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jungkoode · 10 days ago

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THE 25TH HOUR | 10

"𝐂𝐎𝐆𝐍𝐈𝐓𝐈𝐕𝐄 𝐃𝐈𝐒𝐒𝐎𝐍𝐀𝐍𝐂𝐄"

"Information overload has consequences when your brain tries to map infinity. And some revelations about intellectual competition, tongue habits, and emotional resonance tracking really shouldn’t happen in the same afternoon."

next | index

— chapter details

word count: 8.5k

content: noma being demandingly curious, yoongi being feral about her dying 16 times, jungkook trying to be helpful, cognitive temporal dissonance aftermath, sobbing jungkook, angry yoongi, taehyung not being able to register info as a threat, team guilt spiral ft. everyone learning why information is literally dangerous, noma waking up in hopemin's bed (jimin is SO pressed about it), mission briefing: formal wear edition, jimin's fashion expertise meets his general disdain for houseguests, hoseok being chaos incarnate about intellectual foreplay patterns, "the tongue thing" revelation (rip noma's brain), yoongi's arousal tracking hitting 347% (someone pls help this man), gala infiltration setup, and SO MUCH unresolved sexual tension it could power the entire resistance base.

— author’s note

AAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH IT’S HEEEREEEE it’s FINALLY here. The chapter I have been holding in my evil little claws like Gollum with the ring. My precious… (⁠ʘ⁠‿⁠ʘ⁠)

Okay okay okay. Deep breath. This chapter is so much. Like we are in full “this is why nobody should say anything around Noma without thinking first” territory. I’ve been WAITING to show you the consequences of information being mishandled around a brain like hers. And it was such a challenge to write because obviously YOU (dear reader) need to get some of this lore and intel too—but we’re not in omniscient narration. We’re in deep, close POV with Noma, and occasionally Yoongi, and that means there’s no “as you know, Bob” exposition. That’s amateur hour. Everything that comes through to you has to come through them. It has to feel lived in. Felt. Filtered. With weight.

And YEAH. There’s a reason I wrote it the way I did. The info needs to creep in, not be dumped on you. This chapter was a narrative challenge and a DREAM to tackle because of that. I went full evil little narrative goblin. There are crumbs. There are cracks in the wall. There is an entire buffet of lore and psychological tension here. If you don’t pick up on it… I will cry. And then stab you. Lovingly.

Also. That convo between Tae, Jungkook, and Yoongi? YEAH. That’s not filler. That is pivotal. I needed to show how people in a massive resistance organization aren’t perfectly synced or briefed. This isn’t a YA chosen-one fantasy. Jungkook is a literal baby with powers he doesn’t fully understand, Taehyung is a modded enforcer who doesn’t register information as a threat (which is SUCH a fascinating limitation, ugh I love him), and Yoongi is the only one who has full comprehension of the consequences. The disparity is real. Organic. Messy. And necessary.

Tae’s assumption that Noma chose to push herself?? Very on purpose. Because if any reader also thought that? WRONG. And I wanted that to get addressed in canon. Noma didn’t push anything. She’s not reckless. She’s a computer. A genius. The kind of person who hears a truth and immediately starts mapping it across every axis of possible meaning. She’s Yoongi’s intellectual match. They are both monsters of cognition. They get off on being the smartest person in the room and guess what—it’s each other, always. They’re each other’s equals. That’s what makes their resonance so terrifying. So fragile. So powerful.

And yeah. It’s like when someone tells you not to think of an elephant. Your brain immediately defaults to elephant. Same with telling someone like Noma “you control space.” It doesn’t stop at space. It spirals. What does that MEAN? What are the LIMITS? What are the variables? Her brain starts crunching a concept that shouldn’t be understood. And it fries her.

So yeah. Now you know why they have to be so careful about what they say to her. Why Yoongi said back in earlier chapters that forcing memories or info on her could be catastrophic. This was that moment. I’ve been waiting to show you.

Also HEEEHEHEE the Hoseok and Jimin section is SO FUN. I love them so much. I couldn’t go deep into their backstories here because your brains already got fried with the temporal dissonance meltdown, but I loved weaving in the details carefully. The way they look at each other for permission to share, the way they dance around what’s safe vs. unsafe to say, the way Jimin cuts himself off—TENSIONNNNNNN. There’s a REASON she doesn’t have access to everything. There’s a REASON some things are safe, and others aren’t.

And let’s be honest. The moment Yoongi detects her arousal spike from three floors down??? Bro. I am unwell. Imagine being a telepathic soulmate with emotional resonance and you’re trying to drink your 4am rehydration tea and SUDDENLY you’re aware the love of your life is thinking about your sexy dissertation and the angle of your tongue. I’m gooning. I’m shriveling. I’m vibrating.

Anyway. Chapter 10 is intense. And intimate. And so so layered. I hope you love it. I hope you scream. And I hope you pay attention. Or else.

— read on

ao3

wattpad

The transition leaves an aftertaste of ozone and broken physics.

One moment, you are a collection of atoms held together by sheer will and Agent Min’s grip; the next, you are solid again.

Your feet meet a floor of polished, off-white composite material that seems to absorb all sound.

Back in the resistance headquarters; your mind helpfully supplies. Back to that long, sterile corridor that stretches before you, lit by light panels that emit a flat, shadowless glow.

The raw, bleeding edge of the portal behind you pulses once, then seals itself shut with a sound like tearing fabric, leaving no trace it was ever there.

“What was that?” is your first immediate question, referring to their commentary about Jungkook’s apparent teleportation abilities.

Your processing centers demanding data to fill the void left by the impossible event. It’s directed at the back of Agent Min’s head as he walks ahead.

No answer.

Agent Min’s shoulders remain rigid, mint-colored hair looking like someone splashed watercolor in a grayscale simulation.

You can see the unnatural angle of his left shoulder, the controlled set of his jaw against what must be a significant level of pain.

But his gait suggests someone who’s done answering questions for the next seventy-three hours.

The probability he is ignoring you registers at 98.7%.

Fine. If he won't provide the data, you'll find a more willing source.

You turn your head, your gaze finding Jungkook. “What did you do?”

Jungkook’s eyes dart from you to Min’s rigid back, a flicker of conflict crossing his features. He presses his lips into a thin, unhappy line and gives a minute shake of his head.

A clear non-verbal cue: can’t.

The first spark of real frustration ignites in your chest. A low-grade thermal reaction. It’s inefficient. Annoying.

“Why is nobody telling me anything?” The question bursts out, louder than intended, echoing off the sleek, quantum-reinforced walls. Your vocal modulation is off—pitch elevated by 12%, volume spiking beyond optimal conversational levels.

You don’t care. The lack of input is suffocating, a void where data should be.

“What did he do? He mimicked my abilities, didn’t he? I registered that much. I heard it.”

The query is directed at Taehyung this time. He’s the most likely to respond, with a 43% higher probability of verbal engagement based on past interactions.

But he just lets out a long, weary sigh, the sound echoing unnaturally in the dead air of the corridor. He doesn’t reply. Instead, his hand closes around Jungkook’s forearm, and he begins walking, pulling the younger agent along with him.

Jungkook releases a sigh himself, this one loud and theatrical, a clear broadcast of his own displeasure with the mandated silence.

Your hands curl into fists, knuckles whitening under the pressure.

The sensation is odd—muscle tension at 87% of maximum capacity, a physical manifestation of something you can’t quite name.

Anger? Frustration? Both?

You’re a walking processor, a system built for logic and analysis, not this messy, bubbling surge that threatens to override your control.

But it’s there, undeniable, pushing against the edges of your restraint—you want to slam your fist into the nearest wall, propriety be damned.

Instead, you plant your feet, the soles of your boots gripping the floor with a stubborn finality.

“I require answers.” The statement is flat, cold, and absolute. “If you refuse to provide the necessary information, I will acquire it through alternative, and likely less cooperative, means.”

That does it.

Taehyung and Jungkook freeze mid-stride. Min stops a few paces ahead, his back still to you, but the tension in his shoulders makes him seem taller, more dangerous.

Your eyes, those traitors, find the mint strands of his hair—a soft, pale contrast to the harsh black of his tactical vest and jacket.

The color is striking, almost unfairly pretty, like a glitch in an otherwise monochromatic design. It distracts you for exactly 0.7 seconds before you force your focus back to his face, to those golden eyes that always seem to see too much.

“Min.”

He turns slowly, the movement measured and deliberate.

“Noma,” he begins, his voice low and grating, “you are not in an adequate headspace for a tactical debriefing.”

“I will be the judge of that.”

“No.” He takes a step toward you. “I am.”

A humorless laugh escapes you, a puff of air. “By what authority? My operational parameters are my own.”

“Not when they intersect with mine.”

“And why,” you challenge, taking a step to meet him, closing the distance, “would you have any say in what I need, or what I don’t?”

His breath hitches, a ragged, sharp intake of air that speaks of immense pressure barely contained.

It sounds like he’s holding back a scream, or venom, or wrestling with something volatile. Anger, maybe. Or something darker. You don’t know, and that lack of knowing is driving you up the wall.

He stalks toward you, his gait fluid despite the injury. Taehyung and Jungkook melt away, retreating to the periphery as if clearing the stage for a collision they know is inevitable.

He doesn’t stop until he’s so close you have to tilt your head back to meet his gaze. Inches away.

You can feel the heat radiating from him, and this time

it’s not just the ozone—but spearmint, that sharpens in the air around you. His eyes are no longer just tinged with gold; they are molten, blazing down at you.

“Because it became my choice,” he grits out, each word a shard of gravel torn from his throat.

Your own defiance rises to meet it. “I don’t recall giving you a choice.”

His jaw ticks, a violent spasm of muscle. “It became my choice the moment I had to watch you die sixteen times.”

The air vacates your lungs in a single, silent rush.

Sixteen times.

You died sixteen times.

Revival technology, temporal manipulation, parallel timelines—none of the models align with the raw certainty in his voice.

How is that possible? You’re alive. You’re here, breathing, thinking, processing data. There’s no evidence of revival technology in your medical records. No gaps in your memory that would suggest temporal manipulation. No—

If revival is possible, if you’ve died and returned multiple times, what does that mean for the fundamental laws of physics? For the nature of consciousness? For the reality you’ve been operating under?

What timeline are you even in? Or better, worse—how many have you lived through that you don’t remember?

“And I’m not letting you become a seventeen.”

He spits the last word out like poison, a final, damning verdict.

Then he turns, the motion sharp and decisive, and walks away down the corridor without a backward glance, leaving you shattered in his wake.

Jungkook and Taehyung remain stationary.

You note Taehyung’s grip on Jungkook’s arm—pressure increasing by approximately 12 newtons. Restraint behavior. But Jungkook’s eyes find yours anyway.

Then—

Something shifts inside your skull.

Not pain. Not memory. Something else entirely.

A voice that isn’t yours, speaking words that arrive without traveling through your auditory processing centers.

«Yes. It was your abilities. You control the spatial dimension.»

The transmission carries Jungkook’s vocal patterns but bypasses standard sensory input entirely—direct neural interface.

Telepathy.

He’s using Taehyung’s ability without anyone else detecting the connection.

Your gaze remains locked with his for exactly 0.7 seconds before he allows Taehyung to guide him forward.

Spatial dimension.

The words echo through your consciousness, connecting to memory fragments of golden tendrils and impossible physics. Of matter phasing and reality bending and distances that compress at your unconscious command.

Sixteen deaths. Seventeen possible.

You control space itself.

And apparently, nobody trusts you enough to explain why that matters.

The dream always starts the same way—with your hands mapping his chest like you're solving an equation.

You're above him, thighs bracketing his hips, that familiar analytical tilt to your head as you study him. Your hair falls in loose strands across your forehead, catching the low light of whatever timeline this is. Your mouth is parted just slightly, breath coming in those careful, measured gasps that drive him fucking insane.

You move like you always do—deliberate, testing, like every roll of your hips is gathering data. Like his body is some complex system you need to decode. Your palms press flat against his chest, feeling the rapid thrum of his heartbeat, cataloging the way his muscles tense beneath your touch.

"Fuck, Noma," he breathes, voice already wrecked, and you pause—just for a second—to process the sound.

That little furrow appears between your brows, the one that means you're filing away his response for later analysis.

Then you sink down on him again, slow and torturous, taking him inch by inch like you're conducting some kind of experiment. His hands move to grip your waist, but golden tendrils—yours, not his—wrap around his wrists, pinning them to the mattress above his head.

The restraint makes him growl, a sound that rumbles up from his chest. Every instinct screams at him to flip you over, to pin you beneath him and fuck you until you stop thinking so goddamn much.

But your tendrils hold firm, crystalline and unforgiving, and all he can do is lie there and take whatever pace you set.

"You're studying me," he pants, watching the way your eyes track every micro-expression that crosses his face.

"Always," you murmur, and the admission makes his cock twitch inside you. "Need to understand how you work."

You lean forward, changing the angle, and he sees stars.

Your breath ghosts across his ear as you whisper, "What does this do to you?" and roll your hips in that specific way that makes him see fucking galaxies.

His answer is a broken moan, hips bucking up involuntarily. The tendrils tighten around his wrists, a gentle warning, and you make that soft sound of satisfaction—like you've just confirmed a hypothesis.

"And this?" You clench around him, internal muscles squeezing, and his vision whites out for a second.

"Christ, Noma," he gasps, straining against the golden bonds. "Let me touch you, please—"

But you just smile, that small, secret curve of your lips that means you’re exactly where you want to be. In control. Gathering data. Driving him out of his fucking mind with the slow, methodical way you take him apart.

You ride him like you have all the time in the world, like this is your favorite puzzle to solve.

And maybe it is—maybe he’s your favorite system to understand, the one equation you never get tired of working through. The way you look at him, like he’s the most fascinating thing in any timeline, like every reaction is precious data you want to memorize.

He knows that look. It’s the same one you get when you’re completely absorbed in something you‘re obsessed with.

He’d let you study him forever if it meant keeping you here, keeping you safe, keeping you—

The orgasm builds slow and devastating, your name falling from his lips like a prayer as you work him closer to the edge with scientific rigor.

“Yoongi.”

His name in your voice, breathless and wanting, and he's gone—

He wakes with a sharp intake of breath, forearm thrown across his eyes, skin slick with sweat. His heart hammers against his ribs, the phantom sensation of your tendrils still wrapped around his wrists.

His room is dark, as usual, silent except for the climate control system.

He turns his head lazily toward the nightstand, where the digital clock glows an offensive blue: 3:47 AM.

He fucking hates that thing. Analog clocks don't mock you with their precision. They just tick, steady and reliable, marking time without judgment.

But digital clocks? They count down to the exact second when everything falls apart.

Again.

He keeps the forearm pressed against his eyes for a few more seconds, chest rising and falling in measured intervals.

In, out. Steady.

He wills his heart rate to slow, tries to sink back into sleep, back into dreams where you're safe and whole and—

His forearm jerks away from his face.

Something's wrong.

The feeling hits him like ice water in his veins, sharp and immediate.

He checks his Chrono-Sync Watch with frantic urgency, heart hammering against his ribs so hard it might crack them. The numbers blur—he doesn't give a shit about the time.

It's you. He feels it in his head, in his soul, in his fucking heart.

Something's wrong with you.

The sheets tangle around his legs as he throws himself out of bed, stumbling forward with too much momentum. His knee hits the floor hard, pain shooting up his thigh, but he doesn't stop. Can't stop. His chest is caving in on itself, lungs refusing to work properly as he runs.

Your door is already open when he rounds the corner.

Taehyung and Jungkook stand in the doorway like sentries, their faces pale in the hallway light. He darts past them without a word, shoulders clipping the doorframe.

The scene inside makes his stomach lurch.

Namjoon is on the floor, cradling your limp form against his chest. Jin kneels beside him, one hand tilting your head back, the other checking your pulse clinically.

There's blood—so much fucking blood—pooling on the concrete floor beneath you.

Your nose. It's your nose, dripping steady and relentless, painting your lips and chin crimson.

You're motionless. Completely still except for the shallow rise and fall of your chest.

His hands shake as he forces himself to breathe slowly, eyes darting around the room, cataloging details.

Your nose. Non-stop bleeding.

The telltale signal of cognitive temporal overload—too much information, too fast, your brain trying to process data it’s not ready for.

"Who told her."

His voice comes out low, barely above a whisper, but there's enough venom in it to make everyone in the room tense. Everyone except Jin, who's too absorbed in monitoring your vitals to care about the threat in Yoongi's tone.

"Who. Told. Her."

He rounds on Jungkook, whose eyes immediately dart away, guilt written across every line of his face. The kid can't even look at him.

Yoongi strides forward, rage building in his chest like a wildfire, but Taehyung steps between them.

"Yoongi."

"Move."

"Yoongi, listen—"

"Move!"

His eyes flick up to meet Taehyung's, and whatever Tae sees there makes him take a half-step back.

"He's just a kid," Taehyung says, voice steady but careful. "He's the youngest. Has only been active since timeline 715."

The bile rises in Yoongi's throat.

He's not violent—never has been. Doesn't lose his temper like this, doesn't let emotion override logic.

But if you're dead, if you fucking died for the seventeenth time because some kid couldn't keep his mouth shut—

He delivers a blow to Taehyung’s stomach. Hard. The impact sends pain shooting up his arm, and he hisses, shaking his hand.

Taehyung doesn’t even flinch.

They both know he wouldn’t. Former enforcer, body modified to withstand worse than anything Yoongi could dish out.

That’s exactly why he hit him instead of Jungkook—because Taehyung can take it, and because the kid doesn’t deserve his rage.

But someone needs to feel it. Someone needs to understand that this isn’t a fucking game.

“Feel better?” Taehyung asks quietly, not moving from his protective stance in front of Jungkook.

Yoongi’s breathing is ragged, chest heaving. “She’s bleeding out on the floor, Tae.”

“She’s not bleeding out. Jin’s got her.” Taehyung’s voice carries that enforcer-calm that always makes situations feel more controlled than they are. “And this isn’t anyone’s fault. She made a choice to push her abilities—”

“Choice?” Yoongi’s voice cracks with disbelief. “You think this was a fucking choice?”

Behind Taehyung, Jungkook’s face crumples.

“I just told her what she was doing,” he whispers. “She asked why I could grab her abilities, and I said—I said she controls spatial dimensions. That’s it. That’s all I said.”

“All you said.” Yoongi repeats the words like they taste bitter. “Do you have any idea what that means? What controlling space actually entails?”

Jungkook looks genuinely confused, eyes growing glassy. “She was already using it. When I mimicked her signature, I could feel how powerful it was, so I thought—”

“You thought what? That because you can copy abilities without consequences, everyone can handle that knowledge?”

“I don’t understand,” Jungkook says, voice breaking. “She manifested spatial manipulation during the rescue. I was just explaining what she’d already done.”

Taehyung’s jaw tightens. “He was trying to help her understand her own abilities. That’s not reckless—”

“Not reckless?” Yoongi rounds on him, eyes blazing gold. “Do you know what spatial dimension control means, Tae? Do you have any fucking clue?”

“I know it means she pushed too hard—”

“She didn’t push anything!” Yoongi explodes. “It’s called cognitive temporal dissonance, you absolute dimwit! It’s a fucking medical condition!”

Taehyung blinks, doubt creeping in his enforcer certainty for once. “What?”

“Jin?” Yoongi whips around, desperation bleeding into his voice. “Help me out here.”

Jin doesn’t look up from where he’s monitoring your pulse, voice dry as sandpaper. “Bit busy keeping her stable. Ask Joon.”

“Joon,” Yoongi turns to Namjoon, who’s still cradling your limp form. “Tell them. Tell them what cognitive temporal dissonance actually is.”

Namjoon shifts carefully, making sure your head stays supported. His voice slips into that analytical tone he uses for briefings.

“Cognitive temporal dissonance occurs when an Outlier’s consciousness is exposed to information that exceeds their current neural adaptation threshold.”

“Incongruent. She has better neural adaptation than any of us here. She should be able to process minimal information like that with ease, especially when she’s faced—”

“Jesus Christ.” Yoongi drags his hands through his hair. “It’s not minimal information Tae, it’s an entire fucking dimension of reality. When you tell someone they control space itself—not just ‘spatial manipulation,’ but the actual fabric of dimensional reality—their brain tries to comprehend the scope of that.”

Taehyung simply blinks, eyebrows furrowing. Yoongi sighs out loud, gestures wildly at your unconscious form.

“She doesn’t get headaches because she’s analyzing equations. She gets them because her human brain is trying to process the concept of controlling something infinite. Something fundamental to existence itself.”

Jungkook’s face goes white. “I… I didn’t know it was that big. When I copy abilities, they just feel like… like tools. I can use them without thinking about what they actually are.”

“Because your mimicry protects you from the full cognitive load,” Namjoon interjects softly, never taking his eyes off your vitals. “You experience abilities in ‘safe mode’—all the function, none of the existential weight.”

“But she was already using them,” Taehyung insists, clearly still struggling to categorize information as a physical threat. “How is knowing what you’re doing more dangerous than actually doing it?”

“Because doing it unconsciously is instinct. Understanding it consciously means your brain tries to map the parameters. And when the parameter is ‘I control one of the fundamental forces that governs reality’…” Yoongi gestures at the blood on your face. “This happens.”

Jungkook is sobbing now. “I thought I was being helpful. She seemed frustrated not knowing, and I just—”

“Your brain can barely fucking handle copying my temporal manipulation for seven minutes, Jungkook,” Yoongi cuts him off. “Could you handle knowing you control time itself? That every second that passes is subject to your will? That causality bends around your existence?”

The kid’s face crumples completely. “No. No, I couldn’t.”

“She’s been Outlier-aware for three days. Three fucking days. Her neural pathways are still forming the connections needed to process basic temporal awareness, and you just told her she controls space.” Yoongi’s voice breaks. “That’s like… that’s like telling someone who just learned to walk that they’re actually capable of flight. The concept is too big for a brain that’s still learning how to exist outside normal time.”

Taehyung is quiet for a long moment, his expression cycling through several configurations as his modified brain processes this new categorization of information-as-threat.

“But she’s strong,” Jungkook says desperately. “She handled manifesting the abilities—”

“Unconscious manifestation is completely different from conscious comprehension,” Namjoon explains gently. “When abilities manifest naturally, they’re filtered through instinct and necessity. When someone consciously understands the scope of what they control, their analytical mind tries to map it, test it, understand its limits.”

“And Y/N’s mind…” Yoongi’s voice is barely a whisper. “Y/N’s mind doesn’t half-ass anything. When she learns something, she learns everything about it. Every variable, every possibility, every potential application. Tell her she controls space, and her brain immediately starts trying to comprehend infinity.”

The room falls silent except for the sound of your steady breathing and Jin’s quiet monitoring.

Taehyung stares at you for a long moment in what Yoongi knows is enforcer processing—that mechanical way his brain reorganizes information when it encounters something that doesn’t fit his neural framework.

“I didn’t know,” Taehyung says finally, voice flat in that way that means his modifications are struggling with the concept. “Information overload isn’t… my brain doesn’t process it as a threat.”

Jungkook looks up at him, confusion mixing with his guilt. “What do you mean?”

“Enforcers were designed to absorb massive amounts of tactical data without psychological impact,” Taehyung explains, still staring at your unconscious form. “When you told her about spatial control, and you looked to me to see if it was dangerous…I literally couldn’t register it as harmful. To me, it’s just information. Like learning the time of day.”

“Yeah, that’s why you thought she was being reckless instead of recognizing she was having a medical emergency.” Jin sighs loudly.

Taehyung nods slowly, that mechanical processing still evident in his movements. “I thought she chose to push herself with new abilities. My programming doesn’t… it doesn’t understand how knowing something can hurt you.”

“Because it can’t hurt you,” Namjoon adds quietly. “Your modifications make you immune to information-based trauma. You could learn you control reality-warping abilities the same way you’d process a weather report.”

Jungkook makes a broken sound. “It’s my fault. When Tae didn’t react like it was dangerous, I thought it meant it wasn’t.”

“No, it’s my fault.” Taehyung runs a hand over his face, frustration bleeding through calm. “I keep thinking there should have been warning signs. Behavioral indicators. But information processing doesn’t trigger my threat assessment protocols. I should have deferred to Yoongi, should’ve known better than to let Jungkook make that call.”

“We all should have known better,” Jin speaks up without looking away from your vitals. “But beating ourselves up won’t fix her brain chemistry.”

Yoongi kneels beside you, careful not to disturb Jin’s positioning.

Your face is pale, dried blood still crusted around your nose, but your breathing is steady.

“Next time,” he says quietly, “any questions about abilities, about the past, about anything—you come to me first. Both of you. No matter how harmless it seems.”

“Understood,” Taehyung says, slipping into that formal tone his enforcer training defaults to during protocol establishment.

Jungkook just nods, still crying softly.

Yoongi reaches out toward your face, then stops himself, hand hovering in the air between you.

Even like this—unconscious, vulnerable, bleeding from cognitive overload—he can’t quite bring himself to touch you.

Not when you don’t remember choosing to let him.

Particles of light drift together like puzzle pieces finding their home.

The ceiling materializes above you—unfamiliar angles, different shadows. Not your assigned quarters. Not even the sterile white of Jin's lab space.

This ceiling has character, personality. Warm lighting fixtures instead of clinical panels. Personal touches that speak of actual habitation rather than temporary assignment.

Your processing centers catalog the discrepancies while your vision sharpens from static to clarity.

The bed beneath you is softer than regulation standard, sheets that smell like fabric softener instead of industrial detergent.

Someone's personal space, then.

But whose?

Voices carry from somewhere beyond your field of vision, muffled by distance and what sounds like architectural features—columns, maybe, or room dividers.

"—absolutely ridiculous, Hoseok. She's not our responsibility."

"Where else is she supposed to go? Her room's a biohazard zone.”

A scoff. “So we’re the charity case now? It’s not fair to us, Fuyu. Why not just stick her in Jin’s lab?”

“Because Jin’s not a doctor, Jimin. He’s a memory tech. He doesn’t want her in there while he’s running diagnostics. She needs rest, not a front-row seat to his data streams.”

A pause. The sound of someone pacing, footsteps sharp against what must be concrete flooring.

"Yoongi's room, then. He's the one who—"

A sigh from Hoseok. “You know the protocol he set for this cycle, Jimin. Minimum proximity. No unnecessary contact. He’s trying a different variable; we have to respect that.”

“Respect it? He’s miserable. And right now his misery is sleeping in our bed.” There’s a sound of restless pacing. “I don’t want her here. It’s bad enough we have to watch him self-destruct from a distance, I don’t need a front-row seat to the cause of it.”

“She’s not the cause, Jimin. She’s the… focus. And you know as well as I do she can’t be in his space. Even without the distance protocols, she just went through a neural fissure. The least she needs right now is more cognitive strain.”

Your head turns slightly, seeking the source of the conversation, though the movement sends a dull ache through your skull—not the sharp, stabbing pain of cognitive overload, but the lingering throb of neural exhaustion.

"She could trigger memory fragments just by being in his space," the first voice continues, petulant. "Fine. But that doesn't mean she has to be in ours."

"It's temporary, Mochi. A few days at most."

"A few days of what? Pretending we're running a halfway house for temporally displaced analysts?"

Footsteps approach, and a figure emerges from behind what you now see is indeed a decorative column. Orange hair catches the warm lighting, and Jung Hoseok's face comes into view. His expression shifts from mild exasperation to something softer when he notices your open eyes.

"Oh. You're awake."

You manage a nod, the motion careful and measured. Your vocal cords feel scratchy, unused.

"Well," he says, hands finding his hips, "you really know how to put on a show, huh?"

A scoff of laughter accompanies the words, but there's genuine concern in his eyes. He sighs, the sound carrying relief and residual worry in equal measure.

He walks toward the bed, movements easy and unhurried. "How are you feeling? Scale of one to ten, with ten being 'ready to manipulate dimensional reality' and one being 'please keep the lights dim.'"

"Somewhere around a four," you manage, voice rougher than expected. "Maybe a three-point-seven."

"Specific. I like that." He settles into a chair beside the bed, leaning forward slightly. "Any nausea? Dizziness when you move your head?"

"Minimal. Cognitive processing feels... sluggish. Like running diagnostics through damaged circuits."

"That's normal after what you went through. Jin says your neural pathways are basically reorganizing themselves. Building new connections to handle the information load."

You process this, filing it away with the growing collection of data about your condition.

"Why am I here? In your room?"

"Because everywhere else was either contaminated, occupied, or specifically off-limits."

Pink hair like cotton candy ambushes your vision next, familiar, snappy voice joining the conversation. Jimin appears from behind the same column, arms crossed.

"Lucky you." Jimin’s tone carries enough sarcasm to power a small generator.

"Your room's got blood all over the floor," Hoseok explains, shooting Jimin a warning look. "Jin's lab isn't set up for overnight stays. And Yoongi..." He trails off, diplomatic.

"Yoongi's being a dramatic bitch," Jimin finishes, not bothering with diplomacy. "So you get to camp out here. In our space. With our things."

"Jimin."

"What? She should know what she's signing up for." Jimin's gaze finds yours, walking until he’s next to Hoseok. "This is the biggest room, so we've got a spare bed set up in the back area. But don't expect us to tiptoe around your delicate temporal sensibilities."

You blink, processing the implications. "Meaning?"

"Meaning," Jimin continues, deadpan, "if you hear sounds at night, you can suck it up. I'm not putting my sex life on hold just because we have a houseguest."

"We can be considerate for a few days," Hoseok sighs.

"Absolutely not." Jimin's response is immediate and firm. "What if two days become three? Become five? You know how Yoongi gets.”

His fingers trail down the front of Hoseok’s shirt, a deliberate, slow movement that draws attention to the motion. His eyes flick from his own hand to Hoseok's face, intentionally loaded.

“And you know how I get.”

Hoseok's hand moves to catch Jimin's wrist, stopping the downward trajectory. He licks his lips, head tilting in what looks like a silent plea.

Jimin's eyebrows furrow in response, and you realize you're witnessing an entire conversation conducted through micro-expressions and body language.

A communication system developed through intimacy and time, that you somehow, suddenly, crave.

You clear your throat. "I can handle background noise. My auditory processing filters are quite efficient."

Jimin jerks his hand away from Hoseok’s grip, snapping back to full irritation mode.

“I’ll take that as a challenge,” he says, rolling his eyes as he starts walking away.

He pauses, looking back over his shoulder with an expression that clearly expects you to follow.

Hoseok offers his hand, palm up—steady, warm. You take it, more out of protocol than necessity.

Your legs hold, but the world still lags half a step behind your movements.

He keeps pace beside you, easy and patient, while Jimin moves ahead with the attitude of someone eager to put distance between himself and the problem.

“Thanks,” you say, voice low.

It’s the kind of word that feels strange in your mouth, like you’re borrowing someone else’s language for a moment.

Hoseok glances down at you, one eyebrow raised. “For what?”

You keep your gaze ahead, watching Jimin’s back.

“Allowing me a place to stay. Even when your partner is clearly… less than enthusiastic about it.”

He snorts, the sound soft but genuine. “I’m not gonna insult your intelligence by pretending Jimin’s thrilled. You’d see right through it anyway. And I’d be lying.”

You nod, cataloguing the honesty.

Hoseok’s direct, but not unkind.

“He understands the need, though. Even if he hates the idea.”

You allow the silence to settle. Two seconds pass—long enough for discomfort to threaten, short enough to feel intentional.

“I asked him last time if he dislikes me.”

Hoseok’s lips twitch. “And?”

“He said yes.”

He laughs again, louder this time, shaking his head. “That’s Jimin for you. He doesn’t sugarcoat.”

You blink, parsing the statement. “Is that… typical?”

“Very.” He grins, then sobers a little. “He’s honest to a fault. If he doesn’t like you, he’ll tell you. If he does, you’ll know. There’s no in-between with him.”

You blink, trying to process the humor. “Why does he hate me?”

Hoseok’s gaze drops to the floor, mouth curving into a half-smile.

“It’s not hate. It’s… frustration. This whole mess has been rough on everyone, but Jimin—he takes things personally. Holds onto them. It’s just how he is.”

You nod, not sure you understand, but the explanation feels sufficient.

Maybe you don’t need to understand all the variables to accept the outcome.

The corridor opens up into a space that could pass for a boutique if not for the utilitarian racks and rows of tactical gear.

Jimin is already there, hand braced on the edge of a table, posture radiating impatience.

“Welcome to heaven,” he says, deadpan, not bothering to look back as he starts sorting through hangers with practiced flicks of his wrist.

“What is he doing?” you ask Hoseok.

Hoseok moves to a nearby section, fingers trailing through what appears to be a collection of coats. The fabric makes soft sounds under his touch—silk, wool, materials your tactile processors can identify even from a distance.

“Prepping you for your next mission.”

You narrow your eyes slightly. “I was not informed there was a mission.”

Jimin doesn’t look up from the rack he’s browsing. “Right. Because you were unconscious. Bleeding from your face. Kind of hard to deliver briefings in that condition.”

“That would imply poor timing on your part,” you say dryly. “Or an urgent operation being executed under suboptimal readiness conditions.”

Hoseok exhales—an audible, weighty thing. “It’s not ideal, but it’s happening. And you’re the only one who can do it.”

Your gaze drifts to the gown Jimin is holding, then back to Hoseok. “You’re sending someone who just experienced cognitive collapse into a mission requiring social infiltration?”

Jimin finally lifts his eyes, voice clipped. “Welcome to the resistance. We don’t have backups. We have probabilities.”

“That is not an explanation,” you counter. “It’s a deflection. Explain the mission parameters and the rationale behind assigning me.”

“Okay, before you go all ‘I demand answers’ on us, let me remind you—you just had a huge temporal dissonance episode. We will not be giving you new, life-altering info like Jungkook did.” Jimin snaps back. “Accept that first or there will be no answers.”

You narrow your eyes at him.

Curiosity demands answers.

Jimin demands accepting uncertainty.

Not accepting will result in no answers at all.

Plausible compromise.

“I accept.”

Hoseok rubs the back of his neck. “There’s a gala. High-level CHRONOS operatives. Important enough to warrant surveillance. We need eyes inside. Preferably someone who won’t trip alarms just by walking in.”

Your mind catches on the phrasing. “Yoongi.”

Jimin snorts under his breath.

You glance at him. “This is about Agent Min.”

“Of course it’s about Agent Min,” Jimin mutters. “He’s the only one who can get in without being flagged. You know that.”

“Because he disrupts CHRONOS’s detection systems,” you recall. “He reflects causality. Appears unindexed. A statistical blindspot.”

Hoseok nods. “Exactly. But using his ability too long causes fluctuations. Even Yoongi’s signature starts to spike.”

You blink. “So you need a stabilizer.”

“You,” Jimin says flatly.

You frown. “I stabilize his temporal signature?”

“You synchronize with it,” Hoseok corrects. “Your presence keeps both of you from triggering scans.”

Like on the rooftop.

Jimin crosses his arms. “And with CHRONOS agents watching everything? Even a small spike gets flagged.”

You nod once, calculation already forming behind your eyes. “So I’m the stabilizer. Redundancy protocol.”

“More like failsafe,” Hoseok mutters. “You’re the only one who keeps him from unraveling.”

“And vice versa,” Jimin adds. “You two stabilize each other.”

You don’t remember practicing synchronization. You don’t remember learning how to do it. But your body does.

You remember Yoongi’s presence—how time slows when he’s near, but never quite slips. You remember the way the air holds still when he stands too close.

And how your temporal signatures synchronized to 0% on that rooftop.

“I see,” you say. But you don’t see, not really, because— “Why not assign Jungkook as the stabilizer? Have him mimic Min’s ability to stabilize himself.”

A beat of silence.

“Should I…?” Hoseok prompts, looking for Jimin’s eyes.

“It’s basic info. She already knows Jungkook’s mimicry and some scope of what Yoongi can do.” He replies. Looks at you again. “It doesn’t work like that, Yoongi’s stabilization doesn’t work on himself. He anchors other people, sure, but he can’t anchor himself.”

You frown. “But why? If his ability can neutralize temporal spikes, why doesn’t it neutralize his own?”

Jimin’s jaw tics. “Because it simply doesn’t, okay? We’ve seen it. Firsthand. When he spikes, he spirals. No one can pull him back unless you’re—”

He cuts himself off, lips tightening.

You wait. He doesn’t finish.

Hoseok clears his throat gently. “His ability reflects outward. It doesn’t fold inward. He’s a buffer for others, not for himself. And if the pressure’s high enough… he unravels.”

“And Jungkook can’t hold his ability long enough anyway,” Jimin adds, apparently returning to safe grounds. “Mimicking heavy abilities drains him fast. Which is why he wouldn’t be able to mimic yours for long either—and you’d have to be present anyway. So.”

Your brain ticks through the logic—matching memory to data to anomaly.

And then it clicks.

“The travel spot,” you murmur. “When I lost stability. Jungkook—he was mimicking Min’s ability when he stabilized me.”

Hoseok nods once.

Jimin scoffs. “Look at her, she can actually process info slowly and make her own answers through assumptions. Who would have thought?”

Hoseok ignores his partner’s commentary. “Jungkook was able to do it for a few seconds. Long enough to suppress the spike and get you through.”

“He seemed fine afterward.”

“He was,” Jimin says. “It was under a minute. Well within what he can handle. But he still can’t sustain it for long periods of time.”

“That’s… inefficient,” you murmur. “Reliant on replication. He’s not a constant.”

“Exactly,” Hoseok says, voice quiet. “But you are.”

You process the implications.

Yoongi: a walking temporal singularity with no internal stabilization.

You: the only Outlier whose temporal signature resonates with his to perfection.

Together, you cancel out the spikes.

Together, you are balanced.

A paradox in perfect sync.

It seems deliberate.

Jimin breaks the silence. “Look, I don’t care if you’re barely recovered. You’re his anchor. That’s why it’s you.”

You look down at the dress again. “And if something goes wrong?”

Hoseok shrugs. “Then you sync with him.”

Jimin huffs. “Better keep the ticking bombs contained.”

You nod once, the weight of the truth settling over your shoulders like armor.

“Understood,” you say. “I’ll be ready.”

Jimin eyes you, skeptical. “Physically, maybe. Emotionally? I’d bet against it.”

“Emotions are statistically irrelevant to mission success,” you reply.

Jimin just snorts. “Sure. Keep telling yourself that.”

You watch Jimin aggressively pull out another hanger.

Your mind immediately drifts back to resource allocation within this resistance base.

“May I ask how does this organization acquire such resources? This collection suggests significant financial investment or alternative acquisition methods.”

Jimin rolls his eyes. “Yeah, that’s safe info. Shouldn’t trigger any significant memory bleeds. The problem is usually with information you are not consciously aware of.”

Hoseok chuckles, pulling a velvet jacket off a rack. “Let’s just say my network of ‘friends’ in unregulated territories have eclectic taste. We trade in information and temporal contraband—unregulated timepieces, pre-war historical records, that sort of thing. They help us, we help them stay off CHRONOS’s radar.”

“And sometimes,” Jimin adds with a smirk, not looking up from a silk blouse, “CHRONOS just conveniently ‘loses’ a shipment of luxury goods. Taehyung has a knack for manipulating their inventory logs.”

“So formal wear is necessary for this gala.”

Hoseok chuckles. “It’s a social infiltration. High-security event, lots of important people, very specific dress code.”

“Define ‘very specific.’”

“Black tie,” Jimin says, returning his attention to the dress in his hands. He holds it up, studying the cut with professional interest. “Which means floor-length gowns, designer labels, and the kind of jewelry that costs more than most people’s annual salary.”

“I don’t own formal wear.”

“Obviously.” Jimin’s tone suggests this is the most ridiculous statement he’s ever heard. “That’s why you’re here instead of standing around looking helpless.”

“Jimin’s got an eye for this stuff,” Hoseok adds, moving to examine a section of what appears to be evening wear. “Fashion, style, making people look like they belong in places they definitely don’t belong.”

“Mhm,” Jimin hums, pulling another dress from its hanger. This one is milky white, with beading that catches the light. “The right outfit can make you invisible, or it can make you the center of attention. Depends on what the mission requires.”

“And what does this mission require?”

Jimin pauses, dress still in his hands, and looks at you directly for the first time since you entered the space.

“That depends on whether you can handle being someone you’re not for an entire evening.”

"I seem to follow that particular directive quite well," you observe, processing the implications. "Being someone I don't know I am appears to be my default operational state."

The words emerge as simple factual analysis, but Jimin's hands still on the fabric he's examining. He turns slowly, fixing you with a look that could strip circuits.

"I had just forgotten how analytically cunty you can be."

You blink, head tilting slightly as your processing centers attempt to parse the statement.

"Define ‘cunty’."

"Girl." Jimin's voice drops into a register that tells you his patience has officially expired. "I've seen you and Yoongi's version of foreplay. Very semantic, very 'I'm such a genius and I'm gonna demonstrate my intellectual superiority through vocabulary precision and get you horny whilst doing it,' so don't even try me."

Your optical processors stutter for exactly 0.4 seconds.

"I don't understand that reference."

"Of course you don't." Jimin returns to his clothing analysis with renewed vigor, pulling a cordovan dress from its hanger and holding it up to the light. "Because your brain conveniently resets every time you figure out that your analytical observations are sometimes intellectual dirty talk."

Hoseok makes a sound that might be a suppressed laugh. "Jimin."

"What? I'm stating facts." Jimin's tone carries that particular sharpness that means he's building momentum.”Yoongi’s already interrupted her twice when she starts with their whole intellectual play kink. She already knows she does this thing where she breaks down complex systems using precise technical language, and somehow makes equations sound like pillow talk. It's very specific. Very her."

"That sounds highly improbable," you say, though something in your neural pathways flickers—a ghost sensation, like muscle memory for conversations you've never had.

"Improbable." Jimin repeats the word with theatrical precision, mimicking your inflection. "See? There it is. Nobody says 'highly improbable' when they mean 'unlikely.' But you do, because your brain processes everything like it's conducting peer review on reality itself."

He moves to another section, pulling what appears to be an evening gown with a thigh cut.

"And apparently, certain people find that incredibly attractive. Which says concerning things about their psychological profiles, but here we are."

Your arms cross in front of your chest. "I don't recall engaging in any behavior that could be classified as—"

"Intellectual seduction?" Jimin supplies helpfully. "No, you wouldn't. Because every time you remember how to weaponize your brain for romantic purposes, CHRONOS hits the reset button."

Hoseok steps closer, clearing his throat. "Maybe we should focus on the mission parameters."

"Oh, we are." Jimin’s scoff is loud. “Because watching her figure out how to be someone else while simultaneously being exactly herself is going to be the entertainment highlight of this entire operation."

You process this information for 2.3 seconds before responding.

"Mission success probability increases when operatives maintain behavioral consistency within acceptable deviation parameters."

"There it is again." Jimin gestures at you with the dress still in his hands. "That sentence could have been 'I work better when I can still be myself,' but no. You chose the academic route. Every single time."

"Because precision in communication reduces misunderstanding and increases operational efficiency."

"And because you think being smart is sexy," Jimin adds, deadpan. "Which, according to my observations across multiple timelines, is apparently correct. At least for certain mint-haired individuals with concerning attachment issues."

Your mouth opens, then closes, processing algorithms struggling with the concept that analytical precision could be interpreted as flirtation.

Hoseok clears his throat. "Should we maybe start with sizing measurements?"

"Excellent suggestion," you say, grateful for the redirect to practical considerations. "Accurate dimensional data will ensure proper garment fit and reduce probability of mission compromise due to wardrobe malfunction."

Jimin stares at you for exactly three seconds, then turns to Hoseok.

"I rest my case."

“Could you provide specific examples of this alleged intellectual foreplay, though?” you ask, genuinely curious about the behavioral patterns being attributed to you. “I find the correlation between semantic precision and sexual arousal to be statistically unlikely.”

Jimin’s eyes close for exactly 2.7 seconds—a clear indicator of someone gathering patience.

“I’m not doing this right now.”

Hoseok, however, releases a delighted cackle that echoes off the boutique walls. “Oh, this is perfect. She doesn’t even realize she’s doing it.”

“Doing what, specifically?” You tilt your head, awaiting clarification.

“The way you two go at each other,” Hoseok grins, settling against a nearby rack like he’s preparing for storytime. “It’s not about complimenting each other’s intelligence. It’s the competition. The verbal sparring. Like in Timeline 289—you spent forty-seven minutes deconstructing his temporal cascade theory just to prove you could find a flaw in his logic.”

“That seems like standard peer review protocol,” you observe.

“Except it ended with him pinning you against a whiteboard while you tried to explain quantum entanglement with his tongue down your throat.”

You blink, processing this information. Your core temperature rises by 0.3 degrees.

“Or Reset 12,” Hoseok continues, clearly enjoying himself. “When you corrected his pronunciation of ‘dirigible’ during a mission briefing and somehow that turned into a three-hour debate about linguistic evolution that had the conference table creaking by the end.”

“Hoseok, please stop,” Jimin interjects, but his voice lacks real conviction.

“She asked for examples,” Hoseok defends, eyes sparkling with mischief. “Remember Timeline 467? The great coffee temperature optimization argument? They literally got into a screaming match about thermodynamics that ended with—”

“I get it,” you interrupt, though your analytical centers are spinning. “You’re suggesting that intellectual competition serves as our primary arousal mechanism.”

“Not just competition,” Hoseok clarifies. “It’s specifically when you try to out-genius each other. When you go all ‘actually, your calculation failed to account for these seventeen variables’ and he responds with some devastating counterpoint that makes you recalculate everything you thought you knew.”

You consider this data carefully.

“That does align with certain observations. When Agent Min dismissed my temporal analysis with a condescending partial smile in the alley, I did experience a statistically significant increase in heart rate.”

“There it is,” Jimin mutters, pulling dresses with increasing aggression.

“It’s particularly pronounced when he does that slight smirk—0.3 millimeter lift of the right corner of his mouth—while explaining why my analysis is incomplete.” You pause, accessing the memory. “I find myself wanting to… dispute his conclusions. Though I attributed it to simple frustration at the time.”

“It’s never simple with you two,” Hoseok laughs. “It’s this elaborate dance where you’re both trying to prove you’re the smartest person in the room, and somehow that translates directly to—”

“Choose a dress,” Jimin interrupts loudly, shoving the navy blue gown in your direction. “This one. Backless. Navy. Will complement your features.”

You take the dress, examining the fabric. “This one is structurally sound. The open back allows for optimal movement and ventilation.”

Hoseok wiggles his eyebrows. “And easy access.”

“Hobi.” Jimin warns.

“I doubt ‘easy access’ is needed. Agent Min has made it very clear that he refuses skin contact with me.”

Jimin straightens. “For the love of everything that’s holy—do not make skin contact.”

You nod, thoughtful. “Noted. Though with this cut, the probability of skin contact is high.”

“It’s not, because he will be wearing gloves like he always is.” Jimin interjects. “So just behave and don’t think about his big sexy brain.”

“I do find his brain appealing.”

Hoseok is practically vibrating with glee. “Oh, and that’s not even talking about the tongue thing.”

You freeze mid-examination of the dress. “What tongue thing?”

“HOSEOK.” Jimin makes a strangled sound.

“You haven’t noticed yet?” Hoseok looks genuinely shocked. “But you mention it every timeline! It’s like your sexual Achilles heel.”

“Define ‘tongue thing.’”

Jimin lunges for Hoseok. “Don’t you dare—”

“When he’s thinking really hard,” Hoseok dodges easily, still grinning, “he does this thing where he’ll bite it to the side. Or lick the corner of his lip. Sometimes he’ll just let it rest against his teeth while he’s processing something complex.”

Your memory banks immediately scroll through recent interactions, isolating relevant footage.

The briefing room. The coffee shop. That moment when he’d been calculating trajectories, pink tongue darting out to wet his lower lip while his eyes went distant with thought.

Oh.

“Fascinating,” you breathe, skin temperature rising 0.3 degrees. “I hadn’t consciously catalogued that behavior pattern, but reviewing my memory files… I need to pay closer attention to that.”

“No, you don’t.” Jimin groans. “What you need to do is try on the dress. Think about fabric. Think about thread count. Think about anything except—”

“The way his jaw tightens when I successfully identify flaws in his logic?” you supply helpfully. “Or how his pupils dilate by approximately 32% when I use technical terminology to dismantle his arguments? Or the specific angle his tongue—”

“This isn’t funny,” Jimin snaps at Hoseok, who is now doubled over with laughter. “You know what happens when she gets like this. He’s going to feel it, and then—”

A sharp beep cuts through the air. Jimin’s Chrono-Sync Watch lights up with an incoming message. He glances down, face draining of color.

“Fuck.”

“What?” Hoseok leans over to look.

Jimin holds up his wrist, displaying the text in glowing blue letters:

𝐌𝐢𝐧: 𝚃𝚑𝚎 𝚏𝚞𝚌𝚔 𝚒𝚜 𝚐𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚘𝚗.

“Feel what?” you ask, but Jimin is already shaking his head.

“Nothing. Nothing at all. Just—” He gestures wildly at the dress. “Try this on. Make sure it fits. Don’t think about intellectual superiority or competitive dynamics or anyone’s tongue doing anything whatsoever.”

“That seems like an unreasonable request given the neural pathways that have now been activated,” you observe. “I’ll likely spend the next 3-7 hours involuntarily cataloging Agent Min’s linguistic microexpressions.”

“Which is exactly what I was trying to avoid,” Jimin mutters, then louder: “Dressing room. Now. Before this gets worse.”

“How could it get worse?” you ask with genuine curiosity.

Jimin and Hoseok exchange a look—Jimin’s expression screaming ‘don’t you dare’ while Hoseok’s radiates pure mischievous delight.

“Well,” Hoseok starts, and Jimin immediately throws a shoe at him.

Another buzz. Another message.

𝐌𝐢𝐧: 𝙴𝚖𝚘𝚝𝚒𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚕 𝚛𝚎𝚜𝚘𝚗𝚊𝚗𝚌𝚎 𝚊𝚝 ��𝟺𝟸%. 𝚆𝚑𝚊𝚝𝚎𝚟𝚎𝚛 𝚢𝚘𝚞’𝚛𝚎 𝚍𝚘𝚒𝚗𝚐, 𝚜𝚝𝚘𝚙.

“Fuck,” Jimin breathes. “He’s tracking percentages now.”

“He can quantify emotional resonance?”

“Of course that’s what you focus on,” Jimin mutters. “Yes, he can tell exactly how aroused you are, probably down to the fucking decimal point. Which means he knows you’re up here having revelations about wanting to fuck his brain out.”

“The phrase ‘fuck his brain out’ seems anatomically impossible—”

“Stop saying the word ‘fuck’, stop thinking about tongues, brains and how hot it makes you when Yoongi is being intelectually challenging to you.”

“That’s paradoxical. Telling someone not to think about something guarantees—”

“I know how cognitive psychology works,” Jimin interrupts. “Just. Try. Please. Before he decides to come investigate why you’re suddenly thinking about his doctorate in temporal physics.”

“He has a doctorate?” Your interest sharpens immediately. “What was his dissertation on?”

A third buzz.

𝐌𝐢𝐧: 𝟹𝟺𝟽%. 𝙸’𝚖 𝚗𝚘𝚝 𝚊𝚜𝚔𝚒𝚗𝚐 𝚊𝚐𝚊𝚒𝚗.

“I’M NOT TELLING YOU,” Jimin practically screams. “THAT’S EXACTLY THE KIND OF THING THAT LEADS TO PROPERTY DAMAGE.”

Hoseok is now laughing so hard he’s crying, collapsed against the table. “She doesn’t even remember why she’s attracted to him but she’s already ready to throw down about academic credentials. This is AMAZING.”

You take the navy dress, mind already calculating the statistical probability of Agent Min doing that specific tongue movement they mentioned during the upcoming mission.

The calculation suggests 87.3%.

Your core temperature rises another 0.4 degrees.

Behind you, Hoseok’s laughter echoes through the boutique while Jimin mutters something that sounds suspiciously like “he’s going to fucking kill me.”

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werezmastarbucks · 1 month ago

Text

best of luck! ~bangtan

silly!tormented!yoongi x clueless!f!MUA!reader

summary: years spent under your gentle, caring hand, make Yoongi realize he is in love with you. the problem is: how does he go about it? what if a confession, or a move, topples the fragile, curated, professional peace? his first mistake is going to his members for advice.

author's note: Yoongi is a bit stupid but you are outright dense lmao. i once wrote this story per a request and now the idea of Yoongi trying out the six different methods of hitting up on a girl visited me again and i found it funny. also: why do i mention excel in all my fics? is it a disorder?

warnings / tags: clueless reader, skinny love, mega sweet/flirty Yoongi, it's supposed to be comedy hopefully, swearing, lil bit of fuckboying, dramatic present, angst if you really search for it, fluff fluff FLUFF, shmexual tension, suggestive dialogues, bangtan boys demonstrate flirting techniques on each other?? Yoongi's pov mostly. my favourite genre of bangtan: slightly silly, good, overenergetic guys. Tom Cruise references throughout? bc i was a Tom Cruise fan even before BTS was even a thing

word count: 11500

Yoongi knows no other make up artist wears perfume on their wrist. The crew generally tries not to wear any strong scents when working because the dressing rooms are smallish, and the amount of people, each one with the distinctive smell, makes it bad enough as it is. Jimin smells like cotton candy all the time, and, as if it's not irritating on its own, he pours the fragrance on himself every morning or maybe even takes a shower of it. So one can imagine the sensory overload of it all; cramped in a small chair, swung and pulled in all directions, bright light hitting the eyes, someone's fingers pulling his eyelids apart and poking his eyeball with colour lenses. And in the middle of it - a small island of peace, streamlined concentration. Subtle, flowery, calm smell of the perfume on your wrist. Once you put your hand to his face, brushing over an eyebrow, Yoongi feels calm, enveloped in it like it's a hug. He had smelt it on you once, years ago, and mentioned it - and you didn't have to be told twice. Yoongi isn't sure, but he prefers to believe you started putting it on the gentle, sensitive spot on your wrist to keep him happy.

It's a small, caring, friendly gesture.

He realizes he is attuned to it because he is focused on you more than anybody. The discovery doesn't hit, or slap him; he finds it pretty well-expected. Spending so much time undone before you, putting his face up for you, maintaining eye contact, breathing in your flowers, he found it difficult to resist falling in love. You are, after all, incredibly funny, muttering under your nose as you work his birthmarks back into places, contouring his nose, retelling him the gossip from behind the scenes. You know his features intimately. You notice the changes in it. You're the first of all to say something when the dark circles under his eyes become prominent. You know his skin; what it needs; how it glows; what you do not realize, he is certain, is that all the while your eyes are concentrated on his face, he is watching you back. How your eyelashes flutter when you think, and how your brows draw together when you pinch one stray hair from his chin. It's sweet, unassuming intimacy that becomes almost unbearable. He looks around. Jimin always fucks with his make up artist Hana, turning his head, puffing cheeks, bobbing, laughing and making her laugh - because he is almost always bored. Namjoon tells his designated carer about everything he heard or read in the last 24 hours. Jungkook keeps flirting with them so they rotate all the time. At some point Yoongi can't even play around or feel completely relaxed anymore because he becomes hyper aware of your soft, warm, flower-scented hands. He catches himself once, leaning into your palm, when you put it on the side of his face to brush his hair. And he is thankful to no end when you take it as sleepiness.

Yoongi is a problem solver. He is a grabber. When he was little, every time he won a toy in the claw machine, he would grab it and press it to his chest and not let go for hours in the fear of someone taking it away. This attitude stayed with him. He likes to hold on to things, to people. He likes hugs and pressing something - someone - to himself to make sure it's not going away.

But before he can do that with you, completely sure he doesn't want to let go of you in the nearest future, he needs to solve this.

His shoulders slouch slightly when you whisper,

"Have you heard Hana got this hu-uge flower arrangement from Joon? So painfully cringe".

Your face is so close that now he can feel your fresh, warm breath on his cheek. Had it been anybody else, he'd be fine with it, maybe even look away.

"Joon? Namjoon?" he hoots, surprised. You shake your head,

"No, Joon the cameraman. He asked her out. Right at the office. With flowers", your mouth curls into an interesting shape, upper lip going up, "ugh".

Yoongi can't hold back a chuckle.

"Why do you hate love?"

"I don't hate love", you soften up a bit, then your hand tilts his head back slightly, gently, like it always does. He loves being handled by you; fingers attentive, never in a rush, always remembering he is a human first. Sometimes you even give him a tickle to raise his mood, and now, to his very vivid devastation, he starts taking it as signals.

"I just think it's kinda..."

"Cringe?"

"The cringe that makes me go uu-u-ghhh-ghhhaa", you explain. Yoongi bites his lip to stop his head from shaking with laughter. Your finger gets to it immediately and releases his lip from his teeth: tint already applied.

"How is it supposed to happen then, you think?" he is trying to sound ironic, maybe even a little challenging.

"I think..." you pause. For a second, you two look each other in the eye like partners in crime.

"I don't really know. But not that".

He nods. Sniffs. Takes a mental note. Not that. He picks up the flowers from the delivery guy that had been called up earlier, and passes them on to an assistant whose birthday was a week ago. She gives him a stink eye.

Yoongi can't escape the scrutiny because when he is preoccupied, his shoulders do the thing: they go forward, protecting the ribcage where the weakest part of him resides. He blinks several times at the computer, seeing lines, numbers, codes, but nothing of essence.

Hoseok raises his eyebrow, catching up on the silence that's just a different flavour of the usual one.

"Hyung, isn't it working out?"

Yoongi's fist is supporting his cheek and now he raises his head, looking around. The room is full of his boys, watching him like they are the expecting birdlings, mouths open, waiting for worms. He weighs everything. All the pros and cons. Hoba, Namjoon and Jin are the pros. Maknaes are the cons. It's unsolvable, because in situations where a final vote should decide the fate of the future, Yoongi is the one who chimes in and tips the balance. Now there's three for three, and he is paralyzed a little, wallowing just for a second in the weakness of undecidedness.

"I need to come clean", he says finally, before he can shut his mouth. What's done is done. He wouldn't be able to hide it for much longer anyway; with the boys, he is pretty open, not seeing any reason to clutter the mind with unnecessary secrets.

"About?" Jimin asks.

"Did you delete the cloud again?!" Namjoon heaves himself off the sofa with his strong arms, panicking.

"What? No", Yoongi grumbles, then scratches his head, "I'm not talking about the work".

"Ohh", Jungkook hums, "he is talking about Y/N".

"You're still hung up on her?" Seokjin wonders, changing his feet, crossing legs like he is about to give the best damn advice Yoongi's heard in his life.

"What do you mean still? It only happened recently", it's been three seconds, and he already hates talking about it. Should've kept everything to himself.

"Pretty sure it's been forever", Jin hammers, and there's an undertone to his voice, "why now?"

Yoongi groans. His hands cover his face instinctively, the fingers slide up and grab the hem of the hat to pull it down. Hoba's hands land on his shoulders from behind and give him a supportive squeeze.

"Any time is great. Love is beautiful. You deserve it".

Seokjin doesn't let go; grabbed into it like a shark. He continues:

"You've been flirting for a great while, and still nothing. You sure she feels the same?"

"Wehaventbeenflirting", Yoongi muffles from behind his hands, still refusing to peek out.

"Just say it", Namjoon helps. He sits back down on the sofa taking a half of it at once. The other half is occupied by Jungkook, and them two look at each other contemplatingly.

"There's nothing better than flowers and a date. Easy, classy, traditional-"

"What Joon did with Hana", Yoongi replies, finally looking up. He takes off his hat and crumples it in his hands, and Hoseok's flexible palm gets into his hair immediately to ruffle it. Even a simple touch like this reminds of you.

"See? All Joons think alike", the leader agrees with a satisfied dimple smile.

"Y/N told me it was the worst thing in the world", Yoongi retorts, "that it's cringe, and outdated, and lame, and awful, and he should go to jail".

Namjoon's face takes a pained expression and freezes. Jungkook chuckles.

"Y'all fools if you think you can lure her with your lame flowers".

"The best way is to let it happen naturally", Seokjin returns reinforced with pessimism, lecturing and fatalistic resolve. His hand slaps Taehyung's palm who is poking at something in his own pants. Keeps an eye on everybody's ticks. Severs everybody's dreams.

"If a girl doesn't react to you staring into her eyes every day, then you should think about it before embarrassing yourself. I advise you: do not chase the woman, make the woman chase you. Make sure your heart is safe".

Yoongi frowns at this.

"And how do you picture that? Run away when she wants to put foundation on me?"

Seokjin offers a charming grin.

"Sometimes I think you are slightly divergent".

There's a surprising round of approving hum going through the room.

"Don't take it so literally. Just... make her jealous. See where it takes you".

At first Yoongi thinks that he will never, ever engage in something as stupid as that. As he looks into his only hyung's face, illustrious as the moon, he thinks to himself, no. It's dumb. He's not a manipulator, he's a grabber.

But he can't just grab you out of nowhere.

Seokjin

Yoongi plops into the chair, tugging on the bottom of his wide shirt, and your hand immediately grabs his fingers.

"How are your thumbs?" you ask, a bit strict, observing. His mind is better nowadays. Your delicate fingers with glowing, neat nails wrap around his palm in the way that makes him think of hand holding. He jerks his hand away as per instruction. He is the chased, not the chaser.

"It's okay", he grumbles, crossing his arms on his chest. He sees your slightly surprised, a little amused expression in the mirror.

"Someone's in a bad mood?"

"No, just don't like it when you micromanage me".

He pouts unwillingly, drawing his eyebrows together. Watches you as you purse your lips to hide a smile. It's not working and it will not work, he can see it. But the phone screen already lights up with a call, and he has to pick up. As you turn him around in the chair and take the hairbrush, Yoongi answers the call.

"Oppa", Seokjin whines in a thin voice, "will you take me out for a coffee today?"

His teeth bite on the inside of his lip so hard that he almost hurts himself. The sensation of your light hand parting his hair is taking all the focus and he is torn between laughing and swearing.

"No, not..." what is he supposed to say? There's no script. It's just Jin. Pretending to be a girl.

He is twenty-six years old...

"Not today".

"Why oppa?" Seokjin stretches. It's clear he hates it as much as Yoongi does. But Jinnie always wanted to be an actor, like Tom Cruise. Let him act. This is his Swan Lake.

"I miss you. You promised to take me to the Namsan mountain and kiss me in the dusk under a wisteria tree!"

Yoongi puts his elbow on the armrest of the chair and covers his mouth. He has to employ the concert trick of squinting and hiding his face, pretending to cry, because he can't hold it in anymore. You are quiet, burshing his hair like he's in therapy. The first several minutes are always soft, relaxing, it's never a rush with you. He could've spent that time staring at you in the mirror, but instead he has to fight back the roar, sighing with his whole upper body.

"Can we talk about this when I'm not busy?" he chokes out. Suddenly, your hand taps on his shoulder. And he notices your eyes. Laughing. Attentive. Observing.

"You're not that busy".

"Who is there with you?" Seokjin shrieks. Has he forgotten he isn't the one who's supposed to be jealous?

"Oppa!"

"I am hanging up", Yoongi sighs, opening his mouth wider to let the air come in. Breathe, Min Yoongi. Just breathe.

"You can't just call me anytime you please", he continues, "we've broken up forever ago".

"Oppa, you will never get away from me!" Seokjin yells, "is she prettier than me? Tell me the truth!"

Yoongi puts the phone away from his ear carefully, like it's a rabid rat that's about to bite off his face, and finishes the call. Then places it back on the desk, his eyes dry like tree bark. He is afraid of looking in the mirror, where you slide the hair straightener in between his locks.

"God dammit. She is loud", you chuckle.

Yoongi gulps.

"Crazy ex".

"Can't blame her", your hand pats him on the cheek, almost like you own him, "you are so pretty. Dumped by Suga?" you suck the air through your teeth, "shit luck".

He can't believe it, searching for your eyes in the mirror.

"Do you want to keep the bangs curly, or straight?" you look at him with kindness. You always go with what he wants instead of what's in the stylist's lookbook.

Council

Yoongi is nibbling on his finger, staring into the computer like it can suck him inside and give him peace.

It was a tiny failure, really, but it feels like the abyss is opening up below him and taking him feet first. You are so nonchalant about it, so easy. Not a muscle twitching in the face.

You probably don't care about him. Maybe, after all these years of putting make up on him, covering his imperfections, correcting his features, you don't even see him as a man.

"What if we..." Seokjin is now shockingly invested. Went from fatalistic indifference to full plotting mode, but Jimin's hand stops him.

"No, you're out. Your plan didn't work, now it's my turn".

Yoongi raises his eyes at Jimin with horror.

"Is that how it's going to go?"

He nods.

"Show me how you flirt".

Yoongi blinks hard, as his hand lands on top of his head, and he feels the tip of his hat. He looks at himself in the mirror. Ears out, earrings dangling, he looks like a little gnome in sweatpants.

"Can I just die", he mutters. Jimin shakes it off.

"Come on. Let's see if what you've been doing even constitutes as flirting".

"No".

Jimin bulges his eyes.

"That's what you've been doing, right? Look at me. Like this?"

He stares at him, trying to do an impression.

"Simply ogling isn't flirting, hyung".

Jimin shakes his beautiful head full of cloud-white soft hair. A mane of pretty. His big eyes change with a pleasant shade of a hidden smirk, pupils concentrated. The air stops. Jimin lifts his chin, showing just a glimpse of shining, sharp teeth.

"That", he says, as his hand slides up, and the tip of the finger bothers the little silver hoop in Yoongi's ear, "is how you flirt".

Yoongi flinches, his lips baring his teeth. Just like you did, when talking about Joon and Hana. Jimin cocks his head, eyes grabbing at him; this gaze is choking, smothering. Jimin has a demonic skill of kissing from a distance.

"You seem a bit jumpy today", he utters, his voice like a sweet string, "anything happened? Yeppeuni?"

He does half a blink. I don't want to look away from you blink.

"I get it", Yoongi huffs, grouped like he is about to be ambushed. "I don't flirt like this".

"I'll teach you", Jimin snaps back to his normal self, and the painful, heavy mist of sensuality fades away from the room. Somewhere, Taehyung sighs with relief.

"No need. I think if I do it your way, she'll smack me on the nose".

Jimin nods.

"You have natural charm about you. Use it, hyung. Use your brain".

Jungkook hums like he doubts it.

2. Jimin

The wind keeps blowing the cut grass horizontally, the gusts so strong that all the hairdo comes undone in minutes. Other stylists panic. They run around, drop the products on the ground, chase the members. You. You are cool. You simply scoff at the wind and measure Yoongi with your eyes before leading him into the tent, away from the strom.

"I'll just fixate it up, what do you think?" you mutter, and he smiles.

"Ever gets tiring?" he muses.

"What?" you cover his face with your palm, ready to apply the spray, then start plucking the grass out of his hair.

"Being the best?"

"Dunno, you should answer that".

You fence off his jabs like a pro tennis player.

That's the problem.

Jimin thinks Yoongi is simply an idiot, but Jimin doesn't see how immune you are to flirting. Whatever Yoongi says, you always turn it around. You're like a vaccine against the toxicity. He tells you you look good, you turn it around, swinging him in his chair, and pointing to him in the mirror. Yoongi says you smell nice and you say it's the mist you apply on him. It's like you refuse to take it. Which is alarming.

You adjust his hair, not even a little nervous under his intense glance. He doesn't even blink. It's not I don't want to look away, it's the I want to look until by eyeballs dry out. You simply look back and smile, and he wobbles. Your finger rubs under his eyes to get the dust out.

"Tsk".

"All work in vain? We can do all over again".

"You in good mood now?"

You throw these little murmurs like a ball to each other, Yoongi clawing at the edge, but the edge refuses to come up sharp.

"I'm always in a good mood".

"Huh".

"When you're around".

"Aww".

Your hand tries to take the hoop out of his ear, and he bobs his head slightly.

"Sorry. Did it hurt?"

"No", he smirks. Then bobs again.

"Yoongi", his name comes out of your mouth with almost a moan, a bright shade of purple, a soft brush against his face. He grins. You have to grab and fixate his chin to take the earring off, and then you wrestle for the other one. Eventually, you push him into the chair and he crashes down but keeps messing around, so you are forced to hold his head with both your hands. Quite used to that: you must see the boys get bored all the time, and the only way to release it sometimes is to be unbearable.

You put in the other earrings and clasp them in his ears carefully, then he says,

"Scratch please".

Your fingers tickle behind his ear.

"Here?"

"Lower".

"The neck?"

"Yeah", he hums, deep, tilting his head forward. For a second, you oblige, then your fingers get stiff as you deliver a pinch on the back of his head.

"Don't get paid enough to be your masseuse as well".

"It could be a trade", he offers, face still down. He finds it easier like this, when nobody can see his expression. Why can't he take off his face completely and live unknown? It doesn't usually take so much stamina to simply flirt with someone - and yet, now, Yoongi is almost sweating.

You lift his head up and take the brush to fix the makeup. His curious eyes crawl up on you immediately.

"What do I get then?"

"...coffee".

All hope in the world in one little universal word.

It was you who told him once that "coffee" is the most consistent word across languages. It sounds the same in almost any country, any tongue. Wherever you are, if you ask for a coffee, you will most likely get it. He half-blinks, looking at you. And yet, you fence it again, like a sword master, grimacing.

"You bring me coffee all the time anyway. For free!"

He sighs.

"Thought you didn't notice".

"I appreciate it".

And just like that, it's over. You clean his face and release him back into the wild where the summer wind from the sea thrashes grass and sand around.

Council

He bangs his head against the wall, and Hobi, eyes full of concern, runs to him and puts his palm in between Yoongi and the hard wood.

"Maybe we should take a more classical approach", Namjoon tries again.

"There's no we in it", Yoongi mumbles.

"Oh, there is we alright", Hoseok protests, "we just aren't doing well enough".

Jungkook is chewing on his lip, his eyes huge like two plates. Every time Yoongi comes round to report, he gets more and more contemplative, and Yoongi isn't sure he likes that preoccupied expression on maknae's face. Jimin pouts; had offered to flirt with you instead of Yoongi, on his behalf, and almost got slapped.

"Yes", Taehyung erupts suddenly, "yes".

Sitting on the floor, he is staring at himself in the huge mirror, while stretching. Speaking to himself, too.

"Classic is good. To an extent. You know all that meet-cute? Put a twist on it".

Yoongi frowns. You've met years ago. Cute has always been there. So far, he isn't following. Taehyung lets his gaze travel throughout the room, loading the data, and for a second there Yoongi even thinks V might cook something. He is sophisticated. And he never got dumped in his life. At the very least, Taehyung is original.

"Extreme situations make people fall in love quicker", Taehyung says, "experiencing fear together bonds people", he looks at his hyung.

"You suggest we get mugged together?" he asks darkly.

Jungkook opens his mouth and gasps:

"That could work!"

Namjoon tries to cut it before Jungkook pulls his t-shirt onto his head with excitement. Of course he will volunteer to be the mugger.

"A bit too extreme? I meant like..."

Maknaes cut him off.

"Well, mugging might be a bit too basic. I meant something like... getting stuck somewhere together. Like during a storm... you know all doors are electronic", he motions towards the exit, "they did get jammed once, last year. And people got stuck together for hours".

He shrugs. Yoongi raises his eyes to the ceiling and looks at the lights to let them blind himself. Then, as the white burns his retina, he actually gets an idea. Dumb, infantile, but it's not dumber than Seokjin pretending to be an ex girlfriend.

"Okay".

The others are surprised. They turn heads to him, Taehyung's eyebrows and legs both up.

"Okay?"

"We'll be on Namsan on Friday, right?" he shrugs. Shrugs, trying to shake off this idea while he still can. But it doesn't come off.

"And you'll kiss Jin under the wisteria tree?" Jimin wonders. Seokjin snaps his head towards them.

"The cable road is old", Yoongi says. Taehyung's face is slowly lighting up in a smile. He looks at Jungkook who is getting the signal transmission straight into his brain, and also begins grinning.

"You got it".

He closes his eyes and pictures the slope of the hill where the cable cars start their ascent to the top. He prays his life won't be over on Friday, but if he ends up getting killed together with you, because Jungkook smashes the engine with a hammer, at least... at least... no, he got nothing.

3. Taehyung

The sky is cast, and he sees you are judging it silently. Your hands clutch the makeup kit, and Yoongi hooks the belt and tugs it away from you.

"Thanks".

He nods. Always the good boy. Jungkook got this habit from him: help out a little, to the people around. It won't hurt. Problem is, Yoongi is helping so much that it has become a norm, not a gesture.

"If it rains, we're screwed".

"We'll have to move very quickly", director says, heaving the huge camera into a car that's slowly crawling away, and jumping after it. You aren't convinced. There's an adorable wrinkle in between your brows.

"I'm not actually made of sugar, you know", he jokes, and you sniff half-heartedly. Yoongi looks above your shoulder where Jimin rolls his eyes as far as he can with disapproval.

Hana tugs you by the hand as the next car approaches, and you walk behind her to jump in. Jimin steps in front of you, unclasping your hands in one nonchalant motion.

"Sorry, Y/N, this is the star car. You're going in the next one", he smiles. You raise your eyebrows.

"Can't I ride with my stylist?" he whines. The car is coming. There's not much time to think. He pulls poor Hana after himself.

"I have ridden with you plenty!" Hana protests in shrill voice, and you chuckle. They get inside, and your friend shoots you a miserable glance. The flowers and asking out didn't work out after all. Joon should've known better.

Yoongi is at your shoulder, muttering,

"Is it 'ride with your make up artist' day?"

"Jimin's just feeling cunty again", you suppose. He catches the car with his strong hand and opens the door for you. You get inside and keep the door open, but, as Yoongi sits next to you, you are met with a bunch of blank faces, looking away. The door closes.

He looks outside. The sky is getting greyish. Maybe it will rain after all, and the whole shooting will have to be called off. Back an hour ago, when you all left the building, it was sunny.

"Are you cold?" he checks. You shake your head gently.

"Weather changed".

"Yeah".

If it goes on like that, Yoongi will simply jump out and crash on the ground. That surely will be better. Your knee brushes slightly against his as the car begins the painfully slow ascent, surrounded by the green of the hill and the grey of the world. Seoul is falling lower and lower, left behind. He is watching you: you look out every time, like you've never seen the view before. He thinks about what's going to happen if he just takes your hand. Just takes it, the pretty fingers, flowery wrist, carefully manicured nails, - and doesn't let go. Yoongi doesn't want it to turn sore. Feeling in love is amazing and inspiring, but he knows there will be a point in the future when it starts bringing him pain. You turn to him like there has been a conversation going, easy, ignoring the awkward pause.

"So, what's up?"

He hums instead of response. Pushes a gulp down his throat, then steadies himself. The car swings very slightly as the iron thread crawls above the roof, pulling you both up the mountain.

"Your lips are all eaten off".

Yoongi's teeth catch the lower one like it was a command. He is horrified. He should have known: you read him like a newspaper, off his face. You know his allergies because they come through on his skin. His bad habits. How he chews food. How he sleeps. Because his face is your job. He wonders then if he comes across as lovable at all - does he withstand such close observation?

"Album", he says.

"Album?"

"Yeah".

"You're doing all the mastering on your own again?"

"I'd rather not let anybody else do it".

You smirk and reach for him, and for a second Yoongi thinks a hug is coming. But your hand unzips the make up kit and plunges inside, shuffling through products. You pull out a small bottle.

"Take it home and do the eyes, you start looking tired again".

"Okay".

He takes it, fingers clashing. Then it comes: somewhere at the base, Jungkook 'accidentally sits his ass down on the lever', and the whole cable abruptly stops, sendind a shock wave through the array of cars.

As it happens, the kit slides off Yoongi's knees, open, and everything that was inside - is now outside. The serum is yanked from in between your hands, too, by acceleration still going in the air, and the noise of the clatter fills the car. You gasp, yelp, while Yoongi instinctively puts his arm across your chest to keep you in place. Well, almost instinctively: it's not like he hadn't calculated this moment. The swing is so powerful that the car jerks to and fro like a little bell on a thread. Someone shrieks in the next one.

"Shit- fuck! God dammit!" you yell once you gain your orientation back. There are slits below, under the doors, and the small things like eyebrow brushes roll over and fall down. You get to your knees and start gathering the products. Yoongi takes a second to squeeze his eyes shut and take a breath. Meet-cute in the most perverse form imaginable.

"Oh, I am getting nauseous", you grumble from the floor, and he slides after you, taking you by the shoulder.

"Then sit, I'll get it".

You tilt your head back and look out.

"What happened? Oh my god, are we going to die?"

He sniffs.

"Don't think so. It must have jammed".

It's still swinging, and he has to employ his cat balance skills to stay up while he is gathering every little thing scattered from the kit.

"I've seen a movie about it. I know if we jump, we will break our legs", you continue. Yoongi looks up at you.

"We won't have to jump. They will fix it in no time".

He even grins a little, thinking you're overreacting. That is good. He can just scoot over and comfort you a little.

Which he is trying. Putting the 90% complete kit on the seat across from himself, he sits back and rests his hand in between you.

Realizes he's never done this. Directly. He has never been in a situation where he had to chat someone up lowkey. All his life, Yoongi has been the chased. Even before he became Suga. Girls at school sent him notes. The invitations were sent through the whispers. Phone numbers written on a heart-shaped piece of paper were delivered to his desk. He has been spoiled by life, spared of the need to act on it. And now his hand rests on the faded blue plastic seat in between you, and he can picture your quick foot kicking him out of the car if he dares to touch you.

You finally snort with irritation. He understands why immediately. The first plop-plop of the rain rattles on the roof, and he looks up through the window.

"Wow".

"All coming together", you jeer, ironic-cheerful. He grins at that. You cross your arms on your chest. The moment drags.

Say it.

Just say it.

I like you. I like you a lot. I like you enough that it will get you kicked out of the company, probably. I like you so much I can't write songs that aren't about you anymore.

A song was his own plan number one. You listened to it. It flew right over your head. You barely heard into it, he bets. He is completely off your radar.

"You feeling okay?" he asks, recalling what you said a minute ago. You nod.

"Yeah, the swinging was a little too sudden at first, but I'm fine".

"If you need to throw up, we gotta lose all the makeup".

You laugh, wince, chuckle, all at the same time. Your hand taps his palm lying on the seat, and Yoongi seizes this moment to grab it. He is a grabber. Fingers catch yours and you give him a comforting look.

"Oh. You're afraid of heights, aren't you?"

It's like every time he makes a step closer to you, your brain finds a way to justify it.

Yoongi lies,

"Terrified".

Your thumb strokes the back of his hand. Now he has a reason not to look out the window and instead stare at you. The rain starts banging louder, and you frown. The sound is quite pleasing; hissing grows, summery whisper, and the car is getting filled with refreshing chill. You say the words he has been craving to hear.

"It is getting colder".

He nods, pulling you closer, and you let his arm wrap around your shoulder. Instead of giving him a look, or questioning it, you just press your shoulder into him, and settle down.

What if you are already dating, and somehow he isn't aware of it, Yoongi thinks, suddenly scared. Maybe he is so dumb that it somehow fell through the cracks. He doesn't know how to explain this otherwise. Your eyes are on the window, lashes moving slightly as you blink. His phone rings just when Yoongi is about to open his mouth, and you flinch, startled. His fingers squeeze your shoulder.

He sees it's the same number Jin called from, when acting out his prima moment.

"What?"

"This is Jenny, your ex-girlfriend", he says in his normal voice. Yoongi's knuckles go white around the phone.

"What?" he repeats, like a robot.

"How's it going? Do you need more time?"

"You're still down there?"

"Yes. We don't know how else to stall. Jungkook has been reprimanded twice. Get to kissing".

Seokjin finishes the call before Yoongi can say anything, and he loses all energy. This is utterly dumb. He isn't willing to move, mainly because this, here, is already good.

"Why are they still on the ground?" you ask.

"No idea. Something about Jungkook being afraid to go... or like..."

Visceral metal noise cuts him off as the car swings again. The cable begins turning again with a moan, and you sigh, almost with regret? Yoongi drinks the sound slowly.

"There we go", you murmur, your face at his shoulder. "No brushes, the rain, I guess we will just ride back down at once".

It makes him snort with laughter.

Council

"Taehyung is out".

"You didn't do it right", Taehyung hisses through his teeth.

"Taehyung is out", Namjoon presses. Agitated, enthusiastic to prove his classics might still work. Ever since the first shock of immediate rejection of flowers, he's been sore about it.

Now they have occupied a whole ass conference room. Hana is there, as well. Jimin's flirting worked on her from the first try, just like that. Heads clashed together, IQ loading. One more failure, and they will have to start an excel document.

It's becoming sport at this point. Hoseok's hands are on his shoulders again, massaging, like Yoongi is about to kick in someone's face. He is willing to quit the shenanigans at this point. No matter if you think it cringe, or stupid: maybe he should just come up and say it. Say it while your hand hovers above his nose. Or while it is in his hair. He closes his eyes painfully and rubs one with his fingers.

"Listen to me. It's the small things", Namjoon lectures, "they make someone fall in love with you. You are, in fact, very good at it. That's why we are all in love with you".

Jimin nods enthusiastically. Seokjin frowns but doesn't say anything.

"Problem with small things, they have become something regular", Yoongi weighs in. "I always bring her coffee. I carry her bag. I adjust her chair".

Hana produces a sound that resembles an "oh".

"What about The Book?" Namjoon asks, almost ignoring Yoongi completely. He stops in his tracks.

"The Book?"

"The Book?" Hoseok echoes.

Namjoon takes a moment to appreciate everyone's attention. He puts his elbows on the desk like a professor.

"You bring her a book you've been oiling her up about. You gotta gush over it first. Really sell it to her. Then you buy it for her and", he pretends to throw an invisible book on the desk in front of Taehyung, "just casually. But!" he raises one finger. Jungkook isn't even breathing. "You have written something in the middle. Just in between seventh and eighth chapter".

"What did I write?" Yoongi asks, breathlessly.

"I am in love with you". Namjoon utters, looking Taehyung deep in the eye. Taehyung tries to lean away.

"Would be great if the book isn't a postapocalyptic dystopia", the leader adds. Then rests his case.

"This is so lame!" Hoseok yells, "You think the girl who vomited at the flowers, will be ecstatic about this?"

"Yeah, it's pretty lame", Taehyung murmurs. Even Jin, unfortunately, nods.

"Hana?"

All heads turn to your friend. Hana is sore about something. Jimin tilts his head to catch her eye.

"Hana?"

"You never adjust my chair, Jimin oppa".

Yoongi feels a painful pang inside the vein in his right temple. Yes, it is pretty lame. Namjoon does have a point though. The little things are something he is an absolute champion in. Little things are Yoongi's profession. He remembers every movie you ever spoke about; he knows the food you are always ready to eat, and the food you will never try again. He remembers things you tell him, even when you say it just to fill the silence; he is attuned to you.

He will simply have to maximize it to make it stand out.

4. Namjoon

He does maximize it. Now Hana is a witness: she starts noticing things, and it only makes her more upset with Jimin who is an unwilling actor in this stupid play. He simply wanted a distraction, a light, non-invasive summer romance, so to say, and now he is berated every day by his make up artist, because he "doesn't adjust the seat; doesn't remember the kind of coffee she likes; doesn't comment on her new nails, doesn't send her monkey memes". Hana makes it sound loud and clear, implicated in their covert op; so that you hear it when she makes the comparison.

You tug on the hem of his shirt, big, plump brush tickling his collarbone and the base of the neck; you hum with approval.

Yoongi asks you only with his eyes, through the mirror.

"It's my favourite shirt!" you nod. He beams quietly. Jimin, on your left, throws his head back with a groan.

Yoongi replaces the lost brushes that fell through the slit in the cable car, before you manage to buy them yourself. He races against the time and wins.

He peels off all the stupid labels and barcodes you hate on your products, as well.

After the opening night of a movie you'd been waiting for, he brings you merch and you walk around in the hoodie, showing it off to everybody who has eyes.

Yoongi knows you always cut your finger in the same spot when working with scissors, and produces a bandaid quicker than you even let out a yelp of pain.

Yoongi brings you a keychain that's customized to look like your pet - and tells you he just so happened to see it accidentally somewhere in the, uh, in the city (cranks his brain to recall where normal people go to buy souvenirs, and the only word that comes up in there is Hongdae).

Yoongi brings up the relatives and friends you'd mentioned weeks ago, checking on them skilfully, letting the information steep before delivering the soft blow of love bombing that is supposed to shatter you and give you a glimpse into what his mind looks like. Full of you. Instead of getting nervous, suspicious, flustered, you sigh, kind of with sadness? And just reply to him. And he wonders how deep this friendship, this forced mental intimacy goes exactly, if you do not even react to the profound proof of his focus. Hana's jaw is unhinged; ever since she was pulled into it and gotten on the know, she has been noticing your nonchalance like it's a mountain of doom.

Yoongi becomes so proficient in this friendzone-stuck protoboyfriend shit, that even the other crew members, who know better than to hit on an idol, become his school time sighing suitors again. Phone numbers on the folded napkins. Anonymous messages from unknow numbers. Sweet drinks in the dressing room, brought especially for him.

You smirk with the weird dreamy look in your eyes. The thing Yoongi wants to hold on to is the way your hands tug on his hair today. Slightly more dramatic? A little rushed? Which is almost never the case with you. In between the hug in the cable car and now, it almost feels like a microscopic progress. You sniff through your nose when you place a note in front of him on the desk.

"Someone asked me to pass it to you".

It's another phone number. The way your voice sounds is one degree off the usual course, and he wants to think it's jealousy. Yoongi folds the note carefully and unhurriedly puts it into the garbage bin without making a big deal out of it. He thinks it's a great moment to sneak in a slow explosive. You even give him the opportunity. The way your hand lies on his forehead, almost like you're taking his temperature, feels like home.

"Not even a chance?" you chuckle. Softer than a second ago.

"I sort of... am unavailable".

You turn him with the chair and crank the pedal to lift him up a little. Put the pins in his hair to get the bangs away.

"Oh my god", your voice drops to a comfortable murmur. Finally, his favourite part of the day. Half an arm's length between your faces. You take the pad and start dabbing his face, cool, smelly toner enveloping his head. It mixes with the perfume on your wrist, and he wants to simply lean forward, fall off the chair and crash into you.

"I knew there was something up with you".

"Really?"

"You've been overly zealous the last weeks. The whole box of strawberries? You remember the last time you did it?"

Yoongi blinks. Instead of the fluffy pink of love, his chest gets infused with the black of horror. Oh. Oh no. Oh hell no.

"Three years ago, you also brought me a shit ton of strawberries, that was when", you continue, relentlessly, your smile like a sunspot on his face, cutting him, down to the throat, disfiguring, "when you had a crush on that script writer girl".

He wants to protest.

He wants to say that ridiculous box of strawberries that he paid for with three nights of eviscerating pain in his shoulder (it weighed a LOT), was for you, exclusively for you, because he is in love with you, and you should take it at a face value. He is this fucking close to snapping. Before kissing you, perhaps he wants to headbutt you.

"Yoongi, are you in love again?"

You brush away a stray hair from his forehead and throw the pad into the bin.

"Uh-huh", his heart stomps on his lungs. He senses failure like an animal. You tilt your head.

"Well, I won't push, but you gotta give me the tea sooner or later", you whisper.

Hana and Jimin aside are frozen like two statues, pretending to work, where in reality they are vibrating like ringing phones.

"It's you".

You bite on your lip.

"Tsk".

A gentle slap on his ear. Yoongi's breathing is stuck somewhere at the base of his throat. He shoots a glance at Jimin.

Do you see the shit I am working with?

Jimin's face is horrified in the funniest grimace Yoongi has seen in years. He would even laugh, had the circumstances been different.

"Chin up, funny guy", you order, and Yoongi obeys. Maybe he can even have babies with you, without you noticing.

Council

"The situation seems to be drastic", Jimin is marching in front of the wall full of Namjoon's relatives' pictures like they are assets, and he is a mission facilitator. Mission: impossible.

"Can I ask a question?" Taehyung raises his hand, his voice very soft. Yoongi hides his face behind his five left fingers.

"You don't have to raise your hand".

"Is she like... dumb or something?"

He is trying to soften it by speaking extra gently though. Seokjin chokes and coughs shortly.

"I think she just doesn't like him".

Hoseok brushes it off.

"That's not possible".

Yoongi is properly depressed. Jungkook pushes a cup of tea towards him across the coffee table and spills half of it on the go. Namjoon jumps up, grunting, and starts wiping.

"Maybe I am cursed because of you guys", Yoongi mumbles, "how are you that dysfunctional?"

"Why are you so afraid of talking to her directly?" Namjoon presses, his words, and the cloth onto the coffee table. Jimin hugs himself, lonely, against the wall.

"Because he knows what she'll say", Seokjin keeps poking the wound.

"Listen, Jenny", Jimin jumps in, "just cause you don't believe in love..."

"It's still cruel, she should just say it".

"You know she'll lose her job if anything like that comes up?" the eldest sharpens the knife before plunging it into Yoongi's ear canal, "You realize that? Many people already got kicked out that way. I mean, Joon the cameraman? Didn't he "resign" after the Hana incident? And she isn't one of us".

Yoongi blinks at his palm as if trying to read the truth off of it. You're good at that buffoonery. Read his palm a couple of times, after seeing the instruction on the internet. Told him he's going to have seventy-five kids and die at the age of fifteen.

"I just", he moans, again, mouth working before the brain. Was meaning to say it internally, not out loud. But everybody shuts up - now they do. Now they shut up, but not when he really needs them to. All eyes on him.

"What, hyung?" Jungkook urges.

"It just pisses me off every little fucking thing reminds me of her, that's all", he mutters, sore, chin down.

"He is in the twilight zone", Taehyung notes.

"He's in friendzone".

"Will you shut up?"

"He needs to move on and leave the poor dumb girl alone".

"What-do-girls-like!" Hobi yells suddenly, sensing the typhoon of nonsense coming again. Diffuses the chatter with his trademark funny, pointy voice. Cocks his head to the side, then walks over, pushing Jimin in the ribs.

"Please".

"This isn't really..."

He shushes Namjoon half-heartedly.

"What do girls like I ask you!"

"Bodily autonomy", Taehyung responds, swinging his fist in the air.

"Ghibli-style nature locations", Namjoon gives up. Hobi winces.

"Prada?" Jimin asks.

"Closer".

"Uh, when the... you know, steel-grey sky and rainbow against it, right after the storm? And you take their picture with it" Jungkook points his finger at Hobi. If Yoongi takes a very good swing, he could break the table with his head. He is starting to assume the position.

"Girls like bad boys", Seokjin says, "and Yoongi isn't bad, not even close".

"Wrong, wrong, wrong", Hoseok slaps away their words like they are butterflies - and butterflies are still insects.

"Girls like big, obvious, direct, lush gestures", he concludes, looking directly at Yoongi. "Her birthday is coming up. Buy her a fucking boat and take her to Jeju. You can confess half-way there, and push her out if she says no".

"Maybe not a boat, but..." Yoongi shifts on the couch, tucking his feet under. Jungkook is listening to him with his mouth open.

"Uh huh?"

"She always wears those", Yoongi gestures to his neck, "bead necklaces".

"Oh, I like them", Hobi responds.

"But I saw a version of that made by Bvlgari", Yoongi continues. There's energy in his voice although his brain is almost shut off. "I could, like, customize it or some shit. Put my damn initial on the underside".

Taehyung's face becomes long with an 'oooh'.

"Hyung, you are professionally romantic".

He falls back on the couch. It just fell out of his head; he has a million better ideas, but feels too tired to spell them out.

5. Hoseok

He wants to be angry with you. Can't help being angry with himself, instead. Skinny love. He is so scared of rejection it makes his butt numb. And at this point he is 79% sure rejection will be issued if he tries anything.

So instead he tilts his head back, as usual, taking what he can. The stroke of your hand. He holds up his phone as you both watch a Japanese baseball player explaining the beneficial power of bananas.

"Does it still hurt?" your finger brushes over his crooked scar on the ear, and he shakes his head.

"No. It wasn't a big cut to begin with".

"Your hair is growing out. I think it's time for Gang Signs Throwing Yoongi again", and you smile. Yoongi's eyes slide onto the clock on the wall. He prays you won't have scissors in your hands in the next four minutes, because the lights will go out.

You have a pencil instead, but do not poke him in the eye.

When the lamps die, you still have it on your tongue, licking the tip, giving away your old school roots. The last thing he sees is the line of your jaw.

You sigh in the darkness.

"Where are you?"

"Wow, it's pitch black", Yoongi hoots quietly. His hand searches for yours, and you clutch his palm.

"Where's the phone?" you chuckle.

"There will be light in a minute, don't worry about it".

You tug on his fingers.

"What... ah".

"You forgot it's your own birthday?"

Seven minutes in heaven. Yoongi stands up slowly from the chair, trying not to bump into you. It's a windowless room, full of mirrors that are useless now. He fantasizes about staying in this dark for longer, his hands feel around for your shoulders and find your waist instead.

"Turn around slowl... slowly... that's my foot".

You laugh, very close. He guides you further. You don't shiver. The universe isn't merciful to him, it doesn't like him. The door isn't locked, just like it is not supposed to be. And so it opens, too soon, before Yoongi grounds the feeling of your body under his palms, and the light returns in jumping orange splashes.

The makeup crew, together with Jimin and curious Hoseok, enter the dressing room, chanting. Yoongi manages a smile and takes a step back. He would like to :) take the cake out of Hana's hands :) and smash it into someone's face :) to be honest :) he is horny as hell :)

The cake drifts through the darkness, and Yoongi is ready to pay a lot of money to know what you wish for before blowing it out. You take things like these seriously, one of the reasons he loves you. The little silly things about life. Looking out the window while you are riding a cable car. Putting effort into the mock reading of his palm. Believing in wishes. Yoongi can't do that anymore, and he wants to know the secret. How to stay dreaming. His smile is growing more and more sincere as he watches, and finally, he is almost at peace by the time the big lights come back up again.

He still tries to move away his hips when you hug him after he gives you the present box.

Your eyes grow huge when you take off the wrapping paper, and Yoongi suddenly gets very curious about the cake, putting all his attention onto it. People say, it's nice seeing the expression of their face when someone opens up a gift. It isn't. It's awkward. He bites his lower lip. Hobi's breathing into his ear like a maniac behind his shoulder. His finger pokes into the cake and steals some icing, and Yoongi slaps him lightly.

"Oh shii-i-it", you say. Is it too much? It should be. The gem stones are heart-shaped for god's sake. The middle one, a pink sapphire, has a tiny Y engraved on the back of it, where the letter will kiss your skin once you put it on. Girls gasp. Jimin will get a beating, but at least he had been informed beforehand. You look a little alarmed, finally. Yoongi nods almost business-like as you hug him again, longer this time, and allows himself to wrap his hands around you properly.

"Yoongi... thank you?" you say.

"Happy birthday?"

"Yeah?"

Jimin and Hoseok exchange glances.

"Um..." you whisper into his neck, "isn't it a little expensive?"

People around disperse gradually, drawn by the cake that becomes smaller and smaller, fractured.

"I am rich", he whispers back, and you shake with a chuckle.

"Okay, I will switch to the good foundation..."

"And stop licking applicators?"

"No".

He laughs. He is still torn apart like his body is munched by a plane engine, but he is laughing.

Council

Jungkook is the dark horse. Always been, always will be. Yoongi feels his eyes go black as he watches maknae with silent expectation. The studio is almost empty, save for them three: the most hardworking one, the least hardworking one, and the one who likes seeing himself dance too much. Even Hobi is out for the weekend.

"You've been keeping it in for a long time", Yoongi says. Jungkook flashes him a white-toothed grin. He switches from an innocent bambi to a mafia boss au in a second.

"Dropped something at the very beginning and shut up".

Taehyung unscrews a bottle of water and pours it into his mouth.

"I was expecting you, hyung", Kookie utters, clasping his hands together.

Yoongi smirks darkly. He has no hope and no anger in him. He is dangerously close to serenity, in fact. If Jungkook's idea is to kidnap you and cuff you to a pipe in a basement, he will consider it.

"Do you want to hear it though?"

"Sure", Yoongi shrugs and wraps the towel around his neck, rubbing the sweat off. Then throws it on the floor and sits on top.

"What the hell. Go on".

"I shall demonstrate on Taehyung".

"Why me again?" Taehyung shrills. Maknae pulls his bestie closer, assuming a weirdly sexual position, popping his hip.

"You know, I drown in pussy", he begins. Yoongi closes his eyes solemnly.

"Strong lead-in".

"Ask me how".

Aftertrain Jungkook, with his bangs up, breathing through his mouth, young, blushing, is the sexiest thing one can see in the wild. Taehyung next to him, blonde, twitching, scared for his life, beating in his hands, unsure what's going to happen to him - the most poetic. Yoongi puts the hair behind his ears obediently.

"How?"

"The power", Jungkook puffs, "of proper - physical - touch".

The second time this assault happening among them, this time Taehyung being the victim. Jungkook takes his hand, fingers squeezing the palm not too tightly, gently enough. Like his thumb is sending the signals of pleasure straight into Jungkook's brain.

"Wow, your fingers... kinda tasty", he mutters, looking Taehyung in the eye. V clenches his jaws together.

"That's it?" Yoongi asks. "Your fingers tasty?"

"Wait, no-" maknae panics, "you can also go for the ear".

"Jimin did the ear already".

"And the inside of the kneecap. You're seated, right? It's easy to reach there when you sit. She walks around you, and you pretend to have forgotten something. Hey, Y/N, whoosh".

Jungkook bows and aims for Taehyung's knee, only to get pushed away by the face.

"Well, you get the idea, right? Arm, from elbow to her wrist. Also, you know what", Jungkook is working his brains real time, "she applies tint with her fingers? Kiss them?"

"You got a thing for fingers?" Taehyung looks at him from under the brow.

"Why don't I just-" Yoongi is having fun in the most morbid way, "say something like, sit on my face. Sit on my face? It's relevant enough, right? Cause it's my face she's working with".

Jungkook stoops a little.

"I tried it once, it didn't work".

"You didn't try it with a make up artist though", Taehyung helps, "it was a coffeeshop barista. It just didn't make any sense".

They start bickering. Two children, consumed by each other, the two attached at the hip, so attuned that they don't really need anybody else in the room to be entertained. After a little banter, Jungkook turns back to Yoongi:

"Feels like it's your last chance".

"I am also friends with a little band called Seventeen", he croaks, lifting himself off the floor. Taehyung snickers. Jungkook gives him two thumbs up as if he's done something here:

"Best of luck".

"Fighting!" Taehyung is happy again.

6. Jungkook

It comes up unexpectedly. You come up unexpectedly. The whole second floor of the rental is empty, hence Yoongi is there. While the others are releasing the pent up energy from the day outside, dragging staff into a game of football, he is having his quiet moment. Old man pains. Whatever they call it.

You're caught up in his glance like a mouse-thief, holding something to your chest, your mouth agape.

"I thought there was no one here".

Yoongi shakes his head. He can see the necklace. The 100 000$ necklace with heart-shaped gem stones hanging on your neck, contrasting with a 15$ grey Uniqlo shirt. You look atrociously stunning in it. Yoongi squints his eyes and sees six bottles of red bull in your hands.

"You..."

"I am making red bull ice".

He ponders for a second.

"Why?"

"Because I love red bull", you nod like it explains the ice part and march past him to the kitchen where a small freezer guards ice cream.

"You shouldn't..." he reaches out through the air, "put them in there in cans. They might explode. Better pour them in ice trays".

He has to get up and waddle after you because you don't seem to hear. He toddles into the smaller kitchen to help and opens all the cupboards as the search for ice trays begins.

Physical touch.

There's plenty of physical touch between you, so it's the same fucking issue as usual. How does one make it obvious. Yoongi is far from an unhinged fratboy, but what he wants to do now is exactly something like that. Every time they give him a strategy, he warps it to his own vision until it's unrecognizable. After all, he is a grabber, and it's his territory. Instead of taking your hand and admiring the edibility of the fingers, he pokes you in the rib.

"Ouch", you take it way calmer than he expects, and it tells him everything he needs to know.

"Your pancreas won't like this amount of red bull. Ice", he says.

"Says the functioning alcoholic?"

He sucks the air through his teeth, disarmed disgracefully. Since he has nothing to say, and his hands are itchy, he stares into your back and how your shoulder blade flexes as you open up the cans, and pokes you again.

"Yoongi, quit it".

The others were right. He is in the twilight zone. This monstrous crush is borderlining obsession, and he doesn't recognize himself anymore. He pokes again just to hear your voice. You turn around, a lock of hair on your eyes, and you put it away quickly.

"What's gotten into you?"

Your eyes search up his face as he pulls his cheeks apart in a non-smile. For some reason his eyes follow your index finger scratching your nose.

"Bored".

"Don't be bored", you jerk the ice tray on the table, "in three to five hours we will have red bull ice".

He likes the way you include him into this heartburn-inducing adventure. He likes the way you say "we".

"What shall we do meanwhile?"

Here, on the second floor of the three-storey house, it's easier to pretend you two have this whole place to yourselves. It's times bigger than the amount of people: them seven and the staff. There's even a good chance no one will come up here when the football is over.

"A... movie?" for a girl hating on the traditional 'cringe' things you suggest a very traditional pastime, and he is down.

He plops himself on the couch looking at the gems reflecting the blinding light in flashes. Yoongi even moves his shoulders trying to restrain himself from asking how you like it. If you found him in the necklace. He is trying to play it cool, encapsulating all the members' strategies in himself, all at once. Unreachable, nonchalant, spontaneous with exactly one tiny cube of Fruittella he shoots at you. You look up from your side of the couch.

"Strawberry".

When you are very happy about something, you say 'whoo' under your breath.

Your eyes slide onto his neck.

"You cut yourself again?"

Yoongi used to get irritated about how you treated everything above his shoulders as your own property. Now he simply loves it. As you launch across, your hands on his chin, tilting it to the side. The perfume from your wrist reaches his nostrils, and he loses his cool.

"Yoongi, you're not using moisturizer before shaving", it's a statement. His hand already snakes in between you, ready to attack. Tom Cruise appears on the screen and yanks your attention, just for a moment. You are like a squirrel, here and there, head snapping.

"I do use it", he lies.

"Don't lie to me".

"My hands shake because I am an alcoholic, and I cut myself".

You click your tongue and want to say something, but he pokes you again. Your pretty mouth catches air. Tom is battling with Min Yoongi for just a glimpse of you, and you are slowly pulled into the world of cinematography. You know he is bullshitting, but you are just too used to it.

"You're on your last warning", you mutter, sitting way closer to him than before. Yoongi realizes you put on... the Mummy? Out of all Tom Cruise movies you could have chosen, you put on the Mummy.

"And then what?" he pushes, his eyes on the TV as well.

"Then I kick you".

"You can't kick me, I'm an idol".

Your hand brushes him off. He has lost to the last great movie star, even if you're wearing his necklace.

"Who is more famous, me or Tom Cruise?"

"Tom Cruise", you say automatically, and Yoongi sinks deeper into the couch.

"He could be your father".

You gasp, dreamy.

"Imagine that. He'd be a lousy father, but still".

"I mean I'm..."

Your hand suddenly gets into his hair. And it's not the usual soft, professional touch that Yoongi is used to. It's a grab. You yank him like he's an insolent boy, and he tips over even before he realizes what you are doing. A second; and his head is on your lap, Yoongi himself still producing a moan of pain. He has to readjust, swinging his hips, bending legs to fit, as he lies down. Your hand presses on the side of his head and Yoongi has no idea what the fuck is going on.

"Shh".

Yoongi is turning, trying to fit his elbow under himself and not move his head lest you remove your hand.

"When Tom Cruise is on screen, we are what?" the fingers drum on the side of his skull.

"Uh..."

"Silent as a grave".

"It's not even a good one, can we watch T-"

You cover his mouth with your little palm, and he shuts up. If it weren't for Tom Cruise, sorry, 🌸🌷🌺Tom Cruise🌼🌻💐, now would be a great time to ask,

what are we??

Council

Namjoon is under the desk. His hand feeling around on the linoleum, his own body covering the light. He is in the shade of his own clumsiness, scrambling for pieces of his own life: all his credit and name cards are on the floor.

The door sounds like someone is trying to take it off hinges. Jammed last month again, so now the handle is half-broken. Namjoon twists his body to see, and recognizes your feet.

"Butt of Namjoon?"

"Hey".

Even though there's a joke in between your teeth, as always, you don't sound joyful.

Also it's weird that you came to speak to him at all. Your tone shows intention. Namjoon crawls backwards and sits himself on the floor comfortably, looking up.

You are sad. The necklace Yoongi gave you, a small, intricate and stylish piece of quiet luxury on your neck, almost completely hidden by the collar of your hoodie.

"I need to speak to you first".

He doesn't have any idea what it is, but his mind starts going places.

"Why?"

"Because you're the leader".

Namjoon grinds his jaws against each other, one hand covering his ear. You are a remarkable girl. You never shiver or anything like that, and never did. Guess this job makes you tough very quickly. Even now, displaying classical signs of distress - lowered head, inexpressive eyes - you do not fidget. It indicates deeper sadness, he thinks.

"I am going to quit", you say, simply. It doesn't have any intonation, any colour. Namjoon supports himself against the desk.

"Why?"

You look at him.

"Personal reasons", you pause. Your finger tortures the lower lip, "personal feelings".

He is quiet, stranding you alone in this. Namjoon blinks. He was moderately invested and now he is dying to hear this shit.

"I kind of... caught a crush on Yoongi", you sigh heavily, like you've been unloading something.

"Y/N-"

"Like a year ago".

Namjoon shuts up.

"Or maybe earlier. I don't know", your hands drop on the desk. "I've been doing alright, but I guess it's piling up, you know? Lately it's been difficult, I am getting sad. And I need to get away before I screw things up".

Namjoon puts a double security on his mouth: bites his lip and covers it with his hand. He wants to say something very funny but knows this, this thing unravelling in front of him, is incredibly human. Yeah, funny as hell. But human.

"I'll stop you right there", Namjoon puts out his hand and, after careful consideration, it crawls across the desk and covers your palm.

"You're a great make up artist".

"That's not the point..."

"And I am not the one you should be talking about it".

You finally close up:

"No, no, I don't wanna tell Yoongi anything. It's going to be so humiliating".

"You've known each other for three years..."

"I couldn't bear looking at him if..."

"...even if feelings weren't involved, he must know..."

"...and he will say not to go..."

"...oh my god!" Namjoon snaps. The disciplined, civilized, mannered Namjoon shrieks at you. "They are heart shaped!"

Your mouth freezes open.

"What?"

"The gems!" he is pointing at your necklace, desperate, completely miserable, disbelieving. He can't control his voice anymore. "Each little fucking gem is heart shaped, Y/N! And there's a Y on the inside!"

Your bewilderment is adorable. Namjoon sincerely gets it. Your hand flies up to your neck. Your tormented expression slowly relaxes as your eyes run over his face. He feels bad about screaming but it's a matter for shouting. Namjoon raises his hand.

"Sorry. I might have overreacted".

Your mouth is agape, and he wants to reach out again and tap it shut with his finger.

"But you get the idea, yeah?"

You nod several times in small motions.

"Have I... convinced you to stay for now?"

You nod again.

"Mm, mm-hm".

You sit in silence for a while, turned away from each other, room suddenly smothering stuffy. Then you push your chin down.

"I didn't see any letters", you mutter.

"It's very small", Namjoon responds tiredly. Your fingers feel along the necklace, and he softens up again.

"It's pretty, isn't it?"

"I never take it off", you confirm, "I even sleep in it".

He kind of melts.

7. Yoongi

He bites on the chocolate bar from your hand and moves his jaws. Eyes concentrated in the mirror. You are efficient: the bar disappears and the brush appears immediately. It's like you have ten hands. Then one of them lies on the side of his head - you can see he is nervous - and he leans in out of habit. Fingers rub on his scalp shortly, then the bar hovers around his mouth again. Yoongi bites.

Something tickles his nostrils.

The scent of is peace in the ocean of chaos of the dressing room has changed. It's sweeter. Like honey and apples. He frowns slightly and catches your smile in the reflection. Hums with question. You nod.

"What's that?"

"New".

To his right, Taehyung quietly gasps with pain. The new girl burned him with the curler. She starts apologizing profusely and Taehyung shakes his head, although still wincing. Yoongi returns to his haven of calm.

"When you go with your grin", you say, "turn like this", your hand moves his chin a little so that he sees the sharp, pearly line of highlighter on the edge of his jaw.

"Okay", he grins, "uh, what shade is it? Jimin's hair would go well with it, too".

You lift the small bottle to his eyes, and he reads: '78 deeply loved'.

"Only for you".

You boop it on his nose, and he is dumbfounded, transcended, dead. He sees himself looking like a hopeful pup, staring into your eyes. You look shy as you lick eye pencil. You blush for the first time.

#yoongi imagine #yoongi x reader #min yoongi x reader #suga x reader #bts imagine

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hritika13-tamboli · 1 year ago

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Jeon Jungkook Fic Recs List 1...

°`☆`°`☆`°`☆`°`☆`°`☆`°`☆`°`☆`°`☆`°`☆`°`☆`°`☆`°

Series :

Lone blue egg || Penguin Hybrid Jungkook x Bird Female OC | Hybrid au || @foxymoxynoona

Summary : Jungkook is a simple man. He goes to work, he hangs out with friends, he worries about finding a mate to take home for his hometown breeding season. Maybe he spends a little more money on cam girls than is fiscally responsible but he has niche tastes. Maybe he feels a bit adrift, but he's a young penguin hybrid, supposedly in his prime, far from his crèche. At least he's good at one thing: taking care of his precious egg. A comfort egg, not a real egg, he's not a real penguin, just a man with penguin DNA and behavioral tendencies. Just like Yoongi isn't actually an owl, even if he does stay up all night and sometimes hoot to fuck with their roommates. But this is a real love story, even if a slightly odd one.

Summer Nights || Rabbit!Hybrid Jungkook x Y/N | Hybrid au || @marginalmadness

Summary : A freak weather anomaly leads to a chance encounter with a rabbit-hybrid, and your kind nature results in you gaining a small, fluffy lodger, who questions your taste in television shows. It’s won’t be for long...will it?

Evocation || Dragon!Jungkook x human?Reader | Hybrid au || @bonny-kookoo

Summary : Every year, he joins the old tradition of traveling, where his ancestors have once ruled the skies. Every year, he meets familiar faces and new ones he's never seen before. Every year, he watches how his brothers find their mates, build their families, and introduce new generations to stories as old as time. But this year, something might be different. This year, there's you - a treasure worth more than he could ever offer.

4-7-8 || Jungkook x reader | marriage au || @jiminrings

Summary : you’re secure when it comes to loving jungkook, knowing that your husband loves you beyond words. what you aren’t so secure about is his first love — someone who isn’t you. alternatively, jungkook’s married to you, but he still celebrates his anniversary with his ex out of sentimentality.

Love sewn || Jungkook x reader | boy next door au || @jvnghxope

Summary : You’ve never cared about the thin-as-paper walls of your beloved apartment until Jeon Jungkook moved next door. You could hear everything –from his late-night parties on Saturday, to the quality time he spent with his girlfriend in the intimacy of his bedroom. One day, everything ceases. Days turn into weeks, weeks turn into months and you find yourself knocking his door before you can think it twice.

Sweet tooth || Rottweiler hybrid!Jungkook x Cat hybrid!Reader | Hybridau || @bonny-kookoo

Summary : Yoongi and Jimin are each proud owners of hybrids, and these days, slowly falling in love with one another. And everything could be so perfect- if it wasn't for you absolutely resenting Jungkook- for no reason?

Alpha jeon || Jungkook x reader | werewolf au || @pbandjk

Summary: You’ve been raised to be a Luna since you were born. You’ve always had an idea of how your future would be, there was little room to imagine anything different. You’d meet your mate and fall madly in love, and the two of you would take over for your parents once they got older. But what happens when a certain wolf comes in and throws all of your plans on their head?

i’d love you to stay but that’s simply insane || Jungkook x reader | college au || @taexual

Summary : jungkook is an uncontrollable lead vocalist of the campus band, and you’re a goal-oriented top student that’s known his rich and complicated family since childhood. you don’t want anything to do with each other, until each other is exactly what you want to do.

Please love me || Jungkook x reader | childhood friends au | arrange marriage au || @ahundredtimesover

Summary : As the only unmarried Jeon and Kim children, your families propose a union to symbolize your unbreakable bond that spans generations. But despite developing an affection for Jungkook growing up, he never returned it; he never seemed to like you, actually. You’re okay with the proposal, but surprise surprise, he isn’t.

Rattled || Jungkook x reader | guy next door au | single dad au || @gukslut

Summary : "Jeongguk?" His chin quivers and he bites at his bottom lip, clenching his jaw as his eyes flood with tears, meeting Jin's questioning gaze as he collapses against Jin's broad shoulder, sobbing. Jeongguk struggles to make words come out of his mouth.Jin holds him tightly, not speaking, just waiting, trying to put the mess of puzzle pieces together in a way that might make sense. Finally, Jeongguk sucks in a heaving breath."I had a baby," he sputters out. "That's my baby.""I didn't know this baby existed eight hours ago," he chokes out, sniffling.

Lacrymaria olor || Alien!King!Jungkook x Human!Reader | alien au || @bonny-kookoo

Summary : In which you've survived on this foreign planet for more than two years until you're caught and brought to the King, who will decide your fate.

Bitchin || fratboy!jungkook x reader | 1980s au || @kinktae

Summary : The 80s were a time of choices. Which perm was right for you? What color neon would you wear next? None of these choices, however, were more questionable than a certain deal you made with Jeon Jungkook.

Under your skin || tattoist!jk x fem!reader | tattoo au || @armpirate

Summary : You were awful on anything related to flirting, guys and sex. He was the perfect ladies man. You wanted to get rid of your virginity. And he was there to help you with everything you needed. You didn't have the best start, but that didn't mean you wouldn't have the best of the endings.

Unstable || Alien!Jungkook x Human!Reader | dystopian AU || @bonny-kookoo

Summary : Wrong place, wrong time, wrong everything. And yet, maybe it's not as bad as you thought.

☆●●☆●●☆●●☆●●☆●●☆●●☆●●☆●●☆●●☆

One-shot :

Idealizations concerning real life relations || jungkook x reader | fuckboy!jk x hopeless romantic!oc | fwb au || @venusiangguk

Summary : jungkook loves to be loved, but he doesn’t love in return.

Night After Night || Fuckboy bf! Jungkook x Reader | Established relationship au || @brown-bi-beautiful

Summary : "Show you what devotion is, deeper than the ocean is".... You broke up with your boyfriend because he couldn't let go of his fuckboy antiques now he's gonna win you back whatever it takes.

If i told you || two-shots | Jungkook x reader | friends to lovers!au | college!au || @gukyi

Summary : in order to pay for university, jeon jungkook decides to market his most valuable asset to the wealthy socialites of campus: himself. donning a suit and tie, tousled hair, and glasses (to look smarter), he becomes every rich daughter’s dream: the perfect boyfriend to bring to balls, dinners, and business gatherings. all while you watch from the sidelines, only able to dream of having that much money to buy yourself what you really want: him.

Scattered stars || two-shots | Jungkook x reader soulmate!au | fantasy!au || @taegularities

Summary : “And with that, a picture of Jungkook flashed into your mind, his fingertips caressing your cheek and his gentle and affectionate smile sending shivers down your spine as you admitted to yourself that yes - you wanted him.“

Welcome to the heartbreak show || kind-of-tsundere!jungkook x female!reader | college au || @numinousher

Summary : you’re in love with your partner in class that everyone fears (and loves) due to his stoic facial expression and the way he rejects girls rather harshly. as you get to know him, will he be able to handle your heart that you so willingly gave him to care for or, will he break it due to his hatred for people who are in love with him?

In which she's done with him || Jerk jungkook x reader | unrequited love || @minstrivia

Summary : Jungkook angst/fluff where he always pushes oc away (who confesses her feelings but was cruelly rejected) and insults her but she always comes back to take care of him when he’s drunk or picks him up from his one night stands and she finally decides to leave him alone !! happy ending!

Angel in the marble || michelangelo!jungkook x servant!reader | high renaissance au || @venusjeon

Summary : after you fail to pickpocket him, the famous yet arrogant artist Jeon Jungkook takes you off the streets to make you his servant, and the more you know him, the more you realise he's not as detestable as everyone claims he is.

i can't wait to tell you, "i told ya'." || Single dad Jungkook x reader | Best friend au || @serendipitous-seven

Summary: Jeon Jungkook is a successful realtor with a big house, a nice car, colorful dating life, and a spunky 7-year-old daughter to boot…he’s also your best friend who you used to be in love with. Of course, he was never made aware because you swear it’s all in the past…until it isn’t. But going on a cruise with Jungkook and his daughter whom you adore should be harmless. Absolutely nothing can go wrong…Right?

Los Angeles Laker || nba player jungkook x reader | nba au || @xpeachesncream

Summery : being one of the most popular players in the nba, jungkook takes absolutely no shit from anybody. he could give a fuck about the press, what people think about him, serious relationships. it’s a personal hell getting wrapped up with jeon jungkook— and you can’t help but fall into the same trap as every other woman who crosses paths with him. the more you fall, the more you realize that you will never be able to change a man who doesn’t want to change his ways.

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serendipitous-seven · 6 months ago

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his entire world | min yoongi x f!reader | a serendipitous life series

summary: you and yoongi are trying to enjoy your friends' wedding with a very fussy baby pairing: yoongi x f!reader [kitt] tags/warning: baby-related things such as breast milk, general family mentions

a/n: sometimes the bug bites me and i feel encouraged to repost my fics. comfort fic for me, maybe comfort fic for you?

dad!bts series | a serendipitous life mlist

Everything is perfect. A blue sky, a balmy breeze, an intimate setting with friends and family. You smile with teary eyes, watching two of your closest friends recite their vows to one another.

Well, it's almost perfect.

If not for your fussy one-year-old, who has not stopped whining since the ceremony began. You and Yoongi have been playing hot potato with Dae, trying to settle him down, it only worked for a few minutes before your son started to squirm again.

Yoongi pats his son’s back, gently shushing him. “He didn’t nap like usual.” You whisper while the groom expresses his undying devotion to his bride. “His sleep schedule is off-”

A blood-curdling scream bellows out of your baby, causing those around you to jump. You feel your face heat up as you hurriedly take Dae from Yoongi’s arms, passing through and whispering apologies with a crying Dae. Before Yoongi can offer to take him, knowing you would want to see your friends end this sweet moment with a kiss, you are gone in a flash.

“I know, baby,” you groan, now hidden away in a secluded area, bouncing Dae in your arms. He cries from his deepest depths, rubbing his face on your shoulder. In your haste to escape, you forgot to ask for the keys to the car where you hoped to soothe your son to sleep. Hearing the guests clap and cheer for your now-married friends, your heart sinks.

Yoongi seeks you out once the ceremony ends, finding you pouting beneath a tree. He can hear Dae whimpering, taking him back into his arms but not before kissing your forehead; “I missed the best part,” you say, on the verge of tears yourself. With a breathy chuckle and sympathetic smile, Yoongi hands you his phone and you repay him with a grateful kiss. The video is great, but maybe your tired baby has you feeling sorry for yourself - you just wanted to see your friends seal their vows with a kiss in person.

“The drive to the reception area is about 20 minutes,” Yoongi begins to reason, wiping Dae’s tear-stained cheeks in the process, “maybe he’s tired himself out enough to knock out on the way there.”

You rub Dae’s healthy head of wavy locks while he hiccups the last of his tears away. “Please, for the love of God, sleep for mommy,” your tone is nothing less than desperate.

Call it wishful thinking or a request fallen on deaf ears.

Whatever it is, a peaceful baby is not on your side. Rather, you watch the guests you and your family are sat with dwindle the longer Dae cries. He isn't fussing anymore. He isn't whining. He is screaming.

“Honey,” Yoongi starts calmly. He's always calm and it drives you crazy sometimes. “I don’t think he wants his bottle.”

“I can see that,” you say, making another attempt to press the rubber tip against Dae’s pouted lips, “but I can’t feed him in this dress, I’d have to take it off completely!”

Frustrated. You are frustrated.

Yoongi sighs, rubbing his hand on your shoulder, “Let me try-”

Dae challenges the volume of excited guests and dinner music, screeching into the air and knocking the bottle out of your hand. Milk squirts out of the tip and all over the top of your dress, catching the ends of your hair. Yoongi clams his lips together and you can see his cheeks turn pink, “I swear Yoongi if you laugh-”

“Go.” Yoongi takes Dae, holding his tiny battering hands into his large one, “I’ll take care of him, just go clean up then find your friends.”

“I’m not leaving…”

“Go enjoy yourself, sweetheart. I’ve got this,” Yoongi insists as he pushes you out of your seat. You get up, heading straight for the bathroom with a sigh of relief and tears in your eyes.

Of all people, your husband knows best. Yoongi understands your frustrations, even more, he knows your limits. As first-time parents, the challenges can feel insurmountable. You both love your son - there isn’t a single doubt that you love your son. But there are days, like today when Dae seems to know how to push your buttons a little harder.

Yoongi continues in a calm timbre, kissing Dae’s hand that is simultaneously pushing against his cheek. He catches the sorry glance from a few of the members as he passes through the dining area, pinching a smile. “You can at least look like you love me, son.”

Dae cries. He pushes against Yoongi’s chest, his neck, and his chin. He wails to the point his cheeks turn bright red, stained from hot tears. Yoongi doesn’t let up, holding his son and even setting him on the ground, keeping his large hands around his son’s stomach. Just let it out, Yoongi thinks to himself. He blinks slowly, using his fingers to clear Dae’s tears now and then.

“You’re sleepy,” Yoongi chuckles when Dae starts to settle beneath his dad’s touch. “Yah, stop fighting it.”

Dae breathes in short bursts. Without a tissue or something from the baby bag, Yoongi wipes the remnants of his son’s tears with the inside of his suit jacket. No one would ever look there.

You are able to spend time with the bride and groom and a few friends(and a couple of glasses of champagne)all thanks to your husband. The dancing started an hour ago, to which you got a few in before missing baby. Who were you kidding, you missed him the entire time but the temporary separation was nice. This time, you have a smile on your face despite the faint stain of breast milk splattered across your dress.

Coming back from the restroom after freshening up, a mellow song is playing beneath the white canopy. Dusk is soon covered by a darkened sky. String lights twinkle above the guests and almost everyone is out of their seats, slow dancing on the dance floor. Your search for Yoongi and Dae isn’t long.

You have to bite your lip when you finally spot them.

A few more moments alone wouldn’t hurt. You stand next to a post, holding your hands together while watching the two greatest loves of your life.

Dae is asleep in your husband’s arms while Yoongi moves slowly, swaying from one foot to the other. Back and forth back and forth. Yoongi smiles into a kiss, pressing his thin lips against Dae’s head. Taking his pointer finger to rub against your son’s cheek. You watch his mouth move as he whispers something to your sleeping baby.

“Hey,” you stroke Yoongi’s back and he turns his head to follow you until you're standing in front of them. His smile is wide, it’s warm and it’s reflective of home. His large hand continues to pat Dae’s bottom while he sleeps in his arms. You peer around, Dae’s chubby cheek pressed against Yoongi’s shoulder. You kiss his nose before looking back at Yoongi.

“Did you have fun?” Yoongi asks, resting his cheek against Dae’s head, dark eyes sparkling down at you. You almost lose yourself in them, reaching up to run your hand back through his hair. You nod, thanking him with a soft kiss. Yoongi groans against your lips, another smile stealing you away.

“Come here,” Yoongi is pulling you in with one arm before you can say otherwise, securing it around your shoulder. You hold him by the waist, one hand resting over Yoongi’s that is pressed against Dae’s back. He has his entire world in his arms, the three of you slowly moving to the gentle music.

©serendipitous-seven, 2025. don't steal my content. it is illegal, it is rude, and portrays laziness on the part of the thief. so, please, enjoy my works, but do not steal.

#yoongi x reader #bts yoongi #yoongi fluff #yoongi fanfic #bts x reader #bts fluff #dad!bts series: a serendipitous life by serendipitous seven

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jiminrings · 11 months ago

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four seven eight, phase 3 (2)

pairing: jungkook x reader

wordcount: 9k

glimpse: you’re pushed to the edge after eunsu’s stunt, and it makes jungkook realize that he’s no longer secure when it comes to being a husband and a dad.

alternatively, jungkook goes back to square one with you, but especially with hwayoung.

[ part one, intermission, part two, intermission 02, finale — complete series masterlist, from phase 1 to 3 ]

[ angst, fluff, the double-edged desire of wanting more n Being More despite having almost everything, hwayoung being the universe, mentions of eunsu breaking in into jk's hotel room, jus eunsu being a weirdo in general, 478 couple goes old school YIPPEEEE, yoongi as his own warning, eventual redemption ]

notes: heh... i did say it wud get a little worse before everything gets better!!! :O

as always, lmk what you think <3 send in feedback n love to my askbox anytime!!

Hwayoung keeps staring at Jungkook’s empty spot on the dining table.

“Where’s appa?”

She looks like a spitting image of Jungkook with the way her brows are furrowed and her bottom lip pouted, clearly confused to why her carbon copy still isn’t here. Hwayoung’s heard your explanation a dozen of times already, yet she asks you again — not because she forgot already, but because she’s in disbelief.

“He’s working, Young-ie,” you smile tightly, cutting up her pancakes once again to redirect her into eating instead of asking where Jungkook is. She eats, even if you don’t slice the pancakes the way Jungkook does (he cuts them up to look like a window with four, almost-perfectly divided slices) and in the same breath, you try not to pull out your phone to ask if he’s already had dinner.

Loving Hwayoung is extremely easy, even if you get choked up from time to time trying to internalize the fact that she’s yours and Jungkook’s. There’s a continuous beep in your chest that rivals the volume of what pedestrian crossings sound like when they turn green; it’s been ringing ever since you found out you were pregnant with Hwayoung and came to the realization that you owe everything (if the world happens to not be enough) to her.

Hwayoung may be a curious, bubbly child, but the extent of her questioning only stops when you tell her that Jungkook’s working. She doesn’t prod any further than that, settling for a generic answer you’d expand on if only you could find the heart to.

Hwayoung doesn’t ask why you hold her a lot more closely than you’d usually do when you’re asleep or why her oversized sleep shirts lately belong to you and not Jungkook, not because she doesn’t care about the sudden absence of her dad, but because the abundance of you almost makes her forget about her new routine.

Almost.

She goes down from her seat (just like how Jungkook taught her with both hands and extreme care) wordlessly, strolling off with a determined gait, only to return with your cat in her arms like it’s a normal occurrence at seven in the morning.

“What are you doing with Miso, Young-ie?” you question playfully, getting your answer soon enough when she carries Miso up to where Jungkook’s plate would be.

Your daughter seems pleased about the situation altogether, nevermind the fact that the too-chunky-for-her-age cat she’s been spoiling with treats is at the head of the table instead of Jungkook.

Hwayoung’s young. She’s young enough to the point that you can withhold entire truths from her without having to clarify your words. Even more, she’s young to the point that you can’t even tell if she’ll remember this point in her childhood for the years to come.

You can’t tell if Hwayoung will even remember the chunk of time wherein Jungkook’s nowhere to be found and she’s upset about it, nor if she’ll even recall in the future about the way you’re looking at her with so much fondness and desperation at this exact moment — but nevertheless, you want Hwayoung to be young in the same way you want to be honest.

Neither you and Jungkook can withhold anything from her if it means making her happy; even if it means she won’t do something as futile as making a cat a placeholder for her dad.

“Do you miss him, baby?” you hum, feeling for your phone in your pocket as you rub the ridges of its case over and over again while deep in thought. You can’t even tell why you asked that because you know the answer already, regardless of your daughter beaming and nodding her head fervently.

“Do you wanna go on a trip?” you whisper to her ear as if it’s a secret, immediately getting her giddy. You comb through her hair with your fingers as she basically bounces on her seat, already clapping her hands because she knows the word and everything fun that it entailed. “Let’s surprise your appa, hm?”

It’ll just be a last-minute airline ticket purchase, which would happen to be Hwayoung’s first-ever plane ride that Jungkook won’t be there to see because the whole trip’s purpose is to get to him. It’ll just be a rest day or two that you have to coordinate and apologize for over and over again for the potential inconveniences you’ll create. It’ll just be a blip in Hwayoung’s memory soon enough, one you’re uncertain if she’ll even remember, but you figure that it’ll be worth it.

It’ll be worth it because it’s Jungkook, you think as you cram yours and Hwayoung’s belongings into a single backpack with no other luggage in tow.

It’ll be worth it because it’s Jungkook, you rethink while contemplating about how it’s rare for you to be impulsive, but at your fate, with respect to Jungkook, you completely surrender.

It’ll be worth it because it’s Jungkook, you mutter under your breath as you hastily plan with Jimin on the phone about your temporary quick leave, if he can look after Miso, and how to get to the airport without being noticed and most importantly, without Hwayoung being pictured at all.

Your daughter doesn’t know any better about how you and Jungkook go to extreme lengths to protect her, or how the straps of your backpack are digging into your shoulders, or how you’re nervous because it’s her first plane ride and you don’t know how she’ll take it, or how you’re ready to bolt immediately with her in your arms because she’s only yours and Jungkook’s and no one else’s.

You’re not the world-famous and critically acclaimed actress in this long-haul flight; you’re a mom to Hwayoung trying to get her to yawn repeatedly so her ears wouldn’t get clogged, you’re a mom hanging her head down in apology when it’s the fourth flight attendant to approach you asking for a picture, and you’re a mom who just happens to be extremely desperate and humble to beg said flight attendants to help you deplane first so nobody else would look at your or your daughter.

For a split second, or even for as long as you hold Hwayoung and beyond that, you forget the trophies and plaques attached to your name.

You no longer want to be the best when in your arms, Hwayoung’s jet-lagged and fighting through said fatigue, because you’ve convinced not only her but yourself, that it’ll all be worth it because it’s Jungkook.

( ♡ )

Hwayoung sleeps in your arms the whole time.

You figure that she’s out cold because you’re wearing Jungkook’s hoodie, knowing better than anyone about how your baby gets completely placated whenever she’s held. It’s heartwarming to see her this way even in such odd circumstances, the fist that’s curled up on your shirt reminding you when things used to be a little more simple.

The stress that’s been accumulating inside your temples threaten to burst and you fear that you’ll be set off by the most miniscule thing while you’re on your way to Jungkook. You’re sleepless and you’re bubbling inside with annoyance and it takes an absurd amount of energy from you to try and contain yourself.

Coordinating with Jimin through the phone makes your nostils flare, even if he’s trying his best to be helpful. Seeing people on the street in large groups, without even knowing the reason why, makes your jaw clench. Even the driver who keeps looking at you on the rearview mirror in concern makes you want to rip your hair out.

You’re frustrated and angry, even if you try convince yourself that Jungkook is worth all the fuss.

“Young-ie,” you whisper, shaking her awake gently. Your free hand’s already gripping your backpack even if you’re still minutes away; if only you had the remaining patience (maybe even optimism) to look at yourself, you’ll see the irony of you being the equivalent of overeager dads you hate on airplanes that immediately stand upon landing, even when the connecting tube to the terminal hasn’t been attached yet. “Wake up, baby. We’re getting closer.”

Everything feels a little heavy. The weight of your backpack is not the problem, and neither is Hwayoung who’s glued to you by the hip.

You have the terrifying idea in the back of your head, locked and loaded for anyone (read: Jungkook) to see if they take the additional second to ask you, that you’ll have to suffer all over again; that you’ll have to establish an ultimatum with a time limit of sorts, just so you can nullify the vacancy in you by pushing Jungkook away again.

Even now, a part of you wonders about Sora.

She’s no longer a part of your husband’s life, for good this time, yet she occupies your mind every once in a while as if she’s a bad meal on a bad day you have to stomach over and over again. You want to vomit her out completely and rid yourself of the taste of being inferior to who came before you, and yet, she lingers like a stray who knows its home.

You wonder if she’s happy with her life and how it turned out, even if Jungkook’s no longer in it despite being each other’s first for everything. You wonder if she ever thinks about Jungkook whenever it’s April 23 or when she walks past tent bars; if she’s ever married now and has a family like you and her first love do.

You wonder about Sora from time to time because if Jungkook really loved her, you fear that a little bit of it would always linger.

In the same way that you had really loved a multitude of things growing up, little bits of them would always linger even if you’ve sworn off them.

Your old obsession with tiny bottles of perfume you could only buy from boutiques (and never from malls) resurfaces whenever you visit your parents and magically, they always have a box filled up with your childhood shirts they’ve spared for Hwayoung to wear, imbued with a scent you can place to a memory, but not replicate.

The old fixation you had on patchwork blankets lingers whenever you head to the stockroom to store a PR package you could justify keeping for future purposes, only to see the unopened stacks of shirts you’ve gotten from numerous workshops, countries, and tapings as mementos throughout the years. They sit there in the dust, waiting patiently for you to take notice, but you avert your eyes as to not start a project you can’t bring yourself to finish.

The old liking you had towards the color orange stains on your fingers whenever you peel tangerines for Hwayoung, training a keen eye on her as she holds it for herself while slicing the portions you have at hand for her to eat safely.

You wonder about Sora and if she ever holds the regret of letting go of Jungkook for someone like you.

You wonder if Jungkook’s love for her, although dissolved and voided already, lingers through the existence of Eunsu — someone who’s much, much different than you, just like Sora was.

Love is not supposed to feel heavy and you stand by it, because holding Hwayoung while carrying the backpack that’s meant to sustain the both of you in a foreign country, just because you don’t want any excess baggage as you surprise Jungkook out of nowhere, has never felt lighter in your heart.

Love is not supposed to feel heavy, even if you wonder why the door to Jungkook’s hotel room is open by itself without needing a key.

Love is not supposed to feel heavy, even if you meet several pairs of eyes that either locks or avoids your own, all for a multitude of reasons.

“Jungkook,” you whisper, pupils shaking as you instinctively turn Hwayoung’s head away from the sight before you. “What’s going on?”

Your husband, who’s evidently rattled for more reasons than one and is dressed in his pajamas, stares at you head-on with his bottom lip trembling.

His staff members, some of which you recognize, avoid your gaze whilst one of them continues talking on the phone with an apologetic bow.

The members of hotel security, both of which are a little lost in what’s happening because they’ve only been suddenly called to the room of a husband to a celebrity they didn’t catch the name of in a hurry, gasp in realization when they recognize you instantly.

Eunsu, who’s clad in only a silky nightgown that leaves almost nothing to the imagination as she’s restrained to a chair by hotel security, scoffs at your presence.

“It’s not what it looks like, I swear,” Jungkook repeatedly mumbles to you, even if he only catches a shadow of you lingering somewhere as you bounce in between places trying to sort everything out.

“I-I didn’t do anything. We didn’t do anything. I never wanted things to go like this in the first place,” he says to you over and over again, even if you’re on the phone with Jimin to get ahead of damage control if the news ever breaks out.

“I’d never.. I-I’d never cheat on you, Y/N. I’ll never hurt you,” your husband whispers to you like a broken record, running his thumb over your knuckles to try and get you to calm down as if you’ve lost your cool for the past two hours.

The whole thing’s been foiled.

Neither you, Jungkook, or even the staff can even think about the short film’s immediate downfall without it even being released yet because from the get-go, it had already been a raging wildfire with Eunsu in it.

There’s no talk about the film.

There’s no talk about the hours, efforts, and even money wasted on it because all that you could think about— all that everyone who knew of the situation just now could think about, is how Eunsu broke into Jungkook’s hotel room to seduce him.

There's no talk about the unspoken rule in between the staff to tiptoe around their executive producer’s wife, and most especially his daughter. It’s no secret that the two of you dropped in unannounced (they recall Jungkook being miserable so they knew there was no way he could predict his family was about to surprise him), and yet with the way they give you space and nothing but humility, you’d mistaken them for devoted fans.

There’s only hushed, cordial conversations between everyone to keeps things up to date and under wraps. There’s only gratitude, pity, and assurance thrown your way about how they never liked Eunsu in the first place and how you were such a good, filial wife and mother to clean up the mess attached to Jungkook’s name whilst keeping Hwayoung close to you the entire time.

“She’s detained by the police now. I’ve already called up lawyers back at home. We’re pressing charges,” you say, finally standing in one place. “I have Jimin drafting everything in place in case word gets out.

You’ve been going back and forth trying to sort everything and everyone from the police, to the hotel security, and even Jungkook’s staff — even if you’ve already vacated Jungkook’s room for the three of you to be transferred to a different room in a different hotel entirely, not once have you set Hwayoung down.

You haven’t even let him hold her once since landing here.

Jungkook’s shaking in anger, or atleast whatever it is that drowns him whole even if his head is only submerged in between his knees as he tries to breathe. He’s spoken perfectly and concisely when he was asked for his statement. He’s spoken without a hitch when asked for his honesty, and he hasn’t even faltered once when he asked for the footage of Eunsu seducing a receptionist to break into his room to support his rock-solid testimony.

Jungkook even cussed Eunsu without stuttering as she basically confesses her crime (while cursing you, who didn’t want to look at her, in the process) whilst being dragged away by the cops.

Ironically, the only people who had everything going on for him whom he momentarily tried to distance himself from, are the first people to his rescue. The bed in the new room is more than massive, yet you don’t even lay Hwayoung on it; she’s still in your arms that are screaming to give out, and the backpack you’ve packed for the both of you is yet to be opened, sitting on the opposite side of the room to Jungkook’s massive luggage.

Everything has failed and collapsed around Jungkook, yet it’s you who cleans up after him.

You only let Hwayoung sleep on the bed once you needed to book separate flight tickets.

“It’s not a problem for me. We’ll be less recognizable together,” Jungkook answers quickly when you question him if he could take Hwayoung back while you get on a later flight.

He’s snappy this way, trying to ignore the raging pounding on his head that you’re upset with him; that perhaps not only were you disgusted with him, but you were also exhausted of him entirely.

There’s a massive knot in Jungkook’s throat that doesn’t want to untangle in the slightest. He feels like he’s about to choke on nothing because he rethinks that he has no right to feel tired; that he has no right to close his eyes for even a second because you haven’t slept for a day and even longer, and that he has no right to feel this low when he’s dragged you down even lower.

You only nod quietly at his answer, clicking on your phone without meeting his eyes as you blow money on last-minute flights without even flinching.

“You okay?”

You ask softly, the bags under your eyes more evident under the warm lighting. You’re sitting on a chair at the corner of the room like you’re a complete stranger while Jungkook’s sitting on the edge of the bed like he’s only a familiar guest.

It’s only Hwayoung in this room who’s acting as if she belongs here.

Right now, it’s only your daughter serving as the common denominator that you have with Jungkook — with her asleep, your husband can’t even tell if he’s on the same ground with you.

“Did she touch you anywhere?” you add, slouching on your knees. You’ve never laid back since you’ve gotten here, the fear that something bad would happen to you or anyone in your family if you took your eye off the ball for the slightest second overtaking you.

Even after you’ve cleaned up Jungkook’s mess, it’s you who tries to reach out; it’s you who tries to keep everything and everyone together, even if it’s by the thinnest thread that incessantly digs into the palm of your hands, even tighter than how your wedding ring could.

“No, no. She didn’t even get close. I just… I immediately yelled so the staff nearby heard,” Jungkook answers truthfully, shaking his head slowly in the process.

You say that it’s a relief nothing else happened, and reiterate that you and Jimin have all exits covered.

You say that you’re sorry that it happened to him, and reiterate that you’re pressing charges.

You say that you’re there in case he wants to talk about it more, and reiterate that he has to wake up early so he and Hwayoung could go on the first flight back home.

Jungkook feels extraordinarily guilty. He feels so much regret in his stomach that he wants to throw up because your contained frustration for him is unbearable to the point that it brings him to tears.

"Give it to me," he inhales sharply, shoulders trembling as he buries his face in his hands. "Just give it to me."

“What are you talking about?”

"Why won't you yell at me?!” Jungkook sobs painfully, his own hand slapping down on his mouth as he tries to keep his volume down so Hwayoung could keep sleeping. He feels as if he’s tethering over the edge the longer that you look at him stoically, his fingernails digging to his palms roughly to the point that he draws blood. ”Why won't you tell me I told you so? Why can't you tell me that I had it coming?"

Everything and everyone except you is falling apart around Jungkook, and it brings him to his knees.

“Do you want me to punish you? Is that it?” you ask, clenching your jaw until it aches.

Jungkook looks miserable this way. He looks like a devastated sinner awaiting judgement from a god whom he once lost his faith to. He looks like your husband begging, not for forgiveness, but for something more painful for as long as you feel compensated for what he’s caused you.

“You want me where to hit you where it hurts, Jungkook?” you laugh dryly, making him raise his head up as he nods slowly yet definitively, the tears on his face not close to stopping.

You say nothing while Jungkook expects everything, your husband unable to decode what you say under your breath as you turn your back on him to go shower.

You get out of the bathroom eventually, finally seeing that he doesn’t have his forehead touching the carpet.

Instead, Jungkook’s passed out from crying and has himself curled up into a little ball on the same chair you’ve sat on just awhile ago, with your clean change of clothes pressed on the bed right next to your daughter.

( ♡ )

Jungkook looks for you in everybody but he finds you in no one.

He woke up far earlier than his alarm (not that he had been in a deep slumber anyway) and the perpetual ache all over his body reminds him of that, his eyes glazing over you as if it’s the last he’ll see of you for decades.

Hwayoung stirs awake at the same time that he does, and for a moment, Jungkook thinks that everything’s okay.

For a split second, he mistakes today as one of your workdays wherein he wakes up early to prepare you your breakfast and it just happens that Hwayoung wanted to be a joey to a first-time kangaroo mother. He mistakes your little family in this hotel room to be a perfect one, wherein his only biggest hurdle in life is to keep his daughter inside his do-it-yourself sling while trying not to overcook your fried rice.

Apparently, Jungkook mistakes everything and everyone to be in favor of you, of him, to the point that he had deliberately ignored your plea to work with Eunsu all this time ago, and that decision of his has majorly, if not completely, undone everything you tried to work on for your family.

He tries to find you in the elderly lady who looks at him in pity as Hwayoung cries while they’re in first class seats, the shallow breaths he tries to ground himself to (so he wouldn’t panic and text you in fear of bothering you) doing nothing in the long run.

Your husband tries to find you in the foreign flight attendant who despite not knowing him or whom he’s married to, offers to hold Hwayoung as she explained that she’s a mother and also has a toddler at home.

Jungkook tries to find you in the remnants of your perfume on his daughter’s shirt. Hwayoung’s already stopped crying after some time of being cradled by the flight attendant, and the sight of his daughter calming down because of a stranger (who is obviously better than him) makes him want to be ground to a fine powder for everyone to walk over.

He feels ashamed in a way that he can’t even put into words. Jungkook feels far too inadequate, far too undeserving, and far, far pathetic that he fears not even his constant apologies to you would ever be enough.

Jungkook feels ashamed even when you take the last flight home and you go through the door like nothing’s wrong between the two of you, simply because Hwayoung’s watching. He feels like a dog fetching you your house slippers automatically but he wants to be reduced to something more filial; something a little more loyal to the point that it’s pathetic.

Your husband is ashamed even when you’re not awake and he can’t see your eyes avoiding his whenever your daughter’s not around.

Jungkook holds you tighter in his sleep, going so far as to kneel by the side of your bed instead of reaching across you, so Hwayoung wouldn't be caught in the middle — even if she’s already been since the start.

( ♡ )

Outside of you and Jungkook, only Jimin and Yoongi know about what happened.

You have your pride holding you back from telling your parents because in the back of your mind, there still lies the instinct of wanting to protect Jungkook, your own family, from the family that raised you.

You have no one to confide to except for your manager, who’s technically obligated to know what’s been going on with you when you suddenly call him up to tell that you’re surprising Jungkook in the US, only for your next call to consist of you asking for his help in a terse manner– and your best friend, who’s the first person Jimin calls whenever you’re in need of serious assistance.

There’s been no headlines of Eunsu breaking in and entering Jungkook’s hotel room, along with the follow-up details of how you and your daughter (whose existence is known but her privacy maintained to the highest level you can maintain) arrived as a surprise, only to be confounded by the very scene of your rival in a nightgown, held back by guards.

You know it’s going to come eventually.

You know the telltale dread that fills you up when something far bigger and beyond you is on its path to overtake you. The articles, the scrutiny, and the discourses haven’t even entered the stage yet you already feel sick because this time, it’s not only your name that’s going to be dragged into a situation you never thought would happen.

It’s also your daughter’s.

“We need to talk about Hwayoung,” you approach Jungkook as soon as you come home after your overtime, stilling in your tracks when you see Hwayoung sleeping in her pen.

Jungkook’s eyes linger on her before looking at you properly this time, the knot on his throat loosening at the prospect of what’s been bothering his mind repeatedly, but with the promise of a solution that he hasn’t arrived at, yet is bound to hurt him nonetheless.

“I was thinking the same thing.”

You sit on the far end of the baby blue floor couch as if you and Jungkook don’t share a home together.

“We look okay to her now but still,” you pause, looking down on your feet that are bruising from the heels you’ve been filming with all day and night. “I don’t want to put her in the middle of… everything that thisis.”

Jungkook nods, not only because he understands, but because he’s aware of everything, all the way from the guilt of being a husband to the guilt of being a dad.

“She’s bound to ask questions too, and even if she’s not asking them now, I feel bad having to keep her in the dark.”

“She’s still young, Jungkook. I never thought I’d say this, but I mean,” you sigh, shrugging defeatedly as you try to look for the right words. “If we keep including her in situations that she shouldn’t be a part of, we’re only bringing her closer to harm. For all we know, someone somewhere has a picture of her during the trip.”

“I-I tried my best. I moved as fast as I-…”

“I know. I also tried my best when we took the trip to you,” you exhale heavily, trying to wrap your head around the complexity of the past week alone; you can’t even understand why you pushed yourself to go back to work immediately after going back home. “I’m not saying that Hwayoung’s known already. I’m just considering the possibility because we could never be too sure.”

Jungkook knows you’re trying to get rid of the guilt that forms in him for that matter, but for everything else, he knows better than to assume of you.

“Do you…” he swallows. “Do you also think that Hwayoung needs a breather from us? Not the other way around, of course, but you know-…”

“I know what you mean,” you nod your head, the guilt of being a mom to a Hwayoung coming easily these days. “It’ll be good for her to be around other people. To be away from what we have going on.”

You and Jungkook share a guilt that’s only unique to having Hwayoung under your circumstances, and it’s a burden you want to get rid of without ever hurting her in the process.

“We can’t have my parents babysit. They read me easily and I don’t want them to know,” you confide, making your husband hang his head in shame even if it wasn’t your intention.

“My parents can’t either. They went on a cruise.”

“I don’t trust nannies,” you add, making Jungkook nod deliberately.

“Who can we trust then?” he sighs, rubbing his hand all over his face as he tries to scour his brain for people. “Who do we have in our lives that Hwayoung trusts too?”

Your head tilts after a few seconds in realization, and Jungkook’s mind drifts to his daughter’s godfather whether he likes it or not.

You and your husband have the same idea in mind, with one being less fond of it than the other.

“I’ll call Yoongi.”

( ♡ )

“I want to be your personal assistant.”

Jungkook says in one breath, right in the middle of making your lunchbox.

You woke up early in the first place because you neither thought nor expected for him to do it for you, but with the way he’s nearly done and making more than necessary, you’re clearly due to be corrected.

Without Hwayoung to tend to, Jungkook itches to have a purpose. He wants to be needed even if he isn’t and the thought always springs up on him whenever his girls are by themselves. The use of him, although not always necessary, is what keeps Jungkook up on his feet these days, nevermind the excruciating guilt and desperation of wanting to make it up to you.

He almost always came to accompany you to your shootings before Hwayoung came around and he’s reminded of it as he packages your meal, his shaking pupils meeting your own that are only begging for any sort of explanation.

It’s not that you don’t want Jungkook to try — it just happens that it’s been awhile since it was only, truly the two of you.

“Why?"

“Because I want to,” he merely shrugs, and when he steps out of the kitchen, you only keep your frown to yourself as you realize that he’s already dressed for the day.

Jungkook doesn’t invade your space like he usually does but he sits close enough to you on the drive to your shooting location; enough for you to feel the warmth that radiates from him without being overwhelmed.

It’s been more than a long time since this happened that you’ve practically forgotten what it felt going to work with Jungkook.

You forgot how your husband steps out of the car first to hold all of your things in one hand with the other reaching out to help you down.

You forgot how he has a natural scowl on his face and how despite your staff knowing that you’re already married (and to him specifically), they can’t believe the sight of the two of you together.

You forgot how Jungkook likes to hang around you as if he’s a dog with only one owner in any place he can call home as long as he’s with you, that you forget to tell Jimin that you haven’t told your husband about the upcoming press conference at all.

Without even trying, Jungkook overhears Jimin (who’s giving him the cold shoulder) going through your schedule for the next two weeks, his jaw grinding at the particular event that he already knows is important without any explanation—

Without any heads-up from you at all, it seems like.

Jimin’s already left your trailer several minutes ago but Jungkook’s eyes are still fixated on the chair he sat on, his eyes looking past the flooring and deeper into the ground that he wants to be one with out of disbelief– out of shame, even.

You always told him about your schedule and you didn’t leave anything out — it’s only now when it dawns on him that you haven’t been telling him about your work at all.

“Do you not want me there?” he asks, his voice thick with confusion. “Are you embarrassed of me or something?”

“It’s not like that, Jungkook.”

“Then make me understand,” he pleads with the hint of despair, the disbelief that coats his tone all throughout being entirely transparent.

You didn’t plan on how to break the news to him. You didn’t plan on letting Jungkook know about the media event at all.

There’s no other response that springs up to your throat except for the one that only exists since he’s had that drunken fight with you.

“Because I don’t want you to ruin it again for me, okay?” you lick your lips, going more and more breathless the more that Jungkook mirrors how you looked back then when you begged him all those years ago. “Because the last time that I had a big press conference like this, you ruined it for me too.”

The thought of Sora, and then Eunsu, and then Jungkook himself come hand in hand, and you wonder when will you stop suffering from the though process that haunts you whenever you’re reminded of press conferences — of your entire work in general.

“I don’t want to be reminded that you hate the life I gave you.”

Jungkook feels the urge to tuck his head in between his knees again, but he doesn’t want to run away this time.

“I said I’m sorry,” he surrenders as he lacks the words he had been telling you in numerous variations for the past days and weeks.

He didn’t think it had hurt this bad the last time around.

"And I only forgave you because it seemed right at the time," you clench your jaw, your exhale being more shaky than you expected. “I only forgave you because I had Hwayoung in my mind."

( ♡ )

Jungkook’s getting back into the groove of being by your side at work.

You’re still not fully adjusted to the sight of Jungkook during tapings, all while he moves about like it’s always been in his nature to assist you. He’s overeager in a lot of things, so much so that his presence practically attracts more attention than you do on set.

It was just yesterday when Jungkook hollered and clapped his hands loudly after you say a long, emotional line before the director said cut and before your co-star could even say her line next, which led to you having to re-do the scene.

It was just two days before when he audibly groaned when an extra had to whistle at you for a scene and literally walked right into the set with his fists clenched, forgetting entirely that you were filming and that a random guy just didn’t catcall his wife in front of him.

It was just two minutes ago, when you ban Jungkook completely from watching you act.

“I’ll do it,” he perks up at the stylist as if he hadn’t been sulking to you just two minutes ago, his hands already fixing themselves on your arms to get you to stand up.

“Jungkook-…”

“But Mr. Jeon-“ she squeaks, about to say her thrice-rehearsed piece of doing her job (everyone on set has been warned about your husband making them jobless) when Jungkook basically carries you to your dressing room.

“No, no, I said I’ll do it!” he practically squeaks, setting you down wordlessly with a giddy smile on his face.

Jungkook’s too good at getting back into the groove of being by your side, you almost forget that the two of you aren’t entirely okay.

He gets you into your gown with utmost care (albeit a little confusion along the way), his hands caressing you with the familiarity that only he carries. Jungkook carries a weight with him that settles when he touches you in any which way, the weariness of his fingers dispersing as soon as you give him the slightest attention.

He may have looked stupid pretending he didn’t know how corsets worked or how petticoats are worn first before the actual gown, but his denseness had atleast bought a little more time from you.

A little more warmth.

Jungkook looks at you intimately, not in the way that’s begging for you to want to jump his bones, but in the way that he knows who you hated throughout the workday while having his warm hands work on your calves.

He knows every inch of you, which may be the reason his hands feel warmer on you than you recall, all the way to the tips of your toes that feel trapped all of a sudden.

“Oh, you don’t have to do that. I think they’re gonna swap out my shoes anyway because they won’t be seen,” you murmur, trying to avoid the heels and the pain they bring but not until he hushes you.

“I’m not putting on your heels. I’m putting on your socks.”

“I don’t need socks.”

“Your cold dogs keep rubbing up on my legs at night whenever you forget to put them on,” he snickers out of nowhere and it brings out a sudden snort from you, the brief and unorthodox moment hanging over you whilst the two of you gloss over the fact that not only have you not been intimate for so long, but you’ve also not cuddled despite sleeping in the same bed.

Jungkook walks you to your set with his hands raised in surrender, already murmuring to your worried director that he’ll stay out this time as soon as he finishes taking you.

“Wait,” he squeaks before turning back to you, making everyone else hold their breaths to see if they could retain their jobs today. Jungkook carefully removes your wedding ring that you forgot to stash, wearing it snugly on his pinky instead. “Just for safekeeping.”

( ♡ )

Jungkook’s not fond of the rain.

He’s not fond of it especially when your job requires you to stand under it.

“Your hazard pay should be ginormous for the work they’re making you go through,” he mutters, holding up an umbrella for you as some stylists make quick work of already pre-soaking you before the scene starts.

“It’s just a little rain,” you roll your eyes, about to shove your hands in your pockets because it’s getting a little cold already yet Jungkook notices before you even could, holding both of them with just one massive hand as he leans the umbrella more to your side.

“They should cancel the filming today. It’s pouring,” he continues like he’s never heard you, even if the rain isn’t terrifyingly bad. The weather’s only fitting because the scene calls for it, but even so, Jungkook feels hesitant.

He lets go of your hands for a brief second to retrieve the handkerchief that’s tucked to the waistband of his pants, already unraveling it for you in waiting.

“Blow.”

“What?” you narrow your eyes at him, looking down on the fabric until it finally hits you in realization.

“Blow your nose,” he nudges you, nodding his head to it but it only makes you shake your head even more.

“No way!”

“Just blow your nose now so you wouldn’t feel stuffy later.”

“I’m not gonna feel stuffy later. It’s just a little rain,” you roll your eyes, crossing your arms together as you beg internally for the lighting to be fixed so you could shoo your husband away.

“Blow your nose while I’m still asking.”

“Ew, no. I’ll look like a child in front of — Jungkook!”

Before you could even comprehend it, Jungkook’s already pinching your nose with the handkerchief, forcibly making you blow your nose, uncaring of the swooning and oddly endeared eyes trained on the two of you.

“Just a little rain. Heh,” he mocks, folding the handkerchief back up with one hand to tuck back into his waistband. Jungkook moves on like it’s nothing, begrudgingly leaving you alone without an umbrella, but not without raising his voice enough for the other staff to hear. “I’ll try to scare your management into raising your hazard pay.”

( ♡ )

Jungkook likes peeling fruits for you and Hwayoung.

He doesn’t like the sticky residue nor the lasting smell that gets stuck underneath his fingernails, but he manages. He’d only eat your leftovers and he wouldn’t do it for himself anyway, even if he knows you always get a little irked by the fact.

It’s his habit now to cut fruits for you in the most Hwayoung-tolerable slices possible, the bowl of tinily-cut tangerines underneath your hands as you skim through your script making him uncharacteristically silent; if he wasn’t apologizing to you, you would be talking each other’s ear off about Hwayoung.

He tries not to make a big deal out of brushing your hair because it’s been a while since the last time, instead reading your script along with you so he’ll be distracted. Jungkook doesn’t know if he can focus as hard as you do or remain like so for even longer, but at the moment, there’s only one line on the script that stands out to him.

It stands out, not because it’s long nor vulgar, but because the line belongs to him.

“That scene — will it be filmed today?” Jungkook asks, breaking the silence as he traces the words with his finger.

“Huh? This one?” you follow to where he points, shaking his head as you try to remember. “No. It’ll be next week, I think. I’m just memorizing in advance.”

Jungkook hums but it’s not out of interest, the sound that comes from him instead bordering on a wince. There’s a terse look on his face that you could only liken to jealousy, the thought of it unexpectedly making you snicker.

“Calm down, Jungkook. It’s not a kissing scene.”

“But you say I love you to him, though.”

“That’s worse?”

“Maybe. Probably,” he shrugs, the uncalled-for thought about what he’d feel if there’s a scene where you have to have (read: acting to have) sex making his throat close up painfully. “I can’t tell.”

The thought crosses your mind too, but you’d rather not dwell on it.

“How do I look like when I say I love you?”

Jungkook purses his lips, pausing from brushing out the section of hair he’s passed through more than ten times out of distraction (read: devastation).

You look like love itself if it had been personified.

You look like an unexplainable feeling in an interrupted dream he had been born with, and his sole mission in life is to seek you.

You look like what miracles do and he’s the first witness each and every time until you’re canonized by everyone, except he always wants to place himself at your feet as your first devotee.

“I know exactly what you look like when you tell me you love me,” Jungkook answers. “But I don’t want to tell you.”

“Why not?” you laugh at his defensiveness, replacing your gaze on him through the mirror just to crane your neck up at him so you could see his reaction more closely.

“Because you only have to act it out,” he shrugs, eventually laughing along with you even if he means every word. “I want to be the only one that knows what you look like when you’re saying the truth.”

( ♡ )

It’s your first good day in a week and a half.

It’s actually the first day wherein you and Jungkook talked simply because you wanted to; the first day wherein your conversations didn’t revolve around Hwayoung and pestering Yoongi to send more pictures of her, and the first day wherein Jungkook didn’t try apologizing.

You hum in content as you sit on the couch as soon as you come home, your husband following suit and sitting next to you instead of giving you space.

There’s only a centimeter worth of distance between your hands placed on the couch, and if Jungkook only twitched in faux accident, his pinky (the one that still wore your wedding band) would be brushing yours already.

“It’s like we’re kids again,” you smile to yourself, looking around the entire house. You remember how your ceilings didn’t used to be this high and how your space didn’t used to be this wide — you remember how you and Jungkook weren’t always like this.

“We are kids,” he emphasizes, playfully rolling his eyes.

“Aren’t we pushing thirty?”

“I don’t wanna go into details right now,” he murmurs, slouching further into the couch and nearer to you, his hair that’s growing past his ears lightly brushing against your shoulder.

Jungkook looks around the house too, his eyes glazing past Hwayoung’s playpen, the laundry of a family of three that he’s yet to fold, and the toys of a cat who hates him that he has to sort out soon enough.

Jungkook’s life wasn’t always this way and although he appreciates the fact, he’s terrified by the possibility that it’ll be this double-edged sword that’s waiting to happen.

In the same way that worship is optional but devotion is necessary, Jungkook tries to hold you as tightly as he could without pushing you away.

“Baby,” he rasps out, chewing on his bottom lip as he tries to make sense of the ache that blooms in his chest. “What if…”

“What’s in your head, Kook?”

In the same way that devotion is necessary but worship is optional, Jungkook toes the line with a question that he has no telling what the answer is to.

“If you had the option to have Hwayoung with someone who isn’t me,” he clears his throat, trying to get rid of the immediate pang in his heart that follows.“Would you still have her?”

You think for a second and answer immediately, even if Jungkook wanted you to stay silent for longer because he’s afraid of what you would say.

“That’s not Hwayoung then.”

“No but I mean hypothetically, if you could have Hwayoung-…”

“I got what you meant the first time,” you interrupt him, gently shrugging him to get up from your shoulder so he’d look at you without running away. “That’s not Hwayoung,” you mumble, trying to keep up with the myriad of thoughts that he had opened up. “Hwayoung’s only Hwayoung because she’s part me and part you.”

Jungkook nods, except he doesn’t understand. You could say your piece over and over again, but Jungkook still wouldn’t understand because he doesn’t know what he wants to hear from you either.

“But what if she has all of you and you could pick someone else to be her dad,” he croaks, looking down on the floor with a grief that belongs only to him. “Would you still want her?”

“I want Hwayoung because she’s my daughter with you, Jungkook,” you sigh. “I could pick someone to be her dad and that someone is you. I already chose you — what’s hard to understand about that?”

You hear Jungkook asking you the question over and over again, even if his mouth is already shut. You see him looking at you with tears in his eyes even if they’re downcast on the floor in reality.

You feel yourself wavering even if you’re definite about your answer.

“You made me a mom and I made you a dad.”

“But I doomed us into this,” Jungkook weakly counters. “If only… i-if only I changed my ways earlier, if I — if I could’ve been just content with this perfect life you built for us, t-then we wouldn’t be-…”

Jungkook inhales sharply, the choke that soon follows ringing in your ears to the point that it pricks tears from your eyes.

“We wouldn’t be in this situation, Y/N. I turned us into this,” he sobs. “If only I could’ve been s-satisfied, Hwayoung would be in my arms at this time while we wait for you to come home,” Jungkook shakes his head painfully, the clench of his fists evident even when you’re only looking at him from the corner of your eye. “If only I thought everything you— you spoon-fed me was enough, then Yoongi, of all people, wouldn’t be babysitting our daughter right now,” he pauses. “Why can’t I be in your press conference?”

You don’t have to look anywhere in the house to realize that Hwayoung’s playpen is empty.

You don’t have to tune anything out to realize that Hwayoung isn’t here in between the two of you, talking and giggling as you go about your day while you’re still wearing your outside clothes; while she’s still in her pajamas because she wanted to wait for you to come home.

The gravity of everything hits you all at once, making you hiccup in tears.

“You were really mean, Jungkook.”

In the same way that worship is optional but devotion is necessary, Jungkook listens to you even if it’s you cursing him.

“I’m not the best mom there is because I’ve missed so much milestones. I… I-I’ve missed so much trying to secure everything for you, for Hwayoung, f-for us because I don’t know how much more I could take,” you sob, burying your face in your hands. “Do you know how hard it is for me? Do you know how hard it is for me to work alone while knowing that my husband and daughter have each other at home? That I don’t have someone while I put myself out there?”

There’s a strain of grief in your heart that only you carry, and Jungkook can’t do anything about it.

“I feel so, so, s-so fucking guilty, Jungkook!” you shriek, your cheeks turning blotchy the more that you cry. “I-I… I had to pick up this child— this child actor— over and over again because my fake role is to be his mother,” you strain a laugh humorlessly, trying to screw your eyes shut so you wouldn’t see Hwayoung’s laundry from the corner of your eye. “Meanwhile, I can’t even hold my own child because her appa’s already taking good care of her at home.”

In the same way that devotion is necessary but worship is optional, Jungkook takes it, takes you, should this be his punishment.

“Jungkook, if you envy me, then you don’t know how much I envy you more,” you exhale in defeat, wiping at your eyes with the back of your hand. “If only I could, do you think I wouldn’t drop everything just to stay at home with you and Hwayoung?”

“You could be mad at me all you want, Jungkook, but I still don’t want you to go to the press con.”

“It’s different now, Y/N,” Jungkook whispers, his eyes rubbed red and raw as he pleads with you silently because no word, no litany can save him now.

“But how different is now from then? It’s like we’re kids again, Jungkook,” you whisper. “If you were the one in my place, would you drop everything if I asked you to?” you add, swallowing the lump in your throat. “Can you drop everything if I asked you to?”

( ♡ )

In a dream Jungkook doesn’t tell anyone, he’s never met Sora, and you happen to be his first everything.

In a dream your husband doesn’t tell anyone, he doesn’t know of Eunsu’s existence, and if he were to know about her, he only happens to think about her as your rival and nothing more.

In a dream he doesn’t tell anyone, he didn’t wake up late in your bed, and he most certainly heard Yoongi ringing the bell eagerly because he wanted to take Hwayoung home to see the both of you before you go to your press conference.

Jungkook bounds down the stairs so quickly that he almost trips on the way down. His hair is still unkempt and his shirt remains askew, yet he still goes down anyway with a speed you can’t even decipher because he’s already heard his daughter cheerful screaming.

"Up, up!" Hwayoung claps her hands, looking at Jungkook’s direction but not at him — instead, she’s looking at Yoongi who’s emerging from the kitchen.

In a dream Jungkook doesn’t tell anyone, Hwayoung doesn’t know anyone except for you and him.

“Up, appa! Up!”

In a nightmare that Jungkook’s experiencing in real time, Hwayoung mistakes Yoongi as her dad.

#HEHHHHHH how r we feeling citizens!!! pls report back i am So Sorry :O #jungkook imagine #jungkook oneshot #jungkook oneshots #jungkook series #jungkook angst #jungkook angst imagine #jungkook fluff #jungkook x reader #jungkook x y/n #jungkook au #jungkook scenario #jungkook fanfic #jungkook x you #bts jungkook imagine #jungkook scenarios #jeon jungkook x reader

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honeylemonteaasblog · 11 months ago

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Your Protectors

summary: Five years ago you went missing, and now that they found you again they’ll never let you go again.

pairing: ot7 x reader

genre: mafia, a little angst but not much, a little fluff but not much, second chance romance

word count: 4.1 k

warning (not detailed): parent abuse, violence, death, sexual violence [protective boys, emotional Namjoon, I’ll burn the world down for you and never let a single flame touch you]

“T-Taehyung” Your voice shook as you looked at the man in front of you. You used to wish that they would come to rescue you, but they never did. You were left to save yourself, and you did. But now one of the boys from your past is here, standing in front of you instead of haunting you in your dreams. To be fair, he looks equally shocked. Taehyung is standing in front of you, mouth agape and eyes wide. Clearly, he didn’t know that you were going to be here. He hadn’t been looking for you, but after all these years you never expect him to be.

“Oh my god. I thought— we thought you were dead.” He continues to babble in front of you, but you can’t stay here. You just killed a man in the bathroom behind you and you need to get out of the club. You glance behind you once before shoving past Taehyung, which was easier then it should of been, but you think it’s because he still looks like he’s seen a ghost. Honestly, you know the feeling.

It takes him a moment to come to his senses so you are already down the hall when he calls out your name. You look back to see that he’s holding his phone up to his ear, probably calling one of the others. You really need to get out of here. Now. As you turn the corner towards the back door you make eye contact with Hoseok across the room. He’s sitting with Jimin and Jungkook in a roped off area of the club, clearly meant for VIPs. Fuck.

You turn before Hoseok can even make a noise, but you saw his shocked expression and you saw him hit Jimin in the shoulder and point in your general direction. You don’t wait for Jimin to look up, instead you turn and run.

You make it to your bike just before the door slams against the brick wall. You want to look back, even if it’s just to get another look at one of them, but you know you shouldn’t so you keep your gaze fixed ahead. You’re on your bike and tearing away before they have time to catch you. Only when you are about to turn the corner, do you glance behind you to see all four of them watching you. You knew that they would be. You want to go to them because you remember how comforting their hugs were, but you know that you can’t, not anymore.

You and the boys were best friends five years ago. Honestly, you were more than friends, but you all were too scared to put a label on it. But none that mattered because all of you knew that you loved one another. Within in your little bubble, the eight of you could simply exist and be happily in love with each other. But the reality was that the world was a judgmental place. All of you were scared that it’s judgement would taint your love.

You’d found the boys when you ran away from home. You were only 16 at the time and they had found you shivering in an alleyway that you’d been sleeping in for a couple of nights. They took you to their small apartment that Yoongi rented. They all lived together most of the time, but you quickly learned that Namjoon was the heir to a prominent mafia family so he couldn’t stay at the apartment often. Seokjin and Yoongi were gone a lot too, helping Namjoon. But Taehyung and Jimin who weren’t much older than you took care of you, claiming that they were older so it was their job to protect you. Jungkook claimed he would too even though you both were the same age, muttering something about being a man that made you roll your eyes.

But they did protect you. The seven of them saved you when you were scared and protected you when you couldn’t. They did their best to chase away all your fears away. Probably for the first time in your life you felt cared for; you felt loved.

You still remember when you went to a convenience store on your way back from school one day, it was in the winter so it got dark early. A man, probably late 20s, had pushed you up against the wall and was trying to get you to come home with him. If he cared, he probably should have chosen a different tactic… you know besides cornering and threatening a girl. It was clear that he didn’t actually care what you wanted, or felt for that matter. You had been trying to push him away when he suddenly was flying off you. Yoongi pinned the man to the floor and punched him. After he got a few good punches in, Seokjin pulled him off the man and told him to leave in voice that promised violence. The guy had ran without looking back.

The two boys turned to you with concerned eyes. Their once angry faces softened when they saw the tears streaking down your face. Seokjin pulled you into his arms and started whispering reassurances into your ear, then they walked you home. The rest of the boys were equally as angry and honestly looked a little upset that they hadn’t been the one to punch the guy. Yoongi just looked smug.

Though the seven of them were involved in the mafia, especially as they got older, they did their best to keep you as far away from it as possible. They promised themselves that they would do everything in their power to protect you. Yet, they also couldn’t find it in themselves to leave you. They loved you too much to ever walk away from you, despite the risks.

So when you were kidnapped they blamed themselves. They thought that they were the reason that you were taken. If only they had known the truth. If only you had told them the truth, then maybe they would’ve been able to help you. At the very least, they wouldn’t have blamed themselves as much; you would’ve been naive to think that the seven boys that you loved, that loved and protected you wouldn’t blame themselves at all. You just wanted to lessen their hurt.

The truth was that you were born into the mafia, just like Namjoon. You were the daughter of a powerful man in the mafia and while he wasn’t the leader, he was still important. He was important enough that you, his daughter, was valuable in securing an alliance with another mafia family. When you overheard your father basically selling you off as a bride to a man twice your age you took your chances and ran.

The first thing you did when you were safe enough, even if you were still staying on the streets, was find some decent looking guy to have sex with. Your family was old school and wanted a virgin bride. You would never let your father take that choice away from you. So, you had sex with a somewhat handsome man, who was young enough, and didn’t ask too many questions or pressure you into anything more than one night. There are times when you’d wish that you would have waited and one of the boys could have been your first, but you also know that, at the time, it was the only way that you’d be able to protect yourself. It was a choice you made for yourself, which felt empowering despite everything. If your father caught you, at least he couldn’t marry you off and tie your life to someone else. It was the only thing you could do to protect your future, and you would take anything you could get.

The boys were always so clear that they didn’t want you involved in their lifestyle, that they wanted you safe. So you never knew how to tell them that you had been involved. That you had run. You knew that they would still love you, but you weren’t sure if they would let you stay with them. When they got worried about a threat to your safety they weren’t the most understanding. You never knew how to bring it up, but as the years passed you thought that you might have truly escaped from your father. You never should have been so naive, so reckless.

When your father did find you and bring you home, the boys had no idea where to look. They certainly wouldn’t look towards your father’s mafia. Obviously you regretted keeping it a secret, but you hated that the boys would blame themselves when they were never the ones at fault. You hated the idea that you were causing them pain because despite everything you loved them.

You loved them with everything you had because in those years together you all had molded yourselves to fit together perfectly. When you were taken away from them it felt like someone had torn your heart out. Even now, five years later your heart still beats for them. You knew that you would never love anyone else the way that you loved those seven men and you carried that with you through all the hard times. You held onto that love like a dirty secret when everything else was falling apart, giving you hope despite the darkness. They might not believe it, but their love continued to protect you long after they were ripped out of your life.

The next time you saw the boys was when you were at the gym. You had been in the fighting ring with Daejoon. You loved fighting him because you were equally matched. It felt good to finally pin him after fighting for a while. Every time you won, even during training, you felt this rush of power. After being at other people’s mercy for so long the little bits of control and power you felt were intoxicating. It’s the main reason why you kept coming back to the gym to train, and why you would often fight in the ring.

You aren’t sure how the boys found you, but really you shouldn’t be surprised. After Namjoon’s father died a few years ago he would have inherited the title. With that came a lot of power, so finding you shouldn’t have been impossible, especially after you killed someone in his club. It’s why it hurt a little more that they hadn’t found you before. You had more or less found them instead. Accidentally, but still.

You heard Namjoon call out your name and you really didn’t want to look up, but he tone didn’t give you much of a choice. They were all looking at you. “We need to talk.” You nodded because despite everything, you still loved them and could never deny them anything, even when it’d be better if you did. It hurt to hear the vulnerability in Namjoon’s voice. To know that after five years, he still cared about you and he still wanted to know you. It hadn’t been a command, but a plea.

You see the pride in their eyes and realize that they had been watching the fight. That they saw you in a new light now. They saw that you were no longer the helpless teenager that had been torn away from them. They saw that you were stronger now and could literally fight for what you wanted. Instead of feeling threatened, they looked proud.

Realistically he should be worried you are a threat, but instead he just looks exhausted and worried. As you walk over to him he reaches out to you like he wants to hug you and it breaks your heart because it feels like no time has passed and just yesterday you were cuddled up on the couch. But that’s not true and the girl that you are now is a completely different girl than who you were when you all fell in love as teenagers. So, he may think that he still loves you, but you aren’t sure anyone is capable of loving you anymore. So you keep your distance and pretend like you don’t see the hurt splash across his face when you don’t fall into his arms like you used to.

“Namjoon” Your voice breaks and if it were possible, he looks even more heartbroken. “I’m s-so s-sorry. I can’t be here.” You shake your head and start to step back because this was a bad idea. You knew this was a bad idea. But you meet Jungkook’s chest instead. His arms come around to circle your waist. “Sweetheart, let us in. Please”

You want to shake your head. You want to pull away. But you can’t bring yourself to move. For five years you’ve dreamed of them and now that they’re really here you aren’t sure how to handle the situation. You may have dreamed about the boys, but those were only dreams. You had given up on them being a part of your life. “I’m not the same girl I was five years ago.” You don’t want me anymore.

The rest of the boys come around you also. “We aren’t the same either, princess.”

You find yourself nodding. With Namjoon now being the head of his mafia family they couldn’t be. And that hurt you more than you wanted to admit, so you pushed that down and tried to focus. “I can’t stay here. He’ll look for me.” Your words are soft as you finally give in and lean back into Jungkook’s arm. He easily supports you, holding you even closer like he is worried you might disappear if he loosens his hold. Its like the only place he knows you are safe is in his arms.

“Who? Princess, who took you from us?” Seokjin’s voice is soft despite the hard look on his face. He looks like he is ready to burn the world down for you. It looks like he would happily watch the world burn around you all if it meant keeping you safe. Some things never change.

You shake your head. “I’m sorry. I wanted to tell you but I worried about what would happen… I thought that it would be okay, but I don’t know why I ever thought that because it’s not fine. Nothing is ever fine.” As you begin to cry and your rant becomes harder to understand. You have been holding yourself together for so long by yourself. You aren’t even sure how you made it because now that you think about it, you are exhausted. Being in Jungkook’s arms and surrounded by the others makes you feel like taking a breath of fresh air after being forced under water. It makes you feel a little lightheaded, but in a good way.

Namjoon’s hands find your face, tilting you up to look at him. It grounds you, just like he always was able to.

“My father.” You feel the men around you still at your words, trying to process this part of you that you never gave to them before. It hurts to think about the lies you told them about your family. They protected you from anything and everything, but you were never fully honest with them. You were so scared that it might change your relationship, that they might leave you because they wouldn’t love you. All those fears are still there, but now you are so much more broken and you can’t imagine that they will ever look at you the same, let alone love you. No matter how kind they may be now, five years is a long time. You are a completely different person than you used to be. You’re broken. You don’t know how to truly love anymore. Well, not in the same way at least. And you don’t know how to be loved anymore.

You’ve been alone for so long that you no longer know how to rely on anyone anymore. Your father made sure that you never had anyone to rely on. He told you that no one was coming to rescue you because no one cared enough. He forced you to become so independent that you weren’t sure what you could offer the men that you still loved. You no longer had anything to offer them, so you weren’t sure why they would care for you anymore.

Hoseok shoved his boss aside so he could hold your face in his hands, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “It’s okay Sunshine. We will protect you now… like we should have before.” His voice trails off when a look of anguish replaces it.

“Little one, I-I’m so sorry that we failed you.” You feel tears well up in your eyes as you hear Namjoon’s voice break. Namjoon is the head of a prominent mafia family. He is one of the strongest men that you know, but he isn’t afraid of showing his emotion to the people that he cares for. Hearing his voice filled with sorrow, guilt, and pain makes you want to reach out and cradle the larger man. You hold myself back because you can’t.

“You don’t understand. My father will never let me go.” You pull out of Jungkook’s hold a little so you can steel your spine and put on a brave face. You know that you will need it. “I’m not his daughter, not really. I’m just a tool to wield. And he would never let one of his investments go.” You keep your face neutral even as you see their anger. It makes you want to reach out and comfort them, but you don’t. Involuntarily, your fingers twitch at your side.

You swear the you hear one of them growl, you think it came from Yoongi who is standing to your right. He stays just out of reach which makes your heart clench painfully. It’s like he isn’t sure if your really here and the little bit of space between you will protect his heart if you aren’t real. It’s like he wouldn’t survive you being taken from him again, even if it’s only in his head.

“I have to go. I have to leave because it’s the only way that I can protect myself.” The vulnerability in your voice makes them want to bundle you up in their arms so nothing can hurt you ever again. Jungkook’s fingers twitch at your sides because he want to hold you closer, but knows that it isn’t his decision to make. Enough men have made decisions for you; he won’t.

They would gladly be your shield if it meant that you could rest for a while. They would take on the world for you. They would take on anything and challenge everyone who dared harm you no matter the consequences. There is nothing they wouldn’t fight if it meant that you wouldn’t be forced to be alone again.

“I know that you can protect yourself, little one. I know that you are capable of fighting your battles, and I will gladly stand by and watch you.” Namjoon sounds so sure of himself. He sounds so sure of you and that confidence alone makes you look up to meet his eyes. You aren’t sure what you expect to see, but all you see is pride in his eyes. He looks so fucking proud of you and you aren’t sure what to make of that, not used to seeing such emotion.

“But just because I know that, it doesn’t mean that you have to prove it every time. Letting someone else protect you doesn’t make you weak.” When you glance at the others around him, you see they are all looking at you with the same promise. They are looking at you like you hung the stars and moon. Like you are the only thing that matters. They look at you with such intensity and emotion that you feel yourself shifting on your feet from the weight of their gazes. Jungkook’s hands land on your hips and pull you closer to his chest.

“I-I know. And I want to… I really do. But I don’t know how to.” You find that you are telling them the truth. You wanted them to save you for so long and even if you did give up, you never stopped dreaming about them. You never stopped loving them either. You don’t think that you could ever stop loving the seven boys that loved you in the best way that they could. The boys that swore to protect you from all the darkness in the world. The boys that love you despite five years of distance. You don’t think you’ll ever deserve these men, but your selfish so you also never want to give them up. You realize that despite everything, you want to be enough for them. You’d fight to be the person that they are worthy of.

They wouldn’t want to hear your thoughts though because to them, you are already everything. You give them a reason to be alive. You are the center of their world and the gravity that keeps them tethered to earth. Without you, they would float aimlessly without any direction in life. So, even if you don’t see it, they will make sure to remind you of that every single day for the rest of their lives. And one day, you’ll realize just how deeply they love you and that together you will get through the hard days.

“Shhh… It’s okay. You don’t need to know everything, we can figure it out together.” Jimin rubs circles on the inside of your wrist, trying to comfort you. But you know that Jimin likes to hold the inside of your wrist to feel your pulse. You think that he may be trying to comfort himself, just as much as he is trying to comfort you.

“I’ve always done everything on my own.” You’re barriers that were already barely up around them have fallen away completely. You sink back into Jungkook’s embrace. He peppers soft kisses on your neck and in your hair. His hands tighten around your hips. It makes you smile and twist around to bury your head into his neck. You think that this, being with them and hidden away in their embrace, may be your favorite place. You think that you would feel safe no matter where you are as long as your with your boys.

“We are here now. You’ll never be alone again.” You opened your mouth to protest Jungkook’s reassurance. But he cuts you off before you could even start. “We’ll learn together.” His hand finds the back of your neck and pushes your head into his neck even more, letting you breath in his scent and relax into his hold. You feel all the tension leave your body as Taehyung runs his hand down your spine.

“Let us protect you, not because you can’t but because we want to.” Yoongi’s voice is clear and he tilt’s your chin up out of Jungkook’s neck to catch your eyes so you can see how serious he is. You know that they’ll protect you, they’ve already done that before, but there is something deadly in his eyes that make you think this time they will be even more protective. “It makes us feel useful.” Taehyung presses a kiss to your forehead as if he is trying to seal his promise with a kiss and it makes you smile because for the first time in years you aren’t scared of your father. You know that together you and the men around you, your boys, will be strong enough to take your father down. To get retribution for the pain he caused all of you.

Then you will finally be able to find some peace. You’ll be able the rebuild your life with the men that you love— the men that love you. And this time you’ll welcome their love and express your love for them in a way that you’ve never allowed yourself to before. And no one deserves to be loved more than these men.

It’ll be then that you’ll realize that there is so much strength in being vulnerable and showing the people that you love that you love them. Expressing emotions isn’t a sign of weakness, it is an incredible strength. And that you should never have to find that part of yourself weak ever again because if anyone sees that at a weakness or threatens to exploit it, your boys will take care of it. They will never let anything hurt you ever again, even your own doubts.

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kithtaehyung · 1 year ago

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minted (m) (snippet) | myg

title: minted (m) pairing: street king!yoongi x street cart vendor!reader rating/genre: m (18+) ; angst , smut ; haegeum au , gang au summary: all you do is wake up, sell your fruit on the dusty streets below your flat, and go to sleep. but everything changes when a customer you always look forward to seeing turns out to be dangerous. really, really dangerous. note: again, this wasn't on the docket for 2024 until i saw one (1) mint yoongi edit on my pinterest feed💀 anyways, this is dedicated to hali @sailoryooons for ur belated bday, nary @joonary for being a cutie pie and letting me adopt the tangerine cart girl idea in general, and luce @minttangerines for ur url and for being a wonderful friend. love you all! warnings: language, violence, weapons (guns/knives/chopsticks/etc.), blood/wounds mentions, drugs, alcohol, murder, gang activity, poor reader is just trying to get through the day, mint!yoongi, haegeum!yoongi, tatted!yoongi, his eyebrow is pierced, knife held to the throat, tension, reader suffers from “my cabbages” levels of disaster, orange!jimin, fight scenes, both versions of yoongi have their own red warning labels smut warnings: to be dropped on drop day but lmfaoooo est. drop date: july 2024! teaser word count: 486 total word count: projecting 15-20k✌️

With a head full of thoughts, you stare into nothing, stirring your noodles and waiting for the heat to die down.

Maybe you should’ve just walked a shorter distance and checked the shops you originally wanted to browse. If things went to plan, you could’ve been back home by now, freshly showered and curling up on your worn bed.

But instead, your feet are sore, your head is anything but washed, and you have to trek home empty-handed—on the first day off you’ve had in months.

Defeated, you sigh, going back to your bowl and watching diced vegetables swirl in aromatic broth.

At least the food in this area seems good. And the fading decor really adds to the…

Ambiance.

Wait.

You can’t pull your eyes away from the group walking in, bringing heat from the sweltering sun on their clothes and in their eyes.

But you can only kid yourself for so long because the one that has your gaze tethered is the man in front. The one you haven’t seen in weeks. The one looking right back at you with a visage so shadowed you feel like moving tables to let him pass.

…Yoongi?

As he gets closer, you swallow hard, not expecting to see him and having no earthly idea what to do.

But from the slight confusion pinching his forehead, he didn’t expect to see you, either. Which makes it even weirder when he slowly takes your chopsticks right from your fingers.

Hold on, what—

“What are you—”

A lone, long digit over lips is the only response you get, silencing you immediately before you whip your head around to watch him rush past.

All of them waste no time rushing up the stairs, a myriad of blues blending in with gritty paint and smoke.

And just like that, your reunion is over.

Home. You need to go home. Leave, leave, leave, because something is bound to be going down upstai—

A thud faintly shoots out into the staircase, and you spin around again in your chair, eyes snapping to the ceiling.

Shit.

Even though you’re on high alert, you realize with a quick sweep that no one else is noticing. Or moving. Or even paying attention to anything else but their own company.

Does no one else care about the commotion? Do hits happen in this area that often?

Mind running, you can’t decide what to do. Because even though Yoongi’s guys have plenty of weapons, he clearly had nothing since he needed to borrow your damn eating utensils.

Another crash rains dust on conversations around your shoulders, causing you to look up one last time.

Go home, go home, go home. In what universe would Yoongi himself ever need your help here?

With one more look at your noodles, you curl your lips before biting a side.

Already yelling at yourself for choosing to book it towards the back staircase.

tbc :)))

⟶ what do we feel! | 🥢 join the taglist 🥢 | masterlist

a/n: LETS GOOOO WHO IS HYPED BCCC..

#let's gooooo #minted #bts fic #bts fanfic #*ryenfictalk #ryenwrites #*latest #yoongi fic #yoongi angst #yoongi smut #bts angst #bts smut #bts imagines #bts reactions #yoongi x you

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magic-shop-stories · 4 months ago

Note

Hiiii I love your work, specially when you write about Yoongi! I loved the dating headcannons you did for him and was wondering what you picture aftercare with him to be like, in more details? Thank you so much and amazing work as always ❤️

💌 Reply:

Hi lovely! 💜 Your messages always make my day, thank you SO much for your kind words and for trusting me with Yoongi. I adore writing him, and your support and comments always give me a reason to smile. I’ve poured extra care into this answer, so I really hope it’s everything you wanted and more. Sending you a virtual hug and endless love 💜 -c-

Also I'm back from my little break, still have one more uni assignment to finish (RIP)... but I'm trying my best to keep up with all your requests

YOONGI AFTERCARE HEADCANONS

GENERAL AFTERCARE

Actions

helps you sit up slowly

arm braced around your waist

“Easy. I’ve got you.”

hands you a pre-warmed towel to drape over yourself

cleans your thighs and stomach with another damp cloth

preheated on a radiator

his touch is clinical but tender

his hands are methodical

avoiding any sensitive areas unless you nod permission

lingering on pressure points (shoulders, lower back)

easing tension

guides you to the bed or couch (if not already there)

never leaves you alone

adjusts the thermostat first

layers blankets over you

gathers used towels and sheets without comment

balling them into a laundry hamper

spritzes the room with your favourite scent to freshen the air

adjusts the sheets around you both

tucking the edge under your chin

his lips brush your forehead, lingering

“Perfect. You’re perfect.”

brings you water in his favorite mug

holds it to your lips if you’re shaky

“Slow sips. I’ve got you.”

brings spiced hot chocolate (his secret recipe)

sips from the same mug first

“Not too sweet. Like you.”

peels a tangerine slowly

each segment on your lips

his eyes never leave your mouth

“Open. Slow.”

dresses you in his oversized hoodie and fleece socks

smelling like his cologne

“Warmer now?”

syncs his breathing to yours

nose buried in your hair

when your breath hitches, he hums low to steady you (snippet of Seesaw)

Touch

sits behind you

legs bracketing yours

massages your scalp

“You’re safe. Always.”

traces idle patterns on your arm to keep you present

pulls you against his chest

skin-to-skin

his heartbeat steady under your ear

his palm rests between your shoulder blades

fingers splayed possessively

“Stay here. Just… stay.”

interlaces his fingers with yours

thumb stroking your knuckles

other hand traces idle shapes on your hip (a heart, his initials, a music note)

claiming without urgency

presses your palm flat over his heart.

“Feel that? Yours. Always yours.”

IF YOU CAN’T WALK:

scoops you up bridal-style

one arm under your knees

the other cradling your back

his biceps flex, steady

“Hold on. Don’t let go.”

carries you to the bathroom

he’s already laid out fresh towels and your go-to skincare on the counter

“Prepped earlier. Knew you’d need it.”

VERBAL CUES

murmurs “Good job” or “You did so well”

voice gravelly but tender

“Need anything? Name it.”

if you’re quiet, he fills the silence:

“Tell me what you need. Anything.”

AFTER ROUGHER MOMENTS

kneads arnica gel into your bruises

fingers firm but careful

“I’m sorry. Too much?”

draws a warm bath with epsom salts

carries you in if needed

lines the tub edge with a folded towel (probably prepared it before)

“For your head. Lean back.”

tests the water temperature

adjusts it until steam rises just enough

“Not too hot. Perfect.”

kneels beside the tub

sleeves rolled up

uses a silky washcloth and unscented soap to clean you

starting at your shoulders

avoids lingering, but his fingers brush your collarbone once

= apology and reverence

“Just float. I’m here.”

washes your hair meticulously

massaging your scalp

“Close your eyes.”

rinses with a cup to keep suds from your face

while you rest in his robe, he strips the bed swiftly

layers fresh sheets (100% cotton, ivory)

arranges pillows in a nest

adds a heated blanket pre-warmed in the dryer

“In case you get cold.”

lifts you back into bed

adjusting the pillows behind your head

tucks the comforter up to your chin

“Rest. I’ll handle the rest.”

kneels at the foot of the bed

massaging your calves with vanilla-scented oil

thumbs dig into knots

voice a rumble:

“Tell me where. I’ll fix it.”

EMOTIONAL DROP/ CARE

cradles your face

forehead pressed to yours

“Look at me. You’re real. This is real.”

whispers “Mianhae” (I’m sorry) against your temple

even tho you consented

guilt flickers in his eyes until you reassure him

FOLLOW UP

sleeps on his side

arm slung over your waist

pulling you into his chest

if you stir, he murmurs: “Shh” and tightens his grip

texts you the next day:

“How’s your body? Honestly.”

if you’re sore, he delivers home-cooked soup to your door

HIS THOUGHTS & FEELINGS

Internal Monologue

replays every moment

critiquing himself

“Did I push too hard? Fuck. Should’ve checked in more.”

“They’re so… trusting. I can’t fail that.”

watches your lashes flutter

memorizing the way moonlight paints your skin

“Do they know? How much they undo me.”

“Should’ve used more lube. Idiot.”

mentally adds it to his shopping list

“Their smile… worth every second.”

Pride/Protectiveness

smiles faintly when he sees his hoodie on you

“Mine. But theirs too.”

files away your aftercare preferences in his Notes app:

“Y/N - lavender oil, 72°F, no citrus.”

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chevelleneech · 6 months ago

Text

The post I just reblogged reminded me of how much Jimin and Jungkook have a brat/brat-entertainer dynamic, and kind of always has, with JK being the brat and Jimin loving every bit of it.

And it led to another thought of mine, where I constantly say I think a large portion of Jikook fans have a very narrow view of their bond. Because JK is taller, stronger, and darker in his aesthetic, he is constantly framed as this protector of Jimin’s. Which is fine to an extent, because we have seen that dynamic between them. We know Jimin likes feeling protected by Jungkook, and we’ve seen JK take the lead between them and guide Jimin through a crowd or whatever. It is clear that is part of what endears them to one another.

However… what that gifset and what Are You Sure? in general reminded me of it maybe even made me realize in a way, is that I don’t think a lot of Jikookers see just how wanting Jungkook is of Jimin in a comforting role. I’ve for sure seen it discussed that Jimin is JK’s person and safe space to land when he’s feeling overwhelmed, but, and I’ve mentioned this before, it seems as if Jungkook enjoys being “something” Jimin can sink his claws into, so to speak.

Jungkook is so bratty toward Jimin it’s not even funny. He argues for the hell of it, he taunts and teases, he pokes and pushes his buttons, only to then cackle and be the happiest he’s ever been when Jimin snaps at him. He loves getting Jimin to bite back. He also loves being in Jimin’s space as we’ve seen in hours worth of footage, but there’s also the questionable pattern of him being “tagged” as Jimin’s. The not-his-initials-initials tattoo, the not-a-hickey-hickey, his name written in sunscreen on his body… I mean… I won’t say it means something, but again, it’s a pattern.

Point is, Jungkook is so much more the softer half of their dynamic than so many people seem to accept. Jimin is of course as soft and gentle and has his moments of wanting to be wrapped up in JK, but it’s not the same, I don’t think. Jimin tends to want affection and attention at certain times, whereas Jungkook seems to simply be that way. Maybe it’s because he’s the maknae? I don’t know, but he the end result is never the same with the other members.

He can bratty toward Yoongi, but Yoongi doesn’t bite back the way Jimin does. He lets JK do whatever he wants, and sort of just coos at him and they go one about their day. JK is can also be very cuddly with Hobi, but is never questionably touchy. He also bickers with Jin, but they have more of a physical banter. They play fight all the time, which isn’t really part of his bantering with Jimin.

So I honestly think it’s just that Jungkook loves being the center of Jimin’s attention. He will always care for and protect Jimin when he needs it, but outside of taking up that position when the time calls, it really seems as if their dynamic is rooted in Jungkook being the center of their relationship. Not in a bad way, but I feel like it’s more common to see people say Jimin is the doted on one based on the “Jungkook is the protecter” angle, but when you look at everything altogether, it really seems to be the other way around.

#jikook #I love their dynamic so much

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perfectlyoongi · 10 months ago

Text

ROOMMATE!YOONGI who covers you every night when you fall asleep in front of the television. whether winter or summer, Yoongi always made a point of accommodating you on your small sofa. with a white blanket in the summer and a blue blanket in the winter, Yoongi covered you carefully, letting the smooth fabric begin to warm you before he considered whether or not press a kiss to your forehead. yes, you were sleeping, you wouldn’t notice. no, you could wake up, you would mock him. just a sigh and a turn away with a pink tint on his cheeks — tomorrow he would give you that kiss, yes. “one of these day you get sick and i don’t want to take care of you. i’m just saving myself work in the future. it’s just that, that’s all.”

ROOMMATE!YOONGI who would buy groceries with you just to know what you would like so he could buy it for you when you needed it most. as he pushed the cart, seeing your body walking excitedly in front of him, Yoongi always made a mental note of all the brands you touched and talked about, paying special attention to the ones where you just looked and smiled. one day, he would offer you what you like most. but you can’t know that’s the reason he always goes shopping with you. “these cookies were on sale and i know you like them, so i decided to buy them. if you want, i can go back and buy that juice you really like. it’s not a hassle at all.”

ROOMMATE!YOONGI who makes a night of ice cream and wine when life is getting more complicated for you. lit only by the lamps in your living room, sharing a large bucket of your favorite ice cream, Yoongi sat next to you and listened to your outbursts. about work or family, friends or the world in general, Yoongi would let you talk for hours if necessary, just talking to offer you more wine or agree with people’s stupidity, always ending up giving you one or two pieces of advice and a story that would make you laugh. on the most complicated nights, Yoongi would be by your side, sharing a blanket, an ice cream, and a moment that would be eternal. “tell me all your worries and let me carry them in my heart for one night. let me relieve you of the weight of reality just for one night. let me help you.”

ROOMMATE!YOONGI who only lets you sit on his bed. Yoongi’s room was sacred, just like your room was sacred. but, as with all sacred temples, short visits had to be made regularly to maintain the fantasy charm. so, whenever you invaded Yoongi’s room to show him a video or share gossip about the neighbors, he would let you sit on his bed, secretly wishing some of your scent would get lost on its clothes. but only you could do that. it didn’t matter if it was a friend or family, Yoongi only let you sit on his bed, because it was only your smell that calmed Yoongi on the most turbulent nights. “sit on the bed, it’s more comfortable. but don't hug my pillow again. last time you left it disfigured and i couldn’t sleep. be more careful with my bed, thank you.”

ROOMMATE!YOONGI who leaves you little sticky notes on the bathroom mirror when he thinks you need it the most. words of encouragement or simply some reminders, several colorful squares were left on the bathroom mirror for you to find early in the morning. Yoongi wanted to remind you that you weren’t alone, ever. Yoongi was just a sticky note away. “i know how cruel the world can be, but don’t forget that if there is light and hope in this world, it is because you are in it. never forget your worth.”

ROOMMATE!YOONGI who leaves coffee or tea made for you in the morning before leaving the house. Yoongi was always the first to wake up, and when the house was still plunged into a deep silence, Yoongi prepared your favorite hot drink at the exact moment before he left and before you woke up. ever since Yoongi started doing you that little favor, he had never failed. every morning you were treated to your not-too-hot drink and the smell of Yoongi’s perfume still in the kitchen. “i’m glad you liked the drink. i just want to do something for you to start your day off right and show you that there’s still beauty in this world.”

ROOMMATE!YOONGI who didn’t know how to confess, he only knew that it couldn’t pass that night. the feeling consumed Yoongi from the inside, devouring his soul, destroying his entire essence. Yoongi felt trapped by that feeling. Yoongi had to free himself from that weight that squeezed his heart as quickly as possible. so, that night, Yoongi helped you tidy up the kitchen and, before you even put down the cloth, he took a deep breath and, asking for help from all the angels and saints and courage from all the gods and entities, Yoongi simply spoke. “i think i like you. well, actually i don’t think, i’m sure. but i don’t want to scare you or push you away with the truth of my feelings. just… just know that i like you, a lot.”

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bonny-kookoo · 2 years ago

Text

Jungkook

𝐒𝐭𝐞𝐫𝐞♡𝐭𝐲𝐩𝐞𝐬 🔞

Who said every omega needs an alpha?

Tags/Warnings: Omega!Jungkook, Omega!Reader, Omega!Jimin, Mentioned Alpha!Yoongi, Stereotypes, Friends to lovers, Major Fluff, Romance, Slight angst, injury, brief hospital visit, smut, oral (f. Receiving), smut, Dom!Jungkook, protected sex, knotting, biting

Length: ~5k Words

There is no taglist for this fic.

A/N: Boo.

-> Masterlist

•━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━•

Jeon Jungkook.

He's a good looking guy, above average in almost everything he does, and easy to like. Conversations flow easily around him and friendships blossom left and right- almost everyone knows and likes him. It's hard not to, really; as an Omega, he's naturally passionate and caring, a gentle guy that enjoys making others happy.

You met him at a friend's birthday party, the young wf having noticed you standing mostly all by yourself without really conversing with anyone. He'd been kind enough to introduce himself, stay with you, and keep you there for much longer than you usually stay at gatherings like these.

And right now, he's standing in front of you, smile still on his lips and hands tucked away in his jacket pockets while he sways front and back on his heels after having told you he's interested in you.

Romantically.

"There's a.. You said you collect those stuffed animals, squishmallows, right? There's a new store that sells the really huge ones. We could stop by that store tomorrow, if you'd like." he offers, curious eyes watching you with a glimmer that's just.. Jungkook.

Jungkook is new. Different. He's nothing you'd expect, always doing something you'd never be able to guess- and ut makes spending time with him hoth exciting and a little stressful at times.

His eyes always seem to sparkle when he smiles. It's honestly unfair, how they always put you under their spell with their boba-pearl charm. How can you say no?

How can anyone ever tell him no?

"I.. Okay wait. You.. And me?" you wonder, and he nods, smile turning into a grin that makes his lower eyelids raise. "But I'm not, uh… Are you sure?" you wonder, and he becomes surprised at that it seems.

"I am. I wouldn't have asked you out like this if I wasn't." he says, still swaying a little.

He's always been like this. Never staying still. Always up to something. Constantly moving. Like his body is constantly generating excess energy he can't seem to burn. Like the energizer bunny.

"what makes you think I'm joking?" he asks, and you look down, rather watching the tips of his shoes than his gaze any longer.

You can't stand his gaze. You're gonna melt into a puddle if you look at him any longer.

"I'm just.. Me. And you're you. Shouldn't you want someone more.. Opposite of you, rather than the same?" you ask carefully and it seems that it clicks for him in that moment.

It's technically common sense- alphas get with omegas, omegas with alphas. That's how it goes- or so one might think.

But Jungkook isn't any wolf. He's not ordinary in anything he does- so it's unsurprising that his sub-gender also isn't what one might expect.

"Ah~." he hums mostly to himself, before shaking his hair out of his eyes after the wind had blown it over his face, fingers pulling the strands from his piercings decorating his bottom lip. "Stereotypes. You're talking about me being an omega and all that, right?" he wonders, and you nod.

"Sorry." you instinctively say. The regret of your words already starting to make you uneasy. Did you insult him now?

Male omegas tend to be very sensitive when it comes to this. Or maybe that's Stereotypes too?

"No problem, lots of people think that way." he shakes it off, taking a step towards you. "But, rather than explaining to you what is and isn't true about the stuff people say-" he starts, feigning innocence before he grins at you, holding your hands in his now, playfully, just by the tips of your fingers. "-how about I show you?" he asks, and you look back at him.

"huh?" you can only answer, and he sways again, tilting his head to the side a little, swinging your hands a bit.

"Go out with me." he bluntly suggests, grinning brightly. "And I'll show you."

•━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━•

Wolf's sub-genders have been the topic of Novels and movies for a long time now.

The most popular trope being the alpha that falls in love with their omega, to live happily ever after. Some of your own favourite media actually includes this stereotype as well- and for a long time, in your head and in many others, this was the most ideal couple amongst wolves.

However, reality is more complex than that, and you're roughly reminded of that with the way Jungkook behaves.

While he does offer a lot of the general traits associated with being an omega, such as his big round eyes and constant need for physical contact, he also doesn't fit others at all. He's muscly, masculine body dressed comfortably in clothes made of soft materials, and his behavior, while gentle and soft in the way he acts, feels oddly confident and almost dominant to you.

He's sure in his walk. He knows his worth.

There's a hand on your back leading you without any force through the store, like a remote control, no need for actual strength.

There's that glimmer in his eyes every time you struggle and ask him for help with something, as if he's amused by the fact that he makes you nervous.

There's that look of victory in his face whenever you seem flustered by any of his words, Luke it's a game he keeps winning.

He's making your head spin.

You're both sitting on a blanket in a calm park- when he lays down, patting the spot next to you in an inviting manner. "Come here." he smiles, and you do so- easily cuddling up to him, surprising yourself even, considering you're not one that's this easy with physical contact like that. But Jungkook? He runs the inside of his wrist over your neck, bashful smile on his lips as he watches you, caring nature of his sub-gender showing in his actions.

"What're you doing?" you wonder, and he grins sheepishly, caught red handed.

"Scenting you." he says. "I- we technically do it differently as wolves but, I don't wanna seem pushy." he admits, and you nod. You know how it usually goes.

You remember your last alpha doing it, licking your neck instead, or biting. It made you anxious. Every bite could've been made to last, after all.

"…Thank you." you tell him due to that, the way he makes sure he's never too forceful making you feel at ease- and slightly guilty. "And sorry." You apologize because of this.

"for what?" Jungkook wonders. "I had a nice day, even better than I could've imagined. I'm feeling really happy right now." the young man explains, and it makes you a little jealous how easy it seems for him to voice out his emotions.

You're not that good at it. Maybe he can teach you?

"For judging." you explain, but he just scrunches up his nose before softly flicking a finger under your chin, teasing you.

"Don't worry. It's normal." he shrugs, before rolling onto his back, your head on his tattooed arm as you watch the clouds as well next to him. "Do you think.. We could try?" he wonders, and after a moment of thinking, you nod.

You know what he means by that. And you want to try as well.

And he swears, if he had a tail, it would be wagging like an excited puppy.

•━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━•

Your first kiss happens rather Spontaneously.

It's unprepared, a little clumsy, happening in the kitchen after you'd placed a small bandaid over the cut Jungkook had accidentally given himself while helping you cook. Seeing you tend to such a minor wound so carefully just set something off inside him- and he couldn't help himself.

And after the initial shock of it all, kisses seem to be a constant around Jungkook.

As soon as you meet up, there's a quick peck as a greeting, lips barely properly touching, but enough to make the gesture of affection count.

Small kisses on your cheek whenever he's close enough, just to see you turn red, shyness of you just too precious to look away from.

And most importantly? The way he scents you changed.

While pretty tame at first, the entire act of scenting you has become somewhat heated these days- just like now, as he runs his lips over the crook of your neck, back and forth, hands almost sensually running over your body, clothes suddenly feeling itchy.

He never crosses boundaries, never bites where you don't want to, never pushes himself past your limits just because it's easy to do. He's gentle, caring, offers you just what you need in the right amount, easing you into the waters that's his love.

And it makes you brave. It makes you want more.

Your own limbs seem to want him closer as well, your mind slowly becoming more and more trusting towards him, as he builds up the affection every time you spend time with one another.

It started just with cuddling on the couch while watching a movie. Then, the kisses got added to the mix- shy at first, his confidence with you slowly building up towards the point of where you are today; Heated, bodies warm and needy as his hand travels underneath your soft fleece shirt, fingertips carefully meeting the underline of your chest. "Still okay?" He asks, lowly so as if worried he might pop the little bubble you're both in and wake you up from the trance of emotions, but you simply nod, smiling, happy.

And as an omega, he feeds off of your emotions; he thrives in the fact that you're giving yourself into his arms so freely and comfortable, no worries in your scent whatsoever in his presence.

He shamelessly purrs at the way you kiss his collarbone, lips pressing over a tiny little beauty mark he has in that area, making him shiver in pleasure. You've not talked about going all the way yet- and right now, he's not trying to get into your pants at all. You're so attentive to him, offering such kind affection, that its enough for now. He can't deny however that your scent is driving him crazy- making him hungry for even more intimacy than he's receiving already.

He's needy. Craving.

"Can I eat you out?" He asks breathlessly so, and your eyes widen before your cheeks grow a bit red. "You don't have to say yes." He adds at the sight of your shyness, but you just shrug in response.

"I don't know what it feels like.." You start, before you look up at him, and he feels himself feeling upset. How come you've never experienced that? You're so sweet, you should've been able to explore your most carnal desires with someone you trust. "..but I trust you." You say, and his body erupts into happiness.

You trust him.

It washes over him like the hot stream of water in the shower after a long day, making him nod eagerly as he kisses you first and foremost. Jungkook is pretty orally focused, you've noticed; playfully nipping your skin here and there, kissing you randomly, or just running his sensitive lips over the soft skin of the back of your hand, feeling your skin with his mouth and hot breath. So it's not a surprise when he doesn't mind kissing you a bit more chaotically, open mouthed and tongue exploring your mouth with confidence.

He loves you, after all- and he can see, feel, that you're falling for him too.

He makes it all feel so natural that you can't help but giggle at the feeling of his kisses down your bare stomach; dress pushed up by his hands, a grin showing when he notices your reaction to his antics. He feels as if he's high- never having had the opportunity to be in a situation as easy and simple as this; both of you just existing, no words needing to be shared, no roles defined, no goal in mind other than making the other just as happy as yourself.

It's an odd feeling at first, but simply the sight of him so immersed in the act makes it feel ten times more erotic to you than you thought it might. Your breathing is deep, occasional sighs escaping you, soft voice chanting out his name like a mantra to keep you sane; and he starts to feel drunk off of it, teasing licks turning into more determined motions, tongue flat on your most sensitive area, the feeling odd but not unpleasant. All that fills your head is simply your approaching high, not in the slightest feeling like anything you could've done to yourself.

How will it be when you're both in heat?

You've known each other for months now, after all. Your cycle has synced up by now, you've noticed last time he'd taken time away to himself.

Your back arches as you roll your hips closer to him, lost in the ecstasy while his hands hold a firm grip on your thighs, fingers digging into the flesh while you ride out your orgasm on his tongue, before he let's go of you, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand before crawling back up to lay down next to you with an impish smile on his red lips. "Hey." He jokingly greets you after you've opened your eyes again, noticing how he's moved your dress back down again as to not have you get cold.

Jungkook lays there with a smile, and you feel funny in his presence like this. You've never had anybody talk to you or treat you like he does ever before- you're used to either being told exactly what to do, or to be scolded for what you're doing or have done- so him talking to you like you're something special makes you a little confused on how to act.

And it makes you scared, because up until now, you've ruined everything good.

•━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━•

"So have you, you know? Repaid the favor?" Jimin asks, eating his sandwich in front of you while you suddenly turn pale. "Oh." He just humms, while you let your face fall into your hands.

"Oh god, I'm such a nasty bitch, really.." You groan, eyes stinging already at the thought of Jungkook having expected you to get him off as well, just to get nothing in return but a stupid cuddle. The shame washes over you like waves on a stormy day, clashing against your bones with anger that swells up in your chest. You're upset at yourself now, appetite having vanished, and now you're even madder at yourself because Jimin had literally paid for that little piece of cake you'd chosen to eat here, and now you can't even enjoy it anymore.

Hormones are a gorrible thing, especially for omegas. And the stress you have these days just really fucked you over, causing you to drop into a new mental low.

"Hey, no-" Jimin says, wiping his mouth with a napkin before a hand reaches out to touch your arm. "-I'm sure he would've said something if he'd expected anything." He says, making you look at him with glossy eyes.

"Great, so you're saying he doesn't want me like that, thanks." You say roughly, and Jimin sighs, running a hand through his hair. "Oh god I'm sorry, now I'm all moody and-"

"Everything alright?" Jungkook's voice rings out next to you, as he stands close to your chair now, having spotted you in the small cafe with Jimin while passing by on his way home from work. "Hey, what happened?" He coos worriedly, bending down a little to get a better look at you who's hiding your face in your hands, humiliated about crying in a public setting like this, while Jungkook tries to assess the problem- your scent making him anxious too, but in a different way.

You're his partner. And his instincts tell him to offer you comfort, make you feel better.

You've always been overly emotional like this, but its worse now than ever. Jimin said that it's probably from being raised so roughly by your more than strict parents- after all, he remembers the times he had to make up stories just so you would be allowed to stay over at his family home, or for you to attend school trips. He's put himself into the line of fire constantly just to hang out as a friend with you- your mother hating him growing up for being a 'bad influence', and your father even threatening him with violence after Jimin had cut your hair for you, having grown tired of you being unable to express yourself even in the slightest at the age of 15. You remember how Jimin had grinned to you the next day, after everyone at school genuinely complimented you for your new appearance.

However, years after and now both of you working adults, you still have the habit of breaking down crying at the sight of the slightest thing going south in your life. But Jimin simply smiles watching Jungkook squatting next to your seat, carefully wiping your cheeks and eyes concentrated as he listens in on your hiccups interrupting your words to him, none of it very coherent.

But he manages to understand.

"Baby, it's totally fine, I don't hate you." He chuckles, pulling a chair from an empty table close by to sit next to you. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to interrupt you both, by the way." Jungkook laughs, reaching out to shake Jimin's hand. "Jungkook, nice to meet you."

"Jimin. She's been talking non-stop about you." He teases, making you pout while drying your eyes with a napkin, earning a snort from Jungkook who just can't help but find your glare cute.

At the end of the day, you're happy to see your best friend and boyfriend get along so well- both making sure you know you didn't do anything wrong- and that it's totally fine to cry.

Jimin making sure to underline that no one even noticed at all.

•━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━•

"I'm sorry sir, but I don't feel comfortable leaving you alone with her at all." Jungkook says, and it's all a face-off you never hoped you'd have to witness.

Your father had arrived unannounced to apparently bring something over your mother had sent- but you know he just does it to tell you how 'messy' your apartment is, and how you don't have your life under control. You don't know why exactly he does it- any parent would be happy to see their child earn a living from a job they genuinely enjoy; your art selling for high prices, well known celebrities decorating their homes with your works. Jimin had always said that your father is simply jealous- but you can't help but feel small under your parent's strong gaze and harsh words, Alpha father too intimidating to resist bowing to.

And now? Right now your father had told Jungkook to leave, and to yours (and probably your father's too) surprise, Jungkook had declined.

An omega, refusing an alpha's command.

"I'm sorry too, dog, but It's not up to you to decide that." Your father responds, and you worriedly look between the two men, when Jungkook speaks up yet again.

"You're right, it's up to her." Jungkook says. "It's her apartment after all." He says, turning a bit to look at you. You quietly nod, giving him the sign that yes, you want this man out, but you can't bring yourself to say it. It makes Jungkook feel protective of you in this situation, no mate able to stay calm at the prospect of their partner feeling in danger of anything in their presence. "Please leave, or I will call police." Jungkook says, and your father scoffs.

"I'll give you a nice black eye before they get here then, how about it?" He threatens, and while you step in front of Jungkook in a moment of thoughtlessness and reckless protection, you end up receiving the punch right into the side of your head, knocking you to the ground.

"No!" Jungkook barks out, rushing down to your level to check up on you- before spotting your father looking down at the scene with horror.

"I didn't mean to-" He almost whispers, before he takes a shuddering breath, leaving the apartment and you two alone.

You feel dizzy, headache already starting while your hearing sounds like cotton wool had been stuffed into it. It's distant, almost non-existent, and you can only hear Jungkook with your unaffected side. "What's wrong, baby, talk to me.!" he urges, and you sit up a bit straighter, noticing an odd feeling in your ear that makes you run your finger over the opening of your ear canal. When you move it away to reveal red spots of blood, the omega wolf immediately rushes to get his car keys, rushing to the emergency room with you next to him.

An overnight stay, and thorough examination later, you're free to go again, Jungkook making sure to cover all the formalities for your release, while you wait in your room.

"I can't believe he fucking punched you. Oh my baby peanut.." Jimin jokes dramatically, though you know there's genuine anger directed at your father in his words. He's currently keeping you company, his job as a nurse coming in quite handy in times like this, before the door opens to reveal a smiling Jungkook.

"Alright, I've been given your antibiotics and papers, so we're good to go now." He informs you, making you nod, albeit a bit hesitant after being told not to move your head too violently.

"You're lucky there wasn't anything more serious." Jimin sighs.

"Her hearing will be back soon right?" Jungkook asks, and Jimin nods.

"A month or two, typically. The bruising will be down even quicker I imagine."

And Jungkook nods, keeping in mind to never let you get hurt again.

•━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━•

True to his words, a few months later, there's no trace of your past injury any longer.

Now on a spontaneous camping trip Jungkook had surprised you with to help you get over your artists-block and give you some inspiration, you're both entangled inside the van he had rented out, the rain pattering harshly onto the roof of it. You're both unconcerned with the little thunderstorm outside however, rather occupied with each other as he finally uncovers all of your body for himself.

You'd thought it would all feel much weirder than it actually does, but it's Jungkook- every move he makes feels natural at his point, even if the territory you're both walking on right now is absolutely new to you.

The condom over his length makes it a bit easier for him to push himself inside you, your warmth welcoming him eagerly and making him struggle to compose himself. You're just so pretty in the dim orange light that shines inside the van from the front that he can't help himself, his instincts to breed you full of his cum pushing itself into the front of his mind. You'd look so good covered in his release- and you'd smell even better, he knows it already.

Maybe next time. Or next round? How long can you take it?

Right now he's gasping for air, your little whimpers making him feel more sensitive than he's ever felt before. Not even his own heat compares to this burning need he feels growing inside him, your hips rolling up into him, and he's a goner. A growl leaves his throat before he bites around your neck, movements becoming more frantic now in the heat of the moment, needing to claim you as his. "I love you." He hums into your neck, and you respond with your own confession, before his hand angles your leg a little better, his thrusts a lot more desperate at this point. The van is probably visibly shaking from the outside, force of his hips hard enough to fill the small interior of the sleeping area with the wet sound of skin against skin, and your sensual breaths.

You're whining for more, but for what exactly you're not sure of. But again, as if he can read your mind, he knows- hand reaching between you both to press and roll your clit between his fingers, making your core clench and thighs shake with your sudden orgasm, his hips never ceasing to move as you wrap your arms around his neck to pull him closer, kiss him feverishly.

It gives him the final push to cum as well- though he's a bit disappointed it has to be inside the condom, and not you.

But, Again; maybe next time.

You're overly sensitive, noticing something odd happening, but he reassures you with licks and kisses to the bruised spot he'd bitten over and over on your neck while his arms hold you close. "Did you forget yet baby?" He chuckles amused, making you a bit shy considering the position you're now in.

Completely connected, his knot keeping him inside you at all costs.

"Kook?" You wonder when you notice the muscles in his thighs still trembling occasionally, hips pushing as close as he can get, breaths studdering, gasping. He's moaning quietly every time you involuntarily clench around his length still inside or move too much, and it's in that moment that you realize he's probably still in the midst of his orgasm.

Talk about drawn out.

It doesn't take long for him however to notice your rather impish acts, the way you seem to be very aware and in control of your actions- and much to your surprise, the moment he's able to slip out and discard the filled condom, he's back between your legs, thrown over his shoulders with a grin on his lips that spells trouble in bold.

"You didn't think I was done yet, did you?"

•━━━━━━━━━━•.♡.•━━━━━━━━━━━━•

"I'm a little worried though." Jimin says, sighing next to you while you reach into the bag of chips he's holding, TV show playing on the screen while you both spend a day together alone. "Yoongi is an alpha- what if I get on his nerves or something? Alphas are said to be quite moody.." He mumbles.

You giggle, adjusting the strap of your tank top that rests right over the permanent scar of Jungkook's forever bite.

"Don't worry Jiminie." You simply reassure him.

"That's all just stereotypes."

#bts imagine #bts fanfic #bts fic #jungkook imagine #hybrid imagine #jeon jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook imagine #bts smut #bts jungkook imagine #jungkook x reader #bts jungkook fanfic #jungkook smut #bts jungkook x reader #jeon jungkook fanfic #werewolf jungkook

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231025 · 1 month ago

Note

Does all the bts members have any message to their future spouse or advice from thier higher self or from thier soul level.

i received many asks requesting messages for the fs from bts and messages from the fs to bts as well. so i will cover them both here

Seokjin: Keep doing what you’re doing. I truly appreciate your generous side. I know, together, we will bring out each other's best side. Don't worry we feel the same way about each other... It's mutual. Let me be generous to you too ♡ 🐕

◆ his fs: I value honesty above everything else and I have high expectations for this connections. That's why I want you to be clear about your intentions from the beginning. I want us to uphold our boundaries while starting off with open and honest communication. Let's approach this relationship more logically, okay? 🗣🚦

Yoongi: Our connection is at a crucial turning point. It’s time to start anew. This time, without the excess baggage of past wounds. I want to renew my vows of commitment with you. I've been thinking, a lot these days.. And that's the decision I've come to make. I want to make this connection work. Don’t try to stop me from doing so. I ended up believing we're destined to meet - can you believe it? I never thought those words would come out of my mouth *chuckling to himself*. Even though this connection has flaws, I want to explore this more. I wouldn't be were I am today withou you... I've realized this now. 😶‍🌫️

◆ his fs: Are you really sure, you're ready to make such a commitment? I think it would be better to let things settle down first. You shouldn't be impulsive... I'm taking the time to pause and reflect and you should reflect on your decicion more too. To be honest, I sometimes feel like I'm stuck in a difficult place in this connection with you. At times, I can’t figure out how to move forward, yet I don’t want the connection between us to end because of my feelings for you.... I believe if we both work together with an open mind, there may be a new path for us together.... I know it can be tough to choose between two people but at the same time I believe I have the right to find someone who wholeheartedly chooses me over anyone else and doesn't wait around too long.... 🙁

Hoseok: I know that you've went through a difficult time. The pain you've felt is real but it doesn't have to define your future. This is the end of a cycle, its time to move forward now. Try to be your own first priority, okay? Also, please work on your trust issues... don't be afraid to seek support or guidance, especially from me - I will always care about you! 💘 🌬

◆ his fs: I want you to be truly serious about this, like I am. Stop beating around the bush. And don't back down. I believe you are the one, what about you? You should be determined to win me over, if you truly love me (￣^￣) *pouting* ( + On a more serious note: Please don't second guess yourself, we both survived until now, the stormy past is coming to an end. Let's make space for a better future in our heart and mind. Stay strong and don't give up.)🐤🔥

Namjoon: Significant changes are coming your way should welcome them. It's important that you embrace this period of personal growth. Just trust your intuition and be bold! You're on the right path, even if it doesn't feel that way right now, you're doing so well, baby. Don't dwell too much on what's lost and on past disappointments. This dark period is only short term and it's an opportunity to grow. So, even in moments of uncertainty, try to stay realistic. Please don't lose yourself in pessimistic thinking. </3 ☔️

◆ his fs: You shouldn't always react with detachment or dejection to adversities that you face in your life. Sit down and really try to find out the root of the problems, you're following patterns that keep leading you to painful dead-ends. Bad times don't last forever, so don't be hard on yourself, okay? Maybe instead of rationalising everything try to depend on your emotional intelligence and sensitivity every now and then. Quiet your mind, and listen to your heart 💜

Jimin: I feel drawn to you and my intentions are pure. There is something about you that reaches me on a deep soul level. So, give me a chance but please let me be who I am, let me show you my authentic self. Get to know me first before forcing your principles on me. If I'm being honest, you check all the boxes on my list but everything is still fresh. I would love to deepen our connection, so let's spend more time with each other first, okay? I want a real relationship and not just something temporary. If there is anything you want to say, speak up. There is no need to hide anything from me or to mask yourself. Have faith in your individuality and reveal your true self (to me). 🪺🌙

◆ his fs: I'm honestly so enchanted and infatuated by you, I would go to great lengths just to be with you. You have captivated me with your charm. My passion for you is strong and undeniable. Please commit to me. Let me sweep you off your feet. I will give this a chance and I'm ready for whatever the future may bring us. Even if this bond is a challenge, let's take bold steps and embrace it fully!❤️‍🔥 🪂

Taehyung: Always defend your point of view and fight for what's right. If something feels off or untrue, don't shy away from confronting it! (I don't mind you being a bit stricter with me too🥴) Be confident about you and all your ideas/thoughts. Don't be afraid to spread your wings and take bold actions towards your goal. We both know you're more than capable. 📢 💫

◆ his fs: Let go of your need for control and trust the process. I know that's it's hard but we both have been put in this position where everything feels frustratingly slow for us to take more time to assess our situation and to change our perspectives to gain a new understanding. Don't worry about those who have treated you wrong, justice is coming. Surrender and have trust for now. 🪆⚖️

Jungkook: You make me feel alive. What’s between the two of us is real, you can't deny it. With you, I just know anything is possible together. Everything with you just comes easily, I want to work alongside you towards a special relationship. Our connection is satisfying on so many levels, nothing can compare. Even though I seem eager to jump into this, I can promise you my feelings for you are sincere and can endure the test of time. They're not wishywashy. You can trust me. + Be more confident in yourself and make use of your talents. Even if something seems unlikely, remain positive and face reality, no matter the outcome, it won't be nearly as bad as you think! Just be honest with yourself, I know you'll make it 🌹🌱

◆ his fs: It's ok for you to take a break and ignore the outside world (incl. myself) for a moment to recharge and heal. Sometimes, slowing down brings you faster to your goal than speeding till you burn out. The pace of life can be so overwhelming sometimes, so I understand. There is no need to rush. I also see the potential we have together, and I want to make this work, but everything has its time and place.

#bts tarot #bts future spouses #hoseok tarot #namjoon tarot #taehyung tarot #jungkook tarot #seokjin tarot #yoongi tarot #jimin tarot

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hoseoksluna · 1 year ago

Text

SMOKE, i. | myg

pairing: idol!yoongi x smoke!oc (ft. bangtan)

genre: angst

word count: 6.8k

summary: everything that begins also ends.

pinterest board: smoke / taglist: join

warnings: suicide ideation, yoongi has deep feelings that he hasn't felt in a long time, sexual innuendos, yoongi has brief dirty thoughts, alcohol consumption, talks of alcohol, social anxiety and feelings of anxiety in general, jungkook has mint hair, covid and the pandemic, talking to a dead loved one, jealousy, envy, anger, crying, yoongi's bad shoulder.

note: welcome to the brand new yoongi series! i can't believe this baby is alive and ready for you to read. i struggled with this a lot, since it's written in a way i've never tried before. yoongi's pov, first person—like what? i thought this chapter was pretty shitty as i didn't feel comfortable writing in this style, but i pushed through, felt like it was meant to be—which is why i need tons of your validation. i was also kinda sad today, so please send your love. :( fyi, jungkook may be a huge part of the beginning of this story, but this is not steam pt 2. jungkook won't be present as much later on. no polyamory here. *spoiler* he just brought oc to yoongi and then he will lovingly go away, dw. :) enjoy this first chapter, i can't wait for many more! kisses.

side note: happy bday to us! mwah.

It was a bang, what happened in our group.

A bomb that blew off in Jungkookie’s trembling hands when he shared the news. A decision that wasn’t really collectively discussed, not even privately with Namjoon—but an information that erupted among us as we sat in the lounge room of the venue, refreshing ourselves with snacks and drinks after the tough soundcheck we had. I had a bottle of Hennessy in my hands myself, about to pour myself some liquid courage in order to chase away the bitter ire I had swirling in my veins, but hearing his words made me forget about the nectar right away.

He was bringing along a female friend for the tour.

The ire turned sour in my bloodstream.

He must’ve lost his mind.

And what’s worse, I was the only one who looked at him as if he were a lunatic. The members squealed and hollered, clapping their hands, shouting different variations of words of, “Jungkookie got a girlfriend!” that made him blush so profusely that he wasn’t able to reciprocate any of our eye contact.

Especially not mine.

I was fuming, taking breaths that hurt my lungs. The bottle of liquid courage damn nearly broke, but I didn’t feel a thing. How could I—when amidst the ruckus and the soft smiles of our staff my feelings parted and melted into a crossroad that I began to stand in the middle of.

One way led to selfishness, the other to the very polar opposite of it.

Jungkook didn’t deal with the pandemic well. His skin was invariably lined with a certain sensitivity towards forlornness and when the mandate forced upon him a pressure of being abandoned—by us and by his long time flirt that was the driving force behind his creativity, besides Army themselves—he didn’t take it well. Crawled inside himself, even deeper within when our management canceled our Map of the Soul tour and we had to stay bricked up inside our homes for a full year.

He was crestfallen and despondent, a decaying human. No girlfriend, no Army. No band members to slap his back, cook him food and distract his mind from the loneliness.

Except for me.

I was the one who made time for him. Who visited him, despite our management’s strong disliking for it. I went around them and did it without anyone’s knowledge but Jungkook’s. With a mask and health in perfect condition that I took care of more for him than for anyone else. Our relationship blossomed to highs that overgrew the bricked walls of our mandatory, artificial castle. A peach honeysuckle vine that we watched as much as we could while I wrote poems to him in my heart to alleviate his ache. It was spring and one, singular hummingbird would fly in to listen to my words while inhaling the sweetened perfume of those pale orange flowers or the fragrance of the natural honey I would buy him and pour over the pancakes I would make for him. A comfort food, a symbol of our secret meetings. A butterfly would sit on the small creature’s back, just to look over its wings and be a witness to a mind’s mending, an afternoon’s tea mixed with dark liquor that would always fade to noraebang.

The key to Jungkook’s heart.

I don’t know how the little fella found us, but I wish his wings would sense us here. There’s no windows for him to look out of, but the craving in me for it to fly in and save the day, remind Jungkook who’s been here for him this whole time, blossoms in me just like those peach flowers.

The castle has collapsed a tiny bit, but the honeysuckle remains untouched.

Or at least I hope so.

The other, non-selfish way is simple. Our work had been put off for so long and now that we’re able to pick it back up—in a way that isn’t as satisfactory as I’d want it to be, of course, for the only faces we’ll be seeing beyond the stage are the ones of camera lenses, not the ones belonging to our beautiful Army—there’s a distraction, an external person who could never understand the gravity of that pain we all went through.

This was supposed to be a precious time shared between us. Another mending of some sort—as our job is the chambers of our hearts.

And now as I look at her, I feel her playing with those strings of my heart like a harp. And I have that terrible feeling that she will open the doors to each chamber and ruin everything we’ve worked so hard for.

In spite of the fact that she didn’t do anything wrong. It’s a gut feeling that consumes me and I can’t do a thing about it, not even admit that it gives me the tiniest hint of a thrill that I’ve been craving for so long.

Jungkook wasn’t the only one affected by the loneliness that came with the mandate. I gave my all to him and always walked out of his door empty—with no one to refill me.

Performing again was supposed to do the job, but it seems as though she’s come in to hijack it.

Announcement, the ruffling of his hair and multitudes of teasing aside, we had an hour and half left until the beginning of our first show in Seoul. Jungkook left us, with cheeks as darkened as poppies in the summer, with a staff member and our bodyguard to pick her up at a designated meeting spot nearby. He hadn’t eaten all day—not before our dismal soundcheck and certainly not during our hair and makeup session. A ribbon of worry curled tightly in my gut that unfurled once he filled his plate with hotdogs after introducing her to us.

No shaking of hands, only Jungkook’s hand pointing at each member while his mouth gave life to their names. And she didn’t nod her head, not even once, as she moved to greet and smile at every face, which caused me to think that she either already knew of us, either due to our popularity or due to Jungkook’s stories—or both.

But when it was my turn, her smile faltered.

I didn’t see much of her face, for she wore a black mask. And the only part of her features I was able to see spoke to me in a foreign language I was too pissed off to decipher.

Feline eyes.

Round and wispy, so terribly cat-like that it cut through my heartstrings she played with and then abandoned. She held my gaze so unfathomably deeply and it wasn’t until she whisked her eyes away that I realized she, irrevocably, clutched time in her hands. It had stopped during that brief moment and resumed as if nothing happened.

It unnerved me.

As did my strange feelings as I took in the personality of her outer form.

She wore a long silky dress, as black as her energy and her hair nearly akin to the length of that garment. Its hem brushed against her ankles with every movement she made and her feet were shod in a pair of heels that would puncture my heart if she so much as wished so. Over her shoulder hung a matching, leather purse and I noticed something that bruised, most peculiarly, my flesh.

The clasp of her chain strap had a chubby Grookey Pokémon caged as a keychain.

I found it as adorable as absolutely dangerous. Still do as my eyes can’t help but to watch it twirl.

She’s a dangerous black cat, with her claws tucked in. And the entire night coils in her eyes, dressing her in innocence and a simultaneous seductiveness that make my lungs swell.

A quintessence of beauty, she is.

After the introduction is over, Jungkook pulls out a chair for her beside him, sitting down and not wasting a second as he stuffs his mouth full with one of the hotdogs. The monkey bounces with her movement and it’s only now that my brain puts two and two together. The monster almost matches the minty tinge of Jungkook’s dyed hair with its plump, green body.

None of them know that I match him, too.

A leaf of the same plant swirls in my glass of whiskey.

And the notion of iciness that it adds to the bitterness of the liquid turns to ash in my mouth as I take a sip. I, myself, sit on the armrest on the couch, alone—but not alone physically. Hobi rests, leisurely, next to me and she’s stolen glances at him more times than I like. Looked at him while completely avoiding the ring of protectiveness I’ve conjured around myself.

She does good, but it spreads fire to the strangeness of my feelings that I can’t name.

Is she throwing a rope around another one of the boys? Her claws itching to rise?

Who’s next?

I sigh as she laughs, softly, at something Namjoon says and it deepens my ire. Namjoon should’ve made order as the leader of our group. Should’ve said no to Jungkook at the unfolding of his news and keep the number of our group to seven. Especially when our time together is this precious.

Not chatting her up and coaxing that wonderful sound out of her.

“Can we get you anything to drink?” Namjoon asks, waving his hand in the direction of the alcohol station out far in the left corner of the lounge room. A mint plant mocks me as my eyes flick to it while I take another sip. The reason why it’s there in the first place is because Jimin likes his mojitos.

He sips on it like it’s a Capri-Sun as I swallow the dark liquid after swirling it in my mouth for a moment, the bitterness doing nothing to stifle my ire.

“No,” she says, feebly, brushing her fingers down the length of her ebony hair before tossing it over her shoulder, giving me a perfect look of one singular strand that has been dyed in the same pale green color that is suffused all though Jungkook’s hair. The shade, but darker, more sinister, imbues my blood with envy. It’s not that soft color, redolent of spring meadows, by any chance. It’s an ancient, vague memory of a forest once in full bloom that is now withering and dying at dusk. How long has he been seeing her that they reached this base? “I don’t drink hard liquor, but thank you.”

Namjoon licks his lips, spreading his arms over the two empty chairs beside him. “Ah,” he laments, smiling at her, gently. “You don’t drink at all?”

Jungkook lifts his head from his plate, laughing through his nose as he chews his food, his mouth forming into that bunny smile of his. He knows something I don’t and my green blood boils.

The cat girl grins, her head twisted in Jungkook’s direction when she laughs, the skin under her chin rounding out, and my chest tightens in endearment at the sight of it.

The cutest fucking double chin I ever have the eyes to see.

Fuck.

“Oh, she drinks,” Jungkook says, his words muffled due to his full cheeks, the food inside showing as he continues to be all smiles.

The cat girl pinches his arm, but owing to the thick fluffiness of his jumper, she doesn't reach skin, and therefore doesn't inflict the pain she intended. Jungkook pretends to moan in pain, anyway. My chest tightens again—this time for a beat longer.

An oddity flies through my vision, slicing through my envy.

Her claws sinking into my bare skin as I let her playfulness out—

I shake that picture out of my head as quickly as it arrives, running my fingers through my strands that had fallen in front of my eyes. The girl helps my effort by speaking, distracting me from the faint rush of lust that begins to course down my body.

I can’t get hard.

“Yeah, I only drink wine,” she reveals, coyness entwining around her tone, and she kneads her hands, struggling with her straight posture.

Another distraction, one that softens, most peculiarly, my lust.

If I were born with deaf ears, I would’ve known she was fighting through her shyness by one glance at her body language and I don’t blame her.

She doesn’t have only seven pairs of eyes watching her. She’s the apple of fifteen more if I include our staff, sound engineers and our management.

If I weren’t the person I was and if this wasn’t my job, I would have run the first chance I got. A certain admiration envelops my heart the more I study her toy with her fingers, soothingly, because of a reason that aches to admit.

A reason far from plain.

She’s the same as me. Uncomfortable by and disliking any public event with people involved, especially if you’re put in a position to talk.

A bond forms and I can’t stop it. I can’t rip it apart even as I willfully try in my headspace to cut off that red string tied around my heart, leading to hers. I can’t because she eventually slouches, giving up, her spine protruding towards me through the open back of her dress, for she’s turned her body towards Namjoon, who sits at the head of the table, but I figure she did it in order to be closer to Jungkook to gain some comfort from him. The skin of her back is refulgent and tanned, scattered with little blemishes that connect, like constellations, to a night sky full of birthmarks, and that only add to her beauty.

Her whole back is filled with them, stirring my wonder. And, unknowingly, she let me see by sweeping her hair to one side. I wonder if Jungkook has seen them and appreciates them as much as I do—

Jungkook burps, obscenely loudly, setting down Hobi’s unfinished can of Sprite that he left on the table. I’m sure Hobi’s regretting making that mistake, but when I look at him, he’s smiling so widely that I can see his gums and I’m so astounded by that view that I’m thrown off my balance.

Even more so, when I check the reactions of the other members and begin to feel shame descending down my own spine like cold sweat. Jimin has hearts thumping in his eyes, raising his hand in the girl cat’s direction, connecting with her as he says he loves a good bubbly. Taehyung, sitting on the direct opposite side of Jungkook by the table with his arms crossed and his face flushed intones that tonight after the show he will break his sobriety streak. Jin joins the table and flicks Taehyung’s forehead, tells him he doesn’t have to break anything while taking a huge bite of his banana. And Namjoon… he laughs, hands intertwined upon the back of his head.

The whole table laughs, in fact.

Hobi does beside me, too.

I’m the only one who doesn’t, steeped in my uncertainty as I am.

They all bask in comfort and gaiety. There’s no awkwardness, no unspoken words or silence that hangs heavily in the air. There’s no need for our hummingbird; no need to change directions, play pretend or act accordingly to the new situation because there’s absolutely nothing new about the atmosphere I find myself to be in. Everything is as if it were just the seven of us.

Making jokes, lighthearted energy, connections lengthening and digging deep…

I haven’t seen that, been a part of that in so long.

I was wrong—and the shame, stemming from my wrong impression and unwarranted fear, washes out the envy from my blood. It stands, arm to arm, with my life-long emptiness and I bow my head down, licking my lips.

I wish to exit myself out of this room.

I wish my heart wasn’t so sensitive.

I wish—

“It’s her birthday today and I bought so many bottles of champagne and wine,” Jungkook says, running his tongue over his teeth, and my head lifts; my heart enlarges before it shrinks, painfully, magnifying my shame until it grazes the flesh like a shard. It’s her birthday? “I’ll need your help, guys. We’re not celebrating here tonight. After the show, we’re going to my place.”

It’s not peach honeysuckle that I’m thinking of. Not pancakes. Not our hummingbird and butterfly as the boys cheer all over again, wishing her happy birthday.

It’s her that I’m thinking of.

And how much I messed up.

He brought her here to make her birthday special—to be with her on the day that carries her name, not to replace me.

It explains why she’s so magnificently dressed up; why she’s putting her feet through so much pain in those heels of hers.

Just for one night. And I’ve managed to ruin it so majestically with my energy. No wonder she won’t look at me; no wonder her eyes won’t even sweep past me en route to Hobi’s chocolate fountain that his eyes emanate.

Mine are nothing but death. I don’t blame the decline of her smile as her pools met it. A kitty cat that looked at the face of a skull. It symbolized the end of time and now I perceive that it epitomizes the end of me.

The longer she’s present, the more I loosen the consuming negativity that I’ve lived for so long in compliance with—because now I’m soft.

I’m gutted I made her feel awful to be here with my dark energy.

“Jungkook, you should’ve told us that was the reason why you brought her along. We would have welcomed you with a happy birthday song,” Namjoon says, his palm lifted towards Jungkook and her while his other hand reminds behind his head.

I can’t see her smile. Not even a hint of it in her eyes, for this time around she doesn’t turn around to steal a glance at Hobi. And I wish she would, with a strength that I’m in awe that I’m even possessing, because I find myself yearning to look at her face, amidst my softness.

I misjudged her so terribly that the yearning doubles as she presses her hands against her cheeks amidst the overbearing attention. Becomes a need—a need to fix what I so unfairly have broken.

And jealousy thunderstrikes in my system when Jungkook bumps his shoulder into hers, gently, his head tipped low, fixed in her direction as she struggles, once again, in her shyness. Straightens her spine just in time for Jungkook to curl a finger around her ear and take off her black mask.

I’m so jealous everyone else gets to see her face fully that indignation supersedes my past ire and my softness and I’m quickly up on my feet, ready to walk out to breathe in some fresh air but something else steps into my plan.

And it’s not her.

It could never be her.

Staffs members circle around us, guiding us out of the room to wire us up. But I stall my time, purposefully staying behind so I can look at her. I pretend to exercise my pain from my shoulder surgery by rolling it and making a face. Jungkook whispers something to her, her face pointed upwards as he stands before her while she remains sitting and I’m so bothered by it that it calls out the pain, incites it to come haunt me again.

Everyone else had something to say to her—and yet I still haven’t, owing to my foolish mistake. Self-hatred fastens to my anger and I can’t breathe, my lack of knowing what to say to her when the time comes worsening my feelings.

The boys leave the room and it’s just me and her. The staff member knows not to push me, but the pressure in her eyes is the driving force that takes my legs to the kitty girl.

She sits so awfully forlornly in her chair, reminds me so much of Jungkook, her spine back to slouching, that marvelous pillar protruding again and my lungs do that thing they seem to automatically do whenever I see that part of her.

She hears my footfalls as I approach her, but she doesn’t turn around. I ignore the way it makes me feel, the heaviness that comes with it, too. She, in most probability, thinks I’m walking out of this room without saying a word to her, but I’m not capable of that.

Not anymore.

I call out her name and, in surprise, she lifts her spine. Turns around, at last, the sleek fabric of the dress adding swiftness to the movement and I see her face. Her full mouth that compliments, most perfectly, her big feline eyes. And I think about how much her dark, sensual energy doesn’t mirror her personality, her coyness that hides inside until someone speaks to her. Her chin is so small that my fist would still be empty if I held it in the way my body asks for, but the look she gives me diminishes the lust that slowly begins to crawl again within me.

It’s one that bears a different kind of shyness. It’s fear-induced respect and the hatred towards myself thickens.

I don’t want her to feel this way, but I molded it in her.

It’s my fault.

It’s why I think twice before I tell my fingers no, for they ache to drum against the top edge of her chair in effort to linger in her proximity. I won’t encourage her discomfort when I yearn to wipe it clean. But when she inhales my prolonged silence and raises her thin brows in waiting, the tiniest sliver of a smile quivering on her lips, she doesn’t know it—but she somehow gives me the words I was lacking.

“Did Jungkook tell you where to go?” I ask, softly, fearing her knees will turn away from me, her body language divulging to me the depth of her uneasiness around me. But she remains put, the pillows of her lips balancing at last as they stretch out in a small grin that I don’t deserve.

Her slender nose crinkles.

My heart forgets to beat.

“No, he told me to wait here and that Min-ji will take me to a room where I can watch you, guys, perform on the TV,” she says, her grin making it difficult for her to get the words out and she blushes. There must be some other, silent language shared between our bodies because I discover myself smiling, too, even though there’s nothing from her sentence that can possibly be the cause of it.

The energy shifts, devastatingly, and heat clings to my skin, dispersing relief down my nerve endings.

All while buzzing tingles chase it, hastily, grabbing it by the back of its shirt and consuming it.

It’s strange, so terribly strange to be consumed by nervousness when I’ve been used to nothingness and emptiness for so long.

And her eyes seem to grow bigger, despite the irrepressible dynamism of her fear. Is she gaining thrill out of it—to be staring at the face of breaking death like the small kitten she is and knowing it’s her power that influences me?

Those eyes. If my ears weren’t bombarded by Hobi’s sound effects wafting down the hall and into the lounge room, mingling with the rise and fall of Jungkook’s voice as he warms it up, I swear I can hear the song of swallows in them. She’s a manifestation of a summer evening in her fear and nervousness, when those birds go mad in the tender blues and pinks of the sky—and I don’t know why I like it so much. Why I want to seize it in my hand and squeeze it.

And she’s about to be all alone here with it while I go join the rest of my brothers.

It’s something that doesn’t feel right.

The staff member taps me on my back. Time is against me—why doesn’t she control it? I swivel behind me to catch her nodding her chin in the direction of the hall and I sigh, quietly.

“Wait with her until Min-ji comes to get her, so she’s not alone here,” I tell her, then look down at the kitty girl again.

Her raised brows create wrinkles on her forehead and once she sees that I’ve noticed, she relaxes, wetting her lips. Doesn't want me to see the surprise that comes from what she created in me.

How cute.

“Enjoy the show,” I murmur, moving my feet towards the exit. I gaze back at her, catch her lungs shuddering, and the words slip off my tongue before I scramble the courage to stop them. “And happy birthday.”

Her blush reaches her neck and it’s all my vision consists of—even when I’m performing.

Our interaction was too short. Too, too short. And my anger took on a new face.

Hers.

Every word I rapped as I stared into the camera, I felt it dissolving in me and transforming into a yearning so great that my verses gained new meaning. A yearning to see her again, talk to her, pinch that fear in my fingers and fling it away, make space for something in her that had the vigor to surprise me and make me soft again. And in my concentration, I didn’t have the fight in me to put a stop to it. I was doing my duty for the happiness of our Army and while I thought about her, it seemed right. Those two things went along and it spurred a pleasant feeling in me that was warmer than the adrenaline sticking to my inflamed body from all the performing.

It didn’t hit me that she was watching me the whole time until my eyes regarded her unperturbed, flaccid posture in that white plastic chair, wading in my thoughts as I was. Her grin and the flecks of light in her eyes illuminate the room with orange, blazing fire. She’s barefoot, her heels kicked to the side, crooked, elegiac, yet still sensuous. Our show is being rerun on the TV and she’s watching it, transfixed, not realizing me and Jungkook were the first to come to her out of the group.

A mental connection clicks in my brain at the sight of it. The peach blossoms of the honeysuckle, Jungkook and the genuine love I carry for him. It is that orange color—it’s a home that keeps it safe, the atmosphere that she exudes through her evident elation and I don’t really understand why I feel this way.

I haven’t even known her for a day.

And it’s forced to collapse when her pools don’t find mine, but Jungkook’s once we walk in, joining her. She holds up her hand in the air, curling down her middle and ring fingers in while the rest of her digits remain erect, small and slim as they are. Her nose crunches up in the way it did when our bodies spoke in that secret language. And when she laughs and the corners of her eyes crinkle, I realize she’s mimicking his gesture that he so often does on stage while showing off his Army tattoo.

The finger-fucking gesture.

Her blush beams on her face, even more so when she does a stroking movement with her curled fingers, and I can’t help but wonder, briefly, if that’s how she does it to herself when she’s all alone and the night sinks inside her skin to get a refill of her juices, only to smear it across the sky.

It’s what I need to focus on, so I don’t explode in anger that she ignores me.

Jungkook cackles, sticking out his tongue and doing the gesture. I hide my face in my towel, getting rid of the sweat coating me—but it pours out of my pores again when I hear her giggle.

And I need to leave, my imagination no longer strong enough to withstand the jealousy that poisons my blood all over again.

I fling the towel out and away from me, not caring where it lands.

I don’t meet any eyes as I walk out, keeping my sight fixed on the gray floor, streaked with black lines from the hundreds of wheels of carts that have drove down the hall and from all the sneakers that have walked past. I follow them and I don’t know where they take me until I’m suddenly face to face with the gaping night.

And it’s not her.

It’s my wound.

No stars for a naked pupil to see. Merely an abounding canvas of blackness that stares back at me and questions me, questions my feelings when it knows full well how hard I’ve wept, many times, in its airy embrace.

I sit against the wall, needing something solid to support me, the spaciousness of the roof enveloping me, but not tightly enough. There, but never close enough—always a safe distance apart, as if afraid of me.

Everyone is so always fucking afraid of me.

And when they lean in and graze my heart, they get repulsed by me.

It’s an ouroboros that my life, like my legs, follows. Like a dog chasing its own tail—and it’s such a perfect comparison because I’ve always been alone, save for my brothers. Distracted for a while, then alone again.

I’m weary of it, despite the fact my body tends to wait for the thrill of the attention, longs for it, even when I dislike it. I’m an oxymoron that won’t cease and I have to live with it.

And I can’t exit out of it because I have millions of lives that depend on me, plus six more.

I sigh and I think sucking on a cigarette, numbly, while I crawl on my knees through the forest of my thoughts and feelings would be a thing of perfection. But I can’t afford that. Not when we’re working again. Not when our boss lurks at every corner, has eyes everywhere. Jungkook has had his last hotdog for a while and I…

I swathed my broken strings around someone he brought into my life.

Through a little hole my brothers let me see by forcing her to sit through a conversation that was a pain for her. A moonlight stripe of her personality, encased by her social anxiety and shyness. One that has awakened my body to emotions it hasn’t felt the touch of in a long time.

Why am I not fighting it?

Why am I not coercing my soul into submission, into that abyss of emptiness and hostility?

Why am I letting myself feel?

She’s just a girl that he’s seeing. Many stories like these have been written before and we’ve read the lines, recognized words that limned us, only for the love interest to disappear into thin air after some time like she never existed. And she’d just be another character in his love chronicles, if her persona hadn’t spoken to me so much.

If her body hadn’t spoken to me in a language no one knows—not even me.

I can’t begin my sentences about her with ‘she’s just a girl’, because she isn’t.

And I don’t understand how that’s come to be.

It happened so quickly that I fear I wasn’t present enough.

My wound tilts its head as my world does the same thing—slants on its axis. Coos at me, seeing me, seeing through me. Reminds me of what happened the last time I felt.

The passing of my girlfriend gave me the gift of a gun to my hand—gave me the face of death that I’ve been carrying ever since because it nearly made my dream of time ending come true. And the kitty girl… standstill hangs off her fingers like a pearl necklace that’s too long. And I find myself wanting to wear it. Because it’s her decision, her consciousness, her will.

Not mine.

And it will bring me closer to my Sun-mi.

My wound begins to cry at the memory of her, raindrops pitter-pattering on the tin ridges of the rooftop and I cherish that she’s remembered and honored by such vastness, by such picturesqueness that I’ve always considered the night to be. And when the wind brushes along my fidgeting hands, I almost feel her touch all over again.

Feel.

I feel.

And in my heart, I tell her. I sail to her, attaching myself to her again. Tell my Sun-mi that I am capable of feeling and that I don’t know how it came together in me. And I ask her, in utmost respect, to guide me on this unknown path.

Because I am alone without her. Adrift, without rhyme and reason. No wits to me, no rationality, no clear perception of right and wrong.

There’s only grayness to me.

Maybe that’s why I, unknowingly, dyed my hair this color before the start of the tour.

And it dawns on me, now that one chapter has closed in my life, that the passing of my Sun-mi a year and a half ago is the reason why I’ve clung to Jungkook so rigidly. Because I couldn’t spend my time on her, I spent it on Jungkook. Because I had all this love for her and I couldn’t give it to her, so I gave it to Jungkook.

And the kitty girl has put a stop to it.

Sun-mi graces me with the tepid, yet fuzzy impression that it’s good—that it was meant to happen. And I believe her.

And with my belief, the rain thickens.

A thunder rolls forward from a far-away corner of the canvas of the sky that I can’t see. And I dwell in the pool of the fountain of the love I still have for her and forever will continue to have. Kneel in it. Search for her.

I imagine her. The button of her nose, the curl of her top lip whenever we ridiculed aegyo by doing it together and doing a good fucking job while at it. I imagine her small fist at her round cheek, but she connects my memories to the kitty girl.

And she consumes me, wholly.

Sun-mi makes me imagine her doing a cat-like aegyo and as the corner of my mouth lifts, a particular fear devours my gut.

A fear of closeness.

A fear of doing something with her that I did with Sun-mi, even when she okays it in my spirit.

A fear of reliving something so painful again.

The rain inches towards me and I scurry to my feet, my hand trembling as I open the door to the staircase. And when I shut out the sound of hard rainfall and prevent the traumatic memories of my accident from slinking into my mind, it’s the only strength I have left.

And I crumble.

I mirror the rain I abhor so much.

I sit on the top of the staircase and I sear my hands with my acid-suffused tears. Sob so devastatingly that I don’t recognize myself, drenching the denim fabric over my knees. And when I pull on my hair, numbness is all that I detect within me.

Good.

No feelings; only emptiness.

I steel myself by taking a few deep breaths, letting the oxygen settle that deep in me. And I unattach myself from my Sun-mi, promise her I will get back to her soon. Go back to who I previously was before I scraped the skin of my knees raw on the hardened soil of my emotions and thoughts.

Alone death.

But Sun-mi doesn’t sail away back to heaven. Doesn’t let me go. She stomps her foot on the wet grass of my heart and I understand why. I asked her to guide me and what I didn’t know was that she would break the laws of heaven in order to do that. She wouldn’t whisper words of wisdom into the chambers of my heart. She would take my hand and show me wisdom, pointing me to the right decision.

That is my Sun-mi.

I let her because I need her. I bow to her and I would stoop to my stomach on this dirty, metal staircase floor to divulge my respect and gratitude to her if I didn’t hear a voice echoing up towards me.

A familiar male voice calling out to me.

Sun-mi pulls me to it and tingles vibrate down my legs as I fly through the stairs, skipping the bottom ones in order to get me faster to my brother. Sun-mi pumps blood into my heart, refreshing the grass she lays upon, and lightness descends upon my shoulders.

Her work of art.

Heaving, I meet Jungkook in the doorframe, glancing up at me, disappointment lidding his eyes. But I don’t fear, not when Sun-mi is with me. He opens the door wider for me to step through, but I remain fixed on my spot, panting, ringing piercing through my hearing sense.

Too much adrenaline at once in a season of drought. My body is unable to catch up to the new acclimatization.

“What’s going on?” I ask, my throat raw from my crying and I clear it, so there’s no evidence of my sensitivity. Sun-mi caresses the wall of my heart to soothe me and tears burn at the back of my eyes—from the simple fact that I can feel her.

I’ve felt her only once before. A week after she died, I prayed to her, loudly, until I lost my voice. Begged her to come back to me.

And she did.

And it felt nice until it didn’t—so I made it my habit to attach and unattach myself because of my fragility. It is only a matter of time before the logic of your mind distinguishes a real person from a ghost. And the parting of that vulnerable mist, in the middle of your agony, isn’t for the faint-hearted.

But Sun-mi, at this very moment, feels more real than she ever has. As if she truly was hidden in the rooms of my heart like a little doll, like a little angel that has the task from above to guide me.

And because I need it, I’ll let more time pass through this transcendental connection.

Jungkook flattens his lips, tightly, the tip of his tongue poking out to play with the thin metal pierced through his bottom lip. He’s changed back into the clothes he came in, minus the fluffy jacket. A black T-shirt, black pants and sneakers. It makes the green of his hair stand out—just like the wisp of the same color on that singular strand of the girl kitty’s hair.

They have a tendency to match and shame boils in me, that Sun-mi is a witness to the jealousy I feel. I haven’t told her and I don’t know if I want to. In my momentary cowardice, I hope that she can sense it and validate it.

But I gain nothing from her.

Silence.

One that Jungkook breaks.

“Staff said that we have to wait until the storm passes.”

My stomach sinks, the memory of the rainfall faint in my ears. “Good.”

Jungkook pauses before he voices out the question that I can visibly see rising in him. Nibbles his bottom lip, the metal tilting to the side like my world. “Where did you go?”

My breath shivers as I inhale, tasting my half-false words before I speak them. “I felt hot and I needed some fresh air.”

I felt jealous that you made dirty innuendos with your friend, I don’t say. It led me to seek my dead girlfriend because I feel inclined to fraternize with that aforementioned friend.

Jungkook frowns. “You went out in the rain?”

I pass through the gap between his body and the doorframe, not able to stand the position I’ve been put in, anxiety prickling my fingertips. Jungkook lets the door shut behind him with a loud thud, following closely behind me until he falls in step beside me.

“It felt refreshing until it didn’t,” I decide to mutter. Typical words of mine—I can’t stand them either.

Sun-mi is still silent.

Maybe I should unattach myself, protect myself from further pain. It was a moment of weakness, anyways—

Jungkook rubs my shoulder, gently, the fixed one, barely touching me, but the gesture is there. And I grasp why I love him so much.

His gentleness is everything to me.

“The rain will stop,” he says and I take those words to heart, giving them the meaning that they are the wisdom I needed to hear, the wisdom I sought from my quiet Sun-mi.

The rain will stop.

The sensitivity will stop, too.

And time will stop soon, one day.

𓂃 ౨ৎ LOVE-KISSED BABIES: @tkslovechild, @jjk7k, @parkinglot-nights, @bethvar, @Sexytholland, @yoongibaybee, @crystaleah,@fennecnco, @lil-kpopstan, @euphoricmyth, @jungkoock, @cinmmongirl, @hobiberrystuff.

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