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wintaerbaer · 8 months ago

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hi, all! just wanted to make a formal announcement that a small bit of this fic has been REVISED. someone kindly pointed out to me that a few of the lines were reminiscent of our beloved summer by @jeonqkooks (which everyone should go read and support btw), so they have been removed and replaced. unintentional for sure, and i apologize to jen if it seemed like i was copying!!

bottle up old love (jjk) (m)

summary: Jungkook may have broken up with you a year ago, but that's not going to stop him from coming to your rescue when he sees you being cornered by a creep.

pairing: Jungkook x Reader

rating: 18+ (MINORS DNI)

genre: exes to lovers, the holy trinity of angst/smut/fluff

word count: 4.6k (this was supposed to be a drabble 💀)

prompt: JK + exes to lovers + "I'm sorry" + "I hate you" + "Don't fucking touch me" + "Leave" (for @btsborahaee <3)

warnings: language, a short harassment scene at the beginning (nothing too intense), explicit content including: unprotected sex (DO NOT), fingering, praise kink, biting, marking, spanking, cum eating (sort of?), big cawk soft dom jk, cowgirl (yeehaw), creampie, cockwarming, i think that's all but this also wasn't supposed to be too smutty so clearly idk what's going on lol

MASTERLIST

“Don’t fucking touch me!”

You spit the words at the man in front of you, pushing him back as he tries to make another grab at your arm.

“Why do you gotta be like that?” Seungcheol whines. “I thought we were having fun.”

“You and I have very different ideas of fun.” You take a step backwards towards your building. Somewhere down the sidewalk, footsteps clatter against the pavement.

“C’mon.” He matches your movement, reaches for you again. “Invite me up. You enjoyed the last time, didn’t you? I told you that was just a warm-up.”

The building’s brick wall is closer than you thought, and you bang your shoulder against it as you try to sidestep him. “Last time you didn’t follow me to a bar I didn’t even invite you to. How did you know where I was anyway?”

“Let me come up, and I’ll tell you,” he rumbles with a flicker of his eyebrows. He has you fully backed up against the wall now, and you press against the muscle of his chest to no avail.

“Stop!” you shout before he’s ripped away from you so suddenly that you’re left blinking in confusion, huddled against the brick.

There’s a thud–the sound of a fist hitting flesh–and a yelp before Seungcheol is reeling back with his hands clutching his nose. Blood seeps out from beneath his fingers, black even under the glow of the streetlamps.

“What the fuck?” he shrieks, and it’s only then that you take a proper look at your savior, looking every bit like he’s stepped straight out of the shadows with his dark hair, ebony clothes, and deep brown eyes.

And a lead weight drops into your stomach as you recognize him.

Jungkook sets himself between you and Seungcheol, looming over the latter as he continues to cover his face, whining. “I’m giving you ten seconds to get out of here.”

“Who the fuck are you?!”

“Ten,” Jungkook growls, taking a step in Seungcheol’s direction. “Nine.”

Seungcheol straightens–clearly a last-ditch attempt to look intimidating. Spitting blood onto the concrete, he peers at you over Jungkook’s shoulder. “This isn’t over, bitch.”

Then he spins and takes off running down the street.

Your hands grip your elbows. It may be a balmy summer night, but you’re shivering where you stand, unsure whether you’re more affected by Seungcheol’s behavior or the ghost who’s unexpectedly in front of you.

“Are you okay?” he quietly asks, gaze fixed on your face. You stare at your shoes and give him a brisk nod as a response before turning away, punching in your building code, and walking through the front door.

He follows closely, slipping in behind you and trailing a few feet. You let him for a little while, guiding him through the modest lobby and up the first flight of stairs. But when you’re halfway up the second stairwell–almost to your floor–you pause on the landing, spinning his way.

“What do you think you’re doing?”

His eyes are gentle, sincere. “Making sure you get in safely.”

“There’s no need for that,” you assert. “I’m already in my building. There’s a keypad. I’m good.”

“The keypad does almost nothing. I followed you in no problem.”

“So I should be worried about you then?”

He flushes, the tips of his ears going pink. “Please just let me see you inside.”

You want to argue back, want to shout at him and make a scene, but you know it’s no use. Know that he’s stubborn as a bull and will get what he wants one way or another.

It’s how he broke up with you after all.

You say nothing, only hustle up the last set of steps and down the dimly-lit hallway until you’re in front of your door, Jungkook tailing you the whole time with his hands in his pockets. You practically fumble your key in your haste to get it into the lock, letting out a satisfied sigh as the latch finally clicks open.

“There. I’m in,” you say as you step over the threshold, waving a dismissive hand at your unwanted companion. “Leave.”

But he hesitates just outside the doorway, teeth chewing at the corner of his lip. “What are you going to do if he comes back?”

“That’s my problem, isn’t it? I stopped being your concern when you dropped me out of nowhere a year ago.”

Your eyes sting at the memory, tears threatening to spill over. You don’t want him here. Don’t want to see him or have him anywhere in your vicinity. Not when it still hurts like this.

Though, truth be told, you don’t expect to ever be fully over him.

“We’re done, Jungkook,” you murmur. “You made sure of that.”

And you close the door in his face.

The distress subsides quickly once he’s out of sight–like he was never there to begin with–and you don’t linger, dropping your bag on the sofa and heading straight for the bathroom. This is how you’ve made it a year without him; it was weeks of crying before you realized that wallowing was doing you no good, only fueling your misery instead of providing any kind of catharsis. So you’ve done your best to simply push past it and cast away the anguish that bubbles up every time you think of him. Do your best to not allow it to linger like the shadows at the edges of the room.

You shed your clothes and turn the shower to a temperature that you’ll probably regret later. But for now, you savor the way the water sears your skin as you wash away the day with all of its unpleasant surprises. Taking your time, you scrub every inch of your body and carefully shampoo your hair (trying not to fall back into the fantasy that’s plagued you on occasion where it’s his hands and not yours spreading the bubbles over your form).

The self-care continues as you step out of the shower and leisurely work through your skin care routine, even taking the time to blow dry your hair. By the time you exit the bathroom, the fog on the mirror has dissipated, and you’ve once again successfully tamped down the memory of Jungkook and his hands and eyes and everything you ever felt for him.

Or so you think.

After popping into your bedroom to pull on some pajamas, you pad back into the living room for a glass of water, and your eyes are immediately drawn to the front door. Regret attempts to push its way into your consciousness against your better judgment. The man broke your heart, yes. But you do feel a little guilty slamming the door in his face after he just fought off a creep for you.

And speaking of Seungcheol, what if he does come back? You’re pretty sure he saw you punch in the building code the night you brought him home with you, and given his behavior, you wouldn’t be surprised if he filed it away in his head.

Anxiety winning out, you creep to the door and peer through the peephole. The hallway looks empty, drab beige walls taking up most of your field of view, but you jump as you spot a hulking shadow to the right. Your heartbeat races then slows, a closer look revealing hunched, unmoving shoulders wrapped in a familiar black t-shirt.

Jungkook swings his head to look at you as you open the door and glare down at him. His legs are pulled up, arms resting on his knees, and it might be endearing if not for the fact that he absolutely, positively should not be here.

“What are you doing?” you ask him for the second time tonight.

“He might come back.”

“And you’re going to what? Fight him?”

He shrugs. “If I have to.”

“Yeah?” You raise an eyebrow, challenging. “You’re going to sit out here all night?”

He shifts where he sits, wiggling his hips like he’s firmly planting his butt into his chosen spot. “Yes.”

You roll your eyes at him but don’t doubt that he would. Again, if there is anything you know this man to be, it’s stubborn. “You’re going to scare the neighbors.”

“Who, Mrs. Kwon?” A tiny smile plays on his lips as he glances in the direction of your elderly neighbor’s apartment. “I think she’d be delighted to see me.”

If you’re being honest, she probably would be. She’s always adored Jungkook and praised him as the “kind, handsome young man” who helped her put away groceries and fixed her leaky faucet one time. In the months following your breakup, she’d asked about him once or twice, patting your arm reassuringly when you awkwardly told her she wouldn’t be seeing him anymore.

“Don’t worry, dear,” she said. “He’ll come around.”

Well she’s turned out to be right in that he’s certainly back here again, still watching you from his spot on the floor. And you don’t know whether it’s his big doe eyes or the fact that he really would guard your apartment all night if you let him or the genuine fear that one of the other neighbors will make a fuss at his presence, but you feel yourself softening.

Turning abruptly, you stride into the kitchen for your glass of water, walking out of sight of the door, which is still wide open.

“You coming?” you call, pulling two glasses down from the cupboard.

There’s a rustle as Jungkook stands and shuffles into your apartment, closing the door behind him with a soft thud. For someone who was so determined to defend you tonight, he seems uncertain now that he’s actually inside. His hands are once again stuffed in his pockets, and his eyes flicker around like he hasn’t been here a thousand times. Hasn’t cooked you breakfast in this kitchen in nothing but his boxers. Hasn’t watched The Notebook with you on this TV and held you as you both cried.

Hasn’t made love to you on the couch.

You slide a water his way, and he murmurs his thanks, sipping at it lightly. It’s strange–seeing him here again–and you can’t help but think about the last time he stood in this room. It’d been a maelstrom of accusations and hurt feelings that culminated in him storming out, the slam of the door echoing in your ears.

“You never cleaned that?” He gestures at the rug that covers most of the sitting area in your living room, eyes on the dark purple stain roughly the size of your hand.

You gulp down your water and try not to follow his line of sight. Try not to remember how you’d knocked over a glass of wine in your haste to get his clothes off during another movie night less than a month before your breakup.

“I kind of forgot about it,” you say. “Stopped noticing it after a while.”

It’s a lie. There was never a time when you didn’t notice it, the memory of him haunting you every time you sit down on the couch and stare at the garish stain. And still, you haven’t been able to bring yourself to try and erase it.

Silence worms its way between you again. With only the soft light from the tabletop lamp glowing next to the couch, Jungkook’s face is cloaked in shadow. And so you barely see his lips move when he speaks. Barely hear it with how quietly his whisper slips into the room.

“I’m sorry.”

Your glass almost drops from your fingers, droplets splashing across your knuckles as you catch it at the last moment and steady it on the countertop. Turning to face him, you find his gaze already on you, melancholy tinting his expression.

“What?”

He tongues his lip ring, shoulders dropping a fraction. “For how things ended. I’m sorry.”

You can see the sincerity in his posture, can see the sadness in his form. And yet, his words only fill you with a hot anger that bubbles out of you before you can swallow it down.

“I don’t know why you would be,” you challenge, “being that you didn’t even respect me enough to give me a proper reason.”

Jungkook huffs at that; you think he’s resisting the urge to roll his eyes. “Did it really matter?”

“Yes.”

He gnaws at his lip again, no longer looking at you, and his lack of an answer only riles you up further.

“Was there someone else?” you demand, causing him to flinch. It was the same thing you asked him when he told you he thought you should break up, standing in almost this exact same spot.

“No,” he murmurs after a moment. “There wasn’t anyone else.” He pushes a hand through his dark, silky hair. “There hasn’t been anyone else since either.”

This surprises you. Jungkook is, in your eyes, the handsomest man you have ever come face-to-face with, but even from an objective standpoint, he is exceedingly attractive. There is no doubt in your mind that he would easily be able to land a woman if he so desired.

“So then why?”

He sets his jaw, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallows and fixes his stare out the window. And it’s this final refusal, this steadfast dedication to not explaining himself, that finally has tears tracking down your cheeks.

The sight of you crying has his attention snapping back your way, hands reaching out as if to hold you.

“Don’t touch me,” you gasp, recoiling until you’re out of reach. “I…I hate you.”

It almost seems as if your voice lands physically, and Jungkook staggers back like you’ve slapped him, remorse immediately wiggling its way between your ribs. You know you don’t mean the words even as they fall from your mouth, but it feels pointless to take them back now, the sentiment already thrown out there and hovering in the hollow space between you.

Jungkook muddles towards the couch–more of a defeated slump dragging his steps than anger–and you think he’s going to sit down before he whirls back towards you at the last second.

“The gala,” he mutters. “That’s when I decided.”

You know which one he’s talking about. Hosted by your medical school to celebrate the end of the academic year, it had been a night of food, dancing, and socializing. You had, of course, brought him as your date and introduced him to your friends and classmates, excited to finally allow him to put faces to names. As you comb through your memories of the night, you can’t pinpoint any warning signs, only remembering the way he’d smiled at you throughout. The way he’d pulled you close and danced you around the room.

“I don’t…I don’t understand.”

He rakes his fingers through his hair again, tossing strands of night over his forehead. A sad chuckle looses itself into the thick air of the room, and the final dregs of his resolve flicker away. “I realized that I didn’t deserve to stand next to you. That you could do much better than me.”

Whatever you thought his reason had been–whatever theories or thoughts had kept you up night after night for the past year–this is not even close to what you expected. And while you always thought finally receiving an answer would be freeing, would offer you some semblance of understanding, you’re surprised at the rage that boils in the pit of your stomach, bile rising in your throat.

“Are you fucking serious right now?” you growl, taking an angered step towards him. “You were feeling insecure, and you made the decision to break up with me without even thinking to, I don’t know, discuss it with me first?”

His hand goes to the back of his neck now, embarrassment showing its face as he peers at you from under his lashes. “I was stupid–”

“No, shit.”

“But can you blame me?” he presses. “There we were: you, about to be this incredible doctor with all of your doctor friends…” His voice falters, sorrow lacing his tone. “And I’m just a tattoo artist.”

The defeatist way he says it helps to dampen your ire some, even if a heap of frustration remains–the sad shape of his doe eyes softening your edges.

“Just a tattoo artist,” you repeat. “Jungkook, I have always been so, so proud of you. I was never anything but proud to have you as my partner. You must’ve known that.”

His teeth worry his lip, and though he nods, he doesn’t seem fully convinced.

So you continue on, closing the distance between you a fraction more. “You started your own business from nothing. And I saw how hard you worked: to get the building, to hire other artists, train your apprentices.” You shake your head–half in irritation, half in awe. “And look at you now! You’re thriving. The last I heard, if you want an appointment at Golden Tattoo, you need to book months in advance.”

His eyes are alight now, some hidden emotion glimmering under the surface, but he stays quiet as he soaks in your words.

“So how can you possibly act like you weren’t enough?” you push. “You are amazing, Jungkook. And I never gave a shit about any job comparisons people may have made.” One more step, and suddenly you’re almost chest-to-chest. As always, you’re unable to resist the pull of his gravity. Yanked right back into his orbit. “I only wanted you. I’ve only ever wanted y–”

He cuts you off with his mouth, strong hands snagging your hips to pull you against him, and your own fingers reflexively tangle in his black hoodie as your subconscious gives itself over to him. Like it’s been waiting for this.

“I’m not. Not thriving,” he mumbles against your lips. “Not without you. Been miserable without you.”

And in spite of your anger, in spite of the fact that you were ready to kick him out a mere hour ago, you find yourself kissing him back, relishing the slick glide of his tongue as he licks into your mouth.

You startle as the backs of your knees suddenly bump against the couch, and then Jungkook is spinning as he settles onto the plush seat, pulling you along to straddle him. He sucks at your neck until you can feel the blood blooming under your skin, painting you like the pretty ink on his arm.

Speaking of.

The fabric of his hoodie whispers as you pull it up and over his back and head, tossing it over his shoulder and into a corner. His arms now bare to you, you gloss over his tattoos with your eyes and fingers until you find the one you’d picked out for him; the lovely orange of the flower petals seem to glow even in the dim light of the room.

“Beautiful,” you whisper.

“Just like you.”

You look at him then, the twinkle of tiny galaxies in his eyes betraying his hope. And before you can go any further, you need confirmation.

“You left.”

“I did.” Fingertips press lightly against your waist like he’s afraid you might be the one to disappear now. “I’m sorry.”

“Jungkook, if…” You lick your lips. Can almost taste his regret. “If we do this and you leave again–”

“If we do this, I'm not going anywhere,” he insists, tugging your hips down to grind against him and ghosting a kiss at your jaw. “Just wanna be here with you. Just want you.”

And it’s all you need to hear.

You shed the cotton shirt you had thrown on after your shower and move to yank his own off, tossing it in the same corner as his hoodie. The muscles of his pecs and abs shift under your hands, burning hot where your fingers trace the contours of his torso.

“God, I missed this,” he groans as he buries his face between your breasts, nipping at the skin there before laving the spot with his tongue.

You’d agree–echo the sentiment that your body has been aching for this–if not for the fact that you’re too busy trying to get the two of you naked, thumbs hooking into the waistband of your shorts.

But a tattooed hand covers yours, eases it away to take its place. “No,” he rumbles. “Let me.”

Wide palms and long fingers span your hips and thighs, grasping as much skin as possible even as he drags your shorts and panties down your legs and helps to steady you as you kick them off. They join the tangle of his own clothes

“Fucking gorgeous,” he growls at the sight of you finally naked in front of him. And with such speed that it almost seems like it’s involuntary, an impulse outside of his control, he’s immediately stroking at the apex of your thighs.

“Baby, this wet for me already?” A breathy sigh passes from his mouth to yours, almost laughing at the ease with which he glides through your folds. “Hell, I could just–”

A finger slips in and you gasp, Jungkook smiling wickedly at you as he quickly adds a second and curls them against your walls. You force your eyes closed as they roll back in your head, and you keel forward, babbling incoherently against the line of his collarbone.

“Use your words, love; you can do it.” He says it as if his fingers aren’t currently buried in you down to the knuckle. As if he’s not making you see stars behind your eyelids right now.

You choke down a breath, desperate for the oxygen. “Insane,” you pant. “I said you’re fucking insane.”

“Only for you,” he says before sliding his digits out of you and dipping them into his mouth. He moans at the taste, and even with his lips closed tightly, you can see the way he’s working his tongue around each finger, unwilling to waste a single drop of your essence.

Like you said. Insane.

He gives you a moment to catch your breath until you’re the one who’s getting impatient, hastily undoing his belt and tearing it from his pants with a hiss. But as you shift off of him so he can slither out of his pants and boxers–his length springing free to slap against his smooth stomach–you’re hit with an untimely realization.

“Jungkook, I don’t have condoms.”

He freezes, the color draining from his face (though admittedly, that may be because all of his blood has clearly gone south). The two of you stare at each other for a long second before he suddenly leans over, rummaging back through his pants pockets. He pulls out his wallet, rifles through it, then tosses it across the room in frustration, head tilting back against the couch as he groans at the ceiling.

“Fuck, me neither.”

You chew at your lip, a loaded quiet settling over the room as Jungkook wipes a hand over his face.

“I’m still on birth control,” you whisper, and Jungkook whips his head around, eyes wide and questioning like he’s not sure he heard you right. But you don’t repeat yourself, only hold his stare until he’s tentatively reaching out to graze his fingertips along your thigh.

“I told you. There’s been no one else.” His expression is earnest, eager. You trust that he’s telling the truth, and yet you also know that if you refused him, if you said you weren’t comfortable, he wouldn’t push.

So you swing a leg back over his lap, drag your wet folds against his cock. He moans, gripping your thighs hard, but he leans in to bite at your lower lip with a growl before pulling back to search your face.

“You?”

It hurts that he even feels the need to ask. Because how could you even want someone else? Who could possibly measure up?

You brush a reassuring, barely-there kiss against his already swollen lips. “No one else for me either.”

This seems to please him, but you still see hesitation behind his eyes as he asks, “What about the guy downstairs?”

A drunken mistake was what that was. All sloppy lips and fumbling hands that had left you feeling more empty than anything, and which resulted in you sending Cheol away before he had even gotten a peek at your bedroom.

“We made out once,” you admit, hating that you’re even having to think about another man when Jungkook is here in front of you. “But nothing else happened.”

“Good,” he grunts, but his fingers dig into your backside like he’s trying to reclaim you. And just a fraction of a second later, he’s devilishly tonguing his lip ring as he winds his palm back to bring it down harshly against the meat of your ass, the smack echoing between the walls almost endlessly.

“Ride me, baby.”

You’re quick to line him up–desperate, at this point, to have him inside of you–and begin to ease yourself down slowly, trying to give your body the space and time to adjust to the burning stretch of his girth. He’s always filled you to your absolute limit, tested the furthest boundaries of how much your body can take with his size.

“Yesss,” he hisses, nipping at your neck once again. “You’re doing great, love. Always take me so fucking well.”

You gasp as he bottoms out, struggling to catch your breath with the relentless push of him. If you were a betting woman, you’d put money on your intestines being somewhere in the area of your throat right now.

He wraps his inked arm around your waist, continuing to whisper his praises against the shell of your ear as he starts to guide your body up and down. Intoxicated by the smooth slide of his length, you soon find your pace, and your shared moans fill the room–the whole city probably able to hear you right now.

You move that way until the pressure building becomes too much and your legs start to tremble, quivering against Jungkook’s own muscled thighs.

“It’s okay; I’ve got you.” He bands his arms around you and presses you to his chest, holding you in place so he can thrust upwards.

Hard.

You’re practically screaming now, burying your teeth into his shoulder so as to muffle your sounds and not scare the neighbors. It’s all you can do to hold on for dear life as he rapidly pistons his cock inside of you, the slap of your hips like a metronome.

It builds and builds until it breaks and you’re falling apart in his arms, the spasms of your inner walls pulling him over the edge with you as he empties his seed deep inside.

The silence that follows in unlike the others you previously shared this evening–tension traded for serenity as you sit on the couch holding each other, you still contentedly stuffed full of him. He traces the ridges of your spine in a soothing pattern that has your eyelids drooping, your cheek resting against the warm skin of his neck.

“I missed this,” you whisper once your brain has finally remembered how to construct human speech.

“I missed you.”

You pull back so you can rest your forehead against his and gently run a finger over the lines of his face. “Where do we go from here?”

He hums. Tucks a stray hair behind your ear. “Take it day by day?” he suggests. “We don’t need to rush into anything if you don’t want to.”

“Mm, that does seem like a problem for tomorrow.”

A dark eyebrow quirks, teasing. “And what about right now?”

“Now?” you ask. “Do you remember the way to the bedroom? Or…” You shift your hips, already feeling him twitching inside of you.

“Or.” He jolts forward to capture your mouth in a hot kiss, and you smile into it, whole again. “Or sounds good.”

a/n: pls like, reblog, reply, and/or send an ask if you enjoyed! <3

#i'm serious though everyone go read obs #fic: bottle up old love

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wintaerbaer · 8 months ago

Note

JENI, I LOVE YOU. THIS WAS SUCH A DELIGHT FROM START TO FINISH. THANK YOU FOR TAKING MY DRUNKEN RAMBLINGS AND TURNING THEM INTO THIS WONDERFUL 3-PART SERIES. I HAVE CHERISHED EVERY WORD <3333

drabble request: an update for hah balla?? could be whatever you please, but some ideas i had were him actually cutting his hair, visiting her on leave, or you could even jump way in the future and show him getting out? 🥰

Here is the final part of this Tae mini-series!

Taehyung x Reader - Hah Balla Part 3: Bah Halla-lujah

Synopsis: Taehyung and you are supposed to see each other after his discharge from the army.

Word Count: approx. 2.3k words

Enjoy @wintaerbaer <3

“I’m nervous.”

“Why are you nervous?”

You turned to the man at your left, Seokjin, who was sipping water. He had been discharged from the military shortly after Taehyung and Jimin’s enlistment and, therefore, has been the one with whom you had spent most of your time. “I haven’t seen him since his last leave. That feels so long ago.”

“It was like two months ago.” Another voice at your right said, and you turned to see Hoseok gently loop your arms together, patting your arm reassuringly. You smiled, resting your head on his shoulder, allowing his comforting gesture to do just that.

“Well, for two codependent people like them, it seems fitting that they can’t go two months without being about each other,” Yoongi smirked a bit when you shot an unamused look in his face, raising his hands to claim he was done with his teasing for now.

However, Seokjin just kept pestering you. “I’m surprised you didn’t Mulan yourself and enlist.”

Hoseok laughed, and you immediately yanked your arm from his grasp, crossing it over your chest instead.

The four of you were waiting at a restaurant, one of Taehyung’s favorites, a ramen shop right in the heart of Seoul that you would all frequent often in some combination of friends. It was the best spot for afternoon drinks after a long day of work, and the last location where the both of you had drinks right before Taehyung’s enlistment. He had gotten discharged earlier that morning from his active duty, eighteen long months of seeing each other only through short leaves and communicating through letters. It was hard, but the two of you made it work for the fact that you had no other choice. You and Taehyung were not far from each other much in the history of your friendship.

But that was then, and this is now. You were sitting beside Hoseok as he skimmed over the ramen add-ons and watched as Seokjin poured the three of you a shot. All you were waiting for was Taehyung to enter the front door and-.

“Taehyung’s not coming.”

Your eyes shot up at Seokjin as he set his phone down, a pout on his face.

“Why?” You had to actively try to keep your voice from shaking. Hoseok had also looked up from his menu, which he had raised to cover his nose and lips. Yoongi was leaning over to the oldest man’s phone to get a look.

“He said something came up and his grandparents came to Seoul earlier than expected. So, he asked if we can move the dinner to the end of the week instead.” Seokjin turned his phone towards you and Hoseok, both of you leaning in to read the message.

Taehyung (sent now): Tell everyone I’m so sorry. My grandparents were supposed to come tomorrow. I’ll pay for dinner, okay?

“Oh no…” Hoseok sighed. “That stinks. I was looking forward to seeing him.”

Your eyes were glued to the cellphone message, skimming the same few words over and over again. You were hoping eventually, with enough manifesting and eye strain on the screen, another text would pop up from Taehyung saying he was on his way and he made it work. Two seconds…three seconds…four seconds…

No reply.

Seokjin finally pulled the phone back, typing a quick response and setting his phone into his back pocket. “I’m sure we can see him before the end of the week, don’t look so upset.”

“It’s just last minute.” You sighed. “I already wanted to go see him get out, and I couldn’t, and now we-.” You reached forward and took the bottle Seokjin was using to pour, using it to top you shot glass. The boys watched you throw the entire thing back, face scrunching up as the alcohol burned along your throat and mixed with the disappointment settling in your gut.

“It’s only a little longer,” Hoseok assured. You turned to him as he pointed out a few options on the menu, hoping it would distract you through the meal. From the corner of your eye, you saw Seokjin already refilling your glass.

Even though you’d already waited long for this to come, it wouldn’t make the next few hours any less tolerable.

------------------------

“Maybe you should uh…stop drinking so much.” The concerned tone in Hoseok’s voice made you turn towards him. He was smiling, but you could smell the concern on his voice in the same way he could smell the alcohol on your lips. You had been turning your head to the door at the sound of every welcome bell, but felt the same disappointment each time the owners shouted a bellowing ‘hello’ to someone without a familiar boxy smile or stunning dark brown curls (fuck, he has a buzz cut now so he wouldn’t even have curls anymore!).

“I’m fine.” You assured, turning your head from another unsuccessful glance to the door. You had also been punctuating your disappointment with another shot. Hoseok reached out and took the shot glass from your hand, a half-eaten ramen bowl pushed in your direction instead.

“Enough. Or you’ll make a fool of yourself.” Yoongi said in support of Hoseok’s attempts to get you to stop throwing back shots.

“Again.” Seokjin snorted but earned a glazy-eyed glare from you.

When your mind was pulled back to the drunken stupor Taehyung has never let you forget, even now, and you sighed. “Alllright.” Chopsticks in hand, you slurped up another bite of your ramen, then reached across the table for some of the extra sides they had set out for you guys. You four had already been there about an hour since Taehyung flaked; your alcohol intake was much too high already. Another mouthful of ramen, and you could feel your body screaming to go home. You wanted to curl up under your covers, in the dark of your room, and not come out until the headache you knew was right around the corner was long gone. You heard the bell at the front of the store ring through the small ramen shop, and you groaned, resting your head on Hoseok’s shoulder. Enough disappointment for one evening. It was enough. “Hobi, my head hurts.” You murmured.

“You’re already drunk.” Hoseok sighed, stroking your hair affectionately. You looked up at him and saw his gaze snap up to Seokjin. When you followed the gaze, Seokjin was only smiling in amusement from the other side of the table, cheeks puffed out with food stored inside. “Why don’t we take a few minutes to sober up and-.”

“Oh shit, is this the sequel to Hah Balla?” The sudden deep voice that hit the back of your head made you flinch in sheer surprise. You lifted your head, studying the grin growing on Seokjin’s face. Then, you turned to Hoseok, who had covered his mouth with his hand. It was not enough to hide the growing grin on his face.

Turning your head, a familiar boxy grin and buzz-cut – wait, it’s grown out a bit in the last two months – staring down at you. Head tilted back, you blinked up a few times and wondered if you had just gotten so drunk in such a short period you had started to hallucinate. However, when a familiar hand reached down and poked your forehead, a familiar tingling sensation coursing your body, you knew it was the real deal.

“Hey.” He grinned.

“Taehyung!” You shot up like a bullet, the effects of being a bit drunk making you sway a bit. Taehyung reached out and steadied you, but that only gave you more leverage. You grabbed his arms and tugged him into a tight hug. “What the hell!? I thought you weren’t able to come tonight anymore!”

“I lied.” He grinned. “I wanted to surprise you.”

“What?!” Your head shot towards the three boys grinning at the table. “You punks!”

“It wasn’t our idea!” Hoseok gasped.

“It was Hoseok’s idea,” Yoongi said behind his drink.

“Taehyung said he’d pay for dinner if we helped.” Seokjin pointed to the food around him.

“And you took advantage, hyung.” Taehyung frowned, already picturing the large bill that was waiting for him. His emptying wallet only distracted him for so long, however, as you gripped his arms again and he turned his attention back to you. Your pink cheeks and beaming smile immediately made him grin again. “You look so drunk.” He mused.

“I am.”

“Did you really think I wouldn’t show?”

“You took a whole hour to surprise me?” You huffed.

He mimicked your huff with a more dramatic one. “It’s only been forty-five minutes.” His hands were resting on your arms, squeezing you as if he also needed to check to make sure it was really you in his arms. The warmth of his hands felt so familiar and comforting, you couldn’t help but pull him into another hug.

“Aahh, I hate you.” You slurred a bit, and Taehyung laughed again, hugging you back. “Let’s sit and get you something to drink!” You gasped. “Let’s all do a shot!”

“No! You’re so drunk already!” Hoseok called out.

“No, let’s drink!” You begged. “Taehyung just got discharged from the army and he needs to drink.” The man laughed at how dramatic and over the top you were being, finally managing to sit you back down as Seokjin called for the owner to bring another menu and a few more bottles of alcohol, well aware of the chaos it could bring.

The owner gave the table a few side dishes and a bottle of alcohol for free to celebrate Taehyung’s discharge, and you were now the one to pour. Taehyung lifted his up, already grinning devilishly. You may be drunk, but you knew exactly what he was thinking.

“No.”

“Yes.”

“Kim Taehyung.”

“That’s me.” He grinned, unphased. “I’m going to say it.”

“Please don’t.”

“I told my entire squad about it.”

“I knew you would.” You pouted. Taehyung grinned. “Fine, fine. Hopefully I’m drunk enough that I'll forget."

Taehyung took a deep breath before shouting. "HAH BALLA!” And alerting the attention of the other patrons nearby. You laughed into your hand, covering your burning cheeks as Hoseok, Yoongi, and Seokjin repeated the cheer just as loud. You sighed, raising your own shot glass up.

“Hah balla.” You mumbled being your laughter, and the group of you threw back a shot. The burning sensation had long since disappeared, and you simply reached for a bite of kimchi. Taehyung leaned closer to you, grinning.

“I won’t ever let you forget.” He hummed softly. When you turned to face him, you noticed how close together you were, and you blinked up at him.

“You’re cruel.” A smirk formed on your face, and his soon followed.

“Ah, no kissing at the table.” Seokjin immediately cooed, stuffing a bite of rice into his mouth and looking away when Taehyung shot him a glare.

“No, let them do it. It’s about time.” Yoongi nudged Seokjin, who only laughed so hard behind his hand he coughed on the rice.

“That’s what you get.” Taehyung hissed, nose scrunched up in annoyance as he watched the oldest at the table down water to keep himself alive. Taehyung pulled back, setting some distance once again as you all continued to eat and drink. Maybe it was because you were drunk, or happy to see Taehyung again, but you simply scooted closer to him and rested your head on his shoulder. He looked over at you and smiled in amusement, patting your head.

“What did I tell you?” Yoongi motioned to the sight before him. “Codependent.”

-------------------

That night, Yoongi pushed Seokjin and Hoseok into a cab, the three hugging Taehyung and you off with the promise to get together again soon. Hopefully, their schedules would line up. You watched the cab drive off, and put a hand to your head.

“I feel like I’m swimming.”

“Well, you drank a lot.” Taehyung hummed.

“So did you!” You pointed to his cheeks.

“I was celebrating, I’m allowed.” He snorted, putting his hands in the pockets of his beige slacks. You looked him up and down, taking in the sight of him outside of a military uniform that you had seen on him so often it felt as if it were stuck to him like an old paper dress-up doll.

You reached forward and looped your arm through his, tugging at the dark grey sleeve of his shirt. “I’m happy you’re back.” He looked down at you and smiled, warm despite the night air being a bit chilly.

“I am too.” He said. “It was hard getting through the last two months without teasing you. My friends in the squad only let me talk about you so much.”

A laughed, and the both of you began walking down the street. “You talked about me?”

“All the time.” He admitted. “I mean, let’s face it, every memory worth talking about has you in it, so of course your name would come up all the time.” The fondness in his voice made your already flustered cheeks heat up even more, and you nodded, resting the side of your head on his arm as you walked. “You must have talked about me, too.”

“Eh, not really.” You hummed, and Taehyung stopped walking, yanking you to stop as well. You looked up at him and smiled. “Kidding~.”

“Alright, rude.” He pouted, finally continuing to walk as you laughed a bit. “I’m taking you home and I won’t even hold your hair when you inevitably vomit.”

“I’m not that drunk anymore, I sobered up.” Despite your reassurance, the heightened slurring of your words didn’t convince Taehyung, and he only grinned his boxy, lop-sided grin once again.

As the two of you continued to walk in silence for the next little while, you glanced back up at him and smiled. “You can stay if you want.”

He glanced down. “…At your house?” You nodded. “Alright, if you insist. I’ll take the couch.” You nodded, eyes looking down at your arm wrapped around his. Taking a deep breath, you lowered your hand down and pressed the back of your knuckles against his. Taehyung looked down, studying what you were trying to do. Without giving you another glance, he simply turned his hand, opening up his fingers and allowing yours to intertwine with his.

“I’m happy you’re home, Taehyung.” You breathed, eyes locked on the warm hand enveloping yours.

“I know…” Taehyung’s voice was soft. “You said that already.”

You nodded, squeezing the hand that felt as if it belonged in yours. “I know…” you said softly. “I just wanted to say it again.”

Taehyung nodded, his head tilting a bit to rest on top of yours as you both continued to walk.

“I am, too….” He said.

If you want to DM me with a request, you can send me an ask. Here is the DM request post I made.

#highkey gonna cry #love these babies #taehyung fic rec #animeniacss

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