#namjoon romcom

[hamburgerndsprite]

⋆⁺₊STUPID CUPIDS: BABY EDITION⋆⁺₊

✧ Pairing: Baby Cupid! Jimin x Baby Cupid! OC ✧ Genre: dumbass celestial romcom • divine sabotage • gay panic • healing with glitter • emotionally repressed idiots • Crack au • Enemies-to-Lovers • Fantasy AU • Whimsical Chaos • Romance ✧ Word Count: 16k+ of glitter-fueled war crimes ✧ Synopsis: Two baby Cupids get slapped with divine probation, a cursed mission scroll, and absolutely no adult supervision (except one extremely tired supervisor who might sue them for emotional damage). Now they’re stuck doing “healing-centric” love missions, which is unfortunate, because they’re both dangerously underqualified, emotionally repressed, and 100% allergic to subtlety. They’re not stable, they’re not certified, and they’re definitely not falling in love with each other, shut up. Featuring: 💘 reckless divine interference ✨ unlicensed emotional healing 📜 cursed bureaucracy ☕️ One supervisor who did not sign up for this This fic is 70% screaming, 20% feelings, and 10% enchanted muffin crimes. No thoughts, just Cupids. You’re not ready.

CUPID HEADQUARTERS, FLOOR 7¾ — THE LOVELESS LOUNGE

Somewhere between the clouds of Eternal Romance and the Department of Reincarnated Soulmates lies a room so cursed, so aggressively pink, so suffocatingly glitter-infested, that most heavenly beings walk past it while pretending to check nonexistent texts.

This is where baby cupids are trained.

And also, tragically, where they are contained—if they’re too annoying to promote, too accidentally competent to fire, and way too flammable to ignore.

“Stop stabbing me with your sparkle arrow, you pink menace!” Jieun shrieked, shielding herself with a heart-shaped clipboard that was currently on fire. (Not metaphorically. Jimin had set it ablaze five minutes ago, trying to impress a phoenix intern. He failed. The intern is now dating a centaur. Tragic.)

“It’s not my fault your stupid wings take up ninety percent of the room!” Jimin snapped, twirling in place like a drama club ballerina. His aggressively sparkly wings flapped, knocking over a basket of enchanted aphrodisiac muffins that promptly moaned in harmony.

“THEY’RE AESTHETICALLY NECESSARY!” she shouted back, wings fluttering with righteous wrath “YOU LOOK LIKE A GLITTERY COUGH DROP.”

“WELL, YOU LOOK LIKE A MALFUNCTIONING TIKTOK FILTER!”

As they squared off like two sugared-up toddlers with divine weaponry, a poor innocent cherub floated between them holding a scroll of soulmate destinies.

He did not survive.

Jieun’s quill—somehow both feathered and venomous—smacked him square in the face. The scroll exploded into rose petals. The cherub sobbed gently and drifted away muttering, “I should’ve joined Accounting.”

Across the room, a love fern burst into flames. Again.

This was fine.

This was normal.

This was every day in the Department of Baby Cupids’ Temporary Probation Lounge (Rebranded from “Cupid’s Time-Out Corner” after the Celestial Ethics Committee had… questions).

And then—

The room froze.

Temperature. Sound. Possibly time itself. Even the love fern let out a final sizzle and dramatically wilted like a theatre major fainting on cue.

A low voice echoed from the hallway. Slow. Grave. Suffering from chronic secondhand embarrassment.

“…I swear by all that is holy in the 42 Laws of Love—if you two have caused one more romantic catastrophe on my watch—”

Jieun and Jimin froze like kids caught drawing abs on the Angel of Death’s yearbook photo.

The clouds shivered. The air sparked. And into the room glided:

Supervisor Kang.

Ancient. Unamused. One sock halfway on.

His robe might’ve once been white, now closer to “fermented tofu.” His glasses were cracked. His halo flickered like a dying ceiling light in a horror movie. His wings were half-molted in the distinct shape of a middle finger.

He carried no clipboard or scroll. No staff of authority.

Only one thing hovered beside him:

A mug of coffee.

Except it wasn’t in a mug. It was the mug. A floating orb of pure caffeinated doom, vibrating like it wanted to fight.

“I leave for ONE stress nap,” Kang growled, “and come back to find you two reenacting Romeo and Juliet but if they were both allergic to common sense.”

“Supervisor Kang,” Jimin chirped, visibly trying to hide the love fern still smoking behind him. “Good morning! Did you do something different with your—face?”

“That’s my eye twitch, Jimin.”

“Looks good on you,” Jieun said, overly chipper. “Makes you look less like a midlife crisis and more like an immortal tragedy.”

Kang didn’t flinch. “You two. Are on thin clouds.”

He raised one bony finger. The ceiling cracked ominously.

“Eighty-seven unresolved assignments. Six destroyed matchmaking networks. Two counts of illegal glitter usage. One extremely traumatized swan wedding.”

Jieun shrugged. “In our defense, the swan cheated first.”

“Oh! And the HR muffin bribe,” Kang added like a cherry bomb on top. “You tried to bribe Heaven’s HR.”

“With aphrodisiac muffins,” Jimin said proudly. “Organic. Gluten-free. Our love was real.”

Kang inhaled so sharply the coffee trembled like it, too, feared for its life. “You’re both one flirtation away from being reassigned to Pigeon Mail Duty.”

Both gasped. The horror was immediate.

“No...not the poop routes!” Jieun gagged.

“AND the goose routes,” Kang said darkly. “Have you ever fought a Canadian goose over a soulmate letter? You’ll lose. You’ll cry.”

Jimin’s soul paled visibly. “Please. We’re baby cupids. We're too pretty for this.”

Kang rolled his eyes so hard they might’ve reincarnated mid-orbit. “That’s exactly why I’m giving you one last chance. Starting now, you are on the Level-Up Checklist. Five tasks. One after another. Each only appears once the previous is completed. There is no skipping. No bribing. No faking romantic chemistry with performance art. Looking at you, Jieun.”

She pouted. “Our cabaret scene was convincing.”

“It involved a fireman, a goat, and a Human’s fate line. Never again.”

He clapped once.

A scroll fell from the ceiling and smacked Jieun on the forehead like destiny itself had had enough of her.

“OW?!”

She peeled it off her face like a pancake. It was golden, tied in pink ribbon, and vibrating with magical bureaucracy.

Jimin squinted over her shoulder like the scroll personally owed him money.

“Level-Up Checklist: Task One…” he read slowly, tracing the sparkly ink with a finger. “Get Kim Seokjin to win a cooking competition he’s been losing because the judges are corrupt and the show’s rigged.”

Jieun blinked. “So, we’re what now? Celestial MasterChef fixers?”

Jimin gasped, wings fluttering with excitement. “Oh my god. Can I sabotage a crème, Brulé?”

“You once set cereal on fire,” she said flatly.

“It was performance art,” he muttered. “You just didn’t get the symbolism.”

Off to the side, Kang looked one migraine away from demoting himself to cloud janitor. He pinched the bridge of his nose so hard, his glasses slid halfway off his face.

“Kim Seokjin,” he said grimly. “Culinary genius. Devastating jawline. Has a spiritual connection with spatulas. And yet, he’s been losing ‘So You Think You Can Cook?’ for three seasons straight. Because the judges have the moral integrity of expired tofu.”

Jieun squinted. “Wait, losing to who? I thought Seokjin was the golden child.”

Kang exhaled like the entire universe was a disappointment.

“To the head judge’s son. Fourteen. Hasn’t seasoned anything since 2019. Thinks saffron is a shade of beige. Once deep-fried a milkshake and called it ‘deconstructed nostalgia.’”

Jieun gasped dramatically. “THE Nepo Baby Junior Chef?! The one who thought truffle oil came from mushrooms… filing taxes?”

“That’s the one,” Kang growled.

“He’s the guy who tried to use glitter in a pasta dish and called it ‘edible confetti,’” Jimin whispered in horror.

Kang’s left eye twitched. “Seokjin has been sabotaged, underrated, and gaslit into thinking he’s mediocre. He’s starting to lose faith—not just in the show, but in himself. And in cooking.”

Jieun’s wings drooped, just a bit. Even chaos gremlins knew what it felt like to be underestimated.

Jimin clutched his chest like someone had deep-fried his soul. “He’s forgotten the sizzle of the sauté. The flirtation of folding an omelet.”

“Exactly,” Kang deadpanned. “Your task: Help him win. Restore his confidence. Remind him why he fell in love with food in the first place.”

“And no flaming flan disasters this time,” he added, narrowing his eyes at Jieun.

“That was one time!” she argued.

“That was three,” Kang corrected. “And one of them involved a goat.”

A tense silence fell.

Jieun glanced away. “Okay, well. That goat had unresolved issues.”

Kang said nothing. Just turned to leave like he was already regretting not sending them to the Goose Division instead.

The bitter coffee cloud followed after him like a depressed fog intern.

“WAIT!” Jieun yelled. “What if we succeed?”

Kang paused at the door, coffee swirling ominously beside him. “If—and that’s a tragic, mythical if...you complete all five tasks? You’ll level up. Full-fledged Cupids. Wings, robes, pay bump, healthcare, the works.”

Jieun gasped. “Full robes? A pay bump? Wait—do we get the glitter allowance back?”

Jimin clutched his chest. “Do we get dental?”

“This isn’t Earth,” Kang said flatly. “But yes. And celestial sick leave.”

They both burst into tears.

“And if we fail?” Jimin whispered mid-sob.

Kang smiled. It was the kind of smile that said, I’ve seen things. And you’re not ready for any of them.

“Geese,” he whispered.

And vanished in a puff of caffeine and trauma.

Silence.

The scroll hovered mid-air, smug and golden.

Jieun turned to Jimin. Slowly. Like a villain plotting vengeance in a Disney musical.

“If you screw this up for me, I will personally staple you to a thundercloud.”

Jimin shrugged. “Too late. I already peed in the love fern.”

“You WHAT--?!”

☾⋆⁺₊✧⁺₊⋆ ☁︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

EARTH REALM, 6:43 PM — “YOU THINK YOU CAN COOK?” Season Finale

(Now Sponsored by Destiny, Glitter, and Emotional Damage)

A portal cracked open above the downtown TV studio like a sparkling glitter pimple in the sky, pulsating with light, poor decisions, and the unmistakable whiff of cosmic body spray.

And from that celestial mistake… they fell.

Jieun hit the pavement first with the grace of a drunk flamingo, crashing into a stack of promotional soufflés stacked outside the building like some kind of pastry tribute. The soufflés wept.

Seconds later, Jimin crash-landed on top of her, elbowing her in the wing and knocking loose six glitter bombs, one Cupid-grade hair straightener, and a cursed recipe scroll that promptly set itself on fire.

“YOU ABSOLUTE IDIOT!” Jieun howled, kicking him off. “I was manifesting main character energy, and you derailed my frequency!”

“You fractured my flair bone!” Jimin screeched, rolling into a trash bin like the elegant disaster he was. “I swear if I limp on one side, I’m hexing your face into a blender.”

They wrestled on the sidewalk like two toddlers possessed by the spirits of slapstick demons, their wings slapping, glitter flying, and bystanders walking straight through them, unaware of the metaphysical WWE match unfolding between realms.

Because, of course, they were invisible.

Per Regulation 9¾ of Cupid Protocol (subsection: “No Freaking Out the Humans, Please”), all baby Cupids on earthbound missions must be cloaked. That didn’t mean they had to act cloaked.

Which, tragically, they never did.

“Status check,” Jieun grunted, brushing glitter out of her eyes and swatting at Jimin’s hair, which had somehow caught fire from their crash. “Where are we? Who are we? Why do I smell burnt asparagus and trauma?”

Jimin popped his head out of the bin with a banana peel halo and grinned like an idiot cherub. “We're at the studio, dumb cloud. Seokjin’s in there, about to get emotionally eviscerated in the finale of ‘You Think You Can Cook?’ And guess what? It’s rigged.”

Jieun’s eyes narrowed. “Perfect. Sabotage central. You brought the chaos dust, right?”

“Always.” Jimin patted his pouch like a proud arsonist showing off his matchbox.

They phased through the studio wall like gremlins on a mission, promptly knocking over a boom mic and triggering a lighting flicker that made the audience think the studio was haunted. One toddler clapped in delight. A cameraman sobbed quietly.

Inside, the finale was already underway.

Spotlights. Smug judges. A giant banner reading SEASON FINALE: VICTORY, TEARS, AND TRUFFLE OIL. On one side of the stage stood Seokjin, looking ten parts nervous and one part ready to throw a spatula at someone’s neck. His station gleamed, organized, precise, and heartbreakingly sincere.

Across from him stood his competition: Brett. Fourteen years old. Acne like a Jackson Pollock painting. Son of Head Judge Sherry. Dressed like a discount Gordon Ramsay cosplayer with the confidence of someone who’s never cooked a vegetable on purpose.

“This is our villain?” Jieun whispered, hovering upside down over Brett’s station. “He just sneezed into the parmesan.”

“He’s wearing a ‘#ChefVibesOnly’ apron,” Jimin added, offended on a spiritual level. “His risotto just insulted my ancestors.”

“Good. Then let’s cause problems on purpose.”

And so, they did.

Jieun started by “accidentally” hexing Brett’s hand mixer into self-destruct mode. It began swirling faster and faster until it launched out of his bowl like a dairy-powered missile, exploded into frosting confetti, and hit Judge Sherry in the forehead. She didn’t blink. Botox was a powerful shield.

Meanwhile, Jimin floated over to Seokjin, whispering helpful notes like a culinary ghost. “More salt. Less fear. No, not that pan—JIN, YOU’RE BURNING THE—okay, okay, you fixed it, king, slay.”

Unfortunately, Jimin was multitasking. In one hand, he was fast-forwarding Jin’s oven timer (“Time is a construct!” he declared). In the other, he was nibbling Jin’s pre-measured butter cubes like they were cheese samples at a grocery store. Jin turned, confused.

“Why are my ingredients disappearing?” he muttered to himself.

Jieun cackled, hexing Brett’s balsamic glaze into behaving like sentient molasses. It slowly slithered off his plate and spelled “NEPOTISM” on the counter before flipping itself off and flopping into the trash.

“Subtle,” Jimin commented, chewing the last of the garlic cloves.

“Brett’s crying,” Jieun noted smugly. “Wanna make him hallucinate his blender talking to him?”

“I already did,” Jimin grinned. “It said his greatest achievement was being born.”

Suddenly, there was movement on stage. Brett, flustered and sticky, dropped his ladle directly into his soup, splashing it all over his presentation plate. Judge Sherry gasped.

“My baby boy’s signature sauce!” she wailed, clutching her pearls like someone canceled brunch with royalty.

Across the kitchen, Jieun hexed a rival’s oven so it started rapping aggressively every time someone opened it. Another contestant’s crème Brulé collapsed in a tragic emotional spiral after Jieun sneakily whispered, “Your sugar crust will never love you back.”

“You’re a menace,” Jimin muttered, rearranging Jin’s ingredients to the exact positions Jin liked them in, he’d seen it in reruns. Jin paused again, confused. The setup was... familiar. Comfortable.

“Let’s curse her eyeliner next,” Jieun hissed.

“Her mic’s still live,” Jimin whispered, eyeing the red light blinking on her collar.

“Perfect,” Jieun grinned, pulling back her glitter arrow like a chaotic archer of fate.

And then came the moment of ultimate chaos.

Jieun’s arrow thunked into Judge Sherry’s chest mic, unmuting it with a crackle—just in time for her whispered, very real-time betrayal to echo across the studio like divine karma on surround sound:

“Just crown Brett already. I need to reschedule my Botox.”

Silence.

The other judges froze

One stunned audience.

One rat in the back doing jazz hands.

Jimin, mid-sneeze, accidentally blasted the scoreboard with a truth spell. It flickered, buzzed, and boldly lit up like a Las Vegas billboard and read:

“THE JUDGES ARE CHEATING. ALSO, SOMEONE ATE THE BUTTER.”

The cameras were live. The audience was watching. Twitter was already exploding. And somewhere in the back, the espresso machine from last week’s café catastrophe whimpered in PTSD.

Seokjin’s eyes widened. Then narrowed. A slow fire lit behind his gaze like a man remembering his first love was buttered scallops and not eternal humiliation.

He straightened his chef’s hat. Lifted his ladle like a saber. And plated the most immaculate, heartbreakingly beautiful three-course meal anyone had ever seen. Even the parsley posed dramatically.

When the fork touched the judges’ lips, the heavens opened. A single tear rolled down the honest judge’s cheek. Judge Sherry spontaneously combusted from shame (fine, she just fainted into a soufflé).

The co-host, stunned into silence, staggered forward. “Uh—Kim Seokjin’s dish has just won,” he stammered, flipping through cue cards in panic. “Unanimous decision from the judges. Well—two of the judges. Judge Sherry is... uh... face-deep in a soufflé.”

Jin blinked. “I—wait, what?”

He looked up—confused. Stunned. Then slowly, slowly... smiled.

He looked down at his dish. Elegant. Balanced. Bold. Something only, he could make. For the first time in months, he looked proud.

Screams erupted. The crowd surged. The camera zoomed in on Jin’s face as he realized—he’d won. Fairly. Truthfully. With his own hands and heart.

His eyes gleamed. He laughed—a big, stupid, beautiful laugh. And the sparkle of joy that exploded from him felt like biting into the first perfect bite of something you made with love.

For the first time in three seasons—no, in years—he looked alive. Hopeful. He looked like he loved cooking again.

Up above, perched in the rafters, Jieun wiped her eyes with a muffin.

“We did it,” she sniffled. “He remembered why he loves it.”

Jimin sat beside her, their wings brushing faintly. “He looks like he’s glowing.”

“Do you think,” Jieun asked quietly, “we’ll glow like that someday?”

Jimin didn’t answer right away. He just looked at her—really looked. The starlight reflected in her eyes. Her nose had flour on it. There was a carrot peel in her hair.

“I think,” he said finally, “we already are.”

They glanced at each other.

Close. Flour-streaked.

Exhausted in the same key.

“You were... almost useful today,” Jieun muttered, bumping his shoulder.

“Same to you, you defective spice rack.”

A pause. A tiny flutter.

Then—

BAM.

A scroll dropped from the ceiling like destiny saying enough and smacked Jieun right in the forehead.

“OW! WHO GAVE DESTINY THE RIGHT TO THROW HANDS?!” Jieun howled, cradling her halo like a football.

Jimin caught it mid-spin and unfurled it.

Level-Up Checklist: ✅ Task One — COMPLETE. 🎯New Task Unlocked: Task Two — Get Min Yoongi to finish the song he abandoned three years ago.

Jieun blinked. “Yoongi writes music?”

Jimin’s mouth fell open. “OH MY GOD I BET HE’S SAD AND BROODY AND HAS AN AESTHETICALLY PAINED BACKSTORY—”

Jieun shoved a muffin in his mouth.

“Let’s go, Romeo. We’ve got a tortured artist to un-emo.”

They vanished in a puff of flour, glitter, and questionable professionalism.

And somewhere far off in the universe, a goose honked ominously.

Because chaos wasn’t over. It had only just begun.

☾⋆⁺₊✧⁺₊⋆ ☁︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

EARTH REALM, 3:07 AM — YOONGI’S STUDIO OF SILENCE, DOOM, AND UNFINISHED DEMOS (Where Inspiration Goes to Die, Then Maybe Get Reincarnated)

The portal didn’t open so much as wheeze into existence, like it had asthma and deeply regretted being assigned these two again. It let out a puff of glitter, unresolved emotional baggage, and one half-eaten croissant before vomiting out two screaming baby Cupids mid-wrestle.

Jieun landed spine-first into a pile of sheet music, flailing like a panic-stricken bat as a keyboard clanged under her butt. Somewhere in the studio, a haunted printer activated and spat out ten pages of binary code spelling “ouch.”

Jimin crash-landed on her stomach with the grace of a flying watermelon and immediately began choking on a harmonica. “You aimed for my spleen!” he gasped between wheezes.

“I aimed for your personality,” Jieun snarled, rolling him off like a sack of expired strawberries. “Didn’t find one.”

A cymbal fell off a shelf and smacked Jimin in the head. He blinked at the ceiling. “The studio’s haunted.”

“No, just cursed with your presence,” Jieun muttered, sitting up and brushing dried cornflakes off her robe. “Where are we?”

They glanced around. A single fluorescent bulb flickered above like it was dying of secondhand depression. Empty ramen cups lined the floor. Three guitars, all out of tune, leaned against a wall next to a chalkboard that read in bold, angry strokes:

“IF I HEAR THE WORD ‘VIBE’ ONE MORE TIME, I’M RETIRING TO THE MOON. — M.Y.G”

“Oh my god,” Jieun whispered. “We’re in the Holy Crypt of Broody Genius.”

A muffled groan floated from the inner room.

Yoongi.

He sat hunched over his desk, headphones on, face buried in his hands, surrounded by half-finished lyrics, unrendered tracks, and the unmistakable scent of existential dread. The soft glow of his screen lit up a file labeled:

“Untitled_This_Will_Never_Be_Good_Enough_FINALv42.mp3”

The file hadn’t been opened in three years.

Jimin floated closer, peeking over the monitor. “He hasn’t touched this in forever. Perfectionism paralysis. Classic tortured artist syndrome.”

“He’s literally editing his own sighs,” Jieun muttered, poking at a knob on the console that bit her. “What even is this interface? It looks like anxiety and jazz had a baby.”

“He used to love this song,” Jimin said softly. “Then he just... stopped.”

“Because he thought it wasn’t good enough,” Jieun added, scanning the lyrics scrawled on the wall like a manifesto. “He probably convinced himself no one would care.”

“Well,” Jimin clapped his hands, “we’ll just make everyone care. By accident. As usual.”

Jieun grinned. “How illegal are you feeling tonight?”

“On a scale of one to chaos? I’ve already hexed three USB ports.”

And so, Operation: Accidentally Emotionally Destroy a Musician for His Own Good commenced.

Jieun started by possessing the nearest object with access to melody: a cat.

A small, beige tabby had been napping on Yoongi’s window sill, dreaming peacefully of tuna and world domination. Jieun slipped inside like a drama queen with a mission, knocked over a coffee mug, and sauntered across the piano keys with all the elegance of a Walmart commercial.

The melody that rang out?

Yoongi’s abandoned chorus played perfectly.

Yoongi jolted upright. “What the hell—?”

Outside, Jimin enchanted the microwave to hum the bassline every time it defrosted tofu. Then he climbed on the speaker system and whispered a looping charm that made the studio speakers keep burping out the first lyric of Yoongi’s song:

“I stayed up for the moon / and woke up in my doubt.”

Again.

And again.

And again.

Until Yoongi shouted, “WHY IS EVERYTHING SINGING AT ME?” and tried to unplug his fridge.

By now, Jieun-as-cat had gone full Broadway. She was playing the piano with her paws, tail swishing in 3/4 time, eyes glowing with diva energy. She hit the bridge like it owed her money. Jimin leaned against the guitar amp, biting his fist to keep from laughing.

Yoongi, now teetering on the edge of a creative meltdown, slammed his palm against the desk, accidentally hitting “PLAY ALL” on his backup drive.

All of his demos, hundreds of them, began playing simultaneously.

Jieun, now back in her own body and flying high on composer chaos, accidentally hexed the studio’s radio panel, right as Yoongi’s fingers slammed ‘Play All.’

The entire city heard it.

At 3:22 AM, 327,000 humans were awakened by the low, melancholic hum of a song no one had ever heard but somehow already felt in their bones.

Yoongi staggered back, eyes wide, utterly panicked.

Then...his phone buzzed.

A notification.

Then another.

Then three thousand.

“YOONGI DID YOU JUST LEAK A TRACK?”

“WHAT IS THIS MASTERPIECE?”

“I’M CRYING I’M SOBBING I’M THROWING CASSEROLES THIS SONG SAVED MY MARRIAGE—”

Jieun floated over, reading the messages upside-down. “Oops. I might’ve accidentally broadcasted it live to 300,000 fans.”

Yoongi stared at the screen. “They’re hearing a skeleton,” he murmured. “I never gave it a heart.”

Then—he listened.

The sound surrounded him. The lyrics—messy, raw, unfinished—cracked something inside his chest. And slowly, slowly, he began to listen. Really listen.

Tears welled in his eyes, but he didn't stop the playback. His hands shook as he pulled out his chair. Sat down.

Touched the keys.

He started to play.

No backing track. No edits. Just his voice, the piano, and the ghosts he had tried to outrun.

He didn’t stop for hours.

The music came in floods: raw, imperfect, beautiful. And every time he hesitated, one of them (usually Jieun, throwing things) would mess with a dial, knock a chord, spill emotion everywhere until he couldn’t stop.

They watched from the bookshelf, huddled in a pile of sheet music and pretzels.

“He’s really doing it,” Jieun murmured. “He’s finishing it.”

Jimin didn’t reply at first. His eyes were soft. Focused. Like maybe watching Yoongi heal had unlocked something quiet in himself too.

“He didn’t need perfect,” he said finally. “He just needed to feel again.”

They sat in silence. The melody swelled. Somewhere, a fridge sang backup vocals.

Jieun leaned against Jimin’s shoulder. He stiffened, startled—but didn’t pull away.

“You’re warm,” she said quietly.

“You’re glittery,” he replied.

Their wings brushed.

Soft.

A little spark.

They didn’t move.

Until—

BAM.

A scroll smacked Jimin in the face and knocked him off the sill.

He yelped. “WHAT IS DESTINY’S ISSUE WITH MY HAIRLINE?!”

Jieun caught the scroll mid-air and read it aloud, voice cracking:

Level-Up Checklist: ✅ Task One — COMPLETE. ✅ Task Two — COMPLETE. 🎯New Task Loading….

And in the quiet, with the melody of a song finally finished playing in the distance… they didn’t fight. Not even once.

(Okay, fine. Jieun tried to trip him mid-air on the way out. But she did it lovingly.)

Somewhere, on a fluffy cloud, Supervisor Kang watched their mess unfold with a sigh so deep it shook the stars.

“…They’re disasters,” he muttered.

But he was smiling. Just a little.

Because even disasters deserve a little love.

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EARTH REALM, 4:44 PM — THE HOUSE OF FADING LIGHTS AND EMOTIONAL HAZARDS (Visitors May Experience Ghosts, Guilt, and Unscheduled Heartbeats)

A rogue scroll exploded through the sky like it had personal beef with Jieun’s face. She shrieked as it smacked her mid-cosmic-croissant and yeeted her off the cloud she and Jimin were nap-sunning on like two lazy cherubs who’d mistaken themselves for sky royalty.

“Wha--JIMIN--MY PASTRY--”

Jimin, ever the human embodiment of an ���oops,’ grabbed her flailing wing just in time for both of them to go plummeting together. They crash-landed on a confused cumulonimbus with all the grace of a water balloon full of soup.

“Why is destiny allergic to calm deliveries?” Jieun groaned, peeling the scroll off her forehead like a particularly judgmental pancake.

“Maybe it’s karma,” Jimin muttered, rubbing the side of his face where the scroll had rebounded and smacked him too. “From that time you tried to marry a blender.”

“It was one time! And it had charisma!”

Unrolling the scroll, she skimmed the glowing letters. Then she frowned. Then frowned harder. Then looked up like someone had just told her K-dramas were scripted.

“Oh no.”

Jimin blinked, halfway through detangling glitter from his eyebrow. “Oh no what?”

She jabbed a finger at the scroll like it was a cursed dating profile.

“Hoseok. Our next task is Hoseok.”

“Wait, Jung Hoseok? The sunshine? The ‘I wave at strangers and feed stray cats’ Hoseok?”

“Apparently, he’s being slowly soul-drained by a ghost that’s attached to him like a needy ex.”

Jimin squinted at the scroll. “‘Your mission: Convince the ghost to move on before Hoseok’s energy is entirely consumed.’”

They both looked at each other.

“Easy,” said Jieun.

“Absolute cakewalk,” said Jimin.

They both paused.

“Okay, we’re lying to ourselves,” Jieun admitted. “We don’t even know how to ghost-whisper, let alone exorcise one.”

Before they could file a formal complaint with Heaven's HR, a portal opened next to them with the dignity of a burping sinkhole and sucked them in like sparkly raviolis being flushed down God’s plumbing.

They landed in the middle of Hoseok’s apartment.

Specifically, inside a lamp.

Jieun crawled out first, looking like a shaken disco ball. Jimin tumbled after, wrapped in curtain strings and mysteriously wearing a salad bowl like a helmet.

The room was… wrong. All the lights were technically on, but everything still felt dim, like the apartment had forgotten how to hope. The plants drooped like they were going through a breakup. The shadows clung to the walls like emotionally manipulative wall art.

Hoseok sat hunched on the couch like a haunted barista in a tragic indie film. He looked pale. Not K-pop comeback pale. Shakespeare-writes-a-sonnet-about-you pale.

“Why does he look like he’s been monologuing to the rain for six weeks straight?” Jieun whispered, hovering upside-down from the ceiling fan.

“He used to glitter,” Jimin whispered back. “Like, emotionally. He once knitted sweaters for squirrels.”

They watched as Hoseok slowly reached for his coffee mug and missed it by five inches. Then he sighed and didn’t bother correcting the reach.

Then they saw it: a shiver in the air behind him. A chill in the shape of a man. Not just any ghost—this one had flair. Tall. Translucent. Wearing a Victorian overcoat like he was starring in Les Mis: Ghost Edition. His aura practically shouted I used to write sad poetry in candlelight.

Jieun jumped. “HOLY HOLY—hi?”

“Sup,” said the ghost, yawning dramatically “You guys here to try the usual ‘move toward the light’ crap?”

Jieun blinked. “Uh. Yes?”

“Not happening,” said the ghost. “Hoseok gives off the best vibes. Warmth, kindness, aesthetic dance routines. I’ve been feeding on that energy like it’s an all-you-can-eat brunch buffet.”

Jimin tried to puff up intimidatingly. “Okay, listen here you stalker soap bubble. You’re draining him. He’s literally wilting. That’s not love. That’s energy theft.”

The ghost huffed. “Okay wow, don’t be dramatic. I’m not draining him. I’m just borrowing his vibe. I’m vibe-sitting.”

“He missed his coffee mug by five inches and didn’t even care,” Jieun said, scandalized. “He’s turning into me on a Monday!”

“Uncool,” Jimin muttered. “This is vibe-vampirism. I read about this on Celestial Reddit.”

They both tried the gentle approach first. Jieun summoned a tiny harp and tried playing it to ‘soothe the tormented spirit.’ The ghost threw a Victorian slipper at her.

Jimin read aloud excerpts from Letting Go: A Soul’s Guide to Moving On. The ghost fell asleep. Standing.

Finally, Jieun sighed and floated down to sit across from him, her expression softer now. “Why him?” she asked. “Why Hoseok?”

The ghost stared at the sleeping human on the couch, something almost human in his translucent expression. “Because he made me feel... not dead. I hung around for a few decades, you know? No one noticed me. No one looked at me. I passed through cities, people, and centuries. And then he danced one day. On the rooftop. With his headphones in. Smiling like the moon itself loved him. And I felt... seen. Warm. I didn’t want to leave. I didn’t realize I was hurting him. I just wanted to stay near the warmth.”

Jieun’s expression twisted, sympathy and horror doing a tango. “Okay. That’s kind of poetic. Still wildly inappropriate. But poetic.”

The ghost turned to her. “You understand. You’ve got that look. The chaos behind the eyes. The tragic sparkle. Like someone who rage-sings at the moon and writes love poems in eyeliner on public bathroom walls.”

Jieun blinked. “I--excuse me?!”

“I could haunt you,” the ghost murmured. “You’re... hauntingly beautiful.”

Silence.

“I HAVE NEVER BEEN SO FLATTERED AND VIOLATED AT THE SAME TIME,” Jieun screeched, flying behind Jimin like a panicked bat. “JIMIN HELP HE’S FLIRTING WITH ME.”

Jimin’s whole demeanor changed. The air crackled.

His expression darkened. “What did you say to her, you foggy Casanova?”

“Just that she’s got haunting beauty and the rage of a thousand midterms,” the ghost said dreamily. “She could be my muse.”

“Oh no.” Jimin’s voice was sharp velvet as he floated in front of her like an angry glitter wall. “She’s a menace. She yells at clouds and steals halo sprinkles. But she’s mine.”

“Emotionally,” Jieun added, peeking from behind him.

“Emotionally mine,” Jimin confirmed, eyes still locked on the ghost. “Back. Off.”

The ghost blinked. “Oh. Jealousy. How... intoxicating.”

“YOU WANNA SEE INTOXICATING?” Jimin hissed. “I WILL SMASH YOU INTO A HIMALAYAN SALT LAMP AND SELL YOU IN A HIPSTER GIFT SHOP.”

“I bring you spectral roses,” the ghost cooed, offering Jieun a floaty bouquet.

Jieun screamed, “HE’S PROPOSING, JIMIN. DO SOMETHING.”

Jimin kicked the bouquet midair. Ectoplasm splattered onto Hoseok’s succulents.

They began to cry softly.

In the chaos, Hoseok stirred. “What the—why do my plants sound like emotional OSTs?”

“Abort mission!” Jieun shrieked, scrambling onto the bookshelf.

Jimin grabbed the ghost by the coat. “You want closure? Romance? Poetry? Write her a farewell letter. Leave your haunting career behind. Move on to the after-afterlife. There’s a whole realm of single ghosts out there. Go haunt a haunted museum or something. Be the emo icon you were born to be”

Jieun, panting, added, “And you better swirl dramatically. Leave behind sparkles.”

The ghost looked truly pained. “Only because she deserves peace. And because you threatened me with a bath bomb.”

He floated to the window, turned, blew Jieun a kiss.

She dodged so hard she knocked over a snow globe.

With one final sparkle flourish, he vanished into the dawn.

The room sighed. Not metaphorically—literally. Like the walls exhaled. Like whatever had been holding its breath had finally let go.

Hoseok blinked awake like someone had opened a window in his soul. “Whoa,” he whispered. “I feel... weirdly... light.”

“You’re welcome,” Jieun muttered from the bookshelf, glitter in her teeth.

Jimin helped her down, carefully brushing ghost residue out of her wings.

Jieun sighed, wings twitching gently. “That ghost was kind of... intense.”

Jimin bobbed in the air upside-down, twirling her ponytail like a child on sugar with the reflexes of someone who’s never feared consequences. “Still not as intense as you.”

She raised an eyebrow. “Are you flirting or trying to get smacked again?”

He grinned. “Can’t it be both? I’m gifted.”

A beat passed between them.

Then...POOF.

With the cold-hearted precision of a seasoned glitter sniper, Jieun conjured a sparkly puff and nailed him dead in the face.

Jimin shrieked like a disco kettle and somersaulted backward into the ceiling fan. His wings flailed. The light fixture sparked. The fan cried in Morse code. “Uncalled for,” he groaned, tangled and betrayed by gravity and friendship. “That was a targeted emotional attack.”

“That,” Jieun said primly, “was restraint. If I really tried, you’d be sneezing sparkles till next spring solstice.”

But she was smiling. And that smile...post-mission, adrenaline-crashed, soul-softened kind, was real.

Below them, the apartment had settled into the kind of quiet that only came after something heavy had truly lifted.

No more shadows.

No more draining hauntings.

Just warm lamps, gentle air, and the faint sound of a playlist coming to life. Hoseok, in socks and sweatpants, had started dancing again.

But not for performance or perfection.

Just him being free, goofy, messy. Vibing like the sunlight personally told him he looked hot today.

He spun once. Slid across the floor. Finger-gunned the potted plants.

The plants, bless them, swayed back.

Jieun drifted down, hovering near the wall. Watching.

Twenty minutes ago, he could barely stand. Now he was twirling like gravity was a suggestion. That was magic. But not the Cupid kind. The human kind, the slow return of light. Of joy.

Jimin floated beside her. He didn’t speak. He just watched with that rare softness he reserved for moments like this, moments that reminded them why the chaos was worth it.

Because this? This was what they were fighting for.

Not scrolls. Not upgrades.

Healing. Wholeness. One happy heart at a time.

Jieun’s chest ached in the nicest way. Like her heart had grown too big for her ribcage.

And she reached for Jimin’s hand.

He blinked, startled. “What’re you--?”

“Joining,” she said. “Obviously.”

“Joining wh--?”

“His celebration, disco brain. You think we’re gonna float here like rejected confetti? No. We earned this moment. We’re dancing.”

Before he could object, panic, or fake a knee injury, she yanked him midair into Hoseok’s invisible victory rave.

They swooped in ridiculous loops. Erratic aerial jazz hands. Interpretive flailing. Jieun tried a pirouette, tripped over a light beam, and faceplanted into a curtain rod. Jimin attempted a body roll and elbowed a blender.

They were chaos. They were dumb. They were golden.

And Hoseok laughed.

He couldn’t see them, not really. But maybe...some part of him felt them. Because he spun in their exact direction and tossed a finger-heart straight through Jieun’s face.

She gasped. “I was just blessed.”

Jimin beamed. “We are the gods of dumb love.”

She tried to moonwalk through the coffee table. It didn’t end well. But her laugh, bright, goofy, unfiltered, echoed off the walls like sunshine with a sound effect.

Jimin laughed too, spinning once, then twice...until they collided midair and--

Suddenly, they weren’t moving.

Their hands were clasped. Their wings had tangled. They were too close. Close enough for it to feel... different.

Jieun’s breath caught. Her cheeks were red, but not from the dancing anymore.

She should’ve backed off. But she didn’t.

And when she finally looked at him, her mind blanked. Just for a second. But it left a crack behind.

This wasn’t supposed to feel like anything.

Not this soft.

Not this terrifying.

She didn’t say it. Didn’t even want to think about it. But the weight was there now, curling inside her chest like something she’d been too distracted to notice forming.

God, what if it’s just me?

Her wings trembled slightly. Her fingers curled tighter into his. Too tight for just balance.

She blinked, trying to breathe around it. Maybe it was the post-mission rush. Or the glitter inhalation. Or the way he was still holding her hand like it was the only steady thing in the world.

She tried to deflect. “We really suck at this whole subtlety thing, huh.”

He smiled, eyes softer now. “Speak for yourself. I’m very subtle. Graceful, even.”

“You’ve got glitter in your teeth.”

“That’s battle glitter.”

She laughed. But the laugh wavered.

Her fingers tightened around his. Just a little. Maybe he wouldn’t notice. Maybe she hoped he would.

She looked away before her voice could betray her.

And somewhere in the back of her mind, a thought quiet and uninvited slipped through anyway:

This is starting to matter to me. And I don’t know if it’s supposed to.

Jimin hadn’t said anything.

But he felt it too.

The weight. The pause. The ridiculous stillness between them that felt more dangerous than any hexed oven timer.

She was right there. And for some reason, it felt like everything in him was leaning forward, even if his body wasn’t.

His wing twitched. His chest rose just a little too sharply.

He tried to joke. Tried to breathe.

But then her fingers curled around his like she meant it.

And suddenly, the noise in his head, usually all glitter and chaos, went quiet...

No. No, no, no... don’t go there, he warned himself.

Because if she felt anything close to what he was feeling—

He wasn’t ready to find out what that meant.

And then,

SMACK.

A golden scroll smacked Jimin right in the forehead like a divine frying pan of destiny.

“WHY. AGAIN,” he shrieked, flailing backward as Jieun wheezed and caught the scroll midair like it was a cursed baby bird.

“It has perfect comedic timing,” she gasped, wiping tears from her eyes. “Honestly, I admire it.”

She unrolled it with glitter still clinging to her sleeve.

Level-Up Checklist: ✅ Task One — COMPLETE. ✅ Task Two — COMPLETE. ✅ Task Three — COMPLETE. ✨ New Task Unlocked: Make Kim Namjoon take a vacation. Without planning it.

Jieun groaned. “Namjoon plans his calendar emojis. This is actual doom.”

Jimin grabbed her wrist like a man prepared to face death-by-agenda. “Quick. Before he alphabetizes his shoes.”

They vanished in a blur of glitter, wingbeats, and whatever the opposite of preparedness was.

And far above them, in the quiet celestial halls, Supervisor Kang sipped his cracked coffee, stared at the Divine Mirror, and sighed.

“They’re gonna destroy the heavens,” he muttered.

But somewhere, underneath the sigh...

He smiled again.

Because the universe was a mess.

But so were they.

And maybe, just maybe, that was what made them work.

☾⋆⁺₊✧⁺₊⋆ ☁︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

EARTH REALM, 8:47 AM — KIM NAMJOON’S SCHEDULED BURNOUT AND UNSCHEDULED BEACH TRIP] (Where the only thing hotter than his aura is the rage of two dumb Cupids who can’t believe they’re doing this for a man with ten calendars)

A portal yawned open above Namjoon’s apartment with the exhausted drama of a deity who’d pulled three all-nighters and was now spiritually done. It coughed once—glitter, rage, and two flaming croissants shot out before promptly vomiting out two shrieking Cupids mid-air.

And for the first time in cosmic history, the universe betrayed Jimin.

Jieun fell directly on top of him.

Right on his face. Wings everywhere. An elbow to his ribcage. A knee possibly dislocating his pride.

“OH MY GOD, MY RIBS!” Jimin wheezed.

“WHY ARE YOU MADE OF BONES?” Jieun shrieked, trying to roll off him but somehow making it worse. Her wing smacked him again. Their halos tangled. A potted plant judged them from the nightstand.

“Did you forget how to fall gracefully?” he gasped.

“I forgot how to fall with your stupid face under me!”

They flailed like two flaming pigeons until Jieun finally somersaulted off, only to crash into Namjoon’s perfectly organized bookshelf, knocking over twelve philosophy books, three endangered succulents, and a porcelain owl named “Productivity.”

“I think I fractured my dignity,” Jieun groaned from the floor, covered in self-help guides and shame glitter. Her voice was thinner than usual—still sharp, but tired beneath it. Like her sarcasm had been stretched too many times and now it was fraying at the edges.

Jimin, still untangling his leg from a curtain rod, peeked through a book titled Time Management for Beings with Wings. “Did we land in an Excel spreadsheet?” he quipped—then winced and rubbed at his shoulder.

The joke landed, but there wasn’t the usual mischief behind it. Just the same tired bravado he’d been clinging to since Task Two.

They both looked around.

Namjoon’s apartment was immaculate in that way only obsessive burnout survivors can manage. A whiteboard covered in precise hourly blocks loomed over them like an emotionally repressed ghost.

The air smelled like overbrewed tea and suppressed screams. Every surface had a to-do list. His laundry had labels. Even the shadows were sorted.

Jieun floated up slowly, dragging herself mid-air more than flying. She hovered near the ceiling, arms crossed, eyes taking in the relentless order with something like recognition. “This place feels like if a mental breakdown went to therapy and started journaling.”

Jimin came up beside her, quieter now. “Everything’s so... tense. Like even the air’s scared to make noise.”

And at the center of it all: Kim Namjoon. Sitting on the couch. Eyes glazed. Surrounded by four calendars, three iPads, a planner labeled “DO NOT TOUCH”, and one very judgmental bonsai tree.

He was wearing house slippers and a frown of existential fatigue.

Jieun stared at him. She didn’t say anything at first. Just drifted down a little, wings lowering without her noticing.

“Is he okay?” she asked, softer this time.

Jimin didn’t answer right away either. He floated beside her, gaze flickering from Namjoon’s blank stare to the tight curve of Jieun’s shoulders. She hadn’t slept since the last mission. Neither of them had. Their halos were still dim from the last hex burnout.

“He hasn’t blinked in a full minute,” Jimin finally whispered. “Either he’s downloading enlightenment or planning to ascend from burnout.”

Jieun frowned. “This is worse than we thought.” Her words were automatic, but the quiet ache beneath them wasn’t. Because she saw it, mirrored back in Namjoon’s stillness...the exhaustion she hadn’t let herself admit. Not yet.

“Look at his aura,” Jimin said, eyes wide. “It’s literally sparking.”

Namjoon muttered something to his planner in a haunted tone: “If I delay the sleep block by 42 minutes, I can still fit in dream journaling--”

“Yeah okay, abort mission, he’s actively unwell,” Jieun said. But her voice cracked halfway through, just a hair. She turned away fast, wings twitching.

Jimin reached out. His hand hovered near her elbow—not touching, but close. Steady. “We’ve got this,” he said gently.

She exhaled slowly. And nodded.

The scroll had been clear: Get Namjoon to take a vacation. Without planning it. Without resistance. And definitely without spreadsheets. A suicide mission, basically.

But maybe they knew what they were doing this time.

“Okay,” Jieun muttered, hovering over his phone. “Step one: mild sabotage.”

She zapped the screen with a Cupid hex. The calendar app exploded into a glitchy mess of sparkles, goat emojis, and a repeating event that read: “♡ Chill or Perish ♡”

Namjoon blinked once. “...What?”

Then came Jimin’s contribution.

“I may or may not have given his assistant food poisoning,” he whispered, tossing out a half-eaten cursed sandwich. “Gently. Magically.”

“YOU WHAT?”

“She’s fine! She’ll just be violently napping for 12 hours.”

Jieun facepalmed. “Fine. Step two: diversion.” She produced a scroll marked URGENT: Government Summit on Eco-Spiritual Poetry and slipped it under Namjoon’s door.

He read it and paused.

He blinked.

He stood up slowly, like a tired tree remembering how to dance. “This is in Jeju…?”

His brow furrowed for a second.

This wasn’t on the calendar. It didn’t feel scheduled. And that should’ve bothered him more than it did.

But somehow... it didn’t.

Just this once, he let the unease float past like a paper boat.

Thirty minutes later, he was in a cab to the airport.

With the wrong suitcase.

Jieun and Jimin watched from the luggage carousel, barely containing their laughter.

Because instead of documents and emergency spreadsheets, Namjoon was now the proud owner of a rainbow duffel bag packed with floral shirts, glittery flip-flops, a bottle of coconut-scented glitter lotion, and a copy of “Softness: An Unlikely Revolution”.

Jieun leaned against Jimin’s shoulder, just for a second. “We are so going to glitter hell for this.”

“Oh totally,” Jimin smirked. “But he’s going on vacation.”

And for the first time that day, Jieun smiled. Small. Real.

They didn’t say it out loud, but they both felt it: a flicker of pride. A flicker of something warm under all the tired.

Still a long way to go.

But this?

This was progress.

☾⋆⁺₊✧⁺₊⋆ ☁︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Later That Day — JEJU ISLAND — 5:42 PM Where Burnout Goes to Die (or Nap on a Hammock)

Namjoon arrived at the resort looking like a man personally betrayed by his suitcase and the gods of out-of-office replies.

He stood in the hotel room, holding a neon pink shirt that read “Chill Vibes Only” like it had insulted his ancestors. Around him: a rainbow of tropical horrors. Pineapple shorts. Flip-flops with glitter pineapples. A loofah shaped like a heart.

“Where are my files?” he muttered. “Where are my socks? Why is there a seashell in my moisturizer?”

Jieun, invisibly lounging across the hotel bed like a tiny beach witch, whispered, “Step three: forced surrender.”

Jimin, upside-down in the mini-fridge, tossed her a grape. “What now?”

“Now,” she said, “we make sure he relaxes. Even if it kills us.”

And it nearly did.

They hexed the elevator so it only went to the spa floor. They made every menu item pun-based: Tuna Peace Roll, Inner Calm Curry, Let That Shit Go Latte.

Jieun used her chaos magic to swap his beach towel with a romantic poetry book titled “Toes in Sand, Heart in Hand.” Every time he tried to toss it, it reappeared in his hand like a cursed romance boomerang.

Namjoon resisted for hours. The Wi-Fi refused to work unless he typed “I deserve rest” in the password bar. Every time he tried journaling, the pen wrote “bro, go nap” in loopy calligraphy. His tea kept tasting like lavender rebellion.

By the time the sun started melting into the sea like a lazy peach popsicle, Kim Namjoon was officially losing his grip.

He sat on a striped beach chair like it had betrayed him. The 'Toes in Sand, Heart in Hand' poetry book rested on his lap, its dog-eared page stubbornly refusing to close no matter how many times he glared at it.

His hair was tousled. His shirt said “Beach Please” in neon green cursive. There was sand in his smartwatch. His calendar app had deleted itself out of self-preservation.

And his legs bare, tan, free—were crossed at the ankles, as if his bones were gently reminding him what peace might look like.

“I don’t know who I am anymore,” he muttered, staring at a very friendly crab who’d taken residence by his foot. “I used to have plans. Schedules. A color-coded life.”

The crab tapped his toe twice in what may have been a warning or an encouragement.

Up in the air, Jieun watched from under a conjured cloud umbrella, eyes wide with quiet awe.

“He’s crumbling,” she whispered. “And yet... he’s also kinda glowing.”

“Because he’s fighting it,” Jimin said beside her, upside down again, watching Namjoon the way one might watch a dam about to burst. “His whole identity is built on control. And now he’s watching it unravel in real time.”

Jieun was silent for a moment. Then she tilted her head and added, “Is it wrong that I’m kinda proud?”

“No,” Jimin said. “It means he’s healing. Slowly. Painfully. Like a spreadsheet caught in a paper shredder.”

Below, Namjoon reached for his phone, probably to search for ‘Emergency Excel Fix’, but paused.

The sea breeze brushed his face. The sky purred in shades of gold. Somewhere in the hotel lobby, someone was playing a saxophone with the confidence of a beginner and the soul of a jazz legend.

And Namjoon... exhaled.

Like something tight in his chest had finally loosened.

Like his ribcage had stopped clenching his ambitions into panic knots.

He let the phone slip back into the sand.

Then leaned back with his eyes closed.

And took a deep breath. A man, finally, finally off the clock.

“I think...” he whispered to no one in particular, “I think I’m still me. Even when I stop.”

Up in the sky, Jieun hovered on a conjured beach cloud-raft, sipping fake coconut juice out of a halo-shaped straw, watching the scene like she’d just directed the most chaotic art film of her life.

“Is that... is that a smile?” she whispered, eyes squinting. “Did he just smile at a crab? Jimin. He’s smiling. Like, actual serotonin.”

Beside her, Jimin had upside-down sunglasses perched on his halo and was drawing stick figures in the air with a glitter pen. “He’s glowing. He’s actually glowing. I thought that was a myth. Like ethical landlords or calorie-free chocolate.”

Jieun grinned. “We broke him.”

“We un-broke him,” Jimin corrected, smugly flipping over mid-air. “That is the unhinged smile of a man who's finally snapped in the right direction.”

“I want to scream,” she whispered, shaking with the pressure of proud chaos. “We did that. With flip-flops and a cursed latte menu.”

He put a hand to his heart. “Blessed be the Let That Shit Go Latte.”

They fist-bumped mid-air. It caused a small glitter explosion that made a seagull choke and flee.

In the background, Namjoon was reading to the crab again. Possibly poetry. Possibly tax law. Who cared? He looked happy.

Jieun kicked her legs in the air like a child on sugar and serotonin. “Okay, I'm done watching this from the sky. I want the beach experience. I want toes in the sand. I want to befriend that crab. I want to cannonball into the ocean.”

Jimin blinked. “...Do it, coward.”

“Excuse you—”

“I triple dare you.”

“Oh, it’s on.”

She immediately launched herself off the cloud like a confused goose, somersaulting into the shallow waves with a squeal. Water splashed high, her wing caught a jellyfish-shaped towel, and a couple on the boardwalk applauded.

Jimin screamed. “I DIDN’T MEAN NOW—”

Too late.

She crash-landed into the shallows, water flying everywhere. A wave smacked her halo. Her wing tangled in seaweed. A passing fish made a judgemental face.

Jimin, floating just above the chaos, was laughing so hard he nearly fell off his cloud. “Graceful as ever, Swan Princess! Elegant dive! 4.7 from the judges, with bonus points for comedic despair!”

She came up gasping, drenched, with a starfish on her forehead. “I hope your scrolls rot in retrograde.”

“I’d rather rot with flair than bellyflop like a hexed umbrella!”

“I will personally end your legacy.”

“You already are.”

Before she could respond, karma flapped down in the form of a rogue seagull, who divebombed Jimin with the accuracy of divine justice. He flailed. He yelled. His legs bicycled through the air. And in perfect, stupid, poetic timing—he crash-landed directly into the surf.

And into Jieun.

SPLASH. A scream. Possibly a curse in angelic Latin. Definitely a crab flipping someone off.

“WHAT IS YOUR DEAL?” she spluttered, spitting out saltwater. “Why do you fall like a haunted mattress?”

“I WAS AMBUSHED BY A BIRD WITH VENGEANCE IN ITS SOUL!” Jimin wheezed, still on top of her, soaking wet, halo tilted like a drunk halo-crown.

Jieun shoved at him. “If I’m going down, you’re going down uglier.”

She grabbed his wings and tried to dunk him. He shrieked and retaliated with a splash so dramatic it hit a couple on a paddleboard twenty feet away. A war broke out. Seaweed was weaponized. Sand was thrown. Wings were mangled. An inflatable dolphin got involved somehow.

“OW. That was my rib!”

“Good! Maybe it'll stop being dramatic!”

“You elbowed my spleen!”

“Then stop leading with it!”

Soon, they weren’t even fighting. They were just laughing. Arms flailing, sand in places sand should never be, wings trailing seaweed like fashion statements, and laughter bursting from their lungs like fireworks that forgot they weren’t supposed to be falling in love.

At some point, Jimin picked her up to toss her into a wave, except she clung to him like a caffeinated koala, and somehow they both ended up tangled together in the surf, gasping, giggling, and way too close.

The waves lapped around them, warm and bright. Their laughter quieted just a little, leaving behind a strange fluttery hush. Like two hearts had suddenly remembered to pay attention.

Jieun looked at him. Her cheeks were flushed, her hair a dripping halo of chaos. Water dripped from her nose. She’d never looked more ridiculous. Or more beautiful.

“I’m starting to think you throw yourself into my trajectory on purpose.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Can you blame me?”

That shut her up. Just for a second. Because he wasn’t grinning when he said it. He looked... soft. A little shy. A lot sincere. And her heart did that infuriating thing again, that swoopy, traitorous flutter that made sarcasm feel like armor.

“Gross,” she muttered eventually, splashing him again like she could wash the moment off.

He chased her with a smirk. “You love it.”

“I love violence.”

“Sure. That’s all it is.”

“Don’t read into it, Cupid Boy.”

But before she could escape, he caught her wrist and spun her around, water swirling around their knees. And suddenly, the world hit pause.

They stood there, close. Closer than chaos should allow. His thumb brushed her wrist like it didn’t know how to let go. Her hair clung to her cheeks. His halo floated crooked in the water. Neither said a word, but the space between them buzzed...alive with all the things they weren’t ready to admit.

Then she blinked. “Your eyes are really brown.”

“You mean devastatingly handsome?”

“I mean tragic.”

“You mean soulful.”

“I mean muddy.”

He smiled. “Sure. Muddy.”

And it wasn’t about his eyes. They both knew that.

But he didn’t look away. Not yet.

Just for a breath, the grin faltered, like something softer was fighting its way through the sparkle.

But he was already laughing, splashing her again, and she yelped and ran into the next wave.

Somewhere above, the sun shone extra gold. The air smelled like salt and relief. And the crab waved at them from Namjoon’s sandal.

But before the moment could fully settle...

THWACK.

A scroll smacked Jimin in the forehead with the force of divine pettiness.

“WHAT IN THE---CAN I GET A HEAD INJURY CLAIM UP HERE?!” he yelped, flopping backward into the water as the scroll bobbed away like it had no regrets.

Jieun howled with laughter. “Again?! That scroll really has it out for your face.”

“That’s the third time!” Jimin yelled, rubbing his forehead. “It’s got a personal vendetta.”

“Maybe it just hates timing,” she muttered under her breath.

Jimin blinked. “What?”

“Nothing,” she said too fast, cheeks suspiciously pink. “Maybe you just have a punchable aura.”

She snatched the scroll out of the surf and read it aloud, voice still hiccuping with laughter.

Level-Up Checklist: ✅ Task One — COMPLETE ✅ Task Two — COMPLETE ✅ Task Three — COMPLETE ✅ Task Four — COMPLETE ✨ Final Task Loading…

Jimin groaned as the scroll snapped shut and vanished in a puff of peach glitter. “You’d think completing four borderline impossible missions would earn us a break.”

“We just hijacked a beach, guilt-tripped a workaholic into enlightenment, and got chased by a crab,” Jieun said, brushing sand from her hair. “We’re clearly not built for simple.”

He looked over at her, not teasing this time. Just quiet. Steady. The kind of look that didn’t shout but stayed with you long after the moment passed.

Jieun didn’t say anything. Her throat felt tight in a way she wasn’t used to. She wanted to joke. Or throw a shell at him. Anything to dodge how warm his gaze made her feel.

But then he smiled. The kind of smile that meant too much. The kind that stayed in the ribs like a secret. And her heart did that flutter thing again...louder now.

Neither of them said anything for a beat.

But something passed between them. Something fizzy and terrible and sweet. The kind of thing that crawled into your chest and refused to leave. It felt like possibility. Like butterflies. Like all the stupid metaphors from that poetry book they left in the crab’s custody.

Her chest fluttered.

“Okay,” she said, offering her hand before her heart could talk her out of it. “Let’s go back before Kang declares us missing and replaces us with sentient seaweed.”

Jimin took her hand without hesitation. 

“Together?” 

She squeezed once. “Always.”

As they lifted off, wings brushing, still dripping saltwater and stubbornness, Namjoon raised his glass of coconut water from his lounge chair.

“To chaos,” he declared.

The crab clicked in solemn agreement.

Above them, Supervisor Kang dragged a hand down his face and muttered, “They’re falling. Took them four missions and a sentient crustacean, but they’re finally falling.”

He squinted at the sky, grumbling.

“Still not letting them kiss yet, though. One mission to go. Let them sweat.”

And somewhere, very faintly, the stars giggled.

☾⋆⁺₊✧⁺₊⋆ ☁︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

CUPID HEADQUARTERS, 7:01 PM — THE INTERVENTION OF THE STUPIDLY IN LOVE (Where Denial Gets Dragged, Threads Get Mended, and Four Idiots Learn Feelings Are Contagious)

The probation lounge had never been so quiet.

Somewhere in the corner, a love fern drooped dramatically into its third burnout this week. A cluster of enchanted muffins sighed in unison from their basket, one of them whispering, “No one ever chooses me,” in a voice like day-old butter.

Even the cursed espresso machine, normally responsible for six emotional meltdowns and two marriages, was uncharacteristically still. It gurgled once, mournfully, then fell back into silence like it, too, had given up.

Jieun lay upside down across the heart-shaped couch, wings splayed gracelessly across a halo-scented blanket, one sock halfway off. She was methodically stabbing a love muffin with her sparkle fork, muttering under her breath like she was interrogating it for answers.

“Do you think I peaked with the ghost exorcism?” Jieun muttered, stabbing the muffin again. “Is that it? That was my moment? Now I’m just a side character spiraling into obscurity with stale carbs?”

“Stop threatening baked goods,” Jimin muttered from the floor, where he lay sprawled like divine roadkill. His hair was a disaster. His wings were crooked.

He’d been eating the same glitter macaron for twenty-three minutes. Not because he liked it. But because chewing was the only thing stopping him from asking out loud if burnout applied to celestial beings.

It had been quiet. Too quiet. Which, in the world of baby cupids, was rarely a blessing. It was more like a curse winding up its punch.

When the scroll appeared, it didn’t crash through the ceiling or explode in glitter. It simply... hovered.

Slowly. Deliberately.

Wrapped in velvet-red ribbon.

Jieun sat up so fast she dislocated the sofa. Her eyes tracked the scroll like it was a live grenade.

Her limbs shook...not from chaos, but from the fear of losing everything she and Jimin had built.

“Why is it red?” she whispered.

Jimin was already on his feet, expression sharp. “Internal color code. Red means Cupid-level.”

Her wings twitched. “Like... us?”

The air thickened around them. Her breath caught in her throat like glitter dust that wouldn’t go down.

He didn’t answer. Just caught the scroll midair with both hands. The parchment was warmer than usual. Heavier too. Like it was carrying something it didn’t want to say.

Jieun hovered beside him, unusually quiet. When he unrolled it, they read it together.

The words didn’t explode.

They settled.

Low and final.

FINAL MISSION Category: Cupid Internal Repair Type: Emergency Wingmate Bond Fix Subjects: Kim Taehyung & Jeon Jungkook Status: Bond Weakening — Emotional Sync Failing Reason: Long-term Disconnection. Magic Link Unstable. Risk: Permanent Reassignment as Separate Cupids Time Limit: 6 Hours Note:This could’ve been avoided. We're officially annoyed.

For a long, aching moment, neither of them said a word.

Jieun’s voice finally came, soft and cracked at the edges. “No. No, no, no, no...”

Jimin didn’t blink. “It’s real.”

“Taehyung and Jungkook? Our Tae and Kook? They’ve been a pair longer than we’ve had wings. They literally invented synchronized sarcasm. This has to be a mistake.”

He passed her the scroll. “It’s not.”

She read it again. Slower this time. The words refused to rearrange themselves.

“Bond weakening...” she whispered. “Reassignment...?”

Jimin exhaled, low and tired. “Cupid pair bonds are monitored through magical sync threads. Not soulmate-level, but still coded. When wing-mates, co-matchers, or emotion-linked pairs start falling out of sync emotionally or magically...their bond weakens.”

“But...people fight all the time.”

“Not like this,” he said. “If the sync drops below fifty percent and stays there for more than one lunar cycle, the system starts marking the pair for separation. Reassignment to different floors. Different duties. Different paths.”

Her stomach turned. “You’re saying if they don’t fix whatever happened, ”

“They’ll stop getting paired together. Stop being assigned together. The magic literally starts to forget them as a pair. Forget how they work together. How their magic balances. How they read each other without speaking. The system starts unspooling that memory. Like they were never a match at all.”

“But that’s...” She broke off. Her voice had gone too thin.

Jimin’s hands were fists now. “I saw Jungkook two days ago. He was rerouting portal traffic alone without backup. He didn’t even summon a spare charm. His wing was twitching.”

Jieun swallowed hard. “I saw Taehyung in the Emotional Alignment Wing. He was... smiling. But it wasn’t his usual one. It was that too-perfect one.”

The one that meant I’m breaking and I don’t know how to stop it.

They stared at each other across the lounge.

“I don’t understand,” she said. “They’re the closest pair in the department. They used to finish each other’s hexes. What even happened?”

Jimin’s voice lowered. “Something did. And neither of them will talk about it. Not even to us.”

Jieun’s gaze drifted down to the scroll again.

Reclassification.

The kind of word that sounded clinical.

But meant goodbye.

She took a shaky breath, then stood.

“No,” she said. “No way. We’ve done four chaos missions. We fixed a corrupt cooking competition, un-haunted a musical genius, emotionally relocated a possessive ghost, and gave Namjoon an unplanned beach epiphany. We are not letting our best friends get celestial-divorced because the system lost patience.”

Jimin nodded slowly. “We’re not losing them.”

“But how do we even start? Do we have a plan?”

He hesitated. Then smiled faintly, though his eyes were a little glassy. “Does it matter?”

She paused.

Then smiled back. “Nope.”

They didn’t speak again. Just glanced at each other once—and that was enough. Then, without another word, they vanished in tandem. Two blurs of chaotic resolve. Wings sharp. Eyes bright.

Not angels of war. Not messengers of love.

Just friends. But the kind who’d burned skies for each other.

On a mission that felt too close to home.

There was a strange stillness in Cupid Headquarters when they split.

Not the normal hush of cloud corridors or the fluffy quiet of the love fern conservatory. This stillness felt deliberate. Watchful. Like the very air had been told to sit down and listen.

They peeled away like magnets flipping polarities—Jieun veering left toward the Cloud Practice Annex where Taehyung often escaped under the excuse of “wing fluidity drills,” and Jimin turning right toward the Archery Hall’s far corridor, where Jungkook always claimed he liked the light but really liked the solitude.

The air grew quieter the farther they walked. Even the magic in the walls seemed to hold its breath.

☾⋆⁺₊✧⁺₊⋆ ☁︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Jieun found him exactly where she thought she would: floating mid-air in the middle of Practice Room 7½, spinning slowly in place with the kind of detached elegance that looked like meditation from a distance and avoidance up close.

Taehyung’s wings were half-folded, as if even they weren’t sure if they belonged to him right now. His robe was clean, pressed to perfection. His halo gleamed like a display model. On the outside, he looked like the Cupid of the Month.

But the air around him told a different story.

It was too cold. Too quiet. His aura, once soft gold and wild-pink, now flickered faint lavender. The color of fatigue. Of fading bonds.

Jieun didn’t speak right away.

Her chest tightened. Taehyung floated like he’d forgotten how to land, like gravity didn’t know what to do with him anymore.

She floated into the room and hovered near the wall, watching him spin slowly in the air like a record without a song.

He knew she was there.

He just didn’t stop.

It wasn’t until the fourth rotation that he finally said, voice casual and strange, “Let me guess. Kang sent you to check my wing torque.”

She rolled her eyes, crossing her arms. “No one checks wing torque. That’s not a real thing.”

“Sure it is,” he replied, still not looking at her. “It’s in the supplemental manual.”

“Taehyung.”

He finally stopped.

Turned.

And smiled.

But his smile was too polished, too gentle. Not even close to real.

Jieun hated that smile more than she’d ever hated a glitter explosion.

“Why didn’t you tell us?” she asked quietly. Not accusing. Just... sad.

His eyes flickered. “Tell you what?”

“That you and Jungkook are...” Her voice caught. “That the system thinks you’re done.”

He drifted lower, landing softly on the clouds, toes just brushing the floor.

“Didn’t seem worth it,” he said. “Besides, nothing’s wrong.”

She flinched. “Don’t do that. Don’t lie in a voice that soft.”

Taehyung met her gaze with eyes that were too still. “It’s not a lie,” he began, voice barely more than a whisper. He ran a hand through his hair, as if trying to comb out his own regrets. “It’s what I told myself to sleep easier at night.”

Jieun stared at him.

This was the boy who used to choreograph spark spirals in the lounge just to make Jungkook laugh. Who enchanted breakfast muffins to deliver compliments. Who once hexed an entire hallway to smell like forest rain because Jungkook said he missed Earth.

She took a step forward and asked gently, “Tae. What exactly happened?”

He looked down. His halo tilted forward slightly, like it didn’t want to see either.

“We fought,” he said at last. “And not like the cute kind. Not like you and Jimin bickering about cosmic eyeliner. This was... sharp. It stuck.”

Jieun didn’t move.

“I told him maybe we shouldn’t be paired anymore,” he said. “And he didn’t say anything back. He just...left.”

She inhaled, chest tight. “Why would you say that?”

His fingers curled in his sleeves. “Because I’m in love with him.”

It came out like a confession he hadn’t meant to say out loud.

Her breath caught.

“I thought I was the only one feeling it,” Taehyung said, his voice cracked and too quiet. “I kept looking at him and wondering if I’d made it all up. The connection, the moments, the look in his eyes-what if I saw what I wanted to see?”

He took a slow breath, trembling. “So I pulled back. I thought if I gave it space, the ache might go away on its own. That maybe... I couldn't feel it before it hurt more. Before I embarrassed myself. But now that he’s actually gone...” he broke off. “Now the ache’s worse. And it’s all I can feel.”

The ache behind his voice was too familiar.

She knew that ache. She’d buried it under jokes and chaos and glitter, but it had the same weight. The same shape. The same quiet, gnawing voice whispering: what if they don’t feel the same?

It hit her low in the ribs, where she’d buried all the things she hadn’t said yet. Things like: I care about him too much to break this. Things like: What if I say something and he stops being mine, even a little?

She realized she’d been running from that exact ache—jaded love fear, just like his.

She looked at Taehyung and saw herself.

And it terrified her.

☾⋆⁺₊✧⁺₊⋆ ☁︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Across the building, Jimin hovered outside the hallway of Portal Egress Three, where a soft glow flickered beneath the half-open archery doors.

Jungkook was inside.

Not practicing or sparring.

Just...sitting on the ground with his head down, back to the wall.

His wings were open, barely fluttering.

Jimin remembered when those same wings used to start every room-wide prank. Now they barely moved. As if Jungkook was afraid even the air would give up on him.

A bow lay beside him, untouched. A pile of unopened scrolls sat on his right. And his eyes...

Jimin had never seen his eyes like that.

Not fiery or cocky.

Just....tired.

Jimin slipped inside without a sound and sat down beside him, back to the wall, letting the silence settle first.

They didn’t speak for a long time.

Then Jungkook said, without looking up, “Is it true?”

Jimin didn’t pretend not to know. “Yeah.”

“They’re reassigning us?”

“Not yet,” he said. “But the thread’s unstable.”

Jungkook nodded slowly, like he’d known it, deep down, the way you know when a plant’s dead even if you keep watering it anyway.

“I tried,” he said. “I tried talking to him. But he shut down. So I got mad. So he shut down more. And I...I said something I didn’t mean. And then he said something he did mean. And that was it.”

“What did he say?”

Jungkook’s voice broke. “That we’d be better off apart.”

Jimin closed his eyes.

“I told myself it was fine,” Jungkook went on. “That I didn’t need him. That I could do solo routes. Perhaps we were just...temporary. But every time I walk into a mission room and he’s not there, I can’t breathe right. And the worst part?” He laughed once, low and bitter. “I didn’t even tell him how I felt. Not really. I kept waiting for the right moment. And now it’s just...gone.”

Jimin wanted to scream.

Because he knew that moment.

That pause before truth. The ache that said what if you say it and they don’t say it back?

That fear had lived in his chest for months now.

He didn’t know what scared him more: losing Jieun to silence, or losing her to the truth.

He’d convinced himself waiting was safer. That pretending didn’t cost as much as confessing. But every time she didn’t smile the way she used to, something inside him cracked.

“You haven’t lost him,” Jimin said. “Not yet.”

Jungkook didn’t reply.

But he didn’t walk away either.

Jimin’s heart clenched because he'd seen that look in Jieun’s eyes too, during Namjoon’s beach mission.

So he stood, quietly offered Jungkook a hand, and simply said, “Come on.”

The rest didn’t need to be explained.

☾⋆⁺₊✧⁺₊⋆ ☁︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Minutes later, high above the regular clouds, the four of them gathered in the portal room. A place too quiet for accidents, too sacred for denial.

Jieun had picked it on purpose.

It was near the edge of the celestial curtain, where the atmosphere was thinner and the air smelled like stormlight and possibility. She'd always thought of it as the place where fates paused. A space in between.

Now it was holding four of them.

They stood in a loose square. No one quite facing the other. Four pairs of wings casting long shadows on the walls. The silence between them crackled like static, thick with everything unsaid.

Taehyung stood nearest the railing, his posture deceptively casual, fingers curled slightly behind his back like they were hiding their tremble.

Jungkook hovered just opposite, arms folded tightly across his chest, jaw tense.

Jieun and Jimin flanked the space between them, both pretending not to be watching each other as much as they were watching the pair they’d brought here.

No one spoke. The only sound was the faint hum of stalled portal magic as if the world was holding its breath.

Jieun pressed a hand to her chest, trying to still the storm behind her ribs. Her mouth was dry, and her wings wouldn’t stop twitching.

Finally, she sighed. Loud and Dramatic. She turned to Taehyung, then to Jungkook, and said flatly, “Alright. This is stupid.”

Taehyung arched a brow. “Define stupid.”

“You two,” she said, waving a wing at them like they were misbehaving children. “This. Us trying to fix something that’s literally been screaming to be fixed for weeks.”

Jungkook scoffed. “And dragging us here is the solution?”

“Yes,” Jimin cut in, stepping forward now. “Because you’re not doing it yourselves. And the system doesn’t wait forever.”

Taehyung laughed once, bitter. “Right. The ‘system.’ Because love should be measured in sync ratios and thread pulses.”

“No,” Jieun said softly. “But you matter. And if we’re the only ones who remember that right now, then fine. We’ll remind you.”

Jungkook didn’t look at her. His eyes were fixed on the floor, as if afraid that looking anywhere else might make something break.

Silence stretched again.

Jieun stared at the space between Taehyung and Jungkook like she could physically shove it closed. “You two were the ones who taught us how to be a team. Remember? You did wing drills together like they were dance routines. You gave each other enchanted dumbbells for fun. Taehyung, you used to write dumb poetry in Jimin’s glitter pen just to make Jungkook smile.”

“And Jungkook, you enchanted Taehyung’s tea to sing compliments when it was steeping,” Jimin added, more quietly now.

“They were love poems,” Taehyung muttered, barely audible.

That made Jungkook lift his head.

He didn’t speak.

But something in his face cracked.

And then he said, “You told me we weren’t a good match. You looked me in the face and said we were better off apart.”

“I didn’t mean it,” Taehyung said, voice barely more than breath.

“Then why did you say it?”

Taehyung’s wings fluttered once, then stilled. His fingers curled at his sides like they were holding back something enormous. His voice came in pieces.

“Because I was scared,” Taehyung snapped, louder now. “Because you looked at me like I was everything, and I didn’t know how to hold that without breaking it.”

Taehyung's fingers twitched once where they hung by his sides. His voice, when it finally came, was rough.

“I was scared,” he said. “Of what I felt. Of how much I felt it. You looked at me like I was a future. Like I was a promise. And I didn’t know what to do with that.”

Jungkook stared at him, every line in his face locked tight.

Taehyung continued, slower now. “It was too much, all at once. You were...everything. And I started asking myself if maybe I was reading too much into it. Maybe I’d confused partnership with something else. Something that only existed in my head.” He paused. “So I did what I always do when I feel too much.”

“You ran,” Jungkook said, low.

Taehyung winced. “I pulled back. I told myself if I stepped away, the feelings would quiet down. That the space would help me let go.”

“You never said anything,” Jungkook snapped, voice rising.

“I didn’t know how!” Taehyung’s voice broke. “I didn’t know how to say I was falling for you while still being terrified I’d imagined it all.”

Jungkook took a breath like he was trying not to drown in it.

“I thought we were... us,” he said. “Unshakable. Even without words. I kept waiting for you to say something. Anything. But you just... disappeared. I thought I’d screwed it up. I thought I pushed too hard. I thought I was the only one who cared.”

They stared at each other.

Too much distance. Too many things unsaid.

Then Taehyung stepped forward.

“Every time I saw you after that, I wanted to speak,” he whispered. “But the longer I waited, the more I convinced myself I’d already ruined it. That if I said it then, it wouldn’t matter anymore.”

“You should’ve said it anyway.”

“I’m saying it now,” Taehyung breathed.

Jungkook didn’t move. His jaw was clenched. His hands were shaking.

“Say it,” he whispered. “Don’t imply it. Don’t hint. I can’t take the maybe anymore.”

Taehyung’s chest rose with a breath he hadn’t allowed himself in weeks. And then...softly, surely--

“I love you,” he said. “I’ve loved you for longer than I knew it. I love you now. And I’m sorry I let fear feel louder than that.”

Silence.

And then suddenly,

Jungkook was in motion.

He crossed the space between them in three steps, grabbed Taehyung by the collar, and kissed him like he was starving. Like he’d waited years. Like he’d built a home out of silence and it was finally burning down in the best way.

Taehyung clutched him back like he never wanted to let go again.

They didn’t need magic.

The spark between them lit everything.

And Jieun couldn’t breathe.

It was like watching someone fall into gravity after floating too long.

“You both kept trying to protect each other from your own hearts,” she said. “But it doesn’t work like that. That’s not love. That’s fear dressed up in logic.”

“Spoken like someone who’s been dodging her own feelings for ages,” Taehyung said without looking away from Jungkook.

The room shifted.

Jieun blinked. “What?”

“Oh, come on,” Taehyung said. “You and Jimin have been in a full-blown enemies-to-lovers slow burn for years.”

Jimin’s eyebrows shot up. “Excuse me...”

“Do you think we haven’t noticed?” Jungkook cut in now, turning toward them. “You bicker like divorced witches, protect each other like soul threads, and blush every time someone says the word partner.”

Jieun flushed. “We do not blush.”

“You just did.”

“I’m allergic to drama!”

“You’re made of drama!”

“Okay!” Jimin shouted, stepping forward, louder than he meant to. His voice cracked. “Yes. Fine. I’m in love with her.”

“Jimin…” her voice came, soft as breath.

He exhaled hard, like he’d been holding it in for centuries. “I didn’t say it because I thought I’d ruin everything if I did. We’re a team. We’re chaos. We work. And I was scared that if I said the one wrong thing, I’d lose all of that.”

He looked straight at Jieun, hands clenched. “But I don’t care anymore. I’d rather blow up every mission than keep pretending it’s not real.”

“I’m in love with you,” he said again, slower now. “I think I’ve been in love with you since the day you threatened to hex my shoes for stealing your muffin. I’ve tried to pretend it’s just chemistry. Chaos. Partnership. But I’d rather fail every mission for the rest of eternity than not tell you anymore.”

Jieun’s breath hitched. His words rippled through her chest, igniting tendrils of wonder and fear. She studied his face: the vulnerability in his eyes, the gentle curve of his wings, the way his wings, shoulders, and heart all leaned toward her.

She swallowed. Tension crackled in the space between them. Every mission they’d survived together...the laughter, the fire, the near-disasters- they all crystallized into this moment.

Time slowed. Air trembled. Their wings hovered, caught between fear and hope. Tension crackled in the space between them like magic too scared to land.

Her wings trembled. She reached out, nearly shaking. And then, as though defying gravity, let her fingers tug at his sleeve. “Jimin…” Her voice trembled. Everything in her chest felt too big for her ribs. She looked at him. And in his eyes, she didn’t see mockery. She saw hope. Fear. And something that looked like home.

He held her gaze even though his heart trembled in fear of rejection.

“I thought I was just being dramatic. Running on adrenaline. But the first time your hand brushed mine during the kitchen fiasco, I felt it. The thing I never let myself name.” Her voice caught. She inhaled, louder now. “I was scared you’d laugh. Scared you’d pull away. But in that moment… I realized I wasn’t complete without you.”

She stepped into his warmth.

Closer than she’d ever dared. Close enough to see the way his chest rose too fast. The way his eyes held something wild, something terrified, and certain all at once. Her hand found his sleeve, fingers trembling.

He didn’t move.

Didn’t speak.

Just stared like he was still waiting to wake up.

“Jimin,” she whispered, “I’m in love with you.”

And that was it.

He surged forward, crashing into her like the tide-urgent, breathless, hungry in the way only the heartsick can be. His hands gripped her waist like they didn’t know how to let go. Her fingers tangled in his hair as she kissed him back, every second stolen from all the ones they’d lost.

It wasn’t clean or practiced.

It was the kind of kiss you give when the world’s been cruel and silence has been long and you’ve finally been handed the one thing you never thought you’d get to keep.

She whimpered against him...barely a sound, but it tore through him. His hands moved up her spine, across her cheek, desperate to touch every part of her he’d ached for in secret.

Her lips parted beneath his and he melted into the space she made for him, kissing her slower now. Deeper. Like he was memorizing the shape of her yes.

And when she pulled back, eyes glassy, he chased her like a prayer.

Their foreheads pressed together. Breaths shallow. Hearts frantic.

But neither spoke. They didn’t need to.

And then, Jimin kissed her forehead.

Gently. Reverently. Like that touch was more sacred than anything he’d ever been trusted with.

She closed her eyes, tears slipping free, and he brushed them away with shaking thumbs.

“I thought I’d lost you, there for a second,” he breathed, voice breaking.

“You never did,” she whispered. “You never could.”

He laughed. Choked and messy. His arms wrapped around her like he was afraid the stars might change their mind and take her back. She clung just as tightly, burying her face in his shoulder.

“I love you,” he said again, against her hair now. “I love you so much it ruined every second I couldn’t say it.”

She pulled back just enough to meet his eyes. Her own rimmed red. Shining.

“And now?” she asked.

His smile was soft and wrecked and everything she’d ever wanted to see.

“Now I get to say it forever.”

She kissed him again. Slower. Smiling through the tears this time.

And for the first time in all their chaotic, glitter-drenched, hex-prone lives,

They didn’t feel like a storm.

They felt like home.

And across the room, Taehyung and Jungkook looked at each other again...eyes softer now, shoulders less tight.

Jungkook stepped forward.

“I don’t want a different match,” he said. “Even if the thread breaks. Even if we mess it up again. I still choose you.”

Taehyung didn’t smile.

He just reached out and took his hand.

And whispered, “Same.”

And that’s when it happened.

For a heartbeat, everything held still. Then their wings trembled in unison, and the air warmed.

First...a soft pulse. Then another, stronger. Like the room itself had taken a deep breath.

A golden light swept through the air, curling around them, humming low and warm through their bones.

Their wings shivered. Their halos sparked. And something deep inside their bond, their thread, woke up and remembered itself.

Four heartbeats aligned. The magic, sensing their choice, wrapped them in gold.

Their wings glowed, and their auras flared. The celestial thread, cracked and frayed, pulled itself whole again, as if the magic had just been waiting for permission.

They stayed like that for a moment, hovering in the hush that always comes right after something sacred breaks open. Their hands still clasped. Their wings still warm.

And in that glow, four Baby Cupids stood.

Not perfect. Not whole...yet. But seen. Chosen. And not alone.

☾⋆⁺₊✧⁺₊⋆ ☁︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

EPILOGUE — THE ONES WHO LOVED FIRST (Where two baby Cupids find their wings — and everyone remembers why love is the strongest magic of all.)

Cupid Headquarters had never, in all of its immortal bureaucratic existence, been this loud without a formal disaster protocol in place. The Hall of Promotions wasn’t glowing so much as screaming in color.

Glitter poured from the ceiling vents like divine dandruff. Banners flickered with erratic fonts that kept changing mid-word. One of them read “CONGRATULATIONS!” until it hiccuped and glitched into “CONFLAGRATIONS!” which honestly felt more accurate.

There was a thunderstorm of enchanted applause, hands clapping out of sync in the background. The love confetti had unionized. Someone had given a cherub a megaphone, and that cherub was now freestyle rapping about the history of divine incompetence.

And in the middle of this absolute celestial meltdown stood the reason for it all.

Jieun and Jimin.

Former baby Cupids. Current problems. Eternal icons.

Jieun was covered in at least five layers of celebratory sparkle, standing on the podium like a war hero returning from battle, except the war had involved muffins, ghosts, and violating nearly every rule in the Divine Intervention Handbook.

Her grin was feral. Her eyes were leaking emotion like her tear ducts had gone rogue. A garland of roses hung off her arm, possibly stolen from a ceremonial arch.

Next to her, Jimin stood in a robe that looked like it had been dragged through seventeen promotions and a musical. His halo was slightly tilted, glitter-streaked, and he was proudly holding the ceremonial muffin aloft like it was the celestial torch of Cupid Olympics. Someone had kissed his cheek. Probably Jieun. He winked at nothing.

Taehyung and Jungkook stood beside them, not quite holding hands, but also very clearly not not holding hands. Jungkook’s face looked like it had gone twelve emotional rounds and was now clinging to Taehyung’s sleeve for stability. Taehyung looked like he was about to start writing sonnets out loud. Neither of them could stop smiling.

And then, through the sea of sentient cupcakes and celestial chaos, Supervisor Kang emerged.

Oh, Kang.

His robe had a coffee stain the size of divine wrath. His wings were semi-folded in defeat. A confetti streamer was lodged in his hair like it had legally claimed squatter’s rights. His expression was somewhere between Why do I exist and I’m too old for this dimension.

But his eyes?

Tired, yes. Frustrated? Eternally. But undeniably, irrevocably, soft.

When he looked at Jieun and Jimin, it wasn’t the way a supervisor looks at paperwork. It wasn’t even how a boss looks at chaos; he’s contractually forbidden from smiting. It was the look of someone who had witnessed a miracle unfold across broken rules, burning scrolls, and two tiny idiots who didn’t know when to quit, and somehow made everything better because of it.

He tried clearing his throat. No one noticed. Jieun was busy yelling “GLITTER IS JUST STARDUST WITH AMBITION!” at a terrified intern, and Jimin was dramatically slow-dancing with the muffin.

So Kang did what any ancient, overworked, emotionally compromised supervisor would do.

He slammed the ceremonial scroll against the dais with enough force to quiet an apocalypse.

The silence that followed was instant. Sacred. One confetti cannon choked mid-explosion. A harp cried in fear.

Kang raised one hand slowly. And then, like the sky remembered how to soften...he smiled.

A real one. Not his usual dry twitch of sarcasm. No, this was warmth carved into a man who had carried centuries of burnt toast and unfiled reports, and for once, was proud enough to forget the paperwork.

“I’ve seen a lot of promotions in my time,” he began, his voice gravel-soft, like it had been waiting to say this for centuries. “Thousands of Cupids. Most follow the rules. Check the boxes. Memorize the hymns. Get promoted quietly.”

His gaze locked on Jieun.

Then Jimin.

And something deep in his expression cracked open—like light was trying to get out.

“But you two?”

He exhaled a laugh that was equal parts disbelief and awe.

“You didn't just break the rules. You shredded them, set them on fire, and fed them to a sentient squirrel. You questioned every mission, offended four Council members, set an oven on divine fire, and personally insulted a phoenix intern so badly, it applied for sabbatical.”

Jieun’s mouth twitched. Her eyes shimmered.

Jimin wiped at his cheek like he could pretend he wasn’t crying.

Kang’s voice grew steadier now, laced with something bigger than pride—something holy.

“But you also braved a ghost’s heartbreak. You pulled a song out of silence. You glitter-bombed burnout and made the stars weep from joy. You healed mortals. You gave divine second chances. And you reminded everyone, every Cupid, every human, every reluctant god, what our job actually means.”

He turned now, not just to them, but to the crowd.

“You think being a Cupid is about matchmaking,” he said, voice rising, echoing off stained-glass skies. “About kissing montages and serendipity and romantic endings.”

He looked back at Jieun and Jimin like he already knew they’d rewrite every rule ever written.

“It’s not.”

He pointed to his chest.

“It’s about love.”

The kind of love that starts in the most silent places. In shame. In fear. In loss too deep to name. The kind that doesn't arrive with fanfare or fireworks, but shows up, trembling and raw, but still stays.

Love that says, ‘Even when you are shattered, you are still worthy.’

Love that says, ‘I will not leave you. Even when you think you don’t deserve to be held.’

And then, Kang turned toward the floating scroll behind them, the one still glowing, gold and proud, pulsing with the record of every miracle they made.

“You reminded Kim Seokjin that brilliance doesn’t need applause to exist. That the heart of a cook is not in perfection, but in the joy of being enough.”

Jieun hiccuped. She still had the memory of that kitchen. Of Seokjin’s laugh as the crowd cheered. Of the way the oven light caught the pride in his eyes. The way Jin finally looked like he belonged in his own story.

“You gave Min Yoongi his music back,” Kang said, nodding at Jimin. “You pulled his music out of the grave of his own perfectionism. You taught him that melody isn’t the absence of pain — it’s pain turned into art. That healing doesn't mean silence. It means singing anyway.”

Jimin bit his lip. His fingers curled around the edge of his robe. He remembered Yoongi’s piano. The way the notes shook. The way the melody finally bloomed, imperfect and perfect all at once

“You freed Jung Hoseok from the weight of someone else’s grief,” Kang continued. “You taught him that love is not supposed to leave bruises. That sometimes, letting go is not abandonment. It’s grace.”

Taehyung looked away for a second. Jungkook reached over, brushed his knuckles lightly.

“You gave Kim Namjoon the most forbidden thing of all — Permission to stop. To rest. To crumble and not be ashamed. You told him he didn’t have to carry the universe to be loved. You made him understand that healing is not a detour. It’s the way home.”

By now, Jieun was crying openly. Her whole frame trembling, radiant.

Jimin had stopped pretending he wasn’t.

And then Kang looked at them both with the kind of gentleness that should’ve been impossible for a man who once cursed a spreadsheet.

“And in the end, you didn’t just fix strangers, but your own too,” he said, voice breaking as he gestured to Taehyung and Jungkook, “You reminded these two that it’s okay to be scared. That loving someone doesn’t require you to be perfect — just brave.”

“You did all of this…” Kang added, voice dropping now, intimate and raw, “While being afraid yourselves. While loving each other and pretending you didn’t”

Jieun finally looked at Jimin.

He was already looking at her.

“And still,” Kang whispered, “you chose love. For them. For yourselves. And for that...”

He stepped forward now, robe rustling like a whisper of centuries.

From his sleeve, he drew two sigils; glowing, star-shaped, brilliant like promise incarnate.

“You are no longer baby Cupids,” he said, placing one into Jieun’s palm, the other in Jimin’s.

“You are love.”

The silence shattered into joy.

Screams. Applause. Cupids flying into walls. Someone sobbing into a glitter cannon.

Taehyung launched himself at Jieun and spun her like a glitter-drenched Beyblade. Jungkook tackled Jimin into a hug so violent it set off an alarm.

Jimin shrieked. “WE’RE LEGALIZED!”

Jieun was sobbing. “WE HAVE DENTAL!”

“WE HAVE RESPECT,” Jimin added, as he tripped over his own robe and fell into a ceremonial cloud.

“You never had respect,” Kang muttered, trying not to laugh as a muffin tried to hug him.

“YOU LOVE US,” Jieun screamed, glitter exploding from her hair.

“Don’t touch me.”

“YOU’RE OUR CELESTIAL DAD.”

“I’m filing for retirement.”

“YOU CRIED.”

“I WILL SMITE YOU.”

They all dog-piled him anyway.

And he hugged them back.

Tightly.

Like a man who had watched two tiny chaotic hearts become something beautiful, and still didn’t know how to say he was proud without crying again.

And when no one was watching, he smiled so wide his wings lit up again.

Much, much later, after the muffins had stopped serenading the judges, after the skybridge stopped playing “A Whole New World” on loop, Jieun and Jimin stood together at the edge of the heavens.

Their robes glowed. Their halos were steady. Their wings — earned, whole — unfolded behind them like stories finally told.

Below them, Earth turned quietly.

“You think we’ll be good at this?” Jieun whispered.

Jimin looked at her. Took her hand.

“We already are.”

And somewhere, in a room too full of stars to count, love smiled.

Because chaos may have brought them here.

But love?

Love made them stay.

☾⋆⁺₊✧⁺₊⋆ ☁︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

Author’s Note: Hi! Lovely souls, Makaira here. I brought Supervisor Kang here for a few final words. He’s a little shy with mortals, so be gentle. He only cries once a century, and he just used up this cycle’s allotment on two idiot Cupids.

Ahem

SUPERVISOR KANG’S EMOTIONALLY REPRESSED FAREWELL TRANSMISSION

Yes. It’s me. The grumpy one with the coffee. The one you’ve all mentally labeled “exhausted sky dad.” The one who’s been putting up with sparkle-infused drama and celestial malpractice for longer than any of you have been alive.

You want a final word?

Fine.

I am... proud.

There. I said it. That’s your quota. Clip it. Frame it. Immortalize it in glitter calligraphy, I don’t care.

But I am.

I watched two absolute disasters...Jieun, who once tried to duel a vending machine over a muffin, and Jimin, who charmed a hexed arrow into doing jazz hands, become the kind of Cupids this universe didn’t know it needed.

They healed what couldn’t be healed.

They made love out of grief, laughter out of fear.

They did what no scroll could teach and no training could contain:

They loved. Loudly. Stupidly. Relentlessly.

And somewhere in the middle of all that,

They became mine.

I don’t say it often. I don’t say it ever.

But they’re my kids.

And if any of you hurt them, I will personally rain judgment down with the fury of a caffeine-deprived volcano god.

I hope you cried.

I hope you laughed.

I hope, even for a second, you remembered that love isn’t about roses or fate or poetic declarations.

Sometimes, it’s about yelling at someone until they believe in themselves again.

Makaira’s closing the scroll now.

You’ll miss them.

I already do.

– Supervisor Kang (First of His Name, Breaker of Muffins, Caffeine Father of Chaos)

☾⋆⁺₊✧⁺₊⋆ ☁︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆ ☁︎ ⋆⁺₊⋆ ☾⋆⁺₊⋆

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[mae-gi-writes]

It’s (just so) awkward | jungkook (bts) - part two

No way. We’re too different and he’s so—so black and white. A straight-up yes-or-no kind of guy. And I’m not.”

Genre: nerd! Jungkook x outspoken! Reader, university! Au, idiots to lovers au, kim changbin cameo (skz)

Part One | Part Two | Next Part >>>

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"It's just you and me, and the song on repeat in my head." — Fall Into Me, Forest Blakk

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“Do you think that there are people out there looking at the sky and wondering what we are?”

Jungkook tore his gaze off from his phone long enough to raise a brow at you, the kind of look he gave you whenever you asked something out of the blue. You sat there, head tilted back and legs dangling from the edge as your eyes trailed through eh throng of stars dotting the sky.

“Scientifically speaking, no planet can inhabit human life like earth does,” he answered as he went back to his phone, fingers flying away on the keyboard, “so your point is invalid.”

You sighed, then looked at him, “do you have to keep looking at your phone? I thought you were the one who told me phones weren’t allowed when we’re talking.”

He had the decency to look guilty as he gently pushed his phone back into his pocket, “sorry,” he mumbled, “but I stand by my theory. Your assumptions are too far fetched to be reality. There’s no oxygen up there, so it’d be pretty much impossible for planets to have any signs of life—“

“But what if they adapted to something else? What if they didn’t need oxygen to live?”

“They wouldn’t be called humans then.”

“Exactly my point.” You looked back up to the starry night, admired the glittering stars filled with the entirety of humanity’s wishes, “you really like her, huh?”

the question threw him off guard. He blinked at you like a deer in the headlights, “who?”

“Sara,” you tried to smile, though it felt as though your face was cracking in two, “you like her, don’t you? Isn’t that who you were texting up to this point?”

“Yes, because she takes good notes and I would benefit from them,” he pulled his knees up to his chest before leaning upon your shoulder, hair tickling the side of your face as he did so, “why are you asking so many questions about Sara? You keep bringing her up every time.”

In the darkness that surrounded your figures, your lips trembled with the desire to spill out the thoughts that had been roaming in your head rent-free for the past few weeks. As you’d watched him and the said girl get closer with each passing day, you couldn’t help but feel as though you were being left behind, which was absurd, considering that you were always the one dragging Jungkook along to all kinds of parties or events because he was just so awkward and blunt that no one dared to approach him.

Yet, this situation seemed to be reversed now, and you wondered briefly whether Jungkook could feel your absence as much as you felt his.

“Sorry, I guess I was just curious,” you finally said to break the silence buzzing with growing awkwardness, “would that be such a bad thing though? To spend more time with her?”

“Is that what you want me to do?”

“It depends whether that’s what you want to do.”

“Why would I want to spend more time with her?”

“Because you—I don’t know,” you tried to chuckle, “because maybe you might like her?”

Jungkook went silent at that and something in your heart punctured in two. Jesus Christ, Y/N! You screamed at your brain, get a hold of yourself! What was wrong with you? You didn’t own him, nor did you care about who he fell in love with!

Right?

….right?

“You’re not going crazy,” Yoona spoke when you finally decided to spill the beans the day after. It was clear from your face that very morning that you were up all night tossing and turning about whether you actually held feelings for the said young man, “I think you’re jealous because he’s spending more time with Sara than he is with you.”

“I’m not jealous,” you snapped despite the flaming red heating up your cheeks, “I’m just…worried.”

“Sure, and you’re in denial.”

Denial? We’re you in denial? You kept on thinking about what that meant to you, which did not go unnoticed by Changbin a few days afterwards when he strolled into the art lab to find you pulling out strands of your hair in frustration.

He nudged your shoulder with his arm as he took a seat next to you, flashing you a charming yet mischievous grin as he took in your face, “what’s got your panties in a twist?”

“Nothing,” you grumbled. But it was clearly not nothing, and as he pushed at you to confess, you did reluctantly, hating the fact that you were weak enough to crumble under his hard stare. When you were done talking, Changbin merely threw his head back in laughter and caused a few people from the lab to glance his way in half curiosity and concern.

You swatted at his arm, “stop laughing!” You hissed with narrowed eyes, “it’s not funny—stop Changbin!”

“Sorry sorry,” he wiped at the stray tears dotting the corner of his eyes, “I just—I knew it. You fucking like him, huh? And now you’re being a jealous little bitch about it.”

“I’m not—“ anger flared through you, “—I’m not a jealous little bitch!”

“And I’m not an asshole,” he rolled his eyes, “get over it. You’re jealous. It’s crystal clear why. Loser boy stops paying attention to you and suddenly there’s a new girl in his life. Coincidence? I don’t think so.”

You hated the fact that he was right, “I hate you.”

“I know,” his grin widened, “but you know what? At least I’m honest. Why don’t you try it sometime with loser boy? I’m sure he’ll find it pretty fucking amusing.”

“I don’t—I don’t like him, and I’m not jealous.”

“Then would you accept to go on a date with me?”

“What?” Your mind went blank. You stared at him, wondering whether he was being serious.

“I’m asking you to go on a date with me, idiot.”

“But—But—Why?”

You felt your neck flush with embarrassment. Was he being serious right now?

“Because for one; you can make him jealous. And two; because you’re kinda cute and I think I’ll have a good time,” he winked at you then, causing you to flush even redder.

“Uhm—“ this was too much information to take in at once and you excused yourself in haste, surprised that Changbin let you go freely without expecting any response. You managed to get out of the lab and into the right bus, and it was only then that you tried to mull over everything that had just happened. Changbin asking you out was the most shocking turn of events, but maybe he was right. Maybe you needed to know whether Jungkook would react just as you did. Maybe you needed to give Jungkook a taste of his own medicine.

Which was why you agreed to the date.

———

“With who?”

Jungkook was looking at you with wide eyes behind his spectacles. He’d been working on his architecture assignment while keeping you company in a nearby campus cafe when you dropped the bomb.

“Changbin,” even the words sounded forced coming from your mouth, but you keep going, “I thought it’d be fun to give it a try…I’m single, anyway. So why not?”

“Changbin.” Jungkook’s eyes were darting right, left and center, “you’re going to go on a date with Changbin,” he repeated.

“Yeah.”

“Do you like him?”

“Hm, kinda. Yeah.”

“What do you like about him?”

“I—“ you pressed your lips together, “—he’s funny. And…kind. When you get to know him,” you hurriedly add when confusion breaks across his face, “we get along well.”

Jungkook didn’t look convinced, “but he doesn’t like me.”

“Don’t say that,” you huffed, “and plus, does it matter?”

“Yes. Because I’m your friend,” he paused, “your good friend.”

“Well does Sara like me?” You shot back.

“Yes.”

“Have you asked her?”

“…No.”

“Then that doesn’t count,” you shook your head before leaning back against the library couch.

He finally stopped typing to look at you, a frown furrowing his eyebrows, “why wouldn’t she like you?”

“Because girls don’t like it when other girls are around their potential boyfriends.”

“But I’m not her boyfriend.”

“Do you want to be?”

He shrugged, “what does that mean?”

“Well…kinda like, you know, doing stuff together. Holding hands, spending time together, hugging each other on your bad days—“

“Then doesn’t that make you my girlfriend?”

You almost choked on your own spit, “uhm—“

He paused for a second, “we already do all these things.”

“Well yeah, but you do other stuff too. Like, kissing and making out and going on dates and stuff…” you trailed off without knowing how to continue the conversation so that it wouldn’t turn awkward.

Jungkook’s wide eyes turned to give you a look filled with both shock and worry, “Is that what you’re going to be doing with Changbin?”

“Wha—no! It’s just a date! A friendly one, we’re getting to know each other,” you were quick to swat away his accusations.

“Well I do not approve,” Jungkook stated, “but it seems you’ve already made up your mind.”

“I have, and I’m going to have fun.”

In all honesty, Changbin’s suggestion was a welcome distraction for you to push back all those weird thoughts you’d been having about Jungkook lately. It happened sometimes, right? You were friends, so of course you would feel a little weird and awkward about his newly piqued interest in other girls.

Right?

And plus, Changbin was kind of cute. In that rugged, dishevelled manner. As cute as a sulky dog.

Which was why you were more than a little surprised to find Jungkook beside Changbin when you arrived to your desired destination. Your jaw dropped, eyes going wide as they flitted between one and the other.

“What are you doing here?” You screeched, wanting to bang your head against something. You had agrees to this to make you forget all about Jungkook. So what were you supposed to do now?!

“Changbin thought it would be fun to invite Sara and I,” Jungkook said, “I thought you would be happy.”

Your eyes narrowed into slits, “what is wrong with you?” You hissed at him, “that wasn’t part of the plan.”

“Hey, the more the merrier right?” Changbin grinned mischievously, the kind of grin that made you want to slap it right off.

In a desperate attempt to set things straight, you turned back to Jungkook, “I thought you didn’t like arcades—“

“Oh relax Y/N, why are you so stiff?” Changbin cut you off, “it’s a double date. I’m sure Jungkook will love it just as much as you will.”

You opened your mouth to protest only to find none other than Sara bounding up to tour group with the biggest smile on her face, “I’m so ready for this!” She squealed, “I haven’t been to the arcade in so long!”

If you were feeling bad about yourself initially, it was nothing compared to how you felt now seeing her all dressed up in a cute outfit while you had just opted for jeans and a simple t-shirt. This feeling merely grew like a weed spreading through your body as the group decided to tackle the racing games first.

“Y/N hates racing games,” Jungkook said as they approached the arena already filled with people. It seemed as though there was already an ongoing race, with two boys neck to neck for the first place, “maybe we should start with something else.”

“But I like racing games,” Sara whined with a pout, causing you to roll your eyes inwardly. There was a whoop as the winner jumped up and ran out, followed by the loser grumbling under his breath.

“It’s fine,” you said to Jungkook before gesturing towards the now vacant seat, “I’ll sit out on this one.”

On and on it went, the torture of having to restrain yourself from pulling Sara’s hair out despite the fact that she wasn’t even all that bad to begin with. Actually, she was quite a nice girl and you could even enjoy her presence, if not for the fact that it was clear as day she was smitten with your best friend.

And it didn’t seem like your best friend minded either, from the looks of it. They spent the entire afternoon glued to each other’s side and it took everything in you not to smash something when you spotted a plushie cradled under Sara’s arm when they found their way back to you and Changbin who were currently indulging in a zombie fight. Or rather, you were indulging and he was making fun of you for it.

“Well, seems like you two had some fun,” Changbin said cheerfully.

“Shut up Changbin,” you muttered before turning away. This whole afternoon was starting to make your head hurt, “I’m going home.“

“Y/N—“ you ignored Jungkook’s call in favour of walking away as something snapped off between your heartstrings. You bit down onto your lower lip, restraining it from trembling as you focused on getting as far away as fast as you possibly could.

But a voice pierced through the cacophony of sounds to call your name and though you wished to ignore it, you had no other choice but to turn around when it seemed to get closer to you— to be faced with none other than a dishevelled Jungkook.

“Why are you upset?”

You almost laughed at his question. Indeed, no one was more blunt than Jungkook. The back of your throat tightened.

“I’m not upset.” You managed to answer.

“Then why are you looking at me like that? Like you’re angry at me or something. It’s scaring me a little.”

“I—“ you pressed your lips together, “can’t you just drop it this one time? I’m tired and I want to go home.”

“I’ll come with you—“

“No,” you cut him off more firmly than was necessary, “you stay with Sara. She needs you.”

“But—“

“See you around, Jungkook.”

And before he could say anything else, you were walking down the pavement like there was fire at your heels, glad that you didn’t turn back to watch Jungkoo gaze at you until you disappeared around the block.

———

I don’t like him.

I don’t like him, you kept chanting. I don’t like him.

what was there to like? Not his stuck-up fashion sense that made as if he’d stepped out of a 90’s movie, not the unflattering way his hair was glued to the sides of his face, and definitely not the way he chortled whenever he found something really funny, an ungrateful act at its best, surely.

But dear god you would’ve been lying to say that you hadn’t been thinking of Jungkook for this past week.

Midterms were coming up and winter was making its arrival known, the smell of pumpkin spice lattes and hot cocoa drifting through the food hall campus as groups of students scattered around with textbooks perched precariously atop tables to cram everything they could last minute.

To distract yourself from those weird, alienating thoughts about your best friend, you decided to do the same. Unfortunately for you, Yoona and Jimin thought you were being utterly and unbelievably stupid.

“Why can’t you two just make up and then everyone can be happy?” Jimin asked in exasperation one day when he stumbled in on you and Jungkook exchanging stiff greetings (mostly you though) before parting ways.

You glared at him, “he’s the one hanging out with Lee Sara, not me.”

“Well he says that you seeing Sara makes you mad, so obviously he’s going to try to steer her away from you,” Jimin explained as he flipped open his computer science textbook, “you know how his brain works, Y/N. Don’t tell me you didn’t realize his intentions.”

You grumbled out an agreement between sips of your too-strong coffee and had to admit to yourself that Jimin was right. Jungkook had been doing it with all the right intentions. He never did understand the concept of jealousy and envy and the horrible desire to have someone to yourself. And that was exactly what you felt.

So it didn’t take you by surprise when the said young man turned up Friday night with a bag of donuts in hand and some hot chocolate in the other, claiming that you two had made plans for the evening. Something about a study session that you yourself had forgotten about until you checked your phone calendar.

“You didn’t have to,” was what you grumbled out as you let him in and flopping down onto your couch as he proceeded to pull off his shoes by your doorway, “that was a long time ago. It’s not like I was prepared to expect you.”

“That’s quite alright. I’ve seen your place in worse shape,” Jungkook replied. He placed the food on your coffee table before pulling out his textbook and you watched him, wondering why in the world did he make your heart twist and turn and snap with endless turns of emotions when there were so many other men out there who at least understood the concepts of relationships.

No. I don’t like him, you chanted, I’m just being jealous. A jealous best friend.

“Why did you come?” The words blurted out of your mouth before you could stop them. You quickly averted your eyes when his flickered up in curiosity.

“Because we agreed to have a study session at your house,” he said simply, as logical as ever, “we agreed on it a few weeks ago.”

“Right, forgive me for not remembering,” you said through clenched teeth, “but you didn’t have to ditch Sara for me—“

“Do you not like Sara?”

“What?”

“Do you not like her? You keep mentioning her every time we’re together. And then Jimin said something weird to me last week,” Jungkook shifted to face you better and that made you notice that for the first time, he was in sweatpants and a normal hoodie, and his hair —his hair was down and freshly washed, hanging over his face.

Cute.

You were so distracted by his appearance that you almost missed his little speech, “what did Jimin say?”

“That I wasn’t giving you enough of my time and attention, which is why you keep being mad.”

That little fucker. You were going to kill this man. You swallowed and leaned back against the couch, “that’s not true.”

“Then you’re not mad at me?”

You didn’t know how to answer his question without lying and knowing Jungkook, he was good at sniffing that out. So you changed the subject instead, “hey, I think we should order some chicken. Do you want some?”

Jungkook’s eyebrows dipped into a frown, but he didn’t push it and agreed on ordering some takeout before you both settled into comfortable silence. Snow drifted down outside your window pane as the night wore on and the more you focused on anything that wasn’t Jungkook, the easier it was to fill the sudden awkward silence that prevailed, merely broken by the shuffling of papers and the scrape of pen marks.

“You’re not in your Jungkook clothes,” you suddenly asked out of the blue, almost regretting it when Jungkook’s curious gaze searched your face.

From the corner of your eye, you noticed his eyebrows furrowing together, “Jungkook clothes?”

“Yeah, clothes that you always wear. Aka your shirt tucked into pants. And what’s up with your hair? It’s all like—casual.”

He touched his tuft of hair self-consciously, “I just took a shower. I can’t put gel in it right after showering.”

You crossed your arms over your chest before you leaned back against the edge of the couch, your knee brushing his as you crossed your legs, “so you do know how to dress like a normal human being.”

“What is that supposed to mean?” Jungkook flipped through his physics workbook as he spoke, “I don’t think t-shirts are appropriate to attend lectures. They’re not flattering at all and show lack of respect.”

“Oh because you think tucking your shirt into your pants shows respect?” You snickered impulsively, causing Jungkook to scowl at you as he said, “well I never complained about your lack of clothes.”

“Sorry sorry,” you tried toning down on the laughter, “it’s just—my bad Jungkook. I didn’t mean to offend you and your…casual clothes.” Your voice broke into another round of laughter at that and Jungkook’s ears reddened before he flung a pillow at your face.

“Ouch,” you groaned, rubbing your nose from where it had bounced off, “that was a bit brutal.”

“I don’t recall you deserving any type of gentle treatment,” he retorted, “now let me finish my physics assignment otherwise we’ll be here all night.”

Truth to be told, you both finished around midnight and agreed on going out for some late midnight snack, quickly zipping up your coat and boots before shoving a beanie on your head.

“Wait,” Jungkook said just as you were about to open the door, and you felt his hand — it was warm and big, bigger than you thought it was — at your cheek, pushing a few strands of hair under your beanie.

The action caught you off-guard and you blinked, noticing just how close Jungkook was. So close that if you moved, your nose would brush against the nape of his neck.

“There,” Jungkook leaned back and all the warmth was gone, leaving only your reddened cheeks in its place.

No ice cream parlor seemed to be open at this time, forcing you to settle on some ice cream sticks from the convenience store. You sat outside on the freezing steps, butts going numb as you indulged in the sweet treat.

“That’s so good,” you mumbled through a mouthful of chocolate ice, “it’s been a while since I’ve had ice cream.”

“I’m not particularly a fan,” Jungkook ate his own stick of vanilla cone, “but this one is not bad.”

“Not bad, but you’re still eating it.”

“Mostly to accompany you.”

“Oh I’m touched,” your tone dripped with sarcasm, “you do that a lot with Sara too? Accompany her because she likes doing things that you necessarily don’t?”

“Y/N,” the way Jungkook said your name had you pause, eyes flickering over to his face only to see that he was already watching you, dark orbs swirling with something you couldn’t quite place.

When he spoke next, his voice was soft, yet firm:

“I don’t really appreciate you talking about Sara this way.”

Your throat went dry, “i—I didn’t—“

“You might be a little envious that I spend time with her, but she is my friend. As you are. You do not have to feel the need to bring her down just because you are a bit envious—“

“I am not envious,” you snapped back automatically, anger curling though your stomach like a rising flame, “I just—I’m just trying to say that people aren’t necessarily who you think they are, Jungkook. You should know that.”

Jungkook looked at you for a long, drawn-out moment, “I appreciate your concern, but not this way Y/N.”

It broke something inside your heart, the way he kept on tugging down your pride and your walls like he’s having the time of his life ripping it apart at the seams, and you couldn’t help feeling the sudden clog of emotion at the base of your throat at how serious he was being about this. He’d never spoken this way to you before, this was a first.

And it hurt.

“Fine then,” you murmured out. You had finished the ice cream by then and wrapped it back up in its package before tossing it into the trash with more force than necessary, “I won’t do that anymore. And I’m sorry if that upset you.”

“Y/N,” Jungkook called as you turned your back on him, “what is it that you’re not telling me? You have that face again.”

“What face?” You play dumb. Since when was Jungkook so invested in knowing every facial expression you possessed?

He pointed at you, “that. You look mad at me, but not quite mad. There’s something else that you’re not telling me.”

“I’ve already told you everything,” you tried to laugh, “it’s just how my face is—“

Jungkook suddenly leaned in close. Too close. So close you saw the sparkles in his doe eyes and a yelp died in the back of your throat, “that’s not true and you know it.” He murmured, sounding so much more like a man rather than himself that it caused goosebumps to rise along the back of your arms.

“Fine,” you quickly scrambled for some space, hating the way your heart seemed to beat out of your chest and you wondered briefly whether he could hear it too, “I just feel like you’re not the same anymore. We barely hang out and—and I just don’t like sharing you. I’m a jealous bitch, alright? That’s it. Are we done now?”

“So you were angry at me for spending too much time with Sara.”

“Well—yes, but—“

“Why?” He cut you off, dark eyes so intense on your face that it made you want to squirm. You held your ground though, biting down on your lower lip and curling your fingers into your sweater sleeves.

“Why…what?” Again, you played dumb even though something in your heart resonated at that. Realization washed over you like a tidal wave the more Jungkook kept on gazing at you, and you back at him.

There was something. Of course there was something. You were an idiot all along to not have listened to Changbin in the first place.

You were an idiot. In love.

Shit.

“I need to go,” you scrambled back too quickly for him to grasp your arm and said without looking at him, “I’ll see you around Jungkook. No need to walk me back.”

You didn’t wait to hear Jungkook’s protest as your feet took off on the pavement, legs pumping with adrenaline and panic until you reached the confines of your flat. Only then did you slide down to the floor and lean your head back against the door, wondering when you had signed up for such an ordeal.

And why, out of all people, was it Jungkook?

[loveyourself007]

THIS CHRISTMAS

Author: @loveyourself007

Pairing: BTS x O. C. (Original Character)

Genre: Holiday!! AU, rom-com, fluff, magic, magical powers, Small Town!! AU

Ratings: 13+

Status: Ongoing

Synopsis : Maria Snow, an aspiring writer with a life long reputation of being called a Grinch was living her life as the way she always wanted, but what she always lacked was the spark of magic that kept her from celebrating the most wonderful time of the year, The Holidays.

She always thought that she will hate Christmas till the end of time, until This Christmas comes to her with a wonderful gift in hand. What will she do when this unexpected gift starts changing the course of what she thought was right. Will she still be able to uphold her Grinch reputation this year or will they come shattering down as she starts enjoying these gifts.

Seven Days, Seven Strangers and lots of Christmas Magic, with an advice:

" Do not get attached; Just enjoy the ride."

Prologue

Chapter 1: I

Chapter 2: Wish

Chapter 3: That

[namuwithhoneybee]

I am wondering if there are people in BTS or multi-stan fanfic community who read fluff or romcom.

My J-hope fanfic won the 2023 Ambys Awards on Wattpad, yet i have been wondering why isn't it getting enough attention. Is it because of the algorithm or the lacking in my writing?

If you are interested in letting me know your thoughts or interested in sharing me your feedback on my fanfic, lmk in the comments.

I don't want to post the links too early or else I'll look like promoting my fanfic instead of asking for help.

[ahundredtimesover]

Something About You (01) | JJK

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: friends au, vacation au, slow burn, romcom-ish vibe; adulting; inspired by AYS; PE teacher!JK and researcher!OC; fluff, comfort, smut (?)

Chapter Warnings: foul/explicit language; alcohol consumption, mentions of cheating (JK’s ex) (18+)

Word count: 11.4k

Series Masterlist

Status: Complete

Series Summary: You and Jungkook have been friends for a decade. And while he’s the charming and dependable, often reserved boy-next-door, he’s also just been a friend - a constant in your life, a part of a whole, and someone who’s seen all the flawed and probably unattractive sides of you.

A resumption of your friend group’s out-of-town trips has caused you to spend more time with him. And somewhere in between the morning coffee in the forest, running around in the snow, and watching the sunset on a boat, he’s become something more. And you’re not quite sure how to deal with it.

🎶: Beautiful Soul by Jesse McCartney || Yes or No by Jungkook

A/N: Hi, it's here! This is a tribute to my group of friends. BTS is comfort and I love them so much 💜 Other female characters are inspired by some other fictional characters (tell me if you know who!) Also to Kim Namjoon, I'm sorry 🤣 (you'll get it). Please enjoy!

Your eyes dart to the time on your laptop screen.

4:17 PM.

This online meeting was supposed to end half an hour ago and you planned on clocking out right after so you could get to where you need to be but you should’ve known better. Your research team had taken so much time discussing operational aspects of the project that you are in charge of and you had to keep everyone on track. It worked for the most part. 

But while your work chat is still buzzing with questions that you state you’ll respond to next week, your phone’s group chat is being bombarded with messages from your best friend. 

[from: jiminie pabo] yooo ___ are you on your way?? 

[from: jiminie pabo] you better not flake on us or else tae will wrestle you 

[from: jiminie pabo] reply to me!!

You manage to keep your expression neutral as you sneakily reply and say that you’re still stuck in a meeting and it’ll probably take you another 30 minutes before you could leave. Your car’s in the warehouse after a little accident so you’re gonna have to book a ride. It’s rush hour on a Friday so it’ll be tough, but you’re managing this team and you can’t just end the meeting without your members having ironed their thoughts out.

[from: jiminie pabo] kook is just finishing up. i asked him to pick you up from your place 

[from: jiminie pabo] your carriage is on its way. you’re welcome

You sigh in relief internally at not having to worry about transportation. And it’s shortly after when the man in question sends you a text message to say that he’s just left the gymnasium and will get to you in 40 minutes max. 

That’s enough time for you to get ready and make sure you have all your things packed and your mind devoid of all things work-related because as you’ve promised yourself, you’ll try this whole work-life balance madness and shut off for the weekend.

But then again, you don’t really have a choice when you’ve got that trip planned with your friends in the mountains. Or was it the forest? You’re not sure; the outdoors are all the same to you. 

Taehyung had just arrived after a year and a half in London where he was making waves in a few theater productions. He wanted to immediately spend time with your group of 12, and a little vacation was planned right away, just like how it was in the old days. 

The camping-turned-glamping weekend was because you convinced everyone that setting up tents was just gonna waste your time, and the point of the trip is to spend it together. You pretty much pouted your way through it, but they also know you well enough that not sleeping on a bed and not having proper running water just isn’t your thing. Doing it once was enough, and the last time you camped, you were miserable.

Hoseok luckily found a property that operated cabins with all the comforts of home. You saw a bed and bathroom and you locked in, and you’ve been waiting for this weekend since your older friend laid out all the activities you’ll be doing. 

Adulting is stressful enough; trying to make a difference in the world is even more. The time you spend with the people who know you best and who accept all versions of you has become your key to survival. 

And yes, that includes your brat of a best friend.

[from: jiminie pabo] get ur flat asses here soon, ok? 

[from: jiminie pabo] i just want to eat and drink and pretend I don’t have responsibilities 

You decide against defending your not-so-flat ass because it really doesn’t stand a chance against his, and instead say you’ll update them once you’re near. 

You head out the door once Jungkook texts you that he’s just turned to your street, and you find him already opening the trunk and reaching out for your bag, just like the gentleman that he is. He’s donned in his usual sweats, a look you’re so used to that you forget sometimes he’s a proper adult with a proper job. 

“Did your students win?” You ask as you enter the car.

“They placed, so they’ve got another tournament to go,” he smiles. “They were so shocked but I knew they could do it. They worked so hard.”

“Having a good coach helps, I guess,” you wink. 

He chuckles then asks about your meeting, and you narrate how tiring this week - more like this whole month - has been. Between the weekly research conferences you’ve been organizing and the daily management of your teams, you haven’t really had time to rest.

“Is that why you insisted on going for a cabin trip?” He asks. “Honestly, I was looking forward to setting up camp and all that.”

“I know you do that for fun and stuff but why would we do all the work and set up our own tents? This isn’t a team building activity, you know?”

“Isn’t that the point of going on a friend trip? To bond and do stuff together like that?” 

“We do enough bonding when we make our food,” you point out.

“Yeah? And what exactly do you contribute?”

“Excuse me, I’m the taster,” you gasp. “Trying the food before you all do is like, a crucial role.”

“You can’t even tell if a dish needs more salt or not,” he chuckles, referring to your obvious lack of food knowledge and your very basic palette.

“Uh, I didn’t know Jimin was the one who picked me up,” you scowl. “Why are you calling me out, Kook? You’re supposed to be on my side!”

“What if I don’t want to be?” he teases.

“You must! Or be the neutral one, then!”

“That’s Tae’s job. I’m just here to enjoy the show. It’s never boring with you and Jimin around,” he smiles. 

Your face relaxes at this. At least you provide some form of entertainment to your friends, since you can’t really contribute in any other way. Your clumsy ass and inability to develop practical life skills won’t let you. It’s your shared helplessness that has you and Namjoon bonding every trip.

“Why are you so against camping anyway? You literally don’t even have to do anything.”

“Kook, there are four things in this world that make me angry - heat, bugs, Jimin, and uncomfortable sleeping arrangements.”

“You forgot cold food,” Jungkook adds.

“Because hot food is supposed to be eaten hot. Duh.”

“And Mo-eum’s chewing.”

“Because she eats like a child.”

“And Tae’s headlock.”

“Dude can choke me with those arms,” you exclaim.

“Text that’s not justified also drives you nuts. And indented paragraphs. And non-use of the Oxford comma. And Gill Sans. And—” 

“Yah!” You exclaim, smacking his chest with the back of your hand. 

He responds with the kind of laugh that Jungkook reserves for your group of friends - squinted eyes, scrunched nose, wide open mouth, and bouncing shoulders. With a 10-year friendship under your belts, you know this is him teasing. And genuinely enjoying it. 

“You’re having too much fun making fun of me, huh,” you frown. 

He settles into a smile - the cheeky yet comforting one that you’ve gotten used to over the years. 

“___, I coached the high school swim team all afternoon. You know how intense those matches get,” he groans. “Getting on your nerves and then telling all our friends about it is my chosen relief for tonight.”

“You make me sound like I whine a lot,” you pout.

His pursed lips tell you that you actually do, and you smack his arm this time and whine some more.

“I was just making the point that many things, in fact, make you angry. Not just four,” he corrects. 

“This is why I’m single,” you sigh, sinking into your seat. “And why I forever will be.”

Jungkook turns to you and your faraway eyes tell him you’ve fallen into that corner of your mind again that always drowns in thoughts. He doesn’t know how you went from thinking of what makes you angry to believing you’ll forever be single but that’s how conversations with you go all the time. 

Your mind goes from one realm to another.

And you ramble. A lot. A moment of being lost in your own mind is immediately followed by a period of vocal self-reflection and bouts of existential crisis, which is odd for a person who seems to be so sure of herself and what she stands for. 

But that’s how you are. You could go 30 minutes straight just talking about one of the research projects you’re working on without breathing. One time, Hoseok asked you about what was going on with the women’s protests and you ended up presenting a whole ass thesis about social movements, complete with some conceptual framework and other things Jungkook didn’t understand.

And while your friends looked at you in bewilderment - except for Namjoon, who probably had read that same piece of work and was giving side comments during your impromptu lecture - Jungkook applauded you internally. You were very passionate about it. And you clearly knew your shit.

When he met you during your first year of university after Jimin, his best friend from middle school, brought you and your best friend Mo-eum to dinner, Jungkook thought your rambling was typical of a political science major who just had too much to say. He later on realised that you were actually one of those rare types who had such a rich, active mind with the ability to eloquently express all her thoughts. Majority of the time at least, but even if he couldn’t always grasp what you were saying, he knew it was substantial. 

And much as he enjoys teasing you about all these quirks you have, it’s also his job as your friend to assure you that you’re doing alright.

You’ve already got your legs folded on the passenger seat and your face distorting with every new thought that crosses your mind, so he nudges you with his elbow.

“Yah, your being single has nothing to do with your grocery list of things that make you mad,” he says. “They’re harmless, okay? Plus, being angry isn’t always a bad thing, right? Like the great Kim Namjoon said - anger is necessary. It’s our history because anger has changed the world. And while you may be angry at all these little things, you and I know it’s that same fire in you that makes you good at what you do. And it’s what makes you a good person and a good friend.”

Your eyes turn to the man next to you, no doubt exhausted from a full day of teaching middle school kids and coaching the high school swim team but breezing through traffic while dealing with your whiny ass. 

You’re a words of affirmation type of girl. All your friends know that. But you also know that when they assure you about something, they genuinely mean it. 

“True, anger is good sometimes,” you nod and smile.

“I mean, who else would willingly fight their friends’ nasty exes and lay all the receipts to their faces?” Jungkook points out. “And you know already that even if I don’t understand half of the things you say about your research projects, I know enough that your work has changed lives. So good job, ___. Not everyone can do what you do.”

“Hmm, says the Teacher of the Year winner for three years in a row,” you say, wanting to be the supportive friend this time. “You’re helping the students a lot in healthily dealing with the world and you don’t even have to expend your energy on anger.”

“But we’re both still changing lives, aren’t we?” He asks you.

“We are. God, how did we even get to talking about this?” You laugh. 

“It was Namjoon and his great speech,” Jungkook chuckles. “Imagine if he was a poet or a songwriter or something.”

“Well, his grandparents decided that his pen game would be beneficial for a future political career and who knows? Speech writer one day, assemblyman the next? Maybe then he’d help us dismantle the patriarchy and make this place safer for women,” you start. “Because actually, men’s role in addressing gender inequality is so understated and—” 

Your eyes meet Jungkook’s and both of yours are saying the same thing - here you go again. You both laugh in understanding and you shake your head in submission, stating that you just want to chill and won’t go into one of your rants this time. 

It does give Jungkook an opening to tease you about another thing, though.

“Speaking of Namjoon, I still think you two would’ve made a good couple.”

“Yeah, but who’s gonna cook the food? Slice the fruits? Change the frikkin lightbulb? Repair whatever breaks in the house?”

The thought of how helpless you and Namjoon would be cracks Jungkook up. 

“True. Clumsy people can’t be together if we want world peace,” he hums. “He’s proof that God is fair. He saw the brain and dimples and thought, yeap let me mould him into a klutz.” 

“And you are not wrong,” you laugh. “Plus, we’ve known each other for a decade. How does one decide to just… date their friend?”

“That kind of normally happens, ___,” Jungkook rolls his eyes. “That’s literally how Seokjin and Hayoung got together. Met at college, became good friends, and then boom, went to a concert together then realised they like each other. And now they’re engaged.”

The thought brings a smile to your face. Thinking about your cousin’s love story with the most handsome and thoughtful man you’ve ever met gives you hope. You’re glad you entered the same university two years later than she did, in time for you to witness that friendship blossom into something more. And of course, to meet her other equally awesome friends.

You’re just not quite sure if that kind of thing is for everyone. Your two former relationships had been whirlwind romances, but the flame died as quickly as it sparked. You keep a small group of friends and none of the men, including the one next to you, had ever been a prospect. 

Your thoughts are interrupted when your phone rings.

“Gyu-rim and I are at the supermarket right now,” Yoongi says, straight to the point as always. “We’re buying all our food already. Can you pass by the one nearest Seokjin’s house so we can put some of the drinks in Jungkook’s cooler?” 

“Got that, uncle,” you reply, with the man no longer reacting to your term of endearment for him. “Can you get me a whole pack of sour gummy worms please? Thank you!”

You drop the call and instruct Jungkook to turn the corner. You meet Yoongi and Gyu-rim, who haul half of the groceries in the trunk. You place your pack of gummies in your bag, but you catch Jungkook eyeing it, so you ask him if he wants to nibble on something or if he’s hungry.

“I’ve got red bean bread with me,” you say. “Do you want some?”

“We’ve got a long drive so might as well,” he says. “I didn’t really get to eat during lunch because the kids were too nervous to eat and I didn’t want to show them that I still had an appetite.”

“I’m sure Seokjin and Tae’s parents prepared something for us like they always do,” you say.

There’s a reason why their house is your meeting point before every trip. Other than it being your hangout spot throughout your university years, their family also always serves a lot of food when you’re all around. 

You offer Jungkook your container of the bread and he picks up two, devouring them immediately before eating another one in two bites. You grab his water jug from the backseat and hand it over to him. Just as he finishes, you enter the village and arrive at the house.  

You pinch and pull his cheek as you often do to express your thanks, and you get out of the car before he pinches you in return.

You enter the living room and the scene before you is one you’ve seen hundreds of times over the past 10 years. 

There’s Jimin being dramatic over losing in Mario Kart, Mo-eum being happy just placing higher than him, Hoseok laughing hysterically even if he’s second, and Seokjin cheering for himself as the winner like always. Hayoung and Suhyeon are busy chatting, Yoongi and Namjoon are munching on something while trying to convince Gyu-rim that it’s still possible to find a decent man in their thirties, and Taehyung is at the center, singing opera just because.

But once they see you, they stop what they’re doing, accept the hug you always give them, and ask you how you are. Even the not-so-affectionate ones have learned to give in. It’s the perk of being everyone’s baby, you think. 

Being the youngest of five kids and with large age gaps with your siblings, it was natural for you to seek and receive affection from your friends, just as it was natural for them to take care of you. That’s mostly because you’re clumsy and clueless about many things, and you’re used to convenience and being looked after. 

It’s nothing they’ve ever complained about, and you’re just glad that you found people who genuinely love caring for you.

Taehyung gives you the tightest hug instead of the headlock he greeted you with the last time. You’re still not used to his large arms wrapping around you, but the warmth hasn’t changed. He bulked up for his role in that West End production, and somehow he got even bigger since the last time you saw him, which was four months ago when you went to London to watch his play.

The welcome of Jungkook is a lot less doting than yours. Even if he’s the youngest amongst everyone, they know he doesn’t require the same affection as you do. 

In fact, they depend on him more than anyone, and it always amuses you how, despite being the baby of his family as well, he developed life skills that allow him to naturally figure things out. Perhaps it’s his being a teacher but he’s always been like this since you met him - an all-rounder who seems to know what to do in every situation.

It’s not long after when Yoongi suggests you should all get going. It’s a two-hour drive to Chungbuk, after all, and it’s predicted to rain on your way there. 

You get in Jungkook’s SUV with Jimin and Mo-eum while the older ones get in two other cars. Taehyung delivers a bag of food to the others before he takes the seat behind you. He hands you a roll of gimbap that his mother had made, and you pop pieces in your mouth while holding the container out for Jungkook to eat while he drives. 

Despite the long day and each one of you having full time jobs, the ride is still filled with banter and karaoke sessions. Taehyung has to referee when you and Mo-eum butt heads with Jungkook and Jimin, as the boys always like to tease and push your buttons.

All that is temporary though, as at the end of the day, you stick to each other like glue. The five of you always opt to sleep together in one room or one suite and in this case, one cabin, even if you have to make adjustments with the sleeping arrangements.

“So…” Jungkook starts, his eyes darting from one end of the cabin to the other. “Us boys are definitely not gonna fit in that.”

The bed by the window is the larger of the two, but it’s still too small for the three of them, not with their build and ways of sleeping. It’s a situation you’ve had before, so you go with your backup combination.

“Jimin can sleep with me and Mo-eum,” you state. “Kook, you and Tae can take the loft bed.”

“Sure, that works,” Jungkook nods. 

He looks around and appreciates the coziness of your lodging for the weekend. It’s definitely fancier than a tent, but it also just houses the basic necessities. There’s a small table right by the door with three stools and a small kitchen counter and refrigerator across from it. The bathroom is surprisingly spacious though, and he can already guess that’s one reason why you chose this property. He forgot to point out earlier that small bathrooms also drive you nuts. 

Next to you, Jimin groans and warns that if you hit him in your sleep again like you’d done before, he’s gonna push you in the river. You can only smile innocently, as not hurting him is a promise you’re unsure you’ll be able to keep.

After that’s settled, you meet up with the rest of your friends outside. The seven of them have split up in two other cabins - Seokjin and Hayoung with the girls in one, and the rest of the boys in another. They’ve also just put away their things and it’s time to get dinner going. 

Everyone gets to their tasks like clockwork - some are organising all the groceries in the cupboards, some are chopping up ingredients, and some are building the fire. You, Namjoon, and Taehyung - the designated cleaners - decide you’ll at least try to be useful and start assembling the camping chairs. 

You surprisingly find it quite therapeutic. Between the scent of rain that just stopped and the sounds of nature, there’s something that feels so healing about doing all this with your friends. 

Sure, it’s smoky. The ground is a tad bit soft from the downpour earlier, too. And the bugs are having a party everywhere, causing you to shriek every time one of them gets near you. 

But there’s chatter and laughter and anticipation. There’s this calmness despite the chaos, and it’s all this that you’ve missed this past year.

Driving out of town to get away during school breaks was a thing you all did during your university days. When the five of you finally graduated and joined the rest of your friends in full-time adulting, the trips became less. Post-work drinks and weekend hangouts were frequent, but it was difficult to align everyone’s schedules for something that was more than a day. 

Taehyung was the one who made sure they still happened somehow, even if it was every couple of months. It’s the first time you’re all complete after a year and a half, and the last trip you had was before he flew out. 

Having this again after so long feels like a weight has been lifted off your shoulders. It’s as if you don’t feel like you have to carry all your burdens on your own. And seeing your friends’ smiling faces despite their respective high-stress jobs, you know they feel the same way, too.

Your sentimental thoughts are disturbed by Jimin yelling for someone to get something before he disappears into your cabin. You still follow him inside to find out what he needs, learning then that he’s back in the bathroom for the second time since you arrived. 

“What does he want?” You ask Jungkook, who stands by the tiny kitchen.

“I asked Jimin to get me gochujang from the guys but he, well… he’s got some business to do,” he laughs. “Can you get it for me, please?”

You nod in response then tease your best friend about not clogging the toilet before you get the condiment from the resident cooks outside. You return to the cabin and watch Jungkook skillfully mix a bunch of things in a pot.

“What’s that for?” You ask next to him. 

“We’ll fry chicken later for dinner number two and this is the sauce,” he answers.

“Oh,” you nod. “It smells good. And spicy.”

He sees your slightly nervous face then reassures you that he’ll set aside some for you and Taehyung before adding more chili, knowing your low tolerance for heat. You smile in response, and wanting to know if it’s manageable for you, Jungkook scoops some for you to try.

You take the teaspoon he hands out and taste it. You let it linger before deciding it’s something you can definitely eat. 

“Does it need anything else?” He asks.

“Uh,” you trail, your eyes darting from him to the sauce, clearly clueless if there’s more he needs to add, but you act like you’re trying to figure it out.

He tastes it himself.

“Sugar,” he states, then looks at you with a slight smirk. “That’s what you were gonna say, right?”

“Totally,” you lie, but he sees right through you and laughs. 

It’s a Jungkook thing, you think - to tease and be a bit cheeky but never overdoing it. 

He sets aside a mound of sauce in a bowl before adding more chili powder in the pot that the rest of them will have. He chills them all then says he’ll help prep the rest of the chicken outside and you follow him out. It’s the same time that Jimin opens the door and you fake gag to his face before asking him if he’s okay.

“My tummy’s been a bit weird since this morning,” he groans. 

“Take something before it gets worse,” you advise. “Ask Mo-eum. Surely the paramedic would know what to give you, right?”

He nods, and you already feel bad for him with this rough start to the weekend. But you stay with Jimin the whole night. He hates having to skip on the pajeon and chicken because they’re too oily, but you give him half your share of the kimchi stew to make up for it. You also know it’s his favorite. 

You serve him water whenever he runs out, and even if he was told to pass up on alcohol tonight, you let him take sips of your beer just so he doesn’t completely miss out. You wrap a blanket around him so he doesn’t get too cold, and he sweetly smiles at you and comments how nice you are to him.

“It’s my apology in advance in case I unconsciously hurt you later,” you sweetly smile back. 

Everyone laughs, knowing that’s not far from happening. 

The night goes on with the bright stars in the sky and the crackling of the fire pit while you all take turns washing up. 

It’s close to midnight when you’ve finally settled in bed, with Jimin laying in between you and Mo-eum. You lost rock-paper-scissors so you’re on the outer side of the bed, even if you argue that you’re more likely to fall off it because you definitely cannot stay in one position when you sleep. 

But you’re required to honor the results of the game so you stay on your side, your left arm and leg wrapped around Jimin’s side. Despite the possibility of you pulling him along if you do fall, your best friend lets you; he knows you can’t sleep without hugging something.  

Mo-eum lays fetus-curled on Jimin’s right, and both of you have your eyes on his screen as he goes through TikToks that have you three in controlled giggles. You shush them when Jimin snorts, as he sends one of the videos to your group chat. Just then, you hear Jungkook control his laughter from the loft bed, too, prompting you all to laugh even harder. 

“Go to bed, you weirdos,” he groans, trying his best to just get to sleep. 

“You’re just jealous you’re missing out on the fun down here,” you tease, turning around to stick your tongue at him.

He shakes his head at you. 

“Yup, talk about fun when you can’t get your ass off the bed in a few hours,” he counters, making a face before lying back down. 

Jungkook starts to do breathing exercises, following the rhythm of Taehyung’s soft snores next to him. It works, as the next thing Jungkook remembers is waking up to his alarm at 5 in the morning. 

He nudges the man next to him then heads down the ladder to wash up before your morning activity. 

He’s caught in surprise when he finds Jimin sitting on the stool, holding a bottle of Soju on his nose.

“What the heck happened to you?” Jungkook asks.

Jimin groans and turns towards the bed with angry eyes. 

“She did.”

Jungkook chuckles because much as he expected this, it’s still funny when it happens.

“Was it her fist or her elbow?”

“Her elbow,” Jimin sighs. “That woman doesn’t even exercise. I don’t know where her strength comes from! Ugh, I should’ve made her sleep in the loft with you instead.”

“And be the one to get smacked on the face? No, thanks.”

“Your nose can handle it,” Jimin teases.

The younger man bends his arm to fake slap his friend who’s nursing a possibly bruised nose. But that’s one of the things Jungkook is thankful for - not being your go-to bed mate, which saves him from any possible injury to his face or any other part of his body. You’ve claimed many of your friends already, and he still doesn’t know how you’re able to do all that in your sleep.

Seokjin and Hoseok enter your cabin to yell that there’s 10 minutes left until you all have to leave for the hike to the nearby mountain in time for the sunrise. You’re the last one off the bed because you were in such deep sleep that it feels like you’re still dreaming. 

You’re oblivious to the damage you caused, as you half-mindedly do your morning routine and dress up appropriately for this chilly morning. It’s when you notice Jimin’s slightly red nose and his angry eyes that you realise you might’ve unknowingly done something last night, and his growl when you ask him if he’s okay is your confirmation of that fact. 

You try to make it up to him with hugs and a reminder that you’d taken care of him last night but he’s still sore and you’re still sorry. 

He dramatically narrates what happened on your way to the mountain, and while most of your friends are laughing because it’s just an insane yet predictable thing to happen, you actually feel bad for him. 

Jimin pretends to not care about you during the hike. He stays ahead of the pack instead of walking side-by-side with you because he knows that things like this bore you and you need him to feel entertained. 

But not today, as you see him laughing about with Gyu-rim and Suhyeon while you’re stuck at the back of the pack with Yoongi who’s still half asleep and Mo-eum who’s so lost in her surroundings that she barely notices you, even when you trip on stones or shriek because of the bugs. 

You groan to yourself. 

You love sunrises and pretty skies. You’re just not particularly fond of the early wake up call and long walks you have to make to see them at their best. 

Plus, you’re sweating. And because of the energy you’re exerting, you’re starting to feel hot, too. You take a deep breath and try to rein in all your negative aura so you could release them because being annoyed  is not how you want to spend this beautiful morning. 

You exhale all that and it comes out as another groan.

“I didn’t know you hated hiking that bad,” a teasing voice calls you out. “You could just stay here and wait for us to come back down. That’s an option.”

“Hey, that’s mean,” you pout and try to give your best puppy eyes to the man who’s now leveled himself with you.

“Of course I’m kidding,” Jungkook shakes his head. 

He pulls your wrist to continue on the walk, and that’s when you realise that everyone else has gone ahead. And just as your eyes widen in shock that they had indeed left you behind, Jungkook gets to it first and explains that the back group was waiting for you but he insisted that they go ahead so as not to miss the sunrise in case you opt to not continue. 

“No one leaves anyone behind, you know that,” he says. “And for the record, Jimin was the one asking if you were okay and then ordered me to check on you and make sure you get to the top on time. So yes, he’s worried even if he’s still upset that you elbowed his nose. Especially since Joon accidentally hit it with his backpack.”

You stop yourself from laughing because Jimin just really can’t catch a break, but you also truly feel bad for him that he has to suffer in more ways than he deserves. 

“Fine. Drag me up this mountain, then. My legs will give up soon,” you grunt.

“Stay upright for me, yeah? I don’t really plan on carrying your ass all the way up there,” he chuckles.

You make a face and he just laughs again, then proceeds to take the bag off your back and swings it over his shoulder. 

You make it to the top in time, just before the sun begins its slow ascent up the sky. It’s much cooler at the peak and the thick fog covers the quaint town below. It’s much more peaceful here, too, and you embrace the tranquility alongside your friends, as the view has left everyone speechless. You snap some photos - enough to remind you of the moment - and then settle on a rock to watch the sky change its colors. 

“So pretty, isn’t it?” Hayoung sighs in awe as she sits next to you. “Just like the ones our grandparents would drive us to see.”

“I’m sure they’re enjoying this from up there,” you smile in response, recalling your summers in their home with the rest of your cousins, when life was simpler and you didn’t have responsibilities that weighed you down.

Once the sun has found its place above the clouds, you all gather on a flat area of the mountain and get your portions of the rice cake soup that Seokjin and Yoongi prepared this morning. Coffee is passed around and Jimin is the one who hands you your cup. He sits next to you and shows you your work of art on his face, and you both decide that having Mo-eum’s curled body in between is the best option on your last night. She fortunately agrees. 

It’s close to 8AM when you get back to the cabins, as all of you took much longer on the hike down. It’s an hour of hanging outside and by the river before you’re all driving out into town for some lunch. The nearby market had you buying fruits and clams for tonight’s dinner while your ATV ride in the afternoon had you squealing in both excitement and fear.

It was your first time driving on your own, and after Jungkook had taught you which buttons to press, he drove away at maximum speed. Much as you nag him for his risky tendencies when it comes to things like this, you’ll admit it was refreshing hearing him scream in exhilaration. 

All your friends like to have fun and that includes you. It’s why you go on trips like this - to try new things and get your heart racing, maybe live on the edge a little and sustain that passion for life that you all promised each other you’d find and live out outside of your respective careers that you put your whole selves into. 

Adulting, you’ve learned, is about maintaining that part of yourself that still finds joy in changing seasons and pink-colored skies. It’s about carrying out your responsibilities while parking them on the side for a weekend over good food and bottles of beer. It’s about planning for the next 10 years while living in the moment. It’s not easy, but perhaps you’re able to do it because you all have each other.

And so watching Namjoon’s tense face relax in enjoyment, seeing a timid Suhyeon let go a little, and hearing Seokjin and Hayoung giggle in their shared ride are things that give you energy, because you know they’re enjoying this moment right here with you. 

You finish right before sunset and return to your accommodation exhausted yet still somehow refreshed. There’s less to do now, as much of your dinner is grilled meat and seafood, so Jungkook suggests watching Halloween on the outdoor projector. It’s one of the features of the property that you were excited about, but you didn’t really consider a slasher movie for your last night in the forest.

No one else seems to do so aside from Jungkook, who insists that it’s all part of the fun. While a part of you thinks this is a stupid idea, you also don’t know what else could be more perfect than a thriller film in this environment. So you support him and it’s not long after when you find yourselves in front of the screen, with plates of meat and clams, bowls of rice, and cups of ramyeon around you.

There were definitely jump scares and men and women alike shrieking, either because of the movie or some sound from the woods. Seokjin dropped his can of beer more than once, and Hoseok gave up midway and hid behind Namjoon for the rest of the movie. You were seated next to Jimin on the outdoor couch and yelled in his ear several times that he banned you from being close to him for the rest of the night. 

It’s how you found yourself next to Jungkook on the picnic bench where he was so unbothered while you cussed out every time you were surprised, either because of the movie or because of him. Which was many times. 

Your heart is pumping by the end of it but you admit it was still fun. It’s the kind of stress you don’t mind feeling every once in a while. 

It seems that everyone else felt the same, as the reactions and string of curses somehow made up for the unexpected horror of the night. Naturally, you all gather towards the fire pit. 

The air is chilly and despite the tension from earlier, everyone seems relaxed and at peace. Conversations go from Seokjin and Hayoung’s wedding plans, to Taehyung’s audition clip that he sent for a Broadway production in New York, to Jimin’s recent blind date. The latter topic leads to Gyu-rim stating how hard it is to date in her thirties, an exchange she was having just a day ago.

“You literally just turned 30,” Yoongi nudges her knee. “You have a decade to go before you can be sure it’s really that difficult.”

“Well, I don’t have that many options to start with,” she counters. “You’re my only friends. People at work are shit. And my mom’s friends’ sons are either too young or too old.”

“Don’t you have that cute neighbor?” Mo-eum asks. “Or what about the owner of your favorite cafe? Doesn’t he leave little smiley faces on your cup every morning? Or the guy from the gym!”

“Well, the cute neighbor orders so much beer and chicken, it might be an obsession. And the cafe owner might just be flirting with all his female customers with doodles, who knows? And gym dude with nice hair talks to his mom all the time. That’s not exactly a green flag.”

“Now you’re just projecting,” Namjoon states. “You’re calling out red or yellow flags that might not actually mean anything, and you’re only doing that because–”

“I dated someone with a weird food habit, liked someone who turned out to be a serial cheater, and got dumped because this guy’s mom told him to,” Gyu-rim finishes. “In short, you never really know something’s wrong until it goes wrong, and when it does, it sucks like hell.”

“That’s why you get to know someone,” Yoongi says. “You date and then learn things about them and then break up if you don’t like what you see. You know they’re the one when you like them despite it all.”

“It’s just too much effort,” your older friend sighs. “And yes, I know that’s what relationships are supposed to be about but like, I want to work on communication and learning how to understand someone… not accepting some ick or skeletons in the closet type of shit. Those are things I want to know before I decide I’d like to date them.”

“Well, I guess it’s hard when there’s no one to vouch for them,” Suhyeon chimes in. “I mean, we knew Seokjin’s a good guy because we’ve known him for years. It wasn’t hard for either him nor Hayoung to make that decision about dating. Maybe that’s what makes it hard at this age and our prospects are people we barely know anything about. You’re kinda going into it blindly.”

Her words feel like a slap on the face to you, something Suhyeon is totally unaware of because these are the questions you’ve been having about your own past relationships that just live in your mind. 

Your exes have been people you dated shortly after meeting them. The attraction was immediate and when two people gravitate towards each other that intensely so soon, it usually means something really special. Somehow you thought that feelings that strong and that certain meant you could overlook the flaws and imperfections of the other person. 

Both times you were wrong. And while you’re glad you got out before you got in too deep, both times you still wondered if it would’ve worked out if you just held on a little longer, or if it would’ve even started had you known fully what you were getting into. 

But the unknown excites you, at least when it comes to relationships. It’s kind of like research - you learn a bit about the person, make a hypothesis, then test it. You could be totally off mark or very close to it. Still, the process is always different. It keeps you on your toes because you don’t know what to expect even if, ironically, you already had an idea of what you wanted out of it in the beginning.

Perhaps that was your undoing - focusing on the high, anticipating the excitement of being right, then copping out when it wasn’t what you expected.

It’s not something you’ll say out loud though, at least not right now. 

So you stay comfortable in your seat with a jacket over your tired body. You listen to your elders with two years more experience hash out what went wrong in their past relationships, and if they think they’ll end up settling for someone they know or are comfortable with, just for the sake of having a companion in this life. 

It gives Jimin the opportunity to pitch to Yoongi and Gyu-rim this “40 and still single” pact, where they should just date if they don’t have anyone by that age, but both of them just look at him incredulously and shake their heads.

For some reason, your best friend is an advocate of friends-to-lovers type of stories even if he goes on blind dates all the time. He’s said he believes in it for other people but not really for himself. You share a mind like that - intense feelings from the onset are genuine and unmistakable. Sometimes you meet someone and immediately just know. You may have been wrong both times but it doesn’t mean you’ll always be wrong. 

Who knows? Your future husband might be on a camping trip in some lakeside area not far from here, and you meet him in a chance encounter and things pick up from there. Suddenly the thought excites you again, but it’s something you keep to yourself. 

You all make a toast to your existent and non-existing love lives. It’s enough to keep the energy hopeful until you all decide to retire for the night.

You lay in bed with thoughts suspended in your mind, just like the stars spread across the sky. Your eyes wander to their twinkling lights as you stare out the skylight.

That is, until you hear a voice whispering your name. You look upward, towards the left, and there’s Jungkook and his head peeking from the loft bed’s railing.

“Can’t sleep?” He asks.

You shake your head in response. 

“Got any tips?” You ask, the tiredness hitting you once again.

“Tense your muscles and then relax them slowly. Do your 4-7-8,” he instructs. “Works like magic.”

“You’re just tricking me into making weird faces,” you frown. 

“You do that even without me saying it, ___,” he chuckles. “Just try. You’re thinking too hard, I can almost see the thought bubbles appearing over your head.”

You roll your eyes this time but you follow his advice. You feel your muscles loosen and that does something to your brain, as if it, too, is relaxing on its own. And it works. 

The next thing you know, your eyes are opening to the sun’s bright light, and there’s those same doe-eyes from last night, somehow content because maybe even he can see it - you had a really good sleep.

You wait for your mind to fully wake up while you curl under the covers. Mo-eum’s in the same position as she was last night and Jimin seems to be peaceful and unhurt. That appeases you at least. Up in the loft, you can see Taehyung already taking up the empty space next to him.

The bathroom door opens and Jungkook exits with his hair sprout bouncing as he walks, prompting you to giggle.

“What’s funny?” He asks with furrowed brows.

“You look like a baby with your hair,” you say.

“It won’t go down,” he groans, attempting once more to flatten the top of his head. 

“Just tie the whole thing then. At least it’ll be intentional.”

“Yeah, so you can make fun of me some more?” 

“Maybe,” you playfully shrug.

He walks towards you and flicks your forehead, and you try to kick him without disturbing the two people still asleep next to you. But Jungkook, like the athlete that he is, manages to grab your foot wrapped in your blanket before it hits him, and now you’re his hostage.

You glare at him - half pleading and half threatening - but he just makes a face at you. His grip on your heel is a little hard but it seems like it’s what you need, as the hike from yesterday morning has your leg and feet feeling a little sore.

“Hmm, Kook. Massage it please,” you moan, pushing your limb towards him.

“Only if you massage mine.”

“But I don’t wanna touch your toe socks,” you whine.

“Hey. Don’t be mean to them,” he frowns, eventually giving in as he starts massaging your calf.

“It’s just funny. That’s what my nephew wears. And he’s four,” you giggle. 

“Toe socks know no age, you brat,” he says. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

Your chuckle turns to another groan at the expert way he kneads your muscles. You could easily fall asleep with this, but just when you think you’re about to, Jungkook pinches your leg and you cover your mouth before you yell out your expletives. 

He giggles in that child-like way he does when he teases, and all you could do is glare at him. But he makes it up to you with another minute of massaging, and you softly smile at him in thanks. 

“So, no incidents last night?” He asks, gesturing towards your bedmates. 

“None, although I think Jimin went to the bathroom again in the middle of the night,” you respond, raising your arm for Jungkook to pull so you could get the energy to get out of bed. 

“Poor guy,” he shakes his head. “Goes on a trip only to get hit in the nose and get a stomach bug.”’

You shake your head at the absurdity of things but then again, if there’s anyone who’d roll with the punches and even laugh at his own misery, it’s Jimin. That’s always been the kind of optimism and easygoing energy you need in your life.

You and Jungkook head outside to make coffee. You’re one of the first ones awake even if you were both probably the last ones to fall asleep last night. It’s your last day here and you want to savor as much of the air and the tranquility as much as possible. 

You sit next to him on the picnic bench and watch him pour hot water over the filter for the drip coffee, alternating between your cup and his. The scent is relaxing, so is the cool breeze. You shift your body to be parallel to the seat, and with your head on his shoulder, you stretch your legs and arms out to try to get a bit of sun.

“Wow, you got yourself a coffee maker and a makeshift lounge chair,” he huffs. “Let’s not forget a driver.”

“I’m photosynthesizing. You always tell me to get my vitamin D,” you explain. “And also, I’ll make it up to you. I’ll treat you to a really nice meal, I promise.”

“Why, what else do you need?”

“A ride to this event I need to attend in Cheonan. On Saturday. Please?”

You turn to him with your best attempt at puppy eyes.

“My car won’t be ready for another two weeks and I don’t wanna stress over how to get there since, uh, since I’m a panelist for a session. And it’s my first time to speak to a large audience about my research and I’m starting to freak about it and–”

“What! ___, of course I’ll drive you! That’s huge!” Jungkook exclaims. 

You don’t miss his proud smile and the excitement in his eyes, and it somehow makes it all so real.

“Why aren’t we celebrating that this weekend, then?” He asks. “I wouldn’t have risked you getting attacked by bugs during the hike had I known.”

“Because I’m so nervous and talking about it makes me even more nervous,” you explained. “Mo-eum convinced me to not think about it this weekend because I’ve been stressing about it like crazy so I’ve just been trying to keep my mind off it to calm myself down.”

“And is it working?”

“Surprisingly, it has,” you nod. “I’ve had my talking points ready for a month now. I’ve been practicing for weeks. I had to be intentional in really switching off this weekend and it’s helped. It only entered my mind because the warehouse messaged me earlier about my car needing another few days in there so I’ve just been thinking about how to get to the venue after my field work in the morning.”

“Sure. I was just gonna stay at home and play games but a drive south isn’t bad,” he says. “I can stay around and drive you back home, too.”

“Are you sure?” You ask, relieved at not having to worry about your commute at night. 

“Yeah. I mean, you did mention a really nice meal, so…”

“I did,” you laugh. “My session’s in the afternoon and I won’t stay long after. We can grab dinner on the way back.”

“Sounds good to me.”

“Thanks, Kook. I would’ve asked Jimin but he’s got an important shoot and Mo-eum’s on duty,” you reason. 

“Being a third option isn’t bad,” he chuckles. “So if you’ve been successful in keeping your mind off it, does it mean that’s not why you were so quiet last night? You barely spoke after the movie.”

“You mean when we were talking about failed relationships and possibly being single for the rest of our lives?” You laugh dryly.

“Well, it’s what twenty and thirty-somethings worry about. You were rambling about that in the car the other night,” he reminds you. 

“True. Let’s just say when I’m around more experienced and mature people, I prefer to just listen and reflect,” you say. 

“And what did you reflect on?”

“Just things I’ve already thought of before,” you shrug, somewhat ready to verbalize them now. “I get intense and excited when I have a new relationship and I overthink but at the same time, I don’t think at all. It’s nice and fun then I see something I don’t like then I just… get out of it. I think what got to me was what Suhyeon said about going into it blindly,” you continue. 

“Like, we enter a relationship with someone we’re interested in because we want to get to know them but we don’t know if we’ll actually like the person we’ll get to know. Kind of tricky, right? I mean, do we date to get to know them, or do we date them because we already know them?”

“Does it even matter?” Jungkook asks. “We have to make the decision to stay if we want it enough either way.”

“Even if we don’t like certain things about them?”

“Depends on what you can tolerate. Or what you think you deserve,” he replies, his tone a little weary at the memories rushing in. “We don’t really know anyone well enough. A friend or a colleague or whatever becomes a different version of themselves when they become your lover and you have to deal with that, and then stick around or walk away.”

Jungkook’s face falls and you apologize for bringing it up, knowing it’s quite a touchy subject. 

“We’ve talked about this before. It’s nothing new,” he assures you. “You don’t have to feel sorry. Joo-yun went from pursuing me one day to deciding she didn’t want me in her life the next, and then imposing some shitty deadline. And Si-an, well, you know how that went.”

You and Jungkook don’t have deep conversations that often. You tend to reserve your deepest thoughts and feelings for your best friends and he was never really the type to talk about his. He was with Joo-yun for the most part of university so you spent more time with the other guys. She was also the jealous type so you always found yourself being cautious around Jungkook when she was there. 

But you remember when he opened up about the breakup, on the night of your graduation. You all slept over at the Kims’ residence and you, Jungkook, and Jimin stayed up until dawn, just talking about your shared pain over soju and beer. 

Joo-yun wanted to go abroad and didn’t want to have a long distance relationship, so she told Jungkook they could only see each other until they graduated, which was three months away. He broke it off right then. It was in the same month when you broke it off with Jeong-su after your nth fight over your busy schedule. 

Three years after that, you were saying goodbye to your shared apartment with Mo-eum and starting a new role at the research firm. Everyone was at your place to celebrate. It was when you casually said that you’d broken up with Seungho - the guy who worked at your building and that you pined for two weeks before you asked him out. It was also when Jungkook had drunkenly shared that he broke up with Si-an the night before because he caught her cheating on him. You let him stay over then drove him to his place the next morning. He never really talked about her after that.

Your mind drifts to those years. They feel so far away even if some of the thoughts and feelings from that time still linger. Breakups are never easy but somehow you always manage to get over them quite easily. You suppose it’s the insecurity and self-doubt that follows that you couldn’t really move on from. 

“So on both times, did you break up with them because you knew what you deserved?” You ask Jungkook.

“Thinking back, I tolerated them longer than I should have,” he hums. “Joo-yun was a bit controlling at times and I always just justified her tendencies in my head. I think she wanted me to beg her not to leave or to take me with her but I didn’t. And that hurt her pride so she lashed out then I broke it off.”

“I always felt like she dimmed your shine,” you sigh. “You’d turn quiet and not be your bratty, fearless, dumb self. It was kinda sad.”

They’re terms of endearment you always use with the younger guys. Jungkook knows this, and he agrees. He also agrees with your observation because it was true. He couldn’t joke around or have fun around his friends when she was there. She dimmed his light like you said. No one ever really put it into words like that.

“And Si-an was just foolish,” you add. “I have so many other mean words for her so I’ll just shut up.”

So does he so he laughs in response.

“For the record, Jeong-su was too up in his ass and too lazy to make time for you, and Seungho rubbed me the wrong way,” Jungkook says now. “Not acknowledging waitstaff is a red flag to me.”

“I agree,” you smile, knowing that unlike Jimin and Taehyung who always had a field day shitting on your exes - and for good reason - Jungkook isn’t the type to say things like that unless he feels it intensely. 

There’s a brief moment of both of you drifting away while sipping your coffee until the cabin door opens. Your three roommates exit and start bringing out fruits and cold cuts for snacks before your morning trip to the lake. Soon enough, the others gather around your table, too, and the somber mood from earlier immediately switches to something more lively and positive.

And you’re glad it does. You’re not used to seeing Jungkook dispirited or looking dejected over a memory and you try to erase that from your mind by taking a good look at him this time. 

Donned in his black sweatpants, oversized shirt, and a bucket hat, sometimes you forget he’s a 28-year old man who does teaching for a living, only because anyone could easily mistake him for being one of the students. But that’s his charm, you learned over the years. 

There’s something so relatable and wholesome about him. It’s in how he pokes your puffed cheeks full of watermelons and in how he chases a frog that’s hopping towards the other side. 

Yet he’s also dependable and possesses this certain level of maturity. It’s in the way he prepared coffee then unfolded the camping chairs for the rest of your friends earlier. He’s pure-hearted even if he’s cheeky and playful, as he now asks you to collect stones with him so you could both make a tower and make a wish for your peace of mind and his students’ win and for the toxins to be removed from Jimin’s body so he could eat properly today. 

You let that image of Jungkook linger because seeing your friends happy makes you happy, too. It’s what this trip is about, anyway, regardless of the thoughts that plague your mind.

You take the mid-morning drive to a lake to kayak. It’s the perfect day for it, as the skies are in a stunning shade of blue and the clouds look overwhelmingly soft and pure. 

Hoseok and Yoongi, who aren’t fond of the water, sit out. The rest of you play rock-paper-scissors on who gets to ride solo and in pairs.

To Jungkook’s dismay, he ends up getting paired with you.

“We literally had a heartwarming conversation earlier and now you’re acting like your life is cursed because you’re riding a kayak with me,” you scowl at him. 

“___, I might as well be rowing alone because you suck at it. And now I have to do it with more weight,” he complains.

“Yah!” You smack his arm. “I’m not that bad.”

“You barely made it past the dock the last time we did this,” he deadpans.

“And that was five years ago. People can always improve, you know?”

He deep sighs and frowns at you to the entertainment of your friends, and while you’re a little nervous of what mishap you’ll cause again, you also can’t wait to get in the water and maybe prove to him that you’re not that clueless about things like this.

Except you might actually just be, because not long after you get on the kayak and start paddling, it slowly tips over until it capsizes. 

You panic for a moment but manage to get your head out of the water where you’re met with a frustrated Jungkook and a yell of your name. You’d say sorry if you could but you’re halfway through an apologetic smile and a restrained chuckle over how he looks but the latter wins. And you laugh.

“___, Kook!” Jimin, who was just about to get on his kayak, yells out from the dock. “What happened! Are you both okay?”

You turn around where the staff are telling you to swim back and the captain is requesting another boat.

You look back at Jungkook again with his damp hair and his baby boy pout and you try to hold your laughter in again but you just can’t. He looks so upset that it’s actually adorable. It helps keep your mind off the fact that you’re soaking wet and it feels incredibly uncomfortable. 

But he finally cracks a smile and he playfully shakes his head before splashing water on your face with his hand.

“Why are you like this, ___?” He groans, but you can tell he’s not upset anymore, even with the way he pulls you by your life vest as you both swim back to dry land.

“I don’t even know what happened,” you exclaim. “Everything was so fast!”

“Your center of gravity was off,” Yoongi explains, as he stands on the edge, helping you up. “And you paddled right away before being stable and then… yeah. Hoseok caught it on video.”

“What!” You shriek, walking to your older friend, with Jungkook following. 

Hoseok shows you the clip and even the man behind you can’t stop laughing. One second you were both there and the next, you just disappeared. 

Jungkook feels uncomfortable in places but there’s not much he can do now. He just really wants to get back in the water and paddle out there. 

You first insist that you’ll just stay behind. When Jimin encourages you to still go because you’ve been excited about this, you then say you’ll just do the individual one so Jungkook can, too, and he can catch up with the rest of your friends who, from a distance, are still laughing.

But like the good friend that he is, he says it’s fine, and that going together means you’ll both actually get somewhere. You just have to let him take control and do what he says. And sit properly. 

So you follow his and the instructor’s orders. You keep yourself seated at the center and align your arms, making sure you have a good grip on the paddle and are following Jungkook’s counts. You know you’re not doing as well as he is but he still tells you that you’re doing fine. He’s good at instructing so you find a good rhythm, and soon enough, you catch up with your friends who tease you endlessly. 

“It was still funny even from here,” Seokjin teases. “But are you okay? We know how much you hate being soaked in your clothes.”

“I’m dying inside,” you admit. “But yeah, I’m okay. I think Jungkook’s halfway there.”

“I’m good,” he assures you. “At least we get to see the view from here.”

He points towards his right where the scenery of the sun atop the mountains and against the clear skies is so beautiful. You’re definitely a long way from dry land but you feel so stable. It was definitely worth getting back on the kayak despite fearing another tragedy. Jungkook made sure you were okay and that you got to enjoy this, too. 

Jimin takes pictures and you all explore some more. Once you’ve seen enough, you paddle back and your friends watch the video and chuckle in amusement. It’s another one of those that’ll come up in your group chat’s memory and you’ve already accepted that it’ll be a story they’ll share and bring up. 

“You two get washed and dry up, okay?” Hayoung says. “They have a shower room here and I’ve got towels in the trunk. You can just buy some clothes at the shop right there.”

You follow your cousin’s advice and find the locker rooms. Mo-eum hands you a pair of shorts and a shirt she got from the store then heads out with you where Jimin offers you a cup of fresh juice. Standing by the car is Jungkook with a pair of shorts and the same crab shirt you’re wearing. 

“Why’d they have to get us matching clothes?” He laughs as he enters the driver’s seat. 

“They probably think it’s cute,” you shrug, taking your seat in the passenger side. “Or it could be a peace pact, I don’t know. I mean, you were getting angry at me earlier after all.”

“I wasn’t angry,” he rolls his eyes. “It’s like, I expected it but I was still surprised you made us fall over. Like, why does it always happen to you?”

“Well, God is fair. He gave me the brains but said, ‘let's also make her dumb.’”

This causes him to laugh. 

Jungkook isn’t the type to voice things out but he truly finds you endearing. Even when you’re being clumsy, or asking him to do stuff, or making fun of him, or complaining about a hundred things at once, there’s something so genuine about you. You can get a little intense about things you’re passionate about, which he admires, but you’re also able to roll with the punches and find joy in things once you’ve calmed down. 

He pats your head as his form of affection and you smile at him. He finds that endearing, too. 

You all make your way back to the cabin to make some lunch. The resident cooks prepare black bean noodles and marinated ribs while the rest of you start packing up. It’s a breezy afternoon despite the sun, and it’s a perfect last meal in the mountains before you do the last thing on your itinerary. 

It’s a short trip but you feel like you’ve done so much. It used to be like this during your university days when you’d just drive out to somewhere, do various things in town, soak up nature, and eat your hearts out. There have been changes, too, like preparing your own meals, no longer getting passed out drunk, and spending time just talking and reminiscing. Your respective jobs and other responsibilities don’t give you much time or space to enjoy being around people, and you’ve always found peace and comfort in each other. 

It’s not a long drive to the pier where you’ll go on a yacht cruise. It’s a size that comfortably fits all 12 of you, and it’s a perfect last hurrah, as you all lounge by the deck and enjoy the wind and the changing skies. It’s mostly quiet by now, as everyone’s energy has slightly drained, especially with Monday right around the corner.

But it’s still peaceful, as you take in the fresh air and scent of the lake and the seagulls flying about. You let these last few hours be your reprieve, before another week rolls ahead and that panel discussion becomes your reality in a few days. 

You watch until the last of the sun disappears, then it’s back to the car for a trip back home, and a dinner at a restaurant as your pitstop.

With your apartment being a 15-minute drive to Jungkook’s without traffic, he offers to take you home. He carries your bag and walks you to your door like the gentleman that he is and with your droopy eyes, he wishes you goodnight with a pat on your head.

“Get some rest, okay?” He smiles. “I’ll see you on Saturday.”

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[dreamersparacosm]

jeon jungkook - if we were us (part two)

warnings ; none!

prompt ; in which life gives you and Jungkook one more chance to hold on.

note ; nothing like a month long hiatus to really set the mood!! right? hehe. r-right? right.. guys? OK FIRST OFF — apologies for my absence on this fic. i did not forget about her i swear. i just wanted more time to sit with her (and like i am so glad i did. she needed to marinate in my notion templates and google docs even more). writing a fic like this is heavy and heartbreaking, and i think i was struggling a bit on direction. as we all know i'm THEE™️ romcom writer and it sometimes hurts me to write angst if its too psychologically tolling on my oc's but i have found my happy little middle ground and we are sticking to it!! writers block be damned!!! all that to say, next chapter will be jungkook's pov (ooooohhh it's juicy.) but this chapter... well, this chapter is the beginning of their story. sit back, relax, get some ice cream, and don't scream in my inbox please (or you can. i'll allow it just this once)

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[YOUR POV]

There’s a book in a pink box under your bed titled ‘The Dream Book.’

Next to the dust bunnies, next to Namjoon’s old socks that mysteriously keep disappearing under there, next to the candles you keep forgetting to light. 

It’s flimsy now, pages showing their years. Full of magazine cutouts of picturesque kitchens and winding staircases. 

In that book, you knew exactly what you wanted. You had it down to a science; everything from the career to the loving husband to the cat to the house with a picket fence. 

It was always the same house in every sketch, every torn-out photo you’d taped inside. White exterior, blue shutters, close enough to the ocean that you could taste salt in the rain. 

It’s all there, in bad gel pen handwriting and glittery highlighter.

You used to love that book. 

Then you broke up with Jeon Jungkook.

Now, when you turn the pages, when they glare back at you at 3 AM as you turn through them on your bathroom floor with a flashlight on, you hate it. You hate how foolish you were to think that anything in that book could come true.

You hate how naive you were at 18. You hate how in your teenage years, all you knew how to do was dream, because life hadn’t taught you otherwise yet. You hate it all. 

Because here’s the thing about any 18 year old who still knows how to dream: they think the universe owes them something. They still think dreams are plans. 

And if you were still 18, still that girl who believed in pink gel pens and destiny, you probably would have ended up with Jeon Jungkook at 32. 

Jeon Jungkook is nothing like you imagined he would be at this age. You don’t know what you thought he would be like — you never let yourself imagine it. 

So as you look at Jeon Jungkook now, the white house materializes behind your eyelids. Kids’ laughter echoes from a swing in a yard. 

You see what you were supposed to have. 

Brown waves curl on the nape of his neck — shorter than you remembered — along with his big brown eyes with undereye bags threatening to form. A navy-blue sweater adorns his body, broad shoulders filling up every seam. He looks older in the way people do when they've lived a whole life you weren’t a part of.

How is it possible that he looks this beautiful at 8 in the morning? Some cosmic joke, probably.

The Jeon Jungkook you loved in college would rather have died than be awake before 10 AM. His arms would pull you back under the covers of his college apartment that smelled like his detergent and your perfume.

“Ten more minutes, baby,” he’d mumble into your shoulder, voice thick with sleep. “I want ten more with you.”

Then he’d complain that you snored — you did not snore, you barely breathed when you slept next to him — and you would retaliate with a pillow to his face, both of you dissolving into a fit of giggles. 

The memory hits like a slap to the face. Blood whooshes through your ears and the coffee shop begins to sway. 

Don’t think about it. Don’t think about—

It’s too late. You’re 22 again, standing in his apartment in his t-shirt, tears collecting on your shirt like raindrops, begging him to go. Begging him to take the job offer, to chase the dream he’d been talking about since you were freshmen. His dream had stopped being maybes; they were tangible things living in the depths of his email inbox. Yours were still living in a book.

“Go,” you’d said, the word scraping your throat raw. “Just go, Jungkook. Please.”

He’d looked back at you like you were asking him to cut out his own heart. 

His coffee cup trembles in his right hand like he’s remembering the same day. His other hand is jammed deep into his pocket, probably clenched into a fist as he normally did when he was trying to hold himself together. 

You wonder if he remembers the last real morning, when you'd pretended to be asleep as he packed. Wonder if he knows you heard him crying in the bathroom, or that you waited until his taxi pulled away before you let yourself completely break.

Some people say that if you love someone, you let them go. They don't tell you that letting go feels like dying. They don't mention that you'll spend the next decade wondering if loving someone means destroying yourself in the process, or if you destroyed the best thing you ever had by being too afraid to fight for it.

“Jungkook?”

You do your best to hide any state of panic, but you can’t seem to relax your shoulders or soothe your pounding heart as you take in the man in front of you. 

He seems to have the same reaction as you. 

“[Y/N]?”

“It’s good to see you.” The lie flows out of your mouth. You’ve gotten good at saying things that sound right instead of true. ‘When.. when did you get back?”

“Last week.” He shifts his weight onto his other foot, fingers clamping the coffee cup with a death grip. “I just bought a place in Gangnam.”

“Bought?” 

Buying means permanent. Buying means he’s not just visiting. Buying means Jeon Jungkook is staying in the same country as you. Your heart does this awful swooping thing, like it's free-falling and taking the rest of you with it.

“U-uh yeah.” He’s fidgeting now. He runs a hand through his hair, tousles it a little. You notice the tattoos on his knuckles. They don’t look new. “Yeah, I'm moving back to Korea.”

“Oh.” Your brain short-circuits. He'd made it crystal clear — it was America or nothing. Come with me or lose me forever. You'd chosen to let him go, chosen to be the martyr, the one who loved him enough to set him free. 

And he'd let you. He'd taken that plane ticket and your broken heart and built himself a whole new life on the other side of the world. Now he’s buying property in Korea like that was part of the options he presented to you. 

The coffee shop walls swallow you whole, pressing in. Your chest tightens as if a brick just slammed down on it.

You need to ask. Need to understand what could possibly bring him back, if not you.“Why?” 

“Work. I’m here for work.”

It’s always work with him. Success was his security blanket in college, and apparently life moves on but some things don’t. You nod like a bobblehead, like this makes perfect sense. 

It does make sense. You just don’t want it to. 

“That’s good.” Another lie. You’re racking them up this morning. 

“And how are you?” he asks. His body leans into you, shoes pointing in your direction. He looks genuinely interested in what you might have to say. Like he’s been praying those pages in the dream book have manifested to reality. 

“Very good.” You straighten your shoulders, slip into the voice you use with difficult parents during conferences. “I, um, I teach.”

His face softens. “No way. You got a teaching job?” 

He looks proud of you. You remember spending nights recapping your education classes, how you’d light up talking about lesson plans and classroom decorations. How he’d listen, with his chin cupped in his palm, brown eyes twinkling up at you. 

You’re about to drop your coffee cup on the floor and ask Jiwoo to just send you the bill to your home. 

“Yup. Kindergarten.” You force a smile that feels like it might crack your face. “The school’s actually pretty close to here.”

He nods slowly, almost shaking his head as if he can’t believe it. As if he’s trying to envision you in front of that classroom, writing on a chalkboard or handing out addition exercises. “God, that’s… that’s amazing, [Y/N]. Kindergarten. That’s perfect for you.”

He still knows you well enough to see the puzzle pieces where they fit. 

“Yeah, it’s pretty neat. The kids are great.”

You’re doing it again — downplaying, minimizing, making yourself smaller. 

Pretty neat is the understatement of the century. 

Like teaching isn’t the only thing that gets you up in the morning, like you don’t spend your own salary on classroom supplies and stay late to make sure Min-jun’s reading comprehension improves. 

Admitting how much you love it, though, feels too vulnerable, like you’re handing him a piece of your heart when you’ve worked so hard to keep all the pieces to yourself. 

“Do you.. do you wanna sit for a minute?” He asks, eyes gesturing towards the black chairs messily arranged around tables. 

You really shouldn’t. It’s 8:40 and you’re supposed to be at the school at 9. You have 23 tiny five-year-olds depending on you to have your shit together, and sitting in your favorite coffee shop with Jeon Jungkook feels like the opposite of having your shit together. 

But that’s not what your mouth says. Your mouth goes: “absolutely.” 

He leads you to a table by the window, where the rain is still collecting on the sill, droplets catching on the pane vigorously. One of Jin’s paintings hangs nearby. You had sold it to Jiwoo for half the price as a thank you for all that extra sugar she tosses in your coffee. 

Jungkook pulls out your own chair, and then settles himself across. 

“So, what else is new?” 

Where do you even start? The decade of learning how to exist without him? How, for the first year he was gone, you unconsciously saved funny stories to tell him before you remembered he wasn’t there to hear them?

“Not much, really.” Lie number three. Third time’s the charm. You’re starting to believe them.

“Well, where do you live?” His eyes eagerly meet yours as he takes a sip out of his coffee cup.

“Apartment, it’s not far from here. Downtown Seoul.” You fidget with your own cup, wrapping your hands around it for something to do. The cold seeps through the plastic. 

His eyebrows scrunch together. “I thought you hated Seoul? Said it was where dreams go to die.”

You vaguely remember saying that. 22 year old you, slumped over his couch, declaring that Seoul was a soul-sucking corporate wasteland where creativity went to suffocate. You’d been so sure that anywhere but here held the key to happiness. 

But then you got the offer letter for your job a few months later, and you learned pretty quickly happiness isn’t really about geography. 

“Oh, do not be fooled.” You manage out a laugh that’s meant to be genuine. “My dreams die every time I realize I’m here.”

Some days you do feel like you’re sleepwalking through a life that looks nothing like you planned. Though lately, when you're reading Where the Wild Things Are to a circle of wide-eyed kids, or when Soo-jin finally writes her name without help, the life you're living doesn't feel so bad.

“Do you live with a roommate?”

His fingers tighten around his cup. He’s bracing himself for an answer he might not want to hear, you think. 

You realize what he’s really asking. What he can’t bring himself to ask directly. 

Kim Namjoon, your boyfriend. That is who you live with. Ten words that draw a clear line in the sand, that would protect you both. 

Namjoon, who’s steady and smart and doesn’t hop on flights to the United States. 

His name sits lodged in your throat, buried under about a hundred other words you want to say. 

Just say it, you tell yourself. Say Namjoon’s name and end this before it starts. 

“Uh, yeah. Yes. One roommate.”

God, you must be an idiot. A monumental idiot who deduces her relationship to roommate because her ex is sitting across from her. Yes, because Kim Namjoon is just some dude who splits the electric bill with you, not the man whose toothbrush sits next to yours in the bathroom.

He nods, “That’s economical of you.”

Your eyes get a better look at him. For the first time, you take note of the silver chain hiding underneath his sweater. The navy-blue top that mixes so well with his golden skin. Brings out the sparkle in his eye that hasn’t left since you said the word roommate. 

“Us teachers gotta lay low. Underpaid and overworked.” You lean back against your chair, taking a sip out of your straw. The sweetness slides down your throat, melting away those words that had been building up in there. 

“You guys deserve better, I swear. Shaping the minds of the youth and what not.” The earnestness in his tone catches you a little off guard. 

“Kinda.” You shrug. “I’m doing a bug project right now with my kids, so I don’t know if I’m really shaping the youth.”

“Bug project?” His eyebrows lift with curiosity. 

When was the last time someone asked about your actual work instead of just nodding politely when you mentioned teaching?

“Ants, caterpillars, the whole shebang. It’s absolutely fucking disgusting.” The curse slips out before you can stop it, and you feel heat creep up your neck sheepishly. 

His laugh booms throughout the shop. You want to bottle it up and hide it under your bed. “I’ll have to come and see that.” 

Your heart flutters. He wants to see your classroom. He wants to see your kids covered in finger paint and learning about metamorphosis. 

Your brain is screaming Namjoon, Namjoon, Namjoon, red sirens blaring in your frontal lobe. 

Clearing your throat, you deflect. You don’t know what else to do with the way he’s looking at you. His chin has found a home in his palm. “So what about you, Mister Home in Gangnam? Very fancy.”

“What about me?” He tilts his head in your direction. 

You don’t even know what you want to ask. You guess, if you’re being completely honest, you want to know if he has a roommate as well. You want to know if there's someone in that fancy Gangnam home who knows how he takes his coffee, who's learned that he gets grumpy when he's hungry and soft when he's sleepy. 

“Roommates?” you ask, and you can’t keep the hesitation out of your voice. 

“Uh, yeah. You could say that.”

You have no energy to decode what that could possibly mean. Your chest is so full of this feeling you only get when you’re with him, one that hasn’t sprouted in over a decade and is poking through the dirt trepidly. 

You settle on switching gears. 

“How was… New York?"

“It was good. Really different from Korea.” His right fingers trace absentminded patterns on the table. He used to do that when he was thinking, working through problems in his head. “My eomma almost had a heart attack the first time she visited.”

You can picture it vividly — Mrs. Jeon, tiny but fierce, clutching her purse in Times Square. When the image flashes through your mind, something lurches in your chest, because you should have been there for that visit. 

“Different in a good way?” You ask, though you're not sure you want the answer. 

What if he says yes? What if he confirms that leaving was the best thing that ever happened to him?

“Well, 7/11 didn’t have any ramyeon so you tell me.” The corner of his mouth twitches upward. 

“That’s horrible. I’m so sorry.” Pressing a hand over your heart, your jaw falls slack in mock sympathy. 

“And finding samgyeopsal is even worse. I had to travel 30 minutes on the train.” He shakes his head in despair, and you’re both smiling now. 

“Oh god.” Your lips are betraying you before you can tell them to shut up. “Do you remember that time we drove 40 minutes in Busan because that new shop that opened up allegedly had the best samgyeopsal in the town?”

“Yeah and then we got food poisoning? Fucking nightmare.” The memory is so clear you can almost taste the regret and ginger ale, can feel his hand cool against your forehead as you’d curled up on his floor. You two were so young then, back when you thought even food poisoning was an adventure as long as you were suffering through it together.

He’s really laughing now, the sound filling empty spaces in your ribs you’d forgotten were there. Behind him, the line grows longer in the shop, and you glance over at Jiwoo quickly to see that her hair is now in a haphazard bun.

“I hope Gangnam has better samgyeopsal.” You smile at him.

“Hmm. I tested this out already. It’s not bad.” His eyes trail down to his cup shyly. You almost think maybe he came back to Korea looking for tastes that would remind him of home. 

“How is your eomma doing, by the way?”

Mrs. Jeon had always been kind to you. She would press extra banchan into your hands when you visited and ask about your classes. A second mother figure to you. 

“She’s good. I still don’t think she likes New York. Plus my brother’s getting married.” His features light up. “She’s been throwing herself into wedding planning. You would think the wedding was for her.”

“Oh my god??” Your voice raises about ten octaves. “Junghyun is getting married? Don’t tell me it’s to Ri-won.”

Ri-won was Junghyun’s college girlfriend who used to show up to family dinners with homemade desserts and flowers for the entire family, even you. Seamlessly, she had fit into the family like she’d been born into it. 

“It is, actually.” Jungkook grins fondly. “She pretty much tied him to a chair and begged him to marry her.”

“Can’t tell if that’s cute or terrifying.” You laugh as you picture small Ri-won wrestling Junghyun into submission. The image is so ridiculous that the knot in your chest loosens slightly, 

“They’re disgustingly in love, so cute.” He shakes his head, hair falling over his forehead. “Like I’m happy for them, but I don’t need to see hyung feeding her strawberries at the kitchen table.”

The domesticity of the image hits you sideways. Junghyun and Ri-won in their home, probably arguing over wedding venues and seating charts, feeding each other fruit like teenagers desperately in love. 

“What about you? How’s your eomma and sister?” He wonders innocently. 

You don’t have the heart to tell him that your sister picked up the shattered pieces of you he left behind. That she despises him with every fiber of her being despite none of this being his fault. 

“Jia’s good. She’s married now. Eomma’s been pestering her for kids.”

It’s still weird to say out loud. Your older sister, married. When did everyone grow up and start making permanent decisions?

“Think it’ll happen soon?” 

“God, no. You know her. She thinks kids are gross snot bubbles.”

You realize too late what you’ve said. 

You know her. As if he’s still flipping through baby photo albums with your mother on the old couch in your living room.

But he does know her. He probably remembers better than you how Jia used to make elaborate excuses to avoid babysitting the neighbors’ kids, or when she would dramatically gag if someone’s toddler had a runny nose. 

Jia used to babysit for some of Jungkook’s cousins, and his aunt might possibly still laugh reminiscing on the time she almost got forced to change a diaper. 

“Yup, sounds exactly like Jia. Does she still watch those cartoons?” 

Yes, Jia absolutely does that. She has a masters degree and a marriage certificate but manages to text you theories about animated movie plots at 2 AM. 

“Some things never change,” you sigh, lightly chucking under your breath. 

Some things never really do. Mostly because you’re right where he left you, in a coffee shop on a rainy morning. 

“Eomma still own that flower shop?”

Your mother owns this beautiful flower shop at the end of a dead road in Busan. You would spend countless afternoons doing homework in high school behind the counter, where the smell of peonies and roses became synonymous with home. 

“Of course. Business is booming, she says.” You can’t help but smile. “I swear sometimes she tells me that so I don’t worry.”

“She’s smart, though. Best flowers in town.” He tugs the sleeve of his sweater down his left hand. She adored Jungkook — addressed him in family terms — and loved the person who made her daughter the happiest. 

You’ve never been certain she loves Namjoon the same.

“You would know, wouldn’t you?” It's not meant to be a dig. In your chest, your heart speeds up, kicks into overdrive. 

He blinks a few times. He’d spent ample time in that shop, charming your mother into giving him employee discounts and teaching him the difference between plants. 

“Do you know how long it took me to find those flowers for our anniversary? She nearly kicked me out of the shop if I stayed another minute.” He trails off a little at the end of the sentence, like the memory has reached up and choked him. 

21-year-old Jungkook was stressing — he drove your mother crazy as he agonized over flower combinations. He claimed they needed to be ‘perfect like you.’ 

Then he had the nerve to drive over to your dorm at 1 AM with the most elaborate bouquet known to mankind. The security guard barely agreed to let him in when he saw the size of that monstrosity. It was white peonies and pink roses, wrapped in the brown paper your mother never let you play with as a kid. 

“They were perfect, Jungkook.” Absolutely perfect. 

He looks down at his simmered-down coffee, and you catch something that might be regret flickering across his face. 

 “Have you been… writing?” You ask, partly to change the subject, partly because you want to know. 

Jeon Jungkook — for all that he is handsome, put-together, and goofy at times — reminds you of a young Shakespeare. 

In college, he carried notebooks everywhere he went, scribbling down fragments of stories and character sketches like he was collecting pieces of the world to reassemble later. 

“No. I wish I was.” His shoulders sag. In this light, he looks more like the boy who read you his terrible first drafts before going to bed. “Haven’t had much time when I’m stuck in meetings all day.”

He sounds defeated. His eyes would light up when he would talk about the novel he was going to write, when he would map out plots on napkins and refuse to fall asleep anywhere beside his laptop in case inspiration struck. The light has dimmed a tad. 

“You should get back to that.”

“You’d still read my books to your kindergarten kids if I publish?” He anxiously chews at his bottom lip as he looks up at you, expectantly. 

“Even if I hadn’t seen you today, of course.”

And you mean that. Even though the thought of explaining to a bunch of kids why Miss [Y/L/N] is crying over a picture book would be its own special kind of torture. 

“Guess I gotta scrap that murder novel then.” He smiles.

“Probably for the best,” you exhale out a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. “I can barely handle watching them dissect butterflies.”

He hums, then says while looking out the window, “It’s your favorite kind of morning, I see.”

His big eyes snap back to yours. 

It’s cloudy and gray outside as the forecast promised. You usually set alerts on your phone for when it rains. The predictability of all soothes you. And when you know it’s going to rain, when the excitement settles in your bones at the familiarity of it, you let all your troubles wash away too. 

This — this moment with Jungkook you hadn’t predicted — you don’t want to wash it away just yet. Not one bit. 

It feels fragile and impossible, like trying to hold water in your cupped palms. 

“Hm. Definitely.”

The bell above the door jingles, signaling the entrance of more coffee shop-goers. Reality starts to creep in like cold air through a cracked window.

“Drive into the city was ass though.” He hardly cranes his neck to check the door. 

“You’ll manage.” You roll your eyes jokingly. “You survived New York traffic, remember? Seoul’s got nothing on that.” 

But even as you say it, you're already standing, already reaching for your work bag, already nipping this entire thing right in the bud. Staying any longer feels dangerous. 

You’re also not sure what time it is, and you know that if you check the clock, you’ll panic. Principal Park is going to have your head on a stick before recess. 

He stands too, and for a moment, you both just look at each other across the frail table that wobbles. 

“I really should—” you start. 

“Yeah, of course. Your kids,” He steps backwards, hands sliding back into his pocket, coffee cup abandoned. “Don’t want to keep the future leaders of Korea waiting.” 

You realize now you don’t know how to say goodbye to someone who used to know all your secrets. It’s like trying to explain color to someone who’s blind. 

You wonder if you have time to Google ‘how to condense ten years of absence into a goodbye.’

He pauses. Mouth opens and closes like he’s testing words out in his brain to see how they fit. His jaw works silently in concentrated frustration. 

“I don't know if this is stupid, but I'd love to get your—”

“Daddy!”

The American word cuts through the coffee shop, a stark contrast to the native tongue being spoken.

Your blood turns to ice water. A small voice calls out, high and excited and unmistakably directed at the man standing right in front of you. 

The coffee shop, the morning light peeking from the rainclouds, the conversation you’ve been sharing — it all shatters into pieces that don’t fit together anymore. 

Jungkook whips around so fast you think he might get whiplash, and that’s when you see them — two small figures barreling toward him. 

A girl and a boy, about five years of age. Her pigtails bounce as she runs, and the boy is struggling to keep up, clutching a toy dinosaur to his chest. 

They are children. 

His children. 

Air gets stolen from your lungs, leaving you gasping in the wreckage. Your vision tunnels, edges going dark. 

He is a father. Jeon Jungkook — the boy who burned your ramyeon once and couldn’t even keep a goldfish alive — is someone’s daddy. 

The girl crashes into his leg first like a small hurricane, and he catches her instinctively. The boy is cautious, hanging behind his leg, but adoration is written in his face as he looks up at Jungkook. 

“We finished breakfast! Mommy said we could find you!” Her voice is breathless, bouncing on her toes even as Jungkook’s hands reach down and encircle her. 

Mommy.

There’s a mother. There’s a whole family. There’s an entire life Jungkook built while you were doing arts and crafts, teaching kindergartners about clouds, playing tag on the playground. 

His earlier response about his own imaginary roommates crashes back into your consciousness like a freight train. 

“You could say that.”

You’d been so focused on your own deflection, calling Namjoon your roommate, that you’d missed it completely. 

You're a moron. A grade-A, certified, absolutely spectacular moron.

You’re staring. You know you’re staring, but you can’t seem to stop, can’t seem to do anything but watch this unfold. Watch Jungkook transform from the man who was just struggling to ask you for something to someone who belongs to other people, someone who has promises and responsibilities that have nothing to do with you.

Your hands are shaking. You hope it’s not too visible. 

“Did you have a good breakfast, Hari?” Jungkook’s voice is soft as he picks the girl up and perches her on his hip. 

“So yummy, Daddy. I want more later.” Hari looks like pure sunshine. Her pink dress rides up a little, but he adjusts it thoughtfully. She wraps her small arms around his neck, and something cracks open in your chest.

He looks back over at you. There’s… panic floating behind his eyes. He probably realizes how impossible it is to explain why he’s still standing here with you when he has a family waiting for him. 

You just stand there awkwardly, wait for some stupid introduction. Dumb, dumb, dumb, you repeat to yourself. 

“This is Hari… and Jungwon. These are my kids.” He confirms it. 

Jungwon, the boy with the dinosaur, immediately ducks behind his leg. But you’re good with kids — it’s literally your job, the one thing you know how to do even when the world implodes around you. You speak this language. 

You crouch down to Jungwon’s eye level, making yourself smaller. “Hi there,” you start softly. You only use this voice during the first week of school, while everyone’s trying to figure out if you’re safe. “That’s a really cool dinosaur. Is it a t-rex?”

Jungwon peeks out from behind Jungkook’s leg, curiosity winning over shyness. He nods, holding the toy a little tighter. He has soft round cheeks, hair just as dark as his father’s. There’s a dinosaur bandage on his knee.

This little boy is half of the man you once loved, walking around in miniature with sticky fingers and a toy dinosaur.

“I love dinosaurs. My favorite is a pterodactyl.” You keep your voice gentle. 

His eyes light up, stepping out more confidently. "I like them too.”

“He normally doesn’t talk to strangers,” Jungkook rushes to say, and there’s a bit of wonder in his tone as he watches you work your teacher magic. 

“It’s okay, there's no rush.” Years of training kicks in even as your brain struggles to process it all. You're having a professional conversation about child development with your ex-boyfriend while his son — his fucking son — clutches a plastic dinosaur and looks at you with eyes that used to promise you forever.

You stand back up, knees protesting slightly, and turn your attention to Hari. 

“Who’s that, daddy?” she asks. For her young age, you can tell she notices everything. 

And that’s when you finally see it. Wrapped around her little leg is his left hand. The one he’s been keeping jammed in his pocket this whole time.

There’s a thin gold band on his left ring finger. 

The world tilts sideways again, and you have to grip the table to keep from toppling over. 

He’s not just a father, he’s a husband too. 

There is a woman in this world who gets to wake up next to him every morning. 

You ponder if she knows about his tendency to hum off-key in the shower, or his terrible sleeping habits, or that his guilty pleasure book is the Harry Potter series. 

You look over at him, desperate for any guidance. How exactly does one answer an innocent question like that when the truth is too complicated for you to understand? 

Well, sweetheart, Daddy and I used to love each other very much, but then he got on a big plane in the sky that transported him thousands of miles away, and now I play with bugs and he works a big boy job that lets him buy homes in Gangnam. 

“An old friend, baby,” Jungkook relieves you of the answer. You want to both thank him and absolutely lose your mind. 

As if you’re someone he knew in passing, not someone who knows that he twitches in his sleep when he’s having a really vivid dream. 

Hari processes this information, studying your face. Then she suddenly gets bashful, ducks her head into Jungkook’s shoulder, and giggles before going, “You’re really pretty.”

Kids have this way of cutting through adult problems with safety scissors. 

You and Jungkook both laugh. When you catch his eye, he’s looking at you like he agrees with her.

“So are you, Miss Hari.” You grin. 

She really is beautiful. She has a confidence that speaks to how deeply loved she must be. 

You take another long look at his kids. 

They have his big brown eyes, staring back up at you like you hung the moon and stars. 

Sometimes, and you’ll never admit this outloud, when you fight with Namjoon and head to bed angry, you have dreams where your children have the same ones.

masterlist + ask

taglist ; @arcanekookz @writesvani @yooniepot @whoa-jo @nimmmnikk @readingbee44 @jungshaking @starlight-1010 @jadaocon1 @phoenixxxxstarrrr @jkaxl @butterymin @almatiarau @lovingkoalaface @carriereadsbooks @bhonbhon @lola75111 @yoonstaar @namkookie222 @jeonjenny @lachimochala @kissyfacekoo @libra04 @minimoninini @goldenjeonkoo @ot7even @kopiosuam @annpeachy @literallyjimin @prxdajeon @purplelanterns @neg-l3ct @gguk-lvr @misakiminaa @wisebouquetbarbarian @smoljimjim @mar-lo-pap @senaqsstuff @jkkk9197 @nesha227

[cinnaminsvga]

Kilig Preview | Taehyung

kilig (n.): the butterflies you get that are caused by an exciting or romantic experience

→ summary:

Enter Kim Taehyung: Campus heart-throb slash theatre prodigy, always dressed immaculately in his cute little beret. Looking for a script that will “challenge” his abilities.

Enter you: Fumbling (and starving) writer with a romcom manuscript begging to be written, except she’s never had experience with dating. Looking for a (fake) boyfriend to help her get inspired.

{or alternatively: “Hey, are you looking for me? Because I’ve certainly been looking for you.”}

→ genre: theatre club!au, fake dating, fluff, humor, slight angst → warnings: everyone is a little overdramatic (the woes of being a fine arts major i suppose), namjoon and his situationship are mentioned (rip my guy), taehyung can be your angle or yuor devil, oc is a late bloomer when it comes to relationships but dear lord she's TRYING, handholding as a form of CBT, this isn't quite a slow burn but maybe a hasty simmer → words: anticipated 10-15K → a/n: HAPPY BANGTAN REUNION DAY!! so this wip is old as hell (as in bangtan hadn't even started their military service type old) but i got a sudden surge of writing juice because umm MY BABIES ARE BACK TOGETHER!! a momentous occasion must be paired with another equally momentous occasion (i.e., me gaining the energy to write.) the full thing will be posted soon... i hope... BYE!!

part of the “heart full of hugot” series

A week passes by, and you almost forget about your pathetic cry for help. You had tried to continue writing your “romance” story for your creative writing project, but you are halfway through giving up on the genre and reverting to your tried and true method of writing angsty fictional prose instead. That is, until Namjoon frantically runs up to your home in a hurry, banging on your door like that one time when he desperately needed to use your toilet.

You crack your door open to peer up at him suspiciously, his bright and eager smile doing nothing to quell the sudden urge to run and hide under your bed. A smiling and quiet Namjoon is never a good Namjoon; an omen, if anything.

“What do you want?” You growl, eyes narrowed when he ungracefully wedges himself past you and into your cramped dormitory. After you lock your door behind him, you turn to see him standing in the middle of your room with his hand outstretched towards you, offering his phone to you wordlessly.

“You’re weirding me out,” you breathed tiredly, taking his phone and squinting at the screen. It has a blurry picture of the campus board near the mess hall, littered with announcements for university events, tutoring services, and dubious Halloween parties. At the center of the photo is a specific advertisement that looks out of place, but whoever had taken the photo (i.e., Namjoon) clearly didn’t care about photography quality, as the words are hardly decipherable.

“Dude, I can’t read this. It’s an open call for… a script?” You guess, only able to make out the heading of the advertisement. You chuck the phone back at Namjoon, who unsurprisingly isn’t agile enough to catch it.

“Yeah! My boyfriend—” Namjoon stops suddenly, clearing his throat. “Erm, I mean… My friend told me about it. He said he knows a guy who knows a girl who knows a professor who knows a dog—”

“Get on with it already!” You snap, already losing your non-existent patience.

“—well, okay, I was getting there,” Namjoon huffs, squatting down to pick up his fallen phone. He shows you the photo again, as if the worthless smudge of color on his screen would do anything to answer your questions. “My point is that an anonymous theater student just put out an open call for manuscript submissions for any film, TV pilot, or play. Apparently, they want something challenging to help them practice or something.”

“And how does this have something to do with me…?” You scowl, rubbing your temples in annoyance. Namjoon knows you’re already swamped with enough writing projects as it is, so why on earth would you randomly donate one of your drafts to some weirdo theater student?

“Well, you asked to get set up with someone, remember? This is literally the perfect opportunity!” Namjoon claps his hands, his grin oozing with misplaced self-satisfaction. 

…

What the fuck?

When you remain quietly dumbfounded for what feels like ten entire minutes, Namjoon clears his throat to explain. “Oh, c’mon! They asked for some challenging acting practice. Nothing is more mind-numbingly difficult than being your significant other, for sure!”

You feel a blood vessel pop; you hope it’s a vital one. “Once again, I have to ask… How lowly do you think of me?” You growl, your cheeks growing hot from anger, frustration, and murderous intent. 

“Oh, don’t be like that,” Namjoon soothes, patting your head condescendingly before he flops down on your unmade bed. He even has the audacity to start picking at your half-eaten bag of chips, contaminating your sheets with his stray crumbs and the germs from his outside clothes. “Just think about it. It’s a win-win situation, don’t you think? He gets an acting practice partner, and you get a dating practice partner. How can this ever go wrong?”

He says it so matter-of-factly that it almost convinces you to turn off your brain and go along with the idea. If you’re being honest, your desperation for human connection is almost concerning, so you have no idea why you’re acting so opposed to the idea. Maybe you do have some shred of dignity, after all.

“I dunno, Namjoon… Isn’t this kind of incel behavior?” You sigh, dropping your face into your hands in defeat.

Namjoon munches on your chips thoughtfully for a moment. “I mean, yeah, a little bit,” he starts, but he scrambles to clarify his words when your face immediately turns deathly pale. “But! Hey, this anonymous drama kid is probably even worse than you. They’re probably some awkward nerd who plays D&D and MTG on the weekends.”

“Namjoon, we’re both nerds who play D&D and MTG on the weekends,” you mumble, but your rebuttal is ignored in favor of another large mouthful of chips. 

“I’m just saying… It’s worth a shot. At least consider submitting your suggestion? You never know what could happen,” he shrugs. He then crumples the finished bag of junk food into a tight ball, shooting it into your trash can. It misses.

He stands up from your bed in all his lanky glory, dusting off his crumbs onto your carpet before shooting you a lopsided, dimpled grin. “Well, I better be going. I’ll text you the email address for the acting suggestion submission thing. My job here is done.”

You glare at him as he salutes you mockingly, as if he’d just bestowed you with God’s greatest gift (his mind). “What the fuck? Why are you acting as though I’m going to agree to do this?” You call out after him, but your query goes unanswered as he turns to leave and abruptly slams your door in your face. 

As you stew in defiant rage in your crumb-infested dorm room, you swear to delete his text message with the contact details of the anonymous theater kid at your earliest convenience. No way in hell would you give Namjoon the satisfaction of knowing he had “helped” you. You can remain single for the rest of your life, fake boyfriend or not. You would not stoop.

[kingofbodyrolls]

Sprouting Love (m) | knj

*this is a re-upload since I deleted my old account 🫣

As snowflakes dance in the crisp winter air, you and Namjoon find yourselves wrapped in the warmth of each other’s company. The holiday season brings the aroma of freshly baked cookies, the magic of twinkling lights strung through the house, and laughter echoing in your greenhouse where you tend to flourishing plants, lovingly nurtured together. Amid the glow of Christmas cheer and shared moments filled with wonder, perhaps this season will sprinkle a touch of courage and clarity to finally define the blossoming connection between you. Will the magic of Christmas help turn what’s unspoken into something beautifully real?

→ Pairing: namjoon x reader (female) → AUs: non-idol!au, gardening!au, neighbors!au, christmas!au, holiday!au → Trope: (enemies to lovers) / neighbors to lovers / friends with benefits to lovers → Genres: fluff / smut / romcom / comedy (+ a little angst) → Rating: mature/explicit/R18  (this is mature/explicit content, so minors, please do not interact.) → Word count: 13.7k → Warnings + triggers: unprotected sex (please be safe), degrading name calling, hair pulling, sexual tension, oral (male receiving), rough but also tender, a lot of kissing, a lot of tension, dirty talk, stupid innuendos, multiple orgasms, praise kink, begging, exhibitionism (unintentionally), impregnation kink, begging, big dick Joonie 👀 + glasses and turtlenecks.  → Author’s note: ahhhh. I know a lot of you love this couple (and I do too!). So here’s another part to it, that’s almost as long as the whole mini series 😂 I hope you like it and happy holidays! 🎄 → Read on AO3? [link] 

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You make the short walk to Namjoon’s house, each step tingling with the thrill of anticipation that never quite fades, no matter how many times you’ve walked to his house. The winter air whispers secrets against your skin, and when you reach his door, your knuckles barely touch the wood before it swings open as if he had been waiting on the other side, sensing your arrival like some instinctual force. 

“Hi, Joonie—” you start, but your words catch in your throat, swept away by the vision standing before you. Namjoon leans casually in the doorway, barefoot on the cool floor, his loose gray sweatpants slung low on his hips. A black wooly turtleneck, soft and perfectly snug, accentuates his lean big frame, the sleeves gathered around his strong forearms. He shifts slightly, and you spot caramel-brown suede patches on the elbows, details that shouldn’t be alluring but are, somehow, because they are his. 

Dear god, send help, you think, as you try to steady the wild flutter in your chest. How does a man make something so simple look so impossibly captivating? His hair is still that soft silver shade, a gentle stormcloud you’ve come to love, its unruly strands tempting you to reach out and run your fingers through them. Over the past few months, he has become more than just a fleeting presence in your life, even if you both refuse to define what you are to each other. You still remember the moment that changed everything—when you gathered the courage to apologize for your reckless behavior, and he, with the ease of someone who understood you more than he should, forgave you. That night at his housewarming party had led to your lips on his, your inhibitions crumbling, and his laughter echoing in your ears long after you both lost yourselves in each other’s warmth.

Namjoon has always had this uncanny ability to stir chaos within you, then anchor you with just a look or a word. No one has ever made you feel this way—unpredictable yet somehow perfectly at peace, like a storm that finally finds its calm. Yet, despite the countless nights tangled in his sheets and countless moments where his presence felt like home, neither of you has dared to put a name to what you share. It’s undefined, beautifully so, even if it gnaws at the corners of your heart sometimes. But for now, this is enough. It has to be.

His voice pulls you back to the present, warm and teasing, his eyes lighting up with mischief. “Hi, Y/N. Do you need help with something? Or,” he adds, a smirk tugging at his lips, “do you have an itch that needs scratching?” His eyebrows lift, suggestive and playful.

Your cheeks warm at his flirtation, but you recover quickly, slipping into the playful defiance that has always been your defense. “Well,” you say with a smirk and a giggle, leaning in just a touch, “I am ovulating.” The words hang between you, bold and taunting.

Namjoon’s mouth falls open, and he stares at you, wide-eyed, his hand coming up to rub the back of his neck in that adorably nervous way of his. “You know I’m not ready for kids, and we’re not even… together,” he stammers, his voice faltering. His statement is like a tiny fissure in the moment, and it stings, the reminder of what you are—or aren’t—but you cover the hurt with a laugh.

“Relax,” you reply, eyes sparkling with mischief. “You know I’m on birth control, and it was just a joke.” 

You step closer, so close now that his breath mingles with yours, warm and sweet, the space between you charged and electric. “But,” you whisper, your voice low and wicked, “we could roleplay. I know how much the idea of impregnation turns you on, Joonie.” Your smile is devilish, delighting in the way his cheeks flush a deep crimson, the way you’ve come to know his secrets and use them to unravel him.

“It does not,” he protests, crossing his arms with a mock pout, the hint of a stammer betraying his feigned offense. You can’t help but smile at the way his brows knit together, his sulky act so endearing that it almost pulls a real laugh from your lips.

“Relax, that’s not why I dropped by,” you tease, a playful shrug rolling off your shoulders as your hand reaches out to rest against his chest. Beneath your fingers, you feel the familiar contradiction of his body: the softness of his black wooly turtleneck giving way to the solid, unyielding muscle beneath. God, you think, so soft, yet so perfectly taut, those sculpted pecs.

“It isn’t?” he questions, his eyes narrowing with a glint of something unsaid, a spark of curiosity mingled with heat. But this time, you’ve got more to offer than just teasing banter.

“No,” you say with a warm smile, the sexual tension melting away and leaving something more tender in its place. “I actually wanted to see if you’d come over and help me bake cookies for the local orphanage.” Your voice softens, sincerity peeking through, and a touch of vulnerability brightens your eyes.

You watch how his expression shifts, his features melting from playful disbelief into something far more gentle. First, his eyes narrow knowingly, but then his entire face softens, the warmth in his gaze like sunlight breaking through a heavy cloud. “Yeah, sure,” he says, his voice steady, sincere. “I’d love to.”

A rush of relief blooms in your chest, and you exhale with a beaming smile. “Thank you! Usually, Kookie helps me, but he’s busy today,” you add, lips pursing into an exaggerated pout. “It’s kind of a tradition for me to make cookies and bring them to the orphanage every Christmas,” you explain, your smile growing at the thought.

“Nice,” he replies, his eyes lighting up with a touch of amusement as he gestures at the festive Christmas apron tied snugly around your waist. “Are you going to make them now?”

You nod, your breath leaving in a small cloud in the cold air. “Yeah.”

“I can help now,” he offers, and with that, he steps back into his house, slipping on some cozy slippers before joining you. The snow crunches underfoot as you both walk the short, chilly distance to your house, where warmth and holiday spirit await. The driveways have been cleared, the path to your front door inviting, and when Namjoon closes the door behind him, the cold is immediately banished.

Inside, your kitchen looks like a Christmas explosion. Mixing bowls of various sizes clutter the counter, flour dusted liberally across every surface, with rogue sprinkles even trailing onto the floor. Bars of chocolate lie waiting to be chopped, and the oven hums contentedly, filling the space with soothing warmth. The chaos makes it clear: you’ve already begun the festivities.

“Wow,” Namjoon murmurs, eyes wide as he takes in the scene. “I can see why you needed help.” His voice is a mix of awe and playful judgment, and you can’t help but let out a small, sheepish laugh.

You scratch your head, an embarrassed giggle escaping. “Yeah, I always bite off more than I can chew,” you admit, your laughter brightening the room even more. You step toward the counter, already thinking of ways to channel Namjoon’s energy into something useful. “Do you want to chop the chocolate?” you offer.

He freezes, his eyes widening with mock terror, and his deep laugh rumbles through the kitchen. “I better not,” he says, a grin spreading across his face. “You know how clumsy I am.” You think back to his infamous accidents: the greenhouse he demolished, the garden beds he obliterated—all unfortunate mishaps that had somehow led to these shared moments, bringing you closer.

“True,” you chuckle, the memory making you squeeze his bicep as you pass behind him. The muscle beneath your touch is solid, reassuring. “Okay, then,” you say, gently guiding him toward the mixing bowls. “If you mix the batter, I’ll handle the chocolate,” you suggest, and he nods, his laughter still dancing in the air between you.

You find your rhythm with Namjoon: a steady, unspoken dance of movements. He mixes the batter with those powerful biceps of his, muscles flexing beneath his sweater as he works the spoon through the thick dough. You try not to stare, but god, how can you not? The sight is distracting, dangerously so, and you have to remind yourself to keep your focus on chopping chocolate, the sharp knife clinking rhythmically against the cutting board. Your hands work swiftly, but your gaze can’t help but drift, lingering over the way his arms tense and move. Damn, you think, heat blooming in your cheeks. You shouldn’t be ogling him like this… but resisting feels impossible.

The kitchen grows warm and sweet, scented with chocolate and flour, the air heavy with anticipation. Namjoon finishes mixing the dough, and together you shape it into perfect, palm-sized portions, setting them onto baking trays. He’s meticulous, and you can’t help but feel a small swell of pride as you watch him carefully pat each ball of dough into place. You slide the first tray into the oven, only one at a time—your old, temperamental oven too unpredictable for more. Patience will have to pay off if it means the cookies will be perfectly golden.

The two of you stand side by side, the silence suddenly thick, almost suffocating. The tension wraps around you like a taut string, ready to snap at the smallest movement. To break it, you grab a couple of glasses, filling them with cold water, hoping the simple action might soothe whatever current crackles between you. But even as you drink, neither of you speaks, the electricity palpable.

Before you can find something to say, a new presence cuts through the tension as Jungkook stumbles into the kitchen, descending from the staircase with the heavy-lidded look of someone freshly woken. His hair is a tousled, endearing mess, dark strands sticking out at odd angles as he drags a hand through them, yawning wide. “Hey, what are you guys doing?” he mumbles, voice thick with sleep, still rubbing the remnants of his dreams from his eyes.

“Baking cookies,” you reply, smiling at the sight of him, though you can’t help but wonder why he’s only just now waking up when it’s the middle of the day. He looks entirely too soft and adorable, making you feel a small pang of fondness.

Jungkook’s nose twitches, catching the scent of baking chocolate. “Smells good,” he says, eyes lighting up as he takes a few sleepy steps closer to the kitchen counter where you and Namjoon stand—close, but not touching. “Can I have some in my room?” he asks, hopeful, his voice still gravelly with sleep. He looks at you with wide, pleading eyes, a pout forming on his lips.

“No,” you say firmly, fixing him with a stern look. “These are for the orphanage.”

“Just one?” he tries again, his expression a perfect picture of adorable desperation. But you hold your ground, shaking your head.

“No,” you repeat, more resolutely this time. Yet Jungkook, mischievous as ever, slides over to the bowls of dough, his eyes gleaming with determination. He reaches out, fingers poised to swipe a handful of unbaked cookie dough. 

Before he can steal his prize, Namjoon’s reflexes kick in. With a swift, almost effortless movement, he intercepts Jungkook’s hand, swatting it away before it can come anywhere near contaminating your carefully prepared batter. You’re grateful for Namjoon’s intervention, and for a moment, the amusement makes the tension between you dissolve just a little.

Jungkook rubs his hand, feigning injury with a dramatic pout, his eyes darting back and forth between you and Namjoon. Something flashes in his gaze—curiosity, awareness—an unspoken question lingering in the air as he watches the two of you. The corners of his mouth twitch, as if he’s caught on to something unsaid, something charged. The look he gives you is knowing, but he doesn’t say a word.

“What are you doing, anyway?” Jungkook asks, his lips curling into a smirk that suggests mischief brewing beneath his sleepy demeanor. His eyes glint with a teasing challenge, the kind only someone who knows how to poke at your soft spots can deliver.

You tilt your head, brows knitting together, confusion settling over you like a mist. “What do you mean?” you ask, your voice curious but cautious, already sensing that whatever he’s about to say will unsettle the fragile balance you’ve created here.

Jungkook’s smirk deepens, the troublemaker’s spark lighting up his gaze. He takes his time, savoring the pause, drawing it out like a slow intake of breath before the storm. “I mean,” he drawls, letting the anticipation build before delivering his question, “are you two official now, or what?” His voice cuts through the air, as sharp and casual as a knife slipped between armor.

The question pierces through you, freezing you for a heartbeat. You scramble for words, but they don’t come. Your chest tightens, because the truth is you don’t know. You’re not official with Namjoon, and the ambiguity gnaws at you in quiet moments, whispering doubts you try so hard to ignore. All you’ve shared is laughter, nights tangled together, and moments that feel like home—but nothing labeled, nothing secure. 

Namjoon clears his throat, breaking the tension. “We’re just having a good time,” he says, his voice even, calm, as if those words don’t twist at something vulnerable inside you. “Why should we need to label things?” His question hangs in the air, breezy yet barbed, and it stings more than you care to admit.

Your heart gives a small, involuntary ache, but you swallow it down, as you’ve done so many times before. You’d love nothing more than to put a name to what this is, to solidify the feelings that swim in the spaces between you. But Namjoon’s words remind you where you stand, and you try to tuck those fragile hopes away, out of sight.

Instead, you plaster on a smirk, masking the sting, and turn to Jungkook. “Shouldn’t you be focusing on Jimin instead of meddling in our business, huh?” you tease, your voice light but with an edge of deflection.

Jungkook flinches, his face draining of color for a moment before flushing with a bright, mortified blush. He looks at you like you’ve unearthed a well-guarded secret, and his eyes widen in a way that makes you feel a small triumph.

“Yeah, we know,” you muse, the corners of your mouth lifting with satisfaction. Before the tension can thicken further, the oven timer beeps, and Namjoon turns to carefully pull the tray of cookies from the heat, the warm aroma of melted chocolate spilling into the air. He sets the tray aside to let the cookies cool, and you slide a new batch into the oven, trying to ground yourself in the familiar rhythm.

You grab a warm cookie and wrap it in a paper towel, turning back to Jungkook, who’s still blushing furiously. “Just because I like Jimin,” you quip, “I’ll give you a cookie for him—none for you.” You press the cookie into his hand, a grin curling at your lips. “Make sure to say hi from us. We know he’s up there in your bedroom.”

Jungkook’s blush deepens, his face blooming beet-red as he takes the cookie with reluctant, embarrassed hands. He mumbles something incoherent, then spins on his heel, hurrying back toward the stairs, too flustered to form a coherent protest. You watch him go, his retreat filling the room with a burst of humor that almost—but not quite—eases the ache still lingering in your heart.

You spend the rest of the afternoon in a flurry of flour and laughter, baking batch after batch of cookies. You try to push thoughts of your undefined relationship with Namjoon into the recesses of your mind, focusing instead on the gentle rhythm of your work. The cookies cool on wire racks, their chocolate-sweet aroma filling the kitchen and settling over you like a comforting blanket. Carefully, you pack them into glass jars adorned with festive ribbons, each one sparkling with the warm, nostalgic spirit of Christmas.

“Do you want to come with me to the orphanage to deliver the cookies?” you ask, your voice soft yet hopeful. Namjoon glances at you, a gentle smile tugging at his lips. He agrees, and together you load the jars into your car. The scent of freshly baked cookies lingers, weaving itself through the crisp, frosty air as you drive down snow-dusted roads. The landscape is a winter wonderland with treetops crowned with snow, branches shimmering with icy lace, and the streets lined with drifts that sparkle under the pale afternoon light.

When you arrive at the orphanage, the children’s laughter and wide-eyed smiles fill you with a deep, quiet joy. Their faces light up as they receive the cookies, little hands clutching the sweet gifts, and you can’t help but feel your heart swell. Namjoon stands beside you, watching you interact with the kids. There’s something tender in his gaze, something he doesn’t put into words, but it wraps around you all the same.

On the drive back, the silence between you feels serene, softened by the shared experience. Snowflakes begin to drift lazily from the sky, catching in the beams of the headlights. Namjoon turns to you, his voice curious yet gentle. “So you do this every Christmas?” he asks, breaking the comfortable quiet.

You smile, your hands steady on the wheel as you flick the blinker to signal a turn. “Yeah,” you reply, your voice tinged with the sweet ache of memory. “Always. It’s something my mom used to do. When she passed, I wanted to carry on her tradition, to keep her spirit alive in this small way.” The words come out soft, but they hold the weight of years, love, and loss.

“I’m sorry about your mom,” Namjoon says, his tone low and sincere. You glance over at him, offering a gentle smile, the kind that carries acceptance and peace. “It’s okay,” you say, your voice a quiet reassurance. “It happened a long time ago.”

He exhales, the breath almost visible in the chill of the car, and he clears his throat, nervous but determined. “Do you want to help me decorate my place?” he asks, his words a gentle offering. “And I’ll help get yours ready for Christmas too.”

A genuine smile breaks across your face, a warmth sparking in your chest. “Yeah, that sounds perfect,” you reply. “I’ll need to pick up some new ornaments, though. I know just the place we can go.” The idea of shopping for holiday decorations together, of filling both your spaces with light and laughter, feels like a small but significant promise.

Namjoon’s hand drifts down to rest on your thigh, a quiet gesture of connection that makes your heart flutter. His touch stays there for the rest of the ride, grounding you, warming you, as snowflakes twirl and dance outside the windows.

“Hi, babe,” Namjoon says, and just with that one simple word, he manages to unravel you. The casual endearment sends a shiver of longing through your heart, a tiny thrill that sparks questions you never quite manage to silence—the ones about what you really mean to each other. Your heart flutters like the wings of a restless bird, and even though a part of you wishes he didn’t have this power over you, there’s no denying it. Deep down, you love that he does. You crave the comfort and warmth he brings, even if you sometimes wish it came with the certainty of a label.

“Hi, Joonie,” you reply, your voice soft but bright, as if it alone can welcome him out of the winter cold. A rush of freezing air follows him inside, nipping at your cheeks, and you gesture hurriedly for him to come in and shut the chill away. 

He steps across the threshold, the scent of fresh snow clinging to his coat, and a smile unfurls on his lips, dimples deepening. “I was wondering if you’d show me your greenhouse again,” he says, and there’s a childlike wonder in his eyes, a curiosity that never fails to enchant you. “I’m curious to see what plants you have out there braving the winter. And maybe we could start some seeds for next season?”

His voice is filled with genuine interest, and the way he looks at you—wide-eyed and eager—melts something inside your chest. You can’t help but smile back. Those damn dimples of his, so disarming, so inexplicably endearing. “Oh, definitely,” you say, your eyes lighting up. “I’ve been meaning to sow some new seeds, actually. Peas, chilies, Asian greens—they thrive even in this frozen weather.”

“Can I help you?” he asks, his voice soft and sincere, a gentle offering that wraps around you like a warm scarf. The idea of working side by side with him, hands deep in the soil, fills you with quiet joy.

“Do you have time now?” he asks, his words tender, like he’s afraid of shattering the moment.

“Yeah,” you respond, feeling a surge of anticipation as you reach for something warm to wear. You pull on an extra-thick pair of wool socks, a cozy sweater, and then layer yourself in a heavy parka and boots. Namjoon is already dressed for the bitter cold, bundled up but still managing to look effortlessly handsome. Even though you’ll be spending time in the greenhouse, the air there is only a degree or two warmer than outside—it’s a space that holds more promise than heat during the winter.

Together, you make your way outside, your footsteps crunching in the snow. You lead the way, the cold biting at your cheeks, but the warmth of his presence close behind keeps you from feeling the chill too deeply. Sliding the glass door of the greenhouse open, you step inside and usher him in, closing the door behind you. The stillness of the space wraps around you both, the smell of damp earth mingling with the crisp scent of winter.

“Have you thought about getting a greenhouse of your own?” you ask, a playful lilt in your voice. It’s a conversation you’ve shared before, a running joke ever since he accidentally wrecked yours with that wild ball throw months ago. You watch his face for a reaction, and he laughs, a deep, rich sound that seems to warm the chilly air around you.

“Yeah, I think I’d like to get one for the summer season,” Namjoon muses, his voice thoughtful, warm as a patch of sunlight breaking through clouds. “But I’m still not sure. That’s part of why I’m so curious about what you’ve managed to grow in the dead of winter. If I’m going to invest in one, I want to make the most of it, you know?” He pauses, a playful grin curving his lips as he glances at you. “But honestly, maybe I should just keep helping you with yours. It’s more fun together, don’t you think?” 

He tucks his hands into his jeans pockets, wandering deeper into the greenhouse, his gaze sweeping over the lush, vibrant greens defying the frost outside. Even in the shelter of the greenhouse, the air is tinged with the crispness of winter, but Namjoon’s presence feels like a hearth fire—steady, comforting, and a little too warm when you think of how easily he fits into these shared moments.

“I understand,” you say, your voice as tender as the soft leaves unfurling in your garden beds. “And you’re always welcome in my greenhouse, you know that.” You follow close behind him, pointing out the resilient Asian salads thriving in their earthy homes: delicate mibuna, sturdy bok choy, crisp cabbage, and even the spicy thrill of wasabi salad. There’s purple kale, vibrant and defiant against the cold, and winter carrots, their secrets buried until it’s time to harvest.

Namjoon’s eyes twinkle with a hint of mischief. “Oh, so you did manage to grow something after I, uh, accidentally destroyed your greenhouse?” He gestures toward the patch of winter carrots, a sheepish look stealing across his face.

You chuckle, the memory of his well-meaning chaos warming you. “Yeah, I did,” you reply, a smile dancing on your lips. “You can even try one if you want.”

With that, Namjoon kneels gracefully by the garden bed. Even through the bulky layers of his coat, the contours of his body are undeniable, and your traitorous mind takes note of the way his dark jeans hug him in all the right places. He reaches for a carrot, pulling at the green stem with gentle strength until a large, brilliantly orange carrot emerges from the soil. As he brushes the dirt away, he raises it to his lips, and there’s something distractingly captivating about the way he bites into it. The crisp snap of the carrot echoes in the stillness, a sound that somehow makes your breath hitch.

“It’s good,” he says, his voice reverent, like he’s savoring more than just a vegetable. “Crisp and sweet.” His words are innocent enough, but heat blooms on your cheeks as your mind wanders to other things that are, admittedly, very sweet.

“So, what are we going to sow?” he asks, watching as you gather trays and soil. There’s an excitement in his gaze, an eagerness that makes your own heart quicken.

“Like I said earlier,” you reply, grinning as you lay out the seedling trays in a neat row on the workbench. “Peas first. They’re hardy, even in this cold, and planting them early means we’ll have a head start on the harvest. We can sow extra so you’ll have some to take home and plant in your garden. They’re amazing because they climb and flourish wherever they’re given even a little support.” 

“And then, chilies,” you continue, your eyes sparkling. “We’ll start them here, but they’ll need to come inside to sprout, where it’s warmer. It’s always good to start them early so they can be transferred outside when spring rolls in. Later in the new year, we can put them in the greenhouse or straight into the garden beds.” You take a breath and continue, “And of course, more greens and salads. They’re slower to sprout in this cold, but they’ll make it, strong and resilient, like little winter warriors.”

Namjoon listens intently, his gaze never leaving you. There’s a peacefulness in the moment, as if the greenhouse holds its breath, cocooning you both in a world of shared ambitions and quiet dreams.

You suddenly realize you’ve forgotten the seeds. “Ah, I left the seeds inside,” you say, a small laugh escaping your lips. “Wait here while I grab them.” Namjoon nods, his eyes following you as you hurry back to the house, the cold nipping at your heels, urgency making you quick on your feet. 

Inside, you snatch up the old tin where you keep your seeds—its surface worn and familiar, full of whispered promises of new life waiting to burst forth from the soil. When you return to the greenhouse, you pause for a moment, caught by the sight of Namjoon. He’s crouched low, his focus completely absorbed by a small bok choy plant, tracing the way its tender, jade-hued leaves meld into deep shadows where the veins run dark. There’s a quiet reverence in his expression, as though he’s marveling at the tiny miracle of survival in the cold. 

“We can get started,” you say, a soft smile warming your face. Namjoon rises, his dimples peeking out as he grins back, and joins you in front of the workbench. You pour soil into a wide basin, mixing in perlite and vermiculite, the earthy aroma mingling with the crisp air. Your hands work with practiced grace, kneading the soil to loosen its texture, giving it life and breath.

“I’ve never added perlite or vermiculite to soil before,” Namjoon admits, wonder flickering in his voice as he watches the small white and gold specks sift through your fingers. You giggle, a sound as light and unburdened as petals drifting on a breeze. Most people don’t bother, but you’ve always been particular about these things.

“Try it sometime,” you encourage. “It makes for the best potting mix—less dense, better drainage, and the roots love it. And always use seed-starting soil. It has less fertilizer, so it’s gentler on seedlings.” Your hands press through the soil, feeling every grain and clump, savoring the dirt wedging beneath your nails. You’ve never cared for gloves; the raw, honest texture of the earth grounds you, as if reminding you that growth is always a little messy.

Namjoon tilts his head, curiosity glinting in his eyes. “I thought fertilizer was good?” he asks, and for a moment, you can’t help but wonder if his passion for plants runs as deep as he claims. But then again, you know that not everyone shares your level of obsession.

“It is—once the plant has grown a bit,” you explain, meeting his gaze with a patient smile. “Too much, too soon, and it can harm the seedling. Gentle care first, then nourishment.” You gesture for him to step closer, feeling the way the greenhouse seems to shrink around you, warm and cocooned.

He reaches for a packet of seeds—peas, full of promise—and you prepare the seedling tray, filling each cell with your custom soil mix. Using your dibber, you create neat holes for planting. Namjoon leans closer, and together you work in quiet tandem, dropping each tiny seed into its place, the rhythm of it comforting, like a shared heartbeat.

When you finish the tray, you dust your dirt-stained hands together. “Great. Now onto the next seeds,” you declare, and Namjoon dives in to help. His hands move alongside yours, scooping soil, pressing it down gently, but not too tight, and it feels strangely intimate, this act of creating life together.

Namjoon watches you, a hint of mischief curling at the edges of his thoughts. You’re skilled at this, at working with your hands—deliberate, sure, and endlessly fascinating. His mind drifts, unbidden, to the times your hands have moved over him, how your touch has lit up his world in ways that make him blush now, here among tender greens and the scent of new soil. Damn it, he chides himself, this isn’t the time to be thinking such thoughts.

But it’s hard not to, with the memory of your touch and the taste of your laughter tangled together in his mind, like vines climbing toward the light.

He flashes a mischievous grin. “You know, I love getting a little dirty with you in the garden,” he teases, his voice playful and warm as he gives you a gentle nudge with his shoulder. You laugh, the sound bright and ringing through the greenhouse, and a rosy blush colors your cheeks as the double meaning sinks in. It’s a shared, private joke, laced with an intimacy that makes your heart skip.

Together, you keep working, your hands growing numb from the cold, yet neither of you want to stop. The chill is creeping into your bones, but the way you work side by side, sowing seeds and exchanging glances, brings a certain kind of warmth all on its own. When the final seed is nestled in the soil and the last tray prepared, you finally shiver. “We should take the chili seedlings inside,” you say, your breath visible in the icy air. “And… do you want to come in for a bit? I could bake a cake and make some hot cocoa.”

Namjoon’s eyes light up, and he smiles wide, the kind that shows his dimples. “I couldn’t say no to that,” he replies, a hint of excitement in his voice. He grabs the glass door, holding it open for you as you step out, and he follows, closing it behind with a satisfying click.

Inside the house, warmth greets you like an embrace. You shed your heavy parka and boots, and Namjoon mirrors your actions, his movements unhurried, as if savoring this transition from the cold to the cozy. You carry the seedling tray over to the kitchen window, where a grow light waits to nurture the tiny plants. The sun has set, painting the world outside in hues of blue and shadow, but the light inside feels like hope.

Gathering ingredients, you set to work making hot cocoa, the rich scent of chocolate already beginning to fill the air. Namjoon pulls a stool from the dining area and drags it closer, settling down to watch you. He doesn’t say a word, but his gaze is intent, as though he’s entranced by the rhythm of your hands as they move. Your fingers skim over a packet of flour, measure brown sugar with precision, and whisk together the batter for a carrot cake with the greenhouse carrots you stored in the fridge. 

Namjoon is captivated. He always is during moments like this—when you’re fully in your element, focused and graceful, your movements as fluid and sure as a melody. His eyes trace your hands, trailing from the way your fingers curl around a spoon to how you tilt your head slightly, concentrating. There’s something magnetic about it, the way you pour yourself into the simplest tasks, as if even the act of baking holds an unspoken promise of care.

But as he watches, the heat in his gaze deepens, a flush creeping up the back of his neck. His body betrays him, a familiar stirring between his thighs. It shouldn’t surprise him anymore—how easily you have this effect on him, even when you’re not trying. But he can’t help it, can’t control how the sight of your hands moving so deftly, so sensuously over everyday things, ignites thoughts he knows he shouldn’t entertain right now. 

He shifts subtly on the stool, grateful for the kitchen counter that hides the evidence of his arousal, while you remain blissfully unaware, pouring the batter into a baking mold with a contented hum. Namjoon bites his lip and takes a steadying breath, trying to refocus on the warmth of this moment, even as temptation tugs at the edges of his mind.

When you slide the cake batter into the oven, the warm scent of spices already beginning to fill the air, you turn your attention back to Namjoon. Something in his expression seems off—or perhaps, not quite off, but different. There’s a tension in the way he sits, his body radiating heat, his eyes darkened with an intensity that makes your pulse quicken. 

Curious, you move past the kitchen counter, your footsteps soft against the wooden floor. As soon as you round the corner and see him clearly, you stop in your tracks, your breath catching in a startled, husky “oh.” Your voice wavers, that simple exclamation filled with an undeniable hunger.

Namjoon lets out a low, teasing chuckle, the sound rumbling deep in his chest. Realizing there’s no use in hiding his desire, he shifts, spreading his legs wider in the chair. The movement makes the strain in his jeans even more obvious, the hard outline pressing against the denim, leaving nothing to the imagination. Heat rushes through your veins, your gaze flickering between his smoldering brown eyes and the undeniable evidence of his arousal.

“You’re so good with your hands, babe,” he murmurs, his voice dropping into a sultry, resonant purr that drips with need. “Why don’t you put them to good use and help me with this problem?” His words are thick with desire, and he gestures toward the bulge, which seems to pulse with a life of its own, the denim stretched taut and unforgiving. You can’t help but wonder if the fabric is torturously tight, if he’s even comfortable in those form-fitting jeans.

You step closer, your movements slow, languid, like a feline circling her prey. Your eyes glitter with a mix of playful defiance and unrestrained want. A knowing smile tugs at your lips as you draw nearer, deliberately dragging out each moment to make him squirm. “Hmm,” you hum, batting your lashes provocatively, savoring the power in your hands. You trail your fingers lightly across his chest, tracing the hard lines of muscle through his gray turtleneck, and he shudders under your touch.

Circling him, you let your gaze wander over his flushed face, loving how he stares at you like you’re the only thing he needs in this moment. “Jungkook isn’t home,” you muse, your voice a low, teasing whisper, “and the cake won’t be done for a while…” Your finger traces down his torso, each touch featherlight, leaving a trail of anticipation in its wake. “Which gives us plenty of time to deal with this very big problem.”

You finish with a suggestive wink, your hand curling into the soft collar of his turtleneck, drawing him forward. His eyes burn with the kind of desire that makes your knees weak, and you can’t help but marvel at how turtlenecks have never looked so delicious until now. His lips part, and you know you’ve got him right where you want him, your bratty side flaring up, eager to take control of the moment.

“Take off those offending skinny jeans, and maybe I’ll help you out,” you purr, your voice a delicious blend of tease and command. You lean in to press a swift, hungry kiss to his lips, the taste of him lingering as you pull back, and in a fluid motion, you’re down on the cool floor. Namjoon’s fingers are fumbling with urgency, unbuttoning and dragging his jeans and boxers down, setting himself free. His cock springs out, flushed a deep, angry red, heavy and aching for your touch. The sight of him makes your mouth water, anticipation crackling in the air between you.

He lets out a mock pout, breathless yet endearing. “But I thought you liked me in skinny jeans,” he mumbles, a half-smile curving his lips.

You can’t help but laugh, your voice warm and laced with desire. “I do,” you reply, your eyes dancing with mischief, “but they look so damn tight. Besides, I’d much rather see you in loose sweatpants—so shameless, the way they cling to you, showing off that big cock of yours.”

His cheeks flush a deeper pink, but the blush is short-lived. The moment your hand wraps around his thick length, he’s groaning, a low, unrestrained sound that sends heat pooling low in your belly. His head tips back, and you pull your hand away for a moment to spit in your palm, the motion slow and tantalizing. His breath catches, and then your hand is back on him, gliding over his cock with a slick, practiced rhythm.

You start slow, your touch light, your strokes deep and deliberate, savoring the way he shudders under your hands. Namjoon stumbles backward, his back meeting the counter for support, his knuckles whitening as he grips the edges. You follow him, still on your knees, looking up at him through your lashes, loving the way his brows knit together, his jaw slack with pleasure.

“So good with your hands,” he praises, his voice raw and wrecked, and you preen under the compliment, your lips curving into a wicked smile. His words fuel you, and you tighten your grip, picking up speed, letting your hand work over him with a skill that has his hips stuttering.

“Yeah, I know,” you muse, a playful lilt to your tone, eyes wide and feigning innocence though your actions are anything but. “You’ve told me before, but that doesn’t mean I don’t like hearing it.”

He lets out a breathless chuckle, his chest heaving. “Ah, yeah,” he pants, his voice a beautiful, strained melody. “I know how much you love praise.”

You shrug, your expression one of nonchalance, though your heart is racing. “Guilty as charged,” you admit, your voice softer, but no less mischievous. His praise drives you, makes you work harder to draw out every bit of pleasure, reveling in the way his body reacts, knowing that your hands—and your lust—are the only things holding him together.

He begins to make those sounds—oh, those sweet, broken sounds that send a thrill dancing down your spine and make you preen with pride. The husky groans slipping from his lips are like music, raw and intoxicating, and you drink them in, feeling the power in every shudder of his body.

“Shit, if you keep that up, I’m going to come soon,” he pants, his voice strained and desperate.

A playful smile curves your lips as you chuckle, the sound dripping with mischief. “That was my plan all along,” you tease, your strokes never faltering. “But maybe,” you whisper, your voice honeyed and inviting, “you’d like to fuck my throat a little. My hands are good, sure, but my mouth…” You let the words trail off, your intentions clear in the way your eyes glint with lust.

He groans again, and he swears his heart must be doing wild backflips as he watches you kneel between his legs, looking up at him with those wicked, innocent eyes. “Fuck,” he chokes out, his breath hitching, and you know you’ve got him. 

“Is that a yes?” you ask, batting your eyelashes, the very picture of innocence that you most certainly are not.

He nods, his voice nearly a whisper, “Yes, yes it is, babe.”

That’s all the invitation you need. Your mouth opens, and you slowly ease his cock past your lips, wet heat enveloping him inch by inch. He shivers at the sensation, and you relish the tiny, desperate noise that escapes him when you take him all the way to the back of your throat. You hum, sending vibrations along his length, and saliva spills from the corners of your mouth, glistening as it drips down your chin.

Namjoon looks down at you, eyes blown wide, and you can feel the way his cock pulses at the sight—how the vision of you, mouth full of him, drives him wild and hurtles him closer to the edge. His hands clutch at the countertop behind him, knuckles white, his chest heaving with ragged breaths.

You work him with a fervor, sucking like you’re drawing the very life from him, your hands pressing into his thighs for balance. Your nails dig into his skin, and the sharp pleasure-pain makes him hiss, a shudder rippling through his frame.

“Oh, babe,” he groans, the sound rumbling deep and sinful, making your core clench around nothing, heat pooling low in your belly. His words are rough, a plea and a praise all at once, and you moan in response, the vibrations making him jolt.

Saliva spills from your lips, pooling beneath you, and you feel the way his cock twitches and throbs against your tongue. Namjoon’s breathing is ragged, each pant a testament to how close he is, how you’ve unraveled him. He’s hanging on by a thread, and you revel in knowing you’ve brought him to this point, trembling and undone.

“Babe,” he gasps, his voice raw, teetering on the edge of pain and pleasure, like he’s unravelling from the inside out. His whole body is taut with need, and you feel a thrill course through you, knowing how deeply you affect him.

You pull away, your lips leaving his cock with a wet, teasing pop, and you look up at him, eyes glittering with mischief. “Come on my face,” you whisper, the invitation dripping from your lips like honey, sultry and certain.

He bites down hard on his lower lip, a deep, guttural groan escaping him. One of his hands releases its white-knuckled grip on the kitchen counter, and he wraps his long fingers around his cock, stroking himself to his climax. You watch, utterly mesmerized, as he comes undone. His release is spectacular—thick ropes of hot, pearlescent white paint your skin, catching on your cheeks, lips, and eyelashes. You gasp, tongue darting out in a futile attempt to catch some of his warmth on your lips. The rest splatters messily across your face, dripping down your chin and streaking across your closed eyelids. The whole moment feels heady, unrestrained, and you can’t help but savor it.

Namjoon’s chest rises and falls heavily, his breath coming in short, ragged bursts, like he’s run a marathon just to reach this peak. A satisfied chuckle spills from his mouth, and he drags a trembling hand through his sweat-dampened hair. “You,” he says, his voice filled with a mixture of awe and lingering desire, “are a dangerous woman.”

A wicked grin blooms on your lips as you giggle, sticking your tongue out to lick the semen you can reach. Your fingers swipe up the rest, and you suck them clean, savoring him like sticky, decadent BBQ sauce on tender ribs. Delicious. The sight makes Namjoon shiver, another groan rumbling from his chest, his eyes never leaving your face.

Just then, the oven chimes, the sound almost absurdly cheerful, signaling that the cake is ready. You rise to your feet, wiping your face with a towel, and make your way over to the oven to retrieve it. Namjoon watches, dazed, as he tugs his jeans back into place, still trying to catch his breath.

Once the cake has cooled, you sit together at the kitchen table, sharing warm slices of carrot cake and steaming mugs of rich hot cocoa. The two of you laugh and talk, savoring the warmth and sweetness of the moment, reminiscing about your favorite Christmas traditions, as the world outside shivers in a cold winter’s embrace.

Namjoon doesn’t often find himself behind the wheel, but today, you’ve let him take charge of his SUV, navigating snowy roads en route to the superstore for Christmas ornaments. It’s not your usual go-to place for holiday decorations, but he’d been so eager, so insistent, that you couldn’t resist. Now here you are, braving the cold with an unusual sense of adventure.

Though Namjoon handles the SUV with a tentative grip, you can’t help but question, as you have many times before, why he even bothered to get a driver’s license in the first place. He never seems fully at ease, and his response—“Everyone has one, and I need it”—always strikes you as a half-hearted excuse. But still, you get it. Out here, where the stores sprawl far and wide, the independence a car brings is a necessity, not a luxury.

He finally pulls into the parking lot, choosing a spot absurdly far from the store’s entrance, the car a lonely island surrounded by an ocean of untouched snow. You laugh, breath misting into the winter air. It’s such a Namjoon thing to do: a cautious maneuver, the kind either born from nervousness about navigating tight parking spaces or, perhaps, the desire to protect his vehicle from rogue shopping carts and careless door dings. But you know him too well—he’s not someone obsessed with material possessions.

Bundled up in your thick coat and scarf, you trudge across the frigid parking lot, boots crunching on the ice-slicked pavement, silently cursing Namjoon’s overcautious choice. The cold gnaws at your cheeks, and you can’t hide the frown forming on your face.

Namjoon notices, and his expression softens with apology. “I’m sorry,” he says, his breath forming tiny clouds in the frosty air.

“It’s fine,” you grumble, though there’s no real heat behind your words. “But I’m driving back.” Your voice holds a note of mock seriousness, and he breaks into a chuckle, the sound light and airy, dissipating into the wintry sky like a whispered secret.

Inside the superstore, the air feels warm and festive, the smell of pine and cinnamon drifting faintly from somewhere. A dazzling aisle dedicated entirely to Christmas ornaments stretches before you, shimmering with glitter and tinsel. You watch in mild disbelief as Namjoon gleefully fills his cart with gingerbread house kits, plush stockings, strings of tinsel, garlands, and ornaments that glitter like captured starlight.

“Don’t you have decorations from last year?” you ask, raising an eyebrow as the cart reaches a borderline ridiculous state, nearly overflowing with festive cheer.

He scratches the back of his head, a sheepish grin spreading across his face. “Well,” he starts, laughter bubbling up, “I did.”

You cross your arms and turn to him, your eyes narrowing with mock suspicion, silently demanding the story behind this sudden lack of decorations. Namjoon’s laughter grows, filling the space around you, and you can’t help but smile despite yourself, bracing for whatever endearingly clumsy tale he’s about to share.

“I dropped all the boxes with the Christmas decorations while moving,” Namjoon mumbles, his voice soft as a snowfall, almost swallowed by the warm air. His embarrassment paints his cheeks with a blush that’s sweeter than mulled wine, and you can’t help but burst into laughter. Without a second thought, you wrap your arm around his broad frame, a warm, playful gesture that feels as natural as breathing.

“Thought so,” you tease, laughter spilling from your lips, echoing like bells ringing through the icy parking lot.

Namjoon’s blush deepens, a rosy warmth that makes him look endearingly boyish. Still, he continues with his mission, selecting ornaments with the earnest focus of someone determined to reclaim lost holiday cheer. Once the cart is brimming with festive treasures, he pushes it outside, the wheels wobbling and skidding over the snow-dappled asphalt.

“I can’t believe they haven’t cleared the snow yet,” you scoff, tugging open the hatch and helping to load up his haul. Each ornament feels like a little promise of magic, waiting to light up the winter nights.

“Yeah, not the easiest thing to push through,” he chuckles, his laughter a quiet rumble, like distant thunder softened by clouds.

He returns the cart, clumsily navigating the slippery ground, and then hands you the keys with a smile. Sliding into the driver’s seat, you take the wheel and guide the SUV back to his place, where the real magic begins.

Inside his warm home, Namjoon hauls the bags and boxes indoors, and you peel off your thick coat, the heat wrapping around you like a familiar embrace. His house feels almost like your own now, a second heart beating in rhythm with your own. You move easily into his kitchen, making tea with the practiced comfort of someone who belongs there. The kettle sings as you pour hot amber liquid into cups, steam curling like ghostly ribbons.

Namjoon, meanwhile, sifts through his purchases, creating little piles of tinsel, baubles, and gingerbread house kits, organizing the chaos with a delighted gleam in his eye. You join him in the living room, stringing up fairy lights that twinkle like fallen stars, draping garlands of tinsel over every surface. He paints his windows with swirling snow scenes and delicate winter landscapes, and you marvel at his handiwork, secretly wishing he’d come and transform your windows, too.

Christmas music fills the room, and the two of you sing along, voices blending together in a harmony of laughter and half-remembered lyrics. You dance around the room, giggling until your cheeks ache, joy blooming warm and bright against the winter outside. When the final ornament is hung on the tree and the garlands rest perfectly in place, you both collapse onto the couch, still breathless with laughter. Your playful energy lingers, bubbling over into gentle touches and mischievous smiles, and you find yourselves tangled together on the sofa, the festive glow softening every shadow. Time slips away until it’s late, the kind of late that feels heavy with dreams, and you realize it’s time to go home. But even as you leave, Namjoon’s warmth and the laughter you’ve shared linger, lighting up the cold night like the twinkling stars outside.

You take a step back, your eyes wide and brimming with a sense of wonder, marveling at the world you’ve created within the cozy walls of your home. The decorations glow softly, string lights shimmering like constellations, and every garland and ornament seems to dance in the warm embrace of the holiday spirit. Namjoon’s snowy landscapes even grace your windows, delicate swirls of frosted white transforming your view into a winter fairy tale. It feels so perfectly Christmas—Hygge, as the Danish call it, a word that holds all the warmth and comfort of shared moments and quiet joy.

In the corner stands your plastic tree, tall and proud, adorned with an eclectic mix of ornaments and lights. Its colors catch the twinkle of the lights strung around the room, a joyful echo of Namjoon’s more organic tree. You think back to the way he had explained, with that earnest passion of his, why he chooses to get a real tree each year—to support local farmers and give back to the environment in his own way. You remember laughing and teasing him about the effort, happy with your fuss-free tree, but secretly admiring the way he cares so deeply for the world around him.

“Do you want to come with me to the plant store today?” you ask, your voice soft, floating like the steam curling up from your cup of hot cocoa. Namjoon smiles wide, his dimples deepening, and the warmth of that grin feels like a little burst of sunlight on a winter day. He’s wearing glasses today—big, bold black frames, because he lost his contacts—and with his cozy wool turtleneck, he looks every bit the sexy professor you’ve always daydreamed about. You have to stop yourself from staring, but God, the man is a vision, and he’s right here beside you, yours. Well, hopefully he’s yours—there’s always that tiny flicker of uncertainty, but for now, it feels enough.

“Yeah, let’s go,” he says, his voice rich with warmth.

You drain the last of your cocoa, savoring the sweetness, and soon the two of you are bundled up, making your way across the icy path to his SUV. You take the driver’s seat without hesitation, your hands confident on the wheel. The snow-laden roads have always felt thrilling to navigate, and the car hums softly with the gentle croon of Christmas music drifting from the radio.

The silence between you is comfortable, wrapped in the magic of the season, until Namjoon turns to you, breaking the quiet with a question. “What are you doing this Christmas?” he asks, his voice tinged with genuine curiosity.

You flick the windshield wipers on, watching the snow melt away in streaks. “Just spending it with Kookie,” you say, your smile bittersweet. “Without my mom, and with my dad’s Alzheimer’s… well, I just stay home now.” Your voice carries the weight of old memories, the ones that sting a little but still feel precious. You can’t help but think of past Christmases, filled with laughter and warmth, and the ache of their absence lingers, but so does the gratitude for what you still have.

Namjoon shifts, his concern evident. “You’re not going to visit your dad?” he asks, his curiosity mingling with worry, and he quickly realizes it might be a painful subject.

“I do visit him,” you explain softly, your voice gentle, like a snowflake drifting down. “But… he doesn’t remember me as his daughter anymore. It’s hard, sitting there and watching him struggle to place me. But I still go, even if he doesn’t know who I am. Because, well, it matters.” The sorrow is there, but it’s wrapped in acceptance, a quiet strength you’ve carried for years. You catch the sadness in Namjoon’s eyes and smile, a small reassurance. “It’s alright. Really. I’ve made peace with it. And Kookie makes Christmas feel like family again.”

Namjoon’s frown lingers, but there’s something tender in his expression, an unspoken promise that he understands, or at least wants to. And in that shared moment, with snow whispering against the windows and the world cocooned in winter’s embrace, it feels like you’re exactly where you’re meant to be.

“What about you?” you ask, your voice warm with curiosity as you guide the car onto the road leading to your favorite sanctuary—the plant store, a haven of greenery and seasonal enchantment, where Christmas decor shimmers among leafy life.

Namjoon’s eyes light up, a smile spreading across his face. “I’m spending Christmas with my sister, nephew, and my parents. They’re all coming to my place because, you know, I’ve got that big house now,” he says with a laugh that dances in the air. You recall the image of him from months ago, holding that little boy’s hand. You’d once mistaken the child for his own, only to learn he was the devoted uncle, always stepping in to help his sister.

“That sounds really lovely,” you muse, your voice softening with a wistful undertone, like the ghost of a melody from a long-lost song. The ache is familiar: a yearning for the warmth and chaotic joy of Christmases past, for the easy laughter and the irreplaceable comfort of family. A tear slips, unbidden, down your cheek, and you quickly brush it away with the back of your hand, hoping he won’t notice. But Namjoon’s gaze, gentle and perceptive, catches everything.

He reaches out, his hand warm on your thigh, a grounding touch. “Maybe… we could have a Christmas dinner?” he suggests, his voice hopeful. “Just for our friends. Maybe the day before Christmas Eve, since that’s when my family arrives.”

You sniffle, pulling the car into the bustling parking lot, where cars glisten under a light dusting of snow. Unlike Namjoon, who prefers the solitude of the far-off spaces, you park right up front, as close as you can get. “That sounds really nice,” you admit, though your words carry a hint of guardedness. “But, please, don’t turn it into a pity party for me.”

Namjoon nods, understanding shining in his dark eyes. “That wasn’t my intention,” he promises. “I just think it’d be nice for all of us. No pity, just good company and holiday cheer.” His smile is genuine, disarming, and he unbuckles his seatbelt as you cut the engine, the car falling silent save for the occasional thud of snow hitting the windshield.

Stepping out, the cold air nips at your skin, each breath a puff of white mist. The snow falls steadily, blanketing the world in a quiet, crystalline beauty. You hurry to grab a cart, already anticipating the treasures you’ll load into it.

Inside, the store is an odd middle ground between brisk and balmy, chilled enough to keep the plants thriving but not as bone-numbing as the winter outside. The first thing to catch your eye is the dazzling array of string lights, tinsel, and an extravagant display featuring Santa’s sleigh, his reindeer poised mid-flight over faux snow, glistening like diamond dust. Namjoon’s eyes widen with childlike wonder as he drifts toward the scene, marveling out loud at every intricate detail. His awe is contagious, and you find yourself grinning as he disappears into a life-sized gingerbread house, its candy-cane pillars twinkling.

Together, you weave through aisles of holiday magic. You pick up a snow globe with a penguin bundled in a sky-blue scarf, the world inside it swirling with glittering snow. It makes you smile, so into the cart it goes. Purple ornaments catch your eye—rare and radiant, the perfect find for your collection. You toss them in with a feeling of quiet triumph. Your hand lingers on a wooden reindeer, beautifully carved and rich with detail, a rustic piece that seems to carry the very spirit of the forest. You trace its elegant antlers with your fingertips, then place it carefully in the cart.

Namjoon catches your eye, his glasses slightly fogged from the store’s temperature shift, and your heart does a little flip. 

Namjoon stands in the store, eyes wide with wonder, looking at everything like a child waking up to magic on Christmas morning. His excitement radiates, pure and joyful, igniting the air around you with an energy that is impossible to resist. Yes, the store might resemble a festive explosion—every aisle drenched in holiday cheer as though Santa himself had painted the place with his overflowing bag of marvels—but watching Namjoon, awe-struck and glowing, is everything. A smile blooms on your face, gentle yet irrepressible, as your heart picks up speed. It flutters wildly, as if it holds a kaleidoscope of butterflies desperate to take flight. Warmth rises to your cheeks, a blush deepening and spreading, while your mind surrenders to thoughts of him and only him.

A quiet realization unfolds, maybe you should finally have that “where is this going?” talk with Namjoon. Because, damn, you know you’ve fallen hard, hopelessly and beautifully.

Your eyes catch sight of an aisle bursting with rolls of gift wrap, and you drift over, searching for the minimalist designs that you love. Just as you reach out for a roll in understated gold, Namjoon clears his throat, drawing your gaze back to him. There’s that smile, the one that makes your heart skip and your knees feel like jelly. He points upward, and you follow his gesture to the ceiling. String lights twinkle in every hue, casting a soft, whimsical glow. Hanging there, nestled amidst the colorful illumination, is a sprig of mistletoe; vivid green with playful red berries, promising a bit of holiday mischief.

A laugh escapes you, light and melodic. “Oh, so you want a kiss?” you tease, your voice brimming with warmth.

Namjoon chuckles, and the sound feels like a spark lighting up something inside you. “You know,” you murmur, leaning in just a touch, “you don’t need mistletoe to kiss me. I always want to kiss you.”

He doesn’t need any more prompting. Both of you move at once, lips meeting in a rush that’s tender yet hungry. The world falls away as your mouths meld together, and his hands find their way around your waist, pulling you into his embrace. You melt into him, a soft moan slipping from your lips, echoing the need that simmers between you. When you finally break apart, a breathless laugh leaves your mouth, the air between you charged and electric. Namjoon’s gaze is dark and glassy, his desire plain to see, and you know yours must mirror the same intensity.

“Are you done with your shopping?” he asks, his voice husky and threaded with want. His words make you bite your lip, heat pooling low in your belly as you nod, barely able to think straight.

“Great,” he replies, his tone velvet and commanding. He takes the cart from your grasp, his fingers brushing yours with a touch that leaves you reeling, and he pushes it toward the checkout. His assertiveness makes your pulse race, a delicious thrill running through you. Somehow, you manage to pay for the Christmas treasures and help load everything into his car, though your mind spins with anticipation. Namjoon returns the cart, his long strides carrying him back to you as snow continues to fall, whispering secrets to the earth.

You climb into the car, turning it on. The heat slowly creeps in, but the temperature between you and Namjoon is already scorching. The air feels thick, heavy with unspoken desires, the kind of tension that crackles and leaves you breathless. He hums along to the Christmas song playing softly on the radio, but your thoughts wander, fixating on his voice, his lips, the memory of the way he kisses you, the way his mouth explores your pussy. You shift uncomfortably, desire making you restless, and you catch yourself before you lose focus on the snow-laden road.

Namjoon chuckles, a low, knowing sound, but he doesn’t move to touch you, though his presence is intoxicating. A part of you craves his hands, his warmth, his everything, but you’re grateful for his restraint. Not while you’re driving, you think, exhaling in a blend of frustration and exhilaration. It would be dangerous, especially on these slick, icy streets. Yet even without his touch, the tension coils tightly, promising a night that will be anything but cold.

You pull into your driveway, snowflakes swirling and dissolving in the twilight air, and as soon as the car engine cuts off, anticipation buzzes through your veins. With a swift click of your seatbelt, you’re out of your restraints and leaning over. You grab the thick collar of Namjoon’s jacket, tugging him closer, your mouths colliding in a heated, desperate kiss. Your lips part, breaths mingling, and a low growl escapes you, primal and hungry, as if you’ve been starving for this moment. You don’t know how long you devour each other like that, your hands fisting his jacket, your heart racing as he groans into your kiss.

When you finally break apart, Namjoon’s chuckle rumbles between you, warm and infectious. “Shouldn’t we… maybe… take this inside?” he teases, his voice husky, eyes glittering with barely restrained desire.

You bite your lip, a playful grin spreading across your face. “Yeah, we should.” Without a second thought, you scramble out of the car, forgetting the mound of Christmas decorations packed in the back. You only have one thing on your mind. Grabbing Namjoon’s hand, you lead him through the cold afternoon, hurrying to escape the winter air and into the sanctuary of warmth inside.

Once you’re in, both of you shed your coats and kick off your boots in a frenzy, laughter echoing in the foyer. His eyes are dark, stormy with arousal, and your pulse quickens, a delicious anticipation settling in your core. “I don’t think Jungkook’s home,” you say, your voice breathy as you nibble your lip, taking his hand again. He lets you drag him up the stairs, his grip firm, electrifying.

Inside your room, you don’t waste a second. You pull him close, your hands cradling his face as you kiss him with a ferocity that makes your knees weak. His hands slide to your waist, guiding you back until your legs hit the bed, and you can’t suppress the shudder that rolls through you.

“Namjoon,” you pant, lips brushing his, “I want you. I need you.”

His eyes burn with intensity as he rasps, “I know. I need you too, baby.” The low, gravelly timbre of his voice sends a wave of heat coursing through you, but frustration boils over. 

“I want your cock,” you admit, desire raw in your voice, making no room for subtlety.

He pauses, then breaks into a chuckle that’s rich and rough, slicing through the tension with ease. “My cock, huh?” he teases, eyebrows arching. “Is that all I’m good for?”

You pull back slightly, heart lurching at the implication, and your eyes widen in disbelief. “What? No,” you insist, voice softening, sincerity bleeding through. You turn your gaze to him, your expression fierce but tender. “Your cock is nice and very good, but it’s you that I love,” you confess, the words tumbling out, bare and vulnerable.

For a beat, there’s a silence that seems to suspend the universe. Your heart stops, bracing for his reaction, hoping you haven’t ruined this, that you haven’t scared him off. But then his lips curve into a smirk, one so full of warmth it melts your doubts.

“Good thing I love you too,” he murmurs, pulling you close again.

You don’t get the chance to respond; his mouth is on yours, urgent and consuming. He presses you down onto the bed, his lips trailing from your cheek to your ear, where his breath ghosts over your skin, sending shivers of delight racing down your spine. You moan, your eyes fluttering shut, breath hitching as he whispers in your ear, voice low and dangerous.

“I’m going to fuck you so good, babe,” he promises, his words sending a molten thrill straight through you. “So good that no one else will ever compare.”

The sheer need in his voice makes you pant, heat pooling between your thighs. “I don’t want anyone else,” you whisper, your hands splaying over his chest, feeling the frantic beat of his heart.

“Me neither,” he murmurs, before dipping down to suck a mark into the curve of your neck. The sensation makes you moan, your pussy clenching with anticipation. God, you’re already soaked, desire pulsing through every nerve, and as he lays claim to your skin, you know you’ll never want anyone but him.

He pauses, lips still flushed from the kiss, and pulls back with a soft, playful sigh. “These glasses are in the way,” he mutters, sliding them off and setting them aside. Your immediate frown makes him laugh, a deep, resonant sound that you feel in your chest. 

“What?” he asks, eyes dancing with amusement. “Do you actually like my glasses?”

You bite your lip and nod, a smirk curving your mouth. “Yeah. You look stupidly hot with them on—like some impossibly sexy professor,” you giggle, the words spilling out like a secret you’ve been holding in.

His eyebrows lift, a teasing smile spreading across his face. “Oh?” he murmurs, leaning in to kiss you again, lips brushing yours with renewed heat.

You giggle, the lightness of the moment threading through your desire. “But can you even see me?” you tease, your voice lilting.

He chuckles, a warm rumble against your skin. “Not very well. You’re just a blurry outline.”

“A sexy blur,” you correct with a laugh, playfulness and arousal weaving together.

He hums in agreement, nuzzling your neck, his lips leaving a trail of fire. “My sexy blur,” he whispers, sending shivers racing down your spine. But you gently push him back, your eyes gleaming with mischief.

“I want you to really see me,” you say, your fingers searching the bed until they find his glasses. You carefully slip them back onto his face, adjusting them so they sit just right. “There,” you whisper. “Now you can see me again. My sexy Joon.”

Namjoon grins, the lenses framing his eyes in a way that makes your pulse race, and he slowly straightens, standing at the edge of your bed. His hands move with purpose as he undresses, each piece of clothing falling away to reveal hard planes of muscle and soft, warm skin. When he’s down to his black boxers, his arousal straining visibly against the fabric, you can’t help but draw in a sharp breath, desire crackling in the air between you.

He watches as you sit up, your gaze locked on him, and you lift your shirt over your head, casting it aside. Your bra follows as does your pants and panties, and the sound Namjoon makes—a low, guttural moan—sends a flush spreading over your skin. His gaze drinks you in, dark and reverent.

He leans toward your pussy, his intentions clear, but you stop him with a playful chuckle, pushing lightly at his chest. “Please,” you say, your voice husky, “just fuck me already. I’m ready, and I want you so bad.”

Namjoon’s eyes widen, and he lets out a choked, breathless laugh, shedding his boxers in one swift motion. He wraps a hand around his cock, giving himself a few firm strokes to steady himself, and you lie back, spreading your legs in invitation. Your body trembles with anticipation, your need palpable.

“Hm,” you tease, wiggling your hips with a grin. “I’m ready to open my petals wide for you. Come and claim me.”

He laughs, a delighted sound, his hands warm as they grasp your thighs. “Cute,” he says, but his smile is laced with desire as he lines himself up with your entrance. Just as he begins to push into you, a wicked gleam sparks in his eyes. “I’ve got a pun too,” he pants, his voice thick as he stretches you open, inch by inch. 

“I think it’s time to fertilize this relationship.”

You hold your breath, feeling him fill you, your body arching in response to the exquisite pressure. His words finally register as he settles fully inside, and you gasp, a laugh bubbling up through the haze of pleasure. “Wait—did you just say you want to fertilize me?” you tease, wiggling your eyebrows, your voice breathless and amused.

Namjoon groans, his laugh turning into a deep grunt as he moves, your bodies pressed together, the playful intimacy of the moment making everything feel impossibly right. “Maybe I did,” he whispers, his breath hot on your skin, his hips beginning to move in a rhythm that leaves you breathless.

His breath catches in his throat, a strangled groan spilling out, thick with pleasure. “God, you’re so tight, babe,” he murmurs, voice rough, a velvet rasp that sends shivers down your spine. His fingers grip you with a fervent need, and his hips meet yours in a dance of primal rhythm. His lips brush your ear, whispering sin into the dark. “Yes,” he growls, each word laced with yearning, “I want you to take all my cum.”

A heat unfurls within you, wild and untamed, and a fevered cry breaks from your lips, back arching, body yearning for more. “Fuck yes,” you gasp, your voice trembling, a symphony of need and desire, “fill me, stretch me, make me yours.” He pulls back, a tease of agony, before plunging in again, deeper this time, and a wave of sensation washes over you, stealing your breath, making your world fracture into shards of pleasure. Toes curl, your heartbeat roaring in your ears, and you claw at his biceps, desperate to hold onto something solid.

“Please,” you beg, voice cracking with urgency, “Fill me up. I want to feel you everywhere, for you to watch your cum drip from my pussy—” A shudder courses through you, and you add, breathless and trembling, “And then fuck it back inside, and give me more.”

A groan rumbles in his chest, and you feel his body tense, the delicious twitch inside you betraying how your words unravel him. “Fuck,” he gasps, the curse a melody wrapped in desperation, his thrusts becoming brutal and consuming. His eyes darken, a storm threatening to drown you both. “My perfect little cockslut,” he grits out, voice threaded with awe and possession, “always so needy for my big cock.”

You wrap your legs around him, pressing your heels into his lower back, desperate to pull him deeper. His thrusts find that secret spot inside you, and the world around you shatters. Your cries echo in the room, a crescendo of ecstasy. “Joon-ah!” you cry, voice a broken plea, and he responds, hips driving harder, chasing your unraveling.

“My beautiful little slut,” he pants, voice cracked and shattered, “made to take me. Made to come for me.” His rhythm is relentless, and the coil in your belly winds tight, snapping like a bolt of lightning. Pleasure blooms through you, so vivid it turns your vision to a white, a brilliant blur. Breathless, undone, you tremble, his name falling from your lips like a prayer.

He catches your mouth in a searing kiss, swallowing your moans, and he drives into you, each thrust deeper, leaving you raw and oversensitive. Your fingers tangle in his hair, pulling, clutching as your body convulses, waves of bliss surging through you. You feel yourself unravel completely, and he moves with you, relentless, sending you spiraling further into the pleasure you never want to escape. 

“So good, my love,” he murmurs, a reverent hymn of praise, and your body responds instantly, your core clenching, a desperate, needy flutter. His eyes darken, desire a tangible force between you. “You ready for me to fill you up?” he asks, his voice a teasing growl, and before you can answer, his strong hands grip your thighs, pulling you open wider, pinning you beneath him as he begins to thrust harder, deeper.

“Yes!” you cry, your voice raw, your need laid bare in that single, breathless scream. His hips snap against yours, each movement carrying a delicious, reckless abandon. One hand drifts between your bodies, and his fingers find your clit, drawing tight, wicked circles that send electricity racing through you. The buildup is sudden, overwhelming—a storm surging through you with a force that steals your breath. You’re undone, surprised by your own body’s eager surrender.

“Oh, shit,” you gasp, every nerve alight, toes curling from the rush of pleasure. “I’m going to come again,” you moan, and your head falls back, exposing the vulnerable line of your throat, every inch of you arched, straining, craving.

“That’s it, babe,” he coaxes, voice raw and full of awe as he watches you come undone. His gaze never leaves you, and he drives into you with relentless precision, chasing his own high as he feels you pulse around him. “Fuck, you’re so tight,” he rasps, his voice cracking with the strain, his own pleasure just out of reach. He’s relentless, a man driven by your shared ecstasy.

“Such a good girl,” he praises, and the words unravel you further. Your head tosses back and forth on the sheets, body a trembling, heaving wreck of sensation. His eyes meet yours, a connection sparking between you, and your breath comes in frantic pants. “Namjoon,” you plead, and his mouth softens, the intensity in his eyes tempered by tenderness.

“I know,” he breathes, his voice a soothing whisper, “I’ve got you.” His thrusts quicken, become erratic, and his grip on your hips tightens, fingers digging in as he hovers at the precipice. “I’m almost there, babe,” he promises, and with a few more deep, punishing thrusts, you feel him shudder, a guttural groan escaping his lips. His release pulses into you, warmth spilling inside as he cries your name, his face twisting in a perfect symphony of pleasure.

You watch him, utterly captivated—his glasses slipping slightly, his jaw slack with bliss—and the sight alone threatens to push you to the brink again. His movements slow, hips stuttering, his body collapsing gently into yours as the high fades. Still trembling, he leans down, his lips brushing yours in a kiss that’s as soft as it is reverent, and you can’t help but giggle, delight spilling over.

He slips out of you, eyes darkening once more as he watches his release trickle from you, and your pussy clench around the emptiness, a final echo of your desire. With a satisfied groan, he flops down beside you, laughter bubbling up between you both. His hand rakes through his tousled hair, chest heaving as he tries to catch his breath. 

You turn your head toward him, the world around you spinning with a dizzying, intoxicating mix of something sweet and wild. Your heart pounds in your chest, a cocktail of longing and reckless abandon. You know you have to ask him, and you have to ask now. The words spill from your lips before you can stop them, raw and urgent. “Do you want to be my boyfriend?” you breathe out in a rush, like you’ve been holding your breath for far too long. 

His eyes catch yours, a grin spreading across his face like sunlight breaking through clouds. “Of course,” he replies, his voice warm and steady, like he’s known all along. 

You smile back at him, and in that instant, the weight you’ve been carrying seems to lift from your shoulders. Your heart feels lighter, like it’s fluttering in your chest, freed from the gravity of uncertainty. He leans in, his hand brushing a stray lock of hair from your face, tucking it gently behind your ear. His voice is soft, but there’s a sincerity to it that makes your heart ache in the best way. “You’ve got me blooming in ways I’ve never felt before.” 

A laugh bursts from your lips, spontaneous and full of joy. “You’re corny,” you tease, the warmth between you igniting the spark of something real, something tender. 

He chuckles, a low, rich sound that makes your pulse race. “Good thing I love you, you nerd,” you add, his eyes gleaming with affection, the kind of love that feels both easy and electric. 

You bite your lip, feeling a rush of warmth crawl up your neck. “Ouch. Just be happy that I love your bitchy and bratty mouth,” he smirks playfully, his hands moving to pull you closer. 

The air shifts as he sits up on the bed, eyes twinkling with mischief. “Speaking of,” he says, voice dropping low with a teasing edge. “Should I clean you off, or give it some time to let my seed settle inside you?” 

Heat rises in your cheeks, the words hanging heavy between you, and you nearly choke on the air. “Please fuck me again, Joonie,” you whisper, the rawness of your need almost too much to take. 

His lips curl into a slow smile as he lowers his mouth to your stomach, kissing you with a reverence that steals your breath away. His lips trail upward, brushing across your breasts, your neck, and finally landing on your mouth in a kiss that leaves you breathless. “Then give me a moment,” he murmurs against your lips, “and I’ll be ready to go again.” 

But before you can lose yourself completely in the heat of the moment, your phone vibrates multiple times on the nightstand, the interruption sharp and unwelcome. You glance at the screen, curiosity piquing in your chest, and your stomach sinks when you see the flood of messages. They’re all from Jungkook.

You groan in embarrassment, cringing at the thought of what might be waiting for you in those texts. 

“What is it, babe?” Namjoon asks, his voice laced with concern as he notices the change in your expression. 

“I guess Jungkook was home all along…” you mumble, heat spreading across your face like wildfire. The realization hangs heavy in the air between you, and both of you understand what it means. Namjoon bursts out laughing, the sound full of warmth and affection. He pulls you into his embrace, his lips trailing soft kisses along your neck, inhaling your scent as if he can’t get enough. 

Your laughter bubbles up, the embarrassment melting away in the comfort of his arms, and for a moment, it’s just the two of you, lost in your own world of joy and tenderness. 

→ Requested taglist: @callmenoona25 @svnbangtansworld @nora12379 @joonsmagicshop @kamilamb @joonlover1207

→ Permanent taglist: @nora12379 @jeonsbabygirlsworld @fancypeacepersona @ktownshizzle @pjmxxjm @ajoonniice @kookiewithluv @mikrokookiex @rapmonjoon94 @parkitrighthere

→ Author’s endnote: I hope enjoyed this one, and please let me know what you liked; you’re always welcome to leave me a comment, a reblog or an ask 🥰 Thank you so much for reading, love you 💜

© @/kingofbodyrolls 2024 // Please don’t copy or repost! You are more than welcome to reblog it, leave a comment or ask me anything about the story 🥰

[eleni-cherie]

agents' secrets ✨ || bts • jjk [ONE-SHOT]

"please, don't shoot me for this."

about two interpol agents assigned to catch a pack of thieves. and a dicey secret to share.

© 2024 | eleni_cherie

[one-shot in 'the thieves collection' series - can be read independently!!]

»»»

— word count: 10k

— genre: interpol agent au, gangster comedy, adventure, romcom, humour, angst, fluff, sexual tensiON, slowburning, mutual pining, co-workers to friends to lover cw2f2l

— song recommendations/inspirations:

luca vasta - imperial (i don't wanna dance)

hozier - too sweet

alexandra savior - bones

claire - friendly fire

ezi - take my breath away

jungkook - standing next to you

»»»

COPYRIGHT. ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

IDEA/STORY/CHARACTERS BASED ON MY PREVIOUS STORIES: "A THIEF'S ORIGIN" , "AMONG THIEVES" AND "A THIEF'S END".

this one-shot aims to give additional backstory to some incidents from the three main stories from jungkook and skylar's perspective while focusing and adding details to their friend- and relationship.

if you want the full context and also more of the two, check out the other stories as well!

PROTAGONISTS:

JEON JUNGKOOK AS HIMSELF; YOUNG INTERPOL AGENT / FRISKY COLLEAGUE

KIERNAN SHIPKA AS SKYLAR BLAKE; YOUNG INTERPOL AGENT / AMBITIOUS NEWBIE

ALTERNATIVE UNIVERSE. CHARACTERS NOT NECESSARILY LIKE THE REAL PERSONS. ALSO VERY UNREALISTIC PLOT LOL - JUST PRETEND READING A MANGA/COMIC OR WATCHING A FILM, REALLY.

SUGGESTIVE THEMES. MENTIONS OF VIOLENCE & BLOOD (BUT NOTHING TOO GRAPHIC, IT'S STILL A COMEDY!)

NOT FREE FROM LINGUISTIC ERRORS - ENGLISH IS NOT MY NATIVE LANGUAGE.

DON’T BE A GHOST READER. LIKE, COMMENT & SHARE THIS STORY IF YOU LIKE IT :))

DEDICATED TO EVERYONE WHO’S READING THIS FANFIC!

CHECK OUT MY OTHER BTS STORIES AS WELL: HERE

-Elenixx

»»»

[set between the prequel and main story]

Interpol branch office

Seoul, South Korea

Jungkook had never been someone struggling with mornings. Considering they'd spend the previous days in Shanghai, arresting a counterfeiter they'd been after for months, however, the lack of sleep started getting the best of him.

If he could, he'd have more than twenty-four hours a day. A day alone wasn't enough to fully rest.

With a yawn, he sat behind his desk and switched his pc on. Slight disappointment washing over his features as there weren't any news about their favourite pack of thieves. Perhaps Seokjin would inform them about any hints regarding Park Jimin and his gang in the team meeting later.

His eyes wandered around then, realising Namjoon wasn't at the desk across from his. And he sighed. It was a view he should probably get used to considering his older collegue was leaving the robbery department soon to become the lead at special victims.

Of course Jungkook was happy for Namjoon, but he simply wasn't a big fan of changes, even if they were inevitable. It always took him awhile getting used to new circumstances.

Suddenly a tall figure entered his peripheral view and he saw his supervisor walking towards him with an ambigious smirk. "Jungkook-ah! Good morning!"

"'morning, Sir."

"What are these bags under your eyes? They're deeper than my soul," Seokjin laughed out and gave him a pat on the shoulder, coaxing a tired chuckle from the young agent.

"I know, I know," he mumbled in embarrassment, which his supervisor missed while looking for something in his pockets. Eventually pulling out a USB drive.

"Remember the list of suspects we requested from the bootleg case? We got it here. Make sure to cross-check with the other case."

He nodded firmly. "Sure."

Only when Seokjin left, he let himself sink into his seat again. He definitely needed coffee before the team meeting in less than an hour. So he got up, making his way towards the elevator. As he rounded the corner, he saw Namjoon entering through the glass doors with the sleeves of his blazer rolled up and a pair of glasses on the bridge of his nose. An air of refined nonchalance surrounding him.

He was holding one of the double doors open and only then Jungkook noticed he was talking to someone. Catching a glimpse of a person behind his broad shoulders.

"This is our floor and where you're gonna work at next week. It's pretty much the sa- oh! JK!" Namjoon's cheery voice when noticing him made Jungkook pause in his tracks. With a shy smile, he waved and walked up to him. Seeing the person Namjoon was talking to appear beside him.

A young woman, probably not older than him but not much younger either, stood there. Compared to Namjoon's tall stature she looked tiny and when standing in front of her he realised that she was indeed quite short, probably not more than 1.6 metres in height. Her shoulder-length blond hair was falling in soft waves, pushed back by a hairband. There was a sharpness in her brown eyes and a reserved curve on her lips as she locked gazes with him.

Only when one of her thick brows arched, he realised he'd been staring and with a quick blink of his eyes, he redirected them to Namjoon who'd been talking this whole time. "Huh?"

Namjoon gave him a puzzled frown before laughing out. "Say, haven't you fully woken up yet? I said this is your new colleague."

"Starting on monday, so not yet," the young woman corrected with a charming smile, earning a nod from Namjoon.

"Oh," Jungkook finally spoke up, his eyes going round like a child's as soon as he processed the information. And his gaze returned to her. "So you're his successor?"

"Y-yeah, I guess so," she answered tentatively.

"She's gonna be your new partner."

And his lips curled up. "Nice to meet you, then. I'm agent Jeon Jungkook."

He offered her his hand, which she accepted with a coy smile, giving it a quick squeeze before letting go again. 

"Agent Skylar Blake, nice to meet you."

The senior agent motioned with his chin for them to continue down the corridor. "I was about to show her around the department before the meeting. You wanna join us?"

"Maybe later, gotta grab some coffee first."

Namjoon gave him an understanding look and chuckled. "Yeah, you look like you could use one."

He eventually met Skylar and Namjoon again in the conference room half an hour later. The two already sitting and chatting at a corner while people started gathering. Jungkook was sipping at his by now lukewarm coffee, occasionally peeking at them from a few seats away as they were all intently listening to Seokjin and the other teamleaders' updates.

The meeting went by rather quickly. There were news regarding some cases but nothing regarding Jimin, Taehyung and Yoongi. The general census being that they were currently laying low and preparing for a new coup after the failed one in Thailand months ago.

It was nearing noon when Jungkook sat back in his desk chair and stretched his neck. Finally having finished going through the list Seokjin had given him and some other evidence. He hadn't looked up from his screens in hours and when he did, his irises caught sight of Skylar sitting at the desk opposite to his. Namjoon's desk.

Her dark eyes concentrating on something in front of her, scribbling down on the paper.

For a moment, he observed her quietly as she tucked a streak of blond hair behind her ear. Tongue slightly sticking out between her red-painted lips. And he got curious of what she was so focused on.

Surely, he hadn't talked much to her yet but she seemed nice. And considering the two would be working closely from now on, he should probably get to know her better.

Skylar scribbled something again on what he eventually saw was a crosswords, too immersed in it to notice him approaching. Only a few blanks were left on the quiz and he raised an impressed brow when standing beside her.

"'Jackass'."

The young woman jumped up in her seat, looking startled at Jungkook above her.

"W-what?"

"'Jackass'," he repeated matter-of-factly, motioning with his eyes to the squares on the paper and tapping his finger on it. "Nine horizontal, 'equid – stupid person': jackass."

Finally understanding, she looked down and indeed, it fit. "T-thanks."

"You bored?" he asked then, meeting her friendly smile.

"Kinda. Agent Kim told me to wait here as he got called in by the other agent Kim and you seemed so emerged in your task, I didn't want to disturb."

He hummed, his eyes briefly falling into a sad scowl. He knew he should get used to seeing someone else, particularly her, sitting behind that desk from now on, however, it was still hard to grasp or accept that fact.

Shaking off that thought, he grabbed the unoccupied desk chair of another colleague then, rolling next to her. "Mind if I join you?" he asked, taking a seat beside her. A whiff of an unfamiliar smell filling his nostrils. It was her, he realised, she smelled nice. Of flowers.

She shook her head then, scooting further away to make space for him. "I didn't want to distract you from your task, though. You don't have to keep me company."

"Nah, don't worry, I finished and besides.." he offered her a smile, "..we'll be partners from now on. I should probably get to know you better since we're gonna spend so much time together."

Her lips folded and she nodded. "Makes sense.."

"So you like crosswords?"

"Mh. And reading. Keeps my mind busy."

"I see. I prefer video games."

"I suck in them," she deadpanned, earning a chuckle from him. At least she was honest.

"And I suck in reading anything with more than twenty pages of text."

"Oh, so you can still read children's books at least."

He huffed a laugh seeing her biting back one herself. He wasn't used to anyone being this witty with him besides Seokjin and occasionally Namjoon and it amused him. Made it easier to get used to her.

"Yeah, but I'd much rather read manga."

He managed getting a small laugh out of her after all and he grinned, satisfied.

They grew quiet, reading over the remaining blanks when Skylar peeked at him with prying eyes.

"Since we're getting to know each other right now.." she began slowly, earning a questioning look from him, "May I ask you something?"

"Go ahead."

"Why do you seem so sad when looking at me?"

His brows rose briefly, before looking away with a sigh. So she had noticed. "Is it that obvious?"

"Oh, sorry, was it supposed to be a poker-face?" she giggled then, pointing her pen at him, "If so, I must inform you, you failed miserably."

He scoffed, laughing again and she joined him. 

It was interesting. When she'd first met him a few hours ago he seemed aloof. However, seeing him laugh now had much the opposite effect on her. He looked quite innocent and childlike as his round eyes crinkled and turned into crescents while laughing carelessly. 

"Please don't take it personally," he said then, "It has nothing to do with you. It's just.. I'm kinda sad Namjoon's leaving. That's all. He.. he is my role model here. Obviously Seokjin, too, they both are. But Namjoon was the reason I joined this department in the first place."

Memories from four years ago when he'd first joined after graduating from the academy swept through his mind. How nervous and dewy-eyed he'd once been and determinded to prove himself. Looking back at it now, he had to laugh at his past self.

Skylar, however, didn't seem nervous or gullible at all. At least from what he'd seen that day. And he quickly noticed the surprise on the younger agent's face at his confession, feeling himself blushing. "I know it must sound ridiculous and - "

"No, actually.. I get it," she interrupted him, "It was the same for me."

His eyes grew round. "What?"

She only nodded vigorously. "Yeah, I applied for narcotics first but he somehow got my application and convinced me to come here instead. He.. he surely has a way with words. I couldn't refuse." Frankly, she was still amazed by Namjoon's eloquent way of speaking.

Jungkook laughed to himself, nodding in agreement. "He definitely does."

They exchanged a small smile when suddenly their names were heard from the other side of the office. Both their heads turned in the direction of Seokjin's voice, seeing their supervisor standing all the way back at the open door of the conference room, waving at them to come.

"Just got some news from our favourite thieves. Blake, you might wanna join since you'll have to deal with them from now on, too."

They nodded and immediately got up to hurry to the conference room when Skylar accidentally bumped into him. Their gazes locked as she smiled up at him. And in that short moment her cherry lips moved to apologize, his breath hitched and he swallowed hard. His ears began ringing out of nowhere then, as if they'd clogged up and he shook his head in a poor attempt to get rid of it. 

He noticed Skylar's puzzled expression, dark brows knitted together and his irises widened, taken aback.

"You two coming?"

"Y-yeah, yes," Jungkook quickly yelled and brushed past her towards the conference room.

And Skylar stood there, eyes resting on his tall figure.

What an odd guy.

»»»

[6 months later, during main story]

Mexico City, Mexico

"I can't believe I let her trick me like that," Skylar huffed, doing her best to fight against the urge of burying her face in her hands. Instead, she only shook her head, disappointment washing over her.

Jungkook gave her an empathetic look. "You're too hard on yourself," he said and settled for the seat across from her. "Seriously, don't let that get to you. Arabella Valentine is a sly one. She'd have tricked anyone and this was the first time you came face-to-face with her."

Despite her appreciating his attempt of cheering her up, her sulky expression only persisted. "I know. But considering I studied these criminals so well the past months and knew how mesmerising she can be to the point even Park Jimin constantly gets wrapped around her finger, I should've been better prepared. She caught me out completely and I know it's unprofessional but I.. I-" Skylar grew quiet before throwing her head back with a groan. "- but I quite profoundly and wholeheartedly dislike her."

Jungkook only bursted out laughing, quite amused by the usual level-headed Skylar losing her composure. "Because she handcuffed you onto the cabinet."

"Because she handcuffed me onto the cabinet," she confirmed.

It was the first time she had encountered the female thief and Jimin's 'frenemy' and love interest, and despite the stories and warnings, she wouldn't have guessed to get so easily fooled by her, too.

Quite frankly, Skylar felt her pride was hurt but more importantly she'd embarrassed herself. In front of Jungkook and worse, in front of their supervisor Seokjin. Despite him laughing it off and even joking about the situation.

"Ah, Sky, told you already. You're too uptight, loosen up! No one's judging you for that. I used to be like that, too, you know. I took everything too serious, I was so eager to prove myself.. But there's nothing to prove. You're good, otherwise you wouldn't be here."

In the past months and during long flights all across the globe and endless nights going over evidence and connecting the dots, he'd said the same. In the beginning she was indifferent and simply waved it off, then she got almost comically offended by his advices. By now it only made her exhale deeply, knowing he was right. Yet, it was hard to accept it.

"But she got away.." mumbled and propped her chin onto her hand as she looked out into the sunlit buildings outside the police precinct. 

Sometimes, she still felt like the outsider. The rookie. The newbie.

Everyone but her team colleagues looking down at her. Perhaps she was being paranoid, but sometimes it seemed like agents from the other teams and departments were talking about her behind her back. Like when she entered a room and everyone coincidentally stopped talking, people looking away when she caught them staring or hushed whispers around the corners.

It was surely all in her imagination, all these insecurities she'd felt while growing up and later in school, university and the academy, piling up. As if being half-korean and not looking like it at all wasn't bad enough, but with her mother being a diplomat and sending her to private tutors and lessons, it surely hadn't made it easier.

She wondered if any of her colleagues knew about it, wondered if they believed she only got so far because of her mother, despite her always being strictly against her daughter persuing that career and even joining Interpol.

The sound of typing interrupted her train for thoughts then and she saw Jungkook had begun looking over the security footage in the meantime, trying locating Jimin and Arabella's escape route after slipping away in the traffic.

"She'd have anyway," he eventually shrugged a gentle smile crossing his lips when glancing at her, "But you were the only one thinking about checking the archive. You were smarter than the rest of us."

That was true, she thought and it lightened her mood a tiny bit. A genuine smile tucking on her red lips. At least Jungkook never treated her differently, despite knowing about her background.

He was way more positive than her. Not that she was a pessimist, but when it came to herself she was certainly her biggest critic.

Her eyes wandered over the curve of his cheek, and the wave of his hair, and the way his shirt draped over his shoulders.

Shaking her head, she pulled her laptop closer to help him in his search.

"Cheer up, here." His sudden enthusiasm made her perk up from her screen and he turned his laptop to her. "Found where they went to. It's this café."

She arched a brow. "But do you really think they'll still be there? As if."

"Maybe not, but it's at least a clue and besides.." He rubbed his belly with an innocent smile. He got up then and flipped the device shut, gesturing for her to follow. "Come, I'll treat you to lunch. To make up for your hard day."

She huffed out a laugh. "I know you're making fun of me again. But I surely won't decline the offer."

And she gave him a wink before brushing past him.

The floral scent of her perfume staying a second more.

»»»

[a week later]

Jungkook couldn't help but giggle in childish amusement when seeing Skylar struggling matching his speed. They were doing laps to warm up and he'd decided to tease her a little more by speeding up.

"Jung-" she wheezed "-kook! You meanie!"

Another fit of chuckles errupted from his cheeky grin until stopping abruptly and looking behind him.

Her blond waves were in a high ponytail, swaying left and right as she jogged towards him. Nearing him with a scowl. 

They were both wearing the same standard field training attire, olive-green cargo pants and black shirts, almost looking like children whose parents' decided to give them matching couple outfits just for fun.

"Did you say anything?" he asked with a shit-eating grin, earning a roll of her eyes.

"We said we'd do a relaxed warm-up!"

He faked innocence at her adorable pout. "Oh sorry, must've forgotten."

Skylar could tell he hadn't but decided she didn't have the energy or will to continue arguing, being too exhausted after running like a maniac for five laps to try catching him.

"Are you two enough warmed up now?" the instructor at the training centre interrupted their bickering, both following him to the actual gym area.

Some would consider it a perk being able to exercise during work hours as field agents had to stay physically fit. Others again might consider it almost a punishment having to constantly work out.

Jungkook belonged to the first kind while Skylar was rather seeing herself in the second category. That day, however, she saw herself in the first one with him.

Defence training was on the schedule which she enjoyed as it was the only time she didn't feel totally inferior to Jungkook's muscular built which was quite the opposite to his sweet and juvenile face. And especially after Arabella having so skillfully fooled her last time, she felt she needed to freshen her skills.

An hour passed, grunts and small yells filling the area as both went through the exercises, either with the instructor or the training dummies. The air got stuffy after some, making the two eventually pause in need for a water break and to catch their breaths.

The instructor suggested for them to repeat the last couple of figures together the . One acting as the attacker and the other as the defender. So they positioned themselves on the training mat opposite of each other. Arms in front of them in a starting position.

"I'm apologising in advance, in case I'll hurt you," she said, causing Jungkook to scoff. He couldn't believe that smug smile on her gentle features.

"That's rich coming from the one always asking me to open her water bottles," he simply countered. Skylar's jaw dropped, about to retort something, when he began moving and she quickly composed herself.

Their movements were quick, she stepped in close to his body so when she turned, her right shoulder brushed his chest. Using the edges of her opened hands, she struck his upper and lower arm. Obviously she didn't do it too hard, it was more about doing the correct movements than using force. After all, she didn't want to actually hurt him.

Grabbing his arm, she twisted it until the heel of his hand pointed toward the ceiling. But then he pivoted, placing his right shoulder under her elbow and freeing himself. He walked backwards, facing her with a smug grin on his full lips. He brushed away the dyed strands that had fallen in front of his eyes with his tattooed hand as he took in the initial position. 

Skylar puffed out a breath, blowing off a strand that had loosened from her ponytail. There was determination written behind her long-eyelashes and her fingers gave him a daring wave, gesturing him that she was ready for his move.

Without saying a word, his body spun in an fast movement. Left hand pulled back into a fist, the other arm stretched out for a pretend-punch aimed at the spot beside her. But Skylar grabbed his wrist in time and forced it to stop mid-air while her other hand grasped the collar of his shirt.

And both came to an abrupt halt, staring at each other with heavy breaths. Sweat beads were rolling down their foreheads, hair sticking to their flushed skin. There was a sudden shift in the air between them, it felt tense, electrified even. And for a moment, Jungkook forgot where he was, the wave emerging from her eyes deep and dark, threatening to envelop him as he sunk in deeper in them. Almost swallowing him up. And there it was again, that faint ringing penetrating his ears. Until the instructor's loud clap yanked him back to reality. 

"Good! Back to the initial position and repeat!"

Skylar let out a shaky breath and loosened her fist from his shirt. Retreating slowly. Her brown irises fell to the bigger becoming space between them.

And she wondered if he also felt a short pain shooting through every fibre of his body when their faces were only centimetres apart from each other.

»»»

[a month later, set during the main story]

Skylar was laying in her hospital bed. Wide awake.

Hours had passed since Jungkook's visit - after a nurse had lost her patience and pressed him to leave as visiting hours had long ended and Skylar was supposed to rest. Yet, she couldn't just do that. Of course not. Laying there instead with eyes wide open, staring into the darkness.

Waking up there after three days of coma due to exhaustion should have had her shaken up. However, the main cause of her troubled thoughts was rather the situation that had brought this upon her to begin with. The memory of it replaying in her mind's eye in an endless loop.

Just a pinch between her shoulder, nothing more was needed from Jimin for her to succumb after catching him on his escape from the interpol building. 

It should've never come this far considering her self-defense skills, then how did it?

Certainly, she wasn't the only interpol agent these thieves kept outwitting, even her own supervisor getting fooled by them and yet, she felt humiliated it happened to her again.

Was Jungkook right? Did she overdo it and overwork herself?

Jungkook.. She should probably consider herself lucky to have such a sweet and caring person as her partner. He was always so considerate of everyone.

She wondered if he percieved her like that as well. As he himself always said, they had to look out for each other and that was what she always tried when they were out in the field. But somehow she felt like she failed. How was she supposed to look after Jungkook when she let herself get tricked by thieves so easily?

She sighed, her eyelids growing heavy eventually. 

"Let me guess," Jimin chuckled from behind, "You're into your little colleague, agent Jeon, right?"

Her eyes shot open at the sudden memory creeping up from the depth of her mind.

Jimin's teasing words while disarming her days ago still rang loud in her ears. And she frowned all over again about this random and profoundly wrong conclusion.

Sure, he was known for having excessive psychological skills and the ability to read through everyone, exposing them to his advantage, but even he could be wrong at least once. Right?

"T-that'd be highly unprofessional," she had defended herself back then and she stood by that. But now she regretted not simply denying it.

Yes, he was attractive and cute. Yes, he had a charming smile. Yes, he had a great personality.

No, she didn't have feelings for him. Not because it would've been unprofessional but because she simply didn't.

Right?

Jimin surely wouldn't have persisted calling it a crush if she had just denied it.

She was good in self-defence, she'd trained for this kind of situations. And yet, when he'd brought up Jungkook, it'd thrown her off completely. Distracting her. Of course, that was most likely the reason he had done it in the first place. He had only tried messing with her by bringing up Jungkook and she'd let him succeed. 

That was what bothered her the most, the fact she'd failed in freeing herself from Jimin's clasp in time before he'd began distracting her.

And that was also the only reason why he'd called Jungkook to pick up her unconscious self afterwards. He probably thought he'd do her a favour by not leaving her on the cold ground for too long, as amends for making her unconscious.

That was it. Anything else wouldn't make sense because Skylar did not have a crush or any romantic feelings towards her partner. 

She couldn't.

And still, she couldn't deny the warmth she'd felt when seeing him there. When waking up in that unknown environment, dazed and confused, meeting Jungkook's excited eyes and bunny smile gave her a wave of serenity.

He always made her feel safe. That was something no one else could.

»»»

Jungkook's gaze kept unconsciously returning to the empty desk in front of him.

It was funny in a way. Seven months ago he had struggled getting used to seeing her occupying the space instead of Namjoon and now, now he couldn't imagine anyone but her sitting there. And seeing it all empty gave him a restlessness he couldn't quite understand.

Truth was, when he'd seen Skylar lying unconscious against the wall, his heart had dropped to the pits of his stomach, filled with panic and fear. The mere possibility of anything happening to her, made his mind cloud with a dark fog.

Lost in thoughts, he kept nervously tapping the pen in his hands against the tabletop.

He secretly worried, he constantly worried for her and he didn't know why.

It wasn't because he considered her weak or incapable. He knew she was more than capable. Her scores at the gun training were always 90% or more. And she was able to defend herself, which she always proved whenever the two trained together. And she was intelligent, the smartest person he knew save for Namjoon, she wouldn't get herself in danger.

Then why was he constantly concerned over her well-being?

Probably because he wasn't blind, he saw her staying up on the plane while everyone was dozing off, going over the case files. Or staying in office after everyone was gone, to finish the paper work. Or how she constantly beat herself up whenever she believed she'd screwed up. Just like now, despite an hospital stay.

His eyes fell on the empty desk across from him again.

The relief he'd felt when she'd finally regained consciousness after three days was beyond description.

It was logical for him to worry, though. Of course it was.

Skylar was his partner. She was his friend.

»»»

[set after the final chapter of the main story but before its epilogue]

A knock on the car window disrupted the peaceful silence. Much to Jungkook's surprise, he saw none other than his partner waving at him from the other side of the glass before opening the door and sliding into the passenger seat. She immedietally took off her gloves to rub her cold hands in the warmness inside. The heating blasting from the dashboard in full mode

"Sky, what -" Cough, cough. "Are -"

"Save yourself from another coughing fit," she giggled and revealed a paper bag. Rummaging inside it before taking out a cup. "Here, drink."

Jungkook blinked, accepting the warm beverage. The steamy aroma of tea filling the car.

He opened the lid and blew on it before taking a sip. "What are you doing here? I thought -" Cough. "- Don was supposed to scope out with me tonight."

The blonde only shrugged, taking out another cup for herself. "I switched. Convinced him that he'd rather want to sit in a warm and cozy office and file the warrant requests than being out all night in the cold."

Her answer only puzzled him more as it rose more questions. "Didn't you prefer being in a warm and cozy office, too, though?"

"Of course," she nodded. 

"Then why did you do it?"

She smiled into the dark liquid between her hands. Taking a sip herself and letting it warm her her frozen body. "Because. You know, it's quite boring if you aren't around to keep me company," she admitted casually. Despite feeling her already pink cheeks blushing more. His lips parted, but before he could response anything, she cleared her throat and continued. "And besides, I know it ain't fun doing an observation. Especially not when you got a cold and the other person talks non-stop about themselves."

He chuckled under his breath and took another sip from the tea, soothing his itchy throat. "Guess that's true."

"It's you who should've been in the warm office, your nose is all red," Skylar pointed out then with a raised brow but he only waved her off.

"S'okay."

"You sure?" He wanted to roll his eyes but Skylar's delicate hand suddenly pressed against his forehead. A concentrating look on her soft edges. His breath hinched. His eyes flickering to her lips.

"You're warm, you must have temperature." She sat back, glaring at him with concern. "Jungkook, are you sure you're okay?"

And he smiled. "I am, don't worry."

To that Skylar only huffed and crossed her arms. "You're such a hypocrite, always telling me I shouldn't strain myself but here you are, sitting in a car in the middle of January for an observation while being sick."

"'am not," the round-eyed guy mumbled when an anew cough emerged and he quickly tried suffocating it with the warm tea.

"Fine, be stubborn and worsen your cold," she mumbled then, "But don't expect me to come and bring you soup or something." She shoved the paper bag into his lap then and he saw there were his favourite cup noodles, banana milk and a pack of antipyretic pills.

His lips formed a small grin. He wouldn't mind getting worse if that meant she'd take care of him really. Nonetheless, he swallowed one of the pills along with his tea.

For the next ten minutes they oberved the building in silence. Skylar felt her eyes closing on their own, having to constantly blink to keep them open. She wasn't the best in simply sitting there for hours without doing anything, hence why she despised observations. And Jungkook knew it. Of course he did after two years of knowing and working with her now.

And yet she chose to do an observation just to keep him company.

Most people thought of Skylar of the perfect balance of wit and charm. Fascinating and inaccessible, distant because of her demonstrated intelligence, and possessing such strength of character that she was dismaying and at the same time utterly attractive in an enticing and 'out-of-your-league' way. But to Jungkook she was more than that, more than simply smart, capable and beautiful. She was lovely, she was caring, she was adorable when upset and a real tease when competing with him.

But one thing he had to agree with, she was surely way out of his league.

"You know," he broke the silence, his voice quiter than he intended, "I read that classic novel you recommended."

At that any evidence of sleep washed away from her. "When?"

He frowned. "Why are you acting so surprised?" He sounded genuinely offended by her dumbfounded look and she quickly folded her lips.

"S-sorry, it's just that you yourself said you aren't much of a reader. That's why I've never expected you.." Her voice trailed off as she watched the cute pout on his lips grow. "And how did you find it? Did you like it?"

Jungkook made a thinking expression, biting his lips. "Honestly, I was confused in the beginning, but once I finally got the hang of it and used to the writing style, it was quite good. Less dramatic than I expected though."

She laughed. The lights of the dashboard giving her clear skin a faint blueish hue. "You expected it more dramatic? I found it quite dramatic as it was."

He shrugged with a lopsided grin, lingering on her dazzling large eyes a bit longer before averting his gaze back to the building he was supposed to observe all night long. "Perhaps I'm used to Hollywood-movie-drama. For the people back then it must've been quite dramatic."

Skylar couldn't help but give him a fond look. The fact he read one of her favourite books despite not being into reading, meant a lot. Especially as it wasn't a light read either, she knew.

"If I knew you'd read one of my recommendations I'd have suggested a classic romance novel, knowing you have a weak spot for such stories," she said, not teasing this time but with a nothing but affectionate smile.

"Name me one and I might read it if I find the time and will again."

"Let me think of one, after all I don't wanna be cliché and recommend Pride and Prejudice - although admittedly, it's brilliant."

"Oh, I've heard of the film  - can I just watch that instead?" His boyish grin made her laugh out.

"Sure, do whatever you want," she giggled, looking out at the dark streets again. The fluffy snow blanket covering all their dirty secrets. No one had entered or left the building of interest and no one was out at this hour unless they had some dubious business anyway.

"You know," she spoke up after awhile, "I also tried watching the movie you mentioned."

He perked up at this. "'Tried'?" he repeated chuckling, "So you didn't."

"I did!" she defended herself, "But.."

"But?"

She pursed her lips. "I cried."

"Huh?" He looked at her, dumbfounded.

A pout crossed her features and she looked out again. "I cried, okay? A bit. It made me cry."

His lips folded, contemplating whether his memory failed to remember the sad scenes or if there really weren't any. "But.. it's not a sad film," he smiled then.

"Not necessarily sad, but touching for sure," she mumbled bashfully, avoiding his glance so he wouldn't see her eyes tearing up again. She was good in keeping herself from sudden emotional outbursts, but she had a weak spot for plots like this. Although she rarely watched anime films, this one would surely go to the top of her list.

"You're cute."

Jungkook's sudden words made her turn slowly, looking at his smile with utter astonishment. No one had ever called her cute, save for when she was a child. She didn't find her face to be one that would commonly be considered 'cute' nor did she think her personality matched that description. And yet, she felt herself blushing.

Her lips parted, fiddling with her words when he looked ahead again and took another sip of his tea. Clearly missing her lack of words. "Okay, no films that may make you cry then. What about horror films?"

"Horror films?" Skylar asked surprised, glad for the change of topics. "I love horror films! I thought you were only into chickflicks and anime though."

He frowned, faking offence. "Not 'chickflicks' - romance and dramas. There's a difference!"

She giggled, rolling her eyes. "Alright, sorry. But why have you never told me you like horror films in all these years we know each other?"

He shrugged. In all honesty, he didn't expect her to actually be into this genre and was a little astonished over that. "Hm, why have you never mentioned it either?"

And the two shared a short laugh before going back to observing the building in silence. His eyes occasionally side-tracking and watching her instead.

Skylar wasn't just his partner. Neither was she just his friend.

She was the closest person to him.

»»»

[a few months later]

national treasury

Sejong, South Korea

"Team alpha, our man has been seen in the basement, near the left corridor."

"Roger that," Jungkook answered into the transmitter before pointing to their left with two fingers. Skylar gave him a nod and proceeded through the metal door with her gun aiming in front of her. Him following, eyes trained on every corner.

The basement of the national treasury was dim-lit, only security lights being switched. Bathing the corridors in wine-red and creating an eery atmosphere.

Skylar made a handsign, indicating she saw something suspicious. Shining the flashlights which were held right under their guns at the direction. And indeed, the massive door at the end of the corridor, was left a jar. Both exchanged a glance. It could've been a trap but they had to check it out nonetheless. 

Carefully, Junkook pushed it open and entered, shining into the darkness. He went further inside, Skylar illuminating the other side of the room. Cabinets, safe deposits but nothing more visible. Reaching its end, they realised the area was empty and lowered their arms with a disappointed sigh. 

His partner was about to propose to leave and check other places, only for a heavy noise behind them to catch their attention. They tensed and looked behind their shoulders. Against the red lights, the lean sillhuette of a man appeared and he waved at them. Jimin's laugh echoing through the dark then. "Don't worry! I'm sure the adults will find you soon."

Before they could react properly, he disappeared behind the massive safe door. Letting it click shut and leaving them both with a perplexed look in the light of their flashlights.

"No, no, no. No way," she muttered and shoved her gun into its holster before rushing to the metall door and desperately trying to push or pull it open, in vain. It didn't bulge even a little. Jungkook joined her, both grunting while taking turns in throwing their bodyweight onto it and pulling at the handles in a desperate attempt.

"It's really locked, huh?" he exhaled watching his partner retreat from it with a deep crease set between her brows.

"Seems like it.." She groaned, throwing her head back. "Great. That damn thief.. and what are we doing now?"

"Well," Jungkook shrugged after tapping his in-ear and not receiving any signal, just as expected considering that was one of the main security precautions of that safe. No reception. "I'm pretty sure agent Kim will look for us soon. He must notice we're missing."

Skylar only huffed though, taken aback by how relaxed he seemed. She observed him taking a seat on the ground, propping one arm on his angled knee while letting his flashlight wander around the room. The countless deposit lockers lined up on the walls covering everything in a cold silver.

"What do you think is inside there?" he asked. Brown eyes round from curiosity.

She sighed and walked up to him. Sliding down the wall and taking a seat beside him. She hated having to just sit and wait, not being able to do anything. She felt helpless and that was what they essentially were in that moment. All they could do was sit and wait for their colleagues or any security guards to find them. 

Tricked by those thieves once again. She had to laugh at how ridiculous it was.

With a dragged breath, she stared up to the ceiling. Her eyes peeked at Jungkook who was still looking around their surroundings with child-like awe. If it wasn't for the situation they were in, she'd have found it adorable. 

Quickly, she shook her head and coughed. She had to stay calm and focus. "I have no clue, Kook."

He hummed and began walking around. Lighting at the walls in search for any well or crack, but unable to make out anything like that. His gaze then went to the ceiling and the glass squares covering the lamps.

"Sky, would you come here for a second?"

"Why?" she asked but still got up, walking up him. Her eyes following his when he faced her with a mischievious smirk.

"I'll give you a leg-up and you try see if you can push in any of the squares. Maybe there's an intermediate ceiling."

She looked at him in disbelief. "Seriously?"

He simply nodded with certainty so she sighed, eventually nodding. 

Jungkook was glad that no matter how ridiculous Skylar found his ideas, she'd always agree to follow them. He didn't know whether it was because she trusted him or because she didn't want to put up with his persistence, but he was glad nonetheless.

He crouched down, folding his hands on the ground for her to put her foot on. She grabbed onto his sturdy shoulders as he hoisted her and she climbed onto them. Frankly, she got a fuzzy feeling being all up high on an a wobbly surface but he held her ankles firmly, so she dared an attempt to stretch. Barely touching the built-in lamps. 

With light grunts, she stretched more. Eventually managing pushing one of the lamps but with no success. It didn't bulge. "Dammit," she muttered and tried again by subconsciously raising her heels and slipping.

She shrieked out of shock, hands letting go of the flashlight and instinctively reaching out to hold onto nothing but air. In the split second she fell, she saw sporadic memories appear in her mind's eye when feeling strong arms enveloping her.

Jungkook had caught her fall in time, slowly setting her down. Her feet touching the ground of whose acquaintance she'd almost made.

Skylar's heart was racing, chest raising and falling rapidly as she breathed irregularly. And she stared at the soft ages of his dimly-lit face with a bewildered glare.

He was so close, he was so close and she couldn't feel her legs anymore. She couldn't feel her fingers or the cold or the emptiness of this room because all she felt was the warmth his body was radiating, everywhere, filling everything while his arms were still securely wrapped around her smaller frame.

And she couldn't help but recall the memory pieces she'd seen when falling. They all consisted of him. Pieces of them together. Of his sparkling eyes, crinkling when laughing, of his sweet smile, turning mischievious when teasing her and his gentle voice, calling her name.

"Sky, are you alright?"

She blinked, realising he was actually calling her. Concern engraved on his partly illuminated features due to her silence. "Y-yes." However, her fingers curled more around his biceps. Ensuring he wasn't an illusion of her imagination from hitting the ground after all. "Please," she whispered then, "Please, don't shoot me for this."

And before he had the chance to ask what she meant, she let go of all her self-control and instead, kissed him.

She kissed him like it was her only chance to ever do something so reckless and bold again, because it most likely was, and she had to make the most out of it.

His lips were softer than anything she'd ever known, soft like a first snowfall, like biting into cotton candy, like melting and floating and being weightless in water. It was so effortlessly sweet. But perhaps the best part of all that was that she, guilty of constantly analysing the world around her, stopped thinking. And it was amazing.

At least, until she started thinking again.

"You.. wow.." he breathed against her flushed lips then. If his pupils weren't already wide from the darkness, they'd surely been after that unexpected move.

"S-sorry," she stuttered, feeling silly and awkward when realising what she'd just done in the brief moment her logic was switched off. "I shouldn't - I mean, we're colleagues. Partners! We should not.. it was unproffessional. Let's forget about it." Her feet moved to step back, when she felt his hands holding her forearms firm in their place.

"Sky," he simply said and she immediately stopped in her tracks. "If you regret it because it happened in the heat of the moment, without any meaning to you, I'll forget and never mention it again." He paused. Her soft skin shining faintly in the light of the flashlights on the ground. His hands moved from her arms, to her shoulders and eventually came to a halt on her neck. And Skylar held her breath, unable to move her gaze away. "However," his voice deeper now, "If the only reason you regret it is out of fear what anyone at work might think, I'll remind you that no one's around."

Skylar swallowed. Unable to suppress the rush in her chest. "And.. and what about you?"

"Me?"

"Y-yeah, what do you.. think about it?"

He smiled before pulling her in. His lips finding hers again. She didn't even try to fight it, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and pulling Jungkook closer. His hands wounded her hair, as he'd wanted to do since the first time he'd seen her. It curled around his fingers, silky and fine. Her lovely scent filled his nostrils. His heart was pounding hard, creating a rushing sound in his ears. It wasn't a ringing this time, though, it was like beating wings.

Until it was replaced with the jarring noise of the opening door, catching them off-guard. 

They practically pushed each other away, taking several steps back when multiple sillhouettes appeared at the frame of the opened door and they recognised Seokjin with security guards standing there. Bliding them with their flashlights and the two flinched.

"There you are! Jimin only left a note to look after 'the kids'," their supervisor laughed, seemingly highly amused by the situation. He turned around then, gesturing for them to follow. "Come, you two, there's no time to waste. He's still around the building."

"Y-yes, sir!" Both exclaimed in unison, peeking at each other before rushing out. Almost bumping at each other when trying getting through the door at the same time.

She nudged him then when the others were several steps ahead.

"You got lipstick around your lips," she said in a rushed whisper before picking up her pace and joining Seokjin, who was giving them new instructions.

And Jungkook smirked, wiping his mouth with his sleeve.

It was good the security lights were still switched on and no one could see their flustered faces and excited smiles. Or her own smudged lipstick.

They surely had a long night in front of them.

»»»

[two months later]

Interpol branch office

Seoul, South Korea

"I'll do it - should I do it? I'll do it. No -"

Skylar turned around, ready to head back to her desk when she bumped into something hard. Stumbling back, she came face to face with her boyfriend who was arching a brow at her.

"What are you doing?"

"I- nothing," she said firmly, "Going back to my desk." She was about to brush past him when Jungkook grabbed her arm, pulling her back.

"Why aren't you going inside?" he asked. His voice was calm and it sounded like a genuine question, yet there was a judging tone in it. "You should go in and talk to him, just like we practiced."

A sulky expression crossed her face and she looked away. "I- I forgot what we practiced. I mean, I got a blackout okay? I can't, let's just-" Her anew attempt of leaving once again prevented by him.

"Sky, why are you so nervous? You'd be perfect for the position. Just give agent Kim your official application and explain why you want it."

She sighed, peeking at him with a meek smile. "You know.. I don't like when people have such high expectations of me.. I usually like to crush them." It was one of her personality flaws, she supposed. Just like she had done by not following the plans her mother had made for her life.

"Is it expectations if I'm certain that you'll succeed though?"

"That's so cheesy of you," she whispered with a giggle, "But if we weren't at work I'd kiss you for that."

"You can kiss me later at home," he chuckled, tucking a stray streak of hair behind her ear and cupping her cheek briefly before letting go. Knowing she didn't want to risk anyone there finding out and hence always reminding him to keep any display of affection at bay.

With Jimin's gang suddenly retiring in Taiwan, one of the few countries Interpol had no jurisdiction at and agent Seokjin deciding to get married to his girlfriend, Yongsun from the organised crime department, and stepping down from a field agent and the supervisor position in favour for an office one, a supervisor position in the robbery department would soon be vacant.

And Skylar wanted it.

After four years there she'd quite many success stories to list, from leading a joined unit with the narcotics department to discovering several hideouts of bootleggers. But still. "They won't consider me for the position anyway," she said, bitterness lingering in her words, "I'm only thirty and too young, it'd be against the usual custom for an agent this young to become a lead. And I know some are side-eyeing me for my family background. If I really ended up getting the position, people would probably say mother pulled some strings. And besides.." She briefly glanced up at him, before her eyes wandered around the area for any unwanted ears. "..what about us?"

A crease formed between his furrowed brows. "What do you mean?" he whispered, matching her hushed tone.

"I mean," she said, wiggling her index finger between them, "It's already bad enough we're secretly dating despite being partners. But dating while me being your supervisor? That'd be ten times worse."

His lips parted, exhaling deeply. "Oh," he slowly began then, affliction evident in his eyes, "I don't wanna be the reason for you not getting your dream position."

"No, no, you wouldn't, Kook," she quickly objected, shaking her head as she touched his hand. Giving it a soothing squeeze, "As I told you, they wouldn't consider me anyway."

"I'm sure they will," he smiled, "As far as I know, agent Kim was even younger when becoming the team lead. He'll surely put in a good word for you to the higher ups. And I'll also do so, if asked. So?" he nudged her then, "Will you stop being a coward and go to his office now? Otherwise I'd feel forced to carry you inside there. And you surely don't want people talking, right?"

She groaned at his bright grin, knowing he would absolutely do as threatened if needed. It should annoy her, but she knew it was only for her own good. So she eventually sighed. "Fine, no need for your dramatics." 

"Good girl," he nodded and turned her around by the shoulders, giving her a light push towards the door. "Good luck, although I know you won't need it."

"You're way too certain about this and I don't like it. You'll get more disappointed than me if I don't get it."

Jungkook straightened himself, staring at her with firmness.

"I know you will though."

»»»

[six months later, set during the sequel]

"Sorry for making you wait."

Skylar smiled when seeing her boyfriend nearing her with hasty steps. Pushing herself off the wall of the underground parking lot to greet him when he pecked her lips as soon as he reached her.

"Iew!" she scrunched her nose with a giggle, hitting his chest playfully, "You're all sweaty! Didn't you take a shower after work out?"

"Ah, no. Since it took more time, I didn't want to make you wait any longer than necessary," he explained, throwing his gym bag over his shoulder and pushing back the raven strands that were stuck on his forehead. "I'll just shower at home."

The blonde hummed, brown eyes shifting towards the ground. "Besides, we said not at work.." she mumbled with a light scowl, causing him to roll his eyes.

"It's literally past office hours and no one's around." He let out an overly dramatic sigh, pretending being disappointed. "And here I thought I finally rubbed off on you.." He held his hand out for her which she accepted with no hesitation and he tucked her towards their cars. 

He never took her concerns personally, he knew where they came from after all, especially these past months. However, sometimes she exaggarrated and was a tad too paranoid. At least in his eyes.

"Mine or yours?" he asked then with a raised brow, seeing her shrug.

"Let's go to yours. I don't have any food left in the fridge."

His brows wiggled at her. "Who says there's any in mine?"

Her lips parted, laughing as well. "Didn't you go grocery shopping two days ago?"

"Yeah, and I already ate it all," he grinned, "I burn lots of calories after all."

Frankly, she should've learned in all the years knowing him that this man could eat three full plates of food on his own and yet she still got surprised every time over his metabolism. "Fine, let's order something then."

"Did you finish off all the paper work by the wax?" He unlocked his car and slid inside. Skylar following him by taking the passenger seat.

"Yeah, I did. Wasn't too much after all." She dragged a breath while putting on her seat belt. Propping her cheek on her fist. He started the engine and drove the car out of the underground parking area. Taking a turn, heading west to his apartment. The sun hadn't set completely yet, tinting the sparsely spread clouds in warm evening colours. "She really didn't seem to have any clue about where all the stolen goods might be hid at.."

Musing over her words for a moment, Jungkook eventually nodded to himself. "I'll do a background check on eventual hidden bank accounts and rented places tomorrow."

She hummed, biting down her lips as they curled into a soft smile. "What a diligent subordinate."

Without averting his eyes from the road, he reached for her hand and gave it a light squeeze before leading it to his warm lips. "Gotta impress the boss after all."

Jungkook watched her blush from the corner of his eyes and chuckled under his breath.

It had been four months now since she'd got promoted and he never tried hiding how proud he was of her. Sometimes she pretended getting annoyed, but he knew that she secretly enjoyed it very much and simply wasn't used to it. Especially considering she wouldn't hear these words from her family. At least not her mother who Jungkook had the displeasure to meet, way before they'd started dating. It was only once but it had been enough for him to determine her personality, since Skylar herself wouldn't talk much about her - let alone speak ill of her.

He'd never admit it to her, not wanting to hurt her pride, but he pitied her a lot for that. He couldn't imagine not having both his parents' support hence why he made sure to be the one giving her lots of affirmation instead.

Particularly now with Jimin and his gang suddenly making a comeback in thievery after only half a year of retirement and everyone in the team, especially Skylar as the team lead now, being in a tizzy because of it. Even Seokjin having returned for extra support for this occasion. Not that they minded, they had missed their senior colleague's cheeriness and bad humour.

They eventually reached Jungkook's apartment and ordered food, him ordering a double portion obviously, before settling in front of his big flat-screen. Watching a survival show Skylar didn't really care about, but it was Jungkook's favourite so she didn't mind. It was too warm for her to concentrate on anything anyway. She was at her second scoop of ice cream, unable to cool herself. Not even a shower having helped.

She was sitting beside him, cross-legged and focused on her dessert. Her damp hair was flowing over her shoulders, slightly wetting the collar of her tanktop. A few small streaks framing her high cheekbones. He observed her dark brows knitting together then, struggling with a brain freeze before recovering and going back to digging into her ice cream. And he breathed out a smile. 

He was helplessly and irrecoverably in love with her. Probably was from the very first day, even if he'd ignored the signs back then.

"Sky, say.."

She looked up from her caramel ice-cream, leading the spoon into her mouth with a frown as he'd stopped mid-sentence, making him huff out a chuckle. His arm stretched and he wiped away a bit of the cold sweet from her chin. A dragged sigh leaving his lips then, he shifted uncomfortable in his seat.

Uncertain of whether to repeat himself or simply letting go of the knowingly difficult topic, his eyes focused back on the show they were watching.

"Nothing.. just forget about it."

Maybe it was easier to pretend that he didn't want more out of this, always wanted. From the very beginning eight months ago, Skylar had been very clear and he had promised to respect her wishes. And yet, his heart couldn't help but crumble each time they worked on cases together and had to suppress even the smallest display of affection in fear anyone would sense there was more between them than just being team members.

However, despite him playing it off, as he usually did for her sake, Skylar couldn't help but notice the affliction in his eyes. She always did. 

It wasn't like she didn't sympathise with him. It wasn't like she never got just as frustrated as him. It wasn't like she didn't feel the same. However, she was scared of losing everything at once if she dared saying anything.

She was one of the youngest team leaders in the history of the South Korean branch office. And a woman and half-foreigner on top of it all. She couldn't risk having her colleagues discrediting her or their work and scrutinise every little decision she made when knowing she dated her former partner and now subordinate.

And yet. there were also times when she thought none of that mattered anyway, because it was him. Because it was Jungkook. The sweet goofball who always had her back and had saved her ass more times that she could count.

Slowly, she put the bowl aside onto the coffee table where his legs were spread onto. Untangling her own legs, she knelt next to him on the couch.

"Hey," she poked his cheek with a pout, tilting her head. "Don't ignore me."

"'Am not," he chuckled and caught her wrist before she could poke him anew. "Just watching the show."

"I know you ain't actually paying attention."

Rolling his eyes, he held her gaze. Unable to dismiss the sorrowful sparkle in her big eyes. "Sky, it's.. it's okay." He forced himself to smile with his lips pressed together. Redirecting his gaze back on the flatscreen before he even had the chance to say something absurd and irrational like suggesting to make their relationship public.

The screen suddenly turned black and his brows arched at her.

"Let's talk about it."

"Is there anything to talk about though?" His voice holding genuine confusion. "I get your reasons and you know I'm supporting you no matter what. I just.." His voice trailed off. Shy eyes found hers again as she was intently listening to him. A faint smile on his face as he cupped her rosy cheek. "I'd love if this thing between us was real."

"It is real to me," she frowned, covering his hand with hers. "Just 'cause we keep it a secret from our colleagues doesn't mean it isn't." 

Skylar knew she wasn't as good in showing her affection or romantic nature as he was, but she thought that by now he'd know her feelings for him and that their relationship was more than just a fling or a little after-work affair to her.

The crush she once had - and which that thief had perfectly deducted years ago even if she hadn't acknowledged it - having developed into way more by now. She knew she loved him.

The corners of his lips tucked into a wider smile. Hearing that made his heart-flutter, the validation that this meant more to her as well. "Alright, let me replace 'real' with 'official' then," he said, making her smile as well. And she drew closer to him.

"Alright."

His grin faded, taken aback. "Alright?" he repeated, unsure.

"Yeah, alright. Let's do it. Let's make it official. No secrecy anymore."

"I didn't say that to pressure you. I wouldn't want us to get in trouble at work a-"

"Honestly, screw them!" she cut him off, sitting back with folded arms. "I'm sick of having to fear losing my position just because I love you. It's not like we'd be making out in front of everyone or bicker while interrogating a criminal. We wouldn't even have to tell everyone."

"We wouldn't?"

"No, I checked that."

His grin returned. "You.. you did?"

"Yeah, we'd only have to tell my higher-up and sign some papers. Son from the other team told me a week ago. He had to do it once when dating an agent from division 3. Did you know that? And agent Kim literally married Yongsun from organised crime, so.." Adry laugh left her lips. "I better not catch anyone talking about us."

Jungkook remained silent for a moment, humming as he let her words sink in.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he spoke up then. He didn't sound mad, just curious. And Skylar exhaled deeply, peeking at him before her gaze drifted into the warm night.

"I wasn't sure if it'd be as easy for us, you know.." she admitted truthfully, not being as riled up anymore. "We're not just co-workers and we don't work in different departments or teams. I'm your supervisor. And a woman, so I have to prove myself and all that bullshit." She frowned at her words. "But I'm tired of it all. And it isn't fair to you nor me. We shouldn't have to hide. We're not the criminals here."

Another deep hum followed from him and he glanced at her. She was still turned away, her waves flowing in the night breeze as she was staring out the window. A pensive expression on her features.

"Sky?"

"Hm."

A beaming smile found its way on his lips then.

"You said you love me."

"And?"

"That's the first time you did."

He watched her freeze. In her upsetness she hadn't realised those words slipping out of her lips. She turned around with shocked eyes and he couldn't help but burst out laughing. Her expression instantly softening at the sight. She wasn't regretting saying it, she only regretted the way she had.

"Stop making fun of me!" she whined then, grabbing his tattoed arm and pulling at it in an attempt to make him stop, but it only worsened it. "Jungkook!"

"I'm- I'm not!" he breathed in between of laughing. It was always a hilarious thing to him whenever his collected girlfriend slipped like that.

"I'll take it back if you don't stop."

"Oh yeah, make me?" he challenged her with a smug grin. Seeing her huff, crossing her arms again.

"You're so childish."

"And yet you love me."

Her lips parted, about to defend herself when instead, she got silenced by his kiss. He knew it was the only way to end their bickering.

He pulled back then, brushing a streak of hair away that smelled after his shampoo before placing both palms on her cheeks, squishing them lightly. He was beaming from ear to ear and it was a breathtaking sight.

"Don't worry, if anyone tries messing with you, I'll talk to them. You know how convincing I can be."

Skylar giggled. Yeah, good looks and an easy-going personality made him 'Mr Popular' and he knew when to use it. "I can defend myself," she pouted, "But thank you."

He nodded and was about to lean in again for another peck, when he abruptly paused. Staring at her with a firm yet tender look. 

"I love you, too, by the way. In case it wasn't obvious all these years."

THE END

»»»

- hope you enjoyed the one-shot, giving more insight to Skylar and Jungkook and to some events during the three full fanfics

💜check out the whole "thieves collection" series or my main bts masterlist for other members' stories in this universe or in general💜

And don't forget to like, reblog & leave feedback!♡ It motivates me to keep writing :)

[stlllle]

Infiltrated at the Party — Kim Seokjin x Reader

Genre: Fluff, suggestive, romcom

Word count: approx. 5k

Author's notes :

hiiiii! if you enjoy this and ever wanna request something, my requests are open 🙂

Masterlist –[link]

other parts — [Namjoon, Jin, Yoongi, Hoseok, Taehyung, Jimin and Jungkook]

---

🎉 00:15 AM — HYBE Party.

You were never a party person. Too many drunk people, too much perfume in the air, conversations that started and ended with “did you see that debut?” or “follow me on Insta!”. But there you were, drink in hand, slumped on a way-too-fancy couch surrounded by expensive sneakers and idols trying not to pass out.

And of course… waiting for Seokjin.

Your best friend. Your partner in crime. And, if Yoongi was right, the most hopelessly in-love man on earth.

“You take longer than a pregnant lady in labor, Jin…” you muttered, typing out a complaint text.

Before you could hit send, someone flopped down beside you, making the cushion sink. That familiar clean-soap-and-aftershave scent filled your senses.

“Miss me?” he grinned.

You rolled your eyes, though your heart gave the tiniest skip.

“Took you so long I almost left.”

Seokjin clutched his chest dramatically.

“I had to cross the kitchen, dodge three couples making out in the hallway, and Jungkook asking me for pick-up lines. Show me some respect.”

You laughed, leaning in.

“Did you give him a good one?”

“Of course. Told him to offer nuggets. Everyone loves nuggets.”

This time you laughed out loud. And Seokjin kept smiling, but with that stupidly soft look in his eyes — the one only you seemed to notice. A look Yoongi, who was approaching with two beers, would never let slide.

“Five more minutes and he’ll propose,” Yoongi teased, handing you a bottle.

“Yoongi, shut up,” Jin muttered, taking the other.

“Am I lying though?” Yoongi shrugged. “You should man up and tell her already.”

Seokjin flushed. You, who usually brushed these comments off because you were too scared of what they meant, just smiled.

“Yoongi, is your ex here?” you changed the subject.

“Yup.” He nodded. “Talking to Lisa and being annoyingly likeable as usual. Bastard.”

You snorted. You loved how Yoongi’s relationship with his ex was weirdly civilized and hilarious.

“My ex’s here too,” you admitted. “Seen him?”

Seokjin tensed.

“He’s here? Where?”

“Calm down, possessive boy…” Yoongi chuckled, pointing toward the bar. “Over there, laughing with Jimin and Joon.”

Seokjin relaxed a little.

“Still hot?” you teased.

“Hot my ass,” Jin scoffed. “Have you seen this face?” He gestured at himself, striking a pose.

You burst out laughing, chucking a pillow at him.

The night went on, conversation easy, Yoongi sprawled on an armchair beside you both, Jin gradually inching closer to you. Between sips of beer and roasting people’s outfits, you two fell into that usual teasing routine that always left one of you blushing — mostly Jin.

And then came your reckless idea.

“We should pretend we’re together,” you blurted, half-joking.

Seokjin choked.

“What?”

“Just… to see how people react,” you shrugged. “Bet twenty bucks Hobi will freak out.”

Seokjin stared at you for a second. And for a brief moment, the air felt heavier. But then he smirked.

“Deal. But if we start, we’re going all the way.”

“All the way?”

“Kissing included.”

Your eyes widened.

Yoongi, eavesdropping, cackled.

“OH MY GOD, FINALLY.”

“Shut up, Yoongi,” you and Jin hissed in unison.

The bet was on.

The plan in motion.

Seokjin slung an arm over your shoulder, and you both made your rounds, greeting people. Yoongi had already whispered to half the party that you two were a couple. And when Hobi heard, he did exactly what you predicted.

“YOU’RE DATING?!” Hobi screeched, spilling half his drink.

You and Jin exchanged glances.

And then he did it.

Grabbed your face and kissed you.

And damn, what a kiss.

It was supposed to be a joke.

Part of the act.

But the world vanished.

The music faded.

The party blurred into background noise.

His lips were warm, his hand firm on your waist, and when he pulled back just a little, he stayed close enough for you to catch that addictive aftershave again.

“Convincing enough?” he whispered.

You could only nod.

Yoongi, from a distance, raised his beer in approval.

After that, everything shifted.

You danced. Laughed. Exchanged more “fake” kisses that felt too good to stop. Jin looked at you differently. Like he’d been dying to confess what everyone already knew.

Your ex even came over.

“Happy for you guys,” he said, genuinely.

“Thanks, man,” Jin replied, equally sincere.

Jin’s ex stopped by too — a sweet girl who hugged you and whispered:

“I always knew you were the one for him.”

You nearly melted.

When the night finally died down, and the party emptied out, only the three of you remained on the couch: you, Jin, and Yoongi.

“Well… I’m heading out,” Yoongi yawned, stretching. “Two lovesick idiots left to figure shit out. Call me for the wedding.”

And he was gone.

Silence.

Seokjin looked at you, biting his lower lip — the way he always did when nervous.

“I guess you kinda know, huh?”

You smiled.

“I do.”

He took a shaky breath.

“So…?”

You scooted closer, took his hand.

“So kiss me again. No excuse this time.”

Seokjin grinned that signature grin of his. And kissed you.

Slow. Warm. Sure.

Like he’d been waiting too damn long.

Maybe he had.

When the sun rose and the party officially ended, you were still there — holding hands, laughing like fools too damn happy to care.

Yoongi sent a text:

“About damn time, idiots.”

And you couldn’t stop smiling.

A happy ending?

Hell yes.

---

THE END.

[hamburgerndsprite]

⋆⁺₊STUPID CUPIDS: BABY EDITION⋆⁺₊

✧ Pairing: Baby Cupid! Jimin x Baby Cupid! OC ✧ Genre: dumbass celestial romcom • divine sabotage • gay panic • healing with glitter • emotionally repressed idiots • Crack au • Enemies-to-Lovers • Fantasy AU • Whimsical Chaos • Romance ✧ Word Count: 16k+ of glitter-fueled war crimes ✧ Synopsis: Two baby Cupids get slapped with divine probation, a cursed mission scroll, and absolutely no adult supervision (except one extremely tired supervisor who might sue them for emotional damage). Now they’re stuck doing “healing-centric” love missions, which is unfortunate, because they’re both dangerously underqualified, emotionally repressed, and 100% allergic to subtlety. They’re not stable, they’re not certified, and they’re definitely not falling in love with each other, shut up. Featuring: 💘 reckless divine interference ✨ unlicensed emotional healing 📜 cursed bureaucracy ☕️ One supervisor who did not sign up for this This fic is 70% screaming, 20% feelings, and 10% enchanted muffin crimes. No thoughts, just Cupids. You’re not ready.

Read if you love: 💘 enemies-to-lovers chaos 💥 unqualified Cupids 🧁 weaponized muffins 🧠 emotional trauma with sparkles

IT'S FINALLY OUT;

• READ HERE

• Main Masterlist

[theiris-storyvault]

hate you

❃ namjoon x f! reader

❃ friends

❃ maybe hating you's the only way it doesn't hurt

⭒˚‧ ︵‿⭒ཐིཋྀ ཐིཋྀ⭒‿︵ ‧˚⭒

How do you get over someone you were never even with, but knew in your bones was meant for you? You don’t, or you do, but it takes a million backflips or a hundred laps worldwide.

"Y/N" Namjoon walks into your apartment's kitchen, with his phone facing you. You hum softly, acknowledging his presence. His hands immediately magnetized around your waist. "Which one would look better on me?" His phone displays a catalog with a bunch of sweaters. "Which ones are you talking about?" his finger slides against the screen. "Olive Green or Midnight Blue?"

"What's stopping you from getting both?" You peel yourself away from him, holding a big bowl of nachos. "You'd look good in either," the nachos crunch between your teeth as you walk away. You hear his soft chuckle echo through the hallway. He follows you shortly into the living room, dropping down exactly beside you as if he were a perfectly cut piece meant to be by you. "You're just saying that because you love me."

It wasn't not true, but why did it make your world stop, and your heart skip ten beats? "I absolutely do not"

"Liar"

You and Namjoon were the bestest of friends, the inseparable ones. This is quite funny considering it hadn't even been a year since you met. It's only been a year of inside jokes, 2-person book club, cafe critiquing (or just evil judging, who knows?), and long conversations that spilled past midnight. You knew his favorite artists, and he knew you cried during pet food commercials. You’d seen each other inside-out.

Everything seemed so picture perfect, even cliche to the tee, because, surprise, surprise, you were in love with Namjoon. Head over heels, kick-you-in-the-crotch, spit-on-your-neck type of in love; but just like any other sappy romcom best friend to (not) lovers trope, Namjoon was in love with somebody else.

Someone warm, kind, smart, and ridiculously beautiful in a serene way that makes you feel like you’re in the presence of something sacred. You wanted to hate her when you met, but she did nothing but adore you. She was absolutely un-hateable, and your other absolutely platonic best friends Taehyung and Jungkook knew that it would take light years before you could find a reason to snap her neck into tiny little pieces. She was an angel, one who called you Namjoon's second heartbeat. A kind-hearted princess who would drive an hour to bring you freshly steeped tea when you had headaches. Let you borrow her jackets even though they smelled so beautifully like her, like a home that wasn’t yours. You wanted to hate her. God, you tried, but it’s hard to hate someone who treats you like you matter. Harder still when she makes him so happy.

And most importantly, above everything in between, you wanted to hate Namjoon. The kind of hate that made you leave in the middle of the night without a word, but then again, even the sappiest rom-coms won't let that happen, so instead, you loved him. In the most painful way possible, watching him fall in love with someone as perfect as her, knowing it could have been you if only the clock hands and alternate universes aligned a millisecond right. Sometimes, you cursed the world ever so softly in a whisper, asking them how they could give you the man of your dreams in the form of a best friend?

So you did what you could. You tried to come up with reasons to distance yourself. You'd nitpick the way he always left his socks in the middle of your hallway or how he talked over you when he got excited. You told yourself he wasn’t as perfect as you thought. Maybe he was selfish. Maybe a little clueless.

You even went as far as tuning in to your inner Ross and made a list in your Notes app titled:

Reasons Why Namjoon Is Actually the WORST

Leaves the cabinets open every time he tries cooks. (He ends up burning the whole thing anyway, so that could be #1.5)

Gets super intense when explaining philosophical stuff like “we live in a society.” What does that even mean!

LOVES pineapples on pizza like what the fuck?

Always ALWAYS breaks my favourite mugs, even the limited edition Charizard one that he promised he'd buy me one through eBay (Never did. ANOTHER ONE!)

Says “I love you” too easily. Like it means nothing.

But even after all of this, you knew it wasn't working because right after #5, you added

Says “I love you” too easily. Like, it means everything.

That's when you realize, even when he was a mess, he was still your favorite person. The more you tried to paint him as the villain, the more he turned out to be the hero in disguise. Like the time he noticed your tired eyes and showed up at your door with your favorite soup. Or when he remembered the anniversary of your dog’s death without you having to say a word, or how he somehow always texted you right as you were about to cry, like he was Doctor Strange.

Jungkook and Taehyung noticed. Of course they did.

You remember the day he told you he was going to ask her to move in with him. His eyes were all lit up, like he couldn’t wait to show her the universe he’d built in his heart.

“I think it’s time,” he said, fiddling with the corner of your throw pillow. “She makes everything feel softer. Like I can finally breathe without waiting for something to go wrong.” You smiled. That’s what you were supposed to do, right?

“That’s amazing, Joon,” you said, your voice quieter than you meant it to be. He leaned his head on your shoulder like he always did. “You think it’s a good idea?” “Of course,” you whispered. “She loves you.”

He sighed, relieved. “Yeah. I love her too.”

You nodded, but your chest felt like it was caving in.

After he left, you cried silently. The kind that hurts because nothing is coming out but pure heaviness and pain, and it isn't even because he loved someone else, but because he should. If anyone deserved his heart, it was her. And if anyone deserved to love him from afar, quietly, it was you.

The next few weeks passed like a lifetime you weren’t part of. He moved in with her. They started cooking dinner together, taking yoga classes, and hosting small gatherings. You were invited to all of them.

And you went without fail, like a best friend would.

Because that’s what love sometimes looks like, being near him even when it hurts, laughing when you want to cry, cheering for a life you were never going to be written into. Every time you came over, you took a minute in front of their apartment door to give yourself a peptalk, one that tells you that you had no right to feel this way because Namjoon was never yours, just a best friend with a laugh that felt like home and a heart too gentle to hold without falling. But what could you do? Lord knows you love him, more than he knows—more than you should.

One night, they hosted a little game night. You sat between Taehyung and Jungkook. Throughout the night, you stayed almost eerily silent. Laughing only softly, smiling half-heartedly, and even excusing yourself to the bathroom every three minutes when you all sat on the closed toilet, trying not the cry. Namjoon kept glancing at you from across the room like he always did when he was proud of something, but the enthusiasm that night was never reciprocated. It was hard to see him frown, knowing it was because of you, but it was harder when she caught the glance, too. She reached for his hand and smiled, a knowing look in her eyes, and then, she looked at you.

For a steady moment, you thought she knew what was in your heart. It was scary, but you held her gaze, tried to smile, and she gave your hand a squeeze when she passed you a drink. No words, just warmth. It's that thing you loved about her. She was never one to judge or ponder. She never doubted, not even once. And you knew it was true, because as soft as she is, she was transparent. You knew when she hated someone, by the way she looked, and she never gave you that, not even for a little bit.

Jungkook nudged your foot under the table, gently. When you looked over, he offered you a soft smile that said, I’m here.

Taehyung didn’t say much either, but he always made sure to walk home with you after gatherings, no matter how late. He’d talk about everything and nothing, always waiting to see if you wanted to break. You never did, but the way he walked a little slower, let you take your time, told you that if you ever chose to fall apart, he’d catch you.

“Just out of curiosity,” you said one night, in the safety of Taehyung’s bluish-purple hoodie and Jungkook’s playlist humming through your speakers, “Do you think I’m delusional?”

Taehyung looked up from his phone. “No,” he said without hesitation.

“You haven’t even heard what about.”

“I don’t need to.” He shrugged. “You're not delusional. You’re in love.”

“And that makes me pathetic.”

Jungkook, lying belly-down on your carpet, spoke without turning his head. “It makes you human.”

That night, you deleted the “Reasons Why Namjoon Is Actually the Worst” note. Because you knew the truth: the real reason you wanted to hate him was because hating him felt safer than hoping he’d ever choose you.

But he wasn’t yours to choose.

You watched him grow with her. You were there when they got their first place, helped carry boxes upstairs even though your legs felt like jelly. You celebrated their milestones, poured champagne, and took their pictures.

And Namjoon? He never changed. He still called you “darling,” sent you memes at 3AM, and still asked your opinion before buying things. And every time he did, your heart cracked a little more.

He had no idea.

Or maybe he did, but just didn’t know how to ask.

For a moment, you pondered over what love was, and it was when you looked at Namjoon again and saw how happy he was in her warmth was when you realized that love could be quiet and brave and unrequited, and still be love all the same.

So you smiled at their photos. You cheered for their wins.

And when you couldn’t take it anymore, you’d find yourself on a rooftop somewhere with Taehyung humming an old Beatles song beside you, or Jungkook leaning his head against your shoulder, reminding you that even if you weren’t his person…

You were someone’s.

[loveyourself007]

THIS CHRISTMAS

Author: @loveyourself007

Pairing: BTS x O. C. (Original Character)

Genre: Holiday!! AU, rom-com, fluff, magic, magical powers, Small Town!! AU

Ratings: 13+

Status: Ongoing

Synopsis: Maria Snow, an aspiring writer with a life long reputation of being called a Grinch was living her life as the way she always wanted, but what she always lacked was the spark of magic that kept her from celebrating the most wonderful time of the year, The Holidays.

She always thought that she will hate Christmas till the end of time, until This Christmas comes to her with a wonderful gift in hand. What will she do when this unexpected gift starts changing the course of what she thought was right. Will she still be able to uphold her Grinch reputation this year or will they come shattering down as she starts enjoying these gifts.

Seven Days, Seven Strangers and lots of Christmas Magic, with an advice:

"Do not get attached; Just enjoy the ride."

Chapter 1: I

..................................................................................

~18th December: 6 days to Christmas 🎄🎁~

Nothing better than a morning where you don't have to think about going to work and just have to relax. Since it's the holiday season you thought of giving yourself a holiday too, doing nothing till the end of the whole week leading to Christmas Eve.

Now that you were on a much needed vacation you thought it would be a good idea to treat yourself this morning. Which is the reason why you stood infront of the door of a coffee shop so early. Actually you were a little surprised that this place was even open, you were an early bird and it was pure luck that this cosy looking café was open at seven in the morning.

The exterior was all wooden like one of those bars in the Harry Potter movies, overall the place looked really inviting so without giving it much thought you went inside.

If you thought the exterior was cosy looking then the interior of the café actually gave you a homey feel, everything was wooden like the old shops or bars in the country with all the Christmas decorations.

Being inside the café you immediately spotted the barista, his back facing you, maybe he was getting ready for the day ahead. There was no one in the café apart from you and the man working behind the counter.

You took off your coat and hung it on the coat rack and then went towards the counter to order.

As you went closer, you noticed that the man was humming to himself while swaying along with the melody. He had a nice voice. As soon as he sensed your presence he turned towards you with a cheerful smile on his face, and boy were you flustered. The man looked like a Greek god, he was so handsome, you couldn't help but stare. His rosy cheeks probably due to the cold weather, his plump lips and those broad shoulders with a lean yet muscular body, he was perfect. He was wearing a white button up shirt with black slacks and an apron tied around his back.

You felt enchanted just by looking at him, as soon as your eyes landed on him you felt like you were in a daze.

You didn't realise you had been staring him with your mouth wide open this whole time until he snapped his fingers infront of you.

"Yes." You asked quickly closing your mouth and avoiding eye contact as much as possible, you were so embarrassed you felt like burying yourself in the ground. Your ears started warming up and your heart it went crazy beating inside your chest.

"You know I always get these types of reactions you don't have to feel embarrassed, I'm quite used to it now." He said, his voice sweet as honey, with a hint of cockiness.

"How can I not I was practically drooling while looking at you." You replied, dying from the embarassment.

"There is nothing wrong in admiring what you like." He said, winking at you.

You knew you were a goner now.

"So what can I get you." He asked politely.

"A caramel machhiato, please." You replied with a big smile on your face, you wondered how much long it will take for your cheeks to start hurting from the way you were smiling. It was your first time behaving and feeling like this in front of a stranger, you yourself couldn't understand why or how this was happening to you.

"A caramel machhiato coming right up." He said with the same enthusiasm as before.

You paid the bill and sat at one of the coffee tables. While he was working on your order you couldn't help but stare at his figure, but when he caught your eye you immediately turned your head and started looking at the decorations, since the whole café was empty you couldn't help but feel awkward, should you start a conversation with him or just leave him alone, following thoughts were invading your mind.

"So, you work here alone?" You asked, unable to take the silence any longer.

"You can say so. I own this place." He replied, still working.

"Must be tough then, managing everything yourself."

"Not really, only a few special people know about this place so there is no work load." He replied turning towards you with a smile. He brought your drink at your table which wasn't too far away from his counter.

"One minute." He said as he kept the cup infront of you and rushed back towards the counter.

He came back with a croissant in hand.

"It's on the house." He said placing the croissant in front of you.

" Thank you so much. You didn't have to."

"I had to. Can't let a pretty girl like yourself leave this place without tasting my special." He replied giving you a wink again with a playful smile.

"Do you mind if I sit with you." He asked already pulling the chair for himself.

"Not at all." You couldn't believe you were flirting with a stranger. Your cheeks started hurting from how long you were smiling. What was happening to you?

"I'm Kim Seokjin." He said while offering his hand.

"Maria Snow." You shook his hand and it was like sparks filled inside your body. You then immediately took a sip of your caramel machhiato to hide your flustered expression. It felt like you were a drunk teenager who felt flustered everytime she did or said anything around her crush.

"Beautiful name, reminds me of Christmas."

"Yeah my parents loved Christmas so they came up with a name that would remind them of it." You replied.

"And you?" He said

"What?" You asked, a little confused.

"Don't you like Christmas?" He asked with genuine curiosity.

"Not really."

"What? You don't like Christmas?" He said raising his voice which was filled with disbelief.

"It's not like everyone has to like it." You replied, shrugging your shoulders.

"Why don't you like it?" He inquired.

"Well it's a little hard to explain." You replied hesitantly.

"Try me." He said

"Well firstly because I think that Christmas is overrated. If people want they can be cheerful and happy throughout the year why need a specific time to feel happiness. Secondly, people talk shit about their families and friends for the whole year and then suddenly on Christmas they want to spend it with their loved ones, again you could've done this at anytime of the year why on Christmas day?" You replied, with pure annoyance.

However the look on Seokjin's face was entirely different, something you couldn't understand.

"Are you sure these are the only reasons why you don't like Christmas?"

"What else would there be?" You replied, avoiding eye contact with him.

"Maria I've met a lot of people in my life and I can tell when someone is in pain and trying to hide it behind a mask." He said with a look of sympathy.

It felt like he struck a chord in you with his words and everything that you had tried to hide came pouring back to you. You have always tried to hide your vulnerable side from everyone but you couldn't understand how can a stranger make you feel all these things with just his words.

Again you wondered why were you being like this.

"It's not. I'm not, trying to hide any pain." You replied with the last bit of strength you had to hide your vulnerability from him.

"Is it not? Is it not true that you don't like Christmas because you're always alone? Seeing everyone with their loved ones you feel jealous, you envy their happiness. Tell me is it not true."

He said. To which you were about to defend yourself but he interrupted you.

"I'm not trying to accuse you of anything, love. I just want you to understand that you should never be ashamed of what you are feeling." He said, his voice sweet and soft as a feather.

You couldn't control your tears at his words it was like a dam broke. You couldn't stop your tears . Has this man casted a spell on you why couldn't you stop yourself, you couldn't help but wonder.

"It's ok darling. Everyone feels like this, everyone has felt loneliness more than once in their lives. It doesn't matter why you are lonely, what matters is how and what you do to get rid of it." He said while taking your hand in his, as a gesture to comfort you. He then took out his handkerchief and offered it to you. You quickly took it from him and wiped your tears. You then took a sip of your drink which was surprisingly still hot to calm yourself.

"You're right. God this is so embarrassing. I don't even know why I'm telling you this." You said, your face heating up because of your outburst, just a moment ago.

"Probably because you don't know me and it feels better to open up to a stranger you don't know than talking to a close one, with whom you feel that you'll be judged." He replied.

"And to your good luck this stranger is not only a good looking barista but also a very good listener." He said playfully, probably to lighten up the mood. You gave him a smile and continued your story.

"My parents loved Christmas. It was so nice, spending the whole holiday season with them, until that accident occurred and they died. It just felt so wrong, celebrating Christmas after that." You stopped to take a sip of your coffee.

" But I did try to get over it and move on. I met a man, fell in love and then on Christmas Eve when I went to his place to surprise him, I found what heartbreak felt like, he cheated on me and that too with my best friend. After that I just gave trying to feel happy, especially in this season." You answered letting your tears fall down your face.

Seokjin shifted his chair towards yours so he can be closer to you. He held your hand in his.  You felt his warmth radiating off of him and onto you, it felt really comforting. He met your eyes and gestured for you to continue.

"I just felt like I don't deserve to feel happy and seeing everyone around me happy and enjoying the love of their loved ones I just felt more miserable." You replied, closing your eyes while the tears flowed down your cheeks.

You felt Seokjin's hand on your cheeks wiping away your tears, the warmth of his hand and his touch igniting a strange type of spark in you.

"Everyone deserves to be happy Maria, especially you. After everything you have been through, happiness is not something you have to envy or long for. It will come to you on its own." He said, his thumb grazing the apple of your cheek.

His voice, his close proximity was driving you crazy. You knew what will happen if you opened your eyes right now. You were trying so hard to resist it, but then Seokjin's words came to your mind and every second thoughts, every bit of resistance went out of the windows. You opened your eyes and looked at him, his eyes mirroring the same look as yours, of desire, need and want. At that moment you knew, you were caught up in whatever spell Kim Seokjin has casted on you and there was no going back from it.

"How? How can I be happy? If I don't have a reason to be." You asked, voice as soft as a feather.

"Do you want me to give you that reason." He asked, his eyes turning dark probably the same as yours. Without even hesitating, you nodded your head and it was like he had been holding himself back this whole time.

As soon as you gave him your consent he intertwined his fingers with yours and traced your jaw with his other hand that was earlier on your cheek and settled it on your chin tilting your face so that your lips were at level with his. Your heart skipped a beat and you felt butterflies dancing in your stomach, you closed your eyes shut as he started leaning closer, painfully slow. As soon as he closed the gap, tingles went down your heart. His lips soft and plump took control of yours. You traced his shoulder blades with your free hand, you have been wanting to do that since the moment you had laid your eyes on him. Then you went to his hair, tangling your hands in those soft ebony locks. He left your chin and wondered his hand down your waist and let it settle their. Then he licked your bottom lip and you opened your mouth for him to let his tongue inside, the two of you got lost in the sparks of your own desire.

When you parted from the intense make out, his face made you want to pull him again but the need to catch your breath was much more. His face was  flushed red, hair dishevelled, he looked marvelous and to think that you were the reason behind, made you feel proud and happy after such a long time.

"I have a present for you." He said, as he took out a small box, gift wrapped in pink and a red ribbon tied.

"Did you just get that box from out of thin air." You asked, surprised from the box appearing out of nowhere.

"No silly, I had it with me all this time maybe you would've noticed it if you looked around instead of only focusing on my face." He said and chuckled. On any other day you would have argued more and wouldn't stop questioning until you were proven right but today it was as if you have lost your reasoning all of a sudden.

"You have to open this on Christmas morning. Promise me." He said, handing you your present and holding up his pinky finger, you laughed at his cuteness but interlocked yours with his.

"Wow, time went away so fast. I didn't noticed it's already time to bid you farewell."

"What?"

"Maria I wish you start believing in Christmas." He said with an expectant smile on his face, what he was expecting you didn't knew but you felt as if you were drifting away from him. And then suddenly felt everything turn black.

..................

You opened your eyes as the sunlight from your window fell on your face. You immediately sat up and noticed your surroundings. You were in your appartment sitting on your bed.

So that means you were dreaming everything?

How could that be a dream though? You actually felt everything as if it was really happening with you. It wasn't making any sense, you checked the date on the calendar and it was another day. You had slept for a whole day? You couldn't believe it but what other explanation you had.

........................

"Happiness is not something one has to ask for. Everyone deserves to be happy in their lives."

[rdmasevi]

Crush à la Carte - Part 2

Title: "Crush à la Carte" Chapter 2: BTS fanfiction

Pairing: Jimin x Reader Male ( Chef )

Genre: Fluff | Comedy | Romance | Mild Chaos | Calebrity AU

Warnings: None

Summary: Jimin and the reader go on a cute Paris date—with RM tagging along to translate. Their awkward but adorable outing sparks dating rumors, and the media hilariously mistakes them for a throuple.

You hadn’t expected Jimin to actually follow through.

You’d assumed that maybe it was a one-time moment—that little spark across the dining room, the scribbled note, the flushed cheeks. A passing crush that would fade by the time they flew back to Korea.

But then RM messaged your restaurant’s business account.

“Hey, this is Namjoon (RM). Jimin really wants to see you again—just for coffee or something chill. He doesn’t speak much English though, so… you cool if I come along to translate?”

And that was how you found yourself sitting at a quiet café near the Seine, nervously wiping your palms on your jeans while two members of the world’s biggest band walked toward you like a Calvin Klein ad come to life.

Jimin wore a fluffy beige sweater that nearly swallowed his hands, a bucket hat, and round glasses that made him look like a soft, romantic daydream. RM, dressed in sleek neutral layers, gave you an apologetic wave.

“Hi,” RM said, offering a firm handshake. “Sorry in advance for what I’m about to become today.”

You laughed. “What’s that?”

“A translator. A babysitter. A third wheel. Possibly the center of a fan conspiracy theory in about 12 hours.”

——

The conversation started clumsy but sweet. Jimin would say something shyly in Korean, and RM would translate between bites of his croissant. You noticed that RM was extremely careful about what he chose to translate versus what he just snorted at and ignored.

“Jimin says he really likes your voice,” RM said casually. “And that your jawline is unfair.”

You blinked. “Uh. Thanks?”

Jimin gave you a look that was half-proud, half-ready-to-run-into-the-Seine.

“And,” RM added, “he says if you ever cook for him again, he might fall in love on the spot.”

You stared at Jimin. Jimin stared at the table.

“Dude,” RM muttered in English to no one in particular, “I’m not getting paid enough to third-wheel this level of flirtation.”

The rest of the "date" unfolded like a chaotic but endearing romcom. You and Jimin tried to talk directly—gestures, Google Translate, sketching little drawings on napkins. RM occasionally stepped in when things got too awkward.

At one point, Jimin tried to ask if you liked dancing, but accidentally asked if you liked “mating.” You choked on your coffee. RM just sighed and leaned back in his chair like a war veteran.

——

You spent the afternoon walking near the water, laughing, pointing out buildings, sharing pastries, and occasionally pausing for Jimin to dramatically gasp at cute dogs. A few fans spotted you and took blurry photos. You didn’t think much of it.

Until the next day.

——

[ TWITTER - @popculturebuzz ]

Spotted in Paris: BTS’s RM and Jimin seen out with a mystery man!

Rumors swirl—are they a couple… or a throuple?

Fans spot “intimate moments” and “cozy body language” between all three.

#BTS #Jimin #RM #ChefBoyfriend #ParisLoveTriangle

——

You stared at your phone in horror.

“OH MY GOD,” you muttered.

Your restaurant’s Instagram DMs had exploded with heart emojis, confused French teens asking if you were married, and one very sweet grandma offering to knit you and “your two lovely Korean husbands” a matching sweater.

Jimin sent you a photo of the article with 47 crying-laughing emojis. RM simply texted:

“I hate you both.”

——

The second date was just the two of you—Jimin showed up with a translator app and a determined smile.

But even when RM wasn’t there in person, the internet had decided you were a unit.

For the next week, every new blurry photo of you and Jimin was somehow cropped to include RM awkwardly sipping coffee in the background, like some confused guardian angel.

——

You and Jimin didn’t mind.

He still sent you weird food photos with badly translated English captions.

You sent him videos of your prep station, showing off your “seductive chopping” while mouthing sexy chef in your best K-drama voice.

He sent a voice note once, late at night: soft, sleepy.

“Your hands,” he said in slow English. “Still beautiful.”

Your heart nearly stopped.

——

A week later, you changed your phone lock screen to a photo Jimin had secretly taken: you laughing, covered in flour, flipping a pancake mid-air.

He’d written over it with messy handwriting:

“Not a throuple. Just mine. 💕”

And that was the sweetest kind of chaos you’d ever known.

My main masterlist

[btscontentenjoyer]

BTS Summer Fic Recs

Here are some summer fanfic recommendations if you need something to read on the beach, by the pool, or just in your room while you're trying to escape the heat! If you enjoy any of these stories, please don't forget to let the author know by reblogging and leaving feedback. Most of these stories contain smut or other mature themes so MINORS DNI!

kim namjoon

solace by @m-yg93 (13.5k) fluff/smut

[roommates to lovers]

summary: Namjoon thought getting used to a new roommate would take time and adaptation but you fit yourself into his apartment with ease. He swears he only landed in your bed to keep you safe in his arms when you get spooked by the storm. Surely he can blame the eventual lack of clothing on the summer’s heat stroke.

kim seokjin

all you’re giving me is friction by @hot-soop (28.3k) angst/smut/fluff

[surfer!seokjin x lifeguard!f.reader, lovers to enemies (lite) to lovers]

summary: You’ve graduated! Congratulations - you’ve got one thing checked off your parents ten year plan! Now all that’s left to do is start your dreary office job, drag yourself up the ladder to CEO, marry your (as yet unknown) dream guy, and carve out some time to pop out a few kids before your ovaries shrivel up… Except all of that sounds horrendous, and you’d much rather spend the next three months at Hoseok’s beach house with your closest friends - relaxing, partying, and sleeping late while you still can. And it would be your last perfect summer break, if it weren’t for the most irritating man on the planet (and his chickens) living next door.

min yoongi

the landlord by @ppersonna (4.3k) smut/light crack/pwp

[landlord!yoongi]

summary: your air conditioner breaks right at the height of a recordbreaking heat wave.  good thing your hot landlord, yoongi, knows how to attend to any needs you may have.

watermelon sugar by @yoonjinkooked (23k) smut/romcom

[strangers to lovers, vacation au]

summary: Travelling alone to your dream destination had sounded like a good idea at the time. And you don’t regret doing it, of course not - you’re in Greece! The food! The sun! The smell of the sea! The white walls and blue chairs, the hills, the warm days and colder nights. A little company wouldn’t hurt, though. That’s how you end up talking to Min Yoongi, your next door neighbour with whom you practically share a balcony. He’s quiet, he barely leaves his room but when you reach out, he doesn’t push you away. That’s how your Greek adventure begins.

jung hoseok

strawberry sundae by @youtifulhobi (6k) fluff

[lifeguard!hoseok x olympian swimmer!reader, meet cute]

summary: A few years after you begin dating Jung Hoseok, the two of you reminisce about how you met when he was a lifeguard and saved you from drowning, when in reality you had just fell off your strawberry floatie and he just wanted to talk to you.

a taste of paradise by @theharrowing (8k) light angst/smut

[strangers to lovers, chance encounters]

summary: A handsome stranger helps take your mind off of all of the drama that awaits you back home. It is bittersweet, isn’t it, how a chance encounter that makes you feel so good can also just leave you craving more.

park jimin

i need you tonight by @minisugakoobies (1.5k) smut/slight angst?

[pool boy!jimin]

summary: You’re tired of watching your evil stepmom waste your father’s money. So you steal one of her toys.

you dtf? by @sailoryooons (10.2k) smut/pwp

[strangers to one-night stand]

summary:  You’ve never had a one night stand. Jimin has had countless. You’re trying to experience new things. Jimin loves doing the same old shit. So when you meet the man going around the club inviting people to touch his ripped abs, you think perhaps this is the perfect opportunity to try new things. It’s Labor Day weekend at the shore - what can go wrong?

into the wilderness by @gukyi (27k) angst/fluff/comedy

[friends to lovers, camp counsellor au, unrequited love]

summary: alright, so last summer’s camp was… disastrous. from the murky green showers to the wasps nests, it was all-around a bad time. but none of those things could be quite as catastrophic as the end-of-camp counselor campfire, when you told park jimin that you were in love with him. and if telling him was terrible, then seeing him again this summer, one year after your fruitless confession, just might be the death of you.

kim taehyung

summer feelings by @jjkeverlast (558) fluff/crack

[childhood best friends to lovers]

summary: taehyung catches you off guard during your first trip to the beach.

himbo hours by @gimmethatagustd (7k) pwp/smut/humor

[himbo!taehyung x reader, strangers to lovers]

summary: Trouble always seems to follow Taehyung. An innocent night of finding new friends to share his alcohol, drugs, and boxy smiles quickly turns into a mess when he accidentally punches you, a poor, unsuspecting clubgoer, right in the face. Whoops!

trip by @daechwitatamic (22k) fluff

[friends to lovers, camping au]

summary: Your gigantic crush on Kim Taehyung is so bad that you drop whatever you’re holding every time he speaks to you. Your dirty liar of a best friend SWORE to you he wouldn’t be on this camping trip, but he is. Luckily, the trip gives Taehyung the chance to see you in a new light, admittedly with some help from his best friend (and definitely hired spy) Park Jimin.

jeon jungkook

in which sour and salt could be so sweet when jungkook’s existence reminds you that there is still good in the world. by @onlyswan (3.1k) fluff/a pinch of angst/suggestive

[established relationship]

baecation by @1kook (5.9k) smut

[richboy!jungkook, vacation au]

summary: “Lose the top, or lose the right to present yourself in any low back gown for the next three months.” He truly knew the way to your heart.

heartless by @here2bbtstrash (7.4k) pwp/smut

[exes hooking up]

summary: after a wild summer at the shore where he made more than a few mistakes, jungkook is ready to remind you why you always take him back.

no longer strangers by @soft4gguk (9.4k) fluff/smut

[jungkook x inexperienced!reader, strangers to lovers, summer love au]

at the end of the day by @starshapedkookie (13.3k) fluff/smut/a little angst

[ex-baseball player!jungkook, high school friends to lovers, beach/vacation au]

summary: You and Jungkook have been best friends for 8 years, going through absolute hell and back together. After senior year of high school, you and Jungkook began a tradition of taking annual vacations together during the summer months. This summer is no different, with you and Jungkook celebrating graduating college just a couple months prior. You're set to move to NYC after the summer, with you and Jungkook soaking in the sun and as many moments as you can together. You'd think nothing could ever tear your friendship apart with him, but when you've sat on the beach for too many days in a row watching him surf, you can't help but wonder - when did your best friend get so hot?

lemon sherbet by @extravaguk (15k) fluff/smut/angst

[tattoo artist!&piercing artist!jungkook x popular!reader, ex high school classmates, kinda frenemies to lovers, summer au]

summary: But above all things, the last thing you expected to happen when you came back was to show your tits and get pierced by none other than motherfucking Jeon Jungkook. Jeon Jungkook. Guk. Gukkie. Jeongukkie.

concrete king by @bratkook (16.7k) fluff/smut

[skaterboy!jungkook x reader, himbo energy]

summary: when a cute boy in a tacky hawaiian shirt lands a trick in your honor there’s no way you could ever say no to him

ex on the beach by @beahae (mini-series, 18.2k) fluff/light angst/smut

[exes to lovers]

summary: You and Jungkook broke up. But it would be very silly of you to let the fancy beach vacation you both won go to waste, right?

stars behind waves by @taegularities (22.7k) angst/fluff/smut

[estranged childhood best friends to lovers, beach/vacation au]

summary: With a decade’s distance between Jungkook and you, your paths cross on the same island you deemed your second home years ago. And you realise once again – the ocean can never compare to the twinkle in his starry eyes.

paddle with me by @yoongsgguktae (two-shot, 30k) angst/smut

[enemies to lovers, camp counsellor au]

summary: when your camp leader forces you and jeongguk as partners in a team building activity. with frustrations and anger flaring during your journey down the river, how will all this pent-up emotion get released?

Thank you so much for taking the time to check out my list! I read some of these stories while on vacation this year, and some have stayed with me for a while since I read them last summer. If anyone has more summery recommendations, I'd love to hear them, so don't be afraid to put them in the comments or send me an ask <3

[taevescence]

Romcoms night | A BTS Series

The movie theater lights begin to dim as the curtains that lightly cover the large screen are pulled aside to leave it completely uncovered. It is only then, when there is no trace of light or fabric to block the view, that the countdown to the start of the film begins. 10… 9… 8… 7… 6… 5… 4… 3… 2… 1… 0...

| Kim Seokjin

Tired of waiting for a marriage proposal from your boyfriend, you decide to travel to Ireland to try out an old Irish tradition celebrated on February 29th. The problem? A severe storm stops your flight and forces you to stop on the Emerald Isle, miles away from your destination and your fiancé.

With time against you, you decide to ask for help to the handsome -but extremely irritating- innkeeper of a small hotel near the area, willing to do anything to reach your boyfriend and ask for his hand in marriage.

| Min Yoongi

Your life, in a nutshell, was perfect; you had a dream house, with an amazing husband and a good paying job. Things were finally starting to go uphill in your life - after the failed love affair you had before you met Yoongi -.

However, not all things are rosy, and that, to your misfortune, you found out in the worst possible way; arriving at your house -now in pieces- and finding your perfect husband holding a gun to his best friend's head.

| Jung Hoseok

Working as a ticket seller on the subway was not your idea of an ideal job, not even close. Your goals in life were far from being fulfilled with the minimum wage you were offered, but none of that mattered, not when you had Mingyu coming and going through the cars every morning and evening.

He was your dream man; handsome, tall, charismatic… you were completely in love with him, you would do anything to help him, even if it meant pretending to be his girlfriend to his family after he lost his memory in an accident at the station where you worked.

| Kim Namjoon

You were always an organized person, your life was planned from start to finish, every detail perfectly polished. Absolutely nothing could disarm that order that you had tried so hard to put in your life.

Until a little girl and an obnoxious co-worker come into your life, turning everything you believed in upside down, and messing up your idea of a perfect life.

| Park Jimin

Since you were a child you had had an impeccable taste for fashion, you loved touching those fine fabrics that covered people's bodies with beauty and elegance, how a single garment could make you feel like the queen of the world, just by the way you could wear it.

It was that same obsessive love you had for fashion that you ended up in this situation; working for a stupid finance entrepreneur, in a boring and horrible magazine you had never even heard of, going to great lengths to get to your dream job as a writer at the most famous fashion magazine in town.

| Kim Taehyung

Your job as a "night companion" had always been difficult for you, from the discomfort of flirting with complete strangers to the fact that you had to take them to bed. But there wasn’t much you could do; you didn’t earn enough money to afford a decent life. You could barely pay for a shared apartment, let alone a college education.

You had lost all hope of living a peaceful life, far from the dangerous streets and one-night stands—or at least that was the case until Kim Taehyung came into your life.

| Jeon Jungkook

Saying that the people at your workplace hated you was an understatement. You were quite a... strict boss. You liked efficient people, those who acted instead of talked; your life was far too busy to worry about such insignificant details, and you expected everyone to act—or at least pretend—that they shared the same mindset as you.

It was precisely that kind of thinking that led you to ask—beg—your secretary, Jeon Jungkook, to marry you. It was a simple business deal, no love involved; he wanted you to help him become a writer, and you needed to stay in the country without being deported. No feelings, no complications, easy and straightforward.

Masterlist.

Dividers by @silkholland <3