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sleepyhoon · 8 months ago

Text

✰ pairing. — emo!hs x reader

✰ genre. — early 2000s au, best friend's older brother, childhood friends to lovers, smut, light angst.

✰ word count. — 7k+

✰ warnings. — swearing, family issues, partying, mentions of drinking/drugs, friendship betrayal (?), smut [virginity loss, teasing, fingering, soft dom!hs, "i've waited so long for this" type shit], reader and hs are both 18+, minors dni. very cliche shit. reader doesn’t know much abt sex tbh.

✰ synopsis. — Love notes were slipped into your locker on a daily basis. Variations of messy, boyish handwriting on yellow sticky notes stacked upon themselves by the end of each school day. Every Friday night you were invited out with the promise of, "You'll have fun, just give it a chance."

You could have any guy you wanted, no doubt about it. Yet somehow, the only one you do want is the tattooed, gothic one that lives a few doors down from your best friend.

✰ a/n. revamping this from my bts acc with heeseung this time bc im absolutely obsessed with this couple and need them to exist in every possible universe :P revamping part 2 as we speak and ill post in a few days hehe

✰ perm taglist. @intromortal @aanniikkaa @meetletsinmontauk @lovelyyf @right-person-wrong-time

———

Two monumental events had been etched into your brain for eternity, the first being sneaking out in the middle of the night to meet up with your friends at the community pool. The second is fifteen minutes upon arriving at the pool, seeing your best friend's older brother emerge from the chlorine-scented water as if he were Poseidon and realizing you were utterly infatuated by him.

Lee Chaeryeong isn't blind to this, immediately pulling you away from the crowd to question the longing gaze on your face. "Out of every fucking guy here with us, you're making eyes at my brother? You do know that Heeseung is completely gross, right?" She was so furious, you're surprised no steam was blowing from her ears.

Deny it all you want (and you certainly did within that fifteen-minute interrogation); Heeseung very clearly had a hold on you that lasted many years following that fateful night. He wasn't even your usual type; he wouldn't be caught dead around the guys you're typically drawn to. He had a rebellious side; maybe that's why getting him out of your head was nearly impossible.

Of course, the eternal guilt of falling for your best friend's older, dumbass brother is also difficult to get out of your head.

It can't be helped, really. Anytime you'd visit their home, your eyes would automatically wander through the crack of his doorway as you'd pass by. Whether he was messily cutting his dark hair while blasting Pierce the Veil from his speakers or giving himself a new Stick-and-Poke tattoo as he waited for a CD to finish burning, you long to break away from Chaeryeong for a moment to speak to him. Ask him about his day or if his band had any upcoming gigs. You'd even talk to him about paint drying if it meant you'd get to be in the same space as him.

So it's safe to say you were completely heartbroken when he left for college. Chaeryeong, however, is over the moon. Or so you think.

"… He's your brother, though. You don't think you're gonna miss him at all?" You ask, watching Chaeryeong delicately paint your fingernails a pretty shade of purple.

She shrugs, "I mean… it's definitely gonna be weird not seeing him around the house every day, but he'll still visit sometimes. Maybe."

Deep down, Chaeryeong knows Heeseung won't visit much. He'd been craving freedom and independence from their parents for ages, and moving away for college gave him the perfect opportunity to live as he pleased. They weren't fond of the clothes he wore or the friends he had, and absolutely couldn't bear the music his band makes. They criticized every little thing about him, and he'd finally be getting a break from them.

As you're about to ask Chaeryeong if she's okay, she stands from her bed, screwing the nail polish closed. "I'll be back. I have to let Bam out." Her voice is shaky, and she doesn't look at you as she exits the room.

You take the opportunity to make your way down the hall and to Heeseung's door, which he has conveniently left wide open as he scrolls on his desktop. His knees are pressed against his chest as he's heavily focused on editing his Facebook page. There's a rock song playing lightly from another tab that you can't quite identify; he uses his free hand to gently tap along to the beat of the music.

His room is covered in cardboard boxes, soon to be packed into his parents' minivan and making their way to the University of San Francisco dorms.

Your knuckles tap on his wooden door, your heart fluttering when he turns around, and you realize he's changed the ring on his lip from black to silver.

He nods at you, "What's up?"

"Nothing. I just know you're leaving in the morning, and I wanted to say bye. And wish you good luck, of course." You're not sure why you're so heartbroken. It's not like the two of you were ever a thing. It's not like this would be your last time seeing him. Why were you so upset?

"Cool, thanks." You assume that was his way of indirectly telling you to get out until he reaches into his desk drawer and says, "Catch," before tossing something towards you.

Careful not to mess up your manicure, you easily catch the item, unfolding what appears to be a purple bandanna. "What's this for?" You ask, inspecting the material in your palms.

"To remember me by, duh. Plus, it matches your nails.”

It'd be silly to tell him you genuinely don't need this because there was no way in hell you could ever forget about him. Instead, you clutch the bandana tightly in your fist and make a silent vow to keep it with you at all times; have a piece of him with you at all times.

You thank him and tell him it's nice, but all you can wonder is why he even wants you to remember him in the first place. Maybe you're overthinking. He probably just didn't care for the useless accessory anymore.

When you turn to leave, Heeseung stops you with a gentle call of your name. He turns his head in your direction, tugging his bottom lip between his teeth. "Can I tell you something?"

"Anything." You whisper back, praying you don't sound overly desperate for a more extended interaction with him.

A beat of silence passes, and just as he opens his mouth to respond, Chaeryeong is stomping up the stairs and belting out your name. You gaze away from Heeseung to glance behind you, listening as his sister shouts about doing each other's makeup.

"Never mind, actually. It's not important." Heeseung interrupts, and you physically feel your heart sink to the floor.

You're about to be annoying and pry a response out of him until your eyes dart to his floor, and you see it. What slipped out from his drawer when he tossed the bandana at you.

A condom wrapper. An empty one, at that.

It's embarrassing how quickly your vision becomes glossy, salty tears threatening to release with each passing second. Of course, he's fucking someone. Of course, that person isn't you. Of fucking course.

You shouldn't be surprised; he's probably more into girls with a similar aesthetic. She's probably covered in tattoos and piercings, just like him. She's probably older than you and may even have her own car, unlike you, who still had to catch rides with your parents or older sister.

It's odd, though. You're not entirely naive; you know Heeseung definitely flirts with you here and there, catching his eye when his gaze lingers on you for a second too long. There's a noticeable tension between the two of you that even your parents have teased about. And this whole time, he's been screwing someone else?

Heeseung hangs out with so many girls it'd be useless to even attempt to uncover who this mystery person is. It's none of your business, anyway.

So you leave.

You tell Chaeryeong you'll get grounded if you're home past curfew, and with tear-stained cheeks, you run home.

The following day isn't any easier.

Chaeryeong posted a photo on FaceBook of herself and Heeseung posing together, arms wrapped around each other, with the caption "c u l8r alligator XD". The comments are already flooded with responses wishing Heeseung farewell, some from family members or friends of the siblings.

"Don't 4get abt me!!!!!! >:( "from a girl with red hair catches your eye because it's the only one Heeseung responded to. You can't bring yourself to read his full reply, fingers moving to quickly close the tab after seeing the word 'Never.'

It's probably her, you think to yourself, the one he's sleeping with.

Maybe it's for the best that Heeseung's moving away; it'll give you some time to get over him.

And you most certainly did.

The only time he ever crosses your mind is when Chaeryeong brings him up (which she rarely does) or when you pass by his empty bedroom. Deep down, you know you'll always care for Heeseung on some level, but time away from him was just what you needed. You were too attached to him for no fathomable reason, rejecting any guy interested in you with the premise of being loyal to a guy who didn't even want you. He'd probably been sneaking girls in through his window, with you a few doors down doing magazine quizzes with his sister; blissfully unaware of what was happening down the hall.

You’re better off without him.

That's what you've been telling yourself daily until now. It's the start of summer vacation, and Heeseung's been summoned home to spend it with his family before Chaeryeong (and you) transfer to the University of San Francisco.

Heeseung was hesitant about coming home, as he always is. In constant fear that his parents have some elaborate plan for him to change his major or set him up with someone they deem acceptable, nothing like the girls he hangs around and probably invites back to his dorm.

It took days of convincing until Heeseung finally agreed to come home, under the premise that his parents' intentions were pure and that they simply wanted one last summer together before Chaeryeong moved away for college. They also hoped he'd be able to house-sit and watch over Chaeryeong for a few days as they took their annual anniversary trip to San Diego. That, however, took some bribing and the promise of gas money on their end.

He's not due to arrive until tomorrow morning, and you've convinced yourself there's no reason for you to see him right away. You'd be fine if the next time you saw him was in a few months as you're moving into your dorm. After years of longing, you've finally moved on from him.

Some of you have debated telling Chaeryeong about your past feelings for her brother, but there's no point. It was a one-sided relationship with absolutely zero depth, nothing worth discussing. So when she nudges your side and asks if you're interested in anyone, you reply with a shake of your head.

Chaeryeong has no reaction to this; she can't remember the last time you've been into anyone despite having the entire male population at your school practically throwing themselves at you. "Maybe you'll meet someone tonight."

She's referencing the house party you're going to, which she practically had to drag you out of your room to attend. Parties are different from your scene, especially on a day like today when you were hoping to have a girls' night with Chaeryeong. She had other plans, however.

"Maybe," you respond, sighing as the house you're attending is finally in your viewpoint. "We're not staying long, right? It looks packed."

Cars are parked throughout the street, one house, in particular, being the center of attention with loud music and drunk people decorating the front yard of a suburban-looking home. Chaeryeong looks as ecstatic as ever, looping her arm in yours and picking up her pace. She doesn't respond. It doesn't matter. Her response would've disregarded your concern.

One car catches your eye as you enter the unfamiliar house; it's parked towards the end of the street, and you swear you've been in it before. You're not able to dwell on it for too long, though, because Chaeryeong has to practically yank you through the front door.

Your nerves are at an all-time high. The music is entirely too loud, and there isn't a single sober person in sight. You're not sure how Chaeryeong even found out about this party, but you really wish she would've left you out of it. You'd go now if it were acceptable, but Chaeryeong would've stayed regardless, and you refuse to leave her alone. So, you push your feelings to the side and take her hand as she leads you towards the kitchen.

"Thirsty?" Chaeryeong questions, forcing a red solo cup into your hand.

"Not at all," you respond, sighing as Chaeryeong pours something into your cup.

"It's just ginger ale," she reassures you, "I don't think either of us should get drunk here." For once, she's being reasonable.

Chaeryeong suggests you do a lap around the house in hopes of running into people you may have gone to school with. And to your surprise, a decent amount of your past classmates have decided to attend. You feel more at ease with them around, a bit more comfortable now that you're around recognizable people. Although you initially hesitated to show up, you're glad you did.

"Anybody catch your eye yet? Or are you still breaking hearts?" Your old classmate, Yeoreum, questions.

You shake your head, about to explain that you're not interested in dating right now, until she gestures behind you. "That guy is pretty cute."

You shift on the couch, looking around until you spot who Yeoreum had been gesturing towards. You locate him finally, and she's right; he is cute. He just seems so familiar.

That's when it hits you.

"Oh my God," you whisper, eyes locked on him, and you slowly rise from the couch.

It's Heeseung. And the car you recognized was his. He's here. What is he doing here? He isn't due to be back until tomorrow morning.

You almost don't realize it's him until you spot the mole under his lip. He's grown his hair out and stopped dyeing it, the slew of tattoos that decorated his arm (God, did he start working out, too?) nicely connected, now creating a sleeve, and he's given himself an eyebrow piercing. Your feelings for him come rushing back in full force.

Panicked, you reach for Chaeryeong's hand, but she's nowhere to be found. Careful not to be seen by her brother, you bow your head slightly, passing through a crowd of sweaty bodies until you finally spot her kitty heels. She's leaned against a wall, swirling around her cup while flirting with some guy you'd seen around school a few times.

Creating some much-needed distance between the two, you tug Chaeryeong towards you. "I think I just saw your brother."

"What? No, he won't even be in the city until tomorrow morning."

Frustrated, you quickly search the crowd until your eyes land on him again. You ignore the fact that he's now speaking to some girl with red hair and tattoos scattered across her arm and point in their direction, "Well, then that guy looks just like him."

Chaeryeong squints her eyes in disbelief at the boy in question until the doubt becomes confusion, and the confusion becomes realization. "Oh my God! The fuck is he doing here?" She turns towards you as if you're supposed to have the answer.

"The fuck should I know? You said he wouldn't be here until tomorrow morning!"

"Because that's what he told our parents! How was I supposed to know he was gonna be here? I never would've come if I knew!"

"What are you guys doing here?" A voice you haven't heard in so long interrupts. You don't even want to turn around.

"What are you doing here?" Chaeryeong throws back, and the two stare at each other in angry silence for a moment until Heeseung steps to the side. "Upstairs," he says, nodding towards the staircase.

"But—"

"Go."

Chaeryeong's clearly aggravated but makes her way towards the stairs. You remain in place with your arms crossed, raising a brow in confusion when Heeseung looks at you. "What?"

"You too."

"I'm not—"

"I'm not asking again," he says simply. You convince yourself that you only take his command because you don't feel like fighting. Definitely not because it's interesting to have him boss you around.

Trudging up the stairs behind Chaeryeong, you wait with her in the hallway until Heeseung arrives. "Come on," he says, entering a bathroom and turning the light on. Neither you nor Chaeryeong protest; there really isn't any point.

As soon as the door is shut, Chaeryeong is yelling at the top of her lungs. "What the fuck are you doing here?! You said you wouldn't be back until tomorrow morning! Mom and Dad had to push their trip back just to give you more time to arrive, and you're already fucking here?! The fuck is the matter with you?!"

"I'm not gonna respond if you're gonna be yelling like this." Heeseung says calmly, leaning against the sink, "Let me get my questions out first, then I'll answer any of yours, deal?"

Chaeryeong glances over at you, sitting on the bathtub's edge, and you nod. She returns her attention back to Heeseung, takes a deep breath, then agrees.

"Now, what are you guys doing here?! How'd you even get invited?! And you're drinking?!" The calm demeanor from earlier slips away in a matter of seconds, clearly a hoax just to get Chaeryeong to calm down enough to let him speak.

"It's just ginger ale, and we've barely even had any! We were invited by our friends, okay? We have just as much right to be here as you do."

Heeseung scoffs, clearly unamused. "Right, and I'm assuming Mom and Dad know you're here then, huh?"

Chaeryeong nervously tucks a hair behind her ear. You wonder why you even have to be in here with them. It's not like Heeseung is your brother, anyway.

"We told our parents that we were going to a birthday party at a friend's house." Chaeryeong mumbles, barely able to look Heeseung in the eye.

"And what did they say when they dropped you guys off?"

"They didn't drop us off," you interrupt, "we walked here."

"Well, I wasn't gonna tell him that." Chaeryeong glares at you, it takes every bone in your body to not to laugh at her.

You're so over this. You didn't want to attend this dumb party in the first place, and seeing Heeseung flirting with some girl who could've been his female counterpart was the icing on the cake. It doesn't matter if your feelings for him were gone before tonight; every little emotion you'd felt for him over the years had returned (as if they ever left).

"And how exactly did you two geniuses plan on getting home?"

"Same way we got here."

"Can you please just let me handle this? Jesus Christ…" Chaeryeong shoots another frustrated glare at you, and you can't help but roll your eyes at her. She turns back towards her brother, "Can you answer my questions now?"

Heeseung's eyes anxiously dart around the cramped bathroom, landing on you a few times before he's slowly nodding his head. "Alright, Mom and Dad basically forced me to spend the whole summer here, and I kept asking myself why they were so persistent about it. They finally told me they needed me to watch over you and the house for their stupid trip. I had plans too, you know? That I had to derail for them. My band could've spent this summer touring, making real money, and now we can't. So, they wanna inconvenience me? I'll inconvenience them right back."

"…Inconvenience them by doing what?" Chaeryeong asks the exact question you had.

Heeseung shrugs, "By telling them I'm gonna be arriving a day late, duh."

You and Chaeryeong exchange an awkward glance at one other before silently agreeing not to tease him about it. If this was his badass way of retaliating, who were you to rain on his parade?

"Are you gonna tell anyone you saw us here?" Chaeryeong questions, a noticible tremble in her voice.

"As long as you guys don't tell anyone you saw me."

It's a fair trade, you accept it. You're even more delighted when Heeseung says he's taking the two of you home. Chaeryeong, however, isn't too happy about this, claiming there were so many people she didn't get to speak to, and how'd this be the last time she'd get to see them before moving away for school. You're not sure if Chaeryeong is really good at getting what she wants, or if Heeseung was tired of hearing her complain, but he finally gives in and grants her ten more minutes to socialize before meeting him at his car.

"If you're not at my car in ten minutes, I swear to God I'm calling mom." Heeseung scolds, holding the bathroom door open as the three of you finally exit.

A loud, drunk voice suddenly shouts, "Woah, Heeseung! Two girls at the same time!? You fucking beast!"

"They're my sisters, you fucking pervert!" He shouts back.

You can't even dwell on how disgusting the original comment was, only being able to focus on the fact that Heeseung just referred to you as his sister. As conceited as it may sound, you're not used to rejection or guys putting you in the friend-zone. Whatever little game Heeseung had been playing with you over the years was completely new territory. And right when you think things couldn't possibly get any worse, he calls you his sister.

What the actual fuck.

—

The next ten minutes go by in a blur; Chaeryeong has ditched you for a second time that night to talk to the guy from earlier. When it's finally time to leave, you find her Sat on his lap with her arm hung across his shoulder, laughing at an unfunny pickup line he'd used on her.

"It's time, Chaeryeong," you interrupt, helping her stand.

"Wait, wait, wait," she persists, directing her attention back to the boy, "tomorrow at five, right?"

"And not a second later." He sends her a disgusting wink that makes your skin crawl.

Chaeryeong is so love-struck you're surprised there isn't an arrow lodged in her back. She can barely form a proper sentence, erupting into a fit of giggles every few seconds as you make your way to Heeseung's car. "Wasn't he just gorgeous?"

You shrug, linking arms with her. "He was alright."

Stunned, Chaeryeong gasps at you, "Just alright? He was literally like a Greek God."

"I'm not saying he's unattractive; he's just...not really my type."

"And what is your type, Miss. Never-Has-Been-Interested-In-Anyone?"

Now, there's the question of the hour. You have to word your response very carefully; don't be too obvious about the fact that your ideal type is her older sibling.

"I guess I prefer guys with an edgier look to them, you know? Tattoos, piercings..." Despite your attempt to sound as nonchalant as possible, your heart is beating out of your chest from the mild confession.

Chaeryeong snickers, then playfully groans. "It sounds like you're describing my brother."

Now, you really have to test the waters.

"Since you brought him up, would it be so bad if I did like Heeseung? Hypothetically speaking, of course." You're not sure what prompts you to even ask this. It's not like he's even interested in you; he literally just referred to you as his sister.

A beat of silence passes as Chaeryeong gathers her thoughts, then she says, "No."

"What?"

You've finally reached Heeseung's car at this point, beating him there. You sit atop the trunk, feet hovering above the ground as the cold, nighttime air swirls around you. Chaeryeong shakes her head, "Obviously, it wouldn't be the ideal situation, but I guess I wouldn't mind as long as you talked to me about it first."

"First?" You mimic.

"Like...assuming you'd wanna date him or something. Just so I'm not blindsided, you know?"

This is the last thing you would've expected your impulsive, hotheaded (yet oh-so-loveable) best friend to be reasonable about. Mainly because she lectured you for nearly twenty minutes when she first suspected you had a crush on Heeseung.

You go to respond, but Heeseung, finally arriving at the car, captivates both of your attention. He finishes off his can of Pepsi before crushing the aluminum and tossing it to the ground. "Ready?" He questions.

There's no point in giving him a speech about littering; you're just ready to go home.

He fishes his keys from his pocket and unlocks the car door; Chaeryeong opens the backseat and jumps in before you have the chance, sprawling across the aged leather. "Move over," you nudge her foot with your knee; she pulls away from you.

Heeseung calls your name, "Just sit up front. She's not gonna move."

Now, this is new. You've ridden in the backseat of his car with Chaeryeong more times than you can count; he'd never allow either of you to sit shotgun with him; typical annoying older brother bullshit.

Don't make a big deal out of this, you say to yourself, climbing into the passenger seat of his car.

Chaeryeong and Heeseung bicker the entire ride to their parent's house, partially out of annoyance with each other, but you also get the feeling that neither of them were genuinely ready to leave the party. You're surprised Heeseung even enjoyed parties; he spent most of high school either working, hanging out at skate parks, or practicing with his band in their garage. College must've really changed him, and you're unsure how to feel about it.

Heeseung parks a few houses down from their parent's house and unlocks the doors, "Get out," he says into the backseat.

"Where are you gonna spend the night?" Chaeryeong questions, stretching her arms outward.

"I checked into a motel this morning. I'll be back here tomorrow around noon. And, hey," Heeseung turns around, pointing a finger at his sister. "Don't tell them you saw me."

Mockingly, Chaeryeong points a finger right back at him. "Telling them I saw you would be exposing myself, cock-sucker. Leave me alone." She angrily begins to climb out of the car, annoyed at how little trust Heeseung had in her.

You turn to go, but Heeseung's cold hand on your bicep stops you, "Where you goin'?"

"I'm gonna walk home from here. It's only a few minutes away," you respond.

Heeseung shakes his head, "I'm dropping you off. You haven't moved since I left, right?"

"No, but it's fi—"

"Then your house is on the way to my motel. We're going in the same direction; might as well ride together."

It truly does make more sense to ride together, and rejecting his offer any further surely would raise suspicions. You don't want either of them to believe you'd feel uncomfortable being alone with Heeseung because that couldn't be farther from the truth. You're perplexed about your feelings now, and you don't want to do anything you'd regret just because of the confusion.

"Okay, then." You glance over your shoulder at Chaeryeong, "Will you need any help getting ready for your date tomorrow?"

Suddenly embarrassed, Chaeryeong shushes you, gesturing that Heeseung is literally right next to you and would prefer that he didn't hear about her dating life. Heeseung genuinely couldn't care less and is instead patiently waiting for his sister to get out.

She does finally, and Heeseung resumes his path to your house. He turns the radio on, switching between stations until he stops on one that's playing a song he's familiar with. You drive silently for a few minutes; the only sounds being heard are the distant noises from the car's motor and Heeseung humming along to the radio.

He breaks the silence by saying, "I was surprised to see you back there. You never really seemed like the type to enjoy parties."

You chuckle, "I could say the same for you; I don't remember you attending any in high school."

"That's 'cause house parties weren't my thing," he explains, "I went to raves or parties that would happen at the skate park. I don't really like being at someone else's house for too long; it feels too intimate."

Now that you think of it, skate park parties and raves seem much more like his scene.

"Well, I only went because Chaeryeong was going, and I didn't feel comfortable with her being there alone. Otherwise, I never would've gone." You admit, resting your head against the window.

"Thanks for looking after her, by the way. You're a good friend."

"I'd do anything for her." Your voice is barely a whisper now, getting quieter with every word you say.

Silence passes, and he says, "Did you know your guys' dorm room is gonna be right under ours?"

"Seriously?" You respond, genuinely curious.

"Mmm-hmm. My roommate, Sunghoon, and I are gonna be the worst upstairs neighbors ever." He teases as you roll your eyes. Your mind can't decipher whether this banter is playful & platonic or romantic. Everything Heeseung does confuses you.

"If that's the case, I'll be sure to move to an entirely new building."

"What, so you can have your boyfriend protect you?"

Pause. Boyfriend?

You nearly give yourself whiplash from how hard you spun around to look at Heeseung. "Boyfriend?" You ask.

He shrugs nonchalantly, keeping his eyes on the road. "I just assumed you'd have one by now. Do you?"

There he is again with his mind games. What the fuck was he talking about?

After letting out a very frustrated sigh, you mumble, "No, Heeseung, I do not have a boyfriend."

"Good. Focus on school."

Now he's pissing you off. You wish he'd shut up for the rest of the car ride. "It's nice to see you again, by the way."

Holy shit, you feel like jumping out the window.

"Yeah, great seeing you too. Oh, there's my house. I can walk from here." You make quick work of undoing your seatbelt.

"You sure? I can drop you off at the door."

"No, no. It's best if my parents don't see you so they don't accidentally tell your parents that they saw you." You lie, racking your brain for any excuse imaginable.

He nods, deciding it's best to drop you off a little further from your house. "Then, I'll see you tomorrow?"

"What?" You stop dead in your tracks, one hand clutching the door handle.

"Aren't you coming over tomorrow to help Chaeryeong get ready for her…thing? I'll be back home by then."

He's right; you'd be back in his house, and he'll be there this time. It's no big deal. You'd only be there for an hour (at most) to help her prepare, and then you could go the whole summer without seeing him again.

"Yeah, I'll see you then."

The following day, Chaeryeong is back to her unreasonable self, expecting you to wait at her house for her to return from her date.

"Please? We're just going to get pizza; we won't even be gone that long." She pleads, adding the finishing touches to her makeup.

You'd already spent over an hour helping her prepare, and now she expects you to do nothing but await her return. You know her heart's in the right place; she just wants to be the first to hear all the exhilarating details about her date. Still, a phone call would suffice.

"What am I supposed to do while I wait for you to come back?" You whine.

"Just hang out here! Watch a movie or something!" She suggests, trying her absolutely hardest to sound enthusiastic. Her phone buzzes in her hand before she has the chance to continue, eyes lighting up as they flicker across the bright screen.

Chaeryeong clutches her phone, locks eyes with you, then rushes towards the door. You're faster, though, quickly capturing her wrist before she's barely reached the hallway. "I'm going home."

"No! If you stay here, I'll bring you back pizza, and we can have a girls' night like we were supposed to yesterday! Come on, please?" She begs, pouting her lips.

You go to reply, but the bathroom door swings open, and Heeseung strides out. Just to your luck, he's shirtless; water droplets descend from his hair as he towel-dries it. As he enters his bedroom, he mocks his sister's high-pitched whine, earning a lethal glare and a slew of swears thrown at him.

Perhaps you should stay.

"Fine, but you're lending me your pajamas." You give in, earning an enthusiastic shriek from your best friend.

Chaeryeong wraps you in a brief, yet tight, hug before shouting, "Be back soon!" Then she's rushing down the stairs and out the front door. It's not often that Chaeryeong makes you wait for her return, but you absolutely despise it whenever it does occur. She's never back by the time she promises and gets upset when you try to call and check up on her.

And speaking of calling, you're sure your phone is dead by now. You insisted Chaeryeong bring her's along just in case, so you're left with one option.

Heeseung's door is wide open (as usual) when you go to knock. He's fully clothed now, pairing his black sweatpants with a matching black t-shirt. His hair appears mostly dry now, chaotic as ever, but dry. You don't think he's ever looked this good before.

He's sat on his bed, flipping through the latest copy of Rolling Stone when you arrive. He glances over at you and lets out a dry chuckle.

"What's so funny?" You ask.

"You're dressed like Bella Swan." He responds casually, eyes raking up and down your body.

"Who?"

"From Twilight. You know, that new movie that came out?" He seems genuinely surprised that you don't seem to know anything about this movie, not even the name of (who you suspect to be) the main character.

You lean against the doorframe, "Haven't seen it."

"It's a great movie, seriously. Some friends and I are seeing it in a few days if you and Chaeryeong wanna come." He suggests, flipping another page in the magazine.

You let him know you'll ask Chaeryeong if she's interested before remembering why you came to his room in the first place and ask if you can borrow his phone charger. Heeseung directs you to where it's plugged up by his desk, and you finally have the chance to stroll further into his room. You can't recall the last time you've been in here, but you know it looks much different than before. Many of the band posters that decorated the room were gone, his random trinkets and piles of clothes were gone, and not a single piece of his CD collection was in sight. It felt so lifeless, so unlike him. No wonder he always dreaded returning home; it probably didn't even feel like home to him.

"So," you say, attempting to break the silence, "you're here for the whole summer, huh?"

"Unfortunately." He mumbles, "Gonna try and go by sooner, convince my parents I have to sort out an issue with my dorm or something."

"It's nice to have you back, though." You admit, watching as Heeseung's gaze locks on yours.

"Yeah? It is?" He questions.

You shrug, "Of course. We practically grew up together; it was weird to not see you all the time."

He sits up now, closing the magazine and tossing it on his nightstand. There's something on his mind that he isn't saying; you can tell from the way his brows knit together and how he's anxiously tugging on his lip piercing. "It was weird to be gone," he mumbles and leaves it at that.

"By the way, I'm sorry about last night." He apologizes.

"For what? Calling me your sister?"

He laughs at this, shaking his head. "I didn't mean to do that on purpose, by the way. That guy was just...so weird, I kinda blurted out the first thing that would've made him feel weird for even thinking that."

Oh. That makes sense. You definitely overreacted.

"I meant," he continues, "I'm sorry if the whole boyfriend assumption thing upset you."

"Oh," you dismissively wave a hand at him, "that was nothing."

Heeseung raises a brow at you, "Are you sure? 'Cause you seemed pretty upset afterward, you were practically running out of my car."

There's no point in lying now, considering you weren't even the slightest bit discrete the previous night.

"If I'm being completely honest, I just felt a little awkward. But that's it, I swear." You assure him, moving to lean against the bedside table.

"Awkward about what?"

God, this was so embarrassing. Is he really going to make you humiliate yourself like this?

"Because I've never actually had a boyfriend before."

Heeseung looks genuinely shocked at your confession, eyes nearly bulging out of his head as he examines yours for any sign of deception. "You don't believe me?"

"I'm not sure. I only assumed you had one just based on how crazy guys were about you in high school. Not to mention you're, like, fucking gorgeous."

What?

"I'm what?" You ask, not entirely sure if you heard him correctly.

He repeats himself again, and you make him do it a few more times until he's too embarrassed to say it again. You somehow manage to get back on the topic of never having a boyfriend before when Heeseung asks you another question. "Have you ever...?"

He doesn't need to finish the sentence. You know what he's asking.

You shake your head.

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked. It's none of my business." He berates himself, and you assure him it's no big deal and that it shouldn't even be a shocker to him.

After a half hour of talking about whatever comes to mind, you wind up sitting opposite Heeseung on his bed, legs perched up underneath your body as you go back and forth, questioning one another.

"So, when are you gonna admit you had a crush on me?" His voice is barely a whisper.

"I never did." You lie.

"Really? That sucks?"

"Why?"

He shrugs, leaning his back against the headboard. "I just always thought that maybe you and I would've ended up together at some point."

You don't remember who leans in first; it doesn't matter; all that matters is after years of longing, your lips are finally intertwined with his. He must've smoked today; you can taste the nicotine on his breath. But it doesn't matter; you don't make the slightest move to pull away. Neither does he, placing his hands on the small of your back to guide you onto his lap.

Your body is moving on autopilot, limbs moving to do whatever feels right as you silently pray not to ruin the moment. Heeseung can spot your nervousness from a mile away and stop you, "We don't have to do—"

"I want to," you pant, breathless, "I've wanted this for so long."

"Do you trust me?" He asks.

"More than anything."

He kisses you again before adjusting your current position, slowly twisting yourselves until you're lying flat on your back. He moves his lips down towards your neck, leaving a trail of kisses in his path as he settles between your legs.

You reach up to grab a handful of his hair, nearly jumping out of your skin as his delicate fingertips creep up your inner thigh, inching closer and closer until his ghosting over your clothed pussy. "This okay?" He mumbles.

You nod, unable to form a coherent sentence. "Cute," he replies, "you're already so wet." His fingertips stroke your clit through your damp underwear; you don't think to wonder how he managed to get to it so quickly, all thoughts leaving your brain as he makes small circles using his middle and index finger.

"Heeseung…" You moan, pleading for him to do more.

"I know." He assures you, using a single finger to pull your panties to the side, making just enough room for him to slide a finger into your aching cunt. "Am I really your first time?"

You nod again out of fear that a moan would slip from your lips if you even tried to speak. His eyes are locked on yours, studying your expression as he coaxes a finger inside you. You're embarrassed at how quickly your wetness coated his finger, but Heeseung doesn't care. He likes it, makes him feel fucking amazing knowing the effect he had on you.

"Take your shirt off." He says, and you do as told, pulling your top up and off your body and tossing it to the floor; making quick work of undoing your bra before he even has the chance to ask.

His lips are back on your neck instantly, trailing down to your collarbone until he reaches the curve on your breast. He halts his actions momentarily before your pitched nipple is caught between his teeth and your back arching off the bed from how overstimulating everything feels.

You curse under your breath, and Heeseung makes another comment about how cute you are, though you feel far from it. He apologizes by lapping his tongue around your nipple, easing the pain slowly as he inserts a second finger into your cunt.

You can feel his bulge against your thigh, though he doesn't even care about getting himself off. He moves over to your nipple, licking and sucking until it's completely hardened, leaving himself breathless. The two fingers that had been working your cunt had picked up the pace now, and there was an unfamiliar feeling in your gut that you couldn't identify.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck…" You groan, legs trembling.

Heeseung is all too familiar with these actions and asks, "You're already close? I've barely done anything to you." He teases, chuckling to himself.

You know he's being lighthearted, but you can't help but feel embarrassed at the tears forming in your eyes from how good everything feels.

Suddenly, he's pulling his fingers out of you, and now you feel like crying for a different reason. You go to protest but stop to watch as he takes his shirt off. If you weren't sure then, it's obvious now he'd started attending the gym.

He makes quick work of tugging his sweatpants down his legs, tossing them into the abyss before reaching into his bedside table and retrieving a condom. "You're okay?"

You nod.

"Use your words."

“I’m okay, Heeseung.”

"You're still okay with this?"

"Yes."

"You sure?"

Jesus fucking Christ, the saint this man is.

"I'm positive." You assure him.

You move to pull down your skirt and underwear, but Heeseung catches your wrist. "Leave them on," he says. There are so many things going on that you choose not to question.

He pulls off his boxers in the meantime, hardened cock slapping against his abdomen with precum leaking from the tip. Though you had nothing to compare it to, Heeseung was obviously slightly larger than average. You shouldn't be surprised; it's always the guys that you'd least expect.

He tears the condom wrapper with his teeth, retrieving the rubber inside before tossing the remains to his floor. Despite being fully erect, he fists his cock a few times before sliding the condom on.

He crawls over you, left arm at the side of his head, while he uses his dick to nudge your panties to the side. "This still okay?"

"I already told you—fuck!" He cuts you off, the tip of his cock slowly making its way inside you. You feel so stretched out from this alone you don't know how you'd manage to fit all of him into you.

Heeseung must be feeling the same, swearing under his breath and commenting about how tight you feel around him. Second by second, he coaxes himself into your pussy until you feel like you could split right open. "Are you all the way in?"

"No, can't take anymore?" He asks, leaning his head down against your ear.

You're embarrassed to admit he's too big to handle on your first time, but it's the truth. You don't want to overextend yourself just to please him and end up hurting yourself.

"You can move, just…not too much. Please."

Heeseung nods, "Whatever you want, angel."

He pulls his hips back and rocks himself back in, being sure to ask if you're okay with his pace. Once you confirm you feel fine and want him to keep going, he continues his movements; his eager hips snapping against yours and his cock hitting your G-spot with each deep stroke. You feel like you're on cloud nine, hands tangled in his hair as he swallows your moans.

That unfamiliar feeling from earlier returns; you feel it through your entire body this time. A moan of his name escaping your lips lets him know you're close. How he can always sense these things is beyond you; it's not worth overthinking.

"Close?" He asks, and you nod frantically.

Heeseung picks up his speed slightly, careful not to overwhelm you, but just enough to reach your climax, until finally, the bundle of nerves in your abdomen snaps, and your back is arching off the mattress as you come around his cock.

He's only a few seconds behind with his orgasm, erupting in a loud grunt when he finally reaches it. The two of you lay in silence for a moment before Heeseung finally pulls out of you and slides the condom off, tying it in a knot and tossing it into his trash bin.

"Are you okay?" He asks for what feels like the millionth time.

"I'm fine." You respond, and it isn't a lie. Physically, you feel terrific; mentally, it was an entirely different story. "Are you?"

"I'm good, I'm good."

As much as you would love to lay naked with Heeseung in his bed for the rest of the night, you know Chaeryeong will be home anytime soon. "I think I'm gonna go wash up."

He nods, crawling under his covers once you stand from his bed, tugging your skirt to its proper length as you search for your remaining clothing. "Oh, it's um…your shirt, it's over there." Heeseung awkwardly gestures towards a pile of clothing by the end of his bed.

Almost as quickly as you shred yourself of them, you snatch your clothing and bundle them up against your chest.

"Listen, I know right now isn't really ideal, but I meant what I said about liking you, and really think we should talk." He says nervously, barely even able to look at you.

You almost want to laugh at how cute he is; instead, you agree to talk to him about it soon. You're about to head out into the hallway when Heeseung reminds you about your charging phone over by his desk.

You retrieve it and scan the area again, ensuring you haven't left anything else behind. When everything seems clear, you stand upright, but your eyes fall toward the trash bin near his window with the discarded condom. You're embarrassed to even look at it until you realize something seems off. It looks…empty.

Now, you're no sex expert, but imagine that if Heeseung had finished, there'd be something to show for it in the condom. Right?

Did he fake his orgasm? Was this another one of his fucked up mind games you'd been subjected to?

You don't know what to think as you step into the bathroom; your emotions are all over the place, and all you really want to do is go home. But you promised Chaeryeong you'd be here when she returns, so you stay.

The next time a Lee sibling asks if you're okay is twenty minutes later when Chaeryeong finally arrives and asks why your eyes are so watery.

"I'm fine." You respond, and you're lying for the first time that night.

#enhypen smut #enhypen #lee heeseung #heeseung smut #enhypen imagine #heeseung imagine #lee heeseung smut #enhypen scenario #heeseung scenarios #kpop smut #kpop imagine #kpop scencario #heeseung x reader #enhypen x reader

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arely-of-all-worlds · 2 years ago

Text

Figuring out all of the historical north stars should not be this difficult I feel like

#you mean to tell me im the very first person to wonder about this?#or that its impossible to figure out but the changing north star is caused by earth wobbling #if we know like. the path of its wobble (which i feel like we should be able to fg #to figure out why shouldnt we be able to use that information to figure out what stars would've besn the northernmost stars #what am i missing #other than years of education #DONT YOU KNOW IT'S FOR MY BLORBOS #eternity bts

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tangerineastronaut · 6 months ago

Note

Hi! I saw you take requests.

May I request something with GOT7 Jackson Wang and best friend!reader, in which the reader starts developing feelings for him and start thinking he’s the one for her? <3

Friends, Just for Now | Jackson Wang (Part 1)

Part 2

The one where your best friend can't keep his secret anymore (and you're oblivious).

Pairing: Jackson Wang (GOT7) x Fem!Reader Genre: Fluff, BestFriend!Reader, idiots to lovers Requested: Yes w.c. 6.6k (oops) Warnings: Cheating (not between jackson and reader), lots of profanity, nicknames, namecalling, minor injury, reader wouldn't know love if it smacked her in the head, holy shit they're kind of annoying af A/N: this was so fun to write, love me a good idiots friends to lovers. I'm also cheesy af, feel free to call me out. Please excuse any errors there may be, I usually proofread after posting. ❣️The love I received on my yunho imagine has literally made me do happy dances, I haven't posted anything on tumblr in 8 years and you guys are just literally the best. I love you all so much! Requests: Open (link below)

Requests | WIPs Masterlists: BTS | ATEEZ | GOT7 | Stray Kids

🎧 FRI(END)S by V

“Come on, pie, I told you this was gonna happen. You never listen.”

Two things went through your mind, though you refused to lift your head from where it was tucked against your knees.

One, you hated that nickname. Pie. He thought it was so cute, and it probably would’ve died off had you not reacted to it the way you did. One missed smear of cherry on your nose 3 years ago and suddenly you’ve been christened. It was his favorite story to tell.

And two, Jackson Wang was going to get his shit rocked if he didn’t leave you alone.

“Fuck off,” you say bitterly, pulling further into yourself.

He was right. He had warned you.

You’d hoped Leejin was different, that the rumors were just exaggerated. Surely he didn’t cheat on every girlfriend…right?

“Wrong,” Jackson had laughed. “He’s a fucking dog, y/n.”

You’d rolled your eyes, and then Jackson said three words to you that had kind of hurt. Not kind of. A lot. They’d hurt a lot.

“You’re not special.”

Leejin was so nice, he was smart and funny and headed for a successful career with his family’s business (so what if his parents probably paid off the school to make sure those student conduct violations never stuck). You wanted to be special. Spent 4 months trying to be. It wasn't an eternity, but you tended to put your whole heart into everything, and it almost always ended up like this.

But Jackson’s words rang true, painfully so, when you received a text from an unknown number earlier today—screenshots of messages between Leejin and some girl, including explicit photos. The unnamed person had said nothing else; you wondered if it was the girl from the screenshots, but you didn’t reply. You simply texted Leejin to go fuck himself before blocking him on everything, running straight home to your apartment, praying that Jackson wasn’t there. He was, of course, as you split the rent. You hated the look on his face when you barged in, nose red and snotty from crying.

It wasn’t smug, it was just…"come on, pie, I told you this was gonna happen."

You heard him sigh now, no doubt running a hand through his hair. It was blonde; you’d made fun of him at the time he'd dyed it though begrudgingly had to admit it suited him. But he was going to be bald before he was 40 if he didn’t stop tugging at it when he was stressed.

“Hey. Hey, stop. I hate it when you cry, you know, makes my joints hurt or something,” he says, kneeling beside you.

The fuck…? What does that even—

But you were too upset to stop, so he muttered under his breath, poking at your head until you whipped it up to slap him away. He looked like such a boy, hugging his knees and giving you a pleading look. Fine. Bastard.

You sighed and uncurled yourself, your knees screaming from the pain of turning into a human rollie pollie for the last half hour. Jackson sighed as well, no doubt relieved that you weren’t ugly crying anymore.

He waited until your sniffles were a few minutes apart before moving, sitting criss cross on the floor. His brown eyes were soft, a rarity, truly, though you knew he was already formulating ways to tease you about this when it was more irritating than painful.

“Done?” he asks, more to comfort himself than you. You sniff and nod, wiping your nose on your sleeve. Well, his sleeve. He made a face, realizing that you were wearing one of his sweatshirts, but made the apparent decision to yell at you later.

“Don’t be mean to me,” you mumble, resting your cheek on your knee.

“When am I ever?”

“Jackson, I swear to fucking—”

“I didn’t say anything, pie.”

“If you don’t drop that god damned nickname, it was one time, one little bit of cherry filling, I don’t even like cherry pie, you’re so fucking annoying—”

It was his turn to interrupt, but he didn’t. He just watched you, an irritating twinkle of amusement in his eyes. You scoffed and tucked your face away again, wishing he’d stop looking at you like that. Or at all, really. If there was one thing you’d learned after being friends with him for so long…the asshat had some eyes on him. Had this way of using his gaze to set the mood, able to stop your arguments or rile you up with micro expressions like an olympic gold medalist of manipulation.

“Want some ramen?” he asks, tilting his head as though speaking to a kicked dog. You crinkle your nose without looking at him. “Want some cake? Some candy?”

“I want you to leave me alone,” you grumble.

“Want a bath?”

You sigh, refusing to humor him with an answer he already had. He snapped his fingers like he’d just solved the equation of the century, having the audacity to ruffle your hair as he stepped over you unnecessarily to get to the door. You could hear him down the hall, the sound of the bathroom cabinets opening and closing, the water running, hopefully set on hot like you liked.

“You're out of bath bombs,” he called. You frown.

“I’m not, they’re under the sink.”

“Why’d you move them? Next to your menstrual equipment, eww.”

That’s why. You felt sorry for whatever unfortunate woman Jackson decided to wife up—the man was addicted to hot baths and cotton candy bath bombs. You’d have to move them again though, now that he knew about your stash. Besides, you’d sent him to the shop more than a few times when you were cramping and out of pads (and chocolate); he would not be impeded by them.

Jackson was waiting for you by the time you dragged yourself to the small shared bathroom. He bowed dramatically, gesturing toward the tub which was steaming hot, as you liked—a meal’s gotta cook.

You mumble a thank you as he walks past, though he pauses in the doorway, eyes narrowed.

“Get naked, and give me my damn sweatshirt,” he says, pointing accusingly at you. You pout, immediately clutching your pearls.

“Is that why you never get laid? Jesus, would’ve thought you were smoother than that,” you huff. He impatiently tugs at your sleeve, rolling his eyes in that sassy way that always made you giggle and made him more irritated—a win win scenario.

“It’s a $30 shirt, not a snot rag…pie.”

“You’re a snot rag,” you mumble. You turn your back to him, crossing your arms at the hem and tugging it over your head. You were still in a bra thankfully, though still covered your chest as you tossed the material at him.

Jackson caught it smoothly, though he wasn’t even looking at the sweatshirt. You didn’t realize he was looking at you until you reached for the button of your jeans. His eyes weren’t lower than your lips, but he looked a little…off. You expected a joke about a food baby or maybe how pale you’ve gotten, but he says nothing.

“Hello?” you say, shaking your head. “Is that all? Want my pants too? Gonna do my laundry for a change?”

Jackson blinks like his brain finally returned to his skull. He bit the inside of his cheek, shaking his head and backing out of the doorway. Before he closed the door, however, his eyes leveled with yours, so intense it made your breath catch in your throat. Was he mad? Over a sweatshirt?

“Leejin is a fucking idiot,” he says before turning on his heel and heading down the hall.

You stare at the spot where he stood, even after he’s gone. The hell was his problem now?

By the time you’ve finished your glorious bath, you waltz into the living room like a princess. Jackson looks up from his place on the sofa, deadpanning and tossing his phone on the coffee table as he takes in the freshly purloined hoodie you're sporting.

“Gonna lock my closet,” he says, shaking his head. You beam at him, cutely crinkling your nose as you pad to the kitchen. You tug open the fridge, thinking maybe you could cook something simple for the two of you. It was kind of late to make anything grand, but you wanted more than ramen.

The empty shelves make your eye twitch.

“Seriously?” you huff, gesturing around. “Would it kill you to get groceries once?”

“You always complain when I do,” Jackson shrugs, flicking through netflix with the remote. “Got the wrong brand, got too many, didn’t get enough—”

“I always text you a detailed list, but whatever,” you grumble, low enough that it doesn’t provoke a response. “Since you’re a big man baby incapable of buying groceries, you can buy us something at the convenience store.”

“I am perfectly capable, thank you,” Jackson says, narrowing his eyes.

“Of what? Weaponized incompetence? I agree, get dressed,” you hum.

Ten minutes later, you’re walking side by side down to the convenience store. The apartment’s location was perfect—five minutes from campus one way, five to a 24 hour convenience store another. Perfect because you both had a habit of wanting to come home when you were drunk after a party, starved and craving foods that you’d regret the next day.

The doors chimed a welcome as they slid open, allowing you inside. You made a beeline for the sweets, Jackson went straight for the energy drinks.

You perused the aisle for a few minutes, making your choice and going to find your roommate. You rounded the corner and froze.

Unfortunately, it wasn’t possible to block someone in real life. So while you’d never see Leejin’s social media posts, it didn’t mean that you wouldn’t run into him on a saturday night at the convenience store near your apartment.

You feel a mix of emotions—anger, shame, disbelief among them. You knew it wasn’t impossible, it wasn’t even unlikely, as this store was one of only a few. But it felt so damn unfair that he’d happen to be here, hours after you found out about what he’d done.

“Is that all you’re getting?” Jackson snorts, frowning as he eyes your bag of chips. But he notices your stillness, following your gaze to see Leejin, casually chatting on the phone as he looks at the protein bars.

You expect him to snort, maybe make a comment just loud enough for the other to hear before pulling you away, but Jackson surges forward so quickly he nearly knocks you over. You grab his arm, both to steady him and stop him from…whatever the hell he’s doing.

“Where are you going?” you whisper, tugging him back with as much strength as you could muster.

“He broke your heart and I’m gonna break his fucking face.”

He moves again, this time dragging you along on the linoleum floor. Fortunately, Leejin is too preoccupied with his call to notice. The thought makes your stomach twist, briefly wondering who he’s talking to.

“You’re gonna get us kicked out, what’s the matter with you?” you hiss, trying to shake sense into him. Jackson yanks his arm away from you, dropping the energy drinks on the nearest shelf before storming off. You stare after him, mouth agape in disbelief.

You arrive home 15 minutes later, having hid near the bathrooms until Leejin had left. You’d bought (and paid for, irritatingly) your snacks and Jackson’s drinks, but when you shove into the apartment, it’s empty. Lights off, no sign of him. You worry for a few seconds—had he waited for you and bumped into Leejin instead? But you surely would’ve heard something outside. You opt to text him and choose to believe he’s being broody and walking through the streets like a sad music video.

> what the fuck? is your deal? Where are you??

You’re confused and groggy when someone taps at your cheek, not realizing you’d even fallen asleep on the couch. You rub at your eyes, squinting, processing the sight of Jackson standing over you, t-shirt stuck to his form, beads of sweat rolling down his cheeks.

You’ve had weird dreams about him before, ones that you’d rather never speak of again, and they usually start out like this. But this Jackson rolls his eyes in a way that sweet, sweet dream Jackson would never.

“Get up, jesus. Your back is going to hurt,” he says. You slowly sit up, realizing he’s right. Apparently not only had you fallen asleep on the couch, but you’d fallen asleep sitting up, sleeping in an unnatural slouched position.

“Ow…”

“Told you.”

“No it’s…hey,” you snap, waking up a bit more now that you remember that you’re actually pissed at him. “It’s your fucking fault, what happened to you? You just disappeared! I was worried!”

You’re surprised to see Jackson bristle. He’s not shaken easily, least of all by you, but he glances to the side and tugs at his t-shirt, separating it from his damp skin.

“Went to the gym. Figured I should cool off,” he says. You want to be pissed at him more, say something else, but your back hurts and you’re sleepy. Plus, you’re glad to see he’s alright. Mostly.

“Whatever,” you finally grumble, trying to stretch out your neck. “What time is it?”

“Dunno, around 2 a.m.,” he replies casually. “I’m gonna shower.”

“Great,” you huff. “You go shower. I’ll go roll over and die happy now that I know you’re alive.”

You stumble down the hall to your room, sighing at the sight of your unmade bed. What was the point if you were going to mess it up anyway? You hear Jackson follow shortly after, the bathroom door opening and closing. The shower starts, and you shuffle beneath the covers.

You wake up not long after, whining in protest as you’re jostled.

“It’s me,” Jackson says, rudely pushing you over. “Scoot.”

You wanted to shove him away, to point out that “scoot” should be said before you rob someone of their bed, but you can’t be bothered. Besides, once he settles next to you, you realize that he’s not wearing a shirt and he smells nice and clean.

Sleepy, groggy, annoyed, relieved, you curl against him like a bunny seeking warmth. You feel him stiffen, though you think little of it.

“What are you doing?” he asks, not sounding the least bit tired. You couldn’t say the same for yourself, unable to open your eyes as you reply.

“Mm. ‘s warm down here. Night night.”

You hear him sigh, then shuffle, and then he’s rolled over to face you, offering a human-made cocoon that you happily burrow into. He’s soft and warm and smells like his manly body wash—and your shampoo, damn it.

“Goodnight, y/n,” he says, soft enough to count but not enough for you to notice.

Waking up tangled with Jackson was, unfortunately (?), not all that unusual. When you were upset, you found your way to his bed, and despite his protests you knew he didn't actually mind. It went both ways—you'll die before you admit that you like it, if only because he's a human heater.

You still feel groggy, squinting and fumbling around for your phone. Such a task is difficult when there's deadweight slung over your waist, but you manage, bringing the device to your face.

10:43 a.m.

Oh good. You slept 8 hours—and half the day away, to your brain at least. You toss your phone down, debating whether or not you should just go back to sleep. You choose instead to roll over, addressing the sleeping shirtless man keeping you pinned to your bed.

Your camera roll was filled with photos just like this, because Jackson slept like a baby. Literally. Hands curled into fists, face relaxed, head tilted to the side. His blonde hair is mussed from sleeping with it wet last night, and you dodn't hesitate to run your fingers through it for no reason at all. It was soft and surprisingly thick, but you weren't about to dial back on the baldness theory.

Jackson stirred, though didn't wake up, shifting to lie on his back. Freed from your restraints, you sat up and had to cover your mouth to stifle a laugh.

Of course the curtains parted like that, of course he was sleeping like a prince now, sunlight arcing off of his jaw—it even highlighted his stubble in an annoyingly poetic way. What kind of gods were kind enough to give him of all people that face?

He really was kinda...pretty.

No, not kinda. Jackson Wang was beautiful. You were his best friend, but you weren't blind. Maybe you'd become a little numb to his charms, but you'd seen what he could do to people with just a look, even without malicious intent. He was charismatic on top of that, though you were the only one who got to see the side of him that wasn't.

The side that stole your shampoo and commandeered your bed, anyway.

So fine, you knew he was pretty. But he was kinda sorta extra pretty right now, and maybe you wanted to remember it later.

You shifted to grab your phone—a never-ending quest for material to bully each other over—but the movement apparently jostled him awake. You sheepishly smiled as he blinked a few times, using the heel of his palm to rub the blurriness away.

"Really?" he asked, voice rough, eyes leveling to the phone in your hand. "Fucking creep."

"You have like a thousand pictures of me sleeping," you point out, narrowing your eyes. Jackson nods, rolling over and hugging your waist, his head resting against your hip.

"That I do—you're cute when you drool all over yourself. I'm working on a collage."

"Asshole," you mutter, prying his arms off of you. You make an attempt to escape, but as expected, you're smoothly hauled back down.

"Where you going?"

"I need to pee, wanna come with?"

"It's early."

"It's almost 11."

"Yeah, early."

Jackson grunts before you can reply, practically placing you in a chokehold as he rolls over. You have no choice but to go with him, ending up flopped over his chest like a dead fish.

He says nothing for a moment, and you wonder if he's fallen back asleep. It's not difficult to squirm out of his grasp this time, though rather than allowing you to slide off, the apparently-awake-Jackson moves both hands to your hips.

Your stomach does that funny thing it sometimes does around him, like a little alarm that says 'hey! getting too close!' Listening to this alarm had prevented a lot of mistakes over the course of your friendship, mistakes like wanting to kiss him when you were tipsy, noticing the way he looked after a long workout, hair plastered to his forehead, the fuzziness you felt that time your heating pad broke, and his warm hands wound up on the lower half of your tummy to stave off the cramps.

Mistakes like that.

His eyes open again, and you do your best to look irritated.

"I'm sorry about last night," he says, suddenly unnaturally serious. "I was just trying to cool off, and my phone died, so I didn't see your text until after I got home."

You're not really sure how to respond—it was always strange when conversations got like this between you, regardless of the topic. It was so jarring, so far from the usual cracked out nonsense. You decided to nod, then shake your head, then nod again.

Jackson was a badass, most people knew as much. He was trained in martial arts and practically ate protein for every meal. But despite this, he wasn't typically an aggressive guy. You'd only ever seen him throw one punch—an ex of yours a couple years ago who threatened to post a nude photo of you. Needless to say, the guy deleted them, made difficult thanks to the blood smearing his screen as it dripped from his nose.

"It's fine, I get it," you say. "Just...why were you so mad at him? Did he do something to you?"

Jackson blinks up at you, shifting so that he's partially sitting up on his elbows.

"I told you, y/n," he says, shaking his head like you're an idiot. "He broke your heart, I was gonna break his face. You should've let me get one hit in at least."

"He didn't break my heart," you groan, rolling your eyes. "It wasn't that serious, you know that. We'd only been dating for 4 months."

"...I watched you cry for an hour because someone stepped on a worm—"

"—that's different. It's literally a living little creature, what if that's someone's girlfriend, hm? What if she asked her boyfriend 'would you still love me if I was a worm' and he said yes except now they can't live wormily ever after because she's smushed all because some horrible person can't be bothered to step aside for a worm?"

Jackson stared up at you, blinking slowly, looking 175% done with your shit.

"What the fuck is wormily ever after?"

You sigh, leaning forward until your head is on his bare shoulder. You have half a mind to bite him, though you resist. You will be civil—for now.

"I don't know," you mumble. "No early birds, no hot sidewalks?"

"I....you're so fucking weird."

"Lots of guys are dickheads, but you were ready to knock him out. Really, Jackson, was that all? Promise he didn't say something to you?" you ask, voice muffled against his warm skin. Just one lil munch. It'd be good payback for him scaring the hell out of you last night.

Jackson exhales, and there's suddenly a hand tugging at your tangled mess of bedhead until you're sitting up, looking down at him.

"I wanted to kick his ass for the same reason that I never bring anyone home," he says quietly. His eyes are serious, no sparkle of humor in them, and it makes your stomach twist. You didn't like it when Jackson got serious.

"What? Because of me?" you ask. "I don't care who you fuck as long as I don't have to cook them breakfast."

Mostly true—you were afraid of walking out of your bedroom one morning and running into a really pretty girl, someone with perfect grades and clear skin, who has the audacity to be beautiful and nice. Someone only Jackson deserves. But you leave that bit out and give him a half teasing smile.

Jackson doesn't return it. He grunts, moving his hand up to tug at his hair. You slip yours beneath his, mumbling for him to stop doing that.

"You really don't?" he finally asks, swallowing hard enough that you see his throat move.

"Don't what?"

"You don't care who I fuck?"

His question catches you off guard, though not as much as the fact that he still looks dead serious. This seems like something the two of you should be laughing over—not something to talk about whilst you're currently straddling your best friend in your bed, who happens to be naked from the waist up.

"I mean...no?" you say, shaking your head in confusion. "Should I?"

"I don't know, should you?"

Should you? What the hell was that supposed to mean? You didn't like riddles, and this felt like one. You'd tried to stay out of his business over the four years you've been friends, though come to think of it...you'd never met any of his girlfriends after the first six months. You'd assumed he was so busy with classes and his extracurriculars that there just wasn't much time for anything past shallow hookups.

But...you couldn't remember a single time that had occurred. He was home every night, never brought company over for that purpose.

"Jackson," you say quietly, palms resting on his chest. When the hell did he get so muscular? There was a noticable firmness beneath your fingers, and you briefly considered billing Leejin for your services in making sure he didn't get the shit beat out of him. "I feel like this is an inside joke and I'm out of the loop. You're upset? Why?"

"Why would I be?" he counters, irritatingly smooth. The hands on your hips squeeze once, like he's trying to talk to you in morse code. It's annoying.

"Quit," you mumble, biting your lower lip. "I'm trying. Stop being mean and just tell me."

He sighs, moving a hand to his face.

"If you don't already know, then it doesn't matter, alright?"

"Wh—"

You're cut off as he suddenly shifts from beneath you, leaving you tumbling to the sheets when he stands. Just like the last two times for some damn reason, he prepares to storm out of the room.

"Jackson, wait—shit."

You trip over the edge of your nightstand, catching yourself on your hands. Your lamp tumbles to the floor, thankfully not shattering on the carpet. Still, the ache brings tears to your eyes, and you bite the inside of your cheek as you sit down.

"How many times have I told you to push that against the wall!?" Jackson says, rushing over to you. You lean back against your bed, grimacing as you look at your knee. It's not the worst scrape you've ever gotten, but it is bleeding, and it burns.

"Hang on, pie." He leaves the room, and by the time he returns with the pack of bandaids and peroxide, you're covering your face with one hand and hugging your knee with the other.

"Hey, it's not so bad," he says, obviously in partial panic mode as he kneels in front of you and tugs at your ankle. He probably thought that's why you were in tears, but it was moreso the fact that he was being...just...weird, and you didn't like it.

You quietly sit there, hands over your eyes as he uses a cotton ball to dab at the blood. You don't even flinch, it doesn't burn—perks of having an MMA star for a roommate; he knew how to bandage a cut (a common occurence for your clumsy ass, unfortunately).

After a few minutes, he pats the side of your calf, and you finally uncover your eyes. There's a bandaid over the scrape now, and you let your knee fall to the side. Jackson is looking at you, and you nod.

"That's good, thanks," you mumble quietly.

"You sure?" he asks. You frown, nodding quickly. But his hand moves up to your cheek, cupping it as his thumb swipes below your eye.

Tears.

That alarm goes off inside of you, but Jackson doesn't move his hand, so you let it sit there and you feel your stomach tying itself into a knot. You're a little worried it's not gonna come undone.

"I wasn't crying because of that," you say, swallowing as you glance away shamefully. "I...I don't like this, Jackson. Feels weird. If I did something to make you mad, I wish you'd just tell me—"

"I'm not mad at you," he replies. You sniff, and finally his hand slips away, though only to rest on your uninjured knee. His fingers twitch, like he wants to do something but won't let himself. Slap you, maybe, for never listening to him and always ending up hurt because of it. You would, if you were him.

"You keep running away from me," you point out, a little surge of anger from last night returning. "You keep acting like I'm supposed to know everything you're thinking, and I don't, because you won't tell me stuff. I tell you stuff, the least you could do is text me a grocery list of what the fuck is going on inside of your brain, so I'm not sitting here thinking I'm gonna lose my best friend and roommate over something I don't even know that I've done. I'm sorry we ran into Leejin, it's not like I knew he was gonna be there. I'm sorry for thinking I was special in the first place and ending up where you said I'd be."

Jackson sighs and tilts his head, and you hate yourself for crying more. It wasn't a big deal, things were a little crazy after yesterday. You didn't even love Leejin, it had just...hurt? Your pride? No one wants to know they're less than a second choice. But Jackson had acted like Leejin was out for his blood, and every time he runs away, it feels like he's escaping you.

"You're not gonna lose me," he finally says, glancing down at the floor. "I just...I've got a lot of shit to work through, you know? It's not...it's not your fault though."

"Like what?" you ask, worry lining your brow. "If you'd just—is it money? Because we can figure out rent—"

"It's not money," he interrupts. "I promise, it's nothing like that."

"Then what?" You huff, a little more irritated than concerned. "Parents? Grades? Girl trouble?"

"Yeah," he nods, licking his lips. "That last bit."

"Girl trouble?" you ask, somewhat surprised. For some reason, the fact that he hadn't told you about a girl bothered you more than the idea that there was one at all. You shared everything with him; if he'd kept her a secret, it had to have been a little more serious.

"Do I know her?" you ask tentatively. Please say no, I don't want to go through a list of the hottest girls I know.

"Yeah," he replies. Fuck.

"Oh. How long have you been dating?"

"We're not."

"Then...?"

"She's an idiot."

"It's a mystery as to why you're single, really," you say, rolling your eyes. "So she's an idiot because she won't date you? Sounds kind of shallow on your end."

"She's an idiot because she keeps dating jackasses who don't give a shit about her. I don't give a damn if she ever chooses me or not," he says plainly. You frown.

"Maybe she's insecure?"

"She is. Very."

"Huh. Is she pretty?"

"Beautiful."

"Oh. Hm."

Well what the fuck were you supposed to say to that? Congratulations? Sorrows, sorrows, prayers?

"Okay..." you say after a beat. You were not good with advice, especially when it came to love, obviously. He didn't say love though. Infatuation, maybe. Still, you were not an expert. "So if she keeps dating jackasses and won't date you, why do you bother? Why not just forget about her?"

Jackson's eye twitches. You don't notice.

"Hard to forget someone you see every day, pie," he says. You scoff.

"Okay, I'm calling bullshit. I'm literally the only person you see every day."

"Mhm."

"Then you're lying?" you ask. Jackson deadpans.

"Please, for the love of god, never reproduce."

"Rude," you mutter. "Fine, so I know her, she's insecure, pretty, dates assholes, you allegedly see her everyday?"

"All of the above," he says. You frown, lips pursing as you rack your brain for answers, going through the hot insecure girls you know like a filing cabinet.

Wait.

Your eyes widen. Jackson's do the same, and then he smiles, like he's proud of you.

"Oh my god, is it Kim Sujin?" You ask, covering your mouth. "The girl with the—"

"Jesus fucking christ, y/n," he groans, running a hand through his hair. "Are you...you're fucking with me? That's what this is. You're not this dumb, right? Please say no. I feel like I'm in middle school right now, holy shit."

You open your mouth to argue, to insist he was being unfair (you didn't even like puzzles!) but he suddenly leans forward, palms cupping both of your cheeks. He pulls you toward him, nose inches from yours. You've been this close to him before, but you're suddenly dizzy now, a little out of it as you wonder if this is really happening to you—or if this is another sweaty-jackson-standing-over-me dream. Jackson, who has freckles on the tip of his nose and won't stop looking at you like that, the knot pulling tighter and tighter.

"Stop thinking before you hurt yourself. 'm gonna kiss you now, is that okay?" he asks.

Is that oka—?

"Kiss?" you mumble, swallowed up by those god damn pretty brown eyes. Jackson nods, head tilted, primed to kiss the cluelessness out of you, apparently. "Y-yeah, that's fine."

"It's gonna be...it's gonna be a lot, okay? Like not just a peck. You're fine with that?"

"Yep," you nod.

Jackson nods back. And then he kisses you.

He doesn't release your face, squishing your body between himself and the bed behind you. His lips press to yours, insistent and warm, though you can tell he's being cautious—if you wanted to push him away, you could. But you did not want to do that.

Because Jackson Wang was kissing you, and he's a really good kisser.

You briefly forget that you have hands, so when you remember, you waste no time in using them. One cups his jaw, feeling the edge of it press into your palm. The other fists his blonde hair, tugging it gently.

Jackson groans into your mouth, and that alarm in your belly turns into a fucking war drum. You feel the knot tighten and snap, and suddenly you're pushing him back, scrambling into his lap.

You kind of want more, kind of want to put your tongue in his mouth because he's warm and tastes good and you can only imagine how much better it would be, but he beats you to it. His tongue swipes over your lower lip and you eagerly open for him. He breathes in as soon as you do, and it feels like he's stealing your soul. Fuck it? He can have it?

It's messy, a tad bit desperate, definitely not the poetic kiss of rom coms, but you don't give a shit. It feels good, feels warm and right, like you've been kissing him in your head every day for the past 4 years.

By the time you manage to separate, you're trembling an embarassing amount. You'd blame the buzz on coffee if you'd had any, but you just hide your flushed cheeks and rest your forehead against his shoulder. You can tell that for once, Jackson's brain seems to also have short circuited, as it takes him a minute before he finally wraps his arms around you. You can hear his breath—as shaky as yours, thank god.

"Was that okay? Was it weird? Did I make you uncomfortable?" he asks, tilting back on one palm to look at you, his other arm secured around your waist. You sit up, shamelessly biting your lower lip, refusing to meet his eyes. He mistakes this for discomfort, all but shoving you out of his lap, hands flying to his hair.

"Fuck, I...I shouldn't have...I didn't mean to. I wasn't gonna...I'm so fucking sorry y/n, if you want me to move out—"

"You're gonna go bald," you mumble, a little blitzed out as you rest on your hands.

"Huh?"

"Nevermind. Stop freaking out, okay?" you offer, finally looking up at him. God he looks...scared. Hair messy, brown eyes wide. So unlike his usual cocky self that you're a little shaken, caught between wanting to protect him and wanting to kiss him again.

"I didn't make you uncomfortable, did I?" he asks softly. That alarm is now everywhere, setting off in your chest at his concerned tone. You shake your head.

"No. I'm okay," you reassure him. "A little irritated."

Jackson's head snaps up, worry on his face. You feel guilty, so you quickly clarify.

"You said I'm not special," you say quietly, looking away. "If you were talking about me just now...why did you tell me that?"

He looks confused, like he can't remember (of all the things he's said to bully you—while you kept a detailed record). But he seems to finally recall the conversation, rubbing his forehead as his lips spread into a smile.

"What's funny?" you puff.

"I meant to him, pie. You're not special to him. Not that you weren't special at all, or to...to me," he explains, looking part amused and part shy. You soften a bit, unable to help but pout.

"Then you should say that!" you say, gesturing at nothing. "You can't just go around telling people they aren't special."

"I don't make you feel special?" he asks, dipping his head to meet your eyes.

Well, yes, but that's not the point. You choose not to reply.

Just like most things when it comes to you, however, he already knows the answer. He looks a little too proud of himself as he reaches for your wrist, pulling you back into him. You're not quite in his lap, but you lean heavily against his side, your chin resting against his chest.

"What if we mess it up?" you ask, looking up at him. He frowns, not understanding. "Us. What if...what if we mess us up?"

"I don't see how we would," he laughs. "We're practically married."

"Gross. We are not."

"We split the bills, pie."

"Most roommates do."

"We cook together."

"Most roommates do."

"My mother loves you."

"Your mother loves everyone."

"Not true. And my father loves you."

You pause, then squint.

"Your father has good taste," you say. Jackson rolls his eyes. He looks a little conflicted, like he can't decide what's too much, what's too soon.

"I do," he says quietly.

You hate that, for once in your life, you know exactly what he's saying without him saying it. And god damn it, you feel your eyes burning.

"Don't...ugh," you whine, looking away from him. But he's not having it, taking your chin and tilting your face up. You're faced with glassy eyes that make you want to die.

You hated it when he cried. Maybe you make his joints hurt or whatever, but you've only seen Jackson cry twice, once when his family dog died, and another when he was drunk and had convinced himself you weren't his friend anymore. Both times, you'd never felt so helpless. The way you feel now.

"Y/n, I—"

"Please don't," you breathe quickly, swallowing down your tears. You immediately panic at the look on his face, like you've slapped him. But you tuck your hair behind your ear and shake your head.

"No, I-I mean, I know you do, and I...I'm pretty sure I do too. I just...I can't say it now, alright?" you explain. "I'm sorry, I just—you know me better than anyone. I don't...don't wanna fuck it up, you know? I don't wanna lose you, I'm so bad, so stupid when it comes to this—"

"Hey, hey, shh..." Jackson says, gently shaking your chin. "I'm not upset, okay? Just relieved, a little scared. I don't want to fuck this up either, yeah? I want...I want what we are today and I want it tomorrow, even if that means we stay just like this."

His thumb brushes your lower lip. God, you want to kiss him again.

"No rush, pie, okay? I'll wait for you, even if..." he sucks in air and looks away, as though the idea hurts to even consider. "...even if it's never for us."

You want to kiss him again. Would that even be appropriate? After what you just said? After the emotions threatening to disrupt the foundation of your life for the past four years?

"Can...can I kiss you again?" he asks softly. You swallow and nod.

"Please."

Part 2 is out now!

1K notes · View notes

97linelover · 2 months ago

Text

Coming back to you - Jeon Jungkook

summary: you loved him while he was away, you loved him from far away. And now hes finally back.

Being in a secret relationship with Jungkook as his Make up Artist is not that easy, especially when you´re just waiting for his return.

pairing: idol jungkook x reader

genre: love, return from the military, cute, they´re just so in love

author's note: how can the time already be over? I´m so happy. I wrote this, this morning so don´t be to harsh on me :D

The BigHit building buzzed with quiet excitement, a kind of electricity in the air that only came when something huge was about to happen. Tomorrow wasn’t just another day—it was the day.

After what felt like an eternity, Jungkook and Jimin were finally being discharged from the military.

And you? You had the most important job of all.

Not only had you been BTS’s trusted makeup artist for the past few years—working with them through albums, concerts, and chaotic shoots—but you were also Jungkook’s secret.

Your secret relationship with him had started quietly, somewhere between powder brushes and soft eye contact in mirror reflections. Late-night texts turned into long walks. And before you knew it, he was yours, and you were his.

But today, there was no time to be sentimental.

“Y/N, do you have the list?” Namjoon called out from across the practice room, balancing a clipboard in one hand and holding a streamer in the other.

“Yeah, I’ve got it!” you answered, double-checking your notes. “And I picked up the cake this morning from that bakery Jungkook loves. Banana-flavored, right?”

Hoseok grinned, walking past with a handful of balloons. “You’re seriously amazing. He’s going to cry.”

“I hope not,” you laughed. “His contact lenses won’t survive that.”

Taehyung entered the room next, lugging a giant cardboard box full of decorations. “I got the banner! And the photo wall materials. Should we do it next to the window, or—?”

“Let’s set it up where the lighting’s better,” you said, already heading to help him. “You know how picky Jimin is about pictures.”

As the others moved around you, hanging garlands and preparing the playlist, you quietly checked off tasks in your head.

✅ Cake

✅ Drinks

✅ Decorations

✅ Playlist

✅ Gifts

Oh—and Jimin’s bag. You had picked it up for him, along with his uniform accessories. You made sure everything was perfectly folded, tucked into a duffel by the door, ready for tomorrow morning.

You paused, brushing a bit of glitter off your sleeve, glancing toward the small gift you hadn’t dared show the others. A small silver bracelet with Jungkook’s enlistment date engraved on it… and yours, next to his, in smaller print. You’d worn it every day since he left. Tomorrow, you’d finally give it to him.

You exhaled slowly, a soft smile pulling at your lips.

It didn’t feel real yet. But tomorrow, he’d walk through that door. The wait would finally be over.

And no one—not even the fans—knew the truth behind your excitement.

Tomorrow, the world would see BTS’s Golden Maknae return.

But only you would see the man you loved come home.

The HYBE building had never felt like this before.

There was always movement—staff hurrying, stylists adjusting lighting, choreographers shouting counts from practice rooms—but today was different. Today, it felt like a storm was brewing.

The Golden Maknae and the angel-voiced Park Jimin were coming home.

And you? You were right in the eye of the storm.

“Y/N, where are the black ribbons? They were in Box B!” someone shouted behind you.

“Box B is in Studio 3!” you called back, clutching two cups of coffee, a checklist, and a roll of tape in your other hand.

You hadn’t slept much last night. Honestly, you hadn’t really slept well in months.

Because even though Jimin was like a little brother to you, this wasn’t just about BTS returning to full strength.

It was him.

Jungkook.

You hadn’t seen him in person for months. Sure, you exchanged the occasional encrypted text. . A grainy selfie with his buzzed hair and sleepy eyes.

But nothing beat standing in front of him, close enough to hear the way he said your name like it meant more than just three letters.

Only the members knew. RM had found out first—he always did—and eventually, the others caught on. It had been unspoken between you all: protect this secret at all costs. Dating an idol as staff wasn’t just frowned upon. It was forbidden. A one-way ticket out the door.

But the moment Jungkook told you he was willing to wait, you knew you’d do the same.

And now… that wait was finally over.

“Y/N!” Taehyung’s deep voice pulled you back. He was standing at the entrance of the practice room, holding up his phone. “They just arrived. They’re on their way here!”

A chorus of reactions erupted.

“Ten minutes?!”

“Did someone check the microphones?!”

“Where’s Jimin’s jacket?!”

You were already moving—handing over coffees, adjusting decorations, shoving Jungkook’s duffel bag just slightly to the left so it would be the first thing he saw. Your heart was racing in your chest, matching the rhythm of footsteps echoing through the building.

Only minutes now.

You felt Seokjin gently nudge your shoulder as he passed. “You okay?” he asked, voice low, careful.

You nodded, swallowing the lump in your throat. “I will be. When I see him.”

Hoseok smiled knowingly. “You’re glowing. He’s going to lose his mind.”

Suddenly, the building’s atmosphere shifted.

The elevator dinged.

Silence fell like a heavy blanket.

And then: footsteps.

You stepped back, breath held, heart hammering, eyes locked on the hallway outside the studio.

The door opened.

Jimin entered first, smiling wide, dressed in his military uniform, looking tired but happy. He opened his arms, greeting everyone like the prince he was.

And then came him.

Jungkook.

Hair slightly longer now, military cap in hand, uniform perfect. His eyes scanned the room—and when they landed on you, the world stopped.

For a split second, the chaos faded. The balloons, the cake, the flash of cameras, the staff whispering—all of it disappeared.

You didn’t speak.

You didn’t have to.

His eyes softened, just a little. The corner of his mouth lifted. That tiny look only you ever saw.

He was home.

His scent hit you before anything else. That warm, clean smell mixed with something distinctly him—even after such a long time.

Jungkook made his way through the room, hugging each staff member, bowing deeply, thanking them one after one. His smile was beaming, but his eyes were tired.

You stood near the back, pretending to adjust a mic cable that absolutely didn’t need adjusting.

Don’t shake. Just breathe. Don’t look like a love-struck idiot.

He was two hugs away.

Then one.

And then—

“Y/N,” he said softly, and you turned just in time to see his arms open.

There was no time to think.

You stepped forward, and he pulled you in for a quick hug—shorter than the others, less obvious—but his hand lingered just a second longer on your lower back. His breath ghosted near your ear as he whispered, too quiet for anyone else to hear:

“I missed you.”

Your heart nearly stopped, but you smiled politely, nodded, and stepped back, eyes lowered. “Welcome back,” you said quietly, your voice way too calm for the storm inside you.

He gave nothing away, not even in his expression. Golden Maknae mode fully activated.

You tried to focus as Jimin waved everyone toward Studio A, where the livestream was set to begin in fifteen minutes.

“Let’s go!” Namjoon called. “We’ll run audio while they change jackets.”

Everyone moved in sync.

You stayed close, like always, clipboard in hand, headset in place, watching them through the control booth window as they sat down, fixing their collars and joking about how weird it felt to be out.

And Jungkook—he kept glancing at the glass. At you.

You stood behind the main camera now, pretending to go over notes with the lighting team.

But you weren’t fooling anyone—especially not yourself.

Your whole body buzzed. You were giddy, jittery, anxious, overwhelmed.

He’s here. He’s actually here.

The way he had looked at you—the softness, the heat, the unspoken history between you—none of it had faded. It was all still there, hiding in his glances, in the calm stillness of how he carried himself.

And god, you wanted to run to him. Just for five minutes. Just to say everything you weren’t allowed to say.

But now?

Now, he was BTS’s Jungkook again. And you were just the staff.

So, you did what you always did: you kept working.

Even if your fingers shook.

Even if your cheeks burned.

Even if your heart was screaming his name.

The studio lights were warm and bright, casting that perfect glow on Jimin and Jungkook as the livestream began.

They looked… different. Grown. Sharper. Stronger.

But their laughter was still the same—soft, contagious, filled with inside jokes and memories you could only imagine from the past 18 months.

Jimin leaned forward, eyes sparkling as he teased Jungkook about almost crying during their farewell ceremony.

“Ya! I didn’t cry,” Jungkook argued, his voice deep, playful. “It was allergies.”

“Sure it was,” Jimin smirked, nudging him. “Military dust, right?”

The staff chuckled behind the cameras. You stood to the side, arms crossed tightly over your chest, pretending to check your phone. But really, you were just watching him.

Every smile.

Every gesture.

Every time his tongue peeked out as he laughed, or when he tucked his hair behind his ear—things you used to see up close, in quiet hotel rooms and stolen moments.

It was torture and comfort all at once.

And you didn’t even notice you were staring until someone cleared their throat beside you.

Namjoon.

He didn’t say anything—just raised his brows with a knowing smirk. His arms were crossed too, and his eyes flicked between you and Jungkook before returning to you.

You blinked, flustered. “What?”

Namjoon leaned a little closer, lowering his voice so no one else would hear. “Your face is giving you away.”

You felt your cheeks heat instantly. “I’m just—monitoring. You know. Makeup, lighting…”

“Mhm,” he hummed. “Very professional.”

You elbowed him gently, half-laughing, half-dying inside. “Shut up.”

Namjoon smiled wider but backed off with a small shrug, as if to say, I won’t tell… this time.

You needed to breathe.

“I’ll be right back,” you mumbled, already stepping away. “Bathroom.”

Namjoon didn’t stop you—he just nodded knowingly as you slipped out of the room, your heart pounding in your ears.

Once in the hallway, you leaned back against the wall, closing your eyes.

You had handled months of separation. You had handled secrets and silence and waiting.

But handling him, in the same building again, so close and yet so untouchable?

That was something else entirely.

The hallway was quiet.

Too quiet compared to the buzz of the studio. Your heart was still racing, your skin still warm from the way Namjoon had looked at you like he knew. Like they all knew. Like he was just waiting for you to break.

You weren’t sure how long you’d been out here. A few minutes? Maybe more. The voices and laughter from the livestream had faded behind closed doors, and your own thoughts had taken over.

He’s here.

He’s safe.

He’s right there.

And yet—you couldn’t touch him.

Not really. Not yet.

You exhaled slowly, about to head back inside when—

Footsteps.

Heavy boots, confident steps. You knew them instantly.

You didn’t have to look to know it was him.

Jungkook.

The moment your eyes met, the air shifted. The hallway suddenly felt too small. Too quiet. Too full.

He didn’t say anything at first. Just looked at you like he was making sure you were real. His uniform jacket hung open now, and his hair was slightly tousled from pulling off his mic.

And then—he smiled.

Not the public smile. Not the one from the livestream.

This one was just for you.

“You ran away,” he said softly, voice rough from laughter and emotion.

You smiled back, heart thudding so hard it hurt. “Maybe.”

He took a few steps closer, then stopped—checking the hallway quickly, like old habits kicking in. Still cautious, still hiding.

But when he was sure no one was around, he reached for you.

You didn’t hesitate.

You crossed the last step between you and wrapped your arms around him, burying your face in his chest as he held you tight—so tight like he was afraid to let go.

God, he felt solid. Warm. Real. Like every second of waiting had finally led here.

“I missed you so much,” you whispered against his shirt, your voice barely holding steady.

His hand slid up your back, resting gently at the nape of your neck. “I thought about you every damn day,” he said, low and rough. “Every day, Y/N.”

You pulled back slightly, just enough to look up at him. His eyes searched yours, and you knew—he wanted to kiss you.

But he didn’t.

He couldn’t.

Not here.

So instead, he pressed his forehead against yours, eyes fluttering closed. “I’m home now,” he breathed. “We made it.”

You nodded, tears pricking behind your eyes. “Yeah. We did.”

And in that quiet, stolen moment—hidden between the walls of the company that wouldn’t approve of any of this—you finally breathed again.

Together.

The livestream had ended with cheers and laughter. Staff clapped, cameras powered down, and the room buzzed with post-shoot energy.

Jungkook and Jimin were surrounded by staff, all offering congratulations, handshakes, pats on the back. They took it all with grace, but their eyes were tired—especially Jungkook’s.

You stood off to the side again, pretending to review the footage on a monitor while your heart pulled in two different directions.

He was right there.

But you couldn’t go with him.

“Let’s go eat!” Taehyung called suddenly, grinning and throwing an arm around Jimin. “Gopchang and soju, my treat!”

“Ya, your treat?” Seokjin scoffed. “We’ll be waiting until next payday.”

Jimin laughed, tossing his cap onto a table. “I’m in. I want fried chicken and kimchi stew.”

Namjoon turned to Jungkook. “You coming?”

Jungkook looked up, glancing instinctively in your direction.

He didn’t say anything out loud. He didn’t have to.

The way his eyes softened, the tiniest flicker of disappointment flashing behind his expression—it was enough.

You gave him a small smile, one you hoped said I’m okay. Don’t worry.

Then you turned to the others, keeping your voice light.

“I’ll stay behind and help with cleanup. You guys go ahead.”

Jungkook opened his mouth like he wanted to say something. Maybe to argue. Maybe to ask you to come anyway. But he didn’t.

He just nodded slowly and picked up his jacket.

That moment burned a little. You wanted to go. God, you wanted to sit beside him at the table, hear him laugh, feel his knee brush yours under the table like before. But that wasn’t your place. Not publicly.

Then—

“Wait,” Jimin said, suddenly pausing at the doorway. He turned to Jungkook, then to you, then back to the group. “You all go. Jungkook and I will meet you later.”

Taehyung blinked. “Huh? Why?”

Jimin just shrugged with a sly little smile. “I forgot my bag. And I need to stop by Y/N’s place to grab some stuff.”

He looked at you. “You’re going home, right?”

You caught the look in his eyes. The message behind the casual tone.

He was giving you a way out. A cover.

You nodded slowly. “Yeah. I’m heading back now.”

“Perfect,” Jimin said, already nudging Jungkook. “We’ll meet at her place first. I’ll bring chicken. And beer.”

There was a moment of pause before Seokjin narrowed his eyes. “You two are suspicious.”

“We’re tired,” Jimin said dramatically, already ushering Jungkook away. “Let us rest first. Then we party.”

Namjoon laughed. “Fine, fine. But don’t take too long. And don’t fall asleep!”

As the others disappeared down the hallway, you and Jungkook fell into step behind Jimin.

Your fingers brushed for just a second.

And for the first time in forever, you didn’t have to pull away

Jimin was true to his word.

He showed up at your apartment 30 minutes later, arms full of takeout bags and a six-pack of cold beer. Jungkook trailed behind him, freshly showered, in a hoodie and sweats—but he may as well have walked in wearing a crown for how your heart reacted.

The apartment filled with warmth and laughter. You ate on the floor around your coffee table, beer cans opening one by one as Jimin told story after story from their time in the military.

Jungkook didn’t say much—he was too busy watching you. Every glance. Every smile. Every time you laughed a little too loud at Jimin’s jokes, his eyes flicked over to you like he was memorizing it.

And you felt it too.

That magnetic pull between you. The silent countdown behind every look. The we’re not alone yet tension curling in your stomach.

Jimin leaned back eventually, yawning loudly. “Alright,” he groaned, stretching. “My social battery’s gone. I’m heading out before I pass out on your floor.”

“You sure?” you asked, even though your heart was racing.

“Oh, I’m sure,” Jimin said with a knowing look. “You two probably need some… catching up time.”

Jungkook threw a pillow at him, laughing. “Hyung!”

Jimin dodged it, grinning as he grabbed his jacket. “Just lock the door behind me. And don’t be loud.” He winked. “Your neighbors probably like their sleep.”

You flushed. Jungkook groaned.

And then the door clicked shut.

Silence.

Just you and him.

The second the lock slid into place, you turned—and Jungkook was already there, closing the distance between you in two long strides. His hands were on your waist, pulling you in, and then—

You kissed him.

Hard. Desperate. Months of distance crashing into one kiss that felt like breathing again after being underwater too long.

He groaned against your mouth, his hands slipping under your shirt, warm and searching. Your fingers tangled in his hair, tugging gently, and he pressed you back until your spine hit the wall.

“I thought I’d go insane without you,” he murmured, lips brushing against your jaw, your neck, your collarbone.

“You did,” you whispered back, tugging his hoodie off, breathless. “We both did.”

His mouth was on yours again in a second, hungrier now, like he couldn’t get enough. And you didn’t care. Not about the job. Not about the rules. Not about tomorrow.

Just this.

Just him.

Home.

The moment your back hit the wall, it was like a dam broke.

All those months apart — every aching night, every word unsaid, every kiss only imagined — crashed down in the space between heartbeats. Jungkook kissed you like he was starved, like he couldn’t decide where to touch first because he wanted all of you at once.

His hands were everywhere — your waist, your back, the slope of your neck. You pulled him closer, needing him closer, clinging to him like the last thread of something sacred.

“Bedroom,” you breathed between kisses.

He nodded once, jaw clenched, eyes dark with need.

You barely made it.

Clothes disappeared in a rush — hoodie over his head, your shirt peeled off, jeans undone with fumbling hands and impatient mouths. He paused only once, looking down at you like he was seeing you for the first time again.

“God,” he whispered, fingers brushing over your bare skin like he was afraid you’d vanish. “You’re real. You’re here.”

You nodded, heart pounding so loud you could feel it in your throat. “I waited for you.”

“I know.” His voice cracked, just a little. “I’ll make up for it.”

And he did.

Jungkook took his time — worshipped every inch of you like a man trying to memorize a dream. His mouth left a trail of fire down your neck, your chest, the dip of your waist. He moved like he knew your body — where to touch, where to kiss, how to pull that soft gasp from your lips that drove him crazy.

His skin was warm against yours, hard muscle meeting soft curves, and every second was filled with whispered confessions between tangled sheets:

“I missed this.”

“I missed you.”

“You’re mine.”

“You always have been.”

And when he finally sank into you, it wasn’t just physical — it was everything. A reunion. A release. A promise.

Your bodies moved in sync, slow at first, deep, unhurried. Like time had stopped just for you two. Like the whole world had faded except this one room, this one night, this one love.

“Say my name,” he murmured against your skin, breath hot and ragged.

“Jungkook,” you moaned, fingers digging into his shoulders. “Please—don’t stop.”

“Never,” he growled, moving faster now, lips capturing yours again. “I’m not letting you go again. Not now. Not ever.”

And when you both finally shattered — together, breathless and trembling, your bodies slick with sweat and love and months of longing — he held you.

Tight. Close. Like he still didn’t fully believe it was real.

And in that silence after, the only sound was his heartbeat beneath your ear, fast and steady.

“Mine,” he whispered again, kissing your temple. “All mine.”

You didn’t answer.

You didn’t need to

You woke to warmth.

Not just the kind that came from sunlight pouring through the thin curtains — but the kind that came from him. Skin against skin, tangled limbs beneath your blanket, the slow, steady rhythm of his breath against the back of your neck.

Jungkook.

His arm was wrapped tightly around your waist, bare chest pressed to your back, his leg hooked lazily over yours. You could feel the slight rise and fall of his body, his heart beating softly behind you.

For a moment, you just lay there. Eyes closed, lips parted in a sleepy smile, memorizing the feeling of his body against yours again. It was quiet. Still. Like the world had pressed pause.

And then you felt him shift — just slightly — and his lips brushed the top of your shoulder.

“You’re awake,” he whispered, voice low and raspy from sleep.

“Mmm,” you hummed, turning your face toward him. “Barely.”

He smiled into your skin, nosing gently against your neck. “Good. I didn’t want to wake up alone.”

You rolled over slowly to face him. His hair was a mess, falling into his eyes. His face was soft, eyes still heavy with sleep. And god, he looked so good like this — vulnerable, real, yours.

“I still can’t believe you’re here,” you said softly, brushing your fingers along his jaw.

He caught your hand and kissed your knuckles. “I’ve never slept so well in my life.”

You laughed a little, pulling the blanket higher. “Probably because you’re not being yelled at by a sergeant anymore.”

“True,” he said, grinning. “Also helps that I’ve got the best pillow now.”

“You’re ridiculous.”

“I’m yours.”

The words hit you straight in the chest.

And then he leaned in and kissed you — slow, sleepy, warm — the kind of kiss that tasted like comfort and home and everything you’d missed. His fingers brushed along your thigh, but there was no urgency now, no rush.

Just closeness.

You pulled back, barely, your noses still touching. “Do we have to get up?”

“Eventually,” he said. “But not yet.”

You nestled back into his chest, eyes fluttering shut again. “Okay. Just a few more minutes.”

He tightened his arms around you, voice barely audible as he kissed your hair. “Take all the time you want, baby. I’m not going anywhere.”

So our babys are nearly 7 again, it´s unreal how fast the time had passed.

#kpop #au #bts #jk #jungkook #ff #jeon jungkook #jungkook ff #jungkook au #jungkook x reader #smut #jk smut

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kooggukk · 10 months ago

Text

after hours | jjk

summary. one night, after a long rehearsal, jungkook lingers in the makeup room.

pairing: idol!jungkook x makeupartist!reader

contains: smut, unprotected sex (cum on stomach)

note: hey guys, i don have much experience writing smut, but we could say i tried my best lol nways enjoy :)

word count: 2.2k

the room was quiet, the loudness of the city could be barely be audible, muffled by the large window as you packed away your brushes for the night. it was past midnight, the clock close to hitting 1 am. the rest of the staffs have left long ago, leaving you alone. you enjoyed the calmness and loneliness after a long day. almost like it gave you a moment to breathe, to come down from the constant rush of keeping up with bts’s eternal busy schedule.

just when you packed everything away and was ready to leave, the door slightly creaked open. you looked up quickly, your heartbeat slowed down when you noticed jungkook poking his head in.

“you still here?” he asked, his voice was low and rough, his throat must have gone dry from all the practice.

he leaned against the doorframe, his hair sweaty, the sleeves of his black hoodie were pushed up enough to reveal the tattoos on his skin. definitely that’s the hottest part on his body.

“gotta clean up after your mess,” you teased with a smile, his eyes glanced to the desk. makeup smudged over it, dirty tissues, q-tips, some brushes that you didn’t use much anymore were scattered all over it.

he chuckled and stepped inside the room finally, he closed the door behind himself. you heard the click of the lock that made your stomach flip. the room felt more smaller by now, more.. intimate you could say.

“you sure that’s all?” his tone was light, almost playful, but when he turned around to look at you, there was something in his eyes — a glint, hinted at the unspoken tension that had been lingering between the two of you for weeks now.

you raised an eyebrow, “what else would i be here for?”

a faint smirk got on his lips and he started walking towards you, painfully slowly.

you gulped, his eyes dropped down to your neck for a second, then back to your face. when he got to you, he didn’t mutter a single word and just plopped down on the makeup chair.

you frowned, obviously you weren’t going to do his makeup at this hour. your eyes followed his hand, smudging the makeup from the table onto his finger, which he smeared on the black sweatpants he wore, on his crotch.

“think you missed a spot?” he looked up at you with desire in his eyes, his tone playful. you took a deep breath, “what?” you muttered with big eyes that stared right back at him, glancing between his eyes and the spot on his pants.

fuck, you could see the shape of it, the makeup matched his skin color, the curiosity of how it looked like made you go feral, all you wanted to do right now is fuck him till you were the one crying, till the shape of his cock was carved into your insides.

the room felt heavy, the air thick with something you couldn't quite place. you walked over to him, his eyes following your every step. you tried to ignore the way your heart sped up under his stare.

you grabbed a wet tissue from the desk, he stood up behind you, his chest pressed against your back. “tell me you feel this too,”

your breath caught in your throat as his words hung in the air between you, thick and heavy. you tried to laugh it off, but your heart betrayed you, thudding loudly in your chest as if it wanted to answer for you. his gaze didn’t waver, dark eyes searching your face through the mirror, waiting for a reaction.

you cleared your throat as you focused on the tissue again, wiping the table but the trembling in your hands exposed you.

“feel what?” your voice was quieter than you intended to, you didn’t dare to look up, knowing you’d be faced with his serious, desire full eyes.

“this, ___.” he sighed and he sneaked his hands on your hips, holding you tightly. your eyes closed, the contact was electric, sending a shiver down your spine.

his skin felt like burning even through the layers of clothes. “there’s this-“ he stopped for a second, frustration started to build up in him.

“this thing, that i don’t know where to put.” you froze, his hands moving up your sides, he stopped at under your breasts. “every time we’re in the same room, i can’t help but to fantasize about you.”

“tell me,” he whispered, his hands went back down, this time on your stomach, his movements stopped at the top of your jeans.

“tell me you feel it too,” he pressed his body closer again, his crotch poked at your ass, his face in the crook of your neck. his eyes focused on you through the mirror. “please,” he begged and you felt your heart pounding in your chest.

yes! you’d felt it too, — every time he sat down to get his makeup done by you, whenever he opened his eyes to look up at you, every brush of your fingers against his skin, every lingering glances shared across the room.

but for fuck’s sake, you’re his makeup artist! nothing more. you thought maybe he’s just being friendly, protective. had no idea his pretty mind was filled with dirty thoughts about you, but the good way.

he was curious how you looked when you were receiving pleasure, especially from him. he dreamt about you beneath him, wishing he could take you right then and there, in the middle of the room with everyone else around.

he wouldn’t have minded, wanted to show everyone it’s him who you’re fucking, it’s him who makes you moan, who makes you scream and cry out his name, not nobody else.

with a shaky breath you finally looked up, your eyes met his in the mirror. “i do,” your hand hovered on his, resting on your stomach. his lips curved into a small, knowing smile. with a swift move he turned you around, body still closer to each other than ever.

his arms slid from your waist, up your arm until he reached the side of your neck. his touch was soft, careful, but the heat from his skin made your body ache with anticipation.

he leaned in, nose touching yours. you were going insane, dizzy from just the thought of what’s about to happen between the two of you. your hands found their way to his hair, tugging lightly.

you don’t know who moved first, — but you both attacked each other’s lips hungrily, your teeth crashed together. a moan left his mouth at the feeling of your lips on his, the vibration made you press your thighs together.

all the pent-up desire, all the unspoken words between you, came rushing to the surface. his hand tightened on your neck, pulling you closer as the kiss deepened, becoming more urgent, desperate.

he pulled away, a string of saliva between your lips. both of your breathing heavy, chests moving fast.

“you have no idea how many times i’ve imagined this,” he whispered with a smile. one of his hand slid from your neck down to your waist, gripping you firmly as he backed up and sat down on the chair behind him, guiding you down onto his lap.

your forehead was resting against his, “we shouldn’t..” you whispered, his hand moved up to caress your skin and your body betrayed you, leaning into his touch.

his thumb brushed against your lip, “maybe,” he murmured, his eyes locked on yours. “but it feels too good.”

he captured your lips again, every move of his mouth sent waves of electricity through you. his hands roamed your body, — your sides, your hips, your back and then finally, his hands slid down to your ass, gripping your cheeks with his huge hands.

you sighed in the kiss, he pulled you even more closer, your heat brushed against his crotch. you melted into him, you’ve completely lost control over your body.

he pulled away and a hiss left his mouth when you moved your hips as you slowly grinded on him.

his eyes locked with yours, his bottom lip between his teeth while yours was slightly open. his hands gripped your hips, he helped you move, a little bit faster.

“shit,” he breathed out, his head thrown back in pleasure. your eyes dropped to his neck, veins popped, sweat dripping. you leaned down to plant soft kisses on his skin, a low groan left his lips as he felt yours, nibbling and sucking on his skin.

your hips slowed down, your body grew tired. he lifted his head back only to be met with the scene of you pulling your shirt off over your head.

his eyes fell to your breasts, which were still hidden from his eyes with your black bra. he buried his face in your chest, kissing on the top of your breasts while his hand carefully unclasped your bra.

it slid down your shoulders, all the way to where your body met his. he threw the unneeded clothing away, his palms massaging your breasts.

“so pretty,” he whispered and you looked down. “i think they’re small,” he chuckled at your confession.

he shook his head with a smile, “no, they’re just perfect.” he gave you no time to respond as his lips captured your perky left nipple. he gently slapped the other, massaging it after.

your breath hitched, he sucked and bit on your nipple, pulling away with a smack of his lips. he gave the same attention to your other one, your hips once again grinded against his already hard bulge in his pants.

he pulled away from your chest, his eyes looking up at you with hunger. his fingers gripped your jeans, “let’s take this off, yeah?”

you got up from his lap, he watched you strip the remaining clothes that hid the rest of your body. he took off his clothes himself too, his hand reached out for you to grab.

he pulled you towards him again, helping you sit down on his lap once more.

“are you sure?” he asked as you sat there, skin to skin. you eagerly nodded, you wanted this more than anything, just like him.

“yes,” you moved, your core brushed against his cock. “please,” you purred, he bit back a moan at the feeling of your bare pussy.

he decided to not waste any time with fingering you first, he knew you needed to get stretched and it’s gonna burn like hell. he put his stupid desire in the first place, but he realized that too late.

with a hand holding his dick and the other guiding your waist, you slowly sank down on him. your body stiffened, you let your head fall down to his chest, your forehead resting against him.

he knitted his eyebrows together, your walls clenching around him made it so hard for him to fully fill you up.

he caressed your back, “you need to relax,” he whispered and planted a kiss on top of your head. his hand sneaked to your core, his finger rubbed your clit in a circular motion.

he helped you relax your muscles, immediately slipping inside of you easily. a quiet moan left your mouth, you stayed like that for a while. he wanted you to be okay, he cares about you.

“all good?” he asked, your face still in his chest. you nodded, he moved beneath you, he wanted to fuck you like crazy but he put you first, though it was getting hard for him to control his body.

you suddenly rolled your hips, leaving him with an open mouth. “fuck, ___,” he husked, his grip on your waist was firm.

you looked up at him, you rode his dick with all your energy. the room was filled with your low moans and your skin meeting, both of your bodies sweaty and hot.

you got tired, your pace turned slower and your breathing got heavy. unlike him, he’s a singer, so his stamina is far more better than yours.

he slightly lifted you up at your waist, he took over the control now. he pounded into you from beneath, your body arched and you turned into a moaning mess.

you were never that loud in bed, your moans has always been quiet and soft. jungkook got to see a side of you that he never wanted to forget.

he never wants to forget how your brows knitted together, how your mouth fell agape and eyes shut from the pleasure that he was giving you.

he felt you clench around him, his head was thrown back again. he let out a low grunt as he fastened his pace, hitting every right spot. your body tensed, your walls tight around him which made him hiss.

he felt you release around his cock as he fucked you through it, “almost there,” he heavily breathed out, trying to reach his own orgasm too.

he pulled out and pumped himself as he released his cum on your stomach, his eyes were tightly shut, letting every drop of him on your skin.

#bts #bts jungkook #jungkook #jungkook fanfic #jungkook smut #jungkook x reader #bts x reader #jungkook x yn #jeon jungkook

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