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dreamersparacosm · 3 days ago
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jeon jungkook - the boy is mine
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warnings ; this is porn. that’s all there is to it. reader is PINING, reader’s bff is a cunt, alcohol consumption, unprotected sex, fingering, oral (f recieving), dirty talk, spit play kinda, jk worshipping you, someone walks in on yall..
prompt ; in which your best friend needs to be taught a lesson on who your crush belongs to.
a/n ; i mean, this is absolute whore behavior on my end and i have no words. beware this is long AS A MOTHERFUCKER. and so much plot. enjoy. also this is college!jk and reader so WOO (also loosely based on the boy is mine - arianaaaa)
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Some people were just meant to be in the background.
Or, at least that’s what you’ve been telling yourself for quite some time now.
You were the kind of person who blended into the background, voice barely rising above a whisper when spoken to, presence often slipping unnoticed into corners of rooms. Some days were spent in Yonsei University’s prestigious library, buried in books, worlds that didn’t require attention, where the characters spoke louder than you dare would. It wasn’t that you minded, though—you were content to remain in the quiet… well, as long as your best friend, Seo-yeon, shone like a star in the midst of it all.
Nevertheless, there were times when her shine cast a shadow, and that light felt a little too harsh. You didn’t mind when Seo-yeon needed a shoulder to lean on, but lately it seemed like all she did was lean—never giving anything in return. And you tried to brush it off, scolding your brain it’s just the pressure of her rich father but deep down, you could not shake the feeling that Seo-yeon’s warmth was only reserved for someone else.
And that someone was your best friend since you were 10, Jeon Jungkook.
You get it. Who wouldn’t? Hottest guy at school, richest parents, biggest heart… and from the rumor mill, his heart wasn’t the only thing that’s big.
It’s always just been you and him. Jungkook and [Y/N], [Y/N] and Jungkook. Best friends since grade school, partners in crime on the playground. Really, they were setting you up for failure by having your best friend be someone who had a revolving door of women in his life. Even back in your young age, he somehow garnered more attention than an average adult. It was just who he was. You accepted that.
But then, somewhere along the timeline of convoluted wreckage your life, you two grew up. Grew closer, somehow. The lines of your life intertwined, never straying too far apart.
So, it was really no surprise to you when you woke up one day and realized you were madly, deeply, irrevocably, disgustingly, head over heels in love with him.
You had convinced yourself, over and over, that Jungkook knew. How could he not?
It was like this: you had seen a kiss in a television show when you were 11. Pondered what it felt like to do such a thing. It had been a fleeting moment, so innocent—just a brush of lips under the old oak tree in the park when you were 12, surrounded by the laughter of friends and the warmth of summer. But in that brief, stolen instant, something shifted inside you, a chemical reaction. The memory of that first kiss, so pure and untainted, lingered in the air, like a secret only you two shared.
You caught the glint in his eyes afterward, the way he looked at you as if seeing you for the first time, and ever since… well, ever since then, you’ve been his.
When Seo-yeon casually mentioned over drinks one night that Jungkook was sooooo cute and she was thinking of going for it, well, you should’ve been shocked, but how could you be?
She knew exactly what she wanted, and she wasn’t afraid to take it, even if it meant stepping on the quiet spaces you had carved out for yourself. It stung, of course, the idea that she could waltz in and claim something you had quietly held onto for years. But deep down, you knew the truth. You knew you would never go for it, not really—not with the unspoken barrier between you two, that kiss from ages ago still lingering in the air, in your blood.
And yet, Seo-yeon’s confidence in taking what she wanted, without hesitation or doubt, only reminded you of how much you were willing to give up, just to keep the peace. That’s who she was. And you? Well, you were the one who always let her take.
And all this to say, this is why you were standing with your spine pressed into the cold wall, eyes burning holes into Seo-yeon’s back, fingers digging into your red solo cup, heart thumping, as you watched her flirt with Jungkook.
It was supposed to be a fun night. Key word: supposed. Jungkook’s best friend, Jimin, had invited everyone to his house for a ‘get-together.’ You should’ve known when you got the invite it would be a party, another chance for you to be a wallflower.
And there you were, assuming your post, drinking whatever concoction Jimin’s roommate had created.
It was a tragedy.
The music swirled around you, yet you were caught in the gravity of Seo-yeon and Jungkook’s orbit. Every glance, every word that passed between them felt like a blade to your chest. Her laughter rang out, effortless and bright, and you watched as she leaned in closer to Jungkook, her fingers grazing his arm in a way that made the air between them shimmer with something unspoken. It was too much—too intimate, too easy.
You could feel the tension coiling inside you, a painful knot you didn’t know how to undo.
And before you do anything rash (or well, not that you will, but the thought of it) you hear a familiar voice that calms you down in the slightest.
“Boo.”
You instantly know it’s Taehyung, Jungkook’s other close friend who you’ve somehow managed to also become buddy-buddy with. You kinda had to, just to prove to Jungkook you can make other friends beside Seo-yeon. Tsk.
You lightly smile at him, but you refuse to take your eyes off Jungkook and Seo-yeon, as if you turn away for a second, they may leave you in the dust.
“You know… You’ve been staring at them like you’re waiting for them to start a new Netflix series or something.” He whispers near your ear, as if it’s some massive secret that no one could possibly guess.
You blinked, startled, “I’m not staring,” you mumbled, but Taehyung only raised an eyebrow.
“Sure you’re not. You're practically giving them a live commentary in your head, huh?
You scoff. “I don’t care if they talk. Honestly, I want them to get together. I mean, why not? It’s what she wants.”
His elbow lightly digs into your side, making you slap him away with ease, “Oh, really? Is that what you want? You’re not fooling anyone. You’re practically trying to will them together while simultaneously wanting to rip your hair out.”
“Why would you think I don’t want them to get together?” You roll your eyes.
You know exactly why. And.. may also have to do with the fact that besides your diary, Seo-yeon and yourself, Taehyung also knows about your little infatuation (which, and you remind yourself, only happened because you got quite drunk with him at the bar and admitted it two months ago.)
You don’t see it, but he rolls his eyes his again. “You are the worst liar I know.”
“I’m not lying,” you insisted.
He raises his arms up in defeat, “Fine, if lying is the route we’re taking, at least just tell Seo-Yeon to go home. Seriously, who even invited her?"
You finally remove your eyes off Jungkook and Seo-yeon to face Taehyung, who definitely looks drunker than you thought he sounded. “I’m not doing that. And plus, she’s my best friend.”
He snorts, “Really? The same best friend who’s currently talking to the boy she knows you’re in love with?”
Taehyung continues, probably, and you can only assume, because he got you to tear your eyes away from them and their incessant giggles. Really, what is so damn funny? “You’re practically turning into an accessory to the decor. Please go take him away from her. He already adores you.”
Jungkook did adore you—there was no doubt about that. When you both got accepted into the same university, he immediately integrated you into every friend group, every hangout.
But that was part of the problem, wasn’t it?
The temptation to rip Seo-yeon away, to somehow be the one he turned to, was enough as it is—but the fear of being seen, of finally stepping off the wall and making yourself known, kept you frozen.
Taehyung threw his hands up in mock defeat, still grinning. "Alright, alright, I give up. Do whatever you want, missy. But don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
You looked up at him, frowning, swirling your drink that’s been boiled down to just ice. “Warn me about what?”
“Don’t let this be one of those things you look back on and regret, thinking you should've acted before it was too late.”
You knew Taehyung was right, though admitting it felt like admitting defeat. You thought back to those moments with Jungkook—the way his high fives always lasted a beat longer than they should, or how his fingers would brush against your shoulder in the most casual way, as if it wasn’t just a touch, but something that had meaning beneath it. There were those quiet moments, too, when his gaze would linger, his eyes soft and unreadable, as though he was on the edge of something he couldn't quite grasp.
Deep down, there was that small, quiet part of you that wondered if he ever felt the same—if he ever wondered, like you did, whether you two could be more than just friends.
"Wow, when did you get so deep? You sound like one of those motivational speakers who talks about following your dreams and embracing the moment,” It’s your turn to roll your eyes, playfully pushing his shoulder.
He shot you a knowing look. "Hey, I’m just trying to save you from becoming the wise old lady at the bar telling stories about how you ‘almost’ told Jungkook you liked him when you were young and full of hope."
“Well, thank you for the life lesson.” You looked down at your cup, a heinous purple color now that the ice has completely melted. “I’ll stick to my alcohol for now.”
And he saunters off, weaseling his way through the hoard of people to bully his next victim, you suppose. You were a little tipsy, you won’t lie. With a sigh, you turned your head back to Seo-yeon and Jungkook.
…Where the fuck are they?
Now, it’s time to panic.
You pushed through a few random guys and girls, silently saying excuse me basically to no one but yourself. Vision gets hazy, but you can’t tell if it’s tears or the punch.
Heart flutters, skips a beat. There he is, pouring himself a cup at the drink table that’s been set up in the dining room. No Seo-yeon in sight. You assume you have 5 seconds before she comes back from wherever she is to trap him once more.
You waltzed up to the drink table, trying to act casual, but your heart skipped when you saw Jungkook standing there, grinning like he knew exactly what was going on in your head. He waved you over with that signature carefree smile, his bunny teeth poking out. “Well, well, look who finally decided to show up. Were you hiding from me or just avoiding everyone?”
You blinked, hands suddenly unsure of where to go as you fiddled with your cup. “I wasn’t hiding! Just… you know, blending in with the background. Like I do.”
Jungkook raised an eyebrow, his smirk turning into something a little more teasing. “Blending in? You? You’re like, the least subtle person here. You stand out more than the punch bowl.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” You joked as you lean over him to pour yourself another cup of punch.
He laughed, leaning closer like he was about to share a secret. “Okay, but seriously, where have you been? Where’s your head at? I know, I know I said get-together… but it’s definitely a party.”
“Tsk, tsk. You little player,” You sipped your drink, looking up into his doe eyes. God, he’s just so…
Your curiosity got the better of you. “So, uh... what’s the deal with Seo-yeon? You two talking about something important, or is she just... I don’t know, using you for your impeccable taste in drinks?” The jealousy tugging at your chest made it harder than you expected to sound casual.
A small chuckle escaped him. “Seo-yeon? Nah, she’s just, uh, talking my ear off about some random stuff. Nothing exciting.” He shrugged like it was nothing, his tone so nonchalant it almost made you second-guess why it bothered you. “Honestly, I don’t even know half of what she’s saying. I’m just nodding and pretending to be interested.”
You blinked, surprised that anyone could be bored at anything she had to say. “Wait, really? You’re just... pretending?”
“Yep,” Jungkook grinned, his eyes glinting with amusement. “It’s a skill I’ve perfected over the years. Maybe you should teach me how to do it with more people, though. I’m still not great at pretending to listen to people who don’t bring snacks.”
You laughed, a bit of the tension in your chest easing. “I’ll take that as a compliment. But seriously, you’re not fooling anyone. You’re way too nice to actually ignore people."
He shrugged his broad shoulders, something you’ve come to notice as he’s grown older. “Possibly, but-“
Your breath hitched when Seo-yeon reappeared, her presence as loud and effortless as a storm breaking the quiet. With a smile that was all too practiced, she glided over, her eyes immediately locking with Jungkook’s, as if the space between them had always been empty, waiting for her to fill it. “Hey, Jungkook,” she purred, her fingers brushing against his arm as she leaned in a little too close, a familiar, flirtatious glint dancing in her eyes. “Still owe me that drink, remember?”
Jungkook’s smile widened, completely unfazed by her proximity. His fingers wrapped around the cup and handed it to her, their hands brushing lightly, like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Of course,” he said, his voice soft, full of that gentle affection that made you want to stick a fork in your eye.
You felt the familiar nerves rise in your chest, the uncertainty pressing down on you like a weight you couldn’t shake. The scene before you felt too much, too close, and you found yourself backing away instinctively, your eyes flickering toward the exit. You just needed to escape, even for a second. But before you could take another step, Jungkook’s voice cut through the hum of the room, warm and easy. “Hey, do you wanna go play darts? Jimin has not shut up about it and I want to test out my skills.”
And he does it again. Digs you deeper and deeper into that dream of yours.
You took another sip out of your cup, locking eyes with Seo-yeon, who, for once in her life, looked nervous. See, if you weren’t 3 drinks deep, and you weren’t so desperate to remove her away from him, you would’ve went back to your post on the wall.
But Taehyung’s words linger in your brain like a broken record.
“You know, actually, I need to steal Seo-yeon away for a quick minute,” You reach out, grip onto her arm like it’s your lifeline. You’re almost certain you draw your fingernails in a little too deep to her skin.
“Huh?” Her eyes widened, blinking a few times.
You dragged her through the crowd, pulling her to the opposite side of the room with a swiftness that leaves Jungkook utterly baffled. He has stopped questioning yours and Seo-yeon’s friendship.
Your nerves buzzed with the alcohol in your system, and before you could stop yourself, the words tumbled out. "Why are you flirting with Jungkook?"
There it was, out in the open. Lingering in the air like a cloud of smoke.
Seo-yeon blinked in surprise, her eyebrows rising as if you had just grown another head. “What are you talking about?” she replied with that same airy sweetness, but the underlying edge was unmistakable. “I’m just being friendly.”
“Friendly?” You scoffed, feeling the alcohol’s warmth pushing your boldness forward. “It’s like you’re auditioning for a role in Jungkook’s life or something. You're so obvious.”
Seo-yeon laughed, a soft, dismissive sound. “I didn’t realize you cared so much, [Y/N]. Wow, look at you. Finally standing up for yourself. Guess it only took a little bit of liquid courage, huh?”
She tilted her head, her voice teasing. “Didn’t know you had it in you.”
All you see is red, and you’re kinda imagining what her head would look like ripped out of its socket.
She keeps pushing, keeps pressure testing, keeps dragging the knife through you. “Whatever. If you want to make this a thing, go ahead. But don’t act like I’ve been the one playing games.”
“You know what?” It’s a rhetorical question, turning back to you with a slight tilt of her head. “If you’re not going to make a move, I’m all in on Jungkook. You’ve had your chance. It’s not my fault you can’t get out of your own head.”
Your breath caught in your throat, and something in you snaps. The rage bubbled up from deep inside you—something you’d never shown Seo-yeon before. She wasn’t allowed to take this from you too.
"Is that it, then?" You shot back, your voice trembling with a mixture of anger and disbelief. "You think you can just take everything from me because I'm not bold enough for you? You think you can just waltz in and claim him like he's some kind of prize because you know I won’t fight you for him? That’s not how this works, Seo-yeon."
Seo-yeon opened her mouth to respond, but you weren’t finished. “No. I’m done letting you walk all over me. I care, Seo-Yeon. I care about him."
And now you can’t stop it, this word vomit that has plagued you, it keeps tumbling out, slurred but filled with an undeniable intensity. You didn’t care anymore; the alcohol had loosened every restraint, every last thread of caution. "You’ve known. You’ve known I loved him this whole damn time. You’ve always known, and you’ve always taken from me—always—like you could just have whatever you wanted. I’m done pretending I’m okay with it.”
The silence between you two felt like a storm was brewing, the air thick with tension, and you, a tad too drunk to fully grasp what you were saying, but not so drunk that you didn’t know it was the truth.
Seo-yeon’s lips curled into a sly smile, her eyes flicking to the side before meeting yours again. "Well, you know what they say…the best girl always wins, right?"
You’ve already ruined the friendship, put the nail in the coffin and sent her floating down the river. You gripped your red solo cup so roughly you think it might break, “You think you're the best girl? Maybe it's time someone showed you that I’m done being second place. I’m done being the girl who just watches. I’m going to fight for him. You’ve had your turn, Seo-yeon.”
Seo-yeon’s eyes widened just a fraction, but she quickly regained her composure, laughing lightly. “Oh, really? You’re going to fight for him now? How cute.”
Your jaw tightened, but she didn’t back down. “Yeah. I am.”
And, you are certain if only Taehyung could hear you now, he would throw another party just for you having this conversation. You storm away, leave her in the dust to settle on its own. A part of your resolve breaks a little realizing that your own college best friend since day one of freshman year, was not the person you thought she was. But, that’s not what really matters to you.
The night dragged on, clusters of people fading in and out of the party. You don’t necessarily pay attention, you’re too busy feeling like a World War III hero after your triumph. You laughed with Taehyung in the corner, even flirted with a few people. Anything to take your mind off Seo-yeon desperately throwing herself at Jungkook, but you knew better than to look.
The lights felt dimmer, the music quieter. Jimin, ever the instigator, stood up with a grin that spread across his face like a mischievous secret. "Alright," he said, his voice warm but teasing as he looked around at the gathered circle of about 20 leftover wranglers. "Truth or dare, anyone?"
You broke your conversation with Taehyung, hesitated for a brief moment, heart thudding louder than the music. Normally, you would’ve stayed out of it—content to sit on the edge and observe. But tonight, something inside you whispered that this was the moment to stop being the quiet one.
A laugh rang out from someone in the group. “Really, Jimin? Truth or dare? We’re in our twenties, not twelve.”
Jimin just shrugged, unfazed, the playful gleam in his eyes still dancing. “Don’t care. It’s fun.” As if daring was the only thing that could make the night memorable.
As the silly little game began, you couldn’t help but notice the way Seo-yeon scrambled to sit next to Jungkook, her movements almost too eager, too forced. She slid onto the floor beside him, laughing a little too loudly, her hand brushing his casually, but it didn’t escape your notice.
It didn’t help that Jungkook, who had been laughing and talking with the others, now seemed to catch sight of the silence that stretched between you and your friend. His gaze flickered toward you for a split second, brow furrowed slightly. There was concern in his eyes, like he could sense the shift, the distance between you two, the fact that you hadn’t exchanged a word since the heated conversation. And for a moment, you could’ve sworn he looked... worried. It was only a glance, but it sent a ripple of uncertainty through you.
The game kicked off with such chaotic energy that there was immediate regret of your decision to join, Shirts came off, beers chugged, some over-the-clothes fondling. Laughter and teasing echoed around the room, but you couldn’t seem to join in. Your nerves twisted inside you, coiling tighter with every round. Every time your eyes flicked toward Jungkook, your heart skipped, and you could feel your emotions swirling—confusion, desire, hurt—but the fear of being exposed kept you frozen.
Seo-yeon, on the other hand, was all confidence, sitting smugly in her chair with a knowing smile, like she already knew she’d be the center of attention. Like she knew, deep down, you wouldn’t stand a chance.
Then, Jimin’s voice broke through your fog of thoughts, full of mischief and a glint of amusement. "Alright," he said, eyes dancing as he turned toward Seo-yeon and Jungkook. "I dare you two to kiss for five seconds."
You may as well have just shot yourself right in the face. Your breath caught in your throat. Your pulse thundered in your ears as you watched your (ex) best friend’s eyes light up with the thrill of the challenge. It was as if it was too easy for her—too perfect an opportunity to pass up. Without hesitation, she leaned toward Jungkook, her lips finding his almost effortlessly. The room seemed to quiet for a moment, and then it was the silence that felt louder than anything.
But what made your stomach twist wasn’t just the kiss itself—it was the way Seo-yeon’s gaze flicked toward you just before their lips met. A slow, deliberate look that lingered in the air. The seconds stretched, and you could barely breathe, and your heart was feeling as if it might break right then and there.
The kiss was over before you could even process the feeling of it, but the knot in you chest remained, heavy and tight, long after Seo-yeon pulled away. Jungkook glanced over at you, so briefly you almost didn’t catch it.
Your mind raced, but you struggled to push the images from her head, the lingering feeling of Seo-yeon’s smug gaze before the kiss. You took another sip, the burn of it helping to cloud the pain you didn’t want to face. The weight of it sat like a stone in your chest.
Taehyung’s voice cut through your spiraling thoughts. “[Y/N], truth or dare?” he asked, his grin teasing as he leaned towards you.
Jimin shot him a playful glare, almost about to protest, but Taehyung was quick, silencing him with a dramatic “Shh.” The room quieted slightly, all eyes on you as you hesitated for a fraction of a second. You were still reeling, but the alcohol buzz had emboldened you—made you feel more confident than you had all night.
"Dare.” You didn’t know where this sudden boldness was coming from, but you couldn’t back down now.
Taehyung’s grin widened, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “Alright then,” he said, tapping his fingers against his drink. “I dare you to go into the closet with Jungkook for five minutes.”
The room went quiet for a moment. You felt the weight of the dare pressing in on your chest, but you couldn’t bring yourself to look away from Jungkook’s pointed gaze. Was this a joke? Was it real? Seo-yeon was first to break the ice, who snorted in disbelief. “Are we in fifth grade or something?”
Jungkook, who had been sitting quietly, his drink in hand, suddenly took a casual sip. To your surprise, he looked completely unfazed, almost... eager? “Who cares?” he said with a shrug, as if the whole situation was nothing more than a harmless, impulsive decision.
You froze for a moment. You didn’t know whether to laugh, cry or throw up. But there was not much protesting to be done because before you had a chance to speak, Taehyung is up on his feet pushing the two of you in the direction of the musty little closet.
The door clicked shut behind you, and the world outside the closet faded into nothing. Inside, the air was thick with unspoken words, the kind of tension that clung to the walls like the silence between them. You stood frozen, the room suddenly too small, too close. You could feel the heat of his presence even without touching him, the rhythm of his breath matching your own, as if your hearts beat in sync, caught in the same web of uncertainty. The dim light from the party barely reached, leaving you in a space of shadows and soft, anxious breaths.
For what felt like an eternity, neither of you spoke. The awkwardness hummed between you like a steady pulse, the weight of it heavy. You’ve known him forever but… you could feel your nerves twisting tighter and tighter, but the alcohol buzz made it hard to think clearly, each thought slipping away just as quickly as it came.
Jungkook finally broke the silence, a nervous chuckle escaping him, his top teeth playing with his lip ring. "This is… um, definitely not how I expected this to go.”
You tried to force a laugh, but it came out shaky, and you immediately regretted it. “Yeah, not exactly the closet of my dreams,” you said, though your voice trembled in a way you hoped he wouldn’t notice.
And then, just like that, Jungkook’s gaze met yours again, but this time, there was something different in his eyes—something softer, more vulnerable. It was like someone ripped your best friend away from you and replaced with someone who might actually.. never mind. He was pressed into you, your height difference showing as his head tilted down to look at you. His lips parted, like he was debating saying something.
Then, with a surprising gentleness, he spoke. “This is going to be so random but… do you remember our kiss?” he asked, his voice low and almost reverent, as if the question itself carried a weight he wasn’t sure how to handle.
You froze. The memories came rushing back, unbidden—a flash of two twelve-year-olds, awkward and innocent, caught in a moment that now seemed so impossibly far away. The brush of lips, quick and uncertain, a first kiss that neither of you truly understood.
But the way he looked at you now, like the past and present were colliding in that quiet, intimate space, made everything feel much more real. You could feel the heat rise in your cheeks, pulse quickening. He remembers.
“O-Of course I remember,” you whispered, the words tumbling out before you could stop them, your heart fluttering in your chest as the memory of that kiss resurfaced in vivid detail.
Jungkook held your gaze, his eyes dark, searching, as if he, too, was standing on the precipice of something he wasn’t sure he could face. There was a pause, a beat of silence that stretched between, thick with everything unsaid. And then, almost in a breath, he spoke again, his voice softer, but his words filled with an unexpected weight. “My mom brought it up the other day. Didn’t know she watched my kissing virginity get swept away.”
“Oh,” you laugh.
“I’ve thought about it a lot,” he confessed, his gaze never leaving yours. The words hung in the air like a fragile thread.
The confession hit you like a sudden gust of wind, unexpected and sharp. He’s thought about it? Like the way you have, maybe, possibly? Like writing in your diary about him everyday since then? Like dreaming about kissing him again every time you are even remotely close to him?
“So…” he started, breaking the silence, his voice light but with an underlying curiosity. “The last time you kissed someone... was it anything like that?"
There’s those stupid two bunny teeth that poke out in a cheeky smile as he teased you about something that should be so trivial, yet so was not.
Your eyes widened at the sudden question. You didn’t know whether to laugh or squirm. You could feel the warmth creep into your cheeks, and you quickly looked away, focusing on the clutter in the corner of the closet to avoid meeting his gaze.
“I… What?” You stammered, a little too flustered. "What kind of question is that?"
Jungkook chuckled softly, leaning casually against the wall, his eyes never leaving your face. "Well, I’m just curious. You know, if it was anything like the kiss we shared all those years ago," he teased, his voice deliberately casual.
You rolled her eyes, trying to deflect the attention. “It wasn’t like that.”
“I haven’t kissed anyone in forever. In fact…” You trailed off, not knowing how to finish the sentence without sounding ridiculous. “You know that. Last time was that random dude at that party last month.”
Jungkook’s smile returned, but it was gentler now, as if he was trying to make you feel better. “So.. What was the last kiss that actually meant something?” he asked, leaning in just slightly, the playful glint back in his eyes.
You knew damn well you couldn’t answer that without revealing too much. The truth was, there hadn’t been a kiss that meant anything—not since you were 12. But you couldn’t say that to him. Not yet.
“Long, long time,” You teased.
For a moment, you swear there’s a glimmer of hope behind his welcoming eyes.
“Maybe I just haven’t found the right guy,” you said, keeping your voice steady as you try to joke your way out of it.
Jungkook chuckled softly, shaking his head. "Must be hard to find someone who’s good enough to even compare to the 'best kiss ever' from when you were twelve.”
You froze, heart thudding in your chest as you realized what the weight of what he'd said. "Damn, you really remember that kiss, huh?"
Jungkook just smirked, his eyes glimmering. "Of course I do. How could I forget?"
And, there’s something that switches in the air, something that makes you realize you’re not as delusional as you think. You’re thinking back to every single time he’s given you that hope to hold onto, every time he has kept the dream alive. You met his eyes, looked into them, felt like you were peering into his soul.
He stepped a little closer, lowering his voice, a sudden seriousness in his tone. “And now… I kind of wish I could kiss you again. See if it feels the same.”
Either you are incredibly drunk, or he has lost his mind. Your thoughts swirled in a haze of alcohol and overwhelming emotions. You blinked, breath caught in your throat, trying to process the weight of his words. He wanted to kiss you again? You could feel the tension between them now, thick and suffocating, like the very air around them was holding its breath. But what was this? What was happening?
Your voice came out shaky, betraying the fear that had lodged itself in your chest. “Where is this coming from, Jungkook?”
Jungkook’s expression faltered for a brief moment, as if he hadn’t expected you to be so open, so raw. He took a step closer, his gaze softening, searching yours with an intensity that made your knees feel like jell-o. His voice was quieter now, more sincere, as if trying to reassure you, or maybe even himself. “Don’t tell me you haven’t thought about it.. I mean we’ve been best friends for years.”
“I-I, maybe, who cares?” You repeated his words from earlier. “You’re drunk, Kook. We’ve been drinking for hours.”
“I’m not joking,” he said softly, his voice low and full of something you couldn’t quite name. "I wouldn’t joke about something like that."
Your breath hitched as he reached out, his hand gently brushing against yours, as if waiting for you to decide. You could feel the pulse of his touch, and with it, all the years of longing, all the secret emotions you’d kept hidden, pressing down on your chest.
It was almost too much. Too much to process, too much to understand. But the truth was clear now, sitting heavy in the silence between you. You were in love with him. And maybe, just maybe, he felt it too.
Just as the words hung in the air, just as you could’ve sworn that he was about to lean in and finally press his lips against yours, thick with longing and uncertainty, the quiet, intimate space you’d created shattered in an instant. The closet door suddenly flung open with a loud crash, and for a heartbeat, your world spun.
The sudden burst of light flooded the small room, blinding you for a second before you recognized the faces of your friends, all grinning mischievously. Taehyung, ever the troublemaker, leaned against the doorframe with a smug smirk on his face. Jimin, with his usual playful grin, stood next to him, his eyes glinting with amusement. And then there was Seo-yeon, leaning casually against the wall, her lips curled in a knowing smile.
You quickly stepped back, face burning as your eyes flicked between them all, still trying to process what had just happened. Jungkook stood frozen beside you, face flushed as he ran a hand through his hair, clearly embarrassed.
“Well, well,” Taehyung said with a mock pout, raising an eyebrow. “Look at that. The closet was really the place to be, huh?”
“Didn’t take you two long,” Jimin added with a chuckle, crossing his arms over his chest. “I knew this was going to be good.”
You felt the blood rush to your face, and you could barely look at Jungkook. Your heart was still hammering, a mixture of humiliation and confusion swirling in your chest. You opened her mouth to say something—anything—but words caught in your throat.
Jungkook cleared his throat, taking a small step forward. “It’s not like that. We were just talking.”
“Oh, talking, huh?” Taehyung grinned wider, obviously not buying it.
Your head was spinning. The echoes of the teasing, the laughter, and the flirtation were still reverberating in your mind. You could feel the alcohol mixing with the tension that had built up all night, and it was almost too much to handle. Your thoughts were a jumble—your best friend, Jungkook, the kiss that almost happened, everything was falling apart in a whirlwind of emotions.
The game seemed to fizzle out after a few more rounds, yet you were still sat there, hoping to make sense of it all. The clock slowly ticked by, bodies still trickling in and out of the house despite how late it was. And you probably should’ve made an effort to take to Jungkook, to fight for him, to stand up on your words to Seo-yeon.
And so there you stood, attached to the wall yet again.
Except this time, Jungkook was peeling you off of it. He had enough juice at this point to know better, to care less if he made a fool of himself.
He made his way toward you, his expression tight with something unreadable. “Can we talk?” he asked urgently. You opened her mouth to protest, but before you could say anything, he was already guiding you through the crowd, clutching your hand in his.
As you walked up the stairs, you looked down at the people left over from the night, and you caught a second of a glance from Seo-yeon. Maybe, just maybe, you were going to win this once and for all.
The loud music and chatter from downstairs faded as you made your way up to the quiet of the second floor. When you reached an empty bedroom, he closed the door behind you softly. You both stood there for a moment, a beat of silence hanging between you, thick with anticipation. You twiddled with your thumbs, setting your cup down.
Jungkook turned to face you, his expression full of something you couldn’t quite place—nervousness, uncertainty, and longing. He took a step forward, his breath shaky. "[Y/N].. Am I crazy?”
“What do you mean?” You gulped, pressing your back into the nearby bedside table.
“Is there something here I’m missing with us, are we good? Like, I haven’t spoken to you all night, Seo-yeon is shoving herself down my throat, and you know I hate her. And then… that stupid fucking closet has my head spinning. So, talk to me.”
You couldn’t believe this was happening—couldn’t believe he was saying this out loud.
Without thinking, you whispered, almost inaudibly, "You don’t know?"
Jungkook’s brow furrowed, and he took another small step closer, “What?”
Your heart pounded harder now, hands trembling slightly at your sides. You took a breath, then let it out slowly. Your voice was barely a whisper, but the words felt like they had been stuck in your throat for years. “You had to have known I’ve been in love with you.”
There it was. Out in the open, hanging, lingering. The words dissipated into the air. You started to wonder what magic potion was in this drink that had you ending many friendship tonight.
Jungkook froze, his eyes widening. He stared at you for a long moment, disbelief flooding his features. “I didn’t… I didn’t know. If I had known...”
“If I knew…” he began again, his voice strained, almost as if he were fighting to keep his composure. His gaze never wavered from yours, a storm of emotions swirling behind his eyes.
“I would have...” He swallowed hard, stepping closer to you until he was only inches away, his breath warm against your skin. “... I would have kissed you. A long time ago.”
You felt your chest tighten, the intensity of his gaze locking you in place. You could feel the electric pull between you, every inch of your body screaming to close the distance. But you didn’t move. Neither of you did. The air was thick, heavy with everything you hadn’t said, with everything that had been building between you, allegedly, for years.
Jungkook’s hand twitched at his side, as if he were fighting himself, unsure of whether to make the move or not. His gaze flickered between your lips and your eyes, a tortured look on his face. “Was it not obvious when I let you kiss me when we were 12?” he whispered, almost as if the words had slipped out before he could stop them.
Everything inside you screamed for him to close the distance, for him to finally kiss you when you were older. But the fear, the uncertainty, still lingered. “Jungkook...” you whispered, voice trembling.
Somehow, he always knew just what you wanted to say.
“I know,” he said softly, his face just inches from yours now. "I know."
“It wasn’t obvious, you know,” You began. The fire from earlier that raged when you snapped on Seo-yeon began to reignite, to push itself to the forefront and grow as bright and red as could be. How could he expect you to know? He had dated so many girls, so many people that weren’t you, that you had just started to normalize the fade you did into the background. It was insulting for him to think otherwise. “You dated like 10 girls after that kiss when we were younger.”
“You dated someone too,” He pointed out. True, but.. you only did it because he did. Which is surprising to no one.
“Yeah, but I was always there. I was always by your side, every breakup, every tear shed, hoping and praying you’d finally pick me. But there’s not a good way to say, hey I know we’ve been best friends for years but I’m in love with you. I didn’t, I don’t want to lose you,” You wanted to break his eye contact, look away and start crying into your shirt. But you didn’t. You held your ground.
His face softened, another cautious step taken towards you. “You’re not going to lose me.”
He’s so close now you can feel the nerves, the heat radiating off his body. You can smell that stupid cologne he got last Christmas from his parents. You can see his silver chain glisten under the light bedroom lamp. “Well, if you don’t feel the exact same, then yeah, I will lose you. And for the record, Seo-yeon knows I’ve been in love with you. God, she is such a little bitch. You know I finally ended it with her tonight. She’s insane. But whatever, my point is that if you’re not also in love with me, I’m done, I’m going to move to the US and become a monk. This is humiliating-“
You nor him got to hear the ending of that sentence, because before you know it, his warm hands are cupping your cheeks and pulling you into him, and he’s kissing you. It feels like this: you’re 12 again, under that white oak tree on the playground, your mothers watching a few feet away with a knowing smile on their face. Your heart quickens up its pace, tries to catch up to what is happening. But there’s no use. You’re a goner.
The moment Jungkook’s lips met yours, the world seemed to fall away. There was no party inside, no city stretching beyond the university—just him. Just this.
His kiss was slow at first, testing, as if savoring the feeling of finally closing the space that had been pulling you together for so long. His fingers, warm against your cool skin, tilted your face up to him, deepening the kiss in a way that made your breath catch.
You responded instinctively, pressing closer, your hands gripping the fabric of his shirt like an anchor. The tension, the longing that had built between you for months—maybe even years—unraveled all at once, spilling into the way he kissed you, like he had been holding back for too long.
You had always wondered what it would be like to kiss him when you were older (especially after he got that stupid little lip ring that had you using your vibrator more often than you liked to admit.)
Jungkook exhaled against your lips, his hand sliding from your jaw to the nape of your neck, fingers threading into your hair. His other hand found your waist, pulling you flush against him. The heat of his body, the steady rhythm of his breathing, the way his thumb brushed circles against your skin—it all left you dizzy.
Your heartbeat pounded in your ears, each passing second making it harder to think, to focus on anything but the way his lips moved against yours. He tasted faintly of liquor, of something intoxicating yet familiar, something that made you want to drown in him completely.
“I shouldn’t have waited this long," he murmured, his voice rough, almost regretful. “It’s better than it was when we were 12.”
You let out a breathy laugh, your hands still fisting his shirt. "Then don’t wait anymore."
A slow smile tugged at the corner of his lips before he leaned in again, this time softer, slower, as if committing every second to memory. His lips brushed yours once, twice—just enough to make your knees weak—before he kissed you fully again. His tongue poked through, and a soft whimper left your mouth at the contact.
Jungkook’s second kiss was different—deeper, more certain. The hesitation that had lingered before was gone, replaced by something more urgent, more consuming. His fingers tightened at your waist as he pulled you closer, his lips parting against yours, letting the kiss deepen in a way that sent a shiver down your spine.
You met him eagerly, your hands sliding up his chest, fingers tangling in the collar of his shirt. He groaned softly against your mouth, a sound that sent warmth pooling in your stomach. His tongue brushed against yours, slow at first, coaxing, teasing, before he pressed in more insistently, his hand cradling your jaw as if he couldn’t bear to let go, moving down to wrap a gentle hand around your neck.
Your breath hitched as his grip on you tightened, his body pressing against yours as he held you firm to the bedside table.
"Tell me to stop," he murmured against your lips, but his hands never left your body, his fingers skimming the curve of your waist, the warmth of his palms making your skin tingle.
You shook your head, breathless. "I don’t want you to."
That was all he needed.
In one swift motion, his hands slid to your thighs, lifting you with ease. A surprised gasp left your lips, but you instinctively wrapped your legs around his waist, clinging to him as he carried you across the room. His lips never left yours, each kiss deeper, more desperate, as if making up for lost time.
He reached the edge of the bed, lowering you onto the plush mattress without breaking contact. His body hovered over yours, propped up on his forearms, his dark eyes searching yours as he caught his breath.
"You have no idea how long I’ve wanted this," he admitted, his voice husky, edged with impatience.
You let out a soft laugh, running your fingers through his hair, your own breath coming just as fast. "Then why did we wait?"
Jungkook exhaled sharply, shaking his head. "Because I knew, once I had you like this… I wouldn’t be able to stop thinking about it."
His words sent a thrill through you, but before you could respond, he kissed you again—slower this time, savoring every second. His hands traced gentle patterns against your skin, grounding you, making you feel every ounce of emotion behind his touch.
His fingers moved deftly, swiftly, but there’s a bit of anxiety behind his touch. He kissed down your neck, slowly, agonizingly, to your collarbone… pushing aside your shirt to your shoulder. His knee dug into your thigh, and felt fuzzy from how much he was touching you, everywhere. You let out small whimpers, eager for him to continue, to know what it feels like to be one of his girls.
He looked up at you, eyes dark with something you don’t recognize from him. If he wasn’t your best friend, you would’ve been scared. His fingers ghosted down your chest, to your stomach, playing with the hem of your shirt, almost asking for permission. He doesn’t have to, because you’re propping yourself up and taking it off for him, just leaving your bra out on display. He pauses, takes a moment for himself, realizes he isn’t in a dream when he reaches out and touches one of your tits. It’s like he’s a prepubescent little boy again who has never seen these before.
“God, you’re perfect,” He mumbled, voice shaky, feeling you through your bra. He moved the bra aside a little, sees the hard nipple poking through and removes your entire bra, one hand. He peeled off his shirt, revealing his toned abdomen underneath and that tattoo sleeve he started working on two years ago.
You don’t know when you became such a withering mess underneath his touch but you’re glued down to the bed, imprinted on the mattress. Jimin will have to come peel you off tomorrow morning. “Touch me again,” you whispered out, low enough for him to hear and for his cock to twitch in his pants.
He looked back up at you, taking his attention away from your chest. There was a shift, a change of massive proportions in the air. You know he’s experienced. Everyone knows it. He’s had countless girlfriends, hookups with other friends… you’ve heard the rumors spread like wildfire.
When he speaks, his voice sounds almost pensive. “Has anybody ever made you come?”
The sound you make is much too close to a whimper for your own comfort. Involuntarily, you feel a flutter down there, and you realize faintly just how wet you really are, all of some stupid kisses.
You don’t need to look at him to know that he’s noticed your reaction.
“I- uh,” You’re utterly and totally speechless. The answer is no. None of your boyfriends ever figured it out truly. It’s not like they were studs in the bedroom. So, you would fake it, kiss them goodnight, and go finger yourself in the bathroom to get off. You somehow have a very strong intuition you won’t need to do that with Jungkook. “No, not really.”
His gaze becomes darker, pauses and thinks of his next move. He pushed you back onto the mattress, making room for himself to painstakingly slow move in between your legs. Jungkook lifts your skirt up, revealing your lacy pink panties that have a wet spot engrained right in the middle. “Fucking hell, you’re soaked,” he whispers, mostly to himself.
He looked back up at you. “Do you want me to make you come?”
He can’t be serious. The blood rushed from your face down to your toes.
“P-please,” You whimpered, tugging your bottom lip underneath your top lip. “Please, Kook.”
“I can’t believe no one’s ever appreciated this pussy,” You can’t tell if he’s speaking mostly to himself as he took off your skirt fully, letting it fall on the floor with a soft thump. “You are so beautiful, [Y/N]. I’ve been dreaming about this for months, years.”
You just nod in response, since that’s all you can muster as he drags the pink underwear off your thighs, down your ankles, off your being. You want him to make you come, want him to be the reason you feel immense pleasure.
He’s still babbling to himself, something about how he’s going to wreck you tonight and all that, and then you feel his tongue flatten out on you, making a circular motion on your clit. Your pornographic moan could probably be heard across the entire campus. Your whole body jolts alive, eyes squeezed so, so tight as he worked his tongue repeatedly over your clit, lapping up every ounce of your wetness he can.
Your hand reaches out to grasp at something, anything, clutching his hair and holding his head as his tongue rolls around in between your clit and your entrance. His nose bumped against your clit as your hips began to rock up and down, your body aching for more, anything he could provide you would take it.
“Jungkook,” You breathed out, followed by a string of profanities and moans. He seemed to be pleased by your reaction, his arms wrapping around your thighs and pulling your legs around his head, practically suffocating himself with you.
“F-fuck, how are y-you so good at this?” Your back arched off the mattresss, vision blurry as he continued his assault on your clit. He was so lost in it, so deep in it, he could barely respond.
He pulled away for a second, looking up at you with his big eyes, lips glossy and covered in your slick. You watched as he gathered some saliva in his mouth, spitting it onto your clit and letting his fingers rub your bundle of nerves. “Oh my god,” That elicited another expressive string of words, your chest heaving as you teetered closer and closer to that edge.
You still couldn’t believe this was happening; your best friend of over a decade, eating you out like you were a five-course meal.
He enveloped his lips around your delicate bud and pulled, and you can hardly contain yourself, fingers darting to his locks, the sheets, your abdomen. You can't sit still, can't halt the convulsions, losing all sense of self over your own body. Every which way, on him and off him, thoughts in turmoil and emotions in chaos and sensations askew, and you can't fathom how nobody's ever subjected you to this before, and how have you managed to live without the sensation of Jungkook's lips on your pussy.
His fingers replaced his mouth again, this time, splitting you open with two fingers that glide right in with how overly soaked you are. “Gonna make you cum so good, princess,” He said. “Gonna make you forget any of those lames before me.”
He has to realize that won’t take much convincing. You’ve already forgotten what any other man looks like.
As his lips reconnected with your burning core, all inhibitions vanish. He darted his tongue in and out, in and out, in and… your eyes rolling back in ecstasy, your legs straining to offer him greater access, even to the point of discomfort when your muscles protest, but you crave him closer, deeper, harder, and you're drowning in longing, aching with it. The only anchors keeping you grounded are his hands, the one hand that has wandered from your clit to fondle your tit, the other that is now relentlessly pumping in and out of you.
He's cautious, nearly tender, but it's futile, you're soaked, allowing him continuous entry of his fingers without any struggle, devoid of any tension in your muscles. You're incapable of tightening up even if you wanted to.
“I-I, fuck, Kook, I’m gonna cum,” You whined out in a tone that was half begging, half delirium. You weren’t even sure your body was in control of itself anymore, you just wriggled and thrashed around as he worked you to finish.
“Yeah?” He said against your clit, his breath fanning against you. His fingers continued to pump in and out of you, his other hand rubbing incessantly circles on your clit. It was all too much, far, far, too much. “Fuck, I want you to cum for me. Want to taste you, taste what I’ve been missing all these years.”
It engulfed you completely, resonating within your core, your toes, and your fingertips. It propels you off the bed, leaning forward, fingers clutching his hair, legs quivering uncontrollably, screaming his name over and over like a prayer.
It seemed to go on for hours, his fingers penetrating you through it, his tongue caressing you through it, and all thoughts dissipate under the onslaught of that blinding, electrifying pleasure.
Jungkook persisted, relentless, until you thrusted his head away with vigor, overwhelmed by the sensation to the point of pain erupting like tiny needles. You have absolutely no idea how any girl ever let him get away, but you make a mental note that he will never leave your sight. He leaned over you, hovering over your shaking body.
His head bowed down, pressing a kiss on your lips, and you taste yourself for the first time. It’s a mix of him and you, salty and sweet and warm and dirty. You want it, again and again and again..
But you want him to feel good too. Want to do right by him, make him yours officially, have him scream out your name. You pulled away from his kiss, wiggling yourself out from under him. With a surprising amount of strength you mustered, you flipped the two of you; you’re straddling him, thighs locked on either side of his toned abs. His eyebrows raised, lips still slick and swollen with your juices and saliva and you’re pretty certain you’ll have a stroke if you keep looking at him.
You’re still dripping onto his bare chest, abs now covered in you as well. Probably the second hottest thing you’ve seen so far. You leaned down, kissing him, fighting for some sort of reprieve. You kissed down his jaw, his neck, and his little whimpers send you to a different planet.
He’s just so vocal, and now you can’t get enough.
“Let me ride you,” You said.
He blinked. Was he hearing that right?
“Please,” You pleaded. “I just… I want to make you feel good, Kookie. Like you did for me. Wanna make you happy.”
He smirked, rubbing his warm hands against your thighs, “I’m already happy just like this.” And he’s right, his cock is rock-hard and honestly, he hasn’t ever been like this before with any of his past girls. It’s because it’s you, the girl he called his best friend who used to be the quiet, shy one, is asking him to let her ride his cock.
“Pleaseeee..” You moaned, shuffling your body downwards so your clit was directly above his Calvin Klein boxers, grinding on him slowly like this was a middle school party. You didn’t even know when he had taken off his jeans from earlier, you assumed it was during the time his face was buried in your cunt.
He played around with his lip ring, his nervous tic. “Fuck, yeah, baby just go for it. Show me how you ride your best friend.”
You pulled back to finally get rid of his boxers, to finally see what’s underneath, if the rumors rang rang true. You looked down at his cock, splayed across his lower abdomen, open your mouth to speak and… pause.
“Jungkook,” you began, eyes widened, half horror and half excitement, “I-you’re so… big.”
And the moment you’ve said the words, you regret them. His ego was about to inflate to the size of Jimin’s entire house. He looked up at you through hooded eyes, licking his lips, “Yeah? You gonna take it, baby?”
The pet name made you shudder. “I-I can try,” You stuttered. “I’ve never been with someone this big before.”
He chuckled, his hands coming around to rest on your hips, rubbing circles with the pads of his thumb. You knew damn well he knew how many guys you’ve been with, how many people you’ve fucked, but never their dick size. Didn’t really come up. But, this… well, this was going to be a challenge.
“It’s okay, baby,” He coaxed, “How about you be a good girl for me and start off slow?”
You wanted to be his good girl more than anything in the entire world in that moment.
You can’t even answer, can’t do anything, because he began to align his cock to your sopping entrance, pushing inside of you. It’s excruciating, it’s slow it’s almost impossible to understand how he’s splitting you in half. Jungkook’s head fell back on the mattress, face scrunched up in pleasure, jaw hanging open.
The slide felt almost endless, like you would never reach the hilt of his cock. There’s an endless cycle of Jungkook’s voice spilling endless praise for you taking him so well, that he’s almost all inside, that you already look so full, that he’s never letting you go.
And then finally, when you’re about to tap out and let him get on top, you feel your clit pressed his pubic bone and your body has never felt so entirely filled.
You both let out a simultaneous moan that you’re certain everyone downstairs heard and is getting ready to come upstairs and bang pots and pans at the door.
“I…” Your body gave out a little, and you lean backwards on your palms, giving him a better view of how irresistible you look with his cock so deep inside of you.
“Fuck, baby.” His hand traveled to your clit, rubbing circles, “So damn tight, huh? No one’s fucked you like this in a while.”
All you can do is nod.
The sounds are obscene. His cock plunging into your wetness with each bounce of your knees, the headboard slamming against the walls, your own whimpers, Jungkook’s groans. You know they can hear you. And you don’t care. Not one bit. In fact, you want it.
You fell forward a little, gripped onto his chest and dug your fingernails into him. You can’t even think, breathe, can’t remember the last time something has ever felt this ethereal. Your head lulled backwards, fingernails so deep in his skin you’re leaving bruises. Jungkook gripped onto your hips, pads of his thumbs imprinting themselves on your skin. You’re certain he must be pussy drunk or something, because the only things leaving his mouth are blabbers, “… fuck, you are so tight and wet.. fucking beautiful, my best girl so good, need you so bad, always..”
Your hips continued to undulate wildly, and you don’t even know where the confidence is coming from but you felt like some fucking goddess riding this man into oblivion. And you recognized it, he’s so close, his face is contorted, chest heaving, eyes squeezed so tight, committing the feeling of you riding him to memory..
And you never get to see that orgasm (yet) because you hear the door swing open. Jungkook sat up, eyes widened, looking between you and your intruder. But you’re too in deep, too into it to stop, too close, too needy… who gives a fuck if Taehyung or even Jimin sees?
He looked back at you, face flushed with an expression you can’t recognize. You tossed your head back, and you understand why he looks like that. You caught a sight of Seo-yeon’s black hair, and when you turned your body, you saw her figure standing there in the doorway, watching, observing, a tiny (and you have to look hard) smirk on her face.
“Are you going t-to get the fuck out or what?” Jungkook tried to sound tough, but he’s coming undone closer and closer by the second.
And you don’t know what it is, maybe it’s the fact you’re fucking your best friend, maybe it’s the fact you’re still a little drunk off the punch, maybe you’re just a different person than 3 hours ago, but you turned back to Jungkook and go, “Let her stay and watch. Let her see how good I fuck you. Let her know you’re fucking mine.”
You can’t see it, but she blinks at the doorway, jaw unhinged and a gulp of saliva slithering like molasses down her throat. “Fuck, baby, you’re going to make me cum,” Jungkook whined out.
“Yeah, you want to cum?” You leaned back, giving him full access to your pussy and the way his cock is coated with your juices, dripping onto his abdomen, making a mess everywhere. “Tell her you’re mine. Now.”
You don’t even know if she’s still there, you just want him to say it. Even if it’s just for you.
But, he looked back at her, looks back at her petite frame in the doorway, then back at you. “I’m yours. I’m fucking yours, baby. Forever.”
“Good boy,” You leaned your body back into him, press a kiss into his sweaty cheek. You then turn back around to handle her, and it almost makes you want to laugh how she’s now frozen to the wall like you once were. “Now, close the fucking door behind you while I finish him off.”
The door slammed behind her, but you barely noticed or cared. He’s an absolute wreck, singing praises to you and you’re all yeah yeah yeah please please please I’m so close, and he came undone so fiercely he’s struggling to keep it together, to not collapse. He coated your walls, and you clenched around him as you barreled through what might be the most insane orgasm of your life.
There’s a moment where black washed over your vision, jaw ripping open trying to scream his name, or anything remotely in the dictionary, and you’re just putty on top of him as your body shakes and convulses trying to come down.
You fell into him, on top of him rather, hearts struggling to get back to its normal rhythm. He doesn’t want to move, can’t imagine going anywhere in that moment. You finally moved over to his side, nestling into him and you’re certain there’ll be a mold of your body on him tomorrow. He wrapped his arm around you, tugging in as close as he possibly could.
For a while, you just lay there like that. You welcomed the silence, no longer letting it scare you.
“You know, your mom and my mom were plotting on us.”
He’s the first to break through your thoughts. You giggled, tracing circles on his chest, listening to his heart thump thump thump against his ribcage. “I’ve always loved you. I know that. Well, ever since you gave me that Spider Man plushie when we were 11.”
You can’t deny the shit-eating grin that appeared in your face. You weren’t about to tell him you fell into love with him before that, probably when he gave you a Hello Kitty bandaid for one of your ouchies. “Is that so?” You teased.
Into your hair, Jungkook whispered, “Always been mine.”
There’s a wave of something that crashes over you, something you feel deep within you. He’s mine, you thought to yourself. And it makes you blink tears away because of it.
You laid there, peacefully, silently, in absolutely bliss…
“Ugh, Jungkook! Right there! So fucking good!”
“[Y/N], keep going! Your pussy feels so good! Ahhhh!”
“Jimin! Taehyung!” Jungkook roared, reaching up one arm for the pillow on the bed and flinging it at the wooden door, other arm still wrapped loosely around your shoulders.
“Hey, man! You can’t get mad at me! You just had sex in my fucking bed. You’re doing my laundry for six months!” Jimin’s voice cracked at the realization of you two… in his bed… with god knows what juices splattered. He shuddered even imagining it.
“He’s got a point,” Jungkook sighed, running his hand over his face.
You laughed a little, then he did too, and you felt the vibration against your body. There was only him, only now. And as Jungkook pulled you closer, tucking you into the warmth of his arms, you realized— it was supposed to be this easy. And for the first time, it didn’t feel like a risk. It didn’t feel scary. It felt like home.
。・:*:・゚★,。・:*:・゚☆
masterlist + request
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fuckyeahgoodomens · 2 days ago
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Spoiler for a Crowley's hairstyle :)
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Oh? 👀 Long hair Crowley seems to be coming! 😍 (Stevie Smith is David Tennant's stylist :) <3)
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jincapableoflove · 1 day ago
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A Jar Full of Us | one-shot
Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader
Genre/Tags: best friend! jungkook, best friend! reader, college! au, unrequited love (?), idiots to lovers, best friends to ??? to lovers, angst, fluff, implied smut.
Summary: You never meant for him to find them. Hundred little confessions, folded away, never meant to be read. But now, they’re in his hands. And Jungkook—your best friend—knows everything. But he doesn’t say a word. He just watches you, with that same unreadable expression, like he’s waiting for something. And this Valentine’s Day, you might just have to find out what.
Inspired by: To All the Boys I've Loved Before
Word count: 10.2K+
Warnings: arguments, jungkook is a jerk, misunderstandings (a lottt of it), angstttt, reader and jk are huge idiots, mutual pining, implied smut (its not too detailed so that the story maintains the emotional connectivity), romantic intimacy, tooth-rotting fluff.
MOODBOARD
A/N: HERE IT ISSS! this is the longest fic ive written! tysm for all the support yall have given me in the teaser of this fic. i put out a taglist thinking no one would actually want to be a part of it but so many of yall asked to be tagged 😭 im so grateful! tysm i hope you enjoy reading this as much as i enjoyed writng it. lmk ur thoughts abt it after u read too <3 ALSO HAPPY VALENTINES DAYYY (someone date me pls)
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The door clicks shut behind you as you step into the dorm, kicking off your shoes with a tired sigh. The evening air still clings to your skin, carrying traces of laughter and the lingering warmth of Jungkook’s presence.
It had been another perfect night—one filled with inside jokes, stolen bites of each other’s food, and his usual exasperated attempts to get you to study.
Joy, your roommate, is nowhere in sight, giving you the solitude you need. You don’t hesitate. Your steps are purposeful as you cross the room, crouching down beside your bed. With practiced ease, you reach under the frame, fingers brushing against the familiar surface of a small pink, heart-shaped box. You pull it out carefully, as if it were a fragile secret, and place it on your lap.
A soft breath escapes you as you grab a nearby pen and a book, neatly tearing out a tiny slip of paper. The motion is second nature now. Without even thinking, you let your emotions spill onto the paper, crafting a fleeting moment into something permanent.
Tonight’s memory is simple, but it still tugs at your heart. Jungkook had sent you another blurry picture of the moon, captioned with a casual, “Looks kinda pretty, right?” He knew how much you loved the moon—how it fascinated you in a way you could never quite put into words. And he had remembered. Of course, he had remembered.
A fond smile tugs at your lips as you write:
Jungkook remembers the little things.
Once the ink dries, you fold the note with care and add it to the collection. The box is almost full now, brimming with countless tiny confessions—whispers of feelings you’ve never had the courage to say aloud. A hundred little moments, a hundred little thoughts, all dedicated to the boy who had unknowingly stolen your heart.
Jungkook.
Jungkook, your best friend, who always saves you the last bite of his food, even when it’s his favorite. Jungkook, who sends you blurry pictures of the moon just because he knows you love them. Jungkook, who insists on studying with you, despite his major being entirely different from yours, just so he can make sure you actually open a book instead of procrastinating.
This little tradition of yours had started as a joke. One night, after an especially soft moment where Jungkook had wordlessly placed his hoodie over your head because you were shivering, you had scribbled on a piece of paper: Jungkook is warmer than the sun.
You had smiled to yourself as you rolled up the paper and dropped it into the box. It had felt oddly nice—preserving that moment, capturing the feeling of it in something tangible. So you did it again. And again. And again.
Until, one day, you realized you had written over a hundred of them.
You hadn’t meant to fall in love. And you certainly hadn’t planned to confess.
But each tiny slip of paper holds a truth your heart refuses to say aloud.
And you're going to keep it a secret forever.
You met Jungkook almost three years ago, during freshman year. The first time you met him, he had been infuriatingly kind.
You had been struggling under the weight of a precariously tall stack of books, barely able to see over them, when suddenly, a few disappeared from the top. Startled, you looked up to see Jungkook grinning at you, effortlessly holding the books you had nearly dropped.
"You looked like you were about to tip over," he teased, his dark eyes twinkling with amusement.
With a playful huff, you had responded, "Maybe I wanted it to tip over."
Jungkook had only laughed, shaking his head. "I'll catch you next time," he had promised.
That night, you had written a tiny note and slipped it into your box: He wants to catch me when I fall, even without me asking.
From that moment on, your friendship grew in ways you hadn’t even noticed at first. Midnight walks and late-night study sessions became routine, pulling you closer together with every shared moment. What had started as swapping notes for the one class you had together turned into sharing secrets. Somewhere along the way, before you even realized it, Jungkook had become your favorite person.
The box was almost full now.
You had written so many things over the years, each note capturing a small piece of him, a fragment of your feelings. Some were simple observations:
Jungkook frowns when he eats something delicious.
His hair is always a mess in the mornings. He hates it, but I love it.
His eyes smile before his lips do.
But one night, you had written something different. Something deeper. Something that felt like the truest thing you had ever put to paper.
I love him.
The moment the ink dried, panic had set in. You had almost torn it up, almost removed it from the box as if keeping it there would somehow make it real. But in the end, you had left it. Because the box was safe. No one was going to see it.
Especially not Jungkook.
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One afternoon, you came back from your classes, ready to relax and unwind before the stress of exams fully set in. You had been looking forward to a quiet evening, maybe even a movie marathon with Jungkook to take your mind off things for a while.
But the moment you stepped into your dorm, you felt something was off.
Joy was sitting on the couch, sipping her coffee, her expression smug—too smug. A knowing smirk curled at the corners of her lips as she watched you walk in, and instantly, your stomach twisted with unease.
You narrowed your eyes. "What did you do?"
"I did you a favor," she said casually, taking another slow sip of her coffee.
A cold shiver ran down your spine. "What favor?" you asked, dread creeping into your voice.
Joy grinned. "I found that little cute box of yours."
Your heart stopped. "What?"
"Don't look at me like that," she waved a hand dismissively, as if what she was about to say wasn’t about to shatter your entire world. "It was just sitting there collecting dust, and I thought—what a perfect Valentine's Day gift for Jungkook. So…I wrapped it up and dropped it off at his place."
Silence.
A deafening, all-consuming silence as her words echoed in your head.
"You WHAT?!"
Your entire body froze in place, your breath catching in your throat as horror washed over you in waves. Your chest felt tight, your pulse roaring in your ears.
Joy merely raised an eyebrow, seemingly unbothered by the sheer panic on your face. "You're welcome," she said cheekily—before promptly sprinting out of the room for her life.
But you couldn’t chase after her. You couldn’t move, couldn’t breathe, couldn’t think past the ringing in your ears.
No. No. No.
This couldn't be happening.
Still desperate to deny the possibility, you dropped to your knees and scrambled to check under your bed, your hands shaking as you reached into the familiar space where you had hidden the box for years.
Empty.
It was gone.
The tiny wooden box that held a hundred little moments, a hundred little secrets—your secrets—was gone.
And now it was in Jungkook's hands.
Of all people…Jungkook.
Jungkook lived in an apartment a little further away from your dorm. The second the realization hit, you bolted out the door without a second thought, heart pounding so hard it nearly drowned out the sound of your footsteps against the pavement.
Your plan was simple—get to his apartment before he did. You knew his habits well enough to guess that he was probably grabbing a late lunch at that fast-food place near campus. If luck was on your side, you still had time.
He hadn’t seen it yet.
He couldn’t have seen it yet.
As you ran, your mind spiraled into chaos, bombarding you with every possible scenario—each one worse than the last.
What if he had already opened it?
What if he read through every single note?
What if he found the one that said I love him?
Your stomach twisted painfully at the thought.
Jungkook was your best friend.
He was your person.
And now, he might know that you wanted to be more than just friends.
The mere thought made your chest tighten as memories of the two of you flashed through your mind. The times you spent together at the arcade, the countless movie nights, the time you and Jungkook had crashed Jimin’s birthday party with a ridiculous amount of booze.
And then…there was that moment.
The moment you almost confessed.
"I wish I could find someone who truly understood me," he had said one night, his voice softer than usual, lost in thought.
And you had almost said it. The words had been on the tip of your tongue, so painfully close—"I do."
But you swallowed them down.
Because what if he didn’t feel the same way? What if saying those words ruined everything?
And now, thanks to Joy, you didn’t have a choice anymore. The truth was out there, sitting in a neatly wrapped box in Jungkook’s apartment.
The thought of his reaction sent your mind into overdrive.
Would he laugh?
Would he think it was weird?
Would he—
Would he reject you?
No. No. No.
You shook your head violently as you rounded the corner, lungs burning from the sprint. You’re going to get there before he does. You’re going to take the box back, and he’s never going to know about it.
That was the plan.
It had to work.
As soon as you reached Jungkook’s apartment building, you barely paused to catch your breath. Your legs ached from running, but panic kept you moving. You made a beeline for the mailbox section in the lobby, frantically scanning the names, searching for his.
Box 109.
You yanked it open.
Empty.
Your stomach sank.
Maybe his roommate took it upstairs? Yeah. That had to be it. Maybe it was sitting untouched on the kitchen counter, still wrapped, still safe, still unseen.
You latched onto that sliver of hope as you rushed up the stairs two at a time, unwilling to wait for the elevator. By the time you reached his floor, your hands were shaking. You raised a fist and knocked on the door, urgency making your knuckles sting.
No response.
You knocked again, harder this time.
Then—finally—you heard shuffling from inside. A few footsteps. The creak of the floorboards. A pause.
The door swung open.
And there he was.
Jungkook.
Standing right in front of you, framed in the dim light of his apartment, wearing an oversized grey hoodie that draped over his frame in a way that shouldn't have been so unfairly attractive. His dark hair was slightly damp, messy from a shower, strands falling into his eyes. His lips were parted in surprise, his brows slightly furrowed, and the expression on his face—confused yet soft, dangerously soft—made your already erratic heartbeat lurch violently.
But then, your gaze dropped to his hands.
And the world stopped.
The box.
The open box.
Your box.
Your secret, sacred collection of unsent confessions, of words meant only for the safety of your own solitude. The pieces of your heart you had never dared to show him.
You felt like you were going to be sick.
No, no, no, no—
"You—" You gasped, barely able to form words, chest rising and falling rapidly as you fought for air. "You opened it?"
Jungkook blinked, holding the box loosely in one hand, fingers curled around the edges as if he had been going through its contents just moments ago. He tilted his head, his expression unreadable.
"Yeah," he said simply, as if the weight of the universe hadn’t just come crashing down on you.
Oh. Oh no.
Your legs wobbled. You had to physically stop yourself from collapsing right there in front of him.
His gaze flickered downward, and you followed it instinctively. In his other hand, he held one of the notes. One of your notes. The handwriting was unmistakably yours, a little smudged, a little rushed, but still legible.
He cleared his throat, then read aloud.
"I don’t know when it happened. But one day, he became my favorite person."
Silence.
It stretched on for what felt like an eternity.
You thought you might actually pass out.
"Jungkook, I—" Your voice cracked, but before you could even attempt to explain, he looked up and met your eyes.
And then, to your absolute horror—
He smiled.
Not a teasing smirk, not an awkward grimace, but a real, genuine, knowing smile. A little shy, a little amused, as if the weight of what he had just discovered didn’t terrify him nearly as much as it did you.
And then—oh god—he spoke again.
"So… do you still think my hair looks best when it’s messy?"
Your breath hitched.
Your brain went blank.
You wanted to scream.
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The change was almost instant.
In the days that followed, Jungkook became… different.
Not in the way you had imagined, though.
You had been bracing yourself for a talk—a conversation where he’d tell you gently, maybe even apologetically, that he didn’t feel the same way. Or, at the very least, a moment of awkwardness before things slowly went back to normal.
But instead, Jungkook just… pulled away.
It started subtly at first. He stopped texting as much. The late-night calls that once lasted for hours dwindled into one-word replies and seen messages. The casual lunch meetups, the spontaneous arcade runs, the easy, natural way he used to gravitate towards you in a crowded room—all of it changed.
And yet, despite the distance, he never fully let you go.
Instead, he turned it into a joke.
Like today, when he leaned in—far too close for comfort—during your shared class. His voice was low, teasing, the warmth of his breath fanning against your ear.
"So, I’m warmer than the sun, huh?"
You stiffened instantly, your hands tightening around your pen. He pulled back with a smirk, his dark eyes glittering with mischief as he watched your reaction unfold in real-time.
It was unbearable.
He kept doing it.
Whenever you tried to talk to him—really talk to him—he would either dodge the conversation entirely or turn it into something lighthearted, something unserious.
Like the time you finally found him alone, determined to just get it over with, to ask what had changed between you two. Before you could even get the words out, he cut you off with another one of those smirks, his voice laced with amusement.
"So I look best in black? Good to know."
And then he walked away.
That was when you finally got the message.
Jungkook had taken it as a joke.
He didn’t care about your feelings.
It was like the caring, affectionate boy you had known for years had vanished the moment your heart had been laid bare. Like now that the truth was out in the open, he didn’t know how to handle it—so he chose to mock it instead.
And worst of all?
He was pulling away from you completely.
The time you used to spend together? Gone. He was hanging out with other people now, filling his days with anyone but you. And when you did manage to cross paths, he only acknowledged you through those insufferable little comments, those cruel reminders of the things you had never meant for him to see.
It hurt. More than you wanted to admit.
Because maybe—just maybe—you had hoped that if he knew how you felt…
He wouldn’t push you away like this.
The next week brought the on-campus career fair—an event mandatory for all students. You weren’t particularly excited about it, but at least it was a distraction, something to keep your mind occupied.
Or so you thought.
Because that’s when you saw him.
And he wasn’t alone.
He was walking around with Hana, a junior from your college. They moved easily through the crowd, side by side, completely immersed in conversation. And then, to make things even worse—he laughed.
A real laugh. The kind that made his nose scrunch up and his eyes crinkle, the kind you hadn’t heard in what felt like forever.
Your stomach twisted.
You weren’t expecting him to make it this obvious.
If he wanted to reject you, fine. If he didn’t feel the same way, you could live with that. But did he really have to parade it around like this?
Maybe this was his way of sending a message. Maybe he wanted you to know, without actually having to say it out loud.
A silent rejection.
What a jerk.
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These days, you barely have the motivation to attend classes. You go through the motions—waking up, dragging yourself to campus, sitting through lectures—but your mind isn’t really there.
Because no matter how hard you try to distract yourself, the brutal reality of rejection lingers like a shadow, following you everywhere you go.
Jungkook threw away your feelings like they meant nothing.
You should have expected it, right? You should have known this was how it would turn out.
Maybe you were never meant to be anything more than a friend to him. Maybe, the moment he realized you held deeper feelings for him, he got scared. Or worse—maybe he just didn’t care at all.
The thought makes your chest ache.
Jungkook has always been a romantic at heart. You’ve seen it in the way he talks about love, in the way he watches romance movies with a dreamy look in his eyes. But clearly, you were never part of that dream.
And now, because of your stupid feelings, you’ve ruined everything.
You used to be his best friend. The one he joked around with, the one he trusted, the one he leaned on.
But now?
Now he barely looks at you.
And if he does, it's only to throw some teasing remark your way—like your feelings were some kind of joke.
The person you were most angry at was Joy.
Not Jungkook. Not yourself.
Joy.
Because none of this would have happened if she had just left that damn box alone.
That day after the box incident, the moment you stepped back into your dorm, she was there, lounging on the couch like nothing had happened. She glanced up as you walked in, a smirk already forming on her lips.
“I didn’t expect you to come back so early. I thought you guys would—” she wiggled her eyebrows—“get freaky after the whole confession, you know?”
She laughed, expecting you to groan or throw a pillow at her like usual.
But then she saw your face.
Her laughter faded. “Wait… what happened?”
You didn’t answer. You just walked past her and sank into the couch, staring at nothing, your mind still replaying every moment from earlier—Jungkook’s teasing, his smirk, his distance.
You heard Joy shuffle closer, her voice softer now. “I… I’m sorry. Did I send the gift too early? Did Jungkook not like it?”
You let out a hollow laugh. “Oh, no, he loved it.” You turned to her, your voice dripping with sarcasm. “Thank you so much for your help, Joy.”
Her expression faltered. “Wait… what do you mean?”
You shook your head, exhaling sharply. “Jungkook probably thinks I’m pathetic now.”
Joy winced. She sat beside you on the couch, guilt written all over her face. “I— I really thought—” she hesitated, chewing on her lip. “I was so sure, though. That boy always had heart eyes for you.”
You let out a bitter chuckle. “Well, now you know he didn’t.”
Silence settled between you both.
And for the first time, Joy didn’t have anything to say.
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The next time you see Jungkook, he’s with Hana again.
They’re standing by one of the campus notice boards, deep in conversation. You don’t mean to eavesdrop—you’re not even sure why you stop—but the moment you hear them talking, something in your gut tells you to listen.
Hana tilts her head, her voice low but clear. “Are you sure she won't find out?”
Jungkook sighs, rubbing the back of his neck. “I don’t know… Maybe it's better this way”
Your breath catches in your throat.
Your first instinct is denial—maybe they’re not talking about you. Maybe it’s about someone else entirely. But deep down, you know.
As far as you’re aware, there isn’t another she in Jungkook’s life. Not before. Not when you were still close.
You’ve already been replaced.
Your chest aches as you piece it together. He doesn't want you to find out—because he's probably in a relationship with Hana now. Because he doesn’t want to hurt you with a direct rejection, he thinks hiding his relationship with her is the kinder option.
It isn’t.
You swallow the lump in your throat and force yourself to step back, turning away from the scene before you can hear any more.
You decide then—no matter how much it hurts, no matter how pathetic it makes you feel—you can’t bear being apart from Jungkook.
Even if he doesn’t love you back.
Even if he only sees you as a friend.
Losing him completely? That’s not something you’re ready for. Maybe you never will be.
So, you do the only thing you can think of.
You wait for him after class.
Your heart pounds against your ribs as you watch the door, your hands clammy with nerves. When Jungkook finally steps out, your breath catches. He looks the same—same hoodie, same soft brown eyes—but everything feels different now.
Taking a deep breath, you step forward.
"I get it, okay?" you say, voice firm despite the way your throat tightens. "You don’t like me. And that’s fine. I hope she makes you happy."
Jungkook halts mid-step.
His jaw clenches. His fists curl at his sides.
"You don’t understand," he mutters.
"Then make me understand, Jungkook," you plead. You take a shaky breath, forcing yourself to keep going, even as your last shred of dignity slips through your fingers. "Can we still be friends, at least?"
Silence.
Jungkook doesn’t reply.
And somehow, that hurts more than rejection ever could.
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There's a party happening, hosted by one of the biggest party animals on campus. Everyone is invited, and Joy insists that you go.
After much convincing, you finally give in. You've mended things with her—finally forgiven her. Maybe it wasn’t entirely her fault. Maybe you just needed someone to blame.
You decide to go, hoping for a distraction. Maybe the music, the drinks, and the endless chatter will help you forget, even if just for a night.
But you already know Jungkook will be there.
Probably Hana too.
And that's fine.
You'll just stay out of their way.
The party is in full swing when you arrive—loud music, flashing lights, bodies moving wildly on the dance floor, and the unmistakable smell of booze in the air. Bottles are being passed around, and the energy is electric.
A few friends from your classes spot you and pull you in, offering drinks. You take them all without hesitation, reaching for the strongest ones, letting the alcohol burn away the ache in your chest.
Jungkook is nowhere in sight.
Good. Maybe he didn’t come. Maybe you can actually enjoy yourself tonight.
With the alcohol settling in, your limbs feel lighter, your mind a little hazy. You dance to the outdated playlist blaring through the speakers, laugh with strangers, and let yourself let go—just for a while.
But after some time, it all feels like too much. The heat, the noise, the overwhelming buzz in your veins. You slip away from the crowd and make your way to the rooftop, breathing in the crisp night air, letting it cool your flushed skin.
And then you sense it—someone else's presence.
You turn, your head spinning slightly, and there he is.
Jungkook.
You blink, wondering if you're imagining him, but his gaze is fixed on you, a slight furrow between his brows. There's something like concern in his expression as he watches you, taking in your drunken state.
Your heart stumbles in your chest.
The alcohol makes everything feel lighter—your body, your thoughts, your inhibitions. So when you see Jungkook standing there, looking at you with that unreadable expression, the words just spill out before you can stop them.
“I liked you, you know,” you mumble, swaying slightly. “But now I realize… I was just wasting my time.”
Jungkook doesn’t react. No apology, no denial, not even a flicker of emotion across his face.
He just exhales softly, shoving his hands into his pockets. “You’ll be fine,” he says simply, then turns on his heel and walks away.
Just like that.
The cool night air suddenly feels suffocating, the weight in your chest heavier than ever. You watch his retreating figure, your heart shattering all over again.
The next morning, you wake up with the nastiest headache ever. Your head throbs, your mouth is dry, and your body feels like it’s been wrung out. You groan, forcing yourself to sit up as the hazy memories from last night slowly piece themselves together.
Jungkook. The rooftop. The way he just… walked away like he didn’t care.
You shake the thought from your mind, dragging yourself out of bed. There’s no point dwelling on it. Your exams are approaching, and you need to focus.
Deciding to get some studying done, you head to the library. The quiet atmosphere should help clear your head—or at least distract you from the mess that is your life.
But the moment you step inside, your breath catches.
Jungkook is sitting at the table you both used to frequent, completely absorbed in scribbling something into a notebook. For a second, you consider turning around, but then something catches your eye.
He rips out a small piece of paper, folds it neatly, and—without hesitation—slips it into a glass jar sitting beside him.
Your heart clenches.
Is it for Hana?
You don’t stick around to find out. Before Jungkook can notice you, you turn on your heel and walk away.
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February 10th. Your birthday.
You wake up with a small flicker of hope. Maybe today would be different. Maybe Jungkook had been ignoring you all this time because he was planning something—some kind of surprise. That had to be it, right?
Surely.
So you wait.
By 3 PM, your phone is filled with messages—friends, family, even distant relatives reaching out to wish you. Everyone but Jungkook.
Not even a single text.
The hope that had carried you through the day starts to crumble, replaced by a hollow ache in your chest. You don’t go to class. What’s the point? This might just be the worst birthday ever.
That’s when Joy bursts into your room with a grin.
"You got a package!" she announces, holding out a neatly wrapped box.
Your heart leaps.
Jungkook?
You rush over, fingers fumbling as you tear open the wrapping—only for your stomach to drop.
It’s from your parents.
Disappointment washes over you, but you push it aside. They went through the trouble of sending you something, and you should be grateful. You take a deep breath, forcing a smile as you pick up your phone and call them.
"Thank you," you say, voice steady. Because at least someone remembered.
There was still time.
It was only evening—plenty of hours left before midnight. Jungkook would surely text before then. He had to.
Joy, noticing your gloomy mood, tries to lift your spirits. "Come on, let’s go out drinking. Have some fun, at least for your birthday."
But you shake your head. "I’m not in the mood."
She sighs, clearly frustrated but doesn’t push you. Instead, she flops onto your bed, staring at the ceiling. "I hate this," she mutters. "I hate seeing you like this. And I hate him for treating you this way."
Her voice is laced with anger, but there’s something else there too—guilt.
Because deep down, Joy still blames herself.
If she hadn’t sent that gift early, if she hadn’t tried to play cupid, maybe things wouldn’t have turned out this way. Maybe you wouldn’t be spending your birthday like this—waiting for a boy who might never come around.
Jungkook didn’t text that day.
He forgot your birthday.
You waited all day, checking your phone every few minutes, hoping for a message that never came. Midnight passed, and still—nothing.
The realization settles deep in your chest, heavier than you expected. You feel pathetic.
Pathetic for hoping. Pathetic for waiting. Pathetic for still caring.
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It’s the day before Valentine’s Day.
You can’t afford to miss any more classes. You haven’t stepped foot on campus since your birthday, but today, you decide to go.
You have no motivation to see or talk to anyone. You tell yourself that you’ll just quietly attend your classes and head straight back home. No distractions. No unnecessary interactions.
But as soon as you reach campus, you notice a crowd gathering. There’s some kind of matchmaking event happening for Valentine’s Day tomorrow.
Great. Just great.
Everything about it feels like the universe is mocking you, rubbing salt on an already raw wound. Heart-shaped decorations, pink confetti floating in the air, and couples laughing—completely oblivious to how suffocating it feels for you.
You try to move past the crowd, but suddenly, someone pushes forward, and you get caught in the chaos. You stumble, losing your balance—bracing for impact—
But you don’t hit the ground.
Because Jungkook catches you.
His hands grip your arms, steadying you out of instinct. His touch is firm and warm, familiar in a way that makes your chest ache.
For the first time in days, you look up at him. And for the first time in days, he looks right back at you.
He doesn’t let go of you immediately.
His grip stays firm, his fingers pressing into your arms like he’s grounding himself, like he’s hesitating. His throat bobs as he swallows hard, his lips parting slightly—like he’s about to say something.
The music playing in the background fades into a distant hum. Everything around you slows. The laughter, the chatter, the festival lights—it all blurs.
All that’s left is him.
Still holding you.
Your voice barely comes out, a whisper against the space between you.
“Do you even care, Jungkook?”
His hands tighten for a fraction of a second. His jaw clenches. And for a brief, fleeting moment, you think you see something—something raw and unspoken flash through his eyes.
But then, like a switch flipping, he lets go.
So fast that you nearly stumble again.
"No, Y/N. I don’t."
His words cut through the air, sharp and merciless.
Then he turns. Walks away.
And you’re left standing there, alone in the middle of a festival meant for love.
This is it.
This is your answer.
Jungkook has made his choice.
And now, it’s time for you to make yours.
You have to move on.
That night, you decide—Jungkook was never meant to be yours.
It’s a painful truth, one you’ve been avoiding, but tonight, you accept it.
Needing a distraction, you start clearing out your closet, pulling out old clothes, forgotten trinkets, anything to keep your hands busy. That’s when you see it.
The pink heart-shaped box.
Your breath hitches.
You had snatched it from his hands that day, barely able to meet his gaze before bolting out of his apartment and driving straight back to your dorm. You had shoved it deep into your closet, hoping that if you buried it away, you could bury your feelings too.
For a moment, you consider throwing it away. What’s the point of holding onto it now? Jungkook knows. He read the notes, saw every piece of your heart laid bare. And in the end, it changed nothing.
Your fingers tremble as you lift the lid.
One by one, you pull out the little folded papers, unfolding memories you once held so close.
"I don’t know when it happened, but one day, he became my favourite person."
"His laugh is my favorite sound."
"I wish he knew how much he means to me."
Tears blur your vision.
You never wanted him to know.
Because you never wanted to lose him.
And now, you have.
The weight of it crashes over you all at once, and before you can stop it, the tears spill over, hot and relentless.
You clutch the notes to your chest as silent sobs wrack your body.
You’ve been holding the pain in for too long.
So tonight, you let the dams break.
And you cry yourself to sleep.
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It’s Valentine’s Day.
You feel miserable.
Forget having a Valentine this year—you don’t even have a best friend anymore.
So you stay in bed all day, buried under the covers, refusing to acknowledge the world outside.
Your mind drifts, unbidden, to last year’s Valentine’s Day.
You and Jungkook had gone out for dinner—not as lovers, not as anything more than friends, just two people who didn’t have dates. You remember how he laughed at the terrible restaurant music, how he stole fries from your plate like they were his.
You miss it.
No—wait. You shouldn’t be thinking about him.
Shaking off the thought, you grab your Nintendo Switch and start playing, trying to distract yourself.
Then the doorbell rings.
You ignore it. Joy is probably home—she’ll get it.
But it rings again.
What is Joy doing?
Then it hits you—she probably stayed over at her boyfriend’s place last night.
With a groan, you push off the covers and make your way to the door. You swing it open, ready to shoo away whoever it is—
But there’s no one there.
Your gaze drops to the ground.
And then you see it.
A singular jar, placed carefully on the doormat.
You stare at the jar, a strange sense of familiarity creeping in, but you can’t quite place it.
Where have you seen something like this before?
Your mind scrambles for an answer, flipping through memories like pages in a book, but nothing surfaces.
With hesitant fingers, you reach down and pick it up, feeling the cool glass against your palm. It’s heavier than you expected.
That’s when you notice the writing on the lid, scrawled in red marker.
"To Y/N."
Your heart stutters.
You blink, trying to steady your breath, but the moment feels unreal—like you’ve stepped into a dream.
It’s only then that you notice the jar is filled with tiny rolled-up notes, crammed inside like secrets waiting to be unraveled.
Your mind starts spiraling.
What is this? Who left it? Why does it have your name?
Your hands tremble as you twist the lid open, the slight pop of the seal echoing in the silence.
You reach inside, fingers brushing against the countless little slips of paper.
With bated breath, you pull one out.
You carefully unroll it, eyes scanning the words scribbled in rushed, familiar handwriting.
"I lied."
That’s all it says.
Two words.
Your breath catches in your throat as your eyes trace the messy yet unmistakable handwriting.
Jungkook.
Your fingers tighten around the note as your pulse quickens.
It’s his.
The realization slams into you with a force that leaves you momentarily stunned.
Your breath turns shallow as the memory crashes into you—
Yesterday.
The crowd. The music. The overwhelming blur of people around you.
You had stumbled, nearly falling, only for Jungkook to catch you. For a fleeting moment, he held you close. His grip was firm, his expression unreadable.
You had searched his face, your voice barely above a whisper.
"Do you even care, Jungkook?"
You had wanted him to say yes. Even a little. Anything to make the ache in your chest feel less unbearable.
But instead—
"No, Y/N. I don’t."
His words had cut deeper than you ever thought possible.
And then he had let go. So fast, like touching you had burned him. Like you meant nothing at all.
You remember the way your heart had cracked, the way he had disappeared into the sea of people, leaving you stranded in the middle of a festival meant for love.
But now—
Now you stand here, gripping a jar full of his words.
"I lied."
Your hands fumble as you reach into the jar again, pulling out another note.
Unrolling it with shaky fingers, you read:
"I thought if I pushed you away, it’d be easier for you to move on. But the truth is, I don’t want you to."
A sharp pang strikes your chest.
Your mind reels, and suddenly, you're back at the rooftop party—drunk, vulnerable, spilling your heart out in slurred words.
“I liked you, you know? But now I realize I was just wasting my time.”
Jungkook had stood there, silent, unreadable, his hands stuffed in his pockets.
No apology. No denial. Nothing.
And then, just as effortlessly, he had turned away.
"You'll be fine," he'd said before walking off, leaving you alone in the cold night.
The memory burns like an open wound, and yet, here you are, standing in your doorway, holding the truth he should have told you that night in the palm of your hands.
Your fingers tremble as you pull out the next note.
"I missed your birthday on purpose because I wanted to give you something that lasts longer than a text."
Your breath hitches.
He didn’t forget?
He chose not to text?
A bitter chuckle escapes your lips, but it fades just as quickly as the weight of his words settles in.
You reach into the jar again, pulling out another note, heart pounding against your ribs.
What you didn’t know was—
Jungkook had spent hours writing your birthday note.
He had sat at his desk that night, a dozen crumpled papers around him, rewriting the same message over and over, never satisfied. His hands had been shaky when he finally folded the note and slipped it into the jar.
Because words were permanent.
Because he was afraid.
Because deep down, he knew—if he told you how much you really meant to him, he wouldn’t be able to push you away anymore.
And that terrified him.
Your grip on the jar tightens as you pull out the next note.
"I was scared you’d see me in the library that day. And you did. I almost stopped writing. But I wanted to finish this for you."
Your breath catches in your throat as a memory rushes back—
The library.
That afternoon, when you had finally dragged yourself back to campus to study for your exams, you had seen him sitting at your usual table, scribbling something into his notebook.
At the time, you thought nothing of it—until you watched him tear out a tiny slip of paper and slip it into a jar.
A jar.
The very same one you now hold in your trembling hands.
Back then, you had turned away, assuming it was for Hana.
But it wasn’t.
It was for you.
Every note in this jar was for you.
Your vision blurs as you stare down at the tiny rolled-up messages still waiting to be read.
He had been writing to you all along.
By the time you reach the last few notes, your hands are trembling. Maybe you can’t even read them through the tears clouding your vision. The weight of all those misunderstandings—every ignored confession, every painful silence, every moment you thought he didn’t care—crashes down on you all at once.
Your breath is uneven as you unroll another slip of paper.
"You thought I didn’t care. But I did. I always did."
A sob escapes your lips, the ache in your chest unbearable.
You clutch the jar against you like it’s the most precious thing you’ve ever held—because it is. Because it’s him.
Every unspoken word. Every hidden feeling. Every truth he was too afraid to say aloud.
And now, you finally know.
Your breath catches as you reach the bottom of the jar, realizing the significance—there are exactly 100 notes, just like the box you once gave him.
With shaky hands, you pull out the 99th note.
“I was always bad at saying things out loud. So I wrote them instead. I just hope it’s not too late for you to read them.”
Your chest tightens.
You take a deep breath and reach for the last note, your fingers trembling. Slowly, you unroll it, heart pounding in your ears.
“Y/N, will you be my Valentine?”
The paper almost slips from your fingers as your vision blurs with fresh tears. A shaky laugh escapes your lips, somewhere between disbelief and overwhelming emotion.
After everything, after all the silence, the pain, the misunderstandings—he’s finally saying it.
And suddenly, all that matters is what you’ll do next.
The moment the words register, you don’t think.
The jar nearly slips from your grasp as you scramble to your feet, your heartbeat hammering louder than the thoughts racing through your mind. Jungkook. He couldn’t have gone far—he must have just dropped it off.
You fling the door open, barefoot, barely even stopping to grab your keys. The cold air bites at your skin, but you don’t care. You sprint down the stairs, nearly stumbling in your rush to get outside.
Your eyes dart wildly around the street, your breath coming out in frantic puffs. Where is he?
Then, you see him.
A few feet away, Jungkook is walking slowly, hands in his pockets, head low like he’s already bracing for disappointment. Like he’s already convinced you won’t come after him.
But you do.
“Jungkook!”
He freezes.
You don’t stop running until you’re right in front of him, breathless, clutching the jar close to your chest like it’s the only thing anchoring you to the moment.
His eyes widen when he sees you—messy hair, no shoes, trembling hands still gripping his gift like it’s the most important thing in the world.
You swallow hard, voice shaking. “Did you mean it?”
Jungkook looks at you for a long moment, the night stretching between you like a fragile thread.
Then, barely above a whisper—“Yeah.”
Your chest heaves, breath uneven, voice shaking as you clutch the jar tighter.
"You absolute—jerk." Your voice wavers, but the anger, the hurt, the sheer weight of everything he’s put you through spills out in every word. "You sat there, letting me think I meant nothing to you. And the whole time, you were—" You shake the jar, almost laughing in disbelief. "—writing these?"
Jungkook doesn’t answer. He just stands there, hands stuffed in his pockets, jaw tight, like he’s bracing himself for whatever you’re about to say next.
"You could’ve just told me, Jungkook. You could’ve just—" You pause, gripping the jar like it’s the only thing holding you together. "Why? Why lie to me?"
He exhales sharply, his voice rough, like he’s been holding it in for too long.
"Because I was a coward."
You blink. You weren’t expecting him to admit it so easily.
Jungkook runs a hand through his hair, looking away. "I thought pushing you away was the right thing to do. If I let you think I didn’t care, maybe you’d move on. Maybe you’d find someone who wouldn’t hurt you like I did."
Your throat tightens. Your fingers dig into the glass of the jar. "You were the one hurting me, Jungkook."
His eyes finally meet yours, and the weight of them almost knocks the air from your lungs. He looks wrecked.
"I know." His voice is barely above a whisper.
"Then why?" Your voice trembles, frustration bubbling over. "Why did you let me think I was chasing something that wasn’t even there?"
His jaw clenches, and for a second, he doesn’t answer. But then, his voice comes, low and raw.
"Because I was afraid you’d realize you deserved better."
Silence settles between you. A silence so thick it presses against your chest, making it hard to breathe.
You stare at him, your vision blurring. You should walk away. You should scream, cry—anything. But instead, you do the only thing you can think of.
You reach into the jar, grab a note at random, and shove it into his hand. "Read it."
Jungkook hesitates. Then, slowly, he unfolds the paper. His fingers tremble as he reads the words he once wrote.
"If I had been braver, I would’ve told you every single day how much you meant to me."
He sucks in a sharp breath, gripping the paper like it’s the only thing keeping him grounded. His eyes flick back up to yours, burning with something you can’t quite name.
"Say it now," you whisper.
Jungkook's breath catches. His grip on the note tightens like it’s the only thing keeping him together.
You wait. Trembling, heart pounding, eyes locked onto his. Daring him to finally, finally say it.
He exhales shakily. His voice is low, rough—like it hurts to speak, but he does anyway.
"Y/N…"
You don’t look away. Don’t let him run from this.
His throat bobs. His hand curls into a fist at his side, then slowly unclenches.
"I love you."
A sharp inhale cuts through you. Even though you were waiting for it, the words hit like a tidal wave.
Jungkook shakes his head, almost laughing, but there’s no humor in it—just raw, aching regret.
"I loved you then. I love you now. And I don’t think there’s a single version of me that won’t love you."
Your vision blurs, the weight of everything pressing down on you all at once.
"Then why—" your voice cracks, "—why did you let me think you didn’t?"
Jungkook exhales sharply, raking a hand through his hair. His face twists with something close to pain.
"Because I was scared." His voice is barely above a whisper. "Scared that if I let myself have you, I’d ruin you. Scared that you’d wake up one day and realize I wasn’t worth it."
Your hands clench at your sides. "You don’t get to decide that for me."
He nods. Swallows hard. Takes a step closer.
"I know." His voice is softer now. "And if I could go back, I’d do it all differently. But I can’t. All I can do is stand here and tell you—"
Your lips crash into his, years of longing and heartbreak unraveling in a single, desperate moment. Your fingers fist into his jacket, pulling him closer, closing the distance like you’ve been waiting forever. Because you have.
Jungkook catches you. His arms wind tight around your waist, grounding you, anchoring you like he’s afraid you’ll slip away again. His grip is firm, unyielding, as if holding you is the only thing that makes sense anymore.
The kiss isn’t soft—it’s frantic, raw, filled with all the words you never got to say. It’s a confession, an apology, a plea. His lips move against yours with urgency, pouring everything into it, like he’s trying to make up for every second he spent pushing you away.
Jungkook tilts his head, deepening the kiss, and a shiver runs through you as his fingers tangle into your hair, tugging just enough to make your breath hitch. His other hand spreads against your back, pressing you impossibly closer, like even this isn’t enough, like he’d fuse you together if he could.
You melt. Every wall you built, every ounce of anger, every misunderstanding—crumbling, dissolving into the heat of him. The way he kisses you feels like an answer to a question you didn’t know you were asking. Like a promise.
When you finally pull apart, neither of you lets go.
Jungkook rests his forehead against yours, his breath mingling with yours, still uneven, still shaken. His hands remain on your waist like he’s afraid that the second he lets go, this will all disappear.
Your fingers stay curled in his shirt, gripping the fabric like it’s the only thing keeping you grounded.
His voice is raw when he finally speaks, barely more than a whisper. “I don’t deserve you.”
You exhale, shaking your head, the weight of everything still pressing against your chest. Your voice is quiet, but steady. “Then spend every day proving that you do.”
Jungkook lets out a soft laugh—one that sounds broken and real, like he can’t believe he’s still allowed to have this moment with you.
“Deal,” he murmurs.
And then he kisses you again.
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The door barely clicks shut before Jungkook is on you again, his hands framing your face as his lips crash into yours. There’s no hesitation now, no careful restraint—only heat, only the raw, aching need that’s been simmering between you for far too long.
His body presses against yours, pushing you back into the door, and you gasp against his lips. He swallows the sound, deepening the kiss, his tongue sweeping over yours with slow, deliberate intent. He tastes like something addictive—like want, like longing, like the kind of hunger that makes your stomach tighten and your knees go weak.
Your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling him closer, needing him closer. His hands roam down, slipping under the hem of your shirt, fingertips skimming along your bare skin. His touch is scorching, leaving a trail of fire wherever he moves. He pauses, his breath ragged, lips barely brushing yours.
"Tell me to stop," he murmurs, voice rough, uneven.
You shake your head, tilting your chin up until your lips ghost over his again. "I don’t want you to stop."
The words break something inside him.
His mouth crashes onto yours again, hungrier this time, more desperate. His hands slide up your back, pulling you flush against him, and you can feel the hard lines of his body, the way his chest rises and falls unsteadily against yours. One hand grips your waist, fingers digging in just enough to make you shudder, while the other slides lower, gripping your thigh and hitching it up against his hip.
A quiet moan escapes you at the feeling, and he groans in response, pressing harder into you. His lips leave yours, trailing a path down your jaw, to the sensitive spot beneath your ear, where he lingers. His teeth scrape lightly against your skin before he soothes it with his tongue, sucking gently, enough to make you arch into him, enough to make your breath hitch.
"Jungkook—" His name leaves your lips in a breathless whisper, and he exhales sharply against your skin, like the sound is enough to undo him.
His grip tightens as he lifts you effortlessly, hands settling under your thighs. Instinct takes over, and your legs wrap around his waist as he carries you across the room. He lays you down on the bed with care, but there’s nothing careful about the way he follows you down, covering your body with his own.
He hovers above you, his breath warm against your lips, his dark eyes searching yours. His thumb brushes over your cheek, then lower, tracing the curve of your bottom lip, his touch unbearably light.
"You’re sure?" he whispers, voice thick with something heady.
Your only answer is a whispered "Yes," breathless, certain.
Something shifts in him at your words. His lips find yours again, but this time, he takes his time—exploring, savoring, as if he wants to memorize every inch of you. His kisses trail downward, along the curve of your neck, across your collarbone, his mouth mapping out a path of heat and sensation. His hands move with just as much purpose, slipping under fabric, pushing it aside, fingers tracing bare skin with an intimacy that makes your pulse stutter.
Every brush of his lips, every slow, deliberate touch sends waves of electricity through you, igniting something deep and primal. Clothes are discarded in slow, teasing movements, the heat between you building with every layer that falls away.
His lips ghost over your shoulder, down your arm, over the curve of your breasts, his breath hot and uneven. He watches you, eyes dark with something intense, something almost reverent, as his fingers trace slow, lazy patterns along your bare skin.
"You’re so beautiful," he murmurs, voice filled with something deeper than desire.
You reach for him, pulling him back up, needing his mouth on yours again, needing more. He obliges, kissing you fiercely, like he never wants to stop, like this moment has been waiting to happen for far too long.
His hands explore moving towards your heat, his touch reverent yet possessive, like he’s memorizing every inch of you, like he’s making up for all the lost time. You arch into him, breath hitching, hands gripping onto his shoulders as heat coils low in your stomach.
"Jungkook," you whisper, his name falling from your lips like a plea.
His breath catches, and he exhales shakily. "I’ve got you," he murmurs against your skin, voice barely above a whisper. "I’m right here."
And then there’s no more talking—only movement, only passion, only the feeling of finally, finally being exactly where you both belong.
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The air is thick with warmth, bodies tangled beneath the sheets, hearts pounding in tandem as the last echoes of your shared breaths settle between you. The world outside might still be turning, but in this moment, it doesn’t exist. It’s just you and him, skin against skin, the weight of what just happened pressing down like the softest, heaviest thing in the world.
Your body is spent, muscles trembling faintly from the aftershocks, but you don’t move. You can’t.
Jungkook is still holding you. One arm draped lazily around your waist, the other tracing absentminded patterns against your back. His touch is slow, soothing, like he’s still trying to convince himself you’re real. Like if he lets go, you might slip away.
You stay like that for a while, chests rising and falling in sync, your head resting just above his heart. The rhythm of it is steady now, no longer racing like it had been just moments ago. Still, there’s a softness to it, an unspoken question lingering in the quiet space between you.
It’s you who finally breaks it.
“So…” You shift slightly, fingers trailing absentmindedly along his chest. “Hana knew about the jar?”
His hand stills for the briefest moment before he exhales a small, breathy laugh. His voice is thick with exhaustion, but there’s amusement in it too.
“She didn’t just know about it.” His fingers resume their slow, idle circles against your bare skin. “It was her idea.”
You blink. “…What?”
Jungkook hums in confirmation, the corner of his mouth quirking up. “Yeah. She was the one who told me to do it—to fill a jar with everything I wanted to say but couldn’t.” He pauses, then adds, “She also threatened to expose me if I didn’t.”
You scoff, though you can’t help the warmth blooming in your chest. “So let me get this straight… You couldn’t tell me how you felt, but you told Hana?”
Jungkook turns his head slightly to look at you, eyes still heavy with sleep, but the amusement in them is undeniable. “I didn’t tell her. She just… figured it out.”
Of course, she did.
You huff, feigning annoyance, but your fingers betray you, tracing soft, aimless patterns along his collarbone. “Still. She knew before I did.”
Jungkook grins, rolling onto his side to face you fully. One hand slips beneath the sheets, finding your waist, pulling you closer until there’s no space left between you. His voice is low when he asks, “Are you jealous?”
You glare at him. “Shut up.”
His laughter vibrates against your skin, rich and warm, before he dips down to kiss you—slow and lingering, like he’s trying to pour everything he can’t say into it. When he finally pulls back, his forehead rests against yours, his breath mingling with yours in the quiet.
Then, softer now, more serious, he murmurs, “Are you gonna answer me?”
Your brow furrows slightly. “Answer what?”
Jungkook leans over, reaching toward the nightstand where the jar still sits, its notes untouched—except for the last one.
“The question,” he says, retrieving the single unfolded slip of paper. He holds it between you, and even though you already know what it says, your heart still stutters when your eyes skim over the words again.
Y/N, will you be my Valentine?
Earlier, you had left it unanswered, too overwhelmed by everything that had come before it. But now, after everything—after confessions, after heartbreak, after finally finding each other again—there’s no hesitation.
You reach out, plucking the note from his fingers. Slowly, carefully, you fold it again, tucking it beneath your pillow like something precious, something worth keeping. Then, meeting his gaze, you whisper, “You never needed to ask.”
Jungkook exhales, slow and shaky, like something inside him has finally settled. His hand cups your cheek, his thumb brushing over your skin like he’s memorizing the moment.
“Good,” he murmurs, voice thick with emotion. “Because I wasn’t planning on taking no for an answer.”
Your breath catches. Not because of his confidence—but because, deep down, you realize you’d never wanted to say no in the first place. Maybe you had tried to fight it. Maybe you had convinced yourself that the past had built too many walls between you. But now, lying here in the warmth of his arms, the truth settles into your bones like something that had been waiting for you to accept it all along.
It had always been him.
Your fingers tighten in the sheets as you search his gaze, looking for hesitation, for doubt—for something to make this feel less like a dream. But there’s nothing. Just him. Just you. Just this moment you both fought so hard to reach.
Jungkook watches you, waiting, always waiting, his hand still resting against your cheek as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear.
So you close the distance.
You kiss him slowly this time, letting it sink in. The warmth of his lips, the taste of him still lingering, the way he exhales like he’s been holding his breath for years. When you pull away, his forehead rests against yours, both of you breathing the same air, hearts beating in time.
And then, with a quiet, knowing smile, you whisper, “Then don’t.”
Jungkook’s lips part slightly, his expression shifting—softening, melting—as if those two words had knocked down every last barrier between you. And maybe they had. Because before you can say anything else, he’s pulling you against him again, tucking you close, his hand slipping into yours beneath the sheets.
Neither of you speak for a long time after that. You don’t need to.
Outside, the world keeps turning, time moving forward just as it always does. But here, in the hush of your dorm room, wrapped up in him, it feels like the universe has paused just for you.
Not to make up for lost time.
But to remind you that some things—some people—were never really lost at all.
And maybe, just maybe, they never would be.
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EPILOGUE : Years Later – Valentine’s Day
The door clicks shut behind you as you step into the apartment, kicking off your shoes with a tired sigh. The evening air still clings to your skin, carrying traces of laughter and the lingering warmth of Jungkook’s presence.
It had been another perfect night—one filled with inside jokes, stolen bites of each other’s food, and his usual exasperated attempts to get you to pick a restaurant instead of saying, “Anything’s fine.”
Jungkook is nowhere in sight, giving you the solitude you need. You don’t hesitate. Your steps are purposeful as you cross the room, crouching down beside the bed. With practiced ease, you reach under the frame, fingers brushing against the familiar surface of a small pink, heart-shaped box.
But this time, there’s something else.
Your fingers find the jar—the one that started it all.
You pull them both out carefully, as if they were a fragile secret, and place them on your lap.
Soft footsteps approach. Then, a familiar weight sinks onto the mattress beside you.
Jungkook’s voice is quieter now, fond. “Didn’t think I’d see those again.”
You smile, running a thumb over the worn edges of the box before glancing at him. “I don’t know what made me reach for them.”
He hums, gaze flickering between the objects in your hands. “Habit, maybe. Or fate.” Then, smirking, “You always did have a thing for digging up answers.”
Rolling your eyes, you pop the lid off the jar, fingers fishing out an old note. The paper is creased, the ink slightly faded, but you already know what it says.
"Y/N, will you be my Valentine?"
Jungkook watches you, expectant. “You never actually answered me, you know.”
You exhale a laugh, shaking your head. “Jungkook, we’re literally married.”
“And?” He leans in, teasing. “I’m just saying, a verbal confirmation wouldn’t hurt.”
You scoff but humor him anyway, fingers curling into his sweater as you whisper against his lips—
"Yes, Jungkook. I’ll be your Valentine."
His arms wrap around you, pulling you in. The jar sits forgotten on the floor, the pink box nestled beside it.
Once upon a time, you had pulled it out, searching for clarity. Looking for a sign.
You didn’t realize then—you never needed the answers inside.
Because you’d already found them.
Because you’d found him.
And maybe that was the answer all along.
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taglist: @iamstilljk @hirochan112 @withluvjm @amarawayne @jeon-has-left-you-on-seen @blueofocean @tattzjeon @tsick @stuti2904 @gukkiebabysblog @taekritimin123 @whisperingonyx @sadgirlroo @nerdycheol @hoshiskimchi @blueberriesm @kooksrqcer @minimoninini @dreamersparacosm @yok00k @whothefuckisthishoe @prxdajeon @darkangelfei @sunainasworld @kia091106 @khadeeeeej @welcometomyworld13 @noshametempo @bakuhoethotski @ohyeah35sworld
thank you so much for reading! let me know what u think about it <3
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dailybridgerton · 24 hours ago
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The Gun-Li-Baek Household in Bridgerton S4
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fuckyeahgoodomens · 2 days ago
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More detailed Monday Edinburgh filming photos 👀
!!!SPOILERS!!!
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👀 look at David
No Crowley's eyes
That very much seems like a wig
No snek tattoo of either side of the face, just sideburns
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I think this is angel Crowley going to demon Aziraphale's bookshop 👀
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jinovel · 3 days ago
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my babycandystar 😞💝💝💝
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JUNGKOOK x FOR YOUTH (221015) YET TO COME IN BUSAN; credit.
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sabrinasource · 3 days ago
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SABRINA CARPENTER via Instagram (February 12, 2025)
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pennyellee · 22 hours ago
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𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐢𝐠 𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡?
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𝐲𝐨𝐮 𝐛𝐢𝐠 𝐞𝐧𝐨𝐮𝐠𝐡? | 𝐌𝐘𝐆 𝐏𝐑𝐎𝐃𝐔𝐂𝐄𝐑 𝐀𝐔 (𝐌) pairings: producer!min yoongi x popgirlie f!reader genre: romance, smut, slight porn with plot, friends to lovers au word count: 6K beta read by @chaoticpuff17 (ily)
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prompt: "There is just no way you two did not fuck each other's brains out." summary: "You Big Enough?" - when an old flame resurfaced, rumours spiralled, and suddenly, every lingering glance and every touch between you seemed to carry weight. It had always been just music, just friendship—hadn’t it? No. You always had the vibe of  'will they, won't they.' This has become bigger than the music. Tension crackled, boundaries blurred, and there was this thing that Yoongi made sure you knew well besides that he was big enough. "They just talk. I fucking deliver."
warnings: minors dni 18+ | sexual tension, explicit language, themes of subtle (and not-so-subtle) possessiveness, teasing, sexual activity, rough sex, fingering (f receiving), miscommunication driving emotional conflict, dirty talk, raw fucking (stay safe!) choking and spanking as part of intimate scenes, creampie, fleeting nipple play, very subtle dominance/submission dynamics, implied size kink ... (as per usual, I'll add some if needed)
disclaimer: this story is purely fictional, it does not depict real-life events or involve any actual members of BTS. This story will contain strong language, explicit content, obsessive behaviour, sexual activity, sex without protection, choking and spanking as part of intimate scenes.
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a/n: yall, I had this idea like a month ago and I wrote the initial part but lowkey forgot that it's in my drafts so I finished it yesterday (might come later to edit, pls excuse me im working overtime these days) and amazing and spectacular @chaoticpuff17 managed to read it so you can have it as a lil Valentine's day treat. So here is something simple, smutty, and cute for ya. Happy Valentine to all of you who celebrate, love you my little fairies! ♥
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Your hands hovered above the keys and your brain could not figure out what to press to make it sound as magical as you want. Your mind searched for the perfect melody for the bridge of her latest song—
"Try F-sharp minor," Yoongi suggested, his voice low and even. The studio is a second home for you. Always have been and dear Min Yoongi was as much a refuge as the soundproof walls and softly humming equipment.
You nodded, a small smile tugging at your lips.
"Perfect—" There was a warmth in his gaze, one that lingered a second too long.
"How do you always know, Yoongi-ah?"
"It's my job," he said simply, but the corners of his mouth quirked up. Your heart fluttered with a familiar yet unwelcome sensation. But you quickly shook it off, focusing on the music in front of her.
"I'm lucky to have you, then," you murmured.
Yoongi didn't respond immediately, and when he did, his voice was quieter than before.
"I'd say I'm the lucky one."
Before you could process what he meant, your phone buzzed, breaking the spell. You picked it up, seeing a message from your lifelong bestie, Jimin-ah.
Emergency. Coming over.
You frown but you are happy to not indulge in something you don't have the answers to. "Jimin-ah is on his way. Guess I'll have to call it a night."
Yoongi's expression was unreadable, but he nodded, knowing that it must be something important if you’re packing your stuff so quickly. 
"I'll see you tomorrow, then."
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"You need to fucking hear this," he says, her voice brimming with urgency when he bursts into the apartment like a whirlwind, his dark glossy hair bouncing as he flops onto the couch.
"You remember Seo Kang-joon?"
You hand him a glass of red wine and sit across from him.
"What now? Did he suddenly reappear after he ghosted me?"
Jimin winces.
"Actually, yeah. And I finally found out why he did so."
Your stomach drops. You liked that man when you went out, but the message you left a good amount of time ago went unanswered for an even longer period of time.
"Why?"
He hesitates, his eyes darting around the room. Finally, he leans forward, lowering his voice. "Everyone thinks you and Yoongi are… you know."
You blink.
"What?" you say, playing dumb.
"You knooowww…—
"—that."
He said through gritted teeth, trying to make you understand, but your brain was not cooperating.
"No, I dooooon't know that" You mimicked him, and he only stared dead serious at your stupidity.
"They think you've been doing it," he says bluntly. "Apparently, it's some open secret in the industry. Like, 'Oh, Y/N and Yoongi? Of course, they're a thing.'"
Your jaw drops. No way. No fucking way.
"That's insane. We're not… we're not like that."
"You sure about that buttercup?" Jimin raises an eyebrow and you merely nod.
"Cuz', he's not exactly denying it. And honestly, can you blame people for assuming? You've written two albums together, spent countless hours locked in the studio, and the way he looks at you…" he trails off, shaking his head.
"There is just no way you two did not fuck each other's brains out."
Your cheeks burn.
"That's ridiculous. Yoongi and I are friends. Just friends."
"Hmm, I don't know hun,—"
He was right. You weren't buying it. Not entirely.
But you weren't ready to admit that out loud—not yet, anyway. Your mind races. You replay every moment you've spent together, every lingering glance and fleeting touch.
Yoongi and you?
It was absurd, wasn't it?
Right?
Jimin watched you carefully, his perfectly shaped brows raised in amusement. "You're thinking about it, aren't you?"
"No," you scoffed, but your voice lacked conviction.
Jimin smirked, leaning back against the couch. "Look, babe, I wouldn't bring this up if I didn't think it was something you should actually think about. People don't just make this kind of shit up for no reason."
You sighed, rubbing your temples. "I just—why wouldn't he deny it?"
"That's what you need to figure out." Jimin gave you a pointed look. "You trust him, don't you?"
You hesitated. That was the problem, wasn't it? You trusted Yoongi more than anyone. He had been your anchor in the storm, your safe space when everything else felt uncertain.
But this—this was different.
The way he looked at you.
The way he always knew exactly what you needed.
You replayed every moment with Yoongi in your mind, combing through the memories with a fine-toothed scepticism, looking for anything—anything—that could have fed these rumours. The way he watched you while you worked in the dance studio, the quiet way he always made sure you had water before long sessions, the casual intimacy in the way he touched you—light, fleeting, like a habit neither of you had ever questioned.
Had you been blind this whole time?
Jimin's voice snapped you back to reality.
"Look, I think you need to talk to him. Like, actually talk to him."
You swallowed hard.
Talking to Min Yoongi had never been difficult before. But this? This felt dangerous.
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The next evening, you stepped into the dimly lit studio, and the question sat on the tip of your tongue like a loaded gun.
Yoongi was already there, as always. The warm amber glow of the desk lamp cast long shadows across his sharp features, catching on the soft strands of dark hair that fell over his eyes. His fingers rested idly on the soundboard, a picture of quiet focus—until he looked up at you.
His gaze, steady and unreadable, held you captive.
"You're late," he murmured, but there was no accusation in his tone—just that familiar, quiet warmth.
You swallowed. "Got caught up with Jimin last night, forgot to set a reminder."
At that, something flickered across his face—too quick to name, gone before you could hold onto it. "Ah."
Silence stretched between you, thick with something you weren't ready to name. But you hadn't come here to tiptoe around things anymore.
So you stepped forward, pressing a hand against the cool surface of the mixing console, grounding yourself, only now taking his appearance in.
"I played with the structure a little last night after you went home and—" he broke the silence first, but you knew he sensed the sudden awkwardness in your posture, your whole being.
"Is something the matter, sleepyhead?"
"Nope, nothing at all."
You quickly retorted, trying to look anywhere else but his gorgeous face.
Yoongi's eyes, however, never wavered. They held a depth that made it impossible for you to escape his gaze. You had always known how intense he could be, but now, in the stillness of the studio, it felt almost intimate, the air thick with unspoken words that seemed to pulse around you like a melody begging to be heard.
He leaned forward slightly, his hands resting casually on the desk, but his posture was all focus—intent, almost as if he was waiting for you to unravel yourself.
"Are you sure about that?" His voice was lower now, a gentle challenge. He was pulling at the thread, testing the tension between you.
Your stomach twisted. This was the moment, wasn't it?
"I'm fine, Yoongi, just had a lot of wine last night," you said again, but your voice betrayed you. It cracked, ever so slightly, and you couldn't mask the uncertainty in it.
The silence between you thickened, and it felt like the space in the room had shrunk, until it was just you, him, and the suffocating pressure of the question you both knew was lingering.
He didn't look away, not even when you avoided his gaze, staring down at the soundboard like it could offer you some kind of escape. He moved to the electronic piano while lifting a brow at you.
"So as I said, I played with the structure—"
You watched him, leaning at the piano, his fingers poised just above the keys, waiting for him to break the silence again, to give you something more. But you didn't want more from him—not in the way you wanted it. Not yet.
Instead, you played a dangerous game, one of subtle manipulation, testing him, probing for the truth behind his unreadable expressions.
"You remember Seo Kang-joon, right?" You interrupt him, raising your voice just a little.
The name hung in the air between you, deliberately chosen, carefully placed like a baited hook.
Yoongi's fingers stilled for the briefest of moments. But it was enough. Just enough for you to notice. His posture shifted ever so slightly, his shoulders stiffening imperceptibly.
You bit back a smile, inwardly satisfied at his subtle reaction.
"I bumped into him yesterday on my way home. He... he actually asked me out on a date again. Said he lost his phone and had to get a new phone number, didn't remember mine."
A lie.
The words left your mouth so easily, like a lie you had rehearsed in front of the mirror, and yet your heart pounded with anticipation. You weren't expecting much. Just a flicker of jealousy, a crack in the calm façade he always wore. So your interrogation of his, perhaps, hidden feelings isn't unprovoked.
Yoongi didn't immediately respond. His fingers finally touched the keys, the faintest chord ringing through the room, but his eyes remained fixed on the piano.
For a long moment, there was nothing but the soft melody playing between you, the rhythm of his fingers meeting the ivories almost too steady.
And then, finally, he spoke. His voice was low, flat. "Is that so?"
Your breath caught. That was it?
You frowned, staring at him from across the room, searching for a reaction. Anything. But his expression was as controlled as ever. His calm demeanour was unshakable.
No way.
You leaned forward, the pressure of the lie beginning to claw at your insides. "Yeah, he asked me. He was actually pretty... persistent about it. He was sorry I thought he ghosted me." You let the words hang, trailing off deliberately, watching his reaction closely.
But Yoongi only nodded, his eyes focused on the keys.
"I see."
A small flame of frustration ignited in your chest. Was he really this indifferent? Was he truly going to let this lie slide without a hint of a reaction?
You stood up abruptly, unable to hold the pretense any longer. You could feel your temper rising, the anger bubbling just beneath the surface.
"You fucking see?!" Yoongi's fingers paused mid-chord as the tension in your voice snapped through the room. You busted out your feelings. Well, this was doomed from the start.
You stepped forward, your voice trembling with a mix of fury and something else—something raw that you hadn't been prepared to face. "You don't even care, do you? You don't care that everyone is saying we're fucking, that they think we're—" You cut yourself off, almost choking on the words. You couldn't bear to say them aloud, but you needed to know, needed to push him.
His gaze met yours, and in that instant, you knew he hadn't been indifferent. He'd been waiting. Waiting for you to unravel yourself, for you to show your cards. His eyes, dark and unreadable, pinned you in place.
"Is that what you wanted to hear?" His voice was cold now, controlled, with an edge that made your skin prickle. The air in the room thickened, turning heavy with the weight of his words.
"Well, perchance?!—" You gesture rapidly.
"You run around not denying it Yoongi,—?!"
The calm, controlled exterior he wore was unravelling, and you weren't sure if you liked the version of him that was emerging—or if it terrified you.
He stood up, slowly, deliberately. The sudden motion caused a cold shiver to run down your spine. He didn't step towards you, but the space between you both seemed to shrink in the way he carried himself—every step deliberate, every movement measured.
"Why do you care so much?" His voice was low, almost detached, but there was a certain sharpness to it now. It was the tone he used when he was dangerously close to losing control, but for now, he still kept it in check. "What's so important about what they think?"
You opened your mouth to reply, but the words tangled in your throat. You had been so sure of your reasoning—so certain of the way you wanted him to react—but now that he was giving you exactly what you wanted, you realized just how hollow that satisfaction felt.
"I dunno Yoongi—maybe because men ghosted me—maybe because you just might be the reason I had a dry season— or maybe you're that kind of motherfucker—"
Yoongi let out a sharp breath, a dry laugh escaping him as he shook his head. You elevated this to a different level now. "A motherfucker?" He repeated his tone somewhere between disbelief and amusement. "That's what we're doing now?"
You were too far gone to stop. The frustration, the pent-up emotions, the sheer nerve of him sitting there, all unbothered while you spiralled—it cracked something open inside you.
"Yes, Yoongi! A motherfucker! What else do you call a guy who lets rumours fly like this and doesn't even care?" Your hands gestured wildly as your voice grew more frantic.
"You don't deny it, you don't address it, you just exist in this limbo, letting people think we're screwing while I sit here looking like a desperate idiot who cannot get a hold of her man—"
His jaw clenched, his patience visibly wearing thin. "So what if I don't deny it?" He stepped closer, voice a fraction lower now, dangerously quiet. "What if I don't care what they think? What if I like the way it sounds?"
Your breath hitched.
Your mouth opened, but nothing came out. Your entire argument, the whole reason you'd brought this up, suddenly felt shaky, flimsy, like a house of cards collapsing under the weight of his words.
Yoongi watched you, his eyes dark and unreadable, waiting for you to process what he had just admitted.
Finally, your voice came out in a whisper, hoarse and unsure.
"The fuck, Yoongi?"
"I don't deny it," he said again, slower this time. His head tilted slightly, studying you. "Because it's not entirely wrong."
A rush of heat flooded through you—anger, shock, confusion, something else, something deeper and more dangerous. "Not… entirely… wrong?" You echoed, blinking at him. "Are you—are you actually fucking insane?"
Yoongi exhaled sharply, like he was just as frustrated as you were, like you were the one being difficult. "Y/N—"
"No," you cut him off, pointing a finger at him. "No, you don't get to just drop that and act like it's nothing."
"I'm not acting like it's nothing," he countered, his voice still calm, still infuriatingly composed. "You wanted to know why I never denied it? That's why."
"You can't be fucking serious right now, you fuck—" his body in your proximity startled you, but you let him pin you to the wall next to the mixing desk.
His hands caged you in, palms pressing against the wall on either side of your head. You felt the sharp inhale of his breath, the slow exhale, the tension buzzing between you like a live wire.
"You don't get it, do you?" His voice was quiet but razor-edged, his eyes dark and unwavering. "You've been running in circles trying to make me jealous, trying to get a reaction—" his gaze flicked down to your lips for just a second before meeting your eyes again, "pushing me like you want me to snap."
You listened. For once.
"You sat in that fucking booth with only your panties under that big shirt—"
"My fucking shirt—"
"My fucking shirt," he repeated, voice rough. "And you think I wouldn't become possessive? Think I didn't see the way you stretched in it, how you leaned in close, pretending like you didn't know exactly what you were doing?"
Your breath hitched. You did not realize he saw you this way.
You swallowed, trying to find solid ground beneath the sudden energy shift, but Yoongi wasn't giving you the chance.
"You wanted me to react?" His eyes burned into yours. "You wanted this?"
The heat between you became unbearable.
"I—" You started, but you had no words.
Because now, finally, Yoongi wasn't holding back.
And neither were you.
Your pulse hammered in your throat as his words sank in, wrapping around your ribs, tightening like a snare. You had been waiting—aching—for a reaction, pushing buttons you hadn't even fully understood yourself. But now? Now, Yoongi was looking at you like he had already decided.
His breath was warm against your cheek, the space between you non-existent.
"Say it," he murmured.
You licked your lips, the movement not lost on him. "Say what?"
Yoongi let out a short, dark chuckle. "That you like it. That you like this—the way I look at you, the way I see you."
Your stomach flipped.
"You're so full of shit," you whispered, but there was no weight behind it but pure provocation.
His fingers twitched against the wall before he exhaled sharply and leaned in, just enough for your breaths to tangle.
"And you'll be full of me."
"You big enough?" 
Oh, that did it.
A sharp, involuntary gasp left his lips and your body betrayed you before your mind could catch up. The air between you turned electric, charged with something too dangerous to name.
Yoongi's gaze darkened, his tongue swiping over his bottom lip as if savouring the way your breath hitched when he looked at you that way. He bit down his lower lip before he spoke again, laying his palms on the flat surface of the table in front of the piano that lay on it–
"There are two possibilities happening between us—" He tilted his head slightly, gaze never wavering from yours, his voice a low rasp against your skin.
"One—we make this official,—" He said it like it was inevitable, like it was a fact written in stone. "No more rumours, no more bullshit. No one else but us. Just you and me."
Your breath stuttered, your heart slamming against your ribs.
"And the second?" you whispered, barely able to form the words.
Yoongi smirked, slow and sinful, his fingers twitching against the wall before he leaned in, his mouth a breath away from yours.
"I keep writing my songs, keep filling my verses with filth about how I would fuck you good and hard—until you finally beg me to bury my cock in your cunt."
“And people will hear you’re mine—”
Your entire body went hot. Yoongi's smirk widened, watching the way your breath stuttered, your pupils blown wide. He tilted his head, gaze flicking down to your parted lips, his voice dropping even lower. Your thighs clenched a traitorous reaction that made his smirk turn predatory.
"You—"
"That's the difference between them and me, baby." His fingers ghosted over your waist, light enough to make you shiver. "They just talk. I fucking deliver."
You swallowed hard, your pulse thrumming so violently it was a wonder you were still standing.
"You're so—"
"What?" Yoongi pressed in closer, his nose brushing against yours. "Say it."
You had no idea what you were going to say.
But when his fingers finally curled around your hip, pulling you flush against him, the words you should say, the ones that would stop this before it went too far—before you gave in—died in your throat.
"Fucking thought so." He smirked again. That smirk. That fucking smirk.
It did something to you, something dangerous, something you weren't sure you could control. It made you want to wipe it off his face—maybe with a slap, maybe with your mouth.
Yoongi knew it, too.
He leaned in just a fraction closer, his breath hot against your cheek, his grip tightening on your hip as if daring you to push him away.
You didn't.
"See?" His voice was silk and smoke, smooth but lethal. "You love this. You love the way I get under your skin. The way I make you feel."
Your nails dug into your palms. "You don't know shit about what I feel."
Yoongi chuckled, low and rough. "Don't I?"
His fingers traced a slow, deliberate path down your side, stopping just shy of indecency but still making you shudder.
"Tell me to stop," he murmured. "Tell me you don't want this, and I will."
It was the worst thing he could've said. Because the truth—the one you refused to admit even to yourself—was that you didn't want him to stop. Ever. You were so fucking needy to be touched after you got to know that your dried spell had a sorcerer and it was him. So technically now, he should be the one breaking it. And he knew it.
Your silence was all the confirmation he needed to press his lips against your neck.
His hands were suddenly everywhere—gripping your waist, sliding up your thighs, spreading you open like he had every right to.
"You think I'm going to let you run your mouth, push me to the edge, and not do something about it?" His voice was a rasp, thick with hunger. "You think I don't see how badly you want this?"
Your breath hitched as his thigh pressed between yours, the friction making your knees buckle. His mouth found your jaw, teeth scraping over sensitive skin before he kissed a path down your throat, sucking, biting, claiming.
You barely had time to think before he gripped your wrist, guiding your hand down—down—until your fingers brushed against him, hard and thick beneath his sweats. The sound that tore from his throat was pure sin.
"Feel that?" Yoongi growled, grinding against your palm. "That's what you do to me. That's what you fucking cause each time we're in this studio."
Your fingers flexed, a teasing squeeze that had his breath stuttering. He cursed under his breath, tilting your chin up with his free hand, forcing you to meet his gaze.
Dark. Devouring. Desperate.
"Tell me to stop," he murmured again, a cruel echo of earlier. But this time, there was no space between you, no restraint.
And you didn't.
Instead, you yanked his mouth to yours. Yoongi groaned into the kiss, the sound reverberating through you as his hands pushed under your shirt, fingers trailing over bare skin, leaving fire in their wake.
Your nails raked down his back as he lifted you effortlessly, pressing you harder against the wall.
His hips rolled, slow and devastating, and a moan ripped from your throat, shameless, wrecked.
"That's it, baby" he rasped, his forehead against yours, breath heavy. "That's the sound I've been waiting for."
His hand dipped lower, slipping past the band of your shorts, finding you soaked for him. Yoongi cursed, his fingers teasing, circling, before sliding through the wetness with devastating precision.
"Fuck," he groaned, voice hoarse. "You're already so fucking ready for me."
You didn't even get a chance to respond before he pushed a finger inside, then another, stretching you, filling you, working you open until you were trembling against him.
"Yoongi—"
"I know," he hushed you, his lips brushing against your ear, his fingers moving faster, deeper. "I've got you, baby. Just take it."
And fuck, you did. You took everything he gave, your body writhing against his as pleasure built sharp and unbearable, spiralling higher, tightening—
"Come for me," he ordered, his voice dark, commanding. "Come on my fingers like the desperate little thing I know you are."
And when he curled his fingers just right, his thumb pressing where you needed it most—
You shattered.
Completely. Utterly.
Yoongi swallowed your cry with his mouth, dragging it out, his hand still moving, still milking every last bit of pleasure from you until you were shaking in his arms.
Then, as you barely caught your breath, his voice came again, low and teasing.
"Now," he murmured, undoing the string of his sweats, letting them fall.
"I'll fuck you hard that you'll forget about those smutty books you're reading—"
Your body barely had time to recover before Yoongi was pressing closer, his fingers sliding away, leaving you aching and empty. But then—then—his hands were on your hips, tugging your shorts down, peeling them away with agonizing slowness, like he wanted you to feel every second of it.
Your breath stuttered as he stepped back just enough to look at you, his dark gaze trailing over your bare, trembling form.
"Fucking perfect," he muttered, almost to himself, before his hands gripped your thighs and lifted you, forcing your legs around his waist.
The weight of him, the sheer heat of him, pressed right against your core, had you gasping, fingers digging into his shoulders. Yoongi groaned low in his throat, rolling his hips just enough for you to feel all of him, hard and thick and ready.
"Ain’t big enough, huh?" he murmured, dragging his clothed crotch against your soaked heat. His voice was rough, strained. "I’ll show you how big I am."
Your nails bit into his skin, your body writhing against him as he kept teasing, kept torturing you with slow, precise movements. The friction had you panting, your forehead falling against his.
"Stop teasing," you managed, barely above a breath.
Yoongi chuckled, dark and knowing. "Look at you. So desperate for me already." His fingers gripped your jaw, tilting your face up so you had no choice but to meet his gaze. "Tell me how much you want it."
You let out a sound between a whimper and a growl, rolling your hips against him in a silent plea. But that wasn't enough for him. Your heart racing, you felt his warm palm connect with your skin, a stinging sensation spreading through your buttocks as he spanked you. You let out a small yelp, but Yoongi didn't relent, his hand rising and falling in a steady rhythm.
"Say it." His voice was like gravel, low and demanding. "Say you want me to fuck you, Y/N. Say you need me." He pulled down his sweats enough so his cock sprang free from the confinement.
Your pride clashed with your need, the battle waging for only a moment before he rolled his hips again, pressing the thick head of his cock right against your entrance—and your resolve snapped.
"Fuck—I need you," you gasped, your fingers twisting into his hair, tugging hard enough to make him groan. "Please, Yoongi—just fuck me."
Something broke in him then.
With a guttural sound, he aligned himself and pushed inside, the stretch of him stealing the air from your lungs. He didn't stop, didn't hesitate—just drove forward, sinking deep until he was fully sheathed inside you until there was no space between you, nothing left but the overwhelming, consuming feel of him.
"Fuck," Yoongi gritted out, his forehead dropping to yours. His hands flexed against your thighs like he was trying to hold himself back, to give you a moment. "So fucking tight."
You could barely breathe, barely think, pleasure and pain and something deeper rolling through you in waves. But then he shifted, just slightly, and—
"Oh fuck," you gasped, your head falling back against the wall.
Yoongi's grip tightened, his breath hot against your skin. "Yeah?" He rolled his hips again, slow and deliberate, dragging himself out before thrusting back in, harder this time. Your moan was wrecked, broken—exactly what he wanted.
"Fuck, you feel so good wrapped around me," he murmured, pressing open-mouthed kisses down your throat, across your collarbone. "Taking me so fucking well."
Then he moved. Snapping his hips as hard as he could to make your back rub against the wall, to make your head spin from the bouncing on his thick cock that made you see so many constellations. Up and down, up and down. He felt so good inside you, filling you completely as his hips slammed against yours.
The force of his thrust made you cry out, your fingers tangled in his dark raven hair, which you so openly adored when he kept longer. His mouth crashed down on yours, swallowing your moans as he drove into you with a fierce intensity, each stroke building on the last.
His hand cupped your breast and his thumb brushed over your nipple. The touch was gentle, a stark contrast to the fierce way he was driving into you. Your back arched, pushing your breast further into his hand, and you felt his fingers close around it, squeezing softly. The sensation was almost too much to bear, and you moaned loudly, the sound lost in the kiss that still claimed your mouth. Yoongi's hips kept moving, each thrust building on the last, and his hand on your breast seemed to be pulling you closer to some unseen edge. His fingers tightened around your nipple, rolling it between them, and you felt yourself teetering on the brink of something explosive.
Yoongi groaned, his grip almost bruising now, his thrusts turning erratic. "You gonna come for me again?" he rasped, his hips thrusting into you harder, each one was met with your breath hitching in your throat before you moaned. Loud.
"Gonna fall apart on my cock?"
It was too much—too good.
"I know what you want, love. What will make you cum around my cock."
Your body began to tense, your muscles coiling tighter and tighter as he spoke. "You want it rough," he growled, his thrusts becoming more savage, more primal.
"You want me to take you apart, piece by piece." His grip on your breast tightened, his fingers digging deep into your skin, and you felt yourself spiralling out of control.
His hand left your breast to envelope around your throat, his fingers wrapping tightly around your neck, his thumb pressing against the underside of your jaw. That was it. Your moans got even louder and he raised a brow. You felt a flutter in your chest as his grip tightened, his eyes burning with an intense hunger as he gazed into yours and he slowed down to observe your face that certainly did not hide any pleasure.
"Kinky," he rasped, his voice low and dirty. "So fucking kinky."
He held you in place, his grip on your throat tightening ever so slightly, he began to move his hips again, his cock stirring back to life inside you. His eyes burned with an intense desire, and you could feel the tension building in his body as he drove into you with slow, deliberate strokes.
"I'm going to fill you up, babe" he growled, his voice low and husky. "I'm going to make you take every last drop of me." And with that, he began to thrust into you harder again, faster again, his hips pounding against yours as he chased your release. You felt him swelling inside you, his cock growing thicker and hotter as he approached the edge.
Your orgasm crashed into you, and you could not even stop it. You wanted this to last until your body shuts down from all that pleasure he has given you. Your body locking up as pleasure burns through every nerve ending. You clenched around him, drawing a strangled moan from his lips, his hips snapping forward one last time before he broke. His release spilt deep inside you as he let out a low, guttural groan, his semen erupting into you in a hot, pulsing flood that warmed your walls. You felt him shudder and convulse above you, his body trembling with pleasure as he emptied himself into your waiting flesh
The sensation was overwhelming, the feeling of being filled and claimed by him almost too much to bear. His chest heaving with exertion and for a moment, neither of you moved.
"You're so fucking mine," he murmured, voice still thick with satisfaction. He lifted his head to meet your lips once more before he said.
"Don't you ever question my devotion for you—" he started, panting after the little stunt you just pulled. 
“—Or the size of my cock, doll.” 
You only smiled wickedly into his lips. 
“You like us role-playing, tho—“ you started. Yoongi's grip on your waist tightened, his lips brushing over your collarbone as his breath warmed your skin. His hand slid lower, fingers tracing the curve of your body possessively. 
"He could not stop talking about it the whole fucking night, babe."
"Who, Jimin?" he asked, his tone dripping with amusement, yet there was an underlying tension in it, like he was trying to keep himself in check to not turn you over and fuck you in the ass. Even though he had to thank Jimin for this fuck prompt he unknowingly gave you an idea of (such a mundane trope) and the final ride you two just had. The thanking will wait until whenever you decide you want Jimin to know about you two.
Of course, something similar happened at the start of your relationship and you could not help yourself to let him fuck you against that wall once again. This time with a similar scenario but slightly adjusted replicas.
You couldn't help but let out a small laugh, though it was edged with a hint of frustration. You shifted under his touch, your heart still racing from the intensity of the night.
"Yeah. Couldn't stop about how people talk about us fucking our brains out here—"
"But we are—" his voice thick with the weight of his meaning, but his tone now softer than before. His mouth pressed against the sensitive skin just below your ear, and his hands pulled you closer, if that was even possible, as if to remind you of just how much he could claim you again and again and again.
You gasped, your body reacting to him in ways you couldn't control, and you felt a rush of vulnerability, knowing how deeply he could read you. "Yoongi," you breathed, trying to keep your composure, but he wasn't making it easy.
"Yeah, you can say that again," Yoongi whispered, his lips brushing against your ear before his teeth grazed the lobe, making your entire body shudder.
You swallowed hard, your head spinning. "I'm serious," you managed to say, even though your voice came out shaky. "Jimin—he thinks I'm still under that dry spell cuz' everybody thinks we're doing it—"
"Let him yap, love."
"Yeah I would, but he went to a point where he talked about how I'm gonna need to buy that Tesla robot to fuck me cuz' no living man will, thanks to you and your not-so-subtle hints that we're doing it—"
"My not-so-subtle hints?" He chuckled.
You couldn't help but roll your eyes, feeling a mixture of amusement and frustration. "I mean, he was kinda making some good points," you teased, pretending to think it over. "We do have that whole 'will they, won't they' vibe going on."
Yoongi's fingers paused against your skin for a moment, as if he were considering your words, but then a slow, mischievous smirk crept onto his lips.
"What do you think, babe?"
"I—I think," you stammered, feeling the weight of the moment sink in, "I think we could've been doing a better damn good job of hiding it. But maybe—" You hesitated, your heart beating wildly in your chest.
"Maybe it's time we stop pretending."
"Well, next time Jimin mentions our 'vibe,' I'm making him listen to a few of our 'studio sessions.'"
Your eyes widened in mock horror. "Yoongi!" You gave him a dramatic shiver, and he chuckled, wrapping his arms around you.
"Exactly," Yoongi said, smirking mischievously. "That'll shut him up real quick."
"Good luck," you teased, tapping his chest lightly. "Maybe he'll start talking about how lucky you are to have me in your corner."
"Lucky, huh?" he mused, pulling you in for a hug. "You're damn right I'm lucky."
You grinned, enjoying the easy banter, letting the tension slip away as you let him hold you. It wasn't about proving anything to anyone—it was just the two of you, sharing this moment, enjoying each other's company and, of course, having a little fun at Jimin's expense.
"Wait—" you just realised.
"You know about my smutty books?!"
He threw his head back and gave a loud throat laugh in response.
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©pennyellee. please do not repost
Don't be a silent reader, let's be friends chummers! ♥
lots of love, p.
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yooniivrse · 22 hours ago
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moving in | myg
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summary. in which moving in together isn't as simple as it seems, but no task is herculean with yoongi by your side
pairing: yoongi x reader
genre: established relationship au, angst if you read this with a magnifying glass
word count: 3k
content: oc and yoongi finally move in together / yoongi is the sweetest but oc also wants to kick is ass half the time
warnings: none :3
notes: i'm back from my break, did you guys miss me :> this was inspired by an ask by an anon which you can find here (tysm anon ur amazing). likes, reblogs, comments and feedback is always so so appreciated. enjoy my loves!
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main masterlist
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Privacy was a luxury in Yoongi's dorm. You had known this from the moment you first started visiting him here—how his space, while technically his, was never truly his own. There was always a member walking past his bedroom door, the faint hum of conversations drifting in from the common area, or the occasional loud clang from the kitchen at midnight.
You never minded it too much—at least, that’s what you have always told yourself. But when Namjoon walks in unannounced for the third time this evening, catching you and Yoongi curled up on the bed, you let out an exaggerated groan.
“You guys ever knock?” you tease, though there is a tired edge to your voice.
Namjoon blinked, looking apologetic as he took a step back. “Oh—uh, my bad. Was just looking for my headphones.”
Yoongi sighs next to you. He shifts his body, pulling his hand away from your waist to rest it under his head. “They’re in the studio, hyung,” he mutters without even opening his eyes.
Namjoon makes a face of realisation before nodding. “Rightt. Thanks, man.” He disappears just as quickly as he had entered, the door shutting behind him with a soft click.
You sigh, turning your body and draping your arm across your boyfriend. “You know, for a bunch of guys who's lived together for this long, you’d think knocking would come naturally.”
Yoongi chuckles, the sound deep and low. “You’d think.”
It's annoying when you can't even have the few days that Yoongi isn't burying himself with work to yourself completely. But though Yoongi agrees with your sentiment about his members, you know that you're roommates aren't much better.
You lean into his side, nestling yourself against his warmth as you put your thoughts to the side. His arm automatically drapes over your shoulders, his fingers absentmindedly playing with the hem of your sleeve. The silence that follows is comfortable, lulling you into a sense of ease—until Yoongi speaks again.
“You know,” he starts, voice lazy but thoughtful, “we’d have more privacy if we moved out together.”
The words send a jolt of awareness through you.
You stiffen slightly but don’t pull away, choosing instead to focus on the way his fingers trace slow circles against your wrist. He has mentioned this before—moving out. Not just for himself, but for the both of you. You have always brushed it off, too scared to give it serious thought.
“I dunno…” you mutter, eyes flickering up to the jagged ceiling.
The shift in the air was subtle, but you feel it immediately. Yoongi’s fingers still, and when you chance a glance up at him, you notice how his expression has hardened slightly, his jaw tight.
“What do you mean you don’t know?” His tone isn’t harsh—it never is when it comes to you—but there was something pointed about it.
“I mean…” You hesitate, chewing on the inside of your cheek. “I just—I haven’t really thought about it seriously, I guess.”
Yoongi doesn’t reply right away. He just watches you, his dark eyes scanning your face like he's trying to read between the lines. “You haven’t?”
You swallow. “I mean, I have, but—”
“But?”
There is no malice in his voice, but the weight of his gaze makes you squirm. You exhale slowly.
"But...I don't know."
You're awfully conscious of the way Yoongi's chest moves up and down with every breath; awfully conscious of how his heartbeat is lost to the sound of your own nervous thoughts.
"Oh."
You expect him to continue speaking, but he doesn't, instead choosing to let the silence hang in the air.
The last thing you want is to hurt him in any shape or form, but you know you'll sound stupid if you put your thoughts into words. This isn't the first time Yoongi has brought up the idea of moving out together, and you've managed to evade giving him an answer every time. But the quiet drags on, becoming unbearable with the second and you give in.
“Yoongi, it’s not that I don’t want to. I just…” You take a deep breath. “I don’t want to seem completely dependent on you.”
His eyebrows twitch. “What?”
“I mean, you already do so much for me,” you admit, fidgeting with the fabric of your hoodie. “I don’t want you thinking I can’t handle things on my own.”
Yoongi lets out a sharp breath, his head tilting slightly as he processes your words. “You think I’d care about that?”
You shrug, feeling silly. “I don’t know.”
Yoongi scoffs lightly, shaking his head. “You do realise I’m the one who keeps asking you to move in, right? It’s not like I feel obligated or something. I want you there.”
You bite your lip. “Yeah, but…”
His gaze flickers with something unreadable. “But what? If you genuinely don't like the idea, just tell me. I won't be offended.”
Yoongi would definitely be offended. Well, offended isn't the word he would use, but he'd be disappointed. It's a big deal for him to actually want to spend most of his days with someone who he knows he won't find himself constantly drained around.
But the last thing Yoongi wants is for you to be uncomfortable. Even if it stung a bit, he'd understand because it's you. He'd do anything for you.
You sigh. “I also don’t want you to get doxed or harassed because of me. What if someone spots us? What if it turns into a whole thing?”
Yoongi doesn't react right away. He simply watches you, his fingers tightening slightly around your wrist before he exhales. “You really think I’d let that stop me?”
You shift. “And besides,” you add quietly, “you’ve told me before that you need your own space—that people overstaying annoys you.” You glance up at him hesitantly. “What if I annoy you?”
Yoongi blinks. His lips part slightly, as if he's surprised you even had that thought. For a moment, he just stares at you.
“That’s different,” he said.
“How?”
“Because it’s you.”
Your breath hitches.
“I like having my own space,” he continues, voice softer now. “But I also like coming home to you. And yeah, people overstaying annoys me, but when have I ever wanted you to leave?”
You think back to all the times you've gotten up to leave his studio, only for him to pull you back down beside him. The times you’ve texted him that you were heading home from the dorms, only for him to insist you stay just a little longer.
Never.
The answer was never.
You open your mouth to respond, but before you can, the door swings open again.
This time, it's Taehyung.
“Oh, come on,” Yoongi groans, running his hand through his hair.
Taehyung blinks. “Uh—was just looking for my hoodie. My bad.”
As the door clicks shut once more, Yoongi turns back to you, deadpan. “If that’s not proof that we need to move out, I don’t know what is.”
You stare at him for a moment, then let out a breathy laugh.
“…Fine,” you mutter.
Yoongi’s eyes glint. “Fine?”
You sigh. “Fine. Let’s move out.”
A slow, satisfied smirk stretches across his lips. “Good,” he murmurs, leaning in slightly. His voice drops to a teasing whisper. “Because I already started looking at apartments.”
Your eyes widen. “Yoongi—”
He just grins, turning to fully wrap his hands around your figure.
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Moving day comes a lot faster than you expect it to.
It's overwhelming, not just because of the sheer number of boxes but because of what those boxes mean. This isn’t just another visit to Yoongi’s place, nor is it a temporary stay.
This is different. Permanent.
And that scares you.
Yoongi, on the other hand, has been frustratingly calm about the whole thing.
He stands next to you in the elevator, hands tucked into the pockets of his hoodie, looking completely at ease. Meanwhile, your heart pounds against your ribs as the floors tick past one by one. You fiddle with the keys in your hand, the ones Yoongi had given you just this morning.
“This is really happening, huh?” you murmur, half to yourself.
Yoongi glances down at you, a small smile tugging at his lips. “You sound surprised.”
You exhale. “I am.”
He tilts his head slightly, eyes twinkling with amusement. “You agreed to this, remember?”
“Yeah, but…” You hesitate. “It just feels surreal. Like, we’re actually moving in together. That’s a big deal.”
Yoongi hums in agreement but doesn’t seem nearly as fazed as you are. If anything, he looks… content. Maybe even excited, in his own quiet way.
The elevator doors ding open, revealing a long, well-lit hallway.
Yoongi leads the way, his stride casual, as if he has already memorised the path. When you finally reach the apartment door, he gestures towards the keys in your hand.
“Go on,” he says. “The first time opening the door should be yours.”
You glance at him, then at the door, suddenly feeling the weight of this moment settle over you.
Taking a breath, you slid the key into the lock and turned it. The mechanism clicks smoothly, the door creaking open to reveal your new home.
The first thing you notice is the vast emptiness that fills the walls.
The apartment itself is beautiful—modest yet modern, with floor-to-ceiling windows that bathe the space in natural light. The hardwood floors gleam under the afternoon sun, and the walls, still bare, seem to echo your movements as you step inside.
But there was nothing here. No furniture, no decorations, just an open space waiting to be filled.
You swallow, feeling oddly displaced. Everything is so...hollow. It's eerie.
Yoongi, again, seems unfazed. He steps past you, kicking off his shoes and letting out a satisfied sigh. “Not bad,” he muses, glancing around. “I forgot how much I liked empty spaces.”
You stare at him. “Are you serious? It’s so… bare.”
Yoongi smirks. “Exactly.”
You groan, setting your bag down. “Okay, well, you might be comfortable living like some kind of minimalist monk, but I need furniture.”
He chuckles, watching as you wander further into the apartment. You run your fingers along the smooth countertop of the kitchen island and sneak a peak into the—unfortunately empty—fridge, before making your way to the bedroom.
The bedroom is the emptiest of all.
The only thing in there is a single mattress on the floor, still wrapped in plastic. No bed frame, no pillows—just the sad, lonely mattress sitting in the middle of an otherwise vacant room.
You turn to Yoongi, unimpressed.
“Really?”
Yoongi grins. “It’s temporary.”
“You didn’t even get pillows?”
“I forgot.”
You sigh dramatically, placing your hands on your hips. “You know, for someone who planned this whole move, you’re really underprepared.”
Yoongi shrugs. “We’ll manage.”
You shake your head with a fond smile before wandering back into the main living space. It's strange—this apartment was supposed to be yours now, but it still feels so foreign. Like you're just visiting.
As if sensing your unease, Yoongi comes up behind you, wrapping his arms around your waist and resting his chin on your shoulder. “You’ll get used to it,” he murmurs.
You lean into him instinctively. “Yeah?”
“Yeah.” His voice was warm, reassuring. “It’s just a space right now. We’ll make it a home.”
You exhale, feeling the tension in your chest loosen just a little.
For now, this is enough.
By the time the sun has set, exhaustion has settled deep into your bones. The day had been spent moving the essentials—clothes, toiletries, a few kitchen items—and while you haven’t even scratched the surface of fully furnishing the place, it already feels like you have done enough heavy lifting for a week.
Now, standing in the still near-empty bedroom, all you want is to curl up somewhere comfy—somewhere that wasn't just a mattress on the floor.
It looks even sadder in the dim light. No bed frame, no pillows—just a single, plastic-wrapped mattress in the middle of a room that feels far too spacious for what little was inside. The walls are bare, the windows uncovered, leaving the city lights to cast faint, shifting patterns against the walls.
Yoongi, as usual, seems unbothered. He tosses his phone onto the mattress, stretching his arms over his head as he looks around. “Not bad,” he muses.
You turned to him, unimpressed. “Not bad? Yoongi, we don’t even have blankets.”
“We have hoodies. Besides, you have me.”
“Oh my god.”
He smiles, clearly entertained by your misery. “We’ll go shopping tomorrow,” he reassures. “I was too busy making sure everything else got here today. I figured we could survive one night like this.”
You quirk an eyebrow at his words. “One night? You mean the whole week until the bed frame arrives?”
Yoongi’s smirk falters slightly as he purses his lips. “…Maybe.”
You groan dramatically, flopping down onto the mattress. The plastic crinkles beneath you, making the moment even more pathetic. “This is not how I imagined our first night living together,” you mutter.
Yoongi chuckles, toeing off his socks before sitting down next to you. “How did you imagine it?”
You turn your head to look at him. “I don’t know. Maybe something a little more… romantic? Cosy? With an actual bed?”
Yoongi hums, lying back beside you. “So, no romance in a bare room?”
“None,” you say firmly. “Absolutely zero.”
There was a beat of silence before Yoongi suddenly rolled over, wrapping an arm around your waist and pulling you flush against him.
“Yoongi—” you yelp in surprise, but he only buries his face into your neck, his breath warm against your skin.
“You said no romance,” he murmurs, voice laced with amusement. “So I’m just making sure you’re comfortable.”
You huff, feeling the faintest hint of a smile creeping onto your lips. His body is warm against yours, and despite the lack of pillows or blankets, there is a surprising sense of comfort in simply being here with him.
“You’re ridiculous,” you mutter.
Yoongi hums, pressing a lazy kiss to your shoulder. “And you’re complaining less now.”
You roll your eyes, though you don’t bother arguing. Because the truth is, despite everything—the bare room, the mattress on the floor, the emptiness surrounding you—you still feel at home.
And that has nothing to do with the apartment itself.
It has everything to do with him.
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The next day, after waking up sore from sleeping on a mattress with no pillows, you and Yoongi ventured out to buy furniture.
It should have been an exciting experience—picking out the things that would turn your apartment into a home. But instead, it became clear within the first fifteen minutes that you and Yoongi have vastly different approaches to shopping.
Yoongi? He was practical. Minimalistic. The type to point at the first couch he saw and say, “That one’s fine,” with zero hesitation.
You, on the other hand, wanted something comfortable, something that felt lived-in before you had even sat on it.
Which was why you're currently standing in the middle of a showroom, arms crossed as you glare at the stiff-looking grey couch Yoongi is sitting on.
“You actually like this?” you ask incredulously.
Yoongi leans back slightly, patting the armrest. “It’s firm. Good back support.”
“It’s uncomfortable.”
“It’s a couch, not a cloud.”
“It should at least be soft enough to sit on for more than ten minutes without feeling like you’re in a waiting room.”
“You’re being dramatic.”
You scoff. “Says the man who literally naps more than anyone I know.” You gesture to the couch. “Can you actually see yourself sleeping on this?”
Yoongi pause. His lips press together like he wants to argue, but then he slowly looks down at the couch as if re-evaluating his choices.
You can see the exact moment he realises that you're right.
“…Maybe not,” he mutters.
You smirk. “That’s what I thought.”
With a victorious huff, you grab his hand and pull him toward the other section of the showroom, stopping in front of a much softer, cosier-looking couch. You plop down on it immediately, sinking into the cushions with a satisfied sigh.
Yoongi raises an eyebrow as he sits down next to you. “This is your dream couch?”
“Try lying down.”
Yoongi shoots you a look but does as you say, shifting until he is lying back against the cushions. You watch as his eyes flutter shut for a moment, his body visibly relaxing.
“…Okay,” he admits. “It’s nice.”
You grin. “Exactly.”
Yoongi cracks one eye open. “But it’s too big.”
You scoff. “It’s a normal-sized couch.”
“For a family of six.”
“For two people who want to be comfortable.”
Yoongi sighed, rubbing his temples like this was the hardest decision he has ever had to make. You know he's being dramatic on purpose, but you also know he doesn’t actually mind letting you win. He just likes to put up a fight first.
“Fine,” he mutters, sitting up. “We’ll get this one.”
You beam. “Thank you for admitting I was right. I know, I know, I'm so amazing.”
Yoongi rolls his eyes, unable to fight the smile on his face, but doesn’t argue.
Furniture shopping continues in much the same way. You bicker over dining tables (Yoongi wanted a small one, and you wanted a bigger one “for guests,” which made him scoff because, in his words, “What guests?”). You argue over rugs (“Why do we need one?” “Because it makes the space feel cosy, Yoongi!”).
But despite the back-and-forth, it wasn’t frustrating. If anything, it was fun.
By the end of the day, after picking out a bed frame, a coffee table, and a bookshelf you have absolutely no room for but insist on getting anyway, you both collapse onto one of the display beds.
“We should’ve just bought a fully furnished place,” Yoongi mumbles, staring at the ceiling.
“And miss out on all these cute domestic moments? Never.”
Yoongi glances at you, a small smile tugging at his lips.
“Cute, huh?” he murmurs.
You grin. “Very cute.”
Yoongi sighs dramatically but subtly reaches over, intertwining his fingers with yours.
And just like that, your new home was slowly coming together.
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jkvjimin · 2 days ago
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happy valentine's day 💗💗💗💗💗💗💗
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allelitewrestlings · 2 days ago
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love4hobi · 2 days ago
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j-hope, for W Korea (March 2025)
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angellekookie · 3 days ago
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Joonie: Don't forget about us ARMY Me: *sees tweet meme* Omg Namjoon
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fuckyeahgoodomens · 1 day ago
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THE HAIR! <3 And the knees might be out at BAFTAs! :D <3 (David was at The One Show today :))
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ivynightshade · 7 months ago
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fatima aamer bilal, excerpt from moony moonless sky’s ‘i am an observer, but not by choice.’
[text id: my fist has always been clenched around the handle of an invisible suitcase. / i am always ready to leave. / there is not a single room in this world where i belong.]
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