#this is an inside joke between me and my friends since im practically jesus christ. but it is also funny and okay to rb if youd like ^_^

[codecicle]

happy pride month! #comingout

[staycatcher]

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. 

[sugaxjpg]

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?”