cdllevantae

[cdllevantae]

if i reach 200 notes on part one of BTF (hopefully 🤞🏻😔), i’ll IMMEDIATELY release part two. 🥺🫶🏻

[cdllevantae]

전정국 | Back to Friends | 01

you and jungkook were each other’s “almost.” the kind of connection that never had a proper beginning but felt too real to be just a phase. those late-night calls, sharing playlists, lingering eye contact, soft touches that never crossed the line—you were everything but official.

but when feelings started to complicate everything, you both silently drifted apart.

Now, two years later, fate pulls you back together. You’re both in the same university again—him majoring in Music Production, and you in Digital Arts. A mutual friend ropes you into a collaborative multimedia project. You didn’t expect him to be part of it. He didn’t expect you to still wear the same perfume.

It’s awkward at first. The small talk. The jokes. The unspoken weight in the room.

He plays a song one night in the studio, unfinished but familiar.

“How can you look at me and pretend, I’m someone you’ve never met” he sings.

You freeze. It’s your story. Your story with him.

And slowly, it all comes back.

pairing: singer!jungkook x (fem) digital artist!oc

genre: ANGST!!, almost lovers to emotional exes au (situationship au), slowburn romance, slice of life

word count: 2K+

rating: 18+

warnings: ANGST!! (for real), hurt/comfort, unresolved feelings, timing and miscommunication, unspoken love, bittersweet ending (oopsies) >_<, they’re both idiots here tbh

A/N: hellooo omg i can’t believe that i’m finally posting part one of BTF, honestly it’s been a roller coaster for me since i just dropped the teaser a few days ago and now we’re finally here!! now, i’m not letting you wait…just read part one and if want to leave some comments, feedbacks or suggestions, feel free to ask on the askbox or comment down below! feel free to comment if u wanna be added to the taglist 🤍🥺

inspired from the song ‘back to friends’ by sombr 🫶🏻 i’ve been listening to it for hundred times now 😔🤞🏻

One: Almost Lovers

The last time you saw Jeon Jungkook, it was raining. Not the poetic kind—just cold, irritating drizzle. You had both stood under the awning of the campus café, soaked but silent, your coffee forgotten on the bench.

He looked at you like he had something to say. But he didn’t.

So you walked away. So did he. And that was it.

Two years later, you see him again—backlit by the soft yellow glow of the studio monitors, headphones around his neck, hair longer now.

He turns. His eyes widen.

“….Hey.”

You stare at him for a heartbeat too long. “Hey.”

Of course, he’s part of this project.

The Campus Multimedia Festival, known officially as SYNERGY: Where Music Meets Art, is the university’s most anticipated annual event—a celebration of collaboration, creativity, and innovation across disciplines. It brings together the best minds from the College of Fine Arts, Music, and Digital Media to produce original, immersive experiences that push the boundaries of student work.

This year, you’re at the forefront of it all, chosen to lead the Digital Visual Design Team, responsible for crafting the visual narrative that will accompany the headline performance. It was a challenge and it’s your biggest creative challenge yet—weeks of late-night editing, motion graphics, and conceptual planning.

And then there’s Jeon Jungkook. A name you haven’t said out loud in almost two years. He’s been handpicked to produce the original score and soundtrack for the main showcase—a haunting, emotional piece meant to tie every visual thread together. The festival organizers paired you for your chemistry, unaware that beneath the surface of your artistic synergy lies a tangled, unfinished story neither of you has dared to reopen… until now.

The professor’s words buzz in your ear. Something about synergy. Collaboration. Fusion of artistic vision.

You just nod. You can’t hear anything over the sound of your heartbeat anyway.

The first few days are… tolerable.

You work in shifts. You schedule your editing sessions late at night, assuming he’d be a morning kind of guy.

But you were wrong.

“Didn’t expect you here this late,” you murmur one evening, not looking up from your laptop.

He shrugs, setting his guitar down on the couch. “Didn’t expect you either.”

You keep your eyes on your screen, mouse clicking. “Guess we’re both creatures of habit.”

He chuckles, and it’s the same laugh. The one you used to love hearing during 2 a.m. FaceTime calls when you both swore you weren’t catching feelings.

But you were. You sure did.

It was during the semester break—when campus felt half-asleep and time stretched longer than usual. Everyone else had gone home, but both of you had stayed behind for your summer elective classes. It was quiet. Too quiet.

Most nights ended the same: a FaceTime call that started with “just five minutes” and stretched into hours. You’d both lay on your beds, phones propped up by books, faces half-lit by fairy lights or laptop glow.

One night, around 2:37 a.m., Jungkook was softly humming a melody he said he wasn’t ready to show anyone else.

“I think it’s missing something,” he mumbled, strumming the same chord over and over. “Or maybe it’s just… missing a moment.”

You watched him—sleepy eyes, messy hair, black hoodie collar half-tucked into itself. He looked so effortlessly beautiful it hurt.

“What kind of moment?” you asked.

He shrugged, glancing up. “The kind where… you almost say something. But don’t.”

Your heart fluttered—subtle but sharp.

There was a silence. Not awkward. Just full.

“Like… I almost tell you how good you look in my hoodie,” he added, voice quiet.

You froze.

You were wearing his hoodie. You hadn’t even realized you’d fallen asleep in it the night he left it behind after movie night.

“You almost did?” you asked.

He smiled—a slow, lopsided grin. “Yeah.”

You pulled the hoodie closer. “Well, maybe I almost would’ve said thank you.”

He looked at you for a long moment, and for a second you thought—maybe this is it. Maybe he’ll say something more. Maybe you will, too. But fuck, you really look good wearing his hoodie. He can’t help but imagine you wearing it everyday.

But instead, he leaned back and said, “You should sleep. Your eyes are about to shut.”

You nodded. But you didn’t sleep right away.

Neither did he.

—————————

It was the university’s summer festival—blinking lights, cheap food, music echoing across the quad.

You had snuck away from the crowd with Jungkook and found yourselves on the rooftop of the music hall, where the noise was a dull hum below. He sat beside you, his shoulder warm against yours, legs dangling over the ledge.

Fireworks were starting soon.

You had both gone quiet, watching the last bits of sunset sink behind the campus buildings. The breeze tugged gently at your sleeves.

“You ever think about how everything’s gonna change?” he asked suddenly.

You turned. “What do you mean?”

“This,” he said, gesturing vaguely. “Us. This weird… in-between thing we have.”

You smiled, nervously. “You think it’ll end?”

He was quiet for a second too long. “I think eventually… we’ll either say something. Or stop.”

You were suppose to say something when the fireworks began—loud and bright, drowning the moment before either of you could say a word.

He didn’t look at you again that night.

But his pinky hooked around yours the whole time.

—————————

You stayed late helping him organize audio files in the practice studio, his hard drive had crashed, and you were the only one who knew how to recover it.

It was just you two. No lights but the soft blue of the screens, the faint glow of a lamp in the corner.

Jungkook had stopped talking. He watched you instead—quiet, thoughtful, leaning back in his chair like he was trying to memorize you.

“You’re staring,” you said, still trying to figure out why his hard drive crashed.

“Sorry,” he murmured, but didn’t look away. “You’re just really… easy to write music about.”

You froze, trying so hard not to smile. “That’s either the smoothest or strangest thing you’ve said to me.”

He grinned. “I mean it.”

Your chest fluttered, something warm and stupid blooming inside it.

Then he leaned forward just slightly, like he might say something more.

But your phone buzzed—loud in the silence.

It was nothing. Just a food delivery notification.

But the moment was gone.

He leaned back.

You finished the backup.

And neither of you mentioned it again.

—————————

It had started pouring while you were walking back from the café. Of course, neither of you had brought an umbrella.

You both ducked under the awning, soaked and breathless, laughing as you tried to shake water from your hair and sleeves.

Then you looked up, and he was already looking at you.

His smile slowly faded.

Rain dripped down the back of his neck. His hands were stuffed in his hoodie pocket, but his shoulders had tensed.

You didn’t move. Neither did he.

The world had gone muffled. Just the rain. Just you two. Just that aching closeness.

He took half a step forward.

Your breath caught. And you thought, this is gonna be it.

And just as he leaned in—

A voice yelled from down the block. A friend calling for him. Someone he promised to meet.

He flinched. Blinked.

You both stepped back like it hadn’t happened.

“Guess I should go,” he mumbled.

You nodded. “Yeah.”

But neither of you moved until the moment had cooled into silence.

One night, it happens.

You’re rendering a visual sequence—with soft pastel waves, a dancing silhouette overlaid with stars. It’s abstract but meaningful. It’s the part of the project no one else understands but you.

You don’t realize you’ve dozed off until the faint strum of a guitar pulls you back.

Jungkook’s sitting on the floor, back leaning against the studio wall, eyes closed. The melody is soft, haunting.

You stay still, eyes half-open, pretending to sleep as he begins to sing.

“Touch my body tender…”

“‘Cause the feeling makes me weak..”

You open your eyes fully now.

He doesn’t notice you’re awake, but his gaze settles on your back like a memory that never really left.

“Kicking off the covers..”

“I see the ceiling when you’re looking down at me…”

And it hits you like a gut punch.

He’s singing your story. Your story with him.

They were soft, unfinished, like a thought he didn’t mean to say out loud. I stayed still, letting the melody wrap around the room — low, raw, and delicate in a way that told me he didn’t think anyone was listening.

But I was.

"Did you write that just now?" you ask, breaking the silence.

He flinches. The guitar stopped, fingers slipping on a chord. "You're awake?"

You sit up and turn to him. "Was that about me?"

He hesitates. "Would it make a difference if it was?" Fuck, why did you even say that _____

You want to say yes. But instead, you whisper, "Why now?"

Jungkook sets the guitar back down. His voice is quiet. "Because I couldn't back then."

You nod slowly. "And we never talked about it."

"I-I didn't know how," he admits. "I thought... if I said something, we'd ruin it."

His knees wouldn’t stop shaking — poetic, really, considering he never meant to make me fall in the first place. Apparently, my body hadn’t caught up with reality — my heart knew we were done, but the inner part of me were still hoping.

You didn't raise your voice. You didn't need to.

"But we ruined it anyway," you said, like closing a door that had been cracked open too long.

taglist: @nikkinikj @k4rl41980 @somehowukook @forbiddenprototypesepulcher @sadiayn

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Part 2

[cdllevantae]

전정국 | Back to Friends | 01

you and jungkook were each other’s “almost.” the kind of connection that never had a proper beginning but felt too real to be just a phase. those late-night calls, sharing playlists, lingering eye contact, soft touches that never crossed the line—you were everything but official.

but when feelings started to complicate everything, you both silently drifted apart.

Now, two years later, fate pulls you back together. You’re both in the same university again—him majoring in Music Production, and you in Digital Arts. A mutual friend ropes you into a collaborative multimedia project. You didn’t expect him to be part of it. He didn’t expect you to still wear the same perfume.

It’s awkward at first. The small talk. The jokes. The unspoken weight in the room.

He plays a song one night in the studio, unfinished but familiar.

“How can you look at me and pretend, I’m someone you’ve never met” he sings.

You freeze. It’s your story. Your story with him.

And slowly, it all comes back.

pairing: singer!jungkook x (fem) digital artist!oc

genre: ANGST!!, almost lovers to emotional exes au (situationship au), slowburn romance, slice of life

word count: 2K+

rating: 18+

warnings: ANGST!! (for real), hurt/comfort, unresolved feelings, timing and miscommunication, unspoken love, bittersweet ending (oopsies) >_<, they’re both idiots here tbh

A/N: hellooo omg i can’t believe that i’m finally posting part one of BTF, honestly it’s been a roller coaster for me since i just dropped the teaser a few days ago and now we’re finally here!! now, i’m not letting you wait…just read part one and if want to leave some comments, feedbacks or suggestions, feel free to ask on the askbox or comment down below! feel free to comment if u wanna be added to the taglist 🤍🥺

inspired from the song ‘back to friends’ by sombr 🫶🏻 i’ve been listening to it for hundred times now 😔🤞🏻

One: Almost Lovers

The last time you saw Jeon Jungkook, it was raining. Not the poetic kind—just cold, irritating drizzle. You had both stood under the awning of the campus café, soaked but silent, your coffee forgotten on the bench.

He looked at you like he had something to say. But he didn’t.

So you walked away. So did he. And that was it.

Two years later, you see him again—backlit by the soft yellow glow of the studio monitors, headphones around his neck, hair longer now.

He turns. His eyes widen.

“….Hey.”

You stare at him for a heartbeat too long. “Hey.”

Of course, he’s part of this project.

The Campus Multimedia Festival, known officially as SYNERGY: Where Music Meets Art, is the university’s most anticipated annual event—a celebration of collaboration, creativity, and innovation across disciplines. It brings together the best minds from the College of Fine Arts, Music, and Digital Media to produce original, immersive experiences that push the boundaries of student work.

This year, you’re at the forefront of it all, chosen to lead the Digital Visual Design Team, responsible for crafting the visual narrative that will accompany the headline performance. It was a challenge and it’s your biggest creative challenge yet—weeks of late-night editing, motion graphics, and conceptual planning.

And then there’s Jeon Jungkook. A name you haven’t said out loud in almost two years. He’s been handpicked to produce the original score and soundtrack for the main showcase—a haunting, emotional piece meant to tie every visual thread together. The festival organizers paired you for your chemistry, unaware that beneath the surface of your artistic synergy lies a tangled, unfinished story neither of you has dared to reopen… until now.

The professor’s words buzz in your ear. Something about synergy. Collaboration. Fusion of artistic vision.

You just nod. You can’t hear anything over the sound of your heartbeat anyway.

The first few days are… tolerable.

You work in shifts. You schedule your editing sessions late at night, assuming he’d be a morning kind of guy.

But you were wrong.

“Didn’t expect you here this late,” you murmur one evening, not looking up from your laptop.

He shrugs, setting his guitar down on the couch. “Didn’t expect you either.”

You keep your eyes on your screen, mouse clicking. “Guess we’re both creatures of habit.”

He chuckles, and it’s the same laugh. The one you used to love hearing during 2 a.m. FaceTime calls when you both swore you weren’t catching feelings.

But you were. You sure did.

It was during the semester break—when campus felt half-asleep and time stretched longer than usual. Everyone else had gone home, but both of you had stayed behind for your summer elective classes. It was quiet. Too quiet.

Most nights ended the same: a FaceTime call that started with “just five minutes” and stretched into hours. You’d both lay on your beds, phones propped up by books, faces half-lit by fairy lights or laptop glow.

One night, around 2:37 a.m., Jungkook was softly humming a melody he said he wasn’t ready to show anyone else.

“I think it’s missing something,” he mumbled, strumming the same chord over and over. “Or maybe it’s just… missing a moment.”

You watched him—sleepy eyes, messy hair, black hoodie collar half-tucked into itself. He looked so effortlessly beautiful it hurt.

“What kind of moment?” you asked.

He shrugged, glancing up. “The kind where… you almost say something. But don’t.”

Your heart fluttered—subtle but sharp.

There was a silence. Not awkward. Just full.

“Like… I almost tell you how good you look in my hoodie,” he added, voice quiet.

You froze.

You were wearing his hoodie. You hadn’t even realized you’d fallen asleep in it the night he left it behind after movie night.

“You almost did?” you asked.

He smiled—a slow, lopsided grin. “Yeah.”

You pulled the hoodie closer. “Well, maybe I almost would’ve said thank you.”

He looked at you for a long moment, and for a second you thought—maybe this is it. Maybe he’ll say something more. Maybe you will, too. But fuck, you really look good wearing his hoodie. He can’t help but imagine you wearing it everyday.

But instead, he leaned back and said, “You should sleep. Your eyes are about to shut.”

You nodded. But you didn’t sleep right away.

Neither did he.

—————————

It was the university’s summer festival—blinking lights, cheap food, music echoing across the quad.

You had snuck away from the crowd with Jungkook and found yourselves on the rooftop of the music hall, where the noise was a dull hum below. He sat beside you, his shoulder warm against yours, legs dangling over the ledge.

Fireworks were starting soon.

You had both gone quiet, watching the last bits of sunset sink behind the campus buildings. The breeze tugged gently at your sleeves.

“You ever think about how everything’s gonna change?” he asked suddenly.

You turned. “What do you mean?”

“This,” he said, gesturing vaguely. “Us. This weird… in-between thing we have.”

You smiled, nervously. “You think it’ll end?”

He was quiet for a second too long. “I think eventually… we’ll either say something. Or stop.”

You were suppose to say something when the fireworks began—loud and bright, drowning the moment before either of you could say a word.

He didn’t look at you again that night.

But his pinky hooked around yours the whole time.

—————————

You stayed late helping him organize audio files in the practice studio, his hard drive had crashed, and you were the only one who knew how to recover it.

It was just you two. No lights but the soft blue of the screens, the faint glow of a lamp in the corner.

Jungkook had stopped talking. He watched you instead—quiet, thoughtful, leaning back in his chair like he was trying to memorize you.

“You’re staring,” you said, still trying to figure out why his hard drive crashed.

“Sorry,” he murmured, but didn’t look away. “You’re just really… easy to write music about.”

You froze, trying so hard not to smile. “That’s either the smoothest or strangest thing you’ve said to me.”

He grinned. “I mean it.”

Your chest fluttered, something warm and stupid blooming inside it.

Then he leaned forward just slightly, like he might say something more.

But your phone buzzed—loud in the silence.

It was nothing. Just a food delivery notification.

But the moment was gone.

He leaned back.

You finished the backup.

And neither of you mentioned it again.

—————————

It had started pouring while you were walking back from the café. Of course, neither of you had brought an umbrella.

You both ducked under the awning, soaked and breathless, laughing as you tried to shake water from your hair and sleeves.

Then you looked up, and he was already looking at you.

His smile slowly faded.

Rain dripped down the back of his neck. His hands were stuffed in his hoodie pocket, but his shoulders had tensed.

You didn’t move. Neither did he.

The world had gone muffled. Just the rain. Just you two. Just that aching closeness.

He took half a step forward.

Your breath caught. And you thought, this is gonna be it.

And just as he leaned in—

A voice yelled from down the block. A friend calling for him. Someone he promised to meet.

He flinched. Blinked.

You both stepped back like it hadn’t happened.

“Guess I should go,” he mumbled.

You nodded. “Yeah.”

But neither of you moved until the moment had cooled into silence.

One night, it happens.

You’re rendering a visual sequence—with soft pastel waves, a dancing silhouette overlaid with stars. It’s abstract but meaningful. It’s the part of the project no one else understands but you.

You don’t realize you’ve dozed off until the faint strum of a guitar pulls you back.

Jungkook’s sitting on the floor, back leaning against the studio wall, eyes closed. The melody is soft, haunting.

You stay still, eyes half-open, pretending to sleep as he begins to sing.

“Touch my body tender…”

“‘Cause the feeling makes me weak..”

You open your eyes fully now.

He doesn’t notice you’re awake, but his gaze settles on your back like a memory that never really left.

“Kicking off the covers..”

“I see the ceiling when you’re looking down at me…”

And it hits you like a gut punch.

He’s singing your story. Your story with him.

They were soft, unfinished, like a thought he didn’t mean to say out loud. I stayed still, letting the melody wrap around the room — low, raw, and delicate in a way that told me he didn’t think anyone was listening.

But I was.

"Did you write that just now?" you ask, breaking the silence.

He flinches. The guitar stopped, fingers slipping on a chord. "You're awake?"

You sit up and turn to him. "Was that about me?"

He hesitates. "Would it make a difference if it was?" Fuck, why did you even say that _____

You want to say yes. But instead, you whisper, "Why now?"

Jungkook sets the guitar back down. His voice is quiet. "Because I couldn't back then."

You nod slowly. "And we never talked about it."

"I-I didn't know how," he admits. "I thought... if I said something, we'd ruin it."

His knees wouldn’t stop shaking — poetic, really, considering he never meant to make me fall in the first place. Apparently, my body hadn’t caught up with reality — my heart knew we were done, but the inner part of me were still hoping.

You didn't raise your voice. You didn't need to.

"But we ruined it anyway," you said, like closing a door that had been cracked open too long.

taglist: @nikkinikj @k4rl41980 @somehowukook @forbiddenprototypesepulcher @sadiayn

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

Part 2

[cdllevantae]

JUNG KOOK ⚹ LEFT TO RIGHT

[cdllevantae]

morning sex w/ jungkook

W/C; 724 | npr | f!reader | dry-humping

Morning sex with Jungkook, where he would refuse to let you go. Keeping you grounded to the bed with his strong, muscular arms wrapped around your waist. Asking you to stay for “5 more minutes”

You would refuse at first. Explaining to him how you have been getting lectured by your boss for clocking in late every other day ( which Jungkook is to be blamed for ), but he never listened. Begging you continuously before you eventually give in.

Morning sex with Jungkook, where he would pull you impossibly close to his body, burying his face in the back of your head, inhaling your scent and letting out contented sighs.

And of course not without greedy hands toying with the hem of your sleeping shorts and. Greedy hands going under your shirt, greedy hands flat against the skin, greedy hands inching closer and closer to the underside of your breasts.

This happened too many times, and you have lost count of the number of times you have protested, all of which fell on deaf ears. And so you allowed it. Let it become a ritual, you said.

Morning sex with Jungkook, where he would press his morning wood against your backside. Making sure you knew how hard he gets all because of you.

His hips would start thrusting forward. His boxers rubbed against your sleeping shorts, creating a small friction. Jungkook pulled your behind closer to his crotch so his hard-on could be felt against your clothed pussy.

And oh, was it good. He knew you had a knack for dry humping and would take any chance to give you that pleasure.

Morning sex with Jungkook would turn into a dry humping session. One of his strong arms wrapped around your waist, and the other pinched your nipples and squeezed your breast from underneath your shirt.

You squirmed and pushed back against his crotch as he continued his rutting.

“Fuck… you feel that baby? Feel how hard you got me early in the morning?…” Jungkook blabbered. His breathing was laboured and he audibly moaned into the back of your head.

“Mm.. fuckk… feels good right? Like having my cock rub against your pretty little pussy… don’t you baby…?” His hands squeezed your waist tighter and pulled you closer.

Your wetness was drenching your shorts. The way his hips moved and his bulge rubbing against your core was making you a whining mess.

Jungkook groaned as he felt your arousal through the clothing. The hand around your waist now traveled lower, pressing against your clit to make you even wetter. “Greedy little pussy has been craving for this ain't it, pretty…? Gosh… you’re so fucking wet…”

Your hands reached for his wrist, trying to stop him. The pleasure was getting too much, and you could feel yourself getting closer.

“What? Can't handle it? Too much? Too much for your pretty little body? You can take it…” he said as he rutted forward and pressed his fingers harder against your clit. “… look at you… I know you can take it… Come on… relax for me…” he said, kissing the side of your neck.

Jungkook was like an animal in heat at that point. When you relaxed against him, you could feel his hard-on poking against your wet folds. The tip of his boxers was stained by his precum, making it all filthy and messy.

“Yeah… yeah… shit… I'm so close, honey…” Jungkook growled into your ears. His hand was squeezing your breast harshly, making you whimper and squirm. The hand on your clit continues its reckless pursuit.

Your body was quivering and shaking from the overwhelming pleasure. You could feel the ever-so-familiar knot form in your abdomen, signalling that you were close too.

Within a matter of seconds, you were squeezing your thighs together as a stream of your arousal drenched your shorts and the sheet.

You cumming so hard was, of course, too much for the poor Jungkook, who had been trying his best to hold back his orgasm. With a loud moan, muffled against the back of your head. He spilled his seeds into your boxers. The grey undergarment, now a darker shade, seeped his milky white cum, sticking to your clothes.

Morning sex with Jungkook would always end up with you getting dicked down at the end and missing your work.

A/N: HIIII !!!! IM BACCCCKKKKK!!! I MISSED YOU GUYS SSSMMMMMMMM ☹️ im sorry if this is a lil bit rusty and not upto par,, i wasn’t really feeling it but i decided to finish it and end the 1 month drought </3 im working on some other fics rn and it will probably be posted by this month! My mid sems will be starting first week of aug so i might go on another break 💔 ANYWAYSSSS TY FOR READINGG ILYYY!

[cdllevantae]

100+ notes?!!! NO WAY THANK YOU SO MUCH Y’ALL ydk how much i am thankful for your love and support🥺🫶🏻🫶🏻 i promise i’ll never let you all down with my stories. part one will be coming soon! 🤍

전정국 | Back to Friends

you and jungkook were each other’s “almost.” the kind of connection that never had a proper beginning but felt too real to be just a phase. those late-night calls, sharing playlists, lingering eye contact, soft touches that never crossed the line—you were everything but official.

but when feelings started to complicate everything, you both silently drifted apart.

Now, two years later, fate pulls you back together. You’re both in the same university again—him majoring in Music Production, and you in Digital Arts. A mutual friend ropes you into a collaborative multimedia project. You didn’t expect him to be part of it. He didn’t expect you to still wear the same perfume.

It’s awkward at first. The small talk. The jokes. The unspoken weight in the room.

He plays a song one night in the studio, unfinished but familiar.

“We should’ve just gone back to friends….” he sings.

You freeze. It’s your story. Your story with him.

And slowly, it all comes back.

pairing: singer!jungkook x (fem) digital artist!oc

genre: ANGST!!, almost lovers to emotional exes au (situationship au), slowburn romance, slice of life

rating: 18+

warnings: ANGST!! (for real), hurt/comfort, unresolved feelings, timing and miscommunication, unspoken love, bittersweet ending (oopsies) >_<

A/N: Hi! This is my first time posting an AU, and it is so nerve wracking to actually have the courage to post this but i’m glad i did AAAAAA. but anyways, back to friends is for anyone who’s ever had an “almost” love—something real, but never official. It’s soft angst, slow-burn, and bittersweet. Just comment down below if you want me to continue this story and if you wanna be added to the taglist!!! 🤍🥺

inspired from the song ‘back to friends’ by sombr 🫶🏻 i’ve been listening to it for hundred times now 😔🤞🏻

[cdllevantae]

OMG I CANNOT WAIT😔

𝐅𝐔𝐂𝐊 𝐌𝐄 𝐔𝐏 | 26 | TEASER

“pumpkin & phoenix”

"Caring for someone means learning the language of their damage—understanding that premium cat food isn't about the cat, that yellow post-it notes carry more weight than dissertations, and that watching someone prepare for a date feels different when you can taste their name on your tongue.”

coming saturday: 3AM CET • 2AM GMT • 9PM EST (FRI) • 6PM PST (FRI) • 11AM JST • 1PM AEDT

caramel scented confessions over cinnamon rolls. taehyung says "pumpkin" (yes, really). forty-eight dollar cat food becomes a love language. jungkook gets a haircut that changes everything. yellow post-it notes that mean something. payment plans with expiration dates.

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[cdllevantae]

age gap │ jjk 18+

"they said i was too young for him. that he should know better. but he loved me carefully — and i loved him like i had nothing to lose.”

pairing: jeon jungkook x reader

genre: strangers to lovers, age gap, slow burn

rating: 18+ (explicit content — sexual themes)

synopsis: you met when you were a bartender. he was a mystery. now you’re his girl — and sometimes, it still doesn’t feel real

how you met

you’d seen them before — that loud group of men in dress shirts and loosened ties who always took the same booth in the back. one of them, mingyu, was a regular. he tipped well, flirted poorly, and always asked if you’d “finally ditch the bar and come work at his company” — whatever that meant.

you didn’t pay much attention to the rest of them.

until him.

he was always the last to show. black slacks, plain tees, rings that clinked against the glass whenever he nursed a whiskey. he didn’t speak much, didn’t flirt, didn’t even look at anyone unless he had to.

except you.

and not in the way the others did — the gross double takes or the lazy smirks. no, this one watched you like he was trying to figure you out. like you were a language he used to know but forgot.

jungkook.

you didn’t know his name until jimin slurred it once, half-drunk, trying to get your attention.

“yo, jungkook said you’re the only reason he even comes out with us anymore,” jimin said, elbowing him hard. “dude, don’t act like you didn’t—”

“hyung,” jungkook muttered, low, warning.

you raised a brow. he met your eyes. didn’t look away.

that night, he stayed later than the rest. didn’t order anything new. just sat at the bar while you closed up. quiet. unreadable.

the first time he stayed late

you were wiping down the bar, damp rag in one hand, the other reaching for the chairs to flip onto the counter. he was still there. same stool. same drink, barely touched now. watching you with that unreadable look again — like you were the only thing worth paying attention to in the room.

you felt his eyes before you saw them.

“don’t you have somewhere to be?” you muttered, not even glancing his way.

he hummed low in his throat. “could ask you the same.”

“i work here.”

“i don’t mind staying late.”

you rolled your eyes. “you say that like i invited you.”

his chair creaked as he stood up. then you heard the soft drag of another chair being lifted — and when you turned, he was beside you, flipping one up onto the bar like it was nothing.

you stared. “what are you doing?”

“helping.”

you blinked. “you don’t have to—”

“i know,” he said, not looking at you. “just felt like it.”

you didn’t stop him.

you moved down the row of stools, tossing up the last few, the silence between you weirdly comfortable. he moved slower than you, but deliberate — like he wasn’t in any rush to leave.

after the last chair was up, he leaned on the counter, elbow resting near your hand.

“you always close alone?” he asked, voice low, rough around the edges.

“depends,” you said. “why?”

he shrugged. “just wondering.”

you tossed the rag into the sink, flicked the lights down to half, and grabbed your keys. when you turned back around, he was holding the door open already. waited while you stepped out. walked with you to your car without saying anything.

not close enough to touch. but close enough to feel.

you unlocked the door, about to slip in, when his voice stopped you.

“you probably shouldn’t be walking to your car alone this late.”

you glanced at him. tilted your head. “what, you offering to be my bodyguard now?”

his mouth twitched, just a little. “depends.”

“on?”

“whether you’d actually let me.”

you didn’t say anything. just slid into the driver’s seat, tossed your bag to the side, and looked up at him through the open window.

he met your eyes.

“see you around?” he said.

you nodded, quietly. “yeah.”

when you realized you liked him

you’d gone out with friends. some frat bar. plastic cups and sweaty bodies and bad remixes. you weren’t even drunk, just bored. sick of boys who talked too loud and stood too close and made it so obvious they only wanted one thing.

when your phone buzzed, you knew it was him before you checked. [jk] you good?

[jk] home yet?

you shouldn’t have smiled. shouldn’t have left early, heart skipping the whole walk back to your dorm.

you called him from bed that night. he didn’t say much, just listened to you talk about the shitty bar and the guy who spilled beer down your leg. but his voice got tight when you mentioned the guy. “next time,” he said, low and serious, “just call me. i’ll come get you.”

your fingers curled tighter around the phone.

you didn’t say it — not out loud — but that was the night you admitted it to yourself. you liked him. you trusted him. and you didn’t want to go a single weekend without seeing him.

finding out the age gap

it slipped out too casually.

you were behind the bar again, spinning an unopened straw between your fingers, wearing that little smirk you always gave him when things were almost flirtatious but not quite. he was leaning on his elbow across from you, sleeves pushed up, a silver ring glinting as he lifted his drink.

“so, what’d you study?” he asked, voice calm like always.

you blinked. “i’m still studying.”

his brow lifted slightly. “grad school?”

you laughed — soft and amused, nose scrunching the way it always did when he made assumptions. “no. second year undergrad.”

he froze.

you didn’t catch it right away — the way his grip on the glass paused mid-sip, the way his shoulders tensed for half a second before he eased back into his normal lean.

“...second year?” he repeated, slower this time.

you nodded, still oblivious. “yeah. i’m barely surviving, honestly. took a stats elective and immediately regretted it.”

and then you noticed it. his silence. how his eyes were suddenly sharper, more alert, like he was calculating something in his head.

you tilted your head, smile faltering. “what?”

he didn’t answer at first. just gave you a look — unreadable, almost guarded. then finally:

“how old are you?”

you blinked again. “twenty.”

his lips parted just a little, like he was about to say something but caught himself. you watched him.

“you okay?” you asked, a little nervous now.

he leaned back from the bar. rubbed his thumb over his jaw. nodded once, slowly. “yeah.”

but his voice was quieter than before.

your pulse kicked up.

“what?” you said again. “you thought i was older?”

he didn’t answer right away. just looked at you — really looked — like he was trying to reconcile everything he knew about you with that single number.

and god, you felt it then. the age gap, like a crack in the pavement you hadn’t noticed until you were standing right over it.

“how old are you?” you asked, even though you had a rough guess already.

he hesitated. then, evenly: “twenty-eight.”

the number hit you square in the chest.

you stared at him. he stared back.

telling his friends how invested he was

it was supposed to be a chill night. drinks, loud music, half-watched sports on tv.

mingyu had ordered too much fried chicken. someone was already halfway through the whiskey. the group was scattered across the couch and floor, tossing dumb jokes and old stories back and forth like always.

but jungkook had been quiet.

not moody. just… not his usual self.

he hadn’t even touched his drink. was just sitting there, elbow on the back of the couch, thumb running over his bottom lip like he had something stuck in his teeth — when really, he was stuck in his own head.

mingyu caught it first.

“bro. what’s with you tonight?”

jungkook blinked, like he’d just been pulled out of a tunnel. “huh?”

“you haven’t said a word since the food showed up,” mingyu said, already grinning. “you got a girl or something?”

the others hooted.

jungkook didn’t smile. not at first.

he looked down at the label on the beer bottle in his hand. thumbed the edge. then, quietly:

“kind of.”

that got their attention.

mingyu leaned forward. “wait — what?”

“what do you mean ‘kind of’?” someone else asked. “either you do or you don’t.”

jungkook hesitated. let the words roll around in his chest a little before saying them out loud.

“i think i like her,” he said finally. “for real.”

“woah.”

“damn.”

“wait — is this the bartender you kept talking about?”

jungkook nodded once.

“the one from that bar we go to on fridays?”

he nodded again. sipped his drink. said nothing.

“holy shit,” mingyu said, sitting back. “no wonder you always offer to go in early. i thought you just liked the fries.”

one of them whistled. “she’s hot. like, crazy hot. but i didn’t know it was like that.”

jungkook ran a hand down his jaw. “yeah,” he said. “it’s like that.”

mingyu’s smile softened a little. “okay… so what’s the problem?”

jungkook looked up then. really looked at them.

“she’s twenty.”

“...huh.”

“wait. like. just turned twenty?”

“second year uni,” jungkook muttered, eyes on the table.

mingyu leaned back, brows high. “shit.”

another one nodded slowly. “that’s young.”

“yeah,” jungkook said.

“but—” mingyu added quickly, “—she doesn’t seem twenty.”

“she doesn’t,” jungkook agreed. “she’s sharp. independent. works two jobs. she’s… grounded.”

“and fine,” someone else added. “like. fine.”

they all nodded.

jungkook cracked the tiniest smile. “yeah. that too.”

“you said you think you like her?” mingyu asked.

he swallowed. “i know i do.”

and he did.

he thought about the way your fingers curled around your tumbler. the way you challenged him with your eyes when you were tired. how soft your voice got when you were concentrating behind the bar.

he thought about how you looked up at him last night — wide-eyed, nervous, beautiful — and asked if it was a dealbreaker.

he hadn’t stopped thinking about it since.

finally admitting it

it starts quiet.

you close up the bar a little after midnight, exhausted but still wired. he’s waiting outside like always — leaned against his car, hoodie sleeves pushed to his elbows, hair tied back, jaw slack from chewing gum. his eyes soften when he sees you.

“drive?” he asks.

you nod. don’t even have to think about it.

you change quickly, and the two of you don’t say much as he opens the passenger door for you and climbs in. it’s easy, by now. being with him. like muscle memory.

he drives slow. one hand on the wheel, the other resting loosely between the seats. the windows are cracked open, letting in the night breeze. you’ve got your legs pulled up, head leaned back against the headrest, watching city lights blur into nothing.

“you tired?” he asks, voice low.

“a little.”

you look over.

he’s already watching you — one eye on the road, the other on you. his gaze dips to your thighs for just a second. then back up.

“thanks for coming out with me,” he adds, like it’s something you could’ve said no to.

you smile faintly. “thanks for waiting.”

the car hums beneath you. the radio plays something old, something soft. and for a moment, everything feels suspended — like the night’s holding its breath.

you glance at him again.

“what?” he says, catching your stare.

you shrug. “just thinking.”

“about?”

“you.”

he glances at you. his lip lifts a little. “yeah?”

“yeah.”

his fingers tap once against the wheel. then:

“can i ask you something?”

you nod.

he pulls into a quiet overlook — just far enough from the city that the lights below look like stars. he parks, kills the engine. the silence that follows is louder than the car itself.

he turns in his seat to face you. eyes dark. unreadable.

“we’ve been doing this for a while now,” he says, voice steady. “hanging out. driving around. texting. talking.”

you nod, slow. “i know.”

“and i like you,” he says, without flinching. “i don’t want to pretend that i don’t.”

you look at him carefully. his fingers are flexing against his thigh. subtle nerves. this isn’t the cocky, calm version of him you met at the bar. this is him. honest.

“i like you too,” you say softly.

he nods once. takes a breath.

“then let me ask you the real question,” he says, voice even lower now. he shifts closer, elbow resting near the center console. his knee brushes yours.

“can i pursue you?” he asks. “properly. like— no more tiptoeing around the age thing. no more pretending we’re just... hanging out. i want to see where this goes. and i want to stop holding back every time i look at you.”

you blink. your chest feels too tight all of a sudden.

you whisper, “jungkook…”

“i know we haven’t talked about it in a real way,” he says quickly. “i know you’re young. i know what people might think. but none of that changes what i feel when i’m with you. i want this. you. just tell me if you want it too.”

you stare at him.

he looks wrecked.

not in the messy way. in the sincere way — like he’s putting something breakable in your hands and hoping you don’t drop it.

you reach over, fingers brushing his knuckles.

“i do,” you say. “want it.”

his breath catches.

“but—” you add, voice quieter now, “—i’m scared too.”

his hand flips under yours. his thumb grazes your wrist. “me too,” he admits.

you smile — small, nervous. “so we’re both scared?”

“guess so.”

“okay,” you say. “then let’s do it scared.”

he exhales. laughs under his breath.

then leans forward, pressing his forehead to yours.

“you’re unreal,” he murmurs. “you know that?”

you whisper, “you’re mine.”

he kisses you then.

finally.

not rushed. not desperate.

just full of every almost they’d ever tiptoed around. every look. every long drive. every time he stayed late. every time you wished he’d say something and he didn’t — until now.

and you kiss him back.

when you told your parents

you didn’t mean to say it that night.

you’d gone home for dinner — hair still damp from your post-shift shower, sleeves rolled up as you helped set the table. the kitchen smelled like garlic and soy sauce, and your dad was complaining about traffic like always. your mom was humming some old song under her breath, slicing green onions into a bowl.

it was… normal. safe.

which made it worse.

because the second your mom said, “are you seeing anyone lately?” you froze.

“kind of,” you said, too fast.

your mom looked up, curious. your dad raised a brow. “kind of?”

“it’s new,” you said, grabbing plates from the cupboard, trying to hide your face behind the clatter. “i’ve been talking to someone. just… getting to know him.”

you could feel the shift in energy across the room — not bad. just sharper. more aware.

“someone from school?” your mom asked.

you swallowed. “no.”

“work?”

“...kind of.”

your dad narrowed his eyes.

“he’s older,” you blurted out.

silence.

you turned to set the plates down, keeping your gaze low.

your mom’s voice came gently after a moment. “how much older?”

you sighed. fingers tightening around the stack of forks in your hand.

“he’s twenty-eight.”

your dad sat back in his chair, didn’t speak at first.

“what does he do?” he asked eventually.

“a few things,” you said. “accounting. marketing. he’s smart. has his own place. drives me home sometimes after work.”

“does he treat you well?”

you nodded without hesitation. “he’s… protective. but not controlling. respectful. careful with me.”

“does he know how old you are?”

“yeah,” you said softly. “he found out a few weeks after we met. he didn’t run. but he didn’t push either.”

your dad exhaled through his nose. didn’t look angry. just quiet. thoughtful.

later that night, your mom knocked gently on your bedroom door. sat beside you on your bed, folded her hands in her lap.

“you’re still young,” she said quietly. “but you’ve always been sharp. if he’s good to you — and i mean really good to you — then we’ll support you. but if he ever makes you feel small, or scared, or less than you are…”

you nodded.

“i’ll leave,” you said simply. “no matter how much i like him.”

your mom smiled. kissed your hair.

“that’s my girl.”

the night he asked you to be his girlfriend

it had been six months. six months of drives after your shifts, long texts that turned into longer calls, forehead touches that almost became kisses. six months of brushing hands in his car, thighs touching under restaurant tables, his hoodie on your body like it belonged there.

you weren’t just “getting to know” each other anymore. you knew him. his silences. his soft spots. the way he spoke without speaking when he touched your back to guide you through crowds. the way he always made sure you were on the inside of the sidewalk. the way he looked at you — quiet, reverent, like he was holding back.

but not tonight.

tonight, something felt different.

he showed up early.

you opened the door in a simple dress, nothing dramatic — but the second he saw you, his mouth parted slightly. not in a loud, obvious way. just a small, stunned moment before he smiled and said, “you look beautiful.”

he took you somewhere nice. the kind of place with candlelit tables and soft jazz in the background. he held the door open. pulled your chair out. didn’t check his phone once.

he was nervous, though — you could tell.

his knee was bouncing under the table. he played with his rings more than usual. even his laugh was a little too careful, like he was afraid to mess something up.

“you okay?” you asked after the appetizers, sipping your drink.

he nodded, eyes flicking to yours. “yeah. just— been thinking about tonight for a while.”

you smiled, heart starting to race.

he didn’t say more after that.

after dinner, he offered to drive you home.

but he didn’t take the usual turn. he took a left. toward his apartment.

“just for a second,” he said. “i want to show you something.”

you didn’t ask questions.

his building was quiet this late — only the soft echo of your shoes in the hallway, the hum of the elevator, the pounding of your heart in your ears.

he unlocked the door. stepped aside so you could go in first.

and when you did — you froze.

there were decorations.

not over-the-top, not tacky. just enough to make your breath catch.

soft lights around the window. a little banner across the wall that read:

“will you be my girlfriend?”

gold lettering. tiny hearts at the ends. a few candles on the counter. a quiet song playing from the speaker — something you’d once said you liked.

you turned around slowly. he was standing in the doorway, one hand behind his neck, the other in his pocket. trying to look casual.

but his ears were red.

“you did all this?” you asked, voice small.

he nodded once. “yeah.”

you laughed softly. “you’re serious?”

he stepped closer.

“dead serious.”

“after six months?”

“you thought i was gonna leave it at drive-thrus and shy flirting forever?” he said, smiling now. “baby, i’ve been dying to ask you. just didn’t want to scare you off.”

your chest tightened.

“you didn’t.”

“good,” he said. then softer — “so?”

you looked up at him. his eyes were dark, warm, a little nervous.

and you said it, without hesitation.

“yes.”

his shoulders dropped with relief. his grin broke wide.

he pulled you into his chest, arms tight around your waist, lips brushing your temple.

“you have no idea how long i’ve waited to hear that.”

you tilted your head up, smiling.

“you should’ve asked sooner.”

his mouth hovered over yours.

“you would’ve said yes sooner?”

“yeah,” you whispered. “every time.”

and when he kissed you, it wasn’t like all the almosts before. it was full. certain. grounded.

when you started overthinking the future

one minute you were lying on his couch — legs draped over his lap, movie playing in the background, his fingers tracing soft circles into your knee — and the next, your brain was spiraling into places it hadn’t in a while.

you were twenty. still figuring yourself out. still unsure what you wanted long-term. still occasionally crying over dumb essays and roommate drama and things that felt small until they weren’t.

he was twenty-eight. stable. confident. already there.

and even though he never made you feel small, even though he never treated you like you were less than, the thought hit hard:

what if he outgrows me?

you shift slightly, try to pull your legs off his lap — but he doesn’t let you.

his hand wraps around your calf, firm. his eyes flick to you. “where you going baby?”

your throat tightens. “nowhere. i just— i don’t know. my legs are cramping.”

“bullshit,” he mutters, but there’s no venom. just curiosity. a little warning.

you press your lips together. he tilts his head, watching you too closely now. he knows you.

“what’s going on?”

“it’s nothing,” you lie.

his jaw ticks. he turns the volume on the tv all the way down. then shifts, arm sliding behind you on the couch, hand settling on your hip.

“i’ll ask again,” he says quietly. “what’s going on?”

you hesitate. but there’s no point lying to him. not when he’s looking at you like that — like he sees every cracked piece of you you try to hide.

so you say it, low and messy:

“do you ever think about… what this looks like in a few years?”

his brows twitch.

“this?”

“us.”

he doesn’t answer.

so you keep going — because now that it’s out, you can’t stop.

“i’m twenty, babe. i don’t have a real job yet, i still live with roommates, i’m stressed about midterms. and you’re—”

“older?”

you look down. “yeah.”

he’s quiet for a beat. then you feel it — his fingers slide up your thigh, slow. grounding.

“you done?”

your heart skips.

“what?”

he leans in, close enough that you feel his breath at your cheek.

“you done tearing yourself apart, baby?”

you blink.

“i like you as you are. i’m not looking for some polished version of you that checks a list. i’m here. with you. not some fantasy version of who you think you need to be.”

you swallow.

“but what if you change your mind—”

he cuts you off. with a soft laugh. but there’s no humor in it.

“listen to me,” he says, voice low. serious. “if i didn’t want this — if i had even the smallest doubt — i wouldn’t be here. i’m not that guy.”

you stare at him.

“so stop waiting for me to disappear,” he mutters, thumb brushing your jaw now. “i’m not going anywhere.”

your chest tightens. his words hit low and deep.

“you mean that?” you whisper.

he nods. once. “you got me.”

jungkook getting protective when you’re drunk

it’s someone’s birthday. loud music, strobe lights, bodies pressed too close. you’re tipsy — not gone, but definitely softer around the edges. your lip gloss is half-faded, your heels are killing you, and you’ve lost count of how many drinks your friends have shoved into your hand.

jungkook’s not far.

he’s leaning against the wall near the bar, black shirt clinging to him in all the right places, a drink untouched in his hand, eyes fixed on you like you’re the only thing in the room that matters.

some guy brushes past you. not a full-on grab — but his hand lingers on your waist longer than it should.

jungkook’s across the floor in seconds.

he doesn’t make a scene. doesn’t yell.

just slides his arm around your waist, pulls you close, and speaks low against your ear:

“you good?”

you nod, a little dazed. “yeah— jus’… a lot of people.”

his fingers press gently into your hip. “don’t wander off without me.”

you pout, tipsy and warm. “you weren’t even dancing with me.”

he smirks. “you want me to dance with you?”

you nod again, eyes glossy.

he kisses your forehead, wraps his arm tighter around you, and says, “you’re mine. don’t let anyone forget it.”

the first time you have sex

he carries you to the bedroom. doesn’t rush.

your thighs around his waist. his mouth at your neck. his hands firm under your thighs, fingers digging into skin like he needs to anchor himself to you. he lays you down slow, like he’s laying you into something sacred.

“look at you,” he says, eyes raking down your body as you peel off the hoodie. he’s kneeling between your legs now, shirt half unbuttoned, flushed and focused. “so fucking pretty. you don’t even know.”

his hands drag down your sides. over your stomach. up under your bra. when he finally pulls it off, he just stares — jaw flexing, breath uneven.

“you’re unreal,” he says.

he kisses every inch of skin like it’s something holy. your collarbones. the slope of your breasts. the soft skin under your ribs. when he mouths over your nipple, slow and wet and open, you arch up without meaning to.

“there she is,” he murmurs. “that feel good, baby?”

you nod.

when he finally slips his hand into your panties, he groans under his breath.

“you’re soaked.”

you bite your lip.

he smiles against your neck.

your breath catches as his fingers slide through your folds — slow, unhurried. he touches you like he’s learning you, studying every reaction.

you whimper when his thumb finds your clit, and his lips curl against your skin.

he makes you fall apart with two fingers inside you and his mouth on your tits. whispers filthy, worshipful things while your legs shake around his wrist.

“you’re so tight, fuck—” “look at you, baby, taking me so well—”

and when you cum, it’s hard. sudden. your whole body arches. your hands claw at his arm. you moan his name so brokenly he curses under his breath and kisses you through it, palm cradling your cheek while you twitch under him.

“there you go,” he coos. “that’s my girl.”

he groans, forehead dropping to yours.

and then he’s inside you.

slow at first. thick and deep, stretching you open. you gasp — he holds still, whispering, “i got you. you’re doing so good for me.”

his voice wrecks you.

the way he starts moving — hips rolling deep, slow, grinding into you like he’s trying to leave a part of himself inside you — wrecks you even more.

his hands are everywhere. holding your hips, cradling your face, gripping the sheets when he loses control.

and when you cum again — again — it’s with your name falling from his lips like a prayer.

“that’s it,” he groans. “cum on my cock, baby. that’s my girl.”

spoiling you without even thinking

you mention once in passing that your headphones broke — and two days later, there’s a new pair in a box on your pillow. “they’re noise cancelling,” he says. “figured you could use the silence.”

you get a cold? he shows up with soup, your favorite tea, a new blanket, and a humidifier. your period starts? there’s a heating pad plugged in and three tubs of your favorite ice cream waiting in the freezer.

he does your skincare for you when you’re too tired — ties your hair up with gentle fingers, massages cleanser into your cheeks like you’re made of porcelain. and when he rubs moisturizer into your face, he always ends with, “can’t have my girl breaking out. you’re too pretty for that.”

he’s paid for a course you were too embarrassed to ask about. just sent you the login one night. “i enrolled you. you’re gonna kill it.”

every time you say, “you didn’t have to,” he just replies: “yeah, but i wanted to.”

like it’s nothing.

like it’s the easiest thing in the world to take care of you.

when you met his friends

he warned you in the car. “they’re gonna be annoying. don’t let them scare you.”

you walked into the apartment and immediately understood what he meant.

they were loud.

taehyung was the first to spot you. “oh shit��� this her?”

“don’t be weird,” jungkook warned.

jimin grinned. “you’re the one who’s been hiding her.”

namjoon was more subtle — warm smile, firm handshake. “nice to finally meet the reason jungkook’s been soft lately.”

you expected it to be awkward. it wasn’t.

within thirty minutes, you were sitting between jungkook and jimin on the couch, laughing at some story from their high school days while jungkook sat back, arm slung behind you, looking quietly proud.

taehyung caught him smiling and said, “bro. you’re down bad.”

jungkook just smirked. “yeah,” he said. “i am.”

and when you glanced over at him, cheeks hot, he leaned in and kissed your temple.

didn’t care who was watching.

taglist:

@lovingkoalaface @ianeaniee @mar-lo-pap @jggui @pitchblack0309 @busanbby-jjk @shiningwonpil @knivesdoingcartwheels @namjoonbaby17-blog 

[cdllevantae]

i will probably post the part one this week! i may not able to check my activities here since i’m on a vacation :(( but i promise to u all that i will post it as soon as i can🥹 pls bear with me 🤞🏻🥺🥺🫶🏻🫶🏻

[cdllevantae]

BTF masterlist now posted!! 🫶🏻😔

[cdllevantae]

전정국 | Back to Friends Masterlist

you and jungkook were each other's "almost." the kind of connection that never had a proper beginning but felt too real to be just a phase. those late-night calls, sharing playlists, lingering eye contact, soft touches that never crossed the line-you were everything but official.

but when feelings started to complicate everything, you both silently drifted apart.

Now, two years later, fate pulls you back together. You're both in the same university again-him majoring in Music Production, and you in Digital Arts. A mutual friend ropes you into a collaborative multimedia project. You didn't expect him to be part of it. He didn't expect you to still wear the same perfume.

It's awkward at first. The small talk. The jokes. The unspoken weight in the room.

He plays a song one night in the studio, unfinished but familiar.

"How can you look at me and pretend, I'm someone you've never met" he sings.

You freeze. It's your story. Your story with him.

And slowly, it all comes back.

pairing: singer!jungkook x (fem) digital artist!oc

genre: ANGST!!, almost lovers to emotional exes au (situationship au), slowburn romance, slice of life

rating: 18+

warnings: ANGST!! (for real), hurt/comfort, unresolved feelings, timing and miscommunication, unspoken love, bittersweet ending (oopsies) >_<

chapters ✎ :

one : almost lovers (2K+)

two : before we fell apart

[cdllevantae]

hello lovies! just wanna tell you guys that my taglist are fully open for my new fic (on my pinned), just drop your @ below if u want to be added! 🤍😇

[cdllevantae]

i’ve finally finished writing and proofreading the part one of BTF, and i’m so excited to share it with y’all 🥺🤞🏻

[cdllevantae]

APRIL WHAT THE ACTUAL F……I WAS SLEEPING WHEN U POSTED THIS?!!:₱/&/!/!/!!/!/ IMMA CRY

THE ART OF PRETENDING - JJK | 08

summary. when you and jungkook show up to your much anticipated graduation trip and realise neither of you had the guts to tell your friends about your recent break up, there’s only one thing you can do to keep the trip from falling apart: pretend.

but somewhere between fake kisses and real feelings, you start to wonder if letting go was ever the right choice at all.

pairing: jeon jungkook x f!reader

genre/warnings: exes to lovers, fake dating, idiots to lovers, mutual pining, swearing, fluff, angst, holy fuck jk is a pathetic yearner i love him, explicit sexual content (mdni), lots and lots of kissing, brief breast play, oral (f. recieving), petnames (angel), really really soft & tender sex :(

word count: 7.6k

notes: (read full author’s note at the end of the chapter cuz it’s longgg) i procastinated this part so bad, but finally, here it is. writing the smut in this was definitely an… experience, and it’s not my usual writing, so i apologise if it isn’t the best. likes, comments, reblogs, asks and feedback are soo appreciated. enjoy reading my angels <33

⤷ chapter eight — lover, you should've come over

"so i'll wait for you, love / and i'll burn / will i ever see your sweet return?”

FIVE WEEKS LATER

It’s two in the morning, and the city has stilled.

Jungkook sits in the living room with the lights off. There’s only the orange glow from the streetlight that filters through the slats of the blinds, stretching in long shadows across the hardwood floor. The TV is off, the soundbar unplugged. He’s on the couch, feet bare against cold wood, a half-full glass of whiskey resting in his palm like an afterthought.

He hasn’t spoken to anyone all day.

He should sleep. He has work tomorrow — well, technically today, given the hour — but the thought of crawling into bed alone again, pretending not to notice how empty the sheets feel and how quiet everything gets without your breathing beside him, keeps him rooted in place.

He takes another slow sip, grimacing at the taste.

It’s not like he didn’t try to build something here. The place is fine. Modern. Big enough for one (really, it's big enough for two but he doesn't let himself say that out loud). The kitchen island is spotless. The walls still smell faintly of fresh paint. He bought a plant last week, a pothos or something, and it’s somehow still alive. The kind of normalcy he thought would help him forget. Reset.

But it never feels like home. Not the way you did.

Sure, the days are manageable. He's built up a routine that keeps his head busy — morning coffee, train ride, work, gym, home. He nods when people talk to him. He smiles when his manager tells a joke. He even laughed once last Thursday because Hoseok sent a meme to the group chat that was so absurd it cracked him up. But none of it sticks. Nothing lands. It all brushes off his skin like dust.

And the nights?

The nights are brutal.

This is when his mind slows down just enough to let the ache rise again. When he finds himself wandering the apartment, opening drawers like he’s looking for something, like maybe you might’ve left a bobby pin or a receipt or — God, anything that says you were once here. That you loved him once.

He knows he won't find anything. You haven't even seen this place, let alone lived in it. But still, he catches himself doing it too often.

It’s pathetic, probably. He knows it. But grief makes people strange. It makes time bend, like now, when seventy-three days have passed but it still feels like yesterday that you watched as he left, suitcase in hand, desperately fighting the urge to look back.

You asked for space. You asked for time. And he gave it to you. Every inch, even when it clawed at him.

Because the truth is, he knew he’d messed it all up. He let silence fester in place of conversation, convinced himself he was doing the right thing by letting you go. Convinced himself you’d be better off chasing your future without him weighing you down. He thought he was doing the noble thing — stepping aside so you wouldn’t have to choose.

But you did choose. And he never gave you the chance to say it out loud.

He exhales sharply, dragging a hand down his face, elbows digging into his knees. The ice in his glass has mostly melted, the amber swirl going pale and soft at the edges. Somewhere across the street, a neon sign buzzes faintly, the only sound besides the piercing silence.

He should sleep.

He won’t.

Instead, he leans back, lets his head fall against the couch cushion, and closes his eyes, just for a second. Just to let the weight of everything he’s holding settle again.

He doesn't know many minutes pass as he sits in silence, but it's when the first inklings of sleep creep up on him that a buzz cuts through the air.

It’s faint. Barely there — a low vibration against the coffee table.

His eyes flutter open, groggy and flat. He doesn’t reach for it. Doesn’t even glance right away.

Because it’s never you.

Every call he’s picked up over the last five weeks, heart thundering in his chest, thumb swiping too fast — it’s never you. Wrong name. Wrong voice. Wrong timing. And every time, he feels a little more stupid; a little more hollowed out.

So he lets it buzz twice more before instinct wins over doubt.

He leans forward slowly, eyes finally dropping to the screen, preparing himself to feel that same old hit of disappointment in his chest. But it never comes.

My ____

Your name, exactly how it’s always been saved. He never changed it. Couldn’t bring himself to. Even on the nights where he told himself he had to move on and make peace with the silence — he couldn’t do it. He just couldn’t erase that last bit of you from his phone.

His breath catches.

The glass is left forgotten on the table as he grabs the phone with both hands, like it might vanish if he hesitates too long. His thumb hovers over the green button for a brief second before answering.

He waits for your voice. He can hear the faint sound of your breathing on the other end, and a part of him fears that you'll end the call any second now.

But then, you speak.

“Hello?”

You're voice is quiet. A little uncertain.

Jungkook’s heart caves in.

Relief pours through him all at once, warm and slow, like the first beam of sunlight after a long winter. For a second, he can’t even speak.

Every second he spent waiting, every moment he kept himself from reaching out, all erupts at once, and now that he’s heard your voice again, really heard it, his body doesn't know whether to collapse or run to you.

He sags back into the couch like his body can finally rest for the first time in weeks.

“Hey,” he whispers, voice cracking around the edges.

You’re quiet on the other end, but he hears you breathe out hesitantly, like you’re testing the waters.

“I wasn’t sure if you’d answer.”

Jungkook closes his eyes for a moment, fingers tightening around the phone. “I almost didn’t,” he admits, voice low. “Thought it was another wrong number. Couldn’t take that again tonight.”

A soft exhale leaves you. He imagines you lying in bed, curled up in the way you always are, phone pressed to your ear, blanket tucked under your chin. The image cuts through him with a sharp kind of ache.

“I wasn’t planning to call,” you say. “Not really. I just... I don’t know. I couldn’t sleep.”

His throat tightens. “Yeah,” he says. “Me neither.”

There’s a pause. It stretches out just long enough that his chest starts to feel hollow again before you speak.

“When I said I needed time,” you begin, “I meant it. I needed to get my head right. I needed space to think without everything feeling so heavy.”

Jungkook nods even though you can’t see him. He presses a hand to his forehead, thumb brushing the curve of his brow. He doesn’t say anything yet. He doesn’t want to interrupt.

“I needed to figure out what I was even angry about. Or what I was still holding onto,” you continue. “And maybe... maybe I wanted you to grovel a little.”

That pulls a breathy laugh from him before he can stop it. It escapes rough and surprised, but warm, like something inside him shakes loose.

“You wanted me to grovel?” he echoes, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I see how it is.”

“Well,” you say, and there’s a hint of something familiar in your voice now — that teasing edge he’s missed so much. “I figured if I was miserable, you should be at least a little miserable too.”

“Oh, I’ve been more than a little miserable,” he mutters, tilting his head back again, letting it rest against the cushion. “Trust me.”

You’re quiet again, like you're rethinking your words.

“I kept thinking about the last thing you said to me,” you murmur. “At the resort. About the kiss.”

His body tenses, guilt twisting in his gut.

“And I hated how much that hurt,” you say. “Because you saying it didn’t mean anything made me feel stupid. Like I was the only one still holding onto something. Like I’d made everything up in my head.”

“____…” His voice cracks again, thick with regret. “I didn’t mean that. I was being stupid. I was angry and confused and— I was hurt too. I thought you didn’t want anything to do with me anymore.”

“Well,” you say, “you were wrong.”

God, he doesn't know whether he wants to cry or to laugh. A part of him wants to drive through the night until he’s standing outside your door, but he stays still, grounded only by the quiet rhythm of your breathing in his ear.

“I miss you, Kook." The nickname he hasn't heard in so long, falls from your lips as a shaky whisper.

He closes his eyes. His fingers twitch around the phone, like he might shatter it if he grips any harder. For weeks, he’s imagined you saying his name again, and finally hearing it from you has his heart swelling.

“I miss everything,” you go on, voice smaller now. “I miss talking to you about dumb things. I miss your stupid socks on the floor. I miss the way you made coffee even though you always forgot to stir the sugar in.”

He lets out a small huff of air — a laugh that’s too close to a sob.

“I miss you too,” he says, swallowing hard. “So much.”

You let out a soft exhale from the other end.

“Okay,” you murmur, and it’s barely a whisper. “Then, if we're gonna give this one more chance, I want there to be rules. But right now I— I just want to see you. Please."

His heart stutters for a few beats.

“Now?” he echoes, like he doesn’t believe it.

You hesitate before saying softly, “Yeah. I want to see you.”

Jungkook doesn’t need to be told twice.

He’s already getting up, the couch creaking beneath him as he moves fast, grabbing his keys off the hook, pulling on the jacket that he'd draped over a chair after work. The phone stays clutched to his ear the entire time.

“I’m on my way,” he says, breathless.

He can hear your smile through the phone.

“Okay.”

You don’t move right away.

The lock clicks open beneath your hand with a sound that feels too loud in the quiet, and for a second you just stand there, fingers still curled around the knob, heart threatening to rattle right out of your chest. You tell yourself to breathe. Tell yourself you’re okay. That this is what you asked for. That you want this.

But the second the door eases open and you see him standing there, the air around you stills.

Jungkook is backlit by the hallway light, hair messy from the hood he’s now pushed back, black strands curling slightly from the mist in the air. He’s wearing a grey hoodie — one of those oversized ones you always stole when you were cold — and matching grey sweats, hand tucked into the pocket.

His eyes meet yours, wide and soft in that way that always made your chest ache, and for a long moment, neither of you speak.

You just look at him.

He’s thinner than he was five weeks ago. Not drastically, not in any way someone else might notice, but you see it instantly. You see it in the sharpness of his jaw, in the slight purple shadows under his eyes, in the way his mouth trembles just barely when he sees your face.

There’s a split second — just one — where you consider running. Because standing this close to him again feels like pressing on a bruise that never really healed.

But then he exhales, chest rising slow beneath his hoodie, and you know you won't run. You can't run — not from him.

Your mouth opens and closes briefly. You're not sure how to break the silence.

After you'd cut the call with a giddy smile on your face, you'd planned exactly what to say to him. But now that he's actually standing in front of you, all the words die on your tongue.

"You actually came," you eventually say. It's a stupid thing to say — you'd literally heard him as he grabbed his keys and stepped out of the house — but it's the only thing your lips can muster in the moment.

His mouth twitches, but it’s not quite a smile.

“Of course I did," he says. His voice is low and the words are laced with tiredness. “You called."

It takes everything in you not to break right there.

Your fingers curl against the doorframe. You step forward before you can talk yourself out of it — only a single step, but it’s all it takes. His hand lifts halfway from his pocket like he might reach for you, then stops.

So you reach first.

You press your palm gently against the fabric of his hoodie, right over his chest, feeling the thrum of his heart beneath your fingertips. He blinks down at you, lashes damp, breath caught.

Your hand is small against him, just a flat palm over soft cotton, but the way his chest stutters beneath your touch feels seismic.

Jungkook doesn’t speak.

He just looks at you, eyes flicking down to where your fingers rest over his heart, then back up again. The hallway light pools behind him like a spotlight, and for a second, all you can think is he’s here. He’s really here.

You don’t realise your hand has curled, fingers bunching in the fabric of his hoodie, until you feel the faint tremble in your knuckles. You’re not crying, but your eyes are hot, and there's a familiar burn growing in the back of your throat. When he finally lifts his hand and rests it gently on top of yours, the ache inside you swells.

Not because the gesture is romantic or anything, but because it's careful.

So careful, like he’s afraid too much pressure will send you backing away.

“I missed you,” he says, and his tone is quiet. Cautious, even. Like he’s testing the words on his tongue before committing to them fully.

You don’t respond at first. You just stand there, soaking in the weight of those words, letting them settle into the space between your ribs. There’s so much you want to say — I missed you too, I hated being apart, I thought about you every single day — but you’re not ready to spill that yet. You’re still trying to remember how to breathe when he looks at you like that. Like you're not just someone he loves. Like you're the only thing he’s sure of.

“I should probably let you in,” you murmur, voice tight.

Jungkook huffs something that's half a laugh and nods, stepping through the threshold with a quiet, “Thanks.”

His shoulder brushes yours as he passes, and though the touch is light, it leaves your skin burning. You shut the door behind him with a gentle click, and then it’s just the two of you. No anger or confusion in the air, no years of history clawing at the back of your throat.

Just you and him.

He looks around your apartment like he hasn’t seen it before. His eyes linger on the jacket you tossed over a chair, the slippers by the edge of your couch, the framed photo of the entire friend group that sits on your kitchen counter, frozen in time under a summer sunset.

“So,” he says, turning to face you again. “You said something about ground rules?”

You nod, arms crossing lightly over your chest. It's a defence mechanism more than anything, because if you don’t hold yourself together physically, you're afraid you might splinter into pieces just standing there.

“Yeah,” you say, shifting your weight from one foot to the other. “Rules.”

He waits for you to continue and you take a breath.

“First of all — no more shutting me out. No more deciding what’s best for me without even talking to me about it.” You say it slowly, with intention, because you need him to hear you. “I’m not a puzzle to solve, Jungkook. I’m your partner. If we’re doing this again, we’re in it together. You don’t get to play martyr and walk away because you think you’re doing me a favour.”

He nods, shame flickering across his face like a shadow. “You’re right. I was an idiot.”

You don’t disagree.

“Second,” you say, stepping a tiny bit closer, “I need honesty. Even when it’s uncomfortable. Especially when it’s uncomfortable. I know communication is hard sometimes— God knows it is for me— but I can’t go through that again. I need to know what you’re thinking. What you’re feeling. I don’t want to guess.”

Jungkook's voice is soft, a little hoarse. “Okay.”

You take another step. You’re close now — close enough that the scent of him hits you all at once. He still wears the same cologne, and it still makes your heart thump just a little faster.

“And third…” You hesitate, but only for a second. “You don’t get to kiss me unless you mean it. Not just because someone’s watching. Not just because it’s convenient. I need to know that when you touch me, it’s because you want to, and not just because you think you should.”

Jungkook’s mouth parts slightly. His brows knit. “I always mean it when I touch you.”

You believe him, but you needed to say it.

"So," you ask, almost shyly, “Do you still want this? Even with the rules?”

Jungkook steps forward so there’s barely any space left between you. His voice is low, but steady.

“I’ll follow every single one of them. And if you come up with more, I’ll follow those too.”

Your breath catches.

“I want you,” he continues, “however you’ll have me. And I’m sorry it took me so long to say it the right way. I’m sorry I didn’t trust you to make your own decisions. I— I'm sorry I left.”

Your eyes sting again. This time, you don’t fight it as hard.

“I’m sorry too,” you whisper. “For letting you think I didn’t love you anymore. I should’ve said something sooner.”

“You didn’t have to,” he says. “I never stopped loving you. I don’t think I ever could.”

You press your forehead against his and let your eyes flutter shut as the warmth of his skin brushes yours.

Your fingers lift slowly, reaching up to touch his jaw. His skin is soft under your palm. So so soft.

He turns into your touch like he’s starved for it, like he's needed it for far too long and didn’t know how much until right now. You let your thumb brush across his cheekbone, and a moment of stillness passes before his lips are on yours.

The kiss starts tentative, almost unsure, like you’re both trying to remember the rhythm of something that once came so easily. But then he exhales through his nose and his hand comes up to the side of your neck, and it feels like the past few weeks haven't happened at all.

Because it doesn't feel like the days you spent not speaking your mind or saying things you don't mean in the heat of the moment.

It’s years of shared beds and grocery lists. It’s every late-night laugh, every sleepy touch, every quiet I love you that still lives in the walls of this very apartment. It’s the night he held you as you cried, the morning you curled around him when he fucked up an exam, the beach sunset where you first realised you couldn’t picture a future that didn’t have him in it.

When you pull back, you don’t open your eyes. You stay there, breathing him in. Letting the closeness settle and wrap around you like it always used to.

You feel his hands move down to skim your waist, both arms wrapping around you loosely.

When you speak again, your voice is quiet. “Do you want to stay?”

It’s not a question about tonight. Not really. But he answers both.

“Yeah,” he says, like it’s the easiest answer in the world. “If you’ll let me.”

You nod and pull away, taking his hand into yours.

He follows you through the darkened hallway, your fingers laced between his. Neither of you speak, but there's a soft smile playing on both of your lips.

The bedroom light is off, but the city spills in through the half-cracked blinds, painting silver across your sheets.

You turn to face him again, and he lifts your hand to his mouth and presses a kiss to your knuckles. Then your wrist. Then the inside of it, just where your pulse beats under the skin. His lips linger there, and you swear he breathes in like he’s trying to memorise the rhythm.

You reach for the hem of his shirt.

Not urgently or desperately. You just need to feel him. All of him.

He lets you. Raises his arms and watches as you pull it over his head, the fabric falling to the floor between you.

He’s leaner than he used to be. Slightly more toned in some places, a little sharper in others. You trace the lines of him with your eyes first, then your hands. He’s always been beautiful to you, but there’s something else now. Something more vulnerable.

He lets you take your time as you relearn him.

You rest your palms against his bare chest. His skin is warm beneath your touch, and you can feel the way his heart stutters.

You kiss him again.

The way your lips move against each other is still unhurried, but laced with something heavier — a thread of longing that’s no longer restrained. You feel it in the way his hands slide over your back, and in the way he tilts his head to deepen the kiss.

He pulls you closer, aligning your bodies together.

You gasp softly when his mouth finds the curve of your neck, and suddenly it’s so clear: how much you missed this. How much you missed him.

Not just the comfort of him, but the way he touched you like he knew your body better than anyone. The way he always slowed down when you needed it. The way he never tried to take — only ever tried to give.

Jungkook pulls back to look at you.

“I love you,” he says, like it’s the most important thing he’s ever said. “And I know we’re not fixed. I know we still have a lot to figure out. But if you’ll let me — I want to try. I really want to try.”

Your throat tightens, and your voice cracks when you answer, “Me too.”

You tug him gently by the waistband of his sweats, guiding him with you as you move backward, step by step, until the edge of the bed brushes the backs of your knees.

Your back meets the mattress with a gentle thud, the cotton sheets cool beneath your skin. Jungkook follows you down, his weight suspended by one forearm beside your head, his other hand still cupping your jaw.

The city light slices across his face, casting lines of moving silver across his skin.

You reach up and brush a strand of hair away from his forehead, then let your fingers trail down, just barely tracing the curve of his cheek, the edge of his mouth, the hollow of his throat. He lets you.

He always let you.

His lips move slowly against yours gently, and you realise with a strange ache that you’ve never felt rushed with him.

Even at the beginning, when everything was new, he always made space for you.

Your fingers find the slope of his shoulders, then slip lower — down the hard lines of his back, where his muscles shift under your touch. You press your palm against the nape of his neck, anchoring him to you.

“I missed you,” he murmurs, lips pressing wet kisses along your jaw. "So much."

Something deep inside you stirs — the kind of warmth that swells and swells until it makes your whole body feel full.

“Can I take this off?” he asks, fingers ghosting along the hem of your shirt. He doesn’t tug on the fabric until you nod, and when you do, he helps you sit up a bit before slipping the top over your head in one smooth motion.

His eyes dance across the expanse of your bare skin, which prickles under his gaze. He leans in to kiss your shoulder, then lower, just above your collarbone. Then just below.

Each press of his lips is slow and warm.

When his hand finally spans across your ribcage, fingers spreading wide, his touch is feather-light — almost too light — like he’s scared to bruise something delicate. But you’re not fragile. Not with him.

You slide your hands down his sides, thumbs brushing the waistband of his sweats.

He kisses the centre of your chest — open-mouthed, breath fanning warm across your skin — and for the first time in weeks, maybe months, you feel wholly wanted. Not in a performative way. Not like you’re being consumed.

But cherished.

Worshipped, almost.

Jungkook shifts to press kisses to your jaw, then your cheek, and finally your mouth again. His tongue slides gently against yours, and you sigh into it, tilting your head for more. His hand finds your hip, and you arch into him without thinking.

You can feel him now — hard, yet tentative, still holding himself back.

But you don’t want him to hold back.

You whisper his name against his mouth, barely audible.

He breathes, “Yeah?”

Your hands slip beneath the waistband of his sweats — just a little — just enough to make your meaning clear. He tenses for half a second, like he’s making sure this is still okay.

You look him in the eyes.

He exhales shakily, the sound catching at the back of his throat. Then he kisses you again — slower this time, like he’s savouring the feel of your mouth beneath his, letting it pull him under.

His hand slides up your waist, over your ribs, and he pauses just beneath your chest. You feel the way his fingers tremble, and it makes something in your throat go tight.

"Please, Koo," you breathe out.

He leans in, mouth pressing to the top of your breast before his lips trail across the curve of it. Each kiss feels deliberate, his breath warm, his voice even warmer when he murmurs against your skin, “So pretty.”

You shiver.

He doesn’t stop.

“So, so pretty,” he whispers again, like the words are meant for him more than you.

Your hands bury in his hair as his lips drag lower, brushing over the centre of your chest before he lifts himself just enough to look at you — really look at you.

His eyes search your face like he’s trying to commit every detail to memory. Like he knows this doesn’t erase the pain or the time you lost, but it means something.

“I love you,” he says again. The three words sound like a prayer falling from his lips — something he'd whisper against your skin because it's the only truth that matters right now.

You whisper it back without hesitation. “I love you too.”

He dips his head and kisses just beneath your breast, lips brushing across the tender skin there, the press so soft it borders on worship. His hand holds your waist steady, thumb stroking over your side with the kind of care that makes you melt a little deeper into the sheets.

Your body arches instinctively, chasing more of him.

He groans softly at the movement — like the feel of you against him might actually undo him.

“You don’t know how much I missed this,” he murmurs, voice hoarse. “You have no idea.”

“I do,” you breathe. “I missed it too. Missed you.”

He leans in to kiss you again, and it's messier this time. You moan into him, and his hand slips down to your thigh, then back up again.

You guide him as your legs part slightly, wrapping loosely around his hips. He doesn’t push forward, doesn’t grind down. Just settles into the space you give him, chest pressing against yours, nose brushing your cheek, lips brushing whatever skin they can find.

His voice is nothing but breath as he speaks. “You’re perfect.”

You shake your head, the faint shade of embarrassment from how tender he's being painting your cheeks. But he lifts himself slightly, meets your gaze.

“I mean it.”

His hands skim down your thighs now, calloused fingertips dragging slowly along your skin. He presses a wet, open-mouther kiss to your stomach and whispers again, “Perfect.”

His mouth trails down and lingers just above your navel, lips parting slightly against your skin. You feel the way his breath stutters as he exhales there, chest brushing your inner thigh, and your hands instinctively tangle deeper in his hair.

Jungkook shifts lower, tracing a line of kisses along your hipbone, then across to the other side. Every movement is slow, and you'd be complaining if it didn't feel so good. It's as if he wants to stretch this out as long as he possibly can.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmurs, just loud enough for you to hear. “I hope you know that.”

And god, you're not sure how to feel when he says it like he truly believes it. Like he's not trying to convince of anything, only reminding you of something you forgot, and the feeling that embraces you is so overwhelming that you can feel that burn in the back of your throat again.

The first press of his mouth against you steals the air from your lungs. He groans quietly against you, like he’s been starved and finally, finally gets to taste something he missed more than he let himself admit. His hands stay steady on your thighs, fingers splayed, thumbs brushing small circles into your skin.

You suck in a breath, eyes fluttering shut as your hips tilt toward him, and he follows to adjust without hesitation, because he remembers exactly how to move with you. How to listen, not just to your words but to you as a whole. The way your body tightens under his mouth. The way you sigh when he slows down, and shiver when he picks it back up again.

You thread your fingers tighter through his hair, breathing his name when his tongue flicks just right, and he hums against you, sending low vibrations of pleasure coursing through you.

"Just like that," he murmurs, barely audible between kisses. “You’re doing so good for me.”

The tension builds, curling in your lower stomach, spreading heat through your limbs. Your breaths come faster and more shallow, hips twitching toward him without meaning to. Jungkook places his hands firmly on your thighs, anchoring you in place, giving you something to push against.

Your orgasm hits you as a sharp inhale and a soft, broken moan slipping past your lips. Your back arches off the mattress, thighs trembling, and your hand laces with Jungkook's tightly. It rolls through you in waves, stealing your breath and scattering your thoughts.

Jungkook lets you ride out your high against his mouth, only moving away when you let out a soft whine.

As the feeling starts to ease, you sink back into the bed. Your chest rises and falls in uneven pulls of air, and your fingers stay wrapped in his.

Through the haze, you blink down at him, a soft smile curling at the corners of your lips.

Jungkook looks up at you through his lashes, and the sight alone makes your breath hitch.

He presses one last kiss to the inside of your thigh before shifting up, his hands gliding over your waist as he makes his way back to you. The sheets rustle quietly beneath his weight, and when he leans in, you meet him halfway.

The kiss is messy, a little dizzying, and you taste yourself on his tongue. It makes your cheeks flush, but you don’t pull away. You only press closer, sighing into his mouth, your fingers sliding up the back of his neck to keep him there a moment longer.

When you finally break apart, your nose brushes his, and you can still feel his breath against your lips.

“I need you, Kook,” you whisper.

He lets out a low sound at the tone of your voice.

You let your fingers drift down his skin until they reach the waistband of his sweats. You tug gently, and he shifts up to help you, pushing them down, then off completely.

You rise slightly, tugging him back toward you, your mouths meeting again in a kiss that’s so so soft. Your legs part again, wrapping around his waist with ease, and this time, you feel him settle fully between them.

His hands cradle your hips, thumbs stroking over the sensitive dip there. Your hands cup his face as your mouths press together over and over, and every kiss is more desperate than the last. You can feel just how much he wants you in the way he kisses you. Like he’s making up for all the ways he held back before.

When he finally rocks his hips forward, just enough to feel the drag of you against him, your breath catches in your throat.

You arch into him, chasing more of that friction, and your body trembles with the anticipation of it.

“Are you sure?” he breathes, voice already wrecked from the feeling of you against him.

“Yeah, I'm sure,” you say, holding his gaze. “Never been more sure about something.”

He exhales, a small smile playing on his lips before leaning in to kiss you again, and there's so much love behind it that you could drown.

His kiss swallows your answer like he’s tucking it away somewhere inside himself. His hands press more firmly to your body now, mapping the curve of your waist and the dip of your spine.

He leans his forehead against yours, nose brushing gently along your cheek. “I dreamed about this,” he admits. “Almost every night. Not just the way you feel, but this. Being close. Being yours again.”

Your heart clenches, pulled taut with the weight of his honesty. You tilt your head just enough to kiss his jaw, then again at the corner of his mouth.

“You've always been mine,” you whisper, with a small breath of laughter. And it feels good to say the words out loud and finally allow them to rest in the air between you.

The last thread of hesitation slips loose as he finally pushes in, giving you every second to feel him stretch into you and open around him. Your lips part in a quiet gasp, and his brow furrows instantly, like the sound physically affects him.

“Fuck,” he says. “You’re—”

He cuts himself off with a groan, kissing you again, almost like he needs to because it’s the only way to hold himself together as he bottoms out.

Your fingers clutch at his back, nails dragging faint lines across his skin as you adjust to the fullness of him, and the sound he makes in response — a broken, breathless moan pressed into the skin of your shoulder — has you clenching around him.

He doesn’t move at first. He just stays there, buried in you, letting the moment settle.

You cradle his face again, lips brushing his temple.

“Please,” you whimper, and it's all it takes for him to give in.

Every thrust is slow but deep. His hips roll with aching precision, drawing soft sounds from your throat with each dragging press, and he swallows every one of them like he’s starving for them.

“Perfect,” he murmurs, barely audible. “You’re perfect, you always— fuck— always were.”

Your hand finds the back of his neck again, pulling him closer, and he drops his forehead to yours, your bodies rocking together.

There's barely any moments where his lips aren't on your skin. He kisses your cheek, your jaw, your neck, everywhere.

“Look at me,” he says, voice breaking.

You do, and you watch as he falls apart a little right there under your gaze.

He looks at you like he's witnessing the very thing that hold the stars in place, that if he stares long enough, he might finally understand how the universe works. There’s something raw in his gaze — a mix of awe, relief, and maybe a little disbelief — like he can’t quite believe you’re here, touching him and choosing him all over again.

His movements falter, just slightly — a soft tremble in his thighs, a caught breath in his chest — and his hand finds yours on the sheets, fingers interlacing without hesitation. He squeezes once, and you squeeze back.

He leans down and kisses you, and it's the type that lingers and settles into your bones. You tilt your chin to meet it, breath catching as he rolls his hips again, a little deeper this time.

You whimper into his mouth.

“You’re so good,” he breathes. “You feel so good, angel.”

Goosebumps arise across your skin at the nickname.

His free hand roams across you, fingertips ghosting along your skin like he’s sketching the outline of everything he lost. It rises to cup your jaw, thumb stroking the corner of your mouth.

Your lips part again, a quiet moan catching between his fingers.

“That’s it… that’s my girl.”

Fuck, how you've missed this. Missed him like this. Not just the way he touches you, but the way he loves you out loud, with everything he has and with every inch of himself.

His pace deepens again, rhythm rocking you into the mattress with each pass of his hips. Your body starts to tighten around him, tension winding low in your stomach — a slow, blooming pleasure that spreads with every stroke and every broken whisper of your name.

His nose brushes yours. “You close?”

You nod, unable to find words.

He slides his hand between you, fingers finding the spot that’s always made you fall apart the fastest. He moves his fingers against your core, and your legs shake around his waist, hips rolling up into his.

“Let go,” he whispers. “I’ve got you. I’m right here. Just let go for me.”

You do.

The wave breaks over you, your body trembling under his as your release pulls a cry from your throat. His name is the only thing that falls from your lips as pleasure courses through you.

He follows you just moments later, hips stuttering as he buries himself one last time, spilling into you with a quiet, ragged moan.

Your name leaves his lips over and over again, like a prayer.

Your name, and I love you, like it's the four words he knows how to say.

You feel his weight settle just a little more on top of you, the tension in his arms easing as his body finally lets go.

Eventually, his voice quietens as he comes down from his high, and a comfortable silence fills the room.

You run your fingers slowly through his hair, the damp strands sticking slightly to your palm, and his breath fans warm against your collarbone.

He exhales shakily, the tension in his body starting to soften as he presses one more kiss to your skin. It's nothing more than a brush of lips, but it makes your chest ache all the same.

He shifts slightly, kissing your shoulder again before slipping out of you slowly, like the thought of putting even an inch of space between you stings. You exhale at the loss, but before the air has even left your lungs, he’s pulling you into him, wrapping his arms around your waist and pressing your chest to his like he needs to feel every part of you still there.

His hand finds your cheek, thumb brushing over your skin gently.

Then, a breath hitches in his chest, too sharp to be from exertion. His hand loosens against your cheek, fingers curling into a soft fist near your jaw.

You whisper, “Kook?”

He tries to answer, but it catches in his throat. Instead, he presses his face into the side of your neck, and you can feel it fully now — the way his body begins to tremble, the tears he tries but fails to hide.

“Hey,” you breathe, hands moving up to cradle his face. “It’s okay. You’re okay.”

But he shakes his head against you, arms coming around your waist like he needs to hold you closer to survive it.

“I’m sorry,” he chokes out, voice wrecked and a bit uneven. “Fuck— I’m so sorry.”

“Hey, no. Jungkook—” You kiss the crown of his head. “You don’t have to apologise. I promise you, we’re okay now.”

He lifts his head just enough to meet your eyes, and the sight guts you.

His cheeks are damp. His lashes clumped. His mouth trembling with something he can’t bite down.

“I almost lost you,” he whispers. “I thought I could live with it— that maybe it was what you needed— but I couldn’t. Fuck— I really couldn't.”

You press your forehead to his again, tears pricking your own eyes now, but you blink them back.

“I was right here,” you say softly. “Even when I wasn’t. I was still yours.”

He swallows hard, his thumb brushing a faint streak of dampness from your cheek. “I didn’t know if I’d ever get this again. Not just the sex— this. You. Your voice. Your touch. Your arms around me. I missed you so fucking much it hurt to breathe.”

Your hands find his face, thumbs brushing over the wet lines beneath his eyes.

“I missed you too,” you say. “Every single day.”

His mouth finds yours again, the pressure featherlight.

When he finally pulls back, it’s only far enough to press soft kisses to your cheeks, your forehead, your nose, your jaw, as if he’s trying to soothe you and himself at the same time.

Eventually, you feel his hands trace your sides, lingering at your waist before he lifts them reluctantly, as though a part of him still isn’t ready to let go.

He leans in once more, pressing a kiss to your collarbone, and then another to your shoulder before slipping out of bed with a quiet rustle of sheets. He slips on his sweatpants again and disappears long enough to get a towel and a bottle of water.

He helps you clean up gently, and when you're finally able to just curl into him beneath the sheets, legs tangled, arms wound around his torso, he tucks your head beneath his chin with a content sigh.

“I love you,” he whispers again, voice small in the dark.

You press a kiss to his collarbone. “I love you more.”

He smiles — you can feel it against your forehead — and pulls you impossibly closer.

You fall asleep like that — tangled up in everything you never thought you’d get to feel again.

Morning doesn’t rush you.

The world outside the window begins to stir, but inside these four walls, time moves different. It stretches and breathes. Jungkook shifts beside you with a sleepy sigh, and you feel it again — that quiet swell in your chest.

The day eventually pulls you out of bed. You make coffee in his hoodie. He watches you move around the kitchen like it’s the most captivating thing he’s ever seen. You both laugh when he accidentally adds salt instead of sugar, and neither of you care that the pancakes burn slightly because you’re too busy kissing over the stove.

You spend the day close.

Brushing shoulders when you pass in the hallway. Sharing a blanket on the couch. Washing dishes together with music playing low in the background. At one point, he comes up behind you while you’re towel-drying a mug, wraps his arms around your waist, and presses a kiss to the side of your neck like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

Because it is. It always was.

You don’t talk about the weeks apart because you don’t need to. It’s all still there, woven into the way he looks at you when he thinks you’re not paying attention, or the way you catch yourself touching his wrist just to make sure he’s real.

When night falls again, you fall asleep with the window cracked open, the breeze lifting the curtains, his heartbeat steady under your ear.

And when you wake to find his hand still tangled in yours, you don’t think about what comes next.

You’ll talk more, and keep talking. You’ll argue sometimes, and figure it out anyway. You’ll laugh in grocery store aisles and fall asleep on the couch and maybe cry again, too — but you’ll stay.

Because now, you both know what it means to leave.

And even more than that:

You know what it means to come back.

extended author’s note: I CAN’T BELIEVE THIS IS TECHNICALLY THE END OF THESE TWO :<< they’ve been my babies since april and i’m so attached for no reason hdjdjs

writing the smut for this — as i briefly mentioned before — was such a love hate experience. i literally didn’t know how to go about it, but it ended up being really dramatic (i’ve been reading classics lately and you can tell with the writing LMAO) but i think it ended up okay. it’s not as explicit as what i usually write but i do think it fits these two better. but yeah, pls don’t be mad at me for it not being as detailed as other stuff i’ve written 😖

i am planning on writing a little epilogue (hint: proposal) but it’ll be a while before it’s out cuz i’ve bitten off a lot more than i can chew so i just need to focus on other projects for a bit. also (i’m gonna make a proper post explaining all this) but i’m gonna try and have a good few works pre-written so that when i start classes again in september and get extremely busy, you guys still have something to read. life does get hectic though so i have no idea how things are gonna go, but we stay optimistic :)

a little special thanks to my angel, j @tranquilreign, because i swear to you, half of this series wouldn’t have existed without her. she’s helped me so so much with scenes and ideas for the plots and has listened to me yap endlessly about this. i also wanna thank isa @page-isa, who has even had to suffer with me talking about this couple irl while we hang out 😟. she also beta read this chapter while i spiralled about it :)) i genuinely don’t know what i’d do without you both and i love you soo much <3

and of course, i want to thank each and every one of you reading this right now. words cannot describe how much i love you guys, like my heart is genuinely going to burst. this series has received so much more love than i expected, and i’m so so sooo grateful for each ask i receive and every comment and pieces of feedback you guys leave. it all means the entire world to me, and i hope that i can continue to write things you guys enjoy. i fucking adore you so much, please never forget that. MWAHHH <333

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[cdllevantae]

i want to have author friends too 🥺🥺

[cdllevantae]

전정국 | Back to Friends

you and jungkook were each other’s “almost.” the kind of connection that never had a proper beginning but felt too real to be just a phase. those late-night calls, sharing playlists, lingering eye contact, soft touches that never crossed the line—you were everything but official.

but when feelings started to complicate everything, you both silently drifted apart.

Now, two years later, fate pulls you back together. You’re both in the same university again—him majoring in Music Production, and you in Digital Arts. A mutual friend ropes you into a collaborative multimedia project. You didn’t expect him to be part of it. He didn’t expect you to still wear the same perfume.

It’s awkward at first. The small talk. The jokes. The unspoken weight in the room.

He plays a song one night in the studio, unfinished but familiar.

“We should’ve just gone back to friends….” he sings.

You freeze. It’s your story. Your story with him.

And slowly, it all comes back.

pairing: singer!jungkook x (fem) digital artist!oc

genre: ANGST!!, almost lovers to emotional exes au (situationship au), slowburn romance, slice of life

rating: 18+

warnings: ANGST!! (for real), hurt/comfort, unresolved feelings, timing and miscommunication, unspoken love, bittersweet ending (oopsies) >_<

A/N: Hi! This is my first time posting an AU, and it is so nerve wracking to actually have the courage to post this but i’m glad i did AAAAAA. but anyways, back to friends is for anyone who’s ever had an “almost” love—something real, but never official. It’s soft angst, slow-burn, and bittersweet. Just comment down below if you want me to continue this story and if you wanna be added to the taglist!!! 🤍🥺

inspired from the song ‘back to friends’ by sombr 🫶🏻 i’ve been listening to it for hundred times now 😔🤞🏻

[cdllevantae]

전정국 | Back to Friends

you and jungkook were each other’s “almost.” the kind of connection that never had a proper beginning but felt too real to be just a phase. those late-night calls, sharing playlists, lingering eye contact, soft touches that never crossed the line—you were everything but official.

but when feelings started to complicate everything, you both silently drifted apart.

Now, two years later, fate pulls you back together. You’re both in the same university again—him majoring in Music Production, and you in Digital Arts. A mutual friend ropes you into a collaborative multimedia project. You didn’t expect him to be part of it. He didn’t expect you to still wear the same perfume.

It’s awkward at first. The small talk. The jokes. The unspoken weight in the room.

He plays a song one night in the studio, unfinished but familiar.

“How can you look at me and pretend, I’m someone you’ve never met” he sings.

You freeze. It’s your story. Your story with him.

And slowly, it all comes back.

pairing: singer!jungkook x (fem) digital artist!oc

genre: ANGST!!, almost lovers to emotional exes au (situationship au), slowburn romance, slice of life

rating: 18+

warnings: ANGST!! (for real), hurt/comfort, unresolved feelings, timing and miscommunication, unspoken love, bittersweet ending (oopsies) >_<

A/N: Hi! This is my first time posting an AU, and it is so nerve wracking to actually have the courage to post this but i’m glad i did AAAAAA. but anyways, back to friends is for anyone who’s ever had an “almost” love—something real, but never official. It’s soft angst, slow-burn, and bittersweet. Just comment down below if you want me to continue this story and if you wanna be added to the taglist!!! 🤍🥺

inspired from the song ‘back to friends’ by sombr 🫶🏻 i’ve been listening to it for hundred times now 😔🤞🏻