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staycatcher · 5 years

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Anguish 001- Anguish

“Out of genuine free will, I, Lee Minho, exercise the divine right to reject my sacredly designed soulmate.”

Member: Lee Minho / Lee Know x Femme Reader (she / her)

Au: Frat Boi! Minho + Rejected Soulmate AU

Genre: Angst (some comedy?,, this series is gonna be angsty because of the whole ‘rejected soulmate’ thing)

Rated T for a whole lotta swearing, a frat party, crowds, usage of alcohol and mentions of drugs, intensity, reader is a bit socially anxious (please lmk if any other warnings are needed!💞🥺)

Word Count: 4k & manually double spaced between words & paragraphs for ease of reading!!!!🥵🤠🥰

Note: this is dedicated to @trixareforlix, they’re the first-ever friend I made on here and they’re the one who sparked this frat au idea!! Ilysm always angel!!<33

Edited: 201015 (Original: 190813 )

Anguish series 1/?- ~001~, 002

The anticipated day where you’d become magnetized, the world around you becoming a blur, your heart falling into perfect sync with the one destined for you truly… was not like that at all, actually! No, the stars were cruel to you, perhaps you did something awful in your past life to deserve this, but maybe what is more likely is that your soulmate’s just an asshole. After all, one’s soulmate was the complete opposite of one’s self. Soulmates were the yin to one’s yang and vice versa and all that. To keep one balanced, or whatever.

Now, you aren’t the angel everyone may claim you to be. You weren’t angelic, not at all. Eating ice cream for breakfast was not above you. Your nail polish was perpetually chipped. You couldn’t stand to keep your hair in the same style for too long; chopping it all off or seeing how long it could grow, dying it as bright as you could, and everything in between. You adorned yourself with two or three more piercings than your parents could get behind, bless them, you’re beginning to have trouble hiding your new tattoo. Habitually, you were sensitive, soft, a bit emotional, and tended to be a bit of a smartass. You weren’t blessed with physical grace, ceaselessly tripping over yourself, spilling and knocking over anything in your path, and dancing out of beat to blasted songs.

More often than not, you would go to bed later than planned. Tonight was one of those nights, but it was not because of your natural preference. You were not too figuratively dragged into this by someone who held the title of your best friend, someone whom you were currently thinking of ways of revoking that title from.

“C’mon, dummy! We’re almost there!” Jamie elbowed you, her eyes crinkled in laughter, whacking you on the back a bit too hard.

“Jamie, I must’ve forgotten, but why’re you even dragging me to this frat party again? Why not just go to your sorority instead?” You groaned, your two left feet were dragging behind you on the aged sidewalk, your fake Doc Martens feeling like cinder blocks.

“‘Cause Chris invited me and he’s being a little bitch about it because I keep canceling on ‘im! He keeps saying that my soulmate might be there!” She reminded you for the umpteenth time, rolling her head and eyes back in frustration, sighing before continuing. “And now it’s like- I might as well try and see! I mean, come on!~ I’m starting to think he’s right!” And for the umpteenth time today, you question why she’s falling for this. She’s sharper than this. But for some reason, just this once, she found a way to shoehorn Chris’s dumbassery to logic.

In reality, you could meet your soulmate at any time or place, so to say that one's soulmate might be there is like saying it might rain. Sure, it might. But it also can rain in any season so you can’t be wrong with saying that it might. It doesn’t always rain every day, all the time, so it also isn’t that likely. Rain depends on a lot more factors. But right now, you’re a little buzzed, so it sounded pretty sound.

“So he knows your soulmate?”

“I’d hope so! If not, I’d rip his bleached hay-hair right out of his thick skull!” Now, this is the Jamie you knew and loved, you couldn't help the endeared smile on your face. “When we could’ve been eating takeout and watching a musical-“

“So which frat are we going to again?” You had to interrupt her for her sake. Takeout and a movie would always remain superior to parties in your mind and you already didn’t want to be accompanying her to a frat house.

“Hmm… It’s like- uh... Signal kite zing- wait no- hold on-“

You guys must be tipsier from the pregaming than you thought. “Sigma? ‘Signal’ isn’t greek, I think you mean sigma! And ‘kite’ isn-”

“Right, whatever! Anyways, the abbreviation is SKZ-“

“Ohhh! We’re friends with some of them- We’re like best friends with Chris!! Why didn’t you say it was Chris’s frat in the first place?” Your laugh projecting out of you unattractively with claps and swings of limbs which led to slapping a little too hard at Jamie's shoulder. This clarification did make you feel a bit better. This wasn’t a shitty fraternity you didn’t know, this was a shitty fraternity you inevitably tolerated since you knew and even approved of some of its members!

SKZ was home to a hodgepodge of eight brothers who were pretty individual as far as frat dudes go. Some of which you were genuinely fond of, like Chris, or simply acquainted with, like Jisung, whom you shared a major and program with. Others, you couldn’t even remember the names of or who they are in general. It’s also the smallest frat on campus, so they try to get as many people to come to events as possible, which is honestly exhausting as a concept to your introverted self. Thus, you’ve never actually attended one of theirs until now, now that Jamie is dragging you along with her.

“Ow! I don’t know!~ I thought you were smart enough to figure it out when I mentioned Chris!” She teased, making the two of you laugh harder, you couldn’t defend yourself on that one. The two of you just continued your idiotic banter the rest of the way to the Sigma Kappa Zeta house aka the SKZ frat.

The walk to SKZ’s lair was a bit much, more than you and Jamie bargained for. You were so kindly carrying her platforms for her until she’ll put them back on again, only for you to probably end up kindly carrying them again later tonight. The cool breeze of the September night helped with the humidity and sweat, and the sun beautifully set, leaving a delicate lilac color in its wake which was becoming darker and darker the further you walked. The hazy streetlights added to the whimsy atmosphere, yet to be ruined with the sound of an intolerable amount of bass and the overbearing smell of beer and weed when the two of you arrived on site.

“Okay, I’m pretty sure it’s this house!” Jamie halted her steps, turning towards you, her hair swaying along with the belled sleeves of her mesh turtleneck she had under her dress. The two of you really dolled yourselves up for the night, her hair was perfect, your hair was perfect, outside was perfect, and it brought you sobering back to the not-so-perfect earth. The idea of going inside a suffocating, putrid house majorly crowded with drunk and hormonal peers... was not appealing to you in the least.

“Yup, and now it’s time to turn back around!” You quipped, ensnaring her arm with your empty one, about to steer the two of you in a three-point-turn. This was your final chance at getting out of your predicament, and now that you’re here you regret playing along. Sadly, Jamie was just as stubborn as you, and your turn around was met with a roadblock.

“Oh my god, Y/n, you’re joking! We walked the whole ass way here!” She got out in between puffs of airy frustration, her socked heels digging into the ground as you attempted, gracelessly, to steer the two of you around.

“Okay, okay, fine. We did come all this way and now our drinks’ve worn off.” You acknowledged with an irritated huff. “Okay- how about we go in and get some drinks, and then we’ll leave?!” Your pitch going up with each word of your attempt to negotiate before forcing out a chuckle, your laugh did its best to hide the fact that your body was beginning to stick with sweat and anxiety.

“No, ‘and then’ we’ll find Chris to hook me up!” She playfully fought back but it was hard to take her seriously, or yourself, with how the two of you were laughing, hers genuine, yours not so much.

“Jesus Christ, you really are set on this ‘finding your soulmate’ thing.” You breathed. As much as you hated social gatherings, you loved your best friend much, much more, therefore you were willing to be won over in the name of friendship. Though, she would owe you for this! Fortunately for her, food and drink is fair trade in you and your wallet’s eyes.

“I’m lonely, okay! I’d prefer winning the lottery but this is the next best thing!” Jamie, as per usual, brought the two you back right to laughter instantly. She had her mind made up. Plus, with you giggling it made it all the easier for her to haul the both of you right up the steps of the SKZ Frat House stairs.

Once in, Jamie stuck close to your side, literally, but not that she had the natural choice or much of an alternative; this place was packed to the gills! Jumping up on her now platform clad feet, looking for anyone she recognized or any signs of Chris, while you led the two of you, hopefully, to a kitchen. You were practically kicking yourself each step of the way as you shoved your way through the crowd. The air was stuffy and possibly even toxic, to say the least. The scent is much more foul than last you remember, pungent with alcohol, sweat, cigarettes, weed, hints of puke, and dashes of all sorts of pheromones. Despite the few times you’ve smelled this scent, it never failed to make you wish you didn’t leave your safe, sanitary bed.

There’s jabbing elbows and flailing parts of strangers everywhere that had to be watched out and dodged for, sloshing cups, sometimes drunken flirtatious hands grabbing at you, not at all fazed by the pretty companion you had your elbow linked with. The sway of the hoards of people was beginning to get you motion sick, but you were determined to keep wading through, trying to hike through this high tide, but you couldn’t help but feel vulnerable. You were cursed with a soft, approachable face that just begged to be messed with. Even in times like these, where your thoughts are nothing short of bitchy, the message would never get across with a resting bitch face. Your love for dark attire didn’t matter. Your baby face and aura won every match. Not even the eyeliner and dark lipstick you preferred could save you. All you could do is hope that your best friend’s intimidation and delightfully loud presence was enough for the two of you as you keep planting one foot after the other.

“Fucking hell!” You barely gasped out, finally freed out of the main room, and now into the hallway. The seasick claustrophobia no longer had its poisonous grips on your soft, easy to bruise skin, though, you did need to catch your breath.

“Finally!” Jamie sighed loudly and melodically, patting you on the back and easily recovering. Before she headed straight into the kitchen to scope out the place, possibly for anyone she knew and, perhaps, her Special Someone.

“So did ya see anyone you knew, Jame?” You called after her upon entering what appeared to be a stereotypical scene of the kitchen during a college party. Cliche red solo cups scattered everywhere, filled at varying degrees. A beer keg or two, some cheap bottles of vodka splayed about, remnants of ash from blunts, a couple or two aggressively making out against the wall, and four or five random stragglers fidgeting with their phone or talking overly loudly to each other. You know, the usual.

“Ughh, no” She answered reluctantly. “They have to be somewhere else, maybe, like upstairs or downstairs, right?!”

Before you could reply, behind you, you heard an enthusiastic “Jamie!!” then a muffled, “you finally made it!!” The familiar voice had you jerking your head to see if your ears were failing you, evidently, they weren’t. Right away you see Chris tackling Jamie in a hug before he met your eyes with his comically wide ones.

“Aaaahhh!! Y/n’s here too?!”

“Yeah! Don’t we look cute?” Jamie fluffed up her cropped, newly dyed hair you helped her do, yours also in a similar state.

“Yeah, but Y/n looks better.” He teased, giggling and slapping her in the arm; unsurprising, as it’s their usual fashion.

“Oh my god! Why did I come here?! Okay, we’ll leave then, Chris.” Jamie joked right back at him, snatching at your hand like it was a prize to be won and taking you away with her. Unfortunately for you, this was just a well-meaning joke, you weren’t going to be set free from a party anytime soon.

“Nooo! Don’t go!!” He dramatized, grabbing onto at Jamie, halting her from leaving with you in tow. Giggling so hard, he had to throw his head back to project it all. You snorted a “thank you” a bit late, too busy laughing. He just gave you a brotherly slap on the arm, on his way to leave before Jamie stopped him.

“Wait! What about my soulmate? You said they'd be here, remember!”

“Oh?” Chris’s eyebrows scrunched in confusion, Jamie nodded with stern wide eyes which seemed to spark back his doubtful memory, “Ahhh… downstairs… maybe… I think- hangin’ out! There’s a game about to start- Oh, yeah! That’s why I’m here-” he giggled to�� himself, “to get this!” He then snatched a full bottle of vodka from a sneaky cabinet you didn’t know about before ushering you guys along to follow him. Honestly, Chris didn’t make it sound too promising that Jamie’s soulmate could be down there, but it’s the best lead you got.

Shyly, you followed behind the two as he led the way to the basement. With Chris as your guide, it was relatively smooth sailing, the crowd parting minimally to make way for the president of the frat. Before you know it, you’re walking down some nasty ass carpeted stairs, forcing your eyes from questionable stains to look for a rail instead to hold onto. Strangely enough, walking down the steps was comforting somehow, the feeling as if it were inviting you in. Like it assigned you a duty instead of the alienating fish out of water experience you had earlier on the main floor.

“I picked up some stragglers!” Chris cheered as he turned into the room.

“Yeah, but did you bring the alcohol?” A brazen voice you’ve never heard before shot straight through you. You could feel it run through you with tingles down your spine and goosebumps up your arms.

“Hell yeah I did, ya jackass!”

When the two of you turned the corner, the world slowed down and your muscles instantly seized up, halting you into place without consent. Your insides clench tight, wrapping itself into a knot. Suddenly you were sweating, but in contrast, your vision looked as though you were looking through a nice refreshing glass of pink lemonade. Normally steady hands were now shaky, your ears and cheeks beginning to glow beet red. You could feel yourself beginning to sweat at the nape of your neck and underarms; all this from the sudden voice of the stranger! -What? What’s going on?!-

Immediately, your gaze pans around the room before they landed on the source, long-lashed eyes holding a dark chocolate glaze and shivering you to the bone. Like a hooked fish, you couldn’t look away. The initial astonishment of just the sensations couldn‘t compare to exploring the face in front of you.

Chiseled cheeks, and angular brows. Pouty naturally downturned lips were discovered underneath an impossibly perfect, pointy nose. Everything about him was like the artwork, his slightly covered forehead was somehow artistic as if even the space between the brow and the hairline was something new that your narrow mind could never possibly understand. His hairline soon revealed a head of luscious black hair, unrealistically voluminous, shiny and soft. Honestly, his hair was screaming at you to test out if it could be possible, that someone who looked like this was real. His entire face and head on his shoulders didn’t make conceivable sense. Maybe it’s just you, but a person this perfect couldn’t exist and you have yet to venture south to see how perfect the rest of him could possibly be.

“Y/n? Are- are you okay?”

You vaguely felt or heard your best friend at your side, but it wasn’t decipherable. Everything but this guy in front of you was fuzzy, blurry to you. All the energy in your being focused on this human in front of you. His silky, messily parted locks, begging for you to test if it was as soft as it looked. His sharp features. His lips a natural coral-y color that began to shine and glimmer with saliva as his glossy tongue began to trail along those chapped lips. You shot your eyes back to his, reeling you back in like the prey you began to feel. Oh, sweet, sweet baby Jesus, is this really happening?!

“I-“ both of you started at the same time. Embarrassingly enough, it seems as though the blurry figures of everyone else in the corner of your eyes caught on to something the two of you were oblivious to. Everyone started jumping and screaming, whooping chaotically, and taking over your vision. The slow world disappeared in a blink, launching you right back to its now rapid, woozy speed. With everyone pushing and shoving around you in excitement it was not at all helping with your wibbly-wobbly state.

Suddenly, you felt many different arms coming at you, wrapping around you, constricting you, and jumping around with you in their arms in excitement. There was a deafening amount of rambunctious hooting and hollering it was almost as if the team they were rooting for won the SuperBowl.

“And here I thought Y/n was Jamie’s soulmate!” Chris guffawed and they all joined in, all besides you and this guy- WAIT- did Chris say- say ‘soulmate’?? No, he couldn’t have!

“Soulmate?” Equally, as soon as you internally questioned the word choice, you heard his earth-shattering voice speak again, despite the fact he merely whispered, softly wondering aloud. He spoke aloud what you were thinking, right when you thought it!

You couldn’t get enough of his voice, especially now when you can’t see him in the crowd. His voice was light, honey-colored, dreamy, just the perfect amount of deep, it made you want to taste his lips to see if he’s as sweet as he sounded. You, yourself, were still in the locked-in-place state, still too shell shocked to even make a step forward, your poor brain overworking itself to make sense of any of this.

“Really?” In elated shock you chirped, slowly giving in to the hugs and excited jumping with wide and confused eyes. Is this for real? This is really happening?!

“Holy fuck, Y/n!” Jamie managed to get you, pulling you a bit too crushingly in a hug. “I can’t believe it! You found your soulmate in this shitty basement and not me!” She playfully teased, there was no ill will behind it.

By now the situation was beginning to sink in a teeny bit and you were shocked, to say the least. Frankly, you were starting to think that this day would never come. You had a soulmate and your soulmate looked like that! You were over the moon, even if you felt a bit guilty that you found your soulmate at this party instead of Jamie. It was the plan of this whole night, after all. Now that it was you, you didn’t know how to react. You were completely and utterly unprepared.

“I’m so sorry, Jamie.” You pulled her back in closer, crushing her back into you, eyes watering, lip trembling. “Oh my god, I think I might- I think I might cry.” You hiccupped into her chic mesh turtleneck and dress combo. This is too much. Too too much.

“Heyy!~ Don’t feel bad for me! It’s okay!” Jamie simply chortled, patting your head deeper into her chest, her usual protocol if you were about to seriously cry.

Humiliatingly enough, you heard a few guys begin to chant “don’t cry!” in the background. Your small moment of sincerity and calm was soon interrupted by Chris.

“Well isn’t this fun! You know what this means!”~

“Minho’s soulmate’s a lil’ bitch?” You heard Jisung, the kid whom you shared your major and many classes with, taunt. His words forcing you forward, ready to fight the kid. He’s a child, literally a child! Why do I associate myself with him?! I swear to god-

“Hey, hey, hey! It was a joke!” He squeaked away from you. He was too speedy, no chance for you and your heavy ass boots stomping after him. Safely, he skidded behind the couch, behind whom you’re assuming is “Minho”, which had your boots screeching to a halt.

Though you were scrambling after Jisung, your eyes naturally met Minho’s as you halted. Once again, your body is preparing to either fight or flight. His face was glowing like he was some sort of ethereal being, wracked up in deep, attractive concentration. In contrast, your face was beginning to burn up an embarrassing amount, your body already turning into inoperable mush. You couldn’t say anything if you tried. Any sentence structure your brain tried to form didn’t make any grammatical or logical sense, your mind racing like a hamster on a wheel. Your neural pathways were glowing, steaming with this sudden overstimulation, leading you to the same frazzling answer each and every time:

This person right in front of you? Yeah, that’s your soulmate.

A hush was spread throughout the previously hype basement, all eyes immersed in the two of you speechlessly enraptured in each other. The longer you stood there, the more you could take him in and get used to him and the idea of him. You were warming up to him, he became more and more real with each millisecond. You've studied his eyes so passionately now that could see his dark chocolatey pupils when you closed your eyes. You were no longer overwhelmed but now enchanted by his features and general presence. His cheekbones are no longer an unfamiliar art piece. His aura was still intimidating as before, but now it appeared to the cheeky kind of way like you wanted to see what amount of scary he was capable of. It was a long, jittery, drawn-out pause before anything happened, not that you noticed.

“Out of genuine free will,” You just smiled, staring at his naturally downturned lips. Only by reading his lips did you pay attention to what he was saying- Wait, what?

“I, Lee-” Hold on a second.

“Minho-” No.

“Exercise the divine right to” This isn’t happening to me. This isn’t-

“Reject my sacredly designed-” happening. No. No. It can’t be. It’s not p-

“Soulmate.” -ossible.

The electric, exciting, high energy pause between us fell and wilted. Died just like that. The connected red strings that tied Minho and yourself were chopped off on his own accord, bringing icy cold into the room in its wake. A harsh blizzard overwhelming the space. Gasps of shocked air were being taken in from everyone in this basement, everyone, including Lee Minho.

You got a gasp of bitter cold in through your lungs before you were struck like lightning. Lightning of feverish torture took over your body, struck you directly in the heart and brain before it flashed through your veins carrying the harsh poison of rejection.

You heard a pathetic squawk tear its way out of your chapped lips, the anguish forcing you down to your knees as if you were directly stabbed in the heart. The electric, immediate painful reaction faded, bringing boiling throbs through all your cells, not leaving one out. It was unlike anything you could describe, no, imagine. It was as if the blood in your veins was replaced with boiling water and your heart was simultaneously squeezed and electrocuted in the grasps of electric hands. Maybe it was the hands of Satan dragging you down with him.

Blurrily, through fresh, hot tears, you swear you could see Minho physically flinch in response, immediately, sprinting out of the room as if he was escaping from a house on fire.

That was the last you saw before it all faded to black.

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sugaxjpg · 6 years

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02 | blank check; m

⤷ “Let me get this right, okay? You threw my name in as your fake girlfriend because you needed to prove yourself to your empty-headed friends, and now you need to fix it. Still,” you paused, raising your eyebrows, “your way of fixing is not to disclose it as a lie, but to cover it up with an even bigger and riskier one. Is that correct?”

⤷ PART 01 | 02 | 03 | 04 |Co-written with @pantaemonium

✓ Couple: Jungkook x Reader | Fuckboy!AU & FakeDating!AU

✓ Filed under: smut, tragic comebacks

✓ Words: 8,048

Author’s Note: Hello, everyone! Before anything else, Laura and I would like to thank you all for the overwhelming support we’ve received for part one. We are beyond thrilled that you guys are liking this series as much as we are!! Without further ado, let’s get down to business (to defend the huns).

“There is no way in hell I’m wearing this, you hear me?” you screamed against the phone for the third time in less than ten seconds. A high-pitched ding indicated the audio had been sent, and that was your signal to toss the device aside. Jungkook would not listen to it, like he had not listened to the other ten voice messages you had blessed his chatroom with.

The last message you had received from him had been short and dry, more of a user’s guide than a text. It exhibited his advanced SAT vocabulary and his outstanding talent to be concise. Lambda Kappa Pi. 11pm. Say you’re my girl and they’ll get you in. Good luck with the dress.

My girl, as if there was a dimension out of the multiverse you had been thrown into in which you would say such nonsense. My girl, your brain echoed, this time in his voice, that you imagined would be hoarse and whiny during sex. No, no, that was not an image you wanted in your mind.

“Hey, I’m Jungkook’s girl,” you spoke as you imagined yourself babbling at the entrance of the frat house, clad in that skin-tight little red dress. Imagination is a very powerful weapon to use against oneself, and it immediately transfigured you into a Legally Blonde character, one of the sweethearts from Delta Nu but with no rich daddy, no fake tanning, and no equilibrium to stand over the sky-challenging high-heels he had sent along with the dress.

You’d look far more like a clown that had just ran away from the circus, that’s for sure.

You clenched your jaw at the absurdity of that idea, ignoring the butterflies that begun dancing in your stomach. His girl. Stupid ass. You would never do something like th—

—Ding!

In a reflex, you practically threw yourself on your bed to reach for your phone, chest bubbling up with the ridiculous excuses that he could have sent back to you. Instead, however, what you were met with was a simple series of condescending texts:

Jungkook’s only neuron said: u’ll look great bby

Jungkook’s only neuron said: im getting heated just thinkin of u in that ;)

You said: You prick

You said: That dress doesn’t even cover my ass properly

Jungkook’s only neuron said: that was what i was hopin for

You groaned out loud as your eyes read his message, mind working faster than the quick progression of your thumbs against the screen — you better be ready for me to ruin you with the favor I have stored up, then, you texted back.

Jungkook’s response arrived all too soon. There was no physical time to toss the phone back onto the bed, to try the diminutive piece of clothing on and see if there was a way your boobs could survive without suffocating. As the notification blared through the speaker, you imagined him, expecting your reply by the phone, biting his nails. In your imagination, he was nervous, at least a bit; but Jungkook and his cohorts did not know nervousness, at least not when confronted to tests of women. They followed all those ludicrous bro-code-or-whatever-they-called-it rules; and making girls wait for their replies was in the book.

“Ruin or be ruined, that’s the world we live in,” you read out loud, trying to find in between the words Jungkook’s personal trademark. Unexpectedly, there was no baby. No typos. No superfluous exhibition of his very pompous personality. Had he asked for help? Perhaps Namjoon, the only one in the frat house with a functional brain. Maybe Yoongi, but it sounded way too contained to his taste.

“Quote your sources next time,” you typed rapidly, grinning all the way. “See you later, bby.”

Now Jungkook’s Only Neuron could type and ruminate over your odd response all he wanted. There would be no more texts until the party — except perhaps a picture or two of you in that dress, blurry and terribly illuminated. The ire of the gods would fall upon him when he tried to zoom in into your boobs only to find pixels. A taste of his own medicine, that was what you called this cruel stratagem.

Now, there were only a limited number of things which could count as social humiliation for you. As mentioned aforetime, failing a ridiculously easy class or exposing your underwear were near the top of the list, alongside some awfully personal experiences, but you never thought there would be something to top all your expectations. Turns out that 90’s movies make a so called “makeover” to be something great and empowering when, in reality, it had to be the spiritual equivalent of intestinal cramps in the middle of a road trip. And yes, you had been through that. No further comment.

Maybe the movie director of your life was sadistic. Maybe that experience was karma for ruining poor Jungkook’s mental health earlier that day. Whatever it was, it was the new number one on your list of social humiliation. You could not claim you hadn’t gotten anything out of that night — but experiences make you grow, right?

You knew you had fucked up the second you walked up to the fraternity house — that stupidly large, greek-like mansion that pulsated under the progression of the awfully loud music — and saw a pair of underwear on the grass, lost amidst a sea of bottles and beer cans. And then a bra. And then an used cond— Jesus Christ! Were those kids acting out Animal Planet? There were limits. There had to be. Goodbye to your long lost purity.

To top it all off, it was cold. Not nice, chilly cold, but winter-is-here kind of Game of Thrones bullshit. The wind was like cold daggers against your skin, piercing your naked legs as you moved closer to the entrance door, benumbing your senses to the fullest extent. Whatever it was that you had in store for Jungkook, it had to be equally torturous to that walk of shame — the night had not even started, and you were already constructing an escape plan.

“Hey,” you said as you stopped in front of two athletes, crossing your arms before your figure — thank God for your common sense, since the leather jacket you wore both covered your insanely tight boobs and gave you a bit of heat. You wouldn’t have started a conversation with them if not absolutely necessary and, in that case, they were blocking the passage. “Excuse me, please.”

One of them turned to you with arched eyebrows, looking you up and down, “You seem familiar,” he mumbled, infecting the atmosphere with a terrible scent of alcohol. To be fair, you thought you knew him too, but did not want to get into friendly terms with any of them. “Whatcha’ doing here?”

Hell, here goes nothing, “Jungkook called me here.”

“Jungkook, who?” The other one — the travel-sized counterpart — laughed, hitting his friend’s shoulder in his drunken haze. “We know no Jungkook.”

They were still blocking the entrance, and you were not in the mood to commence an arrogant dissertation on why they did know the Jungkook you were referring to, and why was their ruse so evident. Shivering inside the leather jacket, you tried to find a way around the words he wanted so desperately to hear. “I am his friend,” you said.

The smaller of the two scoffed. “Jungkook has no friends.”

“I thought you knew no Jungkook,” you smirked, devilishly, but the brainless pair would not subside in their efforts to rip a confession out of your — literal — cold body. “For fucks sake. I am his girl. Jungkook’s. The one that gets to fuck him every night while you two try to resist the homoerotic dynamics you have seen yourselves trapped into. Now let me in, Tweedledee.”

“A straight-up bitch. Hot.” They murmured as you made your way into the hall. Inside, a myriad of bodies crammed the room, pressed against one another. Girls in short dresses and stressed boys trying to get their attention roamed around, red cup in hand. Their scent was sweetly rancid, a mixture of alcohol, sweat and pheromones you would not be able to stand for long without a drink in your hand.

No. Wait. Probably wouldn’t be the wisest of ideas to be intoxicated while pretending to be someone else’s girlfriend for the night. You got awfully sincere when you had alcohol, and the last thing you needed was to ruin your saved favor, especially after going through all the trouble you did. Next step would not be to drink away your disgust, as compelling as that seemed to be, but to find out your pathetically inadequate fake boyfriend.

Taking a deep breath, you skirted the overabundance of bodies as you made your way past the main living room, finding solace in a somewhat calm corner of the ambient. You leaned your back against the asperous wall, taking your phone out of your purse. Numb, your thumbs cried under the effort of unlocking the device and moving to his contact — that arrogant smile on that nauseatingly perfect display picture — to type your impatient messages:

You said: Hey, loser

You said: I’m here already

You said: Where can I find you?

You waited for a few seconds to see if he would get online, but nothing appeared on your screen. For a moment your mind wandered towards the possibility of it all being a prank, after all: to get you, a serious and stuff girl, in that outrageously small piece of red fabric would be a huge joke on itself, even more if he managed to show it off to his friends. If that was the case, you would transfer colleges. Not to be overdramatic or anything.

“Correct me if I’m wrong, but I don’t think I told you to wear a jacket, baby girl.”

The second you raised your gaze, you came to regret your reckless decision — not in the cutesy, hesitant manner you were feeling aforetime, but in the this-was-a-horrible-idea-and-my-life-is-over type of shit. Not because you were in any sort of danger, but because you accepted the fact that you had absolutely no way to control yourself near the sheer sexual temptation that was Jeon Jungkook. Not like that.

In all his glory, the idiot looked the best he ever did. With his black hair slightly disheveled, parted almost in the middle, and eyes gleaming under the neon lights of the frat house, he looked like he had just stepped out of a photoshoot for Men’s Health. His team’s jacket — blue and white, with the symbol of your college — had its sleeves rolled up to his elbows, exposing the veins in his forearms; unbuttoned so it presented you with the v-cut shirt he wore underneath, grey. You could see the outlines of his fucking abs with that crap. Muscle pig. It was absurd. He should take it off.

And of course, there were those fucking thighs. But you would not allow your gaze to fall under his waistline just yet. Yet.

A hum from his part interrupted your momentaneous fall into inferno, making you realize how quickly your heart started to beat. “You’re lucky you’re hot as fuck,” Jungkook acknowledged, his own eyes falling to your form, eyebrows slightly arched. “I always knew I had good taste for girlfriends.”

The silence between you was bubbling with an unspoken tension. Sexual, Cosmopolitan would have defined it as purely sexual. "Ten Easy Tips to Know if your Crush Wants you Too," or something of the sort would had been plastered all over the cover, where a barely-legal model would have judged you with doe-like eyes.

Jungkook's roseate tongue came out to wet his lips, to fill the void words had left behind with a heavy sigh. You wondered what those lips tasted like. Had you been asked to guess, you would have said cherry, or strawberry — although you were certain he had been drinking beer or, worse, cheap tequila shots.

The faux courage that had been motioning your body forward ever since you abandoned the dorms was now slipping in between your fingers as you reached for the hem of his jacket. "You look—" you started, but your mind went blank in a maelstrom of adjectives, amongst which you found barely no insults.

"—smoking hot?" Jungkook ventured. He was not mistaken, but still you scoffed. It the quintessence of your being, the endless sarcasm; you could not just abandon the truth of your nature for a boyfriend. A fake one, to top it all.

"I was going to say stereotyped, but hot also fits. I guess," index pressed against his chest, you leaned forward reducing the space between your bodies to naught. Air escaped in between his teeth when your lips caressed his ear with your murmurations. "What now, baby?" you mumbled, oblivious to his fingers as they traveled up your arm in a tender caress.

"Honestly?" the impish gleam of his eyes was a bad omen or, at least, the indication that you were not prepared in the slightest for what was to come. "I want to kiss the hell out of you, but not here."

For a second, you allowed yourself to forget that it was all an act. Without a second thought, you found yourself biting your lower lip in sheer desire. Lucky you, the boy would most likely think that was part of the fake love, and not your raging hormones coming out to say hello. “I would very much like that, yes,” you purred out against his skin, pressing your chest against his own. His heart was beating fast, but yours was no different. “Where to?”

Jungkook seemed to take a second to calm his nerves, clearing his mind from the impulses that flashed within his needs — if he were to be sincere, you two could forget that plan and just have a private place for yourselves, but there was a protocol to follow, his reputation at stake. “Couch,” that word came out in a serpentine whisper, muffled as if had been verbalized miles underneath the sea. Against your waist, his palm held your skin in an almost protective manner — yet, both of you were holding back now.

You hummed in agreement. His scent was intoxicating you, the heat of his body was monopolizing your most logical of conceptualizations. “Take me whenever you need me,” you agreed as one of your hands slid down his chest — jesus, those fucking abs — and towards his own hand. You intertwined his fingers in his, loving that position a bit more than you probably should. “Should we?”

If he had said something in return, you did not hear it. Before you could control yourself any further, the boy was already guiding you past the chaotic ocean of exhilarated bodies, holding down to your hand as if it was his own version of salvation. Jungkook was lucky he was hot — very fucking hot, at that — otherwise you would have cracked another joke or two about how eager he appeared to be. Still, you were certain it would backfire.

“I see you want to put up a show,” was what you said instead, accompanying his harsh movements as the two of you arrived upon the center of the room — the heart of the party, if you could say that. From your peripheral vision, you could see splashes of blue and white moving around, signaling that more of his teammates were around. Classic show off. “Want everyone watching.”

“You have no clue, babe.” Jungkook turned around just in time so he could see the glimpses of lust coruscating inside your eyes. Bedroom eyes. Cute. “I want that jacket off.”

“No deal,” you told him promptly. With a groan, the boy threw himself on a beige couch nearby, sitting somewhat close to where another two jocks conversed vigorously, waving their red cups in the air like they were not half full. It was only a matter of seconds before they saw the two of you — more precisely you — and his pretty spectacle would finally begin. “Why do you want to expose your girlfriend like this?”

It was no problem. He could take it off himself.

As a response, Jungkook simply placed his hands on his thighs, signaling you that it would be your seat for the night — seems like you would be sitting in his lap, after all. “Come here, baby,” he requested. Okay, you would be lying through your teeth if you said that the place did not appear to be as inviting as possible. “Let me have a taste of you.”

To hell with it. If you were going to act it out, you might as well put up a show, and calm down your raging hormones as you did so.

And fuck, there were some things that 90s movies could never prepare you for. There was no scene, no soundtrack, no music video able to distract you from how firm his legs were as you sat down on top of them, dress slightly moving up your thighs. There was no director, no storyline that could guide your hands around his neck as you tilted your head and closed your eyes, falling to the absolute misery that was Jeon Jungkook. There was nothing in the entire world that could have made you pull away.

What a terrible fucking idea.

Jungkook groaned as soon as your lips met, quick to set the pace as a quick, needy, sloppy kiss. His hands, before so vacillating, now had traveled to your ass, where he squeezed your flesh, making you press down your hips against his, not letting it go for a second. You melted against his kiss, allowing yourself to sigh and moan against his mouth as his tongue encountered yours. Lacking places to hold onto, your hands moved to his cheeks, then to his hair, intertwining in his black locks and pulling on them.

Okay, there were things you regretted. You thought there was nothing capable of topping the preposterous plan of pretending to be Jungkook’s girlfriend, but that was because you had not reached that point of the night just yet. Because you had still not pulled away just enough so you could speak, caressing his lips with your own, speaking in a voice so filled with lust that you were surprised yourself. “Is that all you can do, kiddo?” you provoked him. “Come on, Jeon, is this how you treat your girl?”

He smirked. “Believe me, princess, there’s nothing I’d love more than treat you the way you deserve. Anything for you. But, you see, the audience is waiting and, as much as I would love to fuck you raw in this couch, I’d rather give the show I promised, and then renegotiate the initial clauses of our little contract,” then, a small pause, “if you are interested, of course.”

The boy was an idiot, or so you had thought: Jeon Jungkook, the dumbass that lets his dick make every essential decision, and doesn’t grasp even half of the references you throw at him. Apparently, that was not the case, and his intelligence was extensive only when he had to protect his pride and bring to term an important business. In other words, he wasn’t dumb, he wa just a selfish little prick.

Fingers sauntering up your thigh, Jungkook murmured in-between delicate kisses, and it made it impossible for you to deliver a witty remark. Every few words he would stop to taste your flesh with the tip of his tongue, and then nip it with his teeth. Lost in the feverish reverie of his tender caresses, you abandoned yourself to the feel of his kisses as his lips marked the path towards your jaw, your cheek. With a sigh falling from your swollen lips, you hoped to express the thirst he had incited, but he merely watched your reaction, diverted. Motherfucker. He knew what he was doing.

“For now,” he said against your ear, marking each word with a tap of his finger against your thigh. “This will have to do.” His thumb slid past the hem of your skirt and fuck, how you wished he were to continue his journey towards your underwear. There had been no specifications about that matter, but you had added your distinctive touch to the outfit. Jungkook did not know yet, but he would have loved to take that off you.

“I really think you can step up your game, Jungkook.” You looked around, biting your lips. None of the players around you were particularly interested in your little affair. Short skirts and exhibitionism were the daily bread of all those jocks. Luckily, that night no one had pulled out their dicks to measure them or start a peeing contest. Perhaps later in the night, when alcohol run freely through their bloodstream, eliminating their inhibition — or what was left of it, anyways. “This show of yours will impress no one.”

As if motioned by the fuel of a good challenge, Jungkook pounced over your lips. His touch was no longer delicate, contained, or meticulous, as it was before. Earlier, all he had wanted was to create a beautiful painting in which you, a girl that would have never had any interest for the jock in the class, was head over heels for him. He cared not about his audience, not anymore, as he could not bring himself to think of the friends he was supposed to impress. His only and most primal desire was to prove himself, to erase the disdainful sneer tainting those lips that were like nectar against his tongue.

You threw yourself off his lap and leaned your back against the arm of the sofa, being trapped between it and his large figure. In the impetus of his sudden adoration, you lost your hold on reality and allowed for him to overtake you, pressing his chest against your own. Jungkook’s hand in the small of your back cushioned your descents to the inferno of his hips pressed against yours, hands exploring your waist, and the curve of your breasts over the tight dress.

It was getting more and more difficult to come to your senses when all you could feel were his palms against your breasts, only to go down to your ass a second later. Your dress was being pulled upwards, your heart overtaken by the intoxicated by rhythm of the song as one of his legs moved in between yours, pressing down on your core — gradually at first, but then strong enough for you to moan loudly against his mouth. This kid was playing with fire. You loved it.

You were out of breath and out of mind when a voice called from the outside world, that universe of flashing comets and red asters circulating around your sweltering bodies. “Hey kid! Jungkook!” the unknown timbre insisted further and, before you could recognize it, Jungkook had pushed himself away from you to smile at a stranger. Whoever it was, you wanted him killed for interrupting your search for nirvana. “You know we have rooms for that kind of unholy shit. Leave all the exhibitionism for Jimin, he loves it.”

With a smirk, his victory became plastered across his douchebag face, “I got carried away, sorry,” Jungkook explained, lips shining with the remnants of your gloss. His hand was still against your waist, but he showed no shame when he winked in your direction, purposefully following your eyes as they grew darker — he was loving it. “Tastes like heaven, y’know?”

The other guy, whose name you could not quite recall, simply rolled his eyes at the out-of-character sentence, “Whatever you say, dude,” he mumbled underneath the music, unaffected by show you two had put up. Instead, his gaze seemed to be a bit lost in the remanent liquid that dwelled on the bottom of his red cup — poor kid was completely wasted. “Uh, by the way, before I forget. Namjoon has been looking for you for like two hours or whatever. He says, and I quote, that he wants to see it or he won’t believe it.”

Jungkook’s smile grew by a few millimeters, finding in that sentence the opportunity he needed. He didn’t need half of your GPA to understand what his friend was referring to, “Yeah, sure thing, man,” he answered. You were amazed how casually he was acting for someone who still had one hand holding tightly to your ass, but you could not claim you did not like it. In fact, he could strip you naked for all you cared, fake boyfriend or not. “Where is he, by the way?”

Chewing on his words for a second, the guy paused. His chocolate-colored eyes got lost in the horizon and, at last, you came to understand that he must have consumed something other than alcohol — hey, no judgement, you were not precisely the morally superior person in that conversation. “He was at the game room with the dudes. I don’t know if they’re still there.”

“Perfect,” Jungkook exclaimed, his palm squeezing your ass once again. Only then did you notice that, in the meantime, his shirt had rolled up a bit. Now you totally could see those abs you have always dreamt about and, good lord, they were even better than what you imagined. If you were not acting then, you would have cursed out his unnamed friend for interrupting that slack of paradise — but hell, the ghostly sensation of his lips on yours still got the best of you. Fucking prick. He was too powerful. “Thanks, Tae. You didn’t see anything.”

Tae… Taehyung. Oh, now you remembered. The kid who got high and ate pizza from the bottom of the pool in freshman year. Disgusting and slightly worrisome. You thought some memories could be left forgotten.

Taehyung suspired. “I did, though,” only then did his gaze navigate back to you, lingering on your face for a couple more seconds than necessary. You didn’t know if it were the drugs acting up, or if he was examining your artificially naive expression. “Hot choice of panties, by the way. Your ass looks great in lacy black. Cheers to that.”

“You have really good taste, buddy.” With a radiant smile, you agreed. Past the blur of weed and alcohol, Taehyung replicated the gesture, and raised his red cup in a giddy toast. Whether he was lauding the glorious roundness of your ass, or the intricate beauty of your one and only pair of expensive panties, you did not care. There was no use for shame within those walls, especially when your ass was indeed hot confined within the soft lace. “Imaginary cheers to that.”

It was a moment of amicable comradery, even though Taehyung was one shot away from becoming the buffon of the party. Around your waist, Jungkook’s fingers tightened but, before you could turn around to face his predictable displeasure, the moment ended, and you were presented with a luciferous smile.

“Noted. Thank you dude, see you around.” Jungkook screamed over the loud bass of a terrible remix of a very popular song you wished was shorter. The constant chit-chat developing around did not help communicate but, luckily, you were not required to hold a challenging conversation that night. With a peck in the lips and a light squeeze of your ass, Jungkook prompted you to move. It was strangely loving — for a jock, at least.

Once anew, he guided you through the crowd, a hand in your waist and the other buried deep in one of the pockets of his jacket. The picture was magazine-worthy. One of those blurry shots, taken with a Polaroid, that could had made it into the cover of an Indie album — even if Jungkook could have starred in an Abercrombie & Fitch ad, jacket and all.

“Where is that fucking game room?” The question felt extremely bitter against your tongue when you had to wipe someone else’s sweat off your arm. The party was heating up, and not in the good way. “Please tell me it isn’t some Fifty Shades of Grey shit.”

“Didn’t picture you as one of those.” Jungkook let go of your waist to interwine his fingers in yours. It was calming, the chilliness of his hand against your sweltering skin. “But no, here we never watched that. The dudes are, you know, more into anal compilations and shit like that— not me!” He rushed to say, hands up in a gesture of defeat. “Baby Jesus wouldn’t not approve.”

That was, by far, the weirdest conversation you’ve had in a long time.

“Pity, now that I thought we would make a great pair.” You sighed. “I guess I’ll have to find another hot dude to watch my kinky porn with.”

“I— sweet lord.” With shaky hands he massaged his cheeks. You were exhausting, even for him. Good. “We’ll discuss that later.” Jungkook opened one of the doors in the hallway, leading into a big space that was, precisely, only meant to game. “Now we have business to do.”

Biting down on your lower lip, you took a couple steps into the large area, absorbing its details. The first thing you noticed, as your company closed the door behind you two, was that it was soundproof — finally, a blessing for the night. As the excruciating buzzing in your ears still lingered, your hearing started to focus on the diverse conversations that dwelled beyond those closed doors. From what you could notice, there had to be around fifteen people in there — stereotypical jocks and cheerleaders, if you were to be quite honest — and they were mostly segregated into two smaller groups. One of which, you recognized, had the individual you two had been looking for.

Now, Kim Namjoon was a specimen of his own kind. You had no idea what kind of satanic pact had he resorted to, but it had been good enough to gift him the brain of a Harvard professor and the body of a professional athlete — all wrapped up in that team jacket, which suited him so dangerously well. You would be lying through clenched teeth if you were to say you had not checked him out at least once or twice during your shared Advanced Literature classes — but that was a secret that would be buried with you. Again, he was still one of those fraternity types, and blowing up their egos was as easy as blowing other, less christian areas.

Again, you would be lying if you said you had not considered that either.

Jungkook’s arm found the curvature of your waist once again, making you fall back into your usual acting state. Next to you, the boy was smiling freely — not in a sympathetic manner, but in a I’m-getting-good-sex-tonight kind of smile. He could keep dreaming, for all you cared. “What’s up, Kim?” he cheered, guiding you around the grey couch. Considerably large, it was surrounded by two armchairs, forming a square-like shape in the center of the room. On the wall next to it, a baseball game was silenced on the LED screen. “Thought I wouldn’t see you tonight.”

Namjoon had his elbows resting on a marble table, seating on one of the tall benches that surrounded it. You were surprised he had even found empty space in there, since all you could see was a pandemonium of empty bottles and pizza boxes. “I should be one one saying that, Jeon.” The other jock smiled just as freely, exposing those dimples you had always found unbearably cute. He did not look at you for a second. “You are not one to vanish during a party. Did you get laid or something?”

“See, Namjoon, your friend Jungkook is trying to get laid tonight, but let’s see how that goes, right honey?” You butted in, to Namjoon’s dismay. Very delicately, like the Disney princess you were not. You sat on the couch, paying no mind to the many diverse types of stains dotting it. Kim Namjoon was not going to ignore you, like you were a nothing but a pretty decoration Jungkook carried around to show off — especially not when you could beat his non-existent genius ass any day during a debate. “Hi, Namjoon. Didn’t see you in class last Wednesday.”

“Hangover.” He explained, taking a bite off a chewy slice of cheese pizza. “I have to confess I am surprised. I thought you were joking when you said you two were—”

“—dating, yes. I’m a married man now, Namjoon. No more getting laid with just anybody.” Jungkook flopped by your side. His hand went immediately towards your naked knee, and there it stayed. Very subtle.

“What do you guys talk about?” Namjoon pried, impertinently. In his timbre you could perceive a hint of disbelief, and it was understandable. He had seen you in action, going after your debate opponents like a shark in bloody waters. Jungkook was, compared to the you he had witnessed, a kindergartener in nappies, and he simply couldn’t comprehend how the two of you could work together — or even compliment each other, honestly.

“Volleyball.” Jungkook said, with an enthusiasm that made your wry smile pathetic. “She loves volleyball.”

Namjoon crackled at the unexpectedly joyful response. “Never seen her in a game.”

“I’m more of a theoretical fan of — of the sports.” Eyes disappearing into the fakest smile, you tried to escape the trap Jungkook had thrown you into. Namjoon was correct. You had not set foot in a court ever since high-school, and even back then you had only done so because it was mandatory. “I have watched Haikyuu at least thrice. I’m an expert.”

“She’ll come to the next one.” Jungkook kissed your cheek, interrupting your excused before it was too late. The touch of his petal-like lips was, at the very least, pleasant. “We made a deal. She wears my jacket and I use the shortest pants I own for the game.”

Namjoon chuckled at the idea, still skeptical. You knew he would be a hard one to convince, since he usually saw through your bullshit — both in debates and in real life. “Yeah, right,” was all that he managed to say, still dodging your gaze. Oh, you saw what he was doing. Sneaky motherfucker. Sly little snake. By avoiding you and focusing on your fake boyfriend, he was both pressing on the one easier to slip on the lie, and annoying you. He knew how you got when you were hot-headed and that was, once again, a recipe for disaster. “In all seriousness, weeaboo anime aside, what do you… theoretically like about volleyball?”

No eye contact still. Fair. Two could play that game.

“Physics,” you answered within a heartbeat, almost surprising yourself by how naturally that response came from in between your lips. Not necessarily a lie, too. But that was a long story. “I told you this already. Volleyball can be explained with high school-level of mechanics. Energy and work, force, projectile motion… You know the deal.”

Namjoon hummed, watching closely the line of cheese that dripped down his pizza. “Yeah, I know the deal,” he told you. He had not bought it. “And I know you know it too. My question is,” he paused, looking up to point at Jungkook. “Does he?”

Well, you just had to know it would backfire like that. Still, you barely had time to feel panic starting to germinate in your throat before Jungkook interrupted the conversation with flawless grace, “Not much, that is why she’s teaching me,” perfect. Simple. Fail proof. You could barely believe that the single neuron that inhabited his mind managed to make a synapsis with itself and come up with that. “Yo, man, why are you so defensive all of a sudden? You’re making my girl uncomfortable.”

My girl. You hated how much you liked that.

His friend hesitated for a second, chewing slowly on the piece of food. It didn’t seem like it was any good. In the very least, it was cold. “Yeah. My bad, dude. Bad week,” Namjoon was quick to apologize, which you did not believe for an instant. He was smarter than that, more arrogant than someone that would so fast admit to his own fault. “Guess I just can’t believe you managed to get a girl like Y/N. Life sucks sometimes.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” you were the one who asked it, even if both of you were thinking it. It was your turn to try and not to get defensive, but it was getting harder and harder by the second. You crossed your legs, which induced for your red dress to slip up your legs. Namjoon followed the movement, and then his gaze was stuck. Oh. Maybe there was another reason for his lack of eye contact. “Don’t tell me that the great captain Kim Namjoon is suddenly jealous.”

He shrugged. “Call it whatever you want. But you do look hotter than ninety-five percent of the chicks I’ve seen all year,” and then, his next sentences were directed straight at Jungkook. “I don’t know if you had the chance to see it already, man, but she has a great taste for underwear.”

Ninety-five was a good percentile, but you were indeed hot in that dress. Namjoon trembled, almost imperceptibly, when you slid your legs over Jungkook’s lap, to cuddle against his chest. In all honesty, the posture was not comfortable, not in that dress. Had you been back in the dorm, in your PJ’s, the tale would have been completely different; but Namjoon’s expression was a poem — a terrible one, at that — and that was enough satisfaction for the moment.

When you sighed, Namjoon replicated it, in a long-drawled, cheese-scented exhalation. The sound he emitted was pitiful, but it helped you comprehend fully the frustration the poor boy was submitted to, and the ultimate reason behind his pizza binge. His was a severe case of blue balls, and you were the one and only cause it. Cute.

“Namjoon, if you really want to address my exquisite taste in underwear, you can tell me directly,” you said. A thread of cheese remained in precarious equilibrium in between his lower lip and his hand, as he struggled for once to follow your words. The genius had short-circuited over lacy panties and the grossest kind of PDA. Another achievement unlocked in the marvelous experience that was college. It would look beautiful in your curriculum, right beside your volunteer work. “Jungkook is more used to seeing me without it. He wouldn’t understand our fantastic taste.”

“Babe,” Jungkook whined, caressing your thigh to make you cognizant of his presence. “I do love your underwear—”

“—Scattered all over your bedroom.” You whispered in the most impish little voice. By the glance he returned, Jungkook had loved the image. Maybe it was just your imagination, maybe you were in character and your discerning was altered, but you could have sworn his dick had twitched at the thought. Interesting.

To drown his sorrow, Namjoon took yet another slice of pizza. The boy could eat. He was still munching his previous victim, and it was making you hungry. Jungkook was very hot and all, but he had not offered to get you a drink or something to eat. Chivalry was, indeed, dead. “Let me ask you a question, Y/N,” Namjoon murmured in-between greasy bites. “It’ll be easy. I promise.”

“I’m all ears.”

“What is it, exactly, what made you fall for our ace?” Namjoon inquired. It was an unexpected question. A cheerleader could have asked the same, waiting you to offer a bland response in the trite language all popular girls had long mastered like: his big, big eyes; his toothpaste commercial worthy smile, the humongous size of his — not his brain, that was for certain.

But it was not a cheerleader the one to make the question, but Namjoon. Out of all the athletes in the house, Namjoon was the only one you had ever exchanged more than a few words with. Interesting words. The kind that — put together in a coherent sentence — form conversation two functional adults can take pleasure in. “Does he read Whitman to make you sleep?” He pressed further.

Before you could think twice, the words were already departing from your lips. “He rants about your pep-talks, that’s enough to have me snoring in seconds.”

He scoffed. “Nice comeback, it’s a pity that you’ve been avoiding my question like the plague,” Namjoon said in what appeared to be a groan, patience starting to run thin. At last, he appeared to have finished eating his horniness away, for he dropped the last slice of pizza back in the box. “Let me rephrase that, then—”

Next to you, Jungkook fumbled on his seat. “—Namjoon, bro, that’s enough,” he said firmly, almost an order. From the way Namjoon’s eyebrows moved together into a frown, you could tell that such serious demeanor was also uncommon amongst his group of friends. Jungkook was only serious in two situations: during games, and when his white knight complex had been activated. You would guess that was the latter. “I know it’s hard to believe, all right? Even I don’t buy it sometimes. But this is exactly why we didn’t tell you guys earlier, I knew you’d have a blast interrogating my girlfriend. And this is not cool, alright? It’s not cool that you’re over here talking about her underwear and acting like you’d be a total catch compared to me. Fuck that shit, dude, don’t ruin the night for us just because you got some jealousy stuck up your ass.”

Silence. The other boy took a second, then two, to chew what was left on his mouth, closely analyzing his friend. You could see the wheels moving inside Namjoon’s brain and — unlike Jungkook — he had more than one synapsis to make. “Hey, fair enough,” he said. And then he started smiling. Actually smiling. Putting-the-Cheshire-Cat-To-Shame kind of smile. “What has gotten into you tonight, uh? Jesus. I’m just fucking with you, didn’t think you’d get this overprotective. That’s some serious shit you’ve gotten yourself into, Jeon.”

Jungkook seemed to take an instant to fully digest the unforeseen change of demeanor, then joined his friend in his laugh. “Bro, what the fuck? You were annoying as hell,” he was clearly puzzled, even if you could see sheer alleviation in that smile. Oh, honey. He was not acting over there, was he? Poor kid really took that to heart. “Get outta here with that interrogation bullshit, Sherlock Holmes.”

“Look at that, you already know one famous victorian character,” Namjoon sarcastically celebrated, turning back at you — still living in the apex of confusion. You should have stayed home and read a book, where men are predictable and fraternity athletes as just a ghost in your memory. “You’ve been a positive influence so far, Y/N, props to that. I’ve been trying to get him to at least watch the movies for ages.”

“He only agreed to watch it once I explained Iron Man featured in it.” Taking advantage of your fake-girlfriend privileges, you slid your hand under Jungkook’s shirt. Fingers dawdling over his warm skin, you delighted in the sensation of his muscles quivering under your touch. It would not be noticeable to Namjoon — although he was particularly sharp that night. Words encompassing your feathery caresses, you murmured into his ear. “I’m thirsty, babe.”

Namjoon looked away when you nuzzled Jungkook’s neck, to bury his jealousy under another pile of cheese.

“Do you want some beer?” Jungkook blinked twice, trying to decipher the sudden change in the inflections of your voice. It was no longer playful, teasing, but dripping something he could have only categorised as desire. Jungkook was dense, enough to miss the a very evident innuendo by a mile. “I can go get you something.”

“No, not that.” Your fingers treaded an undiscovered path towards the lines of his hips, and the hem of his pants. His brain had missed the memo, but his dick was extremely eager to catch up, and was now constricted against his belt. The moment he rose from the couch, the boner would be exposed, and it would give him the perfect opportunity to drag you away from the room and towards his bedroom. “Jungkook… Let’s go.”

“I need to go to the bathroom first.” He excused himself to Namjoon, who had decided to embrace his solitude by hugging the pizza box and returning his attention to the baseball game. His team was losing. Big night for Kim Namjoon.

Jungkook pecked your lips and scurried from below your body. The room was cold now that he had left, and Namjoon was not willing to talk.

“So… pizza, huh?” you said, fixing your clothes. The last thing our brave captain needed was to take another glimpse at your ass.

Namjoon stared into the screen, absorbed by the little figures moving around. It was hard to believe that someone like him could he find baseball so entrancing. “So…Jungkook, huh?”

There it was. Jealousy, in its rawest form. He would never be so explicit in front of Jungkook, they were friends after all, but with you Namjoon could say whatever thoughts crossed his mind. “You know Jungkook isn’t as stupid as he wants all of campus to believe. He might not be a genius like you, but he is smart. He’s just a little bit caught up in the popularity game,” you said. The words leaving your mouth surprised you. Kind words for Jeon Jungkook, what a night to be alive. “Don’t be so surprised, Namjoon.”

The baseball game was no longer as relevant, for Namjoon deigned to look at you. Browns knitted in incredulity, he dropped the last slice of pizza and cleaned his hands in the team jacket. Symbolically, it was not a good thing, but he was probably overdosing on cheese. “I’m not surprised. Maybe you like him, after all.”

“Maybe I do.” You confessed with a quick wink and a guilty smile. “He gives good head, too.”

“That’s too much information.” Namjoon was nauseated, but he would never say it aloud. There was also the possibility that it was not nausea the grimace transfiguring his cute face, but jealousy. “You should go get your boyfriend, though, I think he got lost in his own reflection or something.”

Just like Namjoon had suggested, you followed Jungkook’s trail towards the bathroom. Trail, as in asking the couples making out in the hallway where the bathroom was. The first pair had not responded you, they were too busy sucking each other’s tongues to even form a coherent sentence. Titty in hand, the man in the second pair of lovers, explained where to find the bathroom — that was also known as the knocking shop.

To be fair, you knocked, but the music was too loud and the sound too timid. When you received no indication from Jungkook, you opened the door. At first you could not see past the outrageously pink sink. It was horrifyingly ugly. Jungkook rested against it, his forehead was pressed against the mirror, his warm exhalations creating beautiful designs over the reflective surface. One of his hands gripped tightly the sink, the veins of his arms visible, like rivers you had loved to explore through your fingertips. His other hand was trapped within the confines of his jeans, pressed against his dick. With every sigh and every moan, he would roll his hips against his hand, fucking himself into oblivion. All signs of arrogance vanished from his features when he was about to cum. Vulnerability looked so pretty on him.

You wished there was a joke you could crack, even if to yourself, that could serve as a coping mechanism to whatever the fuck you were being presented with. Still, nothing came out of your lips besides a loud, slightly horrified:

“What the actual fuck, Jungkook?”

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