part 2 /14 - meeting you was what i wanted | 너를 만난 건 내 바램이었어

[past_the_moon]

Title: meeting you was what i wanted | 너를 만난 건 내 바램이었어
AO3 warnings: None
Characters: Jungkook x reader (cis female)

Tags for this chapter: sex with strangers, sex in public (clubs, bathrooms, over her desk at work!)



CHAPTER ONE

Imo sits at the kitchen table with you and fried chicken and five cans of watermelon makgeolli (you drink one, she drinks four; you want a liver like hers when you're old). She interrogates you about your day, and how you like the library. You don't tell her about your interlude in the library, or your quick stop on the way home to buy emergency contraception and pay 8,000 KRW for birth control. (Both over the counter here. Nice. Easy.)

You do tell her you met some of the talent and she grins.

"They are all such good kids," she tells you. "They're very polite to staff. Who did you meet?"

You bite back their names and instead shrug. "I'm still getting to know people's faces."

She sighs and shakes her head. "You really need to listen to some k-pop now that you work in the industry!"

"I'll get there," you say defensively. To be perfectly honest, you have yet to listen to any, but... you'll get there... You'll start tonight with JK, why not.

Once you're alone in your room, you click into Naver to look for "JK Hybe" and are confronted with a bunch of fake journalism style YouTube videos that you don't want to watch. When you scroll down, you find out his name is "Jung Kook" and the first link is to a cover he's done of Falling by Harry Styles. Not your thing but you'll listen.

What a pretty voice. Now you want to look at YouTube. His solo work comes up and so does BTS — okay, you've heard of BTS. You think you've even heard a couple of songs but they were in English, not Korean. You skip BTS and just go through his solo videos. He'll be fucking seven days a week? Okay, you can see that. You like the Standing Next to You video he did with Usher — good dancing, and you can definitely get down to Usher when you're at a club, like everyone else in the world.

You take a shower, humming his catchy hooks to yourself, and then, finally, turn on your air filter, lie in bed with your vibrator, and get yourself off thinking about just how good his dick was. Maybe you can teach him? Someone who has the stamina to dance like he does and perform on stage for hours should have the stamina to fuck you until you come.

If you ever see him again, you might bring it up.

Of course you see him again the next day. Same time: later in the afternoon, during your London fog break. You've decided your first week of work can be indulgent, and then you'll buckle down and bring your own tea.

You sip at it while you step into the hallway, and there he is, sort of lounging against the door but doing his characteristic sway from side to side. You get how that is. Sometimes you still catch yourself rocking back and forth, and you've been teaching yourself not to do that for years.

How does he get away with it as an idol?

"Hi!" His eyes light up when he sees you, and it makes you smile.

"Hi," you say, and badge you both into the library. He follows you, really close behind you, and then he's got you by the waist, holding really tightly.

"Ah ah ah —" you yelp. "Hot tea!"

He loosens his grip on you and mutters, "Sorry," very casually, but stays right up against you, walking in unison with you, as you go over to your desk and carefully sit your tea down.

"Okay," you say in English, "I'm ready."

You're wearing a skirt again — not because you had thought this would happen, but because almost all the clothes you bought for the office are skirts and blouses. (Imo had laughed at you when she saw. She wears jeans every day.)

He slides his hands down to your thighs and then pulls your skirt up. One hand comes up higher, to your lower back, and puts pressure on you there, bending you over. You spread your legs and settle your chest onto the desk, cradle your head in your arms. It's barely a moment before he's tugging your panties aside and sliding into you.

You let out a groan that startles you, but he mutters, "Fuck, yes," and hammers at you, banging your hips into the desk painfully. But it feels good, his dick is such a good size for you. You open your legs wider and push your ass back. If you reach down to touch your clit, you'll hurt your arm banging into the desk, but — fuck, if you could just — you just need some friction —

He comes biting your shoulder and moaning, and it is hot, but... damn. You don't think you've ever fucked someone quite so rude in their etiquette like this. The last time you'd hooked up and hadn't come, it had been because the guy was just really bad at sex, not because he was deliberately ignoring your clit.

"Baby," you groan into your arms.

"Yeah." He sighs and slumps on top of you. For someone who is so tall and looks so slim, he weighs a lot — he must have a ton of muscle under those clothes. Maybe one day you'll get to see it? Maybe one day he will touch your clit. Naver said he's been part of BTS since he was 13 — maybe he just doesn't know what the clit is because no one has ever told him?

Seems legit.

You're not going to ask unless this keeps happening. And didn't he say yesterday that he's leaving in a few weeks for whatever they're doing? By the time he gets back, he'll have forgotten all about you and the sweet things he's whispering in your ear about your body and how beautiful you are.

++

You check every camera you can see that second day — too little too late, but preparation for the future — and they all point at the door or the books. None of them point at your desk, or the other (empty) desk. One points at the tables where people can sit to read, but none point at the squishy, comfortable chairs that are near the window, where people can sit to, you figure, ostensibly read but really look out the window over Seoul.

Or fuck.

JK hits you up every day before he leaves; the Monday after the weekend, he comes to find you and grouses, "I missed you this weekend," and then has you ride him in one of those squishy chairs while he holds your hands behind your back with one hand and gropes your tits with another. He does not touch your clit, and you can't with your arms behind your back.

You stay in the chair and jerk off after he kisses you hard and dashes out.

It goes like that until he leaves. Fuck nasty somewhere, don't come; sweet kisses; him dashing away.

The day he's leaving, he comes and fucks you in the "all gender" bathroom — it has a little foyer where there's a changing table and a comfy couch, and, of course, a camera; he tugs you into the stall with the toilet and fucks you holding you against the door. You have no idea he's leaving that day until one of his band members comes in and asks for a music theory book.

"I hear... we can take them with us now?" he asks shyly.

"Yes, of course, but we don't have that one. I'll need to order it for you. Do you want a paper copy or an e-book?" you ask.

He makes a face. "I'm leaving tonight for the US. No way we can get it same day, right?"

"No," you tell him, trying to sound gentle but you're sure you sound kind of impatient. That's how you know he's talent: a total disregard for money and people's effort. Or... not a disregard, but a disconnect. You've definitely caught up in the past few weeks to how this works. "But if you leave your name and email, I can order the e-book and have it sent to you. Or send you the link so you can buy it yourself, if you prefer that."

"I think other people would want to read it." He shrugs. You shrug too, and don't point out that obviously not if no one has asked for it before today. "I can live without it right now, but can I be the first person to have it when I get back?"

"Of course, I'll keep it behind the desk with your name on it."

He nods. "Thanks."

"Of course," you say, and then watch in befuddlement as he starts toward the door. "Hey — do you want to tell me your name?"

"Oh. Oh." He flushes and turns back to you. "I'm so sorry, I shouldn't have assumed — ah... I'm Kim Namjoon? I'm the leader of BTS?"

How is this super awkward, glasses-wearing nerd the leader of the same band that has Min Yoongi and Jungkook? Fascinating. You make a resolution to actually really listen to some of their music to see what's happening with them. You are pretty sure k-pop can't be nerdy indie rock, but you've been wrong before. About plenty of things.

You write down his name on a post-it, and take his personal email ("Just in case," he says, writing it down for you), and stick the post-it to your desk so you can make yourself a note in your computer.

Even you can tell he bows a little too low on his way out, while you just nod your head.

So you won't see Jungkook for a while, and he'll probably forget about you while he's gone, and hook up with some American girls who won't care that he can't get them off because he's famous. You need to do some work to find places to go for good sex in Seoul. There's gotta be clubs for this, even here in conservative Korea. No place is that conservative. Every single place you've been since you were a teenager and had started looking have places for people to go for sex — some public, some underground and hard to find, some literally in people's living rooms, but they are always there.i

++

Traveling and working with your parents means you know all about how to find what you need in a strange city. Reddit, old fashioned bulletin boards, locals' instagrams. The internet is a mess these days and things are getting harder to find, and people write Twitter threads now instead of blog posts, but you can still track down sex parties and BDSM clubs and the best place to get an illegal tattoo.

Even though Imo's in Japan (again), and after that going to the US, and after that doing... something... you still don't want to bring anyone back to the apartment. It feels rude, and it's no business of any hookup where you live nor what your domicile looks like. No, thank you, keep it in a club. You dig through Instagram for Korean sex clubs, and they are not as hidden as you would have expected. There are XXX! Adults Only! nights all over the place, it seems like.

Clubs are the same all across the world: bass-heavy music, flashing lights, a few people smoking something that causes the air to smell funky, drinks, and dark places to drag whomever you're dancing with. People make out and sometimes fuck right on the dance floor, depending on how dark it is, and what kind of club it is, and then you either make your escape or stay together and trade phone numbers or go someplace for round two.

People spout off about borders and the differences between cities and all kinds of rot, but after a whole life spent traveling and going to new places, you're comfortable saying that people are the same everywhere. And the real divides are class divides. The upper class looks the same pretty much everywhere. It doesn't matter if you're in Asia, Africa, Canada, South America, or, hell, Croatia: people with money live the same kinds of lives. They have jewelry, cars, food, climate control. They don't stay in prison when they're arrested unless it's a greater political gain than letting them go, and they don't get sick from bad water because they can drink any water they want.

Poor people live the same everywhere too. Extreme poverty tends to look a bit different depending on where you are, the climate, what's happening in the world. You've never been to a war-torn country where getting bombed walking down the street would be a possibility, not really, but the countries you've been to? Struggling to make ends meet is the same everywhere, too; the clothes are the same, and the cheap soap is the same, and the smell of not-quite-clean-enough is the same.

You've lived it. Rich, poor, and in between. Right now you're in between. Middle class. Comfortable. You can afford to clothe yourself, eat whatever you want, get treats, make sure your teeth are taken care of. You're not sure you would be able to do that if Imo wasn't paying for your housing, but she is, so you're fine.

And you can afford birth control and condoms, frankly a luxury in some parts of the world. You've never been some place where it was outright illegal, but some countries make it so hard to access that it might as well be.

Seoul is beautiful. And rich. Rich in the neighborhoods you're in, anyway, and there's no reason to leave them — Hybe is in a rich neighborhood, Imo lives in a rich neighborhood, all the clubs you find are in rich neighborhoods.

Now that you have your own money and time, you genuinely want to help — not the performative shit your parents would do with "the local underserved population" of wherever you were at the time. You don't want to get too involved in anything if you're not sticking around, though. Maybe… if you're still around in a year. A year will be the most time you've ever spent in a single place at one time. If you stick it out, then you're definitely a different person from your parents and you can get more invested in living a different kind of life.

You decide this in the middle of a really unsatisfying fuck with a guy who doesn't seem to care if you come. The sex kind of reminds you of JK, but while you find JK charming, this guy is just... boring. Just a person who offers you his number after, and you say, "Let me think about it," in that polite, demurring way that Imo taught you, instead of saying no. He shrugs and walks away, is pulling out a pack of cigarettes before he's even out of the hallway you'd fucked in.

You sigh and fix your panties and then decide to go into the bathroom to wipe up. Condoms keep tidy most of the biological mess, but leave their own slimy feeling.

There's another woman in the bathroom — her club clothes are more what you associate with butch lesbians playing pool, and her hair is cropped short. She winks at you in the mirror when you go into a stall. You just nod at her.

"Saw you in the hall," she says, voice raised. The music is seriously muted in the bathroom, which you're grateful for, but talking to strangers is not your forte. "Wish I'd met you earlier to warn you off Dongwon, he's just awful."

This is the most plainspoken person you've met since arriving here.

"I would have appreciated it," you say drily. "That was pretty bad."

"Wow, what is that accent?" she asks, and you sigh.

"I've lived all over the world, so my accent is all muddled," you tell her. "This is my first time living in Korea, but I spoke Korean a bit growing up."

You've explained this to several people at work and expect to have to keep doing it as you meet more people. For all that Koreans are supposed to be polite and mind their own business, you're sure meeting plenty who have a lot to say about your clothing and accent and the way you don't use casual speech almost at all. Particularly the ajumma down the street from Imo's apartment who nevertheless sells the best dandan noodles you've found.

"Why don't we blow this joint?" she suggests. "Let's go out for drinks and you can tell me everything about yourself."

You pee, flush all the used toilet tissue, and come out to wash your hands. "Please take me someplace with women," you say, guessing rudely by her clothing and hair that she will know a place.. "Why is this club mostly gay men?"

She laughs at you. "Most of the gay clubs here are. This one lets anyone in, though, so you end up with guys like Dongwon trolling for bisexual pussy."

You sigh. "I guess I like that they let anyone in, but I also wish they didn't." You smile at her. "I bet lesbian bars are mostly just lesbians?"

She shoots finger guns at you. "You guessed it! Come on, let's go. No place is going to be low key tonight, but I know a bar where we can sit in the back."

You follow her toward the bathroom door. Before she swings it open, she tells you, "I'm Lee Eunwoo, you can call me oppa," and winks at you again.

++

Lee Eunwoo seems to know every woman in the bar, and you respectfully greet all her friends and use their preferred honorifics. There are a lot of oppas, and they call each other hyung. This is the same, you figure, as the queer women you've met in other places who use male pronouns and sometimes names, but are still women. It makes sense; after everything you've seen and everyone you've met, you are well aware that the breadth of human identity is vast, even though sometimes you get frustrated that there are no consistent rules.

You also don't like to be boxed in. You realize this is ironic, or perhaps hypocritical, but feelings are feelings.

The more you go out with Eunwoo oppa's friend group, the more you find yourself flirting with a nonbinary butch named Jimin oppa, who always wears tight jeans so you can see her packer. It's really fucking sexy. She fucks you a few times in the bathroom, and then asks you out, so you go out on a few dates with her — but ultimately you're bored by each other.

Well… you get the sense she's bored by you. You wear all your slutty club clothes and you're always game for a good fuck. You don't like to be tied up but you like to be held down; you don't like when people slap your face, but your ass is cushy for a reason, right?

But you also like a calm life and you have a boring job and you read a lot. You can't stay out all night when you need to get up early for work — and even if you might have wanted to, you can't show up tired and listless, you can't embarrass Imo like that. All of which Jimin oppa thinks is silly. You don't even have any likes in common besides that you both like Eunwoo and fuck women.

Good sex though, so you hook up a few more times. She, though, like the others you've fucked since getting here, is missing Jungkook's clumsy, boyish (and obviously neurodivergent) charm. And no one you've met has seen you and gone head over heels and just... taken. As inappropriate as that had been.

Besides the amount of unsatisfying sex you've having, life is pretty good. Your boss mostly stays out of your way; you get the sense that his role (and yours) is mostly performative, to make the company look good. You aren't super great at determining this kind of thing, but the way he is almost never there and gives you carte blanche over the organization and purchasing of the books is a big clue even you can't miss. It's weird to sometimes come out of your bedroom at night and bump into him getting a drink of water in the kitchen or using the bathroom, but he treats Imo really well and isn't a creep at all.

She blushes when you observe that. A woman her age blushing. It's cute. You hope there are still things that make you so happy when you're old.

None of the other idols bend you over your desk the way JK had. They're mostly young and polite. The girls are thin, some of them scary thin. The boys are also thin but at least they have muscles. It's a far cry from JK's bandmates who you met, whose thinness seems mostly like normal Korean thin, not starvation thin; you hadn't gotten to see a lot of JK's naked body, but despite his tiny waist, he's solid and a couple of times his eyes had lit up at your noodles or sandwich or pastry, and you'd shared with him.

He is what Imo would call "a good eater", all noises and stomping a foot and rocking back and forth when something is particularly delicious.

You wish you weren't comparing everyone — romantic prospect and not — to JK. Eunwoo thinks it's hilarious that you're sort of into a guy at work who is worse at sex than Dongwon but sweeter and more charming. She doesn't know where you work, though; you don't know where she works either. In Korea people don't seem to introduce themselves to you with their job title and company; she tells you she's an office worker and that's it. Although you do pick up from her work stories that she does something with advertising.

All in all, Korea is nice. Good coffee shops, good places to walk, green space, and your job is fine. You have a lot of time to read and listen to music, plenty of time to indulge yourself in putting together your fictional language for the fantasy novel you keep insisting you'll write some day (unlikely, you have to admit, since your interest in it seems to lie mostly in the worldbuilding), and Imo has a lot of puzzles you've never put together before.

Imo also seems to be the kind of person who gets interested in something and then discards it once her interest has been sated, so she has a whole closet full of paint by number kits, latch hook kits, sewing supplies and quilting fabric, half completed knitting projects (a lot of single socks, and a really pretty sweater with just one sleeve) — all kinds of things she offers for you to take and use.

By the time JK's band gets back from America, you're a few weeks deep into a knitting class and about to try a weekend cooking class ("traditional Korean-Thai", which you hadn't even known was a thing, despite several sojourns to Thailand with your parents).

Your parents are better left unmentioned.

JK, however...

Prologue | Master Post | Chapter Two