#*through tears while cracking up* 'oh. yeah closer by the chainsmokers is a really bad song'

[marklikely]

harrowing experience yesterday where my friend and i debated whether or not "Closer" was a good song and it went on for like. way too long before we realized that i was talking about the nine inch nails song and they were talking about the god awful chainsmokers song.

[yeojaa]

blame it on me.

prompt:  “i know we're just friends but you're sitting on my lap and i’m so sorry if i get hard.”

read part two!  *inserts spiel about how much i love @hobi-gif​​ and her beta-reading, prompt-sending self*  but also, i’m back at it with the kook drabbles because i am weak as hell. 

pairing.  jjk x f!reader.  rating.  general.  tags.  college!bangtan featuring a lil bit of accidental body shaming to deflect blame, fluffiness, and jin and his girlfriend being the parents of the group.  also, jeon jungkook is an idiot.  wc.  0.6k.

You’re packed like sardines in a can, three overgrown boys stuffed into the backseat of Jin’s peppy little Honda Civic.  Taehyung’s poor head keeps bumping against the window, Jimin’s doing his very best to take up as little space as possible - a surprisingly easy feat for the slim dancer - and well, you’re just trying to ignore the way Jungkook’s hands feel on your hips.

It’s bad enough that you’ve harboured a stupid secret crush on him since the beginning of second year, but this is something else.  Like the world is laughing at you, pouring rain all over your parade.

“How much longer?”  The poor boy acting as both seat and seatbelt sounds strained, an almost whine carrying his words over your sister’s song of choice.  It pumps through the car, buzzing loudly in your ears.  You can hear Jimin humming along to it, silver-adorned fingers tapping a rhythm against his denim-clad thigh.  You’d be dancing, too - shimmying and shaking - if you weren’t acutely aware of the body curled around yours.

You expect Jin’s response - boisterous and loud and easily heard over the music.  “We’ve been in the car for five minutes!”  His voice cracks a little, as it always does when he’s left to deal with four of his youngest friends without the aid of his fellow oldies.  

He was really regretting agreeing to ferry your bunch of idiots across town.  At least he had Yerin.

Why couldn’t Namjoon and Yoongi and Hoseok live closer?  Why had they moved after graduation and why had he not?  

“Just have some patience,”  comes Yerin’s voice from the passenger seat, gravel-coated and unaffected.  

“She’s heavy.”  Jungkook’s words are met with an astounding chorus of disapprovals, overlapping voices nearly drowning out the sound of The Chainsmokers.  Taehyung’s even peeking around Jimin to glare at him, brow knitted in consternation.  

“Don’t be mean!”  

“Ya - that’s rude!”

“Don’t make me kick you out of this car!”

While you appreciate the support that pours out, nothing can quite lessen the initial sting.  It needles beneath your skin, pricking at all the areas you’re self-conscious about, and you’re tearing a hole through your bottom lip in efforts to alleviate the discomfort.  

You meet your sister’s eyes in the rearview mirror and you can see the sympathy there, little twinkles of it against the backdrop of brown that makes up her irises.

“I’m sorry,”  you mumble, barely loud enough for anyone to hear.  Surely not even loud enough for Jungkook to hear - and yet he does.  It’s obvious by how he suddenly stiffens, grip tightening over the softness of your thighs.  

When he repeats the words back at you, you almost think you’ve misheard.  They’re so quiet - almost whispered and absolutely inconsequential against the funky track your sister’s popped on now - but he’s far too close for it to have been your imagination.    

He’s sorry?  That’s a new one.

While you’re mulling over this revelation - in disbelief, in surprise, in appreciation - Jungkook continues in that same subdued tone, the feel of his breath drawing goosebumps across your neck and up and down your arms.  He’s so close - almost too close, even with your forced proximity - and he sounds so apologetic you want to twist to look at him.  Instead, you let him speak to the side of your head, directly into your ear and more intimate than he should be.

“You’re not heavy.”  As if to drive his point home, one hand squeezes gently at your side, a little gesture that makes you wiggle in his lap.  Whatever he’d meant to continue with hitches to an abrupt stop then, firm hands gripping you tight.  “But when you do that…”

You understand why he’s whispering now.  It dawns on you - the sun splitting through the rain clouds.

You imagine your eyes are the size of saucers.  “Oh.”

“Yeah,”  he grumbles, with a laugh that eats up the sound.  “I know we're just friends but you're sitting on my lap and...”  The warmth of his mouth intensifies, heat nearly burning you alive when his chin drops to your shoulder.  “I'm so sorry if I get hard.”