Lucky for you, you’re quick on your feet, catching yourself before your skull can become too well-acquainted with the red brick wall to your right. You don’t realise it’s him until it’s too late, until you’re practically running into him, bouncing off the broad expanse of his back with a startled squeak. Your favourite of them all, if you’re being honest. His nose wiggles with the sound - another of his traits that comes out to play often.
“Good one,” he states, laugh lines threading over his face, prominent around his eyes. Even occasionally using nicknames - silly things you’d come up with while on the walk home, or during lunch, or in bed. Call you out for writing his name wrong for the past five weeks, finding more and more creative ways to do so every time. His mouth quirks - does that funny thing where he sucks in his cheek then rolls it back out with his tongue - and you think he might finally say something. He turns then, levels you with a look from the corner of those pretty, pretty eyes and you can’t help but laugh, openly, unashamedly, with the back of your hand plastered to your mouth.
But you catch it, because you always do and because you’re the reason for it. The thumping starts, so quiet it’s almost negligible. Rooted to the same spot as always, sleek ears following the imposing line of his shoulders. He moves toward the bar - he only ever grabs three napkins, tucks them into the slot on the left side of his bag - but pauses halfway there. Of course he steals the words right out of your mouth, turns them back on you as easy as he makes your heart rattle around in your chest like it’s a Friday night bingo ball. “Have a nice day.”īecause of course he says that. Somehow, he rocks it (but he always does). He’s got his usual bag over his shoulder - overly big, black, almost tactical - and a pair of comfortable looking pants on that seem more like they belong on your beloved grandmother. “Thanks,” he says like clockwork, a well-oiled polite machine, deceptively slender hands receiving the exceedingly hot cup without a care in the world. It doesn’t register at first, acknowledgement coming in a curious sniff at the air. It’s a Wednesday morning when you notice the change. You know, because you have a great nose - one that’s sensitive to every smell under the sun but especially his.
They appear in his hair when it’s damp from a shower, the smell of papaya and honey clinging to every inch of him. He wears butterfly clips sometimes, though that’s usually on days where he isn’t freshly sweaty and carrying his gym bag. His hair’s usually unkempt, tossed into a little sprout of a bun, overly long fringe falling all over his big round eyes. You’ve caught him with them pulled back Lola Bunny-style, knotted with a loose silk scrunchie that looks nearly as soft as his fur. He’s unnervingly handsome, with long dark ears that sometimes hang in front of his eyes. (Every once in a while, he switches it up for matcha but that’s exceedingly rare.) He always pays with a tap of his wrist - a sleek black AppleWatch with rubber band - and flashes his trademark slightly too-big smile. Iced Americano, no room for cream, and a single almond croissant. He orders the same thing every time he’s in. this was written as part of a hybrid fest and is gloriously late (i’m so sorry i’ve never written anything hybrid-related before so hopefully you enjoy. but more realistically, mentions of kook using a scrunchie, kook being cute, kook railing his date after using the world’s worst puns… the usual.īeta reader(s). honestly, this jungkook should just come with his own warning. explicit towards the end because i just can’t help myself. super fluffy, a little angsty, with a dash of smut to balance it all out. french lop bunny!jjk x ragdoll cat f!reader. What do you get when you mix Thumper and Bambi? Answer: Jeon Jungkook.
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