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mmegwlrd · 2 days ago

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ꪆৎ ೃ࿔* INTO YOU + jeon jungkook

you get assigned to tutor the meanest guy you’ve ever met, jeon jungkook. he pushes away, not accepting your help. until he finally gives in.

word count : 3.7k

genre : angst! happy ending :-)

warnings : guys i’m sorry it’s so angsty AGAIN WTF, hurt.. comfort, mean boy jk + sweetheart reader! crying,, JK IS AN ASSHOLE!! LIKE THE WHOLEEEE TIME!! i was listening to just one day the whole time while writing so 💪 can you guys tell i like ariana by the titles 😭😭

a/n : guys IK… IM KIND OF LATE ON MY UPLOADING OOPPSSSS!! i lowkey hate this but i have no other ideas in mind 🏋🏽‍♀️💤💐🌞 and THIS IS NOT PROOFREAD!!

masterlist

you walk into professor kim’s lecture room, smiling at him as you walk up, “good afternoon, miss (last name). i would like you to tutor one of your classmates,” he says.

you nod, “who?” professor kim looks behind you, “jeon jungkook, you’ll be getting tutored with (name), twice a week. no exceptions,” his voice booms. you turn around, seeing a boy in the seat with his legs up and hood up. like he owned the place.

he doesn’t even look up before muttering a small, “cool.” you blink, “we can meet at the library tomorrow!” you say sweetly. jungkook looks up at you, “okay.”

“we should exchange numbers! just in case you need to skip one,” you whisper the last part. jungkook shrugs, “okay. give me your phone,” he puts out his hand. you unlock your phone and hand it to him.

about two seconds later, he hands the phone back. he looks back at his phone, “don’t waste your time,” he mutters. you tilt your head, “what?” you ask, unsure if you heard him correctly. jungkook glances to you, “i’m not showing up to that. so, don’t waste your time.”

he was serious. it was tuesday afternoon, 4:15pm and an empty library table. you checked the clock at 3. than 3:30. than 4. you sigh no sign of jungkook. this was your third session, the second one he missed. he’s only went to the first one so far, which he showed up 30 minutes late too, didn’t bring his books and spent the entire time on his phone.

just like usual, you were patient. you texted him after the missed session.

hey, missed you today! :-) hope everything’s good. wanna reschedule again? read.

you sigh and get up, packing your books. you walk out of the library.

the next day, you wait for him outside of his classroom. you thought you were doing right by seeing if anything is wrong with him.

the hallways buzz with voices and backpacks zipping. you look down at your shoes as jungkook walks out. your eyes follow him, “jungkook!”

he doesn’t spot walking, he doesn’t even look at you. you catch up to his pace, “hey! you okay? we need to talk,” you smile up at him.

he continues to walk, “no we don’t,” he mutters. you pout and sigh softly, “you’ve missed almost every session, i’ve texted you and—“ jungkook looks at you finally with a dry laugh.

“yeah, i seen. real persistent, aren’t you?” he asks, like a mean boy. you blink again, “is that supposed to be funny?” jungkook stops walking, turning to you fully now.

“look. you don’t need to play your little sweet girl act with me. i’m not some charity case you get extra credit for helping,” he says. you face fell, like truly. you shake your head, “no! no! i didn’t mean it like that. that’s not what this is about.”

“than what is it?” he snaps. you stare up at him with a small frown, “you don’t even know me. you’re wasting your time chasing after somebody who doesn’t want to be fixed.”

you look around, “it-it’s just tutoring sessions.. i didn’t— jungkook—“ you take a deep breath, looking down at your twisted hands. “i never said you needed fixing, i’m just trying to help you with your grade.”

“yeah? than why are you bothering me so much about it?” his voice lowers. you stay silent as he scoffs and walks away. you stare at him.

what? why is he so mad? it’s only tutoring sessions.

jungkook shakes his head as he walks away from you. who the fuck do you think you are? the perfect sweet girl of your grade?

jimin catches up with jungkook, staring at him with raised brows. jungkook looks at him, “what?” jimin sighs, “you don’t have to be so mean to (name). you’re such an asshole sometimes.”

jungkook pauses, irritated already, “what are you talking about?” jimin shrugs, “(name). you’re being mean to her… it’s just tutoring sessions.”

“i’m not some charity case so she can stick up to mr kim. she keeps texting me like i need help… like i’m some type of project,” he shakes his head.

“she’s just trying to help you with school work! why do you hate her so much? she’s being nice to you,” jimin scoffs. jungkook clenches his jaw, “i don’t need her pity, jimin.”

“it’s not pity, it’s being a selfless person. you think your grades are gonna go up if you’re being a jerk to your tutor?” jimin adds. jungkook stays quiet, “whatever…” he mumbles.

can’t come today, helping my mom.

jungkook said he would show up. he told you to meet at the library at 5. you groan, feeling truly irritated for the first time in ages. you shove your stuff into your bag again. you sigh deeply as you walk out of the library.

you take a shortcut to your dorm, walking past the cafe. you turn your head, freezing. you see jungkook with a girl. a pretty girl, sitting across from him laughing.

he didn’t see you, but you saw everything. the way he was smiling at her, that stupid fucking sideways smile. leaning in whenever she said something. he was enjoying himself. he didn’t look cold, detached, the jungkook who speaks to you.

your heart twists, you now felt defeated.

you shake your head, quickly walking to your dorm. helping his mom? are you serious?

the week after, you sat in the library. it wasn’t a day to tutor jungkook so you were alone. you write down your essay, listening to old ariana grande as you puff out your hot cheeks.

you feel a presence in front of you. you glance up seeing jungkook. you don’t say anything, still writing your essay. he huffs, “hey.”

you hum, “hi.” he furrows his brows, “so? it’s our day—“

“it’s not actually. so you can leave if you want to,” you cut him off. jungkook scoffs, like always. “so the one day i show up with my shit you don’t wanna teach me?”

you slam the pencil, “oh.. i’m sorry— you told me you were busy helping your mom,” you said. he shakes his head, “what? i was.” you fake smile, “oh really? because i saw you… with that girl.”

the guilt hit him like a punch to the gut. he opens his mouth, “and?”

“and? you told me… you couldn’t come to the session. because of your mom.” you say again.

“why did you lie to me? why would you even agree with professor kim to get a tutor?” you stare at him. he stares back, “i don’t owe you an explanation, (name). you’re not my girlfriend. i don’t have to tell you anything,” he shrugs.

you narrow your eyes, “you’re such a fucking asshole, do you know that? why are you so fucking mean to me?! i have done nothing but be nice to you. i don’t even fucking talk to you.”

“don’t act like you’re an innocent victim.”

“i’m not acting like a victim, jungkook. you keep blowing me off, keep pushing me around—“

“you think you’re special?” he leans closer to you. your head spins, “i told you not to waste your time. you wanna know why i hate you (name)? you’re such an angel and it makes me want to throw up. i hate the way you make me feel vulnerable, small— less than you. you have always— always tried to help me. for what?”

you stare at him with sad furrowed brows, your lip quivering a bit. he continues to talk, “every time you try to help me, it reminds me how i can’t be. i will never be good for anybody and the one time i found somebody— you— somebody to fucking help me… i don’t want them near me.”

“i don’t want you to speak to me ever again. i don’t want your fucking tutor sessions— i don’t want your fucking help with anything! seeing you try so hard makes me so fucking mad. you make me feel pitied and that pisses me off more than anything.”

you watch him walk away, your hands trembling. is that how you made people felt? you didn’t mean to.

your intentions are good, you know that. why couldn’t he just— a choked sob comes out your throat. you thank God that you’re in the back of the library so nobody can see you crying.

you fidget with your nails as tears spill down your eyes. you grab your stuff and walk out the library.

it’s been weeks since you and jungkook have last spoke and it was horrible. you stopped talking much, you didn’t want others to be a burden. what if somebody really does feel like that?

it was halloween night, almost midnight when your phone rang. unknown number? you groan softly.

“hello?” you say softly. it was silent for a moment. a slurred voice spoke, “(name)? angel?”

your chest tightens, “jungkook?” you ask. you felt your head start to hurt, “you picked up.”

you heard music, talking, wind. he was at the party, obviously. you sigh, “didn’t think you would…” he slurs. you stay quiet before speaking up again, “are you okay?”

he didn’t answer instead he laughs softly— sad, kind of bitter. “you’ve always… i hate how fucking sweet you are. i don’t hate it. i love your sweetness. i love the way you say my name. i love the way you talk, laugh.”

you sit on your bed, staring at your covers. you were shocked… a little mad, sad.

“jung—“

“you’re different like why did you pick up? i don’t know what your deal is like i’m a dick to you but you pick up my drunk calls! i blow you off and act like a dick. but you’re so nice to me, everytime.”

you bite the inside of your cheek, “i know you’re not mean though,” you mumble softly. there was another pause, “that’s what scares me.”

you stand by your window, looking at the moon, “what scares you?” “you see me while i can’t even see myself,” his voice slows down, still slurred but more serious.

“and i don’t know how to talk to you. you’re so soft and light. i dunno how to be around that,” he frowns to himself. your heart cracks open a little, “you don’t have to be anything around me.”

“i think about you… all the time. i cannot believe i talked to you like that. i’m such an asshole… i made you fucking cry,” he shakes his head.

“you’re drunk,” you say gently. “doesn’t make it less true.”

you grab your hoodie, “where are you?”

“i’m at blake’s party. i left it so im actually on some bench in the quad. i hated it… everybody’s so fake… besides jimin… jin… suga… hobi… tae… joon… and you. i don’t wanna be with them though— i wanna be around you.”

you sigh, “im coming.”

you hug your hoodie tight as you walk around the quad. and then— there he was. slumped on a bench under a glow of the streetlight, head tilted, hoodie slipping off. his legs were stretched out, tapping his food against the pavement like he was trying to stay awake.

you walk up, “jungkook?” you say quietly. his head lolls to the side. his eyes were glassy, unfocused. but when they landed on you, they had a flash of something. shame. surprise. relief.

“you actually came,” he said, like it shocked him more then the cold air. you sit next to him, “why wouldn’t i?” his eyes follow your figure. he stares at you like you aren’t real.

“let’s go back, okay?” you help him up. he doesn’t argue, finally. he leans against you, the smell of alcohol clinging onto him. as you two walk to your dorm, he mumbles something you almost didn’t understand.

“i don’t get you,” his heavy slurred words. “you’re not like… everybody.”

you lay him on the bed. you make a face. his outside clothes on the bed. you sigh as you make your way to the couch.

the morning after, jungkook woke up in a… girl’s room?! oh hell no— did he fuck somebody? you walk in, your hoodie hanging right above your levi jeans.

you glance at him, “morning,” you smile softly. he stares at you, “what happened?” he croaks. you give him a bottle of water and some advil. you sit on the bed, “you called me. drunk… at midnight.”

he blinks, “right. sorry.”

you watch his expression for a second. he was finally more soft. “you said some stuff… and it makes me feel a certain way now.”

he looks at you, “i know.. im sorry.”

you bite your tongue, “i have class. text me again if you wanna try again. with tutoring.”

you grab your keys and began to walk out. jungkook calls out for you.

you turn around, “hm?” “thank you for picking up..” he says softly. you smile, “anytime.”

it’s been three days since the drunk call. he hasn’t texted… so you didn’t either. it was the friday before spring break and you walk into the library to study for a exam. you walk to your usual table, seeing him. hoodie on. headphones off. a pen between his fingers, flipping it anxiously.

you froze in the aisle, just looking at him. he didn’t notice you at first— his eyes were hooked on some drawing. than he looks up.

“hey,” he says quietly. you sat down, “you’re here?” he nods, “i— i figured i can try today.” you didn’t reply, silence filled the conversation.

you hum, “kay.”

silence again.

he broke it, “i remember what i said that night.” he looks at you, those fucking boba eyes. your heart thumps, “okay.” he sighs.

he stares at you, like really. no irritation, pushing… just scared. he shakes his head, “i didn’t mean to dump that all on you.. i was so drunk. but not wrong.” you stay still, giving him time to say what he needs to.

“you’re right by the way,” he adds. “i do care but i don’t know how to without ruining it.” you exhale, the tension loosening in your chest, “you don’t have to figure it all out at once.”

he swallows hard, “do.. is it too late?”

“for what?”

“for a redo.”

your voice comes out soft, “no.. but if you wanna get tutored. show up and show up for real.” jungkook nods slowly, “i will. i just don’t know how to accept help like that.”

“we’ll figure it out,” you reply. he nods again, “i wanna take you on a date. tomorrow.” he blurts out. you wide your eyes, “oh! will you show up?” you laugh softly. he nods with a sideways smile, “i’ll be there.”

“okay. date tomorrow it is than.”

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ohhowjooniewept · 2 days ago

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tension, brothers best friend

jungkook x y/n

he wasn’t yours, he could never be and yet it stifled you to see what effect he had on you. if only you knew that your heart had already belonged to him, lodged in a tight grip.

——————

sweaty bodies and the stench of cheap alcohol littered in the air, bodies pressed into one another. why you were here, goodness knew, but your eyes were trailing over the figure quietly mixing drinks. head down low and fingers moving skilfully. you’d recognise the tension in his shoulders from a mile away, his shadow a constant reminder of the thump behind your eyes. for someone so inconspicuous, it was clear this environment welcomed him.

“i’m going to see some friends, okay?” your older brother murmured over to you, breaking you out of your trance. you looked away from the figure in the kitchen, instead peering upwards. “try to mingle, put yourself out there y/n. please.” he grinned, all too wide and all too knowing with a ruffle of your head

you weren’t a child, you wish he would understand. it was by choice that you didn’t enter these parties. you wish he understood he was only older by two years, that you too faced the height of your early twenties alongside him as opposed to beneath him.

“i’m not a dog.” you grumbled, pushing him away to which he laughed, already turning towards his group of friends which were in the direction of the boy from earlier.

he wasn’t there anymore, although your heart continued to thrum loudly in your chest. you knew who he was, of course you did. his presence had always quietly roamed your mind, your heart, your very fucking soul. jungkook, your older brother’s quiet friend. the same friend that would stare so deeply into your eyes, you were sure he had seen something you had already desperately locked away.

you found your feet walking towards the drinks, where he had once stood, fingers ghosting over the same bottles. you could never have him, this much you knew - but the warmth in your head matched that of the warmth between your thighs, all encompassing.

if only you had noticed him, watching you. sipping, silently, as your brother bellowed and whooped behind him. turn around, he wanted to whisper. look at me, he wanted to beg. dance with me, he wanted to scream.

———

it didn’t take long for jungkook to feel that horrible feeling of pure intensity that often pooled in his stomach, and lower, at the mere sight of you. it took even less time for it to be replaced by a green monster, gripping his throat and chest like a vice as he watched men approach you, in hopes of gaining your attention.

you weren’t his, that would be the correct thing to say. but he was lovesick, he had been infiltrated by the scent of your shampoo and glossy eyes since over a decade ago, and though you had shared no more than a dozen hello’s in that time, he was enamoured. his girl. his. all his.

your brother was drunk, and though jungkook adored him, he couldn’t help but feel annoyed by his presence. he knew you would never voluntarily attend a party like this, too sweaty and much too busy for anyone to really enjoy themselves. why would he convince you to come only to abandon you? that sounded like him.

he watched as the man in front of you began stepping closer to you, whilst your lips pursed. you weren’t interested, but it did little to soothe the ache in his chest. the boys next to him were getting rowdier, the alcohol doing its job in exciting them whilst jungkook stood against the wall, drink in hand.

he watched as the man reached for you, his hand gripping your hip to which you pushed against his chest, eyebrows furrowed and mouth turned downwards. jungkook’s brain stopped working for a moment, finding himself moving before he could even think, his feet taking him to you.

you noticed him immediately, taller than the boy in front and much wider. you couldn’t help the droop in your eyes, nor the exhale that left you. relief, or thrill? the mere sight of him drove you insane.

“you shouldn’t touch what doesn’t belong to you.” jungkook murmured, once the guy turned around. big eyes darkened and body tensing, a display of anger that would frighten anyone.

“o-oh..jungkook?” he stuttered. “my bad, bro, d-didn’t know she was yours.”

you both watched as he rushed away, your heart lurching violently at his response. yours. yours. yours. what did he mean? how could he say such a thing? come back, you wanted to scream, explain what you mean. give me the answer you can’t bring yourself to ask.

it wasn’t that jungkook was overtly terrifying, but the boy hardly spoke to anyone that wasn’t in his immediate circle. he was always brooding, eyes dark and face blank - it unnerved people. that enough was a deterrent, and for that, he was thankful.

you looked back at him, finally, to find him already staring.

one step. two. three. he stood in front of you, not touching, but bodies too close to be deemed anything other than inappropriate. he had never seen you so close, though he had dreamt it, wished for it. when he would close his eyes and fist his cock, it was you he would think of, mouth parted and large orbs staring.

his hands reached out, hovering over your hips where the other man had previously touched you. he knew, to place them there, to touch you, would be enough to drive him insane.

you lifted your own hands, eyes never leaving his, shaking as they hovered over his own before pushing them. placing them on your hips. you both exhaled.

“you shouldn’t be here.” he murmured.

“yes. well, i am.” you replied, hands over his whilst his grip tightened.

“maybe i should take you home.”

you tried your hardest to remember to breathe. he had only ever really said hello to you, and now you were face to face, breath mingling, bodies touching.

“why?” you pushed.

“because. more of them will come. they like pretty girls.” he found himself gritting out. you noticed a twitch in his cheek, a break in his usually blank facade.

you exhaled again, hands shaking on top of his own. “you think i’m pretty?” you whispered.

“you don’t want to know what i think, y/n.” he breathed, his eyes suddenly scrunching. he had only had a sip of alcohol, nothing more, but he felt alive.

you shook your head. “tell me.” you begged.

“i’ll take you home.”

“no.” you shook your head. “you don’t like them speaking to me?”

jungkook found himself pushing forwards. he was thankful the party was so busy, your brother and his friends completely oblivious to the quiet tension fiercely burning in the corner of the room between you both. he looked at you, lips pursing before shaking his head in a no.

“but girls speak to you.” you found yourself gritting out.

“i don’t let them. never.” he denied instantly, shaking his head. the thought insulted him. they weren’t you.

oh. oh.

“me? i’m a girl…” your voice was getting quieter and quieter, perhaps subconsciously. it made him dip his head closer.

“my girl.” he whispered back at you.

your breath hitched, eyes peering upwards and fingers shifting. they found home on the expanse of his chest, to which you could feel the thumping of his heart beneath your palms.

“but..but we can’t.” you weakly protested. you both knew it was a terrible argument. jungkook loved your brother, and despite his infatuation with you being founded within mere polite exchanges, he would choose you a million times.

“i’m taking you home.” he simply replied, hands pushing your hips closer to him. your chests touched, your hands cradled between you both.

“only…” you started, licking your lips. “only if you stay.”

he simply closed his eyes, exhaling deeply as his forehead pressed against yours. it was akin to finally allowing himself a piece of heaven that once sat within distance but too far away to reach out to. you were here. he could feel you, so intimately. you. you. you. you. you. you.

“i won’t leave.” his eyes opened, gaze burning.

you nodded up at him, moving against his own head to which he finally found his lips quirking upwards, just slightly. only for you. his girl.

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alexlwrites · 1 day ago

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𝐑𝐞𝐝 𝐃𝐚𝐢𝐬𝐢𝐞𝐬

✿𝑷𝒂𝒊𝒓𝒊𝒏𝒈: OT7 x Plus Size! Reader

✿ 𝑺𝒖𝒎𝒎𝒂𝒓𝒚: "What was so outrageous about someone like you, you asked yourself and the universe. You had tried your best to compensate for any shortcomings with everything else that was expected of you: femininity, understanding, a sense of humor. Never enough, those were never even the first thing that came to mind when people thought of you.

Why bother then? If nothing you did made any difference at all, why try? If people hated your body just for existing, why not give them a reason to hate your personality as well?"

The one where seven campus princes who are used to getting everything they wanted get enchanted by your distrust and brattiness, climbing over each other to get a smile from you who could not be bothered to give them a single second of your day.

✿ 𝑨/𝑵: I have no idea what actually goes in a carbonara, I only know that I enjoy eating it very much.

(Fanfic masterlist)

(support me on my ko-fi)

°•. ✿ .•°

𝐏𝐚𝐫𝐭 𝐭𝐰𝐨: 𝐑𝐞𝐣𝐞𝐜𝐭𝐢𝐨𝐧

(<<< part one)

As a fat person, you’ve always had a complicated relationship with food.

Luckily, it had never evolved into something unhealthy, never leading up to anything like starvation. It always just hovered over your existence, always seemed to weight you (pun intended, but you were allowed to make those!) down with guilty, overbearing self-awareness. Food came with so many unspoken rules, it was hard to truly enjoy it.

You avoided eating in front of people. When forced to go to a restaurant, you let everyone order first to make sure your meal was the smallest of the group and you never ever asked for seconds, much less for dessert. You could only ever be seen with protein bars and green shakes, if that. You were not allowed to enjoy the act of eating and were forced to walk this earth as if that was not your primary source of sustenance. No, you survived out of Chloe Ting videos and photosynthesis, or so was expected of you.

But even so, you loved cooking.

It was not something you divulged, afterall how stereotypical that would be of you. And truly, it wasn’t even about eating your creations but instead the act of creating itself, the enjoyment of the very exact art leading to a beautiful result that at least others would get to enjoy, even if you wouldn’t sometimes.

But when you shed the shackles of caring and let go of giving fucks about what others had to say (and, Jesus, did they have things to say!), your first act of rebellion was signing up for cooking classes in a pretty bistro downtown. Still shaky and insecure, you arrived at the first class unsure of what to expect. But instead of judgemental looks and the evil critic from Ratatouille, you found yourself amongst other culinary enthusiasts who appreciated the therapeutic properties of a good meal. Instead of Gordon Ramseys and almond moms, you found yourself a community - you found friends.

You were with one of those friends a couple days after the library debacle, updating her of the whole ordeal with your cell phone on mute as Jungkook still tended to blow it up after you made the horrible mistake of unblocking him. Naomi was tall and built like a rugby player and you had quickly bonded over a shared love for bread.

“So he just… Brought you flowers?” she asked, leaning over your counter before the class started.

“Yes and now the whole campus thinks we’re together.” you rolled your eyes, still annoyed by Jungkook's unexpected display of affection “I had people coming up to me all week asking about him! Even professors!”

Naomi laughed “Sounds like you got yourself a little campus prince.”

“I got myself a headache, that’s what I got.” you sighed, turning towards the teacher who had just arrived. “At least I can get away from all of that here.”

“Hello, class!” the teacher, a middle-aged lady with dark hair named Robin, called “Today, continuing on our italian cuisine section, we’ll be preparing spaghetti carbonara. But before we start, let me introduce our new student!” she gestured towards a tall man standing in the back of the class, all dark hair and large shoulders with a million dollar smile “Mr. Kim will be joining us from now on. You can sit with Y/N for now, dear!”

Mr. Kim didn’t shuffle silently to his seat like people usually did when arriving in a room filled with unknown people - instead, he strutted towards you with the loud confidence of someone who had never once tripped on their own shoes or had something stuck to their teeth. “Hi” he said when sliding onto the stool next to you, still sporting an unnervingly beautiful grin “I’m Jin.”

You smiled politely “Y/N. Nice to meet you.”

Jin nodded slightly “You too.”

You thought that was it, silence following your introductions as the teacher called the class to pay attention to her instructions.

You tried to follow the steps quietly, focusing on the ingredients in front of you. Still, curiosity caused you to furtively steal glances sideways to the beautiful stranger next to you maneuvering spices and chopping slices with what seemed to be practiced ease. You stared at his hands almost unblinkingly, hypnotized by his long, pink knuckled fingers and their agility…

“Do you need help?”

You blinked, snapping out of your less than appropriate daydreams “I’m sorry?”

Jin shrugged, picture-perfect casualty with a pinch of arrogance hanging in his smile that had your defenses climbing up “You were kind of staring and I thought you needed help with the recipe or something.”

He was right, you were staring, but you’d be damned if you admitted to that. Instead, you stole a quick look at his pan and said “You should add more garlic into that.”

That had him pausing in confusion, as if no one corrected his cooking before “Excuse me?”

“There’s not enough garlic. You should add more, it will enhance the flavor.”

“No, it won’t.” he snapped back, strangely defensive over his creation.

“What are you, a vampire? Garlic makes everything better.”

“I think I know how to make carbonara with the appropriate amount of garlic, thank you very much.”

“I think you don’t, that’s why you’re a student and not the teacher up there. Mr. Cullen.”

You waited for him to come back with another anti-garlic remark, but he paused once more, lips curling in amusement “You’re funny” he said at last.

“I’m.. What?”

“You’re funny” he repeated and you watched in confusion as he added more garlic to his recipe “and in respect to that, I will follow your advice if only to prove you are wrong.”

“Well, then at least add some butter while you’re at it.”

“Now you’re just being sacrilegious”.

You raised your hands in fake surrender. “It’s your carbonara’s funeral, man.”

Jun huffed and turned away from you, seemingly offended with your suggestion, but once you looked back at your station he furtively added a square of butter to his mixture.

The rest of the class passed in relative silence as you made no other attempt to talk to him, focused on your own recipe. When the allotted time ended and the teacher called out the final instructions, you turned back to the handsome man next to you and extended a fork.

“Well” you said “truth time”.

He scoffed but accepted the cutlery anyway, blowing carefully at the portion he picked before tasting it. You watched with barely concealed satisfaction as his eyes widened and his cheeks puffed in a chipmunk-like manner.

“Oh my God” he moaned behind the hand covering his full mouth.

“Any good, Nosferato?”

“I bow to thee, this is amazing.” He reached for your plate “Do you mind?” he grabbed a forkful before you could answer “Jesus, this is even better! What’s your secret?”

“A magician never reveals their tricks.”

There were no tricks. You actually just followed the recipe, so you weren’t quite sure what you could’ve done that would invoke that sort of reaction, but you were not about to admit that.

“That’s fair” he took yet another bit of your carbonara, uncaringly ignoring your funny looks. “This is so good!”

In the end, Jin ate most of your carbonara while you watched him devour your plate with a pleasurable carefree abandon, humming in delight with his cheeks full.

You hadn’t been able to openly enjoy food like that since you were a kid, so in that moment you allowed yourself to live vicariously through him. There was so much joy in his eyes as he chewed your stolen food that it reminded you that this was what culinary was about: not a number on a package or a trigger, but an intrinsic part of society, of community building and cultural history. Food was made to be savored and shared.

And although you didn’t necessarily share your food with Jin, he seemed to be savoring it enough for the both of you.

As usual, the teacher went around the room trying out bites from each pan, delivering gentle feedback when needed. When she stopped by your table, reaching for the little piece left in your plate after Jin’s attack, she showered you with compliments and was promptly followed by Jin’s hearty applause, leaving you red and embarrassed while Naomi wiggle her eyebrows suggestively.

As soon as Robin dismissed the class, you ran for the door with your things awkwardly gathered in your arms, avoiding the praises of your peers. You still had a hard time dealing with attention and it did not matter if it was positive or not.

“Y/N!” someone called. You turned as Jin caught up with you, his unfairly long legs reaching you in only a couple strides.

“If you’re here to steal anymore of my food, you’re out of luck.”

Jin had the decency to look a bit embarrassed, but not at all regretful “Sorry about that!” he said, not at all sorry, with sauce still on the corners of his full lips “Let me make it up to you. What are you doing this friday?”

That Friday you had unchangeable plans to rot in bed until 12 and then yell at Jungkook in the afternoon until the phrase “leave me the fuck alone” was finally processed by what seemed to be a very tiny brain inside his head full of hair and stubborness. But Jin didn’t have to know that.

“Why?”

“Let me take you out. I swear I’ll let you eat your own food this time.”

You frowned in confusion. “You don’t have to buy me food just because you ate mine. I have food at home, you know.”

“Oh, it’s not because I feel bad. I don’t feel bad at all.” clearly, if his smile was anything to go by “But I like a woman who can cook, especially if she cooks just as well as I do. Let me take you on a date.”

I like a woman who cooks, I like a woman with an appetite…All sorts of bullshit you had heard before. What people meant is that they liked skinny girls who ate McDonalds and boasted about how they never seemed to gain weight, no matter how hard they tried. They meant they liked fast metabolism and fried chicken, not hormonal-based weight gain and complicated Italian cuisine.

You were not falling for that again.

“Not interested. Thank you.” you answered, before walking off.

Jin blinked. “I’m sorry?”

“No need to apologize. Have a good day” you replied already from a distance, before turning a corner and leaving a flabbergasted Jin behind.

***

Jin had never been rejected before.

Technically he did get rejected by the cheer squad in his high school for being as flexible as a ruler, but he looked so good in the uniform that they still asked him to be in the yearbook picture, so he didn’t really count that.

But rejected by a woman? Nope. Never. Nunca!

It was oddly unsettling, he thought later that day, haunted by the taste of the carbonara he ate that made every other meal seem bland. He didn’t quite know what to do with the information, other than to contemplate its possible reasons. Why would you reject him? Was it because of the garlic thing? He could think of no other reason!

Should he learn from it and become a better version of himself? Was there such a thing? He had no answers, only more questions.

He did really like you as well, not only your cooking. He enjoyed your quick responses and that tiny fire behind your pretty eyes, even if it seemed to be furiously directed at him. Actually, he kind of liked that even better.

“Jungkook” he called his youngest roomate, who had been playing video games on the living room console while stealing furtive glances at his phone. “You’ve been rejected before, right?”

Jungkook frowned. “No?”

“Aren’t you being rejected right now by that girl from your class?”

“What do you want, hyung?” the younger man growled.

“Jeez, I can see why that poor woman rejected you if that’s your attitude.” Jungkook seemed ready to throw his control at him “How does one deal with being rejected? I ask this for purely academic reasons. I have, as you know, never been rejected.”

“Right.” Jungkook rolled his eyes “I don’t know, hyung. I guess you just accept it and move on.”

“Did you accept it and move on?”

Another furtive glance at his silent phone. “No.”

“So what are you doing to change this girl’s mind? Besides annoying her, of course.”

This time, Jungkook did throw a pillow at him. “Fuck off, okay? We are meeting on Friday again and then you’ll see. I’ll change her mind. I got a whole thing planned.”

“What constitutes a whole thing?”

“You know… The stuff that girls like.”

Jin blinked.

So did Jungkook.

Silence reigned.

“You know, gifts.” Jungkook finished smartly.

“Gifts, of course!” Jin snapped his fingers “Maybe flowers! Women love flowers, don’t they?”

Jungkook smiled slightly, thinking of your reaction when receiving the bouquet he almost got hit by a car trying to acquire. “Yes, they do. Red daisies especially.”

“Yes, yes, red daisies, so creative! Thank you, my friend! I hope you have more luck with your lady and she stops dodging your calls like a collector.”

“Fuck off!” Jungkook said once more, but Jin had already floated out the room with a new plan.

Jin had never been rejected and he was not about to start now.

And so the next day when you arrived at the bistro, your station was waiting for you with a big bouquet of red daisies and no room to cook, only a new plate of carbonara and a smiling Jin.

°•. ✿ .•°

✿ The next chapter called "Cherries" is already available on my ko-fi to Calcifer Crew, my membership tier, and will be posted here soon! Click here if you want early access to all my updates :)

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#bts fanfic #bts x reader #bts #jungkook x reader #alexl red daisies #ot7 x reader #ot7 x you #bts x y/n #kim taehyung x reader #park jimin x reader #kim namjoon x reader #jung hoseok x reader #min yoongi x reader #kim seokjin x reader #ot7 fluff #bts romance #bts college au

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coffeedepressionsoup · 1 day ago

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Somebody Does Love | MYG - Series of Firsts

Pairing - Yoongi x F!reader

Summary - "What is grief, if not love persevering?" Two people are in love but that is not enough because sometimes loving requires courage.

This is the one with their first date, or at least a part of it. Part 9 of Somebody Does Love.

Series Masterlist

Genre - fluff, strangers to lovers, eventual smut and angst

Word count - 3.8k+

Warnings - kissing, some cringe fluff, lovable Yoongi

Ratings - 13+

Taglist: @majiiisstuff @starlighttaek8 @yoongrace @proudnoona @7ndipity @ktownshizzle

A/N - Awfully late update, apologies yet again. Hope you enjoy it!

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“What if they don’t like me?” you muttered your fear out loud as you shuffled into the elevator. “Why won’t they like you?” he asked softly, half amused, pressing the button to his floor and stepping right next to you, in the empty elevator. One of his hands went around your back to squeeze your arm lightly, in reassurance, as you leaned into his touch.

These subtle touches are something you had not expected but welcomed gladly. It had been three weeks since the morning in Sokcho. It had been… exhilarating since. Yeah, that was the correct word to describe it. The most difficult time was the day of your confession. It was not the time around sunrise, which was perfect; it was everything that followed.

The storm clouds that seemed to have cleared away in the morning returned around noon, raining on the outdoor plans you all had for your last day at the beach. But this time you had access to electricity, making things less chaotic.

In the last moments of dawn at the beach, Yoongi and you decided to give each other a chance to date and explore what it could mean to be together. You also agreed that for the time being, it would be easier to keep it just to yourselves.

However, you soon discovered that Yoongi had a very counter-intuitive way of doing it.

One time later that day, you were chopping some salad next to the stovetops. A couple of others were also in the room but on the other side, doing their designated meal prep tasks as you all chatted. Yoongi sauntered in, hands in his pockets, to check when he and the others assigned “cooks” could start. Casually joining the conversation, he moved to your side of the counter and stopped by the fridge behind you, caressing your lower back as he passed. It was a good thing the others weren't facing you. You were sure it momentarily matched the tomato you were slicing.

Another time, as you passed each other on the staircase, Yoongi stroked his fingers up your arms, slightly smirking at your admonishing glance. You would be lying if you said your stomach did not rumble with absolute joy every time you caught Yoongi looking at you with a sense of affection. These glances, which you had to speculate about before, now came with the good fortune of knowing his intentions. You would also be lying if you said you never fought the urge to reach out to him throughout the day, whether to slip your hand in his or to just lean in for some comfort.

However, you had to confront him, half-jokingly, when he pulled you into an empty room and asked for a kiss, in no uncertain terms. “Can I kiss you once, please?” he whispered, leaning slightly, closing the distance between you. Before you looked over his shoulder towards the door, he added, “I've been looking for a chance since lunch.”

You almost melted, nodded and gracefully kissed him back, but pushed him away shortly after with an amused smile. “We agreed to not tell the others yet.” Despite your chiding tone, you felt like a teenager, fooling around with a crush in school.

Yoongi hummed and closed the distance between you again, murmuring against your lips. “We are not telling anybody.”

Smiling into the kiss, your heart felt full. When was the last time you felt this way? When was the last time you nearly felt addicted to someone’s kisses? Reminding yourself of the non-Y/A novel reality, you removed your hands from him, placing them lightly by his sides, “But you are not being very subtle, Min Yoongi.”

You watched as his nose scrunched up with his gummy smile as he stole another kiss. “I know. I will try harder, I promise.”

He was about to lean in for a fourth, chaste smooch when you heard footsteps approaching the room. In a knee-jerk reaction, you shoved Yoongi away unceremoniously, immediately regretting it. But it was too late to say or do anything as Aera and Dojoon walked past, hand in hand, all giggly and lost in their own world.

You were fairly certain they did not see you or Yoongi, but by then you left the room and walked into a lively game of charades in the living area. Later that night, you snuck out onto the deck where you shared your first kiss, following a drunk Yoongi as you stared at the barely visible moon. This time, you initiated contact and wrapped your arms around his middle.

Yoongi turned to smile at you, as you snuggled closer to him and let out a soft sigh. Finally, being able to hug Yoongi and rest your head against his chest offered you a different kind of high—one that you wished would never leave you. You felt calmer when a peck dropped on the top of your head and an arm enveloped your body, catching you by the shoulders.

Both of you were too content and blissfully unaware of Hoseok and Taehyung scrambling by the door, struggling to remain quiet and relaxed about the scene in front of them while trying to draw others’ attention.

Now, as you stepped out of the elevator, you did not know what you were expecting but it was definitely not the mini museum of modern architecture that greeted you.

“...know that Scar is way more curious but you may not see Tony at all today,” Yoongi was trying to set your expectations. “Holly is friendly once he knows you, but he is not instantly fond of new people," he continued, walking up to what you assumed was the door to his duplex penthouse.

Your heart was racing because this was a series of firsts. The first time you came over to his place. The first time you would meet the pets. Incidentally, it was also the first official date you were having.

In the three weeks that followed your confessions, there was work stuff, unexpected social interruptions, pre-decided schedules that could not be moved, and the lack of an appropriate space. You managed to meet, mostly in his car, as he picked you up after class and drove for as long as you could justify your absence to others around you. He then dropped you off at Sammy’s.

But these days were few and too far apart. Then two days back, you got into a disagreement about the best sauce combo to go with kimchijeon.

“You will change your mind once I make it for you,” he said. “Make it for me then,” you shrugged as you finished your cold coffee and placed the empty cup back in the cup holder. Yoongi turned towards you, leaning against the steering wheel with a face that said, “Thank you for finally picking up on the hint.”

He leaned over for a kiss and asked, “Tomorrow?”

His kiss tasted of coffee and comfort. You pulled him back by his t-shirt as he was starting to pull back. He obliged. You were not sure when you’d be able to have enough of his kisses, if ever. Finally, you pulled back and said, “I have a lecture to prepare for tomorrow after classes. The day after?” He nodded and pulled out his phone, typing vigorously, “I’ll make myself free.”

Saying ‘don’t push around work for this’ was at the tip of your tongue but sensing an incoming rebuttal, Yoongi glanced up from his phone with a ‘don’t even finish that thought’ look. So that is how you were here today.

The interiors were much warmer and cosier than the area outside the elevator. Before you could take it all in, you heard a patter of paws and soon a brown poodle was in the room.

"Oh, hello buddy,” you walked ahead and knelt on the floor. “Hi, how are you?" you held your hand out.

Holly growled a little, glancing at you, but then started wagging his tail immediately as he saw Yoongi.

Yoongi knelt beside you, patting the dog, "Be nice, love."

"Hi, Holly,” you tried in a hushed tone now. You saw his head cock to a side, intrigued.

“Can I pet you, please?" You extended your arms again.

”Would you rather sniff me up first?” The dog came to you very slowly, sniffing your hands first and then your pant legs.

Quite unmindfully, you sat down on the floor, legs crossed, and smiled down at the furball, who was conducting a thorough olfactory investigation.

You missed the way Yoongi looked at the two of you and smiled. Holly finally approached your face for a sniff and lightly licked your nose.

You could not help but laugh, scrunching your nose in delight, as you slowly started petting Holly. After a few careful back pats, you gave him ear scratches, belly rubs, nose boops, and kisses on the head. Holly had, in the progression of this petting routine, placed himself fully on your lap. You hugged the dog, kissed his head, and turned towards Yoongi.

"He is such a darling. I love him."

"I think the feeling is mutual here," Yoongi smiled and patted his dog on the back.

You sat there for a few minutes — cooing at Holly until he decided he had had enough. He got up, lapped a lick at Yoongi's face and went back inside, wagging his tail.

"No! I wanted more cuddles," you whined, looking at Holly leave.

Yoongi stood up and offered his hands. "Can I interest you in some human cuddles?"

You chuckled and wrapped your arm around his middle. The very first hug you shared with him on the beach, you decided there was nothing better in the whole wide world to calm you down and make you feel so safe and grounded at the same time. He smelled of fresh laundry and green leaves after rainfall.

Yoongi stood there, chin on top of your head, smiling. Then, there was a muted growling sound. "Ugh," you scowled in annoyance, and the sound reverberated in his chest. He chuckled as you pulled away, covering your face in embarrassment.

“Have you been starving just because I said I would cook?” he asked, pulling you slightly by the arm, leading you hopefully towards where the food was.

“No,” you drawled out, and added in a mumble, “I just did not have the time for proper lunch.” “And what did you have in the morning? Besides coffee?” he asked.

“A whole roll of tuna kimbap,” You chuckled, following him into the kitchen. “You think you caught on to something, huh?”

Yoongi chuckled back with a shrug. He’s right. You often go with just coffee for breakfast. Not intentionally, but skipping breakfast was never a big deal for you.

When Yoongi found out, he affectionately admonished you and promised to cook you breakfast for the rest of your life. And then, you learned he would do the same. And it was your turn to chastise your lover cutely. It was all very sweet. Sickeningly so.

When you thought back to it later while trying to summon sleep, you internally cringed at the softer, almost comical voice you used at the time.

But hey! New couples do things far worse. And at least you were not doing it in front of other people. And the person you were doing it for, well, if his giggles were any valid indications at all, then he enjoyed it, thoroughly.

Yoongi pulled out a chair near the small kitchen table. You took that as an invitation to sit. The view? A whole meal. You could watch Yoongi cook all day if presented with the opportunity. It’s not the cooking. It’s him. You could stare at him all day.

“Did you take the day off?”

He shook his head and licked a bit of sauce off his pinky. Adding a splash of fish sauce into the mix, he said, “We didn’t have practise today, so I just did a few things from home.”

Yoongi brought over a couple of plates to the table where you were sitting. You got up, offering to help, but he put a hand on your forearm, pecking your cheek, gently urging you to sit back down.

Once all the food items were arranged, he announced “Please dig in,” before he disappeared out of the kitchen for a bit. Yoongi came back out with a pitcher of your favourite cocktail, which he had very pointedly verified the night before.

“Did you make this as well?” you asked, in awe of the man in front of you. Surely, this is all a dream. How else are you going to explain why a man so fine is also so perfect!?

He only smiled a lofty smile, glancing up at you once as he poured the drinks out. By the time Yoongi took his seat opposite you, your stomach growled again.

“Sorry to keep you waiting,” he said, reaching across the table to take your left hand and kiss it. “I hope the food is okay.” “Okay?! This is amazing!” you caught his hand in yours and lifted it to your lips. You could see red colouring his ears and cheeks. It made you warm inside, knowing that you could make THE Min Yoongi blush. “And so much more than the kimchijeon I was promised,” he chuckled, looking away, mumbling something about “it’s not much.”

His eyes found yours and you held each other’s gaze for a couple more seconds, till Yoongi squeezed your palms in his, took a deep breath and muttered, “I cannot believe you are finally here!”

Before you could reply with how unbelievable and utterly dreamlike the situation is for you as well, you felt a light poking on your leg.

“Who’s this?” you cooed, as you glanced down.

You saw Tony rubbing his face on your pant legs. You recognised him from the hundreds of pictures you have seen of him already. Knowing that he usually does not come out to meet new people that much, you turned towards Yoongi, whose face was mimicking your surprise.

“Oh hello baby,” you cooed softly, making Tony pause for a beat before continuing to rub the side of his face on your pant leg a few dozen times.

“This is off-character”

“Maybe he smells Ash on me?”

“Yeah, possibly.”

You crouched down beside your chair and gently reached your hand out front. He rubbed a side of his face on it, permitting you to pet him. As you felt his purr grow louder, he shifted from the floor to your lap and slotted his head on one of your shoulders as his front paws rested on your chest.

You sat there, petting Tony for a good minute, till your hungry, empty stomach called out again.

“Yah, here,” Yoongi took a bowl off the table and slid down next to you. He gathered some noodles and held them up in front of your face, careful to keep a safe distance from Tony’s head. You glanced at him before taking a bite, and let out an almost involuntary moan.

“This is sooo good, Yoong!”

He was trying hard to hold back an ear-to-ear grin, “Really?”

“Yes, really! Why would I lie?” “To get some extra points on the first date?” “Are you keeping score?” You turned towards him and asked.

That movement made Tony leave your lap to go nibble at Yoongi’s feet.

He shook his head with a small smile and brought up another bite for you.

As you sat cross-legged on the floor beside the kitchen table, adoring Tony and Holly, who started a play fight a few steps away, you realised that this was probably not the dinner Yoongi had in mind when he planned the whole thing.

“Yah Tony-ah, don’t bite! Behave for the guest!” you caught Yoongi mock-scolding the cat.

Watching him begin to prepare another bite for you, you realise that Yoongi has not yet eaten. So you pulled up closer to him and reached out for the plate.

“Just a guest, then?” You asked, offering to feed Yoongi.

He raised his brows but ate up, nonetheless. Something in your chest, warm and constricted, choked you up. “Until you move in with us, technically, yeah.”

That made you laugh. “Until!?”

“Hopefully,” Yoongi nodded.

You laughed again and slurped up another bite of noodles yourself before feeding Yoongi again.

“There you are,” Yoongi said, looking over your shoulders.

You turned to see another cat, slightly bigger, with a visible scar across one of his eyes, walking up towards you. A scar he got as a young stray, a scar that gave him his name, a scar that reminded you of one of your boyfriend’s personas. As he came closer, he let out the softest meow you’ve heard from a tomcat, that merged with a yawn in the end.

Scar did not find it necessary to inspect you. He probably trusted his brothers enough to vet a human being or he just did not care. He plopped his butt right in front of you, turned on his back, to show you his belly and started making air biscuits.

Predicting your gushing and oncoming pets, Yoongi grabbed the plate to resume feeding duties for the next couple of minutes, the two whole minutes that you spent coddling the bigger cat and occasionally tearing up with how cute he was.

Soon after you were back at the table, smiling down at Tony, who was the only one who stayed back in the kitchen.

“I am so glad we did this today,” you said before stuffing your mouth with some kimchijeon.

“Yeah, should have done this sooner, really,” he held up a bite for you to take.

Gulping down the previous mouthful, you stared quizzically at your boyfriend. (It continues to be wild that you can call him that now.)

“You forgot the sauce,” he offered you the bite again.

You could not help but chuckle. Yes, of course, the sauce. The star and cause of this dinner.

You would not be over-exaggerating if you said having that one bite Yoongi offered changed your life. This concoction worked so much better with kimchijeon than the usual light soy sauce with toasted sesame seeds dip you usually had.

You clearly lost the argument.

Your first official fight as a couple and you lost. Considering the harmonious burst of flavours in your mouth, that is an L you would earnestly accept, you decided.

You missed the fond stare Yoongi held as you nearly inhaled the two pancakes on your plate.

The plan after dinner was to watch the 2005 Pride and Prejudice. You had learned within the first week of dating that Yoongi had never watched this version. You almost did not believe him at first, because how had someone who watched the 1995 BBC adaptation missed out on the Joe Wright gem!?

Once you finished eating, you moved to the living area with the remaining cocktail. This was a different space than what you had crossed when first came in, but you could not remember how to get back there without crossing the kitchen. You knew there was a connecting hallway but this place was too big for you to map out in your head immediately. You left the exploration for another time.

Right now, you got comfortable on the sofa, rather sunk into one of its corners, with a throw blanket on your legs. Yoongi turned the TV on and dimmed the lights before coming over to you with half a bottle of cognac you had previously talked about.

Taking over the bottle from his extended arm, you opened it up for a quick sniff and yeah, it lived up to the praises you heard of it.

You tried to place the bottle on the low table in front of you but you could not quite reach it without moving from your cushy position. Yoongi saw the contemplation on your face and helped place the bottle down, chuckling to himself as his arms went around your shoulders.

“Thank you,” you murmured, leaning into him slightly.

In response, you heard a low “humm” followed by a sigh. You lifted your head to see Yoongi’s head resting against the back of the sofa, eyes closed, mouth slightly open, face seemingly relaxed.

Suddenly, you felt a pang of guilt creeping into your mind. Yoongi cooked the whole day, arranging for such a lovely meal, making your favourite cocktail while juggling other work, and you did not have the good sense to even bring some flowers or dessert.

You lifted your hand to caress his face, but the quiet of the night and the tranquillity on his face made you lightly graze the side of his face with the back of your hands instead. Eyes still closed, he leaned into your touch.

“Tired?” you asked softly.

Yoongi shook his head slightly, “happy,” a smile now tugging at his lips.

He reached for your hand resting on your lap and placed it against his chest.

You felt the steady thumping of his heart under your palm. “I have not felt so much at ease in months now,” he smiled, closing his eyes again, squeezing the hands on his chest lightly and taking it between both of his, now on his lap.

Your heart picked up pace soon. How could he say something like this so casually? It made you feel all different kinds of ways. The warmth of his hands seemed to heat your body up. You wanted to reach out and kiss him.

“Thank you Yoong,” you said instead.

He picked his head up now, pulling you closer to him, your head nestling into the crook of his neck. “Why?”

“Firstly, for dinner, but also for letting me meet the babies.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,”

“I’m starting to feel you’re just using me to get to my pets.”

“That’s your good instincts.”

“Wah! Here I thought I finally found someone who liked me for me.”

“I may not like you for you, but I think I feel a little more than that,” you said and placed a kiss just behind his ears. You were ready to blame the move on the now empty pitcher of LIIT.

Yoongi pulled his head away slightly to look at you but you refused to meet his gaze. “What do you mean Y/N?”

“Nothing,” you mumbled and fumbled with the remote, pretending to look up the movie you planned to watch.

“A little more than like is surely not nothing,” he said, with a hint of a smug smile.

You had to look up at him. His dark eyes now gleaming with mirth and mischief.

“Maybe it is,” you argued, attempting to keep a straight face.

You saw Yoongi’s gaze drop from your eyes to your lips. Your eyes followed the way his tongue darted out to wet his lower lip as he leaned closer.

You were done waiting and teasing. You closed the distance between you and captured his lips in yours.

#bts x reader #bts x y/n #yoongi fic #bts fic #bts scenarios #bts #min yoongi #bts suga #suga #yoongi #yoongi x reader #min yoongi x reader #min yoongi fanfic #min yoongi x you #suga bts #min yoongi fic

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kooffeecup · 10 hours ago

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THIS IS US — 7 ֪ ׂ𖥔 𓏲

You were never meant to get tangled with Jeon Jungkook-your sharp edges and his quiet restraint should have kept you worlds apart.

A story of tension, longing, and the kind of love that refuses to let go.

pairing : shy nerd jungkook x bold y/n.

genre : fluff, angst , romance

status : ongoing [series]

chapter : 07

Your apartment was dim, the only light coming from the pale glow of your laptop screen. Shadows stretched across the walls, flickering with every shift of movement.

Jungkook sat stiffly on your couch, his fingers curled around the ceramic mug of tea you had thrust into his hands moments ago. He hadn’t taken a sip. The steam curled in lazy tendrils, ghosting against his skin, but he barely noticed. His mind was a tangled mess, and you, pacing back and forth in front of him, weren’t making it any easier to unravel.

“I’m not good at this,” you muttered, frustration evident in the way you ran a hand through your hair. “The whole ‘feelings’ thing.”

Jungkook said nothing. He just watched you, his grip tightening around the mug.

You let out a sharp breath, stopping mid-stride. “Jake’s an idiot,” you blurted out, as if ripping off a bandage. “We hooked up once. It meant nothing.”

Jungkook’s throat tightened. His jaw clenched, but his expression remained unreadable. “Why tell me?” he asked, voice quieter than he intended.

Your gaze darted away, as if saying the next words out loud would cost you something. “Because you,” You inhaled sharply. “You’re not like him.”

Something flickered in Jungkook’s eyes, but he stayed silent. You exhaled, the weight of the moment pressing down on you. “You’re… real,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “And it scares the hell out of me.”

His fingers finally loosened around the mug. He set it down on the coffee table with a soft clink, then stood slowly, his movements deliberate. The space between you felt electric.

“You scare me too,” he confessed. You let out a bitter laugh, though there was no humor in it. “Yeah? How?”

His eyes met yours, raw and unguarded. “You make me want things I can’t have.”

The air in the room changed. The weight of everything, the stolen glances, the lingering touches, the unacknowledged pull between you, came crashing down all at once.

You took a hesitant step closer, your usual bravado crumbling at the edges. Your voice was quieter now, uncertain. “What if you can have them?”

Jungkook’s breath hitched. His hands curled into fists at his sides, as if trying to hold himself back. Outside, rain pattered against the window, steady and unrelenting.

Your fingers lifted, hesitant as they brushed against his jaw. His skin was warm beneath your touch, his breath uneven. The room felt impossibly small, the world outside nonexistent.

“Can I…?” you whispered, your lips hovering a breath away from his. Jungkook’s heart pounded against his ribs. His resolve crumbled.

He nodded.

And just as your lips were about to meet, your phone buzzed. The sharp sound shattered the moment. You flinched, pulling back, eyes darting toward the screen. The name flashing across it sent a chill through Jungkook’s veins.

Jake.

A muscle in his jaw twitched. You hesitated, fingers twitching at your sides. Frustration flickered across your face, but you didn’t move to silence the call. You didn’t reach for him again.

That was all Jungkook needed to see. His chest tightened painfully, something bitter settling in his throat. He forced a tight, painful smile, one that barely hid the storm inside him. “Right,” he muttered, stepping back. “I get it.”

“Jungkook, wait ” Your voice held something desperate, but he didn’t stop. Didn’t look back. He grabbed his jacket from the chair and fled, the door swinging shut behind him with a finality that made your stomach twist.

—

Few days later :

The annual campus masquerade ball pulsed with life, an intoxicating blend of music, laughter, and the soft rustle of expensive fabrics. Chandeliers cast a golden glow over the ballroom, reflecting off the intricate masks that shielded the faces of students lost in the fantasy of the night.

Jungkook stood rigid by the punch bowl, fingers curled tightly around the delicate glass in his hand. His black suit was impeccably tailored, hugging his frame in all the right places, yet it felt suffocating. The silver mask obscuring half his face was a flimsy shield, offering little protection from the emotions clawing at his chest.

Across the room, you twirled in a blood-red dress, the silky fabric pooling around your feet like spilled wine. The low-cut neckline and sheer sleeves made you look untouchable, a dark fantasy wrapped in temptation. The gilded mask you wore, adorned with raven feathers, giving haunting shadows over your features. You looked every bit the enigma you always had been, just out of reach, just beyond his grasp.

And yet, you weren’t alone. Jake stood at your side, too close, his hand resting possessively on your waist. He leaned in, whispering something in your ear that made you throw your head back in laughter, a sound too sharp, too forced. Jungkook knew you too well to believe it was genuine.

His grip on the glass tightened, knuckles turning white. She’s doing this to hurt me, he muttered to himself, jaw clenching as jealousy roared to life in his chest.

A soft voice broke through his stormy thoughts. “You’re staring.”

Jungkook flinched, turning sharply to find Minju standing beside him. She was draped in ivory satin, her gown flowing. The delicate dove-shaped mask she wore made her look ethereal, otherworldly.

“I’m not” he started, but she merely offered a sad, knowing smile. “It’s okay,” she murmured, tilting her head slightly as she followed his gaze back to you. “She’s intense.”

Jungkook swallowed hard, something bitter lodging in his throat. He should have denied it. Should have looked away. Should have let go.

But before he could reply, your gaze found him. Even across the crowded room, even through the masks meant to conceal, the moment was undeniable. Your laughter died mid-breath, lips parting slightly as your expression froze. Jake’s words faded into the background, his presence momentarily forgotten as something unspoken passed between you and Jungkook. A challenge, a question. Jungkook’s heart pounded against his ribs. He didn’t know if he wanted to chase you or run.

His chest felt too tight, his suit suffocating, the mask on his face suddenly unbearable. He didn’t even realize his legs were moving until he was outside, the cold night air slamming into him.

The terrace was slick with rain, puddles forming on the marble floor. He braced his hands on the balustrade, breathing hard, his reflection distorted in the storm-washed city lights below. He needed air. Distance. Anything to dull the ache clawing at his ribs as he replayed the image of Jake’s hand resting too easily on your waist, the way your laugh had sliced through him like a blade.

But then, heels clicking like gunshots against the wet stone, “Running again?”

He turned sharply, rain dripping from his lashes, his pulse roaring in his ears. You stood in the doorway, chest heaving, your mask askew from the chase. The crimson dress clung to you like a second skin, now damp from the mist rolling in from the open terrace. You were a vision of defiance, but beneath the sharp edges of your expression, he saw it, hesitation, vulnerability, something fragile.

“Why do you care?” he shot back, his voice hoarse. “You’ve got Jake.”

Your jaw clenched. “And you’ve got Minju.”

Jungkook let out a bitter laugh, raking a hand through his rain-dampened hair. “This again?”

You took a step forward, the storm raging around you both. “What?” you challenged, voice trembling. “Am I not pure enough for you? Not sweet, not soft ”

“Stop.” His voice cracked, something raw spilling into his tone. “You have no idea what you do to me.”

You swallowed hard, but you didn’t back down. Instead, you stepped closer, rain soaking through the delicate fabric of your dress. Your hair clung to your skin, mascara smudged beneath your eyes. You looked anything but invincible.

“Then tell me.” Without a word, Jungkook reached up and tore off his mask, tossing it to the ground.

“Every time you laugh with him, I feel like I’m drowning,” he confessed, voice rough with restraint. “Every time you flirt, I want to rip the world apart.”

Your breath caught in your throat.

“You think I don’t see how you look at me?” he continued, reckless now, the floodgates breaking. “Like I’m some fragile thing you’re scared to break. But you’re the one who’s broken, YN. You push everyone away before they can leave you.”

You recoiled as if he’d struck you.

For the first time that night, he saw past your bravado, the walls you’d meticulously built cracking before him. Your mask clattered to the ground, forgotten in the rain.

“You don’t know anything,” you whispered, but the fight had bled from your voice.

Jungkook took a shaky step forward, his chest rising and falling rapidly. “I know you’re terrified,” he said, softer this time. “So am I.”

You exhaled sharply, running a hand through your soaked hair. “You want the truth?” Your voice wavered.

“ It haunted me, the way you had walked away that night at my apartment. But when my phone buzzed, with Jake’s text , I Couldn't cut the call. Not because I wanted him. Not because he meant something. But because I wasn't fully ready to let myself have what I truly wanted. You are real, Jungkook. Jake wasn’t. And real meant risk. Cutting that call would have meant admitting that I wanted only you. And that terrified me more than anything. Because wanting you meant letting myself believe I was worthy of being wanted back. Jake means nothing. But every time I see you with her, with Minju, I feel like I’m not enough. Like you’ll realize I’m just this mess and she is the perfect shy girl for you .”

Jungkook’s heart clenched. He didn’t hesitate this time. He closed the gap, his hands cradling your face, thumbs brushing over your damp skin. His touch was grounding, steady.

“ You still don't understand, do you? I don't like minju. I never did. I would be with her right now if i wanted her. I refused her when she invited me to the bon fire, but when you did i didn’t think twice. I did like you the way you are. I don't care if you are mess. You’re my mess,” he murmured. Then, before you could say anything else, he kissed you.

It wasn’t soft, wasn’t hesitant. It was a clash of teeth and rain, desperate and bruising. His hands tangled in your hair as you clung to him, fingers fisting the soaked fabric of his dress shirt. The storm raged around you, but neither of you noticed. You were the storm, a whirlwind of longing and unspoken words, of anger.

When you finally pulled apart, both of you were breathless. Jungkook rested his forehead against yours, eyes shut tight. “I don’t know how to do this,” he admitted, voice barely above a whisper.

You traced his jaw with trembling fingers. “Neither do I,” you confessed. “But I want to try.”

—

The storm followed you as you stumbled into an old classroom on the far side of campus, drenched and shivering. The scent of rain and old books filled the air as you fumbled with the thermostat, fingers numb from the cold.

Jungkook shrugged off his soaked suit jacket, draping it over your shoulders without a word. The warmth of it, the weight of him lingering in the fabric, made something in your chest tighten.

“You’re shaking,” you said, voice quieter now. “So are you.” A humorless laugh escaped you.

Jungkook stepped closer, his fingers gently tipping your chin up. His touch was reverent this time, no longer desperate, no longer fueled by frustration. Just tender. “I’ve never let anyone see me like this,” you admitted. His brows knit together. “Like what?”

“Unarmed.” He said nothing. Just stared at you with longing eyes.

Jungkook’s suit jacket hung loosely around your shoulders, too big, the fabric cold from the rain yet oddly comforting. Your dress, once elegant and flowing, now clung to your frame, water-darkened and translucent in places. You were wringing the hem absentmindedly, trying to squeeze out the excess rainwater, but Jungkook had stopped breathing. His gaze lingered.

It started innocently just an absent glance as you combed wet strands of hair away from your face. But then, his eyes traced the way your dress molded against you, the damp fabric accentuating every curve, the way raindrops glistened on your bare skin like tiny diamonds. His throat bobbed. He should look away. But he didn’t.

The flickering light illuminated the way your lips were slightly parted, still swollen from his kiss, your lashes damp, giving delicate shadows against your cheekbones. You weren’t trying to be alluring, if anything, you looked exhausted, vulnerable, but that only made it worse.

Jungkook’s hands clenched into fists. His soaked dress shirt clung to him in the same way, outlining the firm lines of his arms and chest, but he barely noticed the cold seeping into his bones. All he could think about was how you looked in that moment, untouched by pretense, stripped of all bravado, devastatingly real.

You glanced up then, catching him staring. His breath hitched, his jaw tightening as you held his gaze, the air between you thick, Your fingers stilled against the hem of your dress, the weight of his attention sending a shiver down your spine that had nothing to do with the cold.

“You’re staring again,” you murmured, voice hushed in the stillness. Jungkook swallowed hard, his voice rough when he finally spoke. “Can’t help it.”

The admission hung between you raw and unfiltered. You could have laughed it off, thrown some teasing remark his way, but you didn’t. Instead, you simply held his gaze, something unreadable flickering in your expression.

Then, without a word, you turned away, moving toward the dusty couch in the corner, pulling his jacket tighter around yourself. The spell broke, but the tension remained, thrumming beneath the surface.

Jungkook exhaled shakily, dragging a hand down his face. He was in trouble.

By the time dawn crept through the cracked window, the storm outside had faded to a soft drizzle. You lay curled against Jungkook on the dusty old couch, his steady heartbeat beneath your ear.

Both of you weren’t fixed. Not yet. But this time, both of you were real.

23 notes · View notes

archivegyu · 2 days ago

Text

archivegyu's masterlist

i daydream a lot when i'm on the road

SEVENTEEN

pinky promise!

the softest silence

Unspoken, Yet Known

invisible string

I'll Grow if You Grow

Only

almost is never enough

We Can't Be Friends

Midnight Rain

Fading Away

la la lost you

BANGTAN

coming soon

22 notes · View notes

lovieku · 4 months ago

Text

INTRO ⋆ 정국

you’re jeongguk’s secret santa this year, so you give him the best gift he’ll ever receive.

⋆⁺₊❅. 1/6 from christmas & chill

pairing virgin!jk x fem reader

genre smut, fluff, friends to lovers, first time

warnings painfully oblivious jk, even more painfully oblivious oc, mutual pining unlike anything you’ve seen, jk being a hot nerd ceo who’s loaded rich and unaware of his potential, please imagine him as nam joohyuk in start up, oc just creaming her pants for jk, hand job, lowk strip tease, dry humping, nipple play (m&f), unprotected p in v sex, creampie, jk is so needy and impatient but also very polite, smut is kinda rushed because well… it’s his first time! sawrry! also i open gifts on xmas eve please don’t come for me and my traditions (it’s lich just because i’m impatient)

word count 8.3k

author’s note hello hello hello!!! i’m so nervy to post this because it’s what finally inaugurates c&c!!!! i hope it can be a pleasing (intro)duction to the series hehe… either way you’ll get something totally better from miss lyssa tomorrow so stay tuned Wink 🩷 luv u always

banner by the talented @awrkive ⟡ ݁₊ .

Secret Santas have become the only way you’ve been able to deal with Christmas. When it comes to gift-giving, you’re embarrassed to admit that creativity in that department doesn’t exactly come naturally to you.

You try your best, truly. But you either end up going over budget, striving to please all your loved ones with unnecessarily expensive gifts which will only leave you with empty hands and an empty wallet, or having your brain completely stop working, if not to come up with the most basic and useless options that will get you forced smiles and polite nods in fake recognition.

It’s exhausting, demoralizing, and frankly, a recipe for holiday burnout.

So when two years ago, on the brink of giving up entirely and seriously contemplating hibernating through winter, your dear friend Jimin swooped in and suggested Secret Santa, it completely reshaped your next Christmases.

Exactly a month before Christmas Eve, you reunite over drinks and food at Jeongguk’s house to draw names. His place always ends up as the default spot for dinners, movie nights, or even football matches. Those don’t usually get the attention of everybody, especially of some of the girls, and it wouldn’t get yours either.

But you never skip game night. Correction, you never miss an excuse to be in Jeongguk’s space, even if it means sitting through 90 minutes of men chasing a ball on a screen. After all, you’re never truly paying attention, always stealing glances at the boy who seems almost even more uninterested than you.

It’s about witnessing him in his house— which, truthfully, is more of a mansion. The spacious, cozy interiors mirror a part of him that’s hard to miss: his perfectionist side, the one that likes to keep things understated but can’t help leaving subtle, telling marks of his presence on everything he touches, is woven into every corner.

Over time, you’ve naturally come to associate the place with holidays, laughter, and celebrations that fill you with a sense of belonging. Being here, surrounded by your closest friend, makes you feel profoundly grateful.

And there’s so many traces of you all, too. The faint wine stain on Jeongguk’s carpet that is only still noticeable if you squint, the one that spilled from your glass when Hoseok’s jokes had you laughing too hard; the long, slim scratch on the kitchen door, courtesy of Eunbi, who thought learning how to balance glasses on her forehead would get one of her coworkers to finally fall for her; the wobbly vase on the coffee table that was knocked over during one of Jimin’s overly enthusiastic attempts to kick a water bottle open.

Watching Jeongguk deal with the chaos you all force into his space might be another big reason why you love being here. It seems to squeeze out his most genuine reactions and quirks, and you can’t help biting your lips at those, almost pornographically so.

For someone who works so hard to appear composed, and who’s also extremely shy and reserved, Jeongguk is hilariously transparent when things don’t go his way. Brows furrowed, as if that’s where he keeps all his control. Although, no matter how flustered he gets, Jeongguk almost never gets choleric. His instinct is never to lash out but to scramble, a picture of barely contained stress insisting that everything is fine.

And the more he insists, the more you find yourself wishing it wasn’t fine. Sometimes, you want to see him lose it— especially at you.

You’ve tried, too. You’ve pushed boundaries, done little things to test the limits of his patience, all for the slim possibility of seeing him crack, just for you. But it never works. The best you get is an awkward smile, maybe a quiet laugh. It’s not nothing, but it’s not what you want, either.

You don’t think you’ve ever felt this crazy about someone before. Not in the way where everything he does sends your brain spinning with possibilities. It’s maddening. His obliviousness is maddening.

Chiefly tonight, when you’re trying extra hard to keep it under control, the whole group gathering in a circle around the bowl that holds all your names, each one carefully folded into a little square, waiting to be drawn.

But when your slim fingers brush against one of the many crumpled pieces of paper and decide your fate, you send a small prayer to whoever might be listening. Please, don’t let it be Jeongguk.

It doesn’t really come off as a coherent request, especially considering how much your body has betrayed you tonight. Your thighs have been pressing together most of the evening, a subconscious reaction every time your gaze wandered — lingered — on Jeongguk’s lower half. Those low, slouchy grey sweatpants, hanging effortlessly off his narrow hips, have been the source of many inappropriate thoughts that you wish would make you grow some shame within yourself. Instead, they only make you grow hotter in your seat.

No, you would love to be Jeongguk’s Secret Santa with the blatant, embarrassingly huge crush you have on him. You think you’d be happy about it in any other universe, except this one.

Jeongguk is difficult. And not because he’s ever been argumentative, looking to start quarrels, never willing to agree or see past his nose. He’s far from those. He’s one of the easiest people to be around, rarely judgmental, even when you were drunk off your mind and you jokingly grinded on very-gay Jimin to make up for your lack of sexual activity. On those occasions, you didn't exactly see judgement in his eyes. Just reticence. Maybe. It wasn’t clear.

What is clear is that Jeongguk is incredibly particular. He’s picky about what he likes and even more so about what he doesn’t, though dislike might be too soft a word. When he hates something, it’s impossible not to know. He doesn’t even try to mask his disappointment.

It’s not malicious, of course. He’s not the type to be spiteful. It’s just how he is, an open book, his expressions giving him away without fail.

It’s one of the many reasons you love watching him, other than hoping your eyes would telepathically convey your undying desire to fuck him and cuddle him close to your chest afterwards. But most of the time, studying the shifts in his features is a way for you to decipher what he’s thinking.

And that’s why this moment feels so high-stakes. The last thing you want is to be on the receiving end of one of Jeongguk’s polite smiles or barely-there nods of acknowledgment, the kind he gives when he’s unimpressed. It would crush you, the ultimate failure in your short-lived career as a gift-giver.

It’s not just that he’s hard to please. Jeongguk is also the last person who seems to need anything. He’s loaded, his success as a game developer has afforded him a life where anything he wants is within reach. And yet, despite his wealth, there’s no arrogance about him. If you didn’t know him so well, you might think he was just another college student scraping by.

Who else but Jeon Jeongguk could walk around in a hoodie and square glasses, looking like he just rolled out of bed, while being the CEO of his own company?

But, of course, none of this is important. Because as you unfold the piece of paper in your hand, it’s there. Jeongguk.

You don’t think you enjoy Secret Santa as much anymore.

With the bowl continuing its journey around the circle, you spend the rest of the game staring holes into the back of Jeongguk’s head, desperately trying to figure out what in the world you could possibly get him. Your monthly budget feels laughable in comparison to his lifestyle, but you’re already prepared to go way over it if that’s what it takes to impress him.

You wonder if he’s as insecure as you are when he quietly unfolds the small, paper square he picked up and scans the name. His bug eyed expression doesn’t hide an evident surprise, the twitch of his eyebrows managing to conceal a possible disappointment.

For someone who’s usually so easy to read, Jeongguk seems uncharacteristically guarded in this moment, and it drives you crazy. You squint at him, frowning as you try to decipher any small detail on his face. Is he annoyed? Or worse, completely indifferent?

Either way, it doesn’t look like a positive reaction. If it ends up being you, you’ll rethink back to this moment and cry yourself to sleep.

With the first step out of the way, the night goes on following its usual rhythm. Only by the end of it, Jeongguk’s space starting to empty, you quietly help him put some order to the mess left behind by a too drunk Hoseok paired with his too drunk best friend Taehyung.

You keep yourself busy with storing some leftover food, managing to keep your tone unbothered when you ask, “Hey, Gguk. Wanna help me with the party planning this year?”

Always obliging to your every request, he only stutters slightly in his movements, the glasses he was cleaning clinking together. He clears his throat, “S—sure. I’ll help you, goldie.” The stammer doesn’t seem to be caused by any kind of hesitation, just an usual consequence to his nature. Reserved, quiet.

You nod, gulping way too loudly at the special nickname he has for you, and both of you keep your focus on your doings instead of witnessing the faint blush dusting your cheeks, “Cool. I’ll text you the details tomorrow.”

Details texted, your efforts to divert the conversation into something remotely playful failed miserably. Jeongguk is painfully formal, methodical as ever, hyper-focused on the party. When you sent him a TikTok you deemed adorable enough to nudge him toward a different matter, maybe hint at the dog being the cutest thing he’s ever seen and that you two should definitely adopt three of them and move in together, he still doesn’t get it.

gguk🤍: Oh… I asked my brother to keep Bam for Christmas Eve. I thought he would be too much of a hassle, especially with Iseul not being fond of dogs.

You had stared at the ceiling for a long moment after reading that text. Jeongguk is endearingly dense, and you don’t mind it most of the time. But it’s starting to cause quiet bursts of frustration when it comes to whatever undefined thing you two have, and what is clearly simmering for the eyes of everybody to see, except his.

You’d thought giving him his first handjob when he quietly confessed he’s never been touched, his voice a tremble in the calm aftermath of a chaotic group sleepover, would be enough to make him see. His quiet whimpers were hypnotizing calls that only you were meant to hear, and your fist pumping his girthy length with intent was speaking all you were afraid to voice.

Jeongguk came hard and unannounced all over your hand, pleasured sounds muffled in the side of your neck, and you’d assured him it was okay; he did good; that you would get something to clean him up. You didn’t sleep that night, and he didn’t either, spending the rest of it next to each other on his couch talking pointless conversation.

If that hadn’t opened his eyes, you were beginning to wonder what would.

“So… Do you have any idea what to gift your person?”

Jeongguk stirs his latte for the fourth time. You’d decided to meet at a café halfway between your cramped flat and his mansion, because it was the easiest way you managed to make your busy schedules merge.

“No, Gguk,” you acknowledge his question without meeting his eyes, focusing on the grocery list on your laptop instead.

What would? You’re starting to think subtlety isn’t cutting it. Maybe it never has. Perhaps the only way to break through that frustratingly thick skull of his is to go full throttle, strip naked right here in the middle of this café and spell it out for him.

Your eye involuntary twitches at the thought in relation to his question. Crazy Christmas gift, you reason as you stare maniacally at your bright screen. Yeah. Totally crazy.

Shaking your head, you can’t resist glancing up at him. The idea doesn’t seem so irrational anymore, not when your insides twist at the sight of his absorbed expression, his brows furrowed as he scribbles out unheard-of maths on a piece of paper to figure out group expenses.

With your chin resting in the palm of your hand, you abandon your pretense of being productive and let yourself watch him work. A teasing lilt slips into your voice as you prod him in your usual way, “Why should I believe you already don’t know who it is?”

He blinks up at you, promptly, like he always does when you speak to him, and he stumbles, “Huh— I don’t—”

“You so do. You probably already guessed it all with your nerdy brain.”

Despite looking mildly offended, his ears turn red anyway, “Nerdy brain—”

“Glasses look cute on you,” that shuts him up; his mouth, his brain. Completely unable to cater to any of their functions.

You smirk at the way he diverts his gaze, pointer finger unconsciously fixing the specs on the bridge of his nose, and you wonder how much longer it’ll take for him to notice that you don’t just go around calling everyone’s glasses cute.

Sighing, you continue, “Anyways. It’s not you.”

“W—what? Is it really not?” When he looks up at you with even wider eyes, you feel bad for lying to him but you still shake your head. He mutters, “Shoot. I was so sure I had it.”

A playful scoff escapes you, “See! You did sit in your nerdy room and tried to guess!”

“Stop calling me a nerd,” it’s a request grumbled in the most adorable way you’ve heard, and there’s no real heat behind it. Especially when he goes back to be exactly what he doesn’t want you to refer to him as, “Well, if it’s not me, it must be Taehyung.”

You pretend to busy yourself with your touchpad as you ponder on his eagerness. Then, you voice the result, “What’s the fun in knowing right now?”

Jeongguk hesitates for a moment too long before admitting, “I don’t know. I guess it makes me less anxious.”

It’s a raw kind of honesty, much like what he was painted all over with when he came from your touch, and it has you shifting your gaze back on him, now absorbed in doodling stylized portraits of Bam right next to numbers and additions.

You don’t know if it’s the hot chocolate still simmering in your tummy, the warmth from the coat laying on your legs, the café’s natural heat or Jeongguk’s proximity, but you buzz with something homely.

Ariana Grande’s version of Last Christmas replays for the third time in a row, and at this point you’re starting to believe it’s a conscious choice, but you don’t mind it.

Jeongguk belongs to the world the soft melody is building, hugged by a woolen white sweater, the wide glass window behind him giving the perfect view to a classic winter scenery, snow softly resting on any surface it finds and unconsciously bringing magic to dullness. Or maybe it’s just him adding that last bit.

You smile at his small confession, reassuring with your tone, almost drowning in the lively chatter of the place surrounding you, “You don’t have to be.”

Jeongguk only nods, tapping the pencil on his temple as he studies what he has so far with sudden doubt. He looks at your laptop, scanning the long forgotten visual board on your Pinterest, then back to his calculations.

Giving one more glance at the screen, he concludes, “By the way, I really don’t think that color would look good in my living room.”

Ugh.

You think you want to strangle him when he deflects so easily from these moments. And mostly, the burgundy he’s so easily refusing happens to be one of your favorite shades. Do your tastes ever match?

God, as much as you want him, you hope he’s not your Secret Santa.

────⋆｡˚❆˚ ｡⋆────

Jeongguk is your Secret Santa.

And on Christmas Eve, he’s pacing the length of his living room back and forth, his socks brushing against the polished wooden floor with each step. You’re supposed to arrive any minute now to help him with the final touches before the others come for dinner, and the idea of having you here alone is enough to make his hands clammy and his thoughts stumble.

The neatly wrapped gift with its shiny red paper sits tucked under the towering Christmas tree, the one adorned in messy decor that his friends jumbled up together. The item hidden inside the bag doesn’t share his anxieties, though he suspects his downstairs neighbour might have caught on to it with the incessant pacing.

When you ring the doorbell he’s jolted out of it and, practically tripping over his own feet, he rushes to the door and yanks it open. He would have let you in just as rapidly if his brain didn’t stop short at seeing you standing there.

You’re cladded in a soft sweater that looks two sizes larger, its beige tones complimenting the warm brown of his own jumper, and your short skirt peeks out beneath its hem, edged with lace ruffles. At your feet, a pair of chestnut Uggs that he can only hope are enough to make up for the cold shivers on your bare legs. Not that he’s staring, so intently he has to gulp down an impulsive thought. No, he’s just a naturally observing guy.

And that brings him to notice that your hands are empty, save for a small purse and a bottle of wine. No bag, no box, no sign of a gift.

When his gaze flickers back to your face, your eyes are wide and darting nervously between his own, narrowed by the frown that he can’t quite hide but bug sized the moment he catches a trace of insecurity in your shaky voice, “Hi.”

It could be the cold causing the brief greeting to tremble, small snowflakes laying on your neatly styled hair, shimmering for a brief moment before melting away. It pulls him out from his unabashed study of you, and he steps aside to let you into his much warmer space.

Your vanilla scent inebriating his senses has him forgetting all about your seemingly non existent gift, and how he suddenly finds himself wishing he truly did get something messed up in his calculations, that you’re not his Secret Santa.

But you are.

Many drinks later, filling up everyone’s stomachs along with shared food and belly laughter, it’s time to exchange gifts and the expression on your face is unlikely anything he’s caught on so far.

A huge contrast to the mellow Christmas tunes indistinctly playing in the background, your eyes are impassive as you word your excuses, “I’m sorry, Gguk. I forgot your gift at home.”

“Oh. It’s okay,” he says quickly, the words spilling out with genuine ease. And it really is okay. He’s not upset— far from it. The thought of you giving him anything at all, even belatedly, is enough to make him feel content.

But now, as the group’s attention turns toward him, his heart races for an entirely different reason. His gift for you, a lavish, over-the-top gesture that far exceeds the modest budget they all agreed on, sits waiting on his lap.

When it finds a new home atop your own crossed legs, you’re eager as you rip the paper, but your eyes don’t follow your movements. Instead, you focus on the nervous boy sitting across from you, your very own Secret Santa who’s monitoring your hands for you while subtly rocking from one side to the other.

His anxiety is endearingly soft, but you can see something more to it, almost an irrational fear of tripping on the wrong step, messing up something that’s supposed to be simple.

You hear it before you see it. The whole room inhales sharply in a collective surprise, with some gasps muffled behind hands pressed to mouths. You scramble for an explanation in their expressions, jumping from one face to the other, stopping on Jeongguk’s own, gaze glued to his fidgeting fingers, head bowed down to his lap.

When you slowly look down at what’s resting on yours, you almost wheeze. If they could, your eyes would leap out of their sockets.

Your palm instinctively presses on your lips as you look between the gift and the gifter in a frantic attempt to catch any sign that this is not what it is. With the music being the only sound eerily filling the sudden silence, you add to it, even if barely, with your voice a whisper, “What is this?”

Jeongguk gulps and finally meets you, “It’s m—my gift for you.”

It’s not like you even opened it yet. But the simple sight of the box had you grasping for support. On the pale, textured surface of the square box, the unmistakable gold lettering is what’s making your orbs shake in confusion: Dior.

You trace the sign with your pointed finger, tilting your head up to look at Jeongguk through your lashes, and you don’t know how else to put it, “Ggukkie… Were you there when we set the budget?”

Jimin butts in with a scoff, “Yeah, that’s like fifteen thousand won multiplied by another fifty thousand.”

Jeongguk doesn’t know what he should say. He’s scared of the deafening silence that follows, the way Jimin’s comment seems to linger in the air, the way you seem to struggle with finding something to say in response.

He begins, tries to, “I—”

“Fuck, Gguk,” the simple sound of your words has his mind spiralling, palms clammy with doubts that question his every choice leading up to this moment, feeling foolish for even thinking this could be right, a shot worth trying. What if you think he’s showing off? Or worse, overcompensating?

But what he fails to notice is the toothy grin that follows your shameless surprise, your fingers gingerly lifting the lid of the box, and really, if only he had the courage to look up at you he’d have avoided the worries.

He misses your reaction at the reveal: the prettiest earrings sit on a soft cushion, gleaming gold with delicate CD initials and cream pearls dangling gracefully beneath them.

“These are the prettiest thing I’ve ever seen. I love them. You didn’t have to.”

Jeongguk’s head snaps up. He meets your face painted with the most beautiful grin he’s ever seen you wear, your cheeks burning with red and your nose scrunching as you carefully slip the earrings to take a better look at them. With you, everybody else around him seems in awe, too. Their soft, endeared whispers begin to fill the earlier suffocating silence, melting into a sweetness reserved entirely for Jeongguk.

He exhales quietly, the welcomed warmth in his chest replacing the cold. He admits, no stutter, no fear, just a sheepish smile, “I wanted to.”

Jeongguk really did want to. It felt like his one shot. A desperate, last-ditch attempt at making you see him the way he’s always seen you; a declaration wrapped in gold and pearls.

He wants you to see him as more than the shy, awkward boy who stumbles over his words and blushes too easily. More than the nerd who spends too much time working on equations and codes half the world doesn’t know about. More, just to have you look at him a bit closer.

He wants to be a man, one who badly wants you, in your eyes.

They’re gleaming with adorable excitement as they flicker back to his, sheepishly accompanying your quiet request, “Can you… put them on for me?”

Jeongguk is at your side in no time, handling the earrings with care while trying to keep his usual clumsiness at bay as he fastens the dainty jewels in place. He begins to understand why it’s hard to see him as anything else but gawky when he feels his heartbeat speed up from the simple way his skin is brushing against yours.

Namjoon’s voice cuts through the spell, playful, “Oh, what a pretty princess. Jeongguk truly has an eye for this stuff.”

With the group following with chuckles and mindless banter, Jeongguk feels uncharacteristically bold, gaze fixated entirely on you as he lets himself spill something meant for you only to hear, “I think it’s just you. You’re beautiful.”

You’re clearly caught off guard, and it stings a little when he realizes the only reason he doesn’t get to see you this flustered often is because he’s usually busy being the flustered one. Blinking up at him through your lashes, your laugh comes out a little breathless, and the sweet way you let your cheek rest on your shoulder has him daring to hope.

“Nerd.”

But no. There it is again.

That’s all he’ll ever be in your eyes.

He forces a smile that barely reaches his eyes, but you’re too engrossed with having your pearls admired by the rest of the group to notice. Those weren’t a waste; he would do it all the same. You deserve everything that makes your eyes shine, that brings the corners of your lips into that grin that shakes him, that can ever bring you joy. He just wishes it could bring you more than that; bring you to a bigger sentiment, a bigger realization.

Perhaps that’s why he can’t shake off the awful mood that pervades his senses throughout the rest of the night, the earrings hanging from your ears catching the twinkly, warm lights and mocking him with delighted amusement. There’s nothing else you can do, you nerdy boy.

Perhaps that’s also why, when the house starts to empty and you’re in his kitchen making yourself helpful with dishes, he slips on composure when you accidentally let a glass slide from your dainty hands.

It breaks the moment it meets the ground, and the sound penetrates his ears, both of you jumping at the impact. He hisses, “What— what the heck, ___!”

You’re startled, blinking up at him. It’s not the chaos from the glass, not its tiny pieces covering the floor and reaching your feet. It’s the deliberate frustration of his tone, one he’s never let free, especially with you.

You pant for apologies, but they can’t seem to be let out. Wide eyes jumping between his own bug ones, your brows draw up in shame. It has never been this easy to get him bothered. Hell, you’ve even struggled to.

Jeongguk only sighs, dragging a hand across his nape, and he regrets the quiet sharpness in his voice the second he lets it out, “God. Be more careful next time.”

He’s still quicker than you on his feet, moving to sweep the mess you’ve created before you can even react. You seem to move in slow, infinite motions, kneeling down to pick up the bigger pieces, all while keeping an unusual silence.

He steals a glance up at you, biting his lower pierced lip in sudden guilt, “Are you okay?”

Your hands pause, clutching a fragment of glass as your eyes flicker up to meet his. You nod, distant, and it does nothing to convince him.

He doesn’t even seem to be paying attention to your hesitant confirmation, rather he’s hyper-focused on your fingers, and before you realize the shift in his expression, he alarmedly blurts out, “Goldie. You’re bleeding.”

The sting barely registers for you until his words bring it to your attention. Looking down, you see a sharp, red line running across your finger, small but enough to make Jeongguk spring into action.

You’re lifted off the floor and ushered to the bathroom in fractions of seconds, letting yourself be handled like you don’t own your body. The only thing you want to be aware of is the switch in his behaviour. He’s back to normal once he’s in his quiet bubble of concentration, movements precise as he cleans the barely visible wound and carefully places a band aid over it.

All while he can’t stop apologizing, “I’m sorry for yelling at you. That was not your fault. But, this. This is my fa—”

“Jeongguk, it’s just a scratch.”

The way he meets your eyes with his face drawn tight and brows furrowed makes you rethink your statement. Maybe it’s more than a scratch. Maybe it’s the only thing that snapped him out of his frustrated daze.

“It doesn’t matter. You didn’t deserve that.”

Your first instinct is to giggle; it’s a resonance of the butterflies childishly swarming in your belly from the proximity and his careful words. Both your gazes soften as you accept each other, even the faulted versions of tonight, and a timid smile stretches over his lips.

You hesitate before speaking again, your mouth opening only to close, reconsidering your words; but then you finally let out what you had foolishly planned as your next desperate attempt to cling to him.

“Can you… My car is… Can you take me home?”

What you’re now sure you like the most about Jeongguk is how he caters to your needs before you even have to voice them. The soft kindness in his eyes, the way his body instinctively shifts to act before his mind even fully processes the request. He’s already nodding, ready to make it happen for you.

“Yeah. Of course.”

The heat in his car fans over your cheeks, dusting them with a soft red that has his Adam’s apple bobbing every time he turns to steal glances at you at stoplights. You keep talking, filling the air with contentment about the night’s events, and it’s like that subtle slip of his never happened.

It’s almost too easy to surrender and pretend that everything is fine, that he doesn’t feel the ache of wanting more. If staying a nerd in your eyes means getting to be this close, to hear your laughter, to see the slight curve of your lips as you speak, then maybe it’s enough.

His subtle gestures — adjusting the temperature so you’re comfortable, his hands gripping the steering wheel a little tighter when your giggles spill into the cabin — don’t go unnoticed. They settle into you and have your heart beating anticipatedly.

God, you won’t regret what you’re about to do.

By the time he pulls up in front of your place, you promptly turn to him before he can offer anything else, voice a bit too eager, “Would you like to come inside?”

“Huh—”

“I’ll show you my gift.”

Jeongguk sits on your couch, because you tell him to wait there. And of course, he’s a great listener. Very obedient, willing to follow your every order.

His fingertips drum restlessly on his thighs and he can only busy himself with his surroundings, every detail speaking for you. What’s definitely more prominent is the intoxicating scent of vanilla that clings in the air, of which he hopes his lungs inhale the entirety of, never getting enough of everything that is you.

When you come into his vision again, walking down the stairs in quiet steps, you’re tightly hugged in a trench coat, the textured belt cinched snugly around you and accentuating the small of your waist. Under it, your legs are bare. It has his mouth drying and his legs spreading stiffly on the couch.

He thought he got better at hiding his concerning infatuation. He hopes he did.

That’s why he initially manages to chuckle and attempt a joke, “Are you going somew—”

“Ta-da.”

Jeongguk doesn’t think he’s breathing. He doesn’t think he can even breathe anymore. His blinking fastens, brain stumbling over itself as it tries to make sense of what he’s sitting in front of.

You’ve loosened the coat just enough for the fabric to fall and reveal what you’ve carefully wrapped for him. You’re a gift coming in a red lingerie set clinging to your perfect curves, your boobs deliciously spilling out from the sides of your lace top and the line of your panties thin enough to leave little to the imagination.

He pants, scanning over your body once, twice, three times, questioning if the wine was perhaps laced with stronger substances, “What— What is this—”

“It’s my gift for you. Merry Christmas, Gguk.”

Meeting your face again, he nearly groans. You’re almost bare before him, yet you still sport a crimson blush and your teeth graze your bottom lip in a sheepish smile, in a way that is so achingly you. He can feel himself throbbing painfully in his pants. Thinks he could cum just from this view, tip over the edge without a single touch, no matter how bad he needs it.

“Fuck.”

You’ve barely ever heard Jeongguk curse throughout the time you’ve known him for. He only sometimes reserves that for his monitor, Overwatch games causing his composure to slip in adorable loud whispers.

But it’s like you’ve broken his dam, and he only lets more slip as you walk slowly but certainly closer to him, coat discarded on the floor, “Oh my, fuck. Holy shit. Thank you. Thank you. I— I don’t know what to do.”

It’s a quiet plea, the one that’s hidden in his strained words but clear in his full eyes glazed over with anticipation, his hands hovering uncertainly over his thighs, chest still heaving and struggling with manual breathing. He’s begging to feel deserving of this, to have you prove to him that it’s what you truly want for the both of you, to have you touching him and to be touching you.

He can’t help the moan that escapes him when you position yourself in between his spread legs, bodies close yet not touching, but he’s dying to feel you.

Now your turn to bend at his every request, your head tilts and your smile widens the more he’s forced to crane his neck up to keep your gazes connected, pending off your every syllable, “You don’t have to do anything. Will you let me take care of you?

“Yes, please,” the confirmation is immediate and empty of hesitance. Under you, Jeongguk nods promptly with his lips agape, watering with want when you straddle his lap to sit yourself on him.

He wails, throwing his head back and searching for all the strength it takes from holding back his instinct to snap up against your core, snuggled atop his raging hardness. At his shameless desperation, your giggles fill his ears, and when they’re followed by your cold hand on his cheek redirecting his gaze on yours, he feels feverish.

Delirious, eyes barely keeping from rolling back, his brain reduced to senseless blabbering, “My God. Thank you for this.”

With his brows adorably drawn up, he focuses on your dilated pupils now that your faces are mere centimetres apart, and you close the distance with small pecks that trace his jaw, up to his ear lobe, whispering against the skin, “Are you seriously thanking God while I’m about to take your virginity?

Jeongguk hisses in a frenzied surge, his hands still unsurely keeping from touching you, and your sarcastic pun has him full on rambling, “Shit, sorry. I don’t even believe in God. This just feels too good to be true. You look like a fucking angel.”

“Ggukkie, language!” Your seductive tone along with your chuckle reverberates right against his chest, your hands moving to lead your own palms up and down his broad front, and when you subtly roll your hips against his clothed length, he breaks into a cry.

“Oh, fuck. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I’ll come so soon,” you don’t know if it’s the adrenaline of the moment, but you’ve never witnessed such a bold Jeongguk. It only spurs you further, your hand traveling down, and down, until it sneaks under his sweater.

When you find his nipple, you playfully roll it between your pointer and thumb, his trembling body bucking up in an unstoppable urge, quiet whimpers working to keep his tone down. But you want to hear him scream under you, just as loud as you can feel his heart beating.

You bite your lip as your eyes drift downward, watching where your bodies meet in slow, teasing drags. His wide palms press into the cushions on either side of you, his knuckles turning white from the force of his grip, and when you lift your gaze to meet his face again the delicious buzz pooling low in your stomach intensifies, your lips parting instinctively. A pretty blush creeps up his neck, painting his sharp jaw and cheekbones in shades of red, and his eyes, clouded, desperate, and burning with unfiltered need, lock onto you with a gaze that makes your knees weak even as you straddle him.

The simple grinding through the layers of clothing you still have on has you releasing whiny gasps in the air, his cock sliding torturously between your folds, and if you’re so affected by every shift you can hardly fathom what he must be feeling under you.

So you wonder out loud, voice rough the more you feel his stiff nipple under your fingertips, “How long since you’ve been touched properly, hm?”

His body hiccups, shaking with the barely contained lust, “Since— Since you last did, goldie.”

You coo, slowing down your movements and bringing your fingers to the hem of his jumper only to lift it and toss it behind you carelessly, “You’re so sensitive, aren't you?” At the view of his exposed chest, you can’t help roaming the expanse of it and feeling the tensing muscles under your skin, and by now you’re sure your panties must be ruined.

“Puh— please,” the plea is barely coherent, whispered out messily through high-pitched moans, but he begs again, “I wanna touch you too.”

“Then…” You let your hands speak for you, moving them to lead his own big ones to rest at your thighs, letting them drag up the curve of your ass. You’re impossibly close to his lips now, fanning against them, “Feel me, Gguk.”

Unable to resist, you fall forward and catch his mouth with yours in a kiss that struggles to find a rhythm, that has your tongues tangled in an uncoordinated dance, but that inevitably has you both humming loudly in an effort to almost devour each other, and his hands digging in your bare skin only force a gasp out of you.

In an impatient rush, you urge him to unclasp your bra, his unpractised and shaky fingers being joined by your experienced ones to finally free you from the tight confines, and as much as he wants to make kissing you a sport just to win every gold medal and break record after record, he can’t help separating from your lips with a wet sound to look down at your exposed breasts.

Jeongguk groans, and this time he doesn’t need you guiding him. It’s his own palms moving to cup you, and the innocent, light feather touch causes you to throw your head back and resume your slow grinding on top of him.

Both of you are panting messes, his moans significantly louder the more he gets to knead at your softness only to slice his thumb over your hardened nipples, the contrast making his brows furrow in hazed need, and when you arch your back into him he squeezes your tit to his mouth, eliciting a surprised wail from you.

Even when he gets closer, your sensitive nub engulfed by his swollen lips, he keeps looking up at you for approval with wide, teary eyes that beg for you to praise him. And with a hand gripping his wavy locks, you nod repeatedly for him to keep going, “Fuck, baby. Just like that, oh my God.”

He hums lowly with his mouth stuffed, his fingers digging in your flesh the more you drag your cunt mercilessly over the outline of his thickness, and he has to release you with a pop and rest his head on the couch behind him, palms keeping you somewhat still by the waist, panting out a desperate request when he feels himself throb dangerously close to his high, “G—Goldie, I can’t. Don’t— Don’t wanna cum like this.”

You lift your hips just enough for the both of you to whimper at the loss of friction, and you murmur through a string of kisses along his exposed neck, “How do you want to cum then, huh?”

He only whines, cheeks flushed with want and eyes glossy, forehead creasing with the way his brows are stressing, “Please.”

You show no mercy, flashing him with a wicked smirk and a teasing tilt of your head, “Ah-ah. Say it.”

Gulping with effort, his waist twitches up unconsciously to seek for your touch once again, and with his face turned to the side he admits in the smallest voice, “‘Nside of you.”

“Good boy. Gonna give you exactly what you want.”

He voices a loud cry just from the sound of your promise, only echoing more intensely when you hastily work at his zipper. It’s messy, uncertain, and it elicits breathy giggles from the two of you, drunk on adoration and high on desire.

Eventually, he’s stripped free from his confines, and his cock stands proud and hard, veins pumping the blood that has it throbbing against his toned stomach.

Jeongguk can feel your hooded eyes on him, can sense his tip wettening with the simple way you seem starved and eager to taste him, your hand coming too close to where he needs you the most before he gently grabs your wrist to stop it.

Automatically, your head snaps up, and the look on his face is one of nervous desperation, “Wan’ you to kiss me, please.”

You’re ready to comply to his every demand, and this one is as easy as it gets. You want to give him everything— whatever he wants, however he wants it.

Your lips mold with his in worldless acceptance, absorbing all you were afraid to voice to each other, making up for all the time you wasted, devoting to a sealed promise, the one that dances between your connected tongues, saliva making it wet and breathless.

Even more when your slim fingers trail down his torso before wrapping around his length, your wrist expertly flicking in a teasing touch, and his moan is unrestrained as it tears through the kiss. You swallow the sound greedily, steadying you against his chest rising and falling in frantic pants.

Before he can protest, his own hips bucking up in a silent beg for more, you steal the air from his lungs when you move your panties to the side and align your entrance with his tip, just to sink down on it.

The drag is slow and it has both of your eyes rolling back, pleased groans filling the air and straining against your throat when you fully sit yourself wrapped around his dick. You search for him, “You okay?”

“Shit,” Jeongguk seems hypnotised by the view of his thickness wrecking you in half, and his palms come to rest at your waist where his fingers dig into the skin. Your own playing with the hair on his nape only seem to make him more vulnerable, “This is perfect. You feel so good and warm, fuck.”

You’re not used to hearing him curse so openly and so often, and it naturally makes you giggle, the sound tickling his ears and leading his dilated pupils to look up at you through his lashes. Your sweet laughter fades into a lasting smile, one he can’t help but kiss, even if it’s all teeth, the contagious sight of your happiness getting to him too.

The moment is sickeningly sweet, bodies connected in more ways than one. With your kiss only deepening and your chest melting against his, you pull him impossibly closer by the back of his neck and start attempting slow motions on top of him.

You hear him through his thundering heartbeat, “Goldie… I— I don’t think I can last any longer, I’m so sorry, I—”

“Oh, shit, baby,” one particular shift has his length, deeply stuffed in your tight walls, finding your spot and teasing it with an electric buzz that travels through your body, “It’s okay. I’m so close too.”

The moment you try a firmier bounce and feel him find you again, you can’t help the way your movements fasten, your moans thick and low against your throat, his own louder and ricocheting through the walls.

You steady yourself with one of you palms on his thigh, leaning your weight back and finding a new angle to fuck yourself on him. He watches in awe as you work your fingers on your clit, rapid circling movements causing his mouth to hang open at the squelching sounds.

He pants, his wide hands guiding your riding, pushing you up and down, “Can— Can I touch you?”

You hum, but it sounds more like a whine, “Hm, of course, pretty boy,” the hand that was stimulating your sensitive nub now comes behind you to help support yourself on both of his muscular thighs, flexing under every shift.

Jeongguk is unpracticed as he leads his thumb to rest at your clit, applying a soft pressure and mimicking the same pattern he observed from you. He only seems to be focusing on his doing for the first few moments before he searches up for the reaction on your face, and he whimpers when he finds your bottom lip trapped between your teeth, your brows drawn up in pleasure.

You smile at the unconscious twitch of his chin, and give him just what you know he wants, “Always seeking my approval. You’re so good.”

The simple praise only has him working on you with more confidence, collecting some of your wetness and sliding it up along your lips. He learns fast, listening to your every sound and centering on your pleasure, as best as he can with his own knot getting closer to bursting.

You’re clearly affected by the simulations, your hips stuttering and riding around him, but you still make sure to concentrate on him first, “I’ll tell you when to cum, hm? You’ll listen to me, right?”

Jeongguk nods before he even knows what he’s agreeing to, “Y—yes. Yes, yes, fuck. I’ll be good. Wanna be so, so good for you. Wanna c—cum for you.”

“You’re so filthy, baby. Naughty boy. Fuck me.”

His hips meet you up with harsh thrusts that have you lose your balance on him, and you can only throw yourself with your arms around his broad shoulders, face hidden in the crook of his neck as he lets his desire take over, fucking up into you with a desperate need for release.

You think you see stars with the way he relentlessly pounds your hole, wet folds sliding along his length and causing a mess between you, his own slickness mixed with yours trailing down and pooling at the base. The sounds are inglorious, and they merge perfectly with your wails.

Breathing in his scent, you know he’s close from the way his thrusts are stammering sloppily, and his moans are closer to strained whines. You concede, “F—Fucking cum, Gguk. Cum inside me, fuck.”

He nods, slamming you down to meet his movements, desperate to feel you before he can stop himself, “Cum with me, pleas— Oh.”

When your walls spasm around him with your orgasm hitting you like a tidal wave, causing you to shake in his embrace around you, he feels himself cum unannounced, hard and thick, sprouts of white liquid relentlessly pumping inside your warmth.

You milk him dry, both your wails drained with the effort and fading into breathless gasps, his arms around you falling limply at his sides. You’re sprawled on his chest, emptied from any energy, and he is just as spent with his head lolling against the back of the couch.

But you feel it in your heartbeats syncing, the realization of what happened, what finally happened. You feel it in his face moving down to find your lips and catch them in a sweet peck, his fingers trailing up again to trace lazy patterns on your back before tangling in your hair, grounding himself in you.

It’s your own smiles breaking through the kiss, lashes tickling, and both of you laugh senselessly as you come down from the moment.

“Fuck,” Jeongguk breathes out, voice raspy, “This was the best Christmas gift ever.”

You snicker, biting your lip to hold back your amusement, “Oh, baby. It was just an excuse to fuck you. I actually did forget your gift at home.”

“W—What?” His brows shoot up, his post-orgasm haze momentarily replaced with incredulity as his cheeks redden even more.

When Jeongguk straightens on the couch, so do you, steadying your weak frame with your hands splayed against his chest. Sheepishly, you confess, “Yeah. Bought you that Mario game yo—“

“Princess Peach: Showtime?”

“Yea—”

Jeongguk gasps dramatically, his excitement so pure it’s almost jarring considering what just transpired, and that he’s no longer a virgin, “God, I fucking love— that game. That is the best Christmas gift ever.”

You can’t hold back your laughter this time, shaking your head at how easily he slips back into his usual self, the one that had you buying a Victoria’s Secret set in that shade of burgundy he said he didn’t like just to attempt a crazy chance at having him.

Leaning forward, you press a lingering kiss to his lips that brings you back to the realization that you finally did get to have him, before murmuring against them, “Well, that and a second round. What do you say?”

“Please.”

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