#gradstudent!reader

[siriuslywicked]

Just thinking about being Jack Abbott’s neighbor…

EDIT: this inspired this fic, go check it out! its a better version of this!

Jack has been living in the left half of a red brick duplex, unit 101A, long enough to see a handful of tenants come and go on the right side, 102A. There was a college kid whose prefrontal cortex was just underdeveloped enough for him to be nothing but a pain in Jack’s ass. Needless to say, not his favorite neighbor. Then there was a young couple who were perfectly lovely until they had to move somewhere with two bedrooms to accommodate an incoming little one (Jack had been sure to give them his number in case they ever needed a friend in the ED). Most recently an older woman, Mrs. McAlister, who had regularly brought Jack all manner of baked goods and leftovers, had moved out and into her daughter's house. 

The unfortunate loss of Mrs. McAlister’s cooking meant that the right half of his duplex (and yes he thought of it as his by this point) was empty. Jack couldn’t help but feel a sense of dread creep in as he watched the last of Mrs. McAlister’s things be packed into a UHaul on Saturday afternoon. Would his new neighbor be another Mrs. McAlister? Or would he get stuck with some obnoxious 20 something with no common courtesy? 

Fortunately for Jack, he didn’t have to wait long to find out. Housing got snatched up fast in a city like Pittsburgh, especially housing that was halfway decent and affordable, so it was no surprise that 102A was empty for under 48 hours. 

-

His first glimpse of the new tenant comes when Jack is arriving back home from a shift, just before 8 am on a Monday. He isn’t surprised to see a moving truck out front, nor is he surprised to see you directing the two movers on where to put furniture and boxes. He can tell you're young, in your 20s is his guess, which immediately sets his nerves on edge. Jack doesn’t think he can handle anymore house parties or loud hookups or trash left out. But you have a quiet, competent air about you that seems to indicate you aren't going to cause a ruckus. You appear to be alone, aside from the movers, and he finds himself looking for evidence of a partner, husband, wife, without really meaning to. On the walk to his front door he doesn’t see anyone else, and with the small size of the moving truck, he concludes that it must just be you moving in.

After a shower and the last of Mrs. McAlister’s roast (bless that woman), Jack is dressed in grey sweats and a black t-shirt, ready for bed. Despite the sleep threatening to overcome him, he finds himself looking out his window to check in on the status of your move. Apparently you had gotten here early, because he can see you handing the movers a wad of cash and sending them on their way. He may as well catch you as you’re heading back inside, introduce himself, make sure he doesn’t need to be concerned about having another pain in his ass next door. It is the neighborly thing to do after all. 

“I’m Jack. Abbott. I’m in 101. Figured I should introduce myself, welcome you to the neighborhood and all.” He outstretches his hand, wondering if a handshake is still what people do these days.

Smiling, you shake his hand firmly and give him your name, he let’s out a quiet sigh of relief. It is at this moment Jack finally takes you in fully. He was right, he thinks, you must be in your mid 20s, no ring on your finger, and certainly not a pain in his ass. You stand a handful of inches shorter than him, just enough that you have to look up to make eye contact. The smile you are giving him is radiant in a way that makes his stomach feel tight. He can see you’re flushed from the exertion of carrying boxes and helping to move furniture, and your hair has begun to fall from where you had it back. But even though you aren’t at your most put together, Jack can only see you as the most raw and real kind of beautiful. The kind of beauty that comes with a bright smile, dewy skin, and pink chinks. The kind that has as much to do with physical appearance as it does a person’s character. The kind of beauty that reminds him of his late wife when they first met. Even though he is just meeting you, Jack likes to think his gut is usually right about people, and his gut is telling him that you are exactly the type of kind, caring, intelligent person that spells nothing but trouble for him.

“It’s very nice to meet you Jack! I hope the movers weren’t too much of a disturbance, it seems like a quiet little haven around here.” 

“About as close to a haven as you can get in the city,” he agrees with a small smile. “Don’t mention it, you weren’t a disturbance at all.” 

-

He finds out you’re a fourth year graduate student, “A PhD in chemistry? You might just be a bigger masochist than me.” You somehow work nearly as many hours as he does, and he finds your work ethic dizzyingly attractive. You moved to the area in the hope of finding somewhere a little quieter, some place where you didn’t feel like people were packed in like sardines. You aren’t from PA, but you have a couple close friends in town. You confirm his suspicions when you tell him you’re single and don’t have any kids or pets so there shouldn’t be any noise waking him up.

“I’m an attending in the ED, usually on night shift. Sounds like you aren't home much during the day, but-” 

“Don’t worry Jack, I’ll keep it down during the day too. You can always bang on the wall if I’m being to loud,” 

He feels the corners of his mouth twitch up. “Thanks, sweetheart.” Even though he knows he shouldn’t be giving you nicknames, and definitely not that kind. 

“I’ve gotta get to bed, but let me give you my number in case you need anything, neighbor or doctor wise.” 

“Thank you, that’s very sweet of you doctor.” 

And god, he knows you mean it in a teasing way, but it does nothing to help the steadily growing attraction he feels towards you. He knows he is at least 15 years too old, and far too emotionally unavailable to even entertain the idea of being with you. He knows. But when you smile at him like he’s just offered to hang the moon and stars for you, he really doesn’t know what to do with himself. It’s just his number, not harm in you having it, and certainly no reason it has to have any underlying intention behind it. 

He puts his number in your phone when you hand it to him, putting “Jack Abbott” as the name and “the guy in 101A and doctor at PTMC” in the notes for good measure. You thank him again, giving his hand a squeeze as he returns the phone. You say your goodbyes, and he retreats into his black out curtain and noise machine fueled paradise. The last thing he sees before shutting his eyes is a text from an unknown number with your name, just so he can save your number too. 

You are going to be trouble alright, a kind he didn’t even think to be worried about.

A/N: this is an idea that has been brewing for a few days but I didn't want to write anything for Jack until I had finished the show. completely and totally self indulgent as a chem grad student, bc no one writes about us stem girlies stuck in research labs having no fun. I have some ideas on how to turn this into something more formal with a couple parts, but idk. wrote this super fast and didn't really look over it and I am half asleep but I needed to get it down. if there is any interest I may do a more complete version or a pt 2 (might do it regardless bc I have a problem w/ this man). any thoughts/ideas/feedback are always welcome! it has been so so long since I have written for fun and not for school/work so I feel way out of my depth, but it makes me happy so I’m trying to just go for it.

[hyukalyptus]

office hours — professor!soobin x gradstudent!reader

cw. chubby!reader, reader is an adult grad student, minimal age gap, clear consent, petnames (babe, baby, honey, darling, good boy), mommy kink, face sitting, unprotected penetration, creampie, cunnilingus, handjobs, ending is cheesy, "epilogue" of sorts involves christmas vibes, kissing, please lmk if i'm missing anything. NSFW/MDNI notes. i would feel irresponsible if i didn't acknowledge this is a romanticized portrayal of a professor-student relationship. while the relationship in this story has clear consent multiple times, irl relationships like this can be inappropriate and exploitative bc of the authority imbalance. you deserve a healthy, consensual relationship. prioritize ur well-being and autonomy. relationships should be built on mutual respect, equality and clear consent. this is a work of fiction and should be read as such. shoutout to @silvergyus for sending the prof!soob pic <3 wc. 11.6k

“Which brings us to Le Chatelier's Principle in real-world chemical reactions,” Professor Choi says, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose. “This will be review for most of you, so I won’t go into too much detail.” 

Chemistry is your favorite thing in the world. It’s real-life magic. And Professor Choi sees it that way too. His olive green chinos are wrinkled from walking from his office. The sleeves of his white button-down are pushed up so he can write freely on the whiteboard while his burgundy tie sways with his scurries. 

Sparks of passion fill his eyes as he lectures. And he never disappoints with his cheesy jokes. Although you seem to be the only one that laughs at them—maybe you’re the only one that gets them. Not many students in his class are the experts in chemistry you are. You took it as a break from your intense course load and the elective credits are a nice bonus. 

Most of your professors are so old they barely know how to turn on their laptop and are so deep into their tenure they’ve given up. If you bothered showing up to their office hours, you’d be lucky to find a professor, let alone a helpful one. So you’ve become a frequent visitor in Professor Choi’s office hours, talking about advanced chemistry he can’t wait to teach but it’ll be at least five years before he can. In the meantime, he’ll settle for nerding out with you in his office for a few hours every week.

“Great class today, everyone,” he says. “Have a great weekend and don’t hesitate to visit me during my office hours with any questions!” That sentence started out as a normal speaking voice but ended up a shout over the shuffling of the desk chairs and backpacks. You’re typically the last one out, but you save your questions for his office hours tomorrow. 

-

“Hi,” you say, lightly tapping your knuckle against his office door.

Turning around in his chair, his lips form a pout in surprise at seeing you. “Were you waiting outside? Sorry that meeting ran a little long—” He shuffles to organize his desk. 

“That’s okay.” Adjusting your bag on your shoulder, he rests his hands on his thighs and looks up at you. Did he just look you up and down? Don’t be ridiculous. 

“What can I do ya for?”

“Right,” you start. “Can I…?” You ask, motioning toward the spare chair, waiting for his nod before sitting. “You know Professor Vaughn’s class?” You barely catch it, but his eyes roll. Professor Vaughn is the worst professor you’ve had. Boring, harsh, impatient. It doesn’t help he teaches one of the most complex forms of chemistry. “I’m not really getting this week’s content and was wondering if you could help me.”

“Of course.” He smiles. And it’s devastating. The sparkle in his eyes and those dimples. Craning his neck to look at your notes riddled with red question marks, he nods. As soon as he sees the title of your notes, he says, “Let’s think about this from a quantum mechanical perspective. If we assume that the π-complex is forming, we’re talking about a stabilization due to delocalization π-electrons, right?”

In what feels like no time at all, an hour has passed and the conversation has been the complete opposite of Professor Vaughn’s lectures. Questions led down rabbit holes, leading to other theorems and more questions. As he glances up at you through his glasses, there is an undeniable tingle in your stomach.

It’s not like you haven’t noticed how attractive Professor Choi is. He’s tall, lean but undeniably strong, he has the most perfect silky black hair and the prettiest brown eyes, and his pout—indescribably cute. And again—those goddamn dimples. He’s the perfect mixture of sexy, handsome, and pretty. You’d never think of doing anything with a professor, but you can’t help your mind wanders during the slower lectures. 

How long have you been staring at each other in silence? Too long probably. He clears his throat. “Well,” he says, looking at his watch. “My office hours have been over for a few—”

“Oh gosh, I’m so sorry,” you say, stumbling as you stand, attempting to gather your things as quickly as possible. But he shakes his head, trying to shrug it off. 

“That’s okay,” he says. “I, uh, I just have my emails waiting for me.”

You nod, shoving everything into your bag and heading out the door. What was that? You’re probably overreacting, you think to yourself. He’s charming because of his looks, there’s no way he’d— No. Don’t even finish that thought. 

-

"How is it that someone who scored the highest in my theoretical chemistry exam is turning basic lab work into a spectacle of incompetence?" Professor Vaughn boasts over your right shoulder. No doubt his thick eyebrows are furrowed.

As your hands tighten around the test tube, you know exactly what to do—you always do—but everything slips through your fingers in his class. 

"I’m trying to get the reaction to stabilize," you stammer, eyes darting between your hands, the chemical reagents lined up on the table, and your notebook.

Professor Vaugn’s expression hardens as he steps closer, looking down his nose at your station. "Trying is for high school sophomores. If you’re still trying, you’re behind."

Taking a deep breath, you carefully add three more drops to the mixture but the reaction goes wrong. Again. A plume of white smoke rises from the beaker, and the liquid turns an unexpected, muddy brown.

"Unbelievable," Vaughn mutters loud enough for everyone to hear. Everyone knows you’re the best student in your class. Well, everyone except Soren, who’s so jealous of your intelligence they can hardly stand it. They simply smirk. "I expected more from you."

Your heart sinks. You checked those calculations three times. Maybe it’s your shaky hands. Or the pressure of him looming over your shoulder. Or the other stuff on your mind. 

"Are you going to sit there and guess again, or would you like to double down on failure with your next attempt?" Vaughn sneers, his voice dripping with sarcasm.

"I’m not guessing, Professor. I—"

"Can’t manage a basic reaction?" Vaughn interrupts with his icy voice. "I’m beginning to wonder how you even made it into this program."

"I’m perfectly capable. The solution is just—"

"Wrong. Yes, we’ve established that." Vaughn’s lips curl into a patronizing sneer. "Maybe chemistry isn’t the field for you if this is the best you can manage." That got everyone’s attention—it would be an interesting sight to see you fail. It so rarely happens. Sure, you’ve been doubted before but have always proven yourself. Today would be no different.

You take a deep breath and count to yourself, One. Two. Three. Four. Five. 

As you block out Vaughn’s piercing gaze and the weight of the other students’ eyes, you carefully remeasure the chemical, adjusting the proportions this time, methodically double-checking your work. You add the reagent once more, slowly, and watch as the solution begins to shift. 

A moment passes. The reaction stabilizes and the solution turns a clear, pale blue. 

"Finally," Vaughn mutters. You don’t even have to look at him to know he rolled his eyes. He turns to walk away but pauses. "Barely acceptable. Next time, you won’t be given the luxury of so many failures."

-

Bursting through the door upon dismissal, you can’t get to the restroom fast enough, barely making it to a stall before tears stream down your cheeks. 

“One. Two. Three. Four. Five,” you whisper to yourself. 

Sometimes, chemical reactions need to be dealt with instantly, but that’s an overwhelming amount of pressure. You give yourself five seconds before you absolutely have to deal with it. Same thing here. Cry. Count to five. Wipe your tears and move on.

But it’s difficult to move on this time. You’ve counted to five a few too many times today. But the only person you want to talk about it with is—

Professor Choi,  Are you available to meet me in Lab 270 tomorrow afternoon? I’ve been struggling with some reactions and could use some help. I’ll be there from 2:00—4:00.  If not, no worries! 

Sniffling, you hit send on your email app, shove your phone in your bag and head home. 

The next day drags on and on. Did he even get your message? Expecting an empty lab, you’re surprised to find Professor Choi waiting for you behind a laptop wearing a cute tweed jacket with suede elbow patches. His eyebrows are furrowed as his focused eyes study the computer, but they brighten at the sight of you. 

Initially surprised by your confusion, he squeezes his eyes shut and says, “I didn’t respond to your email, did I?” He’s already got the lab station set up. How long has he been waiting on you? “So, how’s Professor Vaughn’s class?” Did someone tell him about yesterday? God, you hope not. 

“Fine,” you deadpan. Shaking your head, you say, “I’m sorry…I’m just kinda stressed.” 

“I can go if you need some time by—”

“No,” you say, softening your tone. “I’d really appreciate your help.”

And he’s more than willing, letting you ask whatever you want, never interrupting or talking over you like most of the men in the program. He gives you space to explore ideas and theories, listening closely instead of answering everything for you.

And he’s so damn sexy when he’s the one doing the ranting. The way he talks with his hands, ones that are so big with fingers so long you wish he would wrap around your—

“Shut up.”

“Excuse me?” He asks.

Oh shit, did you say that out loud? What a fucking nightmare. “Uh, sorry, just…talking to myself. Too many thoughts racing around the ole dome.”

A slight pout forms on his lips as he continues his rant. Now, the only thing you can think of are his lips wrapped around your—

“Ah!” Your hand slips toward the Bunsen burner and, great, now you’ve got a nice burn on your thumb. 

“Oh gosh, are you okay?” He stands quickly. “Let me see.” His fingers graze your palm, igniting a fiercer burn than the actual flame just did. “Run it under cold water, okay?”

In the meantime, he straightens up your station before meeting you at the sink. “Is something wrong?” His words make you jump. “You seem distracted.” 

That’s all it takes. The floodgates open. You rant about the sexist piece of shit Professor Vaughn and his power moves to intimidate you when he knows you’re the best student in the program. About how embarrassed you were in lab yesterday. Last semester when you raised your hand to correct an equation on the board and he gave you a firm talking to about respect after class. 

He watches you carefully, handing over a towel for your hands as you take a steadying breath, fighting back tears.

“Did I ever tell you why I started studying chemistry?” he asks. You sniffle, shaking your head. “My grandfather. He was a baker.” His voice softens, and you look up to find his eyes full of kindness. “Every Saturday, he’d make me work in his bakery. I didn’t mind—it felt like magic, you know? But really, it’s science. It’s all precision, measurements, timing.” 

A smile tugs at his lips. “Once, I tried baking a cake for my mom’s birthday, followed his recipe exactly. Measured the flour, the sugar, the cocoa. When I pulled it out of the oven, it was hard. Flat. I was sure he’d be disappointed, calling it a waste of time and ingredients. I was terrified. But he looked at it, smiled, and told me to try again the next day. When I asked why it didn’t work, he said I needed to ‘feel my way through it.’”

You sit there, the sting from your burn now fading, but your heart’s still aching, wanting something from him—a hug, a kiss, even just a pat on the shoulder.

“If I’d gotten it right the first time, I’d never know what overmixed batter looks like. Or that I like more cocoa than he did. Or that you should coat berries in flour.” His smile creeps up to his eyes. “Seeing how failure could make you better—it made me curious. I wanted to understand why some things worked and others didn’t, why I needed to feel my way through it, to get into the details.” He makes eye contact with you again. “That’s why I went into chemistry. Baking taught me the magic is in the little things—if you’re willing to screw up and keep going.”

Nodding, you smile back. His words hang in the air for a moment, like they’re meant to settle, but something’s missing. 

“All I’m saying is, its okay to fuck things up, okay?” he says, his candidness drawing a chuckle from you. “How else would you learn?”

-

The world’s drained of color—only hazy shades of grey and beige are left. Your palms press against a cold marble countertop with the faint sound of running water echoing in the distance. The reflection of the mirror looks like you, but not quite. The woman in the mirror has her lips painted a dark, sultry brown, a shade you’d never choose. And the outfit is far too dressy for a lecture. Shadows fall where there shouldn’t be any. 

The hallways are unfamiliar, yet you know it's the same building you visit almost every day. It's blurry, like you’re walking through a memory that isn’t yours. 

You look down at the saddle shoes on your feet clicking against the tile floor, unnervingly filling the emptiness. It feels like someone else is controlling your body but you don’t question it. You can’t. Your hand raises, knuckles brushing a wooden door before it creaks open on its own. 

On the other side of the door, Professor Choi faces a green chalkboard. Has that always been in his office? Hurriedly scribbling down equations, he glances between the board and the notebook in his hand. When he looks over his shoulder at you, his eyes soften and a slow smile spreads across his face. “Come in,” he says gently, setting his notebook aside. His voice wraps around you, making the room feel smaller, closer. “I’ve been waiting for you.”

Your spine tingles. “I know,” you reply, but the words sound hollow, like you’re speaking from somewhere else. 

“Here,” he suggests, holding a piece of chalk out to you. The way he gestures toward the board is magnetic. As you take it from his hand, your fingers brush his. “What do you think of this?” An unfinished equation waits to be solved. His presence looms behind you, close but not quite touching as you reach up to solve it. Your heart pounds, every stroke of the chalk on the board heavier than it should.

“Impressive,” he murmurs, his voice low, rough around the edges. You turn to face him and he’s closer than expected, his warmth radiating against your skin. The air is thick with something unspoken. You step closer, tentative at first, then quicker, more certain. Your lips almost brush his, but he pulls back, his breath catching.

He looks down, your name a whisper on his lips, soft and pained. “I—” His eyes flicker up to meet yours, then fall back down like the weight of your gaze is too much.

“What?” You ask, your voice barely more than a breath. Your eyes dart between his, lingering on his tempting mouth. He leans in again with desire in his eyes. He wants to kiss you. You can feel it. And for a moment you think he might.

But he pulls away, his forehead nearly resting against yours. “I don’t think we should be doing this,” he says, his voice strained, as if saying the words is physically painful for him.

“Why not?” The question slips from your lips before you can stop it, frustration and longing lacing your tone.

His hands flex at his sides, like he’s fighting the urge to touch you. “I don’t want you to feel like you have to, or—”

“Why would I feel like that?” you interrupt, your voice impatient. Your heart races, pounding in your ears, drowning out reason.

“I’m your professor,” he breathes out like it’s a curse. His words only fan the flames of the tension building between you. There’s nothing wrong with that, you think to yourself. It’s not like you’re fresh out of high school—you’re a grad student, close to starting the same PhD he earned barely three years ago. He’s no more than five years older.

“I don’t care,” you insist, stepping even closer, your lips a breath away from his. “I want you to kiss me.”

His eyes darken, his resolve faltering as his gaze drops to your lips. “It’s a mistake,” he whispers, but his voice trembles with indecision, trying to convince himself more than you.

“Make the mistake,” you urge, your voice soft but sure. Your hand reaches for his tie, tugging as light as you can just to bring him that much closer. “You said it yourself, it’s okay to fuck things up.”

There’s a beat of silence, so thick it feels as though the room itself is holding its breath, waiting. And in that moment, the space between you seems to collapse, the weight of everything unsaid pulling you closer. 

The millisecond before your lips touch, you breathe awake. 

You bolt straight up, feeling around your soft bed sheets, breathless as your heart pounds from the vividness of it all. For a moment, you linger in the feeling, brushing your fingers over your lips, feeling the warmth of the almost kiss. But reality sinks in and your stomach drops.

Reaching for your phone, you check the time. Great, it’s almost time for his class. But there’s no hazy world to hide in. Skipping class might be an option but an exam reminder drags you out of bed. 

- 

Trudging across campus, your stomach sinks lower with each step. How can you look him in the eye? Dropping your bag to the floor with a thud, you hang your head low. Let’s just get through this exam and get outta here. 

“How’s your hand?” Professor Choi’s voice shakes you out of your thoughts. “Sorry,” he chuckles, holding his hands up. “Didn’t mean to scare ya.” Looking at you like you’re the cutest puppy he’s ever seen, you can’t bring yourself to speak, but you hold out your hand. The second his fingertips touch yours, you flinch and jerk it back. 

“Um—” you start. “Better, thanks.” Turning away from him, you distract yourself with a random notebook from your bag. 

“...You okay? You shouldn’t be nervous about the exam.” When you look up, you’re met with eyes that appear…hurt? 

“No, it’s not that.” That’s not a good answer. “Just…” What would you even say? I had an incredibly vivid—and delicious—dream about you last night and now I need to know how your lips feel in real life? “Cramps.”

“Ah.” He nods and leaves you alone, awkwardly walking to the front of the class to make some announcements and general good wishes before the exam. With your fist pressed to your chin, you refuse to look up, hanging your head low even as he slides you your copy. 

There’s a bright green post-it stuck to it with a note, It’s okay to fuck it up! Your heart races as your eyes dart around searching for him. When you find him, he gives you a soft smile. You return the smile but rush to unstick it before anyone sees, storing it in your notebook for safe keeping. 

-

As you return to your apartment, the post-it stares back at you like you’re the guiltiest son-of-a-bitch in the world. It’s practically calling you a whore. And you can hardly take it anymore. You can’t bring yourself to face him for class a few days later—although skipping feels like a cardinal sin. Soon enough, though, your email dings. 

From: Choi Soobin, PhD I noticed you were absent from class today. I hope everything’s okay. The lecture notes are attached for your reference. Feel free to stop by my office hours with any questions. Professor Choi

Did your heart just flutter? Why are you walking toward his office? When you knock on the door, he stands—more like stumbles—to greet you, “Hi!” 

“Hi, Professor Choi…” You linger in the doorway, clutching your notebook tight to your chest. “Sorry I missed class—”

“Is everything alright?”

“Yeah—”

“You’re not overwhelmed with coursework, are you?” His eyes search yours, and there’s a softness in his voice that makes it hard to look away.

“No, no, I’m alright. I just…had a migraine this morning,” you say, shrugging slightly. “It’s gone now, though.”

He nods, easing into a warm smile. “I’m glad you’re feeling better.” His gaze doesn’t waver and the intensity makes your pulse quicken. “So, I’m guessing you’re here to go over questions from the lecture?”

“Actually, it’s Professor Vaughn’s class I’m struggling with. His lecture today was…brutal.”

“I’m shocked,” he says sarcastically. “The man’s got a gift for making simple concepts sound like Greek.”

“Exactly,” you laugh, the tension in your shoulders easing. “I thought it was me, but he seems to take pride in making everything harder than it needs to be.”

“Trust me, it’s not you,” he says, a glint of warmth in his eyes. “He’s terrible. And annoying. And boring. And I’d tell him that.”

You raise a brow, skeptical. “You wouldn’t.”

“Well…” He breaks into a grin. “Maybe after I reach tenure. Though he may be retired by then.”

“Or dead,” you say matter-of-factly. He looks at you awkwardly then you both laugh, genuinely. There’s an ease to it.

He gestures to your notebook. “Alright, let’s see what we’re dealing with.”

-

“I can’t believe I’m laughing at that,” you say, a giggle escaping your lips. 

“You always laugh at my bad jokes,” he replies, staring at your face a little too longingly. If you were anyone else, he might find some excuse to touch you. Maybe brush a piece of lint off your shoulder, lightly touch your arm while he laughed at something you said, or something as casual as a fist bump. 

If he were any other guy, you’d be much more obvious, making it crystal clear you want him to kiss you right now. But you can’t. You don’t even know how he thinks about you. You’re probably just another student to him. 

“Well, those are all my questions,” you say, awkwardly packing your bag. 

“Yeah, you can, uh…head out…” he trails off as you start to rise from your seat. 

You’re searching for something to say, something to let you stay just a little longer. But nothing comes. He watches you walk toward the door, the silence hanging in the space between you. 

“Pens!” His voice suddenly burst out, loud enough to make you stop mid-step. “They, uh—I went to a conference last week and they gave me a ton,” he says, scrambling to gather a handful from his desk. 

You take them, your fingers brushing against his in a way that feels far too intimate. His eyes lock with yours, the touch sending a ripple of tension through you. “But you’re, uh…picky about your pens, aren’t you?” He asks, his voice softer now, almost unsure.

Laughing quietly, you say, “Yeah, but…that’s okay.” Your words are heavy with subtext you can’t bring yourself to say out loud. “Well, goodbye.” You offer him a smile, stepping back toward the door. “Thanks again.” 

“Yeah. Goodbye,” he says, but his feet shuffle forward as if he’s moving without thinking. Awkwardly reaching for a handshake, he realizes your hands are occupied. Instead, he reaches around you for the door handle, but he gets a tad too close and your brain scrambles. 

Before you can hold yourself back, you drop the pens, letting them clatter to the floor as your arms wrap around his neck. Your lips meet his in a rush, warm and soft. While your eyes close to savor the feeling, his widen in shock before he relaxes into your touch and wraps his hands around your waist, pulling you closer. 

It’s everything you’ve been holding back—unspoken feelings unraveling in a heartbeat. His lips move against yours with a hunger that surprises you, the world melting away as you lose yourself in the moment. You feel weightless, your pulse racing as his hands grip your waist a little tighter, as though he’s afraid to let you go.

When you finally break apart, breathless and dazed, he presses his forehead to yours, the ghost of a smile tugging at his lips. “You’re never gonna use those pens, are you?” he asks, his voice low and rough, like he’s trying to anchor himself in humor, trying to bring himself back down to earth.

You laugh, shaking your head. “No,” you admit, your heart still pounding. “They’re garbage.”

Before you can think, you kiss him again and this time, he doesn’t hesitate. His mouth crashes into yours with an urgency, like he’s wanted to kiss you since the second he laid eyes on you. His lips are soft, but his kiss is demanding, making up for all the lost moments between you. For those few minutes, nothing else matters—you bask in one of the greatest kisses either of you have ever had. But not for long.

Reality catches up too quickly. You pull away suddenly, breathless and wide-eyed. “Oh my god—” you gasp, backing up, your fingers graze your lips trying to make sense of what just happened. “I’m so sorry—”

“No,” he interrupts quickly, shaking his head. “Don’t be. I—” He’s stumbling through his words, just as lost as you are but neither of you regret it. “I wanted—”

“That was…” You can’t even finish your sentence. It was everything. Too much, too fast, too real. But you can’t take it back.

“I—” He’s trying to find the right words, to reassure you, to tell you he felt it too, that he wanted it just as badly. But he’s as flustered as you are, his voice rough and unsure.

“I’ll just…go throw myself off a bridge now,” you mumble. You can’t even look at him as you make a beeline for the door, your face burning with embarrassment. You think you hear him say something, but the blood rushing in your ears drowns it out.

You leave the room quickly, your heart about to burst through your chest, trying to process what just happened. The kiss lingers on your lips, a mix of exhilaration and terror swirling inside you. It’s too much to handle.

But, hey, there’s one bit of good news. At least he kissed you back. 

-

What the fuck are you supposed to do now? Drop his class? It’s too late in the semester for that. And you need those credits. Wait until the end of the semester to talk to him again? Can you go that long without his lips on yours again? 

Back at your apartment, you rummage through your books to find the university’s code of conduct, hurriedly searching for anything related to “appropriate relationships,” “faculty-student relationships,” “consensual,” blah blah blah, whatever the university has coded sleeping with a professor.

The University strongly urges those individuals in positions of authority not to engage in conduct of an amorous or sexual nature with a person they are, or are likely in the future to be, in a position of evaluating.

Your eyes read over the words, “strongly urges” once more. Not totally against the rules, you suppose. Even if you did wait until the semester was over, you’d need to report it. You wish you could talk with him about it, but bringing this up is tricky. Is it moving too fast? You can’t text him, you don’t have his number. And using your student email to send a message to his faculty email that says, “Oh, by the way, I checked the rules and we’re in the clear to have sex!” is a terrible idea. 

Maybe one kiss in his office doesn’t mean anything. Oh, but it was everything. 

-

After much deliberation, you convince yourself to attend his class a few days later. You’ve brought the code of conduct along, as well as a bright pink post-it sticking out of the book. To avoid any form of small talk with him, you wait outside right until the start of class. 

Along the way to your desk, you silently plop the code of conduct on his desk and scurry away. When you work up the courage to look up at him, he’s flipped to the marked page. Highlighted on the page is the paragraph that “strongly urges” people in positions of authority not to sleep with students. 

He’d be lying if he said he wasn’t disappointed. The message couldn’t be clearer, he thought. You’re practically telling him to leave you alone. But when he finally reads the post-it, his heart flutters. Written in your handwriting, it says, It’s okay to fuck it up! complete with a smiley face. 

As much as he tries to fight it, he glances up at you to catch your gaze. And just as the slightest smile appears on his face, a big one appears on yours. You hide it with your palm as you start at the blank page of your notebook. Blinking, he shakes his head and begins his lecture. But how can you concentrate now? 

You’ve gotta give it to him, he delivers his lecture perfectly. If it were you, you’d barely be able to think. Hell, you barely can throughout the whole thing. 

Now that you’ve gotten that smile of permission, you finally let yourself daydream. 

Has his ass always been that cute? Has he always been that tall? Has his voice always been that deep and sexy? 

You don’t even know what he’s talking about, but that’s okay, you can always stop by his office hours. “What do you think?” He asks. 

Oh shit, he’s looking at you for an answer. He can always rely on you to keep class moving along when everybody else is dead silent. You shake out of your thoughts, panic-reading the board to come up with something. It's similar to your discussion you had the last time you went to his office hours. The time that ended in that gorgeous kiss. Throwing together an answer, his eyes brighten as he cheers, “Exactly!” 

Oh my god. He’s the cutest thing you’ve ever seen. You could just gobble him up. 

-

“So, I suppose we should talk about…” Professor Choi trails off, leaving the sentence hanging in the air like it’s obvious what he’s getting at. And it is. But you stay quiet. You wanna hear him admit it. You raise an eyebrow, playing coy.

You decided to press your luck by visiting his office outside scheduled office hours—right after class—to simply test the waters and gauge his reaction to the code of conduct and that kiss…that incredible kiss. 

“You know…” He gestures vaguely between the two of you, sighing like okay, fine, I guess I’ll say it. “I like you and you like me, right?” His voice dips just slightly, enough for you to notice the hesitation. “Unless I’m totally misreading—”

“No! You’re not…misreading anything,” you’re quick to say, along with a chuckle. Phew—he was worried there for a second. So goddamn cute. “What do you wanna talk about?”

He exhales a small laugh, but his smile is strained, cautious. “I want to make sure you don’t feel…weird about this.” Hand sliding nervously along the edge of his desk, he traces the wood grain before his eyes flick up to meet yours. Truth be told, he’d never do something like this with a student. Never want to make anyone feel pressured. But he never thought he’d feel like this. Giddy and blushy like you’re his first crush. 

“Why would I feel weird?” You tilt your head, genuinely curious. You’ve thought about this—about him—far too much for any of it to feel weird.

“I’m just terrified you feel like you need to do something about this.” You’re taken aback, confusion visibly etched across your face. “You know, because I’m your professor or because I’m in the department and I know your plans for a PhD here.” His voice softens, vulnerability creeping in. “I don’t want it to feel like I’m pushing you into anything.”

“I don’t,” you say gently. “It’s not like that.”

He nods, though the tightness in his jaw doesn’t disappear. “Because if you ever even remotely feel like I’m pressuring you, I want you to tell me. Immediately. I mean it.”

“No,” You shake your head, almost too fast. “I mean, it doesn’t feel like that. Not at all. I’ve thought about this…about us, a lot.” Your voice falters for a moment as his eyes widen, softening in a way that makes your stomach flutter. You weren’t expecting him to look at you like that—so open, so relieved.

His fingers twitch as if he’s resisting the urge to reach out to you. “Yeah?”

You nod again, more confidently this time. “But I think we should wait until the semester’s over. Before we…you know…do anything.”

He smiles gently and leans back, visibly more at ease. “I think so too.” 

But you didn’t realize how fucking difficult it would be to get through the last six weeks of the semester. Every class you sit there, thighs pressed together thinking about the dirtiest things you want him to do to you. Every office hour you went to, you could practically swim through the thickness of the tension between you two. 

It didn’t help how cute he was being. Post-its he’d leave on every exam of yours—You’re gonna do great! You’ve got this. Trust your instincts.—encouragement no other student got. You kept every one of them in your bedside table drawer. 

When finals week finally arrives, it wasn’t just about exams; it was about counting the hours until you could finally be with him. Or at least talk to him like he wasn’t your professor. As he handed over your final exam, the familiar green post-it note was stuck to it: Happy Finals Week! 

Your internal scream was so loud, you’re worried your classmates heard it. You’d pre-written a post-it to stick to it once you returned the exam. It had your phone number, a smiley face, and the words: Since you’re not my professor anymore. 

-

After a full day of checking your phone every twenty seconds, you started to give up. Was he just playing you? Did someone else see the note? Did he change his mind? But finally, you receive a text.

hi! this is soobin (professor choi lol). i was wondering if you wanted to get dinner or something?

soobin!! omg yes i would love to get dinner with you :) how’s tomorrow? 

how about right now? if you want, of course! no pressure we can totally wait until tomorrow it’s up to you

You squealed into your pillow, kicking and giggling like an idiot. Should you be flirty back? 

i can be ready in 30 min. 364 oakridge drive. it’s an apartment building- i’ll meet you downstairs. 

be there in 45 :) 

-

Like a perfect gentleman, Soobin meets you at the passenger door, swinging it open with a charming smile before gently closing it behind you. The slow walk up to his front door makes your stomach stir. He has to fumble through his keys to unlock it. 

Once inside, he slips his shoes off quietly, revealing cozy patterned socks that make you smile. Meticulously, he hangs his jacket on a coat tree and places his keys in a speckled clay catch-all that rests on a table next to a houseplant. As he walks toward the kitchen, he glances over his shoulder, his voice low and inviting. “Do you want a drink or something?” The warmth in his gaze makes your heart skip a beat.

You’re drawn to this softer side of him. In class, his tone is bright and dorky. In his office, it’s casual and laid-back. At dinner, it was sweet and charming. But now? Now it’s sultry, almost sexy. Like he can’t wait to be with you but would never, ever pressure you. 

“Hot tea?” You suggest with a steady voice, despite the butterflies in your stomach.

“Sounds good,” he agrees, switching on his tea kettle. In the meantime, you take a look around his much neater than expected apartment. 

The mid-century modern furniture is impeccably arranged—a sleek sofa, a low coffee table, and a stylish armchair with an even more stylish decorative pillow. Perfectly nurtured plants thrive around the room, adding a green vibrancy to the minimalist backdrop, breathing life into the space. A gallery wall above his expensive-looking couch features travel photos, beautiful art, and a few subtly science-inspired pieces. In the corner across the couch is a sleek electric fireplace underneath a huge TV. 

“Who’s this?” you ask, your heart swelling as a fluffy gray cat glares at you through one half-open eye. Her perfectly groomed fur and regal posture make her look like she owns the place. Just then, Soobin steps into the living room, holding two steaming mugs of tea, filling the air with a warm spice. 

“That’s Molly…short for Molecule,” he says. “Don’t worry, she’s sweet.” 

Extending your hand toward the cat, he starts to sniff you. “Hi, M—wait,” you pause, looking up at Soobin with a teasing smile. “Molly, short for Molecule?” He nods, his grin widening. “You’re adorable,” you tell him. Has anyone ever blushed quite like he did just now?

He stares down at his feet, clearly caught off guard. “You’re,” he starts. “Well, you’re cute too.” His sincerity makes your smile grow even stronger.

“Can I sit?” you ask, nodding toward the couch.

“Oh,” his smile falters for a moment. “Yes, of course. Make yourself at home.” You plop down on his couch, settling into the surprisingly soft cushions. Molly clearly doesn’t think the couch is big enough for the two of you, so she strides over to probably the nicest cat tree you’ve ever seen.

You sip your hot tea and your body finally relaxes. As you reach to sit it on the coffee table, he politely asks, “I don’t mean to be a square, but can you use a coaster?” 

“Of course,” you say, complying with the request. “So, tell me,” you begin, clearing your throat. “How’d I do on my final?” Humming, he stands to rummage through his messenger bag slumped over a dining chair. You gasp, “A ninety-seven?” Thumbing through the pages, you find a single red X on possibly the easiest question you’ve had on an exam since high school: What is the atomic number of oxygen? “Are you kidding me?” 

Any attempt to mask your embarrassment is impossible. It only deepens when you look up and catch him already watching you—lips pressed tight, failing miserably to hide a smug, amused smile.  

“I, uh…” You scratch the back of your neck. “I got that one wrong on purpose. You know, so as to not raise any suspicion.” 

His eyebrows shoot up. “Oh, did you now?” You nod. “That was on the exam just so Toby wouldn’t get a zero.” You nod begrudgingly. “And you put 10! That’s not even close. That’s—”

“Neon,” you grumble. “Yeah I know…” you say, avoiding his eyes as he laughs playfully. 

“Neon’s a noble gas and oxygen is a—”

“Reactive nonmetal,” you cut him off. “I know, okay?” You shove his shoulder playfully, but your grin betrays you. “It was a high-pressure environment. Sitting in an exam room with your professor watching you."

"I barely looked up from my laptop,” he reminds you. 

"Your presence is distracting enough," you shoot back, eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Ah, so my intellectual aura threw you off?”

“I dunno…is that what you think, professor?” You ask cheekily. “Maybe it was something else.” You’ve tossed the exam onto the coffee table, moving closer. 

“Like what?” 

“Just…you. You’re distracting.” You smirk, the words slipping out almost involuntarily, like they’ve been waiting on the tip of your tongue. 

Intrigued, he tilts his head and asks, “What about me?” There’s something magnetic in the way he looks at you—like he knows the answer but wants to hear you say it, to savor the way it sounds coming from your lips. 

You hum, tracing the lines of his body with your eyes, mapping out uncharted territory before exploring it. You don’t want to move too fast, but every fiber of your being screams for more. He’s not lighting a fire inside you—he’s setting the whole forest ablaze. Sure, your imagination has been running rampant since he returned your feelings six weeks ago, but now that you’re here, he scrambles every thought.

“Your eyes…” you say while yours flick over his face, taking in every curve, every freckle, every lash. “They’re so pretty.” 

A smile—small but real—tugs at the corners of his lips. The kind that’s private, meant just for you. His eyes darken as he leans in, the space between you shrinking. You glance down, noticing the way his long fingers curl around the mug handle. There’s something almost hesitant in the way he holds it. You take it from him gently, setting it atop a coaster as quietly as you can.

“Your hands…” you whisper, fingers barely brushing his knuckles, tension coiled under his skin. They’re hands that have worked, experimented, written things down—hands you want on you. Guiding one to your thigh, the squeeze he returns sends a shudder through you. 

Everything between you is electric. Your breaths come faster now, more desperate. Every inch you move toward him is a test, a slow-motion collapse of restraint.

“Your legs…” A soft breathless chuckle escapes as you glance down. His lips part like he’s about to speak, but you don’t give him the chance. Boldness surges through you like a current and you hike one leg over both of his, straddling him. The shift is seismic. His hands move to your hips, gripping you, afraid to let go. The heat of his touch spreads through you, anchoring you in place, though it feels like everything around you is spinning.

��And your lips…” you murmur, leaning closer, your breath mingling with his. “Oh my god, those fucking lips.” You can’t stop staring at them, just a breath away now, soft and wet. Your pulse races. 

You cup his face, lifting his chin until his eyes meet yours again. His pupils are blown wide, the desire in them unmistakable. Your thumb brushes his bottom lip, and the moment stretches, suspended. You lean in just enough to feel his breath on your lips. 

“Kiss me,” you whisper.

And he does.

It isn’t tentative—it’s dam-breaking. Like he’s been starving for it, holding back for years. His lips are soft but urgent as his hands tighten around your hips to pull you closer. You taste jasmine tea on his lips, a subtle sweetness mingling with the spice of his cologne—clove, pepper, something dark and addictive. 

“Holy shit,” you whisper against his lips. “I can’t believe I had to wait so long to kiss you again.” You kiss him again and he moans sweetly into your mouth. Just as the kiss deepens, he retreats, his breath ragged. “You okay?” 

Nervously nodding, he says, “Yeah,” but his eyes flicker away. He tries to kiss you again, but you place your hand on his chest, gently stopping him.

“Wait,” you say, eyes searching his face. “What’s going on? Am I being too—”

“No,” he says, almost a little too urgently. “It’s not that. It’s just…” His hands fall to the couch. Bracing to tell the truth, he squeezes his eyes shut before adding, “I need to tell you something.” You sit back on your heels, still in his lap but giving him room to speak. 

“What is it?” You ask softly. 

“There’s this thing… I haven’t—uh…” He stumbles over the words, his fingers twitching at his sides.

“Soobin?” you ask, your voice gentle but steady. That’s the first time you’ve called him by his first name. It feels utterly…vulnerable. “Are you a virgin?” The question is delicate. Shutting his eyes again, he takes a deep breath. 

“No,” he says. “Well, not exactly.” You narrow your eyes at him. What is that even supposed to mean? “It’s just…it’s been a while. And before then, I hadn’t had a lot of sex. And I haven’t had any…recently.” 

“How long?” you encourage, your eyes softening.

“A year.” 

You hum softly in acknowledgement, watching his confidence falter. Instead of pulling back, you lean forward, trailing slow, deliberate kisses along his neck. He trembles under your touch, a soft gasp escaping his lips, your hands moving all over his body, claiming him.

“Oh, Professor Choi,” you whisper, your voice dripping with heat and promise. “We’re gonna have so much fun.”

-

As your breath slows, you sit up and let your hand linger over his chest, feeling his heartbeat under your palm. “Tell me,” you start. “What do you like?” 

“Um,” he swallows, trying to force the lump down his throat. He’s so hesitant but he finally says, “Touching.” 

“You touching my body or me touching yours?” 

He exhales shakily. “The first,” he says, confirming with a squeeze to your hips. 

You hum against his ear. What are you gonna do with him? Tease him forever? Let him have his way with you? You ask, “Why don’t you take my shirt off for me?” 

Gracing his hands over your arms, he grounds himself again before asking, “You sure?” 

“I’m sure.” You nod, guiding his hands to the top button of your blouse, letting him slip it through the buttonhole. One by one, he exposes more of your skin, his heart thumping harder with each passing second. Pushing the silky fabric past your shoulders until your top half is only covered by a bubblegum pink mesh bra, leaving almost nothing to the imagination—except for the red embroidered hearts over your nipples.

After easing the shirt out from your trousers, you reach back to pull at the sleeves, letting the shirt fall to the floor. He slips his finger under one of your bra straps, pulling it to the side, but you stop him. “Wait. It’s your turn.” 

Tugging on his tie, you slip it through the collar and unbutton his dress shirt. Seeing his body bare in front of you for the first time, you’re practically drooling. You indulge in running your hands all over his body, lean with subtle muscles, from his chest to the bottom of his abs. 

“How come you got to touch me if I didn’t get to touch you?” He asks innocently. 

“You’re right,” you chuckle. “I’m sorry.” You smile and sit up to press your palms against his and let your fingers intertwine. Your heart melts and you fear you may throw up. “Did you want to take my bra off first?” He nods. Fumbling fingers reach behind you to snap it off, letting it fall to the couch. As he sees your bare tits, his eyes widen and he lets out the cutest little Oh. 

He’s hesitant to do anything. You have to guide his hands to massage your tits—and they’re the perfect size for you. 

“You’re so…soft,” he says, looking up at your eyes, like he’s not sure if that was okay to say. 

“You like them?” He nods eagerly. Experimentally swiping a thumb across a nipple, it hardens at his touch while you let out a sharp gasp. 

“You like that,” he says matter-of-factly. “Can I taste?” Nodding, you lean forward, welcoming his lips. His body finally relaxes as he moans against your skin. Circling the tip of his tongue around your nipple, he’s teasing you. And oh my god do you love it. 

One of your hands threads through his hair and you stuff the other down your pants, but he grabs your wrist softly. 

“That’s not fair,” he whispers and you concede, keeping your hands to yourself. With one hand, he stuffs your tit back in his mouth while the other plays with your other nipple. His hot, wet mouth on one nipple and his teasing fingers playing with the other sends waves of pleasure through you that may send you over the edge.

If you don’t do something to ease your need, you’re not sure how much longer you’ll be able to take this. You resort to grinding against his hard cock, making his hips buck. 

Lifting your legs off his, you swing around to sit next to him, palming his cock over his trousers. Desperately clawing at the waistband, you unbutton and unzip his pants, encouraging him to kick them off. He stands to slip them off and as you reach for the band of his boxers, he stops you. 

“Your turn,” he whispers. And you comply. But not without a show. Standing slowly, you push him to the couch and turn your back to him. As you push your pants down, your ass looks delicious in your thong that matches your bra—mesh bubblegum pink with red trim. When you turn back, he’s fisting himself over his underwear. 

“Nuh-uh, that’s not fair,” you say. Returning next to him on the couch, you feel him over his boxers and your mouth waters. Goddamn you can’t wait for him to be inside you. “Do you have any lube?” He nods and shortly returns with a barely used tube. 

While he stays standing, you sit up on the couch, running your hands across his muscular thighs and perfect pelvis. Looking up at him, his eyes are bright, darting all over your body like he’s afraid to miss something. He fiddles with his waistband, flipping the elastic over softly. A small smile flicks across your lips before you tug his boxers down his legs, leaving trails of kisses along the way.

Encouraging him to sit down, you look down at his cock, long and hard and dripping with precum. Finally, you drag your fingertips up and down his cock before squeezing him. He moans like you’ve never heard a man moan before. Laying your head on his shoulder, you sprinkle kisses all over his skin, finding a spot behind his ear that makes him squirm. 

He hisses and—almost involuntarily—wraps one of his hands around yours to use his long fingers to guide your hand up and down. There’s something magical about someone with so little experience telling—no, showing—you what to do with his body. It’s electrifying. He hasn’t been touched in so long that he’s desperate to get off and can’t waste time with words. But no words need to be shared. His movements tell you what speed he likes. 

Snaking his other arm around you, he stuffs his fingers in your hair and clenches his fist, subconsciously tugging the strands. His lips are right against your ear, breathing rapidly and heavily and he can hardly take it anymore. You watch his chest rise and fall as he clenches your hair, moaning getting quicker, he squeaks and whines. 

Hurriedly pressing his lips to your temple, you can’t take your eyes off his cock as he shoots short spurts of cum all over his stomach. It takes a moment for him to catch his breath before he gives you a sweet smile. 

You don’t let up with kisses all over his body. Sprinkling kisses here and there while he cleans himself up with a hand towel he’d brought with him when he got the lube from his bedroom. Once he’s clean, he slouches down the couch. 

“Will you sit on my face?” His eyes are ever so sweet and innocent, like he’s finally able to test all his fantasies. “Please…” You hum like you’re only considering it, but we all know you’ll say yes. “Please, mommy?” Everything halts. 

“Mommy?” 

“F-fuck—” he sits up, ears turning redder than you’ve ever seen them—anyone’s ears for that matter. “I’m sorry, I should’ve asked first—”

“No, no…” you say gently, cupping his jaw to make him look at you. You can’t help yourself—you press your lips to his again and you lose yourself in his intoxicating kiss. But you break it and say, “Keep calling me that.” 

“M-mommy?” You hum. Before you give him what he asked for, you shove your tit in front of his lips. He doesn’t need to be told what to do. His plush lips wrap around your hard nipple while he thumbs the other. It feels like fucking heaven.

“That’s my good boy.” He lets out the most pathetic whimper you’ve ever heard in your goddamn life. His eyebrows furrow, looking up at you through his lashes. “Are you my good boy?”

“Yes,” he says, nodding eagerly. “Yes, mommy. Of course.” 

“Soobin,” you breathe in disbelief, dropping your head back. “You’re so sexy, I swear to god.” 

“Nuh-uh,” he shakes his head. “That’s you.” He smiles. “Will you please sit on my face now?” He slouches down again without waiting for an answer. “Please.” You hike your leg up to rest your foot against the back of the couch, gently hovering over him. But he wraps his hands around your hips to yank you down. As he flicks his tongue over your clit, you might be embarrassed by the volume of your moan, but there’d be no reason to. 

“I thought you said you didn’t do this a lot?”

“Well,” he takes a deep breath. “This was always what I was best at.” You chuckle. “Wait, no—” he shakes his head. “I’m good at the other stuff too. I hope.” Returning his tongue to your clit, you gasp and fall forward, bracing yourself against the back of the couch. He seizes the opportunity to get fully entranced in your taste. 

There's an impossible contrast—your body melts, muscles soft and pliant as you surrender to the pleasure but, at the same time, goosebumps prickle along your skin, sharp and electric. Warmth and vulnerability layered with a thrill that leaves you shivering, somehow both at ease and on edge.

But then he snakes his hand behind your ass to tease your asshole with his pinky. And it's overwhelming. Your knees are so weak you can hardly hold yourself up. The way his hands feel on your body, touching you in all the right places, flicking his tongue perfectly, moaning so temptingly along with the built up tension—it is so much. So. Fucking. Much. 

It builds in your stomach—teetering on the edge and god you only hope he doesn’t stop what he’s doing. But you can’t form words to tell him that. But he knows. 

And then it happens. 

You feel like you’re floating—or falling may be more accurate—as your orgasm washes over you, thighs quite literally quivering around his face as you come undone on top of him. For him. Unable to hold yourself up any longer, you roll and plop to the couch and he sloppily replaces his tongue with his fingers. You make a mental note to show him exactly where your clit is later. How is it that he found it so easily with his tongue but missed it with his hand? You guess he was right—oral is what he’s best at. Your chest heaves with your deep breaths as you come down from your high, watching him smirk at you. 

“Oh my god,” you say breathlessly. There’s a beat of silence. “What the fuck?”

“What?” He chuckles. 

“I wasn’t expecting that.” 

“I told you I’m good at it.” 

“Where’s your bedroom? This couch is too small for what we’re about to do.” 

Once he shuts his bedroom door to keep Molly out, he pulls you by your waist to press his bare body to yours and kisses you again so romantically it takes your breath away. 

“Wow,” he whispers against your lips. “You’re so beautiful.” 

“Oh my god, shut up.” You go straight back in for more kisses. But you break it— “But not literally, though. Please keep saying stuff like that.” You giggle together, slowly falling toward the bed until you’re gently laid on your back and he’s over top of you. 

“Can I, like, kiss all over your body?”

“Of course,” you say. “You don’t need to ask.”

And then he does exactly what he wants. Starting at your lips, he moves to the corner of your mouth, trailing behind your ear and down your neck. The way his breath tickles your neck sends shivers down your spine and you need more, more, more. 

As you lay there, simply basking in the feeling of him taking his time exploring every inch of you with the softest lips you’ve ever felt, you can’t help but be giddy. He’s tentative in some areas and eager in others. After he kisses the sensitive skin under your breast, he carefully observes your reaction. When he delicately presses his lips to your pelvis, his eyes flutter up to yours nervously. 

“Soobin,” you say breathlessly. He hums against your tummy, shaky hands running up your thighs. “I need you please.”

“You need me?” You nod. “Where do you need me, mommy?” You groan, arching your back, not even knowing where to start. You need him everywhere. 

“Inside me,” you say. “Please, I’ve been thinking about it for so long.” 

“Have you?” He asks innocently, using his fingers to play with the folds of your pussy so casually, like he doesn’t even realize he’s doing it. “I should be the impatient one.” But you know why he’s taking it so slow. He’s nervous as hell right now. 

Aligning his cock with your entrance, he slowly pushes himself inside you. And it's utterly exhilarating. For both of you. He falls forward, framing your face with his forearms, digging his nose into your neck. 

“Fuck…” He whispers shakily. Your nails drag down his back at his inexperienced hip rolls. “Oh my god, what are you doing to me?” Despite his inevitable desperation, his thrusts are controlled. He’s trying his very best at least. But his cock is so fucking perfect, you figure he’d make you feel good no matter what he does. Although, a little part of you thinks about how good he’ll be at fucking you in a few months after a little practice. Or lots of practice. 

He whispers swears, your name, and mommy…over and over again. Then he sits up, looking down at your body. Awkwardly fumbling as if he wants to say something, his mouth isn’t cooperating with his brain. He slowly comes to a stop, sliding out of you and barely touches your calf. 

“Can you, uh…would you mind, um—” 

"Do you wish to see me on my knees? Is that it, darling?"

“Yes, mommy…please, I’ve never—” 

“You’ve never had someone on their knees for you?” You ask and he silently shakes his head. “You’ve been such a good boy for me. Of course I’ll get on my knees for you.” You oblige to his request, turning yourself around and arching your back to give him a perfect view of your ass. He groans at the simple sight of your body. He swipes his hands over the swell of your ass, squeezing here and there. 

He clears his throat and asks, “What do I do?”

“Oh,” you chuckle lightly. “Just get on your knees and guide yourself in. Make sure it’s the right hole,” you say light-heartedly, trying to ease the tension a bit. 

But when he’s finally inside you again, it’s heaven. And he indulges in himself a bit—thrusting faster, harder, making your ass jiggle. The lewd sounds of his cock in your wetness and his hips smacking your skin makes it all the more erotic. But it doesn’t take long before—

“I like it better the other way, I think,” he says matter-of-factly. “Is that okay?”

“Of course that’s okay, babe,” you say, flipping back over and spreading your legs. And he slides right back inside you, letting his head fall back. But your tits bouncing are simply too tempting not to look at. They’re why he prefers it this way, so why not look at them as much as he can? He retreats a bit, opening his mouth like he wants to ask you something but he’s too shy. 

“What is it, baby?”

“I was just wondering if you…if you could—would you want to be on top?” His tone is genuinely sweet. “Like what position do you like?”

“Missionary’s my favorite too,” you say. “But I would, hm, I would really like to be on top for a bit.” Switching quickly, you align yourself over his cock and sink down on him so, so, so slowly, letting out a big sigh of relief. “Oh my god, Soobin. Are you fucking kidding me?” You don’t think you’ve ever felt so full before. The feeling stretches all the way to your toes. “I need to hump you like crazy for a bit,” you say with a chuckle. He nods like that’s perfectly fine with me, mommy. 

And you do exactly that—bounce on his cock as fast as your body lets you, relieving that built-up tension. Over the last few months, you wanted to jump his bones every time you were in the same room and that feeling never let up, like there was a tension thermometer in your body that was constantly stuck at boiling. 

But perhaps it was a bit more painful for him because an occasional rut up into you isn’t enough anymore. He holds your hips to keep you in place, fucking up into you as fast as he can. Head dropping back, he groans, your name leaving his lips. 

“Mommy?” His eyebrows furrow, looking utterly pathetic. “Let’s switch back. Please.” Hiking your leg over his hips, you land roughly on your back. Gently grabbing your hands, he pins them above your head, aligns his cock at your entrance, and slides inside you, rolling his hips so deliciously. As he kisses you, he swallows your moans. Trailing down your neck, he whispers, “Please tell me I’m making you feel good, Mommy.” 

Your eyes roll back in pleasure and you say, “Fuck, you’re making me feel so good.” 

Slowing his thrusts, he asks, “What else would you like me to do?” Smiling up at him, you rub his thighs. Waiting for an answer, he covers your collarbone in kisses, making his way back to your ear. After nibbling gently on your earlobe, he whispers, “Tell me how to make you feel even better.” Oof. Shivers. 

“Rub my clit,” you say. He sits up, fumbling with his fingers. “Use your thumb,” you giggle. “Wait.” Reaching for his hand, you let spit pool in your mouth before wrapping your lips around his thumb. Sucking on it, he looks at you like he can’t believe what he’s seeing. Then he follows your instructions, rubbing your clit with his thumb while he fucks you, listening intently to every instruction, every a little to the lefts, up a little bit mores, and he never gets impatient. 

Your back arches impossibly high and you say, “I’m close, babe. Don’t stop.” You rub your own nipple, but he moves your hand out of the way, wetting his thumb with his own spit before circling it for you. 

Everything has been building to this moment. Staring at him in every lecture, longing for his touch. That kiss in his office was just the start of your addiction. Attending his office hours didn’t help, but you couldn’t stay away. You needed to be closer to him. To feel heat radiating off his body. To smell his spicy cologne. To watch his fingers wrap around his pen and wish they were wrapped around something else. 

All of it was for this moment right here. Cumming around his cock for the first time. You can’t wait any longer. There’s a white hot burning in your belly that’s getting more furious by the second. His name leaves your mouth in a yelp before fireworks explode inside you. 

Your legs shake around his waist as he fucks you through it, not changing a single thing. Overwhelmed with pleasure, you grab his wrist to stop him from rubbing your nipple to make sure it’s the most perfect orgasm you’ve ever had—not too much and not too little. 

And it’s neither. Instead, it’s perfection. You knew it would be. It seems to last forever but somehow not long enough. As soon as you finish, you miss it. 

Catching your breath, your vision clears up as you look up at him with a smile. He shyly asks, “How was that?” 

You take a deep breath and say, “Oh my god, that was so good.” Rubbing soothing strokes up and down your thighs, you can tell he’s getting impatient. But still—he’d never pressure you in a million years. 

Bending to kiss your neck again, he whispers, “Can I cum inside you?” You nod frantically. 

“Please.” 

“I have condoms if you want.” You think about it for a second. Really. You would love nothing more than to feel him fill you up. But it’s risky. “Mommy…” His hips slowly start moving again, encouraging a decision from you. “What are you thinking?”

“Cum inside me, please. Wanna feel all of you,” you say, rubbing his back. He smiles, pressing his lips to yours in a passionate kiss that sends your head reeling. He sits up and squeezes your thighs over and over, adoring the way your body feels in his hands. Soft and squishy and intoxicating. Licking your own thumb, you pinch and rub one of his nipples, making his mouth drop open. He didn’t even think of having his own nipples played with. 

“Fuck, fuck, fuck—” he gasps. You praise him, Cum inside me, baby. You’ve been such a good boy for me. I want you to feel so good for me, okay? And he’s rutting his hips into you roughly, using your body for his own pleasure. You simply can’t get enough. You want him inside you forever and ever. “You’re…” he trails off. “You’re gonna make me cum, Mommy.”

“Go ahead. Cum for me.” Like it’s a command, his hips stutter and his cum fills you up, warm and sweet and heavenly. Swears and other inaudible words you hope are compliments spill out of his mouth. Falling forward, he digs his face into your neck once more, twitching until he comes to a stop, taking deep breaths. 

You expect a warm smile to echo his warm cum filling you up but he stays put. In fact, he doesn’t move or say anything for quite some time. So much time passes that his cock has slipped out of you on its own, his cum leaking down the swell of your ass. 

You finally break the silence, “Are you okay?” He nods awkwardly. “Look at me.” He shakes his head. “What’s wrong?” He still won’t budge. “Soobin, what’s going on?”

“I’m embarrassed,” he whines.

“Huh? About what?” 

“Calling you mommy,” he finally sits up. “I was just caught up in the moment—I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have—”

“Honey,” you giggle, sitting up with him. “I told you I liked it.” 

“You weren’t just saying that?”

“I don’t think I would’ve came that hard if I didn’t like it.” 

His eyes brighten before adding, “I guess so.” It genuinely was one of the strongest orgasms you’ve ever had. Surely, he has to know that, right? But wait— 

“Was it good for you?”

“Oh my god,” he’s finally relaxed a little, peppering your face with kisses. “That was the best orgasm I’ve ever had, I swear.” He stands, walking into his en-suite to get you a towel, damp with warm water. “So…” he starts awkwardly. “Should we, like, report this to the dean?” 

“Is that your way of asking me to be exclusive?” He blushes as you brush some of his hair behind his ear. “Because my answer is absolutely.” You press your lips together. “Although, can we hold off for a while? Just until next semester starts?”

“Be in our own little world for a bit?” He smiles, wrapping his arms around your waist. “You’re taking a break until next semester, right? Are you working right now?”

“No,” you shake your head. “I got a bunch of scholarships to pay for school,” you say proudly. 

“Why am I not surprised?” 

“Because I’m the smartest person you know,” you say cheekily. 

“No lectures until next semester, so I’m pretty much free.” He smiles, clearly wanting to say something more, but bites his tongue. “Can I ask you something?” You nod. “This may be moving way too fast, but do you maybe wanna spend the holidays here? With me?”

The next few weeks are a whirlwind. Both of you admit it’s too fast. But neither of you care. The fireplace roars as you decorate his Christmas tree together, wrapped presents, baked cookies, everything you could think of that ooey-gooey couples do. 

And of course, nightly sex is a bonus. You simply can’t get enough of each other. And you just about lose it when you walk into the kitchen on Christmas morning. He’s standing at the counter wearing a Santa hat, flannel pajama pants, and a black tank top making your favorite tea. 

“Ah, there she is! Good morning,” he says with a smile. You take a plate full of chocolate chip waffles from him. But not before he kisses you. Cupping your cheek, he pulls you into perhaps the sweetest kiss you’ve ever had. You can feel his smile on your lips. 

And everything feels absolutely perfect. You think you may be dreaming, but he feels so very real at this moment. And his voice is clear as day, “Merry Christmas.” 

[atinystarcafe]

Seonghwa fic recs

────୨ৎ────

✴ : smut ᯓᡣ𐭩 : absolute favourites

[Last updated: 05.03.2025] ⋆˙⟡ If any links don't work anymore please let me know I'll get it fixed as soon as possible ^^ ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ Series ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

Blood Oath | Bathed In Desire - @mingi-s-dimples ✴ | vampire lord!seonghwa x divine entity!reader (COMPLETED)

After centuries of pursuit, you finally surrender to the Lord himself. In the dark of his embrace, he swears an oath—eternal love, eternal possession.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Friends With Benefits A Roommate|Silky Smooth ✴ - @sunshineyuyu (COMPLETED)

after hooking up with mingi, you wake up the next morning and share a coffee with his attractive roommate seonghwa. a one night stand suddenly turns into a recurring thing—is the sex with mingi really that great? or are the mornings after with the roommate even better?

Kiss Of Chaos - @tenelkadjowrites ✴ (COMPLETED)

In a world where witches and other magick users are increasingly being targeted, you have carved a spot for yourself in the city running a small magick shop. When a spell goes wrong and you are blocked off from your magick, you track down the most powerful witch in the city - Seonghwa - to try to fix it. As Seonghwa asks his coven for help, the two of you find yourselves increasingly attracted to one another. But will it be impossible for both Seonghwa and yourself to allow the walls that have been up for so long to come down and let each other inside?

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Addicting Kitten - @tenelkadjowrites ✴ (COMPLETED)

When your car breaks down and your phone is dead, you are stranded alone on the way home. However, when Seonghwa, the intimidating figure you see at the club often, comes by and offers you a ride, you cannot help but feel as if you might be walking into the lion’s den.

Arrow In The Dark - @tenelkadjowrites ✴ (COMPLETED)

Your quiet life of working at a convenience store is upended when ultra wealthy Seonghwa convinces you to pretend to be his girlfriend for one night in order to fool his parents.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 The Way To His Heart - @edenesth | arranged marriage au, general!seonghwa x wife!reader (COMPLETED)

Life has been hell ever since your mother's passing many years ago. Despite being from a prominent family, you've never received the privileges associated with it. It only got worse with the arrival of your stepmother and her daughters. When the intimidating General Park was in search of a wife, your father seized the opportunity to dispose of you, simultaneously securing a connection with the powerful general—killing two birds with one stone.

⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ Oneshots and drabbles ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆

The Trouble With Hating You - @baekhvuns ✴ | college au

in which you accidentally get yourself affiliated with the resident bad boy by hitting him with a broom.

Incessant - @ennysbookstore ✴ | phdstudent!hwa x gradstudent!reader

The one where Seonghwa, the assigned mentor for your masters degree, suggests you practice making children before teaching them.

The Paradox Of Us - @edenesth | exes to lovers au

Relationships are rarely as simple as they seem. It becomes heartbreakingly complicated when two souls, bound by a love that still burns bright, come to realise that sometimes, love alone may not be enough to keep them together.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Embarassingly Cute - @xuchiya

A simple habit of holding your best friend’s arm to navigate the chaos of the mall takes an unexpected turn. Fifteen minutes pass before you realize your mistake—but by then, it’s not just your arm that’s caught in an unexpected twist of fate.

Does This Mean You Forgive Me? - @astayinwonderland | drunk bf!seonghwa

you’ve had an argument with seonghwa but he is determined to win you back

Pink Yarn - @daydreamingaboutkoreanmen

A stressful week leads you to crocheting on the couch and simple pink bandanna finds it way on Seonghwa’s head.

Properly - @tenelkadjowrites ✴ | best friends to lovers au

Nervous about running into your ex at a party, your best friend Seonghwa has devised a plan to pretend that you are dating him. However, in acting as if you are together, the friendship begins to change course.

Bubblegum Heart - @tenelkadjowrites ✴ | best friends to lovers au, camgirl!reader

When your best friend, Seonghwa, comes to you with a tearful confession, it changes your dynamic with him forever.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 A Little Less Lonely - @tenelkadjowrites ✴ | rich out of touch!Seonghwa

Things grow complicated with rich guy Seonghwa after turning his offer to go on a date down only to discover that perhaps you are closer with him than originally believed.

Lonely In Gorgeous - @tenelkadjowrites ✴ | model!seonghwa

Seonghwa is the most beautiful man you’ve ever seen and he happens to frequent the coffee shop you run. Your crush on him feels hopeless and overpowering until he finds out that you practice photography in your spare time.

Everyday At The Bus Stop - @tenelkadjowrites ✴ | strangers to lovers au

Your crush on fellow passenger, Seonghwa, changes into something new the day the bus breaks down.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Attention - @tenelkadjowrites ✴ | camboy!seonghwa x inexperienced!reader

Your attraction to Hwa, a camboy you enjoy watching late at night, unexpectedly spills into the real world.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Video Girl - @tenelkadjowrites ✴ | coworkers to lovers au

On the cusp of 1998, your quiet life working at a department store is upended when an attractive new coworker named Seonghwa awakens your desire for sexual exploration.

Nasty - @tenelkadjowrites ✴ | neighbors to lovers(?) au

Finding comfort in the windows of the apartment building across from yours, your attention is drawn to one housing an attractive new neighbor, Seonghwa, who quickly notices your interest.

The Heart's Filthy Lesson - @tenelkadjowrites ✴ | (twisted) best friends to lovers au

Your best friend has always been dedicated to you. But isn’t everyone’s best friend like that?

Love Maybe - @yizhou-time | friends to lovers au

Just two friends in love who let their feelings be known in the first snow of the year.

Twilight - @koyagifs

she refuses to be wed to someone she doesn't love. Her last resort? to run away with the pirate that stole her useless crown.

Not Just A Distraction - @seonghwaddict | professor!hwa x student!reader

in which it’s too easy for the new literature professor to pick a favourite.

Toxic - @seobinghard | mafia!seonghwa x mafia!reader

seonghwa thinks it's so funny that you're breaking up with him over something so small.

His Sweet Girl - @honeyhotteoks ✴

you and park seonghwa have an arranged relationship. he doms, you sub, and he pays for your taxi home. it’s always the same until the night you both plan to indulge in each other’s more intense fantasies.

Starlight - @woolysium

Even the brightest stars burn themselves one day if they shine too bright.

Pay Attention To Me - @bunnliix | camboy!seonghwa

You're roommates with Seonghwa, and he's been trying to get your attention for a while now, maybe you'll finally pay attention to him after what he's done.

Finally Found You - @cheriewoo ✴ | childhood friends to lovers au

Seonghwa finally found you and have no intention of letting you go ever. Childhood friends meeting after ten years, a wild night with some cold ice while you explore each other’s temprature. What more could you ask for?

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Mrs. Park? - @nevieatiny | bf!seonghwa

Maybe there were different ways to help your boyfriend get a refund, but calling him your "husband" made it sound more dramatic, right?

Royal Library - @nczennie ✴ | Royalty au, advisor!seonghwa x princess!reader

You turn to look at Seonghwa, "Thank you for keeping my secret," You smile at him and he returns it, quickly standing to bow, "Of course, your highness. Your secret is safe with me".

ᯓᡣ𐭩 The Stranger In 43B - @jae-bummer | neighbours to lovers au

You move in next door and he tries his hardest to be a good neighbor while you try your hardest to be left alone.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Strawberries And Wine - @teez-the-time ✴ | consort!seonghwa x emperor!reader

as an Emperor, you liked to indulge in the pleasantries of life. The shiniest jewels, the best wines, the tastiest delicacies. But in the years of your reign, you had never found something as exquisite as the lips of Park Seonghwa.

The Way I Am - @frenchkisstheabyss | fiance!seonghwa x makeup artist!reader

Your fiance's been successfully keeping his love of makeup hidden from you. That is until you come home early from a trip and find him using your things. Your reaction is (of course ♥︎) the exact opposite of what he feared.

I Can See You - @daemour ✴ | single parent au, single dad!seonghwa x babysitter!reader

When you took a job babysitting a young toddler, you didn't expect to be so drawn to the family. And more specifically, her frustratingly hot and single dad.

Heavy And Sticky - @k-hotchoisan ✴

Being sensitive is one thing, being easily turned on is one thing, being perverted is one thing. But being completely enamoured with you with all three combined? It’s just hell for Seonghwa.

Red Dress - @wooyoungiewritings ✴ | enemies to lovers au

It's time for the annual trip to the mountains to celebrate Christmas with the Parks. That including the human version of a headache, their son - Park Seonghwa. You've never gotten along, you'd even go so far to call him your worst enemy. But something happens on the trip, something neither of you can explain. It leads both you and Seonghwa into unknown territories, but one thing is for sure. It's all thanks to the red dress.

Blue Paradise - @pirateprincessblog ✴ | best friends brother!seonghwa

the news of park seonghwa, your best friend's brother you haven't seen in years, joining your birthday trip to maldives doesn't excite you the slightest. so far.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 One Day At A Time - @edenesth | single parent au, kindergarten teacher!Seonghwa x single parent(aunt?)!reader

Seonghwa, a dedicated kindergarten teacher, had sworn off dating to focus on his job, but everything changes when he meets you, the aunt of one of his students. As you navigate the challenges of parenthood together, a deep connection blossoms. What happens when he finds himself falling in love despite his resolve to stay single?

Cat Named Mars - @hwaightme | catboy!seonghwa

the longest bulletpoints about what it would be like to have catboy!hwa as your bf - the whole story

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Page Me - @hwaightme | paediatrician!bf!seonghwa x neurosurgeon!reader

in the early hours of a shared night shift right before christmas, the present turns into a gift, and seonghwa can't be happier and more in love

ᯓᡣ𐭩 The Thing About Pretty Boys - @wonusite ✴ | friends to lovers au

You’re convinced that pretty boy Seonghwa could never fuck anyone stupid. He decides to prove you wrong.

ᯓᡣ𐭩 Fire And Water - @wooyoungiewritings ✴ | mechanic!seonghwa x innocent!reader

When you walk into the mechanic, you don't expect to see Seonghwa, the most intimidating person you've ever laid your eyes on. He's the complete opposite of you. But he opens the idea of something you've never considered, and before you know it, the door he has opened for you is already locked behind you.

Golden Hour - @cheollipop ✴ | husband!seonghwa

with the caribbean breeze ruffling through silky locks, leaving its salty remnants on sunkissed skin, fingers tangled in a lifetime's embrace as you adjusted to the added weight of the metal bands reflecting the gleaming moonlight. tonight, and for decades to come, seonghwa thanked every deity he knew the name of for making you his.

Nights Like These - @lilacmingi

The First Snow And Being In Love - @i-luvsang

Angel - @starrysvn | soulmate au

Pervert Loser Boyfriend - @iannmin ✴

House Husband - @spinster-sisters ✴

Strange Tide - @jagibangbangchan | pirate!seonghwa x siren!reader

[2:49 AM] - @edenesth

────୨ৎ────

Did you finish all the fics? Check out the other members too! ⤵ Hongjoong | Yunho | Yeosang | San | Mingi | Wooyoung | Jongho

[chimcess]

Bittersweet || myg (1)

Pairing: Yoongi x Reader Other Tags: Grad Student!Yoongi, Undergrad!Reader, Grad Student!Hoseok, Uncle!Namjoon, Doctor!Namjoon, Grad Student!Jimin, Fuckboy!Jungkook, GradStudent!Jungkook, Boss!Seokjin, Yoongi POV Genre: College!AU, Strangers to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, kinda Student/Teacher but not really, Older!Yoongi, Fluff, Angst, Eventual Smut Word Count: 19.9k+ Summary: When a cynical graduate student meets an overly enthusiastic undergraduate, the air crackles with tension—though not all of it is good. Warnings: Mean!Yoongi, he's extremely rude, like extremely so, prank gone wrong, bitter grad student to the max, strong language, Jimin is a snitch, possible wrong science information (i'm sorry i'm not perfect), sexual tension, reader faints at the sight of blood, unfunny pranks, Yoongi is jaded, he's a softie once you get to know him, hospital visit, non-descriptive male masterbation, reader has a stutter when nervous, Yoongi just being in denial for almost 20k words, kissing at work, almost caught, Jealous!Yoongi, i'm sorry but this JK is kind of a slime ball, Reader knows what she's doing, they're adorable, lots of bickering, let me know if I missed anything... A/N: Another old draft I found buried in my Google Docs! I didn't need to change too much, and it's very loosely edited, so please forgive any grammar or spelling mistakes. This was rather long (and I don't know why I never posted it), so it had to be split into two parts because of Tumblr's new rules. Thanks for reading!

Next

Subject: Undergrad Mentoring From: Seokjin Kim, seokjinkim(at)fhcrc(.)org   Sent: Friday, January 14, 2024, 6:18 AM   To: Yoongi Min, ygmin(at)u(.)washington(.)edu  

Yoongi,  

I’m forwarding an email from a brilliant undergraduate. Have you thought about mentoring a student? I really think you should.  

— Jin  

---

From: ynyln(at)u(.)washington(.)edu   Sent: Friday, January 14, 2024, 2:08 AM   To: Seokjin Kim, seokjinkim(at)fhcrc(.)org   Subject: Undergraduate Research  

Dear Professor Kim,  

My name is Y/N Y/L/N, and I’m a junior in the School of Arts and Sciences, majoring in microbiology. I’m incredibly interested in undergraduate research, particularly in your fascinating work on Helicobacter pylori and its connection to stomach cancer.  

Although I don’t have prior research experience, I’m hardworking and responsible, and I would appreciate the chance to join your team. Please let me know if you have space available in your lab.  

Attached are my CV and transcript.  

Thank you!  

Y/N Y/L/N  

---

Dr. Seokjin Kim Member, Division of Basic Sciences   Fred Hutchinson Cancer Research Center   1100 Fairview Avenue North   Seattle, WA 98109-1024  

I stared at Jin's email, the words bouncing around in my head. No previous research experience? Oh great! Just fucking great!

As the clock hit noon, I trudged into the break room, where the fluorescent lights buzzed like a swarm of angry bees. It was my little escape, my sanctuary from the suffocating hallways of academia. Hoseok, the only graduate student I considered a friend, was already inhaling his lunch.

I plopped my Tupperware into the microwave, the day’s weight pressing down on me like a thick fog. “Jin wants me to take on an undergrad,” I grumbled, feeling the words stick in my throat.

“Seriously?” Hoseok asked, mouth half-full. He didn’t even bother to swallow before adding, “Have them do the dishes.”

“Oh man, this is going to suck,” I muttered, stirring my mac and cheese with the enthusiasm of a person headed to their execution. “I have to train her, and she has zero lab experience. I don’t have time for this crap.”

The microwave beeped, its harsh sound grating against my nerves. I pulled out my steaming food, the steam rising ominously. “I tried to get out of it, but Jin insisted it’s ‘all part of the training.’” I mimicked his voice, nasal and overdramatic. Hoseok chuckled, nearly choking on his food.

I dug into my lunch, my mind racing. “She’s probably some pre-med trying to pad her CV. Calling our research ‘fascinating’ like she even knows what we do here—just another cookie-cutter student firing off a hundred emails.” 

“Maybe she’s cute?” Hoseok waggled his eyebrows.

I rolled my eyes, ignoring him. My single status was a constant source of irritation for him. He meant well, but his attempts at matchmaking were like trying to fix a flat tire with a spoon.

“I already did my required TA-ing last year, and it nearly gave me an ulcer. I thought I was done with whiny undergrads! This really sucks!” The words burst out, hot and angry. The idea of babysitting a clueless student gnawed at me like a persistent itch.

I focused on my research, hoping it would be my ticket out of this academic purgatory. Mentoring an undergrad was the last thing I needed—a distraction threatening to derail my meticulously planned escape.

After lunch, I headed to the incubator to check on my cultures, the familiar hum a small comfort amidst the chaos. Then I settled at my desk, drafting a reluctant email to the undergrad, my words dripping with begrudging obligation.

From: Yoongi Min, ygmin(at)u(.)washington(.)edu   Sent: Friday, January 14, 2024, 1:05 PM   To: ynyln(at)u(.)washington(.)edu  

Come to the lab on Monday between 8 AM and 7 PM. Bring your schedule.  

Yoongi Min PhD Candidate   Kim Lab   Fred Hutchinson Cancer Research Center   1100 Fairview Avenue North   Seattle, WA 98109-1024  

This was going to suck.

“Hi, I’m looking for Yoongi Min?” A stranger’s voice cut through the quiet of the lab, and I felt my focus waver. I was knee-deep in DNA sequencing data, desperately searching for a start codon when the interruption struck like nails on a chalkboard.

“That’s him over there,” Jimin, my lab mate, replied. I didn’t need to look up; I knew he was pointing at me.

“CTT ATC GTG ACT…” I murmured; eyes glued to the screen. The code demanded my attention.

A shadow crept closer, invading my peripheral vision. I ignored it, hyper-fixated on the screen.

“Hi, I’m Y/N,” the shadow solidified into the undergrad I’d been dreading. I continued to stare at the screen, unwilling to break my concentration.

“Did you bring your schedule?” My voice was clipped, an attempt to maintain my rhythm.

CGC CTC CGT ATG… There it was! I highlighted the start codon, feeling a small sense of victory amidst the irritation. Finally, I turned to face her. She held a crumpled piece of paper in trembling hands.

The crackling noise of the paper grated on my nerves, and I snatched it from her. A quick scan revealed she had a limited availability. Tuesdays and Thursdays it was.

“Do you want one or two credits?” I asked, filling out her form with practiced efficiency.

“Oh… um… t-two,” she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper.

Oh great, a stammerer. I disliked her already. My frustration bubbled beneath the surface.

“That’s ten hours a week,” I said, scribbling on the form. “Tuesday and Thursday afternoons, maybe some Wednesday mornings.” I thrust the completed form back at her and turned back to my computer.

“See you tomorrow,” I dismissed her with a wave, eager to end the interaction. Her stammering was already wearing on my patience.

When I returned from lunch, she was perched at my bench. A laugh escaped me at the sight of her attire.

“What the hell is that?” I pointed at her lab coat, which was covered in hand-drawn bacteria.

She jumped, eyes wide. “My la-la-lab coat?” she stuttered.

Oh great, she’s a fucking idiot.

I took a deep breath, scanning her outfit for safety violations. At least she wore closed shoes and jeans, but her long hair hung loose.

“You should tie your hair up. You’ll be working near the flame.”

She pulled a hairband from her wrist and started tying her hair back. As I walked past, I noticed the back of her lab coat had “Bacteria Rule” scrawled in huge letters.

Bacteria Rule? Is she serious? I wanted to stab my eyes out with the pen in my hand. Who wastes time drawing on a lab coat? Nobody in their right mind, that’s for sure.

Something was off about her—I was certain of it. Concerned about her competence, I decided she couldn’t be trusted with any real work. Instead, I assigned her mundane chores, the kind even a high schooler could handle. It might not have been what Jin envisioned, but it was the only way.

God, I’m already dreading this. Can it be Friday already?

Hoseok and I lounged in the break room, our feet propped up on the coffee table, Tupperwares in our laps. The lack of a proper dining table didn’t bother us; it still beat eating at our desks.

“How’s it going with the undergrad?” Hoseok asked, mouth full.

“I’m pretty sure there’s something wrong with her,” I said, dead serious.

Hoseok laughed, even though I wasn’t joking.

“All she does is nod at what I say,” I elaborated. “Like one of those bobblehead dolls.” I stretched my neck and bobbed my head for effect. “Except she has bangs flopping all over her face when she nods frantically at everything I say.”

Hoseok snorted but kept eating.

“And she stutters! Well, when she speaks, that is. She doesn’t speak much. I kind of like that about her.”

Hoseok chuckled. “Sounds like you’re in love, bro.”

“Fuck you, Hoseok,” I shot back, uninterested. I already knew where this was heading.

“Is she cute?” Hoseok asked, glancing at me with a smirk.

“She’s a baby.”

“Is she a cute baby?”

“Hoseok, she’s… she’s a zygote.”

“Well, maybe with this zygote, you’ll learn how to be human again.” He turned his attention back to his food.

“What the hell is that supposed to mean?”

“Come on. You’re not exactly social, bro. All you do is lab stuff and occasionally hang out with me and Serena.”

“What are you talking about? I am social.” My tone came out whiny, betraying my disbelief.

“Oh, really?” Hoseok raised an eyebrow, gesturing to my Tupperware. “So social that you prefer to eat alone in the lab over joining us in the break room?”

“Do you even hear yourself? You’re such a dork. I eat in here because the lab is a mess, not because I’m antisocial.” I shrugged, trying to hide the embarrassment creeping into my cheeks.

“Whatever you say, Yoongi,” he laughed, clearly unconvinced.  

I shook my head. I didn’t want to think about this right now. Instead, I grabbed my backpack, bracing myself for the next round of research duties.

After a few weeks of working together, I had to admit—albeit grudgingly—that the undergrad was following instructions better than I’d expected. If I could just ignore her ridiculous lab coat and the way those bangs flopped annoyingly over her forehead, she wouldn’t be half bad. The real annoyance, though, was her constant presence invading my space. But honestly, it could be worse; at least she wasn’t stammering nonstop. Most of the time, she barely spoke, and mercifully, she didn’t ask a ton of questions.

As I walked back from lunch with Hoseok, I was surprised to realize I didn’t dread the thought of the undergrad being in the lab when I arrived. Maybe having her shadow me wouldn’t be the end of the world after all.

Of course, the moment that thought crossed my mind, I jinxed myself. Stepping into the lab, I found her cleaning my bench, and a wave of irritation crashed over me. 

“What the heck are you doing?” I snapped, my voice sharper than I intended.

She flinched, turning slowly to face me, her gloved hands still gripping an ethanol squeeze bottle. “I-I just thought I’d clean up a bit,” she stammered.

“Did you touch my samples?” I shot back, a surge of panic coursing through me.

“Which samples?” 

“Those!” I pointed at the upside-down tubes that had been perfectly positioned when I left, now carelessly shoved to the side. 

“I-I just mov—”

“Did you touch my RNA samples?” Her mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for air—an annoyingly stupid fish. “Do you know how labile RNA is?”

“L-la-labile?” 

“Yes! Unstable—easily degradable. The main point here: you don’t touch my RNA samples!” 

“I-I used gloves… I’m sorry,” she mumbled, tears shimmering in her eyes. 

If she started crying, I was really going to lose it. 

I took a deep breath, pinching the bridge of my nose to calm the storm brewing inside me. Slipping on my own gloves, I gently set my samples back in their rightful place, praying I hadn’t lost a week’s worth of work. 

I could hear her sniffling next to me, and I groaned out loud. “Why don’t you and your la-la-lab coat coat go find something useful to do?” 

I listened as she shuffled away, clearly eager to escape my sight. I should have known better than to think this arrangement would work out.

From: Seokjin Kim, seokjinkim(at)fhcrc(.)org   Sent: Monday, February 14, 2024, 6:27 AM To: Yoongi Min, ygmin(at)u(.)washington(.)edu

Yoongi,  

Part of the undergrad training involves more than just doing chores. Cleaning dishes, stacking pipette tips, and capping tubes do not count as experiments.  

I expect your undergrad to have enough experimental data to give a presentation at the end of the semester.  

Jin  

What the hell? Did she tell him I’m only having her do chores? 

Shit, shit, shit, shit. 

Jin was right, though. All she’d done these past few weeks were chores. Aside from that little incident with my RNA samples, she hadn’t completely messed up yet. Maybe I should cut her some slack and give her a real project. She might learn something—or at the very least, realize how frustrating science could be and decide to give up on it sooner rather than later. 

Oh God, how was she going to give a presentation if she couldn’t even say one coherent sentence without stuttering? 

This would be an embarrassment, not just for her but for me too. If she messed up, she’d make me look bad. 

Decision made. I needed to lighten up a bit and actually try to teach her something.

On Thursday, the undergrad was busy with her chores when I approached her, project sheet in hand. 

She looked at it, her eyebrows raised. “What is this?” 

“Your project for the next few weeks.” 

Her face lit up with excitement. 

“You didn’t have to go crying to Jin. I was going to give you a project anyway.” 

Her smile faltered into a frown. “W-What are you talking about?” She gazed up at me, bewildered, but I waved her off, unwilling to explain further. 

“Enough chattering. Those tubes aren’t going to wash themselves.” 

Gotcha, undergrad. Your puppy dog eyes don’t work on me.

It was the first week of real work for the undergrad, and I felt a knot of anxiety twisting in my stomach. My palms were clammy, and my heart raced uncomfortably. 

Am I excited about this? Nah… I’m probably just hungry.

“Do you know what PCR is?” 

She nodded eagerly, pulling out her notepad, ready to take notes. 

I explained how I wanted her to amplify two toxin genes from a set of H. pylori samples that had just arrived that morning from the hospital. Naturally, I only gave her a small subset of the total samples. It was a manageable number—enough for her to play around with, but not so many that I’d be ready to murder her if she messed up.

As usual, the undergrad took notes on everything I said, jotting down even where I pointed out the locations of various equipment. For all I knew, she was sketching a detailed map of the lab in that notepad of hers.

The undergrad sat at the bench, PCR tubes lined up in front of her, the protocol to her left, pipettes to her right, and a rack of reagents looming in the back. I watched her as she stared at everything, nervously picking at the edges of her gloves. 

She was going to drive me insane. 

“Do you know how to use the pipettes?” 

She looked up at me, shaking her head timidly. 

“Why didn’t you say so?” My voice came out louder than intended, and she flinched. 

We were never going to get anywhere like this. 

I took a deep breath and tried again, grabbing one of the micropipettes. “You set the volume here.” I pointed to the rings. “Clockwise to increase, counterclockwise to decrease.” 

I demonstrated, twisting the rings as I explained the display window and where to discard the disposable tips when she was done. 

After a few trials, the undergrad carefully pipetted into the PCR tubes, preparing the reaction with surprising precision. 

She was focused, making sure not to contaminate anything. It was clear she was paying close attention to every detail. 

Skilled hands, I noted, feeling a flicker of satisfaction. 

Maybe this wouldn’t be as bad as I thought.

I led the undergrad into the darkroom, where shadows clung to the walls like forgotten secrets, ready to ensnare us. The air was thick with a sharp, chemical tang, buzzing with anticipation as we approached the agarose gel. The PCR products shimmered faintly under the dim light, a hidden treasure waiting to be revealed. Surprisingly, a flicker of excitement sparked within me, a rare departure from my usual brooding.

“The ethidium bromide binds to the DNA,” I explained, my voice echoing softly in the sterile silence. “When we expose it to UV light, it fluoresces an orange color. You’ll see the PCR products light up on the gel.”

She walked beside me, clutching the gel like a sacred relic, her wide eyes absorbing every word. I could almost see the gears turning in her mind, likely wishing she had her notepad to document my brilliance, as if capturing my words would somehow validate her existence.

As we stepped into the darkroom, she hesitated, like a deer caught in headlights, before gingerly placing the gel inside the UV box. She moved carefully, avoiding the pitfalls of air bubbles that could ruin everything. Either she’d done this before, or she had the sense to read up on it. 

Good. I liked a prepared undergrad.

Once she’d set the gel, I instructed her to turn off the lights. The room plunged into darkness, and I leaned in, my heart racing a little faster. Peering into the UV box, I couldn’t help but grin. “Well, look at that. All your reactions worked.”

“Really?” Her voice trembled from the back, laced with a quiver of hope.

“Yeah,” I called back, though the shadows played tricks on me. “Come closer so you can see.”

I waited, but she lingered in the gloom, frozen as if afraid to approach the light. “Come here, I don’t bite,” I coaxed, trying to keep my tone lighthearted.

Finally, she moved, her profile illuminated under the eerie purple glow. Her eyes widened, and a smile broke across her face like dawn piercing through a dark night. I snorted softly, amused by how easily undergrads were impressed.

After she soaked in the spectacle, I showed her how to take a photo of her gel, and we returned to the lab. She began dutifully filling in her lab notebook, and a glimmer of pride swelled within me. That was until I checked her progress later. The notebook was pristine—a meticulous record of her every move since day one. Hope flickered in my chest, only to sputter out when I turned to the last page. There it was, taped prominently: a picture of the gel with “All worked!” scrawled underneath, accompanied by a crude smiley face.

A fucking smiley face.

This undergrad, I thought, definitely had a screw loose.

“Is that what you’re wearing?” 

“What’s wrong with it?” I glanced down at my sweater, a worn piece of fabric riddled with holes—just like my soul. It was what I had been wearing all day, and it sufficed. 

“It has holes in it.”

“And?” I shot back, genuinely baffled. It was just clothing—a shield against the chill of the world.

“Are you making a fashion statement? You do know grunge was over twenty years ago? I know you live in Seattle and all, but I’m not digging the Kurt Cobain look… at all.”

“Thanks for the vote of confidence,” I muttered, irritation bubbling beneath my skin. “I’m starting to regret bringing you to this.”

“Relax, it’s just beers with Hobi and Serena,” she said, rolling her eyes like I was some petulant child.

I raked a hand through my hair, but it sprang back defiantly, so I slapped on a beanie to cover the chaos.

“You know, Yoongi, it wouldn’t hurt to wash your hair once in a while. How are you going to meet any cute girls?”

Here we go again.

“Yoonji, would you get off my case? I don’t want to meet anybody.” 

Yoonji dropped in at least once a month, a whirlwind of concern and relentless nagging. She never believed me when I claimed to be fine over the phone. 

It was endearing, in a way, but mostly a burden I didn’t need. My family was my anchor, yet their relentless need to take care of me felt like shackles.

“Okay, okay... let’s go then.” 

“It’s just beers, for crying out loud.” 

“I’m telling you to relax.” 

In the car, I felt her eyes boring into me. “It’s just... I worry about you.” She brushed her hand along my arm, and I sighed.

“I’m fine,” I insisted, but I could see the disbelief flickering across her face. “Really. I’m just tired of school. I want to start real life already. I’ll be twenty-six this summer, and I’m still stuck in this academic limbo.”

“Hell, I’m twenty-seven!” Hoseok said when we arrived at the bar, lifting his pint in a mock salute. “And look at all the fuck I give!” He downed it with a flourish.

“Is that supposed to make me feel better?” I shot back.

“Hey,” Serena interjected, her tone warning.

“It’s okay…” Hoseok waved dismissively. “He’s just got a bad case of graduate bitterness.”

Graduate bitterness... yes, that was exactly it. A malaise that settled in my bones like a persistent chill. I glanced around, my throat tightening as if the weight of my uncertainty was squeezing the life out of me.

I led the undergrad through the winding corridors of the building, our footsteps echoing like whispers in the shadows. She walked beside me in near silence, her gaze occasionally darting down to her notepad, scribbling furiously as if the ink might escape her. If only she spent as much time observing her surroundings as she did with her frantic notes, she wouldn’t need them to find her way back to the sequencing facility.

There was something peculiar about her. She avoided meeting my eyes, her demeanor skirting the edges of unease, a deep-seated shyness that pricked at my irritation. And Hoseok thinks I’m the antisocial one!

As we turned a corner, I pondered the unspoken rules of social behavior in the lab when we suddenly bumped into Jungkook Wand, another graduate student known for his knack for lurking around.

“Min,” he greeted, his gaze fixated on my undergrad, likely eyeing her in that ridiculous lab coat that looked like it had seen better days. Why she insisted on wearing that tattered garment was beyond me.

“We missed you at happy hour,” he added, his eyes still glued to her, ignoring me completely.

Every Friday, the department hosted a gathering that, while lame, at least offered beer. Last week, Yoonji was visiting, and I wouldn’t have dreamed of dragging her into that debacle.

“Yeah, my cousin was in town,” I managed, trying to shake off the feeling of being an afterthought.

Jungkook’s smile widened as he turned his attention to her. I should probably introduce them, but for the life of me, her name eluded me. Panic set in like a cold sweat.

“Hi,” Jungkook said, flashing a grin that felt a bit too eager.

Shit. What was her name again?

The girl glanced up at me, and a flash of annoyance crossed her features, as if she could read my mind. “I’m Y/N,” she said, her voice laced with indignation as she extended her hand. The scowl she shot me could peel paint off the walls.

Y/N. The name landed in my mind like a lead weight. How had I forgotten it?

Before I could muster an excuse, Jungkook was launching into conversation, his gaze lingering on her with a familiarity that irked me. I didn’t like Jungkook, nor the way he looked at my undergrad, so I steered her away from him, back toward the safety of the lab.

Now, what was her name again? Damn it.

The following week, I was knee-deep in sequence alignments at my cluttered desk when the fire alarm shrieked, slicing through the stillness like a knife. I turned to find my undergrad, her wide eyes betraying sheer panic. 

She thought it was real. In that moment, a mischievous idea sparked in my mind. 

“Run, Becca! Run!” I shouted, leaping from my chair.

“What?” 

The color drained from her face, and I couldn't help but laugh as confusion and fear played out across her features— priceless. I doubled over, laughter bubbling out like soda from a shaken can. 

The alarm blared on, drowning out her startled gasp as she clutched a rack of tubes, trembling. “It’s just a fire drill! Relax!” I finally managed to gasp.

She set the tubes down, took a deep breath, and shot me a glare, her cheeks flushed with embarrassment. “That was not funny,” she huffed, her voice laced with indignation. “And my name is Y/N!”

With that, she stormed off, leaving me with echoes of my laughter still ringing in my ears. 

Oh, being social was unexpectedly entertaining!

The fire alarms continued to test my patience, ringing again and again. Each time, I chuckled at the memory of her startled expression. Now, standing outside for what felt like the fifth time, I glanced sideways at Y/N, who was shifting her weight from foot to foot, hands shoved into her pockets. 

“Want to grab some coffee?” I asked, feeling an odd urge to make amends.

She blinked at me, surprise flickering across her face as if she couldn’t believe I was actually talking to her.

The cafeteria at the library was our destination, and we walked in silence, the clouds parting for a moment to let in the faintest hint of sunshine. 

As we stood in line, I noticed her tense shoulders. Suddenly, she muttered a string of curses under her breath. Before I could react, her arm was around mine, grinning at me like a Cheshire cat.

“What the hell are you doing?” I asked, bewildered.

She maintained her smile but released me, stepping in front. “Say something funny,” she ordered, her voice low and urgent.

“What?”

Then she erupted in laughter, leaving me standing there in utter confusion.

She pressed a hand against my chest, and I wasn’t sure whether to be amused or alarmed. Was this how lab partners acted in her world?

But just as quickly as the laughter came, it faded, and she stepped back, looking sheepish, as if the moment had been a strange dream.

I moved up in line to get my coffee. “Do you want anything?”

“No, thanks,” she replied, shaking her head. I decided to drop the subject entirely.

As we started heading back, she caught up to me, her expression suddenly earnest. “I’m sorry,” she blurted. “There’s this guy, Jonah. He won’t take a hint. I thought if he saw me with someone…”

I tuned out her words, her rhythm a blur as I realized just how bizarre everything was.

Could undergrads get any weirder?

Sitting alone on a bench Wednesday afternoon, I savored the solitude when Jungkook appeared, looming over me like a vulture. 

“Min,” he said, his tone dripping with false familiarity.

I glared at him, not in the mood for whatever nonsense he was about to spill. 

“Where’s that cute little thing you were with?” 

“Who?”

“You know, the one in the colorful lab coat.”

Colorful? I snorted, recalling the eyesore she wore.

“She’s not here,” I replied curtly.

“Got her number?”

“Why would I have her number? And why do you want it?”

He raised his eyebrows, a smirk spreading across his face. “You know… you and her…”

I cut him off, anger flaring in my chest. “Me and her what?”

“Is she up for grabs?”

I couldn’t believe he’d come to my lab just to ask about her.

“Jungkook, she’s an undergrad.”

He laughed, completely oblivious. “Dude, have you looked at her? She’s fine.”

“Yeah, and she’s crazy.”

“Even better!” His expression made my stomach churn.

“I don’t have her number, and if I did, I wouldn’t give it to you.”

With that, I shoved my earbuds in, blocking him out as he stormed off, his words echoing in my mind.

Fucking creep.

Even though it was Friday—one of those days Y/N usually avoided—the lab felt off-kilter, like an old, rickety house holding its breath. She hovered at my desk while I pulled up the sequencing results on my laptop. Last night, I’d sent her a simple email, expecting a casual response. But her reply had come back faster than a ghost in the night. She wanted to see the data today.

As we sat there, the silence between us thickened, almost palpable. Her face was a mask of concentration, but her expressions kept faltering, crumpling like old paper. Not that I cared too much; she had to learn that research was 90% disappointment wrapped in frustration.

“Why didn’t it work?” she asked, her voice tinged with sadness, as if she were mourning a lost hope.

“Maybe you made a mistake?” I suggested, trying to sound casual.

“I was very careful,” she shot back, defensive, her eyes narrowing like a predator ready to pounce.

How typical. Pre-med students always thought they were immune to failure, that the universe owed them success on a silver platter.

“It happens,” I shrugged, trying to dismiss the tension.

“I don’t understand,” she said, her brows knitting together.

“There's a reason it’s called research. If you only had to do it once, it would be called a search.”

“So, what do I do now?”

“You start over.”

“From the beginning?” Her voice trembled, disbelief flickering in her eyes.

“Yeah.”

A heavy sigh escaped her lips as she gazed at her notebook, defeated. Her eyes flitted to the calendar on the wall, and her pencil scratched furiously on the pad. “Can I come tomorrow? I want to have cells growing by Monday.”

Her eagerness surprised me. I added “overachiever” to the growing list of quirks that made Y/N so peculiar.

“Tomorrow’s Saturday,” I teased, raising an eyebrow.

“I know that.”

“Don’t you have a frat party to attend?” I quipped, but her glare silenced me, a reprimand that cut through the lab's sterile air. “Fine, come tomorrow,” I relented, knowing I’d be here anyway. Weekends in the lab were the best; no distractions, just the hum of machinery and the click of keys.

“Awesomesauce!” she chirped, her smile lighting up the dim room. I rolled my eyes, annoyed yet impressed by her determination. Maybe, just maybe, she had what it took for grad school after all.

Saturdays were sacred—my little slice of peace amid the storm of classes and lab reports. After a killer morning workout, I made my way back to the lab, my damp hair fluttering in the cool breeze. Just as I settled into my zone, my phone buzzed with a message that snapped me back to reality. 

“Mr. Graduate Student, I’m at the front of the building. Y/N.”

I chuckled, shaking my head at her cheesy attempt at humor. By the time I reached the entrance, I found her wrestling with her hair, tying it up into a high ponytail that looked like it could give anyone a headache just by looking at it. But when she caught sight of me, her face lit up with a grin that could brighten the cloudiest day.

“Very funny,” I replied dryly as I held the door open for her. “It’s Yoongi, remember?”

As we stepped inside, the silence stretched between us, thick and awkward. I considered tossing out a quip about her hairstyle or her lab coat, but then a mischievous prank began to brew in my mind—dark and delightful, like a noxious weed spreading through my thoughts.

“Start your experiment from scratch,” I said, forcing a serious tone. “Could be that my reagents were contaminated.”

Her eyes widened, and I could barely suppress a smirk. It was a complete lie, of course; the old autoclave in the corner was already wheezing like an ancient beast. But picturing her panic was too tempting. 

Settling at my bench, I could barely contain my excitement. But instead of the expected rush of alarm, there was a loud crash—glass shattering like a million tiny dreams—and then silence. 

What the hell was that?

I found her on the floor, surrounded by shards of glass that sparkled like lost hopes. The autoclave hissed and wheezed, steam curling around us like a ghost. I rushed to her side, trying to stem the leak with my hands. 

“What happened?” I asked, crouching beside her. She looked like a wilted flower, her head buried in her knees, eyes squeezed shut.

“Are you okay?” I tried again, dread pooling in my stomach as I saw her trembling hands. Her breath came in quick bursts, and my heart raced. 

She mumbled something I couldn’t catch, her palm pressed hard against her leg. “Let me see,” I urged, only to be hit with a wave of horror: a deep gash across her palm, crimson pooling onto the cold tiles.

Oh, no...

Panic surged as I scooped her up, her fragile body slumping against mine. “You’re okay,” I whispered, the words feeling hollow. “It’s okay.” 

I hurried her to the sink, the cool water a sharp contrast to the rising heat in the lab. She buried her face in my chest, her panic palpable against my shirt. 

“Is there still blood?” she murmured, voice barely above a whisper.

“Mostly gone. But we need to get to the ER,” I insisted, urgency tightening my tone.

She groaned, eyes still shut tight, her composure slipping away. 

“Please, open your eyes,” I pleaded, gently lifting her chin. I rubbed my thumb along her cheek, trying to anchor her to reality.

“Can you walk?” 

She nodded weakly, but when she tried to stand, her legs buckled. I swept her back up, panic clawing at my throat. 

What have I done? The air felt thick with dread, and I knew I had to get her out of there. 

I carried her to my car, the world outside fading into a blur, as if the universe was holding its breath. Carefully, I placed her in the passenger seat, her eyes still shut like she was blocking out the horrors around us. I fastened her seatbelt, feeling the weight of the moment. "Please say something," I urged, glancing at her, desperate for any sign of life.

"I hate blood," she mumbled, voice fragile.

Relief washed over me—she was talking. It struck me as strange that a pre-med student would detest blood. "Are you still dizzy?" 

She nodded, and my heart sank at her admission. The crease in her forehead deepened, and I wanted nothing more than to smooth it away.

"We’ll be at the hospital in ten minutes," I promised, focusing on the road ahead.

"Would you distract me, so I don’t think about the blood?" 

"I don’t know how," I admitted sheepishly.

"Say something funny." 

"Funny? Okay. It’s pretty funny that you want to go to med school and you faint at the sight of blood." 

"Who says I'm pre-med?" she shot back, and I blinked in surprise.

"You're not?" 

"No, and that really wasn’t funny. Talking about blood isn’t going to help me forget about it." 

Frustration clawed at me as I struggled for something to say. 

"What do you want me to say?" 

"Don’t you know any jokes?" There was an edge of frustration in her voice.

"No." 

"Everyone knows at least one joke, Yoongi." The way she said my name sent a jolt through me, tightening my stomach with something close to admiration.

Before I knew it, I blurted out the lamest joke I could remember from college. "Two hydrogen atoms walk into a bar," I began, watching her lips twitch upward. "One says, ‘I think I've lost an electron.’ The other asks, ‘Are you sure?’ The first replies, ‘Yes. I'm positive.’"

I cringed at how cheesy it was, but when her smile finally broke through, it felt like winning the lottery.

"That was lame," she said, but the glimmer of her smile gave me hope.

At a red light, I risked a glance at her. Her eyes were still closed, but the pale green tint to her skin had faded, replaced by a healthy glow. My heart swelled with relief.

The driver behind me honked impatiently, snapping me back to reality.

"Does it hurt?" I asked, noticing her fingers curling around her injured wrist. 

She nodded, a pout forming on her lips that made my heart ache. I nearly missed a stop sign, cursing under my breath.

"God, I’m such a jerk," I muttered, guilt gnawing at me. I had messed up, all in the name of a stupid joke. I racked my brain for something else to say but came up empty.

"I don’t know any more jokes, but I was good at geeky pickup lines back in college," I offered, desperate to lift her spirits. Her smile returned, lighting up the car.

"This better be good," she warned teasingly.

"If I were an enzyme, I’d be DNA helicase, so I could unzip your genes." 

"Oh my God," she snorted, and I laughed, relieved to see her react. "Did you use that on anybody?" 

"Maybe," I hinted, my chest tightening with excitement.

"Did it work?" 

"No," I admitted, but I was laughing now, and she was grinning, even with her eyes still closed. I was determined to keep her smiling. 

"Oh! Do you like The Police?" 

"The police?" She frowned, confusion crossing her features.

"Yeah…" 

"As in the profession?" 

"No, you dork. The band. Sting's band?" 

"Oh, yeah. I guess." She shrugged.

And against my better judgment, I cleared my throat and began singing. "Every bond you break… Every electron you take…"

Finally, her eyes fluttered open, surprise and delight dancing across her face. I couldn’t help but wiggle my eyebrows, and her smile broadened, banishing the shadows of panic. "Oh, can’t you see, you’re covalently bonded to me…" I sang, pouring my energy into the ridiculousness of it. Nothing felt more beautiful than the light in her eyes. 

How had I never noticed how amazing her smile was before?

We pulled into the University’s Medical Center in under ten minutes, just like I expected. I parked quickly and rushed around to help her out, but she stumbled out on her own, nearly losing her balance. I caught her just before she could face plant onto the pavement—or worse, land hard on her injured hand.

I could feel irritation bubbling up inside me. Did she really think I wouldn’t help? Sure, I was an idiot sometimes, but I still had a decent sense of gentlemanly instincts. 

“Can you walk?” I asked, keeping my hand around her elbow as we approached the entrance.

“I think so,” she replied softly, but I kept my grip steady, guiding her into the emergency room. 

Inside, a flicker of relief hit me—the place was nearly empty, and we should get seen fairly quickly. “Hello,” I said to the front desk lady, who was glued to her computer screen. She glanced up, her expression completely bored, and didn’t reply. Instant dislike. 

“She cut her hand, and it looks deep,” I said, gesturing toward Y/N beside me.

“Name?” The front desk lady’s question hung in the air like a sword about to drop, and suddenly, I froze.

Goddammit…

She didn’t mean my name. My stomach twisted as I desperately searched my memory. I couldn’t believe I’d forgotten her name again.

It starts with a B, doesn’t it? I racked my brain, stalling as the front desk lady’s eyebrows shot up impatiently.

“Y/N Y/L/N,” came the shaky voice next to me, cutting through my fog of embarrassment.

God, I was such an idiot! I wanted to punch myself for being so careless.

I looked at her—Y/N—and even though she shook her head, a grin crept onto the corner of her mouth. Maybe, just maybe, I was forgiven. Y/N, Y/N, Y/N… I repeated silently, determined that this time I would remember.

I was convinced that the “doctor” tending to Y/N wasn’t a real doctor—not yet, anyway. He claimed the cut wasn’t deep and that it hadn’t damaged any tendons or nerves. He even said it was clean enough to glue shut, which apparently was a thing now. But my gut twisted with doubt; something about him set off alarms in my head.

Y/N had her eyes squeezed shut, clutching my hand like it was a lifeline while this wannabe physician—Doogie Howser, I mentally dubbed him—cleaned her wound. She perched on the examination table, her injured hand resting on a tray beside her, as I stood behind her, anxiety tightening my chest. In the chaos of her injury and my desperate attempts to care for her, her ponytail had loosened, hanging low at the nape of her neck. A sudden curiosity gripped me: What would her hair look like, cascading down like a waterfall?

“Y/N,” I whispered, leaning closer, needing to say her name again, to engrain it into my memory. “Breathe through your mouth. It’ll help.”

I lingered near her neck, unable to pull away, drawn by something I couldn’t quite name. I tried to find the words to describe her scent—something fresh, like the morning air spilling through an open window—but words failed me. I’d caught a hint of it earlier when I held her close at the sink, but now, in the confined space of the ER, it enveloped me, bringing back echoes of happier times.

Y/N smelled good—no, different. Refreshing, like the world waking up after a long sleep. And I was trapped in this moment, lost in the intoxicating blend of her presence and the sterile smell of antiseptic.

Every time she flinched, my instinct was to lash out at Doogie. I wanted to punch him for every wince that slipped from her lips, but I knew that wouldn’t help; it might just make things worse. I fought against the urge to ask the nurse for someone else to help her, terrified to leave her side. So I stayed, fingers entwined with hers, trying to offer some measure of comfort in the storm of uncertainty.

When Doogie finished and began to bandage her hand, I felt a wave of relief wash over me as she released her grip. I stepped back, taking a breath that felt heavy in my chest. Tension still coiled inside me; I hated that she’d gotten hurt, but a part of me marveled at her resilience. Despite her aversion to blood, she had held herself together with a strength I hadn’t given her credit for. There was more to Y/N than I realized, and that realization struck me hard.

“Listen, I’m really sorry,” I said once we were back in the car, the weight of guilt pressing down on me.

“It’s okay. It’s not your fault I’m such a klutz.” She offered a radiant smile that twisted my insides with guilt all over again.

“So, what happened?” I asked tentatively, hoping against hope that this wasn’t really my fault.

“I was carrying a rack of test tubes when that thing started shooting vapor out. I freaked out. I thought it was going to explode! So I dropped the tubes and cut my hand trying to pick them up,” she admitted, embarrassment creeping into her voice as she stared down at her hands.

I should have known...

“Shit…” I thumped my head against the steering wheel, frustration bubbling up inside me.

“Hey, stop.” Her hand reached up to my shoulder, a gentle gesture that only deepened my self-loathing. “You couldn’t possibly have known that thing was going to start leaking, right?” I peeked at her, guilt etched on my face. She scrutinized me, her brow furrowing as realization dawned. “You did know, didn’t you?” Her hand dropped from my shoulder, and I felt the accusation hanging between us like a thick fog.

“Y/N, I’m so sorry,” I said earnestly, trying to convey the depth of my regret, how much I hated myself for her injury.

“You’re unbelievably cruel!” she shot back, eyebrows knitting together as she glared at me.

She was right, but I felt compelled to explain. “There wasn’t any risk of you getting hurt. The door just leaks a little vapor. I was going to close it after you got scared. It was a stupid joke, Y/N. You weren’t supposed to get hurt.”

“Well, excuse me for ruining your prank,” she snapped, rolling her eyes and turning away from me.

Sarcasm. Just lovely.

“I am truly sorry. Can you forgive me?” I asked, keeping my gaze on her even though she pointedly avoided me.

“Whatever, Yoongi.” She shrugged, irritation radiating from her as she stared out the window.

I wanted to tell her she was acting like a child, but I held my tongue, knowing that teasing her wouldn’t help my case. Instead, I focused on driving, ruminating on how to make this right again.

How the hell do I fix this?

“Stay here. I’ll be right back,” I said to Y/N, trying to sound calm even though a knot twisted in my stomach as I parked in front of the research building.

“This is really not necessary, Yoongi. I’m fine,” she replied, brushing off my concern.

“Y/N, can you please, just for once, not contradict me?” I shot back, frustration bubbling under the surface.

“I never contradict you!” she protested, eyes wide in disbelief.

I fixed her with a glare until the tension between us shifted, and a small smile broke through her pout as I climbed out of the car. Maybe I was getting through to her, even just a little.

I dashed into the lab to grab her bag, but was abruptly halted when I spotted Jimin hunched over her bench. An urge to warn Y/N about the mess brewing in the autoclave room hit me hard. 

“Jimin?” I called, feeling an unusual tension in the air as he turned to me, eyes wide like I’d just spoken an alien dialect. We rarely exchanged more than necessary pleasantries. “There’s a big mess in the autoclave room. I’ll be right back to clean it up.”

“And you’re telling me this why?” he shot back, still looking as confused as a cat in a dog park.

“There’s a bunch of glass… I don’t know. My undergrad—she dropped the tubes. I—” The words tumbled out in a jumbled mess, and Jimin continued to stare at me like I’d just pulled a rabbit out of a hat. “Never mind,” I muttered, eager to escape the awkwardness.

“How’s that for a change? First, you have her doing your chores, and now you’re cleaning up after her,” he called after me.

I spun around to glare at him, irritation sparking. Sure, he was right, but I had bigger problems than petty lab gossip. I left him behind, shaking off the encounter.

When I climbed back into the car, Y/N was waiting for me, eyebrow raised, holding a CD case. My stomach dropped as I recognized it—my mom’s treasured Carpenters album.

“Really, Yoongi?” she asked, her smile widening. “The Carpenters? Okay, cool.” She casually tucked the CD case back into the glove box.

She was teasing me—smiling at me. That had to be a good sign, right? Maybe she had forgiven me after all.

I couldn’t help but let my gaze linger on her face, how her smile lit up the whole car. It was stunning; how had I never noticed it before? A pang of regret hit me for all the moments I had let slip by.

“Are you okay?” Y/N’s voice broke through my thoughts, pulling me back to reality.

“Yeah, I’m fine. Just—uh, how’s your living situation?” I mumbled as I started the car and drove off, reminding myself to keep it together. She’s just an undergrad, I thought, shaking off the flutter in my stomach.

As I parked in front of her building, my chest tightened again. I was still angry—mostly at myself—for letting her get hurt. I wouldn’t feel at ease until she was safely tucked inside her apartment.

“Are you still dizzy?” I asked, unable to hide the concern in my voice.

“I think I’m all right now,” she replied, a small grin dancing on her lips.

Would it be weird if I walked her to her door? Did guys still do that? It had been ages since I’d been on a date. What was the protocol these days?

What the hell am I thinking? This isn’t a date.

But she didn’t look a hundred percent. Maybe carrying her bag would help. I climbed out of the car, and she shot me a bewildered look as I opened her door.

“I’ll feel better once I know you’re safe inside,” I insisted, my voice firm.

“I’m fine. You don’t hav—”

“Please, humor me,” I interrupted.

Y/N hesitated, then took my hand as she stumbled out of the car. I grabbed her backpack, and we walked inside together, a strange sense of connection warming the air between us.

At her door, she paused, her hand hovering over the doorknob. When she turned to look at me, her brown eyes sparkled with something I couldn’t quite pin down.

“I’ll see you Tuesday then,�� I said, handing her the bag.

“Yes. Tuesday.” Her gaze flickered up through her long lashes, and I was momentarily mesmerized. “Not Monday.” A playful grin crept across her face, and I felt my breath catch at the sight of her eyes crinkling with delight. “You know why not Monday?”

I was still entranced by her smile and completely missed the point she was trying to make. “Because rainy days and Mondays always get me down,” she said, and heat rushed to my cheeks.

Great… she’s making fun of me.

I took a deep breath and snorted, forcing myself to look away from her lips. “You’re such a dork, Y/N. How long have you been waiting to say that?”

“Too long.” Her giggle sent my heart racing, a rhythm I couldn't ignore.

“Good night, Y/N,” I replied, managing a smile despite my racing heart.

As I walked back to my car, I caught a glimpse of my reflection in the window and was horrified to find myself grinning like a fool. I frowned and climbed inside, but before I could drive away, I pulled my mom’s CD from the glove box, popped it in, and began to hum along.

Why do birds suddenly appear… every time… you are near?

I slammed on the brakes and hit the eject button.

Holy shit, what the hell is wrong with me?

Thankfully, when I returned to the lab, Jimin was gone. I started cleaning up the autoclave room, picking up shards of glass and mopping away the blood from the floor. As I worked, I spotted Y/N’s lab coat next to the sink, and my heart sank. It didn’t look festive anymore; it resembled a tattered Halloween costume.

Shit… She loved that ridiculous thing, and now it was ruined.

Before I knew it, I found myself washing the lab coat. I tried everything, even bleach. When I was done, the blood stains had vanished, but so had the whimsical bacteria drawings she’d painstakingly decorated it with.

Fuck my life...

When Hoseok called, I told him the chances of me making it to Serena’s party were slim. “I’m stuck in the lab and still have a long way to go,” I said, leaving out the details of my time spent doodling on a lab coat that now looked like a toddler’s art project. I also didn’t mention that I was starting Y/N’s experiment along with my own.

After inspecting the now-ruined lab coat, I realized I couldn’t give it back to her. Tossing it felt wrong, though—I’d just spent hours on the damn thing. So, I wrapped it in a plastic bag and tucked it under my desk, trying to forget it existed.

I left the lab after two in the morning, exhausted but restless. My mind buzzed with thoughts, not about experiments this time, but about Y/N—how she had gotten hurt because of me, and yet she hadn’t unleashed her fury. Somehow, she felt bigger than this. Bigger than me.

God, I’ve been such an asshole.

Images of her haunted me throughout the night. The way she smiled at my lame jokes, how she laughed at my terrible rendition of “Every Breath You Take.” I couldn’t remember the last time I’d sung to someone, not since my mom had forced me to sing The Carpenters with her. I turned over in bed, a smile creeping onto my face at the memory.

I didn’t have to be a jerk to Y/N anymore. I didn’t want to be. It wasn’t her fault grad school was a pain. If anything, having her around made it bearable. Maybe I could lighten up a bit… or maybe we could both learn something from this. No, I wanted to be nicer to her. I wanted to see her smile.

I want to make her smile?

First The Carpenters, now this?

When did I turn into such a marshmallow?

Monday night in the dingy gym felt like a scene straight out of a bad movie. The fluorescent lights flickered overhead, casting a harsh, sterile glow that did nothing to uplift the atmosphere. Hoseok and I were at the bench press, trading off sets like two battered soldiers in a war that would never be chronicled. I stood behind him, bracing for the weight, but my gaze was pulled away, caught in the orbit of something infinitely more captivating.

There she was—Y/N—effortlessly gliding on the treadmill like she was born to run. Her ponytail swung rhythmically with each stride, a pendulum marking the time as she jogged. My breath hitched, a tightening in my chest as I let my eyes wander down her back, tracing the delicate curve of her spine. And then—oh God—those shorts. Tiny and black, they hugged her body in a way that made my heart race uncontrollably.

The fabric didn’t just cling; it cradled her curves, indenting just enough in the middle to draw the eye downwards. I could almost feel the heat radiating off her skin, my mind spiraling into places I really didn’t want it to go.

“Dude! Hold the bar, would ya?” Hoseok’s voice jolted me from my daze. I blinked hard, shaking off the spell as I refocused on the weights pressing down on him.

“Right, sorry,” I mumbled, fumbling with the bar as I lifted it off him.

Hoseok wiped the sweat from his brow, the glistening drops catching the unforgiving light. I tried desperately to keep my thoughts in check, to suppress the smirk that threatened to creep onto my face, but my eyes betrayed me, fixating once more on Y/N’s ass as it bounced with every determined step on the treadmill.

“What is it?” Hoseok shot me a sideways glance, amusement dancing in his eyes. He knew. Damn him. “You look like a kid in a candy store.”

“Nothing,” I shot back, the word cracking like ice beneath my weight. I raked a hand through my hair, feeling more like a deer caught in headlights than a man. “That’s... um... that’s my undergrad.”

“Your undergrad?” He nearly shouted, and I winced at the volume.

“Shut up!” I hissed, heat creeping up my neck.

“She’s your undergrad?” He lowered his voice, his tone conspiratorial, as if we were discussing some top-secret mission.

“Yes,” I said, willing myself to tear my gaze from Y/N and muster some semblance of composure. “I don’t know why she’s here. This is the first time I’ve seen her in this gym.”

“Are you kidding?” Hoseok replied, incredulous. “She’s here all the time! You’ve just never noticed because you’re practically blind.”

My eyes darted back to her. She was still running, blissfully unaware of the storm brewing behind me. Could Hoseok really be right? Had I been so wrapped up in my own world that I hadn’t seen her before?

But then again, I didn’t recognize anyone else in this place. I came here every day—every damn day—and not one face looked familiar. Blind. I was completely blind.

And yet, here I was, rooted to the spot, entranced by the hypnotic sway of her hips, the way her legs flexed with each determined stride. It was as if she had cast a spell over me, one I didn’t want to break. But I had to; I was standing there like a moron, the weight of Hoseok’s gaze a smirk stretched across his face as he shifted to take his place on the bench.

“Yoongi!” he called, pulling me from my daydream. “It’s your turn.”

I shook my head as if waking up from a fog and stepped to the bench, but my mind remained tangled in thoughts of what I’d just seen. Y/N’s form, bouncing like it was teasing me, was too much. Too distracting. My body was responding in ways I hadn’t felt in years, and it took every ounce of willpower to focus on lifting weights instead of ogling her.

Then, as if she sensed my eyes on her, Y/N turned her head slightly, her gaze locking with mine. For a brief moment, the world melted away—the gym, the weight, the noise—all faded into the background as our eyes met. She faltered on the treadmill, her grip tightening on the bars like a lifeline before she recovered just in time.

What was I doing? I didn’t realize I was moving until I stood beside her, the tension thick enough to slice through the air.

“Hi,” I managed, the word slipping out like a confession.

“Hi?” Her smile lit up the stale space between us, brightening everything. “Who are you and what did you do to my bitter grad student?”

“What?” I stammered, disbelief knotting my stomach. “You’ve seen me here before?”

*Her eyes rolled in a way that was both exasperating and endearing. “Yes.”

“Well, I’m saying hi now. So, hi.”

“Hi…” she giggled, and I felt a low groan bubble up from my chest. What was happening? I hated how she made me feel, how she toppled everything I thought I had under control.

“How’s your hand?” I asked, grasping for something to anchor myself in this whirlwind of emotions.

“It’s fine,” she said, lifting her bandaged hand like it was a trophy. But I was lost, mesmerized by the way her lips moved, the way she tucked her hair behind her ear, and how the sweat glistened on her skin.

I needed to leave before my body betrayed me further. “Um, I should go,” I interrupted, offering a shaky goodbye as I fled, a whirlwind of confusion and unwanted desire crashing over me.

What the hell was happening to me?

I ran home, my legs pumping, heart racing, trying to outrun the chaotic thoughts swirling in my mind. It had been four years since Estelle, and the memory felt as distant as a long-forgotten dream. But Y/N was everywhere now, invading my thoughts—her freckles, her laugh, those bangs that had once annoyed me but now framed her face like a masterpiece.

I stormed through my apartment, shedding my sweat-soaked clothes, bewildered by this tempest of feelings. I couldn’t fathom why it had taken me so long to notice her, why she had pierced through the fog of my indifference and settled in my mind like an unwelcome guest.

In the shower, the warm water cascaded over me, soothing yet insufficient to wash away the turmoil. She was a kid, for Christ’s sake! Nineteen? Twenty? Too young, too innocent for someone like me. I banged my head against the tiled wall, cursing my own weakness.

And yet, even as I stood there, I could feel her presence lingering, like a ghost clinging to the edges of my consciousness—a haunting I couldn’t shake. Was I becoming one of those men who pursued young girls, crossing lines drawn in the sand, sliding down that slippery slope of desire? The universe had a wicked sense of humor.

God, I hoped I wouldn’t see her again at the gym. The very thought sent a chill down my spine—a mix of longing and guilt. But there I was, fantasizing about her hands instead of my own.

When did I become such a creep?

I’m in a foul mood. Not a glimmer of sunshine inside me, just the dense fog of irritability that seems to thicken the air around me. Maybe it’s the weight of the world pressing down on my shoulders, or maybe it’s just Tuesday. Either way, I know I’ll probably regret having lunch with Hoseok today, but deep down, I’m still holding onto the hope that, by some miracle, he didn’t notice my bizarre behavior at the gym last night.

As I step into the lunchroom, Hoseok’s voice slices through the stillness. “What the heck happened to you yesterday?”

Well, so much for miracles.

“Nothing. Why?” I try to sound casual as I toss my food into the microwave, but my heart races in protest.

“Nothing? You nearly killed me, bolted off to talk to Y/N, and then stormed out. That seems normal to you?” He raises an eyebrow, a mischievous grin stretching across his face.

I shrug, feigning indifference, but my stomach twists.

“We were supposed to have drinks with Serena and her friend with the—” he gestures dramatically, “the big personality.”

“Listen, you and Serena need to stop setting me up with her friends.”

“Why? Did you take a vow of celibacy or something?”

“I’m just not in the mood for this today, Hoseok.” I plop down in a chair, my food forgotten.

“Is it because of Y/N?” he asks, cheeks bulging with half-chewed food.

“No,” I reply, fighting the urge to roll my eyes. “And her name is Y/N, by the way.”

“OH. MY. GOSH. It is! You’re totally crushing on her!” Hoseok leaps from his chair, fork aimed at me like a weapon. His eyes widen as if he’s just uncovered a major conspiracy.

“What? NO!”

“Dude, you remembered her name!” He plops back down beside me, practically vibrating with excitement.

“Hoseok, what does that—”

“Oh man. This is too good... like, really, really good.” His grin is the kind that makes me want to punch him—or maybe just smack some sense into him.

“Hoseok, please. Just for one day…” I rub my forehead, trying to ease the confusion tightening my temples. The last thing I need is Hoseok’s theories swirling around my mind like a chaotic storm.

“Okay, okay…” He continues to chew, stealing glances at me every few seconds. “So, when’s Yoonji coming?” he asks, smirking, and I shoot him a glare that could curdle milk.

So what if I remembered her name? It hardly means anything. I’ve been working with her for weeks now. I’m not some clueless idiot; I can remember a name. I don’t care what Hoseok or Yoonji think. This is nothing. This doesn’t mean anything.

Except it does. Because Y/N, not “the girl” or “the undergrad,” is going to be in the lab when I return. And I’m not just aware of it—I’m looking forward to it. I want to see her smile, to hear her laugh.

I want to hear her giggle? Jesus, I need to get a grip on myself.

My bad mood evaporates the moment I spot Y/N at my bench, scribbling away in her notepad. Her hair cascades over her shoulder, wild and free. It should bother me—should send alarm bells ringing—but it doesn’t. It looks soft and inviting, and suddenly, all I want is to run my fingers through it.

Okay… I’ve really lost it now.

And just like that, my bad mood crashes back in.

“I can’t find my lab coat,” she says, tying her hair up with an intensity that almost makes me envious.

I feel a spark of irritation at the safety rules that dictate her hair must be tied back. I find myself imagining the kinds of experiments that would allow her to leave it down, just so I could watch it flow freely.

“Do you know where it could be?” she asks, glancing up at me.

I’ve completely lost track of her words, staring at her blankly.

“My lab coat?” she repeats, tilting her head.

Right… the lab coat.

“Let me get you a new one. That one was all covered in blood.”

“No, it’s fine. I’ll wash it.”

“We have lab coats here, Y/N—new ones. I’ll get you one,” I say, moving past her, determination pushing me forward.

She stops me, grabbing my elbow. “Please, can I have my old one back?” Her eyes are wide and earnest, as if I hold the key to some sacred treasure.

A flush of embarrassment rises in me, and instead of confessing, I lie. “I threw it away.”

“What? Why?” Her gaze pierces through my flimsy excuse.

“It was covered in blood!” I bark, frustration bubbling over.

“I could have washed it!” she snaps, defiance igniting her eyes.

“I’m getting you a new one.”

“I don’t want a new one. Is this some cruel joke? Because if it is, I’d really, really like my lab coat back. It means a lot to me.” The shift in her expression from anger to sadness tugs at something deep within me. Her eyes glisten with unshed tears, like I’ve just crushed her puppy.

Realization washes over me like a cold wave: I’m making her cry. With a deep sigh, I relent. “Okay, I didn’t get rid of it.”

“Oh thank God,” she breathes, closing her eyes in relief.

“But… I tried to wash it, and the bloodstains wouldn’t come out. I thought it would be a good idea to use bleach. And it was. I mean, it got rid of the bloodstains, but it also erased your drawings.”

“Oh no…” Her eyes fly open, panic etching her features.

“I’m sorry. Can I please get you a new one?” I plead, hoping to smooth over this disaster before it spirals further.

“I would really prefer to have my old one back,” she insists, crossing her arms defiantly, her gaze unwavering.

Jesus! Why does she have to be so difficult?

“You’re not going to let this go, are you?” I groan. She’s staring at me like she’s just won the lottery, and I can’t bring myself to back down. “Fine…” I reach under my desk for the bag containing her lab coat and hand it over, feeling like I’m offering her a corpse.

I should have burned the damn thing.

Her gasp as she pulls the coat from the bag makes my stomach drop.

“Oh my gosh!” She turns it around, inspecting the shapes I drew in a moment of misguided creativity. When she spots my pathetic attempt at rewriting “Bacteria Rule” on the back, she giggles, and I swear my heart stumbles.

How do I keep up with her?

One minute, she’s annoyed; the next, she’s crying; now, she’s laughing. It’s like watching a storm change directions on a whim.

“You… did you do this?” She glances up at me, her eyelashes still damp, and my chest tightens painfully.

“Yeah, it looks even more ridiculous now. Didn’t think that was possible. Would you please let me get you a new one?”

“Oh no. I’m wearing this one,” she chirps, slipping her arms into the sleeves like she’s donning a crown.

“Please say you’re kidding.”

“What? It’s perfect!” she beams, buttoning the coat closed, that radiant smile piercing through my irritation.

Even as she parades around in that god-awful coat, all I can think about is pulling her close and kissing her senseless. It’s ridiculous and utterly baffling, but I can’t shake it.

I really must have lost it now.

The morning air felt heavy, thick with a strange malaise that weighed on me like a thick blanket. "So, what's on the agenda for today, Boss?" Y/N chirped, her pen clicking in a cheerful rhythm as she flipped open her notebook, the sound almost irritatingly upbeat.

"Don’t call me Boss," I grumbled, trying to shake off the oppressive darkness that seemed to cling to me like damp fog.

"Okay, Grumpy. What are we doing today?" Her smile was a bright spark against the backdrop of my brooding mood.

I could tell she was trying to be funny, deliberately poking at my irritation. With an exasperated huff, I shoved the list of activities at her. "Try not to mess up this time, Becca."

She took the list with a theatrical pout, and I stifled a real smile beneath my carefully crafted mask of indifference—a skill I'd perfected over the years. 

Her brow furrowed as she scanned the list. "I thought I was starting from scratch."

"You are," I replied, trying to keep my tone as casual as possible.

"But you did all these steps already." She pointed to the initial tasks, her voice laced with disbelief.

"I was bored Saturday," I said, as if boredom were an acceptable excuse for taking the initiative.

Her eyes darted between the list and mine, a spark of awe lighting up her face. "You started my experiment for me?"

The way she looked at me made my skin crawl—a mixture of discomfort and something warmer I didn’t want to acknowledge. I clamped down on my tongue, suppressing the urge to explain myself. 

"You better get cracking, Y/L/N. There's a seminar at four I want to attend."

Her gaze lingered on me a moment longer before she shook it off, returning to her notebook. A sense of relief washed over me. 

We worked in silence, but I could feel her stealing glances at me like a kid peeking into a haunted house. I knew—I just knew—I had crossed some invisible line. What I felt was tangled, a confusion I was desperate to untangle.

"What’s the seminar about?" she asked, her voice light with curiosity as we carried bottles of growth media to the incubators.

"I don’t know," I said, holding the door for her as we entered the incubator room.

"Then why are you going?" She squatted to stow the bottles inside, her dark hair falling around her face like a curtain.

"Free food." I shrugged, trying to sound indifferent.

"Seriously?" She looked up at me, disbelief written all over her features.

"Y/N… if you go to grad school, you’ll learn to appreciate the majesty of free food."

When she stood up, she released my hand with a huff, her pride surfacing. "When I go to grad school, I’ll enjoy the seminars, even without the free food."

"Right…" I turned away, shaking my head.

"So, can I come?" she asked shyly, her voice nearly drowned out by the hum of the incubators.

"You want to come to the seminar?" I shot her a skeptical glance.

"Hells to the yeah!" 

I suppressed a snort, the surprise of her enthusiasm bubbling up inside me. "Why?"

"I might learn something."

"Okay, you can come, but the la-la-lab coat stays." 

The thought of her actually being excited about attending a seminar with me sent a strange thrill through my chest, one that both excited and unnerved me.

As we made our way to the seminar, Y/N rattled on about her dreams for grad school, her voice bubbling over with energy. I struggled to interject, her words flowing like a vibrant stream, full of life.

When we reached the seminar room, she shook her head at my heaping plate of food. I settled into my seat, grateful for the chance to hide from the annoyed glances of the people behind us. Y/N plopped down beside me, her nervous energy radiating from her.

"That one with the sweater vest is Prof. Waylon," I said, nodding toward him. "He has a serious case of narcolepsy. Snores through the entire talk but wakes up right on cue to ask the hardest questions."

She giggled, and the sound pierced through the fog that had settled around me.

"And over there, with the red bow tie, is Dr. Amun-Kebi. Brilliant but completely bonkers—he discovered Quorum Sensing, yet can’t make eye contact because he’s too busy staring at the ceiling."

She snorted, laughter bubbling up as she covered her mouth, her joy infectious.

"Then there’s Jin," I continued, "who dresses like he’s going to a board meeting every day. Knows more adjectives than a thesaurus, but his favorite is definitely 'fascinating.'"

I mimicked Jin’s exaggerated tone, and Y/N laughed again, drawing some disapproving throat-clearing from the folks behind us.

"Main point is, Y/N," I said, "science makes you lose your mind. You’ve been warned."

"Oh, I think I can handle it," she replied, winking at me, and my heart twisted painfully in my chest.

As the speaker began, I couldn't help but chuckle when I noticed her furiously scribbling notes as if her life depended on it.

Once the seminar ended, we returned to the lab. Y/N still had work to catch up on after being away for an hour. I’d finished my tasks long ago, but I lingered, a shadow in the corner, unwilling to leave her alone in this sterile, fluorescent-lit space.

She closed her notebook with a satisfying smack and turned to me, her eyes bright. "This is so exciting! I can’t wait to see if it works this time."

"Yeah, you’ll get over it," I said, trying to keep my tone light.

"Have you always been such a grump? Or was there a time when you actually liked what you do?"

Her question hit me like a punch to the gut, catching me off guard. I could feel her gaze piercing through my defenses.

"I like what I do."

"Do you love it?"

Her question hung in the air like a dark cloud, and I found myself lost in a maze of memories, the joy of discovery overshadowed by the weight of expectations. Had there ever been a time when I shared her enthusiasm?

"I don’t really remember," I mumbled, avoiding the truth. "It’s getting late, Y/N. How are you getting home?"

"I’m walking."

"I’m walking too. Let’s go."

Did I used to love what I did? The memory felt elusive, slipping through my fingers like water.

As we walked, Y/N asked, "Why did you decide to go to grad school?"

"Why does anyone?" I shot back, a cryptic smirk teasing my lips.

"To make a difference? To revolutionize the field?"

"Very cute, Y/N."

"It’s not cute. It’s true."

"Is that why you want to go to grad school?"

"Yes. I’ve always wanted to help people. Since medical school is out of the question for me—"

"You’ll get over the smell of blood, Y/N."

"It’s not just that. I get too attached. I’d rather contribute silently from the lab." She smiled, her eyes sparkling. "Plus, where would medicine be without science? They’d still be pouring hot oil into wounds!"

I chuckled, a genuine laugh bubbling up like warmth breaking through winter’s chill. "You’re funny." The words slipped out before I could think better of it, and before I could process my thoughts, my fingers brushed against her arm, lingering over the fabric of her hoodie.

She halted, her cheeks tinged pink, her bottom lip caught between her teeth.

I froze, my hand dropping to my side, panic racing through me. That had to be inappropriate.

"I’ve been called worse," she joked, her smile radiating a warmth that sent shivers down my spine.

We walked on in silence until we reached her building.

"Do you live on campus too?" she asked, fishing for her keys from her bag.

"No. I live in Portage Bay."

"Oh… we passed that already."

"I know."

Suspicion flared in her gaze as she pieced things together, and I felt the weight of my own guilt creeping up on me. She would realize I was that gross old grad student trying to woo the sweet, naive undergrad—the very person I had mocked in others. The thought made my stomach churn.

"I know what you’re doing," she accused, crossing her arms defensively.

Here it comes…

"You feel guilty because I got hurt," she said, her voice steady. "You feel responsible. But you don’t have to do this."

Is that really what she thought?

"You think I’m walking you home out of guilt?" My voice was harsher than I intended, anger bubbling up inside me.

"I know you are."

"You don’t know anything," I spat, turning away, desperate to escape the rising tide of emotions threatening to drown me.

"Yoongi, wait!" she called after me, dread washing over me.

Keep walking… don’t look back.

I couldn’t believe she thought I was being nice out of guilt. I had done nothing but act like a jerk for too long, and now I was about to lose the only flicker of light stupid, lonely world.

God, she had no clue.

Wednesday morning felt heavy with an unsettling quiet when Y/N arrived at the lab a little earlier than usual. I was already there, lurking like a shadow in the corner, unable to shake off the ghosts of a sleepless night. I busied myself with the equipment, clinging to the hope that keeping my distance would somehow quell the anger simmering beneath my skin.

It was confusing, really. I was furious with her—not just because of the injury that haunted my thoughts like a ghost, but because she had twisted my kindness into something it wasn’t. Sure, I felt like a hollow shell, the guilt gnawing at my insides like a rat in a rotting wall, but that didn’t mean I didn’t enjoy walking her home. Yesterday’s seminar had been a strange kind of fun—the first I’d experienced in what felt like ages.

As I returned to the lab, pretending to check something in my desk drawer, I caught her gaze from across the bench. The way her eyes followed me stirred something deep inside, a mix of frustration and longing I couldn’t quite place. I tried to slip away, but as I turned to leave, her fingers brushed against my elbow.

“Hey, I’m sorry about yesterday,” she said, her voice soft and sincere, those puppy-dog eyes piercing through my defenses. Warmth rushed through me, a strange blend of emotions swirling inside. “It was really nice of you to walk with me. Thank you.”

With a timid smile, she released my arm, leaving me reeling, torn between the urge to pull her back and the need to retreat. Just then, I caught sight of Jimin, his piercing blue eyes wide with suspicion from the shadows of the lab. What the hell?

“You’re welcome,” I muttered dryly to Y/N, my voice almost a growl, before storming away, seeking refuge from the chaos in my head.

In the media preparation room, I paced like a caged animal, cracking my knuckles repeatedly to chase away the madness. This was absurd. I was losing it over a girl—an undergrad—who seemed blissfully unaware of the tempest she stirred within me. Deep breaths. Focus. But I knew this strange obsession wasn’t going anywhere.

When I returned to the lab, I found Jungkook leaning casually against my bench, chatting with Y/N. She wore that timid smile again, twisting something inside me. My hands curled into fists, rage and jealousy flaring up like a wildfire.

“I’ll see you Friday,” Jungkook said, flashing a grin as he sauntered past me. Did he just ask her out? The urge to grab him by the ponytail and shove him to the floor was overwhelming. “What did he want?” I spat, unable to contain the fury boiling within.

“Nothing,” she replied innocently, her attention flitting back to her notebook as if she hadn’t just tossed gasoline on my fire.

“Y/N,” I hissed, slicing through the air with my words, demanding her attention. “What did he want?”

“Nothing important,” she clarified, but her eyes locked onto mine, searching. My resolve wavered. What the hell was wrong with me? The desire to pummel Jungkook quickly transformed into an intense longing to press my lips against that bottom lip she kept biting. The confusion swirled around us, thick and suffocating, and I felt trapped.

Just then, Jimin reentered the lab, breaking the spell that had ensnared us. I stepped back, the tension snapping like a brittle twig, and Y/N sighed, disappointment heavy in the air.

“Are you done?” I asked, my voice cold, each word laced with the weight of my internal turmoil. “I need to use the bench.”

Hurt flickered in her eyes before she masked it, and guilt settled in my stomach like a stone. I tried to focus on my work, but her presence lingered, a distraction gnawing at my concentration until she finally left for the day. This is ridiculous! Why did she affect me so much? I couldn’t keep living like this.

Thursday afternoon arrived, and I maneuvered around Y/N like a ghost. I didn’t want to be a jerk, but the thought of her and Jungkook had me seething. It felt like every nerve in my body was on fire, irritation coiling tighter with every passing second. I tried to stick to succinct answers and instructions, but the tension thickened around us like fog.

As we received her sequencing results, I could no longer pretend she didn’t exist. She pulled a chair next to me at my desk, her presence suffocatingly close. My fingers twitched on the mouse, nerves sparking as I avoided glancing her way. She tapped her pen rhythmically; each tap a countdown to my sanity.

“Please, stop that,” I groaned, frustration spilling over.

She halted instantly, a sigh escaping her lips, and my heart sank. I hated feeling this way—trapped between annoyance and an attraction that sent shivers down my spine. How was that even possible?

Finally, the software loaded, and I opened her file. Y/N gasped, and I held my breath as she leaned closer, the tension between us palpable.

“Sample 1. Ran well. Sample 2. Ran well… ran well, ran well, ran well…” All fifty samples had run flawlessly. Impressive. I couldn’t recall a time when every single sequencing reaction had succeeded; there was always a failure or two. Y/N was undeniably skilled.

As I turned to her, a smile crept onto my lips despite myself. Her eyes sparkled with joy, and before I could process it, she squeaked, throwing her arms around my neck. Her warmth enveloped me, her hair brushing against my face, and the world narrowed to just her, the scent of her shampoo intoxicating. My body responded in ways I couldn’t understand.

I shot up from my chair, breaking the spell. “Sorry,” she mumbled, her cheeks a deep crimson, laughter spilling from her lips. “I’m just so happy! They all worked!”

My heart raced, shock coursing through me as I struggled to regain composure. The pull I felt toward her was almost unbearable, thrumming like an electric wire, demanding release.

“Good job,” I managed, forcing my voice to remain steady. But as she smiled at me, her joy tearing through my carefully constructed barriers, I knew I was in deep trouble. I wanted to hold her again, to kiss her until the world faded away. God, I needed help.

As I turned to her, a smile crept onto my lips despite myself. Her eyes sparkled with joy, and before I could process it, she squeaked, throwing her arms around my neck, her warmth enveloping me, her hair brushing against my face. The world narrowed to just her, the scent of her shampoo intoxicating, my body responding in ways I couldn’t understand. 

God, I needed help.

You know those days when nothing seems to go right? When you drag yourself out of bed, and it feels like the universe is playing tricks on you, pushing you back with every step forward? Yeah, today is one of those days. A downright miserable Friday, and I can’t help but feel that the promise of the weekend is just a hollow consolation.

This morning was a disaster. I tossed and turned all night, haunted by thoughts of Y/N. Her smile flickered in my mind like a candle caught in the wind—warm and inviting one moment, then snuffed out the next. The irony is, while I’m relieved I won’t have to face her today, the gnawing uncertainty of whether she’s out with Jungkook weighs heavily in my stomach. Anger simmers beneath my skin, bubbling over in waves I can’t seem to control.

As I step into the lunchroom, the emptiness greets me, broken only by the taunting hum of the microwave. I slam my fist against its cold metal side, frustrated when it refuses to cooperate. It beeps at me, a cruel mockery in the sterile silence. I slam the door shut again, and my temper flares.

“What did the microwave do to you?” A familiar voice cuts through my frustration. It’s Hoseok, ever the jester, his amusement practically radiating off him.

“It’s broken,” I mutter, fingers still mashing buttons like a madman.

“Step away from the microwave,” he orders, a playful yet firm tone in his voice. In two quick moves, he’s heating up my food. “What’s up your ass?”

“Nothing,” I groan, flopping down in a chair with a defeated sigh. “Just one of those days.”

“Why?” 

“It’s just one of those days…” I can’t muster the energy to say more.

“Like, ‘Everything’s messed up and everyone sucks’?” He turns his baseball cap backward, bobbing his head as if ready to launch into a nu-metal anthem.

“Great, Hoseok. Quote Limp Bizkit. That’s really going to help.” I cut him off before he can get into full swing.

“Dude, you’re in a mood. What happened?” His eyes reflect genuine concern as he rummages through the fridge.

“Nothing,” I insist, rising to retrieve my Tupperware.

“Bullshit. I’ve known you for four years. This isn’t just a failed PCR kind of mood.” He crosses his arms, blocking my path.

Part of me wants to spill my guts, but the words feel lodged in my throat. Still, they tumble out. “If I tell you, can you at least try to be mature about it?”

“Mature is my middle name,” he grins, but I can’t help but scowl.

“Fine. It’s Y/N.”

“I knew it! I fucking knew it!” 

I bury my face in my hands, feeling the weight of his excitement pressing down on me. “What happened?” he whispers, leaning in, all ears.

“She’s... I don’t know.”

“Come on, man. I’m serious.”

“Yeah, she’s out with Jungkook.”

“Jungkook?” Hoseok’s voice rises as if he’s just spotted a raccoon in the hall.

“Jesus, Hoseok!” I hiss. “Keep it down!”

“Sorry.” His whisper is tinged with amusement. “Jungkook fucking Jeon?”

“Yes.” I take a deep breath, frustration bubbling over. “And she’s my undergrad.”

“Puh-lease. Who cares?” 

“I’m at least five years older than her,” I retort.

“The younger, the better.” He waggles his eyebrows, clearly enjoying this way too much.

“Disgusting.”

“Stop brooding, dude. Jeon’s got nothing on you. Go get your girl. She’s fine, and she was always checking you out at the gym—like I told you a thousand times.”

Y/N checking me out? No way. Hoseok’s just being delusional. I shake my head, dismissing his words. This fixation has to end. She’s just my undergrad. That’s all she’ll ever be—at least that’s what I keep telling myself.

Happy Hour. The name is ironic, a pathetic excuse for mingling—if you can even call it that. It never lasts an hour, and “happy” is a stretch, but hey, there’s free beer, so here I am. Alone in the corner, I down red cups like they might wash away the grime of the day. By the time Hoseok and Serena finally stroll in, I’ve polished off four.

“You’re here before us. That’s weird,” Serena quips as they approach.

“Thanks for the observation, Captain Obvious.” 

“What’s his problem?” Serena glares at Hoseok, arms crossed.

“He’s in a mood,” Hoseok replies, handing me another red cup that I chug.

“Why?” Her tone is whiny, as if I owe her an explanation.

“Lady problems,” Hoseok shoots back before I can stop him.

“Yoongi has lady problems?” Serena sounds incredulous, as if she’s just discovered a new planet.

“I’m standing right here!” My voice is louder than I intended, laced with irritation.

“So you like a girl, Yoongi. Not the end of the world. I mean, this self-imposed celibacy was bound to end someday. I just wish I knew who she is.” She twists the conversation back to herself, as always.

“It’s not just a girl. It’s his undergrad,” Hoseok interjects, unable to contain his enthusiasm.

“You old perv!” Serena playfully smacks my chest, and I can feel the heat rise in my cheeks.

“I’m going to get fired,” I murmur, tipping my cup back for the last drops of liquid courage.

“No, you won’t, drama queen.” She dismisses me with a wave, annoyance radiating off her.

“It happens all the time! PIs hit on post-docs, post-docs on grad students, grads on undergrads. What world do you live in?”

“It’s like a jungle,” Hoseok chuckles.

“Shut up, Hoseok,” Serena snaps. “Good news is, now that there’s this girl, you can stop with the emo bitterness. It’s getting old.”

“Fuck you, Serena.”

“Hey, hey now,” Hoseok says, grabbing my arm. “Let’s go get another round.”

When we return, my anger toward Serena simmers just beneath the surface, but I’m too tipsy to think straight. “For your information, Serena, this girl has a name. Her name is Becca. No, wait... it’s Y/N! Dammit!” My palm meets my forehead in a facepalm of pure embarrassment.

“Wow. She must be something special, Yoongi. You don’t even know her name.”

“Baby, stop. He’s drunk, and he’s having a shitty day.”

“Why?” 

“Y/N is out with Jungkook,” Hoseok explains.

“Jeon?” Serena’s expression shifts to one of shock, and they dive into speculation, completely oblivious to my presence.

I shut them out, groaning into my cup as I gulp it down. It’s true. I know it. Jungkook is with Y/N tonight, probably taking her to dinner and drinks, sharing laughs while I’m stuck here. My mind spirals into a dark abyss—what if he kisses her? What if she invites him in? God, I’m sick just thinking about it.

Of all the undergrads in this department, Jungkook Jeon had to go after mine. I hope Y/N gets drunk and spills her drink all over him.

Worst. Hangover. Ever.

Well, maybe not the worst, but it’s definitely up there. My head pounds like a jackhammer, and my stomach feels like a chaotic whirlpool of regret as I stumble into the shower. The hot water cascades over me, a fleeting relief, but all I can think about is how tempting sleep sounds right now. But I have things to do in the lab. Don’t I always?

The apartment is a total disaster zone—a messy tribute to last night’s antics. Red cups are scattered across the coffee table like the remnants of a forgotten battle, and chip crumbs litter the floor like confetti from a party that had long overstayed its welcome. Hoseok and Serena wouldn’t leave me alone last night, terrified I’d do something reckless, so we ended up bringing Happy Hour back to my place. I was just the third wheel, watching them get lost in their own world of laughter and flirting. By the time I woke up on the couch, blanketed by a pile of crumpled chips, they were long gone.

I shuffle into the library, desperate for my usual caffeine fix on the way to the lab, but my stomach is rebelling. Still, I know I’ll need that coffee to survive the day.

Inside, the library feels like a claustrophobic hive of undergrads buzzing around like over-caffeinated bees. It’s overwhelming.

What a nightmare!

I hurry to the coffee line, pouring sugar into my mug like it’s a lifeline. Just as I catch my breath, I spot her—Y/N—sitting at a table surrounded by a fortress of books. Her hair falls like a curtain, hiding her face from view. I can’t help myself; I’m drawn to her, like a moth to a flame.

“Hello, Y/N,” I say, sliding into the chair across from her.

She looks up, surprise flickering across her features, and for a moment, my heart races. 

“Oh, so I’m back to being Y/N?” There’s no hint of humor in her voice, only seriousness, and it feels like a punch to the gut.

What’s going on? Where’s the smile that usually lights up her face?

“What’s that supposed to mean?” I ask, trying to keep my tone light as I settle in.

“What are you doing here?” she replies, her gaze cool and collected.

“Y/N, please go easy on me today. I’m not feeling great,” I admit, running a hand down my face, feeling every ache from the night before.

“Oh... what’s wrong?” Her stoic facade starts to crumble, replaced by genuine concern, and it warms me a bit.

“Too much beer,” I confess, and the word makes my stomach churn at the memory of my poor choices.

“I see... does that explain this?” She pulls out her phone and turns it toward me.

Grumpy: Becca, you’ve just revealed yourself to have absolutely no taste.

“Who the hell is Grumpy, and why does he call you Becca?” I blurt out, anger bubbling up before I can stop it.

Her eyes widen in disbelief. “You’re the only Grumpy I know.”

“Are you saying I sent you that text?” 

“Yes,” she says, sighing as her eyes drift away like leaves in the wind.

I pull my phone from my pocket, my heart sinking as I check my sent texts.

Well, great…

“I’m sorry,” I mumble, rubbing my eyes, wishing I could take back last night’s mistakes.

“I’m not sure I understand what you mean either. No taste in what? Music? Food? Men?” 

“Men?” I let out a dry laugh. “Jungkook is not a man. He’s a tool.”

“So this is about Jungkook?” she says, gesturing to her phone.

“Yes.” My brain feels sluggish, like I’m moving through molasses.

“Why do you care?” 

“I’m uncomfortable with you dating my classmate,” I say, crossing my arms over my chest, trying to appear nonchalant.

“He’s not your classmate, and we’re not dating.”

“We both started our PhDs at the same time in the same program. That makes him my classmate… Wait… you’re not dating?”

“Not that it’s any of your business, but no. We went out for coffee, talked, he asked me out again, and I kindly declined. I’m focused on my studies right now, Yoongi, and I really don’t have room for anything more.”

“Oh…” Relief floods through me, even as my hangover rages on. I might even be smiling.

“Yes, oh indeed. Which brings me back to why you’re sitting here distracting me from my study session.”

“What are you studying?” I ask softly, a smile creeping onto my face, hoping to steer the conversation away from Jungkook.

“I have an organic chemistry exam on Monday.”

“Oh, I see…” I hesitate, but the temptation of spending time with her outweighs my growing pile of work in the lab. “Well, it might just be your lucky day, Y/L/N, because I happen to be an expert in all things organic chemistry.”

“You are?” Her lips curl into a small grin, and I feel a surge of relief wash over me. She’s back.

“I am…” I smile at her. “So, do you want some help?”

“I could use some help.”

Help… yeah… that’s what I’m here for… help.

For the next two hours, I guide Y/N through her organic reaction problem sets, all while ignoring my cooling coffee. She’s a quick study, soaking up the information, and I’m confident she’ll ace her test on Monday.

I keep my hands clasped between my knees—except when I need to draw reactions for her—wanting to hide how my fingers twitch every time she brushes her hair behind her ear.

Y/N is focused on her notebook, but the third time I yawn, she looks up at me.

“Are you okay?” 

“Yeah, just tired. Didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“Tell me about it… On average, I get about four hours a night.”

“Four hours? If I don’t get at least six, I get grumpy.”

“Grumpier than this?” she says, waving a hand at me, a smile teasing at her lips.

“This,” I gesture to my chest, “this is the five-hours-of-sleep me.” I stretch, feeling my muscles pull, and I notice her eyes trace down my torso before I quickly pull my shirt down.

Was Y/N checking me out?

“Anyway…” I scramble for a distraction. “It’s healthy to sleep eight hours. I’m all about being healthy.”

“That’s ‘cause you’re an old man.”

“Hey… I’m only twenty-five!”

She laughs, and before I can ask how old she is, her gaze shifts behind me, and I can sense her tension.

“Shit…” she whispers.

“What?”

“Remember that guy I told you about, Jonah Rodgers, the stalker?” Her voice drops to a near whisper, laced with panic.

I wrack my brain, trying to recall. Y/N had a stalker? She looks at me, and it’s clear she knows I’m lost.

“Just play along, please,” she whispers, scooting her chair closer to me. Her hand brushes my knee, and I’m startled by the tentative touch.

A vague memory flickers in my mind—her acting strange around me one day, but it’s obscured by the haze of regret and longing.

Y/N’s gaze is intense, making it hard to focus on anything else. She smiles shyly, then looks down before peeking at me through her thick lashes.

God, what is she doing to me?

I know she’s faking it, pretending for someone else—but I can’t help how my body reacts, how hyper-aware I am of her presence. My hand moves to her cheek, my thumb tracing her soft skin. She blushes, biting her lip, and it sends a jolt through me, a deep ache to pull her closer—bring her lips to mine.

Her hand slides from my knee, brushing my thigh, and I can feel a warmth stirring inside me.

This isn’t real… it can’t be.

She’s still staring at me, and I’m lost in her gaze, wondering what she’s thinking, if she feels it too.

But then, all too soon, her attention darts behind me again.

“He’s gone,” she breathes, relief washing over her. Her hand rubs my thigh one last time before she withdraws. “Thank you.”

I know I should let go, but I can’t. My hand remains on her face, my thumb tracing her cheek while my fingers tangle in the nape of her neck. Her expression shifts, confusion knitting her brow. She reaches for my hand, her fingers enveloping my wrist—her thumb brushing the top of my hand, once, twice—and then she smiles.

But she’s not looking at me seductively anymore. She’s looking at me like she doesn’t understand why I haven’t let go. And honestly? Neither do I.

I drop my hand from her face and stand abruptly.

“I better get to the lab,” I say, running a hand through my disheveled hair. “Good luck on your test.” Her eyes linger on me, confusion clouding her expression as I turn to leave.

I guess the show is over…

I spent the rest of the weekend in the lab, mostly because I had nothing better to do. It felt easier to throw myself into my work than to face the nagging thoughts of Y/N swirling around in my head. Pining after her felt wrong—she was just a kid, my intern, and whatever was brewing inside me needed to stop. I had to keep my distance.

When Y/N walked in on Tuesday, she looked a bit worn out. I wanted to ask her about the test, but I bit my tongue, forcing myself to act indifferent.

As the day wound down, she asked for my help, and I followed her into the dark room. She needed to cut different bands from an agarose gel to purify the DNA. Even though she knew how to use the UV light box, I guided her through the excising process.

Once inside the dimly lit room, Y/N flipped on the UV box and switched off the lights. I stood behind her, watching as her shaky hand hovered nervously over the gel, clutching the blade. 

"I think it’s safe to say that not going to medical school was the right choice for you," I teased, trying to keep the mood light despite the tension. "With those shaky hands, I wouldn't want you holding a scalpel near me."

"I had too much coffee today," she shot back, her tone sharp but playful.

"Right," I snorted, a grin breaking free.

"Shut up. You're making me nervous." I could almost hear her smile through her words.

"Here," I said, inching closer. I covered her hand with mine, steadying her fingers over the blade. "Relax," I suggested, hoping it would ease both our nerves.

Her proximity felt electric, as if the air around us vibrated with tension. The scent of her hair—fresh and unplaceable—danced under my nose, making my heart race. Y/N's hand trembled beneath mine as she turned to glance up at me. In the faint blue glow of the UV light, her features looked even more striking. 

"This is making it worse," she stammered, her voice barely above a whisper.

I felt her warm breath against my neck, and everything inside me screamed that we were too close. I should step back. I needed to step back. But God, I wanted to kiss her. Nothing else mattered in that moment.

Her bewildered expression shifted as her eyes drifted from my gaze to my lips. My heart thundered in my chest as I watched her tongue trace the edge of her bottom lip before she began to nibble on it nervously.

Then, without thinking, I closed the distance and pressed my lips against hers.

I inhaled deeply through my nose, intoxicated by her sweet scent as my mouth enveloped her bottom lip. Y/N whimpered softly against me, turning her body to face mine. My hand slid to the back of her neck, pulling her closer.

What was I doing?

I felt lost, unsure of how to proceed or how to stop. Reluctantly, I released her neck and gripped the bench for support, struggling against the rising tide of desire. All I wanted was to wrap my arms around her and pull her onto the counter, to lose myself in her warmth.

No, stop! This is wrong!

I broke the kiss, panting heavily. "Y/N…" I gasped. "Shit, I'm so sorry." I stepped back, needing space. She was breathing hard too. "I-I didn’t mean to do that. I shouldn’t have… Shit." My hands raked through my hair, searching for words that eluded me.

Then, with a single determined step, Y/N closed the distance. She grabbed my t-shirt and pulled me down to her level. Her lips collided with mine once more, and I felt her inhale sharply.

I was too tall, or she was too short; either way, I hunched over her as her legs wrapped around my hips, lifting her onto the countertop beside the UV box.

Her hands tangled in my hair, tugging in a way that made me groan into her mouth, while my own hands hovered uncertainly over her body, torn between desire and restraint.

Loud, insistent knocking on the door shattered the moment.

Y/N gasped, and her legs slipped from my sides. 

"I need to look at a gel, Yoongi. What’s taking so long?" Jimin's voice rang out.

Jimin… shit…

I groaned against Y/N's shoulder, gripping her thighs to steady myself. Her fingers remained tangled in my hair, and I felt dangerously close to losing it.

"We're cutting a gel, Jimin," I called out, taking a reluctant step away from Y/N. "Give me a fucking break," I muttered under my breath.

I heard Jimin huff through the door, and Y/N’s voice came low and tense. "What do we do?"

I didn't know about her, but I needed to get out of there. I was uncomfortable and desperately needed to regain control. I moved to the UV box, which was still glowing. Y/N jumped down from the bench as I grabbed the blade, cutting around the bands on the gel. I found it ironic that my hands were now shaking, yet I managed to do a decent job.

Once finished, I shut off the UV light and flicked the room lights back on. Y/N jumped a little, and though I was sure she was staring at me, I couldn’t meet her gaze—I wouldn’t.

I ran a hand through my hair and took a deep breath. "Take each piece of gel and put it in a single epi tube," I instructed, forcing myself to focus on anything but her. "You can follow the rest of the protocol at the bench."

"Yoongi," she whispered, urgency lacing her voice.

"I’ll be back in a bit," I said, my hand on the doorknob. I didn’t risk a glance at her, fearing that a single look would draw me back in. I opened the door and stormed out, nearly colliding with Jimin, who stood there with his arms crossed.

What the hell just happened?

A few moments later, I was outside the building. Rain hammered down, but I didn’t care. I wished I smoked, drank, or had any vice to help me calm down. I tried deep breaths to steady myself, but the rain only added to the chaos swirling inside me. I made it to the tree line behind the parking lot, leaning against a trunk with one hand while the other pressed against my chest, where my heart threatened to pound its way out. I was panting, sweating, and completely unraveling.

What the hell had I been thinking?

Well, clearly, I hadn’t been thinking at all.

God, I could still taste her on my lips.

I swallowed hard.

Y/N had the sweetest lips I’d ever kissed.

I was doomed.

This could ruin everything. I couldn’t let myself be distracted by Y/N like this. I had lost all control, and I didn’t know what would have happened if Jimin hadn’t knocked. Or worse, what if Y/N had opened the door without knocking? Thank God the light was off, and the “IN USE” sign was outside.

No one could know about this, especially not Jimin—he was Jin’s puppy! If Jin ever found out…

God, this was all so messed up!

I had to make it clear to Y/N—this had to stay between us. We had to pretend it never happened.

It would never happen again.

I could never have my lips on hers again—just the thought of it made my chest ache.

I had known kissing her would be good. She had the most beautiful lips I’d ever seen. They didn’t disappoint. Her kiss exceeded any expectation I had dared to dream. How could I endure not kissing her again, knowing how sweet she tasted?

If I thought it was torture to be around her before, now it was going to be hell.

And she had kissed me back. She had. It wasn’t just me. She wanted this too. Didn’t she know it was wrong? I needed to talk to her, to explain that this couldn’t happen again. We had to keep things professional, to work together without awkwardness. We had to manage that. I needed to manage that.

I wouldn’t look at her lips, or her smile, if that’s what it took. Maybe I could lie and say we needed to wear mouth masks for the rest of the project…

With a groan, I stepped away from the tree. I fisted my hair, realizing I was getting drenched, and walked back into the building. I shook my head to rid myself of some of the water, but I was still soaked when I climbed the stairs.

When I entered the lab, Y/N pretended not to see me, but I knew better. Her posture shifted, her back straightened, and the foot she had been tapping on the floor stilled.

I noticed Jimin was in the lab, standing at his bench across from Y/N, staring at her. It became clear to me that Y/N was putting on a show for him.

I sighed, feeling a little relief wash over me.

Y/N wouldn’t tell anyone—at least that much was clear.

But I still needed to talk to her. What happened was wrong and completely inappropriate. I couldn’t let her get the wrong idea.

I buried myself in my computer for a while, pretending to work by aimlessly scrolling and clicking, but my attention was entirely on Y/N. She seemed to move through the purification protocol without a hitch. What was going through her head?

Y/N strolled into the lab on Thursday, her smile cutting through the sterile, fluorescent gloom like a ray of sunlight. I gave her a nod—polite, detached—but that didn’t stop my heart from racing at the flicker of warmth in her gaze. As I turned back to my work, she let out a sigh that lingered in the air, heavy with unspoken thoughts. Out of the corner of my eye, I caught her glancing at Jimin's empty bench, and the reminder of his absence hung like a storm cloud between us. 

"Okay," she began, hands planted defiantly on her hips. "Should we talk about this?"

I forced myself to meet her gaze, focusing on those deep, captivating eyes while battling the temptation to let my gaze wander to her lips, which seemed to whisper promises that drove me mad with longing. 

"There’s nothing to talk about, Y/N."

"Well, are you going to go back to being mean to me?" 

"I was never mean to you."

Her eyebrows shot up in disbelief, and heat crept into my cheeks as I remembered all the stunts I’d pulled—the pranks that had hurt her, the lab coat I’d ruined...

"I won't be mean to you again," I muttered, letting out a heavy sigh and looking at the floor.

"Yoongi..." Her voice was soft, almost melodic, and it tugged at my heart. 

When I met her gaze again, it was a mistake—her lip caught between her teeth was a distraction I didn’t need. My hands clenched into fists, seeking refuge in my pockets as her eyes searched mine, wary but hopeful, like a deer caught in the headlights.

"It won't be awkward, all right? I promise."

That smile of hers struck me like a bolt of lightning, forcing a groan deep within my chest. I could see the words dancing on her lips, ready to spill out, but they vanished like smoke when Jimin walked back into the lab. Taking advantage of the reprieve, I buried myself in my work, fighting to act normal.

But normalcy felt like a distant memory whenever Y/N was near. She moved through the lab with quiet grace, while I stood like a rock in a river of uncertainty, drowning in my thoughts.

As the day wore on and shadows lengthened, I noticed her gathering her things. Instinct kicked in—I pretended to be engrossed in my computer, watching her shuffle and fidget until she finally took a step toward me.

"Hey, Yoongi?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper.

"Yes?" I turned to face her, masking the turmoil inside.

"Um, I was wondering... I know I’m just an undergrad here, and there’s really no room for me to... I-I mean, I know it’s really not my place to ask, but..." Her words faltered, and the crimson blush creeping up her cheeks sent my heart racing.

"Y/N, would you get on with it? I don’t have all day." My frustration boiled over, the energy it took to be normal around her fraying my patience.

Her frown was instant, a storm brewing in those beautiful eyes. 

Shit, that was uncalled for...

"Never mind…" she sighed, disappointment echoing in the air.

"Wait." I took a breath, willing myself to soften. "I’m sorry. Please, Y/N, tell me."

She sighed again, a deep, resigned breath. "I know there’s that recruitment party this Saturday. It’s for prospective students to meet the current students in the department. And I know, I’m just the undergrad, but I think it would be great if I could meet them. You know? Hopefully, in a year, I’ll be going through recruitment myself." Her fingers twisted anxiously in front of her, a sight that both amused and strained my patience.

"Is there a question you wanted to ask?" I barked, the irritation bubbling to the surface.

"Yes…" she snapped back, indignation rising. "My question is: do you mind if I’m there?" She crossed her arms, defiance written all over her.

Why would I care if she came? I hadn’t even planned on attending that stupid party. But suddenly, the thought twisted in my gut, a knot tightening as a realization hit me.

I shot up from my chair, startling her. "Who told you about the party?"

Her eyes dropped, a sigh escaping her lips, and just like that, the truth hit me like a freight train. I fucking knew it.

"You’re going with Jungkook, aren’t you?" I took a step closer, looming over her.

"No, I’m not going with Jungkook." Her voice was steady, but her gaze flickered to meet mine. "But I’m going."

"Well, I guess I’ll see you there, then."

"Okay," she said with a nonchalant shrug, but the smile that graced her lips made my stomach twist. She turned to leave, and I felt something unravel within me—my hands instinctively reached out, fingers curling into frustrated fists. I didn’t know if I wanted to strangle her or pull her into a desperate embrace. All I knew was that I was left staring helplessly as she walked away.

I didn’t need her to say it; I knew Jungkook was behind this. She might not be going with him, but the thought of him lurking at that party made my blood boil. For the first time in a long while, I felt the gnawing sensation of jealousy eat away at my insides.

Fucking Jungkook Jeon.

I couldn’t believe I was even considering this.

Why did it matter if Y/N went to the recruitment party? It shouldn’t. Yet here I was, battling an angry tide rising in my chest, all because of that idiot Jungkook. If she were going with someone more acceptable—someone who didn’t make my skin crawl—I’d be okay with it. I should be okay with it. The rational part of my brain knew that, but the irritation overshadowed everything else.

What did she even see in Jungkook? The guy barely scraped by on his Qual after taking it twice and hadn’t published a single paper. He was working with fruit flies for crying out loud! And his personality? A brick wall. I couldn’t trust him. I didn’t like him. I couldn’t stand him.

I had to go to this party.

At lunch, against my better judgment, I decided to bring it up with Hoseok. 

"Hey, where’s the recruitment party this year?" I asked, trying to sound casual as I stabbed my fork into the mac and cheese.

"You’re going to the recruitment party?" Hoseok dropped his fork, suspicion etched across his face like a roadmap to his thoughts.

"Yes," I groaned, already regretting bringing it up. Of course, he’d make a fuss.

"To our department’s recruitment party?" He pressed a finger to his chest as if I’d committed a heinous crime.

"Why is that so hard to believe?" I shrugged, pushing the macaroni around in my bowl.

"Let me think… maybe because I’ve organized every single one since I got here, and you’ve never attended."

"Will you just answer my question?" I snapped, frustration boiling over.

"It’s at the South Campus Center, bro." Even though he finally answered, his gaze lingered, scrutinizing me like I was a specimen under his microscope.

"Great, thanks." I tried to keep my tone light, rolling my eyes at his obvious scrutiny.

"I can’t believe you’re going." A knowing smile danced at the corners of his lips, and I loathed it.

I pretended not to care, shrugging off the comment as he took a seat next to me. 

"If only I had known all it would take was an undergrad to get through you."

"This has nothing to do with Y/N," I spat, defensiveness creeping in, my irritation sharpening with each word. Her name was Y/N, not ‘the undergrad.’

"Right, so it’s just a coincidence… this is just the year you happen to decide to attend this thing."

"Yes."

"Is she going?" His eyebrow arched, mischief glinting in his eyes.

I groaned and turned away, pretending to be absorbed in my food.

"Dude, I can see it. How she’s affected you. It’s kind of obvious. You can talk to me, you know? It might help."

The breath I took was deep and shaky, every nerve ending igniting with frustration. But before I could stop myself, the words came pouring out. "She drives me crazy, Hoseok. I can’t stand it. I lose all control when I’m around her. I kissed her… I kissed her, and she said she doesn’t want to jeopardize her work in the lab. And it makes sense for her to think that. But the worst part is now I can’t stop seeing her everywhere. She’s in the lab, at the gym, at the freaking library where I get my coffee—she’s everywhere! I need to go back to not seeing her, because I can’t handle this." I stared down at my lunch, the food suddenly unappetizing, a lifeless pile of carbs.

"So you don’t want to see her?" Hoseok asked, surprisingly calm, like he was dissecting a specimen on his lab bench.

"Exactly."

"You don’t want to kiss her again?" He pushed, an amused grin creeping across his face.

"I don’t know what I want!" I barked, irritation flaring.

"Sounds to me like you want to go to the party, see her, and kiss her again. The question is, how are you going to deal with Jungkook?"

My shoulders tightened at the mention of his name, a cold shiver running down my spine. "I don’t care about him."

"I don’t know, man. It’s weird. The vibes are strange. You’re talking about her with a lot of… emotion."

"Emotion?" I snapped, but deep down, I felt the truth behind his words. I was at the mercy of my own feelings, a trembling wreck in the face of Y/N’s smile. I hated it. I wanted to turn it off. I couldn’t afford to feel anything.

"Fine," I muttered, sinking back into my chair, wishing to be swallowed by it.

"You’re going to have to confront those feelings eventually, Yoongi."

I grunted in response, refusing to admit he was right. I didn’t want to think about Y/N, and I definitely didn’t want to deal with Jungkook. All I wanted was to escape this mess, but deep down, I knew I was already trapped.

© chimcess, 2024. Do not copy or repost without permission.

[imagining-in-the-margins]

Extracurriculars (S.R.)

Summary: Reader saves her TA from a frathouse.

Request: gradstudent!Spencer getting dragged to a frat party and hooking up with a girl in her undergrad (someone he's been interested in) A/N: Who wouldn’t want to deflower sweet Spencer? Characters are both around 21. Couple: Spencer Reid/Fem!Reader Category: Smut (NSFW, 18+) Content Warning: Virgin!Spencer, frat house, college party, alcohol, drunken sexual activity, heavy petting, kissing, making out, loss of virginity (male) penetrative sex, protected sex (condom), TA/Student relationship Word Count: 5k

MASTERLIST

When I was younger, my mother taught me a few key lessons about growing up. She had to teach me those things because, while they seemed to come naturally to other kids, they never came to me.

It seemed fundamentally unfair that I could do the quadratic formula before I could tie my shoes. Of course, with that, I could just insist I preferred Velcro. My inability to recognize the socially acceptable way to care for my body, or even recognize the signals it was sending to me, was a little harder to explain. It was even harder to calibrate.

By the time I reached college, I became obsessed with cleanliness to an unhealthy degree. I would avoid any situations where I could find myself fixated on dirt beneath my fingernails or anything that could be even tangentially described as ‘sticky.’

I was petrified of being perceived as anything but pure. I had been that way for long enough that it had basically become my defining character trait.

And then, on one very lonely and poorly planned night in grad school, I decided to challenge the idea that I could only be one thing.

That night, I went to a frat house.

Between the pulsing speakers that measured up to my hips and the remnants of discarded beer bottles, I realized that I had made a number of miscalculations—the kind that my mother had most certainly not prepared me for.

“Come on, man, live a little!” the student beside me shouted over impossibly loud music.

I hadn’t the slightest clue what he was asking me to do, but I could tell from the taunt that my answer would be the same regardless:

“N-No thanks.”

I looked down at the glass bottle still dripping beer from its lip. My stomach churned at the sight. I was so distracted by the thought of spit coating the finish that I had failed to connect the dots to realize that the group was planning to play the aptly named game ‘spin the bottle.’

That was, until the older but somehow less mature man to my side jeered, “Why not? Have you never kissed a girl before?”

My cheeks burned with some mixture of embarrassment and rage. I’d hoped that they would confuse it for drunkenness, if they’d thought about it at all.

I wanted to open my mouth to defend my decision without sounding pathetic, but my lips stayed tightly shut.

Then, just a second before the pause became awkward, a second voice chimed in.

“Piss off, idiot.”

I heard her right before I felt her. Her arm slung around my neck brought with it the comforting scent of jasmine and vanilla. Her heated skin somehow stayed warm but never sticky, and my body quickly corrected its instinct to move closer to her.

She’s my student, I reminded myself.

My favorite student, though.

Although the feeling was shared by the man she was speaking to, he wasn’t so clear about it. He seemed almost sarcastic when he shouted, “Whoa! Careful there (y/n), you might make me think you like me.”

By contrast, she was outright in her apathy when she droned, “No one likes you.”

“Ouch,” he replied with a hand clutching his chest, “You wound me.”

I’d half expected her to respond to him in kind. My mind ran a million confusing calculations to try to determine whether this was just harmless flirting or actual annoyance. All I knew for certain was that my chest burned with jealousy that dissipated within a second of her speaking again.

“Hey cutie, which of these jackasses brought you here?” she asked so sweetly I could taste sugar on my tongue as I tried to answer.

“Huh? Oh, u-uh. No… jackasses.”

Smooth as the cheap liquor we’re drinking.

“Yeah, right,” she chuckled in disbelief before explaining, “That’s all that’s here besides you.”

… Besides me?

“You wanna leave?”

My heart stopped at the mere thought. For a moment, I convinced myself that I had fantasized the question. Perhaps someone had slipped something into my drink that had turned me into a blubbering fool. Perhaps it was something more nefarious.

She wouldn’t.

Wouldn’t what?

“What?” I asked.

Before she could clarify, the now very unwelcome third presence chimed in, “He just got here! Let him stay.”

I watched as she bristled in response. Her fingernails dug slightly into my shoulder and she pulled me closer.

It must have been instinct. There was no way she could have meant it on purpose.

It felt nice, though, to be closer to her.

“I also just got here, and yet, I want to leave,” she sneered.

When he made a motion to touch her shoulder the same way she’d been touching mine, she jumped back with a stern warning.

“Touch me and lose at least one testicle.”

He put his hands up in surrender. She scoffed. Her hand dropped from my shoulder, but I never had time to miss her. She took my hand so quickly that I didn’t have time to think about my response. So, I held hers back.

My heart had finally made up its mind before she spoke.

“Come on, sweetheart. We’re leaving,” she ordered.

I followed.

“W-Where are we going?”

She shrugged.

“I don’t know. Somewhere else.”

She turned to look at me with the utmost skepticism, or, dare I say it, fascination with what she found.

“You have somewhere to be?” she asked.

“Um… no?”

I prayed it had been the right answer.

It was.

“Wanna come back to my place?” she offered with a smile, “It’s not far from here.”

She’d said it so casually that I couldn’t help but feel I’d missed something. Surely, she couldn’t be offering the normal incidental activities typically involved with accompanying someone ‘back to their place.’

I had been so certain of it that I’d even possessed the courage to ask.

“Uh… to do… what?”

She laughed. It wasn’t a painful sound; it was kind and airy. The music of her laughter lined the increasingly quiet streets as the music faded away in the background.

“You’re cute,” she hummed. Then, with a wicked smirk, she purred, “You got something in mind?”

My face filled with what felt like half the blood in my body. The rest went to another, somehow even more embarrassing aspect of my anatomy.

She didn’t seem to mind. In fact, she seemed emboldened and excited by how smitten I seemed. It all felt so idyllic that I didn’t even question when she’d taken my hand in hers again.

“Come on, cutie,” she instructed.

My heart quivered at the compliment. I didn’t even try to convince myself that it had been uttered with condescension or sarcasm. I enjoyed, even just for a moment, the idea that I might be seen as something desirable to her.

I had many reasons not to trust women like her. I had been burned in the past, with ropes and blindfolds that still felt paralyzing. But in that moment, those cruel memories felt worlds away.

She had just seemed so… calm. So happy to flaunt our intertwined fingers no matter how many familiar faces we passed.

“What were you doing in a place like that, anyway?” she asked.

I laughed before I thought not to.

“Did I seem that uncomfortable?”

“Weren’t you?”

“Yeah, I was.”

The admission didn’t seem as humiliating as I’d expected it to. The girl swaying closer with each step seemed pleased at the answer. I realized that she might’ve carried her own concern that perhaps she had overstepped bounds by assuming she was doing me a favor.

“Thanks for saving me,” I reassured her.

“Please,” she sighed, “I was looking for a reason to leave.”

It was a genuine, if not puzzling statement. Although I’d failed to realize in the moment, I would come to learn that we had both arrived at the party with the exact same motivations.

“Why’d you go then?” I asked.

The glitter on her face paled in comparison to her eyes among the streetlights. While she stared at me, I lost myself in the mesmerizing cascade of fluttering incandescence among the backdrop of her irises.

It was not the alcohol in my veins that made my cheeks tinge pink. It was not the bitter heat of the drought, nor the fear of whatever was making my shoes stick to cement.

It was the sound of her sigh and the way she looked at me like I might know the solution to the problem that landed us there together.

“Hell if I know,” she laughed solemnly. “Lonely, I guess.”

That makes two of us, I wanted to say. But it could be zero. If you wanted it to.

I wasn’t drunk enough to say that, though. Just enough to not stop the seemingly rude question from slipping out.

“Do any of those people actually… like each other?”

“Definitely not,” she laughed again.

I wanted to hear it again, but I didn’t know how to make sure of that.

So, instead, I just smiled and said, “Noted.”

By some miracle, she giggled again. Once she finished, she turned to look at me. At first, I met her eyes, but the intensity caused a shiver to spark throughout my entire body. Goosebumps rippled as my heart struggled to make sense of the feelings her eyes stirred inside me.

She laughed again. I wouldn’t care if it was the hundredth time. I savored the sweet sound in each of its iterations.

With her bitten lip and her half-lidded eyes, she swayed closer to me until our bodies bumped. I wondered if she could feel the way I shivered in response.

“What?” I asked.

“You’re cute,” she answered.

It was such a strange thing for her to repeat that the insecurity riding the waves of alcohol bubbled over again.

“You aren’t drunk, right?”

Again, she laughed.

Again, I begged.

“No, silly! I know my limits.”

She certainly hadn’t been shy with sharing the lack of them, either. Her arm wrapped around mine and pulled me even closer. It took every bit of focus I could muster not to trip and bring an end to the most wonderful waking dream.

Of course, that focus vanished almost immediately once I realized what part of her anatomy was now pressed against my arm.

So soft and warm and—

“Why are you worried about it, anyway?” she hummed.

At the same time, she dipped her head down to force me to meet her eyes instead of staring at her chest. Somehow, that wasn’t the most humiliating part of the exchange. No, that honor was reserved for the question that followed.

“Are you sure you don’t have any extracurriculars in mind for when we get to my place?”

“I was just making sure!” I yelped in the most pathetic kind of defense. It took me a moment and her own wayward glances down my body to realize that the tease hadn’t been an accusation.

If anything, it felt more like an offer.

Pride and confusion swelled in my chest. In the chaos, a few words tumbled out of my mouth that I hadn’t pre-prepared.

“I-I mean, you keep calling me cute, so… Sounds like something a drunk girl would say,” I laughed.

She didn’t, though. Instead, she came to a sudden stop and her lips curled into a slightly unnerving curvature. A hungry, stomach turning desire for… something.

Me?

It couldn’t be.

I stopped, too, holding my breath and waiting for some permission or instruction to do anything but wait. Thankfully, she turned and climbed the stairs of what I could now safely assume was her porch.

She threw the door open without further fanfare but a little bit of a tease.

“Get inside, idiot,” she laughed.

I followed her instruction. Of course, I paused at the door and waited for her to show me the way. I nearly passed out when she intertwined our fingers once more and led me through the darkness of her otherwise unoccupied apartment.

My training to hopefully get into the FBI would have had me carefully inspecting her surroundings to learn more about this tantalizing woman. It wouldn’t have been a bad idea, but I knew there was no way I could focus on anything other than how it felt when she looked at me.

Especially then. Together in the light polluted darkness, she didn’t stray too far. Even when she reached behind me to shut the door to her room, she lingered.

I stumbled backwards, not in fear, but as a horrible overcorrection to what I wanted to do.

To my surprise, it didn’t dissuade her.

In fact, she came even closer. She stepped forward until her chest was pressed against mine and her breath ghosted over my ear.

“Was he right, by the way?”

“Who?”

She let go of my hand and began trailing her fingers softly up my arm until I honestly couldn’t see straight anymore.

I wanted her so badly. Almost on cue, she splayed her hand across my lower back and held my hips against hers.

Again, I whimpered. Again, she giggled.

Her hips rolled forward against my now very prominent erection wedged between us. Just before she spoke, she took a sharp inhale that was released with a shaky breath.

“Have you ever kissed a girl before?” she asked.

I couldn’t even think to speak, let alone lie.

I shook my head no. Her free hand immediately tangled in my hair, tilting my head to the side just to see whether I would resist.

I didn’t.

“Do you want to?” she asked.

That time, I had to say something. I was too afraid the moment would slip away.

“Um… are you… asking me to kiss you?”

Immediately, she returned the question with a question.

“Are you telling me no?”

“No!”

Her hand in my hair held me steady while she retreated. The room felt hopelessly cold without her body heat.

“No, no, I’m not telling you no,” I babbled while she looked on with that same wicked smile. “As in, I think my answer is… yes?”

Before I could resort to begging, she closed the distance between us. Her hands held my cheeks and pulled me forward until our lips crashed together.

I knew my kissing her was clumsy and naive, but I couldn’t help it. The moment I tasted faded fruit flavored chapstick, my mind gave up on any hope for reason.

Just when I thought she was done with me, she kissed me again. She kept kissing me—the action becoming sloppier and sweeter with every passing second.

Her hands dropped to grip fistfuls of my shirt at the same time mine jumped to cup her face.

She was so soft. The pillowy feeling of her lips made me forget how much I normally hated stickiness on my skin. Because I loved how it felt when her lips lingered.

I would’ve kissed her for hours, forever, but she ended that hope with a firm tug of my shirt before she tossed me towards her bed.

My heart leapt into my throat. It lodged itself just behind the Adam’s apple like it could hide its blatant affection from her somehow.

She stalked closer like she had before. She drew feathery patterns up my goosebump riddled arms before she whispered in my ear.

“You’re fun to kiss.”

“I-Is it bad?” I stammered, for some reason.

“No, it’s fun,” she repeated.

She didn’t dwell for a second on my insecurity and momentary idiocy. Instead, she began lowering her fingers down my stomach and giggling as she felt the muscles tense.

“You wanna do something more fun, Spencer?”

Completely lacking any oxygen, I breathed, “Like what?”

“You’re a genius, right?”

Just like that, she firmly grabbed hold of me through my pants. I responded with a broken, strangled cry that fell away the moment she started to drum her fingers against the burning fabric. 

“Do I need to say it?” she teased.

Her tongue peeked out between her teeth when she pulled back to look at me. At the same time, she began palming my erection with such familiarity that I nearly fell apart in her hand.

“Fuck,” I groaned involuntarily.

“Never heard you talk like that before,” she whispered, “Hope it’s a nice word.”

Euphoria flooded my senses that were dangerously heightened by the alcohol I’d consumed to make it through the party. Not enough to be inebriated, but enough to make me stupid.

Even more stupid than I was already made by the blood pooling in the appendage fighting against my pants.

“Fuck, please don’t stop,” I gasped. My hips started bucking against her, and for a moment, I thought she would grant me mercy.

But then her hand slowed to a stop.

“Gonna have to stop if you want to get to the fun part,” she cooed.

Half-joking, I slurred back, “Is this not the fun part?”

Then the world came to a standstill, the universe pausing its incessant tumbling to allow me to hear her next words with a crystal-like clarity.

“Do you want to fuck me, Spencer?”

I nodded without hesitation or shame.

“Use your pretty voice,” she chastised so kindly it made my heart ache.

“Yes,” I pleaded. “Yes, I want to f-fuck you.”

She smiled and it didn’t feel like a mockery, somehow.

“Good,” she chirped. Then, without hesitation, she began steadfastly undoing my pants.

She seemed so skilled at the movements that I doubted whether she’d had any alcohol at all.

I’d been so caught up in the wonder of her that every ounce of fight left my body. I let her undress me and barely managed to help in my stupor.

She still didn’t mind. The smile on her face persisted the entire time.

“Lay down,” she commanded.

I followed. I scrambled back onto her bed without ever taking my eyes off her.

She moved so elegantly, so graceful as she stripped and presented me with the most beautiful sight. My heart was pounding so hard against my rib cage that I was worried it might break free to find her.

Yet when she finally crawled on top of me, my body tried to sink into the mattress. As if to stop me, she wrapped her devilishly warm fingers around my dick.

Still, I’d managed to squeak, “Aren’t you worried that we’re… moving a little fast?”

“Are you worried?” she shot back without judgement.

My mind was caught in two types of fog, however. I tried to breathe through it, tried to think of anything besides how nice it felt when her fingers ghosted over the bare tip, but I couldn’t.

“Are you sure you’re not drunk?” I laughed again, the words getting caught on soft moans still pouring from my mouth.

“You tell me,” she dared.

Then she kissed me. This time, she didn’t stop at my lips. Her lithe tongue slipped between my teeth and nearly wrapped around my own.

The muffled sounds of pleasure between us were getting harder to bear. That energy, the pent up frustration of almost a full year of wanting her had to come out somehow.

I grabbed her hips harder than I thought I was capable of. My nails dug into soft flesh and it caused her to make the most beautiful sound.

That beautiful girl gasped before she moaned against my cheek. Her hips dug harder into my lap, bucking against the hardness wedged between her thighs.

I dragged my nails down her legs, surprising us both at how much I loved to watch her writhe.

Still, I knew she was the one in control. She looked down at me like a toy that played perfectly along with her fantasies.

I wanted to let her have her way with me. But when she leaned over my body, I couldn’t stop myself. My lips caught her breast the moment she came close enough.

My hands were gentler there, palming at the supple tissue that slipped between my fingers. I lavished the hardened peak at the center for as long as she would let me, suckling at her breast like a man starved.

Eventually, though, she wound a hand through my hair and pulled me back against the pillow.

In my daze, I hardly noticed the condom in her hand until she rolled the latex over my dick.

Suddenly, and without thinking, I sputtered out a confounding command.

“Wait!”

She froze. Her flushed chest heaved, still glistening with evidence of my affection.

“Are you alright?” she asked, her voice filled with the most genuine concern.

“Yes. Yes, I’m fine, I just…” I tried to assure her and myself.

The poor girl looked horrified, like she was waiting for me to condemn her for her absolutely delightful enthusiasm up to this point.

It was such a silly worry that it almost made me laugh. It almost made the vulnerability that would follow feel like no risk at all.

“I need to tell you something first,” I explained.

I swallowed the lump in my throat and looked at her. I really looked at her—that dazzling star of a girl. My student, my favorite student that I’d watched and lusted over in every class. My mind simmered with that feeling; the knowing that the thing I coveted most might actually be mine.

“I… like you,” I said.

Less eloquent than I’d hoped.

If her bubbly, wholehearted laugh was any indication, she still didn’t mind.

“Well, I’d sure hope so!” she snickered.

I felt compelled to explain.

“No, I mean, I’ve liked you for a while now. Like, I really like you,” I insisted.

That time when she kissed me, it felt like her own confession. Scooting forward until her heat was pressed against my own, she sighed happily against my lips.

“You’re so sweet, Spencer,” she hummed, “I really like-like you, too.”

Even though my mind tried to deny it, my foolhardy heart recognized the truth in her words. It clung to her the same as my hands drifting over the new marks on her thighs.

“But we don’t have to do this,” she assured me. “Do you want to do this, or do you want to stop?”

���I want you so bad,” I whined without any hesitation. “Please, please—I want you.”

That cruel twist of her lips returned. The sound of my begging urged her on until she lifted herself just above where I wanted her. She leaned forward again, propping herself up above me while her hair tickled my face.

“Kiss me,” she slurred against my lips.

I did. I kissed her even more feverishly than before and used all the air in my chest to worship her.

I was convinced my lungs would collapse when she finally started to ease her way onto my aching cock. Each second of tortuous pleasure, the scorching heat of her enveloping me like flames kissing desiccated wood.

My jaw was dropped open, my mouth losing all moisture as I panted and twitched with pleasure. I could barely keep my eyes open, but I saw her. I watched as she winced at how far her walls had to stretch around me.

Yet I felt her desire dripping at the base of me, glistening the same as my spit spread across her breast.

“That’s it, baby,” she purred as she settled at the base of me.

I looked down at where I’d disappeared inside of her and decided it was better than any magic trick I’d ever hoped to master.

“Does that feel good?” she whispered when she saw the wonder in my eyes.

Involuntarily, my hips bucked into her and made her gasp. Then, still without meaning to, I did it again.

“Yes,” I hissed when she tightened her walls around me.

“My sweet boy,” she cooed between breathy laughter, “You’re so fucking precious. I’m gonna make you feel so good.”

As if she hadn’t already.

But I would come to bite my tongue quicker than the words could make it out. Because for all the pleasure her descent had brought, it couldn’t compare to the feeling of her hips subtly rocking throughout her ascent.

My body actually trembled, overcome with the unadulterated pleasure of her careful rolling up and down my dick. It seemed insane for such a simple motion to render me absolutely dumbfounded, but it did.

I didn’t say a word. The only thing spilling from my lips were moans and butchered attempts at her name.

My hands, however, wandered. They traced her silhouette and groped whatever softness it could find. They settled, naturally, at her breasts. Through the motions of curious, clumsy fingers, I felt her heart beating harder against my palm.

As its speed increased, so did that of her hips. She came down harder while the pitch of her moans grew higher and more airy.

“Spencer,” she whined.

It sounded like starlight igniting deep in my chest. I felt that tension growing in my gut, threatening to bring an end to the wonder of loving her.

“Wait,” I grunted. My hands fell to her hips and halted her movements before I begged, “Sl-Slower.”

She obliged me. With her head tipped back and her hands on my chest, she rode me so slowly that I could feel every detail of her twitching muscles.

“You’re so beautiful,” I groaned.

My hips caught me off guard as they started to move. They bucked up into her with increasing intensity until it broke her rhythm.

That beautiful girl fell forward, barely catching herself before she collapsed against my body.

“Fuck me, Spencer,” she mumbled against my neck. She interrupted her own pleas with sloppy kisses against my jugular that lit my body on fire.

That passion was quickly muted by her words, however. Because that was when she growled, “Take me, Spencer. I’m yours.”

I’d never been a particularly strong man, but there was absolutely nothing that would stop me then. My hands splayed over the back of her thighs and lifted her just enough for my hips to move freely.

She clung to me, her arms wrapped around my neck and her whole body rippling with each collision of our hips.

I fucked her harder, my hands carving the memory into her skin and my jaw clenched so tightly I thought I might draw blood from my tongue.

“You can do it, sweetheart,” she purred.  “Give it to me.”

Then, just before I found my peak, I felt it. The unmistakable feeling of pulsing muscles as her body seized in my hold.

I gasped, choking on a moan as I felt her body begging me to fill her with the full extent of my desire.

I emptied myself into the condom and wished that it could have been her instead. I felt the warmth dripping back down me and dared to wonder what it would have looked like on her now-marked thighs.

“Good boy,” she snickered like she could read those fantasies raging in my mind. “That’s my good boy.”

She lifted her head just enough to plant one final kiss on my forehead, and then she promptly collapsed against my chest. I welcomed her weight despite the lack of air. Breathing hardly seemed important compared to her comfort.

And it was comfortable for me, too. As I nuzzled against her neck, I found a sense of home that I’d never felt before.

She was sticky with sweat and spit from haphazard kisses, but she was so beautiful that I barely even noticed.

When she got off of my lap, I missed her immediately. My hand chased hers and, to my unending pleasure, she let me hold it. She lingered for as long as she could before she excused herself and left me to clean up the evidence of what we’d done.

Her room was still as quiet as before. The heavy bass from the frat house felt lifetimes away. The alcohol still swirled in my bloodstream, doing little to warm my now freezing body.

When she walked back through the door, my body flooded with relief. I watched as she grabbed all of my clothing she’s tossed around and placed each piece on the nightstand.

There was a strange sadness in her eyes that I would’ve done anything to remedy.

“Hey, uh…” I started, yet my throat closed when she looked at me.

“What’s up?” she asked.

“I-I have a question,” I said.

Then paused, again.

She smiled. When that didn’t serve as answer enough, she laughed.

“Yeah?”

That lovely sound granted me the confidence to finally ask the question I’d been pondering since the moment I stepped into her room.

“Are… Are you still lonely?”

I hadn’t thought it possible, but her smile grew even brighter. Abandoning starlight for the full force of the sun that would soon peek over the horizon.

“Not so much anymore,” she answered bashfully.

I smiled, too. With a playful tilt to my shrug, I asked her one more question that begged for an answer.

“Can I stay anyway?”

Again, she giggled.

“Yeah. I’d love that.”

“So would I,” I told her.

And so, we did.

(Tell me what you thought about this fic here!)

Reid Taglist: @mrs-dr-reid , @dreatine , @hopefulfangirl24 , @laurakirsten0502 , @dontcallmekittens , @rintheemolion , @andreasworlsboring101 , @imsuperawkward , @wentz2005 , @lovejules888 , @dashneydanger , @materialisthicc , @violetspoetic , @mslowlife , @conniesanchor , @trippol-threat , @will-byers-needs-a-hug

Complete Taglist: @cynbx , @emsma11 , @mediocre-writer , @fightingdragonswithwho , @andiebeaword , @jayyeahthatsme

[cissyenthusiast010155]

Holding on For Me ~Rita Calhoun xFem Younger!Partner!GradStudent!Reader (feat. Rafael Barba)

Summary— Rita gets hurt badly and ends in the hospital. Her two closest people, you and Rafael, come running. But you’ve never met each other, and now your partner’s and his best friend’s life hangs in the balance…

Mommy… Master List

Requests & Prompt-List

Warnings: angst, then fluff, heavily implied physical assault, hospitals, near death experiences, bruising, implied scarring, crying, hyperventilating, implied anxiety attacks, happy fully ending, etc.

Enjoy (;

You rubbed your temples with a sigh as you stared at her dull computer screen and flipped the pages of your extensive notes. You was violently pulled out of your doctoral thesis research by the sound of your cell phone ringing. Eager for a distraction, you swiftly picked up the phone.

“Hi this is is Y/N!”

“Hello Ma’am. I am calling from Mercy Hospital, I have you listed as an emergency contact for one Rita Calhoun?”

Your heart dropped. Rita? What had happened? Was she okay??

“What happened? Is she okay??”

“She was brought in about 30 minutes ago… She’s currently in surgery, pretty banged up. I am just making my rounds and contacting her emergency numbers in case.”

“Ok thank you so much, I’ll be there in 15 minutes” you hastily replied.

As soon as the call had ended, you jumped up from your chair, your heart racing and your mind spiraling. You scurried around her apartment, collecting things that you or Rita might possibly need at the hospital, throwing all the miscellaneous items into a bag before storming out of the apartment. You were swift to hail a cab once out on the city streets, eagerly giving the address of the hospital. Was Rita going to be okay? What if they lose her before you got to the hospital?

The words hospital and surgery made your stomache sink. Your hands felt like they were going numb, and your mind seemed to only be able to come up with the worst possible scenarios on what could have happened to Rita. You bit at her lip anxiously, and you closed her eyes for the rest of the cab drive, too overwhelmed to bear the stimulus of sight at the moment. Did this have to do with Rita’s job? Maybe an ex-client or someone who’d threatened her? What was the last thing she said to Rita…??

As soon as the cab stopped outside of the hospital, you paid the driver and rushed inside the bustling ER doorway. You immediately found a nurse and asked about Rita, who led you to the waiting room for trauma surgery, a separate, more secluded area of the hospital. The nurse had not been able to tell you much, besides the fact that Rita was still in surgery. So you anxiously paced the little waiting room, biting your fingernails and feeling like you wanted to cry. ‘Pretty banged up’, how badly was her partner hurt? Why were you the only one here??

Memories of you and Rita flooded your mind. You remembered when you two first met, it was only a couple years ago, but you had grown so close since. You thought of all the late nights that you two had spent together, laughing and drinking until both of you couldn't keep your eyes open anymore. You remembered how much Rita worked, just how passionate she was about her job. And now in a matter of 15 minutes that could all be ripped away from you? Rita taken from so swiftly, so cruelly?

You approached the nearest nurses station and asked about your partner again. As you were trying to pry any and all information out of this poor young nurse, a man stormed into the waiting area. You had the slightest sense that she knew him from somewhere, but as he was pacing the room furiously, muttering certain choice words in Spanish, you couldn’t quite place it. Then the man came up to the desk where you were standing and spoke. What if these were Rita’s last waking moments…? How could you live with yourself if Rita didn’t make it…?

“Hi. Do you have any information about Rita Calhoun and how she’s doing?” The man asked rushedly.

Now that he was right next to you and after revealing he knew Rita, it clicked for you. This was Rafael, Rita’s best friend from her college years. The two had never formally met, you had seen a picture or two of him in Rita’s apartment (from the many nights that you’d had dinner and stayed over) and you had only heard about Rafael when Rita elected to talk about him. You knew that while they were good friends, there were wounds in their personal pasts, so you never pushed to meet him. Had Rafael and Rita ended on good terms in the last time they talked? Did he know if this was work related…??

“You’re Rafael…” you managed to breathe out.

You were surprised that you had even been able to get out one word with the lump in your throat. Rafael turned from the counter to face you, giving you a quizzical and slightly defensive look. How could this have happened? It had been going all so well, and now with a simple call, life has turned upside down…

“Yes. And you are?”

“Y/N. Rita’s partner.”

Rafael’s brows raised and his eyes glistened with intrigue. He seemed to decide that you were alright, because he sent you a confirming nod, before going back to grilling the nurse for more information. Had Rita been threatened…? Attacked? Taken??

Trying desperately not to cry in front of him or the hospital staff, your knees suddenly began to feel weak. Before you could catch herself, your legs buckled and you collapsed on the cold, hard, hospital floor. Rafael was quick to turn back towards you, giving you his hands to help stabilize your overstimulated state. Your weak form managed to make it to one of the waiting room seats, where Rafael promptly sat next to you. It was then that you noticed how much your entire body was shaking. Rita couldn’t die… No, she couldn't die… It just… She couldn't it…

“I… I didn’t know Rita had a partner.” He stammered aloud, breaking the silence of the two of you sitting in the hospital, both equally nervous wrecks.

You shrugged in response, not having the wherewithal to respond to that at the moment. Silent tears finally began to stream down your face, as you started to let it all out. You curled forward, holding your head in your hands as you sobbed for what felt like hours. How would you ever be happy again? You would never move on. You couldn’t. Rita was your everything… You couldn’t face losing her…

“I don’t know what I’ll… d-do if… If Rita…” you stuttered, not able to finish your statement, as your voice returned to choked sobs.

You felt a soft and gentle touch on your back, making you uncurl and meet Rafael’s own reddened gaze.

“Rita is one of the strongest, hard ass people I know. Ever since school… I have never seen a fighter quite like her. If anyone will make it, it’s her.”

“Thanks” you croaked out.

Awkward silence took the room, the only sound being the hustling and bustling of the hospital. Rafael eventually removed his hand from your back, as it began to feel like he was overstepping. But the second you lost that touch, you seemed to only feel worse.

“Do you know w-what h-happened…? Or w-why…?” You stammered out in a whisper.

Rafael leaned forward, his forearms coming to his knees with a heavy sigh.

“I know that she’s been facing scrutiny and backlash for the last case she took. but besides that I don’t know…” he breathed out.

You pulled your knees up onto your chair, wrapping your hands around your body for some semblance of control and comfort, as you let out a shaky sigh.

“S-so it is work related…?”

“I don’t know, Y/N, I’m sorry… Truthfully, I hadn’t talked to her since she took that case, I was the lead prosecutor and we… we had a bit of a fallout over it…” Rafael gritted out.

His defensiveness seemed to have vanished, all that being left being the vulnerable, close friend of Rita’s. His knuckles were white from how hard he was squeezing his hands.

“Christ the last thing I probably did was yell at her to get out of my office…” he confessed, looking down to the ground with shame and guilt.

“I… I can’t even r-remember what the last thing I said to her was…” you choked out through violent sobs.

Rafael looked up at your wailing and his hand came out, caressing your shoulder lightly. He squeezed your trembling form reassuringly.

“I’m sure you told her how much you loved her…” he softly comforted you.

“I don’t know… I d-don’t know…” you changed in a whisper, starting to rock back and forth anxiously in the seat.

“Hey. Take some deep breaths… She’s going to be okay.”

Your glossy eyes met his reddened ones and you two just connected. All because of Rita. You were so grateful that she had found a friend like Rafael. And Rafael was grateful that she had someone like you to support her as a partner. Suddenly you were both drawn back to the crushing reality by a nurse coming up to you with a file in hand.

Rafael immediately stood and walked right up to her, demanding answers. You couldn’t get yourself to stand, so you merely looked up at the two standing adults with pleading eyes.

“Are you family?”

You both nodded vigorously.

“How is she? What happened?? Can we see her…??” Rafael demanded.

“EMT’s responded to a Good Samaritan call who found her in an alley… The ambulance brought her here to Mercy and she’s been in surgery ever since. It was a little touch and go, she has a concussion, multiple lacerations, a four broken ribs, scattered bruising, and a shattered left forearm…”

Your mouth went dry at the nurses words and you couldn’t think as tears began to stream down your face once more. Your lip trembled as you bit it, attempting to stifle your sobs.

“Can we see here??” Rafael immediately asked.

“Yes you may see her, she’s finally out, and she’s somewhat awake. I’ll take you to her, But take it slow, she has a long road to recovery…” the nurse said.

Rafael let out a sigh of relief and he quickly turned to you. Extending his arm, he helped you up and down the hall towards Rita’s private room. The nurse let you in, closing the door behind the two of you.

Rita looked peaceful for a moment, lying in the bed, but as she began to wake up, pain flooded across her face. Practically all of her exposed skin was bruised and battered, the biggest being her black eye. Her eye widened as much as she could widen them at the sight of you and Rafael.

“Holy fuck…” Rita winced in pain as we tried to sit up.

You immediately rushed next to her, sitting at the edge of the bed. The older brunette leaned back again, giving up the idea of sitting up properly for her moment, instead meekly attempting to reach out to you with her right hand, and you eagerly met her more than half-way, taking her hand and kissing it over and over again as tears of joy steamed down your cheeks.

“Rita Rita… God I’m so glad you’re okay… How are you feeling…?” you whispered, continuing your love and tender assault on her hand.

“Hi baby… I’m… in a whole lot of fucking pain, but I’ll live…” she breathed out in confession.

Rita smiled lightly back. But even that seemed to hurt her, as she winced lightly again. Rafael was standing at the end of the bed with his hands in his pockets as he watched the two of you. His eyes softeners watching your dynamic, he scolded himself for being so goddamn stubborn. Because if he hadn’t been, Rita might have introduced him to you…

“Oh Baby don’t move, stay still. Doctors orders you need to rest. Don’t want you getting more hurt…” you pleaded caringly and with much love.

“She’s a stubborn hardass. Doctor’s orders won’t stop her…” Rafael teasingly cooed, meeting Rita’s gaze.

Rita rolled her eyes at her closest friend.

“Shut up, you idiot… Now come over here and hug me.” Rita shot back with the same teasing tone.

Rafael chuckled, looked down to the ground as he made his way around to the opposing side of the bed, releasing his hands from his pockets, the man leaned over and gave his friend a proper embrace.

“I’m sorry, I’m so sorry… I’m so glad you’re alive” Rafael whispered to Rita, before retracting slightly, but staying close and gazing at her caringly.

Rita wanted to cup his cheek and pull him close, tell Rafi that it was all good, but her drugs were at a heavy dosage and soon they began to pull her back into unconsciousness.

“It’s… okay Rafaellll…—” she mumbled before dozing off.

Your gaze then met Rafael’s, coming to an understanding that neither of you would be leaving anytime soon.

~~~

Rita Calhoun Masterlist ~Coming Soon (;

[kalisburnerphone]

The Colors of You // C.SC

Mini Series || will contain adult themes and language, minors do not interact!!

Overall Warnings: idol!seungcheol x gradstudent!reader,Afro-IndoLatina!woc, implied curve/plus-sized woc!, emotionally constipated reader, seungcheol is lowkey a simp but so is reader and neither are that good at hiding it, reader considers herself demisexual, reader and seungcheol have a discussion on curly hair maintenance at some point, arguments occur, this is for my tall girlies,reader is just an inch or two shorter than cheol, seungcheol on his glucose guardian agenda, kkuma makes an appearance, pouty cheol, a bit cutesy, a bit domestic, a bit angsty, smut in various ways, reader has tattoos, seungcheol has some not so innocent realizations about himself, I think that's all for now.

A/N: I do not own Seventeen or any of the members. This is a work of fiction and not meant to accurately depict any of the members personality in real life as I only know what I've been shown. Seventeen and any other mentioned idol are just used as face claims and character names.

Unofficial Playlist:

Kidult - SVT

Amazing - Kiana Lede

Naughty - Devita

Natural - Kiana Lede

난 (Me) - 에스쿱스 (S.COUPS)

It's a work in progress, I'll update it later.

1.Color Rush - release date: 23rd or 24th November 2024. To be rescheduled

Summary: You’d never given much thought to the idea of meeting your probe. Having spent your entire life as a mono, your color spectrum limited to the multiple shades of gray, you’d gotten used to it. You had never met anyone who made you see color so you had figured there wasn’t anyone out there that would bring color to your world. You were okay with that, you’ve seen what finding a probe can do to a mono and you refused to become like that. You liked your simple life but you had no idea that all that was about to change. All it took was one VIP ticket, your eyes locking with the leader of one of the biggest groups in the world and suddenly there’s an explosion of color popping around your irises before you pass out.

2. Color Drive - release date: tba!

Summary: Somehow you've been convinced to give this 'thing' -because calling it a relationship makes it seem too real- a chance. You both agree to take things slow while he's away but even though you agreed you're still hesitant and skeptical. Trying to keep him at a distance proves difficult even when he's thousands of miles away because there's one thing that Choi Seungcheol is, it's determined, a bit clingy and very stubborn. Despite continuously trying to break down those walls you've built so damn high, he starts feeling like he's the only one trying. One phone call turns into an argument which in turn leads to you going radio silent. The last place he expects to run into you is at his favorite restaurant while he's visiting home during their short break for the holidays.

3.Color Me In - release date: tba!

Summary: Tour is finally over and while he has some time to rest you're about to start another semester. It doesn't stop him from trying to be in your space every chance he gets or spending money on KTX tickets to have you in his no matter how much you protest. Seungcheol doesn't remember the last time he's felt like this or if he's ever felt like this before but he's 100% sure that you were made for him and him for you. You on the other hand, as much as you keep denying it you know you're falling hard and deeply despite it barely being five months since you both met. He makes it so easy too that you only realize how down bad you are when he's not in your orbit. When his scent has faded from your space and you find yourself missing him. If Seungcheol had noticed the number of t-shirts and hoodies that disappeared during that winter then he makes no mention of it because lowkey or maybe high-key he already knows how you feel. Him finding out that he’s your bias may have clued him in on that but a win is a win.

Release date schedule may change, I'm up to my neck in assignments for grad school so please bare with me. I'm trying to complete and edit the first part which will probably be posted before or after my conference in Seoul next weekend. I'm aiming to have part 2 out by the end of December or early January. The timeline is loosely following real life with the tour dates and such so the final part (subject to change depending on its performance) is set for February 2025. It's a loose schedule that I would like to finish during winter break as long as research and work don't drown me.

[hotchfiles]

No need to answer them all, of course but 🎱🍓🔪❄️🏜️🧩!!!

matt i have an adhd brain and it took me a while to remember what this was but I LOVE YOU FOR THIS

writers truth or dare !

🎱 ⇢ post your AO3 total stats 

i'm not a super ao3 user but

is this it?

🍓 ⇢ how did you get into writing fanfiction? 

i was in love with sasuke and wanted him to kiss me. also gerard way and tom fletcher. it happened at the same time pretty much.

🔪 ⇢ what's the weirdest topic you researched for a writing project?

weirdest? i don't know, recently for hotch fics i research a lot of stuff for accuracy, like, the distance from dc to quantico, what units are actually at quantico alongside the bau, a lot of real b.a.u cases too because rossi and gideon were based off the two real founders.

❄️ ⇢ what's your dream theme/plot for a fic, and who would write it best?

I DONT KNOW WHO BUT SOMEONE NEEDS TO WRITE FBI ACADEMY!SPENCER X READER AND GRADSTUDENT!SPENCER X ETHAN X READER

🏜️ ⇢ what's your favourite type of comment to receive on your work?

i like when people notice little things, like, when they say they liked a line hotch said, or something hotch did !!! or some detail i added !!!

🧩 ⇢ what will make you click away from a fanfiction immediately?

daddy kink and degradation. just not my vibe.

[goldentournesol]

The Love Hypothesis Masterlist

Y/N is a third year grad student who kisses the first man she sees in order to cover up a lie. What happens when she finds out that the man she kisses is none other than the legendary Dr. Spencer Reid? Will Dr. Reid play along?

Link to join taglist!

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine: Finale

~COMPLETED~

*loosely based off of the novel The Love Hypothesis by Ali Hazelwood, I have NO INTENTION of copying/reproducing their work, simply drawing inspiration from the storyline*

[soranihimawari]

Two and a half Minutes

Pairing: university grad students Kuroo & reader

Rating: 🔞—mdni (themes)// KTA->KTF (angst to fluff)

Word count: 4.2K

Warnings: Kuroo’s ignorance makes him more of an ass; learning to be and do better

Today’s not a day to be late, at least according to the old maids living on your floor. You would think the one time you needed to show up post graduation rehearsal you’d have multiple alarms set, you figured you would make up the time with the way you drive. Then again, when you spent a majority of the last two semesters earning your keep as a librarian’s assistant in the restoration department, time is no consequence to you. Until you meet the rest of the academic staff in the rafter-wings of the auditorium. You were a little dishelved, but lucky for you, your self-proclaimed academic rival is there with his backup speech handy. He was a slick talker who could easily appease the annoyed brow of a doctorate candidate and their mentor with a simple smile; he was also one of the few who could match you in terms of tactical brilliance as proven by the language arts committee he helped formulate in the last year. You sighed, smoothing out your toga, your cap held in the white knuckled grip of your hands. More often than not, lately you’ve been keeping to yourself, trying to not let this years candidates’ comments of your humble origins bruise your already exhausted ego.

“And there they are,” his mockingjay voice says.

“Good mornin’,” you force the words out with a silken annunciation from your village town.

“My my,” the professor to his left says with a clapping motion. “Seems like we won’t hear my cadidate’s speech after all. Pity.”

“I was so looking forward to it too, but what can I do? Our valedictorian showed up with minutes to spare,” one sore jab wouldn’t deal the final blow of an already bleeding corpse.

“Mx YN,” the dean of your school greets you. She was an older woman with half-moon spectacles dangling high on her nose; encouraging letters of recommendation from previous professors landed on her desk with copies of your thesis in the fine arts multiple times.

“Ma’am,” you extend her salutations well-earned. The professor sponsor for your rival retreats a bit while the pupil stands side by side with you.

“I’m looking forward to hearing you speak,” the department head warnmly states. She grips your shoulder with a finality of pride in her otherwise stone face before she calls out another professor’s name who calls her over about an opinion on roses this time of year.

“Congratulations on not making a compete ass of yourself in front of her,” you hear your fellow graduate say. The grip on your cap had loosened some time ago, but now you wished it were a hammer and nail to pin his tongue against the podium. Violence wasn’t necessarily frowned upon here yet considering you could mince this man-child with words beyond his comprehension, you digress.

“Funny, I was about to the same thing,” the lilt in your voice made him do a double-take before you walked on to find your seat among the presenters for the ceremony.

A few minutes later, when you turn to look over your shoulder, you see him talk to another colleague who stares past him to study you. You break the eye-contact when you choose to fiddle with the doctorate cap before placing it upon your head. There is a chime playing overhead as the family snd friends who chose to be a part of the ceremony to cheer their loved ones on began to file in and find their appointed seats. Since there were two valedictorians this semester, you were expecting to see a slew of your rival’s family members and teammates. It’s not an everyday occurrence one well-known athlete graduates with a doctorate of sports administration.

“Jesus, it’s like a wedding party,” you mutter under your breath as you see his parent, aunt, and brother settle down in the front row; the teammates who were able to make it sat in the row behind them in their ‘signing suits.’ You don’t remember hearing his brogued shoes approach you, so you jump a little in your seat when he appears in your blindside.

“Everyone’s made it on my end,” he says with a jovial tone. The five seats reserved for your family and friends remained empty. It’s been what? Seven years of schooling altogether at this infernal institution and he still decides to be ignorant of self-made successes like yourself? How dare he, your thoughts are unnecessary filled with rude comments and childish taunts.

The ceremony commencement announcements are made and he settles into his own seat. The professors go through their introductions and trite speeches extending their congratulations to the family and finally the graduates. To your right, you pretend you don’t see the curious stare of your classmate. He nods and smiles to his parents who wave at him from their spot, his teammates’ holler for his attention too, slightly embarrassing him; but his eyes eventually land back on the empty seats reserved for you. Why on earth would no one want to come to celebrate this milestone with you? Was your family not as caring as his, he wonders. Or was it you were disowned because you chose not to buy into the corporations your family owned? Your life outside of this institution were little to no concern for him, yet the enigma that is you has gripped his curiosity like a vice.

You hear him make a comment before he nudges you to approach the podium. Your speech you’ve memorized countless times, so with not much ado, you set your hands aside post-adjustment of the microphone. The teleprompter just has brackets around [[VALEDICTORIAN SPEECH]] and your voice seemed to have had a mind of it’s own. Your inflections come out when you pronounce certain words but you power through it with an air of professionalism your rival never tires of. It’s like an illusionists’ greatest trick. You end your speech with a thank you and with the hardest hurdle cleared, you wait for the names to be called.

Three hours of your day was all it takes for you to receive the graduate paper; the real diploma will take about another month to be shipped out to your residence. You asked your bookskeeper if you could use their mailbox seeing as you have yet to close on a new apartment contract.

You arrive at the reception hall without your toga, but you do wear your doctoral cap; conveniently it matches your high waisted suit pants and pearlized satin top. It was the nicest set of clothes you owned and since you rarely wore it out anyway, it was a safe choice for an after party like this. You interact and mingle with others who value your opinions on impudent subject matters, perhaps being fed into a lion’s den would have been easier than keeping up appearances with those who could afford to make trillions of donations like they were buying favors from the pope.

Alas peace was a lie you think when a catering waiter approaches you with a mimosa flute. You easily snag one and replace its spot with the empty one. You sip it carefully while contemplating when or if your rival’s family will force him to talk to you. Luckily, you didn’t have to wait very long; his fellow teammate decides to intercept you from being pulled into another conversation about Euclidean Geometry, how its laws of tessellations inspired Byzantine tiles.

“You sure do know how to capture my attention,” you tease, enjoying the bitter liquid making its way to your stomach. “Now how can I help you? PLease don’t tell me you’re here to set me up with—”

“Morisuke!” Another jovial rebel comes bounding up to you two. He shrugs his shoulders with a grumpy expression at his former kouhai while glancing back at you; perhaps he was going to ask you out to dinner, not that you would have refused because of the company he keeps. Friends of said rival or not, Morisuke was actually quite bold.

“Yamamoto, I swear,” you hear him curse his friend under his breath. If these two are here with you, then that means the thorn in your side wasn’t too far behind either.

“To hell with this,” you say, drowning the rest of your tongue with the cocktail. “Thank you for your time gentlemen, but it seems I have to go.”

Noir hair floats by yards ahead of you, probably doing a complicated equation to see the path of least resistance to reach you. The suit he wears is pristine and is a more adult version of his high school one, sans blazer. Rolled up sleeves and a neat double Windsor knotted tie show off his family’s style paired with the glitz of gifted cufflinks and classy watch. Compared to you who screams economic efficiency, his entire ensemble screams charmed life. Not saying he didn’t work hard, far from it, but the way he presents himself as a self-righteous know it irked you to no end. Your subconscious newsfeed decidedly reminds you with bold letters of today’s date and how it ought to be the least time you see the man, so you might as well extend an olive branch of sorts. You stand still, much to the surprise of those who knew of your accumulated hatred of your salutatorian. His parents who had split when he was younger kindly push him on the path toward you regardless of him moving on his own or not. The two friends who came to the ceremony stand a little off to the side behind you should you or their friend hurl insulting words, much like scorekeepers of a tennis match.

“Come to say goodbye?” He asks, peering up and down like a creature about to pounce on its dinner. Golden eyes known to charm women and men into his bed at all hours of the night seem to alight in watching your stone face soften into a relaxed blaze of fury.

“Oh and I thought you were scolded for playing nice with me today,” you raise a glass at his father who seemed to have extended his congratulations with a wave. His mother and father have finally reached a point of amnesty in their separate lives, from afar, their body language reads as amicable friends and co-parents to a doctor in business administration.

“Mm,” he takes a half step forward before eerily smiling at you when you raise your head higher to see his irses dilate a little more. He wants to pick at your mindset, but when reality had sunk in when he sat next to you during the commencement ceremony, he realized he was unfairly biased toward you. In your speech you make a mention of not remembering anything beyond second year of middle school. Perhaps the news of a massive storm surge taking out a few seaside residences one and a half decade ago finally gave him some crumbs of information.

A hell of a time to find out the person whom you’ve shared a majority of classes with was bitter for reasons beyond his control. Times of being angry arguing tooth and nail during classes could have been spent healing, turning over a new leaf as one professor’s adoptive proverb states.

You straighten your posture a bit via rolling your shoulders back, without much else, you say one of the most damning things you could think of: “Thank you for being my academic rival these past seven years; thank you for reminding me everyday how much you disliked seeing my name on the projects with the highest marks; for kicking me out of the library when I told you I had lost power in my apartment; for not even bothering to ask me why I have travel arrangements every March fifteenth to and I quote, ‘go on sabbatical to the shore line.’ And how I still endured your scrutiny when you boasted about being selected for a permanent spot in your fellowship. So yes, I suppose you can summarize what I just stated as, ‘come to say goodbye?’”

You shoulder-check him when you gracefully walk past him when he had nothing else to rebuttal with. He wanted to make a joke, but you being hardwired to take anything he says as a challenge reared its head at him and hurled a whirlwind of damage to his inflated ego. He turns to look at Morisuke and Yamamoto who just shake their heads agreeing they didn’t know you had been a great actor atop of your already serious demeanor. Sauntering off back to their corner, the saludetorian is called out for freezing by his best friend: “so yn finally told you off? I’m not surprised.”

“Kenma,” Yamamoto says with a Buddhist-like face. “Can’t you see how our old scheming captain is off his game.”

“People aren’t games,” Morisuke contributes this fact and the graduate’s father sort of chuckles.

“What’s so funny?” His son asks him.

“You, son,” his father begins. “Have a lot left to learn.”

The older man with graying streaks in his hair extends his arm politely to his ex-wife who sheds a little more light about the skeleton in your closet. She cryptically tells the lads to look up the landslide disaster that was covered in the news from when they were in junior high.

You were found outside the hall sitting on an abandoned ottoman, your head tilted back looking up at the fluorescent lights with a serene expression on your face. Your rival’s parents were always a source of well-intended comfort, after all they were the ones who frequented the stores you helped digitize the city ledgers. Always respectful toward your elders was a trait taught to you since you were young, so when the familiar voices belonging to them say your name, you stand to greet them.

“Congratulations, dear,” his mom says, squeezing your bicep a little.

“Thank you,” two words were said with the least animosity you had in you. It’s not entirely their fault their son was a dumbass, an insult was too soft by your standards.

Polite small talk with them was fun: his mom talks about her job overseas while his father updates you about how his aging parents are faring in the mountain city. You express you didn’t want to take too much of their time, bidding them farewell and safe passage on their way to the hotel they rented for the evening. Figuring you should do the same, you’re about to head outside to the reception lobby when you are nearly tackled by a familiar set of arms—the watch and fabric were a dead giveaway and much to your chagrin, you hear him say your name. One hell of an olive branch, your mind thinks as you try to squirm your way out of his hold.

“Stay still, f’me, I just wanna talk,” he instructs, readjusting his tightening hold on you. You fool yourself into calming down, but unfortunately, your body begins to think otherwise: your breathing is picking up again and you’re two minutes away from an apparent panic attack. “Hey, hey, it’s just me, ok?”

He releases you the second he notices the distress he might have caused. You stumble forward, hunched over where he had held you and even if you think he didn’t do it on purpose, he still doesn’t have access to that part of you yet. Morisuke, Yamamoto, and a blonde boy you’ve seen off and on make their presence known shortly thereafter seeing their friend with arms raised claiming innocence versus you who raises one arm in defense the other still holding your ribs together, your lungs finally returning to a homeostatic level.

“Don’t touch me!” your voice is lightning in a bottle. Your eyes are wildly displaced and you take a step back. You look terrified before brushing off the wrinkles in your outfit then you blow out a raspberry before lowering your arms to your side; he does the same, still mumbling an apology— he knew of panic attacks and anxiety attacks, but he hasn’t seen one happen by something he did.

“I won’t,” he demurely stated. “I’m not sure what—”

“Previous trauma caused by drowning,” you heard Kenma read aloud. It was an excerpt from an article that was published while you were in the children’s hospital the night after the landslide that claimed a few key people in your life. “Victims of the town near the epicenter were identified by relatives, but only three percent of those affected were claimed… surname tiles unclaimed were as follows.”

Your family name is among them as Kenma reads the rest aloud.

“Five seats in the commencement ceremony remained empty for a reason,” you state the fact again, no tears, just facts. You apologize for the stark commotion, shrugging your shoulders before disappearing into the warm night. It takes a few minutes for you to simmer down; you take a seat at a bench across the promenade. Your phone in your pocket lights up with a nickname of “do not engage” as the contact, the notification counter breaks over fifty at this point. Uttering a bitter goodbye to the illuminated ballroom building, you ready yourself to stand and begin the walk back to your dorm.

Meanwhile, back at the reception, Morisuke and Yamamoto said they were going to head to the men’s room then heading back inside for an hour or two more. Kenma locks his phone after sending the link to his best friend’s phone though the ebony blessed haired child was busy trying to rectify his major faux pax.

“Mx YN isn’t going to forgive you so easily,” Kenma scoffs. “Just because you toed the line with them before doesn’t give you the right to charge into that hellscape.”

“I know I fucked up, but,” he angrily hangs up the line. “Why did no one tell me this?”

“Kuroo, for a newly graduated doctor you’re not very bright,” his friend scolds him. Then, he playfully knocks his forehead with a closed fist. “YN values knowledge as a protective measure; you do it for the fun of outsmarting people and or for the flare. Seven years of attending university and not once did you think to ask yn about how she’s doing outside of class?”

“No, because I thought yn was fine,” he pinches the bridge of his nose.

“Loneliness pushes you to do many things,” Kenma states. “And I know empty eyes when I see them. YN may be the same age as you, but they’ve come to expect more from people like you. Do better, idiot.”

“…how?”

“You’ll figure it out.”

Kenma leaves to turn back inside when he sees Yamamoto wave him over; the old setter fills the other two in. Morisuke chuckles when he picks up another hour devour this time asking an impossibly loaded question: “if this is how they are when yn’s past is found out, I can’t wait until he realizes he’s hopelessly devoted to yn.”

“Seriously? That’s where your mind jumps to when Kenma here sheds some damning information about yn?” Yamamoto is extraordinarily boisterous about this private matter.

“Kuroo needed to hear it from someone and sadly, even yn had to be reminded,” Kenma stands by his decision. “Whether yn told him or not, it needed to be acknowledged for context. They’re the most irritating people to be around when in the same room, but they do exude the confidence to keep each other inline.”

“What makes you say that?” Morisuke inquires, benevolence beseeches his words. His former teammates lean back to see their old captain pace worriedly with his phone attached to his ear. Kenma’s lips purse into a definite smile like he’s finally figured out the last difficulty in a puzzle rune game.

Two weeks later, you take your belongings from your dorm room and pack them into a suitcase. Your favorite novels were already shipped to your new flat earlier that week. The bookkeeper still keeps an eye out for your graduate degree in their personal mailbox on your behalf. Exchanging a few words of gratitude, you are granted well wishes for your future endeavors, not once pondering over the reception incident. If you did, you would be doing a great disservice to the frightened amber eyes of a rival who, judging by his reaction, heard the news story about the phenomena for the first time. He probably didn’t think anything of it; thought of the news reporters on the tv as ‘boring real life news’ before a prime time quiz show made its scheduled debut. His eyes constrict and relax when his friend reads the in memoriam part, but when his mouth opens and closes like a fish struggling to breathe, he sees you stand albeit a bit proudly. He hears you say something, but the blood in his ears pushes your words away and he watches you disappear into the night.

Contrary to popular belief, one would think he had adjusted to the news well. How wrong they were. For the first seventy two hours post graduation, Kuroo spends his time researching more about the incident. He’s appalled to why he didn’t ask any of the adults in his life about this sooner or how come his mother gently guides him to meet you in the freshman orientation—he thought you lied when you said your guardians couldn’t make the trip out here, only to realize you were telling the truth for a very different reason. Your affinity for wearing three-quarter sleeved clothing to hide surgical chest scars forces his heart to fall to his shoes. His snide jokes in a class once landed him with a warning from the professor, but you raised your hand to propose a counter argument thus creating the outline for the rivalry whether accidental or not.

Does it explain why he faces your door now? No. He must be out of his god -damned mind to be here, his brain thinks. In the group chat he has with his closest friends, most of which reply with a single ‘f’ for respect, Kenma replies privately.

The butcher paper the florist sold his bouquet in crinkles in his hands. He’s trembling with nerves even now when he faces the closed door. Not knowing where to begin to apologize for ignorant and rude behavior is beyond him, but not even attempting the attempt is more an act of cowardice. So, he raises a hand to knock upon your door. You hear the call to the door, but when you look through the viewfinder, you say nothing. Instead you hold your breath to see if he would knock again—he does, multiple times in fact. Your neighbors pass by starting the rumors that your well known ire is here to pour out his soul to you to start up again; though he waves them off to get some version of privacy, he takes a deep breath before touching his forehead to the door. You press a curious ear to it on your end.

“Of course yn isn’t here,” he scoffs.

He sounds…sad? Disappointed? You hear the rustling of the paper and a sniffle. Is he allergic to the pollen of the flower, but bought them anyways? You shake you head wondering if he new or if this is a newer development, but you wait.

“If you’re not here, then I’ll apologize to the last thing you probably saw,” he continues, pressing his head into the doorframe this time. “I’m sorry for being a righteous ass to you; you never really opened up and told me off until that summer course in second year, remember? You got so angry about me doodling all over your notes only for you and I to be paired up as lab partners in the fall. I’m sorry I didn’t listen to you when you said you were going on a date; my ex thought it was funny to see if I could crash your date; I’m sorry I used you for my personal entertainment when things didn’t go well at home. I’m here to say sorry and I’m sorry I missed you. We could have been friends, and instead I squandered my opportunity to not only make my arch nemesis a friend, but maybe something more?”

You subconsciously unlock your door and he stands back a bit. He brings the flowers up to his face to hide his expression. You pull the bouquet out of his hands, thanking him for the gesture.

“Despite you being the bane of my existence,” he winced at that. “You still have a long way to go before we even become acquaintances. Go home Kuroo Tetsuro, it’s late.”

You’re about to close the door and trash the flowers, yet his hand reaches the doorknob first. You can feel him hover above you, a pointed look of dejection scribed on his features.

“So that’s it then?” his breath fans the baby hairs in the back of your neck.

“…”

You walk further inside, your back rigid in not turning around to face him. He sees and hears the flowers fall into the trash can and hears you tell him to leave.

“Yn?”

You’re in the kitchen after he closes the door.

“Go away,” your voice is cold.

“Not happening,” he is bold, approaching you with a smirk. “Olive branch?”

His arms are open to you, and he turns his head to one side, signaling you to come accept some form of human company. Even if he’s the scum of the earth in your rueful eyes, you could kick him in the groin if necessary.

“Thirty seconds.”

“Two and a half minutes, non-negotiable.”

“Fine.”

You mentally prepare yourself to embrace an enemy. Your steps are quiet and calculated, yet when the amendment is for a minute and half you bow your head in defeat when you stare up at him. Kuroo has this anxious disposition and he breathes a sigh of relief when he feels your arms hit his torso. You’re surprisingly warm and softer to the touch when his hands graze past your upper arms. His cheek smooshes gently against the cotton Candy texture of your hair. He holds you there and pats your back whispering a, “you’re not going to hug me back are you?”

“…?”

You let him hold your tired self for longer than the allotted time. You don’t forgive his words, nor his actions he learns. Rather, you give him a haunting blessing:

“In this house, you’re on thin ice. Move my heart with good deeds and I’ll consider taking up your offer from freshman all-nighter week.”

“Oh ho?”

“High tea at the fanciest coffee house and pastry in Ropppengi.”

“You’re on, yn.”

You nod against his chest once more before pushing him off of you with a curse: “smooth talking bastard.”

“You like it though.”

“Alright that’s it. Out you go.”

“Aww, and here I thought I was laying the groundwork for you and I to be civil.”

Your expression changes as you cross your arms and point to the door. He surrenders, residing in your genkan for a moment. An epiphany of sorts shifts his heart a bit; he wants to prove to you people can change. He wants to try, at least for you.

Kuroo leaves then, sneaking a glance at the bronze highlight the lamp on the entrance to the front door illuminates your figure. You shake your head muttering a barely audible, ‘unbelievable.’ He doesn’t know he’s checking you out (having a whole Nicholas Sparks moment in fantasyland there) until you tell him to quit staring and go home. Kuroo and you have a long way to go before becoming anything other than rivals, but coffee connoisseurs seem like a good place to start.

[katgeeksout]

What chilly afternoons are made for ☺️!

[holylulusworld]

Physical Education

Summary: He will teach you more than how to educate kids.

Pairing: Coach!Negan Smith x GradStudent!(plussized)Reader

Warnings: age gape, Negan being an ass, dirty talk, language, fast sex, quickie, smut, unprotected sex, doggy style, age gap (reader is at age, a grad student), heavy daddy kink, light breeding kink, dom/sub undertones, mentions of anal sex (nothing happens), mentions of butt plugs, unrealistic instant attraction, mentions of subspace

A/N: That’s a fucking lot daddy kink in this one. Head the warnings.

This story is part of my: Adventures with your professor masterlist

“Mr. Smith, I’m so excited that I can join you for today’s lesson. I heard you helped your students to improve. “I’m honored, Sir.”

“Fuck don’t get your panties in a twist,” Negan grunts. “You are here because of your daddy. He called his brother, the dean. That’s why you’re here.”

“Oh-I,” you bite your tongue. Negan Smith is a well-known coach, and you don’t want to fuck your only chance to be here up. “I’m a grad student and want to use my degree to become a public-school teacher or coach myself. My uncle was talking about your techniques, and I want to improve. So, here I’m. Live with it.”

“Girl, I got no time for your nonsense. I’m a coach at a high school. This job is a dead-end,” he sneers as you dreamily look around the old gym. “Sit on the bleachers and try not to fuck with one of the horny boys in my classes.”

“Sir, my uncle told me you’ll let me be a part of your classes today,” you angrily say.

“If you want to, you can put a cheerleader uniform on and cheer for me,” he looks you up and down, drinking your outfit in. You’re wearing a white blouse, jeggings, and a pair of sneakers. “On the other hand, your ass won’t fit into the uniform.”

He hums to himself. “My uncle was wrong. You’re an asshole.”

“Fair enough,” Negan chuckles as you stomp toward the bleachers. “I mean, I like me a big ass.”

You’ll spend the better of the day on the bleachers. The horny teenage boys in Negan’s class are the only ones paying attention to you.

“Stop staring at her tits! You’re here to sweat for me, not that little vixen on the bleachers,” Negan barks as the boys are busy sizing you up.

One of them cups his crotch, smirking as you look away. “Man, she’s got some nice tits, coach. Do you think she’s good at sucking dick?”

“What did I say?” you flinch at Negan’s outburst. He grips the boy’s shirt, almost ripping it off his body. “You will go to the dean and tell him what you just said about his niece.”

“His niece,” the boy splutters. “I didn’t…you know how boys are Sir. Please. I’ll do anything. I’m sorry.”

“I said,” Negan growls, “you will go to the dean and will tell him what you just said. No excuse. Get out of the gym.”

“Sir…” one of the other boys tries to help his friend. “He’s sorry.”

“You can join him,” Negan jerks his head toward the exit. “Get out.”

“Sir, they are just teenage boys,” you clear your throat as Negan gives you a dirty look. “You know how they get.”

“All of you, get out—” again, you flinch as Negan yells at the boys. “Classes are over for today.”

“Sir, Coach Negan,” one of the boys' huffs. “We still got half an hour.”

“Did you just talk back?” the boy shrinks into himself as Negan stalks toward him. He lifts one brow and looks down at the now trembling boy.

“No…Sir. Coach Negan,” the scared boy stammers. “I’m sorry Sir. I would never…I mean…”

“Get out!”

All boys run out of the gym, almost tripping over their feet. “Faster. And don’t you dare to shower here! You’ll run back to your mommy in your sweaty clothes and explain what you did today.”

“Mr. Smith,” you clear your throat. “Uh-that was very…unconventional. I did not learn a thing, though. So—thank you for the lesson.”

You grab your bag and get up from the bleachers. “You didn’t learn a thing?” he cocks his head and watches you walk past him. “We can change that.”

He furrows his brows and grins at you. “You should go back to yelling at your students and I’ll find my way out.”

“Not so fast, princess,” he grips your arm. Negan starts walking toward the exit. He smirks as you wiggle in his tight grip.

“Let go of me! Where are we going?” you curse and mutter as he drags you toward his office.

“I’m only telling you this once,” roughly pushing you up the door he grunts, “shut your mouth, go inside my office and I’ll teach you a lesson. You wanted to learn from the best, right?”

“I-okay,” you swallow thickly. Heat pools in your belly as he darts his tongue out to wet his lips. “I’ll go inside.”

“Good girl,” he steps away to surveil your trembling form. “Be good, and I’ll teach you all the things you need to know…”

Negan unlocks the door and pushes it open to let you inside. You silently step inside. It’s hard to not watch him strip his jacket and shirt off. He shamelessly exposes his upper body to you, grinning as you admire the tattoos on his chest.

“Do you like what you see, princess?” he purrs while stalking toward you. He grips your shoulders and pushes you toward his desk. “I want you to bend over the desk and shut that pretty mouth of yours.”

“What? I thought you wanted to teach me…” you look up at him with wide eyes. “Oh—oh…”

“You see, I like a big ass I can grip while I fuck a girl from behind,” he dips his head to glance at your ass. “Bend over and push your pants down.”

“Sir…I,” you lick your lips. There is a prominent bulge in his pants when you drop your eyes to his crotch. “I can’t…I mean…what will my uncle think?”

“He’s a dick and baby,” he cups the back of your neck. His nose bumps against yours. He breathes in your face as his free hands cups your sex. He runs two thick fingers up and down your clothed sex until you whimper against him, “I want to fuck you while I grip your ass. Maybe put it up your ass too.”

“Mr. Smith, you’re working for my uncle, and I—” he silences your protests with his lips, greedily shoving his tongue into your mouth while he tugs at your jeggings. “I—you…”

“I will use you, princess,” he growls against your lips, “and you are going to love it, and thank me for the orgasm you’ll get.”

“Yes, d-addy,” you breathlessly moan against his lips. “You make me so…I can’t think straight close to you.”

It’s true. You are drifting toward your favorite headspace. A calm and warm place you are craving.

“You don’t have to think when you are with me,” he grins darkly. Negan saw right through you. The way you responded to him the first time you met told him everything he needed to know. “Daddy will take good care of you, princess. Now, be good…”

“I—yes,” you hastily push your jeggings down and kick your shoes off. You don’t get the chance to step out of your jeggings as Negan grabs your arms, twirls you around, and bend you over his desk. “Negan!”

“Daddy,” he slaps your ass roughly. “You’ll address me right, princess. If not,” another slap has you trembling. “I want you to be a good girl.”

He moves his hands over your ass, gripping your globes roughly. “Fuck, what I’ll give to fuck that ass,” he hums when you tell him you never took a cock up your ass. “Next time, I’ll get some lube and a nice butt plug for you, princess. We will open you up for daddy’s fat cock, won’t we.”

He kneads your flesh, making you moan and gasp. “Yes, daddy.”

“You’re such a nice and good girl for me,” he grips the elastic of your panties to shove the fabric down your trembling thighs. “I know you want to be good for me.”

“So good,” you mindlessly babble and whine as you feel him press himself against your naked ass. He grinds into you. “Please, daddy.”

“No begging. I hate it when girls beg,” he roughly grips your shoulders and pushes you down onto his desk. “I’ll have you now and you’ll take me like a good little slut.”

His pants hit the floor, along with his boxers while you lie on the desk, waiting for him to use you however he wants to. “Such a fucking cock-tease,” he grips his cock and gives it a few pumps, “walking around, swaying that ass. All I could think about was to fuck you all day.”

He steps out of his pants. “I’m sorry.”

“You will be after I’m done with this cunt,” he grits out. Neganpushes your asscheeks apart, hissing as his eyes land on your dripping cunt. “Nasty whore. You wanted it, huh?”

“Please…daddy.”

He slaps his cock against your pussy lips, making you whine. All you want at this point is to get filled and be good for Negan. “Shit, I’m so close to just coming all over your ass.”

Negan pants heavily as he teases your entrance. He doesn’t want to lose it too soon. But watching you all day in your tight little jeggings has him on the edge.

“Have my cock, princess,” he holds you down with one hand pressed to your lower back while shoving his cock inside of your cunt. You quiver at the intrusion.

“Big…so big…too big,” you whine as it’s too much. He goes slow, but there is so much of him you didn’t take yet, and he keeps on pushing inside.

“Take a deep breath and think of all the nice things daddy is going to do for you,” he slams his hips into your ass, groaning as he’s finally completely sheeted. “Shit, what a nice and tight little cunt for me to ruin.”

“Hmm…” you sniffle as you are stuffed to the brim. “Daddy…too much.”

“I know, princess,” he runs his warm hand up and down your back. “You’re doing so good for me. Just let me open your pussy up for me.”

“O-kay,” you choke out. “Please…”

“Relax,” he purrs while slowly sliding back out. “Daddy is going to fuck this pretty cunt open. Just take it.”

You feel his rough hands grip your ass. Negan slowly starts moving. In and out, in and out at a steady pace. All you can do is take him over and over again until you feel your core start to bloom.

“Daddy.”

“Fuck, I know. Your tight little pussy is already squeezing me so hard,” he grips your ass harder, fingertips digging into your flesh. “Shit…I’m gonna cum inside of your cunt and make you round. Do you want this, huh? Daddy’s babies growing inside of your belly.”

“Daddy…I…please.”

Negan ruts into you, groaning and cursing as you try to keep the noises low. You moan and babble while rocking your hips with Negan. “Fuck, this cunt is the best I ever had. I knew it the moment I saw you at that barbecue last year.”

Your eyes round as he keeps on telling you how he sneaked into your room and stole your underwear to fuck himself using one of your panties.

“I-I wore them. I knew something must be wrong. They were wet,” you gasp with every deep thrust. “I wore your cum.”

“That you did,” he curses loudly. “You’re a good girl. Sadly, you got sick and I didn’t get the chance to fuck you on your bed, right next to your plushies.”

“Oh-fuck…daddy,” you gush all over his cock, clamping hard down on his twitching length. He groans and curses while fighting his orgasm. He waited too long to cum so fast. “Please cum in me.”

“Shit…princess, yes,” he jerks his hips into your ass, cursing your name as he empties himself inside of you. “Daddy will fuck you for longer later.”

“Promised?” you coo as you grind against his softening cock. “Please?”

“All for my perfect little princess,” he leans over your body to kiss your hair. “Daddy wants you to be only his. He’ll take good care of you from now on…”

Tags in reblog.

[hyukalyptus]

𝖍𝖕'𝖘 𝖒𝖆𝖎𝖓 𝖒𝖆𝖘𝖙𝖊𝖗𝖑𝖎𝖘𝖙

ᴡᴇʟᴄᴏᴍᴇ ᴛᴏ ᴍʏ ᴍᴀɪɴ ᴍᴀsᴛᴇʀʟɪsᴛ! > each member has their own masterlist. select a member below.

𝑻𝑶𝑴𝑶𝑹𝑹𝑶𝑾 𝑿 𝑻𝑶𝑮𝑬𝑻𝑯𝑬𝑹 (𝑶𝑻5)

ʜᴀɪʀʏ ᴘᴜssʏ ʜᴇᴀᴅᴄᴀɴᴏɴs - 𝕙𝕡'𝕤 𝕡𝕚𝕔𝕜! reader has a vagina with pubic hair and they absolutely love it. ── .✦ smut, wc: ~800

⟢ 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐎𝐓𝟓 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊𝐒 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄!

𝑪𝑯𝑶𝑰 𝒀𝑬𝑶𝑵𝑱𝑼𝑵

ᴛʜᴇ ᴡɪʟʟᴏᴡ ᴛʀᴇᴇ - 𝕙𝕡'𝕤 𝕡𝕚𝕔𝕜! when prince yeonjun gets a new servant, mira, an old flame starts rekindling itself. ── .✦ smut, prince!yeonjun, chubby!mira (oc), wc: 26k

⟢ 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐘𝐄𝐎𝐍𝐉𝐔𝐍 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊𝐒 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄!

𝑪𝑯𝑶𝑰 𝑺𝑶𝑶𝑩𝑰𝑵

ᴏғғɪᴄᴇ ʜᴏᴜʀs - 𝕙𝕡'𝕤 𝕡𝕚𝕔𝕜! professor!soobin and gradstudent!reader may have crushes on each other, but will they ever do anything about it? ── .✦ smut, chubby!reader, wc: 11.6K

⟢ 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐒𝐎𝐎𝐁𝐈𝐍 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊𝐒 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄!

𝑪𝑯𝑶𝑰 𝑩𝑬𝑶𝑴𝑮𝒀𝑼

ᴀɴʏᴛʜɪɴɢ ғᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜ - 𝕙𝕡'𝕤 𝕡𝕚𝕔𝕜! beomgyu's chubby girlfriend gets a surprise for him while he's away. ── .✦ smut, established relationship, chubby!reader, wc: 2.3K

⟢ 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐁𝐄𝐎𝐌𝐆𝐘𝐔 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊𝐒 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄!

𝑲𝑨𝑵𝑮 𝑻𝑨𝑬𝑯𝒀𝑼𝑵

ʜᴀᴘᴘʏ ʙɪʀᴛʜᴅᴀʏ - 𝕙𝕡'𝕤 𝕡𝕚𝕔𝕜! bestfriend!taehyun x virgin!reader, taehyun gives reader her first orgasm. ── .✦ smut, fem!reader, wc: 1.6K.

⟢ 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐓𝐀𝐄𝐇𝐘𝐔𝐍 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊𝐒 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄!

𝑯𝑼𝑬𝑵𝑰𝑵𝑮𝑲𝑨𝑰

ᴄᴏᴠᴇʀᴇᴅ ɪɴ ᴍᴇ - 𝕙𝕡'𝕤 𝕡𝕚𝕔𝕜! i want people to look at you and know you’re mine—that you’re so mine, they don’t stand a chance with you. ── .✦ smut, sub!hyuka, domme!reader, marking, wc: 4.3k

⟢ 𝐑𝐄𝐀𝐃 𝐀𝐋𝐋 𝐇𝐘𝐔𝐊𝐀 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐊𝐒 𝐇𝐄𝐑𝐄!

[chimcess]

Bittersweet || myg (2)

Pairing: Yoongi x ReaderOther Tags: Grad Student!Yoongi, Undergrad!Reader, Grad Student!Hoseok, Uncle!Namjoon, Doctor!Namjoon, Grad Student!Jimin, Fuckboy!Jungkook, GradStudent!Jungkook, Boss!Seokjin, Yoongi POV Genre: College!AU, Strangers to Lovers, Enemies to Lovers, kinda Student/Teacher but not really, Older!Yoongi, Fluff, Angst, Eventual Smut Word Count: 19.9k+ Summary: When a cynical graduate student meets an overly enthusiastic undergraduate, the air crackles with tension—though not all of it is good. Warnings: Mean!Yoongi, bitter grad student to the max, strong language, Jimin is still a snitch, possible wrong science information (i'm sorry i'm not perfect), sexual tension, Yoongi pining and being in love for almost 20k words, kissing at work, almost caught, graphic s*x scenes, non-descriptive smut as well, Jealous!Yoongi, i'm sorry but this JK is kind of a slime ball, Reader knows what she's doing, they're adorable, lots of bickering, drunk Yoon, drunk texting, they're both the biggest dorks on the planet, reader sleep talks, multiple sex scenes, oral (m&f receiveing), vaginal fingering, vaginal sex, handjobs, all things considered these two are very vanilla, some dirty talk, reader mostly takes charge, public sex, sex at work, shower sex, again they're still dorks even when they're in bed, let me know if I missed anything... A/N: Here's the second (and final) installment of this little two-shot. Thanks for reading!

Prev

I decided not to make a fuss about the stupid recruitment party. It was just a way for them to shove fresh-faced recruits down our throats, anyway. Instead of hitching a ride with Hoseok and Serena, I opted to walk alone, letting the cool night air wash over me. The campus felt both familiar and alien in the twilight, the shadows stretching long and eerie across the cracked pavement. Walking had always been my way of clearing my head, but tonight it felt like a futile exercise.

As soon as I stepped inside the venue, the noise slammed into me—laughter, chatter, and the clinking of glasses mingling into a chaotic symphony of youthful energy. I scanned the room, and when my eyes landed on her, I couldn’t help but groan. Y/N was there, and she was wearing those jeans—God, they looked painted on, hugging her curves in a way that sent my pulse racing. Her legs stretched endlessly, accentuated by those unforgiving black heels that screamed danger. My throat tightened with the realization: she was wearing fuck-me heels.

Fuck me indeed…

I shook my head, forcing myself to look away, as if her mere presence was some twisted magnet pulling me closer. I made my way to the bar at the back, seeking refuge against the wall while I nursed a drink, pretending to be absorbed in the chaos around me. But it didn’t take long before my eyes betrayed me, drawn back to her like a moth to a flame. She was laughing with a group of kids—probably this year’s recruits—her smile radiant and infectious.

Then, like a bad omen, Jungkook sauntered in, drink in hand, striding over to her with that cocky grin of his.

“Yoongi’s here! Let the party begin!” Serena’s voice cut through my thoughts, grating like nails on a chalkboard. I grimaced.

“What took you so long? Had trouble matching that sweater?” Hoseok appeared behind her, donning a tie that screamed ‘pretentious.’

I shot Serena a look, raising an eyebrow, and she responded with a smirk, clearly reveling in my discomfort.

“Yeah… not all of us have the privilege of being dressed by our girlfriends,” I muttered, bitterness creeping into my tone.

“Come on… I kid, I kid,” Hoseok laughed, draping an arm over my shoulder.

“I’ll leave you two to your bromance,” Serena rolled her eyes, tossing her hair back. “I better go suck up to my P.I.”

“How are you?” Hoseok’s tone shifted, sensing the dark cloud hanging over me.

“I’m peachy,” I replied, sarcasm dripping from my voice.

“I see…” He glanced in Y/N’s direction. “Oh… I see.”

“Yeah, well, Jungkook’s trying to get her drunk,” I hissed through clenched teeth, watching as he leaned in closer.

“Right. Jeon’s all over your zygote’s business,” he replied, a knowing smirk on his lips.

I groaned into my beer, bitterness churning in my stomach.

“C’mon! More drinking, less brooding!” He smacked my back playfully, but it only deepened the pit of resentment growing inside me.

An hour later, I was still a wallflower, slouched against my corner, shamelessly staring at Y/N as she flitted around the room. Jungkook kept swooping in like a hawk, but she brushed him off, her laughter echoing like a melody in the air. That was a relief, at least. Yet, reality settled in like a thick fog: she hadn’t even noticed me yet.

Then, our eyes locked. Time seemed to freeze, and I swear I involuntarily smiled. She walked toward me, a small grin dancing on her lips, and I was struck by how her hair flowed over her shoulders, the softness of it almost intoxicating. “Is that a new sweater?” she asked, her voice sweet and melodic.

“Are you making fun of me?” I shot back lightly.

“No…” she chuckled, her eyes sparkling. “You look good.”

“You look good too,” I replied, the words feeling flat against the brilliance of her presence. Well, that was an understatement—she looked stunning.

“You shouldn’t be drinking,” I said, gesturing to the beer in her hand, feeling an unexpected rush of protectiveness.

“Why not?” She brought the bottle to her mouth, her lips wrapping around it like an invitation.

Focus, Min!

“Are you twenty-one yet?” I blurted out, curiosity getting the better of me.

“Are you the party police?”

“Very funny,” I deadpanned, annoyance creeping in as I waited for her answer.

“If you must know, I am twenty-one already, thank you very much.”

“You are?” I was genuinely surprised. She didn’t seem old enough to be a senior, not with that wide-eyed enthusiasm.

“Yep, I missed a year in junior high. No biggie.” She shrugged, casual as ever.

“Oh…” The admission surprised me, stirring questions in my mind. What could have caused someone as smart and driven as her to miss a year?

My distraction drifted away as my gaze returned to her shoulders, delicate freckles dusting her skin, catching the fading light.

“Oh! I haven’t met that one!” Y/N quipped, spotting another recruit. “Be right back.”

I was entranced, eyes glued to her as she walked away, her hips swaying like a pendulum, counting down the moments until she returned. I was royally screwed. Somewhere along the way, I’d transformed from oblivious to hyper-aware, every single action of hers magnified under the microscope of my attention. How could I go back to not seeing her when each new thing I noticed sent heat flooding through me?

Y/N returned, all smiles, clutching another beer bottle that she’d snatched from Jungkook. “Why are you so angry?” she asked, leaning against the wall next to me.

“Y/N, I’m not angry. I’m having fun.” I tried to sound calm, but my voice cracked like thin ice.

“This is you having fun?” she countered, gesturing to my slumped posture with her beer.

“Yes,” I insisted, though my gaze lingered on the constellation of freckles scattered across her nose.

“Standing in the corner, looking at everyone like you’re a bodyguard, or an undercover cop—that’s you having fun?”

“Yes.” I shrugged, clinging to some semblance of composure.

“You’re angry.” She tilted her head, her eyes narrowing in playful challenge.

“I’m not angry!” But deep down, the heat was rising inside me.

She laughed, the sound bubbling up like a mountain spring. “You’re frowning.”

“Because you’re driving me insane!” I inhaled deeply, trying to relax, but she was intoxicating.

“Why?” She stepped closer, her presence an electric charge in the air.

“Because you’re too happy.” And adorable…

“What’s wrong with being happy?” she retorted, her hand perched on her hip, radiating defiance.

My eyes drifted back to her, tracing the curve of her hip accentuated by those devilish pants. I closed my eyes, taking another deep breath to steady myself. “It’s extremely annoying.”

“Well, I’m sorry.” Her smile morphed into a giggle, and I groaned, feeling the weight of my frustration. “Do I really annoy you so much?”

She peered at me, eyebrows knitting together, a small frown blossoming on her face. I resisted the urge to look at her lips, afraid that if I did, I might just pull her in and kiss her right there.

“Yes,” I groaned, hoping my eyes conveyed that my answer was really “no.”

She held my gaze, and it felt like we were suspended in time, the world around us fading into insignificance. My fingers tightened around the neck of my beer bottle, anxiety coiling in my stomach. With a sigh, she shook her head and walked away again, leaving me alone with my turbulent thoughts.

Honestly, Y/N’s unyielding happiness, her enthusiasm, and all that radiance—it wasn’t annoying at all. It was refreshing, endearing, and it inspired me in ways I hadn’t felt in years. I couldn’t help but remember the excitement I once felt about starting this journey, how my heart raced at the thought of diving into research. What had changed? What did success even mean if there was no one to share it with?

So yes, Y/N’s happiness was far from annoying.

What was truly infuriating was that she made it impossible for me to keep my hands to myself.

“Jungkook offered to walk me home,” Y/N said, her voice slicing through the murmur of the crowd like a knife. I kept my gaze fixed on the throng, avoiding her bright eyes, filled with something I couldn’t quite decipher. “But I don’t know if that’s such a good idea.”

When I finally turned to look at her, a smile tugged at her lips, a spark of mischief lighting her features. “I think you might be right about him—he is kind of a tool.”

A snort escaped me, the tension in my chest easing just a fraction. “Plus I don’t trust him.”

“I don’t trust him either, Y/N,” I admitted, feeling the weight of my own words. It was the only reason I was here, shadowing her like a ghost.

“Can I lie and tell him you’re walking me home instead?”

Her gaze catches mine, and I’m momentarily swept away in the depths of her beautiful eyes, glowing softly under the dim lights, as if they’re hiding secrets just waiting to be uncovered. 

“You don’t have to lie, Y/N. I’ll walk you home myself,” I say, my voice dripping with sincerity I didn’t know I had. She looks down, tucking a loose strand of hair behind her ear, an unintentional cue for me to look away.

When she finally says she’s ready to leave, we exchange goodbyes, and she pauses at the door, rummaging through her bag. I can’t help but smile when she pulls out a pair of black Chucks. As she grips my arm to slide off her high heels, I catch a flicker of discomfort flash across her face.

“Are you okay?” I ask, concern bubbling up.

“Yeah, my feet are killing me,” she replies, a hint of laughter in her voice.

“I could go get my car.”

“Nonsense. It’s just ten minutes away,” she insists, slipping her shoes back on, and we begin our trek.

As we walk toward her building, she animatedly recounts stories about prospective students, her voice weaving a vibrant tapestry that pulls us closer together. It’s no wonder she’s so well-liked; anyone would be a fool not to adore her. 

“Can you hold these?” she asks, passing me her heels as we reach her building. A twinge of envy strikes me at the sight of those dainty straps that had just hugged her ankles.

She digs through her purse, clearly on a mission. 

“Shit…” Frustration laces her voice. “Shit, shit, shit, shit!”

“What’s wrong?”

“I don’t have my keys… I must have left them inside, in my other bag.”

“Oh…” I glance at the time. It’s past two in the morning. 

Should I offer her a place to stay? That’s what any decent person would do, right? But what if… what if I couldn’t keep my hands to myself?

“I’m so stupid!” she exclaims, smacking her forehead with the heel of her hand.

“Hey, relax… um… I have a bed. I mean, a couch.” 

She looks up at me, skepticism dancing across her features.

“Really, it’s no problem.” I shrug, trying to keep my tone casual, as if it’s just a simple offer rather than an opportunity for something more.

Her expression remains doubtful.

“That’s what graduate student mentors are for, right?”

A small grin appears on her lips, and I can’t help but smile back. If all else fails, maybe I could find a way to make her smile like that—nothing would make me happier.

“Are you sure?”

“Yeah… it’s not like it’d be awkward or anything,” I tease, and her laughter lifts the tension in the air.

It takes us about twenty minutes to reach my apartment. Y/N talks a mile a minute, and I barely manage to squeeze a word in, but I don’t mind; her voice wraps around me like a warm blanket on a chilly night.

As we climb the steps of my building, I notice her wince again, gripping the railing for support.

“Y/N, are you okay?” Worry creeps in; she looks genuinely pained.

She takes a deep breath, forcing a smile that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “I’m fine.”

“Y/N, please, just tell me what’s wrong.” I reach for her hand, desperate to ease whatever discomfort she’s feeling.

“Can we just go inside?” She clutches my hand tighter. “I’ll tell you, I promise.”

I help her inside and guide her to the couch. She collapses onto it with a shaky breath, extending her legs and rubbing her thighs—a gesture that sends a pang of concern through me.

“It’s not a big deal,” she begins, trying to sound lighthearted. “Sometimes I get pain in my legs from an old injury.”

“Oh… can I get you something for it?”

“Just water is fine.” She digs through her bag and pulls out a bottle of ibuprofen, shaking it at me with a smile.

As I rush to the kitchen, unease coils in my stomach. She had been walking the whole time, and I hadn’t even noticed she was in pain. I pour two glasses of water, my hands trembling slightly as I hand one to her and settle down beside her.

“You should’ve told me you were hurting, Y/N. I would have gotten the car.”

“I’m all right.” She gives me a soft smile, glancing around my sparsely decorated apartment. “Your place is nice.”

Nice? It’s barren—like a forgotten room in an old house where laughter used to echo. I turn the glass of water in my hands, my mind racing. “Y/N, can I ask you something?”

She meets my gaze as I take a sip. “If you’re wondering if I’m a virgin, the answer is no.”

I choke on the water, caught off guard by her sudden candor. “Jesus Christ, woman, how drunk are you?”

“I’m not drunk at all. I’m just messing with you. What were you going to ask?”

I look at her, heat rising in my cheeks as the tension coils between us. “I was just curious about how you got injured,” I admit, my thoughts drifting to the whirlwind of emotions churning inside me.

“Oh, well… My mom and I were in a car accident. I broke my hip and both my legs.” She says it so casually, as if she’s recounting a minor scrape.

“What?”

“Yeah… it was okay, though. After rehab, I was as good as new!” She beams, her enthusiasm a stark contrast to the weight of her words.

“How long was rehab?”

“Long enough.” 

I remember something she mentioned earlier. “Long enough to make you miss a year in school?”

She responds with a grin and a nonchalant shrug. “Shit, Y/N. That sucks. I’m really sorry.”

“It’s all right. I’m actually glad it happened.” Her gaze drifts down to her legs, fingers tracing an invisible path over her thighs. “It brought my parents back together, just as they were meant to be.”

Her eyes return to mine, and the intensity of her words fills the air. “My parents got divorced when I was little, and my mom and I moved to Florida. But after the accident, my dad came to help, and they just… clicked, I guess. They’ve been together ever since.” She smiles proudly, and I sit there, stunned.

A strand of hair falls across her face, and I can’t resist the urge to tuck it behind her ear—an excuse to bridge the distance between us. With every detail she shares, I feel myself drawn closer, tangled in her life, as if I’m getting lost in her depths.

“Okay…” I set my glass down on the coffee table, the clink echoing like a heartbeat in the stillness. “I think you deserve the bed. I’ll take the couch.”

“Why?”

“Because I just made you walk—”

“It’s not your fault. I locked myself out.”

“Y/N, please…”

“Okay, okay… don’t get all grumpy on me.” She stands, and I hover over her, uncertain how to help, torn between the urge to support her and the instinct to maintain some distance.

“Hey, stop it.” She steadies herself with a hand on my arm. “I’m fine. I shouldn’t have said anything.”

I lead her to my bedroom, showing her where the bathroom is. I offer her some of my clothes to change into, but she declines, insisting it wouldn’t be the first time she slept in jeans.

She sits on the bed, and just as I’m about to leave, she calls out, “Yoongi?”

I turn, and she gestures for me to sit beside her, lying back on the comforter, vulnerability etched into her features.

I swallow hard as I lower myself next to her, the proximity amplifying the tension crackling in the air.

“I’m glad you don’t hate me anymore.”

I stare awkwardly at her, afraid to move and wake her up. Leaning back against the headboard, I let the silence linger, my mind racing with all the things I want to say. I want to know her—really know her—not just as the emotionally unavailable guy I’ve been until now.

Hoseok was right—I've got it bad for Y/N Y/L/N.

I think I preferred it when Y/N was just a blurry thought in my mind, hidden behind a blindfold I’d created to shield my heart. Back then, I didn’t have to wrestle with the urge to kiss her or feel the tempting softness of her hair against my fingers. But now, the blindfold has slipped away, and so has my common sense. Here I am, a hopeless observer, lurking in the shadows as she sleeps, feeling like a total creep.

Her face is peaceful, like a canvas painted with serenity, only occasionally disturbed by the flutter of her lashes. Her lips form a perfect little "o," and the way her bangs fall delicately over her forehead sends my heart racing. I long to reach out, to push them aside, to bury my hands in her hair like I did before. Slowly, I lift my hand, inching it closer to her face, drawn to her like a moth to a flame.

“Jack!” Y/N suddenly cries out, her voice slicing through the silence like glass. My heart jumps. “There’s a boat, Jack!” The frown that creases her brow twists her serene expression into something frantic, as if she’s caught in a storm of dreams.

What is happening? Is she having a nightmare? Who’s Jack? 

Just as quickly, her face smooths over again, tranquility restored as if the storm has passed, leaving only a gentle breeze behind.

Isn’t it just my luck? Y/N talks in her sleep, and apparently, she’s got a soft spot for someone named Jack—maybe a sailor too. 

I could rent a boat. We could go sailing if she wanted. Maybe I could learn to sail. If Jack can do it, how hard could it be? Does she even like sailing? I’ll ask her tomorrow.

What am I even thinking? No, I’m not going to ask her tomorrow, because we aren’t going sailing. She can go with Jack for all I care.

I groan, burying my face in my hands, frustration and disbelief washing over me. I’ve seriously lost it. This is ridiculous.

“Fucking Jess ate my Chobani again,” Y/N mutters, jolting me from my thoughts. Jess? Who the hell is that? And what even is a Chobani?

I should go. I shouldn’t be here, lurking in the shadows, eavesdropping on this craziness.

“Jonah Rodgers thinks I’m sexy…” 

For the love of God! Is she trying to drive me mad?

Jonah Rodgers? The name sounds familiar. Do I know him? Is he that jerk who used to stalk her? 

The stalker. Damn it. If I were still T.A.-ing, I’d fail him for disrespecting Y/N in this way.

I can’t take this anymore. If she mentions another guy, I swear I’m going to lose it. I sit at the edge of the bed, ready to leave, but before I can move, Y/N speaks again.

“Does Yoongi think I’m sexy?” 

I do, I do, I do…

“Hmm… my Grumpy.” 

Her soft moan sends a jolt of electricity coursing through me, and I’m utterly unprepared—shredded, breathless, completely undone. 

Does she mean me? She called me Grumpy once, right? Said I was the only Grumpy she knew. Am I her Grumpy?

Shit, shit, shit!

I slump back against the headboard, the realization both thrilling and terrifying. 

Is Y/N dreaming about me? Is it wrong that this feels so right? That my heart is swelling with excitement at the thought of being part of her dreams?

I turn to look at her again. She’s frowning now, exaggerated and cute, her lips pouting in a way that tugs at my heart.

“Do not touch my samples, Becca!” Her voice is low and raspy. “Don’t be so happy, Becca!” And then she smiles, as if a hidden joke just crossed her mind. “Run, Becca! Run!” 

Oh, she’s definitely dreaming about me, just not in the way I had hoped.

She’s making fun of me—in her dreams.

Wonderful.

I groan, letting my head thud back against the headboard, staring up at the ceiling as disappointment settles over me like a heavy shroud. I shouldn’t be wishing for Y/N to dream about me; it would only complicate things. We can’t be together; this will never work.

In a year, I’ll graduate, and then it’ll be New York City, and Estelle all over again. Estelle and I had been together for four years when we graduated from Cornell. She wanted me to get a “real” job, to move with her to New York. She wanted me to abandon the chance for grad school at UW, to work at one of the top cancer research centers in the country. She made me choose, and I chose research.

And you know what? I have no regrets. Even though she didn’t know everything about my parents, she knew it mattered to me—she shouldn’t have made me choose. So when she said, “If you leave, we’re done,” I left. I figured I was better off alone, or as she put it, “end up alone and rot in lab hell.” It didn’t seem like such a sacrifice then—my relationship with Estelle was mediocre at best.

So, I dove headfirst into grad school and landed in one of the best labs in the program. I didn’t let any woman get in my way. I was focused, determined—until I woke up four years later, an angry, bitter shell of a man, nursing my bruised pride.

What a wake-up call that was! Suddenly, I started noticing everything—the things I fought so hard to ignore. I had worn blinders for so long, and I missed so much.

Honestly, I never expected to feel so unfulfilled.

Isn’t this what I wanted when I chose to leave Estelle? What am I missing? Why am I not enjoying my work anymore?

I glance at Y/N again. Her expression is peaceful once more, an angelic mask that makes me ache with longing. I can see myself falling for her easily—if I’m lucky, she might fall for me too. But then what? 

Then I’ll have to choose: my work, my life, what I owe to my parents, over her. She’ll make me choose, and I’ll choose science—cancer research—and it will shatter us both. This time, it would be the greatest sacrifice I’d ever have to make. And honestly, I’m not even sure I’d be strong enough to make that decision. If Y/N were to love me back, how could I hurt her like that?

I sigh, dragging a hand down my face, the weight of my thoughts pressing heavily on my chest.

Y/N is smiling now, giggling softly, her laughter a haunting melody in the quiet room. How someone can giggle in her sleep is beyond me. After a while, she calms, her breathing slowing even more. With a sigh, I close my eyes and wait, holding my breath for what she might say next.

I wake with a start, my neck and back screaming in protest from the unforgiving embrace of the headboard. I must’ve slept in the same awkward position all night, unmoving. Stretching my arms, I blink against the morning light, squinting at my watch. Seven o’clock. The realization hits me like a punch to the gut—Y/N is gone.

Rubbing my sore neck, I drag myself out of bed and around the apartment, searching for any sign of her. Her bag and heels are missing. An uneasy feeling churns in my stomach as I plod back to the bed, my mind racing with questions about where she could have gone so early. That’s when I notice the slip of paper on the nightstand.

Morning, Grumpy!   I had to leave to get my keys from the landlord.   Thanks for letting me crash last night.   Sorry for your sore neck.   Y/N. :)

I face-plant onto the bed with a groan, trying to drown out the hollow emptiness she left behind. Her scent lingers on the pillows, sweet and intoxicating, wrapping around me like a vise. I inhale deeply, the fragrance filling my lungs, but instead of comfort, it brings a gnawing ache. Grumpy... I’m her Grumpy. The thought claws at me, relentless and unyielding.

Monday drags in like a slow, inevitable doom. I sit silently in the lunchroom with Hoseok, who prattles on about the success of the recruitment party. His voice is background noise, barely penetrating my thoughts. Thankfully, he hasn’t asked about Y/N yet.

“So, is Yoonji coming this weekend?” he asks, mid-chew of his sandwich.

“Yes. Friday,” I mutter, my mind elsewhere.

“Awesome! Oh man…” He swallows, excitement clear in his voice. “I can’t wait for next week! Spring Break: no undergrads, the gyms and bars all to ourselves!”

“Is it Spring Break next week?” My voice cracks, surprise jolting me back to reality. I had completely forgotten.

“Yeah!”

Great. My stomach twists with dread. Is Y/N leaving for Spring Break? She probably is, isn’t she? The uneasy feeling intensifies, so I shove a forkful of macaroni into my mouth, trying to silence it.

“What’s up your ass?” Hoseok asks suddenly, narrowing his eyes at me.

I shake my head, dismissing him

. “Nothing.”

“Nothing? Seriously?” His disbelief is palpable. “You look like you just downed a bottle of aspirin. Come on, tell me what’s wrong.” 

His eyes are kind, but they only intensify the frustration bubbling beneath the surface. 

I stare down at my plate, willing the irritation to simmer down. He’s my best friend—he deserves to know. But how can I explain this mess? The whirlwind of emotions swirling inside me? 

“Y/N…” I finally murmur, the name tasting foreign on my tongue. 

“Y/N? The girl you were with at the party? What about her?”

“Uh…she crashed here last night. She left this morning to get her keys from the landlord.” I avoid his gaze, my cheeks warming at the admission.

“Dude, that’s awesome!” he grins, elbowing me lightly. “So, you guys are getting serious?”

I scoff, shaking my head. “I don’t know about that.”

Hoseok’s smile falters. “What do you mean? You like her, right?”

“Of course I do!” The admission bursts out before I can stop myself, surprising both of us. I take a deep breath, trying to calm the tide of emotions swelling within me. “But it can’t go anywhere. She’s leaving, Hoseok. She’s probably going to some fancy college or… some fancy job.”

“So? You guys can make it work! Do you want to make it work?”

“I don’t know! I don’t want to hurt her. I can’t…” I trail off, frustration bubbling back to the surface. “I can’t let myself get caught up in this. I’ve worked too hard for my future to throw it all away for her.”

“Wait, what? Throw it all away? You really think you can’t have both? That you can’t just have fun while also focusing on your studies?”

I’m silent, my insides twisting again, a potent mix of anger and sadness at the thought of losing Y/N. “It’s not that simple,” I finally reply.

“Why not? You just told me she crashed here last night! You can’t pretend this doesn’t matter! You can’t keep running from it forever, Yoongi!” His voice rises, frustration spilling over.

“Why are you getting so worked up over this?” I snap, staring at him with incredulity.

“Because I’m sick of seeing you sulk, man!” His hands fly up in exasperation. “You can’t keep pretending like this doesn’t matter! Just tell her how you feel, for fuck’s sake!”

I shake my head, the weight of his words crashing down around me, the walls closing in. I feel suffocated, cornered. “What if she’s not interested? What if I scare her away?”

“Then at least you’ll know! At least you’ll have closure, and you can move on!” 

His voice rings in my ears, echoing through the tangled web of my thoughts. I look down, realizing he’s right. 

I take a deep breath, steadiness creeping back in. “You’re right.” I want to scream. “You’re so right.” But the truth sits heavy on my chest. 

But what if I’m not strong enough to risk everything again? What if I lose her before I ever get to really have her? 

When I get back to the lab, my phone beeps with a new email.

From: Y/N Y/L/N, ynyln(at)u(.)washington(.)edu   Sent: Monday, March 21, 2024, 1:18 PM   To: Yoongi Min, ygmin(at)u(.)washington(.)edu

Hey Yoongi,

Is it okay if I miss lab on Tuesday and Wednesday? I have midterms this week before Spring Break, but I promise I’ll make up for the lost time afterward.

Y/N

She’s leaving.

The thought crashes over me like a tidal wave, pulling me under, swirling with anxiety and dread. She won’t even be here this week. The uncertainty gnaws at my insides, promising nothing but torture ahead.

From: Yoongi Min, ygmin(at)u(.)washington(.)edu   Sent: Monday, March 21, 2024, 1:20 PM   To: Y/N Y/L/N, ynyln(at)u(.)washington(.)edu

Fine.

Yoongi Min   PhD Candidate   Kim Lab   Fred Hutchinson Cancer Research Center   1100 Fairview Avenue North   Seattle, WA 98109-1024

It’s official: I fucking hate Spring Break.

As soon as I get home, desperation drives me to call Yoonji. I tell myself it’s to find out when Y/N will be back, but really, I need to spill everything—the kiss, the night Y/N slept in my bed, the haunting thought of her heading to Cabo for Spring Break.

“Yoongi, I just don’t understand,” Yoonji says, her voice cutting through the fog in my mind. I’m sprawled on the couch, head tilted back, an arm draped over my eyes like a shield against reality.

“To be honest, I think what you’re doing is stupid,” she continues, her frustration palpable. “You’re miserable. I can feel it. Why won’t you give yourself a chance to—”

“To what, Yoonji? You remember what happened with Estelle.”

“Please, Estelle was an unsupportive bitch.”

“I don’t even know Y/N that well!” I blurt out, my voice sharper than I intended. The fear of history repeating itself looms over me like a dark cloud.

“Y/N won’t make you choose, Yoongi.”

“You don’t know that.”

“You said she’s incredibly determined, that she loves research even more than you used to. That doesn’t sound like someone who would oppose you continuing on this path.”

“I don’t know, Yoonji.” I sigh, running my hands over my face, feeling the weight of her words settle heavily on my shoulders.

“Give yourself the opportunity to get to know her. Don’t deny yourself the chance to be with her just because you’re afraid to feel something.”

“I’m not afraid of feeling anything,” I snap, though the truth is, I’m drowning in emotions already. “But I’ll be done with the program in a year.”

“So what? A lot can happen in a year. You know that better than anyone.”

I groan, conceding. She’s right. She’s always right.

“You’re hurting. You care about her, Yoongi. Why do you have to be so blind?” Yoonji’s frustration seeps through the phone, and I can almost picture her pacing, running a hand through her hair.

“What do you suggest I do? Ask her out?” I retort, the idea weighing heavily on my mind. “She’s my undergrad! I don’t even know if she’s interested in me.”

“Didn’t you say she kissed you back?”

“Yes. But she also said she didn’t want to jeopardize her experience in the lab.”

“That means she’s smart. You shouldn’t let your feelings affect your work, especially if she’s under you. But that doesn’t mean you can’t have a relationship outside of lab.”

The thought of being with Y/N outside those sterile walls sends my heart racing. I lean back against the couch, releasing a shaky breath I didn’t know I was holding.

“Have you talked about it again? Have you told her how you feel?” Yoonji presses, her voice softening.

“No. I decided to pretend it never happened.”

“Geez, Yoongi. For such a smart guy, you can be so dense.” Her exasperated sigh echoes in my ears, and I remain silent, letting her words sink in. “You need to talk to her, tell her what’s going on. See what she wants. Tell her what you want.”

Staring at the ceiling, I weigh the possibility of confessing my feelings to Y/N. The prospect terrifies me, yet the urge to be honest gnaws at my insides.

“Yoongi, do you know what you want?” she asks gently.

“Yes. I want to go to sleep.” 

Her frustrated sigh tells me she senses I’m closing off again.

“Do you want to be with her?” she probes softly.

“I’ve never wanted anyone more.”

The truth spills out, raw and unfiltered. Her squeal of excitement on the other end makes me rub my hands on my thighs, trying to contain my nerves.

“Then do yourself a favor and talk to her. I’d bet good money she’s already crazy about you.” Her enthusiasm is contagious, and I find myself considering it more seriously.

We end the call, but sleep eludes me. Images of Y/N in a bikini invade my mind, and there’s no chance of me sleeping tonight.

When I step back into the lab on Thursday after lunch, I’m completely unprepared for the sight of Y/N. She’s there, smiling, and it catches me off guard, my heart racing like it’s just run a marathon. I thought she’d be gone by now, off to live her Spring Break fantasies. My mind has been a battlefield all week, flooded with images of her carefree adventures. Googling “Spring Break activities” had been a catastrophic mistake.

She’s not in her usual lab coat today; instead, she’s wearing a fitted sweater that hugs her figure just right, the V-neck revealing a tantalizing hint of her collarbones. The dark fabric contrasts beautifully with her pale skin, and my imagination betrays me, picturing that skin in a bikini. All I can see is red.

Thankfully, Jimin is nowhere in sight.

“I thought you had better things to do this week,” I say, my voice sharper than I intended as I walk past her, heading toward my desk.

“What do you mean?” Her smile vanishes, replaced by confusion.

“I didn’t know you were coming today. I don’t have time for this.” I wave my hand dismissively, trying to suppress the storm brewing inside me.

“For what? I—I don’t understand.”

These lies spill from my mouth uncontrollably. “Honestly, Y/N, sometimes I think you’re just here for the credits. This isn’t how science works. You need to be consistent.” My voice rises, and I see her flinch.

“Why are you yelling at me? Is this because I missed two days? I’m sorry, Yoongi. I had to study. I promise I’ll make up for it.”

I rub my forehead, frustration clawing at my insides. I know this isn’t her fault, but the anger bubbles over. “Have fun on Spring Break,” I grit out as I storm past her, my heart pounding in my chest.

“Yoongi?” she calls after me, but I keep walking, desperate for fresh air. The cool spring breeze feels like a lifeline, and I gulp it in, trying to calm the chaos inside me. I can’t keep doing this. This is madness.

I don’t get far before I hear Y/N’s voice again, breathless and firm. “Yoongi, what’s the matter with you?” I hadn’t realized she’d followed me. I turn around, and there she is—confused, hurt, and heartbreakingly beautiful.

There’s no point in pretending anymore. I can’t keep up the facade. “I don’t think you really want to know, Y/N.” I run a hand down my face, trying to keep my composure.

She crosses her arms, waiting, an expectant look in her eyes.

“I fucking hate Spring Break, okay? I hate the thought of you parading around with some frat losers, being young, drunk, and reckless. I hate it. I hate all of it.”

Her expression shifts from confusion to understanding, and she relaxes, placing her hands on her hips. A corner of her mouth quirks up. “What are you talking about?”

Is she seriously smirking?

“I’m talking about you going to Cabo San Lucas for Spring Break.”

“Who said I was going to Cabo?” Now she’s fully smiling.

“I don’t know, I just assumed… aren’t you all?” I mumble, embarrassed.

“You have some serious misconceptions about undergrads, Yoongi. We’re not all the same. And that’s not me at all.”

“So you’re not going away for Spring Break?” I ask, still staring at my feet, not wanting to look her in the eye.

“No, I’m not. I was actually looking forward to spending more time in the lab, making up for this week.”

Relief floods through me, but it’s tangled with a crushing sense of shame. “You’re not going away? You’re staying here?” My voice is barely a whisper.

“Yes. That’s what I said.”

I stagger back, feeling like an idiot. I can’t believe I snapped at her like that. As my anger fades, embarrassment rushes in, making my knees feel weak. I might seriously pass out.

“Yoongi? Are you all right?”

I let out a humorless laugh. No, I’m not all right. This is too much.

She steps closer, and I know I won’t be able to resist kissing her if she comes any nearer. I lift my hand in warning and take another step back.

“Yoongi?” Ignoring my gesture, she moves closer and stands right in front of me.

I close my eyes, the truth spilling out uncontrollably. “All I could think about was some punk with his shirt off, a baseball cap on backward, shoving beer down your throat... and it made me want to murder someone.” My hand clutches my chest, heart racing.

She giggles—at my agony? My eyes snap open, and her smile fades under my intense stare. “These past few days have been torture,” I continue. “I can’t get you out of my mind. All I can think about is you—your lips on mine, your legs around my waist. You drive me insane, Y/N. I can’t think straight.”

Y/N’s eyes shine with emotion, and she closes the distance between us, resting her head against my chest. My hand instinctively finds its way to the back of her head, fingers tangling in her hair. She pulls away slightly, and I lift her chin with two fingers, forcing her to meet my gaze. Her eyes glisten, her bottom lip caught between her teeth, cheeks flushed a delicate pink.

When our lips touch, the electric current between us is undeniable. I close my eyes, exhaling through my nose, and cup her face, my thumb brushing her ear, fingers caressing her neck. Y/N grips my shirt, pulling herself closer. When my tongue slips into her mouth, a moan escapes me at the sweetness of her taste.

I can’t stay away from her anymore. I’m not strong enough.

Y/N wraps a hand around my neck, pulling me even closer. My hand travels down her back, wrapping tightly around her waist. I know she can feel my arousal pressing against her, but I don’t care. When she whimpers against my mouth, I know she feels the same.

Is it possible she’s been yearning for this as much as I have? 

Tell her what you want, Min.

“Y/N, wait.” I gently push her back, keeping one hand on her face. She stumbles slightly, holding onto my arm, looking dazed. “I don’t want this to be another kiss you regret. I don’t want you to be swept away by the moment. I want… I want more.”

She gapes at me, panting.

“I’m sorry I’m being so blunt, but I can’t hide this anymore.” I drop my hands to my sides and step back.

“What are you trying to say, Yoongi?” Her confusion is evident.

“What I’m trying to say is that I want to see you tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow? I-I think I can come in the afternoon between classes.”

“Jesus Christ, Y/N! Would you listen to me? I don’t need you to come to the lab. I want to see you outside of the lab.”

I pinch my nose, trying to calm down, afraid my intensity will scare her away.

“Oh…”

“My cousin is coming to visit. We’re all going out for drinks. Do you want to come with me?”

She looks at me, and then she nods. “Okay.”

Okay… she said yes. Oh my god, she said yes.

I take a deep breath. “I’m sorry I snapped at you like that.”

“I know,” she replies, giving me a small grin that weakens my knees. My hand reaches for her face again, addicted to the softness of her skin as I brush her hair behind her ear and stroke her cheek. She stares into my eyes, cheeks burning, and I’m debating whether to kiss her again when I see Jin’s car pull into the parking lot, and I drop my hand immediately.

Shit…

Y/N glances back and sees Jin getting out of his car.

“I should go study, then…” She looks back at me, and I nod, feeling a mix of regret and anticipation. “I’ll catch you later. Call me about tomorrow.” She brushes a timid finger down my arm before turning to leave.

I stay outside for a few more minutes, gathering my thoughts and waiting for my heart to calm down. 

I did it. I asked Y/N out... sort of.

Now what?

Yoonji had turned into a shadow in my apartment, trailing me as I prepared for what felt like the most important night of my life. “Have you been using that stubble trimmer I got you?” she asked, her fingers grazing my jaw as if she were assessing a work of art. 

I nodded, feeling uneasy under her watchful gaze. Deep down, I was already regretting the group date we had planned. The thought of going out with Y/N sent my heart racing; adding my cousin and a few friends into the mix felt like a cosmic joke, and I was definitely the punchline. 

As I rifled through my chaotic closet, I tried to tune her out, running my fingers through my damp hair in a futile attempt to calm my nerves. 

“I think I’ve died and gone to heaven.” Leave it to Yoonji to treat every moment like a Broadway performance. I shot her a glare, barely suppressing my frustration as I swept past her in search of my jacket. 

“You’re wearing a polo shirt?” she challenged, disbelief lacing her tone. 

“What’s wrong with a polo shirt?” I snapped, slapping my hands against my thighs in exasperation. The anxiety gnawed at me, and her judgment only fueled the fire. 

Yoonji stepped closer, her expression softening. “Yoongi, my oblivious cousin, there’s absolutely nothing wrong with that polo shirt. As long as it doesn’t have holes in it.” 

Relief washed over me like a tide, momentarily pushing my worries aside. I had never cared much for her opinion on my wardrobe; that had never mattered before. But tonight? It wasn’t Yoonji’s approval I craved—it was Y/N’s. I wanted to be more than the cynical grad student she saw in class.

“You look great,” Yoonji said, her smile coaxing a small, reluctant grin from me in return. “If just thinking about her has you acting like this nervous mess, I already know I’m going to love her.”

Yoonji had made it clear she’d ride with Hoseok and Serena so I could pick up Y/N alone. Now, I found myself parked outside her building, panic clawing at my insides. My palms felt clammy as I smoothed them over my thighs, my heart thumping violently against my ribs, and my mouth was desert-dry. It had been ages since I’d done anything like this. Estelle and I had never ventured out much together; I had buried myself in my studies while she lived her own life, leaving me utterly out of practice.

Despite the storm of anxiety raging within me, excitement bubbled up as I thought of Yoonji, Hoseok, and even Serena meeting Y/N. They needed to see how extraordinary she was—smart, caring, and hilariously funny. What thrilled me most was the prospect of spending time with Y/N outside the sterile confines of our lab, engaging with her as something more than just colleagues.

I banged my head against the steering wheel a few times, trying to settle my frayed nerves. My heart leaped when a knock on the window broke through my spiraling thoughts. There she was—Y/N, standing outside with that bright smile and a wave. I quickly unlocked the door, feeling like an utter fool. 

“Hey…” she said as she slid into the car. 

“I’m sorry. I was going to get you. Just… got distracted,” I admitted, feeling like an idiot for letting her down.

“It’s okay.” She shrugged. “Better this way anyway. I didn’t want Jess to see us.”

“Jess?” The name floated through my mind, familiar yet vague—wasn’t she the one from Y/N’s sleep ramblings? The one with the boat?

“Jessica, my roommate,” she explained. “She was in your class last year, and she knows I’m working in your lab… so I don’t want any rumors spreading, you know?”

“My class?” I felt disbelief surge within me. How could this be?

“Intro to Micro. Last Fall. You were our T.A.,” she said matter-of-factly.

“What?” 

“We were both in your class,” she added, unfazed by my shock.

“I was your T.A. last year?”

“Yes.” 

“Are you sure it was me?” I grasped at straws. How could I have overlooked her?

She turned toward me, eyebrow raised in that cute way she had. “Oh, I’m sure.” 

“I’m so sorry,” I blurted out. How could I have forgotten her? 

“It’s okay. You keep to yourself. I get it.” 

“Do we know each other from anywhere else?” My worry twisted into a knot. Had I brushed past her countless times, completely blind to her presence? 

So much time wasted. How incredibly foolish of me.

“Just that class in the fall. Unless you count all the times I waved at you at the gym or smiled at you every Saturday as you passed by my table at the library after getting your coffee.” 

She had been right there all along, and I had missed her completely.

“Shit, Y/N. I’m so sorry. I’ve been such an idiot!” I pounded the heel of my hand against my forehead a few times, embarrassment crashing over me.

“Hey, it’s okay.” Y/N reached for my hand, gently pulling it away from my face.

“No, it’s not. I was completely blind… and I feel like I’ve wasted so much time.” 

“Well, I’m here now…” She smiled, releasing my hand.

“You are.” 

“And you can see me now, right?” 

“You’re all I see now…” The truth swelled in my chest, echoing through me. Y/N was all that mattered, the only one who could unravel this tangled mess of a heart I had. 

“You see?” she said, clasping her hands over her lap. “When you say stuff like that, it makes it really hard to believe you can be such a grump.” She smiled, a shy yet bold thing, and my instinct was to lean in and kiss her, but I tamped down my urge for the sake of the group date.

“Well, no need to worry. I’m still very much a grump.” I offered a wry smile, taking a deep breath. “Shall we do this?” 

Y/N nodded, and I started the car. 

I didn’t mind being a grump, as long as I could be her grump.

When we pulled up to the bar, I rushed to open Y/N's door, but of course, she was already climbing out by the time I reached her side. My gaze landed on the exposed skin of her collarbones, the freckles scattered across her chest—how had I missed them in the car?

Her white top hung loosely on her frame, the neckline dipping low enough to reveal just a hint too much. Luckily, she wore something underneath, but the sheer fabric let me catch glimpses of her silhouette. Apparently, I wasn’t the only one who noticed—some guy outside was staring at her like she was the last meal on earth. My hand found her lower back as I guided her inside, urgency propelling me forward.

Hoseok, Yoonji, and Serena were already at a table, and when Yoonji spotted us, her face lit up like it was Christmas morning. I half-expected her to pull out a camera.

“Y/N, this is my cousin, Yoonji. Yoonji, this is Y/N.” Before I could finish my introduction, Yoonji sprang to her feet.

“Y/N!” she exclaimed, pulling Y/N into an enthusiastic embrace. Her eyes sparkled with joy as she cast me a cheeky grin. “It’s so nice to finally meet you!”

“Yoonji, calm down,” I thought, but I couldn’t help but feel a flutter of excitement. 

“Nice to meet you too, Yoonji,” Y/N replied, her sweetness radiating like a warm glow.

“And you’ve already met Hoseok and Serena.” I gestured to the other two goofballs, who were now staring at Y/N like she was some kind of celestial being.

“Hi, Y/N! How’s life in the undergraduate world?” Hoseok teased as I pulled out a chair for her.

“Lotta drinking, lotta partying… you know, same old, same old.” Y/N shrugged, grinning, and I could see she had already charmed Hoseok.

“So… let’s get to the important stuff.” Hoseok waved a hand at me, a smirk growing on his face. I knew it wouldn’t take long for the teasing to kick in. I rolled my eyes.

“Oh! I know! Yoongi is wearing a polo shirt,” Serena piped up.

“I guess hell froze over, baby,” Hoseok snorted.

“I completely approve, by the way,” Yoonji chimed in, not even bothering to glance my way.

Here we go. I was about to shoot them all a glare when Y/N’s gentle touch on my thigh sent my heart soaring. My eyes darted to hers—she wore a smile that made everything else fade away.

“The cologne… maybe a tad too much?” I heard Serena say.

“Hey, I suggested that!” Yoonji shot back.

The banter continued, but I was lost in Y/N’s gaze, enchanted by the way her eyes sparkled when she smiled at me. The world around us dimmed; it was just her fingers entwined with mine, brushing softly against my palm, the gentle caress of her thumb sending shivers down my spine.

A moment too soon, Y/N turned to address the others. “Why do you guys talk about him like he’s not in the room?” Her words hung in the air, stunning everyone into silence.

I couldn’t believe it. In less than an hour, she had managed to charm my friends while cutting straight to the heart of the matter.

“Well, you’re with him now,” Yoonji finally said, a sly smile creeping across her face. “It’s our job to protect you.”

I would have preferred they protect me from their embarrassing stories, but Y/N seemed to revel in it.

“Protect me from what?” she asked, laughter bubbling in her voice.

“His awful sense of humor,” Serena said, her eyes dancing with mischief.

“Okay, I’m warning you,” I said, grinning back. “You may want to turn around and leave right now.”

Y/N giggled, clearly enjoying herself.

“Hey, if you leave me now, I’m going to assume you’re all crazy,” she said, her smile wide and infectious. 

I couldn’t help but smile back, knowing this night was going to be unforgettable.

As night settled over us, the world transformed into a playground of laughter and playful banter, wrapped in a soft, velvety blanket. The drinks flowed like a tide, and my heart raced with the electric thrill of the evening. I watched Y/N mingle with my friends, and in that moment, something inside me sparked to life, hinting at possibilities I had yet to explore.

I leaned closer, our shoulders brushing, a daring move that sent butterflies fluttering in my stomach. “What are you doing to me?” I asked, my voice barely above a whisper.

“Just being me,” she replied, her tone light, but the glimmer in her eyes suggested deeper currents.

“Can I hold your hand?” The request slipped from my lips, fragile as a moth's wing.

Surprise flickered across her face as she weighed my words. “Yes.”

The moment our fingers intertwined, warmth rushed through me, narrowing my focus to the electric connection between us. In the distance, Hoseok's teasing banter continued, and Yoonji was lost in conversation with Serena, but they faded into the background. All that mattered was Y/N and the magnetic pull that bound us together.

Yoonji’s voice broke through my reverie. "I'm staying with Em and Serena tonight," she whispered in my ear.

“Yoonji, you don’t need to—”

“Nonsense!” she insisted, her grin stretching wide. “I love her,” she mouthed as she walked away, and I couldn’t help but smile, glancing down at Y/N.

“Oh, you’re not coming with us?” Y/N asked, her curiosity piqued.

“Nope! I need to help Serena pick an outfit for tomorrow. It was really nice to meet you, Y/N. I hope to see you soon!” Yoonji hugged her again, whispering something I couldn’t catch.

Before long, Y/N and I were walking toward my car. I opened the door for her, and she smiled as she slid in. As I drove to her apartment, she asked about Yoonji and our bond. I shared how I moved in with them when I was thirteen, how we’d become like siblings, grateful she didn’t pry into the reasons behind it. Tonight wasn’t the time for shadows of my past.

A comfortable silence fell between us, an unspoken acknowledgment of the fleeting moments we shared. Soon, we arrived in front of her building, and reality crashed in—I was running out of time.

“Can I be honest?” she asked, her voice breaking the silence like a warm breeze.

“Please… always.”

“I don’t want to go home just yet.” She looked at me through her lashes, and my heart raced, a wild beat echoing in my chest.

“Can I be honest too?” I asked, inching closer.

She nodded, biting her lip.

“I really want to kiss you right now.” I leaned in slightly.

Her breath hitched, and she let out a soft sigh. “Can I? Kiss you?” My voice was barely audible, filled with anticipation.

She nodded once, a small smile lighting up her face. I reached for her, brushing her hair back before gently cupping the nape of her neck and pulling her closer.

Our kiss started softly, exploring each other with tentative tenderness. But it quickly grew desperate, fueled by a hunger we could no longer deny. Her hand gripped my shirt, pulling me closer—just as eager. I let my hands roam, one resting on her thigh while the other tangled in her hair, my heart racing with every heartbeat.

“Y/N…” I breathed against her neck, fighting to maintain control. “You need to go inside now, or I don’t think I’ll be able to let you go.”

“Why don’t you come inside with me?” She pulled my face from her neck, her eyes shimmering with mischief and warmth. “Jessica should be gone by now. It’s Spring Break, remember? I might be the only undergrad left.”

The invitation hung in the air, electric and intoxicating. She wanted me to come home with her. Alone. My mind raced as I followed her into her cozy apartment, a space filled with personal touches and the inviting scent of vanilla.

“Welcome to Casa de Jess and Y/N!” she announced, her excitement infectious. “Do you want a tour, Mister?”

I grinned at her playful spirit. “If you’d be so kind, Madam.”

With exaggerated politeness, she led me through her apartment, showing off each room like a proud hostess. “And this is my bedroom.” When she opened the door, my breath caught. It looked like a whimsical explosion of color—pink and feathers everywhere, a bright pink comforter proclaiming “Little Princess” in white letters.

“Oh dear God…” I muttered, glancing around.

“What do you think?” she asked, a hint of seriousness in her tone.

I scratched my neck, searching for the right words. “Um… well… interesting choice of colors, Y/N.”

She burst into laughter, the sound bright and carefree, and I looked at her, puzzled.

“Oh my God! Your face! Priceless!” she exclaimed, doubling over in giggles. “This is Jessica's room!” She laughed so hard she had to lean against the doorframe for support.

“Oh thank God…” I exhaled in relief. “I don’t think I could sleep in here without having nightmares.” I leaned against the doorframe, smiling at the chaos.

But then, her expression shifted from playful to serious as she stepped closer. “Do you expect to be sleeping in my bed anytime soon, Mr. Min?”

“Shit… no… I’m sorry. That’s not what I meant.” I ran a hand through my hair, mortified.

“Hey…” She stepped between my legs, her hand resting on my chest. “I was joking.” She smiled up at me, and my heart raced. I wanted her, needed her, craved her.

I traced her lip with my thumb. “You know what’s the first thing I noticed about you, Y/N?” She shook her head, her gaze locked on mine. “Your smile… It’s beautiful.”

Her smile widened. “When you smile, you get all gummy and your face softens. Your teeth are small, too. It’s adorable.”

“Adorable? Here I am, telling you I love your smile, and you tell me mine is imperfect. I’m hurt,” I joked, placing a hand over my heart.

“It’s not imperfect. It’s crooked and mind-blowingly sexy.” She giggled, and I couldn’t help but snort.

“See? There it is.” She framed my face with her hands and pulled me into a kiss. Her lips were soft, and I tried to crouch down to level us, but it felt awkward. Instead, I lifted her by the waist, her legs wrapping around my hips. Y/N’s arms encircled my neck as she deepened the kiss. When her tongue slipped into my mouth, I moaned, pressing her against the doorframe where laughter had just echoed.

My breath came in desperate gasps as I pulled away, kissing along her neck, but the fire ignited within me burned too bright to resist. Her whimpers drove me wild, and there was only so much I could take.

“Next door to the left,” she whispered in my ear.

Holy shit…

I carried her to her bedroom, still wrapped around me. As soon as I opened the door, her scent enveloped me, divine and overwhelming. Trying to stay composed, I ended up slumping onto the bed with her. She squealed and giggled, pulling off my polo shirt. Her hand traced patterns on my chest, making me shudder.

Every cell in my body was on high alert, every touch amplified.

"Y/N…" I groaned when her fingers traced the button-fly of my jeans. "You make me feel like a fucking teenager."

She giggled as my lips found hers. Her hand slipped into my boxers, and when she grasped me, I groaned loudly into her lips. She stroked me tentatively, softly but firmly. After a few strokes, it was too much.

"Y/N, stop… please," I begged, panting into her neck. "I’m going to cum in your hand. I need to slow down."

"Sorry." She released me, sighing. "Too much… too soon?"

"Yes… No… I-I just need a minute." I pressed my forehead into her neck, trying to regain control.

"Okay," she whispered, her hand returning to my hair.

My hands found their way under her shirt, pulling it off. The sight of her, arms stretched above her head, devilish smile on her lips, took my breath away.

"Polkadots?" I teased as her hands flew to my neck, pulling me back into a kiss. Her kisses were eager, biting and pulling at my lip, straining my self-control.

I kissed her neck, my hand slipping under her back. "God, you are so beautiful…" I whispered, unclasping her bra.

Her bra off, I trailed kisses from her neck to her chest, my hands cupping her breasts. Y/N squirmed under me, her moans driving me crazy.

"Can I touch you now?" Her voice was raspy with desire.

"Not yet," I whispered, unbuttoning her jeans.

"Not fair…" she moaned as my fingers dipped into her panties.

My fingers found nothing but wetness, silkiness, and smoothness, a tantalizing blend that drove me wild with anticipation. My dick throbbed painfully as I ground against her leg, barely able to contain myself any longer.

“God, Y/N…” I murmured, my voice a strained whisper.

She whimpered beneath me, her body trembling as my fingers traced circles to pleasure her. I slipped one finger inside, then another, and her scream of my name filled the room, echoing in my ears like a symphony of ecstasy. The sheer joy of her response made me want to cry into her neck.

“Yoongi, please…” she panted, her hands pulling at my hair, desperate. “I want to touch you… please… I need to feel you.”

God…

In one swift move, I had Y/N completely naked beneath me, her chest heaving with gasps. I fumbled for the condom in my wallet, and in mere seconds, I was naked too, hovering over her. Wrapping her wrist in my hand, I guided her to touch me—every inch of me.

Her hand clasped around me, guiding me to her entrance, spreading her wetness. I kept one hand on her breast, the other gripping the blanket next to her face, my control slipping with every passing second. Our eyes locked, the intensity between us palpable.

“Yoongi, what are we doing?” Her hand still gripped me, her voice a mix of wonder and worry.

“God… I don’t know…” I panted, my forehead resting on her neck.

“Is this wrong?”

“Feels right to me.” I groaned into her shoulder as she increased the pressure with her hand.

“I mean… isn’t this against the rules?”

How could she be coherent right now? I was on the brink of losing it, and I wasn’t even inside her yet!

“I-I don’t know, Y/N… Honestly, the rules are very blurry right now.”

“I want you,” she whispered huskily into my ear.

“God, Y/N. I want you too… so fucking much.”

“Would we get in trouble for this?” Her voice held a clear note of worry.

I lifted my head to meet her gaze. “I don’t know… I don’t care… Do you?”

Please, please, please, don’t ask me to stop now. Please…

She shook her head, pulling my face closer to hers in a kiss, positioning herself for me to enter her.

Thank you, God.

Our eyes stayed locked as our bodies connected, the sensation of being surrounded by her utterly mind-blowing. I needed a moment to adjust, Y/N’s moans and the arch of her back driving me insane as I slowly reached the deepest part of her.

I pulled out as slowly as I could manage, then pushed back in. My eyes rolled back, hands gripping her hips, a moan escaping through my clenched jaw. Nothing in my life had ever compared to this, to being with her. No one came even close.

Our bodies moved in sync, and a new terror gripped me: the fear of not lasting long enough to satisfy her. I sought distractions in her breasts, her neck, her lips, but every part of her only turned me on more.

So, I distracted myself mentally, reciting the first thing that came to mind:

There’s antimony, arsenic, aluminum, selenium… And hydrogen and oxygen and nitrogen and rhenium... And nickel, neodymium, neptunium, germanium… And iron, americium, ruthenium, uranium…

The words spun through my mind, a desperate attempt to hold onto control, as I plunged deeper into the intoxicating feeling of her.

It's Tuesday morning, and the sun hasn't even thought about rising yet. The lab calls out to me with its endless list of tasks, each one promising that today won't be long enough to tackle them all. I feel exhausted, bone-deep weary from days that have been both draining and, honestly, the best of my life.

Y/N and I spent the weekend wrapped up in each other, mostly on her bed or the couch. It’s a novel experience for me—taking a break from work on a weekend—but I still managed to squeeze in some research: exploring every inch of Y/N’s body, learning her curves, her soft spots, and the way she sighs when she’s lost in the moment. I’m hopelessly addicted, and I doubt I’ll ever get enough.

In between those moments of passion, she opened up about her family, her childhood, and the accident that changed everything. I kept my past hidden, deflecting the conversation back to her with more questions. I learned that I influenced her decision to join Jin’s lab; she remembered me from my time as her oblivious T.A. I teased her about being a little stalker, but the truth is, I loved hearing her talk.

Y/N could chatter for hours, and more surprisingly, I found that I could listen willingly and happily. She’s an amazing cook, and with each passing day, she feels more and more like a miracle. I kept adding to my mental list of quirky Y/N facts: her underwear is never a solid color—always striped or patterned, like the bra with little pineapples. She re-watches movies until she knows the dialogue by heart. When she made me watch a film about the Titanic, I laughed when I thought it was a documentary. After that, I decided against any sailing plans.

But Monday brought a harsh return to reality. Seeing her in the lab, just out of reach, was torture—pun intended. She wanted to dive into her experiments, and since I skipped the lab all weekend, I had a mountain of work to tackle. We managed to keep things professional, but the tension in the air was thick. Monday nights were reserved for her family’s Skype calls, leaving me alone, tossing and turning in my bed, missing her like crazy.

As I trudged through the hallways, still groggy, I spotted Y/N sitting by the lab door. With her earphones in, she was bobbing her head, lost in her own world. The moment she saw me, she pulled them out, a broad smile lighting up her face.

I swear I’ll never tire of that smile…

“God, Y/N. What are you doing here so early?” I grumble, struggling to match her morning cheer.

“I couldn’t sleep! I’m dying to see if the experiment worked!” she exclaims, bouncing on her toes.

Of course…

“Mhm” I mumble, fumbling for the keys. 

“It’s nerve-racking! A whole day of work, then waiting sixteen hours—sixteen hours!—to see the results?” 

The key sticks in the lock, and I jiggle it impatiently. 

“C’mon, c’mon…” she chants, practically bouncing.

“Y/N…” I groan, turning to her. “I haven’t had coffee yet. Would you calm down?”

Finally, the door clicks open, and she bolts inside, nearly tripping over me. She rushes straight to the incubator, while I drag myself to my desk, her excited chants of “YES! YES! YES!” echoing behind me.

I can’t help but snort. I guess her experiment worked.

She sets the petri dishes on the bench, and her squeal of delight fills the room. “They worked!” she cries, launching herself at me. I barely catch her as she wraps her legs around my waist.

How does she have this much energy? It’s not even eight yet!

“Jesus Christ, woman! What are you on this morning?” 

Her arms encircle my neck, and she beams at me, making my own lips twitch upward.

“Hi, Grumpy.” She runs a hand through my hair.

“Hi…”

“Good morning.”

“Morning, Y/N.”

Her lips find mine, and I’m a goner. I moan into her mouth as she tugs at my hair, ready to take her right there on the bench, on the floor—anywhere. But we’re in the lab.

“Y/N…” I whisper, kissing her neck.

“Hmmm?”

“Someone might come in.” I nibble her earlobe, making her squirm.

“It’s early,” she whispers, her voice husky as she pulls at my hair. 

God…

I set her down on the bench, clumsily knocking over some plates. “Shit... sorry.” I try to pick them up, but she’s pulling at my jeans, pressing herself against me, and I make a bigger mess.

“Did you touch my samples?” she asks, feigning anger, echoing my words from when I snapped at her earlier.

I smile, but the way she bites her lip and the hooded look in her eyes snaps my resolve. My lips crash into hers, and my hands slide under her shirt as I press her back onto the bench, scattering more plates.

Fuck, I’m going to ruin her experiment.

I lift her, her legs locking around my waist. I mean to move her to the unused bench behind me, but her grinding against me messes with my balance. I knock over a chair, slamming my back against the corner of the bench. Groaning in pain, I secure her in my arms.

“Are you okay?” 

The pain clears my head. Reality rushes back, and I realize what we’re about to do—in the lab, on a Tuesday morning, when anyone could walk in.

Just then, I hear rattling keys from the hallway.

Fuck…

I set Y/N down, and she stumbles. I steady her, stepping back just as Jimin walks in.

Y/N smooths her shirt, picking up plates, her face a vivid crimson. I run a hand through my hair, rubbing my sore back with the other. The pain is nothing compared to the throbbing in my pants, but there’s no fixing that now.

Jimin looks at us, eyebrows raised, then heads to his desk. I let out a sigh, glancing at Y/N—she’s still picking up plates, cheeks burning.

Could we be any more obvious?

Y/N and I were deep in conversation about her results, our voices low enough that Jimin, across the lab, pretended not to be listening. Y/N’s work was nothing short of exceptional, and while pride swelled within me, I needed to keep it grounded in reality. Success like this was rare; she needed to understand its value, to cherish it, but also to brace for the inevitable setbacks.

“Are you familiar with Murphy’s Law?” I asked as she finished jotting down her notes.

“Of course,” she replied, turning to face me, her eyes sparkling. “Did you know his first name was Edward?”

“What? No.” Murphy, as far as I was concerned, was just Murphy.

“Yep. Edward Murphy,” she said, her face serious as she began tidying up her workspace.

“You’re kidding,” I said, moving closer, disbelief evident in my voice.

“Nope.”

“How do you know that?”

“I watch Jeopardy a lot.” A small, embarrassed smile tugged at her lips as our eyes met.

“Why am I not surprised?” I muttered, watching her shrug off her lab coat. Her movements were effortlessly captivating.

“Were you going to say something about Murphy?” she asked, snapping me out of my daze.

“Yeah, right,” I said, shaking off the distraction. “Murphy’s Law applies to the lab too.”

“Oh, I know. ‘Everything that can go wrong will go wrong,’” she recited, her tone matter-of-fact.

“Exactly.” I nodded, impressed.

“But I don’t believe in that,” she said firmly, a spark of defiance lighting her features.

“Of course you don’t.” I had inched closer, almost beside her now.

She gestured toward her successful experiment, a triumphant smile spreading across her face. “Murphy was just a pessimist.”

“And you’re a glass-half-full kind of person?” I probed, towering over her with a teasing grin.

“Technically, the glass is always full. Half with water, half with air.” Her eyes crinkled with mischief.

“Are you trying to be a smart ass?” I leaned my elbow on the bench, bringing us face to face.

“That depends,” she said, her voice dropping, locking her gaze onto mine. 

“On what?”

“Do you like smart asses?” She traced a finger along my forearm, sending an electric jolt through my body.

I staggered back, giving her a warning look. She couldn’t be doing this to me—not now.

“Anyway,” she continued, taking a deep breath, “how many of Murphy’s laws do you know?”

Classic Y/N—always one step ahead. I sighed, admitting, “Just the one.”

“That’s it?” Her eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“Enlighten me, then.”

“‘Left to themselves, things tend to go from bad to worse,’” she recited proudly, and I found her knowledge oddly attractive.

A glance at the clock reminded me of the work ahead. How inconvenient.

“That’s a good one. And it’s true,” I said.

“‘Matter will be damaged in direct proportion to its value,’” she continued.

I chuckled. “Also true.”

“Yoongi, you’re one of the grumpiest, most pessimistic people I know, and you don’t know any of these?” She placed her hands on her hips, teasing me with that playful spark in her eyes.

That was it. I straightened from the bench, glaring at her. She was provoking me, and God, did I want her.

“Last one, I promise,” she said with a smile. “’Hot glass looks exactly the same as cold glass.’ Learned that one the hard way.”

Our laughter mingled until Jimin cleared his throat behind us. “Can you keep it down? I’m trying to do science here.”

I rolled my eyes at Jimin, then turned back to Y/N, who was smoothing her ponytail, giggles subsiding. Her happiness was infectious, and I got lost in her eyes.

“Y/N,” I said, struggling to keep my voice even, “we should check on that gel.”

“What gel?” she asked, puzzled.

“The gel, Y/N.” I stared at her, hoping she’d understand.

“Oh… right,” she said, her smile turning knowing.

I followed her to the dark room, anticipation thrumming in my veins. Once inside, I switched off the lights, activating the IN USE signal. Y/N took a sharp breath, her excitement palpable.

“Are you trying to drive me mad?” I whispered, reaching for her face in the darkness.

“Maybe,” she whispered back, her breath warm against my skin.

My hands traveled to her neck, fingers sliding under her ponytail to release her hair. “Y/N… this isn’t smart. We could get caught.” I lifted her onto the counter, the cold bench pressing into my back.

“Not smart,” she agreed, her breath hitching against my neck.

“Do you know how hard it is to keep my hands off you when you provoke me?” My hand slipped under her shirt, cupping her breast. She gasped, and I pressed myself closer, making my point clear.

“Oh, it’s hard all right,” she giggled, wrapping her legs around me.

“You drive me insane, Y/N,” I murmured, biting her lip. She moaned softly, fisting my hair. “Please… can I?”

“Oh God, yes… Yoongi, please.”

She didn’t have to ask twice. I lifted her with one hand, fumbling with the buttons of her jeans with the other. In seconds, I was inside her, stifling my moans into her shoulder.

God bless a dark room.

The weeks drift by in a blur of lab work and secret rendezvous. Y/N is a constant distraction—she teases me, contradicts me, drives me mad, excites me, motivates me, and challenges me all at once. I’ve never felt happier. Having her in my life has transformed my days from monotonous routines into a whirlwind of laughter and unexpected joy. I catch myself cracking jokes that aren’t laced with sarcasm, and I genuinely enjoy explaining new techniques to her, savoring our discussions and her insightful challenges. I never imagined mentoring could be so thrilling—or so fulfilling. Y/N pushes me to be better, to be happier, to have fun.

The lab buzzes with the unspoken tension of our secret. I’m sure everyone suspects something, but we maintain a facade of professionalism. Our attempts to date outside the lab are constantly thwarted by inconvenient encounters with colleagues. It’s frustrating as hell. I don’t care what people think, but the risk of getting into trouble with Jin or Y/N losing her chance to work in the lab keeps us cautious. So, we play the game, keeping up appearances, even though we’ve stolen away to the dark room eight times… not that I’m counting.

As the semester winds down, it becomes harder to heed Yoonji’s advice not to overthink the future. Y/N hopes to land a summer internship in the lab, but I haven’t had the heart to tell her how unlikely that is. Jin has never offered an internship after just one semester. I could vouch for her, but she’s adamant about not wanting special treatment. The thought of her securing an internship elsewhere, leaving for the summer, gnaws at me. The impending separation looms like a dark cloud, promising a long and miserable summer.

Tonight, Jin is hosting the department's end-of-semester party. I sit in my car, ready to drive Y/N there, trying to suppress my annoyance at having to pretend all night. We’re picking up Hoseok and Serena too, a cover to avoid suspicion. Waiting in the car like some kind of creep, I watch the building's entrance.

Then I see her, and all my irritation dissipates. Thank God for May weather—Y/N is wearing a skirt. She smiles at me through the window, and as she gets in, her lips meet mine, her hands finding their way to my neck. I encircle her waist, breathing in deeply, savoring her scent. Even after two months, my need for her is as urgent as ever.

“Hi…” she breathes as she pulls back, her fingers tracing patterns in my hair. I close my eyes, enjoying her touch.

“Hi…” I murmur, resting my forehead against hers. “You’re wearing a skirt.” I groan, my hand sliding down from her waist, over her thigh, and under the soft fabric.

“I am,” she says, her lips brushing my neck. I tease her inner thigh, each stroke inching closer to where I want my fingers to be. “What are you doing?” she whispers in my ear.

“I don’t want to go to this thing.” I nibble her earlobe. “Can we just stay here?” My fingers hover over her panties, but she traps my hand between her thighs.

“No…” she breathes, her voice shaky. “You promised we’d go. Jin invited me personally. Please.”

Her plea makes me relent, and I move back, our foreheads still touching. “But you’re wearing a skirt. You know what that does to me?” I caress her thigh again, unable to resist.

“I have an idea,” she giggles.

“I’m going to be hard and uncomfortable the whole time,” I say, trying to keep my tone light.

“I’ll take care of it afterward,” she promises. I groan again, starting the car.

“Thank you,” she whispers.

As I drive, Y/N fumbles with the radio, displeased with the music.

“Oh, I know!” She reaches for the glove box. “Can we listen to this?” She holds up my mom’s Carpenters CD.

My chest tightens, but I try to smile. I haven’t told her about my parents, and while she knows I moved in with my aunt and uncle as a kid, she hasn’t pried. She’s giving me time, waiting for me to open up.

“Not a chance,” I snap, slipping into our usual banter.

“C’mon, I want to listen to it.”

“Well, I don’t.”

“Why have a Carpenters CD if you don’t like them?”

“Y/N…”

I really don’t want to get into it tonight.

“Just one song, please?” Her eager eyes and smile make it impossible to refuse. I nod, focusing on the road. She opens the case and sees my mom’s note, and my chest tightens again.

“Oh…” she says softly. “You didn’t want me to see this.” She closes the case. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.”

“It’s okay, Y/N. Just put the CD on. It’s fine.”

“No, Yoongi. This obviously has sentimental value. I’m sorry.” Concern etches her features.

“Hey, don’t be upset.” I reach for her face, my thumb brushing her cheek. “Let’s forget it. I’ll tell you about the note another time. Okay?”

“I’m sorry,” she repeats, eyes locked on mine.

“It’s fine.” I smile, pushing thoughts of my parents away. I grab my iPod, knowing exactly what will cheer her up. When The Police starts playing, her smile returns, and all feels right in the world.

I place my hand over hers on her thigh, the sensation of the skirt fabric under our intertwined fingers reminding me of the night ahead.

Oh God, the skirt, the party… this is going to be hell.

“Hey, Y/N! Ready to mingle with the senior citizens?” Hoseok’s voice cuts through the chatter as he hops into the car and settles behind me.

“So, what’s the plan?” Serena chimes in, sliding into the backseat beside Y/N.

“Can we please keep this low-key? We’re just giving Y/N a ride, nothing more,” I say, trying to keep the irritation from seeping into my tone. Of course, they ignore me.

“Y/N, how about you and I walk in first? The boys can follow behind us,” Serena suggests, leaning forward to prop herself between our seats like a self-appointed traffic cop.

“Or… I could stroll in with Y/N, my arm around her shoulders. You know, start some fun rumors,” Hoseok pipes up, a cheeky grin on his face.

“Ow!” He yelps as Serena gives him a swift elbow to the ribs. “Come on, babe! I was just joking!”

“Seriously, Hoseok. That dog act is getting old,” I mutter, catching Serena’s annoyed glare in the rearview mirror.

“How is this not a big deal?” I groan under my breath.

“How about we all walk in holding hands? All four of us!” Y/N suggests, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

I turn to scowl at her. “You too?” She flashes me a grin, scrunching her nose playfully.

We finally pull up to Jin's house, and as we pile out of the car, I notice Y/N walking ahead, chatting with Serena. I fall back next to Hoseok, a knot of anxiety tightening in my stomach. 

Inside, Y/N glances back at me, then disappears into the crowd. I greet Jin and grab a drink, then find a spot by the back wall. Familiar faces from the lab are scattered around, some with their families. I find myself chatting with a few of them, even playing with a little kid in a sweater that says “Future Scientist.” I snort at the irony—here's hoping he grows up to be an engineer instead.

To my surprise, I’m not hating this night. I lean against the wall, stealing glances at Y/N as she lights up while talking to Prof. Tanner, one of the few female professors in our department. I’ve heard she can be a total nightmare, but she’s all smiles for Y/N. What gives? 

As Y/N mingles, I can’t help but wonder if there’s anyone who wouldn’t be drawn to her charm. Just then, Jungkook appears out of nowhere, planting a quick kiss on her cheek. My heart races, and I shoot up from my chair.

“She’s got it under control,” Serena whispers, her grip firm on my elbow as we watch Y/N step away from Jungkook, saying something before he wanders off. I let out a breath I didn’t realize I was holding, sinking back down in my seat. Y/N glances my way, her eyes briefly meeting mine before she moves on.

“Yoongi, you need to get it together. You’re staring at her like some creepy stalker,” Serena says, finally releasing my elbow.

I sigh, knowing she’s right. We bicker a lot, but beneath her icy exterior, she really does look out for me.

Hoseok appears, holding another round of drinks, and I begin to feel a little lighter. But when I find Y/N again, she’s deep in conversation with Jin. I can see the passion in her gestures, the way she lights up as she talks about her project. It fills me with pride to see how far she’s come this semester, how confident she is now.

Jin glances at me a couple of times during their conversation. I try to focus on my drink, but the curiosity gnaws at me. Is he proud of her? Does he see what I see?

“Dude, Jimin is giving you a death stare,” Hoseok whispers, snapping me out of my thoughts. I follow his gaze and meet Jimin’s dark brown eyes. He quickly looks away, a slight frown on his face.

I shrug, trying to shake off the feeling of unease. “He has a weird stare. You think he suspects something?”

“Probably,” Hoseok says. “I don’t know how much longer you can keep this charade up. It’s torture.” I rub my chest, where a tightness has been growing since Y/N walked away.

“Jeon can’t take a hint, huh?” Hoseok mutters, and I see Y/N accepting a drink from Jungkook.

Are you kidding me?

My hand tightens into a fist on my thigh as I down the rest of my drink, a wave of frustration crashing over me. Y/N smiles at Jungkook, and while I’m somewhat relieved to see it doesn’t reach her eyes like when she smiles at me, it still makes my blood boil. I want her by my side, to claim her as mine. I want Jungkook to back off.

“Dude, calm down,” Hoseok says, placing a hand on my shoulder. I turn to him, exhaling sharply through my nose.

My night is crumbling, and I feel on the verge of snapping.

“I can’t, okay? I’m going to take a breather.” I stand abruptly, forcing myself not to look for Y/N again. I know if I see her with him, I might lose it and drag her away like some caveman.

“Want me to come with you?” Hoseok asks, his concern evident.

“No, I’m fine,” I reply, but my tone lacks conviction.

I storm into Jin’s sprawling backyard, seeking solace in the shadows. I need to figure out what’s happening inside my head. Why does this pressure in my chest hurt so much? It’s ridiculous—I shouldn’t be feeling like this over someone. I should be rational. 

Sinking onto a bench, I rest my head in my hands. 

God, I’m losing my mind. Or maybe I’m turning into a hypochondriac… or both.

I just want Y/N. I need her. I miss her. I love her.

My head falls back against the bench. 

Is this what love feels like? 

Suddenly, I hear a soft voice. “Hey… what’s wrong?” 

I didn’t even notice Y/N coming outside. I lift my head and lean back, letting out a deep sigh.

“Nothing, I’m fine,” I say, but the anger slips through despite my best efforts.

“Yoongi…” She sits beside me and takes my hand in hers.

“This party sucks!” I snap, but she doesn’t flinch. She never does. Y/N knows me too well, understands my rough edges. I never want to take my frustration out on her.

“What sucks?” Her voice is steady, soothing. How does she do it?

“This stupid party…” I trail off, staring at our hands.

She laughs lightly. “Are you drunk?”

“No! I’m not!” Realizing I raised my voice again, I groan and try to regain my composure. “I want you beside me. I want to tell Jungkook to back off because you’re mine. I want to hold your hand, put my arm around you, keep you warm. I don’t want to hide this anymore.”

“I know…” Y/N reaches for my face, her fingers brushing my hair behind my ear. I lean into her touch, closing my eyes as her words unravel me. “I want to be beside you too,” she whispers, and it feels like the world has shifted. “But right now, it’s not smart for us. The semester is almost over. I’ll find an internship in a different lab, and then we won’t have to hide anymore.”

So I’m screwed either way. If she finds a different lab, we won’t have to keep this secret, but I won’t get to see her every day. And if she stays, we’ll be stuck in this limbo.

“Can we go soon?” I plead, my frustration boiling over. I want to escape this place, take Y/N somewhere safe where I can finally let myself be with her.

“We just got here,” she giggles, trying to lighten the mood. “Stop being so grumpy and let’s get back inside.” She rises, but I grip her hand tightly.

“You know I hate when you call me grumpy.”

“No, you don’t. You love it,” she counters with a bright smile.

I do love it. And I love you.

The words sit heavy on my tongue, burning to be spoken, but I hold them back.

I pulled her gently between my legs, my hand finding its way to her cheek as I brought our lips together. She kissed me back, soft and tentative, but then, with a push against my chest, she pulled away.

I groaned, rising from the bench. “I’ll go in first. You follow in a few minutes, okay?” I needed a moment to gather my thoughts, and the warmth of her fingers lingering on my chest felt like a whisper of reassurance.

“Yeah…” I breathed out, almost a whine.

“And try to have some fun.” She shot me a playful smile that sent a flutter through my chest.

“Yeeees…” I groaned again, turning to walk away.

“You’re being a big baby, you know that, right?” Her teasing tone made me roll my eyes.

“Y/N, don’t provoke me,” I sighed, tugging at the hair on the back of my neck.

“Okay, okay.” She giggled, her laughter lightening the air between us. “I promise to sit by you for a bit.” With that, she let me head inside alone.

I lingered outside for a few more moments, trying to cool off and collect my thoughts before re-entering the fray.

Just as I was about to step back in, Jimin stumbled outside, looking a bit worse for wear. “Yoongi! There you are,” he said, plopping down on the bench next to me.

“Jimin,” I greeted, not really in the mood for small talk.

“So… are you like social now?” he asked, his words slurred from the alcohol he’d consumed.

“What do you mean?” I feigned interest, though I really didn’t care.

“You never used to come to these things,” he pointed out, sounding suspicious, as if I’d committed some sort of crime.

I shrugged and stood up, feeling the urge to escape. “Are you sleeping with your undergrad?” he blurted, trying to whisper but failing miserably.

A glare shot across my face as I realized he suspected something. Jimin was definitely too drunk for this conversation. “Jimin, I think you should stop drinking,” I advised, and when he just stared blankly, I added, “I better get back inside before Hoseok thinks I left without him.” I didn’t wait for his reply as I headed back in.

Y/N was sitting with Hoseok and Serena when I walked over, and the moment she smiled at me, my chest tightened with a mix of longing and pride. I wanted nothing more than to reach out and touch her hand or leg, but I managed to sit back, trying to play it cool. 

I was surprisingly glad I’d come. I’d anticipated a dull evening, but it turned out to be quite enjoyable. Watching Y/N all dolled up, chatting with everyone, filled me with a sense of pride. 

Then, as Jin started playing Nelly, the atmosphere shifted. Seeing Dr. Amun-Kebi, bow tie and all, dancing to “Hot in Here” was an image that would be burned in my memory forever.

Later, Y/N paced nervously through my room in her underwear, her damp hair leaving a faint mist in the air. I watched her, my heart pounding at the sight of her anxious movements as she rummaged through her bag. The tension felt heavy, almost suffocating.

“Y/N, you’re going to do great,” I said, my voice still laced with sleep as I tried to offer her some comfort.

“You don’t know that,” she replied tightly, finally finding what she was looking for. 

“You know this stuff better than anyone else in that room,” I said, propping myself up on my elbows to catch her gaze.

“That’s not true. You’ll be there too.” She faced me, comb in hand, her worry evident as she began to untangle her wet hair.

“Exactly! So, you’ve got nothing to worry about.” I flashed her a reassuring smile, but it felt weak against her rising anxiety.

“I stutter when I’m nervous,” she admitted, her voice wavering as she pulled out her clothes and bent over, her vulnerability stark against the backdrop of my cluttered room.

“Then try to relax,” I said, taking a deep breath. “You’ve put in so much work, and you know your project inside and out. You’ll do amazing, Y/N.”

“What if Jin asks me something I don’t know?” Panic danced in her eyes as she placed her hands on her hips.

“You don’t have to know everything. I’ll be there too—this is my project too. Remember, it’s not a test. The point is to discuss the results together, nothing more.”

Slowly, her frown faded, replaced by a tentative grin. She climbed back onto the bed, straddling me, her wet hair dripping onto my shoulder. The scent of her filled the air, intoxicating, as she leaned in to kiss me softly.

I lay back, tracing the strap of her bra with my finger. “I know how to get you to relax,” I teased.

“Not a chance, Grumpy. We’d be late,” she shot back, rubbing against me just enough to send a bolt of desire through my body.

“Y/N, you’re such a tease,” I groaned, dropping my head back in exasperation.

“And you have a foul mouth, Min,” she replied, disappearing into the bathroom, her voice echoing playfully.

“Which, coincidentally, you love,” I called after her.

She poked her head out, toothbrush in her mouth. “That… I do.”

With a lazy stretch, I got up from the bed, dragging my feet toward the bathroom. She stood by the sink, brushing her teeth in her adorable smiley-face underwear, making me ache with need. “You’re going to pay for my blue balls tonight,” I murmured into her neck, eliciting a giggle as my stubble brushed against her soft skin. 

She bent over to rinse her mouth, pressing her behind into the growing bulge in my boxers, causing a deep groan to escape my lips. I playfully smacked her ass as she squealed, darting out of the bathroom.

“Don’t take forever, Grumpy. I want to be early to set things up!”

Y/N and I stood in the seminar room, preparing everything for the presentation. The space was cozy, just big enough for the nine of us in our group, including Jin. After confirming that all the slides displayed correctly, I shot Y/N an encouraging smile and took a seat toward the back, keeping a close eye on her.

I could see the nerves bubbling beneath her composed exterior. We had gone over every detail last night, and I knew she was ready for this moment.

Jin kicked things off with some lab business, and then it was Y/N’s turn to shine. As she started her talk, she stumbled over her words just once at the beginning, but quickly found her rhythm, her confidence blossoming with every passing second. My heart swelled with pride as I watched her speak; she was absolutely incredible.

Jin seemed impressed too, prompting her to elaborate on a few points, which she handled flawlessly. But then Jimin jumped in with questions that felt a bit off-base, probing into unrelated techniques and approaches. Y/N stumbled over a couple of his inquiries, but she made educated guesses, maintaining her poise. Still, I could feel my irritation rising. What the hell was Jimin’s problem?

“That was all nice… uh… Y/N?” Jimin hesitated, clearly relishing the moment as he mispronounced her name. My blood boiled at his deliberate slight. 

“I just don’t see the point.”

“The p-point?” Y/N stuttered again, and it took everything in me to keep my temper in check. I wanted to tear Jimin apart for being such a jerk.

“Yeah, I mean… so you found two new toxin genes. How is that going to help anything?” Jimin shrugged dismissively, and I could feel my frustration reaching a boiling point.

Before Y/N could respond, I jumped in, my voice sharper than I intended. “Oh, I’m sorry, Jimin. Are you questioning the impact of my research?”

Jimin turned to face me, a smug expression creeping across his face.

“Yoongi…” Jin’s warning gaze made it clear I needed to rein it in.

“No, seriously. Please, tell me if you are,” I shot back, my eyes locking onto Jimin's, daring him to continue.

“Actually,” Y/N interjected softly from the front of the room, pulling our attention back to her. “I think I might be able to answer that question.” She glanced at me for permission, and I nodded, stepping back to let her take the spotlight.

“Please, go ahead,” Jin encouraged her, his tone supportive.

“Well… if these two toxins are, as we’ve shown, involved in the cancerous growth of stomach epithelium cells, then studying their protein structure and interaction will provide insight into the anomalous stomach pathology caused by H. pylori… and its possible cure.”

I couldn’t have put it better myself. My heart swelled with pride and something deeper. Marry me?

“Marvelous!” Jin exclaimed, while Jimin huffed, sinking into his chair in defeat. My annoyance at Jimin evaporated, replaced by overwhelming joy. I couldn’t take my eyes off Y/N as she smiled, tucking her hair behind her ears. I wanted to run to her, scoop her up in my arms, and kiss her senseless, but I managed to stay seated, a wide grin plastered on my face.

As the room emptied, I lingered behind with Y/N, pretending to help pack up the projector and laptop. It was just an excuse to stay close to her, to contain the waves of emotions crashing inside me. Jin congratulated her one last time before leaving, and I counted his steps, waiting until he was far enough away. My heart raced, and when I could wait no longer, I dropped everything and rushed to Y/N, cupping her face in my hands and kissing her desperately.

“You did amazing!” I said, my voice breathless with excitement.

“I was so nervous!” she admitted, her eyes wide.

“I know, but you nailed it!” I kissed her again, unable to get enough of her.

Still holding her face, I searched her eyes. “Geez, Y/N… you’re incredible. I—” I leaned closer, resting my hands on the table behind her, my lips trying to convey everything words couldn’t. It was more than just her success or my pride as a scientist; it was so much deeper than that.

“I want to cook you dinner tonight,” I said, pulling her into a tight embrace.

She smiled up at me. “You do?”

“Yes. We’re having a celebration date at my place.”

“Okay.”

“Okay.” I kissed the top of her head, reluctantly letting her go as we gathered our things to head back to the lab. My heart was full, my mind racing with excitement and a twinge of fear. I’d never been happier in my life.

Now the only question was: what on earth was I going to cook for Y/N?

We returned to the lab, the earlier tension between Y/N and me fading as we wrapped up our tasks. Her eyes sparkled with determination as she headed off for her final exam, and we agreed to meet at my apartment for dinner later. Just as I was about to slip out early to prepare, an email notification pinged in my inbox.

From: Seokjin Kim, seokjinkim(at)fhcrc(.)org   Sent: Friday, May 13, 2024, 4:27 PM   To: Yoongi Min, ygmin(at)u(.)washington(.)edu  

Yoongi,

We need to talk about your undergrad. Please stop by my office.

Jin

-

Dr. Seokjin Kim   Member, Division of Basic Sciences   Fred Hutchinson Cancer Research Center   1100 Fairview Avenue North   Seattle, WA 98109-1024  

Shit. A cold sweat broke out on my forehead. Jin had never summoned me to his office like this before. He usually came down to the lab if he wanted to talk. The email's terse tone sent a chill racing down my spine. There was only one reason he’d call me in like this—he knew about Y/N and me. 

That jerk, Jimin, must have said something. 

No point speculating now; I had to face Jin. My heart raced as I imagined the worst. He’d tell me Y/N and I couldn’t be together, that she wouldn’t be able to work in the lab anymore. The thought twisted my gut with regret. I should have been more careful, kept my feelings in check.

Shit.

I knocked on Jin’s door and stepped inside. He was facing his computer, barely glancing at me as I sank into the chair across from him. 

“Hello, Yoongi. Take a seat,” he said, his voice calm but layered with an undercurrent I couldn’t quite place. “Let me just finish this email.”

I watched him type, the sound of the keys echoing like a death knell. Finally, he turned, a smile dancing on his lips that didn’t quite reach his eyes. I nodded, trying to mask my nerves, my hands gripping the chair arms.

“I have to say, I was very impressed with Y/N’s seminar. She showed a broad knowledge of the project, answered questions confidently, and gathered an impressive amount of data for just one semester.”

“She is incredible,” I blurted out before I could stop myself.

Nice, Yoongi. Way to keep it cool.

Jin raised an eyebrow, nodding. “She does seem very mature, dedicated, and hardworking.”

“She is.” I couldn’t help but think of all the moments we’d shared, both in the lab and out.

“So, I called you in here for two things. First, I want to offer Y/N a position as a summer intern. What do you think?” 

My heart leaped. Jin had never offered an undergrad a position after just one semester. This was amazing! Y/N was going to be thrilled. 

“That’s… um… that’s great! She completely deserves it, and it would be an incredible opportunity for her. She wants to apply to grad school next fall, so summer research would be really beneficial.”

“I see… so you approve?” Jin asked, tilting his head.

The way he looked at me made my blood run cold. He didn’t need my approval. Something was off.

“O-of course,” I stammered, my instincts telling me there was more to this conversation.

“Well, that leads to the second thing I wanted to discuss.” He shifted in his chair, crossing his legs as if he were settling in for a serious talk. 

Here we go…

“It seems you have a very close relationship with Y/N. You seem very… protective of her.”

I knew it! Jimin must have spilled the beans. My fists clenched at the thought.

“Now, I understand it’s in your nature—her being under your care and all—to be protective. But there’s something else,” Jin continued, tapping his finger against his lips thoughtfully. “I’ve noticed the change she’s brought about in you. It’s fascinating.”

Geez… Jin and his fascination.

Before I could respond, he went on. “Of course, I would never ask if there’s something unprofessional going on because that would be tactless. However, you should know that involving yourself in a romantic relationship with an undergrad—especially if she’ll be getting paid for the summer—is completely unacceptable.”

Fucking shit.

My hands gripped the chair so tightly that my knuckles turned white. I couldn’t do this. Hiding my feelings for Y/N felt impossible, but I’d have to—for her sake. This was an incredible opportunity. We’d have to keep it up until she graduated. Damn, that was a whole year! Maybe I could graduate sooner, find a job in another lab…

Jin was staring at me, eyebrows raised, when suddenly he burst out laughing, the sound echoing in the small office.

“I’m just messing with you, kid.” He slapped his thighs as his laughter subsided. “Your personal life outside this lab is none of my business. As long as it doesn’t affect your work or hers, I have no problem with it.”

I stared at him, dumbfounded. Did he just say what I thought he said?

“You know, when I met Mrs. Kim, she was a post-doc in this lab.”

“I didn’t know that…” I exhaled, the tension draining from my body.

“Well, now that this is settled, I’ll offer Y/N the position.”

“O-okay.”

Still in shock, I left Jin’s office. Before I even reached the lab, my phone rang—Y/N, squealing about Jin’s offer. I didn’t mention my conversation with him; I’d save that for tonight during our celebration dinner.

Our celebration dinner… Oh God. What was I thinking? I couldn’t cook!

I definitely needed to stop at the grocery store unless I wanted to serve Y/N mac and cheese for dinner. Sighing, I realized I had no idea what to prepare. Time to turn to my all-knowing best friend: Google.

Search: What to cook for your girlfriend? Search Results: 5 Easy Meals To Cook For Her – AskMen.com

AskMen.com? Seriously? 

Chipotle Shrimp Kabobs…

What the actual fuck?

Sautéed Lemon Garlic Chicken…

Really, AskMen? Really? 

I groaned, frustration bubbling up. This was not going well. Maybe I should try again.

Search: Easy dinner for two Search Results: Cooking for Two Recipes – Allrecipes.com

Allrecipes.com? I think I’ve heard Yoonji mention this site before. 

Salmon with Raspberry Ginger Glaze…

Holy shit! And these are the easy ones?

I slammed my forehead against the desk repeatedly. Okay, maybe I should stick to something I already knew how to make… like grilled cheese. Or pasta! I could whip up some pasta sauce.

Search: Easy Pasta Sauce Search Results: Easy Vodka Sauce – Allrecipes.com

Now we’re talking. 

I jotted down all the ingredients and headed to the store, feeling a flicker of hope.

I was chopping onions into tiny squares when my phone buzzed with a text from Y/N.

Undergrad: I’m done with the semester! Woot! Woot! Do you want me to come early to help with dinner?

Yes… please… no!

C’mon, I can handle this. How hard could it be? Just follow the protocol, Min.

Me: What? No faith in me, Y/L/N?

I typed quickly, trying not to let the onion juice splatter all over my cell. 

Shit…

Undergrad: I would prefer not to get food poisoning. I have an internship this summer! :)”

I couldn’t help but smile at the screen.

Me: You’re distracting me. See you here at 7. P.S. Smiley faces are lame.”

Undergrad: And you, my Grumpy, are adorable!

I chuckled, my heart racing with excitement. Maybe I could do this after all. Just as long as I didn’t burn the kitchen down.

When Y/N knocked at the door, it was only a quarter to seven. I had the garlic bread in the oven, and the sauce still needed another thirty minutes to simmer. I’d hoped to squeeze in a quick shower before she arrived, but clearly, that plan was a bust.

I opened the door to find Y/N standing there, a bright smile lighting up her face. “Did you wrestle the tomatoes?” she giggled, tiptoeing in for a quick kiss. “Hi…”

I wanted nothing more than to pull her close, but I was covered in tomato juice and splatters from head to toe. “Give me a sec,” I said, retreating to my bedroom to change.

When I returned, she was by the sink, eyes wide as she surveyed the chaos I’d created. “Geez, Yoongi. How many things are you making?” She gestured dramatically to the pile of pots and utensils stacked high.

“Just the one dish, Y/N,” I replied, trying to sound casual while stirring the bubbling sauce.

“Did you feel the need to use every pot in the kitchen? Were you trying them all out?” She raised an eyebrow, a teasing smile on her lips.

“Okay, Y/L/N. You’re getting on my nerves. I’m trying to cook here.” I continued mixing, trying to ignore her playful jabs.

“You should use a wooden spoon,” she advised, inching closer with a wooden spoon in hand. “The metal one makes the sauce acidic. The metal reacts with the pH of the tomatoes—”

I shot her a glare. “I didn’t even know I owned a wooden spoon,” I grumbled, taking it from her. “I almost have a PhD, you know.”

“Okay… okay… Mr. PhD.” She waved her hands in mock surrender. “Can I play some music?” She reached for my laptop on the counter and gasped, laughter bubbling out. “Oh my gosh… you googled the meaning of sautéed?”

“Okay, that’s it, Y/L/N.” I pretended to drop the wooden spoon over the counter dramatically. “No dinner for you.” I pointed a finger at her, struggling to keep a straight face.

“I’m sorry!” she laughed, and I stepped closer, cornering her against the counter. “It does smell delicious,” she whispered, running a finger down my chest.

“And I haven’t even showered yet.” I dropped kisses along her neck, my hand sliding beneath the hem of her shirt.

“You do smell delicious too,” she said in a husky whisper.

“Liar. I stink of onions.”

“Only a little bit.” She giggled into my neck as I lifted her up onto the counter. “Thanks for making me dinner.”

“My pleasure,” I murmured, nuzzling her neck. She smelled amazing—like warmth and sunshine. I pulled back to look into her eyes. “Congratulations on your internship, Y/N. You absolutely earned it.”

“Yeah… about that,” she said, a nervous giggle escaping her lips. “I haven’t said yes yet.”

“Why not?” I asked, confusion painting my features.

“Well, I have to think about it.”

“Y/N, it’s an incredible opportunity. Jin has never offered an internship to a student after only one semester of work.”

“I know… but…” She bit her lip, trailing off.

“What is it?” I cupped her cheek with my hand, rubbing my thumb along her skin.

“Well… are we going to be okay if I join the lab for the summer? We’ll have to keep hiding this, and I know it’s been getting… um… difficult… for both of us.”

I sighed in relief, a smile creeping onto my face. It was sweet of her to include herself, especially when I’d been the one making everything complicated. The thought of her giving up this chance for us made my heart swell. “Yeah… about that…” I echoed her earlier words. She looked at me expectantly. “I’m sorry I’ve been so difficult about the whole thing… but it turns out, we don’t need to hide anymore. I mean, we should still keep things professional in the lab and all, but… Jin sort of knows.”

“WHAT?” She pushed me back with a hand on my chest, her eyes wide.

“I think it was becoming obvious, Y/N. He didn’t ask me directly, but he said our personal life had nothing to do with our work. As long as it didn’t affect our performance, he didn’t care.”

“He doesn’t care?” Her voice was still high-pitched with surprise.

“Apparently, his wife worked for him once too…” I shrugged, returning my attention to dinner. I stirred the sauce and tossed a pinch of salt into the boiling water before adding the spaghetti.

“That… that changes things,” she said slowly, her brow furrowed.

I stepped back between her legs, looking into her eyes. “What is it?”

“So, um… do you want me to take the internship? You won’t get tired of me?”

“What kind of question is that, Y/N?” I shook my head, feeling a pang in my chest. “I’ve been aching, physically hurting, thinking about you taking an internship somewhere else and leaving me for the whole summer.”

Her smile was radiant, brightening the dim kitchen. “You have?”

“Yes…”

“Well, it looks like I won’t be going anywhere,” she declared.

“Good. Because I have a lot of work to do, and I could really use an overachieving undergrad with some pretty amazing skills at the bench.”

“I’d say my skills go beyond the bench. Wouldn’t you agree?” she asked, a teasing smirk playing on her lips.

“I would…” I pointed the wooden spoon at her playfully. “But don’t distract me now, or I’ll burn your dinner.”

Dinner turned out surprisingly well. We ate as she excitedly recounted her classes, finals, classmates, and professors. I sat back, just soaking in the sight of her—how her eyes lit up when she spoke, how her mouth curved into a smile, the way her eyebrows danced with every emotion. Watching her enjoy life, so passionate and full of energy, felt like a precious gift I never wanted to take for granted.

Y/N was drying the last few dishes, the rhythmic swish of the towel against porcelain filling the quiet kitchen with a comforting cadence. I approached her from behind, the warmth of her body radiating toward me as I leaned in to kiss her neck. The familiar flutter of anticipation twisted in my stomach. “You want to show off some of those non-bench skills of yours?”

She turned to me, a playful smile on her lips. As I leaned on the counter, I caught a whiff of my own odor wafting up. “God, I stink…”

Her laughter bubbled up, light and teasing. “It’s fine.”

“Do you mind if I take a quick shower?” I asked, a hopeful lilt creeping into my voice.

“Can I join you?” 

A grin broke across my face, and I took her hand, leading us toward the bathroom. The air between us crackled with a tension that felt electric, urging me to shed my shirt and pants before we even reached the shower.

She kicked off her shoes, her fingers deftly unbuttoning her jeans while I turned the water on, steam swirling like ethereal ghosts in the dim light. “May I?” I asked, wrapping my fingers around her wrist. She nodded, her eyes shimmering with mischief.

With practiced ease, I unbuttoned her jeans, sliding them down to her ankles. As I knelt to kiss her calves, then her knees, and finally her thighs, her giggles rang out like music, lifting the weight of the world off my shoulders. “Your scruff tickles,” she said, her voice bright and breathy.

I lifted her shirt over her head, tracing my fingers along the delicate straps of her bra. Once our underwear was discarded like forgotten memories, I pulled her close, feeling her warmth envelop me as her legs wrapped around my waist. Our differing heights made this an all-too-familiar arrangement, a perfect fit for everything we were about to share.

She squealed as I jumped into the shower, icy water hitting us both and sending shockwaves of heat through my body. Her lips found mine, soft and insistent, and I pressed her back against the cool tiles, the world outside fading away.

“Put me down,” she murmured hoarsely into my ear.

I obliged, feeling the rush of her kisses trailing down my chest as she sank to her knees, a wicked smile playing on her lips. 

“Y/N…” I breathed, leaning against the slick wall for support, knowing what was coming. This was one of her non-bench skills—a skill I’d come to appreciate in ways I couldn’t quite articulate. The water cascaded over us, hot and cold, our bodies entwined in a dance as old as time.

She began slowly, teasing, her hands wrapping around me, her tongue swirling around my tip, and I groaned, the sound swallowed by the rushing water. My instincts told me to hold back, but the pleasure was too sweet, too intoxicating. 

“Y/N…” I rasped, the words spilling out like a confession, “I’m… shit…”

But she didn’t relent. No, she tightened her grip and quickened her pace, and as my knees weakened beneath me, I surrendered to the waves of ecstasy crashing over me. I grabbed at the shower curtain rod, but it shook under my weight. I couldn’t hold on anymore.

With a final, desperate groan, I let go, surrendering to the moment, the pleasure consuming me entirely. She rose from her knees, licking her lips, that look in her eyes making my heart race. “You are one talented woman,” I murmured against her neck, panting.

Still wrapped around me, I stumbled into the bedroom, a tangle of limbs and laughter. I collapsed onto the bed, her body beneath me, and kissed her everywhere, exploring the soft curves that felt like home.

I knelt beside the bed, pulling her legs over my shoulders, my hands wandering over her hips as I feasted on the sweetness before me. The taste of her was electric, sending jolts of desire straight to my core. 

“God, Y/N, you taste even better than you smell,” I groaned, losing myself in her as she writhed beneath my touch, her moans filling the air like a siren’s song. 

It was then that I realized bringing her pleasure was no longer just a thrill; it was my favorite pastime, a dance of intimacy that bound us closer than any words could express. I placed soft kisses along her body, the world outside fading into obscurity, leaving only us—lost in our own private paradise. 

“Mmmmmm… Yoongi…” she sighed, fingers tangling in my hair. “Very… talented… yourself.”

I chuckled, planting another kiss on her lips, affection bubbling up like a tide. I love you, I love you, I love you…

“Inside… now,” she commanded, breathless and eager.

“Yes, ma’am,” I grinned, knowing this night would linger in our memories long after the water had dried.

“Y/N?” I gently comb my fingers through her damp hair, the strands clinging to my chest like the remnants of a storm.

“Hmm?” Her voice is soft, almost dreamy, as if she’s still wrapped up in the warmth of the moment.

“I… I want to tell you about my parents.” As I speak, she lifts her head, folding her arms over my chest, resting her chin there like it’s a pillow—a sanctuary amid the chaos of my memories.

A tiny grin dances on her lips, and she nods, encouraging me to continue.

“You probably guessed that they’re dead, right?”

She nods again, her gaze steady. “I know they’re not part of your life now… I figured something must have happened.”

“My dad died when I was four,” I say, the words tumbling out bluntly, like the beginning of a ghost story. 

“I’m sorry…” Her voice is small, fragile.

“I don’t remember him, except for pictures.” I shrug, trying to shake off the weight of the past. “He had pretty aggressive colon cancer—killed him in two months.”

“Oh my God, Yoongi… I’m so sorry.”

“It’s fine.” I attempt a smile, but it probably comes out crooked and imperfect, like an old photograph faded by time. “So it was just my mom and me for a while… but when I was eleven, she was diagnosed with breast cancer.”

Her eyes widen, a shadow of understanding crossing her face as she starts rubbing gentle circles on my chest with her fingers, an attempt to soothe the pain I’m dredging up.

“She was so strong, though. She fought it for almost two years, with the most eager and positive attitude you can imagine. Kind of like you, in a way.” I flash her another smile, hoping to lighten the moment, but Y/N’s eyes glisten with unshed tears, and she remains silent, letting me spill my heart.

“When she started getting worse, we moved in with my aunt, uncle, and Yoonji. My dad’s brother, Namjoon, is one of the best oncologists on the West Coast. But after metastasis, there was pretty much nothing else he could do.” 

“And that’s why you do cancer research,” she says, piecing it all together.

“It was Namjoon’s idea, really. He talked about how frustrating it was, being an oncologist, waiting for new therapies, new drugs, and discoveries. I figured it made sense to devote my life to that.”

“It does…” she replies, her tone soft but firm, a steady anchor in my turbulent sea of memories.

“I know it’s not a very profitable career…” I pause, the weight of Estelle’s words echoing in my mind, the sting of her judgment lingering like a bad dream—wasting my time.

“Profitable?” Her disbelief catches me off guard, pulling me from my thoughts. “What do you need so much money for anyway? You’re doing something you love. Something meaningful. That’s so much more important.”

Y/N renders me speechless with her insight, her understanding washing over me like a wave, leaving me breathless. I kiss the top of her head, the moment stretching between us until I decide to share the last piece of my story, the promise I made her before.

“My mom… um… she loved The Carpenters. She would make me sing their songs to her all the time. At the end—when she was breathing through a tube and couldn’t speak anymore—she wrote that note you saw on the CD.”

“‘I’ll be with Daddy soon’?” Y/N remembers, her voice barely a whisper, the words hanging heavy in the air.

“Yes…” I run a hand through my hair, staring at the ceiling as if the white paint might offer me some solace. I try to breathe through the lump in my throat. “I still miss her… so much.” I keep my eyes fixed on the ceiling, willing them not to fill with tears, blaming the onions and their cruel sulfenic acids when they finally betray me.

After a few deep breaths, I turn to face Y/N, who is sniffling, her hands trembling slightly.

“Y/N, don’t cry. Please.”

“I’m sorry. It’s just so sad. I’m so sorry.” She cries over my chest, and I run my hand over her hair, creating a soothing rhythm in the storm of emotions.

“I know. But I’m okay. I’m happy now.”

“You are?”

“Yes, because of you.”

Her sniffles dissolve into giggles, a beautiful mix of laughter and tears, and she never ceases to amaze me with her resilience.

“I love you, Y/N.” The words burn in my throat, raw and true, echoing in the empty spaces of my heart.

She lifts her head, staring at me through her wet eyelashes, and I know she can feel how my heart pounds beneath her. I’m overwhelmed by emotions, but I’ve never spoken truer words. After a moment, Y/N’s hand reaches behind my neck, and her lips collide with mine in a passionate kiss, her tears mingling with mine.

“And I love you…” she breathes in between kisses, her voice trembling with sincerity. “So… so… so much.”

We fall asleep like that, her warm body over my chest, the world fading away. I feel a profound relief, a weight lifting as she gets to know me in ways no one ever has. And even though shadows of uncertainty linger about our future, I realize I don’t have to solve everything right now. Like Y/N said, I would savor my time—my time with her, my time in school. As long as she was by my side, nothing else mattered. I was doing what I loved, and the person I loved was right there with me. It couldn’t possibly get any better than this.

© chimcess, 2024. Do not copy or repost without permission.

[yuzukult]

dissonance (m) || jjk & reader

title: dissonance pairing: jeon jungkook x reader genre: angst, fluff, smut, rockstar!jungkook, gradstudent!reader wc: 19.4k  summary: something that first seems out of reach becomes a reality for him. screaming adoring fans, billboards with him and his band plastered on it, and touring across the globe with venues sold out. he has everything... but all he's missing is you. warnings: explicit protected sex, vulgar language, sexual innuendos, oral sex (female receiving) -- please let me know if i’m missing anything else! a/n: um. oh my god. how did i plan for like 10.0k and ended up with 19.4k, i’ll never know. hopefully this isn’t boring!! :D i’d also like to thank all the beta readers in @/ficscafe discord, and especially @masterninjacow & @latetaektalk (before the smut ofc... i didn’t even write it until like 1hr ago), @koocycle, @cheolbooluvr, @ddaechwita, and @jayhopely​!! pray i didn’t forget to mention any of the big beta readers because honestly there was a lot LOL. um. enjoy. yeah.

p.s. if there’s errors, i don’t even know if i want you to tell me bc this shit is way too long and makes both my laptop and phone lag FDJKSALFJA LMAO

He loves it here. It’s his dream to be here, on the stage, with the feeling of the music rumbling underneath the soles of his chunky boots, with the sea of fans screaming and hollering out his name, with his self-produced songs booming through the speakers of the venue while his band stands by his side, just as passionate for this as he is.

It’s his dream; he reiterates this constantly as a reminder that this isn’t something everyone gets the chance to breathe the opportunity of. He’s been manifesting this scenario his entire life, wishing and praying to the potential Gods to help make his aspirations become a reality. He’d work his ass off to make ends meet, be able to afford the necessities all while chasing this goal that many claimed to be unrealistic or unattainable. But he’s here right now, supporters that flood the building to the brim for a concert that’s been sold out in thirty cities so far. He has everything he could ever want. Girls, money, music…

But why does he feel like there’s something missing?

Another pair of panties gets thrown at the toes of his boots—it’s probably the sixth one that night but he’s grown used to this already. In some performances, girls would throw themselves at his feet instead of undergarments, yelling at the top of their lungs so ferociously that the security guards had to hold them back in fear of what they were capable of. And sure, if he really wanted to, he could ask them out or invite them back to his hotel room for a quick bang, and it was what he’d been doing for the first couple years, and maybe they’d make him feel a little less like this.

It doesn’t quite hit the same way anymore.

He’s left with this feeling of emptiness when he says his goodbyes and shuts the door behind them; there’s a gap in his chest like he’s forgotten something, yearning for it to be filled but those girls aren’t the ones to do it. His dreams used to be able to—but what are accomplished dreams when you have no one to share them with?

His friends/band mates are great, supportive and understanding, he’s admitted that he’s gotten lucky in that department, but part of him believes that it’s not friendship he’s lacking.

It’s love.

It sounds sappy to the ears of strangers, especially because ideally, you’re not supposed to depend on love to have that stuffed-to-the-brim emotion in your chest, to feel complete and whole because a pretty person fell for you and vice versa. But to Jungkook, being in love had been something he thought he could toss under the rug for another day when he’d given up the girls he'd been infatuated with for this unobtainable aspiration, yet instead, he finds himself back in the same spot years later. Missing a lost sentiment he had to let go to make a dream come true.

He loved the chase—he’s a hopeless romantic kind-of-guy. After all, how would all of his songs be so full of raw emotion? It’s because Jungkook lives it—or well, lived it because everything he knew about love had been left on a shelf to collect dust. He’d deserted the last one back in his hometown. And he’d try to convince himself that he didn’t need someone, but he’s grown… lonely.

And quite frankly, finding someone genuine has proven to be difficult.

Don’t mention Tinder, Jungkook has already tried that. It promptly made headlines the moment he logged into that app with a selfie he’s never used before, and still then people actually thought he was catfishing, and wasn’t the real Jeon Jungkook. He should’ve known. But in all fairness, Jungkook isn’t much of a ‘future thinker’.

Then there was trying to date a staff member—worst idea yet. That noona ended up pissed at him when he realized that this wasn’t what he wanted (he’d learn she was quite the control freak) and she flipped shit to the point that his managers fired her on the spot, then informed the security that she was on the “do not enter” list.

After that, Jungkook just thought maybe he was going about this wrong.

Maybe women weren’t actually of his interest.

Possibly, he was into men.

So, he tried. He ventured out a little, got a little taste here and there. Jungkook even found someone who fit him perfectly. His name? Kim Hyunwoo.

God, Kim Hyunwoo was a very gorgeous man.

Hyunwoo was tall, lean, with black hair that matched the midnight sky. His jawline was sharp without the need of Photoshop, skin so smooth that it felt like butter underneath his fingertips, and had a smile that was so fucking bright, you’d see it from lightyears away. He’s always got that hooded sultry gaze like he’s in the middle of a photoshoot; chin up, sleepy eyes, and slightly parted lips, Jungkook was confused whether his boyfriend was just standing beside him or modelling for the camera. Hyunwoo also had this deep, husky voice that swooned all the girls he’d encountered, the majority practically begging for his phone number, but he was simply into boys. Jungkook thought he was lucky to even be able to snag up a guy like him in the first place. He had a lot of competition, apparently.

It worked out for a little while, Jungkook confesses, because Hyunwoo was overall a great boyfriend. He looked out for Jungkook, treated him well and they shared the same interests.

But… that was the problem.

They got along very well. As if they were best friends.

He found himself getting a bit uncomfortable when things got a little too serious—don’t get him wrong though, he wasn’t embarrassed to be dating a guy. Hyunwoo was the definition of a model with all those sharp facial features. He’d even been stopped and recruited several times during their dates, and truthfully, it made Jungkook feel a little awkward. He was the celebrity here, yet standing beside Hyunwoo only made him feel small.

And in all honesty, he shouldn’t feel this way about the success of his significant other. But it wasn’t even just that. He found himself unable to pass first base with the guy—something about the action itself made him feel… unnerving. But he’s attracted to Hyunwoo. So why can’t he push himself to kiss him?

Jungkook learns that maybe he finds men appealing but he couldn’t have anything more than a friendship with them.

So, he dove head first back into the dating game. Met girls all over during his tour stops; he ran into a foreigner named Lily, a gorgeous girl with pretty blonde hair and pale skin. But they didn’t click. He oddly felt like they weren’t ever on the same page. Then he went to dinner with a gal named—okay. He’d forgotten her name. But the way her dress hugged her ass made his mind go blank, so could he really be blamed? (The answer is yes.) Oh! What about that girl whose name is similar to a hurricane? She had long, dark hair that matched her lengthy lashes and fluttered over her supple cheeks when she sucked his—

Nonetheless, it was a dud, again. He’s still lonely, he sadly confesses, but all of this is too much for him to process. He’s tired of getting his heart broken. He’s exhausted from meeting girls who first claimed that they’re not obsessed then actually are. He’s worn out of the ones who don’t love him for him, but love him for his fame.

Jungkook just wants to be loved for being… Jungkook.

And when he encounters you, some graduate student who spends majority of her days in between the activities of your face dug into a textbook or eyes glued onto a computer screen, he thinks he’s back to where he was before this lifestyle. Jungkook finds himself swooning, desperately wishing for your touch and kisses, but there’s just one thing he doesn’t quite know.

Do you like Jungkook for Jungkook? Or do you like the ideal version of him that sings on stage, tossing off his shirt with his abs flexing while the crowd screams his name once more, all while the veins in his neck pop when he reaches that high note?

Or do you like Jungkook, the one who still doesn’t understand the difference between an orange and clementine, the one who still has trouble knowing when a potato is thoroughly cooked, and why his socks came out of the wash in this weird pinky shade when they definitely went in as white.

So… which is it? Which Jungkook are you interested in?

Jungkook recalls the first meeting so vividly. People always call their initial brush of contact with the person they have feelings for a “meet-cute” (he learns this from his bandmate Jimin) but truthfully, he’s not sure what to call yours.

For one, you’re a very nice person. But he caught you in a bad situation when he landed his eyes on you for the first time; hair disheveled, frantic movements and heavy breaths, you didn’t seem rather… sane. In fact, he actually thought you were one of those psycho fans, waiting inside of the coffee shop, ready to pounce on him and ask for kisses, an autograph, and a hand in marriage, possibly.

Albeit when he spills his coffee onto you (purely accidental, not that he was scared of you or anything), he truly wasn’t sure how to react.

Well, unexpectedly, you blew.

Like the result of a ticking time bomb.

You yelled at him in the middle of that coffee shop (he’s not sure if he could ever show face there ever again)—veins popping along the side of your neck with a furrow of your brows, mouth constantly moving with sharp words that spat out of it. He was startled, completely baffled as to how you were able to formulate such… creative insults.

It ranged from being called a “dumbass with a head that's so big you’d expect it to at least have some knowledge in it, but really it’s just hollow,” to how he should“ go get prescribed lenses because it seems like you’re fucking blind as shit.” Honestly, there were definitely worse ones but he only revealed those two since his feelings might get hurt if he revisited the others.

Although seeing you now, you’re not that person. It was horrible timing, he learns later on, because you actually have the warmest heart he’s ever encountered. You’re beaming with smiles, radiating nothing but positivity on your routes, and when Jungkook has a rough day, just unlocking his phone to see your daily texts is enough to do it for him.

He’s so embarrassed to admit he’s got a crush on you. This simple, casual girl who knows who he is yet doesn’t treat him less than or better than everyone else just because of his career.

But he still has his doubts.

He worries, oftentimes his thoughts seem to stray away from what they’re supposed to be, constantly overthinking all the possibilities of what may happen if the two of you officially got together. He ponders about the what ifs, like how would you even react when this big time celebrity tells you that he has been harboring these feelings for you for months, or if it turns out this entire time, you’ve been devising a plan to date him for his fame and money.

Or, his imagination could be running wild and you would do neither, other than respond surprisingly to his confession.

Nonetheless, he’s still scared. Jungkook has been on so many dates, “broken” so many hearts because they broke his by holding up a facade, by making him feel like they wanted him. And he’s tired, exhausted like he’s run a marathon without the end in sight, when all he’s done is search for someone to love and to love him.

And when he finally gets to know you, the you that wears those baby blue overalls stained with smears of different shades of primary colors from helping your sister paint her nursery room for her soon-to-be-arriving daughter aka your niece, he learns what it feels like to be in love for another time. “You never know what color she likes,” he recalls you saying over a Facetime call, waving around a brush with the ends drenched in a canary yellow, but your pillowy cheeks have marks of blue on them. “Or they. He. Whatever that kid wants to go by later on. So instead, I’m painting her a portrait.”

“I didn’t know you were a painter,” he retorted, but you shrugged as you propped the phone onto a tin-plated steel paint can. “I thought you said you were going to school to become a scientist.”

“Scientists are allowed to have hobbies, Jeon Jungkook.”

Jungkook remembers a laugh effortlessly slipping from his lips, something you’re able to spill out of him with ease, and it’s partially the reason why he sticks by you so often. After he offered to pay for dinner to make up for the coffee spill (which you gladly took simply because you’re a poor grad student), he met with you yet again, but this time, you’re more welcoming when you’re in a better mood (you tell him “obviously” when he mentions this in the future), and that warm smile stretching from cheek to cheek is enough to lure him into the idea of love once more.

“What’s up with you?” Jimin queries, snapping Jungkook out of his trance.

He doesn’t realize it, but he’s lost in his thoughts as usual. On the leather loveseat in the living room of the shared condo he lives in with his bandmates, he huffs out a heavy breath, head thrown back. “I’m just…”

“Thinkin’ ‘bout that girl again?” he asks, but this time with a drink in his hand from the fridge. He pops the can open, a sizzle of the soda hissing through the opening as he brings it up to his lips. “Why don’t you just fucking date her if you’re so into her? I mean, yeah, she ain’t exactly your type, but you’re fucking Jeon Jungkook for god’s sake. She’s gonna wanna date you.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes. “That’s not the point, Jimin.”

“Then what is?” Jimin shoots back, raising a brow questioningly. “You could get any girl, including her. What's going on with you?”

Jungkook doesn’t like to talk about these things with his members. It’s nothing personal—they just have different perspectives when it comes to things like these. They love the idea of temporary; girls coming and going, barely even staying within the late hours. By the time they’re stumbling out of their apartment, they’re struggling to slide back into the heels they wore for the night out when the sun hasn’t even risen yet. His friends love that, they favor the fact that the girls they encounter never come with any baggage because they never stay long enough for them to unload it.

They’re not hopeless romantics like Jungkook—it’s why they’re never the ones to dip into the lyrics of the song, it’s only him writing it. They don’t have the passion for love like he does. When they see the sunrise, they think of the walk-of-shame, staggering out of the homes of the women they slept with after a show, but when Jungkook sees the sunrise, he thinks of the way your hair blows in the direction of the wind when you’re snuggling into the scarf that wraps around your neck. How your nose twitches at the feeling of the brisk air smacking against your skin, shoulders raising before bouncing to regain the warmth in your coat. He’s reminded of the way your fingers tap against the paper cup with steam coming out of the opening, waving him off about how you have class in a couple minutes and you don’t have time to hear his story about the performance he had just a couple hours before.

“Ugh,” he groans, hopping up from his seat. “Listen, I don’t wanna talk about it. We’re just friends, alright? Nothing more.”

Jimin has his arms out, clicking his tongue irritably. “Aye, come on. You’re not actually upset because I said that, are you? Seriously though. You wanna get in her pants, it’s easy, you just—”

“I don’t wanna just get in her pants, Jimin, I wanna date her.”

“Alright, well, that shouldn’t be a problem either.”

Jungkook scoffs. “You don’t get it, do you?” His bandmate only furrows his brows in confusion as a response. “I want her to date me because she likes me for me, not because I’m some celebrity in a famous band.”

Jimin sighs, placing his drink onto the counter. He has his hands on his hips, tongue poking the inside of his cheek. “Then why won’t you talk to her instead of moping around like some sad puppy all day in our apartment? You realize that negativity is contagious, right?” Jimin shakes his head. “We care about you, okay? And we want you to be happy. I’ll never understand what you want right now because I’m not looking for a serious relationship. But I’ll help you if you need me to.” Help with what? Thanks for nothing.

Annoyed, he grabs his jacket from the coat rack, slinging it over his shoulders and sliding his arms into the sleeves. He needs air, needs space from the guys, because although he loves them dearly, he feels like the odd one out these days.

The first person he could think of contacting is you, and of course it is because all this revolves around you. Then again, you’re on shift tonight. But at the same time, you have to welcome customers, don’t you?

Or so, he thought.

If your stare had lasers, he’d be melting right now.

“What are you even doing here?” you hiss as Jungkook grins cheekily while adjusting the black baseball cap on his head. Did he really think he could hide his identity behind a flimsy jacket and some old ass hat? How stupid was he? “And why are you dressed like that?”

“It’s a disguise.”

“And that’s the best you could do? Come on, Jeon. You could do better than that. I thought you had a high IQ.”

“I never said that.”

“Are you sure?”

“I may have mentioned it once.”

“Well, once more than I have ever spoken about my IQ.”

He can’t help but let out a breathy laugh, crossing his arms over his chest. “I’m a rockstar now, I think a high IQ is the least of my worries. Plus, no one suspects a thing. I just look like some guy coming to grab a cup of coffee.”

“At 11:32 pm.” You quirk a brow. “You look more like a creeper than ‘some guy,’ Jeon.”

“It’s a 24-hour cafe,” he attempts to justify, and you only roll your eyes.

There’s something about you that’s so simple, yet at the same time makes you even more beautiful than usual. Is it the way your hair is messily tied in a low bun with flyaways that cover your face? Or is it how cutely you scrunch up your nose when your hair brushes over it, shaking your head to get it out of your field of vision? Maybe it’s how the space between your brows crinkle in concentration when you’re tapping orders into the iPad register, trying your best to accommodate to the system that seems to update every couple weeks with a new layout.

Jungkook leans over the counter, some funky latte you whipped up from the specials menu in his hand. “I was feeling a bit… off today. Wanted to see you.”

“Mhm,” you hum, wiping down the caps of the syrups that line the shelves. “Not sure what I could provide for you Jeon. But what’s up with you?”

He chews on his bottom lip anxiously. Is today the day? The day he finally professes his true feelings for you?

Jungkook tests the waters. “I, uh, got into a little argument with Jimin.”

You click your tongue, the same way Jimin did earlier in the apartment. “Why do you keep fighting with my favorite member of your band?”

“I thought I was the favorite.”

“Have you seen his ass?”

Jungkook tilts his head. “You’re not even sure what my band members look like, do you?”

Nose scrunching up, you do an arm swing, feigning disappointment from being caught in your lies. “Oh, darn. How’d you figure that out?”

He lets out a hearty laugh from his chest, warm and full of elation like he always does when he’s with you. For a moment, he doesn’t remember his fame, he forgets the crazy fans, the surfeit of stages he performs on—he just lives in the simplicity of this moment, the calmness before every storm of his shows, and gets to bask in the normal things about life. How the front of your brows dip when you’re using the little ounce cup to measure how much of those weird, sticky, fruity syrups to add into the drinks the customers’ order is probably his most favorite moment to swim in. He loves that you’re able to make him feel alive in this way, a different kind of alive in comparison to when his feet are on the stage of a venue, mic stand in hand while he sings his heart out because instead, he’s got his heart in the palm of his own hands, reaching it out to you.

“Seriously though, maybe you should get along with your boys,” you state firmly, wiping down the counters in unison. “They’re not just your bandmates or your roommates. They’re your best friends; you guys have come a long way from where you started. Don’t turn your backs on them just because you’re slightly annoyed.”

He sighs, rubbing the round of his cap discontentedly. Jungkook knows where you’re coming from, but he hasn’t exactly been entirely honest with you when it comes to why he got upset with the guys because well… it’ll expose this stupid little crush he has on you. “I know that. They just… they just don’t get me sometimes, you know?”

“That’s no excuse,” you quip, tossing the rag into the sink. “You sit down and talk like grown adults. Communicate. Converse until it gets through all of your heads. Don’t fight.”

Jungkook smiles. Again. He’s so infatuated that he knows he’s far gone now when it has to do with you. “The guys would love you.”

“Yeah, but I wouldn’t love them.”

With a chuckle, he adjusts himself by leaning against the counter. “I know. You’ve got that thing where you hate irresponsible people. They drink, party, get involved with girls then break their hearts—they’re not exactly the kind of personalities you love to associate yourself with. But forgetting all of that, as friends, they’re great people, and I think you guys would get along.”

“We have different morals.”

“They’re just people, they’re allowed to enjoy themselves.”

“So why do you get upset when they have one-night stands?”

Frozen, Jungkook remains in the spot he’s in, almost like his feet are rooted into the broken tiles of the coffee shop. How did you even figure that out? Was he that obvious? He didn’t think he was, especially since he’s been manually trying his best to control what he says when it has to do with the topic of dating. “I… I don’t get upset.”

You roll your eyes. “Oh, come on, Jeon. I hear the way you talk about them. Your voice raises a couple of decibels, your ears get all red, and your jaw clenches. Trust me, I notice. And it’s fine that you get upset, but that doesn’t mean that it’s just them that don’t understand you, but vice versa.”

Were you actually siding with guys you’ve never even met, let alone googled?

“Are you really taking their stance on this?”

“I mean, you can’t possibly think you’re perfect, right?”

His jaw tightens and ears grow heated. He takes a deep breath for a moment before speaking; Jungkook doesn’t get mad at you, at least, not really, but today is slightly different from your other encounters because he came to you to ditch those guys, only for you to bring up the same exact thing? Not the right time.

“It’s not that I think that I’m perfect—”

“So why can’t you try putting yourself into their shoes and see how they’re feeling? They’re also trying to understand you. I mean—you don’t have to tell me that you’re not perfect. You’re a rockstar, but that doesn’t mean you’re smart enough to decide that wearing all black in a public setting isn’t a good idea because I’ve already heard three separate side conversations of girls asking if it ‘really is Jeon Jungkook underneath that black dad hat with a prada logo’—”

Jungkook cowers. “What?”

You sigh. “You should go.”

“I wanted to see you.”

“Yeah, well, I wanna see the Jonas Brothers perform but I’m in grad school, a broke ass bitch, and using every free minute I have to work at this goddamn fucking café.” Then you’re giving him that ‘that sucks’ look he’s all too familiar with. “You can see me when I’m studying at the library. Nobody who listens to heavy rock music studies there on a Sunday afternoon.”

“It’s not—”

You wave your hand dismissively at him. “Yeah, yeah, just go.”

This is the twelfth time Jungkook has invited you to a concert of his.

And it’s the twelfth time you don’t come.

It’s not like you give him empty promises either; you make it abundantly clear that the chances of you ever going is slimmer than 0.4%. How do you come up with that particular number? He’s not exactly sure, but he accepts the small percentage with a little glimmer of hope, nonetheless.

“Tae, I need you to help me with my guitar amp.”

“Isn’t that what the staff is for?” Yoongi narrows his eyes at his bandmate and Taehyung immediately places down his Starbucks mocha frappuccino on the stool before rushing over to help him.

Jungkook wishes you were here. This was quite literally the ‘calm before the storm,’ and seeing your pretty face and soothing voice would give him the encouragement to perform on stage, but he knows you’re not the type to come see a band that you’re not interested in.

He sort of hopes you were interested in him, but he digresses.

“Where’s your girlfriend?” Namjoon asks, helping tune one of the electric guitars as he sits comfortably on one of the amps. “I thought you guys were good. Why doesn’t she come?”

“She’s not his girlfriend,” Jimin chimes in, walking on stage. He’s got his earpiece hung over the curve of his ear, and adjusting the mic stand to his height afterwards. “Apparently, Jungkook is a bit hesitant about asking her out.”

Taehyung jolts his head at the younger male. “Why the fuck you scared for? You’re the lead singer of a rock band. You’re fucking racking with money, pussy is literally lining outside your fucking door, and you’ve probably got a big dick—”

“Whoa whoa whoa,” Yoongi calls out, furrowing his brows at the kid, “don’t be talking about Jungkook’s dick like that, what the fuck?”

Jimin looks at Yoongi with a confused expression. “Have you seen his fucking dong?”

“Alright,” Namjoon gets up from his seat, propping the guitar back on its stand. “Let’s… How about we not talk about our friend’s genitals, and try helping him with his girl problem instead?”

Immediately, Jungkook waves his hands in dismissal. “No, it’s fine, seriously—“

Namjoon raises his palm up to halt the younger male. “Come on. We may have different perspectives in life, but tell us seriously how you’re feeling and we’ll figure it out together.”

“I just,” he sighs, running his fingers through his already disheveled hair. “I wanna ask her out, but I don’t know if I wanna do this because… she’s great but—“

“You think she’s only into the idea that you’re a celebrity,” Yoongi interjects, nodding his head as if he’s seen it before. “I used to date this girl—I’ve never introduced you guys to her before,” he’s got a finger put down with every word that describes her, “Beautiful. Tall. Sweet. Kind. But she loved that we were up and coming at the time, that we were getting famous so quickly and she loved that lifestyle. Wanted me to bring her as a date to every party. But I was so infatuated, my stupid ass didn’t see it. It wasn’t until that first record deal fell through that she also fell through.”

Jungkook puffs his cheeks. “Then what do you suggest I do?”

“Well, you’ll never know her unless you actually date her.”

Jungkook’s hands are abnormally perspiring way too much. He can’t believe that a girl, not even his first time performing on stage for thousands of people, causes him to feel this nervous. Shaking his shoulders in his bomber jacket, he takes in a deep breath before opening the doors of the library.

2nd flr, your text reads, and Jungkook recalls that you preferred this level since you were still allowed to talk here but in a low volume. You weren’t a big fan of dead silent places, and ever since you found this spot, it’s been your go-to. He’s already rushing up the steel staircases of the building the moment you confirm there’s a spot for him to sit in. It’s not his first time and he’s not even a student here, yet he’s probably been here more frequently than those who were enrolled. He comes to see you, not even to study or anything else. In reality, he finds himself scrolling through social media on his phone or even borrowing your laptop as your face is dug deep into the depths of the pages of your textbook, only to do the same exact thing he was doing on his own mobile device.

When he pushes through another set of double doors, he lets out a sigh of relief. There isn’t one specific reason why he feels this way, but there’s just something about you that releases the burden that sits atop of his shoulders.

“Hey,” Jungkook calls out softly, and your head perks up at the sudden movement of the chair in front of you. Pulling out an AirPod from one of your ears, your sunken eyes meet up with his. “What are you studying for?”

In your oversized charcoal hoodie (the one you got from Artizia that one time; something about how expensive it was but the moment your arms and head slides through the holes, you were already one with the hoodie), you’ve got your hair tied up in a loose, messy bun, stray strands cascading over your face. He takes note that you’ve been breaking out lately; a pimple on your cheek, nose, and chin, black circles darkening underneath those pretty eyes, and you’ve been putting in less effort to apply makeup on in the mornings.

Yet, you still look effortlessly gorgeous.

“What?” you say, half of the energy you normally exhibit.

Jungkook has a soft smile tugging on the edges of his mouth. You’re cute. “I asked what you were studying for.”

“Some specific law class. If I got into the details, you wouldn’t get it.”

He chuckles quietly. “Good call on stopping yourself from explaining.” Slipping the backpack off his shoulders, he unzips it before pulling out a sandwich he bought from the store.

Your face abruptly is three shades brighter.

“Is… is that for me?”

“No,” he retorts bluntly with a straight face until it breaks with a grin. “… Yes. Of course. I even got you chicken salad as the protein.”

You gasp. “Chicken salad? You went all out, Jeon Jungkook. What are you having?”

“Nah, I’m on a diet. I got a performance on Friday night and I’m supposed to showcase my abs.”

Your nose scrunches up, hands reaching out with a grabby-grabby motion. “Gimme gimme. And—do you have to show your abs? I mean, they come for your music, right?”

Jungkook narrows his gaze at you. “Come on, you can’t possibly think that they’re all here for the music. I’ve seen some of them that come backstage with VIP passes. It was like they paid for it to test their chances of fucking me or something ‘cause they didn’t even know the titles of some of the songs.”

Midway reaching your first bite of your sandwich, you cringe again.

“Which… actually is sorta something I wanted to talk to you about.”

Cheeks stuffed with the carbs, his heart is full with love at the sight. You’re so cute like this, eyes widened, smears of the mayo on the side of your lips, and your mouth is filled to the brim with the sandwich that he can see a bit of it protruding out.

“What?” He swears he saw you spit something out of your mouth but he ignores it.

“I… have a confession to make.”

How you swallow that huge ass bite so quickly, he’ll never know, but you wipe your mouth with a napkin, the fronts of your brows dipping at his abrupt statement.

Jungkook inhales a deep breath before releasing it while you eye him curiously. “I… like you.”

You snort.

It’s not the reaction he was looking for—or, well, he wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but it definitely wasn’t this. “What?”

“Well, I don’t see why you’re making it into a big deal. We’re friends, aren’t we? I know you like me. Otherwise we wouldn’t be friends.”

His face contorts in confusion. “No, I meant like… I like you. More than a friend. Boyfriend and girlfriend kind of deal.”

You place your sandwich down gingerly.

“Do you… not like me in return?”

Shoulders dropped, your lips curve into a frown. He doesn’t want to be the type of guy who says you look beautiful even when you’re upset, but… you’re beautiful when you’re upset. “Don’t worry, I like you. You’re charming and handsome, smart at times and dumb at others, but there’s still things I learn from you. Of course, it’s sort of hard not to like you.”

Jungkook beams.

“But,” his face drops; nothing good comes out after the word ‘but’. “I wouldn’t necessarily be interested in dating you.”

He freezes; he’s more frozen than when Captain America is found in that block of ice. “Wh… Why?”

“Because you’re a rockstar.”

“And?”

You roll your eyes. “Jungkook, we both have vastly different priorities.”

Bewildered by your response, Jungkook adjusts himself in the wooden chair, the ones you complain about that make your ass hurt when you sit on them for too long, and clears his throat. “I mean, everyone has different priorities. I don’t see what you’re getting at.”

Fiddling with a piece of the bread, your eyes don’t even meet with his. “Jungkook, you seem to forget that you’re this big rockstar. You have billions of adoring fans, you travel frequently, you drink and get blackout wasted with your band mates, and well… I don’t know how else to describe your lifestyle other than that you’re living the dream. I’m just a grad student. I’m trying to finish school, get a job, one day get married and have kids. If we ever dated, we’d be casual. You’re like an undergrad fling, not a graduate school one.”

Baffled, his mouth is agape. Were you really labeling him as a fling despite the fact that the two of you haven’t even dated yet?

“You… okay, let me get this right. You don’t want to date me because I’m a rockstar?”

“Precisely.”

Leaning back in his seat, he pulls his baseball cap off his head and tosses it on the table before running his fingers through his disheveled tangled locks. “Wh… I’ve never been in this situation.”

You’re already reaching for your sandwich again as if you didn’t just tore his heart to shreds. “Um. I’m sorry. I think we’d make great friends though.”

“You know, girls would kill to date me because I’m a celebrity.”

There’s an empty look washing over your face. “Correct. Which all the more makes me not want us to date.”

“Because what?” he snaps, exasperated.

“Because,” you reiterate, continuing along, “I’d have so many people to compete with. What makes you think I wouldn’t be sitting in the middle of my apartment on days you’re on tour elsewhere, or pacing around my living room, distressed because I have no idea what my boyfriend is up to? Or if he has better options lining up, waiting to get his attention and be his when I’m supposed to be the only one?”

“Because,” he’s mocking you now, “you’d be my girlfriend. The only one that’s on my mind.”

You scoff. “Not the only one in your eyesight that’s half naked though.”

He groans frustratedly, rubbing his face into his hands. “I’ve never had to convince someone to date me before.”

“Jungkook, it’s fine. I think you’re great with an amazing personality. But we’re just not meant to be because I can’t understand your stardom life. That’s all. Maybe in another lifetime.”

“I don’t have control over those girls that strip in front of me or throw their undergarments on stage.”

“I never said it was your fault.”

He sucks in his cheeks, pondering on how to proceed next. Jungkook didn’t prepare for this—he thought he’d either get friendzoned or you’d run into his arms eagerly, excited to be finally his. And somehow, it’s… neither?

Jungkook never knew his job could get in the way of getting his dream girl.

He stays silent, absorbing all of this information. So you did like him back, you just didn’t want to get involved with a rockstar. It makes sense though, and he completely understands where you’re coming from because his bandmates live that same exact lifestyle that you claim is stereotypical celebrity behavior. But he wanted to prove to you that he wasn’t like that, that he saw life a whole lot differently than those guys, and if anything he is solely dedicating himself to you and no other girl if it meant that you’d be his girlfriend.

“How… how do I convince you otherwise?”

This intrigues you. There’s a twitch in your brow, like your face is going to warp into a different countenance, but you’re resuming eating your sandwich again to stall a response.

“Maybe… if you come to my shows, go on a couple dates with me, and hang out with my friends, you’d… get a better glimpse of what that side of me is really like. It’s not like you don’t have feelings for me, right? So this is just… just a trial run. And if it really doesn’t work out, I’ll drop it and we can continue being friends again. I won’t probe you.”

Finishing your last bite, you brush your hands off of the crumbs on the side. He remembers the first time you did that; the remnants of your poptart that spilled onto the table while you were studying were whisked off and onto the floor and when he made a comment about how unsanitary it was, your rebuttal was, ‘if I’m paying this much for University, I’m going to make a mess.’ It’s one of the reasons he fell for you—not that weird thing with the crumbs you did though, he still doesn’t support it, but it’s how bold and honest you were, and he hadn’t met anyone like that.

Finger in your mouth to get the remains of the sandwich off the side of your teeth, you wipe your hand off on the napkin and suck in your cheeks. He cringes, and he knows you’re doing this purposely to throw him off because of his proposal.

“Fine.”

“Fine?” He didn’t think it was going to be that easy.

“Fine,” you reiterate once more, leaning back in your seat. “But if I still feel the same way, I’m moving on and you can’t keep pursuing. I’m giving this a shot in case one day, I look back and regret that I didn’t at least give it a try.”

Jungkook’s cheering inside.

The queue outside wraps around the venue and continues down the street, past a Starbucks, a post office, and some creepy gas station with a couple lights flickering, in need of a replacement. The sight of the amount of people that are waiting just to see Jungkook’s band perform is astonishing, leaving your mouth agape because truthfully, you’ve never truly thought about how famous he was. All you knew was that if you Googled his name, an actual Wikipedia page would show up.

Maybe that should’ve been the first sign that he’s actually a celebrity.

It feels wrong when you passed the people in the line, like you’re cutting them off or something, but this Staff pass that Jungkook gives you lets you slide in both the front and backdoors with ease, and allows way more accessibility than some nutty ass VIP pass that fans have to sell an organ for. So, pulling your jacket closer to your frame, you crouch your head down as much as possible to avoid any attention before flashing that plastic rectangular card with the words ‘STAFF’ printed in bold and caps, and the security guard steps aside without any words coming out of his mouth.

The first thing you could think of the moment you stepped backstage was that it’s… a tad bit hectic.

People are hustling and bustling, all occupied with tasks to tend to, earpieces plugged in and you take note of a couple of the workers with clipboards that are hollering out orders to the rest. It’s chaotic as hell, and you feel like you’re sticking out like a sore thumb just trying to weave through the crowds that are just trying to do their job when you’re here to see Jungkook.

You hate these kinds of places.

They’re so packed and filled with sweaty humans, wet and thirsty for these stupid boys at the same time, and you couldn’t be bothered to even be there. Although being backstage is quite the opposite, instead of those crazy fans, it’s frantic employees that are preparing the stage for Jungkook’s band to perform for those said weirdos on the other side of the curtain.

You [6:45PM]: where are you?

Jeon [6:45PM]: hold on, i’ll come out and get you!

He’s so easy to spot in a crowd full of people.

You ‘stick out like a sore thumb’ because you’re not working like the rest of them.

Jungkook, however, ‘sticks out like a sore thumb’ simply because of his looks.

You meant it when you said that it’s not him that makes you hesitant about pursuing a relationship, it’s his choice of career. He’s always got that pretty smile planted on his face, never failing to turn the heads of many, with charms that emit off him with simplicity, and when he says something even remotely flirtatious, your heart skips a beat. But your stance remains—Jungkook is a celebrity, and you’re not ready for that kind of burden.

Gesturing you to follow him, you don’t hesitate to trail after him in his leather tight pants that hug him in places you never thought your eyes would linger. Were his thighs always that big? You had to quickly shake your head from getting any weird ideas. This is Jeon Jungkook you’re thinking about here, a rocker, a musician, a guy with crazy adoring fans. You would and could never be more. It just didn’t make sense for it to.

When you say there’s a fucking shit ton of people backstage, there’s no exaggeration.

It slowly becomes harder to pinpoint Jungkook in the midst of the employees weaving through the crowds, and the mop on Jungkook’s head barely makes him accessible to find. Yet, he seems to figure this out when you’re not in close proximity—so he waits. He waits until you’re close, then in that moment, his hand reaches for yours and clasps them together.

You’ve never touched Jungkook or been this close in that manner, because when he tugs you closer, you get a whiff of his cologne that practically intoxicates you and has your knees buckling at the aroma. It’s a mixture of citrus with a light spice, some vanilla, and patchouli—then when Jungkook turns to confirm that you’re still there, a smile tugs on the corners of his mouth that tightens your chest even more.

Wait. Snap the fuck back into reality.

Jungkook is a fantasy, one you couldn’t afford to mesh into with your reality. He’s the type of guy that the moment you get involved with, he’ll steer you off your life course and you don’t want that. You worked too hard for your career, for your education, and someone like him could ruin your dreams in a heartbeat because of that gorgeous smile.

He’s like a bad boy meets a sweet boy into one. Tattoos decorate his biceps to his forearms, down to his hands and fingers. He’s got a piercing underneath his tongue, more jewels that adorn the curve of his ears, and he even has an eyebrow one. You never confess to Jungkook that you’ve watched his performances on Youtube before, but you definitely saw it. There’s no dodging those recommended videos on the home screen of the website, so you have been tempted to tap one of them (especially when the thumbnail is of him with those RayBans and that tight shirt).

He flexes his arms like he’s gotta use this strength for something, but it’s all for visuals. Sticking his tongue out his mouth, he uses it to outline his plump lips, moistening them as it glistens underneath the stage lights, then points directly at the camera, stares at it dead eye in the center before wetting girls’ panties just from a simple wink.

But when he’s offstage, he’s got this warmth that radiates off him, kind of like that cute reaction you see in Animal Crossing where flowers emerge with that sparkling sound effect, supposedly expressing joy.

Jungkook laughs with his whole face scrunched up, deep and thick like honey when he’s playing it cool, but higher-pitched and bright when it’s genuinely funny. He does that thing where his hand just stays in the air sometimes, and you’re not sure if he’s going to hit your arm or put it down, but it’s part of his cute laughing habits that you’ll never understand.

It’s hard to tell him ‘no’ after his confession when he’s like this, gleaming with elation when he sees you, but the truth still stands. Jungkook isn’t the guy for you.

When he introduces you to his bandmates, who lounge around in the room with what looks like there isn’t an ounce of nerves in their system, the sound of your name also seems familiar to their ears.

Then Taehyung sports a cocky grin, extending his hand out for you to shake, and the words that leave his mouth only support your observation. “Finally, we get to meet you. Jungkook doesn’t shut up about you.”

Heat rises up to Jungkook’s cheeks. “Alright, enough of that,” he says, glaring at the older male. “Either way, these are my boys.”

His “boys” are what you expect, based on Jungkook’s description of them. Namjoon, the leader, is poised with eyes that curve to moon crescents, mirroring the way his lips curl. He’s gone bleach blonde, you recall Jungkook mentioned, but he wears a beanie that hides it, however the little baby strands that peek through expose him. He’s supposedly mature despite not being the oldest, and always brings order to the chaos.

Then there’s Yoongi, the quiet one with a hardened expression. He’s nice, you learn eventually after having a couple conversations with him, he just has a stiff facade you have to break into. You finally have names to the faces: Seokjin, oldest and loudest, Taehyung, the ‘artsy’ one who dresses accordingly what the current trend is, Hoseok, the cheesy ball of goo who seemingly is always beaming whenever he goes, and lastly Jimin, the big womanizer whose whole personality revolves around having an active sex life.

“You’re pretty,” Jimin compliments, but his tone exhibits a ‘stating-the-obvious’ vibe. “I see why Jungkook is so caught up on you.”

Taehyung snickers.

With a groan, Jungkook shoves Jimin out the way. “Stop,” he whines, “the point is to not scare her away, and you guys are doing just that.”

Namjoon lets out a laugh, and the way he gets up from the armrest of the couch to open the mini fridge to snatch a water bottle for you is comforting. He doesn’t poke fun like Taehyung and Jimin, in fact, he does the opposite. He hands the chilled bottle to you, and the way his eyes match that soft smile dressed upon his lips pulls you in. “Don’t mind them. It’s nice to put a face to a name. We’re happy to have you here, it’s great to finally meet a friend of Jungkook’s.”

“Water?” Seokjin calls out from the corner of the room, finally detaching his eyes from the screen of his phone. “Get her a beer or somethin’. You’re here for a concert, not for an interview. Go grab her that Budlight from the fridge, Joon.”

Namjoon rolls his eyes. “Would you like a beer?”

Seokjin makes a point. If you’re going to at least enjoy yourself (and maybe release some nerves while you’re at it), you should grab yourself a drink.

A drink is an understatement.

You end up having more than just the two cans of beer in their dressing room—you somehow resulted in drinking a couple glasses of mojitos (your favorite), and enjoyed some appetizers leisurely, despite the crowds of people. And it’s all because of that sparkly VIP pass Jungkook gives you.

There’s a box, slightly higher than the rest of the mass of people, but not taller than the stage. It’s got these bars that perimeter the area, seats that are spaced out from each other, including tables so you can put your fancy drinks on. Jungkook mentions that they have this at all of his concerts, and that usually the wealthier fans tend to put in extra money for the comfort during the show, rather than being in that horde with skin on skin contact with strangers who are without a doubt sweating in this hot venue.

Maybe it’s the alcohol in your bloodstream, or is it your heart talking but Jungkook is… different on stage.

When your friends tell you about their concert experiences, you rarely ever truly understand what they mean. There’s a difference between listening to an artist’s song on Spotify or Apple Music, and hearing them onstage, feeling the vibration from the speakers that surround the venue, and that inebriated trance it puts you in. Body swaying to the music, eyes closed to heighten your senses; the thud underneath the soles of your shoes, the heat radiating off your skin—you lose control of yourself and just vibe with the songs that blare into your ears.

It’s also helpful that you have some rum in your system.

Jungkook and his band make this new adventure worthwhile. There’s no separation between the fans and the performers—they’re so interactive during their concerts, constantly getting the audience to sing along while holding their mic out, even tossing water bottles and sweaty towels in their direction, and winking or pointing to random girls to get them swooning.

And honestly?

That wink from Jungkook may have stirred something inside.

After the concert, a handful of screaming fans come running to his side the second he’s hopped off the stage. His intention was to run to you, give you that sweaty hug that you were oddly longing for, but instead, he’s already wrapped an arm around a crazed fan for a picture.

And suddenly, reality smacks your face like the winter’s brisk wind.

Being here was great in a sense that temporarily, you were able to forget. It was easy to bury all the concerns you had when it came to possibly dating Jungkook, but reality comes crashing like a storm, and you’re back to where you started. You could never date someone like him—the inconsistent schedules, the constant traveling, the careless environment, and the mounds of girls that chase him incessantly were all negatives. You’ll never know what he’s really doing, and wholeheartedly, you’re not sure how long you could do the semi-long distance kind of relationship either.

But Jungkook just wants to try so hard, and it’s making it difficult to tell him ‘no.’ It’s those pretty irises that sparkle with joy every time he sees you, long lashes fluttering over the smoothness of his cheeks, and those pouty lips that have you choking on the words you logically want to say, but the words from your heart spills instead.

So, you decide to run.

Well, not so much run, but ghost him, as the kids say.

When he approaches you after your class several weeks later—in a crowd of people, you note—your heart stops at the sudden intrusion. He's not supposed to be here. It’s too public for him to be here, dangerous too, because he’s without his security team and with his fame increasing, you fear for his safety. Immediately, you have fistfuls of the fabric of his black hoodie to pull him aside, letting his back face the students who move quickly in between classes to block his face and you sigh with relief.

“What the fuck? Why would you come here? Do you see all the kids here? What if they just start fucking bombarding you? What are you going to do?” Exasperated, you let your weight fall against the brick masonry so you could catch your breath from the anxiety with the release of his hoodie from your hands.

“You haven’t been calling me back. Or texting me,” there’s hurt in his eyes, permeating to the point of no denying. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing is wrong,” you reply shortly, pushing the straps of your backpack closer. “Just busy.”

He furrows his brows. “You told me a couple weeks ago that this is the only week you’re free in the semester. It’s Tuesday, you have one class and you haven’t even texted me back. Are you busy? Or are you avoiding me?”

“I’m just—”

Jungkook doesn’t even let you get a word in. “Because if it’s because I confessed to you, I’m sorry. I fucked up, alright? I thought you’d like me back, and maybe we could date—well, honestly, I didn’t know what would happen but I didn’t think it would be this. I didn’t want to lose my friend over it. Why couldn’t you just say you didn’t have feelings back so I wouldn’t just sit by my phone waiting—”

He doesn’t stop, even when your mouth drops open to interject, he doesn’t allow it. Quickly placing a hand to cover his mouth, he muffles a couple words into your palm before tilting his head puzzlingly. “I never said I didn’t like you.”

Jungkook pulls your hand off and you drop the hold with ease. “Then… what was it?”

“If I saw you again, it’d be hard to tell you that we can’t be together,” you solemnly disclose. “And I’m usually the type to control my emotions very well, but it’s confusing being around you.”

His expression softens. “Confusing?”

Shrugging your shoulders, you cross your arms over your chest. It’s a simple act, but part of you always feels like you need a shield to protect yourself around Jungkook because if it’s anyone to break your heart, he’d facilely do it. “You’re a great guy. I love talking to you, and hanging out with you is the highlight of my week. But I never know if you’re going to be out with someone, or if you’re going to be away next week for a concert or for some show appearance. What am I supposed to do when all those things are eating me up inside? We’re not even dating and I have all this anxiety.”

Strangely enough, in his past relationships, he’s never had anyone say those words. It has him wondering if they’ve ever felt this insecurity with him, and when he asked them for a break up, he wonders if they ever felt like they might’ve been right about their theory (even though it wasn’t).

But he didn’t want you to feel that way. He wanted you, without all of those burdens that he would be the cause of.

“You… haven’t even let me try yet. It was one concert. I didn’t even get to show you what kind of boyfriend I could be, the kind of man that could show you what it’s like to be loved.”

And there it was again.

Those gorgeous eyes; how are they brown yet manage to shine brighter than the stars in the sky? They’re hypnotizing when they meet with yours, having you locked in with the key thrown away and you’re left with saying with your heart feels instead of your head for the second time.

With a quiet voice, you say it once more. “Okay.”

Jungkook does try his best when he says he does. He’s a hopeless romantic, you learn, but it’s something he reveals continually and yet you never took seriously until now.

He often comes by after your classes with a cup of coffee, or drops by the library when he knows you have to stay late to do some research for your papers. Jungkook even takes you out on dates at times; once on a picnic, another at some fancy steak restaurant with the lights so dim that you couldn’t even make out the shadow of his face if it wasn’t for the little ass candle in the middle of the table, and sometimes, you’d go on walks in the park or alongside the river. He doesn’t fail to whisper sweet nothings to you from time to time, always reminding you how you’re the one that has his heart stuttering in its beats.

Jungkook sort of makes you feel like you’re dating a… regular guy. (And in a good way).

He even makes visits to your apartment, cooks dinner with you and stays the night. Some days, he has band practice or recordings, so you enjoy the leftovers from the night before, and although it feels empty not to have him in that seat across from you at the dinner table, his presence is faintly there—especially when he’s texting you in between breaks or Facetimes you when he can.

It feels… nice. Being loved like this, so effortlessly, like a soothing cool breeze on those nights in the summertime. There’s no weight on your shoulders, instead, you feel like you’re floating in the air when you’re with him—problems set aside, nothing but calmness instilled, and it’s just the two of you.

When he plants kisses from the corner of your lips down to the side of your neck, your breath hitches at the feeling. He’s so close, and you’re desperate to feel closer, but you don’t want to be another number on his list of women and yet here you were, melting underneath his touches.

You don’t say anything, but the fewer words spoken, the better because Jungkook comes back up once again, abandoning the end of the path of kisses he leaves to press his lips against the crown of your head with a hand cupping the other side of your face. He knows when to stop, understanding that there’s that insecurity that sits in the pit of your stomach, worrying about his past relationships, even though you know you shouldn’t be. So if this is how far you’re comfortable with, Jungkook complies.

The nights that he spends here end up lost with what feels like longer hours; you’re lost in him, inebriated by him, and you’ve even caught yourself becoming clay, with him as a sculptor, molding you into his version of perfection.

Except, you’ve already been created by yourself as the artist, and he’s purely the admirer. He strokes each curve and crevasse of you in adoration, gaze drenched and dripping in fondness, wishing nothing but to bask in your beauty for as much time he has left. Days, hours, minutes, seconds—you were right when you said that you’d never know when he’ll just have to grab his things and go, and Jungkook cherishes each moment he has with you.

He doesn’t want to tell you that what you said was the truth; it means that you’ll push away, that you won’t get to be his, and he’s hardly even fully fallen for you yet. There’s always uncertainty when it comes to being a musician, and Jungkook isn’t the exception.

And yet, he still pushes through, despite knowing all of this information.

Jungkook still cherishes his time with you, and pushes to the back of his mind that he might have to leave one day. You’ve mentioned pumpkin picking once, and although he’s not really the type of guy to go to a farm and pick a huge round orange colored fruit, he does it because you like it. Apple cider isn’t his favorite, but when you bring the drink up to his lips, he breaks out of his comfort zone to try it anyway. (Spoiler: he hates it.) Even though it sucks, he’d take another sip any day if that means he gets to see that bright laugh again.

But good things always come to an end.

With a sunken look on his face, he leans against the countertops of the pick up station at the café. Apron around your waist and a cup in hand, you eye your sort-of-boyfriend inquiringly. You’ve yet to make it an official label, and to be quite fair, the whole idea of him being a celebrity still doesn’t sit right.

He’s got on that baseball cap again, oversized hoodie with ripped black jeans, matching monochromatically from head to toe. Again, you wonder if he’ll ever get caught because this doesn’t necessarily camouflage him.

“What’s wrong with you?” You ask, popping the cup under the espresso machine. “Why the long face?”

He rolls his lips, almost like he’s hesitant about sharing his thoughts, but when your gaze narrows, he swallows. “I’m… going on tour soon.”

“Oh,” you say, mouth in an ‘o’ shape. It wasn’t surprising, after all, you saw this coming anyways. It hadn’t been the first time he's been on tour since the two of you were friends, but it’s the first since you’ve started this… somewhat of a courtship. “When?”

Clearing his throat, he readjusts his position uncomfortably. He can’t fully read what’s going through your mind, but part of him can already guess that you might not be happy with the news. “…Tomorrow?” The tone is uneasy, like he’s going to cower underneath the closest table.

“Oh,” you reiterate, this time softer. It hurts to see you like this, trying to hold yourself together as if you haven’t told him a million times before that this is what it’s going to feel like when he leaves for tour. “I see. Do you know when you’ll be back?”

Jungkook’s shoulders drop. He lets out the deepest of breaths with downcast eyes, evidently avoiding meeting the frown that he knows sits upon your pretty lips. It’s barely been a couple weeks since you’ve let him pursue you, barely enough time to get to know you in ways more than friends should, and he already has to go. And maybe he should’ve listened when you told him how arduous the goodbyes would be, but he selfishly wanted you to be his so badly. This wasn’t the last goodbye, it was a ‘see you again soon’ farewell, and he hopes you’ll see it the same way he does.

“It’ll… be quite some time. The tour is for three months, but we’ve also been invited to perform on the James Corden show.”

Your face brightens—quite the opposite of what he was expecting. “Wait—James Corden? Jungkook, that’s a pretty big platform. You guys would blow up even more with this opportunity. That’s amazing, I’m happy for you!”

But he sees that glimmer in your eyes.

At first, it’s easy to mistake it as one with hope, elation, and love.

He later finds out it was from your eyes watering.

This is his dream.

On stage, with a fandom that grows from thousands to tens of thousands to hundred thousands, and eventually, millions. Singing his heart out, with the songs that he produced and wrote with his best friends and being able to share it with the world.

Yet, it doesn’t feel right.

When he says, “I’ll see you again soon,” with a kiss on your forehead and a hug, your body gives him chills. It’s cold, and he could feel brisk winds in the air, blowing against the back of his jacket, but it’s supposed to be warmer. Before he left for the day, he checked the weather app to make sure.

Why is it freezing when he’s with you?

He calls, as promised, sharing stories of his journeys—from having to be in a cramped RV for hours on end with the boys, sleeping in those bunk beds that remind him of his youthful days at summer camp, and stopping at tourist attractions when they see one. His face is always radiating brightly, eager to talk to you and share his experiences, but his favorites are hearing yours.

The first couple times, you’re candid.

You share freely and comfortably, and he wants nothing more than for you to talk for hours. He loves hearing your voice; describes it as ‘smooth as honey’ yet at the same time ‘light and flowy like a feather’ and compares it to the melody of his favorite song. Jungkook was smitten by you, eyes filled with hearts each time your name popped up on his phone lockscreen. It made him forget the last time he saw you, how distant you felt despite being in his arms.

When he texts you goodnight, you’re off underneath the covers. Cozy, wrapped snugly with your blanket that you bragged you bought for a smacking good deal of twenty bucks, claiming that you’ve seen these go for at least eighty dollars. He misses that smile, the one he’d see before he’d turn off the bedside table lamps on nights he’d stay over at your apartment, and gets a whiff of lavender from your body wash when you toss and turn in slumber. The way you crinkle your nose in your sleep, and the way your jaw tenses and releases (he suggests you go see a dentist about that, but you’re so stubborn), it’s the little things that he begins to notice the absence of when he’s not near.

It was exciting and eventful at first; waiting for the clock to strike three in the afternoon to get a call from Jungkook after he took a break from a recording session, and another one just before bed, you could expect your phone to blow up between the hours of nine and midnight. The text exchanges were rapid fire too, Jungkook never failing to respond back as quickly as possible, sometimes replying to your messages directly or sharing a meme in the hopes of making your day.

Things get harder, you grow to learn, and it’s a mature thing to come to the consensus that this kind of relationship requires a lot of effort. You’re exhausted from your daily activities. From work to school, by the time you’re home, you’re to cook dinner for yourself, clean up your mess, possibly do other chores, shower, and prepare for bed. There isn’t even time for yourself anymore, let alone for somebody else, but you’re also starting to believe that Jungkook can’t even keep up with this lifestyle anymore.

Three months. Three months is a lot of time for a person to be apart from another, and enough time for people to change.

You spot Jungkook just in time for his performance when James Corden comes back from commercial break, and needless to say, he’s always breathlessly handsome. He’s got his hair slicked back, exposing the piercings that embellish the lobes of his ears, makeup that darkens his irises, and lips painted that familiar faint pink. With seven guys in the band, Jungkook stands center beside Jimin, but something about him specifically captures your eyes, although it seems like you’re not the only one.

His name is practically plastered on the majority of the handmade posters in the crowd, and your heart sinks. He’s gotten so popular in the past couple months; from billboards to trending topics on Twitter to magazine covers and endorsements on big name brands on Instagram, Jungkook and his bandmates have increased their fame three times more than what it had been before.

You see him everywhere on social media.

And sadly, you see him less in your personal messages and calls.

Daily video call dates get cancelled. The first couple times, all was forgiven. Things happen, and with his new hectic schedule, it’d be crazy if he didn’t reschedule. But eventually, it became too much. When he was available, you were either working a shift at the cafe, stuck in class, or meeting with your classmates for a group project. It never worked out, and in all truthfulness, your patience was wearing thin.

When Jungkook comes back, it’s like looking at a brand new person.

He’s gotten an uppercut, a couple new tattoos that adorn his arm, and walks with a certain jump in his step that you couldn’t miss. There’s a newfound confidence that he’s gained over tour, like he knows his own self worth, or even inflated the one he’d already had. But Jungkook is still a hopeless romantic. That’s the one trait that’ll never leave him, no matter where he is in life, he’ll always believe in love.

Entering through the double doors of the coffee shop, the bell above the entrance rings, and your sunken eyes barely even look up to see him. “Hey, welcome to Brew-tiful Beans, cold brew let me know your order?”

Jungkook snorts. “Did they… Did they train you guys to do those new greetings?”

Startled by that familiar voice, your ears perk up. Your body freezes, like the soles of your shoes are super glued to the broken dull tiles behind the counter and you can’t even bring yourself to turn to look at him. It’s been weeks since you’ve last talked, someone who was supposed to be chasing you, someone who was supposed to show you what it feels like to be loved. And he didn’t. He didn’t reach out, he didn’t leave a text, he didn’t call. He did nothing.

And he comes back like nothing even happened?

“Um,” you respond uncomfortably, wiping your hands off on the front of your apron despite nothing being on them. “Uh, yeah. New corporate thing. They came down from headquarters and trained all the baristas.”

Jungkook showcases that signature smile that easily swooned you before. It’s a bit different now, especially with how it’s been recently. “You hate all that fancy corporate stuff,” he states factually, and he’s right. You’ve mentioned it a plethora of times before, and part of you is slightly surprised he remembers it. “Experience only matters when it’s special to each person, if I recall that correctly. I know you’re a pro with all that customer service stuff, you told me you’ve been in the industry for most of your life.”

“Yeah,” voice soft and tone slightly off from the one you normally exhibit, Jungkook raises a brow questioningly because this abnormality doesn’t go over his head. “Something like that.”

He crosses his arms over his chest and inhales sharply. You’re different, and whether or not in a good or bad way, Jungkook wasn’t sure but he was going to figure out why. And he’d been so caught up with your punny greeting that he almost didn’t notice your recently cut hair, and when you pull your phone out to place it by the register, there’s a crack on the screen too.

“Something is off.”

You blink, this time, eyes meeting with his own. He makes your legs feel like those silly putty toys you used to play with in your youth, and your heart palpitates like you’ve just ran a marathon. Jungkook reminds you of your middle and high school crushes, the ones that make your hands all sweaty and give you the jitters as if you’re about to take a test you didn’t study for. It’s not fair that he reads you like an open book—were you really that transparent? You thought you did a good job of closing yourself off, but you have to keep reminding yourself that Jungkook is observant when it comes to these things. He’s a hopeless romantic, one that will continuously see nothing wrong with this relationship because he prefers the on-the-surface part of it.

“I’m at work, Jungkook,” you retort coldly, the same way you did when he said his goodbyes. Why is it that you keep up such a believable facade behind a screen, but in person, you’re freezing like a block of ice? “Maybe we can talk later.”

Hurt, he nods and steps away. It makes you feel worse because he’s so respectful, and the reasons you have for wanting to break this off always seem to dissipate when you’re around him. He’s just so… warm, like if home was a person.

At the end of your shift, he sits with tired eyes at the corner of the cafe. He knows better than to do or say anything when you ask for space, and to get out of your hair when you need it.

“Listen,” you begin, after locking the double doors of the shop. “I think… we should end this.”

Startled, Jungkook steps back. “Wait—what?”

Sighing, you rake your fingers through your tangled locks tiredly. All the negative thoughts had been eating you up inside, and staying with Jungkook wasn’t helping. “I can’t get over it. I can’t fucking get past all the things that come with you because you’re a celebrity.”

“Because I chose to follow my dreams, I can’t be with you?” This can’t be happening.

“It’s not your fault—”

He scoffs. “Damn fucking right it’s not my fault. I did everything—I made you feel loved. And… that’s it?”

“I just… I don’t think I could handle all the uncertainty.” That was it. There wasn’t anything else after that, but he couldn’t hear anything else after your last apology over the sound of his heart shattering into a million pieces.

And with that, he watches as you drag your exhausted frame away, head down and dig into the fabric of your hoodie where he doesn’t hear the faint sobs that escape your lips.

“We broke up,” Jungkook snaps, aggressively tossing off the headphones that sit atop his head. “We weren’t even officially together and she fucking broke up with me.”

“Bro, I’m sorry,” Namjoon says, patting Jungkook’s back comfortingly. He knows that Namjoon is trying his best in this situation, one he’s not familiar with himself, but he wants Jungkook to feel better. “I know she meant something to you.”

“This is stupid,” covering his face with his hands, he leans back in his swivel chair. Going through heartbreak should get these juices flowing, get his thoughts moving and the pen scribbling on pieces of scrap paper full of ideas. But he’s got nothing. Empty, clean sheets of printer paper, all stacked nicely upon his work desk with a filled cartilage of ink in his pen. “How the fuck did I get broken up with because I’m a rockstar? I’ve been searching far and wide for a girl to date me for who I am without the whole costume getup. Then when I find her, she doesn’t want the side that the rockstar brings but it’s part of me.”

Namjoon sighs, pulling a seat beside Jungkook. “Well, maybe she isn’t the girl for you.”

“She’s definitely the girl for me,” he corrects, shoulders and hands dropping. “She’s so the girl for me, and the fact I can’t have her because of the consequences that come with my dreams makes me feel like shit.”

“You’ll find someone who will,” the older friend assures, picking up the pen to hand it to him. “Trust me. Don’t settle for someone who would make you consider quitting your dreams.”

But that’s the thing. You don’t ask him to pick between his dreams or you, you made that decision yourself. To him, you all had all the qualities he’d want in a partner—smart, beautiful, kind, and liked him for who he was behind closed doors—but he never stopped to think before if he checked all the boxes for you, and was overly confident despite never saying it.

“She never told me to quit my dreams,” Jungkook snatches the pen from Namjoon’s hold. “She just didn’t think my dreams were fitting for her lifestyle.”

Namjoon nods, finally absorbing in the why of the end of your relationship with Jungkook. “Well, shouldn’t you be grateful? She didn’t continue to lead you on. Told you what she wanted then and there, and moved on.”

He groans, head dropping onto the desk with a thud. “Is it bad that I don’t want that?”

“No, but it doesn’t mean you shouldn’t respect her wishes and do as she asks anyway.”

He knows his leader is right, and he normally always is when he gives life advice, but Jungkook hates that this is what he’s right about. He doesn’t want to let you go, step away from a girl who makes him feel whole again, someone who made him want to keep improving as a person for not just her, but himself too.

But he’s beginning to lose that drive without you by his side.

So, he decides that he’s going to take a combination of both Jimin and Namjoon’s suggestions. Namjoon’s is to move on, and continue to do what makes [him] happy. And Jimin’s is to eat, sleep, record, perform, drink, and fuck.

And shit, does Jungkook do all those things.

He knows that if you were standing before him right now, you’d tell him that he’d become exactly what you said he would. What else would he expect you to say? He’d then deny profusely, waving his hands in dismissal and sending rebuttals your way until you’d get annoyed enough that you would stop. But you’re not here now, and it’s just him. He doesn’t need to impress you anymore. Although he wants to, there’s no need for it now.

Jungkook doesn’t love this lifestyle, as much as he wants to admit that he does, it doesn’t fit him. These girls that snugly sit on him while he’s seated on the leather couches of this blaring loud club aren’t you, and because he’s gotten a taste of what your petal lips are like, he’s addicted and wants nothing else but that. When he’s standing on the dance floor, girls’ asses up against his dick, grinding and swaying their bodies to the music, he only misses the way you turn around in your sleep, curling up to become smaller and he’d be able to wrap his arms around you like a blanket.

He hates having them on his personal bedroom sheets, so he never brings them home. You’ve never been tangled in them, so he doesn’t even have your scent imprinted on his pillowcases, so why would he have some strange girl’s?

So he takes them to a hotel, every single endeavor, fuck them with his frustrations and leave them without any conversation to exchange. Jungkook didn’t want attachments. He’s too busy being into you.

But during that time apart from you, it only makes him miss you… more. He’s gotten everything he’s ever wanted—a record deal, multiple albums, songs that hit top ten on charts, fame, and all the money he could need. If Jungkook decided he wanted to quit pursuing music now, he’d be able to afford it.

And honestly, he’s starting to reconsider this whole rockstar life. Was it worth chasing all your dreams, having all of these so-called ‘great things’ when during it, you have nobody to share it with? Sure, he had his boys, but if he had been completely honest, the money was slowly changing them all. As a group, they rarely hang out anymore. There weren't any of those Friday night dinners, where they used to eat at bbq joints and have just pork skin because they couldn’t afford the fancy meats. Or when they find a way to stretch their money, and find clever ways to do it together as a group, because the up-and-coming artist lifestyle was brutal. They’d try stuffing as many clothes they could in those washing machines at the laundromat so they wouldn’t have to waste another quarter. Eventually, they ended up handwashing everything, but nonetheless, they did it together.

And now, Seokjin only eats Kobe beef if it’s beef. Taehyung’s clothes aren’t thrifted, they just look thrifted, with name brands printed across the fabric. Yoongi can’t seem to relate to any of the guys anymore, much like Jungkook himself, so he coops himself up in the recording studio for days on end, hoping to produce the next big hit. His best friends weren’t his best friends anymore, and once again, Jungkook is lonely. But not just lonely for love, but his friends again.

If this is what happiness is supposed to be, he doesn’t want it.

It’s been two years since he’s been back here. Here, as in the neighborhood where the apartment he stayed at with the guys when they were just young kids chasing their unattainable dreams was at.

Do you still work in that cafe by the university? Is the cold brew at Starbucks still your go-to? What about those rainy days—is it still the weather you prefer to go driving in? How about your hair? Does it still get tangled in those gold hoops you like to wear? Is Coldplay your favorite band? Or have you already moved on from them like you did with him?

He didn’t know he’d see you here. If he did, he would’ve prepared himself better—maybe wear a nicer shirt, or chose those jeans that he splurged on instead of these sweats that he saw hanging over the back of his computer chair with a t-shirt he definitely put on rotation twice this week. But he can’t turn back now, especially when you’ve spotted him across the room.

You did a double take, he notices, because you even rub your eyes afterwards to see if it’s true.

It’s like time stops. Nobody around him moves, and the room goes silent. You’re somehow exactly the same yet different at the same time—you’ve dyed your hair (some type of balayage, he thinks it’s called), and you look toned (have you been working out?), but the way your mouth curls up at the sight of him, lashes still long and pretty when they brush against the high points of your cheekbones, he knows you haven’t fully changed. You’re still that simple girl he fell in love with.

His trance breaks when you gesture him in your direction, and he’s quick to grab his order from the to-go counter so he can get to you. What’s this weird feeling rushing through his veins? It’s one he hasn’t had in a while.

It's… exciting.

Jungkook’s excited to see you, and he hasn’t been excited to do anything in a while. But seeing you again, in some random coffee shop, in the last place he’d ever think of is… nice. It’s refreshing.

He knows if he tells you how he’s been feeling, you’d roll your eyes and call him a hopeless romantic like you used to. He manages to find the dull, mundane things in life and make it riveting, embellishing it with the “Jungkook-touch” so that it’d seem more fantasy or fairytale-like. But Jungkook hasn’t been able to do anything like that in quite some time, and just looking at you has his heart racing like this only confirms his emotions.

“H-Hey,” he greets, mentally punching himself because how wimpy did he look for stuttering over one goddamn word? “You’re… here.”

You smile so wide that your eyes replicate the shape of your mouth. “Hey! And you’re here. Didn’t think I’d ever see you back.”

Jungkook rubs his nape with an awkward laugh. He still wears that stupid black hat, despite the black now slightly purple in discoloration from overuse. “I… yeah. Needed a break. Wanted to get out of that busy life for a bit.”

You nod with pursed lips with a book laid flat on the table, phone with the screen down, and a cup of iced coffee. “I get that. Took a day off from work to… yeah. Catch my breath.”

“Right,” he says, mostly as a filler for the weird silence. “Um. Yeah, it’s uh… nice seeing you again—“

“Are you single?”

Jungkook nearly chokes on nothing. “W-What?”

You blink, as if your bold question is one people ask casually in a regular conversation. (Spoiler: it’s not.) Tilting your head to the side, you lean back against the booth you’re sitting in with your arms crossed on your chest. “I didn’t stutter.”

“I know that but—”

“Well?” God, even though he hasn’t seen you in a while, the feelings come rushing back like a tsunami. There’s something about you that always has him stuck like this.

“I’m single,” he confirms, although he doesn’t understand why you need this information.

“Great, if you’re interested, I… wanna take you out tonight.”

Something he remembers from your friendship is that if your hair is down, it’s a special occasion.

And well, your hair is let down, cascading over your shoulders and pretty collarbones. He takes note of the new piercings that ornaments your ears when you tuck a couple of loose strands of hair behind, but that’s when he notices that the piercings weren’t the only thing new—you got a tattoo. It’s dainty, small, and hidden behind your lobes from the world to see and it fits you so perfectly.

“Hey,” you greet with no hint of anxiety in your voice. You’ve decided to wear a grey band tee (unfortunately, it’s not his band), baby blue jeans, and a leather jacket. How do you always remain calm and collected every time? Because he’s nervous out of his mind. Who wouldn’t be though? He’s going on a date with a girl he’s had a crush on, despite not seeing her for two years.

Thankfully, this time, he could impress you. His outfit is casual, but not too casual as before because he opts for an expensive pair of jeans instead of the raggedy ones he had since before his band’s debut.

“Should we go for dinner?”

God, he feels weak. You’re even pretty when you’re eating spaghetti, when you twirl the stringy carbs with a fork, bringing it to your lips with a soft moan. It’s delicious, apparently, and he doesn’t taste the pasta but you’re like a walking advertisement for this dish. He can’t help but to notice how lovely you are holding a champagne flute, the sparkling liquid glossing over those plump lips of yours.

He’s distracted. In his mind, he can’t understand what’s going on here because you’re the one asking him out, you’re the one who suggested to have dinner together. What’s the point of all this?

But you remain eating your food and talking just like how the two of you left off your friendship. Not relationship, but friendship.

Jungkook forgot how easy it was to talk to you—you’re just so welcoming and kind without actual judgement, in spite of your teasing words. You love to banter, he remembers, and that’s a trait of yours that never changed, other than the fact you still make his heart swell like a balloon.

Toward the end of your meal, he thinks the night is over. Truthfully, he’s scared. Afraid that whatever this was is another fleeting moment—another chance for you to walk away once more and tear out his worn heart from the last encounter from you.

Then, it’s like you read his mind because you offer to take a walk to ‘burn off the calories from dinner.’

But, unlike the exchanged laughter and stories over dinner, the walk is quiet. It’s like the awkwardness weighs heavy on both your shoulders, and sits atop his lungs because it’s hard to properly breathe with the burden of uncertainty. Did you have something to say? What’s the reason for having dinner with him?

“I’m sorry,” you blurt, unable to even meet with his stare. You keep your vision forward, looking into the river as the cold air weaves through your hair and cools the heat that rises around your neck from all the anxiety of being with Jungkook. “I told you that I didn’t want to date a celebrity, and I left you. Even though you tried, you made me feel special, and you made me feel loved. I said I didn’t want what comes with dating a rockstar, and I made a selfish decision.”

“It… it was an acceptable selfish decision, if that’s what you’re trying to figure out.”

You laugh, shrugging in your big coat. “I guess. But… I forget sometimes that when you love someone, you make some sacrifices.”

Jungkook chews on his bottom lip. Even when he observes you, the little ticks you give away, he still can’t read you. You’re not the same person you were years ago, and yet, he’s already learning to love this version of you. “Do you?”

You tighten your lips into a straight line for a moment. “Yeah. And even though we only dated briefly, I loved you throughout our friendship. I made a choice—one that was solely for myself, one that I thought I’d be happy with.”

He swallows. “And?”

“I’m happy, but I think I’m happier with you.” His heart clenches. Barely able to get a word in, you continue, “And I can keep being happy with myself, by myself, or I can be happy with you too. I forget sometimes that you can chase your dreams while still loving someone.”

Jungkook blinks. “And what about the consequences of my dreams?”

Finally, you turn and your eyes meet his. They melt into his irises like those hot chocolate bombs when they drop into a hot cup of milk—so sweet, so warm, fitting for the winter. “If you loved me back, you’d never do the things I said I’d assume. I would try—the whole long distance thing when you’re away, maybe even travel and stop by shows. Call you daily. Kiss you goodnight, and wish you sweet dreams,” you pause for a moment, scoffing in disbelief at yourself, “I’m… I’m not usually the hopeless romantic here, Jungkook, but you did something to me.”

This… wasn't what he was expecting out of this date but he doesn’t have any complaints.

Now, don’t get it mixed up.

Jungkook is a hopeless romantic. Not easy.

He doesn’t let you in that simply, no matter how tempting you are with those tainted pink lips that remind him of strawberries. Or how you briefly mentioned there’s a cute little tattoo on your hip bone of something sweet, you’d say teasingly, and it’s got his jeans uncomfortable. You’re a walking temptress, and it’s safe to say that he has to put up a shield over his heart in case you’d want to break it again.

Yet, that same insecurity is swirling in the pits of his stomach again. Do you love him or who he is as a celebrity? Especially now, with his fame rising and more people recognizing him on the streets, he can’t help but wonder once more if you love who he is as a person and not this persona he puts on stage.

So, he tests a couple things.

Jungkook knows how bad this sounds, but in all truthfulness, it’ll make him feel better. He still loved you, even from before you gave him a chance, and even still now when you’re standing before him, a different person. All he wants to know is if you love him like that too.

Slouched over on the worn out black leather couch of his recording studio, Jungkook ponders with his shoes tapping against the laminated flooring. He’s been stuck on this ‘new message’ screen with your name in the ‘to:’ section, fear rushing through his veins like every performance on stage. Except, he’s performing in front of you, to test whether or not these feelings you claim to are what you really mean.

Yoongi eyes Jungkook carefully. The kid has been sitting on this goddamn couch for hours, and although Yoongi thought of speaking up several times, he figured if he left Jungkook be, maybe the problem would resolve itself.

It’s been five hours.

Yoongi can’t focus with all that leg shaking.

“Alright,” he says, breaking the silence with a turn of his swivel chair. “The fuck is wrong with you?”

Surprised, Jungkook looks up. “Huh? What?”

Yoongi points to Jungkook’s phone. “You’ve been staring ar your fucking phone for five hours. Not moving your goddamn fingers but instead you keep shaking your leg. It’s distracting. What are you doing?”

“She’s back,” Jungkook announces, except the way he says it makes it sound like a horror movie. Yoongi picks up on who she is, but he can’t make out why Jungkook would be so scared to talk to you again.

“Okay, so what’s wrong?”

“She said… she made a mistake last time,” he begins, and Yoongi raises a brow in curiosity.

“Again, okay, so what’s wrong with that?”

“Well, what if she’s back because I’m famous, and not because she loves me?”

Ah, it was clicking in Yoongi’s head now. It’s like a lightbulb pops above his head, and everything is making sense now. “I get it. So… what are you doing?”

“I’m gonna ask her to come to our show tonight.”

Yoongi blinks blankly. “O…Okay, and… how’s that gonna determine if she loves you for you or your fame?”

Jungkook’s shoulders drop. “Honestly, I don’t know.”

The two sit in silence for a moment, Jungkook’s mind empty but Yoongi’s head is swarming with ideas. His friend is stuck, is what his brain is telling him, and as a natural instinct, he’s coming up with ten thousand ways to make this work.

“Tell her to come,” Yoongi says, shattering the glass of quietude. “And give her the cold shoulder if she comes. Maybe get Jimin to flirt with her and see if she’s interested in him when he gives her the attention.”

Jungkook snaps his finger as if it’s the best idea he’s ever heard. “Good point.”

You reply in less than thirty seconds later.

you [7:52pm]: sweet offer, but it's sunday and i have work bright and early in the morning. rain check? maybe facetime before you get on stage? i’ll give a kiss for good luck.

Jungkook chokes on his saliva .

Yoongi stares at the bright screen, lost for words.

“Well, that backfired.”

“I only had ideas for when she would go. She’s gonna miss out on a free concert from one of the bands on the top of the charts right now?”

Jungkook scratches his head. That’s true. Who would do that if they’re thirsty for clout?

This new plan dawned on him on a Thursday afternoon.

He recalls that you brought up momentarily about how you worked in a research lab at the University downtown, and coincidentally enough, it’s close to his record label.

So he thought… why not?

Why not meet her outside of her workplace with no disguise? Would she like that? If she truly was into this for fame, she’d like being seen in public with him without the hats and jackets.

And the second he sees you pushing through those double glass doors, Jungkook expects your face to brighten at the surprising sight of him.

God, he completely forgot. He completely forgot about his first impression of you—that day at the coffee shop where you ran into each other, spilled coffee, and profanities slipped.

Well, more than just explicit language.

Remember how he said he didn’t want to relive some of the insults that spewed out of you?

He’s reliving it again.

You’re fuming, it’s unbelievable. If he wasn’t in shock, he’d be able to hear the smoke whistling from your ears as you’re attacking him again. Your words are like bullets, and he didn’t wear a bulletproof vest to protect himself from it. Shuffling through your bag, he notices a white jacket stuffed into the opening, and you manage to pull out a black baseball cap out of it.

“Wear this.”

Jungkook stares at you, perplexed.

You shove the hat into his chest. “Loosen the back strap. Wear it. We’re on a fucking college campus, you can’t seriously think you can just walk around here without anything on, right?”

Slowly, he grabs the hat from you and readjust the tightness before putting it over his head. “You’re mad?”

“You idiot, remember when I said that even hats don’t cover your face that well? It’s a stupid disguise. But it’s still better than fucking walking around with nothing on. Jesus, Jungkook, what came over you?”

“Sorry, I just—”

You squint your eyes at Jungkook. “You’re testing me.”

He clears his throat, something caught in his windpipe just like he’s being caught red handed right now. “W-What?”

You cross your arms over your chest, sucking in your cheek as you observe his slightly cowering expression. “You’re testing me. And that’s fine, Jungkook. I come back suspiciously when you’re more famous than before. I get the precautions. But don’t fucking put yourself in a position where you could hurt yourself physically because you’re afraid I’ll hurt you emotionally.”

So, that failed too. And you figured him out.

To be fair, while he was trying to come up with a plan to see what your whole thing was going back to him, it sort of brought him and his friends back together.

Everyone was excited to come up with something—Yoongi had experience dating a girl who was like that, and the rest of the guys just had fun chiming in.

“Video girl syndrome,” Yoongi begins, stealing it from a Jonas Brothers song (the original JB, but he’s not gonna get into that right now), released in 2008, and pretty much describes the girls Jungkook talks about when he says he doesn’t want to end up with them. “is when they live for fame, love the money—”

“You could just recite the whole entire song for us,” Taehyung interjects, and Yoongi whacks him on the back of his head with a newspaper.

“Alright,” Namjoon says, voice louder in volume to get the rest of the boys to stop playing around. “How about we ask you questions about how she’s been acting lately? From our experiences, that is, since I’m a thousand percent sure we’ve all dated video girls.”

“Mm, and see if you’re a victim,” Seokjin raises up the beer can in his hand and Hoseok rolls his eyes.

“I got one!” Hoseok shoves Seokjin to the side and he glares at his band mate from the corner of his eyes before brushing it off. “Does she laugh at your jokes when you’re not even being funny?”

Jungkook tilts his head. Has he ever tried being funny in front of you? Because, he’s never seen you laugh at anything he said. But—other exes come to mind when Hoseok says this. “Mm, no.”

“Has she ever asked you for money?”

“Only because I ordered a drink from the cafe she worked at.”

“What about your famous friends? Does she name drop any of them?”

Jungkook furrows his brows in thought. Did you? Then a quick flashback of you pulling out your phone when he brings up Namjoon, and tapping of characters into a google search before you nod and pull your lips into a straight line with a, “I remember him,” then resuming back to listening to his story.

“She googles everyone I name drop.”

Namjoon leans back in his seat. “So wouldn’t that just prove that it isn’t like that? What are you so worried about?”

Jungkook sighs. “I don’t know I just—”

“He’s worried she’s gonna leave him again,” Jimin adds on, and Jungkook is taken aback because out of all the guys, he thought Jimin would be the least to understand. “But if she’s back now, and she says she’ll try, you should let her. Let her prove to you instead of you having to come up with tricks. She’s chasing you, remember? Because she left in the first place.”

At first, Jungkook thought that the person who wouldn’t have any ounce of input would be Jimin.

But he didn’t realize that during the times he’d been desperate to have a friend to offer a shoulder for him to lean on, Jimin needed one too.

It’s what prompts Jungkook to actually start lifting up that barrier he put up to protect himself from you. He invited you over for dinner at this old KBBQ joint with his friends, the one he was missing after all the time, and the laughter you brought out of them made Jungkook feel like… this is what he was wishing for. This was that puzzle piece in his life that needed to be found. And for the first time, Jimin speaks about his experience with a ‘video girl’ and Jungkook’s outlook on him changes.

The fact that he couldn’t share anything comfortably in front of his so-called best friends, but he does it easily with you spoke volumes. All six boys with their ears perked up gave nothing but undivided attention to Jimin, and it aches Jungkook’s heart knowing he wasn’t there for his friend when it was vital.

It’s why Jimin is the way he is. And honestly, Jungkook can’t even blame him.

But he makes a good point—make you do the chasing.

And, surprisingly enough, it works.

The things Jungkook used to do for you, to make your relationship with him work and prove that just because he’s a celebrity, it doesn’t mean he can’t be a trusting, average boyfriend. Those facetime calls were always initiated by him in the past; now it’s your name that pops up on his lock screen with a cute selfie he saved as your contact photo.

He learns that you don’t love going to his shows, not because you weren’t a fan of his music, but because you just didn’t love loud spaces. It’s why you prefer those special floors of the library, where there’s quiet muttering since it’s not a ‘quiet zone’ but enough sound for white noise in the background. It helped that you didn’t like entirely hushed rooms either.

But you meet him after, wrapped in a coat despite him telling you to stay home because it’s too cold outside. And yet, you ignore his requests with a sweet smile on your face, tugging not on your just lips, but his heartstrings, with a honeyed, “hello,” when he spots you standing outside their van.

“What are you doing here?” He says, voice mixed between anger that you’re standing out in the freezing cold but excited because the girl of his dreams came to see him after a show. “I thought I said stay home.”

“I’m an adult, I can make adult decisions,” you state firmly, bouncing in the soles of your shoes. “I wanted to drop by. Ask if you want to hang out.”

Jungkook lifts a brow. “It’s late.”

“We can hang out at my apartment,” you reason, and Jungkook could hear the giggles from in the car coming from his band mates. He could almost feel the heat radiating off of you that rose to your cheeks in embarrassment, but bold and loving is how you’re trying to present yourself in front of Jungkook since he’d always been the one to give. “So… what do you say?”

“Say yes, you idiot!” Taehyung hollers and Namjoon slaps his hand over his mouth.

With a hearty laugh, Jungkook gestures his head to the van. “What Tae said. Sure. I’ll come over.”

You don’t live in the same apartment building as you used to. Just like yourself, you’ve moved on to bigger and better things.

For one, it’s spacious and not cramped like your old studio. Your kitchen, dining room, and bedroom aren’t in the same vicinity, and where you sleep has its own four walls that don't take you to the next room after two steps forward. Instead, you’ve not only graduated with a PhD, but you’ve also graduated from a studio to a one bedroom apartment.

It’s kind of nice seeing you in a different setting—just a few years ago, you were struggling to make ends meet; rationalizing amounts of food, calculating how much of a dollar gets split to what but now you’re asking him if you could treat him out for dinner.

When you slide your jacket off, putting it on a hanger to toss onto the rod in the closet, he grows slightly anxious. It’s not like how it was two years ago, it’s not even close. You’re the vocal one here, taking the lead in this so-called relationship, and once again, you’ve got him feeling weak in his knees for you.

“Are you okay?” You ask, breaking the silence. It’s easy to sense his nervousness, especially when Jungkook doesn’t often get that way around you. He’s usually comfortable, calm, and cool, but tonight, he exhibits the characteristics of the old version of yourself when he was bolder.

Jungkook clears his throat. “Mm,” he hums, as if something really was stuck in there, but the only thing lodged in his throat are his words. “I’m uh, I’m good. We’re… we’re hanging here?”

“Yeah,” you respond, pursing your lips as you extend your arm. At first, Jungkook’s heart starts racing, thinking you’re asking to hold his hand, but you gesture to the jacket over his shoulder and he mentally sighs of relief. “I made some cookies. Wanna drink coke and watch a movie?”

This… makes Jungkook laugh. A laugh that he hasn’t had in a while, one that roars from the depths of his chest, one that’s so genuine and warm, one that he hasn’t caught himself reacting in this way in a while. There’s something simple about how you say it—so harmless, casual and innocent. Dirty thoughts don’t surround your head, just a sweet night with him and junk food.

The night is blissful. He gets to shower in your bathroom, doused in that intoxicating lavender you emit off your skin, and get into his sweatpants instead of those leather pants he always wears on stage.

“I didn’t expect you to be there tonight,” he says, ruffling his damp hair. “It was cold, and I said not to go.”

“I thought we went through this,” snatching the remote from the coffee table, you’re already skimming through your abundance of options on Netflix. “I’m an adult who can make adult decisions.”

He can’t help himself. That grin that pierces through his exterior is hard to control. “And is one of them choosing ‘Soul’ as an option for a movie night? You realize that’s a kid movie, right?”

Flabbergasted, your head jolts to his gaze. “Have you ever even watched it?”

You’re cute. “No but—”

“Jeon Jungkook, just because films are animated doesn’t mean they’re limited to the viewing of only children.”

And, you’re right. He finds himself on the verge of shedding tears, and despite it being the fourth time watching it, you don’t fail to cry every time.

Maybe he shouldn’t do this anymore. Maybe he should stop playing these games, stop testing you and seeing if you truly mean what you say because life is too short to spend wasting it on wondering on the ‘what if’s’ when he has you right here, just fingertips lengths away on your loveseat couch. Because you’re here, you’ve asked him to keep you company tonight, and you don’t run away from your feelings like you used to.

Quite frankly, that’s all he asks.

You’re everything else he hopes for you to be, and yes, you have flaws, but who doesn’t? But with you—he just wanted to understand you, and for you to reciprocate it.

Now that you have, what was he waiting for?

It doesn’t take long for you to get tangled in the sheets with him, Jungkook’s hand finding a way to slide up the side of your face, threading through your hair that falls loose from its bun. Lips locked, sucking and licking, he misses the sweetness of you, how disorientated he gets from just being with you, and how happy you make him.

Hazy, he pulls away with a string of saliva between the two of you. Your irises are swirls of the skies, the ones that lead to an unknown, yet he feels comfortable like this. And part of him finds comfort that you’re just as uneasy and complacent as he is. “Is this okay?” Jungkook asks, and you feel your chest tightening from the motive of the question.

“If you’re okay, I’m okay,” you answer softly, eyelids fluttering closed. Lashes damp, they brush the highs of your cheeks so prettily, so effortlessly, just as you’ve stolen his heart.

“I want you to be okay,” he clarifies, and you nod with a soft, reassuring smile.

“I’m always okay if it’s with you.”

You’ve had previous lovers before. Ones that claimed to love you, and ones that weren’t technically ‘lovers’ but were flings. And comparing this experience with Jungkook to them makes you realize a couple things.

That darkened gaze he has on you, tongue pressed flat against your clit, hands on your thighs to push you down, stopping you from shutting your legs. Fingers raking through his wavy hair, your head throws back with a gasp when he sucks, the sound filling your ears and heat rises up to your face. Were you that wet already? He’s barely got his mouth on you, and the fact he’s got you so weak already makes you slightly embarrassed.

But Jungkook doesn’t care. He just wants to see that pretty face contort in pleasure when he does that thing with his tongue that other girls claimed sent them to heaven. (He won’t tell you they said that though. They’re in the back of his mind.)

Kissing the side of your thighs, you’re woozy, attempting your best to catch your breath, but a finger slips into your opening before you’re able to relax. His lips wrap around your nub once more, and when he thrusts another finger in, you’re unraveling under his touch and you see whites behind your lids with a shutter of your body.

Rising up, Jungkook grins cheekily. He’s glad it’s him that’s got you like this, and he’s so full of elation knowing that he gets to be with you in this way. Pushing away the wet strands of your hair that sticks to the side of your face, he gets to see that gorgeous face a bit better. With a gentle peck on your nose and a rub on your cheek with his thumb, it doesn’t take much for him to ask, “are you okay we go further?”

Yes. Yes! Fuck yeah. Totally. Shit, yeah. But you don’t want to seem too excited around him, no, it’s too early in the relationship. With a cool, calm tone, you reply with an airy, “yes.” If only you knew that your heart skipped a beat because he’s such a gentleman, even with a raging boner in his boxers that was starting to hurt.

He swallows. He’s slept with you, but he’s never had sex with you before. Although there’s going to be many more times after this, the first is always special. Even when he accidentally bumps noses and foreheads with you clumsily, the imperfection of it is what swells his chest. It makes this real.

Pulling away, Jungkook tugs off his briefs before pumping his cock a couple times. The bead that sits atop of his dick gets smeared with his thumb, and even though you’re tempted to suck him off, Jungkook doesn’t even give you enough time to insinuate it because he’s already rolling a condom on and positioning himself in between your legs.

“Last chance,” he says breathily, holding himself back from fucking you apart because this sight of you, with that layer of sweat glistening from the dim lights in the room, has him swooning like some horny teenager. “Are you okay with this?”

Chewing on your bottom lip shyly, you nod.

Those past ‘lovers’ make you feel like the fumbles during sex are bad. They make those moments that seem innocent, despite the not-so-innocent act, feel wrong. The wet bed sheet underneath you are normal, and when kisses get messy, it’s not gross, it’s sexy. And with Jungkook, he makes you feel okay with all these things, even more.

Nose dug into the crook of his neck, you suck on the exposed skin gently before placing a ginger kiss on the flesh. His thrusts are languid, fearing that he’d hurt you, but when you give him the go with a whisper to his ear of all the dirty things you want him to do you, Jungkook doesn’t just have to hold himself back from splitting you apart, but also the fact he might cum too fast from your sultry words.

It doesn’t take long, but he makes sure you reach your orgasm once more.

And when your eyes are clenched shut, brows dipping in satisfaction with your lips opening with a quiet moan, Jungkook pistons his hips several times more before he stills, ropes of cum released into the condom.

Cleaning you up, he then tosses the condom and used tissue into a trash bin nearby before pressing a tender peck on your lips.

With your head resting on his chest and his arm around your frame, there’s nowhere else you’d rather be than in the embrace of Jeon Jungkook. Even if you needed two years to figure it out, you’re glad you did. And him? Although the time apart broke him, the healing made him a better person. A realistic one, one that doesn’t always have his head up in the clouds for love.

With a quick strum of his electric guitar, the sound blares through the speakers of the venue. Jungkook steals a quick glance at Jimin, who mirrors that same content smile as himself, and that sparkle in his eyes returns from a hiatus that he never realized wasn’t there for a while.

The crowd is different tonight, and he could say that he can’t pinpoint why, but Jungkook knows why.

It’s you.

He hates being that hopeless romantic that claims you responsible for all these changes in his life, but you are the reason. He’s never seen his bandmates this… harmonious in the past two years. The way that Yoongi actually laughs, smacking Taehyung’s arm when he’s joking around too much, Namjoon shaking his head when Hoseok chimes in, and Seokjin nagging at them for it—he missed this. And he missed turning around midway through the show, watching their heads bobbing to the music, lost in the tunes and immersed in making their dreams come true.

Jungkook can’t help but let that smile tug from the edges of his mouth, especially when he spots you in the crowd, swaying side to side with a friend of yours, beer in hand and sporting that cute grey t-shirt with his band name on it with a pair of jeans. Everything about this feels right. He doesn’t even care that it’s the third bra thrown on stage in the past twenty minutes. He’s happy to be here.

All Jungkook wants is love. And to share the success of his dreams with the people he loves.

And finally, he gets to.

He gets to share that with both you and his best friends.

[cissyenthusiast010155]

Rita Calhoun Masterlist

Mommy… Master List

Approach at your own risk… smut =* extra smutty =**

One Shots

She’s Been to Hell and Back ~S13!Alex Cabot xFem Wife!Reader (feat. Casey, Rita, Liz, Liv, & Amanda)[MATURE]

My Guardian Angel ~Broken!Rita Calhoun xFem Younger!Investigator!Reader (Liz Donnelly x Alex Cabot) feat. Rafael Barba & Olivia Benson

Holding on For Me ~Rita Calhoun xFem Younger!Partner!GradStudent!Reader (feat. Rafael Barba)

Memory Case

Walls Broken Down

My Good Girl

You Have My Attention

Pets Don’t Go Unfucked ~Dark!Dom!Mafia!Boss!Rita Calhoun xFem Sub!Younger(20s)!Pet!Reader[DARK]**

Drudging Up the Past ~Cowgirl!Rita Calhoun

Oh and I take Requests, so hit me up with your ideas 😉 Requests & Prompt-List