#đc&c: true love
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TRUE LOVE â ì ê”
when you and jeon jeongguk's paths cross again, you question if having a crush on the school's emo and alternative boy was really just a phase, or if it was true love after all.
ââșââ
. 5/6 from christmas & chill
pairing tattoo artist!jk x fem reader
genre fluff, smut, grumpy & sunshine, somewhat f2l
warnings jk 24 | oc 24, jk thinks heâs too cool for love, oc suffers from a chronic case of âi can fix himâ, she eventually does, oc simps HARDDD and jk only pretends to be unaffected, yea heâs a bit of a dick sometimes but heâs also Very funny, brief description of panic attacks, male masturbation, kissing, idk what else to add i just rly rly love them and will think of them for the entirety of xmas season
word count 10.2k
authorâs note hi lovies đ©· itâs my last time with c&c đ iâm kinda emotional omg⊠itâs been such a fun, warm and lovely week, and i love each one of you for showing endless support to this project <33 iâll keep trying to not disappoint⊠please tell me if you like this!!! thank u always and always đ©· luv u <3
banner by the gorgeous @awrkive âčââĄâ
On the first day of December, your path crosses with thee Jeon Jeonggukâs after enough years for your brain to trip slightly before recognising him. But it would have been impossible not toâthereâs likely a whole, well-preserved section of your thinking organ dedicated to that mortifying phase of high school, when your hormones turned life into an endless internal tug-of-war.
The moment your eyes widen at having him stand in front of you, youâre yanked unceremoniously into the past, brought back to buried, locked and left to gather dust feelings that have your teenage selfâs screams echoing within you in a chorus of delight and cringe.
Jeongguk, on the other hand, is simply following his duties as a tattoo artist. When he catches sight of you next to his appointed client on such a breezy day, the cold December air starting to find its space even in the confines of his studio, he only nods his chin upward at you in slow recognition.
Itâs awkward, at first. Only because you make it.
Youâd volunteered to accompany Eunbi, your best friend, to get her first tattoo as an early Christmas self-gift. Your mission was clear: support her, hold her hand if the pain became unbearable (though youâre probably the least dependable person when it comes to making clarity in situations of panic, as seen right now), and be the first to bask in her excitement as she finally sees what sheâs always pictured to be inked on the skin of her forearm. A blue whale tattoo, large enough to make you wince just thinking about the needlework.
Youâd never go through something like that. Never.
And thatâs exactly whatâs showing on your face when youâre met with Jeonggukâs full sleeve of tattoos, leaving you rooted to the spot.
Youâd always known him to be the different kid, the quiet one with forced sharp eyes that canonically listened to alternative rock and glared at anyone who dared approach, whether to tease him or befriend him. Heâd convinced himself that no one could ever understand him.
See, youâd instead fooled yourself into thinking you were the exception. That you did understand him.
Fourteen-year-old you had gone through some weird phases, and the one that resurfaces now at the vision of his adult self is the one centered entirely around him. You unashamedly had the biggest crush on Jeongguk. To you, he was mysterious and edgyâin an effortlessly cool way.
Youâd tried everything. Offered him your lunch more times than you were left with any for yourself. Even cut your bangs to have them fall over your eyes to mimic his fringe, dyed a strand in blue, overhauled your wardrobe to align with his back-and-grey one. None of it worked. He never noticed.
But, thinking of it now, thereâs no way he didn't. He definitely did. How could any boy turn a blind eye to a lovesick girlâs heartfelt Valentineâs letter, a hopeless romantic girl who almost cried on the spot when she got rejected? Jeongguk just chose to willingly ignore it.
These are all valid reasons as to why your functions seem to slow down in his unexpected presence. And youâre not going to deny nor fake that his calm, almost detached demeanor doesnât flow through your body and right to your left eye, making it twitch with a slight tremor.
Yet, you must also admit that your teenage self was onto something. Jeongguk has changed drastically but heâs also stayed the same. You think fourteen-year-old him would be proud of where he is right now. Two piercings on his lower lip and one on his eyebrow, intricate ink tracing up his muscled arm, his⊠muscled arms. Wow. And then, his studio. His own studio, a place for him and his passion, one that he made into his job. Thatâs undeniably cool.
Maybe just not cool enough for you to be gaping like an idiot as he moves with purpose, adjusting your friendâs arm to position the stencil he had prepared, perfectly fitting in the space she had chosen. His muscles flex with every shift, and itâs impossible for you to go past that with the way the black beater heâs wearing is loose on his torso, but still clinging on his chest.
Eunbi notices, of course. You donât have time to feel embarrassed and in return she doesnât even try to hide her amusement when your usual chatter dries up entirely, only gulping obnoxiously noisily and alternating that with nervous silences. Jeongguk, too, catches on.
Heâd always known you as obnoxious and noisy. In, huh, a good way. Or whatever.
Jeongguk just agrees that you were (and probably still are, if the pastel yellow skirt softly flowing down your legs paired with a cozy cream sweater and the full toothed grin you shoot at your friend are any indicators) the pinpoint embodiment of his opposite. Youâve always been talkative, smiley, and friendly, eager to help and to receive help, not in the slightest ever turning down the opportunity to blabber on, and on, and on.
Honestly, Jeongguk doesnât think he ever truly listened to a single word of your rambling back in the day, especially during those times when youâd bounce up to him and launch into enthusiastic rants about obscure alternative bands he himself hadnât even heard of. He respected the hustle, though. Heâd always wondered where you found the time and energy to immerse yourself in music like that.
He much preferred when you were less trying so hard to be him and mirror his tastes, more when you gave up on impressing him and simply stayed true to yourself, the girl whose heart belonged to Justin Bieber and One Direction. Truthfully, he fucked with them. Not that heâd ever admit it, of course. His quiet, brooding image wouldnât survive that revelation.
What he respected the most was your resilience. After all the times he rejected you and your awkward blurts of confessions, you still didnât think it was enough of a reason for your villain origin story to take off, and instead remained the same frustratingly positive ray of sunshine youâd always been.
Now, as Jeongguk works on the tattoo in front of him, the very design that caused all these long-buried memories to rise back, his dark eyes flick toward you sitting on a stool in a near corner every now and then, a hint of confusion in his expression each time you take more than five seconds to reply to his small talk.
Itâs just, youâre a bit taken aback. Since when does he do small talk? The foreign smoothness with which Jeongguk handles interactions is so far removed from the sullen boy you used to know. Youâre not prepared for this version of him. Itâs disarming, to say the least.
Enough time has passed for you to settle into the odd scenario, your current best friend and your long-standing high school crush in the same room. Slowly but surely, your curiosity sparkles again, and the signature tendency to let thoughts tumble out of your mouth unchecked returns to you naturally.
âOuch, that looks painful.â
Jeongguk snorts, eyes trained on Eunbiâs arm as he glides the tattoo needle with precise strokes that have his brows pinching and the tip of his tongue peeking out from the corner of his lips, a habit you remember from the past but one youâve never found quite so distracting before.
Still, he multitasks and responds without missing a beat, âWanna try?â
Wow. This is, like, the longest conversation youâve ever had with him. It spurs you on to do anything it takes to hear more of his voice, the sound of it definitely deeper than the shy tones you struggled to coax out of him ten years ago.
That is probably why you literally lie, âHm. Maybe. I was thinking of getting one actually. In the future.â
Eunbi chokes on her spit, her chest coughing with the sudden, blatantly fake revelation, and Jeongguk promptly pauses, lifting the needle from her skin as his tattooist reflexes kick in. While your friend apologizes between a clearing of her throat and sinks back into the chair, she doesnât keep from glaring at you, her expression screaming What the hell are you doing?
You deadpan. Youâll explain everything later and itâll all make sense. And you know this will inevitably end up being added to the list of the many embarrassing facts she knows about you and threatens you with when she wants to go clubbing and you donât.
Jeongguk uses the brief interruption to glance up at where youâre perched in the corner of his peripheral vision, just to square you up and down with a skeptical arch of his brow, âReally?â
You scoff, smoothing out the creases on your skirt as if the fabric is somehow responsible for the lie you just told, âIs that shocking?â
He hums, returning to his work with the buzz of the needle filling the studio again, his voice padded the more he gets closer to Eunbiâs forearm, âI just find it hard to believe such a princess like you could handle any pain.â
You gulp.
What youâre getting from this conversation is that Jeongguk has always had an idea of who you are in his mind all along. That heâs always perceived you in some way. As much as your inner fourteen-year-old is swooning at the attention, gobbling up each of the tiny crumbles heâs giving you, it doesnât sit right with you. What exactly does he think of you?
âTest me.â
He shrugs, eyes fixated on the shade heâs perfectioning with black ink, âBusy now.â
âIâll go pay for mine. I saw you have one last free spot today,â you announce, the words tumbling out with more confidence than you feel. Youâre already on your feet before the sentence is fully formed, betraying the fact that your nosy tendencies had gotten the better of you earlier. Youâd discreetly glanced at his appointment book when Jeongguk and Eunbi were finalizing her tattoo details and negotiating the final price at the desk.
He hums, head tilting slightly, âAnd I wanted to spend it bumming around.â
âToo bad. Youâll have to postpone that.â
You walked into this studio swearing youâd never let a needle even brush you.
Now youâre stretched out on a leather bench, Jeongguk leaning over you with a stencil in hand, gloved fingers moving with careful precision.
The design youâd chosen came from his portfolioâa delicate illustration of two butterflies in motion, their soft threads intertwining. Youâd flipped through countless pages of bold skulls and intricate linework before settling on this.
The spot youâd chosen for the tattoo was the flat, firm plane between your breasts. It wasnât a conscious decision, just a place youâd always liked. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that nature hadnât exactly blessed you in the cleavage department. Subconsciously, perhaps, you thought that adding something there might give the illusion of more.
âTehe,â you canât stop the breathy giggle that escapes as the cool paper brushes against your skin. Your hand is pressed to your bra, holding it in place as best you can, though the situation feels so surreal itâs hard to focus on anything but the ridiculousness of it all.
Jeongguk glances up at you with a glare thatâs more exasperated than angry before returning to the delicate task at hand, âWhatâs funny?â
Your voice wobbles, âI justâ I tend to laugh during serious moments.â
âOh. Weird.â
âSorry.â
With a small sigh, he smooths the stencil, and once itâs transferred he hands you a square mirror, waiting for your approval. You nod, the butterflies now perfectly poised in their eternal dance, and Jeongguk doesnât waste a moment.
The buzz of the needle fills the room as he leans closer, one gloved hand resting on the upper part of your chest to steady himself. Heâs mere seconds from beginning the inking process when another laugh bubbles out of you.
Jeongguk sits back abruptly, dropping his pen onto the metal tray with an audible clink. Tilting his head, he levels you with a look of thinly veiled irritation. âI really canât work if your chest keeps moving.â
âSorry,â you blurt again, turning your head to face the wall. You clamp your lips together tightly, mentally scrolling through every sad memory you can conjure. Think of something awful. Your childhood dog dying. Okay, maybe not that sadâ
âYou havenât changed a bit since high school. Always smiling like you live surrounded by flowers and rainbows,â Jeonggukâs mutter vibrates against your chest, warm breath fanning over the cold skin, distracting you from your no-giggling mission.
The unexpected observation has your brows furrowing in a mildly offended frown, and banter is ready on your tongue. âYouâre just the same too, Gguk. The emo boy who thinks heâs too cool for a smile.â
âIâm not an emo boy. The fuck,â he scoffs, kissing his teeth and murmuring more of his indignation under his breath.
âWhatever helps you sleep at night. I can teach you.â
The whirring needle glides across your skin with a slightly firmer touch, making you hiss softly under your breath. He seems unbothered by the reaction, and instead bothered by your words, âTeach me what.â
âHow to smile a bit more,â you reply, your voice laced with mockery as you keep your gaze firmly fixed on the wall. The smirk playing on your lips is triumphant; he walked right into your little jab, hehe.
Your mind is already racing, piecing together the beginning of a sarcastic rant about how his perpetual scowl probably contributed to his mysterious high school persona. For the sake of his ego, you wonât add how it worked in his favor, how more than one girl (your own self) found his untouchable vibe completely irresistible.
Even though, thinking back, he looked ridiculous. His big, round, slightly scared-of-the-world eyes truly didnât belong with the heavy black eyeliner.
But before you can get a single word out, Jeongguk straightens his posture, pulling away from your chest. With a practiced motion, he tosses one of his gloves onto the counter behind him, his expression cool and indifferent. âItâs done.â
âDone?!â you exclaim, tilting your chin down to look at your chest. You go slightly cross-eyed trying to catch a glimpse of the design now inked onto your skin. Forever.
âYes.â
âI didnât even feel it.â
Jeongguk seems equally done with small talk, transitioning into a professional explanation of the tattooâs aftercare step. His tone is calm but clipped, and you canât tell if itâs his usual demeanor or just reserved for you. He also hands you a small tube of cream of which youâre not sure the use of, too enthralled by the vision of his colored sleeve this up close.
And still laying on the leather bed, you almost reach to trace one of the many lines with your finger before he interrupts, âYou can pay with Yoongi at the entrance.â
Clearing your throat, you sit up, brushing imaginary dust off your skirt as Jeongguk turns his back to you, his focus already back on cleaning his tools. You still are not over, âThank you, Jeongguk. Can Iâ huh. Can I get your number?â
He pauses mid-motion, just long enough for the silence to stretch thin and taut. Turning around to study your features, he stares you up and down with knitted brows and a hostile kind of confusion painting his expression. â⊠For what exactly?â
âIn case anything happens with the tattoo.â
Jeongguk stills for a second, eyes narrowing slightly, then turns back to whatâs keeping him so occupied with a noncommittal grunt, âHuh. Sure. Yoongi has my business cards at the desk. You can ask him. Have a good day.â
With Eunbi practically dragging you out of the room, you donât have the chance to say anything more, though your chest burns with indignation. Itâs not that you expect him to fall over himself at the chance to catch up, but the sheer indifference is maddening.
Should you pretend you donât care either? You could. But really, who are you fooling? You still have those old diaries buried somewhere in your closet, their pages crammed with his name written in looping, lovesick cursive. That little girl in you never truly died.
On the fourth day of December, you finally text him. Itâs about your tattoo, of course. Thereâs not much else to say to him, but when his only reply to your picture of the healing process is a yellow thumbs up, you find your fingers hovering over the keyboard. Words start forming before youâve fully processed them, and before you know it, you hit send.
You [3:39 p.m]: btw u still friends with kim tae?
jeongguk [3:42 p.m.]: Yes
jeongguk [3:42 p.m.]: Heâs my best friend
You [3:43 p.m.]: ohhh, cool
jeongguk [3:45 p.m.]: You want his number?
You [3:46 p.m.]: no⊠iâm good with yours âșïž
You canât help but giggle at how his typing bubbles appear and then fade for a whole minute, biting your lower lip with a sheepish grin, savoring the silent victory. Youâre doing this for your fourteen-year-old self, who wouldâve squealed at the thought of making Jeon Jeongguk flustered. But youâre a different girl now. Youâve changed. No man could ever rejectâ
jeongguk [3:48 p.m.]: If thereâs nothing else about the tattoo then đ
âHmph,â your frown is so pronounced that you feel your chin aching and your wrinkles prematurely deepening. Well, this is not the first time you come face first with his sour antics. Only now, youâre prepared.
You [3:48 p.m.]: yall hanging out soon? let me join
jeongguk [3:49 p.m.]: Why lol
jeongguk [3:49 p.m.]: He barely even remembers you probs
You [3:50 p.m.]: who would not remember me
jeongguk [3:50 p.m.]: The only thing iâm now remembering about you is how I couldnât stand your ass
You gasp, hand coming up to brush against your parted lips. With a huff, you hastily click at your keyboard, âMean. Sent. Ugh.â
On the sixth day of December, your persistence pays off, and you find yourself at a random bar youâd never been to before, seated with both Jeongguk and Taehyung.
Between Jeonggukâs cigarette breaksâforcing the three of you to brave the cold outsideâand brief moments in corners of the cramped place where the music feels muffled against the walls, you manage to catch up with Taehyung. The rest of the time though, the noise inside is so deafening that it makes any kind of meaningful conversation impossible.
Even more when a random girl slides into the booth next to him, capturing his attention entirely, leaving you and Jeongguk in paradoxical silence.
The tattoo artist has been glued to his phone with his head down for the last 20 minutes, and now you alternate between observing his side profile, roughened by the piercings and a more defined jawline, and analysing the weird dynamic that is beginning to form between Taehyung and the girl, sitting in front of you.
Alone with your thoughts and, well, the pulsating music, you feel yourself getting unreasonably closer to symptoms you know all too well, that threaten to have you spiraling. You shake your head, forcing it to stop. Thereâs no reason for anxiety to visit you at such an inconvenient time.
But of course, the little voice in your head starts listing all the totally valid motives why this is indeed the perfect time for it to visit you.
The bar feels suffocating on your skin.
Your dress clings too tightly.
The couple facing you is shamelessly close to making out.
Jeongguk sighs in visible boredom.
You shouldnât have come. Hell, you shouldn't have suggested it in the first place. A smarter version of yourself would have brought Eunbi for balance, for comfort. But in your foolishness, you thought this could be an opportunity for you and Jeongguk to catch up. Instead, you feel foreign to him, foreign to this pub booth, and the air begins to feel foreign to your lungs. Youâve never liked bars, clubs, or places with loud music.
You sniffle, looking down at your lap. Then up at the ceiling. Then around the room. It keeps spinning and booming with volume that only adds to the feeling of helplessness. Quick, quick, quick.
What are five things that you can see?
Five. Your gaze falls on Taehyung and the girl, their lips and tongues clumsily entangled as they laugh between sloppy kisses. No help there. The air catches harder in your throat.
Four. Your empty glass, its smudged rim a reminder of the single drink you had, now sitting uncomfortably in your stomach.
Three. Your scuffed heels, their tips worn to the nub despite your best efforts to hide it with a marker.
Two. The swirling lights above the bar, dizzying as they flash brighter and brighter.
One. Jeonggukâs tattooed hand on your thigh.
His fingers dig into the skin, shaking you alarmedly, with a force youâve never known from him, not even when it came to stopping your shaking stomach as you were laying on the studioâs leather bed.
Head snapping up to face him, youâre met with a perfect resemblance of how you must look right now. Wide eyes, knitted brows, nose flaring and exhaling, and you try to follow the movements of his mouth, but they jumble together annoyingly in your brain. You lean closer, narrowed orbs still fixated on his lips to try and read them. Are⊠you⊠okâ
â___, youâre scaring me. Hey, hello? Are you okay?â
Jeongguk moves from your thigh to your shoulders, jolting you gently but firmly from the fog that is threatening to cloud up your brain. The sudden clarity hits you, but you still stumble forward, your weight toppling over his chest. With it, your head dips rapidly, hurtling toward the sharp edge of the table, and before Jeongguk knows it his instinct snaps and he catches you promptly.
The next steps blur together. You vaguely register the boy next to you standing up and pulling you along with him, his broad shoulders supporting one of your arms while his inked one secures around the small of your waist, holding you firmly against him.
Then, itâs nothing but brief flashes. Jeongguk pressing a water bottle to your lips. Sitting you down on the stairs outside the pub. Holding your hair back as you double over, emptying the contents of your stomach onto the pavement. Cracking a smile to make you laugh, showing off his tattoos in exaggerated detail like itâs the grandest tour of your life. Opening the door to his car and gently easing you into the passenger seat, ensuring the seatbelt clicks into place.
Inside his car, you slowly feel your senses come back to you.
At a redlight that you recognise as the one near your apartment complex, you muster a small and hoarse thank you. Jeongguk only hums low, eyes fixated on the road and fingers drumming lightly on the steering wheel.
Before a sheepish smile can make its way on your lips and spread across your face, your head twitches back as your brows furrow. Your thoughts suddenly catch up with you, âHey, how do you know the way to my flat?â
His gaze briefly flicks toward you in annoyance, then back to the road. âYou literally just told me.â
âOh.â A beat passes before you giggle softly. âDonât remember.â
Jeongguk mutters something intelligible under his breath, and next thing you know heâs turning down your street and slowing in front of the building that matches the number you gave him. Given your current state, he begins to question if that is even the right one.
âThis one!â You point at the tall front gate with an almost childlike excitement, back shifting slightly from the seat as your grin stretches wide. Jeongguk grimaces. Why the fuck do you look like youâve been reuinted with your home after years apart, as if you werenât there just a couple hours ago?
âRight. Huh, you good with going back on your own?â
âYes. Iâd hate to bother you further. Iâm sorry for this, I⊠was getting better, I guess.â
The sad confession doesnât land with the weight it should, softened by the smile painted on your lips and the chuckle you let out as if it were nothing. Jeonggukâs eyelid twitches, unsettled by the unnecessary happiness that always seems to drip from you, even when it doesnât belong.
ââS okay. Have a good night,â he awkwardly bows his head, waiting for you to exit the car. When you stay still, he clears his throat, adding just to fill the silence, and perhaps because he means it, âHuh, and make sure to rest a lot.â
You take a moment, maybe longer than you should, to study his features up this close. You particularly fixate on the way his eyes dart everywhere but never land on yours. Then, with your signature toothy grin, you bow back and open the car door, leaving with a string of thank yous, and get home safe, and Iâll text you, and please, reply to me, and bye.
Jeongguk has to fight a smile of his own.
On the tenth day of December, you realise you want him. Even more badly than your fourteen-year-old self ever did. Which is frankly insane.
You donât know if it was the natural way he looked after you during your episode, or his dry sarcasm as he actually started replying to your random updates throughout the day.
But no, it was definitely the selfie he sent you after what he said was a long day. Messy hair, tired eyes, a hint of a smile. Youâd struggled to even gulp down your saliva when the picture popped up in your chat, and maniacally stared at it with eyes glued to the bright screen before sending one of your own. He had replied with Cute. followed by Your hair pin is cute.
That is why you find yourself facing⊠Yoongi? If you remember correctly. The guy at the front desk of Jeonggukâs studio.
You beam at him, and what youâre met with instead is a confused stare. You inhale, âHi. Is Jeongguk in?â
Yoongi scratches his head, muttering, âHeâs busy with a client.â
âOh. Itâs okay,â you wave off his concern. âCan I wait here?â
The boy hesitates, looks unsure the more your interaction develops, and he glances between you and the empty waiting area. He relents with furrowed brows, âSure⊠Huh, Itâs a back tattoo, so itâll take him a while.â
You shrug and plop yourself onto the leather sofa, seemingly unfazed, âI like waiting.â
Crossing your legs, you take in the studioâs atmosphere, eyes drifting to the dark walls lined with framed artwork and certificates. You spot Jeonggukâs name on many of those.
For the next fifteen minutes, you try distracting yourself by flipping through the stack of tattoo magazines on the coffee table. You wince at inked heads, faces, butts, and even⊠more private parts. Deciding this world is definitely not for you, you slam the book shut.
By the time an hour passes, youâre fighting a battle with your lack of sleep. The third yawn you manage to stifle, but the fourth escapes before you can stop it. Yoongi, seated at the desk, doesnât bother hiding his unimpressed stare. Still, heâs polite enough to offer you a glass of water, a coffee, or even a chance to join him for a cigarette break.
You decline all of it, though your throat does feel dry.
Maybe you should have planned this with a bit of rationality. Or at least gotten more sleep. Now, your every blink is slower, eyelids batting to shut and taking longer to flutter open again. Hm, this feels nice. Youâll just let them rest for a bit longer. And longer. And a bit more.
The next time you open your eyes, Jeonggukâs face is inches away, his warm hand resting firmly on your arm. You jolt upright with a startled yelp.
ïżœïżœïżœJeongguk.â
He raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth quirking up in an unmistakably mocking smirk. âHey. You donât have a bed?â
You sit up, forcing Jeongguk to step back and straighten to his full height. Your neck cranes upward to glare at him, brows furrowed in what you hope is an intimidating glare, though you sport a pout that is all but menacing, âShut up.â
He clicks his tongue, turning back to round the desk and fiddle with the appointment book, clearly unbothered. You take the moment to rub your eyesâonly to remember, too late, that youâd worn makeup. A quick glance around reveals how much has changed since you last let your eyelids flutter open. The lights in the studio are dim, the hallway is dark, and every door is shut. Yoongi is nowhere in sight. Itâs just the two of you in the deathly quiet space.
You gasp, pressing a hand to your parted lips, âDid I fall asleep? I'm so sorry. I was probably really tired from yesterday.â
Jeongguk hums, focus still locked on the book in front of him, eyes narrowed. He doesnât look up, doesnât ask why you came here in the first place, and doesnât acknowledge your apology. Ugh. This is humiliating.
Before you can stand, you feel something heavy draped over your body. Itâs a jacket. Definitely not yours, since you never took it off. At least not consciously. No, this is a worn black leather one on which his scent lingers. You tug it closer, puzzled, and then look up at him, holding it out. âDid I steal this in my sleep?â
Jeongguk scrunches his nose, âEw, are you a sleepwalker?â Locking the till, he strolls over to you and plucks the jacket from you, casually slipping it on. âNo, I put it on you. Wanted to see how long someone could feel safe enough to pass out in my studio. Thinking of turning this place into a daycare. Iâll have you play in the morning, get some lunch, nap time...â
Thereâs a beat of silence in which his sarcasm lingers in the air, and you stare at him, unamused. He shrugs, smirk unwavering.
You huff, âI regret coming here.â
âYeah, why did you come here?â
Smoothing down your pink wool sweater, you stand up to stretch with zero shame. Then, fluttering your lashes at him, you assert with a smile, âYouâre coming with me to the Christmas markets. This Sunday.â
Jeongguk groans like the idea physically pains him, âOh, I would fucking hate that.â
Ignoring him, you zip up your puffer jacket and rock on your toes, âPick me up at seven, okay?â
He glares, unimpressed at your excitement, before heading toward the entrance and pulling a hefty set of keys from his pocket, âI donât even remember where you live.â
You hurry after him, following him outside and shuffling closer in your coat at the cold air hitting you. Watching as he locks the door and pulls down the rolling shutter with its red-and-black skull graffiti, you chirp, âYouâll have to text me for that.â
Jeongguk rises up again, giving you a slow once-over. He seems distracted by your hair before snorting, âYouâre talking like Iâm the one who spent their afternoon napping in my studio just to drop this bomb and leave. Couldnât you just text me this?â
You shrug innocently. He sighs, reaching out for you, âDo you need a ride homââ
âBye!â
You spin on your heel and skip off in the opposite direction before he can let his own greeting out, waving a gloved hand behind you. Jeongguk stays where he is, arm still held out.
Do you even have a car? He hopes soâitâs freezing out.
With another sigh, he shakes his head and tugs his jacket tighter around himself. Why are you so fucking weird?
On the fourteenth day of December, your arm is looped tightly through Jeonggukâs as you stroll through the Christmas markets, burying your face further in your scarf to shield against the icy air, and with each few step you gasp at things that the boy next to you finds utterly unimpressive.
You stop at nearly every stand, eyes glowing with the warm Christmas fairy lights strung all around, effortlessly picking up conversations with the vendors and melting even the most stoic faces with the scrunching of your nose at every grin and the exaggerated nods following descriptions of their crafts.
Through all of it, Jeongguk remains put at your side, his arm linked with yours and a subtle pout on his lips. When you tease him about it, he simply shrugs, and you figure itâs just his natural expression. You find that oddly endearing.
He still humors your enthusiasm, offering low hums or murmured praise whenever you exclaim youâve finally found what youâve been searching for everywhere, and he offers to pay every time, the gesture so casual that he doesnât seem bothered by it in the slightest.
When you bow to the nth seller, clutching yet another bag of sweet treats tightly to your chest, Jeongguk exhales and resumes slow walking beside you, âI don't like these places.â
You glance up at him, fluffy hat almost slipping off before he promptly secures it back on your head with a gesture so smooth you hardly notice it. You instead wonder, âThen why are we here now?â
He slips his hand into his pocket, âBecause you threatened me.â
âWith a really good time.â
âIf this is your version of a good time, you might as well kick me in the balls. That probably feels better.â
You gasp, halting in your tracks to glare at him. When he lets a small chuckle topple out of him, you think you might forgive him. No, youâre more than sure with the way his smile lingers. You sheepishly look away, muttering, âDonât tempt me, emo boy.â
âIâm notââ
âOh yes, you are,â you interrupt, snapping your face back to his. Clearing your throat, you prepare your best imitation of him, exaggerating a frown and lowering your voice, âIâm so different, I hate Christmas.â
Jeongguk scoffs, pulling you tighter to him when a scooter unexpectedly zips past you. You yelp, instinctively shuffling closer to his arm. He continues the conversation casually, unaffected, âThatâs the worst impression of me Iâve ever heard. And also, I never said that.â
Releasing the breath you held for a moment too long, you uncertainly keep your slow stroll going, only narrowing your orbs at him, âItâs written all over your face.â
âI love Christmas.â
The admission is small, his voice soft and almost reluctant, like it pains him to reveal something so simple and obvious as loving Christmas. When you lean your chin on the puffed arm of his jacket, he doesnât look down at you, his gaze fixed ahead, guiding the two of you through the chaos of the busy street.
You chirp, your steps stumbling, âReally?
Only then he shifts his attention to you, steadying you with his other arm wrapping around your figure in what seems like a hug, before he lifts you up by the neck of your coat and retreats just enough to face you. His lips press into a straight line as he nods, a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes the more he stares in yours, âYeah, really. I just donât like⊠crowded spaces.â
You canât help but think back to what happened just a week ago. The exact reason why the spirals in your brain wouldnât stop twisting and tangling is now slipping from his lips in a voice that quietens as he seems to grasp the delicacy of his own confession.
He doesnât like the way youâre looking at him. Drawn-up brows over wide and sparkling eyesâthe only part of your face visible beneath your scarfâstare at him with something too tender, too focused, that makes him uneasy. He turns his head to the side, the tips of his ears red not only from the cold, and pulls you along toward another stand, an almost nervous distraction.
Itâs your turn to frown. Maybe the one thatâs permanently plastered on his face tonight isnât just a reflection of his usual sullen demeanor. With a knot tightening in your chest, you canât help but feel like you dragged him into something he truly hated, and that he wasnât just pretending to.
What if this isnât just your evil inner voice talking? What if this isnât just overthinking, but the factual truth of your current reality? Heâs hating every second of this but still enduring it becauseâ you catch your breath with a long and strained inhale, becauseâ
âHey, dimples. You okay?â
Jeongguk moves to stand in front of you, his hands settling gently on your shoulders, a stance eerily reminiscent of that night you were just thinking back to. He nods at you, âBreathe with me, hm?â
You find yourself quickly adjusting to his comforting aura, drawn in by the reassurance in his eyes trained on you, never wavering, watching closely as you begin to mirror the measured rise and fall of his chest, your breathing gradually syncing with his until the tightness in your chest starts to ease.
When you feel your feet touching the ground again, you offer a small, apologetic smile. âIâm okay. Sorry. JustâŠâ You quickly scan your surroundings, eyes landing on a colorful stand, âWait here a second, okay?â
Jeongguk lets you slip away, fingers twitching slightly at his sides. He takes a few hesitant steps closer, careful not to crowd you but unable to tear his eyes away from your next actions, how your grin comes back on your lips with unpracticed ease, lighting up your face as easy talk flows between you and the seller. A few coins trade hands, and soon youâre holding two churros, their chocolate-dipped ends threatening to drip onto the ground.
You donât hesitate, biting into one of them before it has the chance to make a mess, and with a quick nod of your head you motion for Jeongguk to follow. He does so, only after taking the churros from your hands, and letting you seek his warmth again with an arm snaking under his. Heâs only letting you do this because itâs fucking cold, no other reason.
You walk, and walk, guiding him along until you find a quieter corner, away from the bustle, where you two stand isolated from the rest. The dim lighting casts a softer glow, and the distant hum of chatter and music fades into a gentle background noise.
Glancing up at him, you flash a playful smile before leaning in to bite another chunk of the churro heâs holding, your laughter spilling out as he grimaces in exaggerated disgust and pulls the sweet out of your reach. You settle onto a nearby bench, patting the empty spot beside you invitingly.
Jeongguk is unsure of what this means. He takes slow steps towards you, handing you your churroâwhich you take eagerly, already chewing on itâbefore tilting his head back in mild confusion, âBut⊠you wanted to visit the markets.â
You shake your head, your bug eyes meeting his as you speak around a mouthful of sugar and chocolate, âThereâs no point if youâre not going to enjoy it.â
The look youâre giving him is one heâs seen countless times beforeâfamiliar, and annoyingly reminiscent of ten years ago. Itâs the same look that, heâs convinced, is solely responsible for making his knees weak and his fingers jittery, no longer something he can blame on the cold. Youâre unbelievably frustrating.
He clicks his tongue, looking away, âYouâre fucking weird.â
You giggle, humming, âIf weird is a synonym for whipped, then sure.â
He has to fight the twitch of his lips. Fakes a gag instead. You chuckle louder. Only then, he hints at a smile, âCâmon. Letâs go check out some other stuff.â
âButââ
He interrupts, pulling you up by your forearm, âIâm hungry.â
The next hour you spend wandering around is made of Jeonggukâs small, imperceptible ways of cracking: his pout less prominent, more replaced by lips pulled into a tight line or in a mildly pursued scowl as you ask him which beanie looks betterâthe pink or purple one; his so evident sarcasm as he comments on how the old vendor was totally flirting with you, or when he mockingly adds to your over-the-top excitement every time you spot a dog. All in all, heâs more relaxed. More himself.
You then find yourself standing in front of the churros stall from earlier, the warm scent tugging you closer. Without hesitation, you ask the lady behind the counter for another four churrosâthis time with extra sugar. You add two thank yous.
To fill the waiting, you pick up casual conversation with the woman, until she pauses mid-sentence, wrinkled hand coming to rest over her heart as her gaze flits between you and Jeongguk, her crinkled eyes lighting with a sudden fondness and a quiet, content smile finds its space on her chapped lips, âYou two look perfect together.â
Jeongguk snorts, âOh, weâre notââ
âThank you, auntie!â You chirp, and your grin is so wide it squeezes your eyes into crescents. You accept the first churro she hands over, biting into it and talking through it, âThese are delicious. Is the recipe a secret or can you share it with me?â
The woman laughs, clearly flustered by your energy, and leans in with a conspiratorial expression, though she gives in pretty soon, âIt is a secret, but⊠Oh, câmon. A pretty lady like you deserves to know.â
You burst into chuckles, joined by auntieâs own rolling and carrying a contrasting warmth to the cold air. Jeongguk, for his part, stands slightly to the side, observing. You still cling to his arm, even as the vendor reaches over to gently smooth her fingers through your curls, complimenting the way they frame your face. You roll your eyes, feigning exasperation, but thereâs a dimpled smile stretching on your cheeks that gives you away.
Before you leave, the lady points to Jeongguk, voice growing earnest, âYou, handsome. I can see youâre a good guy, so you probably donât need my advice. But treat her right, yes?â
Jeongguk stills for a second and stumbles over an awkward nod, managing to force a smile that has you stifling a laugh under your scarf. You tug him away with a cheerful wave to your new friend, promising her youâll come visit again before Christmas.
Once youâre at a safe distance, he mutters, âWhy did you not tell her that weâre not together?â
You tilt your head considering his question, âItâs not like she knows us. She looked like she adored you. I didnât want to ruin that for her. Maybe seeing a young couple like us really means a lot to her.â
Jeongguk observes how the more you explain, the more youâre convincing yourself as much as him, eventually solidifying your reasoning as you nod, muttering some more under your breath. He scoffs, looking away to hide his lips twitching.
When he turns back heâs frowning, though it doesnât quite match the way he lets you hook arms again, your pastel pink bag hanging from his shoulders. Still, he sulks as though the mere thought of your observation has him shivering, and not with the cold, âWeâre not a couple.â
Jeongguk barely gets to let his unnecessarily petty comment out before you drag him with an unusual strength over to another stand, his voice not even touching your ears, âOh, letâs go over there, Gguk!â
On the twenty-first day or December, you send him a picture of your tattoo.
You had been talking non-stop ever since your⊠date? Or was it just a hangout? Whatever it was, itâs been a week, and Jeongguk finds himself smiling at a fucking screen too many times a day for his linking. Itâs irritating. Even brings his phone with him to the bathroom in case you text him. Not because he cares. No, itâs practical. What if you ever had an emergency and he was the only one who could help?
Most of the time itâs just you sending TikToks, but he clicks on the links with the same urgency heâd reply to a genuine plea for help. He doesnât really want to think of the reason why.
Now, this pictureâit catches Jeongguk off guard.
It doesnât even look like itâs about the tattoo. Not really. It feels like an excuse, a flimsy pretext for you to show yourself to him. The tattooâthe one he himself inkedâis there, yes. But itâs not at all the main focus of the photo that tightens his grip on his phone.
Youâre wearing a thin, pink tank top with delicate lace trim, the straps barely clinging to your shoulders. Your fingers hook under the neckline, tugging it down just enough to expose the tattoo nestled between the soft curve of your breasts. The angle of the shot is deliberate, he can tell. Your back arches slightly off what he assumes is your bed, and your face is cropped out, save for your glossed lips, full and slightly parted, catching the dim light.
Jeongguk blinks, hard. Then again. His throat bobs as he swallows thickly, the low light of his phone screen doing little to soften the image burning itself into his mind. His eyes dart upward, scanning his surroundings, just to make sure everything is in place. The shop is empty, the door is closed, the hum of quiet settles over the space.
Looking down, the picture still stares back at him paired with a single message.
Annoying [11:39 p.m.]: do you think itâs healed? idk about this stuff, need your help đ„ș
Heâs not stupid. He knows exactly what this is. He alternates between the photo and your words, jaw ticking and tightening more with the seconds flowing.
Itâs almost cruel, the way youâre testing him like this. He tries to push the feeling down, to reject the buzz of heat pooling low in his stomach. You know him well enough to be aware that he wonât reply to something like this. A stupid, unnecessary message. The tattoo is healedâhe told you that a week ago, clear as day. Thereâs no reason for you to ask again.
Whatâs the purpose of this?
He gets a distorted idea when he shifts uncomfortably in place, the dull ache tightening his pants almost unbearable now.
Jeongguk groans and locks his phone, tossing it onto the counter as if that will put an end to this. He tries to refocus on his tasks, the last ones before he clocks off. Cleaning needles, tossing used stencils.
But his heavy balls keep sending desperate, silent prayers to his brain, to please let them have this. Just this once.
Itâs been a bad day. Two of his appointments canceled last minute, leaving him to sit around bored. The last client showed up drunk and wouldnât stop trying to flirt with him. His coworkers were loud and distracting, and to top it all off, the heater broke, leaving the studio freezing cold.
Itâs been such a bad day.
So, would there be any harm? Itâs not like anyone will know. Not you, not his friends. Heâs the only one that will. And heâs far more willing to live with this dirty secret rather than with his hard dick straining achingly in its confines.
Jeongguk abruptly snatches up his phone again, unlocking it to the same picture that caused him to brush the device aside just minutes ago. He lets out a shaky breath, thumb hovering over the screen. You wonât get no reply to him. But if you knew what he was up to right now, you would probably geek. Tease him, with your warm smile that digs dimples in your cheek, hopping on your toes to poke at his chest playfully, with those perfectly manicured hands of yours.
âShit,â his free hand is already pushing the jeans down along with his boxers, and he drops his weight onto the nearest stool as he grips at the base of his thick cock, eyes devouring the image of you in the empty chat.
He doesnât zoom in. That would feel too shameless. But he finds it oddly better like this. Is it weird that your text, so innocently worded, is turning him on? That the simple idea of you needing his help is enough to have his hips jerking?
What could you possibly need his help for? Fuck. The different ideas that pool his mind have him squeezing harder at his stinging tip.
Jeongguk focuses on your dainty hand, slim pointer finger snaking under the collar of your flimsy shirt to show yourself to him, and your small boobs spill from the sides with a delicious, soft swell. He hisses when he pictures that same hand working on him instead, his warm mouth stuffed with your stiff nipples, visible through the sheer material.
He canât help the loud groan leaving his lips, wrist flickering up and down in a motion that feels sloppy way too soon, hips jutting up to fuck into his tight fist. Throwing his head back, he sees you even behind closed eyelids.
He pictures your delicate figure sprawled on his bed, long lashes batting up at him as you sheepishly hide with your cheek to your shoulder. Can clearly make out how youâd sit on his lap instead, unsteady breath fanning over his lips, using his long shaft to make yourself cum. The whole time, he sees the tattoo on your chest, the one that is forever on you, eternally a reminder of him.
When he lets his head topple forward again, his bright screen still stares at him, only because a new message pops up in the chat. He startles, and his cock throbs in his hand.
Annoying [11:52 p.m.]: oh, and i miss you.
âOh, fuck,â the curse is strained through a loud whine, and only followed by more of his full moans filling the room. His brows knit as his hand moves rapidly, palm collecting the precum spreading embarrassingly fast on his tip and rolling it down his length.
He focuses on your parted lips, the soft curve of your breast, your hard nipples begging to be sucked and spit on. Your last text has flashes of your bug-like eyes staring up at him seizing his mind.
Thatâs what undoes him. Heâs delirious as he lets out his every sound, freely, unchecked, not caring about how loud he is, whimpering as he gets closer to his climax. When he thinks of those eyes locking with his, kneeling before him, eager and willing to swallow his every drop, he cums. Hard.
Jeongguk pumps everything he can out of him, and itâs messyâspilling over his hand, staining his clothes, pooling on the floor. His chest heaves with the effort, and the sensation of abandon he feels is so pleasurable, energy drained but leaving him with a lightness that threatens to make his cock hard again.
Fuck. He canât afford that happening if youâre not the one attending his needs. This wonât be enough, not until itâs you. Heâs insatiable.
Jeongguk needs to hear your voice.
Itâs an instinct, and he bends to it. Heâs careful, making sure not to tap on the FaceTime option, because if you were to see him right now itâd be glaringly obvious.
When he looks to the side, he catches a glimpse of his reflection in the long mirror, and he visibly grimaces at the way his cheeks are flushed, the pearls of sweat coating his forehead causing his bangs to stick uncomfortably to the skin.
Guilty doesnât even begin to cover it.
With the phone to his ear beeping to eternity, he hesitates, contemplates ending the call before you can answer. But just then, you do.
âJeongguk! Is everything okay?â
Your voice is familiarly soft, but thereâs a trace of concern. Blinking, he brings the device closer again and gulps thickly when he can make out your panting breaths. He clears his throat and puts on his best nonchalant act, âHuhâ Yes. Why wouldnât it be?â
âI donât know⊠You just never call. Or text first. This is weird. You sure youâre okay?â
Oh. Is that really what it is like?
Jeongguk never realized this was how he came acrossâso detached that a simple phone call feels out of character. Your naive honesty hits him square in the chest. God, he needs to get better at this. The irony stings: he just fucking jerked off to your picture and the simple thought of you, while youâre on the other side thinking heâs just a careless piece of shit who doesnât even know how to call.
The long stretch of silence registers in his brain, and he coughs to buy time, âYes, Iâm sure. Iâ huh,â he thinks of stuff you usually ask to keep the conversation flowing. Not out of courtesy, but out of genuine interest, the curiosity that makes people want to open up. Heâs still not used to that. Still finds it weird.
âHow⊠How was your day?â
It must be equally weird for you because it takes you a longer beat to reply. In that quiet moment, he clenches his eyes shut and feels his jaw tick with shame. And embarrassment. And this icky feeling that makes him feel too mushy for his liking. Hell, what is he doing? Heâs never been like this, heâs not supposed to be like this.
But you recover quickly, as you always do, and you smooth over the moment. Fix it all for him like you were born to be just that. Make him feel like he fits in ways that have him exhaling shakily.
Jeongguk senses a foreign drumming in his stomach, and itâs warm but odd, and he loves it but he doesnât want to.
On the twenty-fifth day of December, cheekily under a mistletoe, Jeongguk realizes he wants you. Thereâs parts of him that probably knew way sooner. But the parts of him that didnât, fighting tooth and nail to suppress the mere thought, are just now finally surrendering.
Jeongguk has always found you admirable, back in high school. You had this determination to you. Not only when it came to him. It shone particularly when you catered to others, always finding ways to help, to mend, to offer yourself with nothing less than a fully toothed smile.
But heâs also always thought you two wereâand still areâtoo different to work. He canât be what you want, let alone what you deserve: someone who can match your enthusiasm and unwavering smiles, your frustrating positivity; someone who sees the world the way you do. No black, no grey, no shades in between. Just bright, hopeful white. Blinding white.
Itâs the white making him dizzy, shifting his perspective, having him believing the opposite of what heâs always known. Pushing to be a little more egoistical, deceiving himself that heâs right for you. Because he wants to be. He oh, so selfishly wants people to know heâs the one who finally gets to have you, the one gifted with such a light, unfairly deserving of all the love you carry into every room you walk into.
Just a few days ago, during another one of your increasingly frequent phone calls, you asked him what he was doing for Christmas. He could have lied, come up with something on the spot.
But with how you so easily, and always coax the truth out of him, he let it slip. He told you heâd be alone, words subtly heavy. But they didnât have the chance to even drop their weight before you were already inviting him to your friendâs party, insisting that he would be the most welcome.
And heâs here, and he sits beside you, and every time you laugh you lean your weight over him, and the room vibrates with the energy you fill it with, and each one of your friends is so enamoured with you, and for reasons he canât fully understand it fills him with a sense of pride that shouldnât belong to him. But it does, and it comes with so many other feelings.
You donât push him to talk. You never force him into the spotlight when he takes a step back, quietly observing, choosing to stay in the background. Because you read him like itâs in your nature to do so, your soul seems to intuitively melt with his, and it intertwines in such a tight knot that he feels it constrict his throat. He knows heâs still alive because his heart is beating, just a little faster with each time you flash your dimples at him.
âDimples. What are you doing, hm?â
Now, heâs in front of you, a small smile on his lips as you stand on your tiptoes, trying to dangle the mistletoe over both your heads. Youâre struggling just a little, your hand unable to reach high enough, and the fake plant awkwardly brushes his hair, the tickling sensation causing his nose to scrunch. You laugh.
Looking up at your swinging movements, you lose your balance for the slightest second. Jeonggukâs hands move instinctively, catching you promptly by the waist to steady your body. But even after that, he doesnât shift, his warm palms stilling. And when you face him, heâs closer and his chest brushes against yours. From this proximity, he witnesses the Christmas lights painting a galaxy of their own in your orbs.
You beam, âWhat does it look like? We have to kiss now.â
Jeongguk stares in your expectant eyes, brows wiggling and all. The more his mouth keeps in a straight line, the more the wiggling slows. You eventually come down from your tiptoes, letting the mistletoe fall to the side, tilting your head.
He snorts, looking away briefly to hide an embarrassingly wide grin behind his hand. When he turns back to you, your pout is enough to have him scrambling to meet your gaze.
âOn one condition, though.â
You chirp, âYeah?â
He licks his teeth, reserving you with a smug look, âAdmit that you were scared to get your tattoo.â
Your smile vanishes in an instant, your expression falling into mock offense. With a dramatic roll of your eyes, you turn on your heel, pretending to walk away from him. Pretending, only because you know he wonât let you. And youâre proven right when his fingers wrap around your arm, tugging you back with enough force to spin you into him. Suddenly, youâre pressed so close you can feel the heat radiating from him. Your chin nearly touches his chest as you glare up at him, narrowed eyes meeting the mischievous glint in his.
He bites a smile, lips twitching, âCâmon, princess. You wanted to act all tough and shit, but I could feel you shaking.â
Your scoff is loud and incredulous, âYouâre such a bitch.â
He only shrugs, âYou want my kiss, no?â
âOh my god,â groaning, itâs your turn to face the side to hide a grin, âAre you always this cocky?â
His chin tilts upward slightly, and you can tell heâs enjoying this, âSay it.â
You whip back around to meet him with a seriousness he hardly ever sees on you, and you even clear your throat, channeling every ounce of the determination he knows you for, every drop of resolve that makes you you. âYes. I was scared shitless, Jeongguk.â
Foreign excitement brims out of him, not before his eyes widen just a fraction, and his nose scrunches the more he leans closer to you, inches from you, swinging side to side with exaggerated mockery and a grin splitting his face, âSee! I knewâhmph.â
Thereâs no other second to waste.
The condition has been met, and now all the requirements for you to claim what you were promised, your reward, are there. Even more when kissing him means catching him mid-taunt and silencing whatever teasing remark he had ready.
Your lips touch his in effortless ease, breaking the air as they press together. Itâs tentative at first, almost uncertain as you feel Jeongguk remain still.
But it doesnât take him longer to move, mouth molding against yours in a sickeningly sweet hug, tasting each other with quiet curiosity, taking your time to adjust and melt, instructing your bodies to imitate the dance.
Your arms lock around his neck, his stronger and tattooed ones circle your waist, and the way you click together feels so right, almost too perfect, so perfect it scares you. When you arch yourself further into him, even the non-existent space between you unbearable, he accompanies the motion with his wide palms gliding along your back, squeezing you into him, feeling the curve of your hips.
The soft whine that scratches your throat and vibrates against his lips betrays you, along with the useless effort to contain the intensity of what youâre feeling. The emotion disarms you, the sound gasping in your chest, but in Jeonggukâs arms it feels safe to let go.
On Christmas day, you crown a youthful fantasy, the kind youâll look back to even when youâre older. Jeongguk feels like heâd be the right person to stand by you to do so.
When he reluctantly detaches from you, his face keeps at a safe distance thatâd allow him to go back and taste you, not before resting his forehead on yours and whispering, âMerry Christmas.â
You giggle. âMerry Christmas, Gguk.â
#jungkook x you#jungkook fluff#jungkook angst#jungkook au#jungkook imagine#jungkook smut#jungkook fanfic#jeon jungkook#jungkook#jungkook x female reader#jungkook x original character#jungkook x y/n#jungkook x oc#jungkook x reader#bts smut#bts imagines#bts fic#bts series#bts x reader#bts#bts fluff#bts x fem!reader#bts x y/n#bts x you#đŠ: christmas & chill#đc&c: true love
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ă»âč đ Ë Ì!! NCT MASTERLIST
key: fluff đ€ , angst đïž , suggestive đ¶ , smut đ„ , adult themes đ , coming soon đš , in progress đ§ , completed đ , requests đ .
âïž ă» đđđđđđđ ă» á°
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Ë âïž âč be my valentine. â mark lee 3.2k ; đ€ , đïž , đ , 1980's setting, best friend au synopsis - youâve had a crush on your neighbour mark since you were a kid. one fateful valentines day dance you decide to confess your love. unfortunately, things go horribly wrong as a slew of misunderstandings occur. - read here.
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Ë âïž âč sugar cookie. â lee jeno 10k ; đ€ , đ„ , đš , slice of life, cafe au synopsis - life can be challenging. one of your daily challenges was trying to study in your brotherâs cafe, in the presence of the cute barista boy, jeno. you knew you really should have gone elsewhereâyou concentration fading by the second, but oh you couldnât will yourself to leave, not after he flashed that smile of his in your direction. - read here.
Ë âïž âč so called love. â na jaemin 10k ; đ€ , đïž , đ¶ , đš , soulmate au synopsis - . - read here.
âïž ă» đđđđđđ ă» á°
Ë đšïž âč mafia au. â nct 10k+ ; đ€ , đïž , đ„ , đ , đ§ , mafia au synopsis - dive into the dark, devious, devilish mafia universe. where one rejoices in deadly past times, and indulges in all sorts of sin. - read here.
Ë đšïž âč werewolf au. â nct 10k+ ; đ€ , đïž , đ¶ , đ , đ§ , werewolf au synopsis - howl alongside the werewolf universe. come across the likes of moon beast, wolf bites, and other wicked and wild things. - read here.
Ë đšïž âč hybrid au. â nct 127 10k+ ; đ€ , đïž , đ , đ§ , hybrid au synopsis - embrace the hybrid universe. overcome the greatest of differences and the hardest of challeges, for a reward most precious. - read here.
âïž ă» đđđđđđđđđđ ă» á°
Ë đ©ïž âč taeyong. [5:43 am] [1:58 pm] [4:09 pm] [5:26 pm] [10:58 pm] [11:56 pm]Â
Ë đ©ïž âč taeil. [3:54 pm] [6:35 pm] [9:15 pm]
Ë đ©ïž âč johnny. [7:43 am] [2:26 pm] [3:43 pm] [5:38 pm]Â [8:23 pm]
Ë đ©ïž âč yuta. [7:45 am] [8:55 am] [4:45 pm] [5:47 pm]Â [6:45 pm]Â
Ë đ©ïž âč kun. [4:56 pm] [6:12 pm] [8:45 pm]Â [11:04 pm]
Ë đ©ïž âč doyoung. [10:12 am] [3:14 am] [8:36 pm] [9:06 pm]Â
Ë đ©ïž âč ten. [12:31 am] [6:13 pm]Â
Ë đ©ïž âč jaehyun. [3:12 am]Â [4:51 am] [8:56 pm]
Ë đ©ïž âč winwin. [5:48 am] [11:03 am] [1:39 pm]
Ë đ©ïž âč jungwoo. [7:07 am] [7:43 am]Â [7:45 am] [5:28 pm] [7:21 pm]Â [11:58 pm]
Ë đ©ïž âč mark. [8:12 am]Â [6:59 pm]
Ë đ©ïž âč xiaojun. [6:02 am]Â [10:17 am] [4:43 pm] [5:34 pm]
Ë đ©ïž âč hendery. [6:42 am]Â [8:54 am]Â [2:30 am]Â [6:08 am]
Ë đ©ïž âč renjun. [12:03 am]Â [10:01 am] [3:25 pm] [6:02 pm] [11:54 pm]
Ë đ©ïž âč jeno. [12:25 am] [10:12 am] [4:09 pm]Â [4:43 pm]Â [5:43 pm] [9:47 pm]
Ë đ©ïž âč haechan. [11:15 am]Â [3:01 pm]Â [5:56 pm] [11:39 pm]
Ë đ©ïž âč jaemin. [12:20 am] [1:06 am] [8:45 am] [11:03 am] [4:58 pm]Â [6:14 pm]Â [7:34 pm]
Ë đ©ïž âč yangyang. [2:32 am] [7:45 am]Â [9:18 am]Â [2:58 pm] [10:56 pm]Â
Ë đ©ïž âč chenle.
Ë đ©ïž âč jisung.
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#nct#nct masterlist#nct x reader#nct fanfictions#nct reactions#nct imagines#nct 127 x reader#nct dream reactions#nct dream x reactions
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when iâm in a most cutieful and loving person competition and user luckyruinswonderland is my opponent âŠ
thank u SO SO MUCH âŁïž and i may have to agree with youâŠ. as i was writing i was like Hm iâm making this about oc too much⊠WELL! đ and i kept it going idc sheâs TOO CUTEEEE !!!!! i was thinking of a small part two for this but Hhh⊠itâll take me too long and i donât wanna promise anything but who knows hehe đ©·
lyssa is TRULYYYY gonna end this with a pretty bow tied on top and a kiss and a cherry and her cute sexy ass like itâs gonna be SAURRR good !!!
love u love u love u thank u thank u thank u đ©·
TRUE LOVE â ì ê”
when you and jeon jeongguk's paths cross again, you question if having a crush on the school's emo and alternative boy was really just a phase, or if it was true love after all.
ââșââ
. 5/6 from christmas & chill
pairing tattoo artist!jk x fem reader
genre fluff, smut, grumpy & sunshine, somewhat f2l
warnings jk 24 | oc 24, jk thinks heâs too cool for love, oc suffers from a chronic case of âi can fix himâ, she eventually does, oc simps HARDDD and jk only pretends to be unaffected, yea heâs a bit of a dick sometimes but heâs also Very funny, brief description of panic attacks, male masturbation, kissing, idk what else to add i just rly rly love them and will think of them for the entirety of xmas season
word count 10.2k
authorâs note hi lovies đ©· itâs my last time with c&c đ iâm kinda emotional omg⊠itâs been such a fun, warm and lovely week, and i love each one of you for showing endless support to this project <33 iâll keep trying to not disappoint⊠please tell me if you like this!!! thank u always and always đ©· luv u <3
banner by the gorgeous @awrkive âčââĄâ
On the first day of December, your path crosses with thee Jeon Jeonggukâs after enough years for your brain to trip slightly before recognising him. But it would have been impossible not toâthereâs likely a whole, well-preserved section of your thinking organ dedicated to that mortifying phase of high school, when your hormones turned life into an endless internal tug-of-war.
The moment your eyes widen at having him stand in front of you, youâre yanked unceremoniously into the past, brought back to buried, locked and left to gather dust feelings that have your teenage selfâs screams echoing within you in a chorus of delight and cringe.
Jeongguk, on the other hand, is simply following his duties as a tattoo artist. When he catches sight of you next to his appointed client on such a breezy day, the cold December air starting to find its space even in the confines of his studio, he only nods his chin upward at you in slow recognition.
Itâs awkward, at first. Only because you make it.
Youâd volunteered to accompany Eunbi, your best friend, to get her first tattoo as an early Christmas self-gift. Your mission was clear: support her, hold her hand if the pain became unbearable (though youâre probably the least dependable person when it comes to making clarity in situations of panic, as seen right now), and be the first to bask in her excitement as she finally sees what sheâs always pictured to be inked on the skin of her forearm. A blue whale tattoo, large enough to make you wince just thinking about the needlework.
Youâd never go through something like that. Never.
And thatâs exactly whatâs showing on your face when youâre met with Jeonggukâs full sleeve of tattoos, leaving you rooted to the spot.
Youâd always known him to be the different kid, the quiet one with forced sharp eyes that canonically listened to alternative rock and glared at anyone who dared approach, whether to tease him or befriend him. Heâd convinced himself that no one could ever understand him.
See, youâd instead fooled yourself into thinking you were the exception. That you did understand him.
Fourteen-year-old you had gone through some weird phases, and the one that resurfaces now at the vision of his adult self is the one centered entirely around him. You unashamedly had the biggest crush on Jeongguk. To you, he was mysterious and edgyâin an effortlessly cool way.
Youâd tried everything. Offered him your lunch more times than you were left with any for yourself. Even cut your bangs to have them fall over your eyes to mimic his fringe, dyed a strand in blue, overhauled your wardrobe to align with his back-and-grey one. None of it worked. He never noticed.
But, thinking of it now, thereâs no way he didn't. He definitely did. How could any boy turn a blind eye to a lovesick girlâs heartfelt Valentineâs letter, a hopeless romantic girl who almost cried on the spot when she got rejected? Jeongguk just chose to willingly ignore it.
These are all valid reasons as to why your functions seem to slow down in his unexpected presence. And youâre not going to deny nor fake that his calm, almost detached demeanor doesnât flow through your body and right to your left eye, making it twitch with a slight tremor.
Yet, you must also admit that your teenage self was onto something. Jeongguk has changed drastically but heâs also stayed the same. You think fourteen-year-old him would be proud of where he is right now. Two piercings on his lower lip and one on his eyebrow, intricate ink tracing up his muscled arm, his⊠muscled arms. Wow. And then, his studio. His own studio, a place for him and his passion, one that he made into his job. Thatâs undeniably cool.
Maybe just not cool enough for you to be gaping like an idiot as he moves with purpose, adjusting your friendâs arm to position the stencil he had prepared, perfectly fitting in the space she had chosen. His muscles flex with every shift, and itâs impossible for you to go past that with the way the black beater heâs wearing is loose on his torso, but still clinging on his chest.
Eunbi notices, of course. You donât have time to feel embarrassed and in return she doesnât even try to hide her amusement when your usual chatter dries up entirely, only gulping obnoxiously noisily and alternating that with nervous silences. Jeongguk, too, catches on.
Heâd always known you as obnoxious and noisy. In, huh, a good way. Or whatever.
Jeongguk just agrees that you were (and probably still are, if the pastel yellow skirt softly flowing down your legs paired with a cozy cream sweater and the full toothed grin you shoot at your friend are any indicators) the pinpoint embodiment of his opposite. Youâve always been talkative, smiley, and friendly, eager to help and to receive help, not in the slightest ever turning down the opportunity to blabber on, and on, and on.
Honestly, Jeongguk doesnât think he ever truly listened to a single word of your rambling back in the day, especially during those times when youâd bounce up to him and launch into enthusiastic rants about obscure alternative bands he himself hadnât even heard of. He respected the hustle, though. Heâd always wondered where you found the time and energy to immerse yourself in music like that.
He much preferred when you were less trying so hard to be him and mirror his tastes, more when you gave up on impressing him and simply stayed true to yourself, the girl whose heart belonged to Justin Bieber and One Direction. Truthfully, he fucked with them. Not that heâd ever admit it, of course. His quiet, brooding image wouldnât survive that revelation.
What he respected the most was your resilience. After all the times he rejected you and your awkward blurts of confessions, you still didnât think it was enough of a reason for your villain origin story to take off, and instead remained the same frustratingly positive ray of sunshine youâd always been.
Now, as Jeongguk works on the tattoo in front of him, the very design that caused all these long-buried memories to rise back, his dark eyes flick toward you sitting on a stool in a near corner every now and then, a hint of confusion in his expression each time you take more than five seconds to reply to his small talk.
Itâs just, youâre a bit taken aback. Since when does he do small talk? The foreign smoothness with which Jeongguk handles interactions is so far removed from the sullen boy you used to know. Youâre not prepared for this version of him. Itâs disarming, to say the least.
Enough time has passed for you to settle into the odd scenario, your current best friend and your long-standing high school crush in the same room. Slowly but surely, your curiosity sparkles again, and the signature tendency to let thoughts tumble out of your mouth unchecked returns to you naturally.
âOuch, that looks painful.â
Jeongguk snorts, eyes trained on Eunbiâs arm as he glides the tattoo needle with precise strokes that have his brows pinching and the tip of his tongue peeking out from the corner of his lips, a habit you remember from the past but one youâve never found quite so distracting before.
Still, he multitasks and responds without missing a beat, âWanna try?â
Wow. This is, like, the longest conversation youâve ever had with him. It spurs you on to do anything it takes to hear more of his voice, the sound of it definitely deeper than the shy tones you struggled to coax out of him ten years ago.
That is probably why you literally lie, âHm. Maybe. I was thinking of getting one actually. In the future.â
Eunbi chokes on her spit, her chest coughing with the sudden, blatantly fake revelation, and Jeongguk promptly pauses, lifting the needle from her skin as his tattooist reflexes kick in. While your friend apologizes between a clearing of her throat and sinks back into the chair, she doesnât keep from glaring at you, her expression screaming What the hell are you doing?
You deadpan. Youâll explain everything later and itâll all make sense. And you know this will inevitably end up being added to the list of the many embarrassing facts she knows about you and threatens you with when she wants to go clubbing and you donât.
Jeongguk uses the brief interruption to glance up at where youâre perched in the corner of his peripheral vision, just to square you up and down with a skeptical arch of his brow, âReally?â
You scoff, smoothing out the creases on your skirt as if the fabric is somehow responsible for the lie you just told, âIs that shocking?â
He hums, returning to his work with the buzz of the needle filling the studio again, his voice padded the more he gets closer to Eunbiâs forearm, âI just find it hard to believe such a princess like you could handle any pain.â
You gulp.
What youâre getting from this conversation is that Jeongguk has always had an idea of who you are in his mind all along. That heâs always perceived you in some way. As much as your inner fourteen-year-old is swooning at the attention, gobbling up each of the tiny crumbles heâs giving you, it doesnât sit right with you. What exactly does he think of you?
âTest me.â
He shrugs, eyes fixated on the shade heâs perfectioning with black ink, âBusy now.â
âIâll go pay for mine. I saw you have one last free spot today,â you announce, the words tumbling out with more confidence than you feel. Youâre already on your feet before the sentence is fully formed, betraying the fact that your nosy tendencies had gotten the better of you earlier. Youâd discreetly glanced at his appointment book when Jeongguk and Eunbi were finalizing her tattoo details and negotiating the final price at the desk.
He hums, head tilting slightly, âAnd I wanted to spend it bumming around.â
âToo bad. Youâll have to postpone that.â
You walked into this studio swearing youâd never let a needle even brush you.
Now youâre stretched out on a leather bench, Jeongguk leaning over you with a stencil in hand, gloved fingers moving with careful precision.
The design youâd chosen came from his portfolioâa delicate illustration of two butterflies in motion, their soft threads intertwining. Youâd flipped through countless pages of bold skulls and intricate linework before settling on this.
The spot youâd chosen for the tattoo was the flat, firm plane between your breasts. It wasnât a conscious decision, just a place youâd always liked. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that nature hadnât exactly blessed you in the cleavage department. Subconsciously, perhaps, you thought that adding something there might give the illusion of more.
âTehe,â you canât stop the breathy giggle that escapes as the cool paper brushes against your skin. Your hand is pressed to your bra, holding it in place as best you can, though the situation feels so surreal itâs hard to focus on anything but the ridiculousness of it all.
Jeongguk glances up at you with a glare thatâs more exasperated than angry before returning to the delicate task at hand, âWhatâs funny?â
Your voice wobbles, âI justâ I tend to laugh during serious moments.â
âOh. Weird.â
âSorry.â
With a small sigh, he smooths the stencil, and once itâs transferred he hands you a square mirror, waiting for your approval. You nod, the butterflies now perfectly poised in their eternal dance, and Jeongguk doesnât waste a moment.
The buzz of the needle fills the room as he leans closer, one gloved hand resting on the upper part of your chest to steady himself. Heâs mere seconds from beginning the inking process when another laugh bubbles out of you.
Jeongguk sits back abruptly, dropping his pen onto the metal tray with an audible clink. Tilting his head, he levels you with a look of thinly veiled irritation. âI really canât work if your chest keeps moving.â
âSorry,â you blurt again, turning your head to face the wall. You clamp your lips together tightly, mentally scrolling through every sad memory you can conjure. Think of something awful. Your childhood dog dying. Okay, maybe not that sadâ
âYou havenât changed a bit since high school. Always smiling like you live surrounded by flowers and rainbows,â Jeonggukâs mutter vibrates against your chest, warm breath fanning over the cold skin, distracting you from your no-giggling mission.
The unexpected observation has your brows furrowing in a mildly offended frown, and banter is ready on your tongue. âYouâre just the same too, Gguk. The emo boy who thinks heâs too cool for a smile.â
âIâm not an emo boy. The fuck,â he scoffs, kissing his teeth and murmuring more of his indignation under his breath.
âWhatever helps you sleep at night. I can teach you.â
The whirring needle glides across your skin with a slightly firmer touch, making you hiss softly under your breath. He seems unbothered by the reaction, and instead bothered by your words, âTeach me what.â
âHow to smile a bit more,â you reply, your voice laced with mockery as you keep your gaze firmly fixed on the wall. The smirk playing on your lips is triumphant; he walked right into your little jab, hehe.
Your mind is already racing, piecing together the beginning of a sarcastic rant about how his perpetual scowl probably contributed to his mysterious high school persona. For the sake of his ego, you wonât add how it worked in his favor, how more than one girl (your own self) found his untouchable vibe completely irresistible.
Even though, thinking back, he looked ridiculous. His big, round, slightly scared-of-the-world eyes truly didnât belong with the heavy black eyeliner.
But before you can get a single word out, Jeongguk straightens his posture, pulling away from your chest. With a practiced motion, he tosses one of his gloves onto the counter behind him, his expression cool and indifferent. âItâs done.â
âDone?!â you exclaim, tilting your chin down to look at your chest. You go slightly cross-eyed trying to catch a glimpse of the design now inked onto your skin. Forever.
âYes.â
âI didnât even feel it.â
Jeongguk seems equally done with small talk, transitioning into a professional explanation of the tattooâs aftercare step. His tone is calm but clipped, and you canât tell if itâs his usual demeanor or just reserved for you. He also hands you a small tube of cream of which youâre not sure the use of, too enthralled by the vision of his colored sleeve this up close.
And still laying on the leather bed, you almost reach to trace one of the many lines with your finger before he interrupts, âYou can pay with Yoongi at the entrance.â
Clearing your throat, you sit up, brushing imaginary dust off your skirt as Jeongguk turns his back to you, his focus already back on cleaning his tools. You still are not over, âThank you, Jeongguk. Can Iâ huh. Can I get your number?â
He pauses mid-motion, just long enough for the silence to stretch thin and taut. Turning around to study your features, he stares you up and down with knitted brows and a hostile kind of confusion painting his expression. â⊠For what exactly?â
âIn case anything happens with the tattoo.â
Jeongguk stills for a second, eyes narrowing slightly, then turns back to whatâs keeping him so occupied with a noncommittal grunt, âHuh. Sure. Yoongi has my business cards at the desk. You can ask him. Have a good day.â
With Eunbi practically dragging you out of the room, you donât have the chance to say anything more, though your chest burns with indignation. Itâs not that you expect him to fall over himself at the chance to catch up, but the sheer indifference is maddening.
Should you pretend you donât care either? You could. But really, who are you fooling? You still have those old diaries buried somewhere in your closet, their pages crammed with his name written in looping, lovesick cursive. That little girl in you never truly died.
On the fourth day of December, you finally text him. Itâs about your tattoo, of course. Thereâs not much else to say to him, but when his only reply to your picture of the healing process is a yellow thumbs up, you find your fingers hovering over the keyboard. Words start forming before youâve fully processed them, and before you know it, you hit send.
You [3:39 p.m]: btw u still friends with kim tae?
jeongguk [3:42 p.m.]: Yes
jeongguk [3:42 p.m.]: Heâs my best friend
You [3:43 p.m.]: ohhh, cool
jeongguk [3:45 p.m.]: You want his number?
You [3:46 p.m.]: no⊠iâm good with yours âșïž
You canât help but giggle at how his typing bubbles appear and then fade for a whole minute, biting your lower lip with a sheepish grin, savoring the silent victory. Youâre doing this for your fourteen-year-old self, who wouldâve squealed at the thought of making Jeon Jeongguk flustered. But youâre a different girl now. Youâve changed. No man could ever rejectâ
jeongguk [3:48 p.m.]: If thereâs nothing else about the tattoo then đ
âHmph,â your frown is so pronounced that you feel your chin aching and your wrinkles prematurely deepening. Well, this is not the first time you come face first with his sour antics. Only now, youâre prepared.
You [3:48 p.m.]: yall hanging out soon? let me join
jeongguk [3:49 p.m.]: Why lol
jeongguk [3:49 p.m.]: He barely even remembers you probs
You [3:50 p.m.]: who would not remember me
jeongguk [3:50 p.m.]: The only thing iâm now remembering about you is how I couldnât stand your ass
You gasp, hand coming up to brush against your parted lips. With a huff, you hastily click at your keyboard, âMean. Sent. Ugh.â
On the sixth day of December, your persistence pays off, and you find yourself at a random bar youâd never been to before, seated with both Jeongguk and Taehyung.
Between Jeonggukâs cigarette breaksâforcing the three of you to brave the cold outsideâand brief moments in corners of the cramped place where the music feels muffled against the walls, you manage to catch up with Taehyung. The rest of the time though, the noise inside is so deafening that it makes any kind of meaningful conversation impossible.
Even more when a random girl slides into the booth next to him, capturing his attention entirely, leaving you and Jeongguk in paradoxical silence.
The tattoo artist has been glued to his phone with his head down for the last 20 minutes, and now you alternate between observing his side profile, roughened by the piercings and a more defined jawline, and analysing the weird dynamic that is beginning to form between Taehyung and the girl, sitting in front of you.
Alone with your thoughts and, well, the pulsating music, you feel yourself getting unreasonably closer to symptoms you know all too well, that threaten to have you spiraling. You shake your head, forcing it to stop. Thereâs no reason for anxiety to visit you at such an inconvenient time.
But of course, the little voice in your head starts listing all the totally valid motives why this is indeed the perfect time for it to visit you.
The bar feels suffocating on your skin.
Your dress clings too tightly.
The couple facing you is shamelessly close to making out.
Jeongguk sighs in visible boredom.
You shouldnât have come. Hell, you shouldn't have suggested it in the first place. A smarter version of yourself would have brought Eunbi for balance, for comfort. But in your foolishness, you thought this could be an opportunity for you and Jeongguk to catch up. Instead, you feel foreign to him, foreign to this pub booth, and the air begins to feel foreign to your lungs. Youâve never liked bars, clubs, or places with loud music.
You sniffle, looking down at your lap. Then up at the ceiling. Then around the room. It keeps spinning and booming with volume that only adds to the feeling of helplessness. Quick, quick, quick.
What are five things that you can see?
Five. Your gaze falls on Taehyung and the girl, their lips and tongues clumsily entangled as they laugh between sloppy kisses. No help there. The air catches harder in your throat.
Four. Your empty glass, its smudged rim a reminder of the single drink you had, now sitting uncomfortably in your stomach.
Three. Your scuffed heels, their tips worn to the nub despite your best efforts to hide it with a marker.
Two. The swirling lights above the bar, dizzying as they flash brighter and brighter.
One. Jeonggukâs tattooed hand on your thigh.
His fingers dig into the skin, shaking you alarmedly, with a force youâve never known from him, not even when it came to stopping your shaking stomach as you were laying on the studioâs leather bed.
Head snapping up to face him, youâre met with a perfect resemblance of how you must look right now. Wide eyes, knitted brows, nose flaring and exhaling, and you try to follow the movements of his mouth, but they jumble together annoyingly in your brain. You lean closer, narrowed orbs still fixated on his lips to try and read them. Are⊠you⊠okâ
â___, youâre scaring me. Hey, hello? Are you okay?â
Jeongguk moves from your thigh to your shoulders, jolting you gently but firmly from the fog that is threatening to cloud up your brain. The sudden clarity hits you, but you still stumble forward, your weight toppling over his chest. With it, your head dips rapidly, hurtling toward the sharp edge of the table, and before Jeongguk knows it his instinct snaps and he catches you promptly.
The next steps blur together. You vaguely register the boy next to you standing up and pulling you along with him, his broad shoulders supporting one of your arms while his inked one secures around the small of your waist, holding you firmly against him.
Then, itâs nothing but brief flashes. Jeongguk pressing a water bottle to your lips. Sitting you down on the stairs outside the pub. Holding your hair back as you double over, emptying the contents of your stomach onto the pavement. Cracking a smile to make you laugh, showing off his tattoos in exaggerated detail like itâs the grandest tour of your life. Opening the door to his car and gently easing you into the passenger seat, ensuring the seatbelt clicks into place.
Inside his car, you slowly feel your senses come back to you.
At a redlight that you recognise as the one near your apartment complex, you muster a small and hoarse thank you. Jeongguk only hums low, eyes fixated on the road and fingers drumming lightly on the steering wheel.
Before a sheepish smile can make its way on your lips and spread across your face, your head twitches back as your brows furrow. Your thoughts suddenly catch up with you, âHey, how do you know the way to my flat?â
His gaze briefly flicks toward you in annoyance, then back to the road. âYou literally just told me.â
âOh.â A beat passes before you giggle softly. âDonât remember.â
Jeongguk mutters something intelligible under his breath, and next thing you know heâs turning down your street and slowing in front of the building that matches the number you gave him. Given your current state, he begins to question if that is even the right one.
âThis one!â You point at the tall front gate with an almost childlike excitement, back shifting slightly from the seat as your grin stretches wide. Jeongguk grimaces. Why the fuck do you look like youâve been reuinted with your home after years apart, as if you werenât there just a couple hours ago?
âRight. Huh, you good with going back on your own?â
âYes. Iâd hate to bother you further. Iâm sorry for this, I⊠was getting better, I guess.â
The sad confession doesnât land with the weight it should, softened by the smile painted on your lips and the chuckle you let out as if it were nothing. Jeonggukâs eyelid twitches, unsettled by the unnecessary happiness that always seems to drip from you, even when it doesnât belong.
ââS okay. Have a good night,â he awkwardly bows his head, waiting for you to exit the car. When you stay still, he clears his throat, adding just to fill the silence, and perhaps because he means it, âHuh, and make sure to rest a lot.â
You take a moment, maybe longer than you should, to study his features up this close. You particularly fixate on the way his eyes dart everywhere but never land on yours. Then, with your signature toothy grin, you bow back and open the car door, leaving with a string of thank yous, and get home safe, and Iâll text you, and please, reply to me, and bye.
Jeongguk has to fight a smile of his own.
On the tenth day of December, you realise you want him. Even more badly than your fourteen-year-old self ever did. Which is frankly insane.
You donât know if it was the natural way he looked after you during your episode, or his dry sarcasm as he actually started replying to your random updates throughout the day.
But no, it was definitely the selfie he sent you after what he said was a long day. Messy hair, tired eyes, a hint of a smile. Youâd struggled to even gulp down your saliva when the picture popped up in your chat, and maniacally stared at it with eyes glued to the bright screen before sending one of your own. He had replied with Cute. followed by Your hair pin is cute.
That is why you find yourself facing⊠Yoongi? If you remember correctly. The guy at the front desk of Jeonggukâs studio.
You beam at him, and what youâre met with instead is a confused stare. You inhale, âHi. Is Jeongguk in?â
Yoongi scratches his head, muttering, âHeâs busy with a client.â
âOh. Itâs okay,â you wave off his concern. âCan I wait here?â
The boy hesitates, looks unsure the more your interaction develops, and he glances between you and the empty waiting area. He relents with furrowed brows, âSure⊠Huh, Itâs a back tattoo, so itâll take him a while.â
You shrug and plop yourself onto the leather sofa, seemingly unfazed, âI like waiting.â
Crossing your legs, you take in the studioâs atmosphere, eyes drifting to the dark walls lined with framed artwork and certificates. You spot Jeonggukâs name on many of those.
For the next fifteen minutes, you try distracting yourself by flipping through the stack of tattoo magazines on the coffee table. You wince at inked heads, faces, butts, and even⊠more private parts. Deciding this world is definitely not for you, you slam the book shut.
By the time an hour passes, youâre fighting a battle with your lack of sleep. The third yawn you manage to stifle, but the fourth escapes before you can stop it. Yoongi, seated at the desk, doesnât bother hiding his unimpressed stare. Still, heâs polite enough to offer you a glass of water, a coffee, or even a chance to join him for a cigarette break.
You decline all of it, though your throat does feel dry.
Maybe you should have planned this with a bit of rationality. Or at least gotten more sleep. Now, your every blink is slower, eyelids batting to shut and taking longer to flutter open again. Hm, this feels nice. Youâll just let them rest for a bit longer. And longer. And a bit more.
The next time you open your eyes, Jeonggukâs face is inches away, his warm hand resting firmly on your arm. You jolt upright with a startled yelp.
âJeongguk.â
He raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth quirking up in an unmistakably mocking smirk. âHey. You donât have a bed?â
You sit up, forcing Jeongguk to step back and straighten to his full height. Your neck cranes upward to glare at him, brows furrowed in what you hope is an intimidating glare, though you sport a pout that is all but menacing, âShut up.â
He clicks his tongue, turning back to round the desk and fiddle with the appointment book, clearly unbothered. You take the moment to rub your eyesâonly to remember, too late, that youâd worn makeup. A quick glance around reveals how much has changed since you last let your eyelids flutter open. The lights in the studio are dim, the hallway is dark, and every door is shut. Yoongi is nowhere in sight. Itâs just the two of you in the deathly quiet space.
You gasp, pressing a hand to your parted lips, âDid I fall asleep? I'm so sorry. I was probably really tired from yesterday.â
Jeongguk hums, focus still locked on the book in front of him, eyes narrowed. He doesnât look up, doesnât ask why you came here in the first place, and doesnât acknowledge your apology. Ugh. This is humiliating.
Before you can stand, you feel something heavy draped over your body. Itâs a jacket. Definitely not yours, since you never took it off. At least not consciously. No, this is a worn black leather one on which his scent lingers. You tug it closer, puzzled, and then look up at him, holding it out. âDid I steal this in my sleep?â
Jeongguk scrunches his nose, âEw, are you a sleepwalker?â Locking the till, he strolls over to you and plucks the jacket from you, casually slipping it on. âNo, I put it on you. Wanted to see how long someone could feel safe enough to pass out in my studio. Thinking of turning this place into a daycare. Iâll have you play in the morning, get some lunch, nap time...â
Thereâs a beat of silence in which his sarcasm lingers in the air, and you stare at him, unamused. He shrugs, smirk unwavering.
You huff, âI regret coming here.â
âYeah, why did you come here?â
Smoothing down your pink wool sweater, you stand up to stretch with zero shame. Then, fluttering your lashes at him, you assert with a smile, âYouâre coming with me to the Christmas markets. This Sunday.â
Jeongguk groans like the idea physically pains him, âOh, I would fucking hate that.â
Ignoring him, you zip up your puffer jacket and rock on your toes, âPick me up at seven, okay?â
He glares, unimpressed at your excitement, before heading toward the entrance and pulling a hefty set of keys from his pocket, âI donât even remember where you live.â
You hurry after him, following him outside and shuffling closer in your coat at the cold air hitting you. Watching as he locks the door and pulls down the rolling shutter with its red-and-black skull graffiti, you chirp, âYouâll have to text me for that.â
Jeongguk rises up again, giving you a slow once-over. He seems distracted by your hair before snorting, âYouâre talking like Iâm the one who spent their afternoon napping in my studio just to drop this bomb and leave. Couldnât you just text me this?â
You shrug innocently. He sighs, reaching out for you, âDo you need a ride homââ
âBye!â
You spin on your heel and skip off in the opposite direction before he can let his own greeting out, waving a gloved hand behind you. Jeongguk stays where he is, arm still held out.
Do you even have a car? He hopes soâitâs freezing out.
With another sigh, he shakes his head and tugs his jacket tighter around himself. Why are you so fucking weird?
On the fourteenth day of December, your arm is looped tightly through Jeonggukâs as you stroll through the Christmas markets, burying your face further in your scarf to shield against the icy air, and with each few step you gasp at things that the boy next to you finds utterly unimpressive.
You stop at nearly every stand, eyes glowing with the warm Christmas fairy lights strung all around, effortlessly picking up conversations with the vendors and melting even the most stoic faces with the scrunching of your nose at every grin and the exaggerated nods following descriptions of their crafts.
Through all of it, Jeongguk remains put at your side, his arm linked with yours and a subtle pout on his lips. When you tease him about it, he simply shrugs, and you figure itâs just his natural expression. You find that oddly endearing.
He still humors your enthusiasm, offering low hums or murmured praise whenever you exclaim youâve finally found what youâve been searching for everywhere, and he offers to pay every time, the gesture so casual that he doesnât seem bothered by it in the slightest.
When you bow to the nth seller, clutching yet another bag of sweet treats tightly to your chest, Jeongguk exhales and resumes slow walking beside you, âI don't like these places.â
You glance up at him, fluffy hat almost slipping off before he promptly secures it back on your head with a gesture so smooth you hardly notice it. You instead wonder, âThen why are we here now?â
He slips his hand into his pocket, âBecause you threatened me.â
âWith a really good time.â
âIf this is your version of a good time, you might as well kick me in the balls. That probably feels better.â
You gasp, halting in your tracks to glare at him. When he lets a small chuckle topple out of him, you think you might forgive him. No, youâre more than sure with the way his smile lingers. You sheepishly look away, muttering, âDonât tempt me, emo boy.â
âIâm notââ
âOh yes, you are,â you interrupt, snapping your face back to his. Clearing your throat, you prepare your best imitation of him, exaggerating a frown and lowering your voice, âIâm so different, I hate Christmas.â
Jeongguk scoffs, pulling you tighter to him when a scooter unexpectedly zips past you. You yelp, instinctively shuffling closer to his arm. He continues the conversation casually, unaffected, âThatâs the worst impression of me Iâve ever heard. And also, I never said that.â
Releasing the breath you held for a moment too long, you uncertainly keep your slow stroll going, only narrowing your orbs at him, âItâs written all over your face.â
âI love Christmas.â
The admission is small, his voice soft and almost reluctant, like it pains him to reveal something so simple and obvious as loving Christmas. When you lean your chin on the puffed arm of his jacket, he doesnât look down at you, his gaze fixed ahead, guiding the two of you through the chaos of the busy street.
You chirp, your steps stumbling, âReally?
Only then he shifts his attention to you, steadying you with his other arm wrapping around your figure in what seems like a hug, before he lifts you up by the neck of your coat and retreats just enough to face you. His lips press into a straight line as he nods, a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes the more he stares in yours, âYeah, really. I just donât like⊠crowded spaces.â
You canât help but think back to what happened just a week ago. The exact reason why the spirals in your brain wouldnât stop twisting and tangling is now slipping from his lips in a voice that quietens as he seems to grasp the delicacy of his own confession.
He doesnât like the way youâre looking at him. Drawn-up brows over wide and sparkling eyesâthe only part of your face visible beneath your scarfâstare at him with something too tender, too focused, that makes him uneasy. He turns his head to the side, the tips of his ears red not only from the cold, and pulls you along toward another stand, an almost nervous distraction.
Itâs your turn to frown. Maybe the one thatâs permanently plastered on his face tonight isnât just a reflection of his usual sullen demeanor. With a knot tightening in your chest, you canât help but feel like you dragged him into something he truly hated, and that he wasnât just pretending to.
What if this isnât just your evil inner voice talking? What if this isnât just overthinking, but the factual truth of your current reality? Heâs hating every second of this but still enduring it becauseâ you catch your breath with a long and strained inhale, becauseâ
âHey, dimples. You okay?â
Jeongguk moves to stand in front of you, his hands settling gently on your shoulders, a stance eerily reminiscent of that night you were just thinking back to. He nods at you, âBreathe with me, hm?â
You find yourself quickly adjusting to his comforting aura, drawn in by the reassurance in his eyes trained on you, never wavering, watching closely as you begin to mirror the measured rise and fall of his chest, your breathing gradually syncing with his until the tightness in your chest starts to ease.
When you feel your feet touching the ground again, you offer a small, apologetic smile. âIâm okay. Sorry. JustâŠâ You quickly scan your surroundings, eyes landing on a colorful stand, âWait here a second, okay?â
Jeongguk lets you slip away, fingers twitching slightly at his sides. He takes a few hesitant steps closer, careful not to crowd you but unable to tear his eyes away from your next actions, how your grin comes back on your lips with unpracticed ease, lighting up your face as easy talk flows between you and the seller. A few coins trade hands, and soon youâre holding two churros, their chocolate-dipped ends threatening to drip onto the ground.
You donât hesitate, biting into one of them before it has the chance to make a mess, and with a quick nod of your head you motion for Jeongguk to follow. He does so, only after taking the churros from your hands, and letting you seek his warmth again with an arm snaking under his. Heâs only letting you do this because itâs fucking cold, no other reason.
You walk, and walk, guiding him along until you find a quieter corner, away from the bustle, where you two stand isolated from the rest. The dim lighting casts a softer glow, and the distant hum of chatter and music fades into a gentle background noise.
Glancing up at him, you flash a playful smile before leaning in to bite another chunk of the churro heâs holding, your laughter spilling out as he grimaces in exaggerated disgust and pulls the sweet out of your reach. You settle onto a nearby bench, patting the empty spot beside you invitingly.
Jeongguk is unsure of what this means. He takes slow steps towards you, handing you your churroâwhich you take eagerly, already chewing on itâbefore tilting his head back in mild confusion, âBut⊠you wanted to visit the markets.â
You shake your head, your bug eyes meeting his as you speak around a mouthful of sugar and chocolate, âThereâs no point if youâre not going to enjoy it.â
The look youâre giving him is one heâs seen countless times beforeâfamiliar, and annoyingly reminiscent of ten years ago. Itâs the same look that, heâs convinced, is solely responsible for making his knees weak and his fingers jittery, no longer something he can blame on the cold. Youâre unbelievably frustrating.
He clicks his tongue, looking away, âYouâre fucking weird.â
You giggle, humming, âIf weird is a synonym for whipped, then sure.â
He has to fight the twitch of his lips. Fakes a gag instead. You chuckle louder. Only then, he hints at a smile, âCâmon. Letâs go check out some other stuff.â
âButââ
He interrupts, pulling you up by your forearm, âIâm hungry.â
The next hour you spend wandering around is made of Jeonggukâs small, imperceptible ways of cracking: his pout less prominent, more replaced by lips pulled into a tight line or in a mildly pursued scowl as you ask him which beanie looks betterâthe pink or purple one; his so evident sarcasm as he comments on how the old vendor was totally flirting with you, or when he mockingly adds to your over-the-top excitement every time you spot a dog. All in all, heâs more relaxed. More himself.
You then find yourself standing in front of the churros stall from earlier, the warm scent tugging you closer. Without hesitation, you ask the lady behind the counter for another four churrosâthis time with extra sugar. You add two thank yous.
To fill the waiting, you pick up casual conversation with the woman, until she pauses mid-sentence, wrinkled hand coming to rest over her heart as her gaze flits between you and Jeongguk, her crinkled eyes lighting with a sudden fondness and a quiet, content smile finds its space on her chapped lips, âYou two look perfect together.â
Jeongguk snorts, âOh, weâre notââ
âThank you, auntie!â You chirp, and your grin is so wide it squeezes your eyes into crescents. You accept the first churro she hands over, biting into it and talking through it, âThese are delicious. Is the recipe a secret or can you share it with me?â
The woman laughs, clearly flustered by your energy, and leans in with a conspiratorial expression, though she gives in pretty soon, âIt is a secret, but⊠Oh, câmon. A pretty lady like you deserves to know.â
You burst into chuckles, joined by auntieâs own rolling and carrying a contrasting warmth to the cold air. Jeongguk, for his part, stands slightly to the side, observing. You still cling to his arm, even as the vendor reaches over to gently smooth her fingers through your curls, complimenting the way they frame your face. You roll your eyes, feigning exasperation, but thereâs a dimpled smile stretching on your cheeks that gives you away.
Before you leave, the lady points to Jeongguk, voice growing earnest, âYou, handsome. I can see youâre a good guy, so you probably donât need my advice. But treat her right, yes?â
Jeongguk stills for a second and stumbles over an awkward nod, managing to force a smile that has you stifling a laugh under your scarf. You tug him away with a cheerful wave to your new friend, promising her youâll come visit again before Christmas.
Once youâre at a safe distance, he mutters, âWhy did you not tell her that weâre not together?â
You tilt your head considering his question, âItâs not like she knows us. She looked like she adored you. I didnât want to ruin that for her. Maybe seeing a young couple like us really means a lot to her.â
Jeongguk observes how the more you explain, the more youâre convincing yourself as much as him, eventually solidifying your reasoning as you nod, muttering some more under your breath. He scoffs, looking away to hide his lips twitching.
When he turns back heâs frowning, though it doesnât quite match the way he lets you hook arms again, your pastel pink bag hanging from his shoulders. Still, he sulks as though the mere thought of your observation has him shivering, and not with the cold, âWeâre not a couple.â
Jeongguk barely gets to let his unnecessarily petty comment out before you drag him with an unusual strength over to another stand, his voice not even touching your ears, âOh, letâs go over there, Gguk!â
On the twenty-first day or December, you send him a picture of your tattoo.
You had been talking non-stop ever since your⊠date? Or was it just a hangout? Whatever it was, itâs been a week, and Jeongguk finds himself smiling at a fucking screen too many times a day for his linking. Itâs irritating. Even brings his phone with him to the bathroom in case you text him. Not because he cares. No, itâs practical. What if you ever had an emergency and he was the only one who could help?
Most of the time itâs just you sending TikToks, but he clicks on the links with the same urgency heâd reply to a genuine plea for help. He doesnât really want to think of the reason why.
Now, this pictureâit catches Jeongguk off guard.
It doesnât even look like itâs about the tattoo. Not really. It feels like an excuse, a flimsy pretext for you to show yourself to him. The tattooâthe one he himself inkedâis there, yes. But itâs not at all the main focus of the photo that tightens his grip on his phone.
Youâre wearing a thin, pink tank top with delicate lace trim, the straps barely clinging to your shoulders. Your fingers hook under the neckline, tugging it down just enough to expose the tattoo nestled between the soft curve of your breasts. The angle of the shot is deliberate, he can tell. Your back arches slightly off what he assumes is your bed, and your face is cropped out, save for your glossed lips, full and slightly parted, catching the dim light.
Jeongguk blinks, hard. Then again. His throat bobs as he swallows thickly, the low light of his phone screen doing little to soften the image burning itself into his mind. His eyes dart upward, scanning his surroundings, just to make sure everything is in place. The shop is empty, the door is closed, the hum of quiet settles over the space.
Looking down, the picture still stares back at him paired with a single message.
Annoying [11:39 p.m.]: do you think itâs healed? idk about this stuff, need your help đ„ș
Heâs not stupid. He knows exactly what this is. He alternates between the photo and your words, jaw ticking and tightening more with the seconds flowing.
Itâs almost cruel, the way youâre testing him like this. He tries to push the feeling down, to reject the buzz of heat pooling low in his stomach. You know him well enough to be aware that he wonât reply to something like this. A stupid, unnecessary message. The tattoo is healedâhe told you that a week ago, clear as day. Thereâs no reason for you to ask again.
Whatâs the purpose of this?
He gets a distorted idea when he shifts uncomfortably in place, the dull ache tightening his pants almost unbearable now.
Jeongguk groans and locks his phone, tossing it onto the counter as if that will put an end to this. He tries to refocus on his tasks, the last ones before he clocks off. Cleaning needles, tossing used stencils.
But his heavy balls keep sending desperate, silent prayers to his brain, to please let them have this. Just this once.
Itâs been a bad day. Two of his appointments canceled last minute, leaving him to sit around bored. The last client showed up drunk and wouldnât stop trying to flirt with him. His coworkers were loud and distracting, and to top it all off, the heater broke, leaving the studio freezing cold.
Itâs been such a bad day.
So, would there be any harm? Itâs not like anyone will know. Not you, not his friends. Heâs the only one that will. And heâs far more willing to live with this dirty secret rather than with his hard dick straining achingly in its confines.
Jeongguk abruptly snatches up his phone again, unlocking it to the same picture that caused him to brush the device aside just minutes ago. He lets out a shaky breath, thumb hovering over the screen. You wonât get no reply to him. But if you knew what he was up to right now, you would probably geek. Tease him, with your warm smile that digs dimples in your cheek, hopping on your toes to poke at his chest playfully, with those perfectly manicured hands of yours.
âShit,â his free hand is already pushing the jeans down along with his boxers, and he drops his weight onto the nearest stool as he grips at the base of his thick cock, eyes devouring the image of you in the empty chat.
He doesnât zoom in. That would feel too shameless. But he finds it oddly better like this. Is it weird that your text, so innocently worded, is turning him on? That the simple idea of you needing his help is enough to have his hips jerking?
What could you possibly need his help for? Fuck. The different ideas that pool his mind have him squeezing harder at his stinging tip.
Jeongguk focuses on your dainty hand, slim pointer finger snaking under the collar of your flimsy shirt to show yourself to him, and your small boobs spill from the sides with a delicious, soft swell. He hisses when he pictures that same hand working on him instead, his warm mouth stuffed with your stiff nipples, visible through the sheer material.
He canât help the loud groan leaving his lips, wrist flickering up and down in a motion that feels sloppy way too soon, hips jutting up to fuck into his tight fist. Throwing his head back, he sees you even behind closed eyelids.
He pictures your delicate figure sprawled on his bed, long lashes batting up at him as you sheepishly hide with your cheek to your shoulder. Can clearly make out how youâd sit on his lap instead, unsteady breath fanning over his lips, using his long shaft to make yourself cum. The whole time, he sees the tattoo on your chest, the one that is forever on you, eternally a reminder of him.
When he lets his head topple forward again, his bright screen still stares at him, only because a new message pops up in the chat. He startles, and his cock throbs in his hand.
Annoying [11:52 p.m.]: oh, and i miss you.
âOh, fuck,â the curse is strained through a loud whine, and only followed by more of his full moans filling the room. His brows knit as his hand moves rapidly, palm collecting the precum spreading embarrassingly fast on his tip and rolling it down his length.
He focuses on your parted lips, the soft curve of your breast, your hard nipples begging to be sucked and spit on. Your last text has flashes of your bug-like eyes staring up at him seizing his mind.
Thatâs what undoes him. Heâs delirious as he lets out his every sound, freely, unchecked, not caring about how loud he is, whimpering as he gets closer to his climax. When he thinks of those eyes locking with his, kneeling before him, eager and willing to swallow his every drop, he cums. Hard.
Jeongguk pumps everything he can out of him, and itâs messyâspilling over his hand, staining his clothes, pooling on the floor. His chest heaves with the effort, and the sensation of abandon he feels is so pleasurable, energy drained but leaving him with a lightness that threatens to make his cock hard again.
Fuck. He canât afford that happening if youâre not the one attending his needs. This wonât be enough, not until itâs you. Heâs insatiable.
Jeongguk needs to hear your voice.
Itâs an instinct, and he bends to it. Heâs careful, making sure not to tap on the FaceTime option, because if you were to see him right now itâd be glaringly obvious.
When he looks to the side, he catches a glimpse of his reflection in the long mirror, and he visibly grimaces at the way his cheeks are flushed, the pearls of sweat coating his forehead causing his bangs to stick uncomfortably to the skin.
Guilty doesnât even begin to cover it.
With the phone to his ear beeping to eternity, he hesitates, contemplates ending the call before you can answer. But just then, you do.
âJeongguk! Is everything okay?â
Your voice is familiarly soft, but thereâs a trace of concern. Blinking, he brings the device closer again and gulps thickly when he can make out your panting breaths. He clears his throat and puts on his best nonchalant act, âHuhâ Yes. Why wouldnât it be?â
âI donât know⊠You just never call. Or text first. This is weird. You sure youâre okay?â
Oh. Is that really what it is like?
Jeongguk never realized this was how he came acrossâso detached that a simple phone call feels out of character. Your naive honesty hits him square in the chest. God, he needs to get better at this. The irony stings: he just fucking jerked off to your picture and the simple thought of you, while youâre on the other side thinking heâs just a careless piece of shit who doesnât even know how to call.
The long stretch of silence registers in his brain, and he coughs to buy time, âYes, Iâm sure. Iâ huh,â he thinks of stuff you usually ask to keep the conversation flowing. Not out of courtesy, but out of genuine interest, the curiosity that makes people want to open up. Heâs still not used to that. Still finds it weird.
âHow⊠How was your day?â
It must be equally weird for you because it takes you a longer beat to reply. In that quiet moment, he clenches his eyes shut and feels his jaw tick with shame. And embarrassment. And this icky feeling that makes him feel too mushy for his liking. Hell, what is he doing? Heâs never been like this, heâs not supposed to be like this.
But you recover quickly, as you always do, and you smooth over the moment. Fix it all for him like you were born to be just that. Make him feel like he fits in ways that have him exhaling shakily.
Jeongguk senses a foreign drumming in his stomach, and itâs warm but odd, and he loves it but he doesnât want to.
On the twenty-fifth day of December, cheekily under a mistletoe, Jeongguk realizes he wants you. Thereâs parts of him that probably knew way sooner. But the parts of him that didnât, fighting tooth and nail to suppress the mere thought, are just now finally surrendering.
Jeongguk has always found you admirable, back in high school. You had this determination to you. Not only when it came to him. It shone particularly when you catered to others, always finding ways to help, to mend, to offer yourself with nothing less than a fully toothed smile.
But heâs also always thought you two wereâand still areâtoo different to work. He canât be what you want, let alone what you deserve: someone who can match your enthusiasm and unwavering smiles, your frustrating positivity; someone who sees the world the way you do. No black, no grey, no shades in between. Just bright, hopeful white. Blinding white.
Itâs the white making him dizzy, shifting his perspective, having him believing the opposite of what heâs always known. Pushing to be a little more egoistical, deceiving himself that heâs right for you. Because he wants to be. He oh, so selfishly wants people to know heâs the one who finally gets to have you, the one gifted with such a light, unfairly deserving of all the love you carry into every room you walk into.
Just a few days ago, during another one of your increasingly frequent phone calls, you asked him what he was doing for Christmas. He could have lied, come up with something on the spot.
But with how you so easily, and always coax the truth out of him, he let it slip. He told you heâd be alone, words subtly heavy. But they didnât have the chance to even drop their weight before you were already inviting him to your friendâs party, insisting that he would be the most welcome.
And heâs here, and he sits beside you, and every time you laugh you lean your weight over him, and the room vibrates with the energy you fill it with, and each one of your friends is so enamoured with you, and for reasons he canât fully understand it fills him with a sense of pride that shouldnât belong to him. But it does, and it comes with so many other feelings.
You donât push him to talk. You never force him into the spotlight when he takes a step back, quietly observing, choosing to stay in the background. Because you read him like itâs in your nature to do so, your soul seems to intuitively melt with his, and it intertwines in such a tight knot that he feels it constrict his throat. He knows heâs still alive because his heart is beating, just a little faster with each time you flash your dimples at him.
âDimples. What are you doing, hm?â
Now, heâs in front of you, a small smile on his lips as you stand on your tiptoes, trying to dangle the mistletoe over both your heads. Youâre struggling just a little, your hand unable to reach high enough, and the fake plant awkwardly brushes his hair, the tickling sensation causing his nose to scrunch. You laugh.
Looking up at your swinging movements, you lose your balance for the slightest second. Jeonggukâs hands move instinctively, catching you promptly by the waist to steady your body. But even after that, he doesnât shift, his warm palms stilling. And when you face him, heâs closer and his chest brushes against yours. From this proximity, he witnesses the Christmas lights painting a galaxy of their own in your orbs.
You beam, âWhat does it look like? We have to kiss now.â
Jeongguk stares in your expectant eyes, brows wiggling and all. The more his mouth keeps in a straight line, the more the wiggling slows. You eventually come down from your tiptoes, letting the mistletoe fall to the side, tilting your head.
He snorts, looking away briefly to hide an embarrassingly wide grin behind his hand. When he turns back to you, your pout is enough to have him scrambling to meet your gaze.
âOn one condition, though.â
You chirp, âYeah?â
He licks his teeth, reserving you with a smug look, âAdmit that you were scared to get your tattoo.â
Your smile vanishes in an instant, your expression falling into mock offense. With a dramatic roll of your eyes, you turn on your heel, pretending to walk away from him. Pretending, only because you know he wonât let you. And youâre proven right when his fingers wrap around your arm, tugging you back with enough force to spin you into him. Suddenly, youâre pressed so close you can feel the heat radiating from him. Your chin nearly touches his chest as you glare up at him, narrowed eyes meeting the mischievous glint in his.
He bites a smile, lips twitching, âCâmon, princess. You wanted to act all tough and shit, but I could feel you shaking.â
Your scoff is loud and incredulous, âYouâre such a bitch.â
He only shrugs, âYou want my kiss, no?â
âOh my god,â groaning, itâs your turn to face the side to hide a grin, âAre you always this cocky?â
His chin tilts upward slightly, and you can tell heâs enjoying this, âSay it.â
You whip back around to meet him with a seriousness he hardly ever sees on you, and you even clear your throat, channeling every ounce of the determination he knows you for, every drop of resolve that makes you you. âYes. I was scared shitless, Jeongguk.â
Foreign excitement brims out of him, not before his eyes widen just a fraction, and his nose scrunches the more he leans closer to you, inches from you, swinging side to side with exaggerated mockery and a grin splitting his face, âSee! I knewâhmph.â
Thereâs no other second to waste.
The condition has been met, and now all the requirements for you to claim what you were promised, your reward, are there. Even more when kissing him means catching him mid-taunt and silencing whatever teasing remark he had ready.
Your lips touch his in effortless ease, breaking the air as they press together. Itâs tentative at first, almost uncertain as you feel Jeongguk remain still.
But it doesnât take him longer to move, mouth molding against yours in a sickeningly sweet hug, tasting each other with quiet curiosity, taking your time to adjust and melt, instructing your bodies to imitate the dance.
Your arms lock around his neck, his stronger and tattooed ones circle your waist, and the way you click together feels so right, almost too perfect, so perfect it scares you. When you arch yourself further into him, even the non-existent space between you unbearable, he accompanies the motion with his wide palms gliding along your back, squeezing you into him, feeling the curve of your hips.
The soft whine that scratches your throat and vibrates against his lips betrays you, along with the useless effort to contain the intensity of what youâre feeling. The emotion disarms you, the sound gasping in your chest, but in Jeonggukâs arms it feels safe to let go.
On Christmas day, you crown a youthful fantasy, the kind youâll look back to even when youâre older. Jeongguk feels like heâd be the right person to stand by you to do so.
When he reluctantly detaches from you, his face keeps at a safe distance thatâd allow him to go back and taste you, not before resting his forehead on yours and whispering, âMerry Christmas.â
You giggle. âMerry Christmas, Gguk.â
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thank YOUUU for THISSSS my pretty đ©·đđ»ââïž they truly are meant to be... just like me and you ?!
ohhh you're so cute đ i'm so sad i have to say goodbye too đđ«¶đ» but very grateful for your enormous support, i look forward to your opinion and always smile at your endless love hehe đ«¶đ»
WAAA it's still xmas eve for me hehe but
merry xmas sashi đ
TRUE LOVE â ì ê”
when you and jeon jeongguk's paths cross again, you question if having a crush on the school's emo and alternative boy was really just a phase, or if it was true love after all.
ââșââ
. 5/6 from christmas & chill
pairing tattoo artist!jk x fem reader
genre fluff, smut, grumpy & sunshine, somewhat f2l
warnings jk 24 | oc 24, jk thinks heâs too cool for love, oc suffers from a chronic case of âi can fix himâ, she eventually does, oc simps HARDDD and jk only pretends to be unaffected, yea heâs a bit of a dick sometimes but heâs also Very funny, brief description of panic attacks, male masturbation, kissing, idk what else to add i just rly rly love them and will think of them for the entirety of xmas season
word count 10.2k
authorâs note hi lovies đ©· itâs my last time with c&c đ iâm kinda emotional omg⊠itâs been such a fun, warm and lovely week, and i love each one of you for showing endless support to this project <33 iâll keep trying to not disappoint⊠please tell me if you like this!!! thank u always and always đ©· luv u <3
banner by the gorgeous @awrkive âčââĄâ
On the first day of December, your path crosses with thee Jeon Jeonggukâs after enough years for your brain to trip slightly before recognising him. But it would have been impossible not toâthereâs likely a whole, well-preserved section of your thinking organ dedicated to that mortifying phase of high school, when your hormones turned life into an endless internal tug-of-war.
The moment your eyes widen at having him stand in front of you, youâre yanked unceremoniously into the past, brought back to buried, locked and left to gather dust feelings that have your teenage selfâs screams echoing within you in a chorus of delight and cringe.
Jeongguk, on the other hand, is simply following his duties as a tattoo artist. When he catches sight of you next to his appointed client on such a breezy day, the cold December air starting to find its space even in the confines of his studio, he only nods his chin upward at you in slow recognition.
Itâs awkward, at first. Only because you make it.
Youâd volunteered to accompany Eunbi, your best friend, to get her first tattoo as an early Christmas self-gift. Your mission was clear: support her, hold her hand if the pain became unbearable (though youâre probably the least dependable person when it comes to making clarity in situations of panic, as seen right now), and be the first to bask in her excitement as she finally sees what sheâs always pictured to be inked on the skin of her forearm. A blue whale tattoo, large enough to make you wince just thinking about the needlework.
Youâd never go through something like that. Never.
And thatâs exactly whatâs showing on your face when youâre met with Jeonggukâs full sleeve of tattoos, leaving you rooted to the spot.
Youâd always known him to be the different kid, the quiet one with forced sharp eyes that canonically listened to alternative rock and glared at anyone who dared approach, whether to tease him or befriend him. Heâd convinced himself that no one could ever understand him.
See, youâd instead fooled yourself into thinking you were the exception. That you did understand him.
Fourteen-year-old you had gone through some weird phases, and the one that resurfaces now at the vision of his adult self is the one centered entirely around him. You unashamedly had the biggest crush on Jeongguk. To you, he was mysterious and edgyâin an effortlessly cool way.
Youâd tried everything. Offered him your lunch more times than you were left with any for yourself. Even cut your bangs to have them fall over your eyes to mimic his fringe, dyed a strand in blue, overhauled your wardrobe to align with his back-and-grey one. None of it worked. He never noticed.
But, thinking of it now, thereâs no way he didn't. He definitely did. How could any boy turn a blind eye to a lovesick girlâs heartfelt Valentineâs letter, a hopeless romantic girl who almost cried on the spot when she got rejected? Jeongguk just chose to willingly ignore it.
These are all valid reasons as to why your functions seem to slow down in his unexpected presence. And youâre not going to deny nor fake that his calm, almost detached demeanor doesnât flow through your body and right to your left eye, making it twitch with a slight tremor.
Yet, you must also admit that your teenage self was onto something. Jeongguk has changed drastically but heâs also stayed the same. You think fourteen-year-old him would be proud of where he is right now. Two piercings on his lower lip and one on his eyebrow, intricate ink tracing up his muscled arm, his⊠muscled arms. Wow. And then, his studio. His own studio, a place for him and his passion, one that he made into his job. Thatâs undeniably cool.
Maybe just not cool enough for you to be gaping like an idiot as he moves with purpose, adjusting your friendâs arm to position the stencil he had prepared, perfectly fitting in the space she had chosen. His muscles flex with every shift, and itâs impossible for you to go past that with the way the black beater heâs wearing is loose on his torso, but still clinging on his chest.
Eunbi notices, of course. You donât have time to feel embarrassed and in return she doesnât even try to hide her amusement when your usual chatter dries up entirely, only gulping obnoxiously noisily and alternating that with nervous silences. Jeongguk, too, catches on.
Heâd always known you as obnoxious and noisy. In, huh, a good way. Or whatever.
Jeongguk just agrees that you were (and probably still are, if the pastel yellow skirt softly flowing down your legs paired with a cozy cream sweater and the full toothed grin you shoot at your friend are any indicators) the pinpoint embodiment of his opposite. Youâve always been talkative, smiley, and friendly, eager to help and to receive help, not in the slightest ever turning down the opportunity to blabber on, and on, and on.
Honestly, Jeongguk doesnât think he ever truly listened to a single word of your rambling back in the day, especially during those times when youâd bounce up to him and launch into enthusiastic rants about obscure alternative bands he himself hadnât even heard of. He respected the hustle, though. Heâd always wondered where you found the time and energy to immerse yourself in music like that.
He much preferred when you were less trying so hard to be him and mirror his tastes, more when you gave up on impressing him and simply stayed true to yourself, the girl whose heart belonged to Justin Bieber and One Direction. Truthfully, he fucked with them. Not that heâd ever admit it, of course. His quiet, brooding image wouldnât survive that revelation.
What he respected the most was your resilience. After all the times he rejected you and your awkward blurts of confessions, you still didnât think it was enough of a reason for your villain origin story to take off, and instead remained the same frustratingly positive ray of sunshine youâd always been.
Now, as Jeongguk works on the tattoo in front of him, the very design that caused all these long-buried memories to rise back, his dark eyes flick toward you sitting on a stool in a near corner every now and then, a hint of confusion in his expression each time you take more than five seconds to reply to his small talk.
Itâs just, youâre a bit taken aback. Since when does he do small talk? The foreign smoothness with which Jeongguk handles interactions is so far removed from the sullen boy you used to know. Youâre not prepared for this version of him. Itâs disarming, to say the least.
Enough time has passed for you to settle into the odd scenario, your current best friend and your long-standing high school crush in the same room. Slowly but surely, your curiosity sparkles again, and the signature tendency to let thoughts tumble out of your mouth unchecked returns to you naturally.
âOuch, that looks painful.â
Jeongguk snorts, eyes trained on Eunbiâs arm as he glides the tattoo needle with precise strokes that have his brows pinching and the tip of his tongue peeking out from the corner of his lips, a habit you remember from the past but one youâve never found quite so distracting before.
Still, he multitasks and responds without missing a beat, âWanna try?â
Wow. This is, like, the longest conversation youâve ever had with him. It spurs you on to do anything it takes to hear more of his voice, the sound of it definitely deeper than the shy tones you struggled to coax out of him ten years ago.
That is probably why you literally lie, âHm. Maybe. I was thinking of getting one actually. In the future.â
Eunbi chokes on her spit, her chest coughing with the sudden, blatantly fake revelation, and Jeongguk promptly pauses, lifting the needle from her skin as his tattooist reflexes kick in. While your friend apologizes between a clearing of her throat and sinks back into the chair, she doesnât keep from glaring at you, her expression screaming What the hell are you doing?
You deadpan. Youâll explain everything later and itâll all make sense. And you know this will inevitably end up being added to the list of the many embarrassing facts she knows about you and threatens you with when she wants to go clubbing and you donât.
Jeongguk uses the brief interruption to glance up at where youâre perched in the corner of his peripheral vision, just to square you up and down with a skeptical arch of his brow, âReally?â
You scoff, smoothing out the creases on your skirt as if the fabric is somehow responsible for the lie you just told, âIs that shocking?â
He hums, returning to his work with the buzz of the needle filling the studio again, his voice padded the more he gets closer to Eunbiâs forearm, âI just find it hard to believe such a princess like you could handle any pain.â
You gulp.
What youâre getting from this conversation is that Jeongguk has always had an idea of who you are in his mind all along. That heâs always perceived you in some way. As much as your inner fourteen-year-old is swooning at the attention, gobbling up each of the tiny crumbles heâs giving you, it doesnât sit right with you. What exactly does he think of you?
âTest me.â
He shrugs, eyes fixated on the shade heâs perfectioning with black ink, âBusy now.â
âIâll go pay for mine. I saw you have one last free spot today,â you announce, the words tumbling out with more confidence than you feel. Youâre already on your feet before the sentence is fully formed, betraying the fact that your nosy tendencies had gotten the better of you earlier. Youâd discreetly glanced at his appointment book when Jeongguk and Eunbi were finalizing her tattoo details and negotiating the final price at the desk.
He hums, head tilting slightly, âAnd I wanted to spend it bumming around.â
âToo bad. Youâll have to postpone that.â
You walked into this studio swearing youâd never let a needle even brush you.
Now youâre stretched out on a leather bench, Jeongguk leaning over you with a stencil in hand, gloved fingers moving with careful precision.
The design youâd chosen came from his portfolioâa delicate illustration of two butterflies in motion, their soft threads intertwining. Youâd flipped through countless pages of bold skulls and intricate linework before settling on this.
The spot youâd chosen for the tattoo was the flat, firm plane between your breasts. It wasnât a conscious decision, just a place youâd always liked. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that nature hadnât exactly blessed you in the cleavage department. Subconsciously, perhaps, you thought that adding something there might give the illusion of more.
âTehe,â you canât stop the breathy giggle that escapes as the cool paper brushes against your skin. Your hand is pressed to your bra, holding it in place as best you can, though the situation feels so surreal itâs hard to focus on anything but the ridiculousness of it all.
Jeongguk glances up at you with a glare thatâs more exasperated than angry before returning to the delicate task at hand, âWhatâs funny?â
Your voice wobbles, âI justâ I tend to laugh during serious moments.â
âOh. Weird.â
âSorry.â
With a small sigh, he smooths the stencil, and once itâs transferred he hands you a square mirror, waiting for your approval. You nod, the butterflies now perfectly poised in their eternal dance, and Jeongguk doesnât waste a moment.
The buzz of the needle fills the room as he leans closer, one gloved hand resting on the upper part of your chest to steady himself. Heâs mere seconds from beginning the inking process when another laugh bubbles out of you.
Jeongguk sits back abruptly, dropping his pen onto the metal tray with an audible clink. Tilting his head, he levels you with a look of thinly veiled irritation. âI really canât work if your chest keeps moving.â
âSorry,â you blurt again, turning your head to face the wall. You clamp your lips together tightly, mentally scrolling through every sad memory you can conjure. Think of something awful. Your childhood dog dying. Okay, maybe not that sadâ
âYou havenât changed a bit since high school. Always smiling like you live surrounded by flowers and rainbows,â Jeonggukâs mutter vibrates against your chest, warm breath fanning over the cold skin, distracting you from your no-giggling mission.
The unexpected observation has your brows furrowing in a mildly offended frown, and banter is ready on your tongue. âYouâre just the same too, Gguk. The emo boy who thinks heâs too cool for a smile.â
âIâm not an emo boy. The fuck,â he scoffs, kissing his teeth and murmuring more of his indignation under his breath.
âWhatever helps you sleep at night. I can teach you.â
The whirring needle glides across your skin with a slightly firmer touch, making you hiss softly under your breath. He seems unbothered by the reaction, and instead bothered by your words, âTeach me what.â
âHow to smile a bit more,â you reply, your voice laced with mockery as you keep your gaze firmly fixed on the wall. The smirk playing on your lips is triumphant; he walked right into your little jab, hehe.
Your mind is already racing, piecing together the beginning of a sarcastic rant about how his perpetual scowl probably contributed to his mysterious high school persona. For the sake of his ego, you wonât add how it worked in his favor, how more than one girl (your own self) found his untouchable vibe completely irresistible.
Even though, thinking back, he looked ridiculous. His big, round, slightly scared-of-the-world eyes truly didnât belong with the heavy black eyeliner.
But before you can get a single word out, Jeongguk straightens his posture, pulling away from your chest. With a practiced motion, he tosses one of his gloves onto the counter behind him, his expression cool and indifferent. âItâs done.â
âDone?!â you exclaim, tilting your chin down to look at your chest. You go slightly cross-eyed trying to catch a glimpse of the design now inked onto your skin. Forever.
âYes.â
âI didnât even feel it.â
Jeongguk seems equally done with small talk, transitioning into a professional explanation of the tattooâs aftercare step. His tone is calm but clipped, and you canât tell if itâs his usual demeanor or just reserved for you. He also hands you a small tube of cream of which youâre not sure the use of, too enthralled by the vision of his colored sleeve this up close.
And still laying on the leather bed, you almost reach to trace one of the many lines with your finger before he interrupts, âYou can pay with Yoongi at the entrance.â
Clearing your throat, you sit up, brushing imaginary dust off your skirt as Jeongguk turns his back to you, his focus already back on cleaning his tools. You still are not over, âThank you, Jeongguk. Can Iâ huh. Can I get your number?â
He pauses mid-motion, just long enough for the silence to stretch thin and taut. Turning around to study your features, he stares you up and down with knitted brows and a hostile kind of confusion painting his expression. â⊠For what exactly?â
âIn case anything happens with the tattoo.â
Jeongguk stills for a second, eyes narrowing slightly, then turns back to whatâs keeping him so occupied with a noncommittal grunt, âHuh. Sure. Yoongi has my business cards at the desk. You can ask him. Have a good day.â
With Eunbi practically dragging you out of the room, you donât have the chance to say anything more, though your chest burns with indignation. Itâs not that you expect him to fall over himself at the chance to catch up, but the sheer indifference is maddening.
Should you pretend you donât care either? You could. But really, who are you fooling? You still have those old diaries buried somewhere in your closet, their pages crammed with his name written in looping, lovesick cursive. That little girl in you never truly died.
On the fourth day of December, you finally text him. Itâs about your tattoo, of course. Thereâs not much else to say to him, but when his only reply to your picture of the healing process is a yellow thumbs up, you find your fingers hovering over the keyboard. Words start forming before youâve fully processed them, and before you know it, you hit send.
You [3:39 p.m]: btw u still friends with kim tae?
jeongguk [3:42 p.m.]: Yes
jeongguk [3:42 p.m.]: Heâs my best friend
You [3:43 p.m.]: ohhh, cool
jeongguk [3:45 p.m.]: You want his number?
You [3:46 p.m.]: no⊠iâm good with yours âșïž
You canât help but giggle at how his typing bubbles appear and then fade for a whole minute, biting your lower lip with a sheepish grin, savoring the silent victory. Youâre doing this for your fourteen-year-old self, who wouldâve squealed at the thought of making Jeon Jeongguk flustered. But youâre a different girl now. Youâve changed. No man could ever rejectâ
jeongguk [3:48 p.m.]: If thereâs nothing else about the tattoo then đ
âHmph,â your frown is so pronounced that you feel your chin aching and your wrinkles prematurely deepening. Well, this is not the first time you come face first with his sour antics. Only now, youâre prepared.
You [3:48 p.m.]: yall hanging out soon? let me join
jeongguk [3:49 p.m.]: Why lol
jeongguk [3:49 p.m.]: He barely even remembers you probs
You [3:50 p.m.]: who would not remember me
jeongguk [3:50 p.m.]: The only thing iâm now remembering about you is how I couldnât stand your ass
You gasp, hand coming up to brush against your parted lips. With a huff, you hastily click at your keyboard, âMean. Sent. Ugh.â
On the sixth day of December, your persistence pays off, and you find yourself at a random bar youâd never been to before, seated with both Jeongguk and Taehyung.
Between Jeonggukâs cigarette breaksâforcing the three of you to brave the cold outsideâand brief moments in corners of the cramped place where the music feels muffled against the walls, you manage to catch up with Taehyung. The rest of the time though, the noise inside is so deafening that it makes any kind of meaningful conversation impossible.
Even more when a random girl slides into the booth next to him, capturing his attention entirely, leaving you and Jeongguk in paradoxical silence.
The tattoo artist has been glued to his phone with his head down for the last 20 minutes, and now you alternate between observing his side profile, roughened by the piercings and a more defined jawline, and analysing the weird dynamic that is beginning to form between Taehyung and the girl, sitting in front of you.
Alone with your thoughts and, well, the pulsating music, you feel yourself getting unreasonably closer to symptoms you know all too well, that threaten to have you spiraling. You shake your head, forcing it to stop. Thereâs no reason for anxiety to visit you at such an inconvenient time.
But of course, the little voice in your head starts listing all the totally valid motives why this is indeed the perfect time for it to visit you.
The bar feels suffocating on your skin.
Your dress clings too tightly.
The couple facing you is shamelessly close to making out.
Jeongguk sighs in visible boredom.
You shouldnât have come. Hell, you shouldn't have suggested it in the first place. A smarter version of yourself would have brought Eunbi for balance, for comfort. But in your foolishness, you thought this could be an opportunity for you and Jeongguk to catch up. Instead, you feel foreign to him, foreign to this pub booth, and the air begins to feel foreign to your lungs. Youâve never liked bars, clubs, or places with loud music.
You sniffle, looking down at your lap. Then up at the ceiling. Then around the room. It keeps spinning and booming with volume that only adds to the feeling of helplessness. Quick, quick, quick.
What are five things that you can see?
Five. Your gaze falls on Taehyung and the girl, their lips and tongues clumsily entangled as they laugh between sloppy kisses. No help there. The air catches harder in your throat.
Four. Your empty glass, its smudged rim a reminder of the single drink you had, now sitting uncomfortably in your stomach.
Three. Your scuffed heels, their tips worn to the nub despite your best efforts to hide it with a marker.
Two. The swirling lights above the bar, dizzying as they flash brighter and brighter.
One. Jeonggukâs tattooed hand on your thigh.
His fingers dig into the skin, shaking you alarmedly, with a force youâve never known from him, not even when it came to stopping your shaking stomach as you were laying on the studioâs leather bed.
Head snapping up to face him, youâre met with a perfect resemblance of how you must look right now. Wide eyes, knitted brows, nose flaring and exhaling, and you try to follow the movements of his mouth, but they jumble together annoyingly in your brain. You lean closer, narrowed orbs still fixated on his lips to try and read them. Are⊠you⊠okâ
â___, youâre scaring me. Hey, hello? Are you okay?â
Jeongguk moves from your thigh to your shoulders, jolting you gently but firmly from the fog that is threatening to cloud up your brain. The sudden clarity hits you, but you still stumble forward, your weight toppling over his chest. With it, your head dips rapidly, hurtling toward the sharp edge of the table, and before Jeongguk knows it his instinct snaps and he catches you promptly.
The next steps blur together. You vaguely register the boy next to you standing up and pulling you along with him, his broad shoulders supporting one of your arms while his inked one secures around the small of your waist, holding you firmly against him.
Then, itâs nothing but brief flashes. Jeongguk pressing a water bottle to your lips. Sitting you down on the stairs outside the pub. Holding your hair back as you double over, emptying the contents of your stomach onto the pavement. Cracking a smile to make you laugh, showing off his tattoos in exaggerated detail like itâs the grandest tour of your life. Opening the door to his car and gently easing you into the passenger seat, ensuring the seatbelt clicks into place.
Inside his car, you slowly feel your senses come back to you.
At a redlight that you recognise as the one near your apartment complex, you muster a small and hoarse thank you. Jeongguk only hums low, eyes fixated on the road and fingers drumming lightly on the steering wheel.
Before a sheepish smile can make its way on your lips and spread across your face, your head twitches back as your brows furrow. Your thoughts suddenly catch up with you, âHey, how do you know the way to my flat?â
His gaze briefly flicks toward you in annoyance, then back to the road. âYou literally just told me.â
âOh.â A beat passes before you giggle softly. âDonât remember.â
Jeongguk mutters something intelligible under his breath, and next thing you know heâs turning down your street and slowing in front of the building that matches the number you gave him. Given your current state, he begins to question if that is even the right one.
âThis one!â You point at the tall front gate with an almost childlike excitement, back shifting slightly from the seat as your grin stretches wide. Jeongguk grimaces. Why the fuck do you look like youâve been reuinted with your home after years apart, as if you werenât there just a couple hours ago?
âRight. Huh, you good with going back on your own?â
âYes. Iâd hate to bother you further. Iâm sorry for this, I⊠was getting better, I guess.â
The sad confession doesnât land with the weight it should, softened by the smile painted on your lips and the chuckle you let out as if it were nothing. Jeonggukâs eyelid twitches, unsettled by the unnecessary happiness that always seems to drip from you, even when it doesnât belong.
ââS okay. Have a good night,â he awkwardly bows his head, waiting for you to exit the car. When you stay still, he clears his throat, adding just to fill the silence, and perhaps because he means it, âHuh, and make sure to rest a lot.â
You take a moment, maybe longer than you should, to study his features up this close. You particularly fixate on the way his eyes dart everywhere but never land on yours. Then, with your signature toothy grin, you bow back and open the car door, leaving with a string of thank yous, and get home safe, and Iâll text you, and please, reply to me, and bye.
Jeongguk has to fight a smile of his own.
On the tenth day of December, you realise you want him. Even more badly than your fourteen-year-old self ever did. Which is frankly insane.
You donât know if it was the natural way he looked after you during your episode, or his dry sarcasm as he actually started replying to your random updates throughout the day.
But no, it was definitely the selfie he sent you after what he said was a long day. Messy hair, tired eyes, a hint of a smile. Youâd struggled to even gulp down your saliva when the picture popped up in your chat, and maniacally stared at it with eyes glued to the bright screen before sending one of your own. He had replied with Cute. followed by Your hair pin is cute.
That is why you find yourself facing⊠Yoongi? If you remember correctly. The guy at the front desk of Jeonggukâs studio.
You beam at him, and what youâre met with instead is a confused stare. You inhale, âHi. Is Jeongguk in?â
Yoongi scratches his head, muttering, âHeâs busy with a client.â
âOh. Itâs okay,â you wave off his concern. âCan I wait here?â
The boy hesitates, looks unsure the more your interaction develops, and he glances between you and the empty waiting area. He relents with furrowed brows, âSure⊠Huh, Itâs a back tattoo, so itâll take him a while.â
You shrug and plop yourself onto the leather sofa, seemingly unfazed, âI like waiting.â
Crossing your legs, you take in the studioâs atmosphere, eyes drifting to the dark walls lined with framed artwork and certificates. You spot Jeonggukâs name on many of those.
For the next fifteen minutes, you try distracting yourself by flipping through the stack of tattoo magazines on the coffee table. You wince at inked heads, faces, butts, and even⊠more private parts. Deciding this world is definitely not for you, you slam the book shut.
By the time an hour passes, youâre fighting a battle with your lack of sleep. The third yawn you manage to stifle, but the fourth escapes before you can stop it. Yoongi, seated at the desk, doesnât bother hiding his unimpressed stare. Still, heâs polite enough to offer you a glass of water, a coffee, or even a chance to join him for a cigarette break.
You decline all of it, though your throat does feel dry.
Maybe you should have planned this with a bit of rationality. Or at least gotten more sleep. Now, your every blink is slower, eyelids batting to shut and taking longer to flutter open again. Hm, this feels nice. Youâll just let them rest for a bit longer. And longer. And a bit more.
The next time you open your eyes, Jeonggukâs face is inches away, his warm hand resting firmly on your arm. You jolt upright with a startled yelp.
âJeongguk.â
He raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth quirking up in an unmistakably mocking smirk. âHey. You donât have a bed?â
You sit up, forcing Jeongguk to step back and straighten to his full height. Your neck cranes upward to glare at him, brows furrowed in what you hope is an intimidating glare, though you sport a pout that is all but menacing, âShut up.â
He clicks his tongue, turning back to round the desk and fiddle with the appointment book, clearly unbothered. You take the moment to rub your eyesâonly to remember, too late, that youâd worn makeup. A quick glance around reveals how much has changed since you last let your eyelids flutter open. The lights in the studio are dim, the hallway is dark, and every door is shut. Yoongi is nowhere in sight. Itâs just the two of you in the deathly quiet space.
You gasp, pressing a hand to your parted lips, âDid I fall asleep? I'm so sorry. I was probably really tired from yesterday.â
Jeongguk hums, focus still locked on the book in front of him, eyes narrowed. He doesnât look up, doesnât ask why you came here in the first place, and doesnât acknowledge your apology. Ugh. This is humiliating.
Before you can stand, you feel something heavy draped over your body. Itâs a jacket. Definitely not yours, since you never took it off. At least not consciously. No, this is a worn black leather one on which his scent lingers. You tug it closer, puzzled, and then look up at him, holding it out. âDid I steal this in my sleep?â
Jeongguk scrunches his nose, âEw, are you a sleepwalker?â Locking the till, he strolls over to you and plucks the jacket from you, casually slipping it on. âNo, I put it on you. Wanted to see how long someone could feel safe enough to pass out in my studio. Thinking of turning this place into a daycare. Iâll have you play in the morning, get some lunch, nap time...â
Thereâs a beat of silence in which his sarcasm lingers in the air, and you stare at him, unamused. He shrugs, smirk unwavering.
You huff, âI regret coming here.â
âYeah, why did you come here?â
Smoothing down your pink wool sweater, you stand up to stretch with zero shame. Then, fluttering your lashes at him, you assert with a smile, âYouâre coming with me to the Christmas markets. This Sunday.â
Jeongguk groans like the idea physically pains him, âOh, I would fucking hate that.â
Ignoring him, you zip up your puffer jacket and rock on your toes, âPick me up at seven, okay?â
He glares, unimpressed at your excitement, before heading toward the entrance and pulling a hefty set of keys from his pocket, âI donât even remember where you live.â
You hurry after him, following him outside and shuffling closer in your coat at the cold air hitting you. Watching as he locks the door and pulls down the rolling shutter with its red-and-black skull graffiti, you chirp, âYouâll have to text me for that.â
Jeongguk rises up again, giving you a slow once-over. He seems distracted by your hair before snorting, âYouâre talking like Iâm the one who spent their afternoon napping in my studio just to drop this bomb and leave. Couldnât you just text me this?â
You shrug innocently. He sighs, reaching out for you, âDo you need a ride homââ
âBye!â
You spin on your heel and skip off in the opposite direction before he can let his own greeting out, waving a gloved hand behind you. Jeongguk stays where he is, arm still held out.
Do you even have a car? He hopes soâitâs freezing out.
With another sigh, he shakes his head and tugs his jacket tighter around himself. Why are you so fucking weird?
On the fourteenth day of December, your arm is looped tightly through Jeonggukâs as you stroll through the Christmas markets, burying your face further in your scarf to shield against the icy air, and with each few step you gasp at things that the boy next to you finds utterly unimpressive.
You stop at nearly every stand, eyes glowing with the warm Christmas fairy lights strung all around, effortlessly picking up conversations with the vendors and melting even the most stoic faces with the scrunching of your nose at every grin and the exaggerated nods following descriptions of their crafts.
Through all of it, Jeongguk remains put at your side, his arm linked with yours and a subtle pout on his lips. When you tease him about it, he simply shrugs, and you figure itâs just his natural expression. You find that oddly endearing.
He still humors your enthusiasm, offering low hums or murmured praise whenever you exclaim youâve finally found what youâve been searching for everywhere, and he offers to pay every time, the gesture so casual that he doesnât seem bothered by it in the slightest.
When you bow to the nth seller, clutching yet another bag of sweet treats tightly to your chest, Jeongguk exhales and resumes slow walking beside you, âI don't like these places.â
You glance up at him, fluffy hat almost slipping off before he promptly secures it back on your head with a gesture so smooth you hardly notice it. You instead wonder, âThen why are we here now?â
He slips his hand into his pocket, âBecause you threatened me.â
âWith a really good time.â
âIf this is your version of a good time, you might as well kick me in the balls. That probably feels better.â
You gasp, halting in your tracks to glare at him. When he lets a small chuckle topple out of him, you think you might forgive him. No, youâre more than sure with the way his smile lingers. You sheepishly look away, muttering, âDonât tempt me, emo boy.â
âIâm notââ
âOh yes, you are,â you interrupt, snapping your face back to his. Clearing your throat, you prepare your best imitation of him, exaggerating a frown and lowering your voice, âIâm so different, I hate Christmas.â
Jeongguk scoffs, pulling you tighter to him when a scooter unexpectedly zips past you. You yelp, instinctively shuffling closer to his arm. He continues the conversation casually, unaffected, âThatâs the worst impression of me Iâve ever heard. And also, I never said that.â
Releasing the breath you held for a moment too long, you uncertainly keep your slow stroll going, only narrowing your orbs at him, âItâs written all over your face.â
âI love Christmas.â
The admission is small, his voice soft and almost reluctant, like it pains him to reveal something so simple and obvious as loving Christmas. When you lean your chin on the puffed arm of his jacket, he doesnât look down at you, his gaze fixed ahead, guiding the two of you through the chaos of the busy street.
You chirp, your steps stumbling, âReally?
Only then he shifts his attention to you, steadying you with his other arm wrapping around your figure in what seems like a hug, before he lifts you up by the neck of your coat and retreats just enough to face you. His lips press into a straight line as he nods, a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes the more he stares in yours, âYeah, really. I just donât like⊠crowded spaces.â
You canât help but think back to what happened just a week ago. The exact reason why the spirals in your brain wouldnât stop twisting and tangling is now slipping from his lips in a voice that quietens as he seems to grasp the delicacy of his own confession.
He doesnât like the way youâre looking at him. Drawn-up brows over wide and sparkling eyesâthe only part of your face visible beneath your scarfâstare at him with something too tender, too focused, that makes him uneasy. He turns his head to the side, the tips of his ears red not only from the cold, and pulls you along toward another stand, an almost nervous distraction.
Itâs your turn to frown. Maybe the one thatâs permanently plastered on his face tonight isnât just a reflection of his usual sullen demeanor. With a knot tightening in your chest, you canât help but feel like you dragged him into something he truly hated, and that he wasnât just pretending to.
What if this isnât just your evil inner voice talking? What if this isnât just overthinking, but the factual truth of your current reality? Heâs hating every second of this but still enduring it becauseâ you catch your breath with a long and strained inhale, becauseâ
âHey, dimples. You okay?â
Jeongguk moves to stand in front of you, his hands settling gently on your shoulders, a stance eerily reminiscent of that night you were just thinking back to. He nods at you, âBreathe with me, hm?â
You find yourself quickly adjusting to his comforting aura, drawn in by the reassurance in his eyes trained on you, never wavering, watching closely as you begin to mirror the measured rise and fall of his chest, your breathing gradually syncing with his until the tightness in your chest starts to ease.
When you feel your feet touching the ground again, you offer a small, apologetic smile. âIâm okay. Sorry. JustâŠâ You quickly scan your surroundings, eyes landing on a colorful stand, âWait here a second, okay?â
Jeongguk lets you slip away, fingers twitching slightly at his sides. He takes a few hesitant steps closer, careful not to crowd you but unable to tear his eyes away from your next actions, how your grin comes back on your lips with unpracticed ease, lighting up your face as easy talk flows between you and the seller. A few coins trade hands, and soon youâre holding two churros, their chocolate-dipped ends threatening to drip onto the ground.
You donât hesitate, biting into one of them before it has the chance to make a mess, and with a quick nod of your head you motion for Jeongguk to follow. He does so, only after taking the churros from your hands, and letting you seek his warmth again with an arm snaking under his. Heâs only letting you do this because itâs fucking cold, no other reason.
You walk, and walk, guiding him along until you find a quieter corner, away from the bustle, where you two stand isolated from the rest. The dim lighting casts a softer glow, and the distant hum of chatter and music fades into a gentle background noise.
Glancing up at him, you flash a playful smile before leaning in to bite another chunk of the churro heâs holding, your laughter spilling out as he grimaces in exaggerated disgust and pulls the sweet out of your reach. You settle onto a nearby bench, patting the empty spot beside you invitingly.
Jeongguk is unsure of what this means. He takes slow steps towards you, handing you your churroâwhich you take eagerly, already chewing on itâbefore tilting his head back in mild confusion, âBut⊠you wanted to visit the markets.â
You shake your head, your bug eyes meeting his as you speak around a mouthful of sugar and chocolate, âThereâs no point if youâre not going to enjoy it.â
The look youâre giving him is one heâs seen countless times beforeâfamiliar, and annoyingly reminiscent of ten years ago. Itâs the same look that, heâs convinced, is solely responsible for making his knees weak and his fingers jittery, no longer something he can blame on the cold. Youâre unbelievably frustrating.
He clicks his tongue, looking away, âYouâre fucking weird.â
You giggle, humming, âIf weird is a synonym for whipped, then sure.â
He has to fight the twitch of his lips. Fakes a gag instead. You chuckle louder. Only then, he hints at a smile, âCâmon. Letâs go check out some other stuff.â
âButââ
He interrupts, pulling you up by your forearm, âIâm hungry.â
The next hour you spend wandering around is made of Jeonggukâs small, imperceptible ways of cracking: his pout less prominent, more replaced by lips pulled into a tight line or in a mildly pursued scowl as you ask him which beanie looks betterâthe pink or purple one; his so evident sarcasm as he comments on how the old vendor was totally flirting with you, or when he mockingly adds to your over-the-top excitement every time you spot a dog. All in all, heâs more relaxed. More himself.
You then find yourself standing in front of the churros stall from earlier, the warm scent tugging you closer. Without hesitation, you ask the lady behind the counter for another four churrosâthis time with extra sugar. You add two thank yous.
To fill the waiting, you pick up casual conversation with the woman, until she pauses mid-sentence, wrinkled hand coming to rest over her heart as her gaze flits between you and Jeongguk, her crinkled eyes lighting with a sudden fondness and a quiet, content smile finds its space on her chapped lips, âYou two look perfect together.â
Jeongguk snorts, âOh, weâre notââ
âThank you, auntie!â You chirp, and your grin is so wide it squeezes your eyes into crescents. You accept the first churro she hands over, biting into it and talking through it, âThese are delicious. Is the recipe a secret or can you share it with me?â
The woman laughs, clearly flustered by your energy, and leans in with a conspiratorial expression, though she gives in pretty soon, âIt is a secret, but⊠Oh, câmon. A pretty lady like you deserves to know.â
You burst into chuckles, joined by auntieâs own rolling and carrying a contrasting warmth to the cold air. Jeongguk, for his part, stands slightly to the side, observing. You still cling to his arm, even as the vendor reaches over to gently smooth her fingers through your curls, complimenting the way they frame your face. You roll your eyes, feigning exasperation, but thereâs a dimpled smile stretching on your cheeks that gives you away.
Before you leave, the lady points to Jeongguk, voice growing earnest, âYou, handsome. I can see youâre a good guy, so you probably donât need my advice. But treat her right, yes?â
Jeongguk stills for a second and stumbles over an awkward nod, managing to force a smile that has you stifling a laugh under your scarf. You tug him away with a cheerful wave to your new friend, promising her youâll come visit again before Christmas.
Once youâre at a safe distance, he mutters, âWhy did you not tell her that weâre not together?â
You tilt your head considering his question, âItâs not like she knows us. She looked like she adored you. I didnât want to ruin that for her. Maybe seeing a young couple like us really means a lot to her.â
Jeongguk observes how the more you explain, the more youâre convincing yourself as much as him, eventually solidifying your reasoning as you nod, muttering some more under your breath. He scoffs, looking away to hide his lips twitching.
When he turns back heâs frowning, though it doesnât quite match the way he lets you hook arms again, your pastel pink bag hanging from his shoulders. Still, he sulks as though the mere thought of your observation has him shivering, and not with the cold, âWeâre not a couple.â
Jeongguk barely gets to let his unnecessarily petty comment out before you drag him with an unusual strength over to another stand, his voice not even touching your ears, âOh, letâs go over there, Gguk!â
On the twenty-first day or December, you send him a picture of your tattoo.
You had been talking non-stop ever since your⊠date? Or was it just a hangout? Whatever it was, itâs been a week, and Jeongguk finds himself smiling at a fucking screen too many times a day for his linking. Itâs irritating. Even brings his phone with him to the bathroom in case you text him. Not because he cares. No, itâs practical. What if you ever had an emergency and he was the only one who could help?
Most of the time itâs just you sending TikToks, but he clicks on the links with the same urgency heâd reply to a genuine plea for help. He doesnât really want to think of the reason why.
Now, this pictureâit catches Jeongguk off guard.
It doesnât even look like itâs about the tattoo. Not really. It feels like an excuse, a flimsy pretext for you to show yourself to him. The tattooâthe one he himself inkedâis there, yes. But itâs not at all the main focus of the photo that tightens his grip on his phone.
Youâre wearing a thin, pink tank top with delicate lace trim, the straps barely clinging to your shoulders. Your fingers hook under the neckline, tugging it down just enough to expose the tattoo nestled between the soft curve of your breasts. The angle of the shot is deliberate, he can tell. Your back arches slightly off what he assumes is your bed, and your face is cropped out, save for your glossed lips, full and slightly parted, catching the dim light.
Jeongguk blinks, hard. Then again. His throat bobs as he swallows thickly, the low light of his phone screen doing little to soften the image burning itself into his mind. His eyes dart upward, scanning his surroundings, just to make sure everything is in place. The shop is empty, the door is closed, the hum of quiet settles over the space.
Looking down, the picture still stares back at him paired with a single message.
Annoying [11:39 p.m.]: do you think itâs healed? idk about this stuff, need your help đ„ș
Heâs not stupid. He knows exactly what this is. He alternates between the photo and your words, jaw ticking and tightening more with the seconds flowing.
Itâs almost cruel, the way youâre testing him like this. He tries to push the feeling down, to reject the buzz of heat pooling low in his stomach. You know him well enough to be aware that he wonât reply to something like this. A stupid, unnecessary message. The tattoo is healedâhe told you that a week ago, clear as day. Thereâs no reason for you to ask again.
Whatâs the purpose of this?
He gets a distorted idea when he shifts uncomfortably in place, the dull ache tightening his pants almost unbearable now.
Jeongguk groans and locks his phone, tossing it onto the counter as if that will put an end to this. He tries to refocus on his tasks, the last ones before he clocks off. Cleaning needles, tossing used stencils.
But his heavy balls keep sending desperate, silent prayers to his brain, to please let them have this. Just this once.
Itâs been a bad day. Two of his appointments canceled last minute, leaving him to sit around bored. The last client showed up drunk and wouldnât stop trying to flirt with him. His coworkers were loud and distracting, and to top it all off, the heater broke, leaving the studio freezing cold.
Itâs been such a bad day.
So, would there be any harm? Itâs not like anyone will know. Not you, not his friends. Heâs the only one that will. And heâs far more willing to live with this dirty secret rather than with his hard dick straining achingly in its confines.
Jeongguk abruptly snatches up his phone again, unlocking it to the same picture that caused him to brush the device aside just minutes ago. He lets out a shaky breath, thumb hovering over the screen. You wonât get no reply to him. But if you knew what he was up to right now, you would probably geek. Tease him, with your warm smile that digs dimples in your cheek, hopping on your toes to poke at his chest playfully, with those perfectly manicured hands of yours.
âShit,â his free hand is already pushing the jeans down along with his boxers, and he drops his weight onto the nearest stool as he grips at the base of his thick cock, eyes devouring the image of you in the empty chat.
He doesnât zoom in. That would feel too shameless. But he finds it oddly better like this. Is it weird that your text, so innocently worded, is turning him on? That the simple idea of you needing his help is enough to have his hips jerking?
What could you possibly need his help for? Fuck. The different ideas that pool his mind have him squeezing harder at his stinging tip.
Jeongguk focuses on your dainty hand, slim pointer finger snaking under the collar of your flimsy shirt to show yourself to him, and your small boobs spill from the sides with a delicious, soft swell. He hisses when he pictures that same hand working on him instead, his warm mouth stuffed with your stiff nipples, visible through the sheer material.
He canât help the loud groan leaving his lips, wrist flickering up and down in a motion that feels sloppy way too soon, hips jutting up to fuck into his tight fist. Throwing his head back, he sees you even behind closed eyelids.
He pictures your delicate figure sprawled on his bed, long lashes batting up at him as you sheepishly hide with your cheek to your shoulder. Can clearly make out how youâd sit on his lap instead, unsteady breath fanning over his lips, using his long shaft to make yourself cum. The whole time, he sees the tattoo on your chest, the one that is forever on you, eternally a reminder of him.
When he lets his head topple forward again, his bright screen still stares at him, only because a new message pops up in the chat. He startles, and his cock throbs in his hand.
Annoying [11:52 p.m.]: oh, and i miss you.
âOh, fuck,â the curse is strained through a loud whine, and only followed by more of his full moans filling the room. His brows knit as his hand moves rapidly, palm collecting the precum spreading embarrassingly fast on his tip and rolling it down his length.
He focuses on your parted lips, the soft curve of your breast, your hard nipples begging to be sucked and spit on. Your last text has flashes of your bug-like eyes staring up at him seizing his mind.
Thatâs what undoes him. Heâs delirious as he lets out his every sound, freely, unchecked, not caring about how loud he is, whimpering as he gets closer to his climax. When he thinks of those eyes locking with his, kneeling before him, eager and willing to swallow his every drop, he cums. Hard.
Jeongguk pumps everything he can out of him, and itâs messyâspilling over his hand, staining his clothes, pooling on the floor. His chest heaves with the effort, and the sensation of abandon he feels is so pleasurable, energy drained but leaving him with a lightness that threatens to make his cock hard again.
Fuck. He canât afford that happening if youâre not the one attending his needs. This wonât be enough, not until itâs you. Heâs insatiable.
Jeongguk needs to hear your voice.
Itâs an instinct, and he bends to it. Heâs careful, making sure not to tap on the FaceTime option, because if you were to see him right now itâd be glaringly obvious.
When he looks to the side, he catches a glimpse of his reflection in the long mirror, and he visibly grimaces at the way his cheeks are flushed, the pearls of sweat coating his forehead causing his bangs to stick uncomfortably to the skin.
Guilty doesnât even begin to cover it.
With the phone to his ear beeping to eternity, he hesitates, contemplates ending the call before you can answer. But just then, you do.
âJeongguk! Is everything okay?â
Your voice is familiarly soft, but thereâs a trace of concern. Blinking, he brings the device closer again and gulps thickly when he can make out your panting breaths. He clears his throat and puts on his best nonchalant act, âHuhâ Yes. Why wouldnât it be?â
âI donât know⊠You just never call. Or text first. This is weird. You sure youâre okay?â
Oh. Is that really what it is like?
Jeongguk never realized this was how he came acrossâso detached that a simple phone call feels out of character. Your naive honesty hits him square in the chest. God, he needs to get better at this. The irony stings: he just fucking jerked off to your picture and the simple thought of you, while youâre on the other side thinking heâs just a careless piece of shit who doesnât even know how to call.
The long stretch of silence registers in his brain, and he coughs to buy time, âYes, Iâm sure. Iâ huh,â he thinks of stuff you usually ask to keep the conversation flowing. Not out of courtesy, but out of genuine interest, the curiosity that makes people want to open up. Heâs still not used to that. Still finds it weird.
âHow⊠How was your day?â
It must be equally weird for you because it takes you a longer beat to reply. In that quiet moment, he clenches his eyes shut and feels his jaw tick with shame. And embarrassment. And this icky feeling that makes him feel too mushy for his liking. Hell, what is he doing? Heâs never been like this, heâs not supposed to be like this.
But you recover quickly, as you always do, and you smooth over the moment. Fix it all for him like you were born to be just that. Make him feel like he fits in ways that have him exhaling shakily.
Jeongguk senses a foreign drumming in his stomach, and itâs warm but odd, and he loves it but he doesnât want to.
On the twenty-fifth day of December, cheekily under a mistletoe, Jeongguk realizes he wants you. Thereâs parts of him that probably knew way sooner. But the parts of him that didnât, fighting tooth and nail to suppress the mere thought, are just now finally surrendering.
Jeongguk has always found you admirable, back in high school. You had this determination to you. Not only when it came to him. It shone particularly when you catered to others, always finding ways to help, to mend, to offer yourself with nothing less than a fully toothed smile.
But heâs also always thought you two wereâand still areâtoo different to work. He canât be what you want, let alone what you deserve: someone who can match your enthusiasm and unwavering smiles, your frustrating positivity; someone who sees the world the way you do. No black, no grey, no shades in between. Just bright, hopeful white. Blinding white.
Itâs the white making him dizzy, shifting his perspective, having him believing the opposite of what heâs always known. Pushing to be a little more egoistical, deceiving himself that heâs right for you. Because he wants to be. He oh, so selfishly wants people to know heâs the one who finally gets to have you, the one gifted with such a light, unfairly deserving of all the love you carry into every room you walk into.
Just a few days ago, during another one of your increasingly frequent phone calls, you asked him what he was doing for Christmas. He could have lied, come up with something on the spot.
But with how you so easily, and always coax the truth out of him, he let it slip. He told you heâd be alone, words subtly heavy. But they didnât have the chance to even drop their weight before you were already inviting him to your friendâs party, insisting that he would be the most welcome.
And heâs here, and he sits beside you, and every time you laugh you lean your weight over him, and the room vibrates with the energy you fill it with, and each one of your friends is so enamoured with you, and for reasons he canât fully understand it fills him with a sense of pride that shouldnât belong to him. But it does, and it comes with so many other feelings.
You donât push him to talk. You never force him into the spotlight when he takes a step back, quietly observing, choosing to stay in the background. Because you read him like itâs in your nature to do so, your soul seems to intuitively melt with his, and it intertwines in such a tight knot that he feels it constrict his throat. He knows heâs still alive because his heart is beating, just a little faster with each time you flash your dimples at him.
âDimples. What are you doing, hm?â
Now, heâs in front of you, a small smile on his lips as you stand on your tiptoes, trying to dangle the mistletoe over both your heads. Youâre struggling just a little, your hand unable to reach high enough, and the fake plant awkwardly brushes his hair, the tickling sensation causing his nose to scrunch. You laugh.
Looking up at your swinging movements, you lose your balance for the slightest second. Jeonggukâs hands move instinctively, catching you promptly by the waist to steady your body. But even after that, he doesnât shift, his warm palms stilling. And when you face him, heâs closer and his chest brushes against yours. From this proximity, he witnesses the Christmas lights painting a galaxy of their own in your orbs.
You beam, âWhat does it look like? We have to kiss now.â
Jeongguk stares in your expectant eyes, brows wiggling and all. The more his mouth keeps in a straight line, the more the wiggling slows. You eventually come down from your tiptoes, letting the mistletoe fall to the side, tilting your head.
He snorts, looking away briefly to hide an embarrassingly wide grin behind his hand. When he turns back to you, your pout is enough to have him scrambling to meet your gaze.
âOn one condition, though.â
You chirp, âYeah?â
He licks his teeth, reserving you with a smug look, âAdmit that you were scared to get your tattoo.â
Your smile vanishes in an instant, your expression falling into mock offense. With a dramatic roll of your eyes, you turn on your heel, pretending to walk away from him. Pretending, only because you know he wonât let you. And youâre proven right when his fingers wrap around your arm, tugging you back with enough force to spin you into him. Suddenly, youâre pressed so close you can feel the heat radiating from him. Your chin nearly touches his chest as you glare up at him, narrowed eyes meeting the mischievous glint in his.
He bites a smile, lips twitching, âCâmon, princess. You wanted to act all tough and shit, but I could feel you shaking.â
Your scoff is loud and incredulous, âYouâre such a bitch.â
He only shrugs, âYou want my kiss, no?â
âOh my god,â groaning, itâs your turn to face the side to hide a grin, âAre you always this cocky?â
His chin tilts upward slightly, and you can tell heâs enjoying this, âSay it.â
You whip back around to meet him with a seriousness he hardly ever sees on you, and you even clear your throat, channeling every ounce of the determination he knows you for, every drop of resolve that makes you you. âYes. I was scared shitless, Jeongguk.â
Foreign excitement brims out of him, not before his eyes widen just a fraction, and his nose scrunches the more he leans closer to you, inches from you, swinging side to side with exaggerated mockery and a grin splitting his face, âSee! I knewâhmph.â
Thereâs no other second to waste.
The condition has been met, and now all the requirements for you to claim what you were promised, your reward, are there. Even more when kissing him means catching him mid-taunt and silencing whatever teasing remark he had ready.
Your lips touch his in effortless ease, breaking the air as they press together. Itâs tentative at first, almost uncertain as you feel Jeongguk remain still.
But it doesnât take him longer to move, mouth molding against yours in a sickeningly sweet hug, tasting each other with quiet curiosity, taking your time to adjust and melt, instructing your bodies to imitate the dance.
Your arms lock around his neck, his stronger and tattooed ones circle your waist, and the way you click together feels so right, almost too perfect, so perfect it scares you. When you arch yourself further into him, even the non-existent space between you unbearable, he accompanies the motion with his wide palms gliding along your back, squeezing you into him, feeling the curve of your hips.
The soft whine that scratches your throat and vibrates against his lips betrays you, along with the useless effort to contain the intensity of what youâre feeling. The emotion disarms you, the sound gasping in your chest, but in Jeonggukâs arms it feels safe to let go.
On Christmas day, you crown a youthful fantasy, the kind youâll look back to even when youâre older. Jeongguk feels like heâd be the right person to stand by you to do so.
When he reluctantly detaches from you, his face keeps at a safe distance thatâd allow him to go back and taste you, not before resting his forehead on yours and whispering, âMerry Christmas.â
You giggle. âMerry Christmas, Gguk.â
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your love is everything and more to me my lyssa đđ©· so glad i get to be graced with it đđ»ââïžđ«§ so not deserving of it đđ»ââïž but so selfishly gonna keep it hehe đđ»ââïž (ohhh true love jk tease!) and to be receiving such words from you is like shakespeare himself crowning meâŠ
forever thankful for you đ©·đ©· and thanks to all of you loviez!!! AGHHHH making me tear up i donât wanna say bye </3 hope u enjoy these last bits hehe đ«¶đ»
TRUE LOVE â ì ê”
when you and jeon jeongguk's paths cross again, you question if having a crush on the school's emo and alternative boy was really just a phase, or if it was true love after all.
ââșââ
. 5/6 from christmas & chill
pairing tattoo artist!jk x fem reader
genre fluff, smut, grumpy & sunshine, somewhat f2l
warnings jk 24 | oc 24, jk thinks heâs too cool for love, oc suffers from a chronic case of âi can fix himâ, she eventually does, oc simps HARDDD and jk only pretends to be unaffected, yea heâs a bit of a dick sometimes but heâs also Very funny, brief description of panic attacks, male masturbation, kissing, idk what else to add i just rly rly love them and will think of them for the entirety of xmas season
word count 10.2k
authorâs note hi lovies đ©· itâs my last time with c&c đ iâm kinda emotional omg⊠itâs been such a fun, warm and lovely week, and i love each one of you for showing endless support to this project <33 iâll keep trying to not disappoint⊠please tell me if you like this!!! thank u always and always đ©· luv u <3
banner by the gorgeous @awrkive âčââĄâ
On the first day of December, your path crosses with thee Jeon Jeonggukâs after enough years for your brain to trip slightly before recognising him. But it would have been impossible not toâthereâs likely a whole, well-preserved section of your thinking organ dedicated to that mortifying phase of high school, when your hormones turned life into an endless internal tug-of-war.
The moment your eyes widen at having him stand in front of you, youâre yanked unceremoniously into the past, brought back to buried, locked and left to gather dust feelings that have your teenage selfâs screams echoing within you in a chorus of delight and cringe.
Jeongguk, on the other hand, is simply following his duties as a tattoo artist. When he catches sight of you next to his appointed client on such a breezy day, the cold December air starting to find its space even in the confines of his studio, he only nods his chin upward at you in slow recognition.
Itâs awkward, at first. Only because you make it.
Youâd volunteered to accompany Eunbi, your best friend, to get her first tattoo as an early Christmas self-gift. Your mission was clear: support her, hold her hand if the pain became unbearable (though youâre probably the least dependable person when it comes to making clarity in situations of panic, as seen right now), and be the first to bask in her excitement as she finally sees what sheâs always pictured to be inked on the skin of her forearm. A blue whale tattoo, large enough to make you wince just thinking about the needlework.
Youâd never go through something like that. Never.
And thatâs exactly whatâs showing on your face when youâre met with Jeonggukâs full sleeve of tattoos, leaving you rooted to the spot.
Youâd always known him to be the different kid, the quiet one with forced sharp eyes that canonically listened to alternative rock and glared at anyone who dared approach, whether to tease him or befriend him. Heâd convinced himself that no one could ever understand him.
See, youâd instead fooled yourself into thinking you were the exception. That you did understand him.
Fourteen-year-old you had gone through some weird phases, and the one that resurfaces now at the vision of his adult self is the one centered entirely around him. You unashamedly had the biggest crush on Jeongguk. To you, he was mysterious and edgyâin an effortlessly cool way.
Youâd tried everything. Offered him your lunch more times than you were left with any for yourself. Even cut your bangs to have them fall over your eyes to mimic his fringe, dyed a strand in blue, overhauled your wardrobe to align with his back-and-grey one. None of it worked. He never noticed.
But, thinking of it now, thereâs no way he didn't. He definitely did. How could any boy turn a blind eye to a lovesick girlâs heartfelt Valentineâs letter, a hopeless romantic girl who almost cried on the spot when she got rejected? Jeongguk just chose to willingly ignore it.
These are all valid reasons as to why your functions seem to slow down in his unexpected presence. And youâre not going to deny nor fake that his calm, almost detached demeanor doesnât flow through your body and right to your left eye, making it twitch with a slight tremor.
Yet, you must also admit that your teenage self was onto something. Jeongguk has changed drastically but heâs also stayed the same. You think fourteen-year-old him would be proud of where he is right now. Two piercings on his lower lip and one on his eyebrow, intricate ink tracing up his muscled arm, his⊠muscled arms. Wow. And then, his studio. His own studio, a place for him and his passion, one that he made into his job. Thatâs undeniably cool.
Maybe just not cool enough for you to be gaping like an idiot as he moves with purpose, adjusting your friendâs arm to position the stencil he had prepared, perfectly fitting in the space she had chosen. His muscles flex with every shift, and itâs impossible for you to go past that with the way the black beater heâs wearing is loose on his torso, but still clinging on his chest.
Eunbi notices, of course. You donât have time to feel embarrassed and in return she doesnât even try to hide her amusement when your usual chatter dries up entirely, only gulping obnoxiously noisily and alternating that with nervous silences. Jeongguk, too, catches on.
Heâd always known you as obnoxious and noisy. In, huh, a good way. Or whatever.
Jeongguk just agrees that you were (and probably still are, if the pastel yellow skirt softly flowing down your legs paired with a cozy cream sweater and the full toothed grin you shoot at your friend are any indicators) the pinpoint embodiment of his opposite. Youâve always been talkative, smiley, and friendly, eager to help and to receive help, not in the slightest ever turning down the opportunity to blabber on, and on, and on.
Honestly, Jeongguk doesnât think he ever truly listened to a single word of your rambling back in the day, especially during those times when youâd bounce up to him and launch into enthusiastic rants about obscure alternative bands he himself hadnât even heard of. He respected the hustle, though. Heâd always wondered where you found the time and energy to immerse yourself in music like that.
He much preferred when you were less trying so hard to be him and mirror his tastes, more when you gave up on impressing him and simply stayed true to yourself, the girl whose heart belonged to Justin Bieber and One Direction. Truthfully, he fucked with them. Not that heâd ever admit it, of course. His quiet, brooding image wouldnât survive that revelation.
What he respected the most was your resilience. After all the times he rejected you and your awkward blurts of confessions, you still didnât think it was enough of a reason for your villain origin story to take off, and instead remained the same frustratingly positive ray of sunshine youâd always been.
Now, as Jeongguk works on the tattoo in front of him, the very design that caused all these long-buried memories to rise back, his dark eyes flick toward you sitting on a stool in a near corner every now and then, a hint of confusion in his expression each time you take more than five seconds to reply to his small talk.
Itâs just, youâre a bit taken aback. Since when does he do small talk? The foreign smoothness with which Jeongguk handles interactions is so far removed from the sullen boy you used to know. Youâre not prepared for this version of him. Itâs disarming, to say the least.
Enough time has passed for you to settle into the odd scenario, your current best friend and your long-standing high school crush in the same room. Slowly but surely, your curiosity sparkles again, and the signature tendency to let thoughts tumble out of your mouth unchecked returns to you naturally.
âOuch, that looks painful.â
Jeongguk snorts, eyes trained on Eunbiâs arm as he glides the tattoo needle with precise strokes that have his brows pinching and the tip of his tongue peeking out from the corner of his lips, a habit you remember from the past but one youâve never found quite so distracting before.
Still, he multitasks and responds without missing a beat, âWanna try?â
Wow. This is, like, the longest conversation youâve ever had with him. It spurs you on to do anything it takes to hear more of his voice, the sound of it definitely deeper than the shy tones you struggled to coax out of him ten years ago.
That is probably why you literally lie, âHm. Maybe. I was thinking of getting one actually. In the future.â
Eunbi chokes on her spit, her chest coughing with the sudden, blatantly fake revelation, and Jeongguk promptly pauses, lifting the needle from her skin as his tattooist reflexes kick in. While your friend apologizes between a clearing of her throat and sinks back into the chair, she doesnât keep from glaring at you, her expression screaming What the hell are you doing?
You deadpan. Youâll explain everything later and itâll all make sense. And you know this will inevitably end up being added to the list of the many embarrassing facts she knows about you and threatens you with when she wants to go clubbing and you donât.
Jeongguk uses the brief interruption to glance up at where youâre perched in the corner of his peripheral vision, just to square you up and down with a skeptical arch of his brow, âReally?â
You scoff, smoothing out the creases on your skirt as if the fabric is somehow responsible for the lie you just told, âIs that shocking?â
He hums, returning to his work with the buzz of the needle filling the studio again, his voice padded the more he gets closer to Eunbiâs forearm, âI just find it hard to believe such a princess like you could handle any pain.â
You gulp.
What youâre getting from this conversation is that Jeongguk has always had an idea of who you are in his mind all along. That heâs always perceived you in some way. As much as your inner fourteen-year-old is swooning at the attention, gobbling up each of the tiny crumbles heâs giving you, it doesnât sit right with you. What exactly does he think of you?
âTest me.â
He shrugs, eyes fixated on the shade heâs perfectioning with black ink, âBusy now.â
âIâll go pay for mine. I saw you have one last free spot today,â you announce, the words tumbling out with more confidence than you feel. Youâre already on your feet before the sentence is fully formed, betraying the fact that your nosy tendencies had gotten the better of you earlier. Youâd discreetly glanced at his appointment book when Jeongguk and Eunbi were finalizing her tattoo details and negotiating the final price at the desk.
He hums, head tilting slightly, âAnd I wanted to spend it bumming around.â
âToo bad. Youâll have to postpone that.â
You walked into this studio swearing youâd never let a needle even brush you.
Now youâre stretched out on a leather bench, Jeongguk leaning over you with a stencil in hand, gloved fingers moving with careful precision.
The design youâd chosen came from his portfolioâa delicate illustration of two butterflies in motion, their soft threads intertwining. Youâd flipped through countless pages of bold skulls and intricate linework before settling on this.
The spot youâd chosen for the tattoo was the flat, firm plane between your breasts. It wasnât a conscious decision, just a place youâd always liked. Maybe it had something to do with the fact that nature hadnât exactly blessed you in the cleavage department. Subconsciously, perhaps, you thought that adding something there might give the illusion of more.
âTehe,â you canât stop the breathy giggle that escapes as the cool paper brushes against your skin. Your hand is pressed to your bra, holding it in place as best you can, though the situation feels so surreal itâs hard to focus on anything but the ridiculousness of it all.
Jeongguk glances up at you with a glare thatâs more exasperated than angry before returning to the delicate task at hand, âWhatâs funny?â
Your voice wobbles, âI justâ I tend to laugh during serious moments.â
âOh. Weird.â
âSorry.â
With a small sigh, he smooths the stencil, and once itâs transferred he hands you a square mirror, waiting for your approval. You nod, the butterflies now perfectly poised in their eternal dance, and Jeongguk doesnât waste a moment.
The buzz of the needle fills the room as he leans closer, one gloved hand resting on the upper part of your chest to steady himself. Heâs mere seconds from beginning the inking process when another laugh bubbles out of you.
Jeongguk sits back abruptly, dropping his pen onto the metal tray with an audible clink. Tilting his head, he levels you with a look of thinly veiled irritation. âI really canât work if your chest keeps moving.â
âSorry,â you blurt again, turning your head to face the wall. You clamp your lips together tightly, mentally scrolling through every sad memory you can conjure. Think of something awful. Your childhood dog dying. Okay, maybe not that sadâ
âYou havenât changed a bit since high school. Always smiling like you live surrounded by flowers and rainbows,â Jeonggukâs mutter vibrates against your chest, warm breath fanning over the cold skin, distracting you from your no-giggling mission.
The unexpected observation has your brows furrowing in a mildly offended frown, and banter is ready on your tongue. âYouâre just the same too, Gguk. The emo boy who thinks heâs too cool for a smile.â
âIâm not an emo boy. The fuck,â he scoffs, kissing his teeth and murmuring more of his indignation under his breath.
âWhatever helps you sleep at night. I can teach you.â
The whirring needle glides across your skin with a slightly firmer touch, making you hiss softly under your breath. He seems unbothered by the reaction, and instead bothered by your words, âTeach me what.â
âHow to smile a bit more,â you reply, your voice laced with mockery as you keep your gaze firmly fixed on the wall. The smirk playing on your lips is triumphant; he walked right into your little jab, hehe.
Your mind is already racing, piecing together the beginning of a sarcastic rant about how his perpetual scowl probably contributed to his mysterious high school persona. For the sake of his ego, you wonât add how it worked in his favor, how more than one girl (your own self) found his untouchable vibe completely irresistible.
Even though, thinking back, he looked ridiculous. His big, round, slightly scared-of-the-world eyes truly didnât belong with the heavy black eyeliner.
But before you can get a single word out, Jeongguk straightens his posture, pulling away from your chest. With a practiced motion, he tosses one of his gloves onto the counter behind him, his expression cool and indifferent. âItâs done.â
âDone?!â you exclaim, tilting your chin down to look at your chest. You go slightly cross-eyed trying to catch a glimpse of the design now inked onto your skin. Forever.
âYes.â
âI didnât even feel it.â
Jeongguk seems equally done with small talk, transitioning into a professional explanation of the tattooâs aftercare step. His tone is calm but clipped, and you canât tell if itâs his usual demeanor or just reserved for you. He also hands you a small tube of cream of which youâre not sure the use of, too enthralled by the vision of his colored sleeve this up close.
And still laying on the leather bed, you almost reach to trace one of the many lines with your finger before he interrupts, âYou can pay with Yoongi at the entrance.â
Clearing your throat, you sit up, brushing imaginary dust off your skirt as Jeongguk turns his back to you, his focus already back on cleaning his tools. You still are not over, âThank you, Jeongguk. Can Iâ huh. Can I get your number?â
He pauses mid-motion, just long enough for the silence to stretch thin and taut. Turning around to study your features, he stares you up and down with knitted brows and a hostile kind of confusion painting his expression. â⊠For what exactly?â
âIn case anything happens with the tattoo.â
Jeongguk stills for a second, eyes narrowing slightly, then turns back to whatâs keeping him so occupied with a noncommittal grunt, âHuh. Sure. Yoongi has my business cards at the desk. You can ask him. Have a good day.â
With Eunbi practically dragging you out of the room, you donât have the chance to say anything more, though your chest burns with indignation. Itâs not that you expect him to fall over himself at the chance to catch up, but the sheer indifference is maddening.
Should you pretend you donât care either? You could. But really, who are you fooling? You still have those old diaries buried somewhere in your closet, their pages crammed with his name written in looping, lovesick cursive. That little girl in you never truly died.
On the fourth day of December, you finally text him. Itâs about your tattoo, of course. Thereâs not much else to say to him, but when his only reply to your picture of the healing process is a yellow thumbs up, you find your fingers hovering over the keyboard. Words start forming before youâve fully processed them, and before you know it, you hit send.
You [3:39 p.m]: btw u still friends with kim tae?
jeongguk [3:42 p.m.]: Yes
jeongguk [3:42 p.m.]: Heâs my best friend
You [3:43 p.m.]: ohhh, cool
jeongguk [3:45 p.m.]: You want his number?
You [3:46 p.m.]: no⊠iâm good with yours âșïž
You canât help but giggle at how his typing bubbles appear and then fade for a whole minute, biting your lower lip with a sheepish grin, savoring the silent victory. Youâre doing this for your fourteen-year-old self, who wouldâve squealed at the thought of making Jeon Jeongguk flustered. But youâre a different girl now. Youâve changed. No man could ever rejectâ
jeongguk [3:48 p.m.]: If thereâs nothing else about the tattoo then đ
âHmph,â your frown is so pronounced that you feel your chin aching and your wrinkles prematurely deepening. Well, this is not the first time you come face first with his sour antics. Only now, youâre prepared.
You [3:48 p.m.]: yall hanging out soon? let me join
jeongguk [3:49 p.m.]: Why lol
jeongguk [3:49 p.m.]: He barely even remembers you probs
You [3:50 p.m.]: who would not remember me
jeongguk [3:50 p.m.]: The only thing iâm now remembering about you is how I couldnât stand your ass
You gasp, hand coming up to brush against your parted lips. With a huff, you hastily click at your keyboard, âMean. Sent. Ugh.â
On the sixth day of December, your persistence pays off, and you find yourself at a random bar youâd never been to before, seated with both Jeongguk and Taehyung.
Between Jeonggukâs cigarette breaksâforcing the three of you to brave the cold outsideâand brief moments in corners of the cramped place where the music feels muffled against the walls, you manage to catch up with Taehyung. The rest of the time though, the noise inside is so deafening that it makes any kind of meaningful conversation impossible.
Even more when a random girl slides into the booth next to him, capturing his attention entirely, leaving you and Jeongguk in paradoxical silence.
The tattoo artist has been glued to his phone with his head down for the last 20 minutes, and now you alternate between observing his side profile, roughened by the piercings and a more defined jawline, and analysing the weird dynamic that is beginning to form between Taehyung and the girl, sitting in front of you.
Alone with your thoughts and, well, the pulsating music, you feel yourself getting unreasonably closer to symptoms you know all too well, that threaten to have you spiraling. You shake your head, forcing it to stop. Thereâs no reason for anxiety to visit you at such an inconvenient time.
But of course, the little voice in your head starts listing all the totally valid motives why this is indeed the perfect time for it to visit you.
The bar feels suffocating on your skin.
Your dress clings too tightly.
The couple facing you is shamelessly close to making out.
Jeongguk sighs in visible boredom.
You shouldnât have come. Hell, you shouldn't have suggested it in the first place. A smarter version of yourself would have brought Eunbi for balance, for comfort. But in your foolishness, you thought this could be an opportunity for you and Jeongguk to catch up. Instead, you feel foreign to him, foreign to this pub booth, and the air begins to feel foreign to your lungs. Youâve never liked bars, clubs, or places with loud music.
You sniffle, looking down at your lap. Then up at the ceiling. Then around the room. It keeps spinning and booming with volume that only adds to the feeling of helplessness. Quick, quick, quick.
What are five things that you can see?
Five. Your gaze falls on Taehyung and the girl, their lips and tongues clumsily entangled as they laugh between sloppy kisses. No help there. The air catches harder in your throat.
Four. Your empty glass, its smudged rim a reminder of the single drink you had, now sitting uncomfortably in your stomach.
Three. Your scuffed heels, their tips worn to the nub despite your best efforts to hide it with a marker.
Two. The swirling lights above the bar, dizzying as they flash brighter and brighter.
One. Jeonggukâs tattooed hand on your thigh.
His fingers dig into the skin, shaking you alarmedly, with a force youâve never known from him, not even when it came to stopping your shaking stomach as you were laying on the studioâs leather bed.
Head snapping up to face him, youâre met with a perfect resemblance of how you must look right now. Wide eyes, knitted brows, nose flaring and exhaling, and you try to follow the movements of his mouth, but they jumble together annoyingly in your brain. You lean closer, narrowed orbs still fixated on his lips to try and read them. Are⊠you⊠okâ
â___, youâre scaring me. Hey, hello? Are you okay?â
Jeongguk moves from your thigh to your shoulders, jolting you gently but firmly from the fog that is threatening to cloud up your brain. The sudden clarity hits you, but you still stumble forward, your weight toppling over his chest. With it, your head dips rapidly, hurtling toward the sharp edge of the table, and before Jeongguk knows it his instinct snaps and he catches you promptly.
The next steps blur together. You vaguely register the boy next to you standing up and pulling you along with him, his broad shoulders supporting one of your arms while his inked one secures around the small of your waist, holding you firmly against him.
Then, itâs nothing but brief flashes. Jeongguk pressing a water bottle to your lips. Sitting you down on the stairs outside the pub. Holding your hair back as you double over, emptying the contents of your stomach onto the pavement. Cracking a smile to make you laugh, showing off his tattoos in exaggerated detail like itâs the grandest tour of your life. Opening the door to his car and gently easing you into the passenger seat, ensuring the seatbelt clicks into place.
Inside his car, you slowly feel your senses come back to you.
At a redlight that you recognise as the one near your apartment complex, you muster a small and hoarse thank you. Jeongguk only hums low, eyes fixated on the road and fingers drumming lightly on the steering wheel.
Before a sheepish smile can make its way on your lips and spread across your face, your head twitches back as your brows furrow. Your thoughts suddenly catch up with you, âHey, how do you know the way to my flat?â
His gaze briefly flicks toward you in annoyance, then back to the road. âYou literally just told me.â
âOh.â A beat passes before you giggle softly. âDonât remember.â
Jeongguk mutters something intelligible under his breath, and next thing you know heâs turning down your street and slowing in front of the building that matches the number you gave him. Given your current state, he begins to question if that is even the right one.
âThis one!â You point at the tall front gate with an almost childlike excitement, back shifting slightly from the seat as your grin stretches wide. Jeongguk grimaces. Why the fuck do you look like youâve been reuinted with your home after years apart, as if you werenât there just a couple hours ago?
âRight. Huh, you good with going back on your own?â
âYes. Iâd hate to bother you further. Iâm sorry for this, I⊠was getting better, I guess.â
The sad confession doesnât land with the weight it should, softened by the smile painted on your lips and the chuckle you let out as if it were nothing. Jeonggukâs eyelid twitches, unsettled by the unnecessary happiness that always seems to drip from you, even when it doesnât belong.
ââS okay. Have a good night,â he awkwardly bows his head, waiting for you to exit the car. When you stay still, he clears his throat, adding just to fill the silence, and perhaps because he means it, âHuh, and make sure to rest a lot.â
You take a moment, maybe longer than you should, to study his features up this close. You particularly fixate on the way his eyes dart everywhere but never land on yours. Then, with your signature toothy grin, you bow back and open the car door, leaving with a string of thank yous, and get home safe, and Iâll text you, and please, reply to me, and bye.
Jeongguk has to fight a smile of his own.
On the tenth day of December, you realise you want him. Even more badly than your fourteen-year-old self ever did. Which is frankly insane.
You donât know if it was the natural way he looked after you during your episode, or his dry sarcasm as he actually started replying to your random updates throughout the day.
But no, it was definitely the selfie he sent you after what he said was a long day. Messy hair, tired eyes, a hint of a smile. Youâd struggled to even gulp down your saliva when the picture popped up in your chat, and maniacally stared at it with eyes glued to the bright screen before sending one of your own. He had replied with Cute. followed by Your hair pin is cute.
That is why you find yourself facing⊠Yoongi? If you remember correctly. The guy at the front desk of Jeonggukâs studio.
You beam at him, and what youâre met with instead is a confused stare. You inhale, âHi. Is Jeongguk in?â
Yoongi scratches his head, muttering, âHeâs busy with a client.â
âOh. Itâs okay,â you wave off his concern. âCan I wait here?â
The boy hesitates, looks unsure the more your interaction develops, and he glances between you and the empty waiting area. He relents with furrowed brows, âSure⊠Huh, Itâs a back tattoo, so itâll take him a while.â
You shrug and plop yourself onto the leather sofa, seemingly unfazed, âI like waiting.â
Crossing your legs, you take in the studioâs atmosphere, eyes drifting to the dark walls lined with framed artwork and certificates. You spot Jeonggukâs name on many of those.
For the next fifteen minutes, you try distracting yourself by flipping through the stack of tattoo magazines on the coffee table. You wince at inked heads, faces, butts, and even⊠more private parts. Deciding this world is definitely not for you, you slam the book shut.
By the time an hour passes, youâre fighting a battle with your lack of sleep. The third yawn you manage to stifle, but the fourth escapes before you can stop it. Yoongi, seated at the desk, doesnât bother hiding his unimpressed stare. Still, heâs polite enough to offer you a glass of water, a coffee, or even a chance to join him for a cigarette break.
You decline all of it, though your throat does feel dry.
Maybe you should have planned this with a bit of rationality. Or at least gotten more sleep. Now, your every blink is slower, eyelids batting to shut and taking longer to flutter open again. Hm, this feels nice. Youâll just let them rest for a bit longer. And longer. And a bit more.
The next time you open your eyes, Jeonggukâs face is inches away, his warm hand resting firmly on your arm. You jolt upright with a startled yelp.
âJeongguk.â
He raises an eyebrow, the corner of his mouth quirking up in an unmistakably mocking smirk. âHey. You donât have a bed?â
You sit up, forcing Jeongguk to step back and straighten to his full height. Your neck cranes upward to glare at him, brows furrowed in what you hope is an intimidating glare, though you sport a pout that is all but menacing, âShut up.â
He clicks his tongue, turning back to round the desk and fiddle with the appointment book, clearly unbothered. You take the moment to rub your eyesâonly to remember, too late, that youâd worn makeup. A quick glance around reveals how much has changed since you last let your eyelids flutter open. The lights in the studio are dim, the hallway is dark, and every door is shut. Yoongi is nowhere in sight. Itâs just the two of you in the deathly quiet space.
You gasp, pressing a hand to your parted lips, âDid I fall asleep? I'm so sorry. I was probably really tired from yesterday.â
Jeongguk hums, focus still locked on the book in front of him, eyes narrowed. He doesnât look up, doesnât ask why you came here in the first place, and doesnât acknowledge your apology. Ugh. This is humiliating.
Before you can stand, you feel something heavy draped over your body. Itâs a jacket. Definitely not yours, since you never took it off. At least not consciously. No, this is a worn black leather one on which his scent lingers. You tug it closer, puzzled, and then look up at him, holding it out. âDid I steal this in my sleep?â
Jeongguk scrunches his nose, âEw, are you a sleepwalker?â Locking the till, he strolls over to you and plucks the jacket from you, casually slipping it on. âNo, I put it on you. Wanted to see how long someone could feel safe enough to pass out in my studio. Thinking of turning this place into a daycare. Iâll have you play in the morning, get some lunch, nap time...â
Thereâs a beat of silence in which his sarcasm lingers in the air, and you stare at him, unamused. He shrugs, smirk unwavering.
You huff, âI regret coming here.â
âYeah, why did you come here?â
Smoothing down your pink wool sweater, you stand up to stretch with zero shame. Then, fluttering your lashes at him, you assert with a smile, âYouâre coming with me to the Christmas markets. This Sunday.â
Jeongguk groans like the idea physically pains him, âOh, I would fucking hate that.â
Ignoring him, you zip up your puffer jacket and rock on your toes, âPick me up at seven, okay?â
He glares, unimpressed at your excitement, before heading toward the entrance and pulling a hefty set of keys from his pocket, âI donât even remember where you live.â
You hurry after him, following him outside and shuffling closer in your coat at the cold air hitting you. Watching as he locks the door and pulls down the rolling shutter with its red-and-black skull graffiti, you chirp, âYouâll have to text me for that.â
Jeongguk rises up again, giving you a slow once-over. He seems distracted by your hair before snorting, âYouâre talking like Iâm the one who spent their afternoon napping in my studio just to drop this bomb and leave. Couldnât you just text me this?â
You shrug innocently. He sighs, reaching out for you, âDo you need a ride homââ
âBye!â
You spin on your heel and skip off in the opposite direction before he can let his own greeting out, waving a gloved hand behind you. Jeongguk stays where he is, arm still held out.
Do you even have a car? He hopes soâitâs freezing out.
With another sigh, he shakes his head and tugs his jacket tighter around himself. Why are you so fucking weird?
On the fourteenth day of December, your arm is looped tightly through Jeonggukâs as you stroll through the Christmas markets, burying your face further in your scarf to shield against the icy air, and with each few step you gasp at things that the boy next to you finds utterly unimpressive.
You stop at nearly every stand, eyes glowing with the warm Christmas fairy lights strung all around, effortlessly picking up conversations with the vendors and melting even the most stoic faces with the scrunching of your nose at every grin and the exaggerated nods following descriptions of their crafts.
Through all of it, Jeongguk remains put at your side, his arm linked with yours and a subtle pout on his lips. When you tease him about it, he simply shrugs, and you figure itâs just his natural expression. You find that oddly endearing.
He still humors your enthusiasm, offering low hums or murmured praise whenever you exclaim youâve finally found what youâve been searching for everywhere, and he offers to pay every time, the gesture so casual that he doesnât seem bothered by it in the slightest.
When you bow to the nth seller, clutching yet another bag of sweet treats tightly to your chest, Jeongguk exhales and resumes slow walking beside you, âI don't like these places.â
You glance up at him, fluffy hat almost slipping off before he promptly secures it back on your head with a gesture so smooth you hardly notice it. You instead wonder, âThen why are we here now?â
He slips his hand into his pocket, âBecause you threatened me.â
âWith a really good time.â
âIf this is your version of a good time, you might as well kick me in the balls. That probably feels better.â
You gasp, halting in your tracks to glare at him. When he lets a small chuckle topple out of him, you think you might forgive him. No, youâre more than sure with the way his smile lingers. You sheepishly look away, muttering, âDonât tempt me, emo boy.â
âIâm notââ
âOh yes, you are,â you interrupt, snapping your face back to his. Clearing your throat, you prepare your best imitation of him, exaggerating a frown and lowering your voice, âIâm so different, I hate Christmas.â
Jeongguk scoffs, pulling you tighter to him when a scooter unexpectedly zips past you. You yelp, instinctively shuffling closer to his arm. He continues the conversation casually, unaffected, âThatâs the worst impression of me Iâve ever heard. And also, I never said that.â
Releasing the breath you held for a moment too long, you uncertainly keep your slow stroll going, only narrowing your orbs at him, âItâs written all over your face.â
âI love Christmas.â
The admission is small, his voice soft and almost reluctant, like it pains him to reveal something so simple and obvious as loving Christmas. When you lean your chin on the puffed arm of his jacket, he doesnât look down at you, his gaze fixed ahead, guiding the two of you through the chaos of the busy street.
You chirp, your steps stumbling, âReally?
Only then he shifts his attention to you, steadying you with his other arm wrapping around your figure in what seems like a hug, before he lifts you up by the neck of your coat and retreats just enough to face you. His lips press into a straight line as he nods, a flicker of vulnerability in his eyes the more he stares in yours, âYeah, really. I just donât like⊠crowded spaces.â
You canât help but think back to what happened just a week ago. The exact reason why the spirals in your brain wouldnât stop twisting and tangling is now slipping from his lips in a voice that quietens as he seems to grasp the delicacy of his own confession.
He doesnât like the way youâre looking at him. Drawn-up brows over wide and sparkling eyesâthe only part of your face visible beneath your scarfâstare at him with something too tender, too focused, that makes him uneasy. He turns his head to the side, the tips of his ears red not only from the cold, and pulls you along toward another stand, an almost nervous distraction.
Itâs your turn to frown. Maybe the one thatâs permanently plastered on his face tonight isnât just a reflection of his usual sullen demeanor. With a knot tightening in your chest, you canât help but feel like you dragged him into something he truly hated, and that he wasnât just pretending to.
What if this isnât just your evil inner voice talking? What if this isnât just overthinking, but the factual truth of your current reality? Heâs hating every second of this but still enduring it becauseâ you catch your breath with a long and strained inhale, becauseâ
âHey, dimples. You okay?â
Jeongguk moves to stand in front of you, his hands settling gently on your shoulders, a stance eerily reminiscent of that night you were just thinking back to. He nods at you, âBreathe with me, hm?â
You find yourself quickly adjusting to his comforting aura, drawn in by the reassurance in his eyes trained on you, never wavering, watching closely as you begin to mirror the measured rise and fall of his chest, your breathing gradually syncing with his until the tightness in your chest starts to ease.
When you feel your feet touching the ground again, you offer a small, apologetic smile. âIâm okay. Sorry. JustâŠâ You quickly scan your surroundings, eyes landing on a colorful stand, âWait here a second, okay?â
Jeongguk lets you slip away, fingers twitching slightly at his sides. He takes a few hesitant steps closer, careful not to crowd you but unable to tear his eyes away from your next actions, how your grin comes back on your lips with unpracticed ease, lighting up your face as easy talk flows between you and the seller. A few coins trade hands, and soon youâre holding two churros, their chocolate-dipped ends threatening to drip onto the ground.
You donât hesitate, biting into one of them before it has the chance to make a mess, and with a quick nod of your head you motion for Jeongguk to follow. He does so, only after taking the churros from your hands, and letting you seek his warmth again with an arm snaking under his. Heâs only letting you do this because itâs fucking cold, no other reason.
You walk, and walk, guiding him along until you find a quieter corner, away from the bustle, where you two stand isolated from the rest. The dim lighting casts a softer glow, and the distant hum of chatter and music fades into a gentle background noise.
Glancing up at him, you flash a playful smile before leaning in to bite another chunk of the churro heâs holding, your laughter spilling out as he grimaces in exaggerated disgust and pulls the sweet out of your reach. You settle onto a nearby bench, patting the empty spot beside you invitingly.
Jeongguk is unsure of what this means. He takes slow steps towards you, handing you your churroâwhich you take eagerly, already chewing on itâbefore tilting his head back in mild confusion, âBut⊠you wanted to visit the markets.â
You shake your head, your bug eyes meeting his as you speak around a mouthful of sugar and chocolate, âThereâs no point if youâre not going to enjoy it.â
The look youâre giving him is one heâs seen countless times beforeâfamiliar, and annoyingly reminiscent of ten years ago. Itâs the same look that, heâs convinced, is solely responsible for making his knees weak and his fingers jittery, no longer something he can blame on the cold. Youâre unbelievably frustrating.
He clicks his tongue, looking away, âYouâre fucking weird.â
You giggle, humming, âIf weird is a synonym for whipped, then sure.â
He has to fight the twitch of his lips. Fakes a gag instead. You chuckle louder. Only then, he hints at a smile, âCâmon. Letâs go check out some other stuff.â
âButââ
He interrupts, pulling you up by your forearm, âIâm hungry.â
The next hour you spend wandering around is made of Jeonggukâs small, imperceptible ways of cracking: his pout less prominent, more replaced by lips pulled into a tight line or in a mildly pursued scowl as you ask him which beanie looks betterâthe pink or purple one; his so evident sarcasm as he comments on how the old vendor was totally flirting with you, or when he mockingly adds to your over-the-top excitement every time you spot a dog. All in all, heâs more relaxed. More himself.
You then find yourself standing in front of the churros stall from earlier, the warm scent tugging you closer. Without hesitation, you ask the lady behind the counter for another four churrosâthis time with extra sugar. You add two thank yous.
To fill the waiting, you pick up casual conversation with the woman, until she pauses mid-sentence, wrinkled hand coming to rest over her heart as her gaze flits between you and Jeongguk, her crinkled eyes lighting with a sudden fondness and a quiet, content smile finds its space on her chapped lips, âYou two look perfect together.â
Jeongguk snorts, âOh, weâre notââ
âThank you, auntie!â You chirp, and your grin is so wide it squeezes your eyes into crescents. You accept the first churro she hands over, biting into it and talking through it, âThese are delicious. Is the recipe a secret or can you share it with me?â
The woman laughs, clearly flustered by your energy, and leans in with a conspiratorial expression, though she gives in pretty soon, âIt is a secret, but⊠Oh, câmon. A pretty lady like you deserves to know.â
You burst into chuckles, joined by auntieâs own rolling and carrying a contrasting warmth to the cold air. Jeongguk, for his part, stands slightly to the side, observing. You still cling to his arm, even as the vendor reaches over to gently smooth her fingers through your curls, complimenting the way they frame your face. You roll your eyes, feigning exasperation, but thereâs a dimpled smile stretching on your cheeks that gives you away.
Before you leave, the lady points to Jeongguk, voice growing earnest, âYou, handsome. I can see youâre a good guy, so you probably donât need my advice. But treat her right, yes?â
Jeongguk stills for a second and stumbles over an awkward nod, managing to force a smile that has you stifling a laugh under your scarf. You tug him away with a cheerful wave to your new friend, promising her youâll come visit again before Christmas.
Once youâre at a safe distance, he mutters, âWhy did you not tell her that weâre not together?â
You tilt your head considering his question, âItâs not like she knows us. She looked like she adored you. I didnât want to ruin that for her. Maybe seeing a young couple like us really means a lot to her.â
Jeongguk observes how the more you explain, the more youâre convincing yourself as much as him, eventually solidifying your reasoning as you nod, muttering some more under your breath. He scoffs, looking away to hide his lips twitching.
When he turns back heâs frowning, though it doesnât quite match the way he lets you hook arms again, your pastel pink bag hanging from his shoulders. Still, he sulks as though the mere thought of your observation has him shivering, and not with the cold, âWeâre not a couple.â
Jeongguk barely gets to let his unnecessarily petty comment out before you drag him with an unusual strength over to another stand, his voice not even touching your ears, âOh, letâs go over there, Gguk!â
On the twenty-first day or December, you send him a picture of your tattoo.
You had been talking non-stop ever since your⊠date? Or was it just a hangout? Whatever it was, itâs been a week, and Jeongguk finds himself smiling at a fucking screen too many times a day for his linking. Itâs irritating. Even brings his phone with him to the bathroom in case you text him. Not because he cares. No, itâs practical. What if you ever had an emergency and he was the only one who could help?
Most of the time itâs just you sending TikToks, but he clicks on the links with the same urgency heâd reply to a genuine plea for help. He doesnât really want to think of the reason why.
Now, this pictureâit catches Jeongguk off guard.
It doesnât even look like itâs about the tattoo. Not really. It feels like an excuse, a flimsy pretext for you to show yourself to him. The tattooâthe one he himself inkedâis there, yes. But itâs not at all the main focus of the photo that tightens his grip on his phone.
Youâre wearing a thin, pink tank top with delicate lace trim, the straps barely clinging to your shoulders. Your fingers hook under the neckline, tugging it down just enough to expose the tattoo nestled between the soft curve of your breasts. The angle of the shot is deliberate, he can tell. Your back arches slightly off what he assumes is your bed, and your face is cropped out, save for your glossed lips, full and slightly parted, catching the dim light.
Jeongguk blinks, hard. Then again. His throat bobs as he swallows thickly, the low light of his phone screen doing little to soften the image burning itself into his mind. His eyes dart upward, scanning his surroundings, just to make sure everything is in place. The shop is empty, the door is closed, the hum of quiet settles over the space.
Looking down, the picture still stares back at him paired with a single message.
Annoying [11:39 p.m.]: do you think itâs healed? idk about this stuff, need your help đ„ș
Heâs not stupid. He knows exactly what this is. He alternates between the photo and your words, jaw ticking and tightening more with the seconds flowing.
Itâs almost cruel, the way youâre testing him like this. He tries to push the feeling down, to reject the buzz of heat pooling low in his stomach. You know him well enough to be aware that he wonât reply to something like this. A stupid, unnecessary message. The tattoo is healedâhe told you that a week ago, clear as day. Thereâs no reason for you to ask again.
Whatâs the purpose of this?
He gets a distorted idea when he shifts uncomfortably in place, the dull ache tightening his pants almost unbearable now.
Jeongguk groans and locks his phone, tossing it onto the counter as if that will put an end to this. He tries to refocus on his tasks, the last ones before he clocks off. Cleaning needles, tossing used stencils.
But his heavy balls keep sending desperate, silent prayers to his brain, to please let them have this. Just this once.
Itâs been a bad day. Two of his appointments canceled last minute, leaving him to sit around bored. The last client showed up drunk and wouldnât stop trying to flirt with him. His coworkers were loud and distracting, and to top it all off, the heater broke, leaving the studio freezing cold.
Itâs been such a bad day.
So, would there be any harm? Itâs not like anyone will know. Not you, not his friends. Heâs the only one that will. And heâs far more willing to live with this dirty secret rather than with his hard dick straining achingly in its confines.
Jeongguk abruptly snatches up his phone again, unlocking it to the same picture that caused him to brush the device aside just minutes ago. He lets out a shaky breath, thumb hovering over the screen. You wonât get no reply to him. But if you knew what he was up to right now, you would probably geek. Tease him, with your warm smile that digs dimples in your cheek, hopping on your toes to poke at his chest playfully, with those perfectly manicured hands of yours.
âShit,â his free hand is already pushing the jeans down along with his boxers, and he drops his weight onto the nearest stool as he grips at the base of his thick cock, eyes devouring the image of you in the empty chat.
He doesnât zoom in. That would feel too shameless. But he finds it oddly better like this. Is it weird that your text, so innocently worded, is turning him on? That the simple idea of you needing his help is enough to have his hips jerking?
What could you possibly need his help for? Fuck. The different ideas that pool his mind have him squeezing harder at his stinging tip.
Jeongguk focuses on your dainty hand, slim pointer finger snaking under the collar of your flimsy shirt to show yourself to him, and your small boobs spill from the sides with a delicious, soft swell. He hisses when he pictures that same hand working on him instead, his warm mouth stuffed with your stiff nipples, visible through the sheer material.
He canât help the loud groan leaving his lips, wrist flickering up and down in a motion that feels sloppy way too soon, hips jutting up to fuck into his tight fist. Throwing his head back, he sees you even behind closed eyelids.
He pictures your delicate figure sprawled on his bed, long lashes batting up at him as you sheepishly hide with your cheek to your shoulder. Can clearly make out how youâd sit on his lap instead, unsteady breath fanning over his lips, using his long shaft to make yourself cum. The whole time, he sees the tattoo on your chest, the one that is forever on you, eternally a reminder of him.
When he lets his head topple forward again, his bright screen still stares at him, only because a new message pops up in the chat. He startles, and his cock throbs in his hand.
Annoying [11:52 p.m.]: oh, and i miss you.
âOh, fuck,â the curse is strained through a loud whine, and only followed by more of his full moans filling the room. His brows knit as his hand moves rapidly, palm collecting the precum spreading embarrassingly fast on his tip and rolling it down his length.
He focuses on your parted lips, the soft curve of your breast, your hard nipples begging to be sucked and spit on. Your last text has flashes of your bug-like eyes staring up at him seizing his mind.
Thatâs what undoes him. Heâs delirious as he lets out his every sound, freely, unchecked, not caring about how loud he is, whimpering as he gets closer to his climax. When he thinks of those eyes locking with his, kneeling before him, eager and willing to swallow his every drop, he cums. Hard.
Jeongguk pumps everything he can out of him, and itâs messyâspilling over his hand, staining his clothes, pooling on the floor. His chest heaves with the effort, and the sensation of abandon he feels is so pleasurable, energy drained but leaving him with a lightness that threatens to make his cock hard again.
Fuck. He canât afford that happening if youâre not the one attending his needs. This wonât be enough, not until itâs you. Heâs insatiable.
Jeongguk needs to hear your voice.
Itâs an instinct, and he bends to it. Heâs careful, making sure not to tap on the FaceTime option, because if you were to see him right now itâd be glaringly obvious.
When he looks to the side, he catches a glimpse of his reflection in the long mirror, and he visibly grimaces at the way his cheeks are flushed, the pearls of sweat coating his forehead causing his bangs to stick uncomfortably to the skin.
Guilty doesnât even begin to cover it.
With the phone to his ear beeping to eternity, he hesitates, contemplates ending the call before you can answer. But just then, you do.
âJeongguk! Is everything okay?â
Your voice is familiarly soft, but thereâs a trace of concern. Blinking, he brings the device closer again and gulps thickly when he can make out your panting breaths. He clears his throat and puts on his best nonchalant act, âHuhâ Yes. Why wouldnât it be?â
âI donât know⊠You just never call. Or text first. This is weird. You sure youâre okay?â
Oh. Is that really what it is like?
Jeongguk never realized this was how he came acrossâso detached that a simple phone call feels out of character. Your naive honesty hits him square in the chest. God, he needs to get better at this. The irony stings: he just fucking jerked off to your picture and the simple thought of you, while youâre on the other side thinking heâs just a careless piece of shit who doesnât even know how to call.
The long stretch of silence registers in his brain, and he coughs to buy time, âYes, Iâm sure. Iâ huh,â he thinks of stuff you usually ask to keep the conversation flowing. Not out of courtesy, but out of genuine interest, the curiosity that makes people want to open up. Heâs still not used to that. Still finds it weird.
âHow⊠How was your day?â
It must be equally weird for you because it takes you a longer beat to reply. In that quiet moment, he clenches his eyes shut and feels his jaw tick with shame. And embarrassment. And this icky feeling that makes him feel too mushy for his liking. Hell, what is he doing? Heâs never been like this, heâs not supposed to be like this.
But you recover quickly, as you always do, and you smooth over the moment. Fix it all for him like you were born to be just that. Make him feel like he fits in ways that have him exhaling shakily.
Jeongguk senses a foreign drumming in his stomach, and itâs warm but odd, and he loves it but he doesnât want to.
On the twenty-fifth day of December, cheekily under a mistletoe, Jeongguk realizes he wants you. Thereâs parts of him that probably knew way sooner. But the parts of him that didnât, fighting tooth and nail to suppress the mere thought, are just now finally surrendering.
Jeongguk has always found you admirable, back in high school. You had this determination to you. Not only when it came to him. It shone particularly when you catered to others, always finding ways to help, to mend, to offer yourself with nothing less than a fully toothed smile.
But heâs also always thought you two wereâand still areâtoo different to work. He canât be what you want, let alone what you deserve: someone who can match your enthusiasm and unwavering smiles, your frustrating positivity; someone who sees the world the way you do. No black, no grey, no shades in between. Just bright, hopeful white. Blinding white.
Itâs the white making him dizzy, shifting his perspective, having him believing the opposite of what heâs always known. Pushing to be a little more egoistical, deceiving himself that heâs right for you. Because he wants to be. He oh, so selfishly wants people to know heâs the one who finally gets to have you, the one gifted with such a light, unfairly deserving of all the love you carry into every room you walk into.
Just a few days ago, during another one of your increasingly frequent phone calls, you asked him what he was doing for Christmas. He could have lied, come up with something on the spot.
But with how you so easily, and always coax the truth out of him, he let it slip. He told you heâd be alone, words subtly heavy. But they didnât have the chance to even drop their weight before you were already inviting him to your friendâs party, insisting that he would be the most welcome.
And heâs here, and he sits beside you, and every time you laugh you lean your weight over him, and the room vibrates with the energy you fill it with, and each one of your friends is so enamoured with you, and for reasons he canât fully understand it fills him with a sense of pride that shouldnât belong to him. But it does, and it comes with so many other feelings.
You donât push him to talk. You never force him into the spotlight when he takes a step back, quietly observing, choosing to stay in the background. Because you read him like itâs in your nature to do so, your soul seems to intuitively melt with his, and it intertwines in such a tight knot that he feels it constrict his throat. He knows heâs still alive because his heart is beating, just a little faster with each time you flash your dimples at him.
âDimples. What are you doing, hm?â
Now, heâs in front of you, a small smile on his lips as you stand on your tiptoes, trying to dangle the mistletoe over both your heads. Youâre struggling just a little, your hand unable to reach high enough, and the fake plant awkwardly brushes his hair, the tickling sensation causing his nose to scrunch. You laugh.
Looking up at your swinging movements, you lose your balance for the slightest second. Jeonggukâs hands move instinctively, catching you promptly by the waist to steady your body. But even after that, he doesnât shift, his warm palms stilling. And when you face him, heâs closer and his chest brushes against yours. From this proximity, he witnesses the Christmas lights painting a galaxy of their own in your orbs.
You beam, âWhat does it look like? We have to kiss now.â
Jeongguk stares in your expectant eyes, brows wiggling and all. The more his mouth keeps in a straight line, the more the wiggling slows. You eventually come down from your tiptoes, letting the mistletoe fall to the side, tilting your head.
He snorts, looking away briefly to hide an embarrassingly wide grin behind his hand. When he turns back to you, your pout is enough to have him scrambling to meet your gaze.
âOn one condition, though.â
You chirp, âYeah?â
He licks his teeth, reserving you with a smug look, âAdmit that you were scared to get your tattoo.â
Your smile vanishes in an instant, your expression falling into mock offense. With a dramatic roll of your eyes, you turn on your heel, pretending to walk away from him. Pretending, only because you know he wonât let you. And youâre proven right when his fingers wrap around your arm, tugging you back with enough force to spin you into him. Suddenly, youâre pressed so close you can feel the heat radiating from him. Your chin nearly touches his chest as you glare up at him, narrowed eyes meeting the mischievous glint in his.
He bites a smile, lips twitching, âCâmon, princess. You wanted to act all tough and shit, but I could feel you shaking.â
Your scoff is loud and incredulous, âYouâre such a bitch.â
He only shrugs, âYou want my kiss, no?â
âOh my god,â groaning, itâs your turn to face the side to hide a grin, âAre you always this cocky?â
His chin tilts upward slightly, and you can tell heâs enjoying this, âSay it.â
You whip back around to meet him with a seriousness he hardly ever sees on you, and you even clear your throat, channeling every ounce of the determination he knows you for, every drop of resolve that makes you you. âYes. I was scared shitless, Jeongguk.â
Foreign excitement brims out of him, not before his eyes widen just a fraction, and his nose scrunches the more he leans closer to you, inches from you, swinging side to side with exaggerated mockery and a grin splitting his face, âSee! I knewâhmph.â
Thereâs no other second to waste.
The condition has been met, and now all the requirements for you to claim what you were promised, your reward, are there. Even more when kissing him means catching him mid-taunt and silencing whatever teasing remark he had ready.
Your lips touch his in effortless ease, breaking the air as they press together. Itâs tentative at first, almost uncertain as you feel Jeongguk remain still.
But it doesnât take him longer to move, mouth molding against yours in a sickeningly sweet hug, tasting each other with quiet curiosity, taking your time to adjust and melt, instructing your bodies to imitate the dance.
Your arms lock around his neck, his stronger and tattooed ones circle your waist, and the way you click together feels so right, almost too perfect, so perfect it scares you. When you arch yourself further into him, even the non-existent space between you unbearable, he accompanies the motion with his wide palms gliding along your back, squeezing you into him, feeling the curve of your hips.
The soft whine that scratches your throat and vibrates against his lips betrays you, along with the useless effort to contain the intensity of what youâre feeling. The emotion disarms you, the sound gasping in your chest, but in Jeonggukâs arms it feels safe to let go.
On Christmas day, you crown a youthful fantasy, the kind youâll look back to even when youâre older. Jeongguk feels like heâd be the right person to stand by you to do so.
When he reluctantly detaches from you, his face keeps at a safe distance thatâd allow him to go back and taste you, not before resting his forehead on yours and whispering, âMerry Christmas.â
You giggle. âMerry Christmas, Gguk.â
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