was just an old router. Ten minutes into inspecting your router, you end up pinned underneath Jungkook on your couch.

“Why? You don’t like it?”

“Namjoon said you looked like a pug.”

“Pugs are cute.”

“They are,” you concede.

“Then what’s the problem?”

“Just-oh!” You look down at the source pressed at your heat. Jungkook is almost always hard during and after kissing, that much you know. Whether it’s from a simple peck or minutes of making out, he’s sporting a boner. Doesn’t take much to rile him up. Though, he’s never done anything further. Just tells you:

“Ignore that,” he trails kisses down your jaw and neck, “so what’s the problem?”

“Don’t want people assuming.”

“Oh.” Jungkook pauses and sits up on his heels, “right, sorry.”

You don’t mean to hurt his feelings. It doesn’t help that you’re a private person and things feel extremely preliminary with Jungkook at the moment. You like him, but for all you know, he could just be in it for a fun time. If this was going to die out, you rather have the least people know about it. It’s not like you’re actively wishing for an inevitable end.

Realistically, it doesn’t hurt to prepare for hurt.

Mood completely shifted, Jungkook sits upright and looks around your apartment. It’s neat, feels homey with how you decorated it. Most of your furniture was secondhand or thrifted, but you took good care of it. He eyes the shelf containing your awards, dried flowers, and pictures with all the different groups and friends you’ve marched with. You’re more sentimental than you appear to be. Marching with these groups was no simple feat, but you looked back fondly at all the memories created. You know you’ll do the same for your university years too.

“Wish I could’ve done drum corps,” Jungkook sighs. If he was phased by whatever transpired moments ago, he doesn’t show it.

“Did you try out other groups?” You sit up, knees brought close to your chest.

“Nah, I don’t think I’m good enough.”

Now, you initially thought there wasn’t anything remarkable about Jungkook’s drumming skills. But let’s be real … you didn’t read music nor play an instrument, so what did you know about drumming? What you do know is that Jungkook tried hard. He was more than capable of passing auditions and marching in drum corps. You’re sure of it.

“You won’t know until you try.”

“Maybe,” he dismisses the thought with a nod. “Would’ve been nice to join two years ago and claim I was in the season where they had tenors drum upside down.”

“Yeah, I remember that,” you smile, “was pretty cool.”

“You’re the cool one for doing drum corps,” he praises, “did you do a lot of fundraising to pay for membership dues?”

You shake your head, “no, my parents did.”

“Nice of them to support you.”

“Yeah, I guess?” You shrug, not sure how to reply, “they … never really came to my shows.”

Jungkook frowns, “why not?”

“Work? I don’t know … they just never made the time. I stopped asking them to come after a while, so I guess it’s my fault they don’t know my schedule.”

His eyes soften. You never realized how natural Jungkook was with affection and comfort. So natural in how he tugs at your wrist, lays you down with him on the couch, and cradles your cheek.

“The way you perform … it’s an absolute privilege to watch you. They’re missing out.” He tells you with so much conviction, “Ma would argue you’re the only one worth watching.” He jokes.

“She’s cute.”

“A menace,” he corrects with a grin, “cause she should pay more attention to her son. But I get it, I’d watch you too.” Jungkook has a way of making you feel special. Like you mattered. Supported. Something you hoped you’d see from your parents in the past, but come to terms you’ll never receive. Now, it’s all coming in the form of Jungkook. And you don’t know what to do with all these emotions except feel guilty and apologetic for what took place moments ago.

“I’m sorry about what I said about not wanting others to assume. It’s just …”

“You don’t have to apologize, Juice. I understand where you’re coming from.”

Does he? It’s like him to be nice about it. You wouldn’t put it past Jungkook, but his words feel … withdrawn? Rehearsed? You’re unsure if you want to open this can of worms with him, let alone if he wanted to talk about it. Instead, you press a soft kiss on his lips, “thank you.”

He groans and pulls you into a hug, burying his face in the crook of your neck. “Are you tryna make me hard?”

“You’re so easy,” you laugh.

“You’re telling me you don’t get turned on when we kiss?” He looks at you incredulously.

You shake your head — a lie. “Nope, all you.” You say as one of your legs hook over his hip.

“I call bluff.” He kisses you, slow, tongue licking the seam of your lips. You lightly suck on his tongue and bite the bottom of his lips, giggling as he moans.

“Wanna check?” Feeling bold, your hand wraps around his wrist and leads it to your midsection, stopping just slightly above your shorts.

“Want me to?” He looks at you through hooded lids.

“Yeah, I do,” you nod, “prove me wrong.” You let out a tiny gasp as his hand slips past your shorts.

“Jungkook,” you whimper as his middle finger slips between your folds. The feeling of someone else’s hand other than your own has you feeling hot all over. Jungkook lets out a little wrecked noise before diving back to your lips for a messy kiss. His hand moves slowly, circling your clit, working out some of the prettiest moans.

“Liar,” he chuckles against your lips. His hand goes lower, fingers collecting your slick at your entrance before smearing it all over your clit.

Your jaw goes slack when his fingers move faster. “N-no, I’m not.”

You feel the vibrations on your lips as he hums. “Think I need to see. Will you let me?”

Such a stupid bit you guys have going on, but you both play it so well. Your shorts and panties are tossed somewhere in your living room, bare ass hanging halfway off the couch. Jungkook kneels on the carpet floor, in an absolute trance. Whatever he’s fantasized in the last month will never compare. Simply spreads and pushes your legs further apart.

“Pretty,” he murmurs to himself. Not sure if he’s talking about you or your pussy; regardless, you smile at the compliment.

“Done checking?” Your eyes move from his down to your wet pussy.

“Yeah. I guess I was wrong.” One of his hands moves to cup the side of your ass, parts your folds more. His thumb strokes up and down your slit, arousal apparent from your wetness.

“Told you.” You shut your eyes when you feel his thumb apply more pressure to your clit.

“So dry,” Jungkook watches you clench around nothing. “Think I gotta help you.” He lowers his head, cheeks hollow a little before he dribbles a glob of spit onto your bare cunt. You arch your back at the sensation of it trailing down your pussy. Jungkook’s face is centimeters away from your pussy, warm breath fanning over. He waits for your permission, places a delicate kiss on the side of your thigh, eyes never leaving yours. Your hand comes underneath your thigh to hold his hand during this intimate act.

“Yeah, think so too. Need you to help me.”

Jungkook eats pussy like how he makes out. Hot. Pouty. Whimpery. It does something to your heart when he interlocks his hand with yours, thumb caressing your hand. Soft and soothing. So different from how he has his lips wrapped around your clit, licking and sucking ruthlessly. You let out a broken sob when he suddenly pries your legs further apart before fucking his tongue in you. He pauses in between to spit, uncaring of where it lands because he knows it’ll eventually mix with the rest of your slick.

“Oh my god!” You shut your eyes, too overcome from the pleasure.

“Is that good, baby?” Baby. You like that. You like it more knowing he asked that question to check in on you as if your reactions weren't a giveaway. Couldn’t possibly formulate a response in the time he goes back to your clit, head moving side to side.

The pleasure builds and builds until you gasp. Body curling in and thighs locking Jungkook’s head in place, you cum.

White splotches fill the back of your lids. Jungkook was absolutely entranced by your orgasm. He groans, eats you out sloppily just cause. You can only lay there and take everything he’s giving you, hand clutching his tighter when it gets too much. Jungkook finally lifts himself off you when your whimpers die down, marveling at your glistening sex. He was a sight to see: disheveled hair, red nose, and wet chin.

“Wanna watch you cum again. Please?” His fingers circle your entrance.

You sigh prettily. “Come here.”

He obliges. Leans over your body with one of his hands still between your legs. You waste no time in pulling him down to a heated kiss, loving the taste of you on his tongue. The squelching noises intensify as you buck your hips into his hand. Drives you crazy that Jungkook hasn’t put his fingers in yet.

You pull away, “hear that?” You circle your hips. “You did that. Made me so wet — made me feel so good.”

“God, you’re so hot,” he moans, two fingers finally entering your pussy. He’s slow at first, mindful of your previous orgasm. Builds some speed once you pant into his mouth for more, fingers curling and letting the rise and drop of your hips do the work.

“You’re creaming.” Like a new discovery only he could lay claim on. Like he didn’t know he could get you like this. Because truthfully, only he has ever gotten you like this. He stares at the mess between your legs, white coating his digits and seeping down your ass the more he thrusts.

You can only whine and arch your back against the couch. That familiar feeling blooms in the pits of your stomach again.

“I’m gonna—”

He nods, keeps the same speed and watches you with blown out pupils. Doesn’t know where to focus. Decides at the last moment that it should be your face and feels no regret when you cum a second time on his fingers.

“You’re so pretty.” He kisses you through your orgasm, shaking his head when you trail your hand down to his crotch.

“Oh, you don’t want …?”

“Trust me, I’m more than good.” He pulls you up and giggles at your jello-state legs.

You’re a little confused why he didn’t want you to return the favor, but decided it was best to brush it off. He helps locate your clothing and guides you into your bathroom to clean up. You back against the locked door, hands coming up to touch your face. Hot. Look over to the mirror and exhale at the sight. The afterglow looks good on you. There’s a drop to your shoulders and light in your irises. You look enamored. It’s all too soon to say, especially after multiple kisses and this one intimate moment … though, your chest swells with hope. Hope for more with Jungkook.

In the time you spent freshening up, Jungkook pulled out a new router from his backpack he bought in secret earlier that day. Thirty minutes later, your connection and speed was infinitely better.

“Let me pay you back for the router,” you say as Jungkook puts on his shoes at the doorway. Jungkook stands up and tugs on the strap of his backpack.

“Nah. Just write off the push-ups for the rest of the season whenever I drop the toss,” he smiles cheekily.

“You wouldn’t have to do push-ups if you caught.” You scowl, “thank you again for the router. Saves me the trips to campus.” But it also meant you won’t have an excuse to study at Jungkook’s anymore.

Jungkook surprises you with a quick kiss on your cheek.“You’re always welcomed over whenever you want. G’night, Cap.”

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ─────

Envy has a weird way of working.

You remember it best with your parents choosing to go to your sibling’s sports games or when everyone in colorguard got to their splits way before you did. Just like how you’re feeling now, seeing Jungkook smile and joke with one of the cheerleaders after practice. It’s uncharacteristic of you to feel this way. You’ve never cared this much when you’ve witnessed past partners conversing with other people.

You encouraged it. Felt secure.

This was different.

“Yo, that’s the girl that Jungkook’s been talking to? Chaewon?” Jaehyun says in passing to another tenor player.

“I think so. Why?”

You don’t listen to the rest of the conversation. Rushing out the band room, your mind jumps back to all the times he’s stopped moving forward beyond making you feel good. Was it because he was already seeing someone else? It could only make sense if he wanted to be safe about it. Good that he’s thoughtful for all parties involved. Bad because you thought he liked you enough to have it only be you.

You were right. It doesn’t hurt to prepare for hurt.

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ─────

Jungkook [5:04 p.m.]: hey! u left super early today. did u get home safe? Jungkook [8:31 p.m.]: ?? juice, u ok? You [10:15 p.m.]: Yes, I’m home.

1 Missed call from Jungkook

You [10:16 p.m.]: Sorry, studying atm. I’ll see you at practice tomorrow.

This back and forth goes on for the rest of the week. Jungkook tries to talk to you after practice, but you always seem to slip away at the last moment. The one-on-one practices have stopped because the show was as clean as it could get and all Jungkook needed to work on was catching. He could do that on his own. You gave him all the tools he needed to succeed.

You’d like to think that whatever you shared with Jungkook was just a moment of indulgence. Helped you nurse your pride and feelings. If you kept telling yourself that things were okay and how it should be, you’ll eventually believe it. Much like how you’ve accepted that you’ll never see your parents at one of your shows, you'll realize these feelings for Jungkook were also fleeting. Because it starts to look that way once Jungkook starts to back off trying to talk to you.

You had other things to focus on. Cleaning up your section, schoolwork, and raising enough donations for the Rehearsathon. Of course you fall short of the goal. It’s not a big deal, but you hate to be the person who didn’t look like they tried at all, especially coming from a leadership role.

Regardless, you come into Rehearsathon ready for the brutal twelve hours. Practice lasted three hours at max, twelve was overkill. By the end of it all, you were exhausted. Sore and ready to go home for a much needed hot shower.

“Nice work, band. With the money raised, I think it’s safe to say we’ll be getting new uniforms by the end of the month. Just in time for the exhibition show.” Director Lee continues his recap, “also, shout out to our top fundraisers: Toad, Jungkook, and Juicebox.”

Huh? You barely raised a little over 50 bucks … 20 of which came from yourself cause you felt awful showing up with just 30. Did everyone else just do poorly?

Hoseok comes to you after everyone gets dismissed to pat you on the back. “Very impressive to get the cheer team to donate that much.” Cheer team? You’re lost. You didn’t know anyone on that team, let alone solicited them to donate. The only person you knew that had connections with the cheer team was none other than Jungkook. But … why would their sponsorship be under you?

It didn’t make sense.

“Jungkook.” You jog up to him.

“Sup?” He’s never greeted you like this before, but it’s probably deserved since you’ve been avoiding him. Doesn’t sting any less.

“My sponsors. You did that, didn’t you?”

He nods. “Yeah, I did.”

You shake your head, “you didn’t have to.”

“I know. I wanted to,” he shrugs.

You try to find the right words to say, but come short. You settle for a small ‘thank you.’ It’s all you can say before you turn the opposite direction.

He doesn’t stop you. Doesn’t question why you haven’t been returning his calls or text messages. Your silence was an answer in itself.

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ─────

Jungkook’s tosses and catches were inconsistent. On his good days, he’s able to stick his catch. Mostly during rehearsal. But come the halftime shows? He’s dropping. You can tell he’s frustrated. No one likes feeling like they dragged down the quality of a show. Some liked to be left alone to process their mistakes; you assumed Jungkook was the type to need extra comfort. You work up the courage to go to him, but see that Jimin has beaten you. Probably for the better.

Jimin was great when it came to comforting others. In Jungkook’s case, it looked like Jimin was putting in the works. Has him miming a toss and doing a silly dance to show Jungkook how he tries to recover under a bad toss. Jungkook cracks a smile. Jimin transitions to his final move: back hug. You’ve also received those from Jimin before. It’s nice — not your preference after a rough show, but you appreciate the sentiment. Looks like Jungkook does too. Appears infinitely lighter.

The same cheerleader you saw a couple weeks ago, Chaewon, comes up to Jungkook too. Gives him a high five and a hug. And that was your cue to leave. You feel a little pathetic. All this because you don’t know what to do with your feelings for a boy.

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ─────

Exhibition day.

Instruments loaded in the trailer, everyone was ready to hit the road. Whenever there was a far off site performance, Lee strung up his contacts to reserve fancy buses for the band. Yoongi theorizes it’s all for show to the prospective graduating high school seniors. He’s not complaining though. Far better to ride on some fancy buses than to coordinate carpool for over 200 band kids.

“Is your high school going to be there, Juicebox?” Yuri stuffs her equipment underneath the bus compartment.

“No,” you shake your head, “they’re in another circuit.”

“Lucky, my school is going to be there. So I need to impress my underclassmen.” She holds her hands into a fist. You chuckle, pull the straps of your backpack higher on your shoulder as you step onto the bus.

Colorguard preferred taking the back of the bus only cause it feels like you can do your hair and makeup in peace. Funnily enough, drumline also preferred the back too. Gives them space from the rest of the band when they drum together on the bus. Lucky for you, one of your girls secured the backseats. You volunteer to sit alone since there was an odd number of members in your section. If the drumline came to the back, you had a feeling Yoongi might swoop in to sit with you. He preferred a quieter seat partner despite having to lead some of the drumming sessions on the bus.

“Is it okay if I sit here?”

There’s no need to look up. Even if you haven’t spoken to him in a couple weeks, you’d recognize that voice anywhere.

“Go ahead.” Who were you to stop him?

Jungkook takes his seat, stuffs his bag underneath the seat in front of him, and places his drumsticks on his lap. He smells like coconut and shea butter — the same scent as the sunscreen you gifted him a while back. It’s sweet and warm — such a huge contrast to how you and Jungkook act towards each other now. Bitter and cold.

“Alright,” Director Lee announces from the bus intercom. “About a 45 minute drive to the location. No bathroom breaks. If you gotta go, hold it or piss in a cup.” A bunch of band kids grimace and fake a retch from the comment.

All you could think about is how you’ll be next to Jungkook for the next 45 minutes. The drummers get their rounds of drumming in, choosing to drum on the seats in front of them. You stare out the window, wishing for time to pass by quicker. His elbow brushes yours and time ceases to continue. Something lodges in your chest from the brief contact. You chastise your heart — so weak, so dumb, so fragile. Just because of a boy.

As Director Lee says, you’ve got to tighten up.

The drumming continues for another 20 minutes. Your section chatters behind you and Jungkook is turned to his own. Sometimes in a room full of people, or in this case … a bus, you still manage to find yourself feeling left out. You’ve got no one to blame but yourself.

Eventually, the bus arrives at a lot filled with other school buses.

“You guys have 15 minutes to unload and meet at the practice field for warm up.” Director Lee announces.

Row after row, people file out of the bus. When it was Jungkook’s turn to get up, he stays seated. He motions the folks behind him to go first, bending down to his backpack to get something. Everyone was now outside the bus … minus you and Jungkook.

He sighs. “How long are we going to keep doing this?” Jungkook leans back on his seat,

“Doing what?”

“Pretend like what we had didn’t happen.”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about,” you stand up, one of your hands land on the seat in front to support yourself as you wait for Jungkook to move.

“Come on, Juice,” he pleads, “this is ridiculous.”

“I’m glad you agree,” your knee pushes at his leg to get to the aisle.

“Was it something I did?” Jungkook’s voice softens, “I would never do something you weren’t okay with …”

“Jungkook.” You look at the front of the bus. Thankfully, no one was there, “I was okay with everything we did, well—no, I mean,” you shift uncomfortably as you try to find the right words. He cocks his head to the side with furrowed brows.

You feel your resolve waver. There hasn’t been a second in the day where you don’t think about him. Week after week, you jump between feeling sad, betrayed, and embarrassed. He’d even pop up in your dreams to remind you that even when you weren’t awake, he’s still very much present in your subconscious. Perhaps talking to the source of your problems could help.

“We can talk about it after the show. There’s not enough time.” You were being honest. Know that everyone is on crunch time now that you’ve all reached the performance site.

“Okay.” He’d have no other choice but to accept. He gets up and moves to the side. You push away that bitter feeling in your chest. It’s show day. Jungkook eventually emerges out the bus a couple minutes after you do.

“You okay, JB?” Yoongi hauls his drum from the trailer and moves out of the way for the other members to get their instruments.

“Yeah,” you lie, “just pre-show nerves.”

Yoongi doesn’t buy it. Realized you and Jungkook were the last ones to get off the bus. Felt the shift between the two of you these couple of weeks. He also notices how Jungkook looks over at you. Something must’ve happened, but he’s not going to push for answers right before a show.

“Kids these days …” he murmurs to himself.

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ─────

High school marching band competitions were overstimulating. Overfilled bathroom stalls, different music playing, and the scent of kettle corn … makes you nostalgic. The rush of being on a field again. Other good, if not better, colorguard you’d meet from all over the country. The award ceremony. The comradery. Maybe you have one more season left in you to do drum corps in the summer.

For now, you’re lined up at the front of the main field. Everyone is all warmed up and ready to perform.

Showtime. Director Lee takes over the stadium microphone to introduce the marching band and Hoseok signals everyone to march down the field into position. The show goes smoothly. During the performance, the audience erupts with cheers at every musical feature and toss. Jungkook catches. The band was an absolute hit.

“Oh my god, we rocked out there!” Jimin drops the handful of equipment he picked up on the field. Everyone gives each other high fives and pats on the back.

“I second that,” Director Lee comes around with his megaphone. “Nice work, band. We have an hour to reload. Do as you like till it’s call time.”

Equipment and instruments loaded up, you and another guard member walk to the concession stands for some kettle corn. While waiting in line, she gets pulled away by some old classmates from high school. Honestly, you didn’t even want kettle corn, but you weren’t ready to face Jungkook just yet. In the midst of your thoughts, someone calls your name. You freeze.

“I thought I recognized you from the stands. Long time no see.”

A voice and face you long to forget: Wooyoung. Your high school ex.

You step back, unsure how to avoid this interaction. He smiles. To any other person, it’d come off as friendly. To you? Slimy. Icky. You feel more cornered when he opens his arms for a hug. When you don’t lean into it, he pulls you in for one.

“You were great out there. Improved a lot since your freshman year.” He places his hand on your shoulder.

“Thanks,” you reply. Your gaze locked on the object in front of you. A badge that read: YBHS Asst. Band Director.

He notices your stare. “Yeah, I never really left the marching band scene post college. Just kept calling my name.” You don’t like the way he scans your body. The corners of his lips fight to stay neutral. Part of you feels sad for your younger self — didn’t know better than to mistake his lust for interest and adoration.

“Say, if you’re free after the competition, we should get some drinks together and catch up. The school I’m teaching is looking for a dance tech—”

“No, I’m not looking to teach.” You immediately decline. Getting paid to do what you loved sounded tempting, but why subject yourself to torture being employed by the same man that fucked you over? “Thanks for the offer, but I need to go back with the band.” You step back.

Ignoring your decline, Wooyoung tries again. “We should catch up though. I don’t mind taking you back if you’re worried about a ride home.”

“No thank y-”

“Juice.” You’ve never been more relieved to hear someone call you by that nickname.

Jungkook stands beside you. Saw you looking uncomfortable from afar and it was instinctive to come over despite whatever was going on between you two. By no means was he a confrontational or violent person, but he’s protective of those he cares about. And he cares deeply about you. No doubt about that.

“Lee said he needed us back at the bus.” There’s plenty of time left, but you’re thankful for an opening to leave.

“Sorry, I’ve gotta go.”

“Aw, can’t spare a couple more minutes for an old friend?” Be it his ego or his inability to read the room, Wooyoung doesn’t back down. This doesn’t surprise you. What surprised you was Jungkook’s hand wrapped around yours. Possessive. Alert.

“Come on, we’re gonna be late,” Jungkook says.

“Oh? Boyfriend?” Wooyoung eyes your interlocked hands.

“Uh-”

“Yep,” the lie rolls off his tongue effortlessly. You nearly believe it too, “and you are …?”

“Wooyoung. I teach at one of the high schools in this circuit,” he chuckles, “I’m assuming you both march at the same university?”

“We do.” Jungkook answers on your behalf again.

“Cute. Well, I won’t keep you two,” Wooyoung turns to you. “It was nice seeing you again. Hit me up on Facebook if you’re interested in the tech position or if you just want to catch up.”

Before you know it, you and Jungkook are headed back to the direction of the bus. He's still holding your hand, weaving both of you through the crowds.

“Jungkook,” you say, nearly tripping over your steps to meet his long strides. He lets go of your hand and faces you.

“Was that your ex?”

Your silence confirms the answer.

“Why’d you let him walk all over you like that?”

“I was fine.”

“You were clearly uncomfortable. Had I not stepped in-”

“I didn’t ask for your help, Jungkook.”

“You didn’t,” he steps back, “and I know that. I just … I wanted to.”

“Why?”

“Isn’t it obvious? I care about you ... we’re friends.”

But friends don’t look at each other like the way Jungkook does with you. A friend’s touch doesn’t make you yearn for more. It doesn’t hurt when they call you a friend.

“We’re not friends.” Guilt seeps through you the moment those words leave your lips. Jungkook runs his hand down his face and exhales a small humorless laugh. It comes out mocking with a hint of bitterness.

“But Wooyoung is?”

That hits a sore spot. He realizes his mistake when your face falls. “Juice,” his voice softens, “I didn’t mean it like that-”

“Just like how you’re friends with Chaewon?”

He pauses. Confusion plastered on his face. Your shoulder bumps into his arm as you walk past him and towards the bus. It takes less than a second for him to catch up to you. Calls your name. Gets ignored.

“What’s that supposed to mean? What does Chaewon have to do with any of this?” With some band members lining up to board the buses, Jungkook’s voice was loud enough to catch their attention. The last thing you want is people speculating.

“Can we do this another time?” You say through gritted teeth.

Another time? He’s been waiting to talk to you, but you keep blowing him off. He doesn’t know when he’ll be granted this opportunity again, let alone whether you’ll keep your words. But you look uncomfortable and as much as he’d like to air out his grievances, he holds himself back from making a bigger scene.

He sighs in resolve and lets you queue in line for the bus. In the bus, you expected Jungkook to sit right next to you. Gets surprised when Yoongi plops down next to you. You scan the area and realize Jungkook is a couple rows in front. He doesn’t look back at you. Doesn’t come back for his belongings underneath the seat.

“Whatever is going on between you and Jungkook needs to be fixed. You’re better than this.” He sighs.

Yoongi was never one to lecture you. Not because he doesn’t feel like he can’t, but because you’ve always had your shit together. Haven’t seen you act like this before. So … juvenile, immature, and unreasonable. Perhaps he was wrong to think that things would work between you and Jungkook. The bus ride back to the campus was quiet. Going home always felt like a shorter ride in comparison to going to the performance site. Wished it took longer.

The bus comes to a full stop at the front of the school and everyone immediately gets out row by row. Yoongi gets up once it’s your row’s turn. “Wait, Yoongi,” you point at Jungkook’s bag at the bottom of the seat.

“You can give it to him, JB.” It’s not a demand, merely a matter of fact. You don’t argue back. Percussion is typically last to unload all their instruments back into the band room, so you’re stuck waiting for Jungkook till he’s done.

One by one, your colorguard members leave to go home, bidding you farewell. They don’t question why you’re staying behind, just assume that you have some business you have to see through with the director or other section leaders. It’s late and they just want to be in bed. So do you. But you wait, because it’s what you should do. You owe this to Jungkook at the very least.

Thirty minutes go by and Jungkook finally emerges from the band room. He smiles and waves goodbye to his section. When he sees you with his bag, his expression morphs into something close to disbelief. Walks up to you quickly and takes it out of your hand.

“Could’ve told Yoongi to give it to me,” he frowns.

“Trust me, I tried,” you sigh, “but I promised we would talk.”

His lips presses into a thin line. It’s late, but if the talk doesn’t happen now, he doesn’t know when it will.

“Did you want to talk at the dorms?” He asks.

You internally debate whether it was a good idea to be in an enclosed area with Jungkook. Sure, it offered some privacy, but you felt more exposed. More vulnerable. Limits your likelihood of running away. Doesn’t take you long to make a decision, opting to talk at his dorm after a cold breeze passes through. It’s been a couple of weeks since you’ve been there. You wonder if anything has changed. Yet, you’re greeted by the same blue bedsheets, detergent, and all too clean of a desk space. Nothing’s changed, except for the two people in there.

Jungkook sits on the floor and you follow. You clear your throat, unable to make eye contact with Jungkook now that you’re in front of him. No more avoiding the inevitable.

“What’s been going on?” He asks carefully. “Talk to me, please?”

You chew on your bottom lip, unsure of where to start.

“Was it something I did?” He asks again.

Another moment of silence ensues. “Juice-”

“We shouldn’t have done what we did.” You’re sure this was the right thing to say, but it doesn’t hurt any less.

“What do you mean?” His voice comes out small.

“I shouldn’t have entertained any of that. It wasn’t right.” That really drove it home. Nail on the coffin. Stings more when you look up and see the hurt plastered on Jungkook’s face.

Yoongi told you to fix things, but it seems impossible when you’re only capable of making things worse. Especially with how he closes his eyes and looks away. You’ve prepped your heart for this moment. Though, this is Jungkook. The boy who willingly volunteered to step into a position no one else would, the boy who’s been vying for your attention and got it, the boy with a smile so warm that you think you’d have trouble forgetting even across multiple universes.

That’s what scares you. Whatever he says next will hurt.

“Do you regret it?” Jungkook asks with downcast eyes. You rest your face into your palm. It’s a yes or no question deserving of a yes and no answer. For that, you couldn’t answer right away.

“I didn’t. Not once.” He answers truthfully, “but if you regret it, I really am sorry.” Jungkook looks at you with those round, apologetic eyes.

You almost cave. Almost.

“I just … thought we had something special. I was wrong to assume.” He says.

You did have something special with Jungkook. He wasn’t wrong.

Jungkook continues, “I hope we can remain friends, but I get it if you don’t want to.”

Friends. This irked you.

“Is that what you say to people you’ve slept with?”

“What?” He retracts his head back in confusion. “Where’s this coming from?”

There’s no going back now.

“Chaewon.” You straighten up from your seated position, “there’s also something special between you two, right?”

You sound bitter. You hate it. Hate how he looks … so exposed. So incriminating.

Jungkook quickly shakes his head.

“You wouldn’t let me touch you. Was it because you were still sleeping with her?”

“No! I—”

“—It’s fine if you were. We weren’t anything,” wrong, he was something to you, still is, “but—”

“It’s not like that,” he interrupts, but you press on, fully on autopilot now.

“—I’m not someone’s backup, I don’t do casual. The least you could’ve done was tell me. If you had any respe—”

The words die on your tongue when Jungkook says your name. Your actual name. You don’t realize how heavy you’re breathing. And Jungkook? Upset is an understatement.

“I did have something with Chaewon,” he begins.

You scoff.

“In our first-year. Things ended because … well, I caught feelings,” he admits with a hint of shame, “I don’t do casual either. I just didn’t realize she did.”

Oh.

“But you’re still …?”

He shakes his head no. “We’re not like that anymore, I swear.”

“Doesn’t explain why you wouldn’t let me touch you,” you murmur, head turned away in embarrassment.

Jungkook frowns. “It’s not that I don’t want you to. Intimacy just kinda fucks with my head and heart … after what happened with Chaewon, I just …” His voice trails, “I didn’t want to rush and mess things up with someone I care about. Seems like it still happened anyway.” Jungkook scoots closer, knees now touching yours. “Is that what this is about?”

Jungkook cocks his head to meet your eyes, but you keep your head turned away. “Hey, come on. Look at me.”

And when you finally do look at him, you’re met with light and warmth — something you don’t know if you deserve after all the mess your mind created. He hesitates, but trails his fingers against yours. Testing the waters. Jungkook takes it as a sign to hold your hand when you don’t retract. Even with his calloused hands from years of drumming, you feel the tenderness in his touch.

“I never intended to hurt you or make you feel bad,” his voice laced with sincerity, “I’m sorry.��

Jungkook was right. Intimacy does fuck with your head and heart. Made you think irrationally, abandoning all logic for the sake of protecting your heart and pride. Ridiculous that he’s the one apologizing.

“No,” you shake your head. “I should’ve come to you about it. I’m sorry.” Your eyes water at the admittance.

“Aw, hey, don’t cry …” Jungkook cups your cheek with his other hand.

You sniffle, quickly blinking away the tears because you’re stubborn — not a fan of people witnessing you cry. Instead, you press your cheek into his palm. Missed his touch — missed him.

It’s a little uncoordinated how he pulls you onto his lap, but when you’re seated on him and your head is resting in the crook of his neck, it feels like coming home. There’s a specific scent that clings onto his skin after a long day of being under the sun — slight musk mixed with sunscreen and his cologne. Familiar and comforting. You wonder if he’s just as attached to your scent as you are with his.

“You still haven’t answered my question though …” he swallows, “do you regret it?”

“No,” you shake your head, voice coming out small, “never regretted anything we’ve done.”

“Do you … regret us?” He asks.

You shake your head again. You know you said some hurtful things a while ago. Wish you could take it all back. Can’t seem to muster the courage to tell Jungkook that he’s been the best thing that’s happened to you all season, but you try in your own way.

Torso turned awkwardly and arms sewn around his neck, you hold him. It takes a second for Jungkook to react, body tense and unsure if he’s allowed to embrace you. You exhale, something akin to relief, and he feels it too. Jungkook holds you just as tightly. Tucks himself into your neck and kisses into your hair. Whispers how much he’s missed you and jokes about how foolish you both are — just two enamored fools.

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ─────

The day after that night, Jungkook unfollowed Chaewon on all his social media platforms, not before sending a quick message how he no longer wanted to stay friends. You hope it wasn’t because of you. Sure, you had your moments of insecurity about Jungkook and Chaewon and don’t know exactly what transpired between them, but you thought it was a bit excessive to cut someone off cold turkey. But Jungkook had his reasons … reasons for which he’s not ready to talk about just yet. You trusted him and you’ll wait. If he thought this was for the better, you’ll stand by his decision.

The season was nearly over. You’re also over at Jungkook’s a lot, vice versa — made his room a second home. He reserves a section of his nightstand just for your bobby pins and hair ties … no different from your desk chair with a pile of his sleep shirts.

It’s the evening after an ensemble practice and he’s laid between your legs, bare back against your torso. Nothing sexual, just appreciating your company while he drums a random beat on his chest. The warmth of his body feels good on yours, like a heated and weighted blanket all at once. You mindlessly run your fingers in his hair, occasionally earning a shudder from Jungkook if your nails made contact with his scalp.

“Next week’s our last show,” he mutters.

From your position, you notice Jungkook’s pout. Your hand comes to a stop. “You sad?”

“A little. Season’s been tough, wanna end it on a good note.”

Part of you wonders if he was talking about the show or his time with you. Both could be true.

“You will,” you wrap your arms around his shoulders and give him a reassuring squeeze, “is your family going to be there?”

Jungkook smiles fondly. “Yeah, they are.”

“Good. That’ll be enough incentive for you to catch this time,” you tease.

“Yah,” he turns, chin propped at your sternum, “I don’t need incentives to do well.”

“Really?” You tilt your head. “That’s not what you said before practice today. ‘One kiss, please? I swear I’ll stick the catch.’” You do your best pleading eyes, but nothing can beat the real deal.

His eyes narrow, lips curving into a playful smile. “You got me.”

Jungkook lays his cheek down on your chest, hesitates with his next words. “How about you though? Is your family going to be there?” He knows family is an uncomfortable topic for you. Hell, talking about hard topics in general was difficult. These days, you’re doing better at communicating your feelings. Jungkook makes it easy — makes the uncomfortable feel comfortable.

“Didn’t invite them, so probably not,” you shrug.

“Wouldn’t it be nice to have them there?”

“Maybe …”

Jungkook thinks you’re so pretty when you’re in deep thought. Brows furrowed, lips pressed together in a thin line. There’s that dimple on the right side of your cheek that only appears when you do that. He’s sure you’re not even aware of its existence. Always been so captivated by you. Built this version of you in his head all these years and you’ve shattered every one of his assumptions in just one season. He's gotten to know different sides of you — like when you’re assertive, insecure, caring, angry, sweet … just, you.

“But I don’t need incentives, unlike someone I know.” You smirk.

He likes to entertain all your sides, but this was his favorite — the side that likes to tease. His body shifts, so does yours as you sink your head deeper into his pillow.

“I think you’re getting it mixed up, Cap,” Jungkook hovers over your body, nose touching yours, “incentives make me work harder knowing there’s something to look forward to. As much as I love performing for a big audience,” his lips brushes the corner of your mouth, “it’s more special when there’s someone you know watching.”

“Right?” His breath fans over your lips.

You’re not arguing with a man whose eyes competed with stars. Instead, choosing to accept his words because he’s right … just on this occasion. Because all you want is for him to press his lips to yours.

And Jungkook does that.

Drives him crazy when you get all breathless and whiny against his lips. True to his words, he’s been good with taking it slow with you. Sticks to kissing for now because he fears that he won’t be able to get himself out of the deep end if he reaches to that point of intimacy. Took forever with Chaewon, so he doesn’t know how he’ll fare with you … someone he really likes.

But fuck, you make it hard — make him hard. You gasp and pull away slightly when he accidentally grinds himself against your core. Jungkook shudders and mumbles his apologies, lips finding yours again.

You shake your head. “‘s okay,” you kiss his cheek, “you good?”

“Trying to be,” he swallows and chuckles.

“You don’t have to try to be,” you peer at him through your lashes, “you are good.”

You make the uncomfortable feel comfortable too. Kisses you again tenderly and lets his body relax momentarily.

“Can I be honest with you?”

You nod. “Always.”

“When we had that fall out … it was after we got intimate. I’m worried about that happening again.”

“Oh, Kook,” your stomach sinks at the confession.

“I don’t wanna feel that way with you,” one of his hands cup your cheek, “I trust you.”

“I trust you too. We don’t have to rush into sex to prove anything.” You turn your head to kiss his palm.

He knows. But he wants this badly — wants you. His hard length pressed against you is enough proof. Sensing his turmoil, you push yourself up, making him sit back on his heels.

One of your hands holds his. “You trust me, yeah?”

Jungkook nods, eyes sincere and honest. You lay your back against his headboard, legs spread wide enough to accommodate another person in between. No brainer, a perfect spot for Jungkook.

“Turn around and lay down,” you pat your chest.

Jungkook does just that, no questions asked. He’s right back where he started this evening: between your legs. Except now, there’s a light wave of anticipation floating in the air.

“What do you have in mind?” His voice drops an octave lower.

“Shh,” you hand cups his chin so that your lips could meet his temple. “I got you.” Truthfully, you didn’t know what you were doing. You only wanted to make him feel good, just as he’s done for you.

“You’re always helping others. So attentive,” one of your hands trails down his abdomen, “so good.”

At your praise, Jungkook sinks his teeth down on his lips.

“Think you deserve to be rewarded for that. Don’t you?” You ask. His hand wraps around your wrist, unsure whether to have you continue or stop.

“Wanna make you feel good,” your hand stops just shy of his belly button, thumb rubbing against his skin, “please?”

He releases a little moan, cock twitching in his shorts. You run your hand between his legs, gentle in the way you let yourself trace over his cloth length. Jungkook tips his head back for a second and immediately looks back down again, afraid he might miss out on what’s yet to come.

“God,” he keens, stomach tightening with every fleeting touch.

“Do you want me to stop?” You whisper into his ear. Simple question calls for a simple answer. Jungkook presents his answer in the form of a tilt to his head, whispering a silent plea for you to kiss and continue touching him.

The angle of the kiss is a bit off, gets Jungkook a little giggly, but he quiets down the moment your fingers fumble at the waistband of his shorts. His chest stutters, both hands coming down to help you pull the front of his shorts to expose his hard cock.

Jungkook’s size was always a dead giveaway. Thank god for his obsession with grey sweats. You didn’t think he was this big. Arousal pools between your legs. Wonder if it’d stroke his ego knowing your mind was filled with images of how he’d stretch you out, sink inside you, and fuck you to the hilt.

But nevermind that. This was about him and making him feel good.

Jungkook lets out a needy moan when your hand wraps around his cock. You give it a tiny squeeze and hum at the sight of his precum leaking from his slit. You let go all too soon, and just as he was about to accuse you of teasing him, he hears you spit into your hand.

“Baby ...” His chest heaves when you run your wet hand down his shaft again.

Jungkook was right. It is more special when there’s someone you know watching. Inspires you to perform. To make him feel good. To ignite a reaction, letting you know he enjoys what you’re doing.

He lets you have your way with his body. Pants and shivers when your other hand plays with his nipple. Doesn’t know where to fucking focus because you’re everywhere all at once and he loves every moment of it.

“Fuck, you’re gonna make me cum,” His eyes lock at the sight before him: your pretty hand wrapped around his hard length covered in both spit and precum.

“Yeah? Go on,” you coax, “you deserve it.” You understand what he means by incentives. Because it motivates you to work harder to draw out his moans, stroke faster then randomly slow down to tease him, and purr sweet nothings into his ears. Makes you fight the arm cramp just to see his eyes flutter shut. Makes you ignore the pleasure pangs hitting your own core just so you can witness his orgasm. Because you want to so badly make him feel good.

“That’s it, so close,” you encourage.

“C-cumming,” Jungkook pants, he digs his head back into your shoulders, “I’m cumming.” You watch the thick ropes of cum paint his torso. Jungkook’s body shakes and withers from pleasure. You let go of his cock and you trail your fingers up his stomach to collect his cum.

He watches with bated breath as you stick your tongue out for an experimental lick. A bit heady for your liking, but who eats cum for the sake of taste? This is all for Jungkook. His fucked out expression was enough reason for you to push your cum coated fingers into your mouth and suck them clean.

“Oh my god,” he groans, turning around to pin you down on his mattress. “You’re so hot.” Doesn’t think twice when he slots his lips to yours, moans muffled at the taste of him on your tongue.

“Made me feel so good,” another peck to seal the deal. “Thank you.” Post nut clarity usually made people run for the hills. Jungkook? Basks in your company and affection. Trusts you with his body and so he naturally trusts you with his heart.

He hopes it’s the same for you.

Words aren’t needed to express how you feel for Jungkook. It’s evident in how your expressions change the more you kiss. How your nose feels against his cheek when you nod for him to touch you. How it doesn’t take long for you to fall apart from his fingers.

Jeon Jungkook knows it’s the same for you.

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ─────

Last game of the season also meant the last performance of the season. You’re warming up with your guard. Nothing too serious since you don’t like to be tired out before a performance.

“Hey, Cap?” Jimin says mid stretch. “There are a couple of folks behind that keep staring in our direction. You know them?”

It’s a sight you weren’t expecting. Your family. Your parents and brother. Not like you don’t see them often. You call home sometimes. Visits happened towards the end of the semester, so you’d never expect to see them on campus mid-semester… especially your own.

You jog over to them.

“Hey, what are you guys doing here?” You ask breathlessly.

“To see you perform, duh.” Your brother rolls his eyes.

“Uh … but this is-”

“One of your classmates messaged me on Facebook a day ago telling me it’s a very special performance. Honestly, I wished I got the invite from my daughter, but here we are,” your mother exasperates, foot tapping on the ground.

Sensing a bit of awkwardness, your father adds, “we just wanted to say hi and good luck, honey. We’ll be in the stands.” He points in the direction of the stadium.

“Oh, okay, um, thank you. I’ll see you all later?” You walk back to your section, confused, but there was something else. Excitement? Disbelief? Maybe all of the above.

“You okay?” Jimin asks while gathering his equipment.

You look over to where Jungkook was warming up with drumline. “Yeah. Yeah, I think so.”

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ─────

Director Lee is a man of traditions and rituals. Doesn’t like splitting poles because he thinks it’s bad luck. He also made it a tradition to announce every fourth year’s name to the stadium as the band file to their spot for the last performance of the season. Think of it as an informal send off. Gets the entire band a little emotional before the show.

You feel a lot. The nearly filled stands. Your family in those very stands. Jungkook. The fourth-years. All the practices, mistakes, and injuries led you up to this moment.

Hoseok salutes to the audience and the stadium quiets down when he turns back to the band. Even from far away, you can feel his presence. It’s commanding, ready to lead.

And that’s what Hoseok does. Everything blurs when the music starts. It’s all muscle memory. The cheers for the flag and music features fuels the entire band to perfection.

Despite your confusion about your family, they’re here, watching you.

The stadium erupts in cheers at the end of the performance. You’re the first to break formation to hug your guard members. You remain smiling as you walk off the field, eyes catching a glimpse of Jungkook’s mother waving at him. Your eyes scan for your family. When you finally spot them, they’re all seated and clapping. Your mother’s approving nod doesn’t go unnoticed. There’s a stark difference to the support Jungkook receives from his family.

As imperfect as your family’s affection and support may be, it fills your heart with a type of warmth you’ve yet to experience till now.

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ─────

Director Lee’s traditions spanned to post-performance pizza following the senior plaques he’d hand out. New section leaders were also selected. Director Lee knew at a glance who had leadership potential, but he’s always watching throughout the season in preparation for his departing section leaders.

Jungkook only ever cared about the pizza. Not that he never saw himself as a leader, but he knew there was always someone better fit for the job. This year? Screw the pizza. Screw the new leader. Okay, well, no, he hopes they’re a good pick. At the moment, that’s the least of his concerns.

“So like … are you gonna eat that?” Jimin eyes the untouched pizza on Jungkook’s plate. Jungkook wordlessly passes his plate over to Jimin, far too immersed in the conversation you were having with Yoongi a couple feet away.

He knows he overstepped by sending that message to your mother. Should’ve respected your decisions … or lack thereof.

You walk toward the front door, look over in his direction, and give him a subtle nod. Doesn’t need to be told twice — Jungkook springs up on his feet and adjusts his bibber.

“Where ya goin’?” Jimin asks Jungkook with a mouthful.

“Bathroom,” Jungkook replies quickly.

“Well, hurry up. Lee is doing awards and section leader announcements soon.”

“Right. Yeah. Okay,” he answers distractedly, too focused on the direction you’re headed in.

Jungkook was on a mission. He got his apology rehearsed in his head. Follows closely behind you as you head up the stairs to the storage room. Honestly? Wouldn’t have been his first choice to chat here. For one, creepy. Two, dusty as hell. But he’ll go where you go.

When the door shuts behind him, you turn on your heel to face him. Even with the dim lighting, Jungkook still finds your glittery show makeup beautiful — you’re beautiful. Crushes his soul a little bit when you frown … he’s ready for a round of scolding, so he’ll try to beat you to it.

“I know what I did was out of line. I just th—mmph-” The apology he rehearsed for the past hour dies on his lips as you pull him down for a searing kiss. Your hands untangle from the straps of his bibber to wrap around his neck.

“You’re so annoying,” you say in between kisses. Your words don’t exactly match your actions. You bite down on his lower lip, enough pressure to draw out a tiny hiss turned moan. Jungkook backs you against the wall and knocks over a couple of boxes with flag silks. He’s quick to remedy it with promises to clean it up in favor of kissing you.

The storage room was a bit stuffy … probably loaded with a bunch of asbestos, but it just might be Jungkook’s favorite place at the moment. Just when he thinks all is well and forgiven, you pull away with a glare.

“Don't think you’re off the hook.”

“Wait, huh?”

“JB! You in here?” Yoongi calls from below.

Yoongi makes his way up the stairs, steps slow and sluggish. You can’t tell if it’s due to his lack of energy or if he’s giving himself enough time to not walk into something he doesn’t want to see. Regardless, it buys you some time. You and Jungkook have never moved so fast. Him, hiding behind a rack of retired uniforms. You, inconspicuously folding the discarded flag silks on the ground.

“Yep, in here!” You peek your head to the side to see Yoongi lean at the railing.

“Lee wants everyone in the band room. Doing announcements soon.”

“Okay, I’ll be there soon.”

Yoongi stands in place for a moment, snorts before he makes his way downstairs again.

“Need you there too, Kook.” Yoongi says, loud enough for you both to hear. Your head snaps in Jungkook’s direction and you can’t bring yourself to stay angry at the view: his fluffy hair and beat up converse high tops on full display.

“Whoops,” Jungkook emerges from the racks with a boxy smile.

“Come on, let’s go back.” You say, swiping away the red tint off his lips. Preen him a little. Not trying to hide anything, but you wanted to look presentable for announcements — it’ll be an important one.

“Shouldn’t we address the elephant in the room?” He nervously chews on his lips.

You shake your head and hold out your hand. “It can wait. I have dinner plans with my family later … meet me at my place afterwards?”

“Okay … but like, are we good?”

“Maybe.” You shrug and purse your lips.

Maybe? No, that won’t fly by with Jungkook. Thought you guys were past this whole miscommunication stage of your guys’ relationship. He needs that extra reassurance. Figured he won’t get that till after your family dinner … doesn’t stop him from playing out the possible scenarios in his head as Director Lee goes through his announcements.

People are clapping on and off. Again, doesn’t matter to him.

“Jungkook? Hellooooo?” Yoongi waves his hand in front of him.

“Huh, wha … sorry, what’d I miss?” Jungkook shakes himself out of his trance.

“Welcome back to earth, Space Cadet.” Director Lee huffs. A bunch of band members snickers from the comment, his section included.

“You’re the new percussion section leader, Space Cadet.” Yoongi grins.

He should be celebrating. It’s a feat and honor to become a section leader. He knows nothing about it, but he’s got great role models, so he’s got a good foundation and baseline for what a good leader should look like. Only issue? Jungkook thought he’d been lucky to evade the nickname curse. Now he’s stuck with one … and a not so great one at that.

He looks for you in the room. Spots you instantly and you throw a tiny thumbs up and a teasing smile in his direction.

You mouth: Congrats, Spacey.

Maybe the new nickname isn’t so bad after all.

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ─────

Dinner with your family was okay. There wasn’t much to chat about other than your father asking if you are continuing ‘this’ after graduating.

“We’re just wondering. Eventually you’ll have to put work first,” your mother reasons. “Your body won’t be able to keep up as you age.”

You know it’s said with care and concern, but you can’t help but feel like you’re being lectured for doing something unconventional. God forbid you be happy with activities outside of a typical 9 to 5. The conversation moves over to your brother and what he’s been doing. You’re thankful the attention is off you for now. You’d much rather be home with a particular drummer anyway.

You [8:39 p.m.]: I’ll be home in about 30 mins. Jungkook 🥁 [8:39 p.m.]: ok, be safe. see u later ❤️

You smile down at your phone. Yes, you were still upset and made it a known fact to Jungkook. Hated seeing him confused, but that’s life. He'll have to sit with the consequences of his actions.

Kind of like how you have to sit through this dinner.

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ─────

Jungkook arrives at your doorstep about four minutes after you get home. In his hands were a dozen of sunflowers he picked up after Director Lee dismissed the band. Thought it would help his case a little. It does. You accept them with a smile and step to the side to let him in.

“Pretty,” he compliments. You look down at the simple sundress you put on for dinner. Realize Jungkook has only seen you in t-shirts and athletic wear. Though, you could be in a potato sack and he’d still find you lovely.

“Thank you.”

He follows you to your couch. Usually he likes to sit right next to you, but thinks space is what you’d prefer for this type of conversation. He had plenty of time to reevaluate his actions in the shower and even more time while he waited for your text to come over.

“I truly am sorry. I shouldn’t have gone behind your back. Just thought they should come out and support you.”

You sigh and place the flowers on your coffee table.

“How’d you even find my mother?” You ask.

“Um, it wasn’t that hard to sift through your friends list. Plus, there’s not a lot of middle aged women that you look like. Could’ve passed as your older sister, honestly.”

“Funny,” you smile, “she’d love to hear that.”

“Score.” Jungkook grins.

You mindlessly play with the fringes on your dress, unsure what to say next.

Jungkook reads you perfectly as always. “What’s up? You okay?”

“Just have a lot on my mind.” You fold your hands in your lap.

“I get it,” he nods.

“I don’t think you do.” You pause, chewing on your lips before you continue. “The show, offering me a place to study, the sponsors, Wooyoung, and now my family …” you recount, “you keep doing these things for me.”

Jungkook frowns, “do you not want me to?”

You shake your head. “It’s not that I don’t want you to. I’m just not used to it.” You’re not used to being taken care of nor understood. It’s always been like this. With your family, friends, even some of the folks you’ve marched with in the past. But in the time you’ve gotten to know Jungkook, that’s all he’s given you.

Feels like he knows what you need better than you do sometimes. Feels like he does things out of care and not obligation.

It’s not a feeling anymore when he pulls you onto his lap, resting his chin on top of your head.

“I know you’re capable of doing everything and more, Juice. But unless you don’t want me to, I’ll always want to help you,” he says.

You nod, fingers playing with the ends of his shirt. “I know, and I appreciate that. It’s just hard letting go,” you shrug.

“Of what?”

“Control?”

He chuckles, “you don’t say, Cap.”

You roll your eyes, “you’re a section leader now too.”

“Ah, that, I am,” he agrees, “means we’ll be working together more. You gonna give me a hard time?”

“Ask Yoongi.”

Jungkook laughs and holds you closer. He clears his throat, “need to make sure, though … am I forgiven?”

“Wasn’t that upset, Kook.” If you were truly mad at Jungkook, you wouldn’t have kissed him back in the storage room. “But yes, you’re forgiven. No more messaging my mother on Facebook though. She thought you were a bot for some reason.”

“Huh? I don’t know why she’d think that …” Jungkook pulls out his phone to show you the message thread.

The first line read: To Whom It May Concern …

“This screams scam, Kook.” You snicker, skimming through the well-thought out message. Punctuated perfectly and straight to the point. What a stark difference to the silly text messages you receive from him on the daily. Could barely tell it’s him. The only glaring similarity? Jungkook doesn’t sugarcoat his intentions — never when it comes to you.

Jungkook pouts, “they still came to the show …”

“Yeah, they did,” your eyes soften, handing his phone back to him, “made me really happy seeing my family there.” You tuck his hair behind his ear.

“You deserve to be.”

And you also find happiness in when you press your lips against his. Happiness in when he giggles, nose scrunched and all. Happiness in when he moans as you roll your hips over him.

Jungkook pulls away to trail kisses down your cheek and neck. “You said you’re worried about letting go of control … we can work on that.”

You whimper at a particularly harsher suck, “how?”

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ─────

You’ve always preferred being in the mentor role. There’s no ambiguity in teaching someone what you already know. Never have to anticipate the unknown.

You find yourself sitting on the edge of your bed, watching Jungkook take off his shirt. So ready to welcome the unknown. It comes to you in the form of Jungkook’s sunkissed body and hooded eyes. He’s well-loved by his friends and family. Only natural to be well-loved by the sun as well. The sun will spend eternity chasing Jungkook and it’ll never come close to seeing all that you will in this lifetime.

“You trust me, yeah?” He walks up to you, legs bumping into your knees. Jungkook cups your cheek and tilts your head up to look at him. Needs to see you.

“‘Course, I do.” You smile.

“Good,” he steps back, “turn around for me.”

You wordlessly get on your hands and knees, chin turned at your shoulder to look at Jungkook, “like this?”

“Just like that,” he praises, gaze dropping at your ass where your dress falls perfectly around your hips.

One of his hands trails up your back and gently pushes you down. Your forearms cushion your drop, not that you needed it. You’re pliant for Jungkook.

You hear him shuffle behind you, both his hands are at your hips as he leans into down to kiss your shoulder. One of his hands goes under the skirt of your dress, knuckles grazing your inner thigh as if he’s asking permission to do more. You turn your head to the side with a visible pout.

“Are you going to be edging me or something?”

Jungkook snickers. “What? You want me to?”

So it appears edging wasn’t his goal.

His hand cups your sex, middle finger trailing up and down your clothed slit. “You’re soaked through, baby,” Jungkook murmurs, “‘s cause you were thinking about getting edged?”

You shake your head no. “Can’t help it,” your fingers grip your sheets as his fingers move a little quicker. “You got me like this.”

Jungkook groans at your confession. “I did, didn’t I?”

He reluctantly lifts himself up and away from you. Almost regrets it when he sees your brows furrow in disappointment. Makes a mental note to make it up to you one way or another. Season’s over, but Jungkook has all the time in the world with you. He pushes your dress up and over your ass. Feels his cock stiffen in his pants at the sight of your beige colored panties. He always had a thing for your ass. Shamelessly looked at it in the past whenever you were busy stretching. Proud to know that this view belonged to him and only him. He lets his gaze linger at the sight of the dark wet patch at the center of your panties.

Yeah, he got you like this.

“You still with me, Spacey?” you tease when you notice him staring at you longer than anticipated.

He shakes himself out of stupor. “You’re lucky I like you.” His knuckle trails up and down your slit. Got you shuddering again.

“What do you want me to call you then?” You ask.

Jungkook feigns deep thought, humming as he throws out random nicknames.

“Baby?” He pulls your panties down your thighs.

“Honey?” You giggle as he taps your knees to fully remove your underwear.

“Boyfriend?” He parts your ass, lets a dribble of spit trail down the center and to your cunt. Your hole clenches around nothing.

“You liked that one?” Jungkook asks, spitting directly at your hole this time. “Hm?” Trails kisses down your folds, deliberately avoiding your clit till he gets an answer.

“Kook,” you mewl.

“Tell me,” it comes out needy, “please?”

“I do, yeah.” You confess, “I like it a lot — like you so much.”

That’s all he needed. You choke on a moan as Jungkook licks one long strip from your clit to your entrance. He rocks your hips to his face, pistoning his tongue into your tight pussy. Pushes your ass up a little higher so he could have better access to your clit. He licks, sucks, moans, and repeats as if he knows nothing more than to please you.

Jungkook’s moans come out muffled, face stuffed so deeply between your legs, you’d think he’d suffocate to death. On the contrary, he’d argue that life’s worth living even more now. You catch a glimpse of him with his eyes closed and his arm moving fervently between his legs. So shameless and impatient — needs to wank himself for some relief.

“Pretty baby, so fucking wet for me,” he praises against your sex, hot and breathless. Your hand comes around to hold his. Your absolute favorite part of his body. Love it on your body and even more when woven between your fingers — keeps you grounded and secure as you reach your orgasm. And even before you’ve fully come down, Jungkook pulls away and stuffs your cunt with two fingers, curling and thrusting in you with a type of speed and precision that has you gasping. Doesn’t give you room to breathe, prefers having you like this anyway.

“Baby, y-you’re gonna make me cum again.” You cry, eyes fighting to stay open. A certain numbness pools at your stomach, begging to snap at the curl of Jungkook’s fingers.

“I know,” he encourages, “make a mess on my fingers, come on.”

You come again, eyes rolled to the back of your head and moans stifled by your sheets. Jungkook draws in a breath, absolutely hypnotized with your pussy clenching and suctioning his fingers. After a couple seconds pass, Jungkook slowly pulls his fingers out and rolls you down onto your back. He clambers his way on top of you. Wants nothing more than to kiss you and be in your arms. You, on the other hand, had different plans.

“What are you …” Jungkook grunts softly into your mouth. You slide your hands down into his pants and wrap your fingers around his hard cock. Give him one, two, three good pumps before you break away from his lips.

“Honey is a little old-fashioned, no?” You breathlessly ask, your free hand tugs at his belt loops. Jungkook gets the hint and swiftly pulls down his pants and briefs all at once.

“Honey is cute.” He argues, tugging your top down to expose your breasts.

“For married couples, sure. Not suited for a boyfriend.” You correct.

He nods, nicknames don’t really matter to him anyway. Just wanna be yours. Instead, he chooses to latch his lips to your nipple, hand groping the other breast. Bites down on your nipple and immediately soothes it over with his tongue. Jungkook goes back and forth between the two, loving your reactions. The pleasure builds again. He hisses when you roll your hips up at him.

“Tonight’s about you letting go, remember?” He reminds, “I'll take care of you, promise.”

“Want you to feel good too.”

“I do,” he swoops his hand underneath your thigh and pushes it up, “so much, with you.” He guides his cock in between your folds. It’s wet and messy, just how he wants it. You wince at the over sensitivity, but ignore it because Jungkook is falling apart above you. He looks down between you both, mesmerized by your slick coating his length.

You watch him, watch as he slides his cock up and down your core, watch how the head of his cock knocks and moves against your clit.

“You feel so good like this,” Jungkook holds your jaw, nose caressing yours, “wonder how you’d feel inside.”

You whine, hips pushing upwards, “please …”

He shushes you with a kiss, requesting you to be patient with promises of making you feel good. It’s dizzying, but you listen and let him take the reins. Jungkook shifts his hips and you gasp into his mouth at the feel of his hard cock at your entrance. Your pussy flutters around him, so wet and ready. The head of his cock nudges in, stretch so minimal with how well he’s prepped you. You moan and let your head sink onto your pillow. He doesn’t push into you any further, just the tip.

“Mm, you are edging me,” you accuse, unable to move as Jungkook has your hips pinned down to the mattress.

“You wouldn’t like me if I edged you, Juice.” He smiles.

Impossible. Don’t think there’s a universe or lifetime you wouldn’t be drawn by him and him to you. “Need you inside me, Jungkook,” you say, “please?”

He savors the moment for a little longer, tempted to do as you request. God, he would. But Jungkook has a promise to uphold and a lesson to teach. He keeps his word as he slowly inserts himself inch by inch, watching your brows furrow and mouth drop open in frustration.

Jungkook’s just as fucked out. Involuntarily bucks his hips, drawing out a surprised, high-pitched moan from you. Big mistake. The need to hear that again fuels something primal in him. His arms swoop underneath your head. Has you in an embrace as he whispers sweet nothings into your ear — such a contrast to his ruthless hips. Jungkook’s whole life has been about music. Over the years, he saved music sheets from his favorite pieces and shows. His most favorite melody? Your broken moans and cries, spurring him on to continue fucking you.

He’s not sure how long this goes for until he finally lifts himself up, immediately misses the warmth of your body. The view below him makes up for it: your dress bundled up around your waist, breasts bouncing after every thrust, and your wanton gaze. His eyes drop lower at where you both connect — groans at the cream coating his cock and how it gathers at the base after every push. Your breath hitches when his reaches between your bodies and toys with your clit. “Yes, yes, yes, oh, Kook, right there.”

“I—” you can’t even finish your sentence as you cum again for the third time. Jungkook’s eyes close, head tipped back at the feel of your walls squeezing around him.

“Shit,” he trembles and pulls out, trying his best to delay his orgasm. Doesn’t want any of this to end so soon.

Jungkook lays down next to you, hard cock smearing your cum on your stomach. You smile, one of your legs tossed over his hips to keep him close. You’re so tired, but there’s this glint in his eyes — he wants more. Far from being done, he pulls you on top of him, dark locks falling prettily on your pillows. Claims how much he likes your dress as he helps you get out of it.

“Couldn’t have liked it that much if it’s off me now.” You tuck Jungkook’s hair behind his ears and his expression shifts. Fondness. Warmth. Devotion. Jungkook drinks in the view before him — cock twitches at the sight of your fully naked body. Thinks he needs to block out a day to just kiss all your moles, scars, and freckles — adore them one by one. He settles for a small kiss on your palm, and positions his cock for you, eyes pleading at you to sink down on him. Your hip lifts and lowers slowly, stuffing yourself full of him again, fighting the over sensitivity.

“You feel so good,” he rasps, “take me so well.”

You nod, hands pressing his abdomen to hold yourself up. You move first, slow and deliberate to take in his expressions. Jungkook lets you take control for a minute. Just a minute. Because eventually, his fingers dig into your hips, maneuvering you up and down how he likes. Your legs shake, too weak to keep you upright.

“Come here,” he tugs you down so that your chest presses down on his. The new position makes it easier for him to bounce you down. You cry out into the crook of his neck. You trust Jungkook, trust that only he could take your pleasure to another level. Trust him with your body — your heart.

“So good for me,” he grips harder, feeling that familiar heaviness pool at his balls when he’s close. “You can give me another one, right?”

You feel your slick drip down his length with every drop of your hips. You whimper, shake your head, “n-no, I don’t think I can.”

He kisses your temple, “‘s okay, can you hold on for me? I’m so close.”

Of course you can. Anything for him. Anything to see him cum. Because of you, for you. He hugs you close, plants his feet down on your mattress, and fucks himself up into you.

You’re a liar. Body betrays you as he has you bracing his chest and digging your fingernails into his shoulders. Pretty crescent moons on your sunshine. So perfect. Even when you sob from the intensity of his thrusts, you want nothing more than for this feeling to last forever. Because Jungkook has you cumming again, pussy fluttering and milking his length for all he’s worth. It surprises the both of you — surprises Jungkook more when you press your face into his neck and he feels wetness on his skin.

“Baby,” he huffs, “wh-where should I—” hips losing rhythm and stuttering from your clenches.

“Inside, please cum inside me,” you use all your strength to lift your head to kiss him. That’s when Jungkook sees it: your watery lashes.

"Gonna cum," Jungkook gasps, eyes squeezed shut, both hands now pushing your ass to meet his hips, “oh fuck, I’m gonna cum.” He groans loudly into your mouth, shamelessly sucks on your tongue and pumps himself two more times into your cunt before finishing inside you.

Jungkook stills. Pants hard. Mentally snorts at all his past dumb fantasies because they’ll never compare to how he feels with you right now. Doesn’t think he’s ever cummed this much and this hard. But it’s you, the girl he’s fancied for so long. You and Jungkook stay like this for a while longer. His hand trails up and down your back, nearly lulling you to sleep. Jungkook knows you — would rather go barefoot on lego pieces than sleep dirty. You made it clear that showers are a must after practice and before bedtime. Sex was no exception.

Another thirty seconds pass and Jungkook slowly pulls out of you. You wince and close your fists against his chest.

“Sorry, sorry,” he apologizes with kisses on your shoulder and gently rolls you onto your back. He looks a little silly rushing to the bathroom while hopping into his briefs. Comes back with a warm cloth to which you realize seconds later was your favorite face towel.

“Jungkook,” you whine as he parts your legs to clean you up, too weak to put up a fight.

“I know, baby, I’ll get you a new one. You okay, though?”

“Yeah, ‘m good.” You smile, eyes filled with adoration.

How could you not be? Jungkook kisses the old bruises on your knees just as he’s kissed the old wounds in your heart.

───── ♪ ⋆⋅☼⋅⋆ ♪ ─────

“Whatcha doing?” Jungkook hums into your ear.

“Signing us up for auditions.” You reply naturally, fingers typing away on your phone.

“Uh, what?” He lifts his head up from the pillow, one eye shut from the brightness of your phone.

“With the Tridents.”

“Drum corps? Wait, Juice, I don’t know if I’m ready. There are a lot of good drummers out there …”

“Why not? You’re literally a section leader. There’s nothing you can’t do.”

“But—”

“We’ll go together,” you turn. “Come on, we age out of this circuit soon.”

He looks uncertain. Hesitation stirs in his irises.

“If any of us don’t make the cut, we’re both out. Kay?” Half lie because you’ll encourage him to stay even if you were to get cut first.

Jungkook stares at you, bites his lips as he contemplates his decision. Caves in under three seconds at the sight of your pleading eyes, “Alright, let’s do this.” He’s jittery in your embrace. Can’t believe he’s doing this. Knows he has to go for it.

Because life’s too short not to go full out.

fin.

a/n: fun fact! my high school crush was in the drumline too. funnily enough, i recently saw him after years of radio silence. guess what i did 😎 anyway, lmk if you have any thoughts/feedback/questions ♡

#jungkook fic #jungkook fanfic #jungkook fluff #jungkook smut #jungkook angst #jungkook college au #jungkook x reader #jungkook x you #jungkook imagine #jungkook oneshot #jungkook drummer #Jungkook marching band #bts fic recs #jungkook fic recs #bangtan fic #bts fanfic

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seokwrts · 28 days ago

Text

I LIKE ME BETTER | jjk

PART ONE

summary : After walking in on her boyfriend Sanho cheating, Y/N moves out and ends up living with Jungkook, a cocky yet caring acquaintance she once couldn’t stand. What begins as a tense, passive-aggressive roommates situation slowly transforms into something deeper, as both navigate heartbreak, vulnerability, and emotional healing. Through stormy nights, late-night confessions, domestic routines, and quiet tension, Y/N and Jungkook gradually uncover the warmth and safety they’ve both been missing—especially in each other.

“After all, what’s the worst that could happen just living under the same roof?”

pairing : jeon jungkook x f!reader

genre : roommates , fluff , smut

word count : 4.5k

warnings : Explicit. This story contains sexual content, explicit language, and themes of emotional trauma. Expect a roommates-to-lovers slow burn with intense enemies-to-lovers tension, mutual pining, and eventual smut. Features include domestic intimacy, past cheating, emotional hurt/comfort, and lots of kitchen tension. There’s jealousy, unresolved sexual tension, first times, comfort sex, and characters who are both emotionally guarded and touch-starved.

The toothbrush was still in the cup.

His shirt still hung on the back of the chair.

The vanilla candle she’d lit two nights ago still flickered faintly in the corner, scenting the room with a memory it no longer deserved.

Everything looked the same—everything but him.

Sanho.

On the couch. Shirtless. Laughing. Arms draped around a girl who wasn’t her.

The same girl from his contact list—the one she had once asked about during a quiet dinner, wine glass in hand and something unsettled in her voice.

“She’s just a friend, babe.”

That girl now sat nestled into him like she belonged there.

Like Y/N had never existed.

His hand was resting on the small of the girl’s back, thumb moving in slow, familiar circles.

The way he used to touch Y/N when he was trying to soothe her. Calm her. Keep her.

And for a moment, all she could do was stand there—motionless, silent, keys still clenched between white knuckles, while the ground crumbled beneath her.

She didn’t scream.

Didn’t cry.

Didn’t even blink, not right away.

It was strange, how pain like that didn’t make noise.

It just sat inside your chest like a heavy, rotting secret.

He saw her. The laughter stopped.

His head snapped toward the door. His expression flickered—first confusion, then horror, then that awful, choking guilt she’d seen before.

A crack formed in the perfect little mask he wore for everyone else.

But not for her.

Never for her.

“Y/N—” he breathed.

She could’ve unleashed everything in her. All the rage, the heartbreak, the months of second-guessing herself.

She could’ve screamed “How fucking long?”

She could’ve marched over and thrown his stupid records off the shelves or smashed his phone into the floor.

But she didn’t.

She just looked at him, like she was seeing him for the first time. And maybe she was.

“No.”

That was all she said.

One syllable. Low. Final.

It wasn’t a cry. It wasn’t a plea. It was a closed door. A lock snapping shut. A full stop at the end of a love story that never should’ve started.

Sanho stood quickly, the girl still tangled in his lap scrambling to fix her top. “Wait—wait, baby, just—just listen for a sec, it’s not what it looks like—”

Not what it looks like?

God, he had the fucking audacity to pull that line?

She turned on her heel without another word. Walked out, heart caving in her chest, jaw tight, eyes dry.

Not because she wasn’t hurting.

But because she’d already cried enough for him in all the nights she waited for his texts, all the mornings she woke up feeling like a ghost in her own bed.

Each step was a scream she didn’t let out.

And when she closed the door behind her—it wasn’t a slam. No rage. No theatrical heartbreak.

Just a soft, measured click.

But it sounded more like a funeral.

𓏔 🪑 ✿🥛🐈

She didn’t remember how long she walked.

Through the streets of Seoul, neon buzzing overhead, air thick with the smell of late-night food stalls and engine fumes.

She barely noticed the music thumping from passing bars, the chatter of couples holding hands. It all moved around her like she didn’t exist.

Her feet took her to the only place that didn’t feel like a lie: the Han River.

She sat on a cold metal bench near the edge, the water stretching wide and black in front of her. Quiet.

Still.

Unbothered by her tiny, shattered world.

She stared at it until her eyes stung, until the city behind her dimmed and the ache in her chest throbbed like something alive.

And still, she didn’t cry.

Because fuck him.

Because crying was what she did before—when she thought she was losing something real. Now she knew better.

He wasn’t worth the tears.

He wasn’t worth any of it.

𓏔 🪑 ✿🥛🐈

Her phone vibrated once. Then again. Then again. The texts came in waves, each one more pathetic than the last.

Sanho [7:14PM]

Please just talk to me.

Sanho [8:02PM]

You’re overreacting. It didn’t mean anything.

Sanho [10:17PM]

I messed up, okay? I’ll fix it. We can fix it.

Sanho [1:03AM]

Do you really want to throw away everything we had?

She turned the screen off. Tossed the phone beside her on the bench like it was diseased.

Everything we had?

He threw it away the second his lips found another neck.

When his fingers moved across that girl’s skin like Y/N never even existed.

Fuck him.

𓏔 🪑 ✿🥛🐈

The next morning, she moved like a machine.

No tears. No music. Just packing.

The room looked like someone else had lived in it. Her clothes in the closet. Her books on the shelves. Her green Jeju mug by the window.

That mug.

He bought it during their trip. Said it reminded him of her eyes.

Now it just looked like bullshit.

She left it behind.

She didn’t leave a note. Didn’t say goodbye. Didn’t even text. She just grabbed her duffel, wheeled her suitcase through the quiet hallway, and shut the door on two years of her life like it was nothing.

Because in the end, that’s what it had meant to him.

Nothing.

𓏔 🪑 ✿🥛🐈

Her best friend let her crash on a futon in her tiny studio for two nights. It smelled like ramen and floor cleaner. The radiator was broken. But it was safe.

She barely ate. Barely slept.

Mostly just lay there, wondering how she could feel so hollow and still so heavy at the same time.

By the third morning, the ache in her chest had calcified into something solid.

She picked up her phone and started searching. No more waiting. No more sleeping in someone else’s corner.

She needed a place that was hers—even if it was small, even if it was broken, even if it was shared.

That’s when she found it.

Available Immediately:

Two-bedroom apartment in Hongdae. Quiet area. Natural light. “Character.”

Shared with one existing tenant. No pets. 500k deposit. Rent negotiable.

She didn’t think. She just called.

By noon, she’d toured it.

By 3 p.m., the lease was signed.

“Roommate’s already living there,” the landlady warned as she handed over the keycard and a scribbled door code. Her voice was dry, not unkind, just matter-of-fact. “Keeps to himself mostly. Don’t worry, he’s not a creep.”

Y/N blinked, the key cold in her palm. “That’s… comforting?”

The woman shrugged, already turning back toward her office. “You’ll be fine, sweetheart. Just don’t touch his guitar.”

That was all she got.

No photo.

No proper introduction.

Just a number, a code, and a list of passive-aggressive post-its waiting for her future.

And frankly, Y/N wasn’t in the mood to care.

𓏔 🪑 ✿🥛🐈

The hallway leading to the apartment smelled faintly like burnt coffee and wet paint. The kind of scent that lingered in buildings where the rent was just low enough to make you tolerate it, and just high enough to remind you you’re still paying to suffer.

She reached the door, punched in the code with a sigh, and stepped inside.

The scent of incense hit her first—smoky, musky, like sandalwood and something a little bitter underneath. Then came the sound: a bassline vibrating low through the walls, like a heartbeat that didn’t know how to settle.

Then came the sight.

The apartment was chaos—but the curated kind. Lived-in, but not messy. Controlled disarray.

Posters were pinned crookedly to the walls—bands she vaguely recognized, some in English, others in Hangul scrawled like graffiti. A guitar leaned lazily against a chair that had seen better days. Ashtrays were used as coin trays. Open sketchbooks were scattered across the coffee table, some smudged with what looked like ink, charcoal, or maybe just frustration.

A used hoodie hung off one kitchen stool. A half-empty mug sat beside a tub of protein powder on the counter. A neon sign buzzed quietly from behind the curtain—something about “love” and “ruin” in script too artsy to read clearly.

And then there was him.

Standing in front of the sink, a spoon in his mouth and zero fucks in his eyes.

Black hair, loose waves, half tied back like he couldn’t be bothered to fully commit to a man bun. Sleeves rolled up just enough to show off inked forearms—swirls and lines that disappeared beneath the fabric. Headphones hung around his neck. His shirt was half-unbuttoned. A silver lip ring caught the light as he chewed on a piece of gum and gave her the kind of look people gave cold coffee.

“You’re the replacement?” he asked, voice flat, tone somewhere between suspicion and boredom.

Y/N blinked once. Twice.

Okay. This was happening.

“Roommate,” she corrected, hoisting her duffel a little higher on her shoulder. “Not intern. Or a stray cat, in case that’s where your brain went.”

He let out a short, humorless laugh, like she’d told a bad joke. “Could’ve fooled me.”

“Wow,” she muttered under her breath, stepping inside. “Aren’t you just a warm fucking welcome.”

He didn’t respond, just moved back to the counter, rummaging through a drawer like she wasn’t still standing there with exhaustion weighing down every limb.

She set her bags down slowly, deliberately. The hardwood creaked under her boots.

Why do all men either cheat on you or treat you like you’re a Netflix error message?

Her thoughts were rapid fire now.

Cool. Love this. Love being ignored in my own new place. Love living with an angsty fucking album cover.

Her voice was sharp when she spoke again. “I’m Y/N.”

He glanced over his shoulder, didn’t smile. “Jungkook.”

No handshake. No nod. No “nice to meet you.”

Just silence.

Awkward, stretched-thin silence filled by the sound of rain tapping against the windows and the low thrum of music still playing from his speaker.

She crossed her arms, taking him in more fully now that the shock had dulled slightly.

He wasn’t ugly—fuck, no, he was objectively hot. Like, Pinterest thirst-board hot. But that didn’t matter. He had that specific brand of “I don’t give a shit” energy that instantly made her teeth itch.

“Are you always this friendly or am I just lucky?” she asked.

He shrugged, barely looking up. “I don’t do the whole ‘bonding’ thing.”

“Oh, I figured,” she said, kicking off her shoes and toeing them toward the rack. “It was either that or you’re just socially constipated.”

That got a twitch out of his lip. Almost a smirk.

“Bathroom’s down the hall,” he said. “Other bedroom’s at the end. Don’t touch my speakers.”

“Don’t touch my shampoo,” she shot back. “It’s imported and I will know.”

“Noted.”

She rolled her eyes and picked up her duffel, trudging toward the hallway. “This is gonna be fucking great,” she muttered.

𓏔 🪑 ✿🥛🐈

Her room was fine.

Small. Clean. Sunlight filtered in through sheer curtains. A bare mattress on a low platform bed. A single window facing the building across the street.

It smelled like dust and old wood and hope. Or maybe that last part was just wishful thinking.

She collapsed onto the mattress with a groan, staring at the ceiling like it held answers. It didn’t.

Jesus fucking Christ, she thought, one arm flung across her forehead. What kind of rom-com bullshit did I just sign up for?

“Hot, tattooed roommate” was supposed to be fantasy material—not her rebound reality.

Her stomach twisted. Not because of Jungkook. Because of Sanho.

Her chest still ached, but in a dull, hollow way now—like something removed too fast. The kind of pain you couldn’t cry about anymore because you’d already cried yourself dry.

“You’re not gonna fucking think about him again,” she told herself out loud. “We are not doing the Sad Girl Shit tonight. We’re a new bitch now. A bitch with rent.”

She got up and started unpacking with mechanical force, slamming drawers open and folding clothes like they owed her money.

𓏔 🪑 ✿🥛🐈

Later that night, she emerged from her room in pajama shorts and a hoodie, hunting for food and maybe—God forbid—some civility.

Jungkook was shirtless now, sprawled on the couch with his sketchpad on his lap, a pencil moving quickly between his fingers. Headphones in. Eyes sharp. Jaw tense.

Jesus. Okay, he really is hot. Dammit.

She cleared her throat. “Hey. Kitchen’s fair game, right?”

He didn’t answer.

She repeated louder, “I said, kitchen’s fair game?”

He finally glanced up and yanked one side of his headphones off. “Why are you yelling?”

“Because you have the fucking sound barrier on your head.”

He blinked at her. Then nodded toward the fridge. “Go ahead.”

She flipped him off under her breath and went to dig through the fridge. Not much. Leftover tteokbokki. Half a bottle of Coke. Three cans of beer. Protein shakes.

She grabbed the beer.

Popped it open.

Took a long sip.

Jungkook spoke from the couch. “So… what’s your deal?”

Y/N turned, beer in hand, leaning against the fridge like a soap opera villain. “You mean, why did a broken, emotionally wrecked woman move into a grunge boy’s apartment instead of therapy?”

He smiled. Just a little. “Something like that.”

She took another swig. “Ex-boyfriend. Cheated. Ate shit. I moved out.”

“Damn,” he said, pencil still moving. “What a guy.”

“Oh, he’s a fucking treasure. You’d love him. The human equivalent of a softboiled egg with an Instagram account.”

That made him laugh. A real one this time.

And it hit her harder than she expected.

Something about the way he laughed—low, sudden, surprised—like he hadn’t done it in a while.

Jungkook looked up again, this time properly. “Well… welcome to hell, roommate.”

She raised her can. “Cheers to shared misery.”

Their eyes locked for a beat longer than necessary.

And that’s when she knew it.

Clear as the goddamn moon outside.

This was going to get messy.

Maybe not today. Maybe not tomorrow.

But sometime soon—between the passive-aggressive post-its, shirtless mornings, late-night sketching, and secondhand incense—

Shit was going to burn.

And Y/N?

She wasn’t sure if she wanted to stop it.

They were opposites in every imaginable way.

And not in a quirky, “wow, opposites attract!” kind of way. No. They clashed like oil and vinegar—and not the expensive kind you drizzle over artisan bread. The cheap shit. The kind that spills, stains, and smells like regret.

Y/N liked quiet mornings. Tea, calm Spotify playlists, the soft hum of her skincare fridge, the whisper of a pen against a planner.

Jungkook made protein shakes at 7 a.m. like he was competing in Seoul’s Loudest Roommate Olympics. Blender screaming. Trap music thumping. Half-naked with only a towel slung low on his hips, just to complete the auditory and visual chaos.

She took long, hot, soul-resetting showers.

He’d drum on the bathroom door with a fucking spatula if she took more than fifteen minutes. “Some of us have biceps to build!” he once shouted. She retaliated the next day by blasting Taylor Swift’s All Too Well (10 Minute Version) on loop while showering for thirty-eight minutes.

She labeled the kitchen shelves. Clearly. Systematically. With her own goddamn money.

He laughed for five straight minutes, then moved everything around like a chaotic little gremlin on a mission from hell. She nearly cried when she found the cereal in the pan drawer.

And so, they adapted.

Barely.

They communicated mostly through notes. Passive-aggressive ones, stuck to any available surface—fridge doors, cabinets, shampoo bottles, his protein powder container.

Jungkook, stop leaving your damn socks on the dining table. That’s where I eat.

→ Y/N, stop acting like the sock police. No one died.

I have class at 8 a.m. Stop screaming into your mic past midnight.

→ I’m not screaming. I’m singing. You’re welcome for the free concert.

You drank my oat milk. Again.

→ It was expiring tomorrow. You’re welcome for preventing waste.

Eat shit.

→ Already did. Thanks to your cooking.

She sometimes fantasized about moving out. A cute studio with plants. A view of the Han. A cat named Nico. No Jungkook.

He probably fantasized about roommates who didn’t color-code the pantry and leave Post-its that accused him of crimes against almond milk.

And yet… neither of them left.

Because in between the blender wars and label-maker tyranny, there were moments.

Small. Invasive. Unwelcome.

Moments that made her heart skip or her mouth press into a line. Moments she’d think about late at night when her brain wouldn’t shut the hell up.

Like the time he left tea outside her door.

She didn’t think he’d heard her crying. She’d stuffed her face into her pillow, blanket over her head, trying to muffle the sound. But he had.

There was a knock.

Then silence.

When she opened the door, a chipped mug of warm jasmine tea was waiting on the floor. Steam curled from it like something sacred. No note. No pity. Just… kindness. Quiet, unspoken kindness.

She drank it.

Didn’t say thank you. Couldn’t.

But the next morning, for the first time in weeks, she didn’t bitch about the blender.

Then there was the lamp.

Her desk lamp had fried itself mid-study session, sputtering out like her will to live. She sighed, muttered something about everything being broken, and left it.

The next morning, it was glowing. Fixed. No fanfare. Just… working.

She stared at it like it had grown legs.

“Who the fuck does that?” she whispered to no one.

Jungkook did.

She didn’t ask. Didn’t say anything. Neither did he.

And then, the worst moment. The one she couldn’t forget.

She came home early from class one afternoon, shoes in hand, and stopped in the hallway.

Jungkook was on the couch, hunched over a sketchpad, headphones in, pencil moving in soft, precise strokes. She hadn’t seen him draw before.

What made her heart jackhammer was the figure on the page.

A faceless woman, shoulders curled inward, wearing a sweater that looked exactly like hers—the oversized beige one she wore when she felt like hiding. The details were haunting. Exact. Tender.

It wasn’t just a sketch. It was a feeling. An intimacy.

She backed away before he saw her and closed herself in her room like a coward. She lay in bed and stared at the ceiling for two straight hours, cursing the weird twist in her stomach.

What the fuck was she feeling?

𓏔 🪑 ✿🥛🐈

He never asked why she moved in suddenly.

Didn’t dig, didn’t pry. No sympathy. No therapist-mode bullshit. And that somehow made her trust him more than any guy who’d said, “If you ever need to talk…”

She never asked about his bruised knuckles or the nights he came home smelling like cigarettes and adrenaline. Never questioned the darkness under his eyes.

They lived parallel lives. Same fridge. Same bathroom. Same ceilings over their separate beds. Close enough to hear each other breathe, but far enough to pretend they didn’t care.

It was limbo.

It was maddening.

It was fucking confusing.

Some nights, when the silence got too loud and her mind started spinning—

She wondered.

What would it be like to blur the lines?

To walk out when he was humming in the kitchen, hair tied up, lip ring catching the light—and just kiss him?

Not a romantic, slow kiss.

A messy, chaotic, shut-the-fuck-up kiss. Just to see. Just to know.

Would it make the tension go away? Or would it ignite it like gasoline on a match?

But she never acted on it.

Instead, she left him another Post-it:

Stop leaving your wet towel on the bathroom floor. Again.

Underneath it, scribbled smaller:

P.S. Thanks for the tea.

That night, the towel was gone.

And a new Post-it appeared on the fridge:

P.S. You’re welcome.

The next morning, she found a protein shake waiting for her on the counter.

And a note stuck to it:

Try it. Not poison. Swear. —JK

She blinked at it, then cautiously took a sip.

It was actually… good.

“Fuck,” she muttered to herself. “Of course it is.”

That night, she left him a tiny Tupperware container of her homemade kimchi fried rice with a sticky note:

Apology for calling your blender Satan.

Next morning?

Apology accepted. But Satan has better manners.

She snorted into her coffee. She didn’t know what they were now.

Enemies? Allies? Passive-aggressive friends with incredible timing?

Whatever it was, it wasn’t simple. And it sure as hell wasn’t boring.

𓏔 🪑 ✿🥛🐈

It happened one night after a storm rolled in.

The power went out. The whole building fell silent except for the rain tapping against the windows like impatient fingers.

Y/N sat on her bed in the dark, knees drawn to her chest. She hated storms. Not because of the thunder, but because it reminded her of that night—the fight before he cheated. The storm when Sanho had promised forever and gave her betrayal instead.

She didn’t cry. But her fingers clutched the blanket like it was the only thing tethering her to the earth.

There was a soft knock.

She looked up.

Jungkook stood in the doorway, shirtless, his phone flashlight casting a faint glow across his face. Shadows clung to his jaw, his collarbones slick with humidity. His usual cocky expression had been replaced with something gentler. Something careful.

“You good?” he asked, voice low, words soft like he was trying not to scare her further.

She nodded, but didn’t speak. Her throat was too tight. Her silence said more than her voice ever could.

He hesitated, shifting on his feet like he didn’t know whether to leave or stay.

Then, without a word, he stepped inside, tossed a hoodie onto the bed, and sank down beside her—back against the wall, legs stretched out. His phone light clicked off, and for a moment, they were just silhouettes in the dark.

Silent company.

She didn’t thank him.

He didn’t need her to.

“I’m not gonna cuddle you, if that’s what you’re thinking,” she muttered, trying to disguise the break in her voice with sarcasm.

He let out a low laugh. “Don’t flatter yourself.”

But he didn’t move.

They sat there. No notes. No insults. Just quiet breaths in the dark, surrounded by the storm.

She didn’t remember falling asleep, but she did—shoulder barely touching his. Something about the solid weight of him nearby. The calm of his presence when everything else was loud.

𓏔 🪑 ✿🥛🐈

Jungkook’s POV

She fell asleep against his arm.

Her breathing evened out, lashes resting against her cheek like spider silk. Soft. Peaceful. Her face, usually sharp with wit and layered defenses, looked younger in sleep. Almost fragile.

Jungkook sat still.

He hadn’t meant to come in. But when the lights went out and he saw her bedroom door cracked open—something tugged. The kind of instinct that came from watching someone suffer in silence for weeks and pretending you didn’t care.

But he did. Fuck, he did.

He told himself it was curiosity. Or maybe roommate guilt. But sitting there now, staring at her—he knew it was more.

It wasn’t just the way she looked, though she was beautiful—undeniably so, in a way that hit you slow and then all at once. It was the weight of her silence. The grief she never named. The brokenness she carried like it was her fault.

He used to think she was dramatic.

Now, he knew she was just surviving.

He leaned his head back, watching the flashes of lightning cast shadows across the ceiling. His hand twitched beside hers. He wanted to touch her. Just once. Maybe tuck her hair behind her ear. Maybe press a palm to her back and tell her she wasn’t alone.

But he didn’t.

Because he wasn’t sure he could stop at just one touch.

And then—there was a knock.

He stiffened.

Carefully, he lifted her hand from where it had slipped onto his thigh, laying it gently on the blanket. She didn’t stir.

Another knock. Louder this time.

He moved through the apartment barefoot, muscles tense, heart inexplicably pounding.

He opened the door.

A guy stood on the other side. Tall. Soaked. Hair plastered to his forehead like he’d been running through the rain. Brown leather jacket. Shifty eyes.

“Is Y/N here?” the guy asked.

Jungkook narrowed his eyes. “Who’s asking?”

“I’m Sanho.”

The name hit him like a punch to the gut. Oh.

Of course it was him.

Jungkook leaned against the doorframe, arms folded. “She’s sleeping.”

Sanho tried to peer inside. “She lives here?”

“She does.”

“With you?”

A pause. A beat.

“Yeah,” Jungkook said slowly. “With me.”

Sanho’s eyes narrowed. “Are you her boyfriend?”

The question hung in the air like a match waiting to be struck.

Jungkook’s jaw flexed. “No.”

But something in him wished he could say yes.

Sanho scoffed. “Right. Look—can you just tell her I stopped by? I didn’t know she was… living like this.”

Jungkook’s brow rose. “Living like what?”

“I mean… with some dude she barely knows? After everything? Kind of reckless, don’t you think?”

That did it.

Jungkook stepped out, pushing the door half-shut behind him.

“You don’t get to judge her,” he said, voice low and sharp. “Not after what you did.”

Sanho rolled his eyes. “It was one mistake. People cheat all the time—”

“You touched someone else while she waited for you to come home. You made her feel crazy for suspecting what she already knew. That’s not a mistake, that’s fucking manipulation.”

Sanho’s jaw clenched. “Why do you even care?”

Jungkook stepped closer.

“Because I see the way she flinches when she hears the front door open. Because she can’t walk into a storm without shaking. Because she smiles like it hurts. And you’re the reason.”

Silence.

Sanho scoffed. “You trying to be her hero now?”

“No,” Jungkook said, eyes dark. “I’m trying not to beat the shit out of the guy who broke her.”

Sanho stared him down, but he didn’t have a comeback. Just swallowed hard and turned.

“I’ll tell her you came by,” Jungkook said, stepping back inside. “But don’t come back. She’s not yours to hurt anymore.”

He shut the door. Hard.

The echo followed him down the hall.

𓏔 🪑 ✿🥛🐈

The next morning, Y/N woke up groggy.

The storm had passed. Pale light slipped through the curtains. Her skin smelled faintly of rain and laundry detergent—and something warm, something familiar.

Jungkook’s hoodie.

She blinked and sat up slowly.

Her bedroom door was cracked. No sign of him.

She stretched, then padded into the kitchen in bare feet. Reached for her tea—and froze.

A yellow Post-it was stuck to the fridge.

His handwriting.

Your ex was here last night.

No commentary. No opinion. Just information.

Her stomach twisted. She took the note down slowly, eyes scanning it twice.

And right under it, smaller writing she hadn’t noticed before:

I told him not to come back.

Note : hey tumblr !

i’m ario and this is my first time here.hoping this little corner of the internet treats me kindly .i’m here to make memories, meet moots, and maybe even share some soft chaos.kisses, comfort, and kind energy are always welcome 💌

lots of love,

xo ario 💋

« next »

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littleflowerpond · 2 months ago

Text

shameless thirst : m.list

summary : you wanted the bad boy jeon jungkook even if he had a long term hot girlfriend. So you beg him to make you his secret.

pairing : bad boy jungkook x yn

warning : cheating / asshole jungkook ( he can Change or maybe not) , slut/body shaming / desperate yn / smut / morally bad

Status : series [drabble]

You stood behind the old gym building, fingers trembling as you held the small folded note in your hand, the one you had slipped into Jungkook’s locker just an hour ago. You had written your heart into those few lines, begging him to meet you here.

And he did.

Jungkook leaned against his black bike, leather jacket stretched across his broad shoulders, dark tattoos peeking from the edge of his sleeves. A lollipop in his mouth and that same careless smirk on his lips. His presence sucked the air out of your lungs.

"You wrote me that desperate little love note?" he asked, flicking the paper between his fingers mockingly. “Didn’t take you for the type.”

You gulped. “I... I know you have a girlfriend, but I don’t care. I-I’m not asking for much. Just—just give me a chance. We don’t have to tell anyone. I’ll be your secret. Please, I just want a piece of you.”

He blinked, and for a second you thought maybe he would consider it.

Then he laughed. Loud and cruel.

“A piece of me?” he smirk, eyes glinting like razors. “You think I’d throw my girl away for some lonely, pathetic chubby nerd who probably moans my name into her pillow at night?”

Your stomach dropped. The words were bullets.

“I won’t ruin anything, I swear,” you whispered. “She doesn’t have to know. No one has to. I’ll do whatever you want, just let me have you, even just a little...”

He stepped closer, towering over you, his breath minty and sharp. “You’re really that desperate, huh?”

You nodded, ashamed. You couldn't look up. Your voice cracked. “I’m sorry. I just... I think about you all the time.”

Jungkook scoffed. “Get a grip. This ain’t a movie, sweetheart. You're not the type of girl I even look at, especially not when I've already got a real woman.”

Then he walked past you, shoving your shoulder as he went. “Don’t ever embarrass yourself like this again.”

And just like that, you were left there.

Heart crushed. Dignity shattered.

But even through the tears that burned your eyes, a twisted part of you still longed for just one more glance from him.

Just a piece of him.

Index : coming soon

464 notes · View notes

infiredlove · 2 months ago

Text

Internship Begets Rivalry

Chapter Eight: Terms & Conditions

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader Genre: Romcom Word Count: 2,340 Summary: In a cutthroat music internship, competition turns complicated when you find yourself tangled in a constant, tension-fueled push and pull with your rival Min Yoongi. Masterlist | Chapter One

“This is blackmail.”

Yoongi tilted his head. “It's a negotiation.”

I glared. “It’s manipulation.”

“It’s effective.” He looked far too pleased with himself.

I crossed my arms. “So let me get this straight. You’re forcing me to spend time with you—alone—just so you won’t run your mouth?”

Yoongi gave a lazy shrug. “Forcing is a strong word. I’d say incentivizing.”

I huffed. “And if I tell you to shove your ‘incentives’ up your ass.”

“Then I hope you enjoy Amber’s interrogation methods.”

I shuddered. Amber alone was terrifying. But with Krystal and Luna? I wouldn’t last a day. And Yoongi knew it. He definitely saw my resolve waver because he took a step closer, eyes gleaming with victory. Instinctively, I stepped back, avoiding his gaze.

“So? What’s it gonna be?”

Another step forward. Another step back. And then—my legs hit something, and before I could catch myself, I stumbled, landing ungracefully onto the couch behind me. I barely had time to recover before Yoongi closed the distance, hands bracing on either side of me—his left on the back of the couch just above my head, his right settling next to mine on the armrest. I was trapped.

I exhaled sharply, shoulders slumping. “Fine. But I have conditions.”

His lips twitched. “You’re negotiating with me? Bold.”

I ignored him. “One, we only meet up off-campus—”

“Suspicious, but okay.”

I scowled. “Two, we do normal things. No weird Yoongi-style activities.”

He hummed. “Define normal.”

I rolled my eyes. “I dunno like… coffee shops. Movies. Stuff that doesn’t involve me questioning my life choices.”

“Boring, but fine.” He looked entirely unbothered. “Next?”

I hesitated, then pointed at him. “No flirting.”

He outright laughed. “Now that’s really unrealistic.”

“I mean it, Min.”

“Sure, sure.” He was still smirking. “No flirting. Anything else, your highness?”

I pursed my lips, feeling like I’d somehow already lost this battle. “…That’s it.”

Yoongi nodded, straightening up. “Great. First meetup is tomorrow.”

I gaped. “Tomorrow? We just made this deal—”

“And I’m holding up my end of the bargain.” His smirk deepened. “Unless you’d rather I stop by Namjoon’s on my way out?”

I sucked in a sharp breath through my nose. “Fine.”

“Smart girl. Pick you up at eight.” He tapped me lightly on the nose before walking out of the studio.

I turned to argue, but he was already gone, leaving me sitting there with the sinking realization that I’d just walked into a trap. I let out a slow breath, running a hand down my face as the sinking realization settled in.

"Why is it always eight?" I muttered under my breath, scowling at the empty doorway.

—

I was already regretting this.

Yoongi had given me an address, a simple “Meet me here at 8” text, and nothing else. And now, as I stood in front of a tiny, dimly lit bookstore tucked into an alleyway, I wondered if I was about to get lured into some kind of underground crime syndicate.

I pulled out my phone and texted him.

Me: Are you serious? A bookstore? Yoongi: You said normal. Me: Normal people go to cafes, not creepy side-street bookstores! Yoongi: You’re here, aren’t you?

I clenched my jaw. Smug bastard.

Before I could type out an appropriately scathing reply, the door creaked open. Yoongi leaned against the frame, looking effortlessly cool in his usual black ensemble, one hand shoved into his pocket.

“Coming in, or are you just gonna loiter suspiciously?”

I glared. “Is this where you take all your enemies to bond?”

“Only my favorite ones.” His lips twitched. “Now get inside before you get snatched off the street.”

I grumbled but stepped in, the scent of old paper and ink immediately wrapping around me like a warm blanket. The shop was cozy, with overstuffed chairs and little lamps casting golden pools of light over the shelves. It was quiet, save for the distant rustling of pages and a soft jazz tune playing from a record player in the corner.

Yoongi led me toward the back, where a small, tucked-away reading nook was hidden. A tiny café counter sat nearby, offering tea and pastries.

I folded my arms. “This is your idea of a fun night out?”

Yoongi sat down in an armchair and stretched out lazily. “You’re the one who wanted normal.”

I scoffed. “Most people would pick a movie or dinner, not a library for hipsters.”

“Most people are boring.” He flipped open a book and looked at me expectantly. “Well? Pick something.”

I frowned. “Pick what?”

“A book. That’s what you do in a bookstore.”

I narrowed my eyes at him, suspicious. “Why do I feel like this is a test?”

Yoongi smirked but didn’t confirm or deny.

I sighed, scanning the shelves before grabbing a book at random. I plopped down across from him and flipped it open. Fine. If this is what he wanted, I’d play along.

Minutes passed.

Then half an hour.

And to my horror… I actually started enjoying myself.

The silence was surprisingly comfortable. Every once in a while, I’d glance up and catch Yoongi watching me over the edge of his book, his expression unreadable. The air felt charged, but not in an unbearable way. It was just… there.

Eventually, I cleared my throat. “You’re being weirdly quiet.”

Yoongi’s eyes flickered with amusement. “Didn’t know you wanted me to talk.”

I scowled. “I didn’t say all that.”

“Hm.” He shut his book and leaned forward, resting his chin on one hand. “You’re having fun.”

I scoffed. “No, I’m not.”

He smirked. “Liar.”

I turned back to my book, determined to ignore him.

I wasn’t having fun.

Definitely not.

…Right?

The silence stretched again, but now it felt heavier, like Yoongi was waiting for something. Finally, he spoke, voice quieter than before. “You don’t read often, do you?”

I raised a brow in confusion. “What makes you say that?”

“You’ve been reading the same page for ten minutes.”

My face heated. “Maybe I’m just really taking it in.”

He chuckled, leaning back again. “Right. Or maybe you’re too busy thinking about me.”

I snapped my book shut. “Wow, someone’s full of himself.”

Yoongi just grinned. “Am I wrong?”

I opened my mouth to argue, but nothing came out. He took my silence as victory, his smug expression deepening.

I rolled my eyes. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet you’re still here.”

I huffed, crossing my arms. “Only to make sure you keep your mouth shut.”

“Mm.” He hummed. “If that’s what helps you sleep at night.”

I grabbed the nearest pillow from one of the chairs and threw it at him. He dodged it easily, laughing under his breath before going back to his book.

And somehow, despite my better judgment… I stayed.

—

I was not thinking about Yoongi.

I was not replaying the quiet moments in that bookstore, the way he’d smirked when he caught me actually enjoying myself, or the way his voice had softened just the slightest bit when he told me to pick something.

Nope. Not happening.

“Earth to Y/N.”

A hand waved in front of my face, and I blinked back into reality. Amber, Krystal, and Luna were staring at me expectantly from across the cafeteria table, their trays half-empty and their expressions far too amused for my liking.

“What?” I asked defensively.

Amber snorted. “You’ve been zoning out for the past five minutes. I asked you if you wanted to come to the new karaoke bar on Saturday, and you just sat there, staring into space like a lovesick fool.”

I choked on my water. “Excuse me?”

Krystal arched her brow. “So, who’s the guy?”

“There’s no guy!” I said way too quickly.

Luna gasped. “There’s totally a guy.”

“There is no guy,” I repeated, glaring at them.

Amber tapped a finger against her chin. “You have been acting weird lately…”

“I have not. That is a false accusation.”

Krystal smirked. “You so have. First, you were avoiding Yoongi like he had the plague. Now, you’re spacing out mid-conversation? Highly suspicious.”

I rolled my eyes. “You guys are ridiculous.”

Luna hummed. “So you wouldn’t mind if we asked Yoongi about it?”

I froze. That was exactly what they wanted—some kind of reaction, some kind of proof that they were onto something. But I refused to give them the satisfaction. I leaned back in my seat, feigning nonchalance.

“Go ahead. He’ll just glare at you until you leave him alone.”

Amber frowned. “That’s true… He is kinda scary.”

Krystal nodded. “Yeah, but only to other people. He’s awfully chatty with you.”

I clenched my jaw. Damn it. They had noticed.

Luna’s eyes suddenly lit up. “Wait—what if Yoongi is the guy?”

The air around the table shifted.

I forced out a laugh. “Okay, now I know you’re all insane.”

Amber squinted at me. “That wasn’t a denial.”

“It was. And this is stupid!” I gestured vaguely in frustration. “Have you seen me and Yoongi? We argue constantly. We don’t even like each other.”

Krystal pursed her lips. “And yet, you’re being very defensive right now.”

I groaned, grabbing my tray. “I’m leaving.”

Luna gasped dramatically. “She’s running away! That means we’re right!”

I flipped them off over my shoulder. “You guys need hobbies!”

As I stomped away, my phone buzzed in my pocket. I pulled it out and nearly tripped over my own feet.

Yoongi: Did you get caught?

My face burned. I spun around, scanning the cafeteria until my eyes landed on him, sitting at a table near the back. His friends were talking around him, but he wasn’t paying attention. He was watching me. And smirking. I gritted my teeth and typed furiously.

Me: No. But they’re suspicious. Me: This is your fault. Yoongi: My fault? Me: Yes! You keep looking at me. Stop it! Yoongi: But you’re so fun to mess with.

I nearly screamed.

He was so infuriating.

—

I had made a huge mistake.

A terrible, irreversible mistake.

Because the more time I spent alone with Yoongi, the harder it was to convince myself that I didn’t like it. That I didn’t—shouldn’t—enjoy the way he always leaned in too close just to see me squirm. Or the way his voice fell quiet, deep and rumbling, as he teasing whenever we were alone.

The problem was, avoiding him meant facing my other problem—my friends. And considering they were actively trying to uncover a nonexistent relationship, spending time with Yoongi had become the easier option.

Which was exactly how I ended up here, sitting across from him in the dim corner of a tiny ramen shop just off campus. I poked at my noodles, trying very hard not to look at him.

“You’re quiet today,” Yoongi mused, breaking apart his chopsticks.

I huffed. “Maybe I just don’t have anything to say.”

He tilted his head. “That’d be a first.”

I shot him a glare, but he just smirked.

Annoying.

Silence settled between us—comfortable, but charged. It was always like this. Like an invisible thread had tied itself between us, pulling just enough to make its presence known but never enough to snap.

He leaned forward slightly. “They’re still onto you?”

I groaned. “Worse. Amber almost asked you about it today.”

Yoongi arched his brow. “Almost?”

I scowled. “They still think you’re intimidating.”

He hummed like that was amusing to him. “Smart of them.”

I rolled my eyes. “You enjoy this too much.”

“Of course I do,” he said simply, resting his chin in his hand. “Watching you panic is entertaining.”

“I’m not panicking.”

Yoongi snorted. “Right.”

I threw a piece of scallion at him. He dodged it effortlessly, shaking his head in mock disappointment.

We ate in relative quiet after that, though I kept sneaking glances at him—not because I wanted to, but because it was weird seeing him like this. No moody scowl, no sharp remarks, just… Yoongi.

At one point, he caught me staring. “What?”

I smirked. “You look really happy right now.”

He raised a brow. “And?”

I leaned in conspiratorially. “It’s just funny. For a guy who tries so hard to be all emo and mysterious, you sure light up over a bowl of ramen.”

Yoongi clicked his tongue. “I don’t ‘try’ to be anything.”

“Uh-huh.” I gave him a knowing look. “Next thing I know, you’ll be telling me you don’t own at least ten black hoodies.”

He exhaled through his nose, shaking his head. “You think you’re funny, don’t you?”

“I know I’m funny.” I grinned. “And you, Min Yoongi, are secretly soft.”

He leaned forward slightly, voice lowering. “If I’m so soft, then why are you blushing?”

I blinked. “I’m not—”

“You’re 100% blushing.” His smirk deepened. A pause and then— “It’s cute.”

I stammered. “How would you even know I’m blushing?”

He laughed incredulously, “What, you think cause you’re black you don’t blush?”

I opened my mouth to argue, but as usual, I couldn’t think of anything smart to say. Instead I scoffed, shoving a piece of napkin at him, “Wipe that smug look off your face.”

He chuckled but took the napkin anyway, dabbing at his lips with an exaggeratedly polite motion. “Better?”

I rolled my eyes, but my cheeks still felt warm.

When we finished, we stepped outside into the crisp night air, the glow of streetlights washing over the nearly empty sidewalk. I shoved my hands into my pockets, still feeling the warmth of the ramen in my stomach.

“Amber said I was acting like a lovesick fool today,” I muttered, kicking at a loose pebble.

Yoongi laughed. “Were you?”

“No.”

“You sure?”

I glared at him. “Yes.”

He shrugged, looking entirely too pleased with himself. “Too bad.”

I frowned. “Too bad what?”

Yoongi exhaled, his breath fogging slightly in the cold. “Would’ve been nice if you finally admitted it.”

I just stared at him. I had nothing to say to that.

Nothing at all.

Instead, I turned on my heel and started walking. “I’m going home.”Yoongi’s low chuckle followed me. “See you tomorrow, lovesick fool.”

----------------------------------------

Masterlist | One | Seven | Nine

#Internship Begets Rivalry #IBR #yoongi x reader #college!au #college!reader #college!bts #college!yoongi #romcom #slow burn #enemies to lovers #ongoing #yoongi #poc x bts #min yoongi #poc reader #bts #bangtan #bangtan sonyeondan #infiredlove

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sparklingchim · 3 months ago

Text

yours, but not yours; m | jjk

pairing: jungkook x reader

word count: 3.6k

tropes: hockeyplayer!jungkook, richgirlie!oc, college!au, fwb, brother's best friend

rating: 18+

warnings: protected sex, breast play, missionary, fingering, jk bites her once, choking, jelly jk 😋, jelly oc!!, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, hair pulling, oc is mesmerised by his beauty (so real), gentle koo <3, but also rough koo 😠, they fight 😔

summary: pov: you're his, he's yours, but only when it's convenient.

a/n: hi the first version of this actually had a very sweet and gentle ending but then i remembered that i have the power to turn it sad so here we are 😋

⭒☆━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━☆⭒

The moment Jungkook steps into your room, an immediate pout appears on his mouth.

“You undressed without me?”

You giggle as he takes in your bare skin, his eyes still hungry despite the big disappointment.

“What was the point of sending me a pic in that lacy black set if I don’t even get to see you in it now?”

“Just needed you to get here quickly.”

Jungkook huffs dramatically, still pouting as he reaches back to pull his hoodie over his head. You watch, thoroughly amused, as he shimmies out of his pants with just a little too much urgency – like he’s trying to prove a point.

“I’m always quick,” he retorts. His gaze catches on the tiny puddle of black lace next to your bed, and he pauses. “Wanna put it on for me again?”

“Next time.” You sit up and drag him closer by the waistband of his boxers. “Just want you to fuck me,” you say, palming his semi through the black material. You look up at him, batting your eyelashes. “Please?”

“Fuck, baby.” He groans, head falling back. Almost mindlessly, his hand covers yours, guiding you to squeeze harder. “Your touch feels amazing.”

Pushing the covers completely off, he spreads your legs apart and settles on top of you. You impatiently pull him down and press your lips against his. They’re soft, addictive, and just what you needed right now.

Today’s been a rough day – endless lectures, assignments pilling up, and deadlines creeping closer. Your brain feels overloaded, your shoulders tight from hours of sitting hunched over your laptop. By the time evening rolls around, all you want is to unwind, to shut off the noise in your head for a while.

And luckily, Taehyung is out, and Jungkook had time for you.

“Haven’t seen you in a bit,” you say, breathless.

“You’ve been the quiet one,” Jungkook counters, his nose trailing a slow, deliberate line down to your neck.

“I’ve just been a bit stressed the past few days.”

“But went out with Eunwoo last night?” he murmurs, his lips brushing softly against your skin with every word. He doesn’t stop planting little kisses on your neck, the question slipping out like an afterthought – except you know better.

“How would you know that?”

Jungkook pulls back just slightly, a smug tilt to his lips, something unreadable flickering in his eyes. “Your brother is a big yapper.”

“He’s annoying,” you huff.

“Didn’t think you’d let him take you out on a date.”

“You know why,” you say, tilting your head to give him easier access. “Mum likes him, and I don’t feel like explaining that I’m not interested in a boyfriend, or a relationship with anyone, because – oh.” A sharp nip at your skin makes you gasp, and you tug at Jungkook’s hair. “Did you just bite me?”

He soothes the sting with his tongue.

“Too much yapping for a girl who couldn’t wait to have my dick in her pussy.”

“I don’t want any marks.” You push him away from your neck, fingers gripping his jaw just to make a point.

He levels you with a raised brow. “What, so you posh little boy doesn’t see?”

“He’s not a posh little boy.” Your fingers trail over his swollen bottom lip, the moment stretching longer than it should. It’s too easy to get distracted when Jungkook’s pretty face is this close. “He is nice.”

“Nice, huh?”

“Yeah, he took me out for dinner, and then we watched a movie at the cinema.”

“The cinema? You’re right, he isn’t posh at all.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “The cinema was my idea.”

“You’ve been wanting to see Anyone But You, right?”

You only manage to mutter a shaky “yeah” when his fingers dip between your thighs and spread your folds.

“God, baby, you’re so wet.”

“Been thinking about you.” Your back arches off the bed as he slips two fingers inside you. He stretches you out, turning you into putty in his hands.

“Yeah?” Jungkook bites his lip at the sight of you. His eyes are shiny and excited, and you instinctively reach for him and give him a kiss. “Gonna take care of you then.”

You nod quickly, feeling him pressing his fingers even deeper inside of you, and repeatedly stroking your sweet spot. “Make me feel good, please,” you whisper, voice barely holding steady.

You like this with Jungkook – how you never have to ask twice, how he knows you so well, as if he’s spent forever memorising every little reaction. He knows exactly where to touch, where to kiss, how to pull you apart piece by piece.

With his other hand he busies himself with your tits. He fondles and teases, and the sensations send a shiver up your spine, heat pooling deep in your tummy.

“Already so needy for me,” he murmurs, watching you through heavy lashes. “Let go for me, yeah?”

You don’t even need to answer, your body reacts before your mind can catch up, rolling into his touch, chasing the pleasure he’s so effortlessly pulling from you.

Jungkook groans low in his throat, the sound thick with satisfaction as he watches you unravel beneath him. His fingers drive into you with just enough force to make your legs tremble.

“Feel good?” His voice is rough, teasing, but there’s something softer underneath, something warm that only makes your stomach tighten further.

“So good,” you gasp, dragging your nails down his back, pressing them into his skin.

By the time you come down, your body feels boneless, mind hazy, breath unsteady.

It’s just what you needed after today. After all the stress, the overthinking, and the general disaster that was your mood. Now lying here, with Jungkook on top, feeling way too relaxed to move, you realise you should probably spend more time with him. And not just for purely self-indulgent reasons (well, actually, maybe it’s part of it, but can you blame a girl?).

Jungkook rids himself of his boxers and you greedily watch his cock spring up against his tummy. He reaches for your bedside table and fetches a condom from the drawer.

“How do you want me?”

“Just like this,” Jungkook says. He traces the outline of your side, moving slowly down to your hips. “I know your legs are all mushy and trembly.”

You look up at him, trying to muster some sort of comeback, but your mind’s too foggy with him and everything he’s doing to you. “You’re so cocky.”

Jungkook just shrugs, a playful glint in his eyes. “Well, I’m good at what I do.”

He rolls the condom over his cock, and the smug look on his face grows as he watches you struggle to stay composed. He rubs his tip over your pussy and teases your entrance a bit before he slowly pushes his cock into you.

“It’s cute when you can’t even talk back.”

And that’s exactly what annoys you about him. How he always gets his way. How he always gets you like this – weak, pliant, easy to mess with. He enjoys it too much.

Maybe that’s why the next words slip out before you can stop them.

“I heard that you were with Nayeon.” Again.

“Maybe.”

That non-answer makes your stomach twist. You’re not like Jungkook, you can’t pretend it doesn’t interest you – can't pretend not to be nosy. You poke around until you get every detail, and as a result, you know too much. And knowing too much always ends up hurting you.

“Was it more than making out like last time?”

“You wanna talk about me fucking other girls when I’m balls deep inside of you?”

“So you did?”

“What’s it to you?” An annoying grin blooms his face. “Are you jealous?”

“You are,” you counter defensively.

Jungkook doesn’t hesitate when he replies, “I am.”

Maybe if his eyes didn’t hold that soft, starry glow, your heart wouldn’t stumble over itself.

Feeling the way you do feels particularly dangerous while he is fucking you missionary.

“You love to annoy me, don’t you?”

“Annoy you?” Jungkook nudges your jaw with his nose. “I’m just answering your questions.”

“Yet you’re purposefully ignoring one,” you huff with a little pout on your lips.

“So what if I told you I did hook up with her?” His hands grip the backs of your thighs, pushing them up as he draws back a little, creating some distance.

“So you did?”

His silver chains dangles from his neck, catching the light. Usually, you would reach up and tug him closer, but right now, you’re too focused on his face and the changes in his demeanour.

“No.” He shakes his head. “I didn’t.”

Your nails trail lightly over the sculpted expanse of his chest. “She’s gorgeous, isn’t she?”

Jungkook sighs. “I’d love not to think about someone else when I’m with you.”

You don’t know why your tummy feels all funny at the thought of Jungkook being with another girl. You know it shouldn’t, but it does, and it scares you.

Wrapping your arms around his neck, you force him closer to you.

“You’re right,” you say quietly, placing a quick peck to his lips. “I’m just too nosy.”

Jungkook smiles against your mouth. “Can’t help it, hm?” he teases. “Get out of your head for me.” His tatted fingers curl around your throat – gentle with a hint of possessiveness just like the next words he whispers. “Let me fuck my girl properly, so all she thinks about is me.”

You barely have time to register the shift before he’s moving, pressing you deeper into the mattress, the weight of him settling between your legs.

“You always think too much,” Jungkook murmurs, his voice a low rasp. His grip on your throat is light but firm, a silent reminder that he’s in control – not that you mind. If anything, it makes your head feel even hazier, your thoughts slipping further away with his touches.

He kisses you again, hungrier this time, his teeth grazing your bottom lip as his hips rock against yours. The friction pulls a gasp from your throat, but he swallows it whole.

“Jungkook,” you exhale, fingers digging into his back.

It’s overwhelming – the way he fills every sense, the way your bodies move together, the heat of his skin against yours. He’s everywhere.

He lets go of your throat and grips your thigh, hooking it over his hip to pull you impossibly closer. You don’t try to hold back the moan when you feel him so deep inside of you. Jungkook groans low in his throat, fingers pressing into your thigh as his pace turns rougher, more desperate.

“Still thinking about it?” he taunts.

You shake your head, but it’s not enough. He doesn’t want words. Jungkook wants to see it, feel it. Wants to pull every thought from your mind until there’s nothing left but him.

“Good,” he whispers, his movement relentless. “Because I don’t want you thinking about anyone else.”

As if you could.

Every roll of his hips sends heat pooling in your stomach, tightening, winding, until you’re clinging to him, chasing the friction, desperate for more.

His hand slides to your jaw, tilting your head so you have no choice but to meet his gaze. “Look at you,” he says, eye half-lidded, but still holding tenderness. “You don’t even realise how good you feel, do you?”

You can’t answer. Can’t think.

His grip tightens as he drives into you again, harder this time, dragging a broken sound from you. The moment he finds it – the spot that makes your whole body tense – your fingers tug at his hair. He groans at the pull, his pace quickening, dragging you closer to the brink with every thrust.

“That’s it,” he mutters. One hand slides between you, fingers working in sync with his movements, and it’s too much. “Go on,” he encourages, leaning down to nip at your jaw. “Let me feel you.”

The pleasure crashes over you in waves. Jungkook’s name slips from your lips in a weak plea as your thighs lock around his hips, your eyes squeezing shut. Overwhelming heat rushes through you, making it impossible to form any coherent thoughts.

Jungkook moans at the way you react, eyes hungry as he watches and feels every second of it. He doesn’t let up, though his thrusts are gentler now to ease you through the aftershocks.

When the haze of pleasure begins to clear, you open your eyes.

In the dim light, with his damp hair sticking to his forehead and his pouty lips kiss-swollen, he looks so pretty. His cheeks are flushed in a pretty pink colour, his lashes dark against his skin, and the warmth in his gaze sends a flutter through your chest.

You imagine he looks at you like you’re something to be admired, like he can’t believe you’re really beneath him, glowing in the aftermath of what he just did to you.

“What?” he asks, voice teasing but soft as he stops his movements. Jungkook tilts his head, a smirk tugging at the corner of his lips.

You stay quiet. Heat creeps up your neck.

“What’s that look for?”

“Nothing.”

“Nothing?” His boyish smile widens, knowing, amused. “You’re kinda staring.” His gaze flickers between your eyes and your lips. “You’re all shy now? After that?”

“Shut up,” you grumble, pressing your hands against his chest, but he doesn’t budge. No, he leans in even closer, eyes gleaming with mischief.

“Oh no, this is cute,” he muses, fingers tracing the heated skin of your cheek. “You weren’t shy a second ago. What happened, baby?”

You huff, turning your face into his shoulder, and he laughs – a soft, low chuckle that sends warmth spreading through your chest.

“C’mere,” he whispers, tilting your chin back toward him again. His eyes are still twinkling with amusement, but there’s something undeniably fond beneath it. He presses a quick peck to your forehead. “You’re cute when you get all shy on me.”

And then, just as your heart starts to settle, his smirk turns downright wicked.

“Maybe I should make you do that again.”

Before you can protest, he rolls his hips into yours, and in an instant, your thoughts scatter, your embarrassment replaced by something much, much stronger.

Your breath catches as a fresh wave of pleasure sparks through your already sensitive body. Jungkook feels it – the way you jolt beneath him, the way your fingers clutch at his biceps like you don’t know whether to pull him closer or push him away.

“It’s too much,” you whimper.

“You can take it,” he breathes, dark eyes flickering over your face, drinking in every reaction. “One more for me, yeah?”

The pleasure builds impossibly fast, your oversensitive body teetering on the edge before you even realise it. The tension snaps, each second stretching out in a blur of raw need.

“Fuck, baby. That’s a good girl.”

You’re clenching around his cock, making it impossible for him to think about anything else than wanting to cum too.

“Gonna cum, fuck, I’m gonna cum.”

His voice is strained, breaths coming in uneven gasps as he loses himself completely. His brows knit together, lips parted just enough for a shaky exhale to escape.

A deep warmth paints his cheeks. His chest rises and falls in staggered motions as pleasure overtakes him.

Jungkook stills, the muscles on his tummy tightening before finally giving in, his jaw going slack as he releases with a broken sigh. It’s overwhelming, watching him like this, so unguarded and undone.

Jungkook doesn’t pull away immediately. Instead, his arms tighten around you. His lips graze your shoulder absentmindedly, not quite a kiss, just a lingering touch before he exhales deeply.

Eventually, he shifts, adjusting the blankets around you both, making sure you’re covered before settling back against the pillows. His hand finds your waist, fingers drawing slow, lazy circles against your skin.

It’s comfortable, familiar in a way neither of you ever talk about.

You let yourself sink into the warmth of him, lulled by the quiet, until the sharp vibration of your phone cuts through the air.

You don’t move at first, too caught up in the moment, but the Taehyung crosses your mind.

Suddenly, the worst-case scenario unfolds in your head – what if it’s him? What if you just ignored a text saying, hey, home in ten, have you had dinner yet? Because it that’s the case, you’re royally fucked.

Reluctantly, you pick up your phone.

It’s not Taehyung, thank God. If your calculations are correct, then he should be out for another hour or two.

Eunwoo sent you a rotten tomato review of a movie you two watched together

Eunwoo

this review lowkey ruined it for me

You

how dare u say that

ruined our date??

that's rude

Eunwoo

i guess we have to go on another date then

go see a better movie

You giggle at his text. He’s smooth, and he knows it – and he knows that you know, and you kinda hate him for that.

The sheets rustle behind you.

“So, you’re going on another date with him?”

When you look over your shoulder, you see Jungkook’s doe eyes locked on your phone screen.

You realise you might have spent too much time with Jungkook lately – your noisiness is starting to rub off on him.

“It’s not nice to spy on people like that,” you tease, laughing as you put your phone down. But your smile falters when he doesn’t return it. His expression remains unreadable, and the shift in his mood is almost palpable. “What?”

Jungkook tilts is head slightly. “Does he know you’re texting him while you’re naked in bed with me?”

You roll your eyes at his petty remark. “It’s not that serious with him.”

One of his brows lifts, scepticism written all over his face. You’re not sure what’s gotten into him – why he suddenly seems so off – but you don’t like it. Hoping to ease whatever tension he’s feeling, you run your fingers through his messy hair, letting the soft strands slip between your fingertips.

He softens under your touch, but there’s still something lingering in his gaze.

“Does he know that?”

Your fingers still. “I hope he does.”

You swallow, suddenly hyperaware of the weight of his stare. He’s not looking at you the way he usually does – cocky, amused, ready with a silly remark.

“Jungkook,” you sigh, fingers still resting against his scalp. “Why are you acting like this?”

He doesn’t answer right away. His hand slides across your bare thigh, fingertips pressing into your skin like he’s grounding himself. Then, with a shrug, he says. “Just wondering if you’re as casual about this as you say you are.”

Your stomach twists. “I am.”

If it weren’t for you mum constantly pushing you to date someone like Eunwoo, you never would’ve considered it. You’re only going along with it to keep her happy, even though, to be honest, you do have fun with him

His tongue swipes over his bottom lip, and you can tell he doesn’t fully believe you.

“You sure?”

His eyes flick down to your arm that’s resting at his side, your fingers still tangled in his hair, like you’re unconsciously trying to soothe him. You realise it at the same time he does and pull your hand back.

You sit up a little, shifting on the bed, irritation flickering to life. “What’s your deal, Jungkook? We just fuck, remember? That’s, like, the only way we work.”

“Right,” he says, voice flat. “Because of your commitment issues.”

Your spine stiffens. “Oh, please.”

“I’m just saying,” he continues, voice smooth, calculated. “You keep shit casual because it’s easy. You don’t have to think too hard about who you’re hurting.”

You scoff. “And you do?”

“I don’t pretend to be something I’m not.”

You roll your eyes. “You’re being dramatic. We’re not exclusive.”

“We’re not,” he says. “I just don’t wanna keep wondering how many dudes you’ve fucked until you text me again to come over.”

Your breath catches, caught off guard by his honesty.

He watches you carefully, fingers drumming against your hip.

“You wanna fuck around, do it. But I’m not waiting around for you to decide when I’m worth full of your attention.”

The words sink into your skin, and for some reason, they sting. But you refuse to show it.

“Funny, because you made out with Nayeon last week.”

Jungkook doesn’t even flinch. He just rolls his eyes. The most casual reaction to something that makes your pulse quicken with jealousy.

“You just don’t get it, do you?” he asks.

Jungkook gathers his clothes from the floor. You watch him get ready to leave.

"I've got better shit to do than this."

“You’re being ridiculous,” you say, voice sharper than you intended.

Jungkook just hums, like he’s already said everything he needed to. But you see the way his jaw ticks, the way his shoulders are just a little tenser than usual, the flicker of discomfort that crosses his face before he covers it with indifference.

Still, he doesn’t look at you when he speaks. “You should probably text him back,” he says casually, pulling his hoodie over his head. “Wouldn’t wanna keep him waiting.”

Your jaw clenches.

There’s a part of you that wants to snap back, to throw something at him that would make him feel as frustrated as you do. But instead, you just sit there, gripping the sheets covering your body, watching as he slides his phone into his pocket like he’s in no rush to leave – but in no rush to stay, either.

Jungkook exhales, like he’s debating whether to say more, and finally spares you a glance.

The silence between you is thick, suffocating, pressing against your ribs.

And for once, you don’t know how to handle it.

Your fingers twitch against the sheets, but you don’t reach for him. You don’t ask him to stay. You don’t say anything at all.

Jungkook studies you for another moment before finally turning towards the door.

He doesn’t slam it when he leaves. He closes it gently behind him.

And for some reason, that makes it worse.

2K notes · View notes

youthguk · 2 months ago

Text

Entropy: Collapse (Finale) | jjk (m)

College AU | Fuckboy Jungkook x Physics Student Y/N

“The universe tends toward chaos.”

You said it was just sex. But gravity doesn’t stop pulling — and entropy always ends in collapse.

genre: smut, college AU, fuckboy!jungkook, explicit sexual content, strong language

Wc: 10k

part 1 here (!!!) your feedback means the world to me. 🖤

You’ve spent the past four hours staring at the same simulation code, and the red blinking cursor feels more like a threat than a prompt. Your desk lamp is the only light on in the room, casting long shadows over textbooks, half-drunk tea, and the wrinkled copy of your research grant application — still unsigned, still mocking you with possibility.

It's one forty-seven a.m., the kind of hour that strips everything quiet, even your thoughts. The sky outside is the color of unfinished ink, and the campus streets below are empty. No movement. No noise. Just the occasional flicker of a hallway light going out down the corridor — dormitory entropy, in real time.

You rub your eyes and stretch your neck, but nothing shifts. Not the physics paper. Not the persistent heat blooming in your stomach. Not the memory of how his voice rasped when he told you to open wider. Five days have passed since Jeon Jungkook's last text.

Well — not since you left him hard in the TA room, lips bitten raw and pants around his thighs, after whispering “Don’t think this means anything.”

Your phone lights up with his name again - no message this time. He's already sent plenty that you've left unanswered, filling your notifications with desperate attempts at connection.

Something tugs at you, an invisible force as real as gravity. Your hand moves toward the phone with the careful slowness of someone trying not to startle fate. Each moment feels weighted with possibility, with the kind of weakness that threatens to become something more significant.

Without responding to his messages, you press call. The phone rings twice before his sleep-rough voice answers, "...Y/N?"

That sound - deep, warm, familiar in the worst way - hits you like a collapsing wave. You lean back, eyes closed, phone pressed to your ear. "Are you alone?"

A pause. "Yeah."

Your voice softens instinctively. "I'm in bed."

Through the speaker, sheets rustle. "Are you okay?"

"I can't stop thinking about that night."

His exhale trembles. "Baby..." The word slips past his pride. "I've been going crazy."

You wish you could stop, wish you could call this a mistake, but the moment has already consumed you. "I've been touching myself."

A guttural groan tears from his chest. You picture his hand flying beneath the sheets, his cock hardening as your thighs press together. "Fuck," he rasps. "Tell me what you're doing. Please—"

The leather chair squeaks as you shift, fingers trailing over your sleep shorts. "My hand's already there. I'm so wet, Jungkook."

His moan fills the line. "Are you rubbing your clit?"

"Mhm..."

"Slow?"

"Not slow enough."

His rhythm becomes clear through the phone - his ragged breathing, rustling fabric, the unmistakable sound of him stroking himself. You picture his tattooed hand wrapped tight around his cock, eyes closed, lips parted.

"Fuck, I wish I was there. I'd spread you open, use my mouth until you begged."

"I don't beg."

"You did," he growls. "You do."

Your breath catches as your fingers quicken, hips rolling toward something forbidden. "You'd fuck me slow first, wouldn't you? Just to tease."

His groan sounds pained. "Yes. God, yes. I'd make you come on my cock until you forget your name."

"Too late."

His laugh comes broken, winded. "God, you're unreal."

Your soft moan makes his rhythm falter. "Don't stop," he gasps. "Please, baby—talk to me—don't stop—"

You let him drown in your breathing, in the slick sounds of your movements, let him believe you're about to unravel. Then you pull away, letting silence fill the void.

"Y/N?" His voice comes breathless.

"I have to go," you whisper. "Goodnight."

"Wait—"

The call ends before he can finish. You stare at the dark screen, pulse still hammering between your legs, throat dry and cheeks burning. Somewhere in his room, he's still hard, still aching, still alone.

Without smiling, you let your head fall back and whisper to the ceiling, "Thermodynamics never warned me about this kind of heat."

The phone is face-down on the desk now, like it’s guilty. Your hand is still sticky with want. Your heart still beats faster than it should. But the room is quiet again — painfully, cruelly quiet. As if nothing just happened. As if you didn’t just break your own rules for the fifth time in two weeks.

You don’t move. You just sit in the stillness, surrounded by half-solved equations and the low hum of your old desk lamp. Your body is flushed and your mind is disgustingly awake.

The post-call static crackles louder than it should in your ears. What the hell are you doing? This wasn’t supposed to be anything.

Jeon Jungkook was entropy incarnate — hot and careless and untouchable. A beautiful disaster contained in perfect muscle memory. A reputation in motion. You were supposed to observe him like any other chaotic system: from a distance, with your hands behind your back and your lab coat on.

But now? Now you’re one of his goddamn data points. You swipe your tongue across your lips, still tasting the desperation in your own voice. He sounded wrecked. And the worst part? You liked it.

You liked knowing you could pull him apart with a few words. You liked the way his breath shook when he said your name. You liked the way you made him beg, even when you were the one unraveling.

The thrill of power over him was intoxicating, but that only made it worse. Your control slipped too easily when his voice came through the line - low and desperate, cock in hand, saying things that made your breath catch. He spoke like you were his whole universe, the only constant worth orbiting, and that terrified you.

With guilt tightening your spine, you push back from the desk and stand. This is exactly why you don't let yourself get attached. This is why you insisted it was nothing more than sex.

Because you can’t afford to lose focus. Not now. Not when you’re a finalist for the CERN summer rotation, when your advisor just asked for your draft proposal, when your whole future has to be measured in unit conversions and GPA decimals. And Jungkook? He doesn’t fit into the equation. He’s not a constant. He’s not a vector. He’s not even a variable. He’s the error term — the chaotic, unpredictable, heat-inducing mistake that corrupts the entire model. The kind of anomaly your professors warned you about.

And still, the memory of his moan echoes in your mind - that raw, strangled "baby" when you confessed your hand was between your thighs. Your knees buckle and you collapse face-down into your pillow, groaning into cotton.

You make the same promises you always do: You'll delete his number tomorrow. You'll end it properly next time. You'll mean it when you say it's over.

Because you are not a girl who gets off to old mistakes. And even thought entropy is inevitable — collapse is still a choice.

✧.✧.✧.✧.✧.✧.

The campus courtyard is flooded with late-morning sunlight, the kind that turns everything golden and too warm, like the world’s trying to trick you into slowing down. You don’t. Your sneakers hit pavement with the same clipped rhythm they always do — fast, focused, efficient. A girl with a purpose.

There’s a coffee cup in one hand, a folder clutched to your chest, and your headphones are in — not for music, just for armor. Physics department office hours, then lab, then TA prep. No room for detours. No reason to look anywhere but straight ahead.

And yet, something catches your attention - his laugh. That low, boyish sound you've memorized despite yourself. Your steps falter slightly as your eyes find him: Jeon Jungkook.

Back leaned casually against the stone column outside the business department, one ankle crossed over the other, sleeves rolled up to his elbows like the heat doesn’t dare touch him. Two girls are perched far too close on either side of him, their voices high and coy, like everything they say is an invitation. One twirls a strand of hair around her finger. The other leans in, whispering something near his ear.

His smile is polite but distracted - his eyes are fixed solely on you. The moment your gazes meet, you freeze, blood rushing through your veins as your mouth fills with the bitter taste of caffeine and regret. He's not doing anything extraordinary, just standing there, yet the air seems to bend around him like he's become the center of gravity itself.

The sunlight catches him perfectly - illuminating his golden skin, the intricate tattoos peeking from beneath his shirt cuff, the silver ring glinting as he absently brushes hair from his face. You despise how vividly you remember those fingers against your skin, how he's the only one who's ever made you come undone with just his voice through a phone, making you feel completely his.

When his expression shifts into a subtle frown, hurt evident in the slight crease of his brow, you immediately drop your gaze. Without hesitation, you continue walking, shoulders squared and headphones suddenly deafening despite their silence. Behind you, Jungkook pushes away from the column, his eyes tracking your retreat until you vanish behind the admin building.

The girl beside him notices, nudging his arm with a pout. "Who's that? She looked... intense."

He doesn't answer, because only one thought consumes him: She saw me. And looked away like I never happened.

✧.✧.✧.✧.✧.✧.

The seminar room smells like chalk dust, overripe fruit from someone’s lunchbox, and too many minds running on too little sleep. Fluorescent lights hum overhead. Your pen taps lightly against your knee, bouncing in rhythm with the low buzz of voices filling the space before the professor arrives.

You’re early. As always. You’ve got your notes laid out like a defense line: printed equations, a crisp copy of the grant rubric, your half-drafted proposal for the summer placement. It’s the kind of prep that should settle your nerves, that should root you in facts and numbers and control.

But exhaustion weighs heavy, and your mind wanders to dangerous territory - his voice still echoing in your ears. Please, baby—talk to me—don't stop

Behind you, two girls slip into their seats, their laughter cutting through your thoughts.

"God, he's such a slut," one says, voice dripping with disdain.

"Who?" her friend asks absently.

"Jeon Jungkook. I swear if I see him flirting with another freshman outside the business library again..."

"He doesn't even try," the other scoffs. "Girls just throw themselves at him like they want their lives ruined."

Their gossip continues - something about a chemistry student with green hair, an economics major who fell off a table. Their words blur together as you stare at your notes, at the clean columns of formulas. ΔS = ΔQ/T. Entropy as heat divided by temperature. Order, motion, equations - these should be your constants.

But your stomach twists as memories flood back unbidden: your knees on his bedroom floor two weeks ago, his fingers teasing you under a library table while Newton's third law lay forgotten, his name on your lips just last night as aftershocks rippled through you.

They don't know. They shouldn't know. This was meant to be meaningless - for both of you. You were supposed to be different, just an anomaly in his system, a temporary spike in temperature. Yet here you are, his touch branded into your skin, his name still burning on your tongue.

When the professor walks in, you force yourself to focus on the equations before you, ignoring how your throat constricts and your hand trembles around your pen.

✧.✧.✧.✧.✧.✧.

The air outside the lab building is heavy with spring. Not fresh — just close. Like something’s about to happen, but hasn’t yet. The sky’s turned white with too much light, and your skin feels a few degrees too warm as you step outside, research proposal folder pressed tight to your chest.

You need coffee. You need silence. You need distance from the way your body still pulses whenever you remember his voice on the phone.

Your heart stops when you spot him on the ledge near the back entrance. Jungkook lounges there with deceptive casualness - one foot propped on the low wall, black ball cap shadowing his face, fingers toying with his hoodie drawstrings. Though his posture seems relaxed, you know he's been waiting. Your stomach sinks as reality settles in.

A futile glance over your shoulder confirms this isn't your imagination. His eyes lock onto yours, and there's no escape.

And for a split second, his face breaks open like light through cloud cover — too fast, too warm. He stands up.

“Y/N.”

You continue walking, but he matches your stride, undeterred.

Keeping your eyes fixed ahead, you barely acknowledge his soft "hey" with a slight nod.

“Didn’t think I’d see you outside a textbook this week.”

You huff out a dry sound that might pass for a laugh. “I’m busy.”

He falls into step beside you. His hands are in his hoodie pockets. You can feel the heat coming off him like a small sun — too close, too real.

“You always say that,” he says, trying to joke. “Even when you’re coming on my—”

“Don’t.” The words come out too fast, too sharp. He falls silent as they continue walking, the tension between them thick enough to slice through.

When he finally speaks again, his voice is lower, gentler: "Hey... about the other night..."

You pause mid-step, refusing to meet his gaze. "There is no other night," you say coldly. "There was nothing."

He flinches as if struck, and you continue walking, leaving him behind.

And before he can recover enough to respond, you’ve already pushed through the glass doors of the research wing and disappeared into the building.

Behind you, Jungkook stands frozen in the courtyard, lips parted, jaw tightening.

He watches the door for a full ten seconds before muttering to no one, “…yeah. Fucking nothing.”

You don't stop walking until you're inside the stairwell, out of sight, out of breath.

Your fingers are white-knuckled around the folder. You hate that your hands are shaking. You hate that your heart is doing that thing again — the stuttering thing, like you just sprinted across a field when all you did was stand in his shadow for sixty seconds.

There was nothing. The words left your mouth with practiced ease, rehearsed like a formula you'd memorized. They should have felt precise and clinical - a clean incision to excise what had grown between you. Instead, the declaration burned like touching a live wire, leaving aftershocks that refused to fade.

The cool wall against your back offered little comfort as you tried to steady your breathing. His appearance had shattered your careful equations - that smile that hinted at shared secrets, that look that suggested you still held meaning. You'd convinced yourself he was forgettable, reduced him to simple physics: just impulse, just friction. But one glance was enough to resurrect every memory of his touch, every place his mouth had mapped your skin.

What twisted deepest was the hope in his eyes - that earnest belief that you might want conversation, that you hadn't truly relegated him to past tense. You pressed your knuckles to your lips, drinking in oxygen like it could douse the ember in your chest. You'd told him there was nothing, but your body betrayed you with every quickened heartbeat, every nerve ending crying out for more.

✧.✧.✧.✧.✧.✧.

The third floor of the physics library holds a particular kind of silence - tense and punishing, where even the slightest sound draws sharp glares from focused grad students and ambitious TAs. Usually, this atmosphere helps clear your mind, but today the quiet only amplifies your thoughts.

From your favorite corner cubicle, you stare at your open laptop and notebook, equations sprawling across the pages in messy trails. The grant deadline looms just three days away, but instead of focusing on formulas, your mind keeps drifting to Jungkook's expression when you dismissed what was between you - not angry or smug, just wounded in a way that makes your chest ache.

You shift in your seat, grateful for the comfort of your loose sweater and short black skirt, hair clipped back carelessly. Relief should come easily after ending things, but your body betrays you - thighs pressed together, fingers twitching with muscle memory of threading through his hair.

The soft scrape of a chair breaks your reverie. An iced Americano appears at your elbow, condensation beading on the plastic, and your breath catches as Jungkook settles across from you uninvited. He's wearing a hoodie and black cap, a light sheen of sweat suggesting he rushed here. When his eyes meet yours, the silence between you grows thick with unspoken words.

He just nods once toward the drink. “You look like you needed it.”

Your jaw tightens. “Don’t.”

He raises his palms, surrendering. “Just being nice.”

You remain silent, knowing you should tell him to leave but finding yourself unable to form the words. Returning to your notes proves futile as the numbers blur together, his presence impossible to ignore. His leg brushes against yours under the table once, then again. Though you shift away slightly, you don't completely break the contact.

He leans in, his voice low, soft as static. “You don’t have to say anything.”

You blink slowly. “Then why are you here?”

He shrugs, lips curling into something unreadable. “You’re the only person who’s ever made me come from a phone call.”

Heat floods your cheeks. “I was alone.”

“You didn’t sound alone.”

You glance at him, sharply. But he’s not teasing. His gaze drops to your lips.

“I keep thinking about the way you sounded. Like you were trying not to moan.”

His voice dips lower. “Like you wanted me to beg.”

Your mouth is dry. “That’s not—”

His hand moves beneath the table, landing on your knee with deliberate intent. You freeze as he speaks in a low, steady voice: "Tell me to stop and I will." His fingers trace upward along your thigh in a slow caress, and though you know you should stop him, the words catch in your throat. His touch continues its path until he reaches the heat between your legs, pausing just shy of where you need him most. You can feel the warmth of his skin hovering there like a promise, and your body betrays you - already wet, wanting, yearning for more.

“I knew it,” Jungkook whispers, so quiet you almost don’t hear him. “I fucking knew it.”

Then he touches you. A single stroke through your folds — not too hard, not too soft — just enough pressure to make your back lift a half inch from your chair. You suck in a breath. Sharp. Audible.He doesn’t stop.

His fingers slide through your slick again, this time slower, almost reverent, parting your folds like he’s learning them from scratch. His middle finger circles your clit, not quite touching it directly — just close enough to make your thighs tremble.

“You shaved for me?” he murmurs, voice low and filthy. “Came to study like this?”

Words fail you, conscious thought evaporating at his touch. Because just then, he pushes two fingers inside you. You bite your fist, hard.

The stretch is immediate. The way his fingers hook — upward, firm, unrelenting — makes your eyes roll back. You clench around him, wet and hot and embarrassingly ready, and he groans low under his breath like he feels it in his spine.

“Fuck,” he rasps. “You’re so fucking tight.”

He starts moving — slow at first. A careful pump. Testing. Feeling how you open for him. His thumb brushes your clit, and your thighs jerk again. The table shakes slightly. You dig your heel into the floor to ground yourself, but it’s useless. He has you.

Every curl of his fingers finds that same spot inside you — the one that makes your knees want to give out.

Every stroke deeper makes your walls flutter. And every second your body stays silent is a war.

“Good girl,” he breathes. “Taking my fingers so well. So fucking good.”

You glance at the students two rows away — hunched over laptops, lost in problem sets. They have no idea you’re being finger-fucked within arm’s reach. That he’s curling his fingers just right. That his thumb is pressed to your clit now in slow, deliberate circles. That you’re already starting to twitch, to break.

“Keep your eyes open,” he whispers. “I want you to see how good I make you feel.”

You try with every ounce of willpower you possess. But when he leans across the table and growls “Come for me like this — right now — let them sit and fucking listen if you can't stay quiet,” you lose it.

Your orgasm shatters through you with the force of a detonation, your body pulsing desperately around his fingers as your hips buck forward. Stifling a moan, you bite down hard on your hand, stars exploding behind your eyes as waves of pleasure leave you trembling and wrecked. His fingers slow their torturous pace before slipping free, leaving you clenching around empty air, your skin feverish and oversensitive. When you finally manage to look up, you find him watching you intently as he slowly licks his fingers clean.

And before he can speak — before he can smirk or tease or reach for your hand — you’re already standing, already shoving your notebook back in your bag.

Wordlessly, you brush past his chair, pausing only to whisper close to his ear, "Don't follow me next time." Before he can respond, you slip away, leaving nothing but the ghost of your breath against his skin.

Jungkook remains in the sterile silence of the library, his chest heaving and body aching with need. Beyond the physical desire, something deeper and unfamiliar takes root in his chest - a feeling he can't name or shake.

The journey down the stairs passes in a haze, your legs unsteady and skin electric with lingering sensation. Your skirt clings damply, and every breath carries the taste of what just happened - salt and secrets, wild and unspoken.

The bright afternoon sun assaults your senses as you exit the building, the glare through the glass awning making your eyes water. Your heart still pounds an erratic rhythm as you stride forward, refusing to look back. You don't need to - you can feel his gaze following you from the third-floor window, heavy and inevitable as gravity itself, weighted with something that feels dangerously close to guilt.

By the time you make it to the research building, your pulse has evened out — mostly. You’ve redone your lip gloss. Pulled your hair down to hide your flushed neck. Smoothed the back of your skirt at least twice.

No one would suspect what had happened in that silent library just minutes ago, but the memory burns fresh in your mind. You climb the stairs rapidly, attempting to focus on anything else - trying to reclaim your identity as the dedicated student who lives for equations and late nights of study.

Your advisor stands outside his office, leaning against the doorframe with a coffee mug bearing "I Void Warranties." After exchanging greetings, you follow him into his paper-strewn office clutching your proposal folder like a shield.

"I read your draft," he says, thumbing through the pages. "The structure and math are solid. Your quantum modeling section exceeds expectations. If you complete the final sections this week, I'll submit it early to the CERN summer board."

Your breath catches at the mention of CERN - the pinnacle, the dream, your escape route. You manage a quiet thanks as he continues.

"Remember, you're competing with grad students," he adds, pausing to sip his coffee. "Stay focused. Don't lose momentum now - especially not for a boy, no matter how good he looks in sweatpants."

Your spine stiffens at the casual observation. Though he delivers it like light banter, the implication makes your ears burn. You respond with a quick "Understood" before taking your folder and retreating to the hallway.

Outside, the ambient noise feels overwhelming - footsteps, vending machines, the persistent hum of academic ambition. As you press your hand to your chest, the reality crystallizes: Jungkook represents entropy while this grant embodies order. The math should be simple, with order emerging victorious - shouldn't it?

✧.✧.✧.✧.✧.✧.

There’s something almost sacred about an empty hallway just past four p.m. — the way footsteps echo too loud, the way the scent of old paper and aging floor polish settles like a hush over everything. The way the fading afternoon light slices through the tall windows in strips, dust motes dancing like particles suspended in time. You’re alone in the TA room.

The door’s cracked open. Your laptop hums softly beside the thick stack of lab reports you haven’t graded. You’ve half-forgotten what time it is. The world feels far away — a distant thing made of unread emails and unreadier feelings. The hum of fluorescent lights above your head offers the only company.

The soft click of the door opening makes you freeze. You look up to see Jeon Jungkook standing in the doorway, his presence filling the room with an unspoken tension. His footsteps echo as he moves closer, each step weighted with purpose.

You don’t look up at first. You can’t. Because the second you do, the second you see the way his sweatshirt hangs off his shoulders, the way his jaw tightens as he closes the door behind him — you know this whole room is about to become a physics problem you can’t solve.

“I need help,” he says, casual, soft, like he’s reciting a line from memory.

You finally meet his eyes. “Wrong department.”

He exhales a laugh — just air, no humor. “I know.”

You glance past him toward the hallway, toward the closing door. The click echoes too loud in the silence. You straighten in your chair, fingers curling loosely around your pen. “If someone sees you here...”

“They won’t.”

Silence hangs between you, the air thick with tension as he moves closer, each deliberate step echoing in the quiet room.

“I’ve been trying to leave you alone,” he murmurs, voice pitched low, head tilted like he’s trying to read your expression. “I really fucking have.”

“Try harder.”

His lips twitch at the edge. “You don’t want that.”

“You don’t know what I want.”

He nods slowly. “No,” he says. “But I know how you sound when I’m inside you.”

Your breath catches. Your thighs press together instinctively. The chair creaks beneath you, traitorous. You stand before you know why. Maybe to put distance. Maybe to make it worse.

“I told you,” you say, not quite steady, “this isn’t anything.”

He steps into your space so slowly it feels like a drug — all heat and closeness and scent. His fingers reach out, grazing the hem of your sleeve.

“But you keep letting me in,” he says, and this time there’s no teasing. Just tension. Raw and real. “You keep looking at me like this means nothing, then moaning like it’s the only thing that’s ever made you feel alive.”

You look up at him sharply. And that’s when it breaks. His hand catches the side of your jaw as his mouth crashes into yours, and there’s no slowness now, no subtlety. His other hand is already at your waist, pulling you in, gripping you like he’s waited years for this. Your folders scatter to the floor behind you, pages fluttering like panicked wings.

He pushes you against the door — not hard, but firm, solid. You gasp into his mouth, and he takes the sound like it belongs to him.

“You want me to stop?” he asks, lips brushing yours, breath hot, chest pressed to yours like he’s daring you to lie.

Your silence answers for you, and without another word, he sinks to his knees. Hands sliding up your skirt, mouth already open against your thigh, biting gently as he drags your underwear down — not teasing this time, not patient. His fingers dig into your ass as he pulls you closer, lips ghosting up your inner thigh, nose brushing your skin.

And when his mouth finds you — hot, wet, already aching — you nearly scream. He licks you slow and deep, like he’s memorizing every inch. Tongue flattened, circling your clit, then sucking it softly until your knees buckle. You press your palms against the door behind you to stay upright. He groans into you, like the taste of you is something that hurts. His tongue works faster. You’re panting now, trying to stay quiet, trying not to grind against his mouth — and failing.

“Jungkook...” you whisper, broken, breathless.

He hums in response, lips wrapping around your clit again, two fingers suddenly sliding inside you. The stretch, the fullness, the sound of your wetness filling the room — it all hits at once.

You bite down hard on your knuckle as your legs tremble beneath you, feeling the heat of tension radiating through the wood at your back. The familiar tightness builds deep inside as he senses your approaching release.

“Come on,” he growls, lips slick against your cunt. “Come for me. Right fucking now.”

And when it hits, your world dissolves into pure sensation. The force of your release ripples through you like an inverted gravitational pull, your body writhing against the wall as waves of pleasure crash over you. Through the haze of your climax, you're dimly aware of your thighs clenching around his head, your desperate gasps for air echoing in the empty room.

He continues his relentless attention until your breathless pleas finally make him stop. When he pulls away, his face is slick with evidence of your pleasure, his swollen lips curved into satisfaction as he takes in your thoroughly debauched state.

Before he can speak or reach for you, your mind snaps back to reality and the words are already forming on your tongue.

“This doesn’t change anything.”

He flinches, barely. Straightens slowly, chest still heaving.

“I’m busy,” you say again, voice steadier now, cooler. “You should go.”

Jungkook doesn’t move. He just stares at you, jaw tight, chest rising and falling beneath his hoodie, the look in his eyes something molten and close to violent. Not dangerous. But on edge. Like he’s been keeping something down and you just dared him to let it loose.

He takes one step closer and you don’t back away.

“You really want me to go?” he asks, voice too calm, too soft, too furious. “After everything?”

“Yes.”

Another step. Close now. You can smell yourself on him. and it makes your knees lock.

“After the fucking library? After this?” He gestures downward, voice rising. “After you came on my face and still had the audacity to look me in the eye and pretend it meant nothing?”

You straighten your spine. “It doesn’t.”

His face hardens. “You’re such a liar.”

“I told you what this was.”

“No,” he growls, “you told me what it wasn’t.”

The air shifts. You feel it happen — the weight of the silence that follows. Heavy. Stifling. The kind that carries consequence.

Then his movements shift - he takes hold of your wrist with a grip that's firm yet gentle, his touch deliberate and sure. You shove him back instinctively, but he catches you again, faster this time. Presses you to the door — hard, body flush to yours, arm braced beside your head.

His mouth is just inches from yours. His eyes burn like he’s standing at the center of a star.

“You want me to stop?” he asks again, voice low, cracking at the edges. “Tell me to stop.”

You don’t, instead, you tilt your chin higher and whisper, “Make it quick.”

Without hesitation, his hand finds its way between your thighs as he shifts your panties aside. His hardened length presses against your slick entrance, drawing simultaneous sounds of pleasure from both of you - your sharp gasp mingling with his deep groan.

“No time,” he mutters, lining himself up. “No teasing. I need to be inside you now.”

And then he’s pushing in. You cry out — soft, sharp — your fingers digging into his hoodie as he fills you in one deep, unrelenting stroke. He’s thick, hot, and you’re still too wet from before. Your walls clench around him instantly.

“Fuck,” he growls into your neck. “You feel—so—fucking—good.”

You whimper, nails catching the fabric on his back.

He starts to move — slow only for the first two thrusts, then fast, desperate, furious — hips slamming into you with a rhythm that’s more like punishment than pleasure, but it still makes your toes curl. The door rattles. The room fills with breath and skin and the slap of his body against yours. Your head hits the wood behind you as he thrusts harder, deeper, fucking into you like he’s trying to leave his shape inside you.

“Tell me it’s nothing now,” he spits, voice hot in your ear. You moan.

“Say it,” he growls, hand gripping your thigh, hiking it up higher. “Say it while I’m fucking you so deep you can’t think straight.”

You can’t speak. You’re too full. Too gone. Your fingers claw for purchase as he pounds into you again and again, the pressure building fast, filthy, sharp. Every thrust pushes the breath from your lungs, and every time he slams in deeper, your walls tighten helplessly around him.

“God, you’re so wet,” he gasps. “So fucking tight. You were waiting for this, weren’t you?”

You shake your head — a weak denial. He grabs your face with one hand, turning your mouth to his.

“You’re mine when you come,” he whispers. “No lies. No running.”

And then his fingers slip between your bodies to find your clit.

You shatter in seconds.

The orgasm rips through you — fast, brutal, silent but screaming in every nerve. Your body arches, clenches, legs shaking as he fucks you through it, still chasing his own. It only takes three more thrusts before he groans and stills, cock pulsing deep inside the condom, forehead pressed to yours. The silence after is deafening.

Your breath comes in ragged gasps as his arms cage you in, his warmth seeping through the thin fabric between you. When you finally open your eyes, you find him already watching - no smile, no smirk, just an intense gaze that makes your chest tighten. For a fleeting moment, everything feels weighted with possibility.

The silence stretches between you as he slowly withdraws, his movements careful and deliberate. His fingers trace delicate patterns at your waist, like he's memorizing the curve of you, and his breath fans hot against your neck. When he finally breaks the quiet, his voice is barely above a whisper, but carries a gravity that makes your pulse skip.

“You’re more than this,” Jungkook says. “Why do you keep acting like I’m not supposed to see that?”

You blink, stunned by the softness in his voice. By the truth in it. He looks at you — really looks at you — and there’s no arrogance left, no cocky smirk, no boyish charm to hide behind. Just eyes that burn too bright and too honest, like he’s tired of pretending this is all it is.

Something inside you fractures at his words. No one has ever spoken to you with such certainty, touched you as though you were irreplaceable. Not even him, until this moment.

Yet you can't afford to let him in - not when you've finally built something stable, something that won't crumble under the weight of feelings over logic.

With practiced ease, you retreat behind your walls. As you smooth your sweater and adjust your skirt, you keep your gaze fixed anywhere but his face, methodically erasing any evidence that his touch had left you trembling just moments ago.

"I have work," you say flatly, turning away. "And you need to go."

His brows pull tight as he whispers your name, but you cut him off.

"You got what you wanted."

"I didn't come here for sex," he says, voice strained. "I came here to see you."

You grab your folder from the floor, each movement deliberate and distant. "Well, now you have."

Before he can say anything else - before he can make you stay or tell you something you're not ready to hear - you slip past him and out the door, leaving him alone in a room that still echoes with everything left unsaid.

His texts light up your screen, but you can't bring yourself to open them. Three messages in total - two from last night, one this afternoon. Each notification feels like a weight on your chest.

Deep down, you already know what they say. His words echo in your mind without needing to read them: "hey, you okay?" followed by "can we talk?" and finally, "just tell me what's going on, please." The familiar cadence of his concern makes your heart ache.

You've repeated the mantra countless times - that you're done, that letting him in again would only lead to more heartache. Yet when the knock echoes through your building, your body betrays you. Despite every logical reason to stay put, your feet carry you downstairs, drawn to him like gravity refusing to let go.

He waits outside, hood drawn and hat low, hands tucked in his pockets as if trying to make himself invisible in the daylight. When you step out and close the door behind you, the sharp morning air fills your lungs.

His posture straightens at the sight of you, but his expression remains solemn. "You've been ignoring me."

You cross your arms tight against your chest, offering a noncommittal shrug. "I've been busy."

His jaw tightens as he studies you. "I needed to see you."

"Why?"

"Because I don't know what we're doing anymore."

"There's no 'we,' Jungkook."

He draws a careful breath. "You've said that before."

"Because it's true." Your voice wavers despite your resolve.

"You claimed there was nothing between us," he says, "yet you kept coming back."

"It was just sex."

The words strike him visibly, making him flinch. You force yourself to look away, focusing on the empty street while he shakes his head. "You're lying."

A bitter smile crosses your lips. "So what if I am?"

His eyes meet yours, filled with a desperate kind of hope that's beginning to fade. "Then prove it. Look me in the eye and tell me I meant nothing."

You face him, mouth parting to speak, but the words die in your throat. The truth is, you can't bring yourself to be that cruel.

The silence stretches between you like a thread about to snap. Finally, you break his gaze. "I don't have time for this. I have a future to think about."

He accepts this like a final verdict, nodding once. "Then I won't bother you again."

As he walks to the curb without looking back, you remain frozen on the steps, heart caught in your throat. You try to convince yourself this is what you wanted, even as you watch the one person who truly saw you walk away.

✧.✧.✧.✧.✧.✧.

The bass vibrates through the off-campus house, each beat sinking into your ribs like a reminder of something long forgotten. You wonder, not for the first time tonight, why you let your friend drag you to this party where you clearly don't belong.

The scene feels foreign now - dim lights casting shadows, sharp laughter cutting through stale air, and hallways thick with the scent of vodka and poor choices. You lean against the kitchen counter, nursing a sour drink, dodging the occasional stumbling partygoer.

Despite telling yourself you'll leave within an hour, your eyes keep searching the room. And there he is - Jungkook, lounging in the corner couch with casual grace, his hoodie unzipped and a restrained laugh playing at his lips. It's nothing like the unguarded joy you remember from more intimate moments.

But he's not alone. A blonde in a short skirt presses against his side, her fingers trailing his arm with practiced familiarity as she whispers against his jaw. The sight makes your chest constrict. He neither welcomes nor rejects her attention, remaining perfectly still as she continues her advances.

Your grip tightens around your cup while someone - your friend, probably - says something you can't process. Heat rises behind your eyes as you watch this scene unfold, jealousy coursing through you despite having no right to feel it. After all, you were the one who insisted there was nothing between you.

The girl moves closer, her fingers now skimming his necklace with clear intent. But then he turns his head and catches your gaze across the room. Everything freezes - her voice fading to background noise as his eyes lock with yours, intense and unreadable.

You want to look away but can't, knowing exactly what he sees: you in your tight black dress, perfect lipstick masking hollow eyes, jealousy written in every line of your body. After three endless seconds, you break first - turning sharply and walking out into the spring night that smells of cigarettes and missed chances.

When his footsteps follow you onto the porch moments later, you cross your arms tighter and whisper to yourself: "Don't be stupid. Don't turn around. Don't let him be the thing you'll regret."

When he says your name behind you - just once, soft and broken - you already know this night will undo you again.

The cold night air wraps around you as you stand at the edge of the porch, arms crossed tightly against your chest. From here, the party's music feels distant, muffled like memories you're trying to forget. The street beyond the lawn stretches dark and empty, while you remain fixed in place, caught between staying and leaving.

The door opens behind you, followed by his footsteps and then his breath. You stay facing forward as he hovers there, the space between you charged with everything left unsaid.

"I wasn't going to kiss her," he says quietly.

"I didn't ask."

"You didn't have to."

You close your eyes, letting silence settle between you before he speaks again.

"She doesn't matter," he says softly. "None of them do."

A bitter laugh escapes you - not because you doubt him, but because it would be easier if you did. "I'm sure they'd be thrilled to hear that."

His voice comes rougher now, raw with honesty. "I didn't even want to be here tonight."

"Then why come?"

"Because I knew you might be."

Something in his words makes you turn. The porch light traces silver along his features - his messy hair, the sharp line of his jaw, the intensity in his eyes that makes your breath catch.

"You think showing up changes anything?" you ask.

"I don't want to change things," he says. "I just want you to stop running."

"Running?" The word comes out hollow.

"Yes." He steps closer, voice dropping low. "You come to me like you need me, then leave like we're strangers."

Your chest tightens. "It was just sex."

"No." His eyes narrow, voice sharp with frustration. "Say it like you mean it."

You stay silent as he continues, moving closer still. "You say that, but you look at me like I've broken something. Like you hate me for making you feel."

"I don't hate you."

"But you don't trust me either."

The truth of it makes your heart pound as he softens, vulnerability bleeding through. "I'm not asking for forever. Just... a chance. I want you to try."

"You don't understand."

"Then help me."

You look down, fingers twisting in your dress as the words you've been holding back finally spill out. "I'm leaving. I got the grant."

His expression shifts subtly - not shock or anger, but a careful kind of hurt. "When?"

"End of term. Three months of research abroad."

"You weren't going to tell me."

"What would it change?"

"I don't know," he says quietly. "Maybe I wouldn't have wasted time trying to hold onto something that was always leaving."

His words sting more than you expected. When your eyes meet his again, the world seems to pause, holding its breath.

"It wasn't supposed to be anything," you whisper.

"Then why are you still here?"

You have no answer, but he isn't finished. Drawing closer until you can feel his warmth, he speaks again, voice raw with emotion. "If this was just sex, why do I still taste you every time I close my eyes? Why do I check my phone constantly for a name I know won't appear?"

"I've been with others," he continues, "but never like this. Never feeling like I'm losing something I never had the right to claim."

The silence that follows feels heavy with possibility. You want to tell him so many things - not to wait, that he deserves better, that you're terrified. Instead, you whisper, "You shouldn't want me."

"Then stop making me."

His words hang between you like static, making everything else fade away. When he looks away and runs a hand through his hair, the gesture betrays his vulnerability. The quiet between you has transformed from tense to aching, filled with unspoken pleas.

"Let me go with you."

The words stop your breath. "What?"

"I mean it." His voice grows gentle but determined. "Wherever this grant takes you - I don't care. I'll follow."

"You can't just-"

"Why not?"

"Because it's not realistic," you say. "This is my work, my life. Not a vacation."

"I'm not trying to make it one."

His gaze holds steady, all pretense gone. "I'll figure it out. Find something short-term, take time off. Get a place nearby."

"You can't be serious."

"I've never meant anything more."

Looking at him now, you see past the facade - beyond the cocky student who once teased you under library desks, beyond the reputation that follows him through whispered conversations. This is him stripped bare, offering something no one else has: the promise that you're worth chasing, worth disrupting a life for, worth not having to face everything alone.

"I can't promise anything," you whisper.

"I'm not asking for promises. Just a chance."

As your arms finally fall to your sides, the tension shifts but doesn't break. He moves closer, voice soft and intimate. "I don't want to be your distraction. I want to be the reason you don't carry everything alone."

You close your eyes, the desire to say yes burning in your throat. But when you look at him again, all you can manage is, "I need to think."

He nods, understanding. "Okay. Think."

Then he steps away and leaves you standing there, your heart beating out of rhythm as the universe seems to tilt on its axis. For the first time, you're not sure if running is what you want anymore.

✧.✧.✧.✧.✧.✧.

There's a hidden principle in thermodynamics that textbooks rarely mention: systems naturally resist equilibrium, fighting against stillness until the very end. Like heat dispersing through space and time, energy spreads itself thin across moments and people until everything settles into quiet calm.

But what happens when the natural order breaks? When something you're meant to release keeps drawing you back in - like gravity with too much memory, like a particle defying probability?

Jungkook is exactly that - a force of chaos and warmth, disrupting every calculated decision. He collapses your carefully constructed equations, making you realize that entropy isn't about disorder at all. It's about surrender, about letting go of control and allowing yourself to drift toward the heat that's always been there, waiting.

So this time, you’re not fighting it anymore. Every calculation, every logical path leads to him. And instead of running, you’re finally walking toward what you've been trying to deny all along.

✧.✧.✧.✧.✧.✧.

The campus has quieted into hushed twilight when you arrive at his door, the usual bustle of footsteps and laughter faded to memory. Your heart beats steady and low like background radiation as you stand there, fingers curled at your sides - not urgent or frantic, just persistent.

Neither of you has reached out since that moment on the porch, since you said you needed time to think. But in the silence between then and now, your mind has done nothing but circle back to him, again and again.

When you finally knock - just once, soft - and hear movement inside, you know with certainty that you're not here for closure. You're here for him.

The door opens to reveal Jungkook looking beautifully disheveled - hoodie inside out, chain visible, hair mussed as if he's been running his fingers through it endlessly. But it's his eyes that catch you - they come alive the moment they find yours, filled with recognition and something deeper.

No words pass between you as you step into his apartment. The door closes softly behind you, and you're enveloped by warmth - his cologne lingering on the couch fabric, an open book abandoned spine-up on the table, another hoodie draped over a chair. Everything speaks of waiting, of anticipation.

When you turn to face him, his gaze is both cautious and hopeful in the dim light. The silence stretches between you, heavy with possibility, until you finally bridge the gap - reaching for him with steady hands and certain heart.

You don’t say anything when your hand curls into his hoodie, pulling him forward. You don’t explain when your mouth finds his — soft, slow, shy. He gasps like he wasn’t sure you’d really come. And then he kisses you back.

And suddenly nothing matters but the way his hands cradle your face like it’s fragile, like he can’t believe you’re real. The way he breathes your name between kisses, reverent and raw. The way you slide your hands beneath his sweatshirt and find warmth, skin, muscle — him.

When your clothes hit the floor, it’s not frantic. It’s intentional. His fingers pull your shirt over your head like he’s memorizing the shape of you. His lips brush your shoulder, your collarbone, the valley between your breasts. He whispers something — too low to catch — but it sounds like finally.

You fall into his bed and he follows. When you wrap your legs around his waist, it’s not for leverage. It’s to keep him close. When he sinks into you, slow and warm and so deep you forget how to breathe, it doesn’t feel like friction — it feels like home.

He’s careful at first. One hand gripping your hip, the other splayed across your lower back as if to shield you from the world while he pushes in, inch by inch, holding his breath like your body is holy.

“Fuck,” he whispers, jaw tight. “You’re so warm… baby, you’re perfect.”

You let your head fall back, lips parting in a soft gasp when he bottoms out. He stays there, not moving, just breathing — buried so deep inside you it feels like he could disappear there, if you let him. And you would. When he starts to move, it’s unhurried — slow, deliberate strokes that drag against every nerve ending, make you arch your back into him, make your thighs shake.

“Tell me how it feels,” he murmurs, voice low and thick with restraint, as though he’s trying to hold back from letting go too fast. “I need to hear you.”

You meet his eyes, dazed and already drunk off the stretch, the pace, the way he’s looking at you like nothing else has ever mattered.

“You feel…” you start, and the words melt in your throat. You don’t want to say “good.” That’s not enough. Not nearlyenough.

“You feel like I finally exhaled.”

He groans, and it sounds broken, like you cracked something inside him that he didn’t know was still fragile. His thrusts deepen. Not faster or harder.

Just… more. More skin. More closeness. His chest flush against yours, lips dragging across your cheek before his mouth finds the corner of yours.

He doesn’t kiss you, not right away. He nuzzles. Soft. Slow. Like he’s trying to memorize your breath. And then, finally, he kisses you — not possessive, not filthy, but aching. A mouth pressed to yours like a secret, like the beginning of a confession, like if he could live in the space where your lips meet, he would.

You moan into it, hips rolling to meet his. His hand moves to your breast, fingers circling your nipple with the lightest brush, and when you whimper, he does it again — soft, slow, coaxing your body to bloom for him like it never has for anyone else.

Your voice is almost too breathless to be heard.

“Don’t stop.”

“I couldn’t if I tried.”

You wrap your arms around his back, press your palm between his shoulder blades, hold him like you’re afraid this is all a dream.

He starts to move faster then — a new rhythm building, deeper now, hungrier, but still sweet, still controlled. Each thrust pulls a sound from your throat, quiet, high, desperate. Your nails rake softly down his spine and he hisses at the contact, fucking you harder for a beat before slowing again.

“God,” he pants, forehead to yours, “you take me so well—always. Fuck, I missed you.”

You clench around him and he notices.

“Ohhh,” he moans, voice guttural, “you like that?”

“Yes,” you breathe.

“Say it again. Let me hear you.”

You arch into him, voice softer than a whisper. “I missed you too.”

His pace stutters. Something in him gives way. And suddenly, he’s grabbing your hand — the one beside your head — lacing his fingers through yours like he can’t bear to come without holding you.

“I’m close,” he warns, and it sounds like an apology.

“Me too,” you whisper. “Don’t stop. Please—don’t stop.”

He moves faster then. His hips slap against yours. Sweat beads at his temples. His thrusts grow sloppy, raw, needy. Your legs lock around him. You feel it building — low and sharp and inevitable.

Your climax rushes up from your spine and down your thighs, spreading like a slow, golden shatter. You cry out softly, clutching him, your whole body arching into his as you pulse around him, wave after wave rolling through you.

He breaks a second later, burying his face in your neck with a sharp groan as he spills into the condom. His body trembles above yours like a string pulled too tight while you whisper his name into his shoulder until he stills. He stays there, holding you close, neither of you wanting to break the connection.

When he finally lifts his head to kiss you — soft and unhurried and achingly tender — it feels less like an ending and more like the beginning of whatever comes next. The moment calls for words, but you let your body soften against his instead, finding comfort in the silence between you. For the first time, that silence feels full. Not empty. Not scared. Just real.

.🖤

taglist: @joansie9 @mgstudyingrocks @existentialzaddy @revolutionbreez @lyb3124 @parkinglot-nights @bhonbhon

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curse-of-art · 1 month ago

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JUNGKOOK FANFIC RECOMMENDATIONS Pt.2

🔞 All of these fics contain smut, so please take your own risk 🔞

-BEWARE OF THEIR WARNINGS-

୨ৎ─ Jungkook Part 1 ─୨ৎ─ Taehyung ─୨ৎ

❥ Risk Tastes Like Strawberries and Thunder (oneshot, brother's bestfriend au) by @dailynnt

❥ No Mercy (series/ongoing, mafia au, enemies to lovers) by @dailynnt

❥ The Mask of Purity (series/ongoing, idol au, yandere) by @lostinbangtan7

❥ Pearl Series (series/completed, yandere, sugardaddy au) by @lovelyspring7

❥ Mutt (series/ongoing, friends with benefits au) by @letsbangts

❥ The Oh! Chronicles (series/ongoing, brother's bestfriend au) by @shadowkoo

❥ Just This Once (twoshots?/ongoing, friends to lovers au) by @ggukivrse

❥ Taking Over You (series/completed, yandere) by @go1denjeon

❥ Toxic (smau/ongoing) by @girlygguk

❥ Crazy (series/ongoing, coworkers to lovers au) by @girlygguk

❥ Cruel Secrets (oneshot, yandere) by @kookiesncreamri

❥ Mirrors (series/completed, friends with benefits au) by @yoonia

❥ Scattered Stars (oneshot, soulmate au, enemies to lovers au) by @taegularities

❥ Starstruck (twoshots, yandere, actor au) by @trivia-yandere

❥ Off-Limits (series/completed, brother's bestfriend au) @trivia-yandere

❥ Like We Were + Bonus (oneshot, forgotten love) by @armpirate

❥ Devil's Law (oneshot, criminal jk x lawyer oc) by @armpirate

❥ How Many Drinks ? (oneshot, bestfriends with benefits au, friends to lovers au) by @xpeachesncream

❥ Pick & Roll | LA Lakers (oneshot, friends with benefits au, brother's bestfriend au) by @xpeachesncream

❥ Bloodlines Entwined (series/completed, werewolf au, strangers to lovers au, soulmate au) by @spideyjimin

❥ Love in the Dark (oneshot, ceo au, forbidden romance au) by @spideyjimin

❥ Shameless (series/ongoing, bestfriend's boyfriend au) by @redcherrykook

❥ Midnight Snack (oneshot, somnophilia) by @redcherrykook

❥ Bloody Crawling Back to You + Sequel (secret agent au, coworkers au) by @acheronsociety

❥ Perfect Partner + Sequel + Prequel (yandere, dark romance) by @peoniesnro

❥ Cold Nights & Blurred Lines (oneshot, college au, friends with benefits au) by @awrkive

845 notes · View notes

soft4gguk · 11 months ago

Text

yearning | ch. 1

the one that finds you in Jungkook's doorstep after a night out...

Description: idol!jungkook x reader, fwb

Content: porn with loads of plot!

Word Count: 7.5k

Warnings: oc smokes 1 cigarette lol, they’re so flirty ouch, so much kissing, cutest little dynamic, dry humping (a personal fave in this house), fingering, protected sex (they’re so smart!!), loads of spanking, jaykay ass man forever.

Author’s Note: i once sworn to never write idol aus because… i know nothing about this man ok? i do not claim to know what he’s like in a relationship or a situationship or in his personal life!! so please thread carefully when reading <3333 that being said, his lives last year and these first couple of episodes of “are you sure?” have me feeling very delulu so here u go!! hope you enjoy xo

★ masterlist ★

This is a work of fiction. Please respect the members and their privacy. x

The moment you exit the club, a gust of spring breeze engulfs you. It makes you wrap your arms around your body, but it amounts to nothing, the little black dress that you’d made the executive decision to wear, in the name of fashion, betraying you. The tequila shots you'd downed before leaving the house sure had deceived your senses, too.

Needless to say, you regret said decision, a shiver running down your spine all the way to your legs, making you jump a little in place as you tipsily look around you. You’d cut the night short. Your friends had found another lonely pair they’d quickly gotten cozy with, leaving you to drink one too many gin & tonics all by yourself. You hadn’t minded it for the first two hours, enjoying the music, sparking conversation with the bartender from time to time and entertaining the occasional stranger. Eventually though, it became boring, predictable, and you’d be lying if you said it didn’t make you feel a little shitty about yourself.

It was all getting repetitive. Friday nights, the same faces, small talk, ice breakers. Even the strangers you met had a similar M.O., making it all seem predictable. It made it feel like a waste of self, more than a waste of time, and it ate at you in moments like these, where it was strange to feel lonely amongst a sea of people, unable to shake the feeling.

The bright city lights illuminate the night, lacing it with something livelier than your mood and you smile. At least the scenery is always pretty. Pretty places. You hear the laughter of a group of people that stand a couple of feet away from you, they seem happy in that genuine way that reflects in pure, unadulterated beauty. Pretty people.

You think of him.

It’s rather instant. Or perhaps instinctive. The very own butterfly effect of your thoughts because to you, he’s the prettiest of them all. He’d been since the very first day, and as you lose focus of the pretty sights the more you stare into the city lights with him on your mind, you can’t help but think nothing will ever stand close.

A girl stands next to you, audibly shivering as she exits the club and the air greets her with the same fate it did you. She holds a cigarette between her red lips, the fire from her pink lighter shining on her red hair. It makes you crave one, too, rummaging through your bag for your own. You smile when you remember how he would tease you for smoking “the skinny kind” as he would call them. Calling you a bit of a snob, but all in lighthearted nature. After all, he could. He knew you enough to let your closeness turn into inside jokes, banter.

Perhaps giving into a vice could prevent you from falling into another.

“Can I borrow your lighter?” she smiles at you before she’s handing it over. Her nails are pink, too.

The fire feels pleasant for all of five seconds, warm against your face as you take the first drag. You give into one instinct so as to distract yourself from the one that’s tugging at your heart and senses, begging you to make a reckless call.

You check the time.

2:32 A.M.

Jungkook scrolls through the endless list of channels aimlessly. Small snippets from whatever’s playing that he cuts short, not really giving it much thought. He settles on one, solely so he can stop putting exertion on his thumb and go back to leaning against his couch – fully relaxed. He sighs. On the screen, some drama he hasn’t gotten around to watching plays, and the story seems to be developing quickly. He doesn’t care for it, if he’s honest, simply content with the white noise it fills the room with.

Bam leaves his dog house, standing right in front of him and they seem to start an unspoken staring contest. He smiles, patting the spot right next to him on the couch and the pup rushes to take the place excitedly. He gets cuddles and kisses simply for existing. For keeping him company – his presence giving Jungkook more peace than he’ll ever know.

“Hey, Bam, should we, like, meet up in our next life as well? Perhaps I’ll be the dog in that one and you’ll be my owner.”

Bam simply stares and Jungkook swears if he could, he’d let out a deep sigh right now. This makes him laugh.

“Hey, don’t be jumping of excitement at the idea, man.”

At this, he attacks. With kisses, that is – wet, sloppy kisses that have Jungkook giggling and pushing back, though it is no use, his dog is that determined to give him love.

“Alright, you win. Let’s go get a beer. For me, not for you. You’re still too young. One day, son.” His voice takes on a lower tone, imitating his father. Or maybe Yoongi’s, he can’t tell anymore.

He retrieves a cold beer mug from his freezer and cracks the can open, nodding his head at the sound it makes, the fizziness bubbling up before he pours it in the cold glass. He takes a sip as he walks back to the couch, blissed out in leisure.

He doesn’t mind being alone, specially not on nights like this when sleep leaves him and everything but seems more tempting. He likes the way everything slows down at this time of day, the ease of it all. No one to see, no texts to reply to. As for what the world is concerned for, he’s asleep. It’s peaceful, just being.

Plopping down on the couch, he rests against the pillows, making himself comfortable. He must’ve spoken too soon, he thinks, because it’s not thirty seconds after this that his phone buzzes on the coffee table in front of him. He ponders on the possibility of simply ignoring it, let it sit there, facing down. But something tells him he should check the message. It could be important, or not. The pull isn’t necessarily violent, just a quiet voice that tells him so, like a little nudge. He leans forward, setting his beer on the table before he’s taking a hold of his phone.

He gets it now – the pull.

From ___: jungkookie, u awake?

To ___: no

From ___: can I call?

He smiles – so fucking big he almost hates that he does, slightly flustered and embarrassed you have this quick of an effect on him. And before he can talk himself out of it, he calls you.

Seeing his name flash on your phone screen does more to you than anything you’ve deemed exhilarating tonight. The simple prospect of hearing his voice rushes more excitement through your body than any of the mindless conversations you had this evening. Than any of the conversations you’ve had all week perhaps. You smile and there’s no doubt that he can hear it in your voice when you say,

“Hey.”

There’s a moment of silence and you can hear the smile on his face, too. It’s warmth – he’s warmth, even far. How far is he, you wonder. Did you happen to demand of him at a bad time? Will the end of this call find you disappointed?

You cut to the chase.

“What are you up to?”

There’s a pause and you can hear the way he sinks into his couch. “Can’t sleep so I’m having a beer and watching some TV with Bamie.”

He’s home and a giddy giggle escapes you. “Ahh,” you say.

“You? It sounds busy in there.”

“Yeah, I’m outside the club.”

“Fun night?”

“No.” You don’t lie, you never lie to him. Don’t have the need to, or the want to. Everything about Jungkook is comfort – the kind that welcomes.

“Yeah, had a feeling. It’s not really your scene, is it?”

Your head leans to the side, eyes closing for a moment. He knows you in ways most people don’t, and it’s a simple remark but it gets to you. The fact that he doesn’t see you for the parts of you that feel the emptiest settles on your heart. It’s good, you think, to be seen by someone who observes.

“I want to see you.” There’s all the point in the world to be honest right now.

“Come over. I’ll make you ramen.”

“Will you show me your cat?”

There’s a pause. You picture him smiling, biting his lip, running a hand through his hair.

“Yeah, that too.”

You sway from side to side, a little drunkenly and a whole lot excited, as you stand in front of his door. It’s brief, but as you wait you make a little reflection on your emotions. What exactly do you feel right now? It’s been so long – probably not that long – but long enough to make you happier than usual to be seeing his face. Anyone else would make you nervous, and perhaps he does, too, if only a little. But it’s a different kind of nervous. It’s laced with sweetness, as opposed to anxiety. And the minute he opens his front door, it’s replaced by something sweeter.

Yearning.

He stands there, glasses and black sweatpants on, signature oversized shirt – something so very home about him. Your eyes widen as you take in his hair, it’s grown significantly, giving you a rough idea of when it was you last saw him. Two, three months ago. He looks good; rested, fresh, beautiful. You can smell him before you even touch him and it makes you smile. He returns it.

Yeah – yearning.

“I like your hair,” you say, because anything else would give you away.

“Yeah?” he runs a hand through it. “I like you.”

“I like you, too.” Let it give you away, you think. Who cares?

“Alright, well- it was nice seeing you.” He says, closing the door in a too casual, yet dramatic manner and you laugh, simply standing there – a little flustered because, oh does it feel good when Jeon Jungkook flirts with you in that boyish, teasing way only he knows how.

He doesn’t close the door all the way. Instead, he leaves it open far enough for you to see the way he peeks his head out, nose scrunch and toothy smile to signal just how proud he is of himself right now.

“Come here,” he tells you, reaching his hand out from the little gap and pulling you closer as you yelp, squeezing through the nearly closed door. “I missed you.”

You’re in his arms again, and the moment he closes the door behind you, his lips are on yours. It’s a soft kiss, one that says I missed you because you know him well enough by now to understand the things he says with his lips, and his eyes. With his hands, too.

“Mm,-“ you don’t want to pull back to get your words out, so you don’t. “Me more.”

Jungkook was always a happy coincidence – or at least that’s what you told yourself in a futile attempt to tame the feelings down. But the truth was that being back in his arms felt like fate, in that gentle way that doesn’t come in a movie-like encounter or in some sort of catastrophe bringing you together. Just being here. Anywhere, with him, felt fateful. You opt to believe in angels right this second just to thank them.

“How are you,” his hand cups your cheek, pecking your lips before you can answer.

“Good- better now.” His kisses muffle your words and you think you could live with this interruption for the rest of your life.

“Yeah, me too.”

You wrap your arms around his neck, bringing him closer as he circles his around your middle. You take him in, not one for big displays of affection yet this one you could never deny, could never not welcome.

It’s a sweet moment but the pull turns hasty soon enough the more your lips become familiar with one another yet again. You run your fingers through his long hair, rejoicing in its softness and length. His hand travels down, slowly but a bit desperately, squeezing when they meet your ass.

What has a promising ending is cut short by none other than your rumbling stomach. It’s rather loudly and you both hear it, laughing in the middle of the kiss you two seem to refuse parting from.

“You hungry, baby?”

“You promised ramen. And something about a cat.” Your lips part and you look at him, a pretty smile on his equally pretty face.

“Mm, yeah. I did. I’m all stocked up on ramen but the cat…,”

“I prefer Bamie anyways.”

You leave his arms, a smile on your face as you walk towards his beloved child’s crate. The moment he sees you, he hesitates for a moment, not yet having Jungkook’s command to leave his space but he’s excited – you can even make up his little tail wagging from side to side.

“Come here, baby.”

He runs to you and nearly tackles you, settling into the floor to give him the proper cuddles he deserves. He steps on you the way he did when he was a puppy, sitting down on your knees as you scratch under his ears.

“No one’s allowed to tell him he’s grown up. He’s little forever.”

Jungkook laughs. “He’s Jiminie’s height.”

You sneer at him, shaking your head at his joke. He stands there, staring at you with a fondness he reserves for certain things that bring him that kind of comfort that’s gotten rarer over the years. He’s grown up, matured and gotten real about a lot of things but not you.

Never you.

You’re still the innocence he kissed you with that very first time and the little bit of fear it wouldn’t go further than that. You’re the excitement he had when it did. You’re the flirty teasing and the falling in trust, opening himself little by little. You’re still something he once dreamt about – he still does. You’re the thing he has and doesn’t at the same time. You’re you.

Your loud giggles as Bam licks your cheek wake him up from his little daydream and he winces at the sloppy kisses he’s leaving. You don’t seem to mind though and he knows that if it were up to you, you’d stay there til dawn. No ramen, no cat.

“Alright, alright. Daddy’s getting jealous now. You can’t have her all to yourself.”

Your cheeky smile tells him you’re up to no good. “Daddy, huh? Have we ever tried that?”

“What haven’t we tried?” He genuinely ponders on his own question.

“Pegging!” You say, a little too quickly and excitedly for his liking.

“Absolutely not.”

“Mean.”

“Come on, let’s feed you.”

You smile. “Okay, daddy.”

It’s a chaos in the kitchen in between distracting kisses and your tipsy antics, munching on Jungkook’s leftover fried chicken as you scavenger hunt his cupboards for anything that could satisfy your alcohol induced need for sweets and carbs. You’d begged for pancakes, but he didn’t have any honey, and what’s pancakes without honey, really?

“Ramen. Enoki and spring onions.” He says, convincing himself more than he convinces you.

“Okayyyyy. Ramen, enoki- what else did you say?”

His thumb and pointer finger rest at his temples in mock exasperation, making you giggle. “Hey, why don’t you go shower? This’ll be ready when you’re done.”

“Will you be able to work a knife with the thought of me all wet and naked in your shower?”

“I’ll get you wet and naked later. Go sober up. Quick, quick!”

You laugh, kissing his cheek loudly and ruffling his hair before you leave the kitchen, making your way to his bedroom with familiarity - like you’ve done it hundreds of times and perhaps you have if you were to count.

You know where he keeps the towels, that it’s the left tap that opens the hot water, the way his soap smells and what brand of shampoo he uses. His face wash and moisturizer are familiar to you because it’s the same brand you use. You’d left them here once and never got the bottles back. He began purchasing them after they ran out.

You put on the same black Carhartt shirt you always do. It feels and smells the same. It makes you yearn and when you miss him, you smile in the comfort of knowing he’s in the kitchen, probably eating ramen from the pot as you take your sweet time in the bathroom.

All clean and cozy, his house always being the perfect temperature with the add on warmth that swarms your insides at knowing you’re with him, you make your way back to the kitchen. He’s reaching for bowls, back to you and your voice startles him when you say,

“Don’t get dishes dirty, let’s eat from the pot.”

He turns to you, a boyish smile forming on his lips at the sight of you in his comfy, oversized shirt. He’s seen you in it more times than he can count but it still makes his insides tingle. Butterflies, dare he say, is what the sight gives him.

“You sure?”

“Aren’t you? Afraid of exchanging saliva?” You poke your tongue at him and he grabs your wrist, pulling you swiftly towards him.

“Not the funnest way we’ve exchanged juices, but it’ll do for now.”

“Juices.” Your nose scrunches at his words.

“Mm.”

He kisses you, ramen getting cold in the pot as your lips make him forget all about his hunger in the first place. Your stomach doesn’t, though. Interrupting your heated little moment yet again.

“Feed me.”

“On your knees, then.” He teases, lips still on yours.

“That sounds more like a treat than a threat.”

He smiles, passing you the chopsticks. “I knew you’d say that.”

“Am I that predictable?”

“With me. Yes. Just me.”

His words are selfish, of this much he’s aware. He knows exclusivity is too much to ask for. He knows the baggage he comes with and the hesitation that shines through your eyes whenever you find yourselves slipping into comfort and familiarity a little too much. How he can almost tell he’s about to go a season without you, just by this comfort alone. But he can’t help but want you, all to himself. He can’t help but say you’re his even if he’s just saying it. And when the smile on your lips meet your eyes in an almost nostalgic way, he knows you feel the same.

“Yeah. I am.”

“I am with you, too.”

“I’d say I tried to talk myself out of texting you tonight, but I’d be lying.” Your chopsticks play with the noodles, eyes not meeting his.

“Why would you talk yourself out of texting me?”

You shrug.

“Don’t.” His voice is firm and your eyes finally look at his. “I’m always- I always want to see you, ___.”

“I know, it’s just- you know.” You say, and he does. He knows what you mean and he’s glad you don’t voice it because he doesn’t think he can bear the words that would only add insult to injury to the way your gaze falls, that spark threatening to dim its light.

“Yeah,” he gets closer, but it’s almost careful. His thumb caresses your cheek and you lean into his touch. “But you’re here now. I want you here now. Come back to me.”

You stare into his big eyes, smiling at him not because your heart isn’t breaking but because you wouldn’t dare break his with the reality of the situation. So you lie, but it holds truth. “I’m always with you.”

As you two eat, in bursts of comfortable silences and mindless yet meaningful conversations, you start to get used to him again. You’re too tired to fight it, and when you welcome it, it’s sweet.

The pot is empty, your bellies full. You lean against the counter as he puts you to date, catches you up on what his life has looked like for the past two months or so. Trips to L.A., New York, photoshoots, late nights in the recording studio, music videos, long flights and a Calvin Klein campaign you shamelessly admit to swoon over every time you pass by it. He asks about you and you keep your updates mostly work related. Long flights, long meetings, long days. Short bursts of inspiration and even shorter waves of motivation. You omit to tell him about the things you’re maybe not so proud of. The partying, the drinking on a wednesday night, the way your friends don’t feel like your friends anymore, more like acquaintances that keep you around when they deem convenient. You think his words could help, provide comfort and advice, but at the same time you fear the reality of the situation could burst the bubble of bliss you find yourself in right this moment.

So you talk. You catch up. You play friends for a while, feel real mature when he shares snippets of his life that involve other people, other girls. People in his radar, his line of work, the love interest in his music video. Jungkook does, too. Feels like perhaps he’s come a long way when you tell him about trips you’ve taken with friends, new restaurants you’ve tried, galas he knows you haven’t attended alone. It’s all fine, it’s good. Total control of your feelings as you take each other in.

Bam interrupts him mid-sentence, a sleepy whine in half protest he lets out as he walks inside the kitchen.

“Aw, Jungkook,” you coo, “he’s sleepy.”

“Time for bed, Bamie?” He smiles, reaching down to scratch under his ears. “I’ll be right back.”

“I’ll be here.”

You smile, well aware that he keeps his dog bed in a cozy room in his house, quite literally puts him to bed every night. It makes you think about how good of a dad he’ll make one day, how much love is stored inside of him, how he likes to be needed and shows affection through acts of service. Your smile drops a bit, a feeling taking over you that you don’t like but have grown used to over the years.

You snap out of it, busying yourself as you begin to tidy up the kitchen, sliding his pink rubber gloves over your hands before you start washing the single pot, knife and chopsticks he’d used to make you dinner. It doesn’t take him long to be back, though, walking back inside the kitchen and smiling at the sight before him. You hum a song he can’t make up, hips shimmying to the beat as you scrub the pot. Your shirt rides up a little and he cocks his head to the side, smiling at the way your underwear peeks from underneath the fabric. A black and lacy thong that has him nodding his head in boyish satisfaction.

“You don’t have to do that,” he tells you, making you jump in place a bit at the sound of his voice.

You turn around, bringing a gloved finger to your lips as you shush him before you’re pointing it at the couch and shooing him away. “I’ll only be a second. Wait for me there.”

“‘Kay, boss.” He army salutes you, turning around and walking back to the couch, sitting down and sinking further into the cushions, legs spreading as he scrolls through his phone, a bit impatiently, missing you even though you’re so close.

And to Jungkook’s great fortune, he doesn’t have to wait for much longer. Wrapping it up in the kitchen, you give it one last glance to make sure it’s back to its pristine state before you’re making your way towards him. He looks up at you, throwing his phone to the side and following you with his eyes, smiling when you’re in front of him.

“Thank you for dinner,” you say, voice sweet and low, eyes a bit hazy.

“Come here.” He takes your hand in his, pulling you closer to him, bottom lip getting caught between his teeth as you throw your legs at either side of him, straddling him.

“I needed this,” you admit.

“Me too,” he breathes. “I’m glad you called.”

You pout, eyes looking up for a second as you ponder. “You called me.”

He chuckles, not a single ounce of desire to deny you. “I’m glad I called.”

You giggle, arms wrapping around his neck and fingers getting lost in his long hair. His head draws back as your nails massage his scalp gently and he relaxes at your touch, goosebumps adorning his skin. His hands travel under your shirt, promptly finding your hips, waist, and then threatening to go higher but Jungkook wants to take his time tonight. He wants to stay in the sweet state of wanting you for a bit longer. When his eyes are back on yours, you kiss him. He sighs against your lips, bringing you closer to him by the waist, letting his tongue taste your bottom lip before he’s tasting your mouth. It’s slow, a bit sloppy and lazy, holds the quality of anything that happens in the middle of the night, when no one’s watching and time stills for the two of you.

“Your skin is so soft,” he says, lips still on yours.

“It’s your body lotion.” You roll your hips over his, smiling when you pull a low groan straight out of him.

“Yeah,” he says, hands traveling down before he’s squeezing your ass, guiding your hips into his. “You smell like me. I like it.”

“I like it, too.” Your words get caught up in a moan as the outline of his cock parts your slit perfectly.

You pull away a bit hesitantly, hands coming to rest at his shoulders as your hips pick up the pace. You go slow but sink deeper into him with every roll of your lips, eyes never parting from his as you take in the way his face starts to contort in pleasure, mouth parting slightly as his breathing grows heavier, little grunts leaving his lips with every push and pull. His hands travel back down to your hips, squeezing a little at the soft flesh, guiding them as you move over his cock. He’s so hard, can feel you through the layers, can bet on the fact that you’re wet and pulsing for him right now.

“That feels good,” he sighs, gaze dropping as he rides your shirt up a bit at the front. His eyes fixate on the way the thin, lacy fabric of your panties bunches up every time you throw your hips back.

“Brings back memories,” you say, voice a bit shaky when a particular roll of your hips has the tip of his cock hitting right against your clit.

Jungkook smiles, mind hazy but perfectly able to picture the memories you refer to. “Mhm,” he sighs, so entrapped by the feeling he swears he can feel you pulse against him. He likes the way you consume his senses. The way everything around him stills and all he can think about is you. His hands squeeze at the flesh on your hips before he says, “turn around, baby.”

“‘Kay.”

Jungkook feels the loss of your warmth as you stand up before him once again, smiling at him before you’re turning around and sitting on his lap. You press your back to his chest, letting your head fall to his shoulder, your lips meeting his cheek in an open mouth kiss. His hands travel up your body, palms closing around your tits, thumbs playing with your nipples over the thick fabric of your shirt. You circle your hips, chasing the same friction from before but it’s not enough in this position. You bring your body forward, hands resting on his thighs as you throw your ass back at him, your pussy perfectly aligned on top of his cock, making you both moan at the same time. Jungkook’s gaze drops to your ass, enthralled by the way he feels, by the way you look. He rides your shirt up your back, exposes you to him and it only eggs you on, moving against his cock at the perfect rhythm.

He hooks a finger down the side of your panties, letting it travel down, smiling lazily at the way you trap his knuckles between your pussy and his cock, moaning as you grind on them. He can feel how wet you are, dripping for him already even though he hasn’t touched you yet. “Want my fingers, baby?”

“Yes, please,” you plead, voice shaky as you look back at him.

He’d usually tease you, make you beg for it a little longer, but tonight Jungkook obliges. It’s been long – too long – and all he can think about is being inside you, feeling you around him, making you feel good. He takes his time simply so he can savor the moment. So he can memorize it well enough to store it somewhere inside of him, just in case it’s another three months until he sees you again.

He pushes his middle and ring finger inside of you, hissing at your warmth, cock jumping inside his sweatpants in anticipation and a little big of neglect. You close your eyes, pleasure taking over you as he begins to thrust his fingers inside of you slowly, arching expertly every time they hit your g-spot. His free hand squeezes around your ass cheek, groaning when the hand that fucks into you pushes down on his cock, aiding at giving him some much needed friction. You feel lightheaded already, all-consumed in his hold as he takes over your every sense. Your body relaxes and you can feel the way your tummy tenses right away.

“Fuck, I think I’m gonna cum,” your voice is faint but he hears you well enough.

“Already? That was fast, baby.” You don’t miss the cocky tone his words hint at.

“Shut up and don’t stop,” you say, looking back at him playfully.

You see the way he smiles at you before his gaze is dropping back down, fingers moving expertly inside of you at the same pace, applying a bit more force as he pushes in, massaging that spot with the tip of his fingers. The added pressure has you mewling in no time, nails digging into his thighs, teeth biting at your bottom lip to ground you back into the moment as you let go.

“Fuck,” he says as he feels you cum around his fingers, sweet moans filling the space around you and he so badly wishes he could look at your face right now. “Yeah, baby, that’s it.” He feels the way you contract around him, hips circling over his hand as you ride the waves of pleasure.

You come down after a minute, mind still hazy as you fall back into him, lips finding his the moment he turns his head to the side. You kiss him, breathing into his mouth, smiling in your fucked out bliss. “That was so good.”

“Yeah?”

“Mhm,” you say, pressing your forehead to his. “I need you to fuck me now.”

“Want it?” he asks, and you nod your head. “You can have it.”

“Yeah, want it so bad, Jungkook.” Your voice is needy, holds a dreaminess to it that Jungkook doesn’t miss – one that makes him melt into your words, your touch, your lips as you kiss him again.

Jungkook presses his hips into you, raising them a bit as he pushes his sweatpants down. You help him take them off, hand reaching back before you’re wrapping it around his cock. He’s hard and pulsing for you and if you weren’t pulsing for him, too, you’d probably want him in your mouth right this second. He feels heavy, big and thick in your hold, a grunt leaving his lips when your thumb circles around the head. You love how sensitive he is, how receptive.

“Condom,” he says, before he runs out of blood in his brain and it all falls down to his cock.

“In my bag,” you say, reaching to the side and pulling it towards you. You rummage around it for a second too long – a second that has Jungkook’s mind betraying him. He shouldn’t. He knows he shouldn’t. But nonetheless he can’t help but wonder where you’d be right now if he’d been asleep and hadn’t seen your text. Perhaps in the same position but with a stranger. Or maybe a stranger only to Jungkook. Perhaps he hadn’t been the only person you texted tonight. “Here you go, baby.”

Your voice dismantles his worries and he’s warm again, all thoughts vanishing and it’s back to you and him. He leans forward, kissing your lips as he takes the condom from your hand. It makes you blush slightly, biting your lip in anticipation as you watch as he rips the foil of the packaging with his teeth. You watch the way he smirks as he rolls the condom on.

“Why are you smiling?”

“Just thinking,” he says, smile growing wider, cheek dimples making him look cute but something about his voice begs to differ.

You hum. “Thinking about what?”

He smiles. “July 14th, 2021.”

You both crack up, laughter filling the air the moment the words leave his mouth because of course you know what July 14th, 2021 meant. You’d been in a position very similar to this one, perhaps a bit more hazy minded, the true meaning of the heat of the moment finding you the minute you’d realized neither of you had a condom. You’d looked into each other’s eyes and made the silent agreement to be a little reckless and put a whole lot of trust on birth control and Jungkook’s pull out game.

He said he’d never forget that day.

“Long live, July 14th, 2021,” you say.

“Shhh,” he says, squinting his eyes and bringing a finger to his mouth. “Don’t remind me.”

“You reminded yourself,” you bite back. “Now, can you fuck me? Pretty please.”

“Yeah, baby, come here.”

You push your ass back at him, looking at him from over your shoulder, biting your lip in anticipation as he strokes his cock once, twice, before he’s lining himself against your entrance. His hand comes to your hip, pulling you down towards him as you push him inside of you. You both sigh, moaning as he bottoms out, so deep and warm it has Jungkook throwing his head back against the couch, sinking further into it and pushing impossibly deeper into you.

“Fuck, Jungkook,” you whimper, nails digging into his flesh.

“Fuck me, baby,” he says, running a hand through his long hair. You nod, circling your hips a couple of times as you adjust to his size before you start moving your hips into him, ass bouncing with every push and pull. He hisses at the sight alone, bringing his hand down as he delivers a hard slap against your cheek, making you moan. “Shit, just like that. You’re so hot, ___.”

“Jungkook,” you whisper.

“Yeah, baby?” His eyes are back on yours, threatening to close in pleasure at the way your pussy feels around him.

“I missed you.”

“I missed you, baby. So much.”

You fall into his chest, kissing him as he wraps his hand around your throat, not applying any pressure, just simply holding you. You gasp into his mouth when his other hand travels down and finds your clit, drawing lazy circles against the sensitive bundle of nerves. You whine and he moans when you move your hips to the rhythm of his touch.

“I don’t wanna be on top anymore,” you say, pouting into his lips, frowning when you feel his chest shake in laughter.

“Of course you don’t.”

“I’m an awful top.”

“You’re not a top.”

“Hey, I was a good top that one time,” you protest.

“Mm, yeah, that was hot. You got all bossy on me.”

“Oh, but that’s regardless,” you tell him, pushing your lips into his once more and straightening your back, smiling as you look back at him. He wipes said smile off your face in a second, hand meeting your ass in another hard slap.

“Stay there,” he says, holding firmly onto your hips.

“Okay, daddy.” That earns you another slap, though you can’t say it wasn’t exactly the goal in mind.

“Behave.”

Your face grows pliant as you nod at him and Jungkook has to fight to keep up the front because if he’s being honest, the sight alone drives him crazy, threatens to break him down completely and leave him a needy, whiny mess. He holds you in place, legs raising you up a bit before he starts pistoling his hips against you, fucking you hard and fast and even though you saw it coming, it still takes you by surprise. The force of his thrusts, how good he feels as the pain translates into pleasure, the noises he makes – it’s all too much but fuck, you don’t want him to ever stop. Your mouth parts in a silent moan, eyes closing as your face contorts in pleasure before the sensation ripples through you and you’re crying out. Your hand holds onto his arm and the firm grasp you have on it let’s him know.

“Fuck, I’m cummin,” you breathe out.

“Fuck yeah, baby. Cum all over my cock.”

“Oh my God,” you say, voice shaky and faint as you throw your body back into his.

“Fuck, I love your pussy.”

“I love your cock,” you say, fucked out giggles escaping your lips.

It takes you both a minute to steady your breathing and regain your strength. Jungkook kisses your neck, snaking a hand inside your shirt and squeezing your boob as you arch your back at the feel. “Let’s get you to bed, princess.”

“Music to my ears,” you say, giddy and excited.

Your knees buckle a bit when your feet touch the floor, the both of you laughing at your loss of balance, Jungkook a bit more cockily than you. He slaps your ass softly once, then twice as you begin to walk towards his bedroom. Once inside he takes his shirt off and when you turn around, your eyes scan over his body, metaphorically and possibly physically drooling over him. Your hands find the hem of your t-shirt before you’re pulling it off your body and tossing it aside until it’s landing on top of his. Your tits bounce as you do, and he nods his head at you, a satisfied pout adorning his lips. The pout turns sour the moment you turn around but is soon enough replaced with a smile when you start to crawl on top of his big mattress, finding the perfect spot over his pillows and laying down comfortably.

“You’re so perfect.” Jungkook says, because anything else would downplay it and he’s not in the mood to run away from the truth. You giggle, soft and sweet and he feels the way his heart aches for you inside his chest.

“Come to me,” you say, arms outstretched towards him. He makes his way to you, letting himself hover over you for a minute as he takes you in before he’s falling perfectly between your legs. You kiss him, letting your fingers get lost in his hair, breathing into the kiss and you swear this moment is laced in pure, unadulterated bliss. “Want to feel you inside me.”

“I’ll give it to you, baby. I’ll give you anything you want.”

There it is, yet again, and without a fail. It’s so common you nearly miss it – the way the moment turns tender. It’s mostly soft, this unspoken agreement you’ve fallen into with Jungkook. It’s friendship and attraction, good sex and years of exploring each other. It’s trust and communication. It’s understanding. It’s soft at the beginning and tender halfway through. It’s so tender it feels tangible, like the moment itself could fit inside the palm of your hand and feel ripe to the touch as you hold onto it. It’s tender when he looks into your eyes, it’s tender when his voice says your name, when you kiss his lips. It’s tender when the lust borders on something else. It’s tender when it lingers, when it threatens to fall.

He fucks you, hips moving against yours slowly, pulling moans out of your lips that get caught between his own when he kisses you.

“You feel so good,” you whisper into his mouth, words that only he could hear even if it weren’t just the two of you.

“Fuck, baby, so do you,” he whines, supple and yours, even if for that moment. “I’m not gonna last much longer.”

You smile, hand running through his hair before your fingers are pushing a strand behind his hear. “Cum for me, Kookie. Wanna feel you cum for me.”

Your words throw him over the edge, falling blissfully into you. It feels so fucking good. Your fingers running through his hair, down his neck and then back up again. The way your pussy clenches around him, cock throbbing for you at the wake of his release. Your lips are soft and the rise and fall of your chest falls into perfect sync with his. His hand squeezes at your breast before it’s traveling down your body, squeezing at your thigh before you’re wrapping your legs around his waist, flushed to him. Every little thing you do heightens his senses until all he can breathe, think and feel is you. His face falls down the crook of your neck and you breathe out a moan into his ear, unraveling him completely.

“Fuck, I’m gonna cum, baby.” His hips slow down before they still completely, a moan passing his lips as he releases into the condom, your nails softly running down his spine. His body feels spent but he doesn’t miss the way it relaxes on top of you, blissful and peaceful, growing sleepy right away.

“Feel good?” you ask, your fingertips running down his back in what feels like a feathery whisper.

“So fucking good,” he mumbles against the skin of your shoulder before his eyes are finding yours again. He kisses you. He kisses you because in moments like this he wants to say something else, something that makes more sense to his heart than anything his brain could say.

You kiss him back, afraid your heart will betray you, too.

You stare at him as you make your way back to his bed. He lays on his tummy, cheek pressed against the soft pillow, his pretty hair framing his face in a way that makes him look dreamlike. He doesn’t move an inch when you pull back the covers, if only for a second, to get back in bed with him. You lay on your side, eyes still fixed on him and your heart grows a new kind of tender at the sight of his sleeping form. He’s pouty and soft and so, so peaceful. Something sinks in your tummy, but it’s not in a way that signals bad news. Perhaps it’s the butterflies settling, perhaps the heat of the moment has began to cool down.

Your hand comes to his face, fingers gently pushing his hair out of his eyes before you let them wander down his face. His cheeks are soft, his ears cold and when it tickles, he frowns. Your thumb travels up again, smoothing his brow bone and he relaxes. Your eyes follow your touch as you trace the bridge of his nose, slowly, softly, as if you were being quizzed on it later. Wanting to take everything in, afraid that even blinking could take away from the moment. And when your finger lands on his lips, you trace that too the way your own did only minutes prior.

His eyes begin to flutter, a failed attempt to open them but you know he’s partially awake from the smile that pulls at his lips. You feel it on your finger before your eyes meet his gesture and when they do, you close them instinctively, leaning over and kissing him. His body can’t respond to his brain right now, exhausted and more asleep than he is awake, but he hums in satisfaction, lips puckering as he tries to give into his instincts.

“Let’s have breakfast together tomorrow,” he mumbles against your lips. “I’ll go buy honey and make you pancakes.”

You smile, though he can’t see, and perhaps it’s for the best. Your voice is a whisper when you say, “deal.”

His smile is the last thing you see before you fall asleep.

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