Christmas Is Waiting for You
Pairing: Jungkook x Reader
Genre: Phone sex!au / Humor / Smut / Fluff
Synopsis: Being home for the holidays surrounded by your well-meaning family isn’t that bad. All you have to do is (1) survive the Andersons’ annual Christmas Eve party, (2) avoid all questions about your job, and (3) avoid your high school nemesis and crush, Jeon Jungkook.
a/n: Thank you to the beautiful @underthejoon for asking me to be a part of The Very Merry Fic-Mas collab with @kpopfanfictrash @kittae @hobidreams @floralseokjin and @winetae and the beautiful @baebae-goodnight for the moodboard!!!
You don't hate Christmas. It's not that.
Who doesn't like twinkling lights and warm drinks and wrapped presents?
It was all the rest of it, all the other stuff. Like this stuff.
Standing beside the buffet table in the Anderson's dining room, fir boughs strung between the wall sconces, a fat Santa figurine staring at you from the decorative plates, and a miniature snow-topped village nestled above the fireplace, it feels as though a Hallmark movie vomited in here. Christmas music plays throughout the house sounding like a drum march meant to forcibly whip up the holiday spirit.
Taking a sip of your drink, you avoid the gaze of your parents' well-meaning friends.
Christmas Eve always feels like something momentous might happen, something ridiculously romantic and fairytale-like. Maybe a lumberjack will appear in this cul-de-sac, throw an axe over his shoulder and need your help to save his Christmas tree farm from a corporate take-over. Or a harried toy store owner who carves wooden train sets will beg for your help with his bookkeeping. You could push up your glasses and fix his spreadsheets while he gazes at you in appreciative wonder.
You hate the outdoors, though. Why did anyone think going out into nature was a good idea? And the only thing you hate more than hiking is numbers in small boxes that require organizing, so you aren't going to have a romantic kiss while the credits roll. It doesn't matter anyway. You don't have a fabulously high-paying corporate job to quit after learning the true meaning of the holiday or whatever the hell is supposed to happen.
You have a job you like. You just can't tell anyone about it. You check your phone, ten more minutes until your call.
This party is filled with neighbors you grew up with, former classmates and even some teachers from elementary school and high school. Your hometown is small. Everyone knows something about everyone else, even if it's just passed-along rumors. Like a game of telephone has been played round and round for decades.
Unfortunately, your parents wouldn't let you miss this annual tradition – the Anderson's Christmas Eve party and ugly Christmas sweater contest.
"Oh, y/n, Mrs. Anderson announces brightly with a patronizing smile. Her hair is so rigidly coifed it looks like a football helmet. "We haven't seen you in a while."
Not since last year's party. You haven't been home to your parents' house in months. It's only a forty-five-minute train ride from the city, but the journey requires more mental energy than you can afford. Eventually, someone remembers the one thing that anyone knows about you in this town, and it gets awkward. You take a too large sip of your hot mulled wine, scalding your throat.
"How is law school, dear?" she asks, patting her hair as if to confirm a small bird hasn't nested in there.
"I dropped out."
You used to be vague – I'm taking a semester off or I'm on a break – but it's better to just get it over with. You aren't going back, thank God.
"Oh, well, I'm sure there's other . . ." her voice trails off as she thinks of what you might be able to do now that the one thing you've planned on doing for your entire life is no longer a possibility. She takes in your torn jeans, scuffed boots, and truly ugly sweater—a red and green monstrosity not fit for hipsters—you do not half-ass the ugly sweater competition.
"I'm working as a legal secretary," you lie. The practiced words roll off your tongue easily. You've had three months since you were laid off to repeat it. Your parents, your grandparents and apparently random neighbors who barely remember you, they all believe you. Who knew you were so good at lying?
"Well, isn't that a good idea? Maybe you'll meet a nice lawyer."
The only lawyers you met were assholes but dare to dream Mrs. Anderson. Your lack of enthusiasm at an office romance seems to have her looking for an end to this conversation.
Glancing over your shoulder, Mrs. Anderson's eyes alight. "Oh, look who's here."
It's either Santa Claus or Jesus, because she looks like she just saw a miracle. She shakes her head. "I think his hair a little long, and I heard he got a tattoo," she confides.
Well, that does sound scandalous for this neighborhood. Good thing none of them know about your job, you probably wouldn't be invited back. Maybe you should tell them.
"He's in medical school, you know, and so handsome."
Settle down, lady.
"You know him," she exclaims. "Didn't you graduate high school at the same time? He was valedictorian."
No. No way. He hasn't been back here in years. You never run into him. He skips out on all the 'remember when' crap that your parents won't let you miss. It can't be him.
"You know, Jungkook, the Jeon's oldest son."
Oh, God. It is. You resist the urge to turn around, proud of yourself for not giving in to check out your high school nemesis. Your resolve lasts a little over five seconds. The mulled wine must be stronger than you realized. Taking a deep breath, you follow Mrs. Anderson's gaze to the front door.
Jungkook's standing in entryway, flanked by his parents and a small group of adoring neighbors. His hair is dark brown like high school, but longer now. It’s a little wavy and falling into his eyes. His ears are pierced, and he wears small silver hoops that look almost delicate. A hint of a tattoo winds up from under the collar of his red sweater. Before you can stop yourself, you wonder what it is and how far it spreads, and if he's more interesting than he ever seemed. His big brown doe eyes look genuinely happy to be here. Ugh, of course he does, Mr. Perfect Attendance, Mr. Higher than a 4.0 GPA, Mr. Highest Scoring Forward, and most irritatingly, Mr. Valedictorian. He's lost the cuteness everyone in high school sighed over, and now, even you can admit it, he is so fucking attractive he looks like he stepped out of a magazine.
Mrs. Anderson pushes aside the other guests to welcome him. She must be thrilled he graced her party with his presence.
You look away, taking a steadying breath and trying to think of a way to leave early. Your phone buzzes with a text.
I'm running late. Can you give me ten minutes? I'm sorry.
He's always so polite, you think. Then you remember your roommate's words.
"Serial killers were probably polite," Yoongi said, pouring another cup of coffee before sitting down at the kitchen table of your shared apartment.
"He's not a serial killer," you repeat, wondering why you're forced to have this conversation every morning. "You need to stop listening to those true crime podcasts."
"Even if he's not a serial killer, which we don't know, you shouldn't have given him your real number."
You agree with Yoongi, but you couldn't bring yourself to admit it. Giving your number to a regular client that you had become enamored with had been a moment of weakness, terrible, terrible weakness.
"Nursing school is expensive." You stare down at the message. "He won't get charged for every message this way."
"You believed the nursing school story?"
"Why would he lie?"
"My sweet summer child." Yoongi shakes his head at you. "In case you forgot, you only get money if your customers call you on the other line." He looks at you with a piercing gaze. "Y/n, you know this isn't whatever you think it is?"
"I know," you say with absolute confidence as you unabashedly lie to your best friend.
"Besides you work a phone sex line, who even knew they were still around? He's probably old."
"It's a classic, and he's not that old."
"He's not even taking the effort to catfish you, so how serious can it be?" Yoongi rolls his eyes at you. "Just, please don't turn this into some story in your head."
That's the problem, you think. You already have. Dumb, dumb, dumb. Only you could create a romantic fairytale from working a phone sex line.
No, you scold yourself. No matter how many times your heart tries to turn this situation into something else, you still have your common sense and your other clients. Clients that for whatever reason were content to hear you say filthy things, but not see you.
You liked it, was the thing. You were good at spinning stories, and now you got paid for saying all the things that swirled around your head unfit for polite company. You glance around the room. Surely, this house that looks like a child created it from cut-up pages of an architectural magazine has a spare bathroom on some upper floor where you can take his call.
You text him back to let him know it's fine. He's your best customer. You would do a hell of a lot more. All you have to do is avoid Jeon Jungkook for the next ten minutes and pray no one else remembers that you two were in the same class in high school.
One conversation about the Anderson's summer house and another about a property line dispute, and then you sneak upstairs. You feel a little bad about wandering around the house, but all their kids went to college years ago. You find a small guest bathroom with gold-plated fixtures, a black and white marble counter, and a pink rug. Yikes. You sit on the counter and wait for the call.
Your customers initiate each interaction, calling the number that will charge them per minute. This client started liked all the others, just a randomly sorted caller who ended up on your line. For a higher price, though, they can request a particular girl or guy. After a few months, you had more than your fair share of dedicated callers. With the income from your normal shifts and the repeat clients, you made just enough to pay your part of the rent and buy food. The call today was going to be on your work line. You had resisted the urge to tell him to save his money and call your personal line.
Your phone buzzes to life, and you try to settle your nerves. He's just a customer like any other, you remind yourself. At the end of the day, working a phone sex line was as much a customer service job as the summer you worked at the snow cone hut, but this was infinitely easier.
"Hey," he says, a little breathless. You can hear the background clatter of conversations fading and the thud of a closing door.
"Hey," you say back, trying to keep the anticipation out of your voice. You want to ask where he is, and what he's doing for the holiday – but you don't even know if he celebrates it. You always want to know so much more about him. No, you reprimand yourself, he's paying you for one thing, and you would do well to remember it.
"Listen," he says, sounding like he's readying himself for something.
You don't even try to settle your nerves, leaning back against the mirror. He always comes up with insanely good scenarios. Most guys pay you to talk, but he really likes it when you listen. He said that his prior girlfriends didn't want to hear some of the things that came out of his mouth and with you he didn't have to censure himself. You even told him once that he shouldn't be paying to talk himself, but he said he liked hearing the way you got off. With him you didn't have to fake it.
"I was thinking . . . I was just . . ." he starts.
Oh god, you're already excited. Nothing can dispel the hopelessness of your dead career, of returning home to a party filled with disapproving neighbors, and of the appearance of Jeon fucking Jungkook, like talking to your favorite client.
"Listen, I'm not really in a place to . . ." he trails off, sounding disappointed.
"I'm not really either,” you admit.
"Yeah?" he says, sounding curious.
"Yeah, I'm . . ." You can still hear the conversations floating up from the first floor and the music piped throughout the house. You look at the pink and gold plaid wallpaper shining in this small bathroom. This setting is not actually conducive to your usual activities, but he's paying you. This is your job. "It's up to you, you know?"
"Yeah?" He exhales a shaky breath. "But what do you want?"
It's so easy with him, to fall over into that heart-racing anticipation, like he just caged you up against a wall or dropped you gently on a soft bed. You grip the edge of the counter, the cold, sharp corner biting into the palm of your hand so you don't forget where you are and what this is.
"That's my line," you say, trying not to sound happy.
"Fuck," he exhales, "I just want ruin you sometimes, you know?"
"Yeah." You take a deep breath. "I know."
I wish, you think, I really fucking wish.
"You could take it, couldn't you?" he mutters, sounding amazed, as if you were spread out before him. As if he could see the rise and fall of your chest as you try to steady yourself for what comes next.
You bite your bottom lip wishing he could see their swollen red. "What are you gonna do to me?"
He lets out a shaky breath, and you can easily imagine a shudder running through him at your words.
"Whatever I like," he threatens. His steady voice is back, the one that has you sitting taller and aching for his praise, for the way he can make you come undone with just a few words.
"Fuckkkk," you whisper.
"You want that," he states. It's not a question. It's a clear statement of fact that seems to fill him with wonder. "You really want me to fuck your tight pussy, make sure you know who you belong to."
You whine, feeling desire ignite at his words.
"You're gonna call my name, beg me to let you suck my—"
Whatever tantalizing image is in his mind—and it isn't hard to predict but you're practically panting in anticipation anyway—is interrupted with furious and loud knocking on the bathroom door.
"Oh shit," you yelp.
"Is someone in here?" an elderly voice calls from the hallway.
"Goddamn it," you mutter.
"Are you okay?" he asks through the phone.
"Yes, I'm in here," you call through the door, cursing the Christmas Eve god of bad timing that sounds a hell of a lot like Mrs. Anderson. You cover the phone in the hopes of muffling the conversation.
"Well, no one is supposed to be up here, dear. The buffet line is starting."
"Yes, of course, I'll be right down," you reassure her. Her steps retreat down the hallway, and you're alone again.
"I'm so sorry," you say into the phone.
He's laughing delightedly, but it isn't what he's paying you for. You need to remember that no matter how much you wish you could see his smile.
"That was really unprofessional of me. I'm sorry."
"It's okay," he says, still laughing. "I'm not going to fill out a comment card."
"Service was adequate but went on a break at an inopportune time."
"Didn't expect the old lady to show up."
"Oh my God, you heard that?" you resist the urge to bang your head against the door.
"She's loud, so she has that going for her."
"I'm really sorry," you say. The words just hang there, inadequate to express that this conversation with him is probably going to be the best part of your holidays.
"Really, it's okay," he adds,"I should probably go too."
"I shouldn't have scheduled this the day before Christmas, but I just . . .," you start.
"Yeah, me too."
The two of you are quiet, and there's a calmness in the unspoken words. Really, where could this go? He could have a girlfriend or a wife. The whole thing could just be a joke to him, an entertaining escape from his usual routine. He's just a job.
"If you want to reschedule, call me on the other line and I won't charge you."
"No," he insists, "you shouldn't do that for me."
What can you say, because he's right?
"But if you're free tomorrow. . .," he says, "which you probably aren't because it's Christmas."
"I can fit you in later in the day," you say, scrambling to remember your schedule. "In the morning I'm working a shift on the regular line."
"Yeah?" he says, sounding as if he wishes he could call.
"Seems good for people to have a distraction if they need it," you say.
"Christmas isn't always an easy time, like those commercials with happy couples and new cars."
"Seriously," you say, "where do they get the big bows?"
"The big bow store." He says, as if this were a normal conversation.
“If only they sold wine.” You smile. Well, it seems unlikely the two of you will be able to return to your previous activities, so you sit back and ask him the question that’s been on your mind. "What are you doing tomorrow?"
"I'm supposed to go to church with my parents in the morning, but it's starting to feel like I'm just going through the motions."
"It can feel like a performance rather than something solemn, you know? Luckily, my parents don't make me go anymore." It's nice to talk to him about real things. It happens more often lately, having actual conversations. You need to get back on track. "I'm free after dinner."
"Cool, I'll call you at seven," he says, "thanks for . . ."
"For trying and failing to do my job."
"No," he scoffs, "for . . ."
You hang on his words. What does he think about all this? Fuck, you really want to know. It would be easier if you knew that he did have a girlfriend. You would be disappointed, but you would know where you stand. You really need to have Yoongi talk some sense into you.
A knock sounds through his line, interrupting his thoughts.
"Shit, I gotta go."
"Talk to you tomorrow." It's better not to know what he was going to say.
You put your phone back in your pocket and look in the mirror, checking your hair and makeup before returning downstairs. You remind yourself that this is your real life, attending this Christmas party and avoiding Jeon Jungkook. Well, if you survive the next twenty-four hours, then your reward will be to talk to your favorite client again.
Your phone buzzes, and it's a text from Yoongi.
Yoongi: no one thinks their phone sex crush is a serial killer until it's too late.
You: are you a mind reader
Yoongi: you're a dumbass
You: i love you too
Yoongi: don't let the muggles get you down.
You walk downstairs and try to figure out how to get through the next two hours. Partygoers are gathered in the dining room for the buffet line and scattered about the house as they eat, plates settled precariously on their laps, drinks haphazardly resting on small tables. You grab a glass of wine and move to the buffet line. Focused on not dropping your glass of wine and filling your plate at the same time, you ignore the conversations going on around you.
"Well, I'm sure y/n remembers," a woman's voice exclaims cheerily.
"Uh," you look up into the face of a woman across the buffet line from you. You don't remember her, a piano teacher? a neighbor with property line dispute? a soccer coach?
She smiles at you, giving you a smug nod. "I'm sure you remember his goal-scoring record from high school. You know, Jungkook, the Jeon's oldest son."
Oh God, this is happening. You look to the woman's right, and there he stands. With a plate in one hand and a glass of wine in the other, wearing a red holiday sweater with some kind of knit pattern on it, Jeon Jungkook's still so attractive you want to down your glass of wine or just scream into the void. He's looking indulgently at the woman next him. He must be used the adoring praise by now.
Unfortunately, he looks better this close up. His broad chest looks so comfortable you want to rest your head on it. His thighs look like they might put his jeans out of their misery and just burst at the seams. His sweater sleeves are pushed up revealing his golden, toned forearms. The tattoo that was just a faint image when you saw it from far away reveals itself now, licking up his throat from beneath the collar of his sweater. It's a tantalizing whisper of an image, and the urge to see what's drawn on his skin is profound. You narrow your eyes, wondering what it is.
You realize you're staring when the woman clears her throat.
You meet Jungkook's eye, and he's smiling at you like he caught you doing something you aren't supposed to.
"It's supposed to be an ugly Christmas sweater contest," you mutter.
"This is . . ." Jungkook starts.
"Do not mock The Golden Girls," you say, voice clipped. Who knew they made Golden Girls Christmas sweaters? But there they are - Blanche, Rose, Dorothy and Sophia smiling at you from his knitwear with their cheerful faces.
"I'm not mocking them." Jungkook says, sounding indignant. "It's a Christmas sweater."
"It's supposed to be an ugly sweater contest. You're disrespecting them. You should take that off."
"You want me to take off my sweater." He grins, pulling at the hem to reveal his golden skin and toned abs, before dropping it with a chuckle.
You loathe him. You push up the buffet cover with more force than necessary.
The lady coughs. "Jungkook, your valedictorian speech was quite good."
Must be a high school teacher. You stand taller and ladle the mashed potatoes on your plate with a resounding splat. "Of course," you say, voice sickly sweet. "No one could forget Jungkook was valedictorian of our class."
"It wasn't a big deal—" Jungkook confesses.
"What a speech it was too," you interject, "from the person in our class who had the highest GPA."
Green beans shuffle off Jungkook's plate as it tilts. He looks at you, biting his lip. Now it's your turn to smirk. Ha! You always knew he knew what he did, and now you know that he knows that you know.
"Well, he's always been very smart," the woman says. You are pretty sure she stops herself from patting him on the arm.
"Really?" you ask, tilting your head. "Or did he get Mrs. Willow to change his grade in AP Bio – using the power of, like, his smile – so that it would be higher than someone else's? Did you ever think about that?"
You try to get a slice of turkey on your plate, but your hands are shaking so the tongs don't seem to work.
The lady glances between the two of you at a loss for words.
"Well," Jungkook says, expertly setting two slices of turkey on his plate. "Maybe someone should have done the extra-credit essay in AP English."
You point the tongs at him. "I had the flu that weekend. You know that! I couldn't write an essay while I was on the bathroom floor trying not to throw up a lung."
"You can't throw up a lung, y/n."
"Thanks for the information. Must be your A plus in AP Bio that resulted in such amazing knowledge of the human body."
"I do alright." He swipes his lip with his thumb.
Ugh, this is too much. There is some kind of bottleneck at the gravy boat, so the three of you are standing there with your plates in your hands unable to move forward.
The lady clears her throat. "Y/n is in law school."
Jungkook looks over at you, and it's like he's seeing you anew. "Wow, that's impressive—"
"I dropped out."
"Really?" He looks taken aback. "Was it hard?"
You think back to the hours spent in the library, studying cases, preparing for class, stressing over exams. Your fellow students stole books from the library, sabotaged interviews for clerkships and were complete assholes whether drunk or sober. Law school was two and a half semesters of complete and total, waking and sleeping, stress and anxiety mixed in with the fear of failure and the absolute certainty that you didn't belong there. "Yeah, law school was hard, but thanks for the reminder."
"No, I mean—"
The gravyboat situation is sorted, so you move forward not wanting to hear what he has to say. You know objectively the opinion of a guy who you haven't spoken to since high school and who has never had a bad day in his life doesn't matter, but it hurts. Hurts that you thought you would do something grand and important with your life, but instead you're just doing this.
You move on to the end of the buffet table, grateful that this is almost over.
Jungkook looks like he wants to say something, but he's interrupted by Mr. Anderson. They exchange the usual pleasantries, and you're grateful to be able to ignore the conversation.
"Well, y/n will we see you at church tomorrow?" Mr. Anderson asks, as if your religious observances were any of his business.
"In the morning I'm working a shift on the regular—" you stop yourself before telling the truth. When did you get so sloppy with your story?
"The law firm must be busy to need you on Christmas day," Mr. Anderson says congenially.
Shit, you forgot that the lie had been passed around to so many people.
"Not everyone observes the holiday," Jungkook notes, looking up at you curiously.
"Sometimes it's difficult, so its good for people have a distraction," you say, reminded of your earlier conversation in the bathroom. You smile, at least you have something to look forward to tomorrow. Thank fuck, this endless buffet table is almost over. You can avoid Jungkook for the rest of the night.
"Yeah, the holidays don't usually look those perfect families in car commercials," Jungkook adds.
"Seriously," you say, looking up at him, "where do they find those giant bows anyway?"
"At the giant bow store," Jungkook says matter of factly.
"If only they sold—"
Oh shit. Where have you heard that before? Jungkook is looking at you with narrowed eyes. The green beans on his plate teeter and totter, falling to the table, his usual grace disrupted. What's he got to be worried about? The last time your endless fascination with giant bows was discussed was . . .
No. No fucking way.
"Will we see you at church tomorrow, Jungkook?" Mr. Anderson asks, ignoring the awkwardness.
"I'm not sure," Jungkook admits, looking pained. "I'm not sure I should go when I . . . "
" . . . when it can feel like a performance." You finish.
"Yeah," Jungkook says, barely audible.
The dinner roll you're holding falls on the floor. Life could not be so cruel as this, but you see the look on Jungkook's face, and you know that it is. "Fuck."
Mr. Anderson looks surprised. "Well, with that language, y/n, it's probably better you don't attend."
You're still staring at Jungkook. He looks back at you in horror, like the planet has stopped moving, and he's about to float off into space.
Mr. Anderson is continuing talk. Jungkook stares at you and listens half-heartedly to the conversation at the same time. His polite nature won't be interrupted even for a revelation such as this one.
Suddenly your hazy images of your favorite client morph into the Jeon Jungkook standing in front of you. You remember those first calls when he was shy and tentative. Then the way he started to open up to you about what he wanted. The steady way he found his confidence with a determined voice and a deep certainty. You hate yourself so much in this moment, because the first thing you think is to wonder if he has a girlfriend. You liked that faceless guy so much. You've slowly become enamored with him over these many months. You knew it. Yoongi knew it. The only person you tried to keep it from was the person now standing in front of you
You grip your plate, not sure what to do now that this truth about your favorite client is laid before you.
Mr. Anderson claps Jungkook on his back. "Well, when you need a recommendation for the residency program here, let me know. It would be great to have you on the team." Mr. Anderson walks away, leaving the two of you alone again.
"You lied," you whisper. You set your plate on the edge of the table. You look up at Jungkook, and he's still staring at you. "You lied about nursing school."
"No," he says, shaking his head.
"I'm such an idiot. Of course, you lied." You have to get out of there. It's difficult to breathe. You aren't only sad at the knowledge that he lied. You're horrified that you care so much.
"Y/n," Jungkook says, looking around at the other guests, like he's worried you're going to out him and his phone sex habits to the entire neighborhood.
A deep well of sadness surfaces. What is wrong with you? You turn around, trying to focus on finding a place to hide. You walk unthinkingly through the house. You give a stiff and pained smile to anyone you happen to see. You stare up at the ceiling, eyes aching at the force needed to hold back the tears that he doesn't deserve.
You hear Jungkook call your name, more forcefully now. You keep walking up the stairs to the second-floor hallway. It's dark and deserted here. Before you can call Yoongi, Jungkook appears at the top of the stairs.
"Y/n," he whispers.
You wipe your eyes with the back of your hand, not wanting him to see how much this has affected you. "You don't have to worry about me giving you away or whatever."
He stops short. "Thanks."
"I'm not going to tell everyone about your phone sex hobby when I'm the one making money off it. We're in a mutually assured destruction situation."
"Thanks, but that wasn't what I was worried about." He walks toward you, his expression pained. Even in the dark hallway, you can make out his brilliant, brown eyes. You wish he wasn't so attractive, because the memories of all those past conversations are only making him more handsome in your eyes.
Shaking your head to dispel these thoughts, you try to plaster a look of annoyance on your face. "What the hell would you have to be worried about?"
"That you would tell them I dropped out of medical school," Jungkook declares.
"Are you kidding me?"
He doesn't say anything, seemingly imploring you to understand.
"You, Jeon Jungkook, the Jeon's oldest son, are dropping out of medical school."
He nods, hands on his hips.
"I can't believe it."
"I don't want to give up my dream, but I don't think I belong there, and I hate it." Jungkook sighs. "But if I hate it, then that means everything I chose was wrong, and I don't know what to do." Jungkook sounds anguished, staring down at the floor as he admits the truth.
"Holy shit, that's insane."
Jungkook cringes. "That's why I haven't told anyone."
"Why did you tell me you were in nursing school?"
He looks up at the ceiling, avoiding your gaze. "I'm going to apply as soon as I get the courage to tell everyone. I'm just excited about it, and no one is going to understand but I thought you – you know, phone sex you - would."
"Yeah, I understand." You smile before you remember you're annoyed at him. "Both of me's."
"I wasn't being an asshole when I asked if law school was hard. I meant, was it hard to leave."
You want to give him the benefit of the doubt, and the Jungkook standing in front of you sounds a lot more like your favorite client than whoever the hell he was in high school.
"Leaving was only hard because everyone else made it hard, you know? My friends from law school don't talk to me anymore. It's like I'm carrying an infectious disease. My parents are disappointed, but they're mostly worried because I haven't been myself since then. I don't like talking to friends from college, because they have, you know, goals. But I know it was the right thing to do even if it resulted in whatever my life looks like now."
Jungkook smiles at you kindly. Not with pity, not like the others to whom you gave a rehearsed speech, but he looks like he understands. You look away because he's overwhelming, even in his bright red Christmas sweater in the upstairs hallway of the Anderson's tacky house.
Jungkook clears his throat. "Thanks for telling me."
"When the law firm laid me off, I was desperate not to move back home, so I took whatever jobs I could find. The phone-line thing started as a joke, but it took my mind of my troubles, I guess."
"Well, you're really good at it." Jungkook chuckles, looking down at the ground.
You shrug. "It pays the bills."
"I can't believe it is really you," he says, sounding amazed. "I wondered . . . I imagined finding you." He gives a little unbelieving laugh. "I never thought it would be here."
"Trust me, I didn't either."
"Did you think about finding me?" he asks, sounding like he's hoping for a particular answer.
You nod, not trusting your voice.
"Do you have a lot of regulars?" Jungkook doesn't sound jealous, he sounds curious. With a hint of a smirk on his face, he looks almost mischievous.
You bite your lip. "Enough."
"How many have your real number?" Jungkook steps closer, and he's so close you can smell his warm, vanilla scent. He's smiling at you like he knows the answer. "You really shouldn't have given it to me."
"I know." Now it's your turn to stare up at the ceiling.
"I was glad when you did, though."
Jungkook's so close you can see the stars in his eyes even in the dark corridor. You lean your head back against the wall, and his hands come up, bracing against either side of your head. You take a deep breath, feeling serene. You're no longer beholden to that frantic fear that's been racing through you all evening.
"I really should've changed my number."
"Yeah," Jungkook nods, moving so close you can feel the hint of his warm breath on your skin.
You stop yourself from clutching at his shoulders or pulling him to you. Why, when he's so close, so tantalizing near, finally no longer a hazy idea floating around, but real and solid in front of you? Why not? He's obviously interested to see how far this will go. But you're too anxious to reach for what you want in case he might disappear. He might fade like a mirage. You just want to hold onto this feeling of being so close to him because he seems to shield you from the cold wind that seems to follow you wherever you go lately.
Your fingers skim the tattoo appearing on his neck, running beneath the collar, black vines with sharp thorns and deep red roses are revealed. You can't seem to stop your gentle exploration. "Thanks for not doing anything bad."
Jungkook grins and cocks an eyebrow. "Oh, I can do something bad."
You start laughing, dropping your head until you rest your forehead against his collarbone. "That was terrible."
"I've got more," Jungkook says, and you can feel his chest move as he laughs. He moves closer to you, backing you against the wall fully. He raises your chin with his hand, rubbing his thumb against your cheek. He's smiling at you, eyes bright with delight.
"Whatta you got?" you ask, looking up at him.
"I'm gonna show you," he says, lips moving against yours. "We've talked enough, yeah."
Any answer you might give is stopped by the feeling of his lips on yours, the soft, tentative movement, almost shy, like those first few conversations, holding back and unsure. He tastes your lips, gently kissing you in his tender way. You reach up to run your hands through his hair, gripping just a little too hard so he knows that you want him to stay. Your heart pounds in your chest.
Unable to stop yourself, you bite gently on his plush bottom lip. You smile at his moan, and he's spurred on by your unexpected provocation. You part your lips. He moves hungrily, forcefully to deepen the kiss, and you acquiesce to his assault. He wraps his arms around you tightly, like you might not understand just how much he wants you there. You have no intention of going anywhere. His solid chest presses against yours, and your breasts ache from the feeling. His hands move down your back, groping your ass. He swallows your moans as he leaves you weak to his onslaught.
Jungkook's overwhelming in a way that makes you light-headed, that removes whatever ever-present worry has been holding you tight. He's forced it open, broken it wide until all you can do is exist in this moment with him.
When Jungkook breaks the kiss, pulling back, his pupils are blown, and his hair falls into his eyes. He rests his forehead against yours. His breath is heavy, and his lips are swollen from your kisses and your teeth. You push up the hem of his sweater. Jungkook watches you smooth your hand over his stomach, muscles twitching beneath your fingers.
Your hand moves lower and lower, all caution gone now, only desperate longing left in its wake. He hisses as you palm his hard cock. Even over his jeans, he feels fucking fantastic. It's not difficult to imagine him fucking you with that long, thick cock. Heat and need fill you. Running your tongue over your lower lip, you look up at him as he raises his head.
"What are you doin?" he asks, removing your hand from where it rests. He grips both your wrists, pinning them beside your head. You stifle a moan at his firm hold. He must've remembered those conversations as well as you did.
Your chest heaves as you try to calm your breath and slow your racing heart. "Please."
Jungkook chuckles, tongue pressing against his cheek. "Here?"
You shouldn't, but you aren't going to survive going back downstairs now. He's ignited something in you. You glance down either side of the quiet hallway. No one has appeared since you've been up here, and the sounds of the party are far away. You nod.
He shakes his head, a smile on his face giving away his true feelings. "Alright, but we need to find a room. I'm not fucking you against this wall."
You pout exaggeratedly. You hadn't thought about it, but now that he mentioned it . . .
He holds your chin in his hand and nudges you to look at him. "Don't be a brat."
You scoff at his audacity, but before you can speak your indignation at his reprimand, he picks you up easily. You wrap your legs around his slim waist instinctively, arms going around his neck.
Jungkook laughs at your interrupted frustration. You sigh against his collar, resting your head on his shoulder, and reveling in the feeling of his muscular arms around you, carrying you without a second thought down the hall.
"I hate you," you say, voice betraying your pliant nature, as he squeezes you tighter against his chest.
"Just keep telling yourself that," he says gently.
"You stole that speech from me," you murmur.
He laughs, kicking open a door to one of the many bedrooms in this massive house. "You really want to talk about that now?"
You lift your head from his shoulder and try to sound serious. "We're gonna talk about it sometime."
"But hopefully not now, right?" he asks, carrying you into the room and kissing you again, distracting you from your righteous indignation at his academic deception. More forceful now, his tongue slides between your parted lips easily. This time, he sinks his teeth into your bottom lip, and you mewl.
He shuts the door behind you, and you can hear the lock shut as he clicks it into place. The sounds of the party have receded. You squirm in his arms, and he mutters an appreciative fuccckkk as you slide down his body to stand in front of him.
For a heartbeat, you wonder how this happened, and how lucky you are. Then Jungkook fists his sweater, pulls it over his head with an easy tug, and you don't think about anything at all.
Momentarily stunned into silence, you reach with one hand to trail a fingertip down his chest, watching the way his breath goes shaky. His bare chest is broad, his golden skin on display. Fuck, he looks so good. Finally, you can see the tattoo on his neck and collar in its full image, roses a deep red and black thorns twisted among them. It's beautiful in a harsh way and not at all what you expected. There looks like the beginning of another tattoo, this time a sleeve on his left arm, but the coloring isn't finished, so it's a black outline waiting to be filled in, the pattern still a bit of a mystery. He clears his throat, and he cocks his head at you, smirking.
You crook a finger in his belt loop, and he lets you pull him to the bed. You sit on the soft comforter with a contented sigh. Standing in front of you, he gazes at you so intensely you want to look away. You undo his belt and pull it from the loops of his jeans. You drop it to the floor with a satisfying clang. You pull down the zipper, and shove down his jeans as he toes off his boots, and then he's standing in front of you in just his black underwear. He tenses, brow furrowed.
"You have condoms?" he asks.
Damn, you can't believe you didn't think of this. "Shit, I don't."
Jungkook glances around the room, and for the moment all lascivious thoughts are gone as the two of you scramble to come up with a solution. This room is a fancy guest room with model sailing ships and weird nautical knick-knacks. Fucking in here is like filming a porno in a Pottery Barn catalog, you can only hope you don't fall over into the fake anchor. The captain's desk looks sturdy, though. You file that away for later.
"We can't wander around the house looking for condoms," you say. "Didn't their sons go to college years ago?"
"There's not going to be in here. This place is frozen in time, like a room you forget about."
"We need a room of—"
"—requirement." You finish. The two of you smile at each other like idiots.
"You think they had vibrators in the room of requirement?" Jungkook asks, looking thoughtful.
"Um, . . . I've never thought about it, but hopefully." You pause. "I'm fascinated by this conversation, but we need to focus."
"But it makes sense, right? It should have whatever you need, you know, lube, cock rings, vibrators."
"Now, I'm incredibly fascinated by this conversation, but we still need to focus."
"I don't feel like JK Rowling is very sex positive, though," Jungkook says, looking doubtful.
You agree, but good lord, you never thought Jeon Jungkook would be so distracted by a discussion of the Room of Requirement. You need to get back on track because he's about to write a dissertation on sex positivity and Harry Potter. You snap your fingers to get his attention. "Look, we can talk about you and cock rings later, cause don't think I will forget about that, but there's stuff we can do without condoms, and I'm clean."
No longer searching around the room, Jungkook looks at you like you're the smartest person he's ever met. "Nice," he says, returning to stand before the bed with a big grin on his face. "Me too. I'm clean too."
You believe him. Jeon Jungkook and the man you've talked to the last few months are not the type to fuck around with that kind of thing, and he remembered the condoms before you did.
Before you lose your nerve in front of him, you stand up from where you sit on the edge of the bed. You walk toward him, and he looks a little wide-eyed. Gently, you nudge him back so that he's sitting on the bed now, and you stand before him, effectively switching places.
"But first," you say, gripping the hem of your sweater and lifting it a little. "Admit you got Mrs. Willow to change your grade."
He sighs, but he doesn't look annoyed. Instead, he looks charmed, as he leans back on his arms. "Alright," he drawls. "I admit it."
"Finally," you breathe, and you pull off your sweater. There's a chill in the air, but you feel warm when he gazes at you, looking at you with a heat in his eyes. You start to unbutton your jeans. "And admit, there was no way I could do the extra credit in AP English."
Jungkook raises an eyebrow. "We really doing this now?"
"Do you want me to take off my jeans?"
"I want a lot of things, and I'm pretty sure you do, too."
"Yes, well." You make a move-it-along gesture. "We just need you to hurry up."
"Pretty sure you don't want that," he scoffs.
You roll your eyes. "Just say it."
Jungkook huffs, and you want to laugh because he's leaning back on the bed, dressed only in his underwear, looking like fucking heaven. He clears his throat. "I admit you could not do the extra credit in AP English."
"Was that so hard?" You shimmy out of your jeans and pull off your boots, feeling particularly not sexy with these mundane actions.
"Gorgeous," he mutters under his breath. You move to the end of the bed, and he doesn't hesitate. As if the last few minutes of Harry Potter discussion and condom search haven't occurred, he pulls you toward him, leaning down to meet your mouth in a bruising kiss. You revel in the way his hands grip your hair, just a little too rough.
"What do you want?" you ask, voice breathy.
His eyes go a little wide. "Anything?"
You nod, and you've got so many things you want to do with him.
"Did you?" he asks, voice rough. "Did you ever . . . lie about what you like?"
"No, I . . ." You never did with him. "I didn't. Just tell me what you want. Please."
"Okay," he hesitates. "I kind of thought a lot about . . . " He keeps opening and closing his mouth, but not saying anything.
You rack your brain, reliving all your many conversations over the last few months. Then it comes to you. You know what he wants. Why can't he just ask for it after all this time? Well, you can happily make his Christmas wish come true.
Before he can finish his sentence, you're kneeling on the floor in front of him. His hard cock strains against the material of his underwear. He's running hand through his hair and looking a little wide-eyed and excited.
You reach up to run a finger under the band of his boxer briefs.
"You remembered," he says, voice shaky.
You want to bask in his praise, but it isn't hard to guess that you choking on his cock was at the top of his list, and to be honest you've thought about it, kneeling at his feet, his thick, hard length in your mouth as he groans and gently fucks your lips. The vague images of all those months of conversations coalesces into the man in front of you.
You undress him, and he looks better than you could've imagined. You look up to meet his piercing gaze. Back in control, there's a touch of amusement in the way he looks at you, that hint of a smile. You shiver as your nipples tighten, pressed painfully against your lace bra and already there's a throbbing ache between your legs. You push yourself up on your knees, mouth falling open and a soft gasp escaping.
You hold his cock, pressure firm as you stroke him. You lean forward, tongue flecking out to get a taste. A small moan escapes his mouth, and you smile, emboldened even by such small recognition. He widens his legs, and you can see his hands clench as if holding himself back. You run your tongue across the underside instead of taking him all at once. You lick the base and then trail your tongue the length of his cock. Unable to stop himself this time, he brushes a hand through your hair. You look up at him with a smug smile, and he huffs at you. Your wrap your hand around the base, open your mouth and stroke your tongue against his soft skin, moving up the length. You're rewarded with a low groan. You work his cock, long strokes, enjoying every satisfied sigh, and you can feel his eyes on you even as you don't stop in your task.
"Fuck, you feel better than I imagined," he murmurs.
His words just spur you on, and you continue to lick and taste, loving the feeling of his heavy weight on your tongue. Finally, you take him deep, pushing forward until you've taken him as far as you can. You no longer tease, giving him what he wants. His shaking thighs and uneven breath are your reward.
"Fuck, y/n—" his moan is cut short.
The doorknob rattles.
What the fuck? You grip his thighs, tensing. Jungkook calms you with a hand to your head. You feel rather than see him glance at the door. But with that gentle but firm hand, he holds you in place. It's a delicious kind of torture, and heat floods your body, your pussy throbbing at the way he's letting you know that you're not supposed to stop no matter what happens. You take a calming breath through your nose.
Door locked, whoever it is moves on. The footsteps retreat down the hall.
You feel him relax underneath you, and he lets go of your head. You pull back, taking a deep breath. When you look up at him, there's nothing left of the shy man who started this. There's sweat on his brow and a determined look on his face. He reaches up to plow his fingers through your hair tightly, and you nod, knowing that he's let you have your way, but now he's in charge. Without another word you drop your mouth open.
Slowly, he thrusts deep, his hands gripping tight as he holds you in place, working his hard cock in and out of your mouth. The only sound in the room is the slick sounds of him thrusting between your lips. Working himself up to it, he pumps his cock forcefully. You close your eyes, surrendering to his pace, sucking each time he pulls back.
Jungkook groans above you, no longer holding it in. Fuck, he's loud just like you imagined, just like you like in your partner. His thighs tense, and you grip them digging your fingers into his skin.
"I'm gonna come," he pants, thrusts erratic now.
You knew that, but you appreciate the warning anyway. His thighs tense, and with a drawn-out groan, he comes down your throat. You swallow, as he tugs on your hair one last time.
You pull back, and he looks satiated and dazed, staring down at you with a kind of wonder.
You stand, wiping you mouth with the back of your hand. It's so easy with him, after all those conversations stretching over those many months, not to be self-conscious. He reaches up, pulling you down to him and he kisses you. You expect something rough and biting like before, but it's gentle and soft, as if he's weaving a spell on you, to tear down every barrier between you with his steady, unrelenting offensive.
"Want to taste you," he pants, between kissing you desperately.
"Please," you moan, your pussy throbbing, and your whole body shaking with need.
"You don't have to beg," he says, scooting backward and pulling you with him. "Not this time anyway."
You huff, getting your revenge by pressing soft kisses on his neck as he squirms beneath you. Unable to help yourself, you lick his sweat-tinged skin, feeling him shiver. He rolls out from under you, and you move back to rest your head against the pillows.
"Pretty," he murmurs, helping you off with your bra. He cages you in with his arms and leans down to plant a kiss on your lips. He moves slowly down your body, kissing your neck, your chest, tongue stroking your peaked nipples, until you whine and twist. You arch your back, wanting more. He makes his way down your body until he's nestled between your thighs. But instead of pulling off your panties as you expect, he rubs against them as you squirm.
Finally, he nudges them aside and runs a finger over your wet slit. You feel him exhale on your skin and shiver at the warmth.
"You liked sucking my dick that much?" he asks almost to himself, sounding enthralled.
"You know I did," you say, "told you all those times how much I wanted to."
"Yeah, but this is better," he declares, still not giving you what you want.
You attempt to push closer, move towards him, but with one strong hand on your thigh he holds you in place, and you groan in frustration.
"That's what you get," he says, palming your mound over your panties, as you ache for a firmer touch. He looks up, running his eyes over your body. "You're so beautiful."
Finally, he pulls them off, tossing them aside and settles himself between your thighs again. This time he doesn't hesitate, and it's almost too much. He flicks his tongue across your clit, and you jolt from the sensuous onslaught. Then he brushes his tongue along your slick cunt in one stroke, and you grip the sheets to keep yourself from you don't know what, flying away? Nothing makes sense, you just know you need something to ground you to this moment. Again and again, he licks your pussy and sucks gently on your clit.
Jungkook . . ." you voice shakes. "Don't stop, please."
After getting a taste he can't seem to stop himself from more, he plunges his tongue between your slick lips. You want to grind against him, but he continues to hold your thighs firm. He flicks your clit again before returning to fucking your cunt with his tongue.
"Fuck, I'm so close, . . . oh god, please, don't stop."
Jungkook lifts his head, licking his slick lips and tossing his disheveled hair out of his eyes. "Why the fuck would I stop?"
God, he looks debauched and your body aches at the sight of him. Your pussy is throbbing at the loss. "Jungkook," you whine.
"Why would anyone stop? That seems counterproductive . . . I don't under—"
"Don't," you murmur, putting a hand on his head to push him back down to your aching cunt. "Don't stop."
His sorry is muffled against your wet pussy, and it brings shivers to your body to have him return to his task with determination. Fuck, he always was a good study.
You shiver, letting the pleasure overtake you. You're so close now, and he's unrelenting in the way his tongue is fucking your cunt and sucking at your clit, working you over. It isn't long until you're tumbling over, pussy clenching and coming on his tongue as he continues to lap and taste at your release.
Eventually, when the small trembling of your limbs is quieted, he pulls back and crawls up your body, leaving messy kisses on your belly, your sensitive breasts, your flushed neck. Then he's fully above you, looking a little smug and a lot happy. You can't help but smile back. He kisses you again, filthy and sloppy, tongue moving lazily with yours, and you can taste yourself on him, and you groan at the sensation.
Jungkook pulls back giving you a tender smile, but you can feel his hard cock against your thigh, and you reach down to stroke him. He closes his eyes as you continue to grip his hardening length.
"You want to come again?"
"You really asking me that?" he says, sighing. With his eyes closed, you get to take in the sight of him above you.
"Want you come to come on my tits."
"Fuck, you really are perfect." He crawls above you, kneeling astride your chest and stroking himself. He's not lazy or slow. He's too worked up for that now.
"You like licking my pussy that much?" You ask, as you settle yourself underneath him, echoing his prior words.
"I really like everything about you." He shrugs as if he isn't stroking his cock above you about to cover your body in his cum. Something about his simple, easy words warms you from within.
His hard cock is leaking, and you unselfconsciously lick your lips wishing for another taste.
"Please," you whine, "want you to mark me."
Fuck, he moans, so perfect. He's so close that he's losing himself to it now. He comes with a groan, covering your breasts with white strips of cum. He may be sitting above you, his gloriously thick thighs caging your body, his strong arms capable of pinning you down, but you've never felt so powerful in your life.
You swipe a taste, sucking on your fingers, enjoying the way he watches you lick them clean.
"What the fuck are you doing to me?" he says, sounding wonderfully confused.
Jungkook lays down next to you, languid and looking like a kind of blissful contentment flows through his body. He grins at you, red cheeked and sweat drenched hair falling in his eyes. You imagine your smile looks similar. A feeling bubbles within you unbidden, like a happy surprise, like champagne poured in a flute glass.You know you're going to see that smile many times. A calmness settles in your body, making your relaxed and unanxious about what's to come. It's the best you've felt in a long time. The two of you lay there for a few minutes, not needing to speak. You rest your head on his chest, feeling the gentle sensation of it rising and falling beneath you.
"We gotta get cleaned up," he says with resignation.
"We can't stay here, babe." With the small endearment, his face goes even redder. You reach out to stroke his cheek with your thumb, just because you can.
"Come on, the longer we stay here the harder it will be to get up."
You let yourself be led by him. Luckily, he picked a room with a bathroom, so you wander in there, clothes hastily grabbed, both of you naked and a bit of a mess, but there's no awkwardness. You don't know if it's all those months of phone calls or the post-orgasm euphoria flowing through you both, but it's not weird at all. He hands you a towel when you've finished rinsing off. He takes his turn, and you have to look away before seeing him under the water gets you too excited. You still have to go back to the party and pretend like you didn't fuck the Jeon's oldest son up here.
You're both dressed now, and there's nothing to do but go return downstairs. Jungkook turns to you with a serious look on his face. What are you going to talk to about now? Oh no, does he have regrets?
"I need to tell you something."
"Oh shit, you have a girlfriend." Of course, he does. Of course, this is a joke to him. Of course—
"God, no." He looks at with you a pained expression. "I don't fuck around like that. I haven't had a girlfriend in ages."
"Good," you say, and you hate the way relief floods through you.
"I wanted to ask you out on a date, actually." He bites his lip.
"I would love to go on a date," you say, sitting on the counter, knocking your feet against the cabinet.
"Yeah?" He has that dazed look again, and he's so sweet. You really want to know what he would plan for a date and where he would take you. You can't wait to find out.
"But that isn't what I wanted to say."
"You can tell me anything," you admit. "You pretty much know more about me than anyone."
"Okay, well . . . the thing is, I really . . . love the Golden Girls, and this is the only time of year I can wear this sweater."
"That's your big thing?" you ask, trying not to giggle.
"It's important, okay." Jungkook puts his hands on his hips.
"Oh my god, this is literally the best."
He huffs at you, as if just realizing his ridiculousness.
"I can be accepting of your interest in the Golden Girls," you say in mock seriousness. "We can watch anytime you want."
Important business out of the way, he seems to relax, pushing up the sleeves of his sweater and running his hands through his hair.
"How are we going to get through the rest of this party?" you ask.
"Well, you're going to win the ugly sweater contest."
"Damn right, I am," you say, holding up your hand for a hi-five. He's not as enthusiastic as you about this turn of events. You pick up his hand for him and complete the hi-five because it's the polite thing to do.
"I can't hang out later tonight," Jungkook says, looking sad. "I came with my parents. Aren't your parents here, too?"
"Yeah, and if they get within five feet of you, they're going to pester you about medical school."
"It's alright, everyone does."
"Can I see you tomorrow after my shift and all the family stuff?"
"I forgot you're working in the morning." Jungkook looks disappointed.
Damn, is this going to be a problem? Whatever the hell is going on with Jungkook, you like your job.
Before you can defend yourself, he keeps talking. "Your parents are going to church and you're going to be at home talking to your clients?"
"Christmas, you know, people get lonely."
"You're doing important work," Jungkook says, nodding to himself.
Who is this guy? Where does he come up with this stuff? But you're glad he doesn't have a problem with your job, because then you would have a problem with him.
Jungkook stands taller and appraises you. You're dying to know what's going through his head.
He rolls his tongue in his cheek, and it will never not surprise you how quickly he can go from shy Harry Potter nerd to the guy standing in front of you that looks like he's about to bend you over this counter and fuck you while watching in the mirror. "You want some company?"
"You, Jeon Jungkook, the Jeon's oldest son, are going to sneak over to my house on Christmas morning while both are parents are at church? You're going to hang out with me while I'm on the phone, talking to other men and getting them off?
"Fuck yeah, I am. It's hot."
"What are you gonna to do?"
"We already decided that." He leans forward, caging you in with his arms as he kisses you. "I'm going to do whatever I want."
You shiver at his words. "You don't mind?"
"Your job is fucking hot, and besides . . ." He steps closer, spreading your legs wider as he stands between them, putting his hands on your hips. "I'm getting the cow for free, and they're like paying for the 'moo'ing'"
"My god, you need to stop talking," you scold, but your laughter gives you away. "Just don't open your mouth ever again."
"Oh babe, you like it when I open my mouth." He plants a kiss behind your ear before gently tugging on your earlobe with his teeth. "Don't you?"
"Not at all," you moan, "absolutely terrible."
"Keep telling yourself that," he says smiling into your skin.
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