#// yejin is ready to run for her life. | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

yeojaa · 4 years ago

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( DEVIL IN A NEW SUIT. )

Money’s something that makes the world go around. There’s absolutely nothing wrong with securing the bag. You don’t shame anyone for doing what they need to do.

That is, until you come face to face with the poor guy that’s being suckered out of both his heart and cash. You simply can’t let it go on.

pairing. jjk x f!reader.

genre + rating. idiots to lovers. fluff, angst, smut. the holy trifecta, babies! explicit, obviously.

tags / warnings. mentions of infidelity, kook being adorable and sad, reader being a bit of a tactless butthole, a satin playsuit (very nsfw), kook does a 180, smut in the form of: a slight oral fixation, too much spit, overstimulation, pussy slapping, unprotected sex (pls don’t be irresponsible).

wc. 12.2k of nonsense. pure nonsense, i tells ya.

beta reader(s). @hobi-gif did what she always does aka read through this and made me a better writer and @yeoldontknow dealt with my big dumbass and let me cry about my pea brain to her. i love you both sm!!! ✨💜

author note. the long-awaited fic is here!! i really hope you enjoy it. if you do, please maybe leave a comment or something? i swung back and forth between loving and hating this so it’d really, really mean a lot. anyway, thanks as always for reading and i adore you! stay safe and happy and healthy!

He’s a sucker. That’s what you think of him, despite the fact you’ve never met him. It’d be impossible not to, given what you’ve heard.

His girlfriend - or something - is in every other week, flashing his black card like she has something to prove. Sometimes, she’s by herself; often, she’s with another gaggle of girls that fawn all over themselves and shriek a little too loudly for your taste. They’re vapid, snooty in a way that makes you cringe every time they step into the boutique. Still, you’re nice because this is your job and you have to be. You can’t exactly tell a paying customer to get lost - even if you think it at least six times each visit.

“He has no idea.” It’s always the same thing, a story that pulls at your heartstrings yet has you scoffing in equal parts. “I told him we were doing a girls’ trip but Hyunjin’s going to meet me on his way back and we’re spending the week at the Ritz.”

How can he possibly be this dumb, you wonder. How can’t he see past the pretty pink lipstick and perfectly coiffed blonde hair? It isn’t even that nice of a colour job - too icy and reminiscent of Malibu Barbie.

(She’d bragged about it once - how she’d gotten an appointment at one of the most coveted salons in the city, spending hours in the stylist’s chair to get this “perfect shade”. Her words, not yours.)

You figure he must be some lonely schmuck, some poor old sap who can’t possibly get what he’s looking for anywhere else. Maybe he had some weird spoiling kink - if so, where was your man like that - or he just wanted companionship and found it in the arms of girls who paid him any sort of attention. Truthfully, you thought a lot of things about him. Kind of had to, given how often his girlfriend was in, rambling about her exploits and snickering behind his back.

You’d never expected him to be like this.

Jeon Jungkook shows up on a Sunday afternoon, shortly after lunch and with the dopiest smile on his face.

Your colleague notices him first, nudging you to attention because you, unlike her, actually do productive things while you’re at work like go through layaways and make sure items aren’t sitting in the back gathering dust.

“He’s cute,” she very poorly whispers, voice carrying because it always does. She’s a younger girl - maybe a few years your junior, who’d gotten her job through pure nepotism - but she’s sweet enough. Zero tact, though. Never notices when she’s being just a little too forceful with her sales but her sweet smile and full rack seem to keep her from getting into any trouble. You consider her a vaguely annoying sister, someone you love even when you don’t necessarily like her.

You glance up from the iPad balanced in your hands, disinterested. “Who?”

There’s an older couple striding past the entrance, hand-in-hand with three Hermes bags. (God, what awful taste.) There’s another couple standing at the mouth of the Louis Vuitton boutique, bickering about which belt will best match the boyfriend’s tux best. (The answer is neither, because those belts do not belong with a classic black tux.)

“Him.”

Yejin all but points him out, jerking her chin in his direction. You don’t know how you hadn’t really clocked him in the first place. Maybe because he’s so unassuming that you’d just brushed over him, noting his outfit before moving on. When you look at him - really look at him - you can’t look away.

You think he’s handsome in that off-kilter kind of way, too-big teeth and too-wide eyes. He’s terribly innocent looking, despite the fact that he’s wearing a gleaming gold Rolex and sleek black boots you recognise from Prada’s 2019 RTW. Everything he wears is tailored, fitting him to the point you wonder who his seamstress is.

But then he speaks, and it’s not the suave, sultry voice you’d expect. It’s featherlight and almost shy, bashful in its delivery.

“I’m here to pick up a bag for my girlfriend?” He upspeaks. It’s stupidly adorable.

Bless her soul, Yejin throws a glance in your direction first. A silent ‘yours or mine?’ that’s answered when you step forward, blindingly bright customer service smile in full effect. “What’s the item and the name it’s under?” You keep in mind he’s said girlfriend very clearly, even as you can’t help but trail your stare over his shoulders, the dimple that digs itself into his cheek when he speaks again.

“Oh, it’s under mine. Jungkook. Jeon Jungkook.”

You’re floored. This is Jeon Jungkook? This specimen draped in leather and fine Japanese silk is the poor idiot wrapped around Barbie’s finger? You’ve got to be kidding.

You wonder whether the surprise is evident on your face. It must be, given how quickly Yejin interrupts, piping up in that saccharine sweet voice of hers. “I’ll grab it! The Box bag in cloud, right?”

Jungkook can only nod dumbly. He has no idea what he’s there to pick up - only that he needs to because his girlfriend is away on a trip with her two best female friends. He tells you as much, chuckling at his own ignorance. It’d be cute if it weren’t so sad, his eyes twinkling like the jewels set in your ears. There’s so much love in his eyes it’s frankly sickening.

It comes before you can help it, snapping off your tongue - an oil spill ready to drag him to the depths of hell.

“Oh - you’re Kiko’s boyfriend? I thought you’d left for Hong Kong already.” Your head tilts - the picture of innocence as you continue to spew things you shouldn’t, staining the innocence of his expression with each word that drops off. “She said she was leaving on Friday.” Even while you’re tearing this poor man’s life apart, you’re racking your brain for the off-handed comments she’d made. “She kept going on and on about how she was so excited to be staying at the Ritz.”

It’s almost like you gain some sick sort of satisfaction in watching his face fall. You’ve never seen someone crumble so quickly, every ounce of affection swept up and spat out in the time it takes you to take a solid, proper breath.

You do feel bad. Not for saying it, but for being the person to do this. For hurting this stranger. (At least he knew?)

“I think you have me mistaken for someone else.” Gone is the sunny friendliness, the blissful geniality. He’s very much uncertain, bunny teeth digging into the full swell of his bottom lip. He’s pigeon-toed and round-shouldered, thick brows drawn neatly over his stare as he focuses on some indeterminate point somewhere by his feet.

If Yejin were on the floor with you, she’d tell you to knock it off. Chastise you for getting involved in something you had no business being in. (She’d be right, but you’ve always been an advocate for tough love.) As it stands, she’s still in the back finding that stupid girl’s bag and you’re here, shaking your head, weakening Jungkook’s resolve with the edge of your teeth. “No, she definitely said she was going away with her boyfriend. Did you maybe give us the wrong name?”

Maybe if he weren’t so upset, he’d be more offended by the insinuation he’s stupid. Instead, he only falters further, head mimicking yours. Poor guy.

“I—I think there’s been a mistake.”

Yeah, you dating that gold-digger, you want to say. Instead, you meet his stare like you haven’t just dug a thousand holes in his foundation. “Oh, maybe. I’m sorry.” The apology is honest, even if the meaning behind it isn’t. That’s a thing, right? Apologising to make someone feel better, even when you don’t necessarily agree with it?

God, you’re an altruist.

“It’s fine.” When he stutters, adorable lisp coming out to play, you know it’s not. You applaud him for his brave face, even if it’s very poorly offered - a makeshift mask you think you could tear off with just another well-aimed word. (You won’t.)

“Here it is!” Yejin’s back, bouncing out from behind the counter with the giant white bag in her hands. If she notices the atmosphere, she says nothing. You remind yourself to tell her good job once Jungkook leaves - and you know he’ll leave the moment he’s got those silk handles in his hand. He looks about ready to cry - or ready to fight, you’re not sure.

Once the purchase is passed over, he nods his head furiously and you swear you see a tear go flying. You don’t have time to ask before he’s hoofing it out of the store.

He doesn’t even notice he’s left his wallet on the counter.

By the time you snatch it up and round the corner, he’s nowhere to be found. Probably because running in stilettos is next to impossible and he’s gotten an embarrassed head start. Well then.

“I guess we’ll have to call him,” you hum, turning the Prada bi-fold over and over in your hands. It’s practically brand new, stuffed with large bills, his driver’s license, and few credit cards, including a Hyundai black card. The same one on file that his girlfriend - maybe soon-to-be ex-girlfriend? - uses shamelessly.

Yejin’s watching you carefully, silently. You’re counting down how long it’ll be until she asks - because you can see the curiosity swimming in her eyes, practically bulging her cheeks with the effort of keeping her questions caged behind her teeth.

Finally, after a good three minutes, she’s at your side, bony point of her chin digging a grave into your shoulder. It’s probably not the most appropriate thing but she’s never much been one for decorum. (You either, but still.)

“So… what was that about?”

You don’t bother to turn when you speak, back to running through order details and matching them with customers. “What?”

“You know— that!” She waves her wrist in a circle, gesturing toward the space Jungkook had occupied not five minutes ago. “He ran out of here like he was scared for his life.”

“Scared of the truth,” you correct.

You hadn’t thought it was possible for her to get more pale - she’s already fine porcelain, perpetually slathered in sunscreen - but she somehow does, balking at your response. There it is.

“What?” There’s a reproachful edge to her words, an uncertainty that tells more than the single syllable.

“What?” It’s mimicry and a challenge all in one, meeting her stare from the corner of your periphery. You can read every emotion that runs through her expression: shock, displeasure, confusion.

She retreats a step, bottom lip caught between her teeth. (She really does remind you of your little sister.) “So, you told him?”

You shrug, a noncommittal gesture that disrupts the curtain of silk that falls over your shoulder. You hadn’t laid it out for him but surely he had an idea now. There was no way he didn’t.

“I pointed out a few conflicting facts. That’s all.” You’re not ashamed about what you’ve done. You’d want to know if you were him. Consider it an act of goodwill.

The silence that meets your ears isn’t surprising but you don’t pay it any further mind. What’s done is done. Now he knows, or something close to it. The chips would simply fall where they were meant to.

You have to admit - you’re rooting for him.

Whatever Yejin’s thinking, she keeps it to herself for the rest of the shift. She knows better than to berate you about something like this, not that she would anyway. Obnoxious as she can be, you have an understanding. It strengthens your not-quite-close-friends-but-more-than-colleagues relationship.

It’s only at the end of your shift that she brings it up again, drifting over to you as you complete your cash count for the evening.

She holds Jungkook’s wallet in her hand, mouth pursed thoughtfully as she taps it against the edge of the counter. “You have to call him.”

You almost lose your count, finishing with a pinched expression. “Whoever works tomorrow morning can call him.” You’re not brushing off the responsibility - you really could care less - but simply passing it along to the next person. Sensible.

As it turns out, you’re the person who works the next morning, called in because another associate has come down with a cold.

You’re two lattes deep when you remember the wallet, tucked neatly behind the counter with a yellow sticky note posted to the front. You suppose it’s your responsibility now. You know if Yejin comes in tomorrow and sees it, she’ll give you her childish brand of hell.

The line rings twice before it picks up, that oddly familiar voice crackling through the speaker. “Hello?”

“Jungkook?”

There’s a beat of silence followed by a careful confirmation. “Yes, that’s me?” Upspeaking again. How cute.

“I’m calling from the CELINE boutique.” You can practically imagine the look on his face, eyes as wide as saucers as he recalls the awful-to-him encounter. “You left your wallet here and I wanted to make sure you got it back.”

“O-oh, uh—“ It’s like encountering a baby bunny - or deer or something equally adorable and vulnerable. “Thanks. I didn’t even notice. Um, I can come pick it up today?” There’s another pause, the sound of fingers over a screen, and then he’s back. “Is that okay?”

Leave it to him to have lost his wallet and yet be worried about putting someone else out. He truly was a sucker.

“That’s fine. We’re open until six tonight.”

“I’ll be there before dinner.” As if realizing how vague that is, he continues, words running headlong into each other like he can’t get them out fast enough. “Before six, I mean. Um, is around five-thirty okay?”

You want to tell him to just come whenever, that it really doesn’t matter to you, but that probably isn’t going to help the situation. Instead, you hum a quiet sound of confirmation. “Of course. We’ll see you then.”

He hangs up immediately.

The second time you meet Jeon Jungkook, he’s just as endearing as the last. It’s actually surprising, if you’re being honest. You’d thought he’d be resentful or mean or any other emotion better fitting someone whose entire world had turned upside-down.

As it stands, he’s just the right-side of anxious, a hundred little sparks of uncertainty flaring beneath his skin and lighting him up in neon. You can see him from a mile away he’s lit up so bright, seemingly uncomfortable in his own skin.

Your heart aches for him - and then it skips, almost trips over its own two feet when he wanders into the store with his hands dug deep into the pocket of his pants.

How he looks tonight is nothing like how he’d looked yesterday. Somehow, you like it more. The undone head-to-toe Balenciaga, the unruly curl of his dark hair. It’s effortlessly chic - though you think it might have something to do with the fact that he’s just an attractive person. (Good-looking people could get away with anything - even god-awful fashion faux pas.)

At the sight of you, he seems to further lose steam, eyes widening to such an extent you briefly worry for him. Surely they’ll fall out of their sockets one day.

“O-oh. It’s you.” The moment the words come, he’s blushing the colour of your red-soled shoes, horrified. “I m-mean, just—” He takes a deep breath, finds his footing and tries again. “You’re the girl that helped me yesterday.” Spoken like you, the exact girl who helped him yesterday, wouldn’t remember that fact yourself.

“That’s right,” you say evenly, expression neutral. It’s almost as if that surprises him more - as if he’d expected you to shy away from the knowledge.

The two of you stare at each other for longer than is strictly speaking necessary. Well, you stare at him and he kind of bounces his eyes around the room. You know he can’t be that interested in the croc stamp Belt bag behind your head or the selection of small leather goods in the glass case.

He’s so awkward.

(You did kind of ruin his day though, so you can’t blame him.)

“So, um, my wallet?” He’s made barely any headway, still lingering awkwardly by the front of the store. You can’t help your smile - it’s more of a smirk - as you raise the item in question.

“Right here.”

Jungkook glances from it to your face, then back again. He makes the same trip twice more. “Can I have it?” To your surprise, he’s taken two whole steps toward you, brow furrowed. He’s still terribly soft, rounded edges and innocent eyes, but he’s making progress. Good job, you think.

“Of course.” You mirror him, moving out from behind the counter. Somehow, that’s not the right move, because his features are breaking and rearranging, big bunny teeth worrying a hole straight through his bottom lip. You’d think he’d be more confident, more demanding, more… everything. (You quite like that he isn’t - a complete anomaly - but you also imagine it’s also to his detriment. Too much honey, not enough vinegar.)

This time, he closes the distance with three long strides. It hadn’t escaped you how tall he was, the length of his gait - after all, you’d tried to run after him - but you’re still a little surprised when he’s in front of you, not a foot away, arm extended. Palm out, he asks again, all while refusing eye contact. “May I have it, please?”

You hand it over with a soft laugh, pressing the grained leather into his hand. You expect him to retreat immediately and he does - but then he turns and his expression is inscrutable. Is he going to say thank you? Berate you for what you’d done yesterday?

Neither, it seems. “Why did you do it?” There’s no anger, just an abiding sadness that laces his words, turns them the saddest shade of blue.

“Do it?” You know what he means. You ask anyway.

“Why did you tell me?” Jungkook’s doing that thing again, alternating between biting his tongue and chewing his cheek as he stares at you. You can practically see the melancholy rolling off him; it shines dark on the depths of his irises, how his fist trembles just barely at his side. For all his good looks and leisurely charm, you can see the effort it takes to hold himself together now.

Guilt ascends, starts somewhere deep in your stomach and turns stomach acid to butterflies. It creeps higher and higher over your spine, locking each vertebrae until you’re immobile, unable to tear your gaze from his. “I thought you deserved to know.”

“But why?”

“What do you mean?”

It’s almost comical, how both your expressions descend into bewilderment - like looking into a fun house mirror. He’s trying to wrap his mind around your actions and you’re just trying to make sense of his confusion.

You anticipate a response - can see it tittering on the tip of his tongue - but he seems to think better of it, shaking his head. It dislodges a wayward curl from behind his ear, silver twinkling with the movement.

“Thank you” is all he offers before speed-walking away.

You don’t expect to see Jeon Jungkook for a third time.

He’s waiting for you when you end your shift on Thursday, standing somewhere between the two boutiques, loitering like some kind of gremlin. (Except he’s dressed exceptionally well, slick black jeans and a Balenciaga tee shirt that rivals the cost of your shoes. Of course he’d get away with hanging out in the store without being told off.)

“Excuse me.” For once, he doesn’t sutter. The lisp doesn’t present itself, either. Was this the same Jungkook? You’re not sure until you meet his stare - or try, his own skipping away the moment you make contact.

There he is.

“Yes, Jungkook?” He flinches, as if he isn’t expecting you to know or say his name. How can someone so big, so broad across the shoulders with a face that belongs on billboards, look like such a terrified rabbit? It makes no sense to you.

“Can we talk?” The stare he levels you with is unfair, too sweet and coaxing for you to even consider saying no. You’ll still mess with him a bit though.

“We are talking.”

He sputters at that, hacks out a cough that makes you snicker openly. It’s just so easy with him, like taking candy from a baby.

“I mean like— talk talk.” The set of his jaw gives away the whisper of frustration, the fleeting touch of exasperation that doesn’t allow itself to live anywhere else. His eyes are still soft, round and glossy beneath the fluorescent storelight.

“Sure, we can talk talk.”

“Did you, um, want to grab dinner?”

You don’t mean to mock him (at least, not really) but he just makes everything so easy. You hope he doesn’t take it the wrong way. “Are you asking me on a date?”

“W-what? No!” Despite the immediacy of his response - the look of utter shock that cracks the careful facade - he’s burning bright, cheeks aflame with colour that licks up and over his ears. “I just— I thought you’d want to talk somewhere else—”

“I’m kidding. Let’s go.”

You move first, stepping past him and onto the elevator without a backwards glance. He scampers after you, trails like a lost puppy in the wake of your shadow. Even while you stand in the corner, waiting for the lift to meet the main floor, he keeps a careful distance, hands jammed into the pockets of his jeans.

“So, what do you want to talk about?” It seems you have to take the initiative, throwing him a curious stare as the floor number ticks down. His gaze is trained on neon digits, unmoving. You repeat yourself, glancing up at him, half-tempted to nudge him out of his reverie. It’s almost like talking to a really hot brick wall. “Jungkook?”

He tears out of his thoughts like a wayward bullet, head swivelling wildly. “Huh?”

“What did you want to talk about?”

“Um—” He hesitates, not as if he doesn’t know the answer, but rather that he’s hesitant to speak it into existence. There’s a tidal wave in the depth of his stare, a cresting wave that looks on the edge of breaking. “—m-me?”

Brows furrow then amusement spills out. “You want to talk about… you?”

“That sounds bad.” The shape of his grow prominent over his bottom lip, his mouth pulling and pursing with whatever maelstrom exists inside that pretty skull of his.

“It’s fine. We’ll talk at dinner.”

He nods. You think it means thank you.

Sitting across from each other in the Michelin-starred restaurant - a sought after spot that takes reservations weeks in advance - it’s easy to imagine Jungkook is just another guy. Another bachelor with too much money and not enough sense, eager to sink his teeth into his next victim.

It’s hilarious how far that is from the truth.

“What did you want to eat?” He’s speaking into the pages of the leatherbound menu, half his face hidden. Whether it’s a defense mechanism or just how he woos pretty girls, you’re not sure. (You have a feeling it’s the former.)

“Whatever.” Everything here is incredible. You really don’t mind.

Jungkook’s face falls, folds in on itself like wet paper and you sigh a sound that further breaks apart the pillars keeping his composure in place. His right cheek is hollowed, interior being shredded by enamel. You take pity on him then, flipping open the menu with a great flourish.

When the waitress - a lovely little thing whose gaze lingers on your dining partner for too long to just be polite - comes to take your order, you rattle off your usual order, doubling certain selections. Soft-spoken as he might be, you have a feeling the size of his stomach makes up for all the mumbling and half-hearted glances.

“So?” You level him with a stare over the rim of your glass, lavender and lemonade bursting across your tongue.

He echoes you, wide-eyed and Bambi-like and stupidly cute. “So?”

“What did you want to talk about?” If you’d had a worse day, if you were a lesser person, you might be irritated by having to repeat yourself so often. As it stands, you’re only curious, your inquisitive nature outweighing your naturally short temper.

“Oh.” Poor boy looks like he’s been asked an impossible question, like what’s the meaning of life or the secret to eternal youth. He fumbles with the edge of his sleeve, turns the plaid over and over in his fingers as if it were a puzzle. You stare at him the whole time, unflinching, unrelenting. He’d asked you here so you damn well expect an answer.

You’re about ready to repeat yourself - fourth time’s the charm? - when he finally finds his voice.

“I wanted to say thank you.”

It’s not the answer you’d expected. It whacks you in the face, smacking your usual confidence out of place and shooting your carefully threaded eyebrows into your hairline. “What?”

He’s terribly uncomfortable, unhappy with being on the spot. You watch the flicker of emotions through his face, the ones that creep into the delicate skin beneath his eyes, the wobble of his bottom lip. Try as he might, he can’t keep the light from his eyes - twinkling stars that bloom like newly minted stars.

“Thank you.” It’s just that much harder when he repeats himself, edges he builds with his bare hands and a clearing of his throat.

You’re silent for a long while - long enough for the first few plates to be set before you. You gather up shredded radish and perfectly charred beef with your chopsticks, chewing thoughtfully on the morsel. Jungkook doesn’t move - doesn’t even reach for his chopsticks - and simply stares at you. You might find it off-putting if it were anyone but him.

You get through half the bowl of green beans, well on your way to finishing it, when he finally begins eating, deftly transferring little bites to his bowl.

The only sound is crunching - king oyster mushroom tempura, ice from your cocktail - and you’re pleasantly surprised to find it’s not uncomfortable. A little different, sure, but altogether nice. Like dining with an old friend.

You finally answer when half the plates are gone, another three laid out in their wake. You’re careful not to speak with your mouth open - you notice Jungkook doesn’t either - and take a long sip of your water. “You’re welcome, I guess.”

Something tells you you’re always surprising him - whether intentionally or not. His eyebrows have a tendency to shoot up, making him look even more shocked than he normally does. (Seriously, how big are his eyes?) You find that funny but don’t comment on it, opting to pop a silken piece of black cod into your mouth. Your stare never falters, trained on his face as you chew thoughtfully.

“What?” He’s had enough of your quiet observation, apples of his cheeks reminiscent of the tree in your parents’ backyard.

“What?” You parrot back, shameless, dark eyes twinkling at him.

“Y-you’re staring at me.”

“You’re sitting in front of me.”

The line of his mouth hardens then, tongue rolling against his cheek in a gesture that stands out. It’s the first glimpse of something rude, something not doe-eyed and innocent. Oh?

“You don’t have to stare.” Said with a speared piece of sashimi, the end of his chopsticks assaulting the poor piece of bluefin tuna like it has personally offended him.

You reach for the same place, knock ornate wood against his, and quirk a brow when he meets your stare. “Does it bother you, Mr. Jeon?” The inflection is drawn out, almost mocking, only softened by the smile you offer.

“That’s not my name.” The bite disappears past his teeth. You expect him to continue three chews later but he only goes for another, filling his plate and then his mouth.

“Sorry— Jungkook. Does my staring bother you?”

It feels a little like playing with fire - holding your hand too close to a flickering flame, curious what it’ll do. Juvenile in a way but enticing in another. You’ve never met anyone quite like Jeon Jungkook.

“It’s rude,” he reasons, glossy eyes meeting yours for perhaps the fifth time that evening.

“Maybe I’m just rude.”

He shakes his head then - dislodges untamed strands from behind his silver-lined ears - and sets his chopsticks down. (Perfectly matched up, propped against the provided rest.) “You’re not.”

You can’t keep the surprise away, the emotion threading through your brows to tie them into a little knot of consternation. He says it so readily, as if he knows you and this isn’t one of a handful of very short, very unexpected conversations. He’s not even looking away, meeting your stare with a confidence that surprises you.

It lasts for all of five more seconds before he clears his throat and sips at his tea. Anything to busy his hands, you think.

“You don’t know that,” you finally return, after what seems like too long.

“I do.” He nods - almost to himself - and continues, matter-of-fact. “You care about people. You’re… hard around the edges but you don’t mean to hurt anyone. You want to do what’s right. Sometimes it means you have to do things that aren’t easy.”

For once, you’re at a loss for words. Really and truly silenced, unable to articulate anything that might beat back the kindness he’s offering.

How the tables have turned.

He likes waffles with chocolate syrup rather than honey. He doesn’t like whipped cream or citrus-flavoured desserts. He has a tailor he’s gone to since he was a child, the same elderly woman he sometimes calls halmoni because she’s watched him grow up. He decorates his apartment with the most random things: limited edition KAWs figurines and the guitars he still hasn’t had the most practice with, one of a kind paintings from the gallery one of his best friends curates. He buys the most expensive bottles of wine at any given restaurant not because his palate is so evolved it matters, but because it’s what he’s been taught to do.

He’s been in four serious relationships in his twenty-five years. All of them have ended poorly, though his latest with Malibu Barbie is the first where he’d been cheated on. (Somehow, you doubt that but you don’t voice this disbelief.) He tends to lean towards long-term relationships with women who baby him (your words, not his). He scoffs when you call him a serial monogamist, insists he isn’t even as you list out all the facts pointing otherwise.

“I just… don’t like wasting my time,” he insists from behind his coffee cup.

“You mean you don’t like the potential to be hurt.”

Jungkook blinks at you then, Bambi eyes so big and bright you almost want to laugh. “You say that like it’s a bad thing.” He seems confused - as if his reasoning is solid, irrefutable.

“High risk, high reward, Jungkookie.” It’s something your father had taught you years ago, the crazy old sap. It’s probably why he’s had three divorces since you were seven years old, but you suppose it’s worked out for him now. He’s been happily married for the last ten years - the longest relationship he’s ever had. Youngin is good for him, though. You like her - even if you sometimes wish she weren’t young enough to be your older sister and not his wife.

“You say that a lot.”

“I mean it when I say it.”

He’s quiet then, shoving a corner of his croissant past his lips. When he speaks - starts to, anyway - his mouth is still full and you level him with a look that silences him until all traces of the pastry are gone. “Girls are scary.”

You laugh. Cackle, really. You can’t help it. He says it with a pout, the expression so utterly at odds with the offensively revealing shirt he wears, the smooth unblemished skin of his chest almost too much for such a quiet afternoon. He glares at you across the table, shoves another piece of the flaky golden treat into his mouth, and waits for you to speak. He knows you’re going to give him a piece of your mind because you always do, rebuffing 99% of the things he says. (Sometimes for fun, often with good intentions.)

“Heights are scary. Death is scary. Leaving your wallet at home when you’re low on gas is scary—”

“Don’t you have Apple Pa—”

“Don’t interrupt.” He clamps his lips shut, folding his arms across his chest. From anyone else, it’d be a defensive gesture; from him, it’s patient. “Girls aren’t scary. Having real feelings for people is scary, but that doesn’t mean you should just stay with people who don’t deserve you.”

“Not all of us have cheater-sniffing noses.”

You suppose he’s right but the fact still remains that he’s too nice for his own good. Too trusting, too lenient, too blind to all the red flags. Like he’s living life in greyscale.

“Well, that’s what you have me for.”

The look Jungkook gives you then is incredulous, screwing his pretty face up as if he’s about to sneeze. Instead, he laughs. “I’m not hopeless.”

“Oh, but you are.” You’re adamant, insistent. He’s more comfortable with you now - sometimes teases you in a way you’d never have expected weeks ago - but he’s still so soft. An absolute marshmallow dressed in designer duds, a heart of gold wrapped up in a bubble gum package.

You want to protect him, teach him to fly. Be his wingwoman until he’s soaring the skies on his own.

You know it’s not his pride that keeps him from saying yes. He doesn’t have an abundance of that, far too gracious to ever deny help when he really needs it. He’s just shy, doesn’t know what he wants until it’s staring him right in the face.

“Fine,” he agrees after you’ve stared at him for too long. It’s one of his weaknesses - his inability to handle attention when it’s laser-focused. It makes him sweat, prompts his nervous habit of chewing at his bottom lip, long fingers picking at the peach fuzz on his cheeks.

“You won’t regret it.”

Jeon Jungkook has gone on six dates over the last ten days. You know, because you’ve helped him pick out outfits for each of them, seated at the edge of his bed with your knees folded and a bag of white cheddar popcorn in your grubby little paws.

It’s not that he isn’t stylish - you both know he is - but there’s a certain finesse to dressing for dates, to knowing the likes and dislikes of your potential partner and playing to those.

He, to no one's surprise, does not have this finesse. If it were up to him, he’d wear his favourite clothes every day, different jeans and joggers in medium-wash denim and impossibly soft cotton. He’d swap his Balenciaga separates in and out and stick with the finely tailored Gucci suit he calls his lucky ticket (ew). He’d live in those stupid two-toned sneakers and barely do his hair, allowing it to become a powder puff reminiscent of old Hollywood movies.

The girls would probably still love it. (It’s easy to love him.)

“What do you think?” It’s low-cut black, relaxed in the shoulders and flattering in the torso. It holds him just right, hugging the muscle that threads across his shoulders like armour, coils around his upper arms and makes his tattoos stand in stark relief where the sleeves end, mid-forearm.

It looks good— but then again, a lot of things look good on him. He wants great.

You answer honestly, because that’s what you do and that’s what he has you there for. To knock him down when his (admittedly small) ego gets a little too big, remind him of his hubris like the summer sun upon his candle wax wings. “Not bad…”

You don’t even need to finish the thought for him to be tugging the shirt over his head, back flexed, ink-strewn fingers gripping the hem.

Not for the first time, you’re reminded of just how unfair life is.

How had Jungkook - bona fide dork, certifiable shy guy - been gifted one of the best bodies in human existence? (You wish you were joking.) It was utterly absurd, a complete waste on someone who’d only learnt to utilise his good looks in the last five months you’d known him.

“This one?” He’s grabbing another hanger, all but thrusting it into your face. Medium-weight cashmere. Probably too hot for a night like tonight but you’ve seen it on him before and it hugs him like a lover, displaying his best assets (titties) and drawing attention to the narrow shape of his waist. It’s the equivalent of a little black dress.

“Look at you go,” you tease, mouth full of mirth and popcorn kernels. “Throw that Juun.J trench you have overtop and you’ll be set.”

Jungkook nods sagely, as if your word is law. You suppose it is.

“Thanks, ____,.” He says it in that sweet way of his, eyes lost to the weight of his gratitude.

Your response is a shrug. “Bring me back some dessert and we’ll be even.” You don’t know where he’s going tonight but you figure it’s one of the many restaurants you’d recommended earlier in the week when he’d started lining up his various dates. You know there’ll be something good on the menu.

He promises he will as he slides the turtleneck on, tucking it into the dark trousers he’d picked up days ago, and redoes the slim black Rag & Bone belt around his waist. You have to admit - you’ve done another great job of styling him. Simple yet painstakingly attractive, playing at all the little bits of Jungkook’s best qualities without outlining them in bright red ink. Understated but elegant, effortless yet seriously hot.

Maybe you should quit your day job and become the female Hitch. That was a viable plan, right?

You’re mulling it over when you realise your walking Ken doll is making toward his bedroom door, wallet clasped in one hand and phone in the other. “Hey! You’re leaving already?” It’s polite surprise that colours your words, stare drawn to the screen of your iPhone. It’s only 6 PM and the reservation isn’t for another hour.

There’s a sheepish look creeping over his features, painting itself in delicate strokes that you spy past the line of his smile, how the skin crinkles around his eyes. For a moment, he’s the shy Jungkook you’d met in your store and not the one that now bleeds careful confidence, filling his little black book (read: phone contacts) with names as easily as he breathes. “I was, uh, going to stop and get f-flowers.” A silver-lined hand scrubs across his nape, dislodges the carefully styled waves he’s settled for.

Flowers, huh? Well, that’s certainly something new. Good for him, you think.

“Jeon Jungkook, going all out.” It’s heavy on the teasing, playful mockery lending a warmth to your words. “She’s special.”

Which you’d figured, given he was seeing her. Repeats were rare for him now that he’d learned how to weed out the bad seeds, held his hand a little closer to his heart (at least, sometimes). Since he’d started dating again, this would be the first time he’d be going on a second date. It’s a big deal.

“Yeah—“ Nervousness sparks across his face, lights up his stare like the stars in the night sky. “I guess she is.”

You smile fondly, like a proud mother. “Go get ‘em, tiger.”

“I will,” he promises, looking so giddy it makes your heart swell ten sizes.

You don’t even think anything of it as you follow him out of his room, bag of popcorn neatly rolled under your arm and your socks slid back into place. It’s only when he levels you with a strange stare, pauses in the shrugging on of his coat, that you return his look. “What?”

“Where are you going?”

“Leaving?”

“Why?”

Wasn’t that the million dollar question?

You don’t normally leave, usually waiting here at home for him until he returns to give you a rundown of his date (and the promised appetizer/dessert/whatever). It feels somehow wrong to stay, though, as if you’re taking up space that doesn’t belong to you. He’s going on a second date, after all. Soon enough, he won’t need your help picking out clothes or deciding on a restaurant. You won’t get to curl up on your usual corner of his sectional, wrapped up in the obnoxiously soft blanket you’d convinced him to buy one night while online shopping.

But it’s fine. Totally, one hundred and ten percent fine. The two of you are friends. You’d always expected - anticipated, hoped - this day would come. Baby boy was growing up.

“Y’know.” You answer a second too late and he’s still wearing that odd expression, handsome face flooded with something that looks like disappointment. It flickers in the bits of his stare you can make out past his fringe, partially concealed by the dark silk that you know feels as soft as it looks.

“I know?” He never tries to read your mind - knows it’s utterly useless.

You wiggle your hand dismissively. “Second date and all that.”

Jungkook giggles - the same deceptively sweet sound he always makes - and finishes tugging his jacket on. It fits him so well it should be illegal, falling to his knees and ending just shy of the intricate laces of his boots. “Just stick around. I’ll drive you home when I get back.”

It’s something he always does - his way of saying thank you for putting up with all of his first date jitters, his outfit changes, his worrying over how to first approach a girl on Tinder - so you don’t doubt him. “Fine. I’ll stay.”

He beams, caught halfway out the door. “Tell me to break a leg.”

“Go break her back,” you retort to the sound of his laughter.

You’re almost asleep when your phone starts going off, the vibrations jolting you awake. It rattles across the glass table, won’t shut the hell up until you’re slamming your hand atop it, glaring at the screen as it lights up with notifications.

It’s almost 2 AM and they’re from Jungkook. This can only mean one thing.

from jeon jungkook: Hey. from jeon jungkook: I’m really sorry but I won’t be home tonight. from jeon jungkook: If you want to stay over, I can drive you back in the morning. from jeon jungkook: Please don’t be mad.

Leave it to him to apologise for getting his dick wet - to feel bad about having a successful second date. It makes you laugh as you stare down at the texts, tap a quick response you know will have his heart racing. (Even after months of friendship, it’s hard not to tease him just a little bit.)

to jeon jungkook: i officially hate you

The typing notification gives him away immediately, but the moment you do the same, he stops. Of course. He hates confrontation - would rather leap off a cliff-face than deal with negative emotions. (He’d told you that once, over a night of beer and fried tteok.)

to jeon jungkook: it’s fine! have fun! to jeon jungkook: turn her world upside down 😏

He doesn’t answer after that but the read receipt pops up. Good, you think. About time he finds someone nice. You wonder what she’ll be like when you meet her.

Jungkook’s third date comes with another third - you.

He drags you along to dinner, insisting there’s nothing at all weird about the fact. He has to repeat it at least four times during the drive there, head nodding like a plastic bobblehead as he weaves in and out of traffic.

“I want you to meet her,” he mumbles, like that makes it better. As if bringing a friend along to a date with that reasoning means it’s totally acceptable and not on the list of Hard No’s When Dating.

“Don’t you think that’s kind of weird?” He’s too focused on changing lanes to answer you, signalling before seamlessly drifting over. (He’s an impressively responsible driver, but that’s unsurprising.) You repeat yourself.

“It’s not… weird.” But you have a feeling that he knows how odd the request is. Knows and doesn’t care, unfortunately. “She wants to meet you too.”

(When had Jungkook turned into this person who argued with you?)

You somehow highly doubt that. No girl in her right mind would leap at the chance to meet her potential beau’s wingwoman. It’s something reserved for official status, when the foundation is set. Still, you play into his hand, level him with a stare he should recognise. It’s the one you throw his way any time he’s too nice, gives a mile when he shouldn’t even offer an inch. (It doesn’t come as often anymore, but it still makes appearances once in a while.)

“What does she even know about me?”

“That we’re friends.” His vague response speaks volumes. The look changes - grows into a glare that has him furtively peeking at you from the corner of his periphery. When he speaks, it feels like a dead giveaway. “That I really value your opinion.”

You groan, a noise so loud it rattles around in the car and interrupts the ballad playing through the speakers.

“She’s trying to figure out if I’m competition or not!” Of course. It’s obvious. She wants to know what she’s getting into it before things get too serious, determine if her Prince Charming is really all that. (He is.) “I’m not coming to dinner.”

“You’re already in the car,” he reasons.

You note he doesn’t deny your first statement, mouth rounding into a pout that should crush your resolve. Instead, it drives you mad, irritation bubbling in your throat.

“I just won’t go in.”

“____,.” When he says it like that, it’s hard to deny him. Jungkook might not utilise his charms often but when he does, it’s lethal. Undeniable with those dumb Bambi eyes of his.

“No.”

“____,,” he repeats, almost pleading. You can’t look at him. You won’t. The moment you do, you’ll be sucked into the swirling vortex that makes up his stare - a million pretty little lights caught in the brown of his iris, so many possibilities you’d lose yourself trying to explore them all.

You last a whole ten seconds before his staring becomes too much, those round eyes tracking you in the rearview mirror until you’re relenting, softening in the way that only he can cause.

“Fine.” You hate how it sounds rolling off your tongue, terse and a little pissed off. You’re not actually mad. Just worried. You’ve seen situations like this play out - not that you’ve been in this position before - but female friends and potential girlfriends just don’t go hand-in-hand. It takes a very special kind of person to facilitate a meeting this early and you are not that person. You’re ragged edges, uneven temperament, distrust that you can’t help.

Jungkook knows that. Should, anyway. You’ve grown close over the last nearly half a year.

When he mumbles a quiet sorry, turns to rest his chin against his knuckles as he drives, you know he means it. He’d never put you in this position if it didn’t mean a lot to him - if his own happiness wasn’t somehow also on the line. (Truthfully, it’s your fault. All that self-love encouragement was coming back to bite you in the ass.)

You grumble an obligatory acceptance as the streetlights fly by. You’ve got a reputation to uphold.

“You’re paying for my dinner.”

“Of course.”

How many times have you pictured this same situation, watched it unfold on your television screen as the protagonist gasps wildly, hand at their throat? How many times have you laughed at the exchange, snickering into your palm as the romantic interest makes some wild declaration of love and wins the protagonist’s heart?

Answer: you’ve lost count.

Still, it doesn’t prepare you to be thrust beneath the spotlight, half-dreaming and terribly confused.

“What’re you doing here?” At any other time, it might be as reproachful as you want, full of disapproval and sleepiness. Here and now, it’s slurred speech and the lines of your pillow dug into the softness of your cheek, lashes dusted with sleep and breath freshly minted.

Jungkook’s oddly surprised, considering he’s appeared unannounced at your doorstep at the crack of dawn (not really). “C-can I come in?”

You don’t budge. It’s not because you’re about to say no, but because you’re still really tired. So tired you stare at him for a moment too long, zoning out as you drink in his appearance. He’s wearing the clothes from last night - the same animal-print silk shirt that hangs obscenely low and reveals too much skin. You recognise it because you’d picked it out for his date.

(The one where he was supposed to ask Jiwon to be his girlfriend, you fail to note.)

You repeat yourself around a yawn, ignoring the way your vowels crash into each other and barely make it to the light of day. “What’re you doing, Jungkookie?”

“Please let me in,” the doe-eyed prince at your door mumbles, gaze bouncing somewhere beyond your shoulder, over your face, to the wayward strands that’re the result of sleeping too well. Everywhere but your eyes.

“Fine,” you huff, stepping back to allow him over the threshold. You don’t miss the way he smells - his signature cologne and something else. If you had to guess, it’s her perfume. It’s distinctly floral, drawing you into a garden of roses. You don’t know if you like it.

Without a second glance, you’re shuffling away from him, dragging your slippered feet into the kitchen.

You move on autopilot, spooning coffee grounds into the Chemex filter. You don’t bother asking whether your surprise guest wants any - assume he does, because the fiend somehow lives on caffeine - and settle against the counter as you wait for your kettle to whistle.

You’re still so tired you feel like you might fall asleep standing up but you think you do a good enough job of levelling Jungkook with a solid stare. “So?”

“W-what?”

It’s been so long since you’ve last heard his stutter that it surprises you, recentres your attention from your own exhaustion and has you frowning. Something’s happened. Must have. There’s no other explanation for it - for how he looks at you, so uncertain like all those months ago when you’d smashed his glass house to pieces.

“What’s going on?” You’re demanding, full to the brim with concern as you round on him. He flinches away as if your words have burnt him, leaning into the stainless steel side of your fridge.

(Silly Jungkook - that won’t protect you.)

“What do you mean?”

The early hour has, luckily, dampened your usual aggression. He’s stalling, you can tell. You hate when he does this. You tell him as much, glowering at him as he tries to shrink his nearly six foot frame into something small. “You’ve showed up at my house unannounced. What do you mean ‘what do I mean’?”

He looks as if he’s on the brink of repeating himself, biting it back behind his neat white teeth when your expression grows darker, more frustrated.

It’s impossible to stay dressed in red, lethargy swathing you up like a cocoon and softening your edges. You sigh heavily - perhaps a little overdramatically - and go about completing your coffee ritual. Patience works best with Jungkook, you’ve learned. (Though, he sorely tests your own sometimes.)

With a steaming mug in your hand and the other passed over to him, you gesture toward your living room.

He nods once - a small up and down of his head.

“So.” You try again, softer this time, warmed by the heat that permeates ceramic and settles your sleep-ravaged nerves. You’re seated cross-legged on your couch, facing him with your back pressed to the arm rest. He’s half-turned to you, coffee cup slotted between his thighs. Feet turned in, mouth wobbling with the intensity of how hard he’s chewing into his bottom lip.

“I couldn’t do it.” The words rush out too fast, tumble into each other in such a way you have to take a second to comprehend what he’s said. Couldn’t do… it?

You stare at each other for a long while, you trying to understand and him refusing to meet your stare.

When realisation dawns on you, you can only imagine how you look. It must be terrifying by how Jungkook practically tries to crawl into the cushions of your couch, shoulders rising around his ears like a turtle.

“You didn’t ask her?” It explodes out, a question that demands an answer.

He’s staring past your head, unblinking. You’d almost worry he was a robot if his voice weren’t so damned human, full of melancholy and rounded by his lisp. “I c-couldn’t. It was just…” The shrug he offers is half-assed at best, not nearly good enough to excuse him.

“Just what?”

“Just—” There’s the wiggly hand gesture you do that he’s adopted, his ink-strewn hand waving through the air like a floppy chicken foot. He thinks it’ll earn him a pass but your unrelenting glare indicates otherwise. He deflates, hand falling back to his lap, clutching his mug like it's a makeshift security blanket. “It didn’t feel right.”

What did that even mean? Feel right?

Love didn’t just appear, fully-formed and complete. It took work and dedication and the understanding it could all come crashing down. Didn’t he understand that? Hadn’t you drilled that into his head?

You exhale through gritted teeth, push breath past enamel that acts like a solid steel gate.

“Jungkook, it’s not going to just ‘feel right.’” You’re air quoting, all tact thrown out the window. “You like her, don’t you?”

You expect him to nod immediately. He doesn’t.

“Jungkook.”

“Yeah?”

“You like her, right?”

“I think so.”

You want to tear your own hair out. Instead, you press the pads of your fingers into your temple - apply pressure in hopes of alleviating the tension that settles there. “So, you like her.” It feels a bit bad, condescending in a way; you don’t mean it in any way but supportive. You just want him to be happy. “But you couldn’t ask her out because it didn’t feel right?”

“She’s not you.”

He’s looking at you now, looks like he might have a heart attack if he does so any longer. But he doesn’t tear his gaze away when you meet it, entire expression warped into something you don’t recognise. Hope, maybe? Fear?

“What?” You wish it were hard rather than feather light, almost lost to the cacophony in your head.

The hollow of his cheek is thrown into stark relief, the line of his jaw clenched tight. He repeats himself even as you’re the one looking away, shaking your head as if that might will away the irksome answer. (It won’t.)

“Don’t say things like that.”

It’s hurt that flashes through his expression and strikes you right in the centre of your chest. His face crumbles, brows knit together beneath his mop of shiny hair. He looks so terribly sad - a kicked puppy, an abandoned deer. Bambi, through and through.

“You asked why I didn’t do it,” he reasons in a voice far more solid than he looks.

“I didn’t think you’d say something so ridiculous.” It’s cruel. “You’re making a bad choice. You’re into this girl. Don’t be dumb.”

His features rearrange, then so do his limbs, entire body lifting from his seat in jerky, disjointed movements. “I’m not dumb.” There’s a reproachful quality to his words, a distaste he doesn’t bother to mask. It’s not something you’ve ever faced, surprising you enough to draw your eyes to his face.

He doesn’t look like the Jungkook you know.

When he leaves - sets his cup in the sink and storms out the way he’d come before you have time to stop him - you wonder if you ever knew him at all.

“Okay. Spill.”

Yejin’s tired of your abrasiveness, tired of having her head bitten off every time she tries to approach you with a question. You can’t blame her. You’ve felt like shit the last week, sleep-deprived and generally pissed off.

All because of a doe-eyed idiot.

“What?” It’s less snark, more sigh. You’re counting down the minutes until you’re free, until you can curl back up in your bed and try to sleep like you’ve done the last four days.

“What’s going on with you?”

“Nothing.”

“Bullshit,” she hums, trailing after you as you move behind the counter. “You’ve been in a bad mood all week. I’ve never seen you this upset like, ever.” She’s right, of course. You’ve always been very careful to keep business separate, pushing the customer service agenda no matter what. “Did something happen?”

You grit your teeth. An expletive careens off your tongue when you slam the tip of your finger within the drawer you’d just shut.

“____,” she tries again, concerned.

“Nothing happened.”

“See, I don’t believe that because like, look at you!” She gesticulates wildly, adorned wrists clinking loudly. “You look like hell—”

“Thanks.”

“—and you’re being clumsy and like, I think I know you well enough. So just tell me?”

You hate that she’s right. It doesn’t mean you’ll relent, too caught up in your own strange brand of strength to unload. (Maybe it’d be helpful. Probably. But you’ve never found comfort in other people. At least, not like this.)

“Yejin.” Her name stops her in her tracks, hurried and insistent as you pull your coat on. “It’s fine. Really.” You’re swallowing your pride - practically choking on it - as you offer what you hope is a reassuring smile. “I just need to get some sleep.” And figure out what the hell to do about Jungkook, but that’s a can of worms you refuse to open and certainly not here.

Maybe at home, over a glass of wine, fueled by liquid courage.

The bottle of Côtes du Rhône has aided you more than you’d hoped, offered an armour that slinks over your shoulders and drives your fingers to action. It’s prompted something - started the ball rolling.

(Idly, you think that might not have been a very good idea, but it’s too late to care now.)

“You’re here.” You being him and him being Jeon Jungkook, hair damp and imposing frame draped in an oversized sweater. He looks terribly uncomfortable standing in your doorway - more so than he had days ago - hands shoved into the kangaroo pouch of his hoodie, dumb sneakers pigeon-toed as if he’s ready to take flight.

“Y-you asked,” he mutters, refusing to meet your stare. At least, you think he’s refusing. It’s a little hard to focus when there’s this fine film turning everything hazy, the bitter taste of wine heavy on your tongue.

“I didn’t think you’d come.”

He looks at you like you’re crazy then, though he never quite meets your eyes. It’s a smart tactic - level you with a look then immediately bounce it away. It has you coming back for more, eager to refocus his fretful gaze until it’s locked with your own.

“Will you come in?” You sidestep, give him enough space that he can enter without feeling suffocated. He still hesitates, takes a second too long in deciding. “I won’t bite.”

You don’t miss the better promise that comes under his breath.

“So.” This feels oddly familiar, him backed into the corner of your couch again while you settle across from him. He hums a noise but offers nothing further.

This is how it’ll be then. Fine. If he wants to be this way.

“You like me.”

He sputters - doesn’t mean to, by how big his eyes go. He hadn’t expected it to come barreling out of your mouth. “I— I don’t— I didn’t say that.”

If it were anyone but him, you’d take his reticence as rudeness.

“Tell me why.”

The poor boy blinks, stares at you full on now. Can’t look away, locked in the intensity of your stare.

“W-what?”

“Tell me.” You sip carefully at the liquid in your glass, swirl it ‘round and ‘round. “You said that girl wasn’t me but you haven’t made a case as to why that matters. What have I got that she doesn’t?”

“You’re serious?”

“As a heart attack, Jungkookie.”

The brunet swallows, Adam’s apple bobbing with the motion. You think he might say no, outright refuse. You don’t expect him to start rattling things off like the list lives in his head, answers printed against the darks of his eyelids.

“You’re funny. You’re honest. You speak your mind.” You don’t mean to scoff but his reasons are so shallow - so easily found in other people. He must read the doubt in your expression, pushing on to cut you off from doing the same to him. “Y-you care about people even when you pretend like you don’t. You’re just as scared of being hurt as I am.”

For the first time in a long time - in years and years - you feel seen. As if he’s pulled back the cover of your unpublished draft, memorised the redlines and notes in the margins.

“I don’t—”

“You have this face you make when you’re proud of me.” He’s turning his own fingers over in his lap, knuckles white from the strain of locking them together and undoing them again. “When I do something you approve of or when I make you laugh.”

There’s something thick in your throat.

“You make me want to try.” He clears his own, speaks so softly you have to strain to hear it. “Y-you make things not so scary.”

It grows heavier, harder to breathe as you stare at the man sitting across from you. He’s focused wholly on his hands, too caught up in his words to help the way he plucks at his skin, fiddles with the silver chain that loops around his wrist.

“You know what I need, even before I know myself. You make me laugh.” He laughs, an almost choked sound that fizzles and rattles bashfully. “You look really, really good in your work skirt.” You know the one he means - all black, pencil-fit. Makes your legs look a mile long, despite the fact that they aren’t.

You can’t help but join him, a little breathless, with a strange sensation behind your ribs. Like sunshine on a cold day, filtering past the walls you’ve put up, streaming through the windows that’d replaced drywall when Jungkook had waltzed into your life with his fluffy hair and boyish laugh.

When you speak, you don’t even believe your own words. They come of their own accord - a defense mechanism. “I can’t.”

As if he knows - as if he’s got a polygraph going, Jungkook shakes his head, meets your eyes and holds you there with the intensity of his attention. “Can’t or won’t?”

“I—”

“I’m not asking for the world here. Just a chance.” He’s got a peculiar look on his face. “Don’t you think you owe it to me?”

“Excuse me?”

All of a sudden, he’s close. Closer than you’d expect, far closer than he should be. There’s nothing beyond his expression, the way his eyes twinkle under the dimmed apartment lights as he stares you down. The scent of his cologne is cloying now, the fading nectarine hint of his shampoo making your mouth water.

“You kind of ruined my life. I think this makes us fair.”

You sputter, gasp, make sounds that careen off your tongue and fill the air with nonsense. You’d ruined his life? (You’d made it better - made him see the light, you thought.) You’re working to find your voice, ready to tear into him for this abrupt accusation.

Then he’s giggling, nose scrunched and delight filtering past his teeth.

“I’m kidding.”

It feels like whiplash. You’ve created a monster.

“But you do owe me, I think. So why not?”

You only have yourself to blame when you say yes, conceding to his pretty eyes and sweet smile.

Dating Jungkook is easy - as effortless as breathing. He’s a bona fide dreamboat plucked from your wildest dreams.

He texts when he says he will and picks you up every night, stamping a kiss to your cheek the moment you’ve clocked out. He holds your hand and refuses to let go, rubbing soothing circles over your wrist when you’re tired or stressed or annoyed. He brings flowers to every date - insists on them even when you tell him they’re a waste of money. He knows your coffee order, has learned the art of the pour over when he wakes up before you.

You understand now, why he’d stayed with women who were terrible for him (to him). If you were them, you wouldn’t have let him go either. Would lock him up in an old tower like your own personal Rapunzel.

(You say that because you’ve been on a Disney movie binge. He is, unsurprisingly, very into these sorts of things.)

“Open it,” he pleads, pushing the luxurious pink box towards you.

You stare down at the lid, the Agent Provocateur label glaring back at you. You can’t help how you laugh, sound bouncing around his bedroom. “Are you trying to tell me something, Jungkookie?”

Your lover - not boyfriend, because you haven’t had the talk and it’s still new and you’ve never been this careful before - rolls his eyes, pushes the box closer with a huff. It’s adorable.

“Just open it.”

You finger the soft bow strapped across the top, play with the neatly cut ends. You can feel the impatience radiating off Jungkook, feel those pretty doe eyes boring holes into the top of your head. You take your time even more now, unravelling the ribbon with slow, measured twists of your wrist.

Whatever you’d expected to find nestled among the tissue paper, this isn’t it.

You’d imagined he’d be into something feminine, all pristine white lace and scalloped cups. Something he could brush his cheek against, run his fingers over.

Tucked within the box is something that doesn’t even earn the title of lingerie, a few flimsy straps bonded together. Blush pink satin and dressed with buckles, you turn it over in your hands, trying to make sense of the way it all connects. Surely there’s more to this. Surely, darling innocent Jeon Jungkook doesn’t expect you to wear just this?

“Do you like it?” You can sense the eagerness in his voice, that desire he has to please that seems to never go away.

“What is it?”

“It’s a playsuit.”

“A playsuit?” You’re no stranger to experimenting in the bedroom but this— this looks like it’s meant to harness a dog in. Would it even fit? Soft as it is, it seems terribly restrictive, made for someone with model proportions and no body fat at all.

He nods, round eyes so bright, so hopeful, you can’t voice your concerns. “Will you wear it?”

It fits you better than you’d expected. Or at least, you think it does. If Jungkook’s reaction was any indication, it’s heaven sent - the perfect gift wrapping for a present he’s been dying to claim.

The buckles you’d studied earlier - that had taken you too long to strap together - dig into the tender flesh of your hips, the shape of his fingers imprinted along the metal. He grips you so tight you think you might bruise, left with a reminder of his love for weeks.

“S-so wet,” he groans, sound dropping into an almost whine as the swollen mushroom head of his cock brushes through your folds. The satin of the playsuit has been long since tugged aside, stained with your arousal as it cuts into the softness of your thighs. He repeats the motion once, twice, coats your clit in pre-cum that leaks out of the slit and adds another layer of slick. “So ready for me, aren’t you, sweetheart?”

You nod dumbly, drool around the two fingers he’s got slotted against your cheek, ring finger pressed down over your tongue.

“Use your words, gorgeous.” As if you can, as if you’re not riding the high of your last orgasm and about to come apart beneath his playful teasing.

The palm of his hand meets your overstimulated clit with a sharp smack, the cold of his teeth bared against your neck. He doesn’t like when you don’t answer - much prefers to make an effort even if it’s indiscernible.

“What did I say?”

Something garbled comes, a plea as much as a sob. Another hit lands, just shy of the pearl that throbs with need and pain, landing instead on the sensitive, already red skin of your inner thigh. He soothes it this time around, massages your own wetness into the roses that bloom beneath his touch.

When he speaks again, it’s so utterly sweet, tender as can be. The Jungkook you’ve known for months and not the devil in disguise.

“You like this, don’t you?” His kisses are searing, laced with reverence that feels at odds with the way he forces your gag reflex, taps his curved cock against your pussy. “You like what I’m doing?”

“Y-yes,” you cry, spit pooling past the sides of your mouth, dripping lewdly across your breasts. The hand cradling your chin is all but drenched, dark ink thrown into stark relief by the way it slides over his skin. Jungkook hums against your cheek, licks a fat stripe from shoulder to ear.

“Good girl.” Two fingers spread across over your heat, pointer and index sliding over your lips. You’re spread obscenely - can see it in the mirror that rests against the far wall. Can see how the head of his cock peeks between your thighs, runs the same path over and over with each languid, slow roll of his hips. “Such a good girl for me. My perfect girl.”

Your shoulders shake with the effort you put into nodding, throat clenching on reflex when the three fingers in your mouth flatten over your tongue, hold you steady in place.

“Pretty girl wants more, doesn’t she? Wants me to fill her up?”

He’s teasing you, the bastard. Dragging his aching erection against your cunt as you writhe against him, desperate. It’s amusing to him - you can read the delight in the reflection, see it shining bright like a beacon when he pulls his hand away and recentres it across your chest. Digits tease at the already pebbled buds, swollen and sensitive from how hard he’d sucked them into his mouth earlier.

“Say it. Say you want me.”

You do, without hesitation, without fear. You know he’ll catch you. “I want you.”

He sinks into you the same instant the words fall, holds you tight against him when your entire body begins buzzing and threatens to do the same. Your walls feel like a vice grip around him, greedily sucking in his cock as he slams home, ruts into you like a wild animal.

Strong as he is, he’s weak to the noises you make - the broken sobs that spill off your tongue and make up the prettiest sound he’s ever heard - and how you feel absolutely perfect, wet and warm. The muscle in his thighs strain, pleasure vibrating up the notches of his spine, setting every nerve ending alight with its ascent.

“B-be mine,” he returns, practically begging as he spreads you wide, making you take everything he has to offer. Heart and soul and stupidly huge, perfect cock.

“I am. I am. I am,” you chant, tears welling along your lash line. They fall when his rhythm stutters, when the heat overwhelms and you’re coming for the third time that night, crying his name like it’s the only word you know.

They continue to pour, carve trails down your reddened cheeks as you reach nirvana, wait for moment he’s right there with you. It doesn’t take long - a few more punishing thrusts into your fluttering heat - and then he’s found his bliss, crying into the silk of your hair, spilling inside you.

It doesn’t happen how you thought it would - a shy question poised over dinner, sealed with a sweet kiss on the way to the car - but it means just as much. Breaks you apart as it rebuilds you, fills you up as it splits your seams.

You’re his and he’s always been yours.

tag list. @neverthefirstchoice @youwannabelostandnotbefound @snackhobi @codeinebelle @shaybtsforever @we-found-wonderland-in-1989 @justanothergirlfromeurope @jalexad @bonnyskies @coffeeismylife28 @haeilove @purplespaceymermaid @sunsetsnsirens-blog @beingbeings @veronawrites @notmontae97 @papillonsgf i’m really hoping i didn’t miss anyone e___e

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molanran · 4 years ago

Text

blueming - choi beomgyu

summary: pre relationship au! m/n is a tired college student that falls in love so easily. beomgyu is the cute barista that he falls for.

word count: 3k

now playing: blueming – iu & i’m so pretty - nature

notes: first in a series

m/n stumbles into his least favorite coffee shop exhausted, with a migraine, clutching an ice pack, and a gloomy disposition, wondering why everyone is so happy. it's not his fault, honestly it's not.

it's minju's.

she dragged him out last night to go shopping, which ended in disaster. he tripped over jewelry laying on the floor, got pushed into a wall and got slapped in the face, hard. not only that, but he got awoken by freaking justin bieber of all things and the starbucks across the street from his study hall is closed, and now he has to run all the way across to the other side of campus just to get a cup of freaking coffee.

wait, he also got knocked out after being hit by a trombone at orchestra practice.

he's internally yelling at minju in his mind before deciding to actually let her know how he feels via a strongly worded text message (she'll probably be fuming that he woke her from her sleep but he's too angry to care) just as he reached the front counter. still pounding away at his phone, he grunts out his order, dropping the exact amount of money for his venti-frappucino-with-three-espresso-shots. yeah, he's definitely not having the best morning.

"sorry, could you repeat that?"

m/n looks up, ready to glare viciously and direct his bad mood at the barista who obviously pays no attention... but instead gapes at him because the barista is actually really cute and damn maybe he's already got a crush. and, oh shit, he's the guy who minju tutors sometimes on weekends.

the barista (beomgyu, m/n remembers) stands there with an uncomfortable smile, awkwardly standing there behind the counter. (m/n would be lying if he said that wasn't one of the cutest things he's ever seen.) "your order?"

m/n gapes a little more before regaining his composure, a polite smile gracing his features. "yeah - right, sorry. um, a venti frappuccino with three espresso shots." he pushes the coins forward, waiting awkwardly.

beomgyu smiles again, this time an actual smile gracing his features (m/n will never admit that he swooned a little), appearing amused if anything. "right," he quickly scooped the change up before yelling behind him. "yein! large frap, three shots!" he registers m/n's change and hands m/n his drink. "thanks for coming to golden swirls! have a great day, m/n-ssi."

m/n blushes because beomgyu actually knows his name and he may or may not be screaming inside because of it. someone behind him coughs, interrupting his inner emotions and m/n is so glad that he's not in high school because he so has a schoolgirl crush.

"thanks- i'll be going-" m/n runs out of the door before he could embarrass himself further, almost dropping his coffee as he goes and accidentally knocking his laptop bag that's swung over his shoulder into the wall outside. he looks at beomgyu through the large window, watching how he serves the next customer before quickly heading off towards his next class.

not even ten seconds later, he's managed to almost break his laptop, spill his coffee over a random stranger and he just wants the ground to swallow him up. his patience has run thin and he finds himself swearing because of how awful this one morning has gone. fuck today, fuck his life, just fuck

most of the time, m/n's lucky to have minju in his life. they share an apartment together with minju running a home business as a pastry chef, she helps him with all of his assignments and they've known each other forever. but today, he really hopes that he has awoken her from her sleep (he doesn't want anything horrible to happen to her, he loves her too much) because it's her fault that he's injured. (maybe not completely her fault, not that he'll ever admit it.)

after getting back to the apartment and telling her of his god-forsaken awful day, she has the audacity to laugh.

she laughs so hard that she ends up falling off the couch, her makeup smudging which he's sure she'll be upset about. he doesn't really appreciate that she's laughing and he thinks that maybe he should take photos or a video because she laughs like a horse on crack. he chooses the third option which is attempting to make her spontaneously combust with the power of his glare.

"what the actual fuck." if anything, she laughs even harder and starts rolling around on the floor. he grabs a nearby throw pillow and launches it at her.

(she retaliates, flipping the couch over and them sitting on his back, she tries suffocating him with a surprisingly lethal fluffy cushion.)

after she stops attempting to strangle him and they put their living room back to the original state, they return to their previous conversation. but he immediately wishes that she's still attempting to murder him, because she is smirking. (he's so going to be antagonized for another week)

"so what basically happened, is that you publicly humiliated yourself in front of a cute guy and now you've turned into a weeping willow." she almost bursts out laughing again after her summary, instead pinching his cheek.

m/n immediately recoils, covering his face with another throw cushion. "yes, thank you for reminding me of the possibly most embarassing period of my life."

"you could've been worse. you could've spilled coffee on him, you could've fallen flat on your face as soon as you walked through the door." she laughed while he blushes even harder than he thought possible. (leave it to minju to bring up previous events.)

"i hate you," he manages to squeak out from underneath the pillow, curling in on himself.

"i love you too," she pats his head affectionately. "now i'll order some chinese food and we'll spend the whole night watching cheesy rom-coms while i try to cheer you up with some horrible puns and jokes."

(m/n cracks a smile because he honestly couldn't ask for a better best friend.)

after finally managing to finish his music assignment and edit another three essays as well as helping minju with baking cupcakes, m/n skypes kangmin. kangmin (the same person who chose to go in china instead of staying in seoul, the traitor) has been the third member of their group ever since the beginning of elementary as well as the exact reason for m/n's sexuality crisis. (which may or may not have included a temporary relationship and a lot of making out.)

it's not like m/n can hold it against him, but of course he still wonders why all of his friends have to be so damn good looking and adorable.

kangmin, unsurprisingly, doesn't answer the phone the first time but the second time yejin had picked up the call. yejin was the last member of their group and was the most creative and independent of the bunch. she was the first person that m/n had met that he loved within the first five minutes of meeting. of course, sometimes she was over-dramatic and hyperactive but it didn't really matter, she was still one of his best friends.

"hey m/n!" yejin smiled, flashing her pearly whites. "kangmin is currently busy working on that huge programming or digital project that he got a week ago."

yejin faces the camera towards kangmin, showing him with his head in buried in his hands. there were papers strewn all over the desk while his computer was closed. she subtly takes a picture of his distress before tapping him on the shoulder. kangmin's head snaps, a grimace present until his eyes lands on m/n's face appearing.

"m/n!" kangmin yelled, snatching his phone off yejin. ignoring her rude remark, he positions the phone in a way that both yejin and himself appear on the screen while still being close enough to hear. "sorry, i love you but this stupid piece of code is giving the biggest trouble ever and i just can't take it anymore."

he groans dramatically in his hands while yejin rolls her eyes at him, patting his head fondly.

"you'll be fine." she coos at him, rubbing his hair affectionately. "what's up m/n?"

"i may or may not have met someone..." m/n trails off, laughing at their reactions. yejin starts clapping excitedly and squealing while kangmin's head snaps up with a bright smile on his face.

"who is it? it's not that creepy guy in orchestra is it? if it is, you could do so much better.." yejin rants, not stopping even when kangmin covers her mouth with his hand.

"and i may or may not have also embarassed myself in front of him." yejin shuts up straight away, both her and kangmin starting to giggle.

"how bad was it?" kangmin inquires, a cheeky glint in his eye. "falling-flat-on-your-face-bad or peeing-your-pants-because-you're-so-nervous-bad?"

"neither,"

stares.

"maybe worse,"

more stares.

"it was clown-at-kangmin’s-eighth-birthday-bad."

long story short, kangmin’s parents had hired the wrong person and accidentally hired a drug dealer who tried to convince the kids that the cocaine he brought was sherbet.

kangmin’s parents were mortified at the time but kangmin continues to tell the story whenever he gets the chance.

m/n eventually ends the call because yejin and kangmin are laughing so hard at him and, god, why does everything with him have to be so complicated and embarassing? (he may also have rejected the next two calls, accidentally)

minju, being the absolutely amazing best friend that she is, is so much more helpful than his other two friends. meaning that since she's already laughed at him, she's moved on to the point where she decides that she's going to be a helpful friend.

(m/n shudders at the thought. last time minju decided she was going to be a 'helpful friend', he ended up in the hospital for two weeks and failed two assignments.)

unfortunately, minju turns out to be his only option to call when he sees beomgyu again at the shop.

"please, please, please, come here right now. starbucks is closed, beomgyu's on shift and i need someone here to make sure i don't embarass myself."

turns out, this is the one time that minju isn't available.

"you should've asked me before. i'm too busy. i've got to juggle six different pastry orders and they all have to be done in a couple of hours because i'm catering for a wedding."

well, fuck. m/n looks inside the coffee shop again, noticing that this time beomgyu is looking back at him. beomgyu smiles and waves, while he leans against a broom. m/n can't help but smile back, pocketing his phone and walking through the door.

as soon as he's in the door, he sees the broom that beomgyu is leaning on slips and makes him fall over. he rushes over to beomgyu quickly, helping him back up. beomgyu blushes a bright red while m/n helps him back over to the counter despite being told numerous times that he's fine.

"seriously m/n-ssi, i'm fine." beomgyu giggles. he fucking giggles and suddenly there's a hand on his arm and somehow all the oxygen has left his lungs and why is it so suddenly hot?

"are you sure?" m/n asks again, checking for any injuries. beomgyu nods again, walking awkwardly back behind the counter.

"venti frap, three shots right?" beomgyu's eyes shine, a small blush coating his cheeks. m/n nods, handing over his coins.

beomgyu scoops them up but accidentally drops a few on the ground. after all the coins are picked up, yein suddenly appears by his side with a coffee in her hand.

"smooth move, casanova," she nudges him playfully, before handing the coffee to m/n. beomgyu blushes brightly, moving over to start cleaning the counter.

"thanks, i guess." m/n says awkwardly. "i'll see you later, yeah?"

he runs out the door, waving to them as he goes. he's a few metres away from the coffee shop before he does a happy dance because he didn't embarass himself in front of beomgyu.

(this doesn't erase his bad luck however. he manages to keep his coffee intact, but someone else spilled their coffee on him, he got attacked by a rabid cat and chased by a group of dogs on the way home.)

the next time m/n sees beomgyu, it's in the comfort of his own home.

but that doesn't mean, he's ready to face his crush.

m/n's woken up by minju's banshee scream, her high pitched tone filling his entire room. he wishes his first instinct was to cover his own ears but no, his first instinct is to get up and make sure the bathroom door is closed. (every time minju screams, the large mirror in their bathroom 'mysteriously' breaks. and the money that pays for it 'mysteriously' comes out of his own wallet.)

he walks into the living room and he knows he looks like a mess.

his hair is strewn everywhere, making him look like he just got zapped with lightning. he's wearing a plain white shirt but he's only one inside while the other half is wrapped around his shoulder, exposing his lower body. he's also wearing his rainbow briefs while he's got kittens on his socks.

m/n's barely got his other arm in the shirt before he hears a cough behind, where he's met with beomgyu's blushing face.

beomgyu looks like he's trying so hard to look away, he's got his face hidden behind one of his books but his eyes are visible at the top, (it certainly has nothing to do with the way his nose starts to bleed a little) while minju doesn't look much better herself.

she hadn't bothered to brush away her bangs and instead was trying to pour herself a cup of coffee, a large yawn escaping her lips.

"we, meaning me, wants you to make us breakfast," minju speaks like she doesn't know that she just embarrassed m/n in front of his crush. (to her credit, she probably doesn't. she occasionally leaves their apartment half naked because of her tired stupor.)

"uh, r-right." m/n stutters, running back to his room, locking gazes with beomgyu before his door swings shut.

minju eyes him weirdly as he goes. (usually he'd yell at her to stop being lazy and do it herself but he seemed to be too stunned to do anything. she'd have to bring beomgyu around more often.)

"is he okay, minju?" beomgyu puts the book down.

"he'll be fine," minju yawns again, wrinkling her nose. "i've already accomplished my duty as a best friend by bringing you here." she ignored beomgyu's questioning gaze, bringing her mug to her lips.

m/n walks out of his room, looking more presentable but also looking like he was going to cut a bitch. (in every case, minju.)

"give me that," m/n swiped minju's mug from her hands, taking a deep gulp of her bitter coffee. he ignored minju's scathing remark and turned to beomgyu, unstartled. "will pancakes be okay, beomgyu-ssi?" his voice took a much softer tone than when he spoke to minju.

"yes please, and i'd rather you'd just call me beomgyu, m/n-ssi." beomgyu smiled.

"then i would insist that you'd do the same, beomgyu-ah." m/n smiled, shooing minju out of his kitchen and getting the ingredients out.

minju huffs and takes a seat next to beomgyu, crossing her arms.

"are you ready to carry on, beomgyu-ah?" minju asks, wiping her face with a wet wipe.

"gimme a sec," beomgyu rests his head on his arms as he watches m/n move around in the kitchen.

m/n's got his headphones in his ears as he hums delightfully, flipping pancakes with ease. he dances his way around the kitchen, pulling out syrup and strawberries and eating utensils, preparing breakfast with a soft smile on his face.

beomgyu can't help but watch the other male with a dumb smile on his face, not looking away even when there's a steaming hot plate of pancakes in front of him.

"i hope you like them," m/n smiles, taking out his left headphone. he fucking smiles at beomgyu, who feels his entire being heat up. (beomgyu tries to ignore the way his heart pitter-patters in his chest. that traitor.)

when beomgyu takes a bite, he moans in delight. m/n pretends to not notice, shoveling his food in his mouth. (his blush totally does not give him away.)

"so m/n-ah," minju starts, taking back her mug and refilling it. "when's your next class?"

"i'm free today. my chemistry professor called in sick so he just emailed everybody their latest assignments. i'm going to die." m/n cringed, taking a sip of his water.

"i bet physics is looking pretty good right now, huh?" minju had a triumphant look on her face.

"people who take physics usually don't have a life, or friends." m/n flicked her forehead, distracting her long enough to steal her coffee again. "no offense, beomgyu-ah."

"none taken, m/n-ah." beomgyu shrugged his shoulders. "what do you study?"

"i'm making my life hard by majoring in dance with a minor in chemistry." m/n put his two thumbs, his entire being oozing with sarcasm. "commuting to two different campuses four times a week, what fun."

"that's like me!" beomgyu's eyes were a little wider. "i'm a vocal major with a minor in physics. moving between the two campuses is such a pain."

"does that mean you know soobin-hyung? i think he's a vocal major as well?" m/n asks.

"bunny-hyung?" beomgyu's eyes glaze over in realization. "he takes care of me, you know, being one year older. does that mean you're friends with yeonjun-hyung? he still owes me twenty dollars."

"soobin-hyung owes me fifty!" m/n almost yells. "but it's okay because he buys me lunch every other day."

"oh my god, they're perfect for each other." beomgyu rolls his eyes, stabbing his pancake with his fork.

"they're disgusting. i hate seeing them meet up, like they haven't seen each in a million years when in reality it's been like four hours." m/n agrees, wrinkling his nose.

minju looks between the two males, wondering how they could be so oblivious towards one another.

"they're idiots. idiots who hopelessly crush on each other." minju complained under her breath. she held up her phone, pretending to use it as a mirror, only to snap a pic of m/n and beomgyu interacting with each other, bright smiles on both of their faces.

m/n briefly looked at her, a weird look on his face.

"you'll thank me later." she smiled innocently, tapping her phone with a wink.

#beomgyu #choi beomgyu #txt male reader #kpop male reader #txt x male reader #kpop x male reader #fluff #beomgyu x male reader #choi beomgyu x male reader #male reader scenario #txt #male reader insert

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rkroyalsurvival-blog · 7 years ago

Photo

Time until the finale winds down ever quicker, minute after minute disappearing into thin air, until the tension of the production staff becomes a very physical thing felt by all. Worst of all, is the cloud of oppressive stress emanating from the Royal CEO, the man all growls and caffeine-loaded as he enters into the Seocho theatre venue like a thunderstorm. Something is off, worrisome-- yet not even the head producer dares to question it as So Jisub drags out his chair from under the table and sinks down onto it.

“Is Yejin here yet?” Jisub snaps out coolly, and the producer jumps in place, paling.

“Getting her makeup on now--”

“Baekhyun? Kangjoon?”

“Also getting ready.” A usually composed man, the producer’s hand is visibly trembling as he lays down the script for the day’s filming in front of Jisub, the latter who looks at it without another word. Taking this as a signal to continue, the producer rattles off the schedule for the day: assessing the performances one by one with the introductions done by the MCs, the elimination and finally the sorting of the two final groups--

“That’s fine.” Jisub cuts the man off with a sharp movement of his hand. He sips at the cooling coffee he holds in his hand and nods towards the figure of Han Yejin, who approaches the table with a polite smile. Thanking the producer for his time, the CEO switches his attention to his talent, who greets him with the familiar warmth of long-time colleagues. “You ready for today?” he questions pointedly.

Yejin smiles brightly, her brown eyes sparkling with the charm she’s known for by all. “You bet.”

Episode start.

“For your next challenge, you will be individually acting out scenes to test your chemistry and performance on camera. As idols, releasing MVs for every comeback is a must and more than one of you will be asked to act in scenes that lend credibility to the song’s story.”

Scenes from the last episode serve to refresh a viewer’s mind of the penultimate challenge; after this there is just one performance left that decides the fate of the final ten girls. The expressions of the contestants as they learn the news is a mixture of dismay and also of relief-- relief that it’s almost over, and dismay that this will be the true ending. Some will have to return back to the companies they’ve taken flight from, and others still will have to linger in the hallways of Royal, their envious eyes tracking the progress of those who have defeated them to take the coveted positions of Luxe’s girl group.

It’s enough pressure to cope with that even So Jisub feels grateful he doesn’t have to endure it himself. Imagine, an elimination show for CEOs. He smiles in amusement, chuckling quietly at the thought even as the camera’s attention focuses elsewhere: specifically, on the well-dressed trio standing to the far left of the stage’s floor. Lights shine down upon them, flattering the handsome faces of Seo Kangjoon and Byun Baekhyun as they stand to either side of the beautiful Royal senior, Han Yejin.

“Welcome to Royal Survival!” she greets the camera with professional flair, all smiles and glancing at both of her co-hosts with acted warmth. “I’m your host, Han Yejin, and I’m joined by--” The boys introduce themselves one by one and So Jisub’s smiles fondly as he looks proudly at these three. Jewels, all of them; one already polished and the other two with so much potential.

“Without further ado,” Kangjoon begins, “We will introduce the first two contestants!” He and Han Yejin do so, announcing that Ahn Hyojin and Jegal Seoyoung are the first to come to the stage to receive their individual feedback. A second, central camera hones in on the two girls and the director speaks through the earpiece in Jisub’s ear to signal him to begin.

“First of all, I must congratulate you two -- and all of you -- for your professional behavior on the set,” Jisub starts off. “Based on my supervision and also after speaking with Noh Jihoon personally, who had nothing to say but kind things regarding your work ethic, I’m proud of what I’ve seen out of all of you so far. It’s exactly the kind of behavior I expect of future professionals in this industry. Now, with that being said...” The CEO gestures towards the large screen set up behind the girls, where a clip from Elly’s filming appears, ready to be played. “... Let’s see how you did.”

The chosen scene for Elly is the breakup one, in which the audience sees Noh Jihoon partnered up with her, his expression full of confused dismay as the couple begins to yell and fight. The music of “One Spring Day” complements the edited clip but all eyes are on Elly as she bursts into tears after an explosive confrontation and falls to the floor, huddled and sobbing. The emotions come through clearly and everyone is quiet as Jisub resumes control of attention. “Elly, truthfully… anyone on set could see that particular scene affected you greatly,” he says gently. “I don’t know what personal experience leads to a breakdown like that but, to be called truly acting, it’s better if you are able to separate yourself from the character instead of roleplaying as yourself, as Elly, up there on screen. Still…” He smiles warmly. “I am pleased with this performance. You did well to convey the heartbreak and we all felt it, I’m sure.”

Jegal Seoyoung is up next and Jisub watches critically as the scene unfolds of her gentle moments along with Jihoon as couple. Hugging him, fluttering her eyelashes eyes at him-- all are expressions designed to make the heart flutter, so long as they aren’t perceived as artificial. “Pretty,” Jisub concedes to her. He taps the end of his pen thoughtfully against the surface of the table. “However, Seoyoung, the problem with being too expressive is… funnily, being too expressive. When you were looking at Jihoon and it went to a close-up, your expression went unfocused on him-- which makes one wonder if you were thinking of someone else at the time. Substitution acting is fine but, even with that style, being present in that scene with your fellow actor is beyond important. Chemistry will certainly fade if you’re not connecting with your partner behind the camera. Keep that in mind.”

Jisub dismisses both and leaves it up to Yejin and Baekhyun to introduce the next pair as Jo Eunae and Jung Soojung. The two girls come on stage and the same pattern unfolds as before: watching the scenes before critique is given to each individually. For Eunae’s breakup scene with Jihoon, the CEO’s expression isn’t entirely pleased as the scene concludes on the large screen. He takes a moment to collect his thoughts before saying simply, “Don’t take it too hard, Eunae, since acting is not an easy talent for everyone. For most people, honestly. You did your best and that’s all anyone can ask for.”

For Soojung, the CEO’s mood doesn’t improve in the least. He watches the Soojung on screen’s passive face as she packs her clothes in the suitcase and finds his heart not moving at all to it in reaction. It’s discouraging and he sighs deeply in response. “Soojung…” Jisub calls out, not unkindly, “Like Eunae, this doesn’t seem to be natural ability for you. Truthfully, I wasn’t expecting prodigy-level acting out of any of you but to lack such presence even on camera… is worrisome.” He leaves it at that, leaning back in his seat and dismissing both girls back to their lines before signaling to the MCs to move on.

“A tough run so far, but will there be a winner among the flowers?” Baekhyun asks brightly as he introduces the next pair as Kim Seolhyun and Lee Jihyun. The favoritism of the Royal crew is perceivable as Kangjoon joins in with his own scripted lines, “I think we’re about to see some strong contenders here, Baekhyun! Let’s watch and see.”

If anything, Jisub’s stern expression stays that way as Seolhyun’s scenes are brought up on screen. For his own company trainees, the judgment is a lot tougher, as their acting abilities reflect on Royal’s training capabilities. Elly and Seoyoung had done fine enough, but these two, Seolhyun and Jihyun, had even more to prove to the audience. Seolhyun is up first and Jisub watches impassively as she endures the pain of the breakup scene. Her charisma is as strong as ever but, for the first time, the CEO finds himself disappointed. “It’d be better if you’d actually cried there,” he points out wryly, at the end of the scene. “Overall, not bad, but nobody's gonna believe you lost the love of your life there if you don’t put any real emotions behind it. Look at Elly back there. She lost someone or something and even if it wasn’t Jihoon, we could all see that.”

Jihyun is up next and Jisub finds himself immersed in the breakup scene she portrays on the screen. Her eyes fill up with tears and the CEO feels his own chest getting tight as he watches her mouth the words ‘Please don’t go.’ “Ah, Jihyun, you’re a tough one,” he muses quietly, afterwards. “It’s easy to forget I’m watching an idol on screen when I watch you up there -- the real definition of acting. You did well and I’m content with this. Excellent.”

Yejin uplifts the mood with a smile and a solo introduction of the next two, her favoritism also clear for Royal’s loyal family. Soohyun is shown to her strengths with the cheerful couple scene and Jisub finds himself smiling naturally as he perceives her youthful excitement. She is a pro at acting like herself and it’s a refreshing change from the heavy emotional drama of all the scenes before. “Scenes like this suit you, Soohyun,” he compliments her honestly. “I didn’t think the same of the breakup scene when I was watching you perform on set but… if we were to take this scene alone, I’d say you did a very fine job. I’m pleased.”

Next up is Manoban Lisa and the CEO watches, with growing pleasure, to see her interpretation of the couple scene with Noh Jihoon. There’s visible happiness in her eyes, and a realness of chemistry with Jihoon that had been noticeably lacking in the previous couple scenes. His nod of approval is genuine as the clip concludes. “Well done, Lisa. The best so far. You have some experience in acting already, I take it?” Facts he already knows, of course, but for the benefit of the watching audience, he capitalizes on her strengths. “You’re making my choice very difficult these days… the true wildcard of the bunch.” He smiles at her and that signals to Kangjoon to pick up his cue to continue.

“Now, everyone, we’re almost there!” Kangjoon says enthusiastically. Yejin joins him with an enthusiastic cheer and Baekhyun, too, as all three of them pick one last name to say aloud. Yejin chooses to announce Nam Dawon, Kangjoon chooses Park Chaeyoung, and finally Baekhyun calls for Yang Jiwon to join the others on the stage.

Dawon’s clip is shown first and all watch her on the large screen as she does her best to muster up an emotional performance for the breakup scene. But, like Seoyoung, even as the intent for sincerity is given, it does not translate into a perfect execution. Dawon being one of Jisub’s favorites, he is nevertheless disappointed, albeit not surprised to see this. “As I said before, I didn’t expect any of you to be prodigies at acting right off the bat. Especially when you’re paired up with someone who is a true professional.” Jisub offers up Dawon a compassionate smile. “This isn’t your strength, Dawon, but there’s always things to improve on. It was a good try.”

Rose and Jiwon are the final scenes to be shown to him and Jisub watches both breakup scenes with a typical discerning gaze for critique. What he sees in these scenes, however, takes him aback more than he expects. Rather than acting ability, it’s sincerity that’s portrayed in these scenes and steals his breath away. What could the girls have been thinking about when they huddle down like that and cry so desperately hard? He isn’t one to take a vested interest in his trainees’ personal lives but this has the CEO momentarily concerned, enough for him to make a mental note to have his staff check in on them after the show. If he’s noticed the details in their performances, it’s more than possible the audience will have caught onto it as well. Something he does not want to see talked about on netizen main pages.

“I can say this has been quite the rollercoaster,” he says aloud, at last. The approving smile on his face says it all as he looks at Jiwon and Rose in turn. “Both of you did extremely well with this. A bit unpolished, the two of you, but we all were expecting that. Still, I’m impressed with you -- and the rest of you -- who didn’t hold back personally with this challenge. Had I suggested this early on, I can only wonder how many of you would have been too shy to show me some real displays of emotion. In the end, many of you gave yourselves to this challenge admirably and it shows. Job well done.”

“Now, I have made my decision.” He had been thinking of eliminations long and hard during the feedback sessions, the thought formulating in his mind and honed down only by the girls’ performances that he’d been witness to before and after this one’s performance. “I’ve said it plenty before and I’ll say it again: You all have done so well to make it this far and I’m proud of each and every one of you. However, now that we are so close to the finale, I must become even more exacting about what I’m looking for in the members of Luxe. This elimination tonight was not solely based on this challenge alone but about things overall--- the group dynamic, your participation in challenges, your relationships with the other girls… all of this mattered.” When the girls are gathered and all lined up on stage, So Jisub locks eyes with Jung Soojung. “Soojung, you will be the one to leave tonight. Thank you for being such a strong competitor all this time. I look forward to seeing how you grow under Baek Jiyoung’s wings again.”

The MCs take over once again, smoothing over the eruption of feelings on stage that result over the elimination result as Yejin speaks up calmly. “There’s just one episode left, right, sajangnim?” she asks brightly and So Jisub nods in acknowledgement. She continues, “What can we expect from it?”

“The girls who are left standing on stage with you will have one more chance to prove themselves to me,” he announces for everyone to hear. The camera focuses directly on his expressionless face as Jisub goes on to explain: “I will now split you into two groups but the catch is -- no one here is in Major or Minor any longer. In my opinion, all of you have ascended to the Major category and all of you have an equal chance to debut in the Luxe I envision. I have divided you now based on who I believe you match up with best and these will be the groups I will consider in the finale as the final Luxe. Of course, a plot twist can always be expected,” he adds on with an amused smile. “Someone truly outstanding may make it into the group no matter which team they’re on now.”

“Your groups are as follows,” Jisub continues. “Group A will be Yang Jiwon, Jo Eunae, Lee Jihyun, Manoban Lalisa, and Lee Soohyun, while Group B will be Park Chaeyoung, Jegal Seoyoung, Kim Seolhyun, Ahn Hyojin, and Nam Dawon.”

End of episode.

EPISODE 7 and 8, Writing Prompt:

Congratulations on reaching the finale episode! It’s been a long, emotional ride and we’ve almost reached the conclusion, thank goodness! You will only have one writing prompt as a result of Episode 7, as Episode 8 will be a reflection of these performances, a recap of everything that’s happened over the show so far and, finally, the best of all -- the results for who will get to debut in Royal’s new girl group, Luxe!

So Jisub has separated the girls into two groups and each group is now expected to perform one group song individually, as well as all ten contestants participating in a full-group ensemble performance to surprise the audience in the last episode. The requirements are as follows:

Group A: Yang Jiwon, Jo Eunae, Lee Jihyun, Manoban Lalisa, Lee Soohyun will be performing to Minx’s “Why Did You Come to My House?”

Group B: Park Chaeyoung, Jegal Seoyoung, Kim Seolhyun, Ahn Hyojin, Nam Dawon. will be performing to Playback’s “Want You to Say”

* As a full ten-member group, you will perform to Nine Muse’s Wild.

In the individual group performances, you may decide as a group on your wardrobe and part distribution with the sole exception of the main rappers. Elly and Eunae must take on the full rap verses provided in the songs. Choreography for all three songs will be provided to you by Yoo Jaekyung and you will be allowed to organize with her the schedule for group rehearsals during the week. Remember, you will only have ONE week to do this. For the full ensemble “Wild�� performance, the girls will be asked to wear the original costumes seen in the reference video. Part distribution for the ensemble will be at your discretion but, it should go without saying, play to your strengths!

For this episode’s writing opportunities:

Required: write a 300+ word performance solo about your individual group performance only.

Optional: write a 300+ word preparation solo about preparing for the group performances, whether individual or the ensemble performance. Costume fittings, rehearsals, etc.

Optional: write a 300+ interview solo about your muse reflecting on the entirety of the show so far. You will schedule a time with a producer to oversee this, in which they will provide your muse with a hand-held camera and one hour of film time to talk about whatever you’d like to for the finale. You may choose any location that you wish for this interview - feel free to be creative!

The reward for writing the required solo is +5 SKILL POINTS TO BE DISTRIBUTED AS YOU WISH, +10 CHARISMA POINTS, and +5 DEBUT points, as well earning +1 week of a related PERFORMANCE achievement. Additionally, all girls will automatically receive +1 week VARIETY achievement for being present during Episode 7. Point forms will always be due the Wednesday after a deadline passes; this means for Episode 7, verification forms should be submitted after the Activity Check post on Wednesday, December 6th. These form dates have been added to the writing schedule, so refer to it periodically to make sure everything is being submitted on time!

ROYAL SURVIVAL EPISODE 7 (for the Dec 6th form)

[ x ] *one 300+ word performance solo

+5 ____ POINTS

+10 CHARISMA POINTS

+ 5 DEBUT POINTS

+1 WK PERFORMANCE ACHIEVEMENT (CURRENT LEVEL + NUMBER OF TIMES TAKEN)

+1 WK VARIETY ACHIEVEMENT (CURRENT LEVEL + NUMBER OF TIMES TAKEN)

+ NEW DEBUT POINTS TOTAL:

The deadline for all solos is midnight EST at the end of December 3rd, and please tag each solo with #royalsurvival7. If you have any questions, feel free to send them to the Royal Survival inbox!

For the Royal MCs, Byun Baekhyun and Seo Kangjoon, you may use this episode as the proof post of your participation in this event. Please provide this verification form along with your usual workshop forms for the December 6th activity check.

ROYAL SURVIVAL EPISODE 7 (for the Dec 6th form)

[ x ] * link to this post

+10 CHARISMA POINTS

+ 2 DEBUT POINTS

+1 WK RADIO/TV HOSTING (CURRENT LEVEL + NUMBER OF TIMES TAKEN)

+ NEW DEBUT POINTS TOTAL:

#rsepisode #( sorry i'm late! )#ellyrk #rkseoyoung #rkeunae #rksoojung #seolhyunrk #rkqri #rksoohyun #rklisa #rkdawon #rkrose #rkjiwon #rkkangjoon #rkbyunbaek

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