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violetsiren90 · 8 months

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Blame Me: Chapter 1 | Jungkook/Reader

Pairing: artist!freespirit!Jungkook/noona!f!Reader

Genre: Best friend's younger brother; slow burn; friends to lovers; eventual romance; eventual smut; neighbors/childhood friends au; forbidden(ish) love; summer love.

Summary: Upon returning to your hometown after breaking off your engagement to your boyfriend of three years, you reconnect with your childhood bestfriend as you attempt to put the pieces of your life back togethe r. It seems like nothing has changed in the sleepy little town until your bestie's younger brother returns home from college - very, very grown. As the summer stretches on, the stakes get higher - can you play with fire without getting burned, or have you ignited a flame that won't be extinguished?

Chapter Warnings: All my fics are 18+ (minors, dni); allusions to an unhappy home environment/neglect; descriptive scenes of shared meals (the characters will eat together a lot in this fic, as it is part of a family dynamic); mentions of promiscuity made in jest; the accidentally-in-bed-together trope; brief panic attack symptoms; MC has some issues with guilt and feeling like a burden

Updates: When I can! Life has been crazy lately.

Author's note: This is so incredibly late in coming, and I really struggled with it for whatever reason (the initial inspo was there and then it just wasn't coming) but I am still excited to tell this story and thank you in advance to anyone who takes the time to read it!

*Inspired by "Blame Me" by Monsta X 💕

In case no one has told you yet today, you are loved and worthy of love! 🧜‍♀️ 💜

Tag list: @papijiminfeed @oopscoop @violeata @fancycollectormoon @fandomtales @booboobutt @jlee97 @lifeless-firefly @lovemepie67 @shaybtsforever @woomyteez @smutbangtan @raiu54288

If you want to be added to the tag list, comment or send me an ask to let me know!

You watched the shiny white Tesla that had been your Uber grow smaller and smaller down the long shady stretch of Tiger Lily Lane. You stood on the sidewalk, behind you the warm asphalt of the road and long shadows of the tall, sprawling elms, and before you your childhood home. It was a little grey house with a blue door and white trim, kitchen windows like jovial eyes, curved at the top, staring out over a lawn overrun with crabgrass and lined with bushes of pale pink roses that grew flush with the unpainted picket fence. The porch swing was beginning to show signs of rust, but the two little hanging pots of azaleas that flanked it on either side were blooming and bright. The windows and flowers seemed to loudly stare out into the street, assuring neighbors and passersby of a happy home, but you knew better.

You shifted your duffel bag on your shoulder and sighed. You weren't ready to go in. The house into which your family had moved when you were in the third grade had never really been a home to you. In fact, it had been a place you had left. By choice. Granted you had paid the occasional visit, by choice. Because visits were temporary. This wasn't a visit - and the moment you walked through those doors, you would be shutting forever a chapter of your life in which, as stormy as it had been in recent days, had rescued you from the one before it.

An ugly feeling that had been brewing in the pit of your stomach since the pilot had announced that your plane was starting its decent was making itself well known as you stood outside the gate of house number 9195.

A voice snapped you out of your nauseated reverie, and as you turned to see its owner, new feelings washed over you. Better ones. In the lawn of 9197 Tiger Lily Lane stood a pretty, slim young woman with a sharply cut, silky black bob. Her catlike dark eyes were bright and intense, her face bare but lovely, and her clothes simple but strikingly presentable.

"Y/n!" she called again, her arms extended with open palms in a gesture of embrace and inquisition.

"Jiah!" you shouted, dropping your duffel with a thud and jogging into the ungated yard where she stood.

No sooner were you within arm's reach than she pulled you into a tight hug, swaying you from side to side as she pressed out of you, along with all the air in your lungs, a muffled laugh. Suddenly grasping you by the shoulders, she jerked you back so she could look at you. You grabbed her arms to steady yourself, continuing to gasp out bursts of laughter as you protested.

"Jiah, hold on! Woah! I'm gonna fall!"

"Who cares about that! I haven't seen you since...oh my god, since the summer we finished undergrad, I think? How are you? Are you going to be in town for a few days?"

You looked back over your shoulder to where two bulging suitcases stood beside your abandoned duffel, then back to Jiah's inquisitive gaze.

"It's gonna be more than a few days, Ji."

She squeezed your shoulder as she cocked her head to the side.

"Wait, are you moving back?"

You mustered a weary, uncertain smile.

"Surprise!" you offered weakly. Her smile faded, lips drawing into a pensive purse.

"You haven't even been in there yet, have you?" she asked gravely, her eyes searching yours, hand still on your shoulder. You shook your head, lowering your gaze groundward. She sighed.

"Alright, c'mon," she said suddenly, marching toward your pile of luggage.

She grabbed the duffel and tossed it at you, wheeling the other two bags up the driveway behind her.

"You're coming with me for now. We have some catching up to do."

You didn't protest as you followed her over the threshold of the Jeon household for the first time in a long while.

Linen. Every house has its very own unique scent - one that draws you into its aura, for good or ill, and wraps you in all of the memories and feelings it has afforded you; it can take you back to a moment in time, and who you were in that moment, unmistakable and fleeting - a smoke ring of a portal to a previous reality. Jiah's house smelled like linen. And lilacs? Something floral, but even more delicate.

You inhaled deeply, closing your eyes as you stood just inside the door. The sick feeling in your stomach began to shrink. Every muscle in your body began to soften. You could hear the laughter of years ago. You could feel the bubbly schoolgirl giddiness of slumber parties under forts of sheets. Movie nights with cartons of takeout. Summer afternoons laying in the grass and tossing lazy wishes up at puffy white clouds.

"Y/n? Have you even been listening to me?"

You opened your eyes and blinked at Jiah, who was standing in front of you with two bottles of grapefruit IPA and a look of mild annoyance.

"Sorry," you offered with a sheepish smile, slipping off your shoes, and traded the duffel in your right hand for one of the beers in answer to the question you had missed.

You followed her into the living room and plopped down next to her on a pretty white couch you didn't recognize, taking a long, wheaty swig from your bottle. She folded her legs up under herself and turned toward you, fixing you with earnest, expectant eyes. You raised an eyebrow quizzically.

"Well, aren't you gonna tell me?" she pressed.

You smiled to yourself. Always so direct, Jeon Jiah. Even with half a decade stretching between this moment and the last you spent together, things were the very same. You were the Libra - the dramatic, messy one. The one with a heart full of dreams and a head in the clouds. She was the Capricorn with the strong sense of direction and the practical perspective. You always seemed to be in a quandary and she never failed to have a hard take on the situation. You sighed, taking another long sip of beer.

"Have we really talked at all since freshman year of undergrad?" Jiah shook her head.

While you had fought like hell to get out of Bellpond - even if it meant chasing your father's dreams of law school instead of your own - Jiah, who desperately wanted to join you in New York, had set aside her own longings to attend a local college while helping the family store survive the recession. Telling her the truth of what happened was going to be painful. You chewed on the inside of your cheek, trying to transcend the assumption that what you were about to say would let her down.

"It was a guy, wasn't it?"

You shot wide eyes up at her, mouth agape at her sudden interjection.

"What?" she pressed with a shrug as she sipped her own beverage,

"That's always what it is with you."

You blinked, trying to form some sort of protest while failing to find any evidence in memory to counter her claims. You settled for a rueful smile and a huff.

"I guess I always have had pretty terrible taste in men," you conceded.

"Pretty terrible?" she pushed, her face pinching into a comically overt censoriousness. "It's like your number one turn-on is red flags!"

"Hey!" you rebutted, launching yourself at her shoulder in a playful shove, and sloshing her beer in the process.

You froze in panic as she glanced down at her dampened cardigan, and then at you.

"Oh, shit! I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm so sorry!"

You jumped up and backed away, holding your hands outstretched in front of you as she stood up and slowly and menacingly advanced toward you.

"This is my favorite sweater," she hissed in a whisper.

"Jiah, I didn't mean too, I'm sorry!" you whined, manic laughter punctuating your words as you backed around the coffee table.

"It has lady bugs on the bottom," she hissed again, eyes narrowing as she raised the right hem to gesticulate at the embroidered insects in question.

"And they're very cute," you placated, hands still raised in self defense. "Look, I said I was - Aaahh!!"

She lunged at you mid-sentence, and you shrieked, tripping over your own feet in an attempt to flee and you toppled, one after the other, in a heap on the plush carpet. Before you could find out if your friend was in fact as strong as she had been in high school, the front door swung open and a familiar voice filled the room.

"Jeon Jiah, get up off the floor and help your imo with all these damn groceries! I had to - AHHHH!"

You looked up at the figure in the door as she let out a high-pitched squeal of delight. She was a petite bombshell of a woman in her early fifties, who, had you not known otherwise, you wouldn't have pegged for a day over forty. Bright and expertly executed makeup adorned her features - softer and rounder than Jiah's. Her permed dark hair was pulled up in a colorful bohemian wrap, and she wore compression pants, neon orange Nike's, and a crop top with a print of Joan Jett flipping the bird. She had dropped the bags of citrus and apples she had been carrying, sending the fruits rolling across the floor.

"Aebeolle!" She shrieked, running forward, and bending down to pull you up by your armpits into a half-stand so she could crush you in a hug.

"Rosie!" You propped yourself up on your knees so that you could wrap your arms around the tiny woman's middle.

Imo to her niece and nephew, she was Rosie to everyone else. While Jiah's mother had been the responsible one, staying out of trouble, and working in the family store after school, Rosie had been the wild child. Smart as a whip but with no patience for the system, Rosie had dropped out of high school at seventeen and jumped on a tour bus the following summer as the groupie of a grunge band. She hadn't looked back until Christmas Eve of 1999, when her whole world was shattered by a phone call.

She had taken the next flight back to the hometown she had promised to never set foot in again so that by Christmas morning she could have her niece and nephew in wrapped her arms. She left behind her life in the fast lane to take over running the Jeon's store and raise her sister's kids in their family home.

She had been there for you, too. On those nights you climbed out of your window, a backpack slung over your shoulder stuffed with clothes and a toothbrush, to tap softly on their front door. On the following mornings she had filled your stomach with warm, hearty dakjuk and fluffy slices of milk bread, and let you watch cartoons as she worked out the knots clinging to your neglected hair. She offered the warmest hugs, the softest words of direction, and the loudest cheers of praise. She had always called you "aebeolle" which was Korean for "caterpillar", and she had always given you the nurture you needed to survive. If she hadn't, you weren't sure where you would have come by it.

"What are you doing here? You finally paying us a visit?" she asked, clapping her hands to your cheeks.

"She was about to tell me about how some guy wrecked her life. Again."

Jiah interjected, earning herself a smack on the shoulder.

"Jiah, you brat!" Rosie chided, as she helped you to your feet.

She glanced up at you through fake lashes.

"You really do have the worst taste in men, though."

You sighed in defeat.

"Ugh, you two," you blustered, "Where is Jungkook when I need backup?"

"Headed this way, for the summer, actually," Rosie remarked as she collected the fruit strewn across the floor.

"So he decided to slum it, huh?" Jiah huffed, "I thought he was going to Ontario, or wherever the heck that last girl he met at that festival was from."

Rosie shrugged, shaking her head with a smile.

"I've lost track," she chuckled.

You blinked.

"Wait, wait, wait...are we talking about the same person?" You asked, holding a hand up in disbelief. "Jungkook. Your little brother. Tiny. Shy as hell. Looks like the weight of his head is gonna topple him over. Bunny rabbit teeth....is a lady's man?"

"Well, not strictly," Rosie hummed, hoisting a bag of produce onto the counter. "His sophomore year in Paris there was that one guy...what was his name?"

"Taehyung," Jiah offered, shedding her sweater and draining her beer.

"Right, right," Rosie nodded. "I liked him. Too bad."

Your mouth hung open. Jiah wrinkled her nose.

"You're gonna catch flies that way," she remarked sardonically.

"I...I just cannot believe what I'm hearing. Jungkook. In my mind he will forever be the tiny gremlin I have to keep bailing out of trouble."

Rosie smiled. Jiah scoffed.

"Well, he's still a gremlin, if you ask me," she sniffed, chucking the beer bottles in the recycling bin.

"When does he get back?" You asked.

Rosie shook her head as she divided the groceries between the cupboards and the fridge.

"He's on his bike so, barring any unexpected stops - which are definitely not out of the picture - he should be here in the next couple of days. Probably by the weekend."

You nodded, still trying to wrap your head around the newly acquired image of you and Jiah's childhood tag-a-long. Rosie approached you with a picture pulled up on her phone.

"Look at him," she said with a smile, sliding the device into your hand.

You blinked at the picture on the screen. There he stood - much taller than you remembered - a girl under each arm, filling out a pair of ripped jeans, a black tank, and an ascot. A fringe brushed the tops of his eyes, while the top half of his dark waves were bound back in a little bun. His right arm was covered in tattoos. He was grinning from ear to ear, with that same toothy smile you had committed to memory.

"That's just crazy," you murmured, shaking your head, before handing Rosie's phone back to her.

"He's going to be thrilled to see you. I think he has a lot of happy memories from when you three were kids just banging around town together," Rosie remarked as she continued to sort the groceries.

You smiled to yourself. You certainly did. You glanced at your bags by the door.

"I guess I should get going," you murmured without conviction.

"Not yet, not until I've fed you," Rosie responded, not skipping a beat as she began to pile the ingredients for bibimbap on the kitchen island.

You smiled to yourself. Rosie to the rescue, as always.

"Okay, if you're gonna twist my arm," you sighed dramatically as you pulled up a stool on the other side of the kitchen island, followed by Jiah who grabbed the carrots and a peeler.

You reached for a huge zucchini squash and knife. Jiah shot you some side-eye.

"You're not getting out of telling us about the big debacle, you know. Time to 'fess up."

"Yep, spill," Rosie concurred as she prepped the rice cooker.

You heaved another sigh. Might as well get it over with, you thought. But for some reason, the words stuck in your throat, unable to come out. You looked at your hands, shaking as they tried to steady the knife over the squash. You couldn't do this. Not right now. Not yet.

You let the knife clatter to the cutting board and scrubbed your hands over your face.

"Y/n?" Jiah asked, leaning over to look at you, "Are you okay?"

You drew your hands from your face and looked up at her with tired eyes. She and Rosie had traded their teasing glances for expressions of concern. You gripped the edge of the counter to stop your stupid hands from trembling.

"It's really not a fun story, you guys," you said slowly, trying your best to sound casual, "You're not missing out."

Rosie reached over the kitchen island to clasp your hands.

"No worries, aebeolle. We can talk about it some other time. For now, just stick to slicing up this zucchini and forget about that other one!"

She shot you a wink as she cracked open a tupperware of marinated beef.

"Imo! My god!" Jiah protested with a grimace as you and Rosie burst into a fit of giggles.

It was all laughter and shots of soju and teasing Jiah about being a prude until you were gathered around the table with steaming bowls of goodness in front of you. Rosie closed her eyes and threw up rock-on signs with both hands.

"May Stevie Nicks bless this food," she murmured before snapping up her chopsticks to snag a mandu and pop it into her mouth.

You took a heaping bite of bibimbap, your whole body relaxing as the flavors and warmth returned you to a simpler time. Another wave of nostalgia washed over you as images of three little hungry kids fighting over the last piece of fried chicken replaced the scene before you. Your eyes wandered to the empty chair beside Rosie. There was a missing piece in the picture of comfort you had always found in the Jeon residence - a missing piece in the shape of round head bearing a pair of giant doe eyes that would light up when he'd win and water-up when he'd lose, and little short legs that ran faster than the longer ones, and a bright smile that was all innocence and central incisors.

You smiled fondly as long-dormant memories continued to appear like little spring flowers of the mind. Jungkook had perfectly completed your little trio, because though Jiah was your best friend, you and he had always understood each other in a way that came so easily. You didn't mind that everything brought him to tears, or that he invested himself so earnestly in even the smallest of his joys. You also didn't find it annoying that he wanted to tag along with the big kids, or that he hated being called a baby despite practically demanding to be treated as one. You knew in a way Jiah would only later realize that he was caught between wanting to grow up too quickly and not at all. It was the same battle between longings that waged war in your own heart, along with so many others who in some way had to raise themselves.

"How's the oi muchim?" Rosie's question roused you from your reverie.

"Amazing, like everything," you answered, waving your chopsticks over the spread of banchan.

"I made it a little spicier this time," the older woman said, sampling the cucumbers again herself. "Trying to get these staples just right before the new place opens."

"New place? Another store?" You asked, helping yourself to more sukju namul.

Rosie's eyes shone, a proud smile tugging at her lips as she gave her answer.

"A restaurant, actually."

Your jaw dropped.

"You're finally doing it!?"

Rosie leaned back in her chair and crossed her arms, nodding at her niece.

"It's all Jiah's doing. She's taking care of all the logistics, I'm just figuring out the menu."

"Well, if you need help, I'm in between gigs at the moment," you added eagerly.

Rosie clapped her hands and wiggled in her chair.

"We would love the help! We've only just started hiring some staff. So far there's one person to wait tables and someone running the kitchen."

Jiah let out a huff. You quirked an eyebrow in her direction, and she appraised you with a look of wistful discouragement.

"Too bad you can't cook, or I'd boot him out tomorrow."

"Who?"

"The chef," she sneered.

"Speaking of, Jiah-ie," Rosie remarked over the food in her cheek, "How is Seokjin doing these days?"

The older woman chewed back a poorly concealed smirk as she glanced up at her niece, whose lips curled scornfully.

"One day, I'll kill him, I swear," she grumbled, shoveling rice into her mouth as if she was punishing it with every bite.

You glanced over at your friend, then at Rosie, who wiggled her eyebrows as she took a sip from her glass.

"Seokjin...not Kim Seokjin?" you asked.

"Yeeeeep," Jiah affirmed bitterly.

"He's a cook?"

Rosie nodded.

"And darn good at it. The only thing he's better at is pissing off this one right here," she remarked with a smirk as she gestured toward her glowering niece.

You smiled to yourself as Jiah started off on what would likely be a lengthy rant at the young man's expense. Seokjin, or Jin, as he was more commonly known, had attended the same small high school as you and Jiah. In a body of four-hundred students, everyone had played a well-known role - and while she had been the straight-laced valedictorian, he was the class clown. Natural enemies who found the other beyond comprehension, the bulk of the ire had always been on Jiah's side, while Jin had seemed to find her as amusing as he did inexplicable. The concept of the two of them attempting to run a business together was the stuff of sitcoms.

His ongoing feud with Jiah notwithstanding, it didn't really surprise you that he had tucked himself into the Jeons' life. His father owned most of the agricultural land in the surrounding area, and with his older brother having been slated since birth to take over the family empire, Jin had enjoyed a freedom of direction that found him often seeking out the phenomenon of being needed...and people always needed a laugh. But laughter is momentary, and Rosie, having the heart for strays that she did, always provided something more permanent.

"So now we're probably going to have to keep Jungkook at the store, because you know how they get when they're together," Jiah tiraded on.

"They don't get along anymore?" you asked, a bit crestfallen at the thought.

"The opposite," Rosie chuckled, "You put them in the same room and those dorks turn into a couple of puppies. They broke the back screen door roughhousing last Chuseok. Plowed right through it."

You snickered at the thought.

"But Jungkook is darn well gonna contribute while he's here," your friend asserted as she stood to clear the table, still on her agenda about the restaurant launch, "Not just cruise around finding pretty people to sketch between make-out sessions."

Rosie waved a hand dismissively.

"He's always willing to pitch in. But it's summer, and he's young, so don't you go all drill sergeant on him."

Jiah scoffed.

"Sure, it's summer, but there's a lot to get done between now and opening, and -"

"AND," Rosie interrupted, "I expect you to have some fun as well, young lady! Especially now that Y/n is back. You two better do a decent amount of carousing."

"Carousing?" Jiah asked with a grimace, directing horrified eyes in your direction.

You let out another laugh.

"She's got a point, Rosie. I don't think anyone has caroused in quite some time."

Rosie rolled her eyes, crossing to the sink and running the tap.

"Well," she rejoined, undeterred, "Whatever it is they're calling it these days, you two better be doing plenty of it! Give your imo some fun to live through vicariously, why don't you?"

Jiah shook her head, crossing her arms over her chest.

"And, you," she said, pointing a sudsy wooden spoon in your direction, "Should just stay here for the night. Take Jungkook's room. Then you can rest and be ready for...you know. Tomorrow."

You accepted the invitation with very little hesitation. It was a relief, and Rosie knew. She had always known. You shot a text to excuse your absence that you doubted was actually necessary and lugged your things down the hall and into the last bedroom on the left.

The rest of the night was spent stuffed onto the little couch with bowls of ice cream while the three of you shrieked and slapped each other's arms and kick your feet watching reruns of The Golden Girls. It was nearly midnight by the time you slipped under the sheets of the full-sized mattress in the smallest bedroom.

Though your eyes were heavy with exhaustion, you couldn't help but glance around at the walls and shelves, filled with scented candles, and action figures, Polaroids, and an incredible number of charcoal and graphite sketches. There were drawings of buildings, trees, cars, and people. And though there was little variation in color, the vitality and emotion that sparked along each line drew you from piece to piece. Your eyes drifted over a particular drawing - a girl's lower face - the tip of a nose, lips slightly parted, and her chin tilting upward. It might have been the delirium of your tired mind, but something about it seemed familiar. You stretched for a recollection just out of reach as you slipped past memory and into slumber.

Weight. The first thing you registered as your mind began to again become aware of its physical trappings was a heaviness. At first your hazy consciousness likened it to blankets, then to the heaviness of a sleep without dreams...safety...security...

And then something brushed the skin of your stomach under your shirt, drawing a hum out of you as your eyes fluttered open, and what they saw had you frozen in place. An arm. A large, muscular arm covered in dark ink was snaked around your waist, hand slipped under the hem of your sleep tee.

Fight or flight mode suddenly triggered, you snapped up and pushed yourself away from the body attached to the limb, letting out a shout as you kicked your legs, and only catching a glimpse of dark hair and grey sweatpants as the intruder rolled off the bed and hit the carpet with a loud thud. You jumped off the other side of the bed before you could think, tangling your legs in sheets that brought you tumbling down onto your ass. Before you could thrash free of the bedding, a groaning figure peered with large, dark eyes from the other side of the bed. Dark, wild waves framing his sleepy head like a halo, and wide, round eyes still bleary with sleep, the young man passed tattooed hand over his mouth to wipe the remnants of drool away as he blinked at you from across the room.

"J...Jungkook?!" you choked out in surprise and confusion, struggling to your feet.

"You kicked me..." he groaned, his features taking on an injured look as he stooped to rub his thigh.

"Why...when..."

"Imo told me to wake you up for breakfast," he pouted.

You scrubbed your hands over your eyes. Same damn baby-faced expression. Huge, bulky man. With tattoos...and a lip ring? This Pokémon had leveled up. Maybe twice. And that was all your brain could register as your heart rate descended from two hundred beats per minute and the heavy fog of an interrupted sleep cycle began to dissipate. You tossed the sheet back onto the bed, and as your eyes flicked back to his face you noticed his had dropped a little lower. Registering with horror that you were in a thin cotton nightshirt with nothing underneath, you snatched up the sheet again, clutching it to your chest. What the fuck was happening?

"Rosie told you to wake me up, so you decided to spoon me?" You asked incredulously as your embarrassment quickly morphed into agitation.

Jungkook's eyes widened as they flew up to yours, seemingly caught off guard by the edge in your tone.

"No, noona...it wasn't like that!" he said, standing to his full height, his brow creasing defensively.

He was pretty fucking tall. His white tee and grey sweats did little to hide the fact that he was also pretty fucking big. Exasperated by these unbidden acknowledgements that had your brain buffering, you snapped a little again.

"Then what was it like? You had your hand up my shirt, Kook!"

Your voice had unintentionally softened at his nickname, and he caught it, biting back a grin as you hugged the sheet over you just a little more snugly.

"It was kind of your fault, noona," he smirked, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck.

You shot him a quizzical and unamused look.

"I came in here to wake you up and you pulled me into bed. You kept calling me someone else's name...and..." he giggled, "'Baby', and you kept insisting we sleep for just five more minutes."

You gaped at him in horror.

"You pulled my arm over you," he continued, now a bit smugly, "And I had literally just woken up, so...being so comfy...well, I guess I fell back to sleep with you."

You could feel the heat in your face. You had a history of pretty intense sleep talking, but you hadn't experienced it to that extent in years. You considered that you must have slept deeply as you stammered your apology.

"Oh my god, Jungkook...I'm so sorry - that's horrifying - I didn't mean to..."

The younger man just laughed in response, breaking into his signature luminous smile. His eyes glimmered.

"Didn't mean to steal my bed, demand cuddles, and then beat the heck out of me?"

You let out a sigh.

"Sorry."

He nodded, a little smile still tugging at his lips.

"I accept your apology for the bruises...but not the cuddles. Those were nice."

He threw a wink over his shoulder as he headed for the door, and you tossed a pillow and a string of expletives after him as he jogged, giggling, toward the kitchen. Still flustered and a bit thrown, you changed into real clothes before joining the others in the breakfast table. Rosie was placing mayak eggs alongside the piles of bacon and pancakes as you pulled out a chair next to Jiah.

"You slept well! You must have been exhausted," Rosie remarked, handing you a mug of coffee.

"Yeah, must have," Jungkook quipped with a smirk as he snagged three strips of bacon.

You shot him a warning look as you stabbed demonstratively into a stack of pancakes, but his grin only deepened.

"I thought you weren't supposed to be back until the weekend," you addressed him coolly.

"Mm," he took a sip of orange juice. "I actually wasn't really supposed to be back until next week. I expected to head north to see a friend but she ended up being out of town, so I just came straight back."

"A friend, huh?" Jiah crooned patronizingly, as she twirled a fork in his direction.

Her brother nodded.

"The same one you were talking to on the phone very loudly when you came in last night?"

Jungkook scrunched his nose, sticking out the tip of his tongue in her direction.

"Wow," she drawled, "How very adult of you. And for the record, friends don't call each other 'baby'."

Jungkook snickered, glancing at you again before he mumbled, "Some friends do..."

"So, Jiah - " you practically shouted, as you turned toward her in a desperate bid to change the topic of conversation, "You gonna show me the new place today, or what?"

"The restaurant? If you let her drag you out there, she'll put you to work and you'll never be seen again," Jungkook hummed over an entire egg that he had pocketed in his cheek, casting teasing eyes up at his sister, who smiled back wickedly.

"You know, Kookie, it's just so good to have you home! We needed someone who puts in those gym hours to do a bit of the heavy lifting."

Jungkook flashed another smile, puffing his chest and massaging his pectorals as Jiah feigned a gag.

You chuckled, and Jungkook grinned as he tucked into his pancakes.

Watching the two of them bicker and catch up, you realized that things felt a bit more whole again - familiar, if different. You considered that maybe the three of you could all fall back into stride. Maybe this summer wouldn't be so bad after all.

After breakfast you gathered your things to head next door. You tried to slip out quietly, to avoid Rosie stalling you any further, but Jungkook caught you as he was coming around from the garage, an oil towel in his grease-stained hands.

"You leaving?" he asked with a tinge of disappointment.

"I can't over-stay my welcome," you shrugged, smiling wryly.

His face took on a serious expression.

"You know you're always welcome here, yeah? It's good to have you back," he pressed earnestly.

You nodded, touched because you knew he meant it and that the other two members of his family shared the same sentiment. Jungkook wiped his hands on the towel casting a look over at the house next door.

"You staying there?"

You nodded. His brow creased and the corners of his mouth turned down.

"Okay. You can come here whenever."

"I know," you said softly.

His eyes looked worried and uncertain. You dropped your bag and pulled him into a hug.

"It's so good to see you again, Jungkook-ah," you murmured, dropping your head against his chest.

His arms squeezed around you in return. He had always preferred to talk with his body instead of his words. Every playful punch, or little shove, or squeeze of his hand carried a message. This one meant it was good to see you too.

As you waved goodbye you counted the Jeons' welcome among your blessings - not everything you had left behind would be so welcome to recall. But, life hadn't left you with many choices. So you began the long walk to the house next door.

-End Chapter 1-

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5-seconds-of-bucky · 2 years

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A/N: So...it's been quite some time. I started writing this back in June before my life got a little crazy and I finally got some time to finish it! To anyone who's still hanging around, thanks for reading and I'm sorry it took so long to get to you!

This will be a multi-part fic! It's looking like it's going to be 3 parts at the moment, but it could be more as I write the rest of it.

A very special thanks to @buck-nialled for beta reading this for me!! Rach's ideas were the real cherry on top to this and it wouldn't be half as good without her help! Love you, bestie!! ❤️💕

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Fem Avenger!Reader

Summary: Fake marriage isn't easy with anyone, but with your best friend? Try almost impossible. With the lines between platonic and romantic between you and Bucky getting blurrier by the day, that exact task makes your mission of uncovering whatever your supposed Hydra neighbors are doing slightly more difficult than it needs to be. How can you focus on your job when everything you've ever wanted is right in your hands, just not quite?

Word count: 4.4k+

Warnings: swearing, canon level violence, two idiots in love who can't get it together

---

“I think that’s the last box,” Bucky sighed as he placed the cardboard box he was carrying on the living room floor. Boxes of all shapes and sizes littered the foreseeable area. The walls were bare except for a dent that likely came from the previous owners knocking a chair into one. Everything about the house signaled a fresh start.

“Alrighty then! Let us know if we can be of any more help!” your new neighbor, Bridgett, said cheerfully. With paper-white teeth, a cute dress, and subtle but perfectly done makeup, Bridgett looked like the epitome of someone who whole-heartedly embraced the ‘suburban housewife’ lifestyle. Oddly enough, she and her fiance, Adrian, didn’t have any children yet to fill out the picture.

You were surprised at first to find out that they were yet to be married--considering the types of people who tended to live in these neighborhoods--but they told you that the wedding had to be postponed for a number of reasons (to which were still unknown to you and Bucky). They had already bought the house before their original wedding date and decided that they might as well move in to it.

They happened to see you and Bucky moving boxes from a larger than normal van earlier in the day and offered to help, which you couldn’t refuse. They also just so happened to be your targets for the mission.

“Thank you so much for your help again! We would’ve been out there all night without you guys,” you chuckled. The feeling of Bucky’s arm sliding around your waist almost made you jerk away, not being used to the feeling. You instead leaned yourself into his side, remembering that you had a role to play.

“All in a day’s work.” Adrian gave you a sickeningly sweet smile, his hands on his hips. “Doesn’t hurt to be neighborly.”

“Absolutely! And let us know if you guys ever need anything too. We’d be more than happy to help.”

“Whelp, looks like we have to go,” Bridgett sighed. “Lunch with my parents and they don’t like to wait.”

“Don’t let us hold you up. Have a good time!” You and Bucky led them to the door, smiles on your faces that weren’t as genuine as they appeared to be.

“Thank you! Good luck settling in!”

Bucky closed the door once they were down the porch steps, dropping his arm from your waist quickly and making his way back to the living room. With a series of taps on his inner bicep, the camouflage technology Tony had created specifically for this mission flickered off, leaving the glinting vibranium exposed to the overhead lights. You missed the weight of it in the slightest sense, though it did feel easier to breathe without being pressed right up against your fake husband.

You and Bucky weren’t exactly the most touchy feely people. Neither of you enjoyed being on the receiving ends of hugs nor were you known for being the best cuddlers. Perhaps that’s what made you best friends, but it’s definitely what made this mission so hard.

You knew that your friendship was what made Steve decide to pair the two of you together for this specific mission. Normally, though, that exact thing was the reason you weren’t allowed to work together. The two of you had the tendency to joke around and get distracted far too often during missions and Steve eventually made the executive decision that you couldn’t be paired together anymore.

“Bucky, get your slow ass over here before I leave you behind,” you giggled into your com as you waited for your best friend to catch up. You had successfully retrieved whatever intel Fury had requested from some random Hydra base in Siberia and now had to wait for Bucky to meet you at the exit to make your escape. Steve and Sam were already out, waiting for the two of you back at the jet.

“Shut up, Y/N,” Bucky said, though you both knew he didn’t mean it. “Give me another minute. I’m almost there.”

You let out a small sigh of relief when you saw him round the corner, his eyes darting around in search of danger. A wolf whistle from you drew his attention your way, and you swear you saw some of the tension leave his body as he caught sight of you.

“There’s my favorite badass,” he said as he made his way over to you.

“Would you two stop flirting and get back already?” Sam’s voice came through the coms, causing you and Bucky to both roll your eyes.

“We’re not flirting, Sam. Just modeling what a good friendship looks like, you know, since you don’t have friends to know what that’s like,” you teased.

“Nice.” Bucky held out his hand for a high-five.

“Seriously, guys. Get back so we can get home,” Steve said seriously, though you swear you could hear a slight smile in his voice.

You and Bucky started a quick pace back to the jet, unintentionally letting your focus on your surroundings slip as you joked about whatever came to mind. You were making fun of Sam again when a Hydra agent popped out from behind a corner in front of you, throwing a knife towards your head. Had it not been for Bucky’s quick reflexes, you would’ve been good as dead. Thankfully, he managed to push you out of the way so the knife narrowly missed you and took a shot at the agent, knocking him down on the first try.

You could vaguely hear Sam and Steve’s voices shouting at you over the coms asking what happened over your heavy breathing as Bucky crouched down to make sure you were okay. You swear he’d never looked so panic stricken in his life, blue eyes wide in fear at what just happened.

“You good?”

You nodded your head, already getting up to continue on your way. Not another word was spoken as you picked up the pace back to the jet. You were met there with a distraught Sam trying to re-suit up and angry Steve yelling nonsense as he paced around with the shield in his hands.

There was a brief moment of silence when they caught sight of you before the yelling started again.

“What were you thinking, letting your guard down like that?” Steve asked angrily, latching the shield over his back. “Even worse, you didn’t tell us what happened. You seemed to have absolutely zero issues with communicating earlier. What happened?”

You quickly glanced over to Bucky, who was apparently engrossed with something on the ground. Neither of you said a word.

“Alright then, you two are done. No more working together on missions. I can’t have something like this happening again.”

You opened your mouth to protest but Steve was quick to hold his hand up to stop you. “I don’t want to hear it. I can’t trust you to stay focused around each other. This is it.”

That decision was said to be permanent, apparently. That was, until now.

It didn’t help that the definition of your relationship with Bucky had been starting to get hazy lately either. You knew your feelings were starting to become more romantic than platonic--at least more than they used to be--but as for how Bucky felt about you, you had absolutely no clue. Neither of you were the best at explaining your emotions about anything, much less your relationship.

So here you were: an undercover mission in which you had to pretend to be married to your real life best friend while trying to gain intel about whatever underground organization your next door neighbors were involved in.

“You’d think S.H.I.E.L.D would’ve mostly set up everything for us and left some stuff for us to bring in so it looked like we were just moving in,” Bucky grumbled as he stood amongst the mass of boxes in the living room. “But no, we have to unpack and set up everything for every room in this damn house.”

You walked over to join him, picking up a box labeled “plates” with a sigh. “Something to occupy our time with.”

“If they make us move this stuff out when the time comes, I’m quitting.” He grabbed a random box with no label and followed you to the kitchen, placing his box on the countertop gently.

“You’re going to quit the Avengers?” You raised an eyebrow.

“Maybe.”

“Uh huh. Sure you will.”

“My job is fighting, not moving furniture.”

“Right now, your job is to unpack that box so we can finish moving in and start the mission.” You nudged his hip with your own, opening the cabinet in front of you and putting some of the plates from your box on the bottom shelf.

With a huff, Bucky opened his box, revealing various picture frames filled with random pictures of the two of you throughout your friendship. On the top was a selfie from after one of your last missions together. You were smiling wide, Bucky’s chin resting on your shoulder. His lips were turned upwards into a slight smile, though one might miss it if they weren’t looking close enough. His eyes held a happy glint that wasn’t as obvious on the rest of his face. That same picture also happened to be the wallpaper on the homescreen of his phone (not that anyone except him knew about it, though).

“I’ll get to that later,” he muttered under his breath, already moving the box to the edge of the counter to make room for another one.

“Hmm?”

“Just some pictures of us. We can hang them up later.”

“In that case, you’re in charge of organizing the utensil drawer.” You pushed the box of silverware towards him and went back to the living room to grab another.

“There’s like six different sized spoons in here. Who needs so many spoons?” Bucky groaned, leaning his head against the cabinet.

“Married couples who have their lives together.” You gave him a knowing look and plopped a box down on the counter, the clatter of whatever was in it making you both wince.

“Sure looks like this married couple has their life together, huh?”

“Shut up.”

---

“Buck?” you yelled from the doorway of the master bedroom.

“Yeah?” He stepped out of the bathroom, his toothbrush still hanging out of his mouth.

“Is there a bed in the guest bedroom, or is this it?” You gestured through the doorway to the single king size bed sitting in the room.

He motioned for you to give him a moment, going back into the bathroom to rinse out his mouth. “You didn’t check earlier?”

“No, I wasn’t thinking about it.”

Bucky opened the door across from the bathroom, seeing that it was completely bare of any furniture. “Nothing in here.”

Uncertainty flashed across your face. “Oh . . . uh, okay.” Your eyes searched the floor, hoping that it would somehow hold an answer for your issue. “I’ll take the couch then.”

“What? No! I’ll take the couch,” he insisted.

You sent him a glare. “You’re way too big for the couch. You’ll kill your back on that thing.”

“Like it will be any better for you.”

“I’m not letting you sleep on that couch, Bucky.”

“And I’m not letting you sleep on it either, Y/N.”

“Then I’ll sleep on the floor.”

“You won’t sleep on the floor either!” He threw his hands up with an exasperated huff. “We can just share the damn bed.”

“Are you sure?” He could hear the hesitation in your voice.

“Look, doll. If you don’t want to share because of me, I get it. But if that’s the case, let me take the couch. You shouldn’t have to take the couch cause you’re scared about your safety.”

Your eyes widened at his words. “No, no, no! I didn’t mean it like that! I just didn’t want you to be uncomfortable.”

“The bed’s big enough. I think we’ll be able to deal with it for the next few months.” A warm feeling bubbled up inside of you when he sent a reassuring smile.

You started the night with plenty of space between each other. By morning though, the gap was a little smaller.

---

“So, Y/N, how long have you been with your husband?”

The group of women in Bridgett’s living room seemed to be much more interested in your personal life than the book they were supposed to have read that month. Apparently, “book club” was just an excuse for the neighborhood ladies to get together and gossip.

“We dated for three years and have been married for almost two, so five total.” You plastered a fake smile across your face, twisting the fake diamond ring on your left hand.

“He is a catch!” one of the ladies, Charlotte, raved. “I saw him working on his motorcycle this morning and I have to say, those biceps are definitely easy on the eyes.”

“I got very lucky,” you giggled.

“What do you two do for a living?”

“I’m a freelance copy editor and Bucky works in marketing.” Your “jobs” would allow you to work from home and keep your cover.

The (only slightly invasive) questions continued and you provided all the fake answers you had curated months in advance. You quickly found that it wasn’t too hard to get a read on the ladies; they were all basically the same anyways: nosy and ready to gossip about anything.

That might be helpful later.

They seemed satisfied with what they’d figured out about you once the time came for “book club” to end. You collected your things, keeping that fake smile plastered on as you said goodbye to everyone.

After everyone left, you asked Bridgett if she needed any help cleaning up. She took a moment to think about it, decidedly telling you that you didn’t need to worry about it; she had it covered.

“Are you sure? You know I don’t mind.” If you wanted this mission to go well, you needed to build a relationship with her. The sooner the better.

“I’ll be alright,” she reassured you. “Besides, you need to go back home to that husband of yours. I think Charlotte might try to take a stab at him before you get back.”

You laughed and bid her goodbye, surprised to find that very sight when you stepped out onto Bridgett’s front porch. Bucky was sitting next to his bike, shirtless, as Charlotte was saying something from the end of the driveway. His metal arm, camouflaged by Tony’s technology, fiddled with one of the rags he used to clean the bike.

You felt a surge of jealousy course through your body for a second. Your eyes narrowed when Bucky laughed at something Charlotte said and your feet were carrying you across Bridgett’s yard to your own before you could consciously make the decision yourself.

The sound of your footsteps on the pavement brought Bucky’s attention from the conversation over to you. He smiled at your presence leaning back on his hands with a charming look on his face. “Hey, pretty girl.”

“Hey, babe.” You pressed a kiss to the top of his head once you finally reached him, a hand coming up to run through his hair. You felt him relax a bit and saw Charlotte look visibility more uncomfortable than she had a few seconds ago. “How’s the bike coming along?”

“It’s coming along good.” He grabbed your hand off the top of his head and interlaced his fingers with yours. “I was just taking a quick break to talk to Charlotte here.”

It’s all just pretend.

“Well I hate to break up the fun but we need to get ready for dinner. Sam and Nat will be here in about thirty minutes.”

“Shoot, I forgot about that! Sorry, Charlotte. I’ll have to talk to you later.” He gripped your hand tighter to pull himself up.

“Alright. You two have a good night.” Neither of you missed her obvious disappointment as she watched you.

“Bye Charlotte.” You tugged Bucky’s arm towards the house, wanting to go in so you could start dinner. Sam and Nat were actually coming over soon to go over the information gathered so far and you were sure they wouldn’t want to wait very long to eat.

“Great job playing the role of jealous wife,” Bucky chuckled once you were in the house as he closed the door behind you.

You were playing a role because it’s your job. That’s it, right?

“Haha, yeah.” He seemed to miss the lack of humor in your voice, which you were grateful for.

“You said Sam and Nat are coming over in thirty?”

“Yup.”

He nodded his head before giving your shoulder a squeeze. “Then I better go take a shower.”

Yeah, just playing the role.

---

“So what made you guys want to move here?” Adrian asked, a beer bottle in his hand and his other arm wrapped around his fianceé. He and Bridgett had invited you and Bucky over for drinks and you couldn’t think of a more perfect opportunity to get closer to your targets.

“Seemed like a cozy neighborhood,” Bucky replied. “Nice people, reasonably priced houses. It was pretty much everything we were looking for.”

“I’m glad we got stuck with you as neighbors. The people who lived there before you were the absolute worst. I think they were trying to get us to move out before they decided to sell,” Bridgett laughed.

“Really? They seemed like nice people when we were buying the house.” You suddenly became aware of just how far apart you and Bucky were sitting compared to the couple across the table. You scooted to the far side of your seat and leaned on the armrest, subtly trying to get closer to your “husband.”

Bucky glanced over at your movements, almost confused before he remembered, oh yeah, the mission. “Yeah, they were super sweet.”

“I think we talked to them like three times around when we bought the house and they were super passive aggressive,” Adrian laughed. “I think it was the fact that we aren’t married yet that upset them. Old people with outdated opinions. Who'd've thought?”

You snickered at that, quickly covering it up with a cough when Bucky sent you an annoyed glare.

“We’ll do our best to not be passive aggressive and I’m assuming our opinions aren’t outdated, but, if they are, we’ll keep them to ourselves.” You made a point to look at Bucky during the last part with a playful smirk. “And as long as you don’t piss off Bucky, I promise he wont crush you with his biceps.”

The whole table laughed at the (not so) joke. The thought of throwing his arm over the back of your chair crossed Bucky’s mind and he almost did it, but the fear that you would stiffen up at his touch scared him too much to do it.

“Well, what made you guys decide to move here?”

“Pretty much the same as you,” Adrian responded. “Cheap enough, good place to raise kids . . .”

You zoned out as he droned on, focusing instead on Bridgett, who seemed to be consumed with her phone. She didn’t even notice your stare, furrowing her eyebrows at whatever message she was reading.

“It just seemed like the right place for us,” he finished.

“And, not to mention, every other place we checked out,” she nudged Adrian and subtly tilted her phone towards him, “was either too expensive or not our style. I guess we could’ve built a house but we wanted to save for the wedding. It’s so expensive!”

“Oh tell me about it!” Bucky joined in, surprising you. “You mention the thing you’re buying is for a wedding and all of a sudden it costs three times more.”

The two of them spent 45 minutes talking about wedding planning (you had no idea Bucky had so much knowledge on the topic to begin with) with an interjection from Adrian and yourself every once and awhile.

Needless to say, you weren’t all that surprised when a wedding invitation showed up in your mailbox the next day.

---

As could be expected with two (alleged) head Hydra agents, the venue was decked out to the nines. No detail had been overlooked. From the bridesmaids’ bouquets to the music the DJ was playing, it was--as cliche as it is--perfect.

You were currently sitting down, resting your feet as you scanned your eyes over the crowd on the dancefloor. You were trying to enjoy yourself in between talking to potential accomplices and hydra agents, but after a few hours your feet were killing and your social battery was drained.

Bucky, who was also supposed to be talking to people and gathering information, stared at you from across the room. Leaned against the wall, arms crossed with his shirt sleeves rolled to his elbows and that frown that seemed to always take over his resting face, he was probably doing the exact opposite and keeping people away, but he couldn’t care less. He could tell you were tired--the way your usually strict posture was slowly wearing away by the hour gave it away--but he wasn’t ready to leave the party when he hadn’t had the chance to truly enjoy it with you.

“May I have this dance?” The sound of Bucky’s voice behind you made you jump, your posture snapping up when you felt his hand land on your shoulder.

You gave him a skeptical look. “Why would you want that?”

“First of all, you know why.” He knelt down to unbuckle your heels and take them off your feet. “Second, I want to dance with you and you look too gorgeous not to be taken onto the dancefloor. Is that such a crime?”

“Perhaps not.” A soft smile crossed your face.

He stood up and offered his hand, a smile mirroring yours spreading across his lips. You took it gently, allowing him to help you up and wrap an arm around your waist as he led you to the dancefloor. Even as he walked around the edge of the crowded dance floor to find a spot for the two of you, his eyes never left you for more than a second.

“I’ve felt you staring at me all night. What’s up with that?” you teased as you wrapped your arms around his neck, his other hand coming down to your waist to pull you in closer.

“You look absolutely stunning in that dress, my dear.”

Heat rushed to your cheeks at his words. “Oh stop it.”

“What? I can’t tell my best friend that she looks gorgeous?”

You didn’t respond, instead burying your face into his shoulder and pushing yourself tighter into him. The line between platonic and romantic had never been blurrier but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. All that mattered in that moment was that you were close to Bucky, and you were loving it.

Bucky himself was fighting a grin. If it had been anyone else in the world being this touchy with him, he would’ve shoved them off and stalked away way earlier. But with you, he felt himself wanting to get even closer and never let go.

He moved his gaze from you for a second to check your surroundings. You could never be too careful around Hydra, right? His gaze fell over to the bride, catching her not so subtly staring at the two of you with a strange look. His eyebrows furrowed. What could she want?

You felt Bucky tense against you. You tried to pull back, assuming your being so close was making him uncomfortable, but he kept you locked in his embrace. A glance up to his face and seeing him looking at something across the room made you realize that something else was up. A squeeze to his shoulder had him looking back at you.

“Bridgett’s staring at us,” he mumbled.

You scrunched your face in confusion. You knew better than to turn around--it would make you look suspicious. A glance to your right told you exactly what was going on, though.

“Bucky!” you hissed. “Your arm!”

He looked at you, confused.

“The camouflage is off!” The exposed black and gold plates looked very different from the regular skin tone camouflage Tony had programmed into them before the mission started. Bucky’s eyes widened, panic setting in on his face once he processed your words.

You grabbed his arm, pulling it in between your bodies to hide it from the rest of the room. Bucky kept his eyes on the crowd to make sure no one saw your position and caught suspicion. Meanwhile, you searched his arm for the plate you could pull off and mess with the coding.

“Where’s that damn plate?” you muttered to yourself. Tony showed you how to locate the plate and put in a code to bring the camouflage back in case it glitched out like this but with every plate looking the exact same, it wasn’t the easiest thing to find.

You felt Bucky’s hand slide over your hip, his fingers drumming softly on the material of your dress. “Sway with me so we look like we’re dancing.” He pulled you slightly closer and started swaying side to side.

“You’re not making this any easier.”

“Just hurry up!”

“I’m trying!”

You finally found the plate, flipping it up and doing exactly as Tony had told you to fix the glitch and turn the camouflage back on. You let out a sigh when a flesh color started flickering over the black plates. Crisis averted.

Bucky pressed a kiss to the crown of your head. You froze. That was . . . different? New? Not completely hated?

“Thank you,” he muttered, lips still against your head.

“Uhh, yeah, yeah . . . no problem.” You were staring holes through his chest as your brain short circuited.

“Shit, Bridgett’s staring at us.”

“She’s what!?” You tried to pry yourself from Bucky, as if your position was compromising, but his arm held you close. “Why would she be staring--”

You were cut off by Bucky’s lips on yours. Your body went stiff at first, surprised by the contact. Your lips were moving against his before your brain could tell you yes or no. His other arm wrapped around your waist as yours wrapped around his neck.

He pulled away, letting his forehead rest against yours and quickly pecking your lips. His eyes left yours to glance towards Bridgett. The sigh and the smile on his face told you that your distraction was successful.

“Good job playing along,” he chuckled.

You giggled in response, though your smile didn’t quite reach your eyes. The mission. It was just for the mission. “You can always count on me.”

---

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