jungkookincalvins - Tumblr blog

[jungkookincalvins]

i miss him so fucking much and i needed this

"Fuck, I… I think I’m in love with you" with whoever you want please 😭

sunlight | jhs

→ pairing: college!hoseok x gn!reader → warnings: fluff! and a little bit of self-deprecation/loneliness → word count: 0.8k → note: I MISS HIM BAD!! this became a love letter to hobi lmao but i hope you enjoy anyway :’)

—

There's a split second.

Always a split second—before you descend on your best friend that you just take a moment to admire him from a distance.

He arrives before you do, because he always does—regimented, disciplined like nobody's business, checking the time and putting in five minutes of buffer like it's a religious practice. And yet he never looks harried, or rushed, or panicked. He just is. Effortless, sunny. Warmth you can feel from across the room, across the planet.

He is the sun, and the stars, and it's at this point in your silent admiration that he usually looks up, somehow sensing your presence by the door. And you try not to let it show, but every time he graces you with that brilliant smile, you feel like the universe is paying up everything it owes you in one person. And more.

He leaps up to hug you, throws his arms around you like he didn't just see you two days ago, and you breathe him in—bergamot, starch, maybe a little lavender? The faintest hint of bleach, because it's Sunday and he deep cleans on Sundays, marching around his apartment like someone's grandmother in duster slippers and rubber dish gloves.

"You're late," he says, but there's no bite. Just affection, the most obvious and most undeserved type.

To this day, you don't really know what drew Hoseok to you. You know what drew you to him—force, essentially. One shared econ group project and it was over. In your broader circle, it was a running joke: Once Hoseok decided you were his, you were his, no questions asked. Your life would become an endless series of exasperated but fond questions—have you eaten yet? why are you ten minutes late? god, do you even own a dish rack?—and, through no effort of your own, you'd gain the most loyal friend you'll ever have.

Someone who'd drop everything for you without ever being asked. Someone who doesn't just have affection for you, but cares for you—in a bone-deep, soul-crushing way. Someone who, hypothetically speaking, would take the KTX from Gwangju last minute when he heard you were spending Chuseok in Seoul, alone, just to fry you some jeon on your pathetic single burner and watch bad movies on your laptop until daybreak. 

But, yeah—who's to say what Hoseok had found in you. You've never really felt special. Just average. (Maybe even a little below. After all, there's a reason you'd been in Seoul alone for the holiday.)

Except when Hoseok is looking at you.

Kind of like the way he is now. Careful, love in every part of his face, from the quirk of his brow to the soft drop of his mouth.

You don't know when in the last few years that pure admiration gave way to something else, something that beats against your lungs and makes your rib cage feel about five sizes too small, but you do know you love him far too much to say what's been on your mind for months, which is—

"Fuck. I… I think I'm in love with you."

At first, you think, there it is, you've really gone and done it now, haven't you. Because Hoseok looks so stunned, so paralyzed with shock that you assume you must have been the one to blurt it out. Eyes wide, jaw slack, every limb locked in place.

But then his neck goes red, and your brain catches up to your ears, and he drops his eyes to the sweating coffee sitting on the table and starts scratching at the back of his ear.

He said it. Not you—those words came out of his mouth. 

You freeze. And you say the only (ridiculous) thing that comes to mind—

"But I was late."

The two of you sit there—quietly absorbing the magnitude of his bomb—and then...

He cackles. Explodes into maniacal, side-splitting laughter. Nostrils flaring, gasping for air, choking on his own spit, gripping the edge of the table for dear life. 

You can't help it. His completely inappropriate, mortifying laugh makes you laugh, and soon enough you're dissolving into a fit of your own—can hardly see Hoseok through the tears in your eyes, have to hold onto the table, too, to keep from rolling out of your chair.

You're lucky this cafe is almost completely empty except for the two of you. That the bored-looking part-timer behind the register gives the two of you a poorly concealed look of disgust, but there otherwise isn't a single soul around, and this is a moment just for you, just for him, and you don’t have to share it.

Kind of like how every moment feels with him around. Just the two of you. A tiny, cushioned pocket of safety. Private even when it's not.

You realize you're in love with him, too. That you've loved him for a long time, and if loving him looks like this, then you could keep loving him—forever.

[jungkookincalvins]

IM OKAY

whole | ksj

✰ pairing: seokjin x f!reader - engaged au ✰ warnings: a ton of fluff. christmas; reader has anxiety/self-esteem issues and comes from a not-great upbringing; seokjin is a clown; “honey” as a pet/nickname; discussions of illness (not serious, hypothetical); crying; a flick on the forehead but not violent/malicious. mostly unedited ✰ word count: 1.6k ✰ note: omg ya boi is back just before the end of 2023 yuhHH i miss seokjin and my new meds are working for me so here we are <3 i’m slowly getting back into writing so please be nice to me even if you think this is terrible! thanks

—

"What if," you say. 

A groan. "This again?"

You pout. Stick out your lower lip as far as it can go, for dramatic effect. Seokjin can't help himself—he releases his hold on your hip to slot your jaw between his thumb and index finger, pushing your cheeks together. 

"Aigo,” he laughs, tugging on your lip. "Is my honey upset about something?"

"What if," you insist, your words muffled into his thumb, “I get sick."

"Then I'll bring a box of tissues." Seokjin rubs against your slightly chapped skin. Reaches down, pulling the comforter up over your shoulder. "And some yuja tea."

"But what if I get everyone else sick."

"They'll live. And we'll pin the outbreak on one of my nieces."

"You're heartless." You close your fingers around Seokjin's wrist—wrap both your hands around one of his, relishing in the consistent warmth of it, and press a soft kiss to his knuckle.  "What if the car breaks down on the way to Gwacheon."

He snorts. Pulls you in a bit tighter so your face is nestled in his chest, your cheek pressing against the warm skin there, and you think you feel his heartbeat. Slow, steady. A bit like him. "We don't have to go to my parents' for Christmas, you know."

You sigh. "I know. But—"

"We could just stay here." His voice takes on that familiar tone. Light, teasing—his favorite thing to do to you. (Well... maybe his second favorite thing.) "Eat cup ramyeon and microwaved mandu for dinner. Disappoint my mother for the third year in a row. She'll recover, I'm sure."

You bite your lip. Hold back a sigh.

He's joking, you're aware, but still—the truth of the matter is that you've never been the type of girl that parents like, the kind of girl any respectable Korean family would want their son to marry.

For starters, you’re a complete novice in the kitchen. A little too shy, a little too awkward, interests a little too niche. Not all that close to your own parents, since they'd emigrated when you were a baby and left your grandparents to raise you. Not to mention that you’re not all that good with—nor thrilled about the idea of—children. And sure, you think you're pretty enough, but sometimes the tiny flaws in your features build up enough to eat at you, keeping you up at night.

Plus, you'll be meeting his whole family. All at once, for the first time. You'd met his immediate family soon after the engagement, per custom, and his parents and brother been nice enough, if a bit distant. But it's the prospect of meeting a million cousins and aunts and uncles and great-nephews-twice-removed that has your palms sweating. Has you praying for a biblical but ultimately harmless plague in hopes of getting out of the whole thing, which—oh, god, Seokjin deserves better than this, surely? A fiancée who can't even stomach the idea of meeting the family she'll be seeing for the rest of her married life?

Will they even like you? Are you even good enough? Fuck, do you even have the right to be this happy—to marry into a loving family you don't feel that you deserve?

"I can hear you thinking."

You bury your face into the bright blue cotton of his pajamas. Take deep, even breaths. Focus. Calm down. He smells like eucalyptus, like clean laundry. Home. "Sorry. I don't want you to feel like we shouldn't—ah, shit, like you have to—I want to go. I'm just—"

Man, you hate getting emotional. Partially because you don't enjoy being fragile, yes, but mostly because of the way Seokjin's face crumples when you do.

Because he'll joke. Tease you for being a baby. He’ll make fun, but you see him—really see him.

For a fleeting moment, you can see how much he hates to see you like this. How it breaks him, just a little bit, because he thinks it some kind of duty of his to keep you safe. 

What could you possibly have done in a past life to deserve someone like him?

"Yah, these are my favorite pajamas," he squawks, but you feel his arms closing around you. The way he pulls you even closer, throwing a leg over your hip to secure you in his embrace. "Don't get your snot all over them, now."

You hiccup through a giggle, but the tears keep flowing. You just feel... overwhelmed. Not enough. A lot of things, none of which Seokjin is responsible for, so the least you could do is suck it up, right? For him? Be brave, and try to be even half of what he deserves?

"Honey," he murmurs after a while, once your shoulders have stopped shaking. He strokes your back, pressing a tender kiss to your hairline. "What is it? I mean—I know you've been nervous about meeting everyone, but I don't mind if you really don't think you can swing it this year. Everyone will understand. You can just meet everyone for the first time at the wedding. They'll be over the moon to discover that I haven't been making you up."

You exhale a laugh. "It's nothing. I'm just...."

You take a deep breath. Because it's Seokjin, the single person who knows you inside and out, so you have no reason to hesitate to share your feelings. Still... admittedly, having cried it out, you feel a little silly.

"It's nothing."

"Tell me." Not a request.

You run a tongue over your lip, debating internally. Fuck, here goes nothing. "I just don't feel like I'm enough, you know? Like... there's this idea of a perfect spouse every family has in mind for their son, and I'm... not... that."

You feel Seokjin stiffen in your arms, but press on—can't stop now, not when you've already started. "I can't cook, I'm not all that maternal, I don't think I do nearly enough for you compared to every small and big way you show your love for me. I don't know how well I'll get along with everyone, or if they'll even like me—“

Without warning, Seokjin pulls back and looks straight at you, brows pulling together. His gaze burns so intense that your stomach knots itself, palms churning out sweat—you fear you've upset him somehow, and feel your heart rate picking up. 

Kind of the way you used to feel when your grandfather would ice you out for failing to come in first in your class at school. Kind of the way you used to feel when he punished you for a lot of things, whenever you fell even the slightest bit short—anything short of absolute perfection.

You don't realize you've started spilling tears again until Seokjin starts thumbing them away, and you catch that look in his eyes again. The utter devastation, before he quickly schools it into something less heartbroken. 

“God," he breathes, still holding your face in his hands. "Have I ever—I hope I haven't made you feel—"

"No, no," you interject, panicked. "It's a me thing, trust me—"

"—because, like, I know I'm ridiculously handsome and everything, a real catch, but if I've ever said anything to make you feel like you wouldn't be enough, I swear to you, I don't think that at all—"

"Honey," you say, trying to calm him down, but he won't listen.

"And, okay, you know I hate being serious, but I'll do it for you—I love you more than anything, I'd give up Maplestory for the rest of my life if it meant I could have you. I mean, I'd really have to think about it, of course, make a pro-con list and everything—"

"—Kim Seokjin—"

"—but I would choose you a million times over, and you're really too good for me if we're being honest, like I might be drop-dead gorgeous, but that's really all I've got going for me. Well—I suppose there's my universally beloved sense of humor, too—"

You don't have a choice. You cradle his delicate face in your hands and pull him down for a kiss mid-sentence, cutting off his ramble before he can get too ahead of himself. He makes a noise and deepens the kiss, slipping a hand up the back of your sleep shirt, and you hum with delight at his touch before he pulls back, a tiny smile pulling at the corners of his full mouth. 

"Thank you," you whisper, your eyes darting between his. You sweep a tuft of fringe off of his forehead. Soak in his tender eyes, his plush lips, his reddened ears. All of him—the person you would choose a million times over, too. 

The nerves might still be eating at you, sure, but what do you have to be afraid of when Seokjin's so entirely yours. What is there to fear when you have him, and he's devoted himself endlessly to making you feel his affection. To making you feel your worth.

"No." He leans forward to kiss you between your eyebrows, the swiftest peck. "Thank you. For trying. And for being you.” 

You let your eyes flutter shut and reach for him, feeling contented, but then feel a sting—a flick of his fingernails against your forehead, right where his lips were a moment ago. "Yah!" you exclaim, indignant.

"And that," he says—all smug, holding in a laugh—"is for talking badly about my fiancée.”

—

[jungkookincalvins]

Serious hoseok ff recs pls!!!

here's a few that i've read and LAWD they are all fantastic:

burning flames or paradise by @yoongiphoria

yeah, i begged MJ for another part to this story. i sure did. i have no shame. this was so fucking fantastic i was gritting my teeth the whole way through it because it hurt so good. give me 10,000 MJ stories forever. please. thanks.

the one where hoseok plays with fire by @eoieopda

okay, so i begged jade for a sequel to this to but like? i'm? easy? haha i dunno, give me a world as rich and compelling as this and honestly you can't blame me for being a little insane afterwards. i could go on and on about how fucking talented jade is but her writing does the work for me. phew. so good.

the wood by @sailoryooons

you wanna talk about someone who nails everything she touches? hali: she does. not. miss. hali weaves through genres and characters so beautifully that none of her stories feel the same, they're all riveting, and they all leave me winded like i just ran a mile. insane talent. and i promise, this hoseok is very ... serious 😉

i'm also going to pour one out for one of the OG bad boy hoseok fics on this site, one of the first i ever read where he was just bad but it was oh so good. whereever you are @joonbird i hope life is treating you well. you can read heartbeat here and it doesn't even matter that it's not finished, it's still worth the ride 💕

[jungkookincalvins]

i would like to say from the bottom of my heart:

HoLy SHiT -exclamation point-

honey’s

pairing: hwang hyunjin x afab!reader

warnings: sex shop owner!hyunjin, exhibitionism, fingering, sexual enhancers, dirty talk, nipple clamps, pussy pumping, vibrators, ~special guests~, slight reader x special guests, rule 63!, spoiler alert… minsung minsunging, overstimulation, protected sex, cumming in mouth, cum kissing

a/n: thank you to my 🌵 anon for sending in the ask that inspired this baby! i hope this little fic does it justice and that you (and everyone else) enjoy it! happy new year my friends!!!! 🪩🥳🎈🍾 also this is the pic im referencing at the beginning! i feel like it would look super cool in hyunjin’s specific art style.

the store’s a lot more artsy than you remember it being. 

it’s the same store you bought your last little friend from, and now you’re in dire need of a new one. that’s your newest revelation, courtesy of one too many accidental edging sessions when your vibrator slows to a stop just as you’re about to cum… no matter how long you charge it for. 

it might be less embarrassing to buy a toy or two or three online, but you want to hold it in your hands. you want to see it for yourself before making your big decision. 

this is the prettiest sex shop you’ve ever been in, but it surely didn’t look like this the last time you came. maybe the shop is under new management? the walls are stark white with nearly floor-to-ceiling length pink and white cabinets spanning some of the area. glass shelves line the cabinets to display toy sets and other erotic memorabilia. you’re amazed by how the newly decorated shop manages to look both minimalist and maximalist at once. 

there’s a cursive, LED sign on the wall that reads: honey’s. 

and luckily for you, it seems you’re honey’s first customer of the day. 

despite the contents that fill the shelves before you, your eyes are first drawn to the erotic paintings that are hung on the walls. the paintings are beautiful, and you’re struck by the sensuality that emanates from them. couples lovingly entwined, tongues clashing, a dripping cunt spread open like a blooming flower. 

you’re drawn to the one in the far corner, feet carrying you there before you even think to look at the selection of toys the shop has to offer. 

it’s a woman, bare chested and beautiful, but you’ve never seen anything like this before. painted inside the swell of her glass-looking breasts is a snowy landscape that beholds a quaint little log cabin with warm lights aglow on the inside. there are snow capped trees and a rounded snowman with a top hat and carrot nose. the breast closest to you is cracked open and spills crystalline snow down the woman’s body. 

“i haven’t had time to take down all of my christmas decorations yet,” comes a voice from behind you. you whirl around to find the most handsome man you’ve ever seen in your life; of course you’re going to run into a literal sex god in this damned store. “that one’s my favorite.”

“it’s- wow, yeah. it’s beautiful! i’ve never seen anything like it before. do you know who the artist is? i don’t think i see a signature.” you’d love to see if they have any other works this unique.

“ah, i don’t know if i’d say artist right yet. i just- well, it’s only something i do in my spare time.” 

your eyes widen and you point at him, then the painting, then back at him again. the man laughs and shyly nods his head. 

“i kinda did all of them.” his head turns to the side and you see him eyeing his own paintings that adorn the white walls of the building. “oh! please, that’s not important. can i help you find anything? are you looking for something in particular?” 

it’s just then that you see the nametag on his shirt. hyunjin is written carefully on the laminated paper, completed by a flower hanging delicately off the end of the n. owner/manager is printed neatly underneath. 

it might be his job to help you, but his questions still catch you off guard. are you looking for anything in particular? another vibrator might be nice, but what if you want to try something different? or maybe you could buy more than one thing. you don’t know where to start though, so his help would actually be appreciated. 

“i actually kind of- well, i dunno what exactly i’m looking for. just browsing for now, i guess?” comes your answer. hyunjin hums and points to one of the shelves that’s closest to you. he must know you need some guidance. boy, do you.

hyunjin steps closer to the shelf and picks up one of the display toys, holding it out to you. god, embarrassingly enough, just seeing this gorgeous man holding the phallic shaped toy has your pussy throbbing in the confine of your jeans. 

“these are popular,” hyunjin notes, fingers gently gliding over the ridges and bumps of the toy. “our rabbit vibrators sell really well. we carry three kinds, see? this pink one right up here is a thruster, so if you like deep penetration this might be one you would enjoy. the one i’m holding is a- wait. yeah, this one rotates. the shaft rotates. see these little beads? those just give you some extra stimulation inside. and then lastly, this one over here is a g-spot massager. the tip curves so it vibrates right on your g-spot.”

you have to fight your jaw from dropping. this is his job; it’s literally his store. of course he knows about every single one of its toys and their functions. as he’s describing them though, you can’t help but imagine him using them on you. would he tie you up? make you beg for him to turn on the vibrations before fucking you senseless? maybe he’s not the type to make you beg and grovel for him to give you what you want. he seems like a sweetheart, a real loverboy. what if he just made you cum over and over again for his pleasure too? could he make you squirt? you bet he could. easily.

“these little ears are important too though.” hyunjin’s fingers stroke the small rabbit ears of the toy, and then he shows you his ring and middle fingers, moving them one at a time. “they vibrate too. you put ‘em right on your clit so she gets some stimulation too.” he must see you staring in awe at his hands, so you don’t even notice the small shy smile that graces his features. 

hyunjin puts the toy back in its display and turns around to walk to another shelf, and you follow him blindly. you listen as hyunjin tells you all about his best selling toys and his more unique ones. he even takes you by a section of the store that has lingerie and roleplay outfits. the man is truly good at his job. he’s well versed in the products that he carries, but he’s even better at making you fucking horny. at least you know you’ll have absolutely no issue cumming when you get home, whether you have a new toy or not. your hands and the memory of hyunjin’s erotic words will surely be more than enough to get you there. 

“you must be so tired of hearing my voice now, i’ve been talking your ear off for twenty minutes! please, feel free to look around some more and i can wait for you at the register.” hyunjin lightly bows to you a couple of times and swiftly turns around to make his way to the cash register. 

in truth, you’re not ready for him to leave you yet. you enjoyed listening to him talk, not only because it gives you spank bank material for later but because you can tell how much he genuinely enjoys his job and cares about his customers finding pleasure. you grab a box of the g-spot rabbit vibrator from earlier and immediately make your way to the counter to be close to hyunjin again. 

the glass counter is just as erotic as the rest of his store. flavored lubes, condoms, bullet vibrators, cockrings, and sexual enhancers line the glass shelves of the counter, and you can’t help but look diligently at everything that hyunjin’s store has to offer. 

the laminated piece of paper that’s taped carefully to the top of the counter catches your eye when you place your new vibrator in hyunjin’s reach.

demonstration model(s) wanted!! come find hyunjin to discuss options if interested :)

hyunjin watches you read the notice once, twice, and when you look up at him he’s already looking at you. you can’t place the look on his face, but it makes you even more curious about the letter. 

“demonstration models? like for what?”

“for honey’s, honey,” hyunjin says, playing coy with you. “sometimes people come in and don’t know what they want. what they’re into or interested in… i can explain how things work all day, you know, but it might just be easier to show them.”

no fucking way. 

a demonstration model for sex toys? 

hyunjin must see the confused look in your eyes, and he gives you a goofy giggle in response. it easily lightens the mood and makes you laugh with him. 

“maybe it sounds scarier than it is? i mean, i would be the one using them on y- um. the model! you know? or maybe it’s just plain weird? no one’s really asked about it, so, i dunno. i just think it could be helpful! something fun and an easy way to show customers how things work.” 

hyunjin… hyunjin using sex toys on you? using you to sell his products and help people explore sexually? you’re trying to explore sexually after all, so maybe it doesn’t actually sound as bizarre as you originally thought it did. 

hyunjin hasn’t even moved to start ringing your rabbit vibrator up, and you place your elbows on the counter and scrub at your eyes in contemplation. you can’t believe you’re about to do this.

“what if i might be interested? in that? would i be okay?”

hyunjin’s dark eyes trail from your eyes to your lips, and he licks his own. holy shit. 

“i think you’d be perfect.”

that’s how you find yourself naked and waiting not even fifteen minutes later. you didn’t notice the small, black velvet loveseat that’s nestled to the side of the counter. you can’t help but think it’s a little cute that hyunjin had already prepared for this even though no one had asked him about his demonstration notice. 

goosebumps prickle on your legs when hyunjin runs an elegant hand up your thigh and smiles at you, brown eyes squinting and cheeks bunching in delight. 

“that’s fucking gorgeous,” he coos. hyunjin’s fingers are treading tenderly on the mound of your cunt, tracing patterns that only he can make out. you haven’t shaved. you didn’t exactly leave your apartment in preparation to be played with and possibly fucked in public. hyunjin visibly loves the hair that adorns your nether region though, so you can’t help but preen under his much wanted attention. he’s propped delicately on the edge of the couch so he can take all of you in fully. 

the first touch of his fingers to your cunt makes your eyes flutter. 

“that’s right, that’s perfect. just enjoy it,” hyunjin hums. your pussy’s already wet; it’s been soaked for as long as you can remember, and hyunjin’s deft fingers quickly make themselves comfortable with your aching cunt. your legs are already spread wide, and with his hand on your thigh, you wouldn’t dream of closing them now. 

hyunjin drags his hand away from your center so that he can lick two of his fingers and bring them back down to your clit. he rubs it just firm enough to have your toes curling, and he gives you a wicked grin when he sees how your body reacts to his touches. as if you’re not already wet enough, hyunjin leans down and spits directly down onto your clit. he catches it with his fingers and spreads it around. 

“fuck, listen to that.” you can’t help but listen to it. you’re sure the shops across the street can hear the wet sounds of hyunjin’s fingers and spit making an even bigger mess of your cunt. he works his fingers faster, and you hold your breath when the sloppy sound gets louder throughout the open space of the shop. 

just as you’re about to start fucking his hand, he pulls away. hyunjin leans towards the counter, but he’s not gone long. he turns his body back towards you and shows you one of the jars that came from the center shelf of the counter.

you silently read the words in swirly font and whine, and all hyunjin does is giggle.

“read it for me, angel.”

“m-make- make me cum. clit s-sensitizer,” you stutter. “it’s- oh hyunjin, ‘m already so sensitive.”

he only hums in response and unscrews the top of the small jar, taking a small dab on his index finger. “it’ll make your pretty pussy feel even better. hyunjinnie’s just gonna put a little bit on your cute little clit, okay?” 

he does just as he says, taking his index finger and gently rubbing your clit with it. the coolness of the gel makes you shudder, and hyunjin soothes you with a warm hand to your side. 

“we’ll just give it fifteen minutes to settle, yes? it’s gonna get your clit all tingly. make it so much easier for me to make it cum.”

he sounds so confident in it, but you know he wouldn’t have trouble making you cum even without the gel. you don’t have time to wonder what you’ll do for the next fifteen minutes while you wait for the clit sensitizer to sensitize because hyunjin tells you to just sit there and look pretty. he still has a store to run, so you settle on watching hyunjin piddle around the store and restock some things. 

it doesn’t take long for you to start feeling the impact of that little amount of gel hyunjin rubbed on you. he was right though, as he always seems to be. your clit starts to tingle slightly and it sends a shiver down your spine. 

everything catches up to you quickly, and before you know it, your hand is between your spread legs rubbing at your sensitive clit. 

“o-oh, hyunjin. hyunjin!” you cry, and he looks over at you from his spot in front of one of the displays. his eyes are dark and yearning, and you find yourself putting on a show for him without a second thought. 

hyunjin once again joins you on the velvet loveseat and licks his fingers again, bringing two down to tease at your clenching hole while you circle your clit. 

“gotta- hyunjinnie, you’ve gotta be gentle with me. please? i haven’t had anything inside in a while.” you’re not even being coy, you’re telling him the truth, but he moans all the same.

“promise i’ll be gentle, sweetheart. gonna get you ready. get your pussy so relaxed you’ll wanna take it all.” you don’t know what all entails, but you already want it. he looks at you and with your nod of confirmation, works one long finger inside of you. your head thunks against the backrest of the loveseat, and hyunjin curls his finger just right. 

“i- oh, i’m gonna cum, like, right now. hyunjin, ‘m gonna cum already!” you’re squirming so hard you almost knee him off the loveseat, but he follows your movements diligently so he can help get you there. 

he almost growls at your confession and keeps the pace of his finger steady inside you. your fingers slip and slide against your clit, and hyunjin looks at you in awe. the combination of his reverent gaze, his fingers, and the tingling on your clit is too much to handle. 

“see? you feel it, angel? keep rubbing like that and i’ll keep my finger in this little hole, okay? go ahead and cum so i can give you another.”

it’s easy to cum with hyunjin coaxing you like that, and your back bows off the loveseat when you do. your legs clamp shut around his and your hand, but they both keep moving slightly until you’re pulling your own fingers away and tapping at hyunjin’s delicate wrist. 

he looks into your eyes from his spot beside you, and you smile at the same time. 

“how was that?” hyunjin asks. like he really needs to.

you scoff, but it turns into a genuine laugh. “that was crazy! i don’t think i’ve ever cum that fast in my life. except for maybe, like, the first time i ever used a vibe.” 

hyunjin laughs too and sucks his finger clean. if he keeps that up you’ll be ready to go again in no time. the clit sensitizer is still definitely putting in work. 

“well get ready, honey. we’ve got a long day ahead of us.”

hyunjin does have to work, despite you sitting naked and pretty on his little velvet couch. you watch him respond to several emails and pack a few orders to ship out later in the week, but ultimately the day is going by a little slowly. nothing nearly to complain about; spending time with hyunjin is proving to be one of your new favorite things in life, but you do wonder how long he’ll want you like this if no one other than you steps foot into honey’s today. 

your thought quickly proves moot when the door chimes, and you hear the voice of someone talking on the phone.

“okay. okay- yes~ you’ll just have to see when you get home, jagi. i just walked in. yop, bye.” 

oh holy shit, it’s happening. 

you’re hidden from the entrance by the many displays in hyunjin’s shop, but the second the customer steps closer to the counter you’ll be spotted. 

hyunjin gives you a wink and rounds the counter to go greet his second customer of the day.

“lee minho-ssi, back so soon?” hyunjin teases. 

“yeh,” comes the man’s quick response. “take me to your nipple clamps.”

you have to fight a whimper at that. what is this sorcery? even thinking about hyunjin using nipple clamps on you has your own nipples hardening in record time. you can hear the two men talking from the other side of the room, and you’re aching to be touched again. 

it doesn’t take too long for you to hear steps coming your way. you see hyunjin first, and in his hands is a pair of nipple clamps. he wiggles his eyebrows at you before stepping behind the counter and waiting for the other man to follow. 

minho is just as gorgeous as hyunjin is, how unfair is this! he’s carrying another pair of clamps in his hands, and all he does is blink when he sees you behind the counter. 

“hyunjinnie, i think that sex doll is alive,” minho says, eyeing you up and down. 

“my dolls are in the back~” hyunjin sing-songs. “my demonstration model! hyung, my model.” 

“ah, i see,” minho responds and taps a small finger on the glass of the counter. 

hyunjin reaches back and pets your head. 

“so look, you’re not sure which one to buy, right? we can help you decide!”

you thought hyunjin had a wicked grin when he was acting mischievous; he has nothing on lee minho. that crooked front tooth would be cute if he didn’t have such a naughty glint in his eye.

hyunjin takes the pair of nipple clamps that he’s holding and sits beside you on the loveseat once more. you’ve never worn clamps before, but they’ve always peaked your interest. the particular ones that hyunjin is holding don’t look too compromising. the tips of the clamps are covered with rubber to help hold them in place and provide a cushion for its wearer, but hanging off the end of the clamps is a cluster of black feathers. 

“okay, honey. see this little screw right here?” hyunjin brings the clamp closer to your face so that he can point out the screw to you, and you watch him fiddle with it. “i’m gonna losen it before i put it on you, yes? we can tighten it as we go once i know you feel comfortable.”

“thank you for taking care of me, hyunjinnie.” you can’t help but say it. he’s been so good to you all day, and he leans in and places a soft kiss to the breast closest to him in thanks. 

your nipples aren’t as hard as they were a few minutes ago, but hyunjin blows lightly on one, then the other, causing them to pebble and harden once again. he starts with one nipple, slowly easing the clamp shut on the peak of it. you gasp at the pressure. it’s not bad at all, definitely a unique feeling, and it has you biting your lip and squeezing your thighs together. 

“i think your little dolly likes it,” minho hums. he’s leaned against the counter, casually clamping and unclamping one of the clamps he has in his hand.

“you want it a little tighter or is it fine like this?” hyunjin asks, flicking at the cluster of feathers and grinning when it tickles the sensitive skin of your chest. 

“little- little tighter. yeah,” you breathe. you can handle that. your thighs continue to squeeze sporadically as hyunjin tightens the screw on the clamp. “t-there! that. holy fuck.”

hyunjin repeats the process with your other nipple, clamping it softly and tightening the tips of the clamp to your liking. when he’s done, he gets up to stand by minho so he can get the full picture of you. he nods his head firmly and sits back down beside you once he’s looked his fill. 

“yes, no, maybe so?” hyunjin asks, looking at minho for confirmation. 

“the feathers are a nice touch. do they tickle?”

“y-yeah, um. they do a little bit,” you respond. 

hyunjin takes your breasts in his large hands and jiggles them, causing the feathers to brush against your skin with the movements. you quiver, and a whimper leaves your lips. 

“definitely a contender. let’s look at the other one,” minho suggests, and hyunjin gently unclamps your nipples. they’re tender already just from the short amount of time he had them on you, but you find that you really don’t mind the feeling. they ache, and you wish that hyunjin would soothe them with his tongue. 

the other pair is a little more intimidating, but you have a feeling that this is the one minho’s going to go with. hyunjin says this pair is considered a nipple grip. the silver outline of a flower goes around your nipple, and there are four small screws that hyunjin will need to tighten in order for the grip to stay in place on your nipple. he repeats the process with you delicately just like he did with the last pair.

the biggest difference between the pairs is that this one has a weighted ball chained to the grips. the screws stimulate your nipples and give you that perfect mix of pain and pleasure, and the weighted ball definitely adds to it.

“depending on your partner’s preferences, you can change the ball. you can go heavier, lighter, whatever,” hyunjin tells the other man, and he nods. 

“how’s the weight?” minho addresses you again. 

“it’s- not too bad? i think i’m ge- getting used to it, kinda.” you bite your lips and look down at your nipples. you already know they’re going to be swollen when hyunjin takes the grips off you.

“not too bad?” minho asks again, and you shake your head. he moves to stand in front of you though and crouches down so he’s eye level with your face. he uses both hands and lifts the balls of the nipple grips with one finger each, taking the added weight off of your nipples. your breath hitches in relief, but it doesn’t last for long. minho takes his hands away immediately and the balls drop, and you squeal. the weight tugs on your overly sensitive nipples, and hyunjin holds you as you thrash. 

minho pets your hair and smiles that devilish bunny smile again.

“i’ll take them both.”

much to your enjoyment, hyunjin does soothe your nipples with his mouth after he rings minho up for his purchases and sees him out the door. his lips are plush and soft, and his tongue flicks at your nipples just gentle enough after their rough treatment. 

your hands card through his dark purple hair, and he sighs against the skin of your chest. his arms are wrapped protectively around you, almost as if he’s enjoying this as much as you are. 

you’re both pulled out of your shared moment of relaxation when the door chimes once again. “yah, hwang hyunjin! where are you hiding?” 

hyunjin grumbles against your chest and pulls away with a grimace, like he’d rather stay here than do anything else. he pats your thigh and slowly gets up, adjusting himself in his pants before making his way to whoever now stands inside. 

“ah, hyung. no need to yell, i’m right here!” you hear hyunjin let out an undignified oof! and you have to hold in a laugh when you assume he just got bearhugged. “changbinnie hyung, i can’t breathe.”

you don’t hear much else for a few minutes. hyunjin must be walking with changbin while he peruses the store. at least with minho, he announced right away what he was looking for. now, with this new guy, the anticipation is almost killing you. you’re lost in your thoughts when you finally see hyunjin once again returning to the counter, this time changbin is right on his heels. 

“oh? who’s this?” he greets you normally like you’re not sitting there ass naked on a loveseat. changbin bows his head lightly and waves a hand at you. you wave back. 

“changbin hyung, my demonstration model!”

they must have talked about this before because changbin snaps his fingers in acknowledgement, an excited ahh! leaving his lips. 

“well, your model is really going to come in handy because i have no clue how to use this,” changbin says, fiddling with the box you’re not sure how you missed him set on the check-out counter. hyunjin hums in acknowledgement and opens the box to remove its contents, and even you’re confused with what it is. a breathing mask?

once again, the spot next to you is taken by hyunjin. he lets you hold the toy, the whatever it is, and you turn it over in your hands. 

“have you ever heard of a pussy pump, sweetheart?” it still sends you reeling that hyunjin can just talk like that so freely. 

you’ve heard of one before, but you didn’t know this is what it was. 

“here, watch me. this cup is gonna go over your cute little cunt, right? i’m gonna put some lube around the edges so it seals tight and place it right over your pussy. you can hold it in place for me, and then i’m gonna squeeze this bulb right here on the end of this tube, you see? every time i squeeze it, it’s gonna create a suction that makes your pussy all puffy.” he looks at changbin, and the older man nods along to show that he’s paying close attention. hyunjin looks back at you again. “it’s gonna get your pussy all chubby because of the increased blood, and it’ll be so sensitive and feel so good. it might sound a little scary, but all we have to do is press this little release valve right here, and it’ll break the seal so i can take it off.”

you’ve never done anything like that in your life, and truth be told it makes you a little nervous. trying new things is always a little bit nerve wracking, but even though you just met him today, you trust hyunjin. 

“hey, if you don’t want to do it, that’s okay. i can just buy it and test it out first with someone when i get the chance. i’m a big boy, i can figure it out myself,” changbin says, sensing your nerves. 

but you want to try it.

“yeah? you do?” hyunjin asks. he seems to be pretty excited about your decision himself.

“yeah, i- well. it sounds kinda hot?” 

“it’s so fucking hot, what the fuck?” changbin cuts in, and it sends all of you into a fit of laughter. 

soon, hyunjin helps you spread yourself further on the loveseat. you’re damn near folded in half, and hyunjin kneels on the floor in front of you while you hold the cup against your sopping pussy. 

“ready?” he asks tenderly, and changbin grunts in response. you nod your head yes and reach down with your unoccupied hand to grip hyunjin’s shoulder. 

the first time hyunjin squeezes the bulb, it shocks a gasp out of you. it’s more the sound that does it, you can’t really feel the suction just yet, but hyunjin keeps going when you tell him he can. you’re feeling it soon, and your body sings at the way both hyunjin and changbin stare openly at your cunt. you can feel it enlarging, the lips of your pussy and your clit.

“do- do you like it? is it okay?” you cry, voice shaky. you’re nervous. what if they don’t like how it looks? it’s getting so tight in the cup, but it feels so good. changbin bites his bottom lip and cocks his head like he’s in disbelief. he lets hyunjin answer for the both of them.

“good enough to eat, baby, god. it’s gonna be so fucking swollen when i take this off…” hyunjin licks his lips. “so damn sexy.” 

you preen again, arching your back and pressing your palms into the velvet of the loveseat.

“can you take it off? i- fuck, i’m so horny,” you whine. hyunjin presses on the valve and your mouth drops open when the pressure is released from your cunt. hyunjin slowly brings the cup away from your pussy and sets it on the seat beside you. his mouth has dropped open too.

he slides his fingers through the wet, swollen mess of your cunt, and you cry out. changbin whistles when hyunjin presses the meat of your pussy lips together. your clit almost peeks through. hyunjin plays with you for a few moments, feeling all over your swollen lips and your clit, pinching and probing like he’s checking on his work. 

he didn’t go too far with the pumping, but your pussy is definitely fatter and darker than it was before he started. 

“hyung, look how swollen that little clit is,” hyunjin breathes. he spreads your lips with his fingers and pinches at your clit. it’s almost enough to send you careening off the couch, but changbin’s come close enough for them to both hold you in place. “when you try it with a partner, hyung, it’ll feel so good around your cock. it’ll be so hot and tight inside. wanna feel?” 

you whimper. it’s already so overwhelming to have hyunjin’s hands on your body like this, but adding changbin’s too? you don’t know if you can handle it.

hyunjin spreads the lips of your pussy and scoots to the side so changbin has more room to feel of you himself. changbin’s fingers are thicker than hyunjin’s, and they feel so fucking good when he slips them inside of you. he thrusts them deeper, making your pussy squelch, and hyunjin hisses through his teeth.

“tight fit,” changbin grunts, and you nod your head. you’re tight for them. “ah, mercy. those puffy lips… shit, hyunjinnie, i’m buying one. i’m sold. hurry and ring me up, hyung has to go jerk off now. and you, cutie. if he doesn’t make you cum today, tell him to give you my number.” 

despite how much you can see changbin wants to stay and talk to hyunjin, he leaves in a hurry with a new, clean pump that hyunjin pulled from the back room of his shop. you can’t see it, but you do hear changbin hold the door open on his way out for someone else to come inside.

“oh? what’s this? you just missed minho, he was here not too long ago!” hyunjin says to the person that entered the store. 

“i know! he got me something but i’m not sure what. i want to surprise him too!” 

it’s a woman, her voice is chirpy and bright. you can’t wait to see what she looks like.

while hyunjin is busy with his new customer, you busy yourself with your swollen cunt. it feels so different after being pumped. hyunjin was right, you’re sensitive, but you don’t know if it’s more from the residual sensitizer gel or the pump itself. maybe it’s a mix of both. 

you can’t believe your clit fucking feels like that. it’s big, swollen all puffy and slick between your fingers. you want to wait for hyunjin, but you can’t bring yourself to. you pluck at it lightly, but it’s so swollen you can almost jerk it off. oh, isn’t that an erotic thought, so you do just that. your fingers move shallowly up and down on your clit, pinching and rubbing it between your sticky-wet thumb and index finger. your other hand runs up your body to play with your still aching nipples, and it’s not long before you’re making yourself cum with a shaky moan while hyunjin sees about his customer. 

you can hear them stop talking at the front of the store, but it’s not enough to get you to be quiet. you’re still mewling by the time you finally see hyunjin again, and he rounds the counter once more with a toy you’ve dreamed of having for years. 

hyunjin’s too busy staring at you to notice where he’s walking, and he walks right into the pointed edge of the counter. he heaves a dramatic hiss, eyes squinting shut as he brings a fist up to his mouth to bite at. 

“woah, are you alri- woah,” comes the voice from earlier. 

your own eyes leave hyunjin to land on one of the prettiest girls you’ve ever seen in your life. she’s mousy, cute and lithe, with big eyes and a little button mouth. her eyes go straight to your still-pulsing pussy, and you spread your legs wider for her. 

“is your pussy always that juicy or are you just happy to see me?” she says in a daze. hyunjin slaps a hand to his forehead, but that doesn’t deter the girl at the counter. 

“jesus, jisungie. this is my model, remember? the demonstration model i’ve been looking for? we just tested out a pussy pump before you got here.”

“no fucking way!” she exclaims, eyes glancing from your cunt, to hyunjin, then back to your cunt. “i’ve been wanting to try one of those. did you like it?”

you nod at her, and she nods excitedly back, gums and pretty white teeth on display. 

“it’s, um-! sensitive. i’m so s-sensitive down there. everything is, like, heightened.” that’s an understatement. you already want to cum again, and you just came. 

“that’s perfect! hyunjin, can you try the toy for me?”

hyunjin starts pulling the toy out of its box, and he shows it to you when he sits down beside you. you’ve always wanted one, a wand, you’ve just never allowed yourself to splurge on one before. it plugs right into the outlet that’s situated below the loveseat, and you’re already thrumming with need. 

“you know what this thing is, don’t you?” hyunjin asks you with a smile. “you ever used a magic wand before?”

“no, just- just regular vibrators. i’ve wanted too though. they always look like they feel so good,” you respond, and out of the corner of your eye you see jisung bite her lip. 

“this one’s got several different stimulation modes, alright? four vibration speeds and four different pulsing patterns, so you can pick which one you like the best.”

“oh, minho’s going to love that,” jisung answers absentmindedly, pinching at her plump little bottom lip. “it should work on cocks too, right?”

hyunjin snorts a laugh and looks back at his friend. 

“it’s not for you?” 

“i mean, i’ll use it or whatever, but i want to use it on minho first,” comes jisung’s response. she’s explaining herself to hyunjin like that’s the most obvious answer in the world. 

“doesn’t that, i don’t know, defeat the whole purpose of the demonstration right now?” hyunjin asks. he’s about to demonstrate how the wand works on your pussy, not a dick. he shakes his head with a smile like he’s just used to jisung’s antics.

“no! no, nope. hell no. demonstrate away! haha, um. please? yeah.” 

hyunjin shakes his head again and finally holds the wand to your still puffy cunt.

“spread your lips for me… theeere you go. perfect, angel. that’s perfect, so you’ll feel those vibrations right on your clit. you ready?” 

you can’t get over the way hyunjin talks to you, talks you through things. he’s a dream. when you give him the go ahead, he turns the wand on its lowest setting, and it already has your back bowing. you have to fight to keep your hand steady where it spreads your pussy lips open for hyunjin. it feels so good; you’re only on the first setting, and you can already tell the wand lives up to its hype. 

“ready for me to go up one?” hyunjin asks, and at your dazed nod he clicks the button to go up one level. the vibrations get louder, and you can definitely tell they’re a little bit stronger this time. if you were at home, you’re already certain this would be your preferred vibration setting. it’s perfect. your toes are curling. 

hyunjin asks you again if you’re ready for another setting, and he changes it once more. 

“o-oh, god. that’s- oh wow, that’s s-so much,” your teeth chatter with it. 

when hyunjin gives you the last level of vibration, you almost shatter apart. it’s too much, too rough on your sensitive and overused pussy, and you’re pushing his hand away quickly. hyunjin immediately pulls the wand away from you and sets it to the side so that he can soothe an elegant hand up your stomach.

“that setting would have made me squirt all over myself in like three seconds,” jisung announces with wide eyes. “it sounded like a fucking drill, no way!” 

“the wand’s a lot, do you wanna be done?” hyunjin coos, kneading at your stomach like a cat. the softest, most gentle cat in the whole wide world. you shake your head though, determined to feel the four different pulsing settings and show jisung everything her possible new toy is capable of doing. 

you bring the head of the wand back to your pussy yourself, much to hyunjin’s surprise and satisfaction. he looks up at jisung and quirks his eyebrow, and she gives him a wink. you press the wave-looking button on the wand, and the first level of pulsing begins. it starts off with bursts of vibrations that get slower and slower until it gives one last quick succession of pulses, and then starts again. you stay on that setting for a bit to get acclimated to it. you can only imagine how crazy it would drive you if you were close to cumming, how the pulses slow down and make your cunt ache before the quick burst of them at the end. 

“you’re so fucking pretty,” jisung breathes, and your eyes flutter when you look up at her. “oh my god, baby, don’t look at me like that. you’ll make my pussy wet.”

“it’s not wet already?” hyunjin asks, incredulous. “how could you see this view and not get turned on right away?” 

“i’m actually trying really hard not to shove my hand down my pants, thanks.”

their back and forth doesn’t phase you at all, and you roll your shoulders when you click the button again to go to the next setting. the second pulsing setting is a lot different than the first; it’s almost like this one is revving like a car engine. the vibrations start soft and progress quickly, and you’re adjusting your hold on the wand so it settles slightly less directly on your overstimulated clit. 

hyunjin has a steady hand on your thigh that’s closest to him, gripping and kneading the warm flesh while he dutifully watches you use the wand on yourself. 

you bring a hand up to your forehead to wipe the sweaty strands of your hair away from it before hitting the button on the wand once more. the third setting is a little bit more similar to the first. there’s a long vibration that trails off into a sequence of quick bursts.

“that one’s- that one’s good, oh,” you whimper. 

“yeah? that one feels the best so far?” hyunjin asks, and you nod back at him. “here, let me hold it, sweetheart.”

his hand reaches down to hold the wand in place so that your wrist can catch a break. you tap his arm and shakily tell him to try the last setting, and he does with your go ahead. the last setting has your hands scrambling for purchase on the velvety fabric of the loveseat, and jisung is quick to kneel in front of you and hold both of your hands. her hands are bony and a little clammy, but you’re sure yours can’t be any better. 

the last setting starts high and goes low; you can feel your thigh start to quiver in hyunjin’s grip. you’re so close to cumming, and it’s almost like hyunjin can read your mind. almost as soon as he starts the fourth setting, he clicks the wave button three times so he can go back and find the third pulsing setting once more since it was your favorite. your hands squeeze jisung’s, and she squeezes back.

“oh my god, baby, are you gonna cum?” she asks, and you can’t even answer her because you’re too busy letting out a squeal. the intense vibrations push you over the edge in no time, and you snatch your hands from jisung’s grasp so that you can shove the wand away from your pulsing cunt and snap your legs shut.

two pairs of hands settle you and help you come down. hyunjin’s pressed close to your side, and his hands now caress every inch of skin he can find. jisung’s smaller hands massage your calves and rub at your ankles from where she’s kneeling on the ground. 

“h-holy fuck, holy fuck,” you breathe. hyunjin already turned the wand off, but you swear your ears are still ringing with the sound of it. your bones still rattle with the feel of it.

“ten out of ten, would recommend? i trust your verdict,” jisung says. 

“t-ten, yeah. ten definitely.”

when jisung leaves, she does so with your number now in her phone and a promise to have lunch this coming weekend. she also leaves with a brand new magic wand.

hyunjin waves his friend goodbye, and when you hear the jingle of the doorbell, he rushes to lock the door behind her. one perk of being the owner of a store is that you guess he can close shop whenever the hell he wants.

he comes back and is on you in a hurry, and you’re met with a bruising kiss. despite all you and hyunjin have gotten up to today, this is your first kiss. it’s messy, but you have a feeling he likes messy, so your tongue keeps batting at his and you refuse to mind the mess of spit that seeps down your chin. 

“let me fuck this pussy, baby, please? please, i’ll beg for it,” hyunjin moans against your lips. a man who’s not too proud to beg? you hit the jackpot today. “you’re a goddess. fuck, please, i’d do anything to have your pussy!” 

you were going to let him fuck you whether he begged for it or not, but this certainly helps your case. your cunt’s still swollen and oh so sensitive, and you can’t help but rub at your clit with your own shaky fingers. it doesn’t take long for you to snatch your hand away though, the sensitivity proving too much for right now. hyunjin watches and busies himself with haphazardly reaching behind him to blindly search for a condom in his counter filled with trinkets. he knocks over a few things in his haste to do so, but he comes away victorious with a little black packet. 

he hurriedly unbuttons and unzips his pants to pull them down his thighs, and that’s when you see his cock for the first time. it’s long and thick, beautiful just like him because of course it is. the tip is a ruddy pink-purple and it’s leaking steadily in preparation for you. hopefully some other time he’ll let you put it in your mouth.

he sees you watching, so he puts on a show for you. he’s just as good as you are, slowly stroking his pretty cock in an equally pretty hand from base to tip. he circles the tip several times before dragging his hand back down the length.

“i’ve been hard all day because of you, you know that? everything we’ve done went straight to my cock, sweetheart, you’re a dream come true.” 

it’s funny he says that because you’ve thought the same thing all day. 

hyunjin tears the foil packet with his teeth, and you’re licking your lips in anticipation. once he has the condom safely on, he bends at the knees and positions himself at your drippy hole. the swelling has started to go down a little bit from the pumping earlier, but it’s still puffy and more swollen than usual. 

“gonna be gentle with you, honey, like you told me to earlier. ah fuck, my cock… get you drooling on it,” he grunts. the pressure from the head of his dick at your tight little hole already has you mewling high in your throat. 

“take- takin’ such good care of me, hyunjinnie, all day. made my pussy feel so good all day! no one’s ever made me feel like you have,” you breathe, and hyunjin groans loudly into the air. his head is thrown back as he breaches your hole, hand cocked on his hip, and his eyes squeeze shut. 

he fucks you with the bulbous tip of his cock until you’re going crosseyed. 

“d-deeper, deeper please! gimme all of it, please.” he said earlier that he’d get you ready for all of it. maybe this is what he meant. 

when he fucks all the way inside, all of your breath leaves your lungs in an exhale. your mouth is open, eyes rolling, toes curling, hands balling into fists at your sides. you don’t know what to do with yourself, and especially when hyunjin steadies himself on his feet and grinds his lithe hips forward. 

“oh my fucking god,” hyunjin breathes. “your fucking pussy!” he grits his teeth and swipes a hand through his sweaty hair. it slams down on the backrest of the loveseat, and all you can see is hyunjin hyunjin hyunjin. 

he fucks you like he means it. he’s gentle, just like he said he would be, but you can only imagine the power his hips must have when he’s rougher. 

hyunjin presses in to the hilt and stops, grinding his hips deep and stilling as he’s all the way inside of you, thighs pressed tight to the backs of yours. he’s so deep it feels like he’s in your fucking throat. the tips of your fingers push against his stomach as if to push him back, but you don’t want him to go anywhere. you need him inside where he belongs. 

“‘s deep, oh my god. y-you’re-! hyunjin. hyunjinnie, ‘s so fucking deep inside.”

“my angel wanted it deep. i’m giving you what you want, no?” he coos, taking your hands from his stomach and entwining them together to rest on your thighs. you just nod nod nod your head, bobbling like a bobblehead because hyunjin’s got you so fucked out on his cock. “fucking deep because your pussy’s just sucking me in.” 

it is; you want to keep him there forever. snug and hard inside your cunt where he belongs. 

hyunjin makes to thumb at your clit, but you’re quick to stop him before he can. you’re too sensitive, clit sore and achy in ways that you haven’t felt in a long, long time. you’re already satisfied with the amount you’ve cum today, and you’re not too sure you could cum again at this point anyways. maybe after a few hours of downtime you can. 

it’s not long before hyunjin’s hips are faltering, his thrusts becoming choppy and uncoordinated. he’s been hard all day, desperate and waiting for the chance to be able to fuck himself inside your beautiful pussy. 

“perfect pussy for me,” he hisses, halfway to delirious by now. “‘m gonna burst! fuck, i’ll cum. i’ll fucking cum if you keep looking at me like that.” dazed and cock-drunk, like he’s the best you’ve ever had. 

hyunjin’s cock slips from your cunt, and you’re about to cry for him to put it back when he steps onto the loveseat, feet framing your hips, and strips his cock above your mouth. your jaw drops open, immediately sticking your tongue out and whimpering at the taste of yourself on the latex of the condom. he rips the condom off of his dick and tosses it blindly on the floor, holding your head for balance with one hand and jerking himself off with the other. 

it doesn’t take him long at all to cum, you’ve had him worked up all day and fucking your pussy was something out of his wildest dreams. he cums with a shout, not bothering to bite his lip or quiet himself because he wants you to know you make him feel good.

hyunjin’s cum coats your tongue, and before you get the chance to swallow it, he’s bending down to kiss you messily. it’s wet. so sloppy and dirty that is has you desperately wishing you could cum again, and hyunjin slips your tongue into his mouth to suck on. he pulls away breathless and drops back to the ground but plops halfway onto your lap when he settles beside you on the loveseat. you’re both breathing heavily, and hyunjin regards you once and then gives you a dazzling, sleepy smile. 

“would you go to dinner with me?” he asks. there are shadows on the reflection of the floor which must mean the sun is setting.

“i’d love to. can you give me like thirty minutes? i can’t feel my legs.”

[jungkookincalvins]

did i read this bc i got drawn by the title that would be namjoon's and mine ship name?? maybe, sure, why not. yes.

this was absolutely beautiful

"Namjoon lights up the way he always does when you ask him about art: entirely, with his whole being. Looks like the first time you told him you loved him, and you think they’re probably the same, that they say the same thing."

🥹

im fine i just love him a lot

Congrats on the 1k!!!

Can I request an idol boyfriend Namjoon and y/n drabble? Something like they’re on a museum date and Joon is being his intelligent/passionate about art self, talking all the artwork and whatnot, and y/n just gets so turned on so they end up hooking up in a hidden part of the museum? 👀

namjoon being an enthusiastic art heaux? this is right up @effortandmore's alley. thank you for this request, though. this one was fun.

most of the history on the piece described here is from the met's website, here. it's a really interesting and heartbreaking piece; i encourage everyone to check it out.

(also, this is more "waxes poetic about art" than anything else. smut takes me forever to write and i figured you've waited long enough, so you'll have to headcanon it, i am so sorry. also, something about this piece just screamed namjoon to me and i wanted to write it. hope you enjoy anyway!)

nydia

pairing: namjoon x reader (no pronouns used) genre: established relationship au; fluff warnings: can be read as idolverse or not, one mention of suicide (the story behind the sculpture is pretty depressing), light swearing, namjoon being hot and smart, unedited. rating: e for everyone wordcount: 1k

The next gallery you walk into is vast.

Full of windows that cast a mid-afternoon glow on the floor. Stained glass casting colors. In here, everything feels grand. Feels a little overwhelming, reminds you of your place in the world: small, irrelevant, hopeful. You’re standing in a room of giants, both literally and metaphorically.

Namjoon is large on his own, but here it feels endless.

Diana is centered in the room, light dancing across the bronze. As you stare up at her, you wonder if she’s happy with this iteration. If she mourns her original purpose, poised atop one of the city’s most recognizable buildings, now long-gone. Demolished. You wonder if she’s content to be stationary when she used to go the way of the wind.

She’s stunning, even as a replica of her original self, but she’s not what Namjoon came here for.

What Namjoon came here for is also in the center of the room. The marble she’s carved from is more modest than Diana’s glittery bronze, but no less impactful. Her name is Nydia, and Namjoon has been obsessed with her since he’d gotten his hands on a first edition of an old novel, out of place amongst his poetry, but inspired by art and weathered by time and someone else’s devotion to it.

“There she is,” he says, and the room is vast and empty but you could make out the hushed awe in his voice from miles away.

You tuck yourself into his side, feeling just as small next to him as you do next to all of these sculptures. Laugh softly, endlessly endeared, at all the pamphlets he has clutched in his hands. History upon history, always something else to learn, and you could write just as many on the man beside you.

“Tell me about her.”

Namjoon looks down at you. Smiles. Says, “Her name is Nydia,” even though you know that already. “Randolph Rogers sculpted her in 1856. She’s based off of the character from The Last Days of Pompeii.”

You study her. Admire all of her intricacies, all the love that had gone into creating her and telling her story: her closed eyes, the broken Corinthian column lying at her feet, the movement of her dress. You’re vaguely aware of her story, recited to you by Namjoon over the span of three afternoons, one for each volume, so you know enough to know the tragedy, but you’d be able to feel it if you hadn’t.

“In the novel, she was kidnapped and enslaved and rescued by a man named Glaucus. She falls in love with him, but he’s betrothed to Ione.” He sighs, subdued; probably knowing too much about unrequited love. Probably relating too much to the sculpture standing tall before him. “There’s a lot that happens in between, but Vesuvius erupts and Nydia leads Glaucus and Ione to the Bay of Naples, where they’re able to board a ship to safety.”

Namjoon reaches out, careful not to touch, and traces the air along Nydia’s fingertips, her hand that’s raised to her ear. “She’s blind, so she’s used to navigating by sound. Everyone else in Pompeii is unable to see through the ash and rock, but Nydia has never been able to see, so she’s able to get them to the ship by listening to the ocean.”

The two of you share a quiet moment. You wonder what it must’ve been like, living through the chaos of that day. Watching, hearing the world burn down around you, helpless to stop it. Knowing you’re doomed to your fate. You wonder if you would’ve made the same decision as Nydia, if the pain of loving someone who doesn’t love you in return would hurt too much to be selfless. You wonder if it would’ve haunted you.

“What happened to her?”

Namjoon remains quiet. You almost think he doesn’t hear you, but then he answers, just above a whisper: “She decides that death is preferable to the pain of her unrequited love for Glaucus and kills herself. Slips into the sea.”

“Oh.”

The huff of laughter that tumbles out of Namjoon surprises you. “Sorry, baby. Didn’t mean to be depressing.”

“It’s not your fault. I’ll just have to write a strongly-worded letter to Edward Bulwer-Lytton.”

A full-on cackle. “Yeah. Let me know what he says.”

“Probably, ‘Sorry my novel upset you, but I’ve been dead for a hundred and fifty years.’” You sigh, trying to shake off the dregs of sadness. “Tell me about Rogers. Is that less depressing, at least?”

Namjoon lights up the way he always does when you ask him about art: entirely, with his whole being. Looks like the first time you told him you loved him, and you think they’re probably the same, that they say the same thing. “Mostly. C’mere.”

You follow him to another sculpture. Ruth Gleaning, it says. “He carved this one, too. It was his first large-scale work, since he’d mostly sculpted busts of tourists after he moved to Italy. Nydia was much more popular, though; a year or two later he was commissioned by the U.S. to do the bronze doors for the Capitol building. He was also commissioned to do a statue of John Adams but it got lost at sea.” Namjoon looks anguished at this. “Fuck, can you imagine? He had to redo the whole thing.”

“Sounds a lot like you.”

“Wow, rude.”

The two of you share another laugh, but you’re struck by all of what Namjoon is. Intelligent, empathetic, eager. Always wants to bring you into what he loves, always wants to share it. Doesn’t deem anything unworthy of knowing, because you wouldn’t have thought Namjoon would know all of this, the history of an American sculptor forgotten behind the likes of Calder, Nevelson, French. But he has assigned spaces for everything, so of course he knows.

It’s a little overwhelming, how much you love him.

How much you want to know him the way he knows everything else.

The gallery you’re in is vast, but it’s filled with love. An artist’s love for its subject, your love for Namjoon. They say the same thing.

[jungkookincalvins]

it took me too freaking unnecessary long to read this but i finally did and it was just after seeing this post? so this was hell

SO GOOD!! i truly truly loved this so much, the amount of funny and feelings was fantastic! -clumsy namjoon is in my heart forever, im so happy he is the way he is

two phones... a part of me says come on! but its namjoon so yeah it is so possible, i hope the pay for that episode was enough for a new stronger phone♥

yoongi and oc are also in my heart forever because im currently friends still with my ex and were good, its an amazing feeling, i loved this a lot 🥹🥹🥹

jk when he found the fic:

and i know you say youre not exactly comfortable or its hard writing smut but let me tell you, this was SWEET and HOT, it was so careful and just really good im serious, very very nice. idk how to say it but it made sense in a very careful way..

happy late birthday indigo ♥ such royalty this album, ugh

a word from our sponsors | knj

you’ve co-hosted a podcast with namjoon for three years; have known him even longer. the two of you have always been the picture of platonic, but that hasn’t stopped the internet from doing what the internet does. the shipping? a little weird at first, but you can understand it: two attractive twenty-somethings always in close proximity to one another, obvious (platonic!) chemistry—people have created ships for less. the fanfiction, though? also pretty funny… until you can’t stop thinking about it. 🎙️

pairing: namjoon x f. reader genre: podcast, friends to lovers au; crack, smut, fluff rating: explicit. minors do not interact. warnings: parasocial relationships galore, a m*n with a p*dcast, author abuses italics, swearing, alcohol, reader uses a pseudonym/nickname (piper) because writing the meta fanfiction scene would've been too weird without one and i refuse to use y/n, dialogue-heavy but it is a fic about a podcast, everyone is down horrendous, mentions of social media & fake r*ddit posts, ex-boyfriend yoongi but in a good, healthy way. let me know if i missed anything but mostly this is just two goofballs not realizing they're in love with one another. smut warnings: kissing, oral sex (f. receiving), fingering, unprotected vaginal sex (fiction), protected vaginal sex (nonfiction), a lil squirting, mild degradation, mentions of a p*ss kink but there is no actual pee i promise (...lest?), i didn't intend to write size kink but it's namjoon so it just showed up anyway, slight dom!joon, everyone orgasms. wordcount: 17.5k credits: this was entirely inspired by that one episode of the basement yard where frankie reads the smut fic of him and joe, so credits to both that author and that podcast. spotify, for their podcast name generator. astro-seek for helping me drag namjoon astrologically. an extra special, gigantic thanks to @effortandmore for writing the meta fanfic (3k of it, no less!) and not batting an eye when i said it could have pee in it as a joke. this is as much yours as it is mine. finally, @hot-soop and @the-boy-meets-evil for reading this over for me and telling me i'm funny. author's note: happy birthday, indigo! here i am to validate every fear you've ever had that the people you write porn about may one day read it. live and on air. :)

You’ve co-hosted a podcast with Namjoon for three years.

You can learn a lot about a guy in that amount of time.

None of it is especially salacious. You know all about his family and his dog and the brand of recycled paper towels he insists on buying in bulk. You know what he’d written his grad school thesis on and what he’d looked like in the thick of it, when he was staving off his fifth mental break of the week. You know how fidgety he gets when it’s closing in on Friday night and he’s got a date—how much he stresses over which restaurant to pick, which cologne, which expensive cashmere sweater to wear.

You also know what the internet thinks about him. Intimately.

Kim Namjoon, according to the internet, is peak husband material. He has cheeks ripe for pinching and thighs small countries would go to war to defend. He has a lap that doubles as a seat and dimples people want to get baptized in. He has Instagram selfies with hundreds of thousands of likes and comment sections full of intelligible keysmashes, especially the ones he posts from the gym.

Kim Namjoon, according to the internet, is a man written by a woman.

Looking at him now, you aren’t sure that’s true, you think people just need to raise their standards. Namjoon is just… Namjoon. He’s intelligent and kind and up to date on modern feminist theory, is all. And, sure, maybe in the current political landscape that puts him far above the rest of men, but the way the internet has latched onto him is a little concerning.

“There’s another post about whether or not we’re dating,” you say, pushing your glasses up the bridge of your nose.

sooo let’s be real here, we ALL think they’re dating, right?? Posted by u/pod-shipper 2 hours ago

Just like he always does, Namjoon huffs out a soft laugh, makes his way around to your side of the table. Puts his large hands on your shoulders as he leans in close to read from your screen, snorting every time he reads a sentence he finds particularly amusing. Whichever cologne he’d chosen this morning is, admittedly, very nice.

It’s sooo obvious, especially in the episodes they film and post on YouTube. The way they look at each other?? I don’t even look at my HUSBAND like that! (+1264) ↳ omg ur sooooo right! i could MAYBE buy that they aren’t full on dating, but they’ve def at least slept together. Namjoon is so 🔥🔥🔥 (+791) ↳ um how can namjoon be dating her when he’s already married to me 😌💅 (+3) ↳ For the millionth time, can we not speculate on their personal lives? This is weird and reinforces really harmful ideas that men and women can’t just be friends. (-51)

“How come they never talk about how hot you are?”

You can tell by the look on Namjoon’s face that he hadn’t meant to say that—or, if he did, he didn’t mean to say it like that, with an entire pout, eyebrows raised nearly to his hairline. “Cursed to be ugly and dumb,” you joke to ease the sudden tension, reading the comment that simply says you’d have to be the dumbest person alive to not sleep with Namjoon.

He scrunches his nose at that. Returns to his side of the table. “Yeah, I don’t think so, lots of people haven’t slept with me.” Starts to unpack all the gear from his bag before he says, “Hey, all that stuff—does it bother you?”

“What do you mean?” you answer, the corner of a protein bar stuck in your mouth. Namjoon always insists on recording at the most inconvenient times.

“People thinking we’re together,” he clarifies.

You shrug. “I dunno. Not really. Comes with the territory, I think, not to mention how much you love to overshare—”

“Hello?”

“I’m just saying,” you retort, hands raised in self-defense. “There really was no need for you to mention you blew your grad school stipend on a porn scam.” Namjoon looks affronted, like he can’t believe you’d stoop so low as to bring that up. “Or that you lost your virginity at fifteen.”

“We have a relationship podcast,” he states simply. “That’s kind of what we do, right? Talk about relationships? And the spectrum of human sexuality is part of that.”

You slump back in your chair as you quirk an eyebrow. “No one said it wasn’t, I just said you overshare. Which you do.”

“And that’s why there’s a dozen Reddit posts a week discussing whether or not we’re dating? Because I overshare?”

“Yeah, exactly. That’s the kind of behavior that leads to parasocial relationships. People latch onto that shit. Makes them think they’re your friend.” He glares. “Don’t give me that look, you know I’m right. It’s bad enough you’ve word-vomited all this highly personal information about yourself, but to not even do it under a pseudonym? It’s like you’re begging for trouble.”

Another comment he doesn’t even realize he’s making: “I don’t beg. For anything.”

To this day, you’re not sure why Namjoon asked you to co-host a podcast with him.

His reasoning had been simple: “You’re my best friend and we don’t agree on anything.” Hard to argue with that. Namjoon has seemingly endless patience, even in the face of things he shouldn’t entertain, and you… do not, to put it simply.

You’re not a cold person. Your fuse isn’t short. You’re just a little jaded, is all. Have far less propensity for bullshit than Namjoon does, so the two of you play well off each other. You end a sentence with a well-punctuated full stop and Namjoon’s right behind you to sigh and say maybe you shouldn’t be so hasty, not everything in the world can be so black or white.

Except some things are. Somewhere along the way, the podcast—which Namjoon had affectionately named Place Him Gently in the Garbage, even though some people should be shoved in there with force—had picked up a following. A big one. And now, every week, you’re inundated with emails ranging in severity. Sometimes people just want to vent after their tenth bad date in a row or share funny stories, and Namjoon lets you take the lead on those, but sometimes it’s a little more serious. That’s where Namjoon shines, all that endless patience, and people love him for it.

“What’s on the agenda today?” he asks, accepting a thick stack of papers from Jungkook.

Ah, Jungkook.

You aren’t sure what he actually does. Some kind of social media manager, which is obvious from the wildly out-of-context clips he posts of you to TikTok, and it’s his responsibility to go through the thousands of emails you get from listeners, but aside from that all you’ve got are your suspicions that he just sticks around to swindle Namjoon out of more and more money.

“I’m in a silly goofy mood,” comes Jungkook’s reply, and you let out a witch cackle as Namjoon winces. Nothing good ever comes of Jungkook being in a silly goofy mood, and that’s quite alright by you.

Fifteen minutes later finds you with a camera in your face that you greet with an unamused, flat stare. Jungkook is used to it by now. Just films for a few seconds before turning his attention to an unaware Namjoon. Head down, pen and highlighter going a mile a minute as he pores over the stack of papers with all the doggedness and eagle-eyed stare of a literature professor.

That’s the thing about Namjoon—he takes this really seriously. So do you, but not in the ways Namjoon does. He’s all skill and determination and you’re color commentary. It works. It clearly works, so you aren’t too bent out of shape about it, but sometimes you worry. Namjoon takes this really seriously and sometimes you worry that he takes it too seriously, that he carries the burdens and worries of all these strangers, that he’s trying to solve and fix things that aren’t his responsibility to solve and fix.

So he takes it really seriously and you don’t take it as seriously as you maybe should, and everything is by design. Balanced.

Twenty minutes later finds you staring across the table at Namjoon, who asks, “Are you ready?” and does one last equipment check before he launches into, “Welcome back to another episode of Place Him Gently in the Garbage with Namjoon and Piper. What’s new with you, Pipe? Any fun news?”

Pipe. It drives you nuts. Feels like nails on a chalkboard. “I see you almost every single day,” you respond dryly. “But for the sake of entertainment, I’m thinking about getting a cat.”

“A cat?” Namjoon parrots, and his eyebrows disappear beneath his fringe because he knows what that means.

You’ve co-hosted a podcast with Namjoon for three years, but you’ve known him even longer.

Since your first year of college, which is also when you met Yoongi. Yoongi, your ex. Yoongi, the person you’d been with for six years and had planned a life around. Yoongi, now one of your closest friends, because the two of you still love one another but no longer in that way, which is fine. But also—Yoongi, allergic to cats.

So, yeah. Namjoon knows what that means, and he has the good sense not to mention it. Unlike him, you’re intensely private and keep your cards close to your chest. Your listeners don’t even know your real name, let alone that you’d gone through a breakup a year ago.

“What kind of cat?” he continues, like his entire world hasn’t just been turned upside-down.

You shrug. “Eh, I don’t know. Probably one that’s been in the shelter a long time, I guess. I’m not too fussy, you know?”

“Right, a cat is a cat,” Namjoon says, thinking he’s done something. You and Jungkook gasp at the same time. “What? Why are you giving me that look?”

“Because that’s a fucked up thing to say! A cat is not just a cat. They have little personalities, just like people. You’ve got—”

“But you just said you’re not fussy,” he interjects. “And I know they have personalities and that you have to find one that suits your lifestyle! Like, you can’t have one of those really cool cats that likes to go kayaking and shit, it’d never work—”

“What does that mean? Why couldn’t I have a cool cat?”

“Hey, all you cool cats and kittens,” Namjoon mocks, and you can tell he thinks he’s done something again, but his impression falls flatter than flat. An awkward silence fills the studio. He coughs. “Anyway. Do you have pictures?”

“Yeah. I also have a list of candidates ranked by how cool their names are. Number five, Casserole.”

“That’s cute.”

“Mhm,” you agree, “but Casserole is a kitten, and I’m not sure I’m ready for that kind of responsibility.”

“They do say you should adopt kittens in pairs.”

“And that’s how they get you. You want one kitten and they talk you into two, and before you know it you’ve got, like, twelve cats. Number four, Party Girl.”

“Sick name.”

“Number three, Toddler.”

“Toddler?”

“Number two, Flat.”

“Just Flat? Understandable.”

“And, finally, number one: Human Torch.”

“Yoooo.” Namjoon laughs. “You have to adopt Human Torch. Let me see.” You pull up a picture on your phone and hand it over. “Okay, for our listeners—Human Torch is a young, male Domestic Short Hair. He has stripes. I don’t know what that’s called.”

“Tabby,” Jungkook chimes in.

“Jungkook says he’s a tabby. He’s cute. Adopt him.”

You return your phone to your pocket. “Maybe. I still think I want an older cat, but I’ll consider it. What about you, though? Any new dating horror stories to share?”

Ah, the dating horror stories. Your most dedicated shippers are convinced they’re fake, that Namjoon just makes them up on the spot to keep them off your trail. If only. Not in the if only they were fake and Namjoon and I were actually dating kind of way, but the holy shit one of my closest friends is a fucking disaster and it’s a little embarrassing kind of way.

“Not really,” he answers. “I’ve got a date this Friday, though. Trying to decide if dinner and a movie is too boring.”

“It’s a classic for a reason. What are you gonna see, My Big Fat Greek Wedding 3?”

“Three?” Namjoon emphasizes, truly sounding scandalized. “Since when are there three? I haven’t even seen one or two.”

“Okay, first of all, the original is a classic and it’s a crime you haven’t seen it.”

“And second of all?”

“There is no second of all. Repeat point one.”

He snorts. “I’m not gonna see that, anyway. Maybe the re-release of Howl’s Moving Castle.”

“Subbed or dubbed, though?”

“Are you trying to get me canceled?”

“Absolutely.”

“I like both,” he chickens out. “Now, let’s stop wasting time and get to the point of the show.”

“Talking about cats is a waste of time?”

“I—no, we’ve just got a lot on the agenda today.”

“Like what?”

“Well, there’s lots to talk about on the celebrity front—”

Namjoon loves this part. As esteemed and educated as he is, not even he is immune to good old celebrity gossip. (Inside him there are two wolves.) Lives for it. Texts you about it at all hours of the night. Sends you links to Reddit threads with hundreds of comments. Has more opinions on Celebrity Big Brother than he does on Ludwig Wittgenstein, sometimes, and when that’s the case you know you’re in for a long evening. You’ve never even seen an episode of Celebrity Big Brother.

But Namjoon loves it, so you’ve become fond of it by association. Reminds you a bit of Yoongi and his love for sports and sports anime.

“—one should we start with?”

“Whatever you want,” you answer, because you haven’t been paying a lick of attention and you aren’t sure it matters anyway. Namjoon can talk to a wall on a good day, but he’s an entirely different beast once mundane, innocuous celeb gossip gets involved.

And even though you hadn’t been paying attention, it seems like this was the right thing to say, because Namjoon smiles so wide his dimples crater his face. “Cool. Let’s start with Taryn Manning. Did you see that bizarre—”

“Who?”

“What?”

“Who is Taryn Manning?”

Namjoon looks a little dumbstruck. Even Jungkook’s arching an eyebrow at you. “Are you serious? She was in Orange is the New Black and Crossroads.”

“The Britney Spears movie?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh. Weird, okay. Continue.”

Your co-host shoots you a very pointed look. “I will, thanks. Anyway, she posted a video on social media talking about this affair she had with a married man. Like, she pulled over on the side of the road to record this. Said she can’t stand the man’s wife because she called her a quote-unquote lunatic.”

“I—huh, thought we weren’t supposed to say that anymore. Alright.”

“But wait, it gets even more bizarre. Listen to this quote—and this is direct. This is a direct quote from the video, I can’t stop thinking about it: ‘Don’t you ever threaten me when your husband came to me to get his butthole licked.’ Can you—”

“What? Namjoon, what in the fuck—”

“It’s crazy, right? She was gonna buy this guy a boat.”

“Namjoon, this is a family show, you can’t just talk about ass-eating unprompted.”

“No it’s not.”

“Well, you still shouldn’t talk about ass-eating unprompted. It’s unbecoming.”

“You’re unbecoming,” Namjoon fires back, because he can’t help it. The words are out of his mouth before he can think. “Sorry, that was out of line.”

You sigh. Know whatever look Jungkook is catching on his camera right now is exasperated and pointed, the corners of your mouth probably tugged up just a hint. “Unbecoming, like I said.” Namjoon scoffs. “Anyway, so this actress was gonna buy this married guy a boat and was eating his ass?”

“Yeah. Apparently it was her friend’s husband? They all went to a Taylor Swift concert together.”

“Jesus, this keeps getting worse. Big year for Hollywood cheaters.”

“It is, right? Cheaters and divorces. Something in the water, I guess.”

“I saw the astrology girlies saying a bunch of planets are in retrograde, so—”

“Can you explain that to me? Like, what does it mean for a planet to be in retrograde? Why is it causing divorces?”

“I don’t know, I’m not an astrology girlie. That’s why I said the astrology girlies. What are your big three, though?”

“What’s that?”

“Your sun, moon, and rising signs.”

“How do I find that out?”

“Ugh,” you intone, “don’t worry about it, I’ll do it myself. What time were you born?”

Namjoon rattles off a time.

You grab your laptop. Pull up the page, type in Namjoon’s date of birth and birthplace, and wait. Then you’re staring at a circle with a bunch of lines in it that also don’t make a lick of sense to you. You roll your lips to keep from laughing and school your voice into something deadly serious. “Bad news: it says you’re a virgin.”

“Virgo,” Namjoon corrects, not taking the bait. “I already knew that.”

You scroll a little further down the page. “Your moon is in Sagittarius. Oh god, listen to this, they’ve got you pegged: ‘The greatest need is to always search for something. In order to feel safe you need a philosophy or belief’—”

“Haaa, that’s not—”

“—’You need to have a goal or mission that gives your life meaning. Your faith must be voluntary and it is a paradox that fighting against dogmas may lead you to other dogmas.’ Yeah, that’s you.”

“That could apply to anyone,” he argues. “There are seven-billion people on this planet; I’d imagine a sizable amount of them would say that also describes them.”

“Hm, sounds like your faith in astrology is not yet voluntary. Did you know you’re a Scorpio rising?”

“No. I’m sure you’re gonna tell me all about it, though.”

You smile. “Correct. ‘People with Scorpio on the Ascendant need to fight against dark and destructive power in their life.’ Is that true?”

“Yeah, you’re the dark and destructive power. You keep sidetracking me and we need to get to the point of the podcast.” He grabs the stack of papers Jungkook had given him. Looks more highlighter than paper, if you’re being honest. “I guess Jungkook thought we needed a lighthearted kind of day.”

“That was nice of him, considering what he gave us last week. I guess we’re allowed to have faith in humanity today.”

To your left, Jungkook scoffs.

“Alright,” Namjoon starts, putting on his Very Serious Podcast Guy voice, “first up we’ve got a question from one of our listeners in Canada. It says, ‘Hi, Piper and Namjoon. I recently agreed to go on a blind date with a friend of a friend. She said he was a bit old-fashioned but really talked him up so I thought I was in good hands—and then he showed up to get me in a ‘67 GTO and exclusively referred to me as doll. He didn’t use my name once. I’m torn, because he was really nice and I had a good time otherwise, but this is weird, right? Should I see him agai—’”

“No,” you interject.

“Can I finish?”

“You don’t have to. This guy sounds greasy.”

Namjoon pinches the bridge of his nose. “And why is that?”

“Ignoring the fact that this guy has arguably one of the lamest classic cars around, he didn’t use their name once? Not once, in all the time they spent together? That’s really disrespectful.”

“Some people are just pet name people,” Namjoon argues.

“With absolute strangers, though? It’s really giving the impression that he didn’t even know it, not to mention some people are uncomfortable with pet names. The whole shtick is super lame.”

“I agree it sounds a bit misguided, but—”

Ignoring Namjoon, you say, “Sorry you had to go on a date with the ghost of less-cool James Dean. Into the garbage he goes.”

And, just like he’s done a million times before, Namjoon rolls his eyes and says, “If you really like this guy and want to see him again, a bit of communication will go a long way. Tell him the pet name made you uncomfortable—if it did—and offer to pick him up for the next date. I don’t think he’s completely destined for the garbage, yet.”

“You’re just saying that because you don’t have a license. You probably think a 1967 Pontiac GTO is the pinnacle of romance. That’s probably like picking someone up on a Specialized Aethos to you, eh?”

“That’s a fifteen-thousand dollar bike, I’ll have you know.”

You groan. “Oh my god.”

Ep: #183 - Namjoon is a Virgin

I think Namjoon had the right idea on this one. Sure, the car can be considered lame, but I think a lot of men are deeply insecure and therefore overcompensate when it comes to dating. Women are hard to impress when they have unlimited options. You have to stand out, so I’m glad he advocated for him. Piper can come off like such a misandrist sometimes. (-649) ↳ just shut up bro namjoon would fuckin hate u (+204) ↳ Imagine caring about something like this when they’re getting a cat together 🙄 (+19)

You think about the cat thing for nearly a week.

Adopting a cat is certainly not the worst idea you’ve ever had, and truth be told it’s been a little lonely, living by yourself. No more Yoongi in your space; no more Holly. So, having a new little friend around might do you some good.

It’s just—

It’s a big commitment, and there’s also the dog sitting-shaped elephant in the room. Ending things on good terms means you’re still Yoongi’s second-choice sitter whenever he has to go out of town, and while you love Holly dearly (the two of you had adopted him together, after all), he’s a lot like his father in a lot of ways.

Should I get a cat, you type out, and it’s only been in Yoongi’s inbox a few seconds before the most unflattering picture you’ve ever taken of him is flashing across your screen.

“Are you dying?” you ask, because Yoongi doesn’t call you for much else.

And you already know what his response is going to be. “We’re all dying.”

“Lighten up, Yoongi. One might say being so existentially nihilistic before noon causes wrinkles.”

There’s a split-second pause. “It’s nine p.m.”

“Sure, but it’s before tomorrow’s noon, so it still counts.”

“Whatever. Listen, before you adopt that cat, I need a favor.”

“You going out of town again?”

“Yeah. Shouldn’t be long, though. A week at the most, five days if I’m lucky.”

“That’s fine, bring him over whenever. Yijeong’s busy?”

This pause is far, far longer. “No,” comes Yoongi’s eventual response, but it’s slow. Unsure. A two-letter word has never taken so long to say in the history of ever. “He’s, uh. Coming with me?”

Oh, you think. This is where your ex awkwardly and hesitantly breaks the news of his new relationship. You’ve known this day was coming, and this is what you get for staying friends with him. “This is a fanfiction plot,” you accuse. “Hot, mysterious man moves into a gaudy apartment complex after ending a long-term relationship and meets his equally-hot and mysterious neighbor and they fall in love.”

“I—that’s not—my apartment is not gaudy.”

“Yes it is. There’s a giant gold bust of a weird bird in the lobby.”

“Weird bird?” he parrots. “It’s a swan.”

“I see you’re not denying the in-love-with-your-neighbor accusations.”

“Am I on trial?” Yoongi retorts, and it’s such a Yoongi thing to say when what he means is, is this okay? He means, are we able to talk about this without it being weird? He means, I won’t ever say as much out loud, but your acceptance means a lot to me, and I’d like for you to give me this.

So you lower your voice and soften the edges because it’s not really something to joke about, and you say, “No, of course you’re not on trial,” and Yoongi knows what you mean. “And if you were, you'd get locked up for fifty years. You can’t lie for shit.”

There’s a beat of silence before he clears his throat, mutters a thanks that is so quiet you almost don’t catch it. “Send me pictures of the cats.”

Later on, once you’re freshly-showered and tucked into bed with a candle and a book (Eloge de l’amour by Alain Badiou at Namjoon’s insistence and request), your phone buzzes with a text from Yoongi—

Yoongi: toddler is a fucking hilarious name for a cat but so is flat Yoongi: it’s a tie for me You: Okay well pick one 🙄 Yoongi: yijeong says get both You: Both???? Is he paying my vet bills? Yoongi: kinda out of line to proposition him for money. flat is also good with dogs, js You: If he’s now being raised by you two, my perfect, well-behaved son is probably long gone. Does he even count as a dog anymore? Yoongi: me and yijeong both say fuck off Yoongi: holly too. he says he doesn’t miss you anymore and he’s not coming over now Yoongi has added Yijeong to the group Yoongi has changed the group name to #ThirdWheelChat Yijeong: Please don’t drag me into this. Also I did not say “fuck off” You have changed the group name to People Who Have Seen Yoongi Naked Yoongi: fuck you

You should’ve known something was going on with Jungkook, because it’d started like this:

(When you and Namjoon started the podcast three years ago, it was in the living room of his apartment.

Surrounded by books and plants. He loved to record in the afternoons back then—Namjoon loved to say it was because of his grad school schedule, but you’ve always suspected he just wanted to preen in the golden hour light, much like he’s doing now.

“Is this really necessary?” Jungkook whines from his spot on the couch. He’s already swindled Namjoon out of two bags of microwavable popcorn and three cans of sparkling water. “It’s a Saturday afternoon; I could be doing something so much more fun than this.”

Namjoon scoffs. “Are you saying this isn’t fun?”

“Yeah. It sucks, actually. This could’ve been an email.”

And because Namjoon is accomplished, mature, and absolutely incapable of not taking Jungkook’s bait, the space between his brows creases as he sends a murderous glare Jungkook’s way. “Stop eating my food, then. And drinking my drinks. And lounging on my couch like that—”

“I’m not lounging,” Jungkook argues.

“You’re manspreading all over the leather!”

“This is how I sit!”

“Well, knock it off! My couch is only for fun and people who think I’m fun!”

Jungkook rolls his eyes. “So you fuck on it?”

“What?”

“What other fun things could you possibly do on a couch?”

Namjoon blinks. “Watch… watch a movie?”

Jungkook groans, throws himself backwards against the pillows as if he’s suffering a Victorian ailment. “Jesus. No wonder you can’t score a second date.”

“Okay, that was a little uncalled for. There are a ton of reasons a person might not want a second date, and no one is obligated to go out with me—”

“Uh-huh. Anyway—”

You clear your throat. Try to hide your own can of seltzer you’d taken from Namjoon’s fridge in the midst of his and Jungkook’s bickering. “Not trying to be rude, but I have an appointment at the shelter at three. If, y’know. You wouldn’t mind speeding this up a little.”

“Oh! Yeah, of course—”

“Oh, so you’ll speed this up for her but not—”

Namjoon pinches the bridge of his nose. “She,” he begins, jerking his thumb in your direction, “isn’t needlessly complaining and actually has someplace to be.”)

It was just a quick little rendezvous in Namjoon’s living room to come up with a rough draft for the following month’s episodes. He couldn’t do it over text because he’d fallen down the steps at his office and landed on his ass on the corner of a step and his phone had been in his back pocket. Cracked clean in half. And he couldn’t do it over email because he—rightfully—knew Jungkook would ignore them because he has his inbox set up to send all of Namjoon’s personal emails to the trash.

But Jungkook holds onto things like that. Grudges. Loves to let Namjoon think bygones are bygones and pop up a few days later with some evil scheme. Hence:

“What is this?”

Jungkook smirks. Rocks back on his heels. “It’s fanfiction.”

“I can see that, but… why?”

This is where Jungkook shines: the ominous, cheshire cat grin; the aw, shucks demeanor that gaslights Namjoon into thinking Jungkook couldn’t possibly be fucking with him. “Well, you were having trouble coming up with ideas for episodes, and there’s an email in there from someone whose partner reads really expli—”

“Jungkook, this is fanfiction about me.”

You can’t help the laugh that escapes you. Of all the weird shit you’ve seen on the internet (and there’s been a lot), fanfiction of people you know—your friends—was something you’d managed to escape. Probably by virtue of not knowing anyone famous enough to warrant fanfiction being written about them.

But you should’ve known. You really, really should’ve known.

“Oh my god?”

You’re not sure who says it. Could be you or Namjoon, but the sentiment is the same. He mouths a what the fuck at you that’s met with a shrug. You’re in uncharted territory now, too. “Where did you even find this?” you ask, taking the stack of papers from Namjoon. “And why did you print it out?”

“Because I’m going to track down whoever wrote it and get them to autograph it. Then I’m going to buy a nice frame and hang it on the wall behind him, so we never forget this historical moment in Place Him Gently in the Garbage lore.”

“It’s a podcast,” Namjoon deadpans, “how can it have lore? And how much lore can there possibly be?”

“It’s the internet,” you concede. “The lore possibilities are endless. Don’t tempt them.”

Jungkook nods sagely, well-versed in the degeneracy of the internet. “Yeah, that’s how you end up with shit like 4chan.”

“4chan? There’s Space Jam porn on there.”

As the youngest, all Jungkook can do is roll his eyes. “Sometimes explaining this shit to you feels like trying to teach old people how to rotate PDFs—”

Namjoon scoffs. “I’m not that bad. I know how to rotate a PDF.”

Wow, Jungkook mouths. “Anyway, back to the fanfiction—”

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Namjoon interjects. He looks at you. “It’s weird, right? Like, it’s weird that people have written this about us?”

About us.

Your scope of the world narrows to the size of a pinhead. It’d just been about Namjoon before. This is fanfiction about me, he’d said, and you hadn’t been included in that. Now it’s written about us and you’re included.

“I—what?”

“It’s about us,” Namjoon repeats.

Jungkook rolls his lips. “It’s about the two of you fucking, to be specific.”

“Can you not—”

“Fucking a lot,” Jungkook continues. “So much fucking.”

Namjoon looks at you, and it’s all you can do to keep from laughing. The look on his face is pure bewilderment, both that Jungkook has cooked up this idea and is hell-bent on executing it and that he remains employed. And maybe it’s a little bit of nerves, too, because neither of you are ignorant of the risks. Reading fanfiction about yourselves—about the two of you as a couple, specifically, or at least two people who have sex—is weird. Not something you can unread.

And maybe it’s because you’re so determined to not make it weird that you send Namjoon a cheeky, exaggerated wink, shrug your shoulders, and say, “I’ll need a couple drinks, but I’m down.”

Jungkook throws his head back and cackles wildly, and that look of bewilderment on Namjoon’s face morphs into something else. Trepidation, maybe; definitely disbelief, because sometimes he lets himself get swept away in Jungkook’s schemes, but it’s rare that you follow suit.

As Jungkook continues to laugh, you wonder if you should’ve said no.

Namjoon has two stipulations: the two of you have to film the episode completely alone, and he, too, needs to be a little drunk.

The latter? Piece of cake, considering Namjoon has become some sort of whiskey aficionado in recent years. His drinking is streamlined and to the point—he knows exactly how much and what to drink to get him where he wants to be. You can’t say he isn’t efficient.

The former, though? Borderline impossible. From the second Namjoon states his terms, Jungkook is having none of it. Argues that he’s the one who found the story and the one who cleared it with the author, so he deserves to witness the fruits of his labor.

“No,” Namjoon repeats for the nth time, “no way. I’ll barely be able to do this with just her, let alone both of you.”

And that—that doesn’t bother you, right? You force a laugh, because why would it bother you?

There are few secrets between you and Namjoon, except your respective sex lives have been staunchly off-limits. Namjoon could be a virgin for all you know, and as you study him—the way he keeps bobbing his leg, the slight shake in his hands—you wonder if that’s the reason he’s being so weird about this.

It’s just a story.

Fiction.

Most people don’t have to worry about someone writing stories about them fucking their friends. If they do, you reckon even less actually read them. So, sure, it’s a little strange, but people from all over the world send in stranger stuff all the time, don’t they? It’s literally the reason you’re in this predicament.

Eventually Jungkook agrees. His whining has gotten him nowhere, so he just throws up his hands. Posts a cryptic little “u guys won’t believe what the next patreon ep is lmao” that sends the internet into a frenzy. Doubles your Patreon numbers almost immediately, and both you and Namjoon do a good job of pretending the pressure isn’t overwhelming.

Jesus. You have to read explicit fanfiction about yourselves. On camera.

Namjoon gets caught up with work and isn’t available until the weekend, so you’re forced to sit with the nerves for a few days. Not too bad at first, but you’re nearly coming out of your skin by Thursday with the need to know. You’re well-versed in the world of fanfiction, but this is fanfiction about you: your name, your likeness, maybe even your personality.

What will they know of Namjoon, though?

Will they get it right, the way he looks with his jaw clenched? How impossibly deep his voice can go, both when it’s raspy with sleep and when he’s fully at ease? Will the Namjoon in the story be closer to the Namjoon you know, or the version of himself he presents to the public?

And you’ve known him a long time—long enough that there are few secrets between you, but you don’t know the most intimate parts. All the parts the internet loves to speculate on. All the little gaps that, apparently, need to be filled in by fanfiction.

Will they know what Namjoon looks like when he gets off?

No, you scold yourself, jerking awkwardly like you’ve been burned, and neither will you.

Because you are not going to think about this. Your thoughts are not going to go there. Namjoon is your friend, and you’ve listened to him scold an endless amount of men on the podcast for exactly this behavior. Sexualizing their friends. You’re not going to do it, too.

Maybe that’s why you’re kind of seeing double when it comes time to record. Namjoon needed an extra shot and offered you one as well. You’d necked it without a second thought and now you’re here, trying to ignore the slight tilt of the room as Namjoon adjusts the camera.

“How’s the shot look?” he asks, gesturing vaguely behind him at his laptop screen because Jungkook had refused to lend you his fancy cameras if he wasn’t allowed to be involved.

It’s a completely normal question.

It’s a question you’ve asked and answered a million times.

Except—there’s something horribly distracting about Namjoon in this moment. The outline of his back muscles through the thin fabric of his t-shirt. The way the sleeves are tight around his biceps. He’s always been a gym rat, always carries around a protein shake that smells and looks completely foul, but you can’t remember it ever being this obvious.

And you take too long to answer, because Namjoon straightens up just enough to send you a concerned look. Which does not help. You are not imagining what else might cause his brows to pinch like that, what might have his lips parting, have sweat dotting his hairline.

You swallow. Hard.

“Looks fine,” you manage to say. He’s still staring. Are you on fire? You feel like you’re on fire, which would make sense. Would explain Namjoon’s sweating and concerned stare and the fact that he cannot stop staring at you. “Maybe a tiny bit to the right if we’re being picky,” you tack on, hoping it’ll break whatever spell the two of you are ensnared in.

It works. “To the—the right, yeah, makes sense,” he rambles.

He moves it an inch to the left.

—

Things are tense, to say the least.

Recording hasn’t been this awkward since your first episode, or maybe ever. You’re sat across from one another like you always are, and usually Namjoon would be making quip after quip by now, talking endlessly until Jungkook shushed him long enough to get the intro filmed. Now, there’s just silence.

“Should we…?” Namjoon startles. Bangs his knee on the underside of the table and drops a string of curses. “Sorry, are you—”

“I’m fine,” he says, cutting you off. He gestures vaguely toward the camera. “I’ll just… yeah.”

Showtime.

You wipe your hands on your jeans, unsure of when they got so damp. Unsure of when you’d grown so nervous, too, because you’d been fine an hour ago. Had strolled in with two cups of tea and a little too much confidence, giddy at what you were about to do.

Maybe the nerves had shown up alongside the alcohol. This sounds reasonable, and you do not, under any circumstance or for any reason, think about Namjoon’s back. Or his biceps.

Namjoon makes it through the intro, dimples deep and wide as he smiles, and you also don’t think about the way his voice cracks and gets a little breathy when he introduces you. It’s only because he’d been drinking, and the flush on his cheeks attests to that. The same flush that creeps down his neck, still a little sweaty; disappears beneath the hemline of his shirt.

“—Jungkook had. Right, Piper?”

Now it’s your turn to startle, and there’s not much you can do to hide the obvious except ask Namjoon to redo the shot. Because it’s bad enough the internet already overanalyzes every move you make, every word choice, every instance you’ve stared at Namjoon a second longer than they thought you would—this is a blatant display of… affectedness.

“Sorry,” you say, “I wasn't paying attention. Can we redo it?”

You’re expecting a playful scolding. A ha ha, get it together, because that’s what you usually get. But there’s nothing aside from Namjoon studying you and nodding. Asking if you’re okay. Saying, “Is this—this is weird, right? Is it too weird? Maybe we shouldn’t—”

An out. Namjoon is giving you an out, and you should take it, you know you should take it, so there’s absolutely no reason at all you shake your head and say, “No, no, it’s fine! I think I’m just a little, uh. Drunk?”

“Are you sure? We can—”

“It’s fine, Joon,” you insist. “Besides, it’ll be good content, right?”

“Good content,” he parrots. “Yeah, for sure.” He fidgets in his seat, runs his hands down the span of his thighs. Very, very thick thighs. “I’ll grab us some water.”

You faceplant onto the table as soon as he’s out of the room. When did his thighs get so thick?

But the water helps. Cures whatever strange, insatiable thirst has come over you, because you feel much more human after a few glasses. Less drunk, too, which makes sense. Yoongi could barely escape your drunken, horny wrath when the two of you were together, so you chalk it up to a Pavlovian response.

Namjoon does the intro again. Introduces you strong and steady, not a hint of nerves, and explains, with a fresh blush taking over his upper body, what the episode’s going to be about. “Someone wrote fanfiction about us,” he says, scratching at the back of his neck. “It’s, uh, pretty explicit. Jungkook thought it’d be funny if we read it.”

You snort. “He might get fired, depending on how this goes.”

“He should get fired regardless,” Namjoon deadpans. “Anyway, we have permission from the author to read this so don’t come after us, and, as always, we’ll put all the credits in the video description.”

“Special shoutout to Jungkook, though, who was not allowed to be here with us for this momentous occasion.”

Namjoon laughs. “I’m sure he’s having plenty of fun at home.” You both pause. “That’s not—I’m not implying anything with that! I just meant—you know, like. He’s hanging out and enjoying his day off.”

“Uh-huh.”

“Moving on. I have two copies of this. Do you want your own?”

You grin, wicked and wide. “Nah, just read it to me.”

“Making me do all the work,” he huffs. “Typical.”

“There’s a stack of papers in front of you that might say otherwise.”

It’s clear you catch him off-guard. He cocks an eyebrow, opens and shuts his mouth a few times like a goldfish. An obvious question sits on the tip of his tongue: You think you’d be in charge? Instead he coughs, jerks his head to the side, and says, “I guess we’ll see.”

It sounds like a challenge.

Thirty seconds is all you get before Namjoon’s shuffling his stack of papers and clearing his throat. Asking if you’re ready and jumping right into it once you say you are. Reads the first few lines like they’re some old lecture notes, and they’re conservative and safe-for-work enough that you start to relax.

And then Namjoon reads, “A louder one wonders if Namjoon is a pet name person—if he’d call her ‘honey,’ or ‘gummy bear,’ ‘babe,’ or ‘baby,’” and you choke.

“Gummy bear?”

Namjoon laughs along with you—the weird one that almost sounds like a dog panting. “You want me to call you gummy bear?”

“I want you to call me a Lyft,” you snark. “I’m leaving.”

He continues:

And that’s how it starts, wandering thoughts, wandering fingers—the first time Piper comes to the thought of Namjoon calling her baby, pushing inside her, showing her that he definitely doesn’t beg, but she does… Well, she’s a little ashamed. She’s apparently got a reputation to maintain, anyway, not to mention a friendship.

His eyes leave the paper and lock onto you. “Or maybe you’d prefer baby?”

“Fuck off.”

Weeks after that first time, it’s become a habit, thinking about Namjoon as something more than a friend. It’s confusing and a little mortifying and it’s starting to affect her in ways she hadn’t expected. When they record, she feels fidgety—she’s jumpy when he gets close, has all the stupid obvious tells of an unwanted crush: her breath hitches when he whispers (why the fuck is he whispering in her ear, anyway? Doesn’t he know what that does to a person?) inside jokes to her so Jungkook can’t hear, her heart rate spikes when their fingers accidentally brush, she feels itchy and hot and a little embarrassed whenever he holds eye contact with her. It’s terrible, and it’s only made worse by the way he’s doing all of those things more than usual. Or, at least she thinks he is, thinks she’s not imagining the way his eyes linger on her more than she can remember happening before or the way she’s caught him staring at her lips when she chews on the end of her pencil mindlessly. 

You’ve completely forgotten how to breathe.

Namjoon’s staring again. You need to salvage this. He’s only on paragraph three and you’re already squirming in your chair and imagining things that are not appropriate. So you roll your lips, return his teasing. “Well? Do you stare at my lips?”

It works. “No,” he scowls.

“You sure?” you joke, morphing your face into something half-pout, half-duck face.

“We’re never gonna finish this if you keep making comments.”

“You started it,” you point out. “Go on, then.”

There’s some dialogue. Some prose that hits way too close to home, has you wondering who on earth wrote this and how they plucked every single thought from deep within your psyche. A pang of fear that maybe you haven’t been as subtle as you’d thought all these years. A moment to confirm to yourself that, no, you haven’t been harboring a secret, deeply-buried crush on Namjoon.

Then he reads—

And then he kisses her. It’s greedy and hot, his lips like a branding iron. She moans a little against her better judgment when he licks at the seam of her mouth, and in return, she can feel Namjoon’s lips curve into a smile against her own. It’s better than she’d been imagining it, really. He’s a good kisser—firm at the right times, soft when she needs it, careful but not cautious. He holds her jaw with one hand and keeps her right where he wants her beneath him (as if she’d want to move, anyway).  When their lips finally part, he rests his forehead on hers. It’s intimate in a way she hadn’t expected, and he looks at her as if she’s the answer to every question. Finally, he whispers, “What’re we doing, Piper?” His lips are still wet and pink and a little swollen from kissing, and she barely hears the question—she’s too busy thinking about kissing him again, about pulling his plump bottom lip between her teeth, teasing and…  “Kissing,” she says finally.  “What do you want?” he asks, sinking to his knees in front of her. And if that alone isn’t an answer to his question… “Whatever you’re willing to give,” she replies. It feels like she’s wanted this forever, this and so much more. Once she got the idea in her head, it’s hard to know if she ever felt differently, ever truly thought they could just be friends. Or, if in the back of her mind, in the dark corners that she never lets see daylight, she always knew she wanted Namjoon. Always knew she loved him.

—and everything goes right out the fucking window.

Namjoon sits with those words for a moment. Scans the paper in his hands and frowns a little when he confirms what you already know. “The rest is, uh. Porn.”

“That is why we’re here.”

“Last chance to back out.”

“I’m not scared,” you lie. “Are you? You’re the one who keeps stalling.”

He huffs. “You’re a pain in my ass,” he retorts, and then nothing is all that funny anymore.

Because Namjoon was right: the rest is straight-up porn. He’s barely able to read the part where he goes down on you with a straight face, turning a deep shade of crimson. Stutters through the part where you pull his hair, and that is not something you needed to know about your friend. You think he loses his grasp of language entirely when he reads, “When he slides a long finger into her and brushes past her most sensitive spot, she arches into him and lets his name fall from her lips in a soft cry. Piper, notorious skeptic, is a babbling, trembling mess as she gets closer to her orgasm,” because all the words are garbled together, producing nothing but gibberish. You think he’s ready to keel over and die when he reads, “Namjoon pulls away briefly, lips slick with her juices, and licks over his top one, pausing to tell her how good she tastes before he dives back in.”

“That was nice of them to include. I appreciate their attention to detail in regards to my personal hygiene.”

“This is so embarrassing,” he whines.

You roll your eyes good-naturedly. “Gimme. I’ll finish it.” He hands over the papers immediately.

Except you regret it immediately. The words you’re staring at are not words you ever thought you’d read or recite in your entire life. Not even for a million dollars. “Oh,” you say instead.

“See? Not as easy as it looks.”

“This is really embarrassing,” you confirm. “I might need another shot.”

“Y-yeah. Alcohol sounds good.”

Namjoon staggers forward obligingly, looks completely fucked out and pliant, willing to do whatever she asks. She remembers the sounds he made when she pulled his hair, wonders if he likes being bossed around, if he wants her to tell him what to do, to be a little mean to him. Maybe it’s different from her dreams, maybe he will beg her. She wants him so badly, she’d do anything for him. So, she pulls his briefs down to expose his absurdly large member, already mostly hard, and slaps it. Gently at first to see how he’ll react, and when he shudders and jerks his hips, she does it again, a little harder. “Look at you,” she whispers, “such a needy boy.”  He whimpers at that, eyes pleading. “Please, Piper…” he whines.   “Please what?” “Please let me fuck you,” he begs. She wants to, wants him so much, wants to feel him stretch her open, and from the looks of his cock, thick and long and drooling with precum, he could. “Should I?” she asks. She musters all her confidence to keep the condescending tone up. It feels wrong given how desperate she is to get him inside her, but it also seems to be getting him worked up and equally as desperate. “Do you even know what to do with that big, stupid cock?”  Namjoon’s cock twitches, and he begs, “I—I’ll fuck you so good, Piper…. I know how, I promise. Just… please?”

“Oh my god,” the two of you say in unison.

You so badly want to ask if this is biographical. How Namjoon feels about a little degradation; what he’d do if someone actually called his cock stupid. Ifsomeone has called his cock stupid. You dare a glance at him and conclude that someone’s had to. Namjoon just has that kind of energy.

But you can’t ask because it’d be weird, so you keep reading.

“How do you want me?” she asks softly when their lips part. There’s a wild look in his eyes, like he’s processing all the possible options out of everything he’s considered. And then it occurs to her. “Have you imagined this before? Thought about how you’d fuck me?” she teases him as she stands, stepping into him. Piper pushes one hand through his hair, brushing it back off of his forehead and wraps her other around his dick, squeezing a little for emphasis on her words. “Yes,” he groans as she strokes him, thumbing at the head of his cock. “Tell me what you want, then. Want me on all fours for you? Want me to show you how it’s done, to let you lay back and ride you so you don’t have to put in any work?” Namjoon’s breathing is getting heavy, pupils blown wider with each suggestion. 

“I told you!” you shriek, laughing in between the words. “I told you I’d…” And then your gloating tapers off, because what happens next has your brain malfunctioning.

“All of that,” he whines as she lets go of his hair and brings her hand down to run a fingertip over his perineum. “Want all of that. Want to bend you over the table and fuck you right here. Hear your sounds in the microphone.” Even in her dirtiest thoughts about him, she hadn’t considered the microphone, hadn’t considered recording it. When she thinks about it though, it makes sense. Namjoon is exactly the kind of person that would get off to someone’s voice. So, she does. She makes a show of turning around and slowly bending over the table, sliding her upper body across it carefully until she can reach her microphone and turn it on. When she says into it, “What’re you waiting for?” she sees over her shoulder the way that Namjoon shivers.

This is… not good. You’re never going to be able to look at a microphone the same way, which is extremely not good for a person who supplements their income with a very popular podcast that requires them to speak into a microphone for extended periods of time.

This is very, very bad.

Namjoon must be thinking the same, because he lets out a strangled a-haaa that’s less of a laugh and more a plea to God, the gods, the entire gamut of higher powers that might be able to save him. No one’s going to, you think, staring down at the paper again. This godless piece of fanfiction will be preserved on the internet forever, will be seared into your mind forever, and no amount of praying is going to erase it.

“I should, uh. Just read the rest, yeah? Get it over with?”

“Mhm. Yep. Yes, please.”

Don’t say please, you almost say. You can’t take it; not after what you’ve just read.

So you put on a show. Steel your expression and your nerves and take it seriously. Use voices and sound effects and desperately try to stave off the awkwardness you know is inevitable because a smut fic is probably only going to end one way, and that’s with you acting out Namjoon having an orgasm.

Maybe you’ll have another one, too, if the author is nice.

It’s sweet, she thinks, the way he’s easy for her, takes his time with her. Strokes his fingertips along her sides and kisses the back of her neck reverently. As much as she loves it, part of her hopes he’s not always like this—hopes he’ll give as good as he takes, hopes he’ll put her in her place. She can feel his cock hard against the cleft of her ass, not even inside her yet, and still, she thinks about next time and the time after that. “Still okay?” He breathes into her ear as his tip rubs against her cunt.  “Yeah—want you, Joon.”  “Never thought I’d hear you say those words.”  “I never thought you’d record them,” she teases, eyes glancing up to the flashing light showing the mic picking up all of this as he starts his slow slide into her.  Piper falls even further forward when he bottoms out, letting her forehead rest on the table. He’s whispering filth in her ear, about how he has something to prove, how she’ll never want anyone after this, how no one can fuck her the way he does.  She hates that he’s right.  Each stroke brings a new sensation: sparklers, butterflies, nerve endings on fire as he fucks into her and licks and sucks at her neck, her shoulders, her ear. Piper can’t even think, and this is what people mean when they talk about being fucked stupid, she decides.  It’s perfect.  Every time she thinks she’s getting close again, he changes something: fucks her a little shallower, moves his hips just a little, slows down, speeds up… It’s driving her crazy.  “Come on,” she whines. “I’m so close…” At least she can tell he is, too. No longer able to sustain the dirty talk, he’s breathing heavily, letting out broken moans and sighs of her name. He’s moving rhythmically now, thrusts consistently faster.  “Oh, fuck, Piper,” he groans, “Gonna cum.” One of his hands finds her clit and he rubs careful circles over her, bringing her to her peak along with him, no more teasing.  When she comes, it’s with a loud moan into the studio mic, and that seems to be what tips Namjoon over the edge, too. His hips stutter into hers as he comes, her cunt clenching around him for what feels like forever.

You deserve an award, you think. An Oscar. You didn’t even groan when you had to read the word “cunt,” and that’s a feat in and of itself.

“Is it over?” Namjoon asks, words muffled by the hands covering his face.

“Not quite,” you answer. “There’s some aftercare, and at the end you ask if I’ll piss on you.”

Namjoon gags. “I asked you what—”

“Today’s episode has been brought to you by Stamps-dot-com—”

HOLY SHIT THE NEW PATREON EPISODE???????? Posted by u/pod-shipper 4 minutes ago NO WAY. NOOOOOOO FUCKING WAY DUDE THERE’S NO FUCKING WAY THEY DID THIS AS AN ACTUAL EPISODE WHAT THE FUCK WHAT HTE FUCK WHAT EHTU FKF DFGLKDG;L (+705) I wasn’t sure if they were messing around before, and I was quite critical of the “shippers,” but now I’m pretty convinced. (+423) ↳ we’ve been telling y’all for YEARS 😤 (+197) ↳ Glad you’ve seen the light, u/RandomAcorn2058! (+5) ↳ ugh. they weren’t messing around before and they aren’t messing around now. do you guys not listen to what they say? namjoon’s been dating, and piper got out of a six-year relationship just over a year ago. if they’ve had something going on for “years” that means they’re both cheaters, and that’s a really shitty thing to assume about them. not to mention it makes the entire point of the podcast moot. (-63) Why do you guys think Jungkook “wasn’t allowed” to be there? (+314) ↳ So they could fuck lmao it’s so obvious (+329) ↳ because it’s awkward af? would you wanna read porn about yourself w all your coworkers in the room? (+2) ↳ the “it’s awkward” excuse is sooooo lame he’s the one who found it and is the one who edited the episode, he’s gonna see it regardless. (+15) ↳ Tbh I’m more curious about how he even found it to begin with? Do they have a throuple thing going on? Like, why was he looking for smut fic about his bosses? (+38)

You do not get through recording unscathed.

You are very scathed. Perhaps the most scathed a person has ever been.

Jungkook texts the group chat sporadically throughout the week, cracking jokes and making memes at your and Namjoon’s expense which is par for the course and shouldn’t have you off-kilter, but something inside you feels deeply wrong. Feels like someone’s given you devastating news; feels like it used to back in uni when you knew you’d failed an exam and were just waiting to see how badly.

It both helps and doesn’t that the internet is so invested. All the clips Jungkook keeps posting have re-doubled your Patreon numbers, and jumping up a tax bracket never hurt anyone, you included. But all of those jokes and memes largely went unanswered by both you and Namjoon, still too close to the incident to find the humor in it from the other side.

The two of you had sex.

Not literally, of course, but you figure you might as well have with the way you’re feeling. The way you’re avoiding one another. Someone wrote a story about the two of you having sex and you both read it and something about that, days later, feels really fucking unsettling.

In a bad way? You aren’t sure. It’s not like you’re mad or upset or any other synonym. You just feel… off. Itchy from the inside out, and that’s far from the norm in your and Namjoon’s friendship. In all the years you’ve known one another, you’ve never once avoided each other, including the time you’d set him up with a close friend and he showed up 45 minutes late to their date and ghosted after.

(Unsurprisingly, that friendship had not lasted.)

Maybe it’s because Yoongi had always been there as a buffer. You aren’t of the belief that men and women cannot be platonic friends, but being in a years-long committed relationship nixed a lot of awkward interactions and assumptions off the bat. Even Namjoon had known Yoongi first. Had introduced himself to you in your shared 100-level psych course with a, “Hey, you’re Min Yoongi’s girlfriend, right?” because they ran in the same underground circles and Namjoon had idolized him from afar for years.

Pretty fucked up, then, that Yoongi’s off in Los Angeles with his hot new boyfriend and you’re on your couch, Holly at your feet, pointedly ignoring your texts.

“I’m gonna get a cat,” you say to the dog, trying to redirect his attention when he starts chewing on your sock again. Holly doesn’t offer any input, of course, and he’s a lot like his father in that way. “I can’t believe you have a stepfather. You’re a proper child of divorce now, Min Holly.”

There are a pile of unread texts you continue to ignore in lieu of showing Holly pictures of adoptable cats. A few more memes from Jungkook, one from Namjoon’s new phone asking to move the recording date a few days because “something came up at work,” one from the food delivery service you admittedly use too much offering 10% off your next order, and two from Yoongi. This reminded me of you, the first one says beneath a picture of an ice cream cone on the ground, and another one of him holding a water gun that says send me a picture of my son or else.

You eventually reply back with a picture of your middle finger, Holly nothing but a blurred brown blob in the corner of the frame.

That’s how it goes for the better part of a week. Namjoon’s work issue lasts four days. He doesn’t offer an explanation and you don’t ask for one, you just wait for the all-clear text and try to quiet the nerves once you get it.

You’ve never been nervous to see Namjoon before.

The more popular the podcast became, the more money rolled in. The more money that rolled in, the more you could afford nicer things. That meant going from recording in Namjoon’s living room to a bona fide office space. Third floor, an expanse of windows and natural light, thirty-five minute commute by train.

Today, it feels more like thirty-five seconds.

You can hear Jungkook’s witch cackle from the stairwell, and your mind fills in the blanks of Namjoon’s exasperated sigh. It helps, your brain reminding you that you know these people. You know this is Jungkook’s late gym day, so he’ll be in a pair of sweats and a hoodie that drowns his frame. You know that when Namjoon has work issues and feels like an inconvenience, he always shows up with two boxes of baked goods from the bakery near his place, and you know both of them will save the best donut for you.

So you walk in and Jungkook’s in a hoodie and sweats just like you expect him to be, and there are two boxes of baked goods next to the coffee machine. Both of them say hello and wave and, for all intents and purposes, everything is normal.

Except it isn’t.

Because Namjoon looks… different.

Not in a bad way. Not in a bad way. He almost always dresses nicely, always looks polished and put-together, usually because he’s either going to or coming from campus—fitted shirts, either of the tee or dress variety, and earth-toned cardigans; tailored trousers that are sometimes corduroy; polished loafers. Sometimes, if he’s feeling extra casual, a stark white pair of tennis shoes.

Today, he wears none of those things.

No, today torture comes in the form of form-fitting jeans and a t-shirt a little oversized so he can roll the sleeves. His hair is brushed back off his face instead of parted down the middle. He’s wearing gold jewelry that glints in the sun. A pair of off-white Converse high-tops. And, much to your horror, he’s also wearing his glasses.

According to the internet, Kim Namjoon is peak husband material, which you can usually ignore, but not when he’s wearing glasses.

You avert your gaze, convinced you’ll burst into flames if you stare too long, not to mention Jungkook will notice and that’s a ribbing you’d rather die than take. So you avert your gaze and pointedly ignore Namjoon, who’s talking about his work crisis to no one in particular. Something about a co-worker going on an unexpectedly early paternity leave, and Namjoon being asked to cover some of his courses until they could find a more permanent fix.

Jungkook asks a question you don’t catch. Because paternity leave means his co-worker and his partner had a baby, presumably via old-fashioned methods, and it’s not a direct mention of sex but it’s close enough to send you into a coughing fit you have to blame on your donut. Neither of them buy it, but Namjoon is a good enough person to look genuinely concerned. Reaches out, probably to slap your back, but the thought of him touching you is just… too much.

So he barely gets out an, “Are you o—” before you choke down whatever’s left in your mouth and cut him off with a, “Yep, all good!” before you’re scurrying off to the opposite side of the room like a little rat.

It doesn’t get any better.

Both of you are so stilted and awkward during recording that Jungkook has to be the voice of reason and call it, suggest trying again tomorrow. Luckily he has enough b-side stuff he can release if need be, Namjoon’s work emergency providing a decent cover, and he sends the two of you home for the afternoon with all the exasperation and incredulity of a disappointed parent.

Thirty-five minutes back home.

Thirty-five minutes to sit in the embarrassment of not being able to do your job. Thirty-five minutes to catastrophize and wonder what you’re going to do if you can’t get it together. Namjoon will keep the podcast, of course; you’ll be replaced with someone else. Maybe someone less cynical, maybe someone more, but undoubtedly a man. After this mess, you can’t imagine Namjoon would want another female co-host.

But as embarrassed as you are, your traitorous brain keeps thinking about Namjoon.

Thirty-five minutes to think about his glasses and his rolled-up sleeves and the way the denim of his jeans contoured perfectly to his thighs. Thirty-five minutes to think about, “Please let me fuck you,” he begs. Thirty-five minutes to squeeze your thighs together and overanalyze the way he stumbled over his words today; how he could barely make eye contact. Thirty-five minutes to draft a dozen resignation texts and delete them all.

You groan, head thunking against the train window. You’ll take a cold shower as soon as you get home.

That’ll cure you.

You get home and walk Holly so long he gives up halfway through and you have to carry him back to your apartment. You take a cold shower and actually find it pleasant once the initial shock wears off, so it doesn’t work to keep all your rogue Namjoon thoughts at bay. You make a simple dinner and don’t think about Namjoon sitting you on the counter and having his way with you. You tuck yourself into bed far too early and consider going back to therapy, because clearly something very, very bad has happened to your psyche.

Needless to say, nothing cures you.

But it’s a new day, and you’re determined to get your shit together. Yesterday was a fluke, because you’re so normal and so capable of being in the same room as Kim Namjoon.

Except—you’re not.

Jungkook’s there when you arrive, mindlessly scrolling through his phone. Barely looks up at you to say hello, and barely returns it when you do. You double-check the time, because you can count on two fingers the amount of times you’ve shown up and Namjoon wasn’t already there, jotting down extensively-detailed notes, circling and highlighting and chasing down Jungkook to ask questions.

“Where’s Namjoon?”

Jungkook shrugs. “Dunno. Not here.”

You roll your eyes. “Super helpful, thanks.”

Jungkook rolls his eyes right back. “You don’t pay me enough to also be his handler.”

You bite your tongue. Arguing with Jungkook means you’ve already lost the war. Not worth it. But it still eases your worries a bit that he doesn’t know any more than you do. That Namjoon hadn’t only texted him to say why he was running late because he didn’t want to—or couldn’t—talk to you.

So you wait. And you wait and you wait and you wait. Jungkook lets you talk to people on his dating apps and tells you about his new gym routine until your eyes are glazing over. Orders food delivery for the two of you because he gets hungry after an hour and had already eaten what was left of the snacks before you arrived. Cracks a joke that isn’t really a joke about calling the police, because Namjoon still hasn’t shown up and he hasn’t said anything and none of your texts are showing as delivered.

You’re halfway to hour two when the office door bursts open and Namjoon stumbles through, soaked with sweat and stammering over apologies.

“I am so sor—I broke my phone again so my alarm never went off and then I missed my bus? And apparently they’re not running the regular bus schedule today so the next one was a half-hour wait, but then I…”

You don’t catch the rest, because Namjoon is covered in sweat and breathing heavily and a week ago you could’ve survived this. A week ago you would’ve cracked a joke and handed him a towel and told him to get to work. A week ago you would not have been paralyzed in your seat, transfixed on the sweat rolling down the side of his neck.

You are fucked beyond belief.

Jungkook elbows you in the ribs, bringing you back to reality. “...even paying attention?” You startle, face warming in embarrassment. Namjoon still isn’t looking at you. “This is so sad to watch,” Jungkook mumbles, and thankfully it’s only loud enough for you to hear. “Like some stupid shit you only see in nature documentaries.”

Well, you can’t really argue with that, now can you?

But you’re a professional above all, so you hum an acknowledgment and take your regular seat. Pointedly ignore Jungkook. Wait for Namjoon to assume his position as well, and you’re surprised to see the space in front of him empty. No notes. No script. There’s just… nothing.

“Are you okay?” you ask, gesturing to the space in front of him when he seems confused. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen you without a stack of notes in front of you.”

“I forgot them.”

“Don’t think I’ve ever seen you do that, either.”

Your tone is light and airy, not at all accusing or confrontational, but Namjoon’s jaw clenches nonetheless. He scoffs, fires a shitty little, “Were you not paying attention when I was talking about what a horrible fucking morning I’ve had?” at you that makes even Jungkook flinch. A few moments of stunned silence, and then, “Oh fuck, I’m so sorry, that was rude—”

“Yeah, it was,” you agree, and all of a sudden you feel too big for your body. Feel like there are ants beneath your skin, feel like everything is wrong, and you don’t want to be here anymore. “It’s fine. Let’s just—”

Namjoon looks like he wants to argue, but he just sighs and says, “I—yeah, okay.”

This is where Namjoon would usually launch into the intro, a dimpled smile already plastered on his face that’d drop as he discussed another failed first date with that brand of self-deprecation that makes him so endearing. This is where he’d say what have you been up to, Pipe, and you’d try not to groan because how hard could it possibly be to add one more letter, another syllable, but Namjoon seems incapable of it. This is the part that, for three years, has been seamless and easy and instinctual, just two friends having a conversation.

There’s a red light on your microphones that indicates you’re recording. It’s on and it mocks you, because Namjoon is not doing the intro or telling you about a failed date. He doesn’t use that cringey nickname. He doesn’t say anything at all. His mouth opens and shuts and no words come out. What’s worse is that you know exactly why he can’t speak, because you’re thinking about it, too.

“So, uh,” you begin, and Jungkook makes a gagging sound from behind you. “Come here often?”

Namjoon ignores you. “Right, right, the intro…” He sucks in a breath. “Welcome back to another episode of Put Him in the Trash, I’m—”

“Joon—”

“Namjoon, and my co-host here is—”

“Joon, that’s not—”

“Piper. Wait, why are you looking at me like that?”

“That’s not the name of our podcast.”

“Huh?”

“You said Put Him in the Trash.” Namjoon just blinks. “It’s Place Him Gently in the Garbage.”

“Is it? Since when?”

“Since forever?”

He looks at Jungkook, who is hiding behind his hands. “Is she right?”

A beat of silence. “I can’t do this,” he half-shouts, half-whines. “Are you two going to be like this forever? Because if you are, I’m quitting. I’m so serious. I’m gonna quit. I can’t take it anymore. The two of you are insufferable.” Another beat of silence, before Jungkook stands at full height and lords over you and Namjoon. “Forget today. Just go home and try again on Monday. This is so—I’m seriously gonna quit.”

Yoongi comes on Saturday afternoon to pick up Holly.

Yijeong isn’t with him, which is almost disappointing. Now that he’s dating again, you were looking forward to seeing just how awkward it could get with the three of you in the same room, but he looks good. Refreshed. The trip clearly did a world of good for him, and you can’t even bring yourself to crack a joke at his expense.

He, however, has no such hang-ups. “You look like shit.”

“Weird way to say thank you.” You click your tongue and look down at Holly. “Do you see how your father treats me? You should bite him.”

“My son would never. But also, thank you.” He flops onto the sofa. “You do look like shit, though. You wanna talk about it?”

“Not with you, preferably.”

“Oh, gross, is it a dating thing, then?”

“I—no.” You pause. It’s not a dating thing, but you still feel like you’ve got motion sickness whenever you think about it. How would you even begin to explain this to Yoongi, anyway? Someone wrote a porn fic about me and Namjoon. You remember Namjoon, right? Namjoon, that I’ve known and have been friends with since college. Yeah, that Namjoon. Anyway, someone wrote fanfiction about us having sex, and it fucked me up so bad I can no longer be in the same room as him.

No fucking way.

“You look like you’re holding in a fart.”

“You know, I’m getting really sick of you. Did you just come here to insult me?”

He snorts, but his smirk dissipates a few seconds later, a familiar seriousness filling the void. “We’re okay, right? Was the Yijeong thing too soon?”

“No,” you answer immediately, leaning over to flick him on the forehead. “We’re fine, and if you’re happy, then I’m happy for you.” He still looks doubtful. “You want me to start singing ‘I Will Always Love You’ or something? It’s just… weird work stuff.”

“Depends. Are you singing the Dolly Parton or Whitney version? And real work or podcast work?”

“Podcast work, and obviously the Whitney version.”

Yoongi seems surprised by this, eyebrows disappearing beneath his fringe. “Like, the podcast with Namjoon?” He presses his tongue into the fat of his cheek when you nod your head. “Not gonna lie, I didn’t think that was possible.”

“Like I said, it’s weird. It wasn’t, like, an argument or anything.”

“How weird?”

“You’re so fake, Min Yoongi. You act like you’re so distinguished and above drama, but really you’re just as hungry for gossip as the rest of us.”

He shrugs. “I’m not denying it.”

God help you, you’re going to rip off the band-aid. “Someone… Jesus, this is so embarrassing. Someone… wrote? Fanfiction? About us.”

“About you and Namjoon?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh my god—”

“About us… uh. Having sex? Specifically.”

“Oh my god—”

“Jungkook found it and thought it’d be funny if we read it for an episode.”

“Oh my god?”

“So we did? And it was really weird, which I expected, because I’ve known Namjoon for a long time, and I never, ever thought about having sex with him because we were together and me and Namjoon are friends, so yeah, it was fucking weird. But now… I don’t know. I can’t stop thinking about it? And now we can’t even be in the same room as one another.” Yoongi is a concerning shade of red. “So our show is gonna get canceled, because we can only release b-side stuff for so long until people realize something’s up, and it was Namjoon’s podcast to begin with so obviously I’ll get fired—”

“Oh my god, you want to fuck Namjoon.”

Yoongi sounds like a strangled cat when he says this, which does not help the way you feel like you’ve been hit square in the face with a frying pan. “No,” you argue, though it sounds more like a question. You do not want to fuck Namjoon. “No, no. No. It’s just because it was weird.”

“Did you forget I dated you for six years? I know what you look like when you want to fuck someone.”

“You’re telling me you wouldn’t be weird if someone wrote fanfiction about you fucking your friend?”

“Not if I didn’t actually want to fuck them, no.”

“You’re a liar. Get your dog and get out of my apartment.”

Yoongi laughs as he stands. Pats you on the back in the most condescending way you’ve ever had someone pat you on the back. “Let me know how it goes. No need to give me credit for your moment of horny clarity.”

Min Yoongi is a bastard.

Unfortunately, as you come to find out, he’s also a correct bastard.

You want to fuck Namjoon.

Which is… not great, you have to admit, considering he can barely stand to be around you, so you take another cold shower and decide you’re going to take this to your grave. You’re going to spend the rest of the weekend getting your shit together, and you’re going to show up on Monday and be a consummate professional. You’re going to look at Namjoon and say, ha ha, isn’t it so funny someone thought we would have sex? I don’t think about it at all because I am so cool and normal about it.

You’ve got it all planned out. You’re going to show up fifteen minutes early with your own box of pastries. You’re going to look nice, if not a little pretentious—maybe a nice sweater. You’re going to be prepared with notes of your own. You might even be nice to the villain of the week so Namjoon doesn’t have to pinch the bridge of his nose and sigh at you.

And then someone knocks on your door.

You find Namjoon on the other side, and all your plans immediately go to shit.

Has he always been this tall? You can’t remember. You can’t remember a lot of things, including how to speak, because Yoongi had launched you into a crisis of epic proportions and now here’s the source of it, standing right in front of you. With all of his… height. And thighs. And that heady, musky cologne he always wears, that you can still smell now even though there’s an unfortunate amount of distance between you.

“Uh, hi.”

You blink. “Hi,” you parrot, and it’s a little insulting how one single word seems to have sucked up all of your brainpower. “Namjoon,” you tack on, not awkward at all.

“Sorry to just show up,” he says, scratching at the back of his neck. Very bad idea; makes his biceps bulge. You barely swallow your whimper. “It’s just—my phone’s still broken, and it felt bad leaving things how we did? So I was hoping we could talk.”

Talk. Namjoon wants to talk to you. Normally: not a problem. Currently: big problem. You manage a nod, open the door wider to let him in, and you don’t think about how jarring it is to have Namjoon in your space. You don’t think about how your legs feel like jelly all of a sudden, or what it’d be like if Namjoon bent you over the couch, or the kitchen counter, or the—

You cough. “Do you want anything to drink?”

“Oh, sure. Maybe just some water if you have it.”

If you have it. What kind of person doesn’t have water? But you tell him to make himself comfortable and get him some anyway, and you mull too long over the size of the glass. Ultimately decide on a smaller one, because if things get unbearably awkward you can excuse yourself to the kitchen to get more.

“I haven’t been here in a while,” Namjoon says from the living room, and when you look up he’s sorting through a stack of books near the window. Some he’d lent you months ago, notes jotted in the corners, sticky notes in the shape of sea animals on important pages. “You ever wind up reading this?”

The Idiot. Namjoon had raved about it when he was in the midst of his 19th century Russian phase, right after he’d read a bunch of Tolstoy and Pushkin. You shake your head—though, judging from the title, you wonder if someone hadn’t written your biography.

“It’s good. If you have the time, you should definitely give it a shot.”

“Yeah, of course,” you say, handing over his water. You take a seat in an armchair, pull your knees to your chest. Namjoon’s still looking through your books, isn’t looking at you, so it feels safe to say, “You wanted to talk?”

“Yeah.” He moves to sit on the floor, massive thighs spreading until he’s comfortable. Thank god he can’t see the look on your face. “I just wanted to make sure we’re alright. Things have felt pretty weird since we filmed the, uh.” He coughs. “Thing.”

“Right, yeah.” You realize he’s waiting for an answer, and you offer up a very rushed, “We’re fine, Joon.”

“Are you sure?”

Yeah, you’re sure: sure you absolutely cannot be having this conversation in the safety and sanctity of your own home. It’s tainted now, contaminated by all your uncontrolled horny thoughts about the man in front of you. You’ll have to fumigate. Might have to pick up and move, actually, or call an exorcist.

“I’m sure,” you assure him. “The… thing… was weird, but it’s fine. Temporary.”

“Do you think we shouldn’t have done it?”

That’s the million-dollar question, isn’t it? Because, in isolation, reading a porn fic about yourselves wasn’t a big deal. No one got hurt. Everyone who needed to be consulted was consulted. The episode made the two of you a lot of money, and Jungkook even promised to send some of it to the author, so your bases are beyond covered.

So, should you have done it? There wasn’t a good enough reason not to, because the story itself was never the problem.

The problem is staring you right in the face. It’s sitting on your floor, a book cracked in half at the spine and forgotten in his lap. The problem is looking at you like you hold all the answers to the universe’s secrets, and it’s no small thing to be looked at like that. The problem is that Namjoon is looking at you like that from across the room but you’re wondering what it’d look like from on top of you.

The problem is that you’ve co-hosted a podcast with Namjoon for three years, have known him even longer, and you’ve just realized today that you want to have sex with him.

And you can’t say that, can you, because Namjoon came here to fix things which really does not lend itself to a hookup. Namjoon cares about your friendship and your working relationship so much he came here to try and salvage it, so you’re going to keep your mouth shut. You’re going to say, “I think it’s okay that we did,” and leave it at that. Because it is okay.

Because you’re the problem.

It feels like a small victory when Namjoon sags in relief. When he exhales and says, “Okay, good, because I think so, too.”

“It made us a lot of money,” you tack on.

Namjoon’s eyes widen as he laughs. “Right? Like, that was almost too much money. Just to watch us read porn?”

“About ourselves. I think that was the selling point.”

He stands. You do, too. “Never thought I’d be doing that,” he says, returning the book to where it belongs. “Definitely the most embarrassing thing I’ve done for money.”

“Being a man with a podcast wasn’t embarrassing enough?”

He snorts. Gets closer to the door. “Hey now.” You’re going to survive this. “Thanks for entertaining me, by the way. For a second there I was really worried we’d fucked it all up.”

Just the ending. Just one more thing to say and you’ll be done with this, and then you can take your third cold shower in recent memory and triple text Yoongi with a full-fledged mental breakdown. Maybe he’ll bring Holly back and you can register him as your emotional support animal.

And Namjoon must sense the awkwardness that’s crept back in, because he tries to cover it with a joke. Says, “Haaa, like you’d actually piss on me, right?”

Except it sounds like he’s got a mouth full of marbles.

It’s no wonder you mishear him.

Because he says like you’d actually piss on me but you hear like you’d actually kiss me, and there isn’t a universe that exists in which the following makes sense: you, stunned into silence in the doorframe, Namjoon saying his goodbyes, you thinking fuck it, last chance and saying, “Yeah, I’d kiss you.”

Namjoon stops dead in his tracks. “What?”

Your entire body is on fire. “Is, uh. Is that not what you said?”

“I don’t think it matters anymore what I said.”

“I’d argue that it does, for the sake of my digni—”

“You’d kiss me?” Namjoon… doesn’t look put off of the idea, which is surely a point in your favor. Interesting to note that his diction is crystal clear, now. Bastard. “You’d kiss me right now?”

There’s also no explanation for the way you say: “It’s only been an option for ten seconds and you’re already begging for it?”

You’d say there’s no explanation for the way Namjoon’s jaw clenches, the way he repeats I don’t beg for anything, but maybe the simple fact is: the two of you want to fuck each other. And, judging from the way Namjoon crowds your space, keeps dropping his gaze to your mouth, it seems very likely to happen.

All that fixating you’d done on Namjoon’s thighs was wasted, you think, as you take in the shape of his mouth. His lips. The way his tongue darts out to run along the bottom at the last second before he reaches out, tilts your head up, and finally presses his mouth to yours.

And you’ve got to laugh, because no piece of written fiction could ever accurately portray what it feels like. How soft his lips are. The way he touches you—gentle, but still dominant enough to have you moving the way he wants, have you backing up into your apartment so he can smile against your mouth as he closes the door behind him.

No piece of fiction would get it right, the way you’re unsteady on your feet, breathless at the way Namjoon’s kissing you. How he only breaks apart long enough to ask where do you want me in that throaty, deep voice of his. How you’re so overwhelmed you can’t decide: unsure if you want to waste the time it’d take to get to your bedroom, but if it’s only going to happen once, wanting to make it count.

So you decide to risk it. Plant your hands in the middle of his exceptionally broad chest and push him in the direction of the hallway, and if the two of you can’t wait, can’t control yourselves, well.

But the story had gotten one thing right: Namjoon does kiss like a branding iron, hot and greedy. Namjoon kisses you like there’s nothing else he wants to do in this lifetime, and it makes you dizzy. Has you off-kilter, stumbling into the wall as you try to remember where the fuck your bedroom is and why it’s so far. Just like the fictional version of you, you also moan when he licks into your mouth.

“Should I do it the way we did in the fic?” Namjoon asks as the two of you cross the threshold into your bedroom, a cheeky grin on his face. “Do it like this?” he questions, pushing you gently until you’re on the back in the middle of your bed, chest heaving as you lift your head to look at him.

Namjoon is so, so big from where you lay, just hovering at the foot of your bed. Cheeks ruddy, bulge prominent. “What’d you say you wanted?”

Takes a second to remember how to breathe, let alone what you’d read. What do you want, Namjoon had asked, right before he’d sank to his knees in front of you. “Whatever you’re willing to give,” you answer.

Namjoon smiles. Puts one knee on the bed, and the way it dips beneath his weight is unsettling. Why does he have to be so fucking large. “That’s right, baby.” Christ, you think, because there’s another thing that fic had gotten right. No one on earth would be immune to Namjoon calling them baby in that tone of voice.

The riposte biting at the back of your teeth gets swallowed whole as Namjoon grabs your ankles and drags you to the edge of the bed. “May I?” he asks, hands poised above the waistline of your leggings. You nod, and Namjoon drags down your underwear with them. “Fuck, look at you,” he groans, awe creeping into the edge of his words.

“You want me to do it the same way? Hm? You’re being awfully quiet; thought you were giving me shit about being the one in charge,” he chides.

Because you’re short-circuiting. Namjoon’s on his knees, just like you’d envisioned, and his mouth is dangerously close to your cunt. How can you be expected to think and speak under these conditions? But if Namjoon can find the brainpower to be a bastard, so can you, because what you’d read and the way he’d reacted can both never be forgotten. So you thread your hands into his hair and pull. The resulting moan is enough to sustain you for years.

“Are you gonna keep running your mouth, or are you gonna make me come on it?”

He blinks. “Jesus Christ.”

There’s precedent. Fictional Namjoon ate you out like a man starved, like he couldn’t get enough. Had fictional you writhing and insatiable, so it’s a lot to live up to, but it doesn’t deter him in the slightest. He hesitates for only a second, giving you one last chance to back out before the two of you set every last boundary on fire, and then he’s settling between your thighs and making you see stars.

Now you know what it’s like. Now you don’t have to rely on fiction, and it doesn’t matter because it’d never compare to the way Namjoon feels as he works to bring you to your ruin. The way he flattens his tongue to lick long, thick stripes; the way his lips suction around your clit. The way it feels when he groans against your core. The way he says, “Fuck, you do taste good,” like that’s a completely normal thing to say. Like he doesn’t know exactly what he’s doing to you.

But you need more and Namjoon knows it. His mouth doesn’t leave your cunt for a second, but his fingers find your mouth, so you put on a show. Wrap your lips around them, suck on them the way he’s doing to you, make sure they’re slick. Namjoon groans again, doubles his efforts. Slides one thick finger inside of you and barely lets you adjust before he’s adding a second.

In an embarrassingly short amount of time, Namjoon has you unraveling. Presses incessantly on a spot that has your vision whiting out. Has you trembling, a little panicked as you say, “Joon, fuck—Namjoon, wait—” as it builds and builds and builds.

You might black out for a second, because you come to and Namjoon looks… stunned. He looks like he can’t believe any of what just happened, and you blink a few times, try to come back into your body, and when you regain enough consciousness, you’re extremely aware of the large wet patch beneath you.

“Um—”

“Holy shit.”

“Namjoon, that’s not—that’s embarrassing—can you grab a—”

He shuts you up with a kiss. Presses the taste of you into your skin, and all those silly protests die in your throat, because if Namjoon was needy before, he’s desperate now. Covers your body with his own, hips dipping down low enough to press his erection into the juncture of your thigh, and the weight of him is delicious. Has you fisting the fabric of his t-shirt to pull him closer, has you pulling it over his head, his pants following. Has your hands skimming down every thick part of his body until you reach his cock, hard and aching and slick with pre-cum.

“I need to suck you off later,” you say, done with overthinking. Time to just be honest, and Kim Namjoon has a dick you need to feel down your throat. “Remind me.”

He whines, thrusts into your hand a little harder. “How could I forget that?”

“Don’t know. Didn’t know if this would be the only time,” you answer. “Did you bring a condom?” Namjoon nods, fetches one from his wallet and rolls it on.

He hovers above you again. Looks nervous, all of a sudden, like he can’t tell his lefts from his rights. All out of sorts. You’re about to tell him it’s fine, you don’t have to do anything he doesn’t want to, don’t have to do anything at all, when he says, “It doesn’t have to be.” You just stare. “The only time.”

There’s a conversation to be had. You know that. Both of you clearly have feelings you need to talk about and sort out, but you reckon they can wait. They’ll still be there in the afterglow, in the morning. So you nod, say okay, Joon, and kiss away the insecurities that still linger.

You think about the fic. Think maybe Namjoon would appreciate it if you cracked a stupid joke, just like he’d tried to do earlier. “Has anyone ever called your cock stupid?”

He laughs, breath fanning against your skin. “No. Wanna try it and see what happens?”

Might as well. You try to remember the exaggerated tone of voice you’d used. Repeat the line—“Do you even know what to do with that big, stupid cock?”—and wait.

There’s a beat of silence, and then—

Namjoon swallows thickly. “I, um. Unfortunately, I think that really works for me.” You laugh. Pull him closer. Wrap your legs around his waist as he starts to move against you. Has jokes of his own. “Please. Please let me fuck you.”

You roll your eyes, laugh tapering into a giggle. “Do you know how?” Namjoon nods, looking all too much like a puppy eager to please its owner. “Do you promise?” He nods again. “Okay. Okay, come here.”

You expect him to move fast; expect the first time to be frenzied and a little awkward. It isn’t. Namjoon lines himself up and pushes the smallest bit inside, and then he’s leaning down to kiss you. Threads your fingers together, squeezes your hand. Pushes further inside and mumbles praise just beneath your ear.

It’s dizzying, the amount of care Namjoon handles you with. How soft he is. Does nothing to ease the discomfort of the stretch, the overwhelming fullness, but he talks you through it. Tells you how good you feel, how beautiful you look. Spills a lot of words you’d probably be embarrassed to hear and he’d be embarrassed to say if this was any other time, but in the heat of the moment it all just works to unravel you faster.

He bottoms out. “Okay?” he asks, and you’re rewarded with a dimpled smile when you say you are. Namjoon is a devastating kind of beautiful.

But, as he gives you time to adjust and you give him the all-clear, he also fucks like a demon. What once was hand-holding is now your wrists pinned to the bed, your body caged beneath him as he rolls his hips at a pace that has your eyes rolling back into your head. You’ve been deceived. Lured into a false sense of security.

It’s almost a shame this isn’t being recorded, because you want to memorize all the sounds Namjoon’s making. Want to hear them for the rest of your life. Don’t want anyone else to be the reason he sounds like this, and as he ups his pace and presses his lips to your neck, you don’t want to sound like this because of anyone else, either.

Maybe one of those times in the future, you can talk him into it.

Namjoon reaches down, rubs circles into your clit. Every time you think you might be close, he pulls his hand away, smiles like the devil. You let him have his fun for a while, let him think you’re keen to lie back and take it, and then you tighten your legs around his waist and flip him onto his back.

He doesn’t think it’s very funny. Looks up at you all bewildered. “What’re you—”

“You were taking too long,” you snark. “Figured I’d take matters into my own hands.”

“Yeah? Shit,” he says as you begin to move. “Fuck, baby, like that. Ride me just like that.”

You do. Don’t change a thing, because Namjoon’s cock is long and thick enough to hit exactly where you need it to. You can feel yourself clenching, feel yourself getting wetter, and the sight of Namjoon beneath you does nothing to stave off the inevitable. He looks even better than you’d imagined: skin flushed, eyes squeezed shut, head thrown back, sweat-slick. You want to make him cry. Want to give him the entire world. You will.

Namjoon thrusts at the same time you roll your hips, and that’s what does it. Has you crying out, has stars flashing behind your eyelids. Has you saying fuck, fuck, fuck as he drives you over the edge for the second time. Has you on the brink of oversensitive as he thrusts a few more times to chase his own end, almost delirious at the way Namjoon moans as he spills into the condom.

Has you swooning, just a bit, at the dopey way Namjoon smiles at you, eyes half-lidded and crinkled at the corners.

“Was that okay?”

You snort. “Yeah, I’d say it was decent.”

“Maybe next time you could pee on me,” he jokes.

You whack him on the chest. “Sure. Or we could record it.”

Has you a little shocked at the way his cock twitches inside of you at the mention of it.

On Monday, you don’t wear a pretentious sweater.

When you stroll in, Jungkook’s already got the best donut shoved halfway into his mouth because he’s a shithead. He eyes you warily, probably hoping with all his hope that you spent the weekend finding God and getting your shit together.

And then he realizes you’ve got on Namjoon’s hoodie and he nearly chokes to death.

“What the fuck are you wearing—”

Namjoon appears at that very moment, and it’s so hard not to take credit for the way he’s glowing, the dazed smile on his face. But Jungkook notices, because Jungkook notices everything, and his gaze darts between the two of you: your hoodie, Namjoon’s face, your face. He opens his mouth, something inappropriate bound to spill out, but Namjoon beats him to the punch. “Ready?” he asks you, and you nod.

It’s seamless.

No hiccups, no awkward stuttering. Namjoon gets through the intro without a hitch, and it feels exactly like it used to. Just two friends having a conversation. It’s obvious Jungkook still wants to say something, but after suffering through last week, he stays quiet lest he makes it worse and sends the two of you back to the bad place.

“How was your weekend, Pipe? Do anything fun?” Namjoon rolls his lips, tries not to laugh.

So you play along. “No, not really, just some dog sitting. How about you?”

“Oh, you know me. Had another first date on Saturday.”

“Did you? How’d it go?”

“Perfect.”

It’s a blessing Jungkook isn’t filming this, because your eyebrows raise so far they nearly disappear from your face altogether. There isn’t even a hint of hesitation in Namjoon’s voice, and although you would’ve described it the same way, hearing him say it with such conviction has you a little stunned. “Wow. You gonna see her again?”

“Yeah,” Namjoon says, sharing a private smile with you. “I think I am.”

who the FUCK is namjoon dating Posted by u/pod-shipper 7 minutes ago This has honestly ruined my entire day. I thought all the stories he told about dating were a bit… Like, what kind of guy has a podcast about relationships but can’t seem to be in one? But you could just HEAR it in his voice how much he likes this woman he went on a date with over the weekend and I’m sick to my stomach. (+2195) ↳ bro you and me both 😭 i genuinely thought him and piper had something going on fr (+1302) ↳ Seriously might stop listening because of this! Any woman with self-respect would never let their partner host a podcast with someone they’re obviously in love with. If he gets serious with this woman, Piper will be gone within 6 months, mark my words. (+927) ↳ I wouldn’t worry about it too much! My cousin works at a really nice restaurant in the same city Namjoon lives in, and she said she saw this “date” on Saturday and that it wasn’t anything serious. (+788) ↳ Piper got a cat and Namjoon finally got a second date. Face it, it’s over. (+325) ↳ cannot believe him and piper aren’t dating.. do you think i should delete all my tiktok edits? (+4) ↳ this is unhinged lmfao i thought y’all hated piper? you’re in here bitching abt her being a “misandrist” every week and now ur gonna stop listening bc namjoon isn’t dating her? pick a lane and stay in it (-64)

Thank you so much for reading! I'd love to hear your thoughts, and reblogs/shares are always welcome! I appreciate you very much~ ♡

[jungkookincalvins]

so...

okay

this was a roller coaster, i read less than a half before bed, then the rest at work but with a lot of breaks bc... well work and bc i JUST NEEDED A MOMENT SOMETIMES OH YM GODF! THIS WAS SOO!!!!!

i dieeeeeeeeeeeeeeeeedddddddd!! my poor bro, damnnnnnn, i kinda need a bro pov btw i hope he finds peace soon ryennnnn 😭he's worrying about his friends and sister but what about himmmmmmmm!! what about his happinesssssss, what about his love lifeeee! what about enjoying himself without a worry in the world!..

enough, i need to talk to him rn

i mean i was having a heart attack when he said "why her", even if i was expecting the confrontation by the ending of busted but i swear i was sweatingggg i was holy shitttttttt that was nerve racking as hellllllll,.. and i was as confused as yoongi when i realized he didnt mean oc lmao

and YO! woosung knows STUFF im cryingggg, gosh that interaction made me so happy!!, yoongi in his natural habit is so sexy, he is so powerful and he needs to knowwww!

the whole basketball scenario gave me the butterflies bc i feel how yoongi is dying to take her on an actual date ???? i mean he chose to be half naked in this one but that is just so mf cute, we can be horny and in love :(((((( i love them so muchhh

and the ending gave me CHILLS, im making up scenarios in my head already oh my gOd THIS IS GONNA BE SO GOOD im so exciteddddddd

idk my head is full of 3tan i love it

broken, pt. 1 (3tan) | myg

title: broken (pt. 1) pairing: 3tan!yoongi x reader(f) series:masterlist | three tangerines | fireworks | house party | basketball | stay | sidewalk talk | friends | dalo | like that | anytime | sundress season | yoongi’s interlude | forfeit | flutter | video call | busted rating/genre: m (18+) ; angst , fluff ; brother’s best friend au, implied age gap au summary: chilling conversations prolong things even further… until everything goes to hell. note: this is only one half of what was supposed to be a whole chapter! broken, pt. 2 will come out after i’ve had time to make it something i’m proud of. trying to rush everything out didn’t do any favors, so hilariously and ironically, broken is broken up into two hahaha. warnings: language, angst, tension, yoongi’s pov is longgg, alcohol consumption, tobacco mentions, bro��, yoongi in the studio😩, the studio boys make another appearance👀, …someone else makes their first appearance👀👀, scuffles, tense situations, did i say angst?, water bottles get their own warning, long hair yoongi, basketball yoongi🫠, crying, bro a ha ha, jimin has tats and he’s not afraid to show them, the chains stay on(???), …bad boy yoongi😀👍, honestly he is on another level of warning here don’t perceive me💀, the fluff is fluffing here like what, backstory we’ve been waiting for😗, yoongi on the phone, hand holding :’)), kissing :’)), oh god the kissing❤️‍🩹, there’s just a lot in both parts i’m sorry y'all playlist: broken (lp) drop date: dec 3rd, 2023, 4:00pm est word count: …19.1k 🚶‍♀️

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Words abandon you.

Keep reading

[jungkookincalvins]

jeon jungkook fic rec list (Ⅸ)

hi everyone wow it's really been a while and i'm on list 9 already damnnn that's alot and list 10 is like half way complete already... soooo you might notice a change in the set up this time around i liked how it looked on my ao3 list so i added it here as well, i absolutely love this list like i've gone over this list a million times it's filled with alot of fics i was absolutely obsessed with, you know how attached i get to the characters and this list holds quite a few of them too so i hope you enjoy reading them as much as i did and you fall for them too... remember to give lots of love to the authors of these fics they are absolute geniuses and deserve all the respect and love in this world for creating these beautiful fics and sharing it with us so be sure to give them a follow, like and reblog or even leave a little comment i'm 100% percent sure it would mean alot to them 🥺🖤 also as these fics contain smut no under minors allowed/interact... if you would like to share some of your favourites or just wanna ramble about fics you love send me an ask i love hearing from you guys and happy reading everyone till next time ✨🖤

a- angst s- smut f-fluff

series

dreamcatchers by @ggukcangetit f a

↬  DI Jeon didn’t need a new partner. Unfortunately, his superiors felt otherwise; especially considering the extremely high-profile murder that had just taken place in the port city. Recent transfer, DI Choi Yuri finds herself confronted with a new cityscape, unfamiliar people, a hostile partner, and a homicide that is certain to bring back unpleasant memories.  

block party by @minlucent f s a

↬ moving into your new apartment brings back memories of your biggest mistake. neighbours au e2l

a little bit of your heart by @yoongiofmine f s a ft. myg

↬ you had everything you could ever dream of; the career of your dreams as a music producer, the best friends you could ever wish for, and a exes-turned-friends-turned-fuck-buddies relationship with min yoongi. you knew you and yoongi would never move past that and you were okay with it. Until a friend from your past comes back into your life, offering to give you everything you deserve, everything yoongi couldn’t. Will jungkook show you what you’ve been missing? Or will the new guy threaten yoongi enough to do something about it? 

lost stars by @/yoongiofmine f s a

↬ Jungkook was lost. He didn’t know who he was anymore, so he decided to leave and find himself. But he wasn’t expecting to find you along the way, an island girl who has no idea who he is. Jungkook has a secret. But so do you. idol au s2l

secrets we keep by @/yoongiofmine f s a

↬ Being a camgirl was never your main goal in life, but when the pandemic hit and you lost your job, you were desperate. Now, two years later, the world is back to normal and  you are one of the top creators of OnlyChingu; the South Korean version of OnlyFans. A website where idols hide behind anonymous profiles in search of that connection they lost during lockdown. Jungkook was never into this type of stuff. Until he ran into you. He knows you’re his perfect girl, his ideal type. Will he be able to put his own insecurities aside when chasing you? Or will you let the secrets you keep ruin you? idol au

i hate you, i love you by @jungblue s a

↬ You hated him at seven, warmed up to him at twelve, and liked him at fifteen. Now the two of you are twenty years old and inseparable best friends… and you’re absolutely in love with him; he’s in love too—just not with you. 

fatal attraction by @jungcock s a ft. kth

↬ your dangerous ex-boyfriend comes back to haunt you in more ways than one. exes au serial killer thriller

pub golf by @taleasnewastime f s

↬ One night. One stupidly hot man, who just keeps appearing in every pub you go to. Six friends. Nine pubs. Nine drinks. Ten million stupid rules. Let the chaos begin. s2l

animal by @cutaepatootie f s a

↬ boxer jungkook au ANGST

things you don't know by @btsgotjams27 a

↬ It’s been seven years since you last saw the boy that broke your heart. After moving back home, you try everything you can to avoid seeing him around town, but destiny has a wicked way of doing the opposite.

entangled by @caelesjjk f s a ft. kth

↬ Jeon Jungkook is Spider-Man. He saved your life twice. But he’s also been your sweet lab partner in college for the past two years and now someone who is more than just a friend. You care about him…maybe even love him. But something tells you that you aren’t quite sure what love even is. How could you when you have feelings for someone else as well? Kim Taehyung is the handsome stranger you’ve seen around campus and somehow ended up dancing with at Club Onyx. You were upset that Jungkook had stood you up once again and Taehyung made you feel like you were on top of the world. What you didn’t know that night, is the dark secret Taehyung is trying desperately to hide, but the closer the two of you get the more difficult that becomes.

when the end comes by @oddinary4bts f s a

↬ Seven years after you've started dating Jungkook, long distance creates a wedge in your relationship. When the only solution seems to be breaking up, you go your separate ways even though love still lives in the two of you. Will you find a way back together, or has the end come for you and Jeon Jungkook?

new girl by @jjkeverlast f s a

↬ after finding out your boyfriend of 6 years cheated on you, you find yourself moving in with three guys in a loft. what could possibly go wrong?

horizon by @/sokooks f s a

↬ The way you approached life had started to break down Jungkook's emotional barriers. Jungkook couldn't deny that he was drawn to you in a way that was entirely new and unfamiliar. You had become more than just an assignment; you had become someone he genuinely cared about. It was the way you made him feel. With you, he felt more human than he had in a long time. Despite his best efforts to remain detached, his heart had other plans. angel au

searching for nirvana by @/sokooks f s a

↬ he shouldn't be here. he shouldn't be touching you the way he was- but he was here before him. he was your friend, not him. he knew your body, not him. he wanted to be the only one to touch you the way you liked. he he wanted you to remember that. despite the fact that he already had someone waiting for him. best friends au cheating au.

twelve hours by @whatifyoulivelikethat s a

↬ you have twelve hours to make jeon jungkook fall in love with you. he's about to get married. you're the entertainment at his bachelor party - a burlesque dancer. long ago, he used to be the class representative and you used to be the class delinquent. nothing has changed and, yet, everything has.

when it all... by @7deadlysinsfics f a

↬ what’s there to do when your husband says he thinks he doesn’t love you anymore? you pick up the broken pieces the best you can and try to move on

better than me ? by @/7deadlysinsfics f s a

↬ jungkook is clear on what you both are to each other. still, he doesn’t want you to think anyone else is better than him

our first and our last by @thedefinitionofbts f a ft ot7

↬ The first time you met Jeon Jungkook was on your tenth birthday. On that day, he was nothing more than the strange man who jumped into a dark portal that suddenly opened in the middle of the park. The ten year old you just stood in the grass, strands of hair ruffling from the calm breeze that swooped by; head slightly tilted, bright, innocent eyes wide open and staring at him with wonder and disbelief. There was a certain amount of confusion, but your young mind was too naïve to question his actions or what they entailed. soulmate au

dancer in the dark by @gwoongi f s a

↬ Money can’t buy you happiness. Jeongguk, for the longest time, thinks he’s happy. Truthfully, Jeongguk doesn’t know what happiness is until you find him. rockstar au

together by @httpjeon f s a ft.pjm

↬domestic!au, couple!au, stoner!au, gamer!au

hot bot by @/httpjeon f s

↬ purchasing a Hot Bot wasn’t exactly something you ever really planned on. when you do, however, it sends your life down a path of convoluted government schemes and dark secrets.

stardust by @iamtaekooked f

↬ You didn’t believe in soulmates until you lay your eyes on Jeon Jeongguk, the younger brother of your best friend’s husband. That is when you see the red string beginning encircled around your pinky and ending in his

serendipity by @rohobi f s a

↬ After you reveal your inexperienced sexual status to your best friend, Jungkook grapples with the news, startled by the idea that the girl he always thought could get anyone, is a virgin. After finding his porn at 3AM, you decide that maybe it’s about time to stain the white sheets of your world with the colors of a forbidden fruit Jungkook seems to have in the palm of his hands.

chasing shadows by @colormepurplex2 s a

↬ Your job gets you into trouble sometimes. Who would have thought crime journalism would put so many targets on your back? But, it’s happening again, someone’s threatening you. Only, this time, it’s not just you that’s in the crosshairs. Your best friend, Enola, is out on assignment and can’t help like she usually does. So, what does she do instead? She sends her brother, Jungkook, armed with a magic bag, a charming smile, and deductive reasoning skills that prove his worth as one of the best PI’s around.

I gasp once, and in that breath, I accept you in by @inkofyoonkoo f s a

↬ In which Jungkook arrives to your small town to spend the holidays, and you slowly let go of all the ghosts of your past. s2l fwb au

sweet nothing by @adonis-koo f s a

↬ Being a guest at the Jeon Estate after a mishap of being kidnapped and dragged into your brothers affairs isn’t all that bad. Truth be told it brings you a lot closer to the mobster and owner of the estate Jeon Jungkook himself. His two rules are simple, don’t cause trouble and don’t give him a hard time. Somehow you manage to constantly do both in the most endearing way despite being pregnant and waddling around most of the time.

three's a crowd by @/adonis-koo s a ft. jimin

↬ When your mom’s fairytale life begins to bleed over into your world you’re suddenly caught between two men and one big secret, what was supposed to be a relaxing trip soon begins to spiral out of control. All you wanted was a free vacation… ceo au

sleepwalking by @taexual f s a

↬ due to unfortunate circumstances, you ended up managing your ex-boyfriend’s band. you thought you’ve both made peace with it, but suddenly he’s very eager to prove to you that first love never dies.

empty space by @ahundredtimesover f s a

↬ It started as friendship, turned to a casual fuck, then ended in heartbreak. Turns out, he wasn’t who he said he was, and years later he enters your life again, forcing you to face all the emotions you’d been trying to bury. 

OR Officer Jeon looks really hot in his uniform and you wish you didn’t hate him as much as you do.

as the world burns around us by @today-we-will-survive a

↬ You haven’t seen the sun in two years. The Virus wiped out a good three quarters of the world’s population and then the wars that followed wiped out half of that. After everything happened, it was only a matter of time before the different countries started blaming each other and emptied their nuclear arsenals. You’re still surprised Seoul survived – if you can call what it has become “surviving”

hotter than hell by @chateautae f s a

↬ jungkook, lucifer and king of hell, has been cast out of the crimson underworld for a reason he’s unsure of. embarking on his journey for the answer should’ve been easy, if it weren’t for you, the human that nurses his wounded body in her home, and accidentally witnesses the truth of his identity. kickstarting a hellish adventure with the devil himself, you discover lucifer is the most infuriating company ever; and jungkook finds out that maybe his answer to returning home lies within his annoying human confidant.

to turn a bad thing good by @/chateautae f s a

↬ jungkook’s drunken one night stand goes awry when he comes to learn not only is he being forced into an arranged marriage, but it’s to the very girl he abandoned that night—and things get a lot more complicated when you’re the best hookup he’s ever had.

J’aime by @baepop f s a

↬ You’re the newest hire at a local café and head barista Jeon Jungkook takes you under his wing.

Written in the Stars by @/baepop f s a ft. kth

↬ You’re the girl of Jungkook’s dreams, literally. The only problem: you’re taken by his best friend

make me forget by @roseannekook f s a

↬ You are the lead vocalist and main dancer of your company’s first girl group, but on the fourth promotion of your debut song things don’t go as planned. At the brink of an uprising scandal, you seek refuge in the bathroom stalls…and find it in the arms of no one else but BTS’ golden maknae Jeon Jungkook.

one of your girls by @ggukiepie s a ft. pjm

↬ fwb au college au fuck boy au inspired by the song

boy in luv by @/ggukiepie f s a

↬ just two idiot best friends in l*ve college!au, bff!jk, athlete!jk, student council president oc, cheerleader!oc

the boy who left by @/gujoonim a

↬ As your eyes staring deeply into your possible client-to-be’s eyes, something crossed your mind, it was that pair of eyes that you were looking for when you being abandoned at the aisle on your wedding day. ceo au

love sewn by @jvnghxope s a

↬ 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.

not yet by f s @bratkook f s a

↬ jungkook feels the pang of guilt in his gut when you spot your recent ex out with his new girl, and what better way to make the jerk hurt than to have him believe you were now dating him, the neighbor he had been insecure about your whole relationship.

one shot

blazes of deceit by @periminkle f a

↬ when the opportunity to finally venture past the stone walls you’ve grown up in presents itself, you jump at the chance to discover the origin of those mysterious lights—even if the trip comes with a harsh truth and a suspicious, yet undoubtedly attractive, tour guide. tangled au disney au

southpaw by @starshapedkookie f s a

↬ Knowing Jeon Jungkook for the better part of your life, you thought you knew everything about him. Well, that was before you two disappeared from each other’s lives at least. When Jungkook suddenly finds himself buying you a coffee to rekindle your friendship, it leads to much more than you bargained for.

house of cards by @jeonggukingdom s a

↬ What does safe mean when you are chased by zombies, when every corner you turn could be the last one for you? What do words like home and future mean when you’re always on the run and every moment could be your last? They mean nothing and everything at the same time and Jeongguk is all of the above. He is your safe haven, he is your home and he is your future. But things like that crumble easily in your world.

enouement by @littlemisskookie s a

↬ War is Hell, but it’s what you had to do to take your brother’s place. Of course, between the days of Hell are little slices of Heaven you’d call your Captain, Jeon Jungkook. mulan au disney au

miss taken by @junghelioseok f s

↬you pride yourself on being a professional, but sometimes your students' parents really test your patience. single parent dilfjk jk e2l

the ex text by @shadowkoo f s a

↬ The 2 AM texts have started again. It’s a bittersweet familiarity that you can’t run away from, and despite wishing to forget him: no one will ever measure up to the exceptional standard set by your ex, and you’ll never have anyone as good as him either. Like a permanent mark on your heart, Jungkook’s presence has become an insatiable craving, an addiction you'll never outgrow or cast aside.

the proposal by @hansolmates f s a

↬Jeon’s the editor-in-chief for Big Hit Publishings, a closet romantic with a penchant for antagonizing his assistant on the reg. When his work visa is in the process of being renewed and he takes a trip to Norway, his eligibility to stay in America is on the line. However Jeon Jungkook doesn’t go without a fight, and in order to save his job he offers you a proposal you can't refuse. based on the movie the proposal e2l

red and gold by @/thedefinitionofbts f s

↬It’s no secret that genius, billionaire, international playboy, and philanthropist- Jeon Jungkook, better known as the CEO of Jeon Industries-and even better known as Iron Man, is one of the most intelligent, wealthy, and powerful men in the world. There’s nothing that can get to him or his ego, that is, until you happen to show up and give him a run for his money. 

burning bright by @snackhobi s

↬there are no secrets in the drift. if jungkook were to see the mess inside your head and heart, laid utterly bare, he’d turn away from you. based on the movie pacific rim

but we loved young by @jl-micasea-fics s a

↬Jungkook is everything you’re not, the ying to your yang. Your tight knit friendship nurtured from childhood survived the major life events that most don’t, and to that end, you suppose you’re fated to be together, until unrequited longing is eventually noticed, and boundaries are forever crossed.

the shoulder on which you cry by @lemonjoonah f s a ft. knj

↬ after moving away from your hometown five years ago, you’ve struggled on every return. each trip back being made out of haste due to an unfortunate event in your life. namjoon has always been there to help you through those moments. but when he can’t be there to support you during your current trip home, jungkook offers to stay by your side and be the comfort you need. 

illusion of choice by @hobibliophile f s a

↬ You’ve grown up with the Jeons, Jungmin and Jungkook, for as long as you can remember, your parents being very close. But little did you know that this is because you are in fact arranged to be married to the Jeon heir, Jungmin. However, a tragedy causes Jungkook to take up his brother’s mantle, and that includes becoming your fiancé.

the blue princess and her red rose by @/cutaepatootie f s a

↬ After all, he was her red rose, while she was just another one of the many blue roses that grew in the dying gardens of Greyria. princess au

rigor mortis by @readyplayerhobi f s a

↬ A night out at a bar results in you going home with a young and attractive police officer. But if you think the night was something to remember, that’s nothing compared to waking up to find a zombie outbreak in the city. A chance encounter with Officer Jeon leads to him helping you escape from the plague infested city.

lowkey by @joonbird s

↬ Jungkook is the nude model for your art school’s life drawing class.

part-time lover by @sketchguk f s a

↬there is no crime more perfect than marrying jeon jeongguk. your relationship is nothing more than a ruse - while your friends pester you for being perpetually single, jeongguk desperately needs a wife to complete the pristine image of a family, fooling his way through the parent interview at the nation’s most prestigious private school. only time will tell how deep your lies will run as you find home in one another’s minds. because untangled in the moonlight, he is but a spy, exposing a secret world of corruption, and you, an assassin, ridding the streets of danger one hit at a time. 

sweet apple biscuits by @rosaetae a

↬ a story about someone who receives letters from themselves ten years in the future and asks them to fix all their regrets and save a particular boy. inspired by the anime 'orange'

i'll be home by @wwilloww f s a ft.knj

↬ When your first love, Jungkook, disappeared from your village five years ago, no one thought he would return, let alone on the night of your betrothal to another man. 

white lies by @noteguk f s a

↬ in which Jungkook lies his way out of and into trouble. But he can’t tell white lies when it comes to you. 

yes coach by @/taleanewastime s

↬ You play in a local netball team and as a new season starts you have a new coach. Enter Jungkook, he may look soft, but he turns out to be a hard taskmaster, one who ruffles your feathers when he makes some changes to the team. Tensions grow between you through the weeks, until they finally reach breaking point.

spf 50 by @gimmeyoon f s

 ↬ If you have to spend your summer home from college working a job you hate, it might as well include sitting by the pool with Jungkook. Now if only kids could stop vomiting in it.

fifth wish by @jiminrings f a

↬ jeon jungkook, world-class socialite and nepotism baby, should be out every night to celebrate while he’s at his prime. why should he fake-date his bodyguard instead? alternatively, jungkook regularly throws coins to wishing wells with only one desire in mind — to get rid of you.

blacklisted by @/httpjeon s a ft. kth

↬after departing from your dom, you’re assigned to two incredibly powerful men.

↬looking for other jjk fics or the other members check out my library

[jungkookincalvins]

I LOVE FINDING JADES WRITINGS RANDOMLY AND STOP MY LIFE TO READ!

being jk's sister and wanting to kill him sounds good to me idk why but sounds so riGHT, thats my virgo twin

and namjoon picking me up like a rag doll sounds right too, im unwell, thats gonna be in my head all day

now ill go cry bc namjoon's smile and biceps combo is too much

Namjoon + “sibling’s best friend” except the sibling has been rooting for them to get together for years

combined with your other namjoon request 💕🫶🏻

Namjoon + “stuck in an elevator” bc god of destruction or simply bad luck idm either

the one with namjoon and the u-haul

ft. jeon!reader, moving day, a mild age gap, jk being a lil shit as usual, and blondejoon 🥵 (cw: claustrophobia / brief depiction of a would-be anxiety attack)

If you ever managed to get your hands on your brother, you might kill him.

Of course, you’d have to find him first — and if your sixteen unanswered calls were any indication, Jeon Jungkook might’ve left this mortal coil already. Unfortunately for you and the rented U-Haul parked outside your apartment building, you needed that evasive little shit and his inhuman stamina.

More importantly, you’d needed him an hour ago when that rental clock started ticking.

The minutes you’d burned up already — firing text after unacknowledged text at your twin — were ones you’d quite literally pay for later in the form of late fees. Jungkook knew this, knew you, knew that your neurotic, Type-A brain had calculated exactly how much time would be needed for the two of you to orchestrate your cross-town move. Just like he knew you were simultaneously too weak to move these boxes yourself; and too poor to shell out for the full-day rental package or professional movers.

And yet, there he wasn’t.

You’d worn crop circles into the carpet already with your relentless pacing. One more step, and the pedometer built into your Apple Watch might give up altogether, explode into a cloud of sparks around your wrist. Worse, it might send out an emergency alert to the nearest mobile crisis unit and get your ass pink-slipped. Maybe, you think, you should try being still for once in your life. 

You hit the brakes so suddenly that the inertia makes you wobble, but you don’t fight it. Instead, you let that anxious momentum drop you unceremoniously onto the nearby sofa.

The one was supposed to be loaded up an hour ago.

Not that you’re counting.

Just as soon as you slump with a huff into the cushions, a rhythmic knock at your door yanks you back to your feet. All you see is red as you stagger over a sea of cardboard boxes, wind your way through garment bags, odds and ends to reach the entrance to your apartment. Your hand snaps like a bear trap around the doorknob when you finally clear the obstacle course; and you nearly rip the door off its hinges when your rage propels it open.

The preparatory breath you’d sucked in — gunpowder in your lungs, ready to pop off at your unbelievably tardy brother — instead leaves you in a startled gasp:

“Oh, God.”

Immediately, your face begins to burn with embarrassment. You don’t know what to do with your hands, either; they’re still balled up into fists and ready to swing. Fuck! Sweaty palms! You wipe them furiously on the back pockets of your denim shorts and try to keep the rest of you from liquifying.

“Actually,” comes a surprisingly soft voice from a body so contrary, “It’s pronounced Namjoon.”

Oh, no, no, no, no.

Not that lopsided, tight-lipped smile.

Anything but that.

You, a fool, blurt out the obvious, “You’re not Jungkook.”

Of course, this offering is worthless. The twerp who entered this world three minutes before you was sixty-three minutes late; and his friend — the one you still can’t believe Jungkook manages to keep — was standing in his place. His older, smarter friend, whose massive hands you picture when you —

Kim Namjoon has a laugh that makes less noise the more he means it. Based on the melodic little hiss that erupts in response to your declaration, he finds your buffoonery hilarious.

You are not long for this world, you fear.

“Got me there,” he concedes. Looking up to find him beaming at you, you’re not surprised that staring at his grin — the one that shows all his teeth and makes his eyes crinkle — feels a lot like staring into the sun.

Don’t you dare faint. You’ve survived three years with that face. You can and will be normal about this.

As if that wasn’t enough, Namjoon has the audacity to lay his palm flush against the door jam above your head and lean down and — shit, his biceps just look like that? All the time?

You’re already a puddle at his feet when Namjoon hums, “Heard you needed an extra set of hands.”

You want to ask if he’s psychic — his hands, in any context, are precisely what you need — but you don’t. You clear your throat and throw on your best approximation of nonchalance. Cross your arms over your chest in a way you hope looks casual, tilt your head to the side. 

You raise a single eyebrow before responding, laying it on thick, “So, he lives, huh? Texts you but not his own flesh and blood? Sends his poor hyung as a proxy?”

“I have free will, you know,” Namjoon chides you without any real heat. “And a free afternoon, too.”

He then shrugs his shoulders before pointing over yours. The target he’s acquired sits at the very edge of your peripheral vision, a beast in velvet upholstery. His grin is downright impish when he continues, “Unless your plan is to yeet that couch straight off the balcony, I suspect your options here are limited.”

If you’d been given the opportunity, you’re confident that you may have come up with some witty remark. Instead of ongoing banter, you get a hand on either side of your waist, picking you up and moving your rag doll body out of the doorway. Namjoon smirks as he sets you down, ignores your slacked jaw, and invites himself into your apartment.

On his way to the couch, he spots something that catches his eye. He pauses, bends down towards a laundry basket full of assorted bullshit, and pulls out what can only be described as a cursed object. It’s your most hideous and most beloved possession, having joined you in every major move since you left your parents’ house: a ceramic shelf-sitter in the form of a rooster, the body of which is entirely made of sculpted fruits. 

Namjoon is absolutely baffled by it, open mouth forming a circle as he stares down at his discovery. You should be baffled, you think, it’s God’s ugliest creation. Then, as if the force of his quiet blinking was too much for it to handle, the bunch of bananas composing its tail feathers pops off and promptly falls to the ground.

Horrified, he watches in slow motion as it hits the hardwood below with a thump. You watch as his shoulders sag; unable to tell whether the fond little tug in your chest is based on your weird, broken art, or how completely crushed he looks.

“Ah, fuck. I’m sorry!” He gasps, ducking down to grab the runaway appendage. Fuck the bird — it’s him. Then, he mutters directly to the object looking laughably small in his palm, “What’d you do me like that for? Rude as hell.”

Instinctively, you cross to where Namjoon stands in the center of your living room. When you reach him, you feel him brace himself for your reaction; but all you do is bend at the waist, grab a small tube of super glue from that same laundry basket, and hold it up. He glances from your fingers to your face.

“A must-have when you break shit as often as I do,” you chirp. Then, you gesture with your free hand to the basket. His gaze follows and locks onto the small, strawberry knee joint that you’d accidentally severed as you packed. To say that his eyes light up is an understatement.

Namjoon taps at the “made in” sticker on the bottom of the rooster and smirks, “This is what you get for buying American, honestly.”

_____

You didn’t have “spending time with Kim Namjoon” on today’s bingo card, but you’re certainly not complaining.

Lucky for you, he was stronger than your idiot brother and infinitely less frustrating to be around. The pair of you moved around your apartment like you were ballroom dancing; neither of you needing the steps called out to know them. It was easy, it was synchronized, and you didn’t have to beg him to stay on task.

Absolute none of that would be the case if your day had gone as planned.

In thirty minutes’ time, all of your possessions had been loaded into the U-Haul except one: the couch. Due to its bulkiness, you knew it’d be difficult to maneuver despite its relatively light weight.

Namjoon, boasting more brain cells than you by a long-shot, had suggested using the elevator. So long as it was angled properly, he reasoned, the two of you could make it fit without issue. Then, you wouldn’t need to wrangle the first neighbor you came across to help you pivot the blasted thing around every stairwell.

It was a short trip, only four floors, so you’d decided not to explain why you’d taken the stairs for every previous run of boxes.

Maybe you should have, because forty-five minutes have passed since you entered that elevator, and you are swiftly running out of ways to pretend that you’re fine.

From where you sit cross-legged on the elevator floor, you can hardly see Namjoon, who is believed to exist somewhere on the other side of your couch. Every now and then, there’d been a flash of blonde hair next to one of the couch’s arms — proof of life — but he’s more often invisible than not.

You’re okay with that fact, you realize. It means he can’t see the way your anxiety is manifesting only half a meter away from him.

“D’you think this call button even works?” He calls out to you, unknowingly contributing to the cold sweat slicking the small of your back, “I’ve pressed it a hundred times and — as you know — we haven’t been rescued.”

You wonder if you sound as strangled as you feel. Throat tight, you mutter, “Nothing in this building works. ‘S part of why I’m moving.”

Apparently, you do sound as strangled as you feel. You hear shifting in Namjoon’s corner of the elevator, and then you see his face materialize near the bottom of the couch. His eyebrows were initially furrowed, but the concern he carried there migrated. It settles and causes his eyes to widen when they find you.

“You alright?” He asks immediately. Sweetly.

In the grand scheme of things, yes, you would concede that you are — generally — more or less alright. You’ve been in worse places with worse company, and relatively speaking, this isn’t your ultimate nightmare. You’re capable of far greater panic than this.

In this moment, however, in this godforsaken metal box with walls that feel like they’re getting closer by the second, and stale air that gets heavier and heavier when you try to breathe it into your lungs, the walls of which are also getting —

Namjoon answers for you, decidedly but without even a hint of judgement, “You’re not alright.”

There’s more shuffling from the corner. Within a few moments, he manages to wriggle himself into a standing position. With two hands now on the couch’s spine, he glances urgently in your direction. His eyes soften, but you’re distracted by the loose lock of blonde hair that falls over his forehead, over them.

“If I find a way to you, does that make it better or worse?”

Of course, big-brain Kim Namjoon has the sense to ask. Of course, he’s emotionally intelligent enough to realize that joining you in your space could either calm your anxiety, or force it into X-Games mode. Of course, you feel like you’re being hydraulically pressed, so you don’t have the available brain cells to run a proper cost-benefit analysis.

So, you peep, “I — uhh, I don’t know?”

He purses his lips like he’s trying not to smile — because, as you’ve learned, he’s a good fucking person — but you feel a little bit less like you’re actively dying when you watch the corner of his mouth twitch upwards. Taking that gut reaction at face value, you swallow and wordlessly wave him over.

Only one way to find out, you suppose.

The way he grunts softly when he single-handedly pushes the couch further upright would make your whole body clench if it wasn’t already. The same is true of your rapid heart rate and the simmering desire to swoon. Wait — it’s called “fainting” if it’s a medical event, right? Whatever it is, the urge only gets stronger when he slots himself into the tiny bit of space at your side.

“Here — Oh, hang on,” He says, prompting you to look his way.

Your eyes catch him just in time to watch him wipe his hand off on his jeans, then hold it out to you. Without a second thought, you accept it. Squeezing slightly to express your gratitude, you smile and let your joint hands rest against your thigh. Like a shot of clonazepam, he has you calm in an instant.

A few moments of silence pass comfortably. Eventually, when your pulse returns to safety, you tilt your head back against the metal wall behind you and gaze upwards. The ceiling is back where it belongs, no longer inching towards you with the intent to flatten you against the floor. You breathe deeply then sigh out the exhale.

“I’m so glad I’m not trapped in here with Jungkook,” you announce, “If he were here, he’d be jumping up and down to try to get this thing to move, and I’d be nerve-barfing everywhere.”

“Good god,” Namjoon snorts. You glance at him out of the corner of your eye; he’s thoroughly amused, not at all grossed out by the picture you’ve painted. You know I’m right, you think.

It’s not clear if he knows you’re watching when his smile turns shy. He says it quietly, like he’s divulging some heavy secret, “Glad I called him off, then.”

You hum in agreement before those words actually register in your distinctly soup-like brain. When they finally do, you tilt your head to the side and narrow your eyes at him in confusion. For the first time in three years, he gets to hear what it sounds like when you buffer in real time:

“Sorry, you — huh?”

The math isn’t adding up. The science isn’t — doing whatever it is that science does. The words? Well, they’re failing you. You’ve got nothing.

Namjoon’s free hand rubs against the back of his neck. He smiles sheepishly, so damn cutely. For a second, he nibbles on his bottom lip before coming clean, “I may have asked Jungkook if I could sub in today.”

No thoughts, head empty, just wide-eyed blinking. It’s all you’re capable of with your stomach doing backflips the way it is.

“He was — umm — more than happy to switch swifts, you know?”

Of course, he was. Jungkook is a brat.

Namjoon chuckles and it’s then that you realize you’d broadcasted your thoughts out loud. He shakes his head as if you hadn’t just spit objective fact out into the elevator. Your eyebrows furrow as you try to follow the plot.

“For being an older brother, Kook’s a surprisingly good wing-man.”

Your jaw drops. Finger raised, you interject immediately, all piss and vinegar. “Joon, he is three minutes older. Don’t you dare give him credit for that. His ego’s already hit the ceiling, and I am not calling him oppa —”

Namjoon purses his lips again. The corner of his mouth ticks upward again. He’s apparently waiting for a response that you haven’t given him, again. Your sentence dies out before you can punctuate it.

Oh. Did you —?

Eyes as big as the moon, you sputter, “Wing man?”

“There you go, champ,” he laughs, affectionately nudging your shoulder with his. “Is that lag one of those twin things people talk about, or —?”

You land a playful smack on his bicep, but let your hand linger. Not unlike the way he’d done twice before, you pinch your lips together and try not to grin like the fool you are. Taking advantage of your pause, Namjoon reaches across his body with his free arm and peels your palm from his bicep. He keeps on holding it and you only melt a little bit.

It takes effort on your part, but you squirm in your spot until you’re able to face him more fully.

“Namjoon, you have to tell me the truth,” you demand. You squint back at him, narrowed eyes emphasizing the dramatic tone you’ve taken. “Did you or did you not break this elevator on purpose?”

He laughs so hard that it’s silent. His heads ducks down, too, until his forehead rests gently against your shoulder. From there, he sighs, “I did not break this elevator on purpose.”

After a pause, he sits back up, handcuffs his gaze to yours, then grins with all his teeth. “I’d be a fool not to capitalize on the opportunity, though.”

You close the distance and kiss him with all you’ve got, cotton-candy sweet and fresh-linen soft. It’s easy — the way it felt when your busy bodies swirled around your living room, never once stumbling — and you swear you hear bells ringing.

Namjoon pulls away breathless. He begins to ask the question, but the gentle lurch of the elevator answers before he can finish.

[jungkookincalvins]

i loved this so much ;((

WHY IS JUNGKOOK BEING AN EARTH ELEMENTAL SO SEXY?

im like mm yeah earthie virgo boi yes wreck whatever you want

and the whole subway sceeeneeee i dieeeeeddd, that is seriously one of my favorite meet cute scene ive ever read, i felt it in my soul that was so cuuuuuuuuute

i missed your stories, they always warm my heart <3

this was so amazing, and inspired by the seven mv? genius really, just sooooo coooool

fantastic!

Elemental (M) Pt. 2

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Genre: Second Chance Romance / Modern Fantasy

Pairing: Jungkook / Reader (she/her)

Synopsis: Fear has never been a foreign concept to you. Your entire life has been shaped by the knowledge that you’re different, and fear of the stigma which might follow discovery. Although fire, earth, air and water Elementals have been public for decades, the fear-mongering around your kind hasn’t changed; something you have intimate knowledge of, having experienced it firsthand. Since then, you’ve done your best to hide your water powers. This is for your own safety, as your mom likes to say.

Safety flies out the window though, when you fall in love. Jeon Jungkook isn’t just any love, either, he’s the love. The person who makes you feel as though your darkest corners deserve to be seen. Unable to control your magic around him, you find yourself faced with a horrible fact: you need to break up.

A plan which proves difficult when Jungkook simply refuses to go. And maybe, just maybe, you find the constraints placed on yourself don’t make sense anymore.

Rating: 18+

Warnings: death of a parent (past), some emotional abuse

NSFW Warnings: oral (woman and man), multiple orgasms (woman), fingering, hand job, face-riding, sex outdoors (in a secluded, private area), very slight ass-play, breast play

Word Count: 15,200 (32,487 total)

Author's Note: Unfortunately, the new Tumblr text editor doesn't allow for more than 1,000 paragraphs per post. THIS IS PART 2. Please read Part 1 of Elemental here. Please, please, please reblog both if possible! In my experience, engagement tends to be worse when split into two parts.

[ Cross-posted to Wattpad here ]

WARNING: this is the second part of this fic. Please read part 1 here.

It’s around midnight when the front door opens. Startled, you pull from your reverie and lower your paintbrush.

The canvas is darker than before. Colors and feelings entwine, creating a contrast against the light background. Exhaling, you sit back on the stool to examine. Pride fills your lungs despite the half-finished state. It’s good, but not great and that’s okay.

Only a few days prior, you would have been too scared to start. Afraid of the worst, you couldn’t release the barest hint of magic. You feared that, once begun, it would be hard to pull back. Now, you consider the opposite. Maybe by containing yourself, you exacerbated the problem.

A throat clears from the hallway, a mirror to a prior memory.

Whirling around, you nearly knock over the canvas. Seokjin’s eyes widen, though you steady the painting fast. Glancing over your shoulder, you notice Seokjin seems tired. Heavy shadows line the skin beneath his eyes.

“Painting again?” he muses.

Slowly, you nod. “Starting to.”

Pushing himself off the door, Seokjin comes closer. “I like it,” he declares. “You’ve always been great, but this… this feels more honest.”

Following his gaze, you attempt to see the work from his perspective. You suppose that he’s right, but don’t have time to dissect why that would be.

“What’s up?” you ask, turning back again. “You were out late.”

Seokjin pauses, considering. “Yeah. Decided to answer a call myself. Laundromat over on 8th – you know it?”

Immediately, you stiffen. That was your laundromat from earlier; the one you flooded and now, you’re entirely too conscious of having left your hamper at the front door.

Seokjin lifts an eyebrow.

Last year, his parents retired, bequeathing to him a magical consulting business. He employs mainly Elementals, contracting them to clean up situations. Sometimes said situations are caused by Elementals and other times, they’re natural. For example, a fire Elemental could be called to heat a building without power in a snowstorm.

Or possibly, one might request an air Elemental to dry out a flood.

“I know that place,” you say at last. “What happened?”

“Couple of pipes burst. Flooded the lower level. Most of the water had drained by the time I got there, but they needed help drying equipment.”

You deflate a little. “Oh. Glad you could help.”

“Mhm.” Seokjin tilts his head. “Your ex-boyfriend was there.”

“Oh?” you manage to squeak.

“Yup.” He pops the p. “Until I saw him, I assumed it was an accident. But then your ex-boyfriend was there, and I came here and saw your laundry by our door. Is there something you wanted to tell me, Y/N?”

“Ugh,” you groan, covering your face with both hands. “Fine, yes – it was me. I had to use a different laundromat, but then Jungkook showed up and we fought and I just – lost control. I was going to fix this,” you insist, lowering your hands. “As soon as I could figure out how, but then there were sirens and I –”

“Whoa, Y/N – whoa.” Crossing the room, Seokjin grabs a chair to sit backwards. “I’m not blaming you, to be clear. Everyone loses control of their powers occasionally. Hell, if I had a nickel for every person I wind-shoved into a door.”

You blink. “That’s uh, oddly specific.”

“And true.” His smile is rueful. “Listen. I want to know if you did it because I want to make sure you’re alright. No other reason.”

Some of your tension drains. “Oh. That’s… nice of you.”

He looks at you strangely. “That’s what friends do, Y/N. They help each other. What, did you think I’d turn you in or something?”

Your lack of response must be obvious since Seokjin goes unnaturally quiet. Having it said out loud sounds silly but yes, that’s exactly what your mom raised you to think. Wreaking havoc of any kind – but especially magical – would always have consequences.

“Look.” Seokjin’s tone softens. “I know it’s scary. Our powers are strong and if we don’t control them, they tend to control us. But pretending magic doesn’t exist doesn’t make it disappear. It just means when things do happen, it’s unpredictable.”

“I don’t want this,” you sigh, the words spilling out. “I don’t want to always be scared, always terrified of losing control. I don’t want to hurt other people or push them away. Everything would be better if I were just normal.”

“Would it?” Seokjin muses. “In everything you just said, you never said you didn’t want magic.”

This leaves you silent since Seokjin is right.

In all your concern about hurting other people and wishing you weren’t afraid you’ve never once resented your magic itself. Sure, you want to be normal but normal for you means living without fear. Not living without magic.

“I… guess you’re right,” you murmur. “I hadn’t thought about that before.”

Seokjin nods. “I can’t even begin to imagine what it was like for you, growing up. It’s hard for non-Elementals to understand our powers. Especially when you’re a kid.”

“It was,” you admit, glancing down.

Even now, admitting this feels like a betrayal because your mom tried her best. But maybe sometimes, trying your best isn’t the same as being what you need. While the intentions were good, the damage continues to live with you to this day.

“Suppressing a piece of yourself is never the answer,” Seokjin adds.

Your jaw tightens. “That’s easy for you to say,” you say, looking up. “You have two wonderful parents who support you. Your magic comes to you second nature. You rarely seem bothered by anything, let alone by your power.”

Lowly, Seokjin laughs. Dark hair falls into his face, leaning forward. “In control?” he scoffs. “Y/N. Just because I’m easy-going doesn’t mean everything is all good in here,” he says, tapping the side of his head. “I’m bothered by a lot of things, and magic is never easy.”

“Oh, yeah?” you shoot back. “When’s the last time you lost control, then?”

“Last month,” he says, automatic. “I drove to my parents’ place, got stuck in traffic and someone rear-ended me. I was so mad I summoned wind and slammed them into the next lane of traffic. Luckily, they weren’t hurt. Badly.”

You stare at him, open-mouthed.

“There was also this time last year,” Seokjin adds, undeterred. “I had a shit day, went to a bar after work. I was drinking alone, and one guy was harassing every woman in the place. He wouldn’t leave this one person alone, and I snapped. Blew a door open into his face. Guy needed five stitches.”

“I… I didn’t know all that.”

“I don’t usually tell people.” Seokjin sits back, slightly amused. “Personal flaws are terrible conversation starters. Those weren’t even the most embarrassing,” he warns. “The first time I had sex, I came so hard I made a mini tornado in the house. It woke up her entire family, who kicked me out with no pants.”

You try – and fail – to keep your lips from twitching. “Seokjin, that’s… awful.”

He laughs. “I got better at controlling it, alright? Just like you will. The threat is always there though,” he warns, his smile diminishing. “It’s like how, when you’re mad, sometimes you feel this undeniable need to punch someone. Occasionally, the urge wins, and you do punch someone. Magic is just another instinct, like that.”

“An instinct,” you murmur, turning this over in your mind.

Your magic has always reacted to your strongest emotions. Times when you felt angry or sad or – your cheeks heat – ecstatic with joy. Like with Jungkook.

“I don’t know what to do,” you admit softly. “I broke up with Jungkook, but that was a mistake. I love him. I want to be with him. But…”

“But you’re scared that you’ll hurt him.”

“Yeah.” You hesitate. “And I’m scared I’ll be hurt by him, if that makes sense.”

Seokjin nods. “It does. In college…” He pauses, as though debating whether to say the next part. “When I was in college, I had a girlfriend who didn’t know what I was. It was after the whole virginity-loss incident, and I was stubbornly pretending not to have magic.”

Your eyes widen. You didn’t know Seokjin went through a similar phase to you but then again, you suppose you don’t know much about him as an Elemental. Purposefully, you never wanted to open that door in case it led back to you.

“Pretending only works for so long, though.” His lips twist. “When I finally told her, she was scared. But… she promised me she loved me, and that we’d get through it.”

“What happened?”

“She started pulling away. Said she was busy studying and one night, I caught her making out with a friend. In some ways, it was a relief. But… I get what you mean.” Seokjin exhales. “Some people don’t want to understand, and you can’t make them.”

“I don’t think Jungkook is like that.”

“I don’t either.” Seokjin pauses. “He waited a long time at the laundromat, you know. He was there when I arrived, and he seemed… I don’t know. I asked all the standard questions, and when I asked if there was an Elemental, Jungkook was adamant there wasn’t. To the point where it seemed weird. Are you sure he doesn’t know what you are, Y/N?”

“I… don’t think so,” you say, your eyes wide. “Not unless he found out somehow. And if so, I don’t know why he wouldn’t tell me.”

Seokjin clucks his tongue. “I guess he could say the same about you.” Smiling slightly, he pushes himself to stand. “Anyways, I wanted to let you know what happened and say I’m here if you need anything.”

Nodding, you prepare to brush this off as usual when something gives you pause.

Before, denial would have been your go-to. Avoiding responsibility and telling yourself that next time, you’d do better. Next time, you’d be stronger, but ultimately, nothing would change. Maybe it’s time to admit that it doesn't work. To acknowledge that if you really want change, you must take the first step.

The problem with ignoring emotions is they don’t disappear. All they do is hide, biding their time until you’re at your weakest to pounce. You’re so tired of living with fear.

Tired of pushing others away and calling it selfless. Most of all, you’re tired of living without Jungkook.

“I’d like that,” you admit. “If you have any resources to recommend…?”

Seokjin stares at you, stunned. “God, yes,” he says, shaking his head. “Wow – I never thought this day would come. Okay, so, first things first, we need to get you in class. Other Elementals learn to control their magic. They’ll help with coping mechanisms, teach you to release your energy and channel emotions. Oh!” He straightens. “And you should really find a therapist who specializes in magic. I can give the name of mine, but that might be a conflict.”

“Whoa – whoa,” you laugh, holding up both hands. “All of this sounds good, but maybe one step at a time?”

“Noted.” Seokjin turns to leave. “Let’s talk more tomorrow. Whatever you need, Y/N – that’s what friends are for.”

Warmth fills your chest, and you manage a nod. That hasn’t necessarily been your experience but slowly, you’re beginning to trust what he says. What Jungkook said in the past, asking you to trust him.

Cleaning your brushes, you cover the half-finished art and follow Seokjin into the hall. Before long, you’re in your own bed, staring up at your ceiling. It’s difficult to sleep, multiple realizations from the day coursing through your mind.

Tonight, Seokjin provided more love than you ever had growing up. Well – he provided greater understanding. Although your mom loves you, her love turned to fear instead of the help you craved. Important, because you now understand how deeply your magic is ingrained.

It’s something you spent a long time ignoring. And though you know your mom loves you, she doesn’t love your magic – which means she doesn’t love all of you. This realization hurts more than you’d care to admit.

Turning into your pillow, you bury your face as the tears come. Sadness radiates from the same place inside you where there once was a dam. Uncertain, you reach out and brush this with your consciousness. After a moment of hesitation, you absorb it. The pain becomes part of you; not in a bad way, but in a way that’s new and unnerving.

Lifting your head, you tentatively reach out and gather the tears. They form a sphere in mid-air, crystalline and pure. Wide-eyed, you remember your father doing the same. Whenever you would cry, he’d save your tears in case you wanted them later. Facing and learning to use your emotion is important, he often said.

This memory urges the tears to fall harder, turning back to your pillow. When you finally drift into sleep, it feels as though a weight has been lifted from your chest. For once, you don’t feel divided against yourself. For once, you fall asleep without fear of what tomorrow might bring.

Saturday morning, you wake up earlier than normal. Groping for your phone on the bedside table, you blearily open a chat to Jungkook’s name. His last text was on Sunday and, after rereading this several times, you wearily lower your phone. Tossing aside your covers, you pad into your bathroom and brush your teeth.

Some things can’t be fixed overnight. You need to think before reapproaching Jungkook, to consider what to say so he’ll understand. Or maybe he won’t. The thought of this very real possibility makes your heart twist, though you ignore it the best you can to get dressed.

After breakfast, you bring your dishes to the sink and stare at the faucet. Before, you would have avoided anything to do with magic, but now…

With a deep breath, you reach inward and extend a tendril of magic. The water responds, slowly at first and then, all at once. The dishes begin washing themselves, lifting a sponge to get themselves soapy.

Seokjin wanders out of his room, bleary-eyed. Walking right past you, he plods to the coffee pot and grabs a new filter.

“If you break more of my dishes, you should just get me a new set,” he mumbles.

Grin widening, you finish the dishes and put them away by hand. It’s intoxicating to use magic and have nothing bad happen. You almost forgot what that felt like. A small step, but to you, it was once insurmountable. Knowing this grants the courage to make other decisions.

Dressing quickly for the day, you walk out of your bedroom. “Did I tell you I went into an art store on Thursday?” you ask Seokjin, seated at the kitchen table.

He yawns. “That’s nice.”

“They wanted me to teach an art class.”

Abruptly, he sets down his mug. “Wait, seriously?” Seokjin’s eyes widen. “You should do that!”

“I plan to. Well.” You hesitate. “I wasn’t going to, but now I am. I think I’ll head there this morning.”

Seokjin nods, although something uncertain drifts across his face. Toying with the edge of his mug, he seems to be thinking. Waiting for whatever comes next, you rummage through your purse for your phone.

At last, he exhales. “That’s good. But…”

“But?”

“I just… don’t want you to be discouraged if this takes a while, Y/N. Changing your entire outlook on magic won’t be easy.”

Your fingers pause, and slowly, you close your bag. “What do you mean?”

“I mean progress isn’t always linear.” Seokjin’s frown deepens. “You’re going to backslide. That’s kind of inevitable. Even the most talented Elemental has times when they slip. If – or should I say when – that happens, I don’t want you giving up.”

Seokjin’s utter sincerity lessens the sting of his words. You can see the truth in this logic, even if it scares you. Part of you continues to wish for a magic solution.

 “Thanks,” you respond. “I appreciate that, Seokjin.”

“Anytime.” He lifts his mug. “Now, go get that job so you can pay rent.”

“I knew you weren’t that generous,” you call as you leave the apartment.

Seokjin’s laughter is cut off by the elevator doors. Your walk to the train station is short, as is the train ride. Creative Courage is in the opposite direction of Jungkook’s apartment, but close enough that you can still smell the harbor as you walk.

Ascending the steps of the subway, it’s hard not to recall the first time you met Jungkook.

Three months ago, it was a muddled spring day. The type of day when the weather can’t make up its mind and a tank top or sweater might be equally needed. For once, the rain wasn’t your fault and you stood on the train platform, drenched at having been caught without an umbrella.

Jungkook stood on the opposite platform, parallel lines of train tracks between you. You were mostly alone – a situation which would typically put you on edge, but that day, it meant you noticed Jungkook sooner.

He stood near the edge, closer than you ever would. Giant, over-ear headphones rested over his head, which bobbed absent-mindedly to the beat. You had noticed him before that, nearly as soon as he cleared the turnstile.

Jungkook wore his hair longer then, pulled into a bun at the base of his head. His hands were chapped; he blew on them intermittently before stuffing them in his pockets. Cheeks red with cold, he glanced up and his gaze snagged upon yours.

Later, he said it felt as though the world stopped. You could corroborate. There was something about his gaze, intense and sincere, that robbed you of rational thought. A train roared between you, shaking the platforms and your stomach dropped.

By the time the train left, you assumed Jungkook would board, and the moment would end. Relegated to nothing more than a shared look between strangers. A what-if, not a has-been.

But then the train pulled away, and Jungkook remained. Lips parted, you stared while he jerked a single thumb over one shoulder. Eyes bright, Jungkook cupped both hands over his mouth.

“Want to get coffee?” he yelled across the tracks.

Uncertain who he was talking to, you glanced around and found the place empty. When you turned around, both eyebrows were raised. Already, you weren’t a spontaneous person and by now, you usually would have said no, but –

“Yes!” you called out. “Meet at the entrance?”

Jungkook nodded, his grin widening – if possible – as he spun around. You watched him sprint for the exit, taking the escalator two steps at a time. Ducking your head, you followed a similar route on your side of the tracks.

Riding the escalator, insecurities reared their ugly heads. What if you were mistaken about his intentions, what if you dropped something, or what if he wasn’t attractive as you remembered – but then, all this faded as he came into view.

The hour was dusk, with one or two street lamps penetrating the darkness. Jungkook emerged from his escalator, lit from behind, and some of your worries quieted. When he waved, slightly awkward, you couldn’t help but smile. Despite the multiple piercings, he somehow looked soft. He was also ridiculously, insanely beautiful and your hands itched to paint him.

Exiting the subway this morning, you attempt to refocus. It’ll do you no good to reminisce about Jungkook before Creative Courage. First, you get a job. Then, you learn to control your magic. Then you can beg for Jungkook’s forgiveness.

Maybe with some wiggle room in that order. Heading towards the art shop, you fish your phone from your pocket and scroll to his name. Stopping abruptly, you stare at Jungkook’s thread, bold with an unread text.

Your fingers hover a moment before pressing open.

Jungkook: I think you left one of your shirts at the laundromat. It was on the floor, I found it after you left [11:09 AM]

Clutching your phone tightly, you reread the message. Jungkook has a piece of your clothes. He has a piece of your clothes and is reaching out. Trying not to read too much into this, you text back.

Y/N: Oh, no! Thanks for grabbing. Can I stop by sometime to pick it up? [11:15 AM]

Y/N: I heard you ran into Seokjin at the laundromat [11:09 AM]

Wincing a little, you lower your phone. Your last text may be ill-advised, but you don’t want Jungkook to think that you’re hiding things.

Jungkook’s ellipses appear, then disappear several times before his next message.

Jungkook: yeah, he came in to fix things. Seemed to think an Elemental was involved [11:18 AM]

Frozen, you stare. Seokjin did say he asked Jungkook about there being an Elemental, but Jungkook had been adamant in his response to Seokjin. Did Jungkook… lie?

Skin prickling, you type your response. Not giving yourself time to second-guess, you press send and immediately head down the sidewalk.

Y/N: If an Elemental was involved, I guess Seokjin would be the person to call [11:22 AM]

Y/N: I’m on my way to a potential new job (do you know the art store, Creative Courage?) but I’m free later – I could stop by for the shirt? [11:22 AM]

Heading away from the harbor, you try to clear your head. Creative Courage is only a few blocks from the subway and once again, the bell tinkles when you step inside. This time, you aren’t surprised when Taryn pops out from behind the front counter.

“Oh!” Her eyes widen. “It’s you! Y/N, right?”

“That’s right.” You smile, side-stepping the door so as to not block the entrance. “Hi. I um, just wanted to stop by and see… well, I wanted to know if your offer still stands? To teach, that is.”

Beaming, Taryn claps both hands before her. “Oh my gosh, yes. I told Micah you’d be back! They were all like, ‘don’t get your hopes up,’ but I was like, ‘they’re already sky-high.’ And here you are!”

Your smile grows while she speaks, certain you made the right decision. Taryn looks nervous, which somehow serves to put you at ease.

“Anyways, come on in!” She steps aside, sweeping an arm over the room. “There aren’t any classes until the afternoon, so we can check out the space together. Maybe set up time for a demo. Oh, don’t worry,” she adds, noticing your look. “I know you’re amazing. This would be more about your teaching style. Understand the process, that type of thing.”

You nod. “I get it. That makes total sense.”

“Cool.” Taryn beams. “I’m just so excited.”

Showing you around, the two of you fall into easy conversation. Although you don’t have teaching experience, Taryn doesn’t seem worried. Everyone has a different learning style, she says. Students need free thinking instructors as much as structured.

At some point, Micah stops by to drop a kiss to her cheek. “Hey,” they say, noticing you for the first time. “I’m Micah. It’s nice to meet you – Y/N, right?”

Reaching out, you shake their hand. “Yes, that’s me.”

When you pull back, you blink at the streaks of dark grime on your skin.

“Micah!” Taryn gasps, noticing at the same time. “How many times have I said to use the special soap when you’re working with fire?”

Micah grimaces and turns. “I’m so sorry,” they say, wiping both hands on their apron. “Sometimes I get carried away in the workshop.”

“It’s totally fine.” You hesitate a moment before barreling on. “But I’m sorry – did I hear right? You were working with fire?”

Nodding, Micah drops their hands. They’re taller than both you and Taryn, with lithe muscles, short hair and a Power Puff t-shirt. They aren’t exactly what you pictured for a fire Elemental.

“Yeah,” they confirm. “I’m a fire Elemental. I use it a lot in my art – charcoal, and whatnot. Recently I’ve been getting into metal sculpture work.”

“Oh,” you say on an exhale. “That’s amazing. I’m a water Elemental, which explains all the watercolors.”

Micah’s eyes light up but before they can respond, Taryn lays a hand on their arm.

“Wash your hands first,” she insists and Micah laughs. Shaking their head, they leave, and Taryn turns to face you. “I didn’t know you were also an Elemental, Y/N! That’s so great. Maybe you and Micah can brainstorm a class someday. You know, an outlet for Elemental artists. How to use your magic creatively, or something.”

You stare, recognizing the genius in this and wondering why such a thing never occurred to you before. Magic has been second nature in art for so long – you never imagined it might be the same for others. Teaching Elementals to create with something they might fear fills you with a sense of hope.

You stay for a long time, chatting with both until Micah leaves to lead the afternoon class. Taryn eventually says goodbye as well, promising to be in touch to arrange your schedule. By the time you step outside, it’s close to dinner and you’re feeling better than you have in months. Good enough that, when your phone rings, you almost answer on reflex. Pulling from your pocket, you glance at the name and freeze.

Mom.

Feet rooted to the ground, you stare at her name and your happiness dims. Seokjin’s words come back, warning about a backslide. Less than twenty-four hours have passed since embracing your magic. You hoped for longer before confronting your mom.

Standing on the sidewalk, you deliberate long enough for the call to end. Slowly, you resume walking down the road. Without fully realizing why, you find yourself heading towards the harbor.

When your phone rings a second time, it somehow sounds urgent.

Mom.

Exhaling, you stop and press answer. “Hi, mom.”

“Y/N,” she breathes, her relief audible, and you’re suddenly saddled by guilt in addition to fear. “Thank goodness. I was about to call your roommate if you didn’t answer. Can’t be too careful these days, can you?”

You briefly close your eyes. “His name is Seokjin, mom. We talked about this.”

“Right, yes – of course. Seokjin. So, Y/N…” Her pause is weighted. “How are things?”

Resuming your course, the harbor comes into view. “They’ve been better, to be honest. I didn’t tell you everything earlier this week, mom. More happened than just losing my job.”

“Oh? What else happened? Are you okay, Y/N?”

“I – well, no,” you admit, correcting yourself. “I’m not okay. Jungkook and I broke up.”

Her silence is deafening, long enough that the sun slips behind a cloud, the water before you turning a blue-grey color.

“Oh, honey.” At last, she exhales. “I’m so sorry.”

Another pause follows, and your teeth grit while you wait for the ‘but.’ With your mom, there’s always a ‘but.’

“But… maybe it’s for the best?” she tentatively offers. “You remember your last break-up, don’t you? With that Elliot fellow. It was horrible and your magic, well – that’s not happening again, is it?”

Her voice is full of alarm, tightening your grip on your phone. The tingling in your chest spreads outward, waves in the harbor rising in tandem. One of them sloshes, haphazardly, over the pier.

“What are you asking me, mom?” you ask.

“Well, you remember how you… well, how your magic… after you broke up with Elliot, things didn’t go well. Did they, Y/N?”

“No, they didn’t, because I wasn’t well, mom.”

“Yes, of course, sweetheart. It’s the same thing.”

“It’s not, though,” you say, each word pouring from a place long ignored. Squeezing your eyes shut, you finally release. “Do you know how much it hurt growing up when something bad happened and rather than be sad for me, you only cared about magic? If I’d lost control. If someone else was hurt. I was hurt, mom, and you never seemed to notice.”

She sucks in a sharp breath. “Of course, I noticed. Of course, I care that you’re hurt, Y/N. I just didn’t want things to get worse. That’s all.”

“Worse,” you say with a bitter laugh. “Mom. I broke up with my boyfriend and your response was that it was probably for the best. Do you want me to be alone?” you add, voicing aloud your worst fear. “It would be safer if I were, right?”

“Don’t twist my words, Y/N. Obviously, I want you to find someone and be happy. You have to admit though, you don’t have the best track record when it comes to romance!”

“So, that’s a yes.”

“What do you want me to say, Y/N?” she asks, sounding annoyed. “If you asked me whether I’d like you safe and alone or with someone and hurt – obviously, I’d rather you were safe. If that makes me a bad mom, then so be it!”

Turning away, you shake your head. “I don’t think that makes you a bad mom. I’m just trying to understand what you’re thinking.”

“I’m thinking my daughter called to attack me out of nowhere! Everything I did when you were a child was to keep you safe. Those floods,” she adds, putting two and two together. “The ones in the city this week – they were you, weren’t they?”

“Yes, mom,” you snap, eyes flying open. “The floods were me. I broke up with Jungkook because I couldn’t control my magic and ironically enough, it only made me spiral further. I was so scared of hurting him, I ended things and hurt us both. You didn’t even ask why we ended, mom.”

“Where are you now, Y/N?” she demands.

Glancing around, wind whips your hair and storm clouds gather. You realize it was probably a bad idea to have this conversation so close to a large body of water.

“Near the harbor. I was leaving a job interview when you called. Oh,” you add, an aside. “I got a new job as an art teacher.”

“The harbor?” Your mom bypasses everything else. “That’s dangerous, Y/N – are there people around? You shouldn’t be talking about your magic in front of them. They could assume the wrong thing.”

“What, mom? That I’m an Elemental? Because I am one.”

“Y/N!”

“It’s the truth!” you blurt, a wave crashing over the pier. “I am an Elemental and I do have magic. You can’t keep pretending otherwise!”

“I know that, Y/N, but your magic doesn’t have to define you!”

“It kind of does.” Voice breaking, you take in the roiling sea. “It does define me. I’m an Elemental. I have magic, and I can’t change that fact. Pretending to be someone I’m not hasn’t worked.”

“I don’t want you to be someone you’re not, Y/N. I just want you to be safe.”

“You can’t protect me from everything.”

“No, I can’t.” Your mom’s next words are rushed. “Do you know how much that kills me? I couldn’t save your dad, and now, I can’t save you. No matter what I do, the world doesn’t care about who you are, only what you can do. I hid so much from you back then,” she adds. “Maybe that was wrong of me. Maybe you should have known about the casual threats from our neighbors. Teachers who wondered if you’d be better off home-schooled. People I thought were our friends ignoring you in public. You don’t remember what it was like, Y/N.”

The first raindrops on your face. “I’m sorry you went through that, mom. Really, I am.”

“I don’t want you to think I don’t love you, honey.”

“That’s not what I think.”

Even as you say this though, a knife twists in your chest. It’s a moment you could move past and reconcile. You could hang up, knowing you had a difficult conversation with your mom, and it ended happily.

Or you could tell her the rest. Or you could lay it all on the line and for once, not care that it might cause complicated feelings.

Overheard, the clouds darken. In the harbor, boats creak against lines holding them to the pier. You should try and control your magic but stubbornly, you don’t want to. You’ve spent so long repressing and pretending; once the dam breaks, it can’t be repaired as easily.

“I don’t think that,” you slowly admit. “But mom… I also don’t think you know who I am. My magic is a part of me. Being an Elemental is part of me. For so long, I’ve been afraid of part of myself and a lot of that came from you. Other people made it worse, but it started with you.”

Shocked silence follows. While you wait for a response, you cringe from the phone. Nausea swirls in your stomach, threatening to swallow you like ocean waves.

“I… that’s not fair,” your mom whispers at last. “That’s not fair at all, Y/N.”

Jaw tight, you look at the shore. “I didn’t say it was fair, I said that’s how I feel. What would dad say if he was here? He loved his magic. He always said to use magic for good, but I don’t know how to use it at all without hurting people! I don’t even know myself. That’s not what he would have wanted.”

“Who can know what he’d want?” your mom demands. “Your father is dead, Y/N. He’s gone, he can’t come back, and I raised you the best I could without him. Your entire life, I’ve tried to keep you safe, and I can’t believe you blame me for that.”

Reeling backwards, you stare at the waves. “Kept me safe at what cost, though? I have no idea how to use my magic, mom. I live in constant fear of hurting someone. Each day, I walk a razor’s edge and fall into bed, exhausted. How is that keeping me safe?”

Waves smash against the pier, higher than you’d like. Taking a step backwards, you avoid the water and turn inward. Everything inside you is churning – your anger, your guilt, the sudden injustice of all your mom’s words. Although you try and calm yourself, it only serves to add fuel to the fire.

“Don’t do that, Y/N,” your mom says.

“Do what?” you snap. “Tell the truth?”

“Don’t pretend I’m the villain,” she counters. “Are you even in control right now?”

Your anger surges, along with the waves. “Of course, not!” you blurt. “No, mom, I’m not in control. Seokjin recommended classes, but I haven’t had the chance to take them. I –”

“You should not be going to class for magic. It’s too dangerous!”

Mid-sentence, you realize something you should have known from the start. Your mom isn’t ready to have this conversation. No matter how cathartic it would be for you, she’s not going to be ready to hear this right now.

“I have to go, mom,” you say, choking a little. “Call me when you’re ready to talk.”

“Y/N. Don’t you dare hang up on me!”

“Bye, mom,” you whisper, and press end.

The phone rests in your hand, your entire body taut as you resist the sudden urge to throw it in the ocean. In this half-movement, you spot the horizon and shudder to a halt. Thunder booms up above, the waves roiling erratically with each lifted heartbeat.

Seokjin warned you this couldn’t be solved in an instant. You’re so used to suppressing your magic, you have no idea how to turn it off once it starts. Your laundromat realization feels ages away, your magic a force bigger and more powerful than you are.

Water swiftly withdraws from the pier, and you sigh in relief, only to realize it’s gathering. Going utterly still, you stare in horror at the building wave. Your panic rises, fueling your power further as you raise trembling hands.

Struggling, you cast your thoughts outward in a wide net. Your father never mentioned this, though. He never explained how to divert a large wave, probably thinking there was plenty of time. You were only five when he died. Hopeless, you watch as the wave crests and wonder if this is how you end. Morbid, you wonder if you can die from drowning.

When the wave hits, wood crunches from the pier underneath you. Yelping, you’re drenched head-to-toe in water as it retreats to form a bigger wave.

Shaking, you lift both hands again. You try to remember what Seokjin told you – clear your mind, focus, envision the outcome you want –

Other words overlap with his; yours, your mom’s, the news.

This won’t work. You can’t do this. Someone will see. Magic is dangerous.

Swiftly, the wave approaches and your dread only grows. Fear overtakes, and–

“Y/N, MOVE!”

Footsteps pound the pier as you spin around. The next seconds seem to occur in slow-motion. Jungkook sprints past you, gaze determined and jaw set. Eyes wide, you stare as he skids to a stop, clenching his fists.

Jungkook faces the ocean, wind whipping his hair. Your wave looms, several feet high – until a jagged line of rock bursts from the sea. The two of them connect, water and earth meeting with an ear-splitting boom. Water sprays over the top of the rocks, but nothing more happens.

A beat passes, or two while you stare at the harbor in shock. Earth… just burst from the ocean, saving the city from your rogue wave.

Memories rise to the surface, one by one. The fact that Jungkook lives near a train stop that often shakes his building. When the barista in your coffee shop dropped the tea kettle, Jungkook looked nearly as stricken as you did – as though it was his fault. When Jungkook freed you from the laundromat, opening a door that shouldn’t have opened.

Each of the pieces falls into place, forming a truth that knocks the wind from your lungs.

“You…” Eyes wide, you stare. “You’re a…”

Emotion churns in Jungkook’s gaze, turning to face you. “Yeah,” he admits. “I’m an earth Elemental. I’ve… been trying to figure out how to tell you.”

Head spinning, you shake your head and the world tilts beneath you. At first, it’s a metaphor, swiftly made real by the events of today. Briefly, your vision blurs as your knees start to buckle.

“Whoa,” Jungkook blurts, rushing forward. His arms wrap around you, keeping you upright. “Are you alright, Y/N?”

“I…” Dazed, you glance at the ocean. “That was you, just now? With the rock?”

“Yeah.” Jungkook winces. “Sorry about the dramatics. I was trying to act fast, and it’s all I could think of. Didn’t want to cause an earthquake and create a second wave.”

He sounds slightly nervous, and you continue to stare. Genuinely, you don’t mean to be rude but you’re having trouble stringing two words together. Jungkook is an Elemental. Jungkook is an earth Elemental.

Jungkook’s smile fades, spurring you to speech.

“That’s not what I was thinking,” you blurt.

His brow furrows. “Oh. What are you thinking, then?”

“I…” You shake your head. “I was thinking that was really… hot. And you know, a general sense of relief that my out-of-control magic didn’t wreck the entire city. Oh, right,” you add, somewhat glum. “Seems like you already know, but I’m a water Elemental.”

“I know,” Jungkook murmurs.

He hasn’t released you yet, continuing to hold you. The waves in the harbor have returned to normal, although a slight mist continues to fall from the sky.

“Well, I wasn’t sure,” Jungkook corrects. “I started suspecting at the laundromat. Then I got your text and was in the area, so I decided to stop by. Glad I did,” he adds, his lips twitching. “I followed the storm to the harbor.”

“I confronted my mom,” you mutter. “She doesn’t have magic.”

Jungkook’s expression sobers. Although you haven’t told him everything, he knows the two of you have a tense relationship. Jungkook also knows your dad died when you were young. Possibly, he’s put two and two together by now.

“I see.” Jungkook pauses. “How are you feeling?”

Four small words and again, something inside you crumbles. You weren’t aware you had more to give. Collapsing into him, you rest your head on his chest. Holding onto you tightly, Jungkook soothes his hand up and down your back.

“That’s not an answer,” he murmurs, but the words are gentle. “Talk to me, Y/N. Do you want to go somewhere?”

Probably a good idea but right now the only place you want to be is with him. Shaking your head, you tighten your grip on his t-shirt.

“I probably should,” you admit. “Jungkook… you and I…”

His body stiffens. “Yes?”

Slowly, you lift your head. His gaze is dark, wary and it pierces deep in your chest.

“I feel awful,” you say. “It’s… been a long time since I told someone what I was. I was scared of hurting others. Scared of hurting you. That’s why I ended this. It had nothing to do with you, Jungkook,” you insist, the words pouring out. “I swear. I was so scared of hurting you with my magic – and I hurt you anyway. I am so sorry.”

Jungkook’s expression is inscrutable. “It had a little to do with me,” he says slowly.

“No.” You pause. “Well, maybe. I wouldn’t have been this scared with someone else. The way I feel about you, Jungkook? I’ve never felt like this before. It’s all new to me, and I couldn’t control my magic around you.”

His gaze remains steady. “How do I make you feel?”

“You make me feel… everything,” you whisper. “Hopeful and happy and scared and alive and I – I can’t control myself around you. When we touch, I…”

You bite your lip, embarrassed and one of his brows sketches upward.

“When we touch, you what?” Jungkook pushes.

You can’t seem to meet his gaze. “I… forget myself. I burst the pipes in the laundromat,” you admit. “I caused a storm the night we fought. When I ended things between us, it rained for three days. I can feel the water in every pipe in your apartment, every faucet and I was so scared of hurting you.”

Drawing you closer, Jungkook gathers you tightly. “Hey,” he murmurs. “It’s okay – you didn’t hurt me. I’m here. Tougher than you give me credit for,” he adds with a chuckle.

Leaning into him, you allow your eyes to shut. His heartbeat mirrors yours, a fact you find soothing. Reality sinks in a second later, realizing the truth of this week.

Jungkook doesn’t just understand what youare – he is one, himself.

Eyes flying open, you pull back. “Why didn’t you tell me you were an Elemental?” you demand.

Jungkook’s eyes widen. “Why didn’t you tell me? I tried to explain a few times,” he adds, his brow furrowing. “I brought up Elementals, but you would always change the subject. I was scared to tell you. I thought… maybe you’d leave. I didn’t want you to.”

A small fissure mends in your heart. “My entire life, I was told magic was something to fear. Something to hide. I was taught to hide and only recently, have I started thinking otherwise. I… want you to know me, Jungkook.”

“I want to know you, too.”

“I want to learn how to use my magic,” you add, determined. “Seokjin is going to help.”

The divot between his brows deepens. “I want to help.”

It’s such a Jungkook response, you can’t help but grin. “You can,” you agree, squeezing his waist. “I’ll need all the help I can get.”

His expression softens. While you watch though, his thoughts seem to deepen, gaze flicking over the panes of your face.

“What does this mean?” Jungkook asks at last.

His grip on you doesn’t loosen, and you hear his unspoken question. Heart sinking, you realize you may have overstepped. Jungkook is touching you. He came here to help. Both of you know what the other is and you’ve apologized – but you haven’t asked for him back, and he hasn’t accepted.

Before, you might have allowed these negative thoughts to drown out the rest. To wonder if maybe Jungkook is only helping from guilt. Now, you shove those thoughts aside and force yourself to be strong. To ask for what you want, even if the answer is no.

“I was wrong, Jungkook,” you say quietly. “I ended this because I didn’t want you to get hurt, but you did anyway. I hurt myself in the process. I… I thought you couldn’t possibly love this part of me, so I ran away. That wasn’t fair,” you add, gaining momentum. “You deserve to know who I am and decide what you want for yourself. Jungkook, I love you. I want you. I am so sorry I hurt you, and I just want to know if you could ever –”

“Yes.”

You falter, blinking upward. “There was more to the speech.”

His lips twitch. “It was a very good speech. You can give the rest later. Right now, I want you to know my answer is yes. Yes, I love you. Yes, I want you. Yes, I forgive you.”

“But Jungkook” – it’s difficult to concentrate with his arms wrapped around you, nose lightly brushing the shell of your ear – “I broke up with you. Don’t you want me to –”

With a weary sigh, he pulls back. “What do you want me to say?” he asks, amused.

“I don’t know.” You frantically search. “Shouldn’t I promise not to run away again? To be more honest with you, more communicative?”

Jungkook waits, as though expecting more and when nothing comes of it, he shrugs. “I thought all that was a given. Don’t uh, run away, okay? Are we good?”

“Jungkook,” you laugh, though this becomes a groan when his lips brush your neck. Gripping the back of his hair, you pull his head upward.

Jungkook’s eyes gleam, his skin flushed. “You should work on your punishment, if that’s what you were trying to do,” he murmurs.

Ignoring the shiver these words bring, you shake your head. “Jungkook… um, the last time we were close, I…”

He tilts his head. “Yes?”

His voice is nothing but patience, and you draw a breath. “I’m scared,” you admit. “I know I’ve said it a lot, but I can’t seem to control my magic around you. Especially when we touch. That’s when things get…” Aimless, you shrug. “You know.”

Lips pressed tightly together, Jungkook lifts a brow. “What about this?” he teases, cupping your waist with one palm. “Is that alright?”

Your eyes roll. “Yes, Jungkook.”

“And this?”

Thumb slipping beneath your shirt, he traces the damp skin above your panties. Your entire lower body clenches, your limbs going molten.

“That’s… harder,” you admit.

He grins. “I know.”

“Oh, shut up,” you groan, half-heartedly attempting to pull away.

Jungkook laughs, catching you easily and laying your head on his shoulder. You stay there for a while, his hand cupping the back of your neck as his thumb strokes up and down. Eventually, the clouds part enough for the sun to peek through.

Throat clearing, Jungkook pulls back to see you. “To be clear – that doesn’t matter to me. We can go slow. We don’t have to have sex if you don’t want to. I’ll help in any way that I can, Y/N. I just want you.”

“I do want to try, though,” you insist. “I do. It’s just…” You hesitate. “Your apartment is so breakable.”

Jungkook stares at you for a moment. “I shouldn’t find that as hot as I do.”

“Jungkook!”

He laughs, taking your hand in his. “Sorry, sorry.” Turning on his heel, he heads from the pier. “I do have any idea, though. One that could help.”

Hand in his, you follow him inland. Jungkook leads you down a steep path towards the boathouse, ducking the gate towards the parking lot. It’s late enough that his car is alone, headlights blinking as he unlocks the doors.

You trail behind, happy to do so because honestly, the sight of Jungkook in a soaked t-shirt is akin to a Regency hero. You savor the sight, grinning like crazy. Always, you used to question the good things that happened because it seemed they could fade any second. Now, you find yourself determined to live and enjoy.

The ease with which Jungkook forgives makes his trust precious. Someone like Jungkook deserves someone honest, the type of person you aspire to be. Climbing into the passenger seat, you continue to admire Jungkook as he walks to the opposite side.

He slides into the driver’s seat, adjusting the seat and buckling his belt. Fixing the rearview mirror, he glances at you.

“What?” he asks, doing a double take.

“Nothing.” Smiling to yourself, you shake your head. “Where are we going?”

Mischief enters his gaze. “Don’t you trust me?”

“Of course, I do.”

“Cool. We’re going somewhere to solve our problem.”

Shaking your head, you settle back as he pulls from the parking lot. Glancing around the car, a sudden thought occurs to you, and your smile widens.

Noticing this, Jungkook hums. “What are you smiling about, now?”

“I thought you said you were in the area?”

“Yep.”

“Hm.” Smiling broadly, you twist to face him. “Seems odd you would bring your car if you were just ‘in the area,’” you say, using air quotes around the last words.

Jungkook flushes beet-read. Your ex-slash-current boyfriend is many things, but a good liar isn’t one of them.

“I – fine,” he admits on a groan. “I was hoping to see you and didn’t want you to leave before I got to the art shop. My car was fastest.”

Your grin widens. “Cute.”

“We’ll see who’s calling who cute later,” Jungkook mutters.

His words send a thrill down your spine. “Speaking of later…”

Reaching a stoplight, his head turns. “Yes?”

You wait a long beat. “Where are we going?”

Surprised, Jungkook laughs and faces forward when the light turns. “Does the art of the surprise mean nothing to you?” he teases.

“No! Surprises are mean. They’re for the surpriser more than the surprised.”

“Exactly.” Nodding, he merges onto the main highway. “Consider this your punishment for breaking up with me.”

“Hey! You said we were even.”

Jungkook smirks. “That’s not what I said. I said I forgive you. I never said we were even.”

“Oh? And just what might ‘getting even’ entail?”

His grip on the wheel tightens, voice pitching lower. “I have a few ideas.”

Lips parted, an entire city block passes before you assemble your thoughts in a coherent manner. “Well,” you exhale. “I hope these ideas involve us leaving the city. Preferably getting away from the ocean, as well.”

“Oh, they do. My family owns a cabin an hour north. We stayed there a lot when I was younger, especially once my magic started. There aren’t many people around – which is good, in case I slip and cause a seismic event.”

You stare at him over the console. “A… seismic event?”

Jungkook drops a wink. “What? You thought only water Elementals have cool powers?”

“Well, no, but–”

“I’ll show you,” he laughs. After a few seconds, Jungkook clears his throat. “So… what does your magic look like?”

“Sorry?”

“You know.” He glances your way and, upon seeing your confusion, backtracks. “Sorry. I forgot that not everyone… well. What I meant was, when you use your magic, what does it feel like? How does it… manifest?”

“Hm.” You consider. “It’s like… a small kernel of heat in my chest. Whenever I feel strongly, the kernel brightens – with joy, anger, sadness. The brighter it gets, the more aware I am of the water around me. You know, in the pipes, in the ground. Even you,” you add, a bit stilted. “In your blood.”

“Whoa.” Jungkook’s eyes widen. “That’s cool.”

“Cool?”

“Hot,” he amends, and now, you’re the one burning. “That’s…” He stops, then chuckles. “Damn, Y/N.”

Pushing aside that tantalizing thought, you sit back. You’ve never had the urge to show someone your magic but now, find yourself wanting to try. And learn more. Ultimately, this urge wins out.

“What does it feel like for you?” you ask, curious.

Jungkook frowns. “Magic is… a hum in the back of my mind, I guess. A hum, or a vibration. My emotions also affect it,” he adds, glancing your way. “Eventually, the hum spreads and I get what you mean about heightened awareness. For me, it feels like gravity shifts. I become more grounded. When I want the earth to do something, it just… listens.”

“Oh,” you say.

He glances at you, unsure. “What?”

“Nothing. That’s… unbelievably hot.”

A pleased smile spreads over his face. Sitting back, Jungkook’s hands tighten on the wheel and suddenly, the cabin seems a long way away.

“How long is the drive?” you pose.

“About forty-five minutes.”

“Huh.” You fidget a little.

“Why?”

Feeling his gaze on the side of your face, you shrug. “I have ideas for tonight, too.”

There’s a moment of silence before the car accelerates. Surprised, you laugh and grip the door handle. “Jungkook!” you scold, glancing sideways.

He blinks, the picture of innocence. “What? It seemed like you wanted me to go faster.”

“Sure, but preferably all in one piece.”

“You will. Trust me.”

And that’s the thing – you do. Trust him, that is.

Smiling slightly, you relax in your seat and lower the window. Skyscrapers have long since passed, turning to buildings, which became towns and fields. Eventually, the motion of the car lulls you to sleep. It’s been a long week of restless nights.

You wake when the car hits a bump, and you jerk suddenly upright. The sun casts long shadows over the dirt road you drive on.

“Sorry.” Jungkook winces. “This part can be rough. I didn’t mean to wake you.”

Yawning, you stretch both arms overhead. “No, you’re fine. Are we close?”

Nodding, he keeps one hand on the wheel. Jungkook’s elbow is propped on his open window, a breeze ruffling hair from his face. Music plays, softly in the background.

“Five minutes.”

You nod and look around. Anticipation sketches over your skin, and you suppress a shiver. Knee bouncing along to the song on the radio, you reach a heightened state of awareness about tonight. Jungkook has never felt quite so tangible, or maybe you’ve never been so perceptive.

Turning down the next road, the car’s headlights bounce over trees and a mailbox before landing on a small, white house. Jungkook parks in the driveway as the sun slips towards the horizon.

Not opening the door, Jungkook drums his fingers against the wheel. You’re about to ask what’s wrong when he turns to face you.

“Now that we’re here, it feels kind of presumptuous,” he admits in a rush.

Having imagined the worst, you can’t stop your smile. Unbuckling your seatbelt, you push open the door. “Let’s go,” you declare, feet hitting the ground. “I’ve been waiting for months, Jungkook!”

His chuckle follows, the car turning off as you shut the door. Footsteps follow you up the front path, Jungkook catching you around the waist near the rhododendrons.

“And whose fault is that?” he growls, nipping the curve of your ear.

“Excuse me,” you say, breathless, “that I didn’t want to drown your bedroom.”

“Baby.” His ensuing laughter is soft. “The only way I want you in my bedroom is soaking wet.”

With that, he reaches beyond you and unlocks the front door. Ignoring your speechlessness, Jungkook steps around you and enters the house.

“You coming?” he calls, flipping on lights.

You stare after for a moment before you come to your senses. Muttering darkly, you slip off your shoes and shut the front door behind you. The hallway ends in a kitchen, cheerfully lit while Jungkook rummages through a cabinet.

“Tell me,” he says, standing to shut the door. “Are you hungry?”

“Uh…” Your face heats. “Well, I kind of thought…”

“Can’t have sex on an empty stomach.” Dropping a wink, Jungkook turns around to open another cupboard.

With a half-hearted eye roll, you sit on a stool and glance around. The kitchen cabinets are dark green with bronze handles. You would ask Jungkook if he helped, but his interior design skills leave something to be desired. Just because a person is creative one way doesn’t mean it automatically translates.

Vividly, you recall entering his apartment and being thoroughly confused by the multiple mattresses. Patiently, Jungkook explained they were for his dog, Bam – as though that made any difference.

Remembering this, you sit upright. “Hang on – where’s Bam?”

“Left him with Jimin,” Jungkook says, setting down a cutting board. “I sent him a voice note while you were sleeping.”

“Oh,” you say, sinking back on the stool. “That’s good.”

Nodding, Jungkook resumes preparing the meal. Propping your chin on one hand, you take in the small but well-loved home around you. Traces of Jungkook are everywhere in a road map of his life. Photos of Jungkook as a child are tacked to the refrigerator, his eyes a similar size but in a much smaller head. There’s one of him with his dad on the playground, another at graduation with his mom.

Your gaze lingers on one that looks like the yard of this house. A giant boulder fills the frame, while Jungkook sits, cross-legged, at the top. He can’t be older than ten, scowling furiously while his mom yells something upward. In the foreground, his dad takes the picture in selfie mode, giving a giant thumbs-up with a maniacal grin.

“That’s the first time I used my powers,” Jungkook says, catching you looking.

Half-guilty, you start but he doesn’t seem to mind.

Instead, he smiles. “I was something of a late bloomer. My parents were concerned, although they wouldn’t say it. One day, I was out playing, and my mom called me in for dinner.  I didn’t want to leave. Next thing I knew, I’d made a small cliff in the yard. My mom was furious,” he recalls with a laugh. “My dad was ecstatic. Keep going on and on about how I’d been ‘saving up.’ Anyways, they enrolled me in camp the next summer.”

“Camp?”

“To help with my magic,” says Jungkook, nodding at another photo. This one has Jungkook with his arms around three kids near his age. “Both my parents are Elementals – my mom, fire and my dad, earth. One of their friends runs a summer camp for Elementals. I went as soon as I could.”

“Oh,” you breathe, not having realized such things existed. Maybe you would’ve gone if your dad had lived longer. Or maybe you wouldn’t have – he was an only child without much family, which explained why you felt isolated after his death.

Sensing the change in emotion, Jungkook abandons his cooking. “My dad was adopted,” he admits, coming around the counter. “He didn’t even know he was an Elemental until he turned twelve. When his adoptive parents realized, they told him to hide it and my dad did for a long time. It wasn’t until meeting my mom that he started relearning.”

You aren’t sure how to respond, your throat suddenly tight.

Luckily, Jungkook doesn’t expect an answer. “Not that your situations are the same,” he hastens. “I don’t want to make comparisons, but I wanted to say it because… well, I wanted to let you know you’re not alone. You can learn now. I’ll help however I can.”

Warmth expands in your chest, replacing the sadness. “I don’t know what I did to deserve that,” you whisper.

Jungkook’s frown deepens. “I don’t think it’s about deserving help – although of course, you do. Things don’t just happen because someone deserves them. You didn’t deserve for your dad to die when he did. We both don’t deserve to live in a world that forces us to hide. None of that’s deserved, so why should you question when good things are good?”

“That’s exactly it, though,” you admit. “So many bad things have happened that were connected to my magic. Like earlier today – I finally confronted my mom, and I nearly drowned the city.”

He shakes his head, stubborn. “That’ll take time. Time and practice, but you will get there. I don’t have any doubts about that, Y/N. You don’t have to be scared of magic – it’s not going anywhere, and neither am I.”

You stare at each other and, oddly, you feel some of his strength. It would be impossible for so many people to have faith in you for no reason. If anything, it’s more foolish to continually assume you’ll fail.

After another long moment, Jungkook tears his gaze away. “Food,” he declares with a firm shake of his head. “Food first, then… other stuff.”

Laughing softly, you lean back. Jungkook chats while he cooks, explaining how his dad thoroughly proofed the house against several types of Elemental. His mom is a fire Elemental and his dad is earth, but they have several members of the extended family who are water.

“Essentially” – Jungkook chops vegetables – “this place could survive a 7-magnitude earthquake, followed by a fire and a flash flood. There are sprinklers in every room with drains in all corners. Furniture is water resistant and non-synthetic. Basically, go wild. No one will care.”

Your brows arch. “You might care if I burst another pipe in the ceiling. In my experience, that tends to ruin the mood.”

Lowly, he laughs and turns on the burner. “Fair enough,” Jungkook says. “If you don’t feel comfortable inside, we can start outside. I don’t mind a little rain if you don’t.”

Unthinkingly, your gaze lowers to where his t-shirt continues to stick to his skin. Obscene how good Jungkook looks in damp clothing.

As though sensing your thoughts, he smirks and flips the food in the pan.

“Okay,” you blurt. “Let’s try that.”

Eventually, you need to take a first step and now seems as good a time as any. Somewhere, somehow, you need to begin. Deep down, you know your fear is holding you back. You’re petrified of losing control, and every time you use your magic, the fear wins, creating new fear in an endless cycle.

By the time Jungkook slides a bowl of noodles towards you, your stomach is growling. Jungkook was right about needing to eat. The last traces of the day disappear while you slurp your noodles, catching each other up on your lost week. As it turns out, Jungkook was equally moody, causing minor trembles whenever he left his apartment.

You describe to him your week, voice trembling when you reach the phone call with your mom. Reaching across the counter, Jungkook grasps your hand tightly.

“It’s okay,” he says. “We don’t have to talk about that right now, if you don’t want.”

Thankful, you nod, and he retreats with your bowls. Bringing these to the sink, he loads the dishwasher and shuts the door with his hip.

“I do want to talk eventually,” you say, hesitant. “Just… not now. It’s too raw.”

“I get it.” He walks around the counter, stopping before you. “It’s hard to think about our parents as real people who also fuck up. Sometimes they do so in ways we can’t forgive.”

Nodding, you down at your hands. “Yeah.” Your brows furrow. “Your parents get it, though. They love you.”

“Sure.” Jungkook speaks carefully. “But that doesn’t mean we don’t hurt each other. Relationships are complicated. It’d be conceited for me to tell you what to do with your mom. Whatever you decide though, I’m here.”

His words spark a fire deep inside you, the opposite of fear and you reach up to pull his mouth down to yours. Surprised, Jungkook’s lips brush once, twice before the kiss becomes hungrier. When his head finally lifts, his gaze remains fixed on your mouth.

“Right,” he rasps.

“Outside?”

Jungkook nods so quickly, you nearly laugh. “Uh-huh, yeah – outside. Hang on,” he says, turning around to head for a closet.

About a minute later, Jungkook emerges with several blankets and a backpack he refuses to open. Handing over a blanket, he leads you by the hand towards the back door.

“Let’s go,” he commands.

Hiding a smile, you follow him into the night. A tiny garden is growing beyond the house, and you marvel at its permanency. You and your mom moved so often that you eventually stopped bothering to put down roots. Jungkook has been the first thing in a long time you’ve wanted to keep.

Lifting the latch on the gate, Jungkook leads you down a small path through the woods. By now, your eyes are accustomed to the semi-darkness. If one can even call it darkness, with the nearly full moon overhead. Your breath catches when the path ends in a meadow bordered on all sides by pine trees.

Retrieving your blanket, Jungkook spreads them both on the ground. Taking a seat, he motions for you to join and waits until you do. Leaning into his side, you stare at the sky.

“See that?” Jungkook points at the woods. “Dad pulled up that boulder to block deer from getting into the garden. Didn’t work. They just go around.”

Your lips twitch in a smile. “Bet your mom was mad.”

“Oh, no. She finds the ongoing battle hilarious. Secretly roots for the deer, I think.”

Even as you laugh, you feel a sharp pang of envy. Your mom has always been adamant your power isn’t something to be shared, something to be laughed at. It must have been wonderful to grow up in a household that used magic without fear.

The moment you think this, you realize you might have that now. Seokjin has always been supportive of your magic. Micah and Taryn suggested you teach a class for Elementals. Jungkook knows what you are, and he hasn’t run yet.

When you face him, Jungkook is already looking. His eyes roam your face, as though committing you to memory.

“Where did you go just now?” he murmurs, his hand inching closer on the blanket. “What were you thinking?”

Slyly, you tilt your head. “Oh, nothing. Just wondering how many ‘shakes the bed’ jokes you’ll let me get away with.”

Jungkook’s lips twitch. “Only one.”

“What about a good ‘you rock my world’ pun?”

“Ugh, zero,” he groans.

“What about –”

Growling, Jungkook falls backwards onto the blankets. “That’s it,” he demands, taking you with him. “That’s the last straw!”

“Stop it!” you gasp, giggling helplessly as he tickles your sides.

Smile broadening, Jungkook flops onto the blanket and goes still. Half-sprawled over his chest, you loop one arm over his waist and stare at the sky.

“You get two jokes,” Jungkook says. “And if they’re not good jokes, I’m allowed to dole out punishment as I see fit.”

“Is that a threat?”

“A promise,” he says, his smile wicked.

At the look in his eyes, the air between you thickens. Jungkook’s finger hooks under the hem of your blouse, tracing the skin just above your skirt.

Heat flows through your limbs. “Tell me,” you whisper, staring down. “How many other girls have you brought here?”

His low chuckle shakes you. “None.”

“None?” you blurt out. “Teenage Jungkook didn’t pull that rock trick with any youthful paramours?”

“No.” Gently, he lowers you onto your side. “Believe it or not, I was a nerdy teenager. Super into rocks. Loved superheroes. The only ground-shaking happening back then” – sadly, he shakes his head – “was when I lost at Overwatch.”

Your lips twitch in response. “Seriously, though.” Lightly, you drag a finger across his collarbone. “What, um, happens when you…”

Your gaze flicks upward, and you find him intent, focused on you.

“When I do what?” Jungkook murmurs.

“When you… come.”

His gaze has turned molten. “Usually, I can control myself.” Jungkook pauses, then grips you by the waist to pull you on top. A startled noise leaves you, and you steady yourself on his chest. “With you, though… let’s just say, I’m glad we started outside.”

Your mouth goes dry as your body settles to his. Minutely, you shift your hips over his and feel Jungkook’s hands tighten.

“Jungkook,” you whisper.

Reaching upward, he gently cups your jaw and brings your face down to his. The brush of his lips is soft at first, a call and response. When you exhale, his grip on you tightens, his tongue slipping past. Pulling you closer, Jungkook’s hand slides to the back of your neck.

His other hand fists in your blouse, abruptly sitting up to take you with him.

“Oh,” you gasp, arms sliding around him.

“Hey,” Jungkook murmurs, your noses barely touching.

His body is warm and solid beneath you, thighs spilled over his lap to land on either side. Curling one hand into your shirt, Jungkook’s chest rises and falls with yours.

“Can I take this off?” he asks, and you nod.

Slipping a hand higher, Jungkook lifts your shirt until it comes away. Tossed on the blanket, his hand skims your side before resuming the kiss. His mouth is hungry, savoring the feel of your bare skin with his palm. His touch moves higher, drifting beneath your breast as you shiver.

Rocking forward, you realize how hard he is. Cupping your breast with one hand, Jungkook teases your nipple, and you let out a moan. Swallowing the sound, he crushes your mouth to his. Your hands move to Jungkook’s hair, hips moving more urgently.

“Stop that,” he growls, pulling back. “You’ll ruin me before I have a chance to begin.”

“Seems fair, then,” you say with a smile.

Jungkook smirks, leaning back to observe your tits spilling over the bra. Running his finger along the line, he slips a finger past and tugs your bra down. Sharply, you inhale at the night air on your breast. Jungkook’s mouth is there a second later, nipping, then licking the sensitive bud.

Shifting on top, you arch to get him closer. Jungkook tugs down the other cup, pinching your breast with his fingers. Whimpering, you grasp his hair tightly and roll your hips.

Jungkook grunts in approval, his legs coming up to trap you against him. Switching to your other breast, he teases until you’re frantic, grinding against his fully clothed lap.

Now, you expect him to undress but Jungkook keeps his attention on you. Sliding his hand up your thigh, he slips under your skirt to cup your ass with one hand. Controlling your movement, he kneads your ass with his palm as you rock against him.

“Fuck – Jungkook,” you groan, your head tipped back.

Heated, he trails kisses down the line of your throat. “You’re thinking too much. Want to see you lose control. Let me take care of it.”

Too stunned to be coherent, you tug on his t-shirt. “This. Off,” you demand.

Pulling back, Jungkook grasps the material with one hand to remove. When his chest is revealed, you make a noise in response. Greedy, you drag your palms down his firm chest. His tattoos entwine, a tapestry of ink across his tanned muscle.

Bending, you press a kiss to a lily and feel Jungkook shudder. Continuing your path, you flick your tongue against his brown nipple and are rewarded with a groan.

“Enough,” Jungkook demands, slapping you on the ass. “Up.”

Surprised, you jerk upright. Heat suffuses your skin, radiating from the same spot his palm covers. Seeming to understand, Jungkook massages the same spot over the fabric of your panties.

“What?” you exhale, thoroughly distracted.

Jungkook smirks, both brows lifted. “Stand up. It’s important, I swear.”

Gathering your senses, you manage to stand. Jungkook remains seated before you while he blatantly ogles. Running his tongue over his lower lip, the bulge in his jeans looks painful, although he doesn’t seem to notice.

“That skirt has to go.” His gaze lifts. “Please.”

Without breaking eye contact, you shimmy the skirt down your legs. Stepping aside, you push this away and step back. Lifting himself to his knees, Jungkook grips the skin of your ankles. His hands slide upward with agonizing slowness, hovering when he reaches the top of your thighs.

“Jungkook,” you murmur. “What are you doing?”

He looks up, his gaze dark. Only then does he drag both thumbs back, over your aching center. Although your panties remain, your knees nearly buckle.

“Ah.” Jungkook pauses, then repeats the motion. “Right there?”

“Fu-ck,” you groan.

He does this again, casually touching over your cotton panties. Breasts aching to be touched, you lift your palms to cup their weight with both hands. Jungkook watches, his gaze intent while he watches you tug at your nipples.

Abruptly, Jungkook pulls your panties aside to lean in and lick. Now, your knees do buckle, feeling his tongue slip through your folds. Chuckling darkly, Jungkook sits back and places your panties where they were.

Laying down on the blanket, he motions to his chest. “Kneel,” he says. “You can keep touching your tits if you want, but I need to make you come.”

The kernel of heat in your chest is now a storm, clouds gathering overhead as you kneel on the blanket. The moment your knees hit the ground, his hands find your waist, moving you into position. Turning his head, Jungkook brushes a soft kiss to your thigh.

“Fuck,” he murmurs, tracing his index finger down your soaked center. “Already so wet, and I’ve barely touched you. I thought about this a lot,” he admits, gaze lifting to yours. “Thought about how tight and wet you’d feel around a few of my fingers. Bouncing up and down on my hand to make yourself come.”

“Oh,” you breathe, entranced.

Lips tilted, Jungkook pulls aside your damp panties. His thumb swipes over your clit – once, twice, until he feels you tremble. Grasping your ass, he pulls you lower and makes direct eye contact when he licks.

“Oh, god,” you choke out.

Other men have eaten you out, but it’s usually a pleasant, if unremarkable event. Being with Jungkook is different. No one has ever done this as though you’re the main course, as though they get off on your pleasure as much as their own.

Hand tight on your waist, Jungkook spreads your ass while sucking on your clit. Moaning, you bend to place both hands on the ground. Jungkook grunts his approval, sucking again before pulling back for light licks. You can feel your arousal sliding down your thighs, but he doesn’t seem to notice or mind.

“Yeah.” Jungkook pauses, tracing your entrance with his finger. “That’s so hot, Y/N. You’re so fucking hot.”

Face burning, you can feel the water gathering in clouds overhead. The earnestness in his voice ignites your pleasure to a full-on inferno.

“More,” you demand, wriggling your hips. “Please, Jungkook.”

Eyes gleaming, he reaches up to spread your thighs further. Resuming eating you out, he moves you against him with loud approval. Your panties continue getting in the way until, with a frustrated noise, you hear fabric shred.

Eyes wide, you glance down as Jungkook throws them aside. “I’ll get you new ones,” he says, his voice hoarse, before diving back in.

“Oh – god!” you gasp, gripping his hair when he sucks even harder.

The clouds overhead darken, and rain starts to fall. Jungkook pauses to glance upward, then grins. “That’s it, baby,” he coaxes. “Want you to soak me. Give me everything, okay? Don’t hold back.”

Pulling you down again, his tongue swirls around your clit. Jungkook’s hands remain on your ass, cupping you reverently while you grip his hair. Unapologetic, you start riding his face while he works you open.

Tracing your entrance with his finger, Jungkook gets himself wet before he slips inside. Your entire body clenches, shaking with the impending force of your orgasm. Everything pulses – the rain, your blood, his heart and his tongue.

When he adds a second finger, you cry out, head tipped back. Clenching hard on his hand, shudder after shudder rolls through you as the sky breaks. Sheets of rain drench your skin while Jungkook continues to lick, bringing you down from your orgasm.

Catching your breath, the rain slows to a drizzle. Dazed, you slump forward as Jungkook slides his two fingers out. Grasping you around the waist, he settles you beside him and smiles. Jungkook’s torso is damp with rain and arousal, and you think no one has ever looked so beautiful.

“Jungkook,” you moan. “Why’d you stop?”

Huffing a laugh, he pulls you close to his side. “Did you want to keep going?” he teases.

“Obviously.”

“Hm.” Hand slipping down your spine, he firmly cups your ass. “Maybe you’re tired. Are you sure once wasn’t enough?”

Lifting a brow, drape your thigh over his so he can feel how wet you are. Jungkook’s eyes narrow, fingers digging harder into the curve of your waist. From where you are, you can see the painful bulge in his pants.

“I’m not tired,” you promise. “Are you?”

Rather than answer, Jungkook pulls you down for a kiss. One of his hands finds your knee, sliding higher to skim your drenched pussy from behind. You swallow a moan when his jeans rub your clit. Fingers tracing your entrance, Jungkook spreads your pussy with delicious slowness.

Breathless, you move against him in a helpless bid for friction. Jungkook keeps you still, controlling the motion despite your desperation.

“I want your pants off,” you demand against his lips.

Jungkook chuckles and lays back on the blanket. “Alright.”

Grasping his belt, he unbuckles and pulls the strap through his jeans. Unbuttoning these, he shoves denim past his thighs to cast it aside. When he’s in just boxer-briefs, Jungkook pulls you closer to lay on his chest.

“God,” he breathes, marveling at your skin. “I’ve wanted this for so long.”

Rain that you’ve called slicks both you and him. Lowering your head, you breathe Jungkook in and rock your hips forward. Jungkook’s fingers trace your center, easing your thighs wider to slip a finger inside.

“Oh,” you moan, slightly breathless.

Beneath you, his cock feels rock-hard. Pushing against him, you feel Jungkook’s finger moving and know that this must be torture. Continuing to tease, you rub your nipples over his chest.

“Jungkook,” you whimper. “I want you.”

Lips twitching, he adds a second finger. “You can barely take two of my fingers. Think you’re ready for my cock?”

“Yes.”

“You’re not,” he drawls, slapping your ass again. “But yeah, take my cock out. Want to feel you.”

Reaching lower, you push his boxers down the best you can. Jungkook’s cock is freed, bobbing between you. You forgot how big he is. Although you’ve seen him twice, both times ended poorly, and you tried not to think about his prettiness afterwards.

And how thick his length is. Swallowing, you eye his girth and wonder if Jungkook is right – you’re not ready. Maybe you never will be.

Gently, Jungkook cups your face to return your gaze to his. “Eyes on me,” he murmurs, thumb beneath your chin. “I’ll get you there. Don’t worry.”

Some of your tension disappears. Nodding, you relax when he lowers his hand to rub your clit in circles. Exhaling, your legs spread further when Jungkook adds a third finger. The stretch feels good, being spread from behind and you lower your head to stare down your body.

Jungkook’s abs end in a v, his cock so hard it hovers above his skin, a thick bead of cum gathered at the tip. Your mouth waters at the sight.

“Jungkook,” you breathe. “Want to suck your cock.”

He pauses what he’s doing to look up, heavy-lidded.

“What, baby?” he murmurs.

“I want your cock in my mouth,” you insist, sitting up. “Please.”

His eyes gleam and Jungkook slowly sits up, easing you on top. Pulling his fingers free, he grasps your waist.

“Since you asked nicely.” His smile is crooked. “Go on.”

Inhaling sharply, you scoot backwards. Kneeling over him, you swiftly bend to grasp the base of his length. His cock stands, erect and vascular between muscled thighs.

Your hand barely fits around him, and you clench at the realization he’ll soon be inside. Spreading your thighs, you lower yourself to take him in your mouth. Jungkook groans when you suck, shifting his weight underneath.

His chest rises and falls, watching from lowered lashes as you take him in deeper. Choking a little, you use your spit to make his shaft wet. When his fingertips curl into the blanket, you feel a low tremble in the earth. Emboldened, you relax your mouth and deep throat him.

“Fuck, Y/N,” Jungkook groans. “Yes.”

Using your right hand to jerk him off, you suck the tip. Bending further, you drag your tongue lower, teasing and tormenting until Jungkook is sweating.

“Fu-ck,” he mutters, one hand on your neck. “Yeah, Y/N. Yes. Like that. Good girl.”

His hips rise when you deep-throat him, another tremor shaking the world underneath. Suddenly, he grasps your waist and pulls you upward.

“Want to come inside you,” Jungkook demands. “Not like this.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.” Reaching below, he swipes two fingers through your pussy and brings these to his mouth. Not breaking eye contact, he slowly sucks. “Fuck,” Jungkook breathes, releasing them with a pop. “You’re so wet. You liked sucking my cock, huh?”

Nodding, your arms find his neck when he does it again. Jungkook fingers you slowly before, pulling out, reaches for the backpack. Unzipping the side, he retrieves a condom and lube. Breaking open a packet, he rolls the condom over himself and slicks it up.

“This good?” he murmurs, pulling you onto his lap.

Breathless, you nod, both hands on his shoulders. Slowly, your hips lower until he brushes your entrance. Stifling a gasp, you watch his eyes narrow.

“Don’t be quiet.” Using his hands, Jungkook guides you lower. “I want to hear you, Y/N.”

His cock enters barely an inch, only to stop, your head spinning. Jungkook’s grip tightens, a muscle fluttering in his jaw with visible restraint.

“Oh,” you breathe and look down. “You’re so big.”

“You can take it.” Jungkook speaks as though it’s a given.

Pleasure surges and you lower yourself another inch. It already feels like too much, too full of an already great thing. Cupping the back of your neck, Jungkook holds you against him and moves you slightly lower.

You wait for your body to catch up, muscles relaxing to sink down a bit more. This happens again and again, your body accommodating his thick girth. The lube is essential, easing you open while he takes his time. Jungkook helps you through it, teasing you with his fingers, kissing you deeply until your hips settle with his.

“Oh,” you whisper against his lips.

The position is more intimate than you thought it’d be. Seated like this, you sit face to face and feel his length inside. It’s hard to tell where you end, and he begins. Jungkook shifts, moving deeper and your entire world expands.

“Oh,” you repeat, lifting your hips. Slowly, you drop back down.

Jungkook’s groan is guttural, coming from a place deep inside. Gripping your ass, he helps you ride him – slowly, he moves you up and down on his cock. Each time you feel fuller, his length hitting a place that makes you incandescent. Rain drizzles, then stops, then starts to fall harder.

Neither of you notice, the pace increasing until you find yourself slamming down, fingernails digging into the curve of his shoulders. Grunting, his hand remains on your ass while you move on his cock.

“Fuck, yes,” Jungkook groans, watching your chest. “You’re unbelievable, Y/N.”

“You feel so fucking good,” you whimper, reaching backwards. Gripping his knees, you use these for leverage to fuck up and down.

Jungkook stares at you, dazed, and then surges forward. Bending, he sucks your nipple as you ride him, a loud moan escaping. Chest arched, you beg for more and Jungkook obeys, moving to your other breast. His other hand stays on your ass, guiding the motion of your hips with his.

You think you could do this forever and maybe you could if this weren’t your first time together. Three months of wanting and not having him have turned you desperate. You want more. Deeper. Harder. You want to feel Jungkook undone, and you want that now.

“Jungkook,” you breathe. “I need… more.”

“More?” Lifting his head, Jungkook searches. “How? Tell me what you want.”

Continuing to move your hips, you watch his face slacken. “I you to fuck me, Jungkook,” you pant, the words spilling out. “Want you to make me come without… without worrying.”

His brow lifts. “Is that all? Want me to fuck you from behind like the dirty girl you are?”

“Yes, please,” you gasp.

Lifting yourself from his cock, you ignore the sudden emptiness and turn around. Placing both hands on the blanket, you arch your back and look backwards.

Jungkook stares at you, still and you know what he must see. Legs spread, back arched and pussy on full display. You can feel how wet you are, arousal dripping from your cunt, already stretched by his cock.

“Fuck,” Jungkook mutters, scrambling upright. Getting on his knees, he positions himself behind you. Swiping through your pussy several times, he grabs the lube and dribbles more down your folds.

Dropping this, Jungkook bends and rubs your swollen clit. Positioning his cock at your entrance, Jungkook pushes inside with a single thrust. You go from absolutely nothing to being so full, you cry out his name.

Grasping the blanket, your back arches. Jungkook stays like that for a moment, letting you feel him. One hand grips your ass, sliding up your spine to push you lower. Breathless, you obey and rest both elbows on fabric.

“Just like that.” Jungkook slips two fingers to either side of his cock. Gathering lube, he slips this up and over your asshole. You whimper, turned on by the notion.

Slowly, he pulls his length out and pushes back in. Another noise escapes, fingers scrambling in blankets to push back against him.

“Please, Jungkook,” you groan. “Harder.”

“Harder?” Excruciatingly slowly, Jungkook does it again. “You need to earn it, baby. Let me know that you want this.”

Withdrawing, he pushes in leisurely from behind. He does it again and again until your toes start to curl, ass pushing backwards to take him deeper. Storm clouds roil while your frustration mounts, the need for him inside you a tangible feeling.

Eventually, you snap and turn your head around. “I swear,” you demand, gaze fixed on his. “If you don’t fuck me right now, I’ll find someone who will.”

Jungkook’s eyes dance. “You can try,” he promises, and pulls out again.

This time, Jungkook doesn’t hold back. Rain breaks, soaking the meadow when he starts pounding inside you. Jungkook’s hips slam to yours, over and over while his cock fills you.

Gasping his name, you see stars as you come together. Again and again, until you cry with pleasure and something else – something untethered and new. Reaching between your legs, you push yourself further as the pleasure builds. Feeling you flutter around him, Jungkook growls and chases his own release.

“You first,” he pants, his grip tight. “I can feel how close you are. Such a good girl, soaking my cock like I asked.”

His voice in your ear, his cock deep inside you, pushes you over the edge and shatters you to pieces. You hear the trust in his words, behind every touch while giving you parts of himself. Jungkook thrusts into you harder, shuddering into the condom as the ground shakes beneath you. Miraculously, you aren’t thinking about anything but him – not the storm, not the earth and not even your magic.

Gradually, his hips slow and Jungkook slowly pulls out. Removing the condom, he cleans you both off and pulls you down to the blanket. Stretching your limbs, the rain slows to a drizzle as your eyes open.

Nothing exists in Jungkook’s gaze but happiness, echoing yours. Pressing closer to him, your limbs entwine as you push back his hair. Suddenly sleepy, you stretch alongside him – only to notice the giant crack in the earth.

“Oh my god,” you gasp, eyes wide. “The ground!”

Craning his neck, Jungkook notices the spot. “Oops,” he says sheepishly, turning back. “Guess I got carried away.”

Shocked by his nonchalance, your gaze flicks to his. “Aren’t you… embarrassed?”

Burrowing into your neck, he pulls you closer. “Should I be? I’ll fix it – tomorrow,” Jungkook adds. “That took a lot out of me,” he chuckles, and you feel your cheeks heat.

“Yeah,” you whisper. “That was…”

“For me, too.”

Looking up, your brow furrows. “Do you think that’ll happen every time?”

“What, the giant rainstorm and the earthquake?” Seeing your face, his own softens. “I don’t know. It’s never been like that for me before.”

Something about the way Jungkook says this, almost shy, quiets a voice in your mind. The voice that insists on questioning every good thing. Pressing a light kiss to your forehead, Jungkook lies down alongside you. The two of you stay like that for a while, the clouds parting above to show a velvety sky.

Eventually, your silence turns to conversation. Everything you’ve hidden from each other trickles outward, in slow doses. Jungkook murmurs about his family, his childhood and the times he lost control. You tell him about art, about Taryn and Micah, about the easel being the one place you feel capable of using your magic.

Before long, Jungkook is hard and this time, you pull him on top. You come again – and again, your rain responding in droves. The last time, it's only a drizzle, and Jungkook barely shudders the earth. It helps, knowing what to expect and focusing solely on him.

At some point, you must doze off because you wake in Jungkook’s arms walking through the garden. He brings you upstairs, lending you toothpaste and a t-shirt from one of the bedrooms. Slipping under the covers, you smile at Jungkook when he joins you.

Before, sleeping over was impossible but now, things are different. Jungkook knows who you are. He knows everything about you and loves you anyways. Heart soaring, you trace the panes of his face in the dark. So different from the night you broke up.

Sleepy, he smiles. “Just try and break up with me,” Jungkook mumbles, turning his face from the pillow. “See what happens.”

You giggle, pressing a kiss to his chest. “That sounds like a challenge. Are you angling for make-up sex?”

“That part was fun,” he admits. “Everything else sucked.”

“It did.” Your smile fades. “Would it freak you out if I said… I don’t plan on us breaking up for a very long time? Possibly ever?”

Jungkook’s eyes open. Gently, he leans forward and captures your lips with his. This kiss is unrushed, unhurried and you hear the unsaid words. You have all the time in the world together.

“Never sounds good to me,” he murmurs, pulling back. Like that, fully grounded, you drift off into sleep.

© kpopfanfictrash, 2023. Do not copy or repost without permission.

Author’s Note: THANK YOU for reading! Have a wonderful day/night, wherever you are :) and stream the new single LOL

[jungkookincalvins]

i know this is a two part bc tumblr is dumb but this is sooo !!!!!!!!!!!!

a break to breathe bc ive been crying the whole time okay, i feel this so much ♥ in a good masochistic way lmao

im onto the next part like a beast!

Elemental (M) Pt. 1

Author: kpopfanfictrash

Genre: Second Chance Romance / Modern Fantasy

Pairing: Jungkook / Reader (she/her)

Synopsis: Fear has never been a foreign concept to you. Your entire life has been shaped by the knowledge that you’re different, and fear of the stigma which might follow discovery. Although fire, earth, air and water Elementals have been public for decades, the fear-mongering around your kind hasn’t changed; something you have intimate knowledge of, having experienced it firsthand. Since then, you’ve done your best to hide your water powers. This is for your own safety, as your mom likes to say.

Safety flies out the window though, when you fall in love. Jeon Jungkook isn’t just any love, either, he’s the love. The person who makes you feel as though your darkest corners deserve to be seen. Unable to control your magic around him, you find yourself faced with a horrible fact: you need to break up.

A plan which proves difficult when Jungkook simply refuses to go. And maybe, just maybe, you find the constraints placed on yourself don’t make sense anymore.

Rating: 18+

Warnings: death of a parent (past), some emotional abuse

NSFW Warnings: oral (woman and man), multiple orgasms (woman), fingering, hand job, face-riding, sex outdoors (in a secluded, private area), very slight ass-play, breast play

Word Count: 17,287 (32,487 total)

Author's Note: Unfortunately, the new Tumblr text editor doesn't allow for more than 1,000 paragraphs per post. Part I is here, and Part II will be uploaded shortly. Please, please, please reblog both if possible! In my experience, engagement tends to be worse when split into two parts. (also, if you haven't already realized based on the premise, Y/N does break up with Jungkook in the first part of this fic lol so, if that's something you don't want to read; fair warning!)

[ Cross-posted to Wattpad here ]

Magic, to you, has never been a boon.

Despite its romanticization in movies and stories, the reality of magic is messy and unpredictable. As dangerous as it can be fickle, your mom likes to say. Usually followed by a glance in your direction, swift enough for you not to notice, although you always do.

Either that, or an unconscious tilt her chin towards the photograph on the mantle. You aren’t sure she even realizes she does it, acting on instinct alone. The photo is of your dad, holding you on his shoulders with an ear-to-ear grin. He was the other Elemental in your family.

Even with only one magical parent, the Elemental gene tends to be passed on to children. Your dad’s magic was water, skilled in manipulating and calling forth the element. He was lauded for it, which was in itself unusual. More often, Elementals are run out of town by other humans. Although time has gone by since societal integration, there are still many who view your kind with suspicion.

You can’t say that you blame them – not really. Because again, the reality of magic is it can be dangerous. Based on experience, bad things tend to happen when you lose control.

Head tilted, you squint through the fog at your boyfriend’s apartment. For centuries, fog has been heralded as an ill omen and maybe there’s some degree of truth to it. Maybe the first speaker lived near a temperamental water Elemental, unable to keep their emotions from manipulating the weather.

Thoughts souring at how close to reality this feels, you shake your head once and some of the fog clears.

A pep talk, you think. That’s what you need to convince yourself to enter. Unseasonably chilly this late in the summer, your fingers curl into the ends of your sweater. Going inside would be preferrable to standing out in the cold, and yet you can’t manage a single step.

Better to stand in the cold than enter and shatter.

Again, you remind yourself you’re doing the right thing and again, this doesn’t help. If anything, it makes you clutch your sweater tighter. For once, you wish doing the right thing meant what’s right for you. Exhaling deeply, your eyes shut as a train passes and shakes the ground.

You began dating Jungkook three months ago and within a week, you knew it was different. You have a tendency to hide pieces of yourself, knowing most people won’t like what they find. Jungkook never allowed that to happen. The first time you ghosted, he showed up at your favorite coffee shop the next morning and asked what had gone wrong. Taken aback, you responded honestly and to your surprise, Jungkook listened.

He stayed. Stayed when others had run, cementing himself on a short list of people you can trust. Three months into dating, things have moved at once fast and slow. Fast because typically, you exit relationships long before feelings like these ones develop. Slow, because you haven’t given Jungkook every part of yourself.

Physical intimacy comes to mind. On several occasions, this has proved… difficult.

Eyes opening, you stare at the door. Memories of last night rise to the surface. For a long time, you’ve known this relationship has an end date. Knowing this doesn’t prepare you for the difficult conversation ahead.

The last time you saw Jungkook was after midnight. Fat raindrops chased your footsteps while you ran from his place, descending the subway at a record pace. The look on his face remains stuck in your mind and even now, you find the thought hard to revisit.

Imagining hurting Jungkook again is unfathomable. Stifling a gasp, you spin on your heel and march away. Halfway to the gate, you get a grip on yourself. Coming to a stop, you remind yourself this isn’t about you. Jungkook will hate you – there’s nothing to do about that now. Now, this is about Jungkook and ensuring he’s safe.

Slowly, you turn around and make your way forward. In the name of procrastination, you stop at a trash can to clean out your purse. Old receipts, gum wrappers and a crumpled-up napkin shake into the bin. You pause at the napkin, staring at the embossed name of the restaurant you work at. Or – more accurately – worked at.

Slamming the trash lid, you turn. You began work at Pierre’s Bistro two months ago as a temporary measure. Ideally, you paint but lately, inspiration has run dry. Waiting tables pays the bills, leaving time at the end of the day to stare at a blank canvas.

Pierre’s is an upscale French restaurant a few blocks down with semi-decent food and waiting tables would be fine if the owner – Pierre – weren’t a massive asshole. Now that you don’t work there, you can be honest about that. Pierre was the most sexist, elitist, capitalistic piece of shit you’ve ever had the displeasure of working for. While on his payroll, you tried to make the best of it but now, you have nothing to lose. Pierre was a dick.

A point he proved yet again last night, much to your mortification. You prefer working the lunch shift to dinner, and weekdays to weekends. Saturday nights are worst of all, and last night Pierre didn’t arrive until well after six. You were forced to cover the entire front section, picking up for a co-worker who called in sick.

Rushing from the bar, you nearly crashed into your boss removing his coat. Grabbing you by the elbow, Pierre steadied you, his hand lingering.

“Whoa, where’s the fire?” he joked.

You forced a smile. Experience has taught you the best thing to do in those types of situations is to smile and laugh.

“No fire. Lots of customers! Excuse me,” you said and tried to move past.

Pierre didn’t release you. If anything, his grip on you tightened until you turned your head.

“Yes?” you said, impatient.

Pierre didn’t respond, looking you slowly up and down. Eventually, he released you to take a step backwards. “Nothing,” he said carefully. “Be careful out there tonight.”

Trying not to gag on his words, you moved on. Unfortunately, it was hard to escape Pierre’s notice once caught. From that point on, each of your flaws were held under a microscope. First, it was that you didn’t fold the napkins correctly. Next, you took a wandering path from kitchen to table. Each time you entered the dining room, scornful words were covered by simpering smiles.

By the time your shift end approached, you could barely keep going. A large group had entered and, seeing the host occupied, you took it upon yourself to seat them at your last table. Fixing your apron, you hurried through the restaurant and into the kitchen.

Grabbing another table’s dishes, you thanked the cook and pushed open the door. Immediately, arms shoved you back in. Startled, you barely had time to recognize the host, Vanessa, before the doors swung shut.

“Vanessa?” you said, adjusting your grip. “What’s going on?”

Harried, she glanced over one shoulder. “Sorry,” she sighed, curly hair slipping from her messy bun. “I wanted to warn you before you went back out. Pierre is pissed.”

Your stomach sank. “Pissed… at me?”

She nodded, another dark curl escaping. “Something about saving the table up front for his friends? Bullshit, yes,” she said at your expression. “But you know how he is.”

“Yeah, I know,” you muttered. Deciding there was nothing to be done but keep moving, you hefted your plates higher. “Okay, thanks for the warning. I need to get these to table ten.”

“No problem,” she said and stepped out of your way.

You walked inside with slightly less spring in your step. Pierre lounged near the bar, surrounded by a group of people you could only assume to be friends. Although you felt his gaze on your face, you avoided him the best you could while you made your rounds. Taking the long way to the kitchen, you passed in front of the window.

Which was the moment you noticed Jungkook waiting for you on the curb. He stood beneath a streetlight, light pooling around the ends of his dark hair. When he saw you approach, his face lit up and he smiled.

Cursing beneath your breath, you smiled back. You were supposed to be done a half-hour ago, but there hadn’t been a good time yet to stop. Waving back, you mouthed, just a minute, and frantically pushed through the crowd to the back.

Merely seeing his face lifted a weight from your chest. It was easy to be around Jungkook because he liked every part of you. You never felt the urge to pretend, to curve yourself into something someone else would find pleasurable.

Well, he liked every part except one – and you were working on telling him that.

Hurrying into the staff room, you forgot your plan to avoid Pierre. You nearly jumped a mile when a hand grabbed your elbow, spinning you to face your fuming manager.

Pierre stared down his nose. “Follow me,” he snapped, releasing your arm to spin around.

He passed tables full of patrons, leading you to the bar before turning. “Y/N,” Pierre said, his voice dropping. “Are things okay tonight?”

“Yes,” you responded, deciding one-word answers were safest.

“Then why, exactly, are you fucking this up?”

Your jaw tensed. “I wasn’t aware I was doing so,” you said carefully.

“The napkins?” Pierre made a tsk-ing sound. “How many times should I say that presentation is important? Not to mention your laziness. One of your tables had to flag me down to ask for a refill. And now, you gave away the front table.” His expression darkened. “What makes you think you, a fucking waitress, can step in for a host? You sat someone at the table I personally reserved for my friends!”

You shouldn’t have responded. You should have stayed quiet and yet –

“There was no name in the book,” you muttered.

“What’s that?” Pierre waited and, when you stayed silent, shook his head. “I hadn’t had time to write their name down, but I told Vanessa, who assured me it’d happen. Of course, she wasn’t taking into consideration Y/N, the wonder waitress! Taking everyone’s jobs and making them harder.”

At your sides, your hands balled into fists. It took a greater amount of concentration than normal to keep your emotions from spilling over.

Of course, there were explanations for Pierre’s accusations. The napkins were correct before he jostled the table. You had been circulating your tables and if you were unavailable, it was because of his poor staffing. Oh, and – he didn’t make a reservation for his friends.

Slowly, you exhaled and stuffed down the responses. Deep down, with other emotions and magic. Beyond Pierre, a glass trembled but once you relaxed, the water went still.

“I apologize,” you said, not meeting his gaze. “I’ll do better next time.”

Pierre sniffed. “See that you do,” he said, brushing past. Grabbing a beer from the bar, you heard his friends burst into raucous laughter. Apparently, your humiliation was entertaining.

Heaving a small sigh, you turned – and froze where you stood.

Outside, Jungkook stared into the restaurant with murderous eyes. Too late, you realized Pierre had pulled you in front of the window. Away from anyone dining, but in full view of anyone on the sidewalk. Like your boyfriend, who witnessed the entire spectacle.

For a moment, your emotions overwhelmed, and you felt magic crack the walls you kept hidden. Embarrassment crept past your boundaries. Humiliation. Fury. Stuffing everything back, you quickly turned to rush through the tables.

Jungkook’s gaze snapped towards you, his brow furrowing. Reaching the staff room, you paced up and down. Jungkook saw you. He saw Pierre’s outburst, which meant you’d have to explain. You’d have to explain to Jungkook – the only person whose opinion you cared about – why you allowed other people to walk all over you.

He’d start to ask questions. Questions like, when was the last time you really got mad? You’d have no good response. Not because you don’t get mad, because you do. But because you don’t ever allow yourself to act on the feeling.

Faced with the prospect of brushing him off, you buried your face in both hands. Your usual excuses wore thin in your ears.

Pierre isn’t so bad. It was a one-time thing. You promise you’ll talk to Pierre tomorrow.

None of it would be true, and you didn’t want to lie to Jungkook. People never understood why you wouldn’t stand up for yourself, but the answer was complicated.

Your last date said you lacked emotions, but you don’t think that’s it. Of course, you have feelings, but those feelings are buried beneath so many layers, they can be hard to see. It’s not that you don’t feel, it’s that you cannot.

When you feel, your magic reacts, and people get hurt.

That was the last part of yourself you kept hidden. Jungkook is normal and he doesn’t know you’re an Elemental.

You know that by now, you should have said something. Obviously, but the timing was never right. Twenty-five years old, and you still aren’t sure how to broach the conversation. Few people know what you are, so you haven’t had much experience with the explanation. Your magic isn’t something you use if you can help it.

Yet another lesson you learned from your mom.

Your dad, an Elemental, died when you were five. Before, you lived near the ocean on a flat strip of sand. Your memories from before then are faint, but whenever you try, you can hear his booming laugh. Can feel the salt sting your cheeks, your mom tossing you in the air while you spun around.

Everything afterwards faded. At five years old, a hurricane swept past the barrier islands and that, you remember. You recall your mom at the door, pleading with your dad not to go as he donned his jacket. You remember him holding her hand, kissing the top of your head, and saying he’d return soon. Not many Elementals lived in your area, and even fewer had water magic.

You recall the hours passing, stretching longer and longer until dawn approached. Flashing lights followed, a woman climbing from her car to speak to your mom. You recall the sound of your mom sobbing, the policewoman’s voice floating into the house.

The storm surge was stronger than expected, but your dad managed to divert the worst. He saved the town only to be hit by a bolt of lightning. Instant death, the policewoman said, her tone implying this might be a comfort. Chest tight, your fingertips dug into the railing. Comfort meant nothing when your dad was gone. The irony struck you even back then – your dad saved others, and no one came to save him.

For weeks following, your mom was a ghost. At first, neighbors stopped by to drop off casseroles and condolences. Soon though, their sympathy stopped, and the whispers began. You were young enough not to notice, too consumed by the enormity of your own loss.

Eventually though, you noticed something was off. Suspicious eyes followed you down the sidewalk. Mothers clutched at their children, hurrying them to the side of an empty street. One day, you traipsed downstairs and overheard your mom on the phone.

She sat at the kitchen table, facing away from the staircase. You paused on the landing, listening to your aunt’s voice blast on speakerphone.

“Nonsense,” she was saying. “Your husband was a hero, and anyone saying otherwise is cracked. He saved your town!”

“I know.” Your mom blew her nose. “But now, people are wondering if he caused the storm. They’re saying maybe he… made the hurricane. It’s this new mayor,” she said, frustrated. “He hates Elementals and keeps insisting our family orchestrated this to collect money. He says –”

“Oh, no.” Your aunt sounded furious. “Don’t you repeat a single word that hateful man says.”

“He has a point, though,” your mom said, her voice low. “Did you hear about Uniontown? A fire Elemental accidentally set their barn on fire. Nearly burned the whole town. Magic is dangerous. I tried to warn him, but he wouldn’t listen, and now –”

“When was the last time your husband lost control, though? Are you saying you think he caused a hurricane?”

“God, no!” You watched your mom straighten. “But there are people saying… awful things.”

“Some people aren’t worth listening to.”

“I know.” Wearily, she exhaled. “They’re talking about Y/N, too, though. Apparently, she caused a tidal wave at the pool last weekend.”

Hearing your name said out loud, you shrank back in the shadows. You weren’t aware your mom knew about that, or that she cared. Bobby Clemmons teased Judith Bryce about her hair until finally, you snapped. Bobby was swept to the other end of the pool, much to Judith’s relief. She thanked you repeatedly.

Bobby was fine, except for some water up his nose. From the way he carried on though, you’d have thought he broke his arm.

Your mother lowered her voice, as though magic was something to be mentioned only in whispers. For the first time, a sense of shame crept over you. Your dad had always been open about magic, though stern. Stern in his belief magic should help people, not hurt. Never once did your dad insinuate magic itself was the problem.

Magic is dangerous.

Your mom’s words on the phone sank in as, your head pounding as you turned around to run up the steps. Even at six, you felt panic. If magic was dangerous and you were magical – that meant you were dangerous, too.

Slipping beneath your comforter, you stared at your shaking hands. Rain hit your windows, snowballing your worry to full-on fear. By the time your mom rushed upstairs, you were rocking under the covers as a storm raged.

She helped to calm you down, got your magic under control and a month after, you moved far away from the sea. A version of yourself vanished as you passed the pier. Despite this, you felt instant relief at the thought of control.

You remember your mom smiling when you joined the highway. “This will be good,” she said, her voice cracking slightly. “A fresh start, away from it all. You can be whoever you want to be, Y/N.”

Except for the person you actually were.

Her meaning was clear, even if she didn’t say it out loud. At the time, you found the thought soothing. If you didn’t want to use magic, you didn’t have to. You never had to become your dad, who all your friends said had caused the bad storm. Even the news had turned against you.

Earth Elemental suspected behind San Raoul earthquake!

Jailed air Elemental claims innocence against onslaught of tornadoes!

Fire Elementals flee after string of arson!

Always the exclamation point. Always the lurid fascination that blame could be pinned on a single person. New rules were implemented in the house. No magic, except in your mom’s presence. This soon became no magic at all, but you didn’t mind. Whenever you did use magic, it felt wild, chaotic – the opposite of how you wanted to feel.

Your early years were marked by the struggle to conceal your powers. Years passed without incident and then, something would happen, and you’d have to move. Your mom never begrudged you, simply packed the house to travel to the next city. Each time, you promised you’d do better but by the time you realized school wasn’t for you, you had moved no less than six times.

Art was a risk, though one you found necessary.

Creation meant tapping into emotion, but you found methods of coping. Painting was the only place you loosened the reins on your magic, and so it became an outlet of sorts. A release, preventing your emotions from spilling into unwanted places.

There were other strategies, as well. Deep breathing. Counting backwards from one hundred. Focusing on one point, then on another until the magic calmed in your veins. Until you forgot the dangerous and destructive water around you.

Some people proved more reactionary to you than others. With some people, your magic responded so strongly, you were forced to cut them out completely. The first person this happened with was your best friend, Katrina. You were fourteen when she confided in you her family was fire Elementals. In response, your magic surged.

For a glorious summer, you practiced magic in secret. Each morning, you and Katrina bounded through the woods towards the far creek. You summoned great waves of water for Katrina to singe into mist. Everything was fine until late one evening, your mom caught you. She witnessed the combined magic and lost her temper.

Dragging you from the woods, your mom slammed the front door in Katrina’s face. She sat you down at the kitchen table, delivering a scolding you’ve never forgotten.

Do you know how reckless you were? What if a tree had caught fire? What if you altered the town’s water supply? What if someone saw and the next time a disaster happened, they blamed it on you – or Katrina?

Stricken by these very real possibilities, you promised not to do it again. Although you begged not to move, your mom packed the next day – your fastest exit ever.

The second time you cut someone out was after high school. Elliot was an artist, a quiet guy who dabbled with oils. He saw you painting one day in the park and silently set up his easel beside yours. This happened for weeks until he asked you out. Your ensuing romance was brief and sweet, and your feelings grew within a short period of time.

When Elliot told you he loved you, you dissolved into panic. You could feel how your magic responded, reaching for water that surged through his tiny apartment. Tossing on clothes, you stammered apologies and fled into the night.

For weeks following, it rained. Enough for the reporters to forecast local flooding. The fact terrified you – imagining people trapped on top of cars, small businesses flooded, the Red Cross called in to ferry locals to safety. It took your mom flying out to put you at ease, clearing the skies and regaining control.

Since then, you haven’t let anyone else past your inner walls. Until Jungkook.

Swallowing hard, you stare at his apartment and wonder if you’ll survive. Breaking up with Elliot is one of your worst memories and you only felt a fraction of what you do for Jungkook. Maybe you’ll conjure a hurricane, bringing the events of your life full circle.

Shutting your eyes, you rub at them dully. There’s no point in wondering what-if. You need to end it now, before things get worse. All day, you’ve gone over the facts and arrived at the same conclusion.

As expected, Jungkook was livid about Pierre last night. He wanted to confront your boss himself, although quickly backed off when he realized this was your battle. This though, turned to confusion when you said your intent to do nothing.

Although you tried the usual excuses, none of them stuck. Even if it was just once, Jungkook argued, it shouldn’t go unnoticed. You snapped slightly at this, insisting you’d deal with things in your own time.

Getting angry near Jungkook was peculiar. Suddenly, you became aware of the water around you. Thick, leaden pipes lacing Jungkook’s walls. Moisture that hung in the air, in the clouds – within his very veins. The thought terrified you, wondering what you might do accidentally.

Your panic must have been visible, because Jungkook instantly softened. Crossing the room, he pulled you into his arms.

“I’m sorry,” he murmured into your hair. “It’s just… I hate seeing you hurt. Of course, you know what’s best. I’m sorry I doubted you.”

His grip grounded you, enough that your magic dissipated, and that you realized a truth you’d hidden for some time.

You were in love with Jungkook.

No one in your life had ever been like him. Someone who was always in your corner, who protected you when they could and lifted up parts they couldn’t. Someone who liked everything about you – even the parts you weren’t brave enough to admit.

Studying his face, you tried to ignore the sudden ache in your chest. Even last night, you knew the inevitable. Memorizing his face, you tried hard to hold on. Jungkook’s slightly rounded nose, his full bottom lip accentuated by two piercings. Dark hair fell over his forehead; strong features contrasted by a soft gaze.

Jungkook watched you as well, and you wondered if he felt the same. Wondered why he’d commit you to memory, since you were the lucky one. He was the miracle, and you were biding your time.

Bending, he lightly brushed your mouth against his. Instantly, you melted. It wasn’t your first kiss and prayed it wouldn’t be the last, but something about last night felt different. Walking the two of you backwards, Jungkook pressed you against the wall and kissed you harder. His touch became desperate, one hand sliding beneath the lines of your blouse.

Your breath hitched at the brush of his fingers, delicious and warm against skin. His touch unknotted a hidden, tangled piece of your soul.

Ever since you met Jungkook, you’d held yourself separate. When you asked him to go slow in the beginning, he agreed. Touching was fine. Kissing was fine. Anything more, and you lost control.

About a month into dating, you met Jungkook at a bar and got tipsy. Three drinks in, you were frantically making out in an alley outside. Jungkook panted, “my place?” against your mouth, and you nodded. The journey back to his place was fast and slow, pausing in every dark place to drag his mouth to yours.

The second his door shut, you found yourself stumbling – into his bedroom, his bed, the confines of his heart. Shoes were discarded with every step, and Jungkook couldn’t seem to keep his hands to himself. You returned his fervor in spades, nipping his lower lip to watch him smile.

When he fell back on the bed, you saw his pulse quicken. Staring up at you, Jungkook watched your clothing disappear with a gaze so dark, it bordered on onyx. Climbing onto him, you resumed kissing with a newfound reverence. Eyes falling shut, you did your best to stay present.

Each brush of his lips was combustive, each touch of his hands filling you with sharp, pulsing light. And then –

The sink and shower in his bathroom burst on.

Startled, you pulled away and realized it had been you. Your magic had caused it, flooding his bathroom with water. Swearing under his breath, Jungkook scrambled out of bed to hastily turn off both faucets.

You sat there on his bed, heart pounding with fear. By the time he returned, you were already dressed and mortified. Jungkook was all apologies, certain he’d moved too fast, but you assured him he hadn’t. Anything that happened, you were an equal participant – too much maybe, although you didn’t say so out loud.

Lying in bed that night, you stared up at your ceiling. For a moment, it felt as though you were six and under the covers at your old house. Magic was dangerous. You would eventually hurt someone. Dread pooled in your stomach, recognizing the truth. If you couldn’t control your magic around Jungkook, you’d have to end things.

Heartache chased the thought, filling you with so much panic, you nearly drowned. Pushing this aside, you simply resolved to do better. To be better and keep both Jungkook and magic. This was simply another challenge; you owned your magic, not the other way around.

Thus, began the two best and worst months of your life. The best, since you’ve been dating Jungkook and the worst, because at every moment, you’re terrified of hurting him. Walking a line as thin as a razor, you’ve fallen in love while trying your best not to feel.

Until last night, you thought you’d been successful. Life was mostly under control, but then the Pierre debacle took place. Then Jungkook kissed you with such intensity, you forgot who you were and why you’d been holding back. Two long months of restraint and suddenly, you came undone at the seams.

Before long, you were again in his bedroom. Jungkook stripped off his clothes, bare skin pressing to yours with a searing intensity. Pulling you over him, a low hiss escaped while he kissed your throat. Even through his boxers, you could feel how hard Jungkook was. How badly he wanted this; a need you returned.

The thought of him inside you made you frantic. Pushing Jungkook onto his back, you straddled his waist and rocked forward.

Jungkook lay underneath you, his hair a dark halo. Suddenly, you could feel water everywhere. Magic, everywhere – it was in you, around you, in Jungkook’s walls and molecules. Everything felt so utterly fragile, and your magic responded.

Ferocious, it strained at your self-crafted bonds. Realizing how precarious your grasp on control was, your emotions slipped into panic.

You had to leave. Now.

Sensing the change in your body, Jungkook paused.

“I – I’m sorry,” you blurted, scrambling off him. Bending for your pants, you pushed one leg through and hastily zipped. “I need to go.”

Jungkook stared, frozen in place. “I…” Shaking his head, he pushed a hand through his hair. “What’s going on? Did I do something wrong?”

Stomach dropping, you roughly shook your head. Part of you ached to correct him but your magic was barely leashed, and you weren’t certain how much longer it’d hold.

Your magic wasn’t something you wanted Jungkook to see.

Frantically throwing on your shirt, you rushed towards his front door. His dog, Bam, whined from the couch and lifted his head as you passed. Yanking open his door, you escaped to the hall and downstairs. You heard Jungkook call after, but he didn’t follow, for which you were grateful.

Remembering his face broke your heart as you entered the subway. You kept your magic at bay until reaching your building, at which point rain swept the city in waves. Soaked through, you got in the elevator and saw Jungkook had texted. Shaking, you responded you’d talk to him tomorrow and turned off your phone.

Rain poured all night and you barely slept. By the time you woke, your mood had gotten worse. Work was torture. Even the lunch shift couldn’t save you, the looming specter of Jungkook impossible to forget. When Pierre showed up around one, you knew you were doomed. His glower could be felt all the way across the restaurant and no matter what you did, you somehow stayed in his way.

With little to no sleep and haunted by last night, the grip on your magic was tentative at best. Your entire shift, it hovered at the edge of your fingers. When Pierre commented you looked tired, the rain outside worsened. When a table of middle-aged men called you ‘girlie,’ their water glasses shook.

It was miraculous nothing happened until the end of your shift. That was the moment Pierre’s friends arrived, seating themselves at the table you gave away last night. One of them laughed as you poured them water, and you managed to push down your snide remark.

Glasses full, you turned around to go and the same one grabbed your waist.

You went still.

For so long, you’ve hidden your magic to protect others. You’ve kept them from hurting and there you were, broken, and no one cared about you. Just like no one cared about your dad, in the end. Teeth gritted, you whirled – and the entire water pitcher dumped itself at him.

At him, not on him.

You didn’t trip. Didn’t throw the water, although either would have been preferrable. Instead, the water leapt from the pitcher to slap the man in the face.

Horrified, you stared as reality sunk in. You had just assaulted a guest – a friend of Pierre’s, at that.

Shocked, the man wiped water down his visage. The entire restaurant fell silent, every eye in the room locked on you. Panic-stricken, you stammered an apology, flung a napkin on the table and fled into the kitchen.

The moment you crashed through the doors, you were hailed a hero. Izumi, your line cook, wistfully recalled the one time she punched a guy who grabbed her ass. Georgina added that once, she spit in the drink of a man who called her a bitch.

Both tactfully avoided the fact that you were an Elemental, which you appreciated. You were starting to feel marginally better – maybe you wouldn’tbe fired, after all – when the door to the kitchen swung open and Pierre stormed through. Seeing his face, your heart sank.

“You!” Spittle flew from his lips as he pointed. “Y/N – pack your things! You’re done here. Fired. You think you can insult my friend, pull some magic bullshit on him, and continue to work here? Fuck that. Get out – now!”

A pin could have been heard in the silence. Coming to your senses, you did exactly as asked and got your things. Pierre hadn’t mentioned pressing charges, and you didn’t want to stick around long enough to find out.

Outside, you stood on the sidewalk and stared at the bus stop. Storm clouds brewed above, a visualization of your inner turmoil. Eventually, you turned and trudged down the subway.

Things had reached a point you couldn’t ignore anymore. You were beyond out of control. Emotions surged and strained against your internal walls, threatening everyone you held dear. The city didn’t deserve to be punished, even if no one within it knew of your sacrifice. Pierre’s friends were awful, but you could’ve just as easily lost your temper with someone you loved.

Someone like Jungkook, whom you couldn’t seem to be around without incident.

That was the reason most people feared Elementals. It was selfish of you to put your desires ahead of another person’s safety. The only way to protect someone you loved was to stay away.

Starting with Jungkook. You just wished he didn’t have to get hurt in order for that to happen.

Standing outside his building, you take a deep breath and press the buzzer. You wait for several long moments, wondering if he’s home and then –

“Hello?” Jungkook’s voice crackles over the speaker.

Leaning in, you press 316. “Hey. It’s me. Y/N.”

A weighted pause, and then –

“Come in.”

The door unlocks, and you push it inside. Climbing the steps to his place, your heart starts to pound. The last time you saw Jungkook, you were running away. The last text he sent was, ‘ok,’ in response to your message. If you were Jungkook, you wouldn’t be thrilled to see you.

Coming to a stop outside 316, you lift your hand and knock. A howl responds, followed by the patter of gigantic dog footsteps. Unable to stop your smile, you shake your head at the chaos.

“It’s just me, Bam!” you say, and he stops.

Bam’s howl is replaced with a whine and the sharp thwack-thwack of his tail on the door.

“Bam, out of the way,” Jungkook calls, his voice coming closer. A few seconds later, the door flies open to reveal your boyfriend.

You only catch a glimpse before Bam barrels out, nearly knocking you over. Legs and tail akimbo, he slobbers all over until you bend to pet him. Once satisfied, Bam turns around and trots back inside.

Silence falls between you, and you look up to see Jungkook. He’s dressed casually, sweatpants and a t-shirt bought at a concert you attended. He hasn’t moved aside, blocking you from entering.

Uncertain, you straighten. “Can I come in?”

Slowly, he nods and moves. You walk past him, trying not to focus on the heat of his shoulder. This might be the last time you see Jungkook, so you try to focus on that. Not the prospect of what you’re about to do.

Hearing the door shut, you take a deep breath and turn to face him. “I can’t stay too long,” you admit, digging your nails into the palms of your hands.

Jungkook regards you warily. His expression makes your chest ache, unused to him with such a stern expression. After last night, you suppose it’s earned. You should probably get used to it.

“Y/N.” His jaw works. “What’s going on?”

Deciding honesty is the best policy – up to a point – you force out your next words. “I think we should break up,” you say in a rush.

With a low whine, Bam slinks in the direction of the bedroom. Jungkook glances at him, distracted, before facing forward.

“What do you mean?” His head tilts. “Like, you want to take a break?”

Steeling yourself, you shake your head. “No. As in, I want to break up. Permanently.”

A train passes by the building, rumbling the floorboards underneath. Most people would avoid living in this building for that reason, but Jungkook was overjoyed by the prospect of discounted rent.

He doesn’t seem overjoyed now, though. Instead, he looks stricken.

“Walk me through this,” Jungkook says, walking closer. The set of his mouth has turned stubborn. “I don’t follow. Why are we breaking up again?”

The knot in your chest tightens. You should have known Jungkook wouldn’t make this easy on you. “We’re not good together,” you say, only to correct yourself. “I mean, I’m not good for you. I’m not in a place where I can be in a relationship.”

He comes to a stop. “I can wait, Y/N. I don’t mind.”

Reaching for you, Jungkook’s brows crease when you take a step backwards. His hand falls between you, and he stares at the empty space. The crack in your heart widens, made worse by his silence.

“I mind, though,” you force yourself to say. “I can’t ask you to wait for me, Jungkook. That’s not fair to either of us. It’s too much pressure.”

The words make your heart splinter, reaching a point you aren’t sure can be reassembled. Maybe the pieces will simply lodge in your muscle, bruising your insides each time you draw breath.

“I won’t pressure you,” Jungkook says, automatic. His frown deepens. “Tell me what this is really about, Y/N. Is this about sex? It’s fine if we don’t have it.” Stepping closer, he takes your hand and you let him. “I just want you to be honest with me.”

Somewhat manic, you shake your head – and then nod.

Sex is a part of the problem, but it’s not the root cause. Sex with Jungkook is unthinkable. You can barely remain in control when you kiss, let alone allow more. With your past partners, this wasn’t an issue, but your past partners weren’t Jungkook.

Never have you met someone able to scramble your thoughts with a kiss. Whose gaze melted inhibitions and tore down every wall. You have little doubt that with Jungkook, you’d lose full control, and the thought is terrifying. Already, your makeshift barriers are weakened.

Rain splatters against the window, and your stomach lurches.

“Seriously, Y/N,” Jungkook says, returning your attention to him. “What’s this about? I can tell something’s on your mind.”

He takes your other hand, and you realize how close he stands. “Is it work?” Jungkook asks, a crease between brows. “Is there… some reason you can’t quit? You can tell me, Y/N.”

An odd zing of disappointment goes through you. For a moment, you thought Jungkook had guessed your secret, and this could all be avoided. If Jungkook knew what you were and that you lied to him – well, he’d end things for you. Hesitant, you consider revealing that truth but can’t seem to form words. It would devastate you, seeing fear replace love in his eyes.

“Work isn’t the problem,” you say at last. “It’s us, Jungkook. Or – it’s me. I don’t want to be together anymore.”

Disbelief flashes across his expression, and you idly wonder what will happen if Jungkook refuses. Even as you think this though, his expression shifts. Jungkook takes a careful step backwards, dropping your hands entirely.

He’s never been good at hiding emotion. Jungkook is your opposite in that way, revealing every shift of thought and desire. You watch confusion become anger, then bitterness a moment before he turns away. The set of his shoulders is still, staring out the window as yet another train passes.

Restless, he turns to drag a hand through his hair. “I don’t believe you,” he declares. “This is so out of nowhere, Y/N. What aren’t you telling me?”

“I’m telling you everything,” you say, panic rising. “And this isn’t out of nowhere! I’ve been telling you for months I need to take things slow and this – well, this is the opposite of slow, Jungkook!”

Jungkook stares back at you, heated. “Yeah, I guess so.”

The two of you stand there for a moment, the tension thick in between you. Eventually, you look away first and pull your bag tighter.

“Right,” you exhale. “Well, I should go –”

Striding forward, Jungkook reaches you to cup your face with both palms. Gently, he lifts your face towards him, and all thoughts cease completely. Gaze searching, his breath fans across your parted lips.

Jungkook’s gaze intensifies. “I don’t believe you,” he murmurs.

Adrenaline zips under your skin, stirring your magic into a deadly storm. Entire body tense, you suppress the urge to fight or flee. So often, you’re the one running but right now, you feel more compelled to fight.

A knife in you twists, knowing you’re a coward. If you were stronger, you could keep Jungkook. No matter how understanding he is, the fact remains that if he stays with you, Jungkook remains in danger. Each passing day only worsens the pain.

His face blurs. With a start of surprise, you realize there are tears on your cheeks. The furrow between Jungkook’s brows deepens, noticing as well.

“You’re not listening,” you blurt. “I can’t see you any longer, Jungkook. It’s in your best interest, I promise – I can’t do this. It’s too much.”

Reaching up, you remove his hands from your face and head for the door.

Jungkook follows close behind. “Which is it, then?” he demands. “You want me to go slowly, or you feel too much?”

Pressure weighs every inch of your skin, demanding you answer. Anything that comes out now will only make things harder. Reaching the door, you feel Jungkook’s hand on your shoulder. Caving, you don’t fight when Jungkook turns you to face him.

He’s too close to you. Too much and too close, his one hand sliding to cup the back of your neck. Slowly, his thumb strokes the elongated line of your throat. You swallow, hard, and his gaze follows the motion.

Jungkook’s gaze flicks to yours. “You keep saying you’re no good for me,” he says, his voice low. “But what if I don’t care? Don’t I get a say in this decision?”

The force of holding in your magic worsens, becoming near impossible. Hastily built walls threaten to collapse, and reality blurs between one moment and the next.

“I’m sorry,” you blurt, your hand searching behind you. “I have to go.”

Finding the doorknob, you twist and stumble backwards. Jungkook watches you go, the look on his face physically painful as you turn around. Each second that follows is pure concentration, trying not to break before getting outside.

The ocean is only a few blocks from Jungkook’s apartment.

Reaching the harbor, rain pelts your face in a way that feels punishing. Magic makes your limbs tremble, escaping your body in wisps of fog and rain. The moment you arrive at the harbor, you shatter, collapsing forward to grip your knees with both hands.

Eyes pressed tightly shut, you hear the storm howl. Waves churn the harbor, sloshing over the sidewalk in an attempt to get closer. No tidal waves, you plead in an attempt at reason. No whirlpools, no water spouts.

Your magic listens in this regard, at least. By the time your eyes open, a curtain of rain mingles with tears on your cheeks. Staring out at the ocean, each inch of your body is numb.

Jungkook will never forgive you for this.

The thought banishes all the rest. You can’t say that you blame him. Slowly, you exhale as you lift your gaze. The chasm in your chest widens, becoming something unbreachable. This is all your fault. You wish there was some satisfaction in knowing this, but there isn’t.

Eventually, the rain dulls, and you push yourself upright. Your sneakers squish with every step, the silence all-encompassing as you ride on the subway. Entering the building, you remove your shoes and collapse on your bed, fully clothed. Thankfully, your roommate isn’t home, so you aren’t forced to explain the events of tonight. Seokjin would have wanted to discuss, and you aren’t sure you can without breaking down.

Burrowing your face into the pillows, you manage to cry yourself asleep. Rain doesn’t let up the entire night.

“Tell me again.” Taking a seat at the table, Seokjin spoons yogurt and berries into his mouth. “Why did you have to end things with your boyfriend?”

Cracking open one eye, you glare from where you sit, slumped forward. “You know why, Seokjin,” you grumble. “Not all of us can be air Elementals in perfect control of their magic.”

“You could be, though,” he says, pointing with his spoon. “If you put in like, five seconds of training and embraced your water powers instead of running away whenever things got bad.”

“I am not running.”

“No.” Seokjin lifts a brow. “You’re cowering, which is far less attractive.”

“I’m not cowering, either.” Scowling, you bury your head deeper into your arms. “I’m wallowing. Big difference.”

Scoffing, his spoon scrapes the bottom of the bowl. Pushing his chair back to stand, Seokjin heads for the sink and turns on the tap. The water itches a spot deep in your chest, almost taunting.

“I can’t be too hard on you, though,” Seokjin says as he cleans. “You did get fired and dumped in one day – that’s pretty rough.”

“Does it count as being dumped if I did the dumping?”

“I’ll allow it.” He opens the dishwasher. “But only because really, you didn’t want to break up with Jungkook. You’ve just convinced yourself the world is better off without you – something I highly disagree with, by the way, but can’t fault you for feeling. It’s too sad.”

“Thanks,” you mumble, and close your eyes.

Two days have gone by since your decision to end your relationship with Jungkook. It hasn’t been great, to put things mildly. On Monday, you barely left your room and rain poured from the sky. When you did enter the kitchen, the weather person on Channel 9 predicted local flooding.

Seokjin arrived from his business trip that night, took one look at your face and helped stop the storm. You sagged with relief, falling into a fitful round of sleep that only lasted three hours.

Seokjin is one of the few Elementals you know who embraces their power. Both his parents are air Elementals, and he was raised to take over their magical consulting business. Said business does well, leading Seokjin to own a gorgeous, three-bedroom apartment in the middle of the city. He got bored last winter, decided to post for a roommate and here you are. One of the few people in the city willing to room with an Elemental.

You don’t care what Seokjin does with his magic, although his laissez-faire attitude can occasionally be unnerving. You’ve lived your entire life with the assumption your existence is dangerous. All you need is a quick Google search to reinforce this fact. But then there’s Seokjin, living his life, seemingly none the worse for the wear.

He discovered your powers about a month into rooming together. Coming back from a trip, Seokjin opened the door to stare, slack-jawed, as plates washed themselves in the sink. Glancing up from your book at the table, you immediately sent two dishes crashing onto the floor.

Seokjin stared at this for a moment, then looked up. “You owe me new plates,” he declared and walked into his bedroom. After a moment, he popped his head out. “Hey – you think if we combined my wind and your water, we could create a waterspout but on land?”

“That’s… a tornado, Seokjin.”

“Right.” He slapped the doorframe once and disappeared. “Well, something to think about!”

Months later, Seokjin still doesn’t understand your avoidance of magic, but respects the decision enough to leave it alone. At least, until something like this happens and he’s again at a loss.

“Listen.”

Turning around, he shuts the dishwasher with his hip.

“Oh, no.” You grimace. “What now?”

Seokjin raises both hands. “Nothing, nothing. Far be it from me to comment on your mistakes. I’m sorry – did I say mistakes? I meant, ‘learned life experience.’ Through mistakes.”

“Was there a question in all that?”

“No question.” Loosely, he gestures. “Just wanted to say you can stay here, rent-free, until you figure this out. You know I’m only taking your money because you insist. I don’t need it. This place is already paid for.”

“Only because you frightened the seller so badly, they cut the price in half.”

“Listen.” Seokjin’s smile turns slightly sinister. “If they were willing to let their ingrained fear of Elementals influence their selling point, that’s on them. Not me.”

“Fair enough,” you sigh and sit back. “But seriously – thank you. This will give me some time to come up with a plan.”

Seokjin nods, tracing the rim of his coffee. Absently, he glances down the hall at the empty third bedroom. “You know…”

“No,” you say, automatic.

His right brow lifts. “You don’t even know what I was going to say.”

“You were going to suggest I use this time off to work on my art.”

“Okay.” Seokjin shrugs. “Maybe you did know. But seriously, Y/N – why not?”

Weary, you exhale. “Because every time I try to paint, I get this… block. I can’t explain it. Watercolors used to be the one place I felt comfortable using my magic. Now… I don’t know. I can’t seem to use my magic anywhere. Even my art.”

Seokjin tilts his head, thoughtful. “How long has this been going on?”

“Don’t know – a few months?”

“Not long after you started dating Jungkook.”

Staring at Seokjin, you realize he’s right. That’s exactly around when you began dating Jungkook. The block happened not long after. Thinking about the early days of dating are painful though, and so you choose not to.

“I don’t want to talk about him,” you declare with a shake of your head. “Right now, what I need is a job. And to earn money. Preferably in that order.”

Seokjin’s lips twitch. “Let me know if the order changes. I know a guy.”

Before you can consider his offer too seriously, your phone rings on the table. Glancing down, your heart constricts at your mom’s name. It isn’t that you don’t want to talk. It’s that if you do, Jungkook’s name will come up, and you’ll be forced to explain why you two aren’t together. Right now, you’re managing to cope by avoiding the topic. You aren’t sure what will happen if you’re forced to confront it.

Not to mention the very real possibility your mom will be happy. She liked Jungkook, but she always worries whenever someone new enters your life.

Also glancing at your phone, Seokjin scowls. “Don’t answer it,” he says, walking past. “Whenever you talk to your mom, things get even worse.”

Seokjin’s not wrong. Your mom means well – really, she does – but talking to her tends to leave you exhausted. Still, you know from experience it’s better to answer now.

“I know,” you sigh and stand up. “But if I don’t pick up now, she’ll just keep calling. Hey,” you say, pressing answer. “One second, mom.”

Ignoring Seokjin’s sad shake of his head, you scoop up your coffee and head for your bedroom.

Closing the door to your room, you lean backwards. “Hi, mom,” you say, lifting your phone to your ear. “Sorry about that. I was eating breakfast. How are you?”

“Oh, you know,” your mom says, and you can practically hear her smile. “Same old, same old. The better question is, how are you? I saw on the weather there’s some flooding by you. Hope you’re alright!”

Grimacing, you move the phone to speaker. You should have known your mom would check in. Reading between the lines of her question, you can hear what she’s really asking. Your mom wants to know if you caused the flooding – an answer which is undeniably yes, but she doesn’t have to know that.

Setting down your half-empty mug, you flop face-first on your bed. Less information tends to be more with your mom. You’re debating what to say when she solves the problem for you.

“I know you haven’t had a slip in years,” she continues. “But if there’s another water Elemental in town, you should try to steer clear of them! Being around them could set you off – that’s what happened to Becky’s nephew, she said.”

Fighting an eye roll, you roll on your back. Becky Mayweather is your mom’s best friend in the entire world and one of your least favorite people. She’s the type to bake cookies, offer a shoulder to cry on – and then promptly turn and gossip to the neighbors about it. She fancies herself an Elemental expert because a few of her friends married them. Funnily enough, neither you nor your mom have met these friends in person.

“Oh?” you ask. “I never noticed.”

“It’s true! You know that I worry, Y/N. All alone in the city with another Elemental for a roommate…”

Annoyance spikes in your stomach. “His name is Seokjin, and I’m an Elemental too, mom. His mom could say the same thing about me.”

Seokjin’s mom could be saying that, but she wouldn’t because Seokjin’s mom and dad are both magic enthusiasts. The few times you met them, they were nothing but kind.

“Oh, Y/N.” Your mom sighs. “It’s not the same.”

“Why not?”

“Watch your tone,” she says. “I’m only telling the truth. You work hard on controlling your magic. Your roommate, on the other hand, uses his magic willy-nilly. In broad daylight! You two couldn’t be more different.”

Your mom isn’t wrong about that, although not for the reason she thinks. Seokjin does use his magic freely, but you’re the one at risk of hurting others – not him.

“Seokjin is a good guy,” you say tightly. “He’s letting me stay here, rent-free, while I search for another job.”

“Another job?” Her voice pitches. “What happened to the job at that restaurant?”

Cursing yourself for your own stupidity, you close your eyes. “Um… I was let go. Difference of opinions with management.”

“Oh. Well. That’s too bad, Y/N, I’m sorry. It’s probably for the best – you don’t want to be working for someone you don’t respect, right?”

Some of your anger lessens at her genuine sympathy. It’d be easy to paint your mom as the villain but truthfully, she comes from a good place. You know that she loves you; she just doesn’t want to lose you the same way she lost your dad.

Exhaling deeply, you reach to grab a pillow. “I’ve been trying to paint,” you say. “It hasn’t been going well.”

“No?”

You frown at the obvious joy in her voice.

“Yeah,” you admit.

“Well…” Your mom draws the word out. “We always knew art was a risky hobby, Y/N. Painting. With watercolors. Something could easily go wrong and put you in danger.”

“I know, mom.”

“Actually,” she adds, her excitement growing. “Maybe this is a sign. Y/N – what if this means your powers are weakening?”

Your entire body goes still. “What?”

“Yes!” she says, oblivious to the panic in your voice. “You always loved watercolors because they made sense to you, right? Because of your… well, magic. What if a block means your powers are growing weaker? I wonder if other Elementals ever lose touch with their magic. I’ll have to ask Becky.”

Irrational anger surges within, and you hear the faucet in your bathroom turn on. Hastily, you work to turn it back off.

“You don’t need to do that,” you blurt. “I’ll research it myself. Actually, I should get going – I wanted to apply for some jobs this morning.”

“Oh, yes – good call, honey. You go and apply. Let me know if you need help. Becky has connections with the local university. I’m sure someone could help you update your resume – or even apply, if that sounds interesting to you.”

“Thanks,” you say, although it absolutely does not. “That’s a nice offer.”

“Have a good day, honey – I love you!”

“Love you, too,” you say before hanging up.

Dropping the phone onto your bed, you hug your pillow tightly. It takes several long minutes to relax, wading your way through an anxious sea of thought. Although your mom means well, conversations with her tend to leave you feeling drained. Since you were young, it’s felt like your mom has an idea of the perfect child, and they aren’t you.

Eventually, you stand to bring your mug to the kitchen. Seokjin is busy making another pot of coffee, the delicious scent wafting overhead.

Passing him by, you eye this warily. “Isn’t that your third pot this morning?”

“And?” Seokjin reaches for his mug. “You’ve had three cups yourself.”

“Touché,” you sigh, collapsing on the couch.

Minutes later, Seokjin enters the living room and hands you a mug.

Staring into the drink, you say, “Thanks.”

Settling onto the sofa, Seokjin examines you over the rim of his coffee. You ignore him, taking a long sip of your drink. A summer breeze wafts through the window, and with a flick of his wrist, Seokjin sends it back out.

A stab of envy goes through you, although you know it’s irrational. Seokjin always makes magic look easy, but you’ve never found it to be so. Maybe when you were younger, before the crippling fear and anxiety had a chance to set in. The only time magic ever felt normal was when you painted and now, you can’t even do that.

Thinking about painting makes you think about Jungkook though, causing the dull thud in your chest to become a sledgehammer. You miss him. Miss the easy way Jungkook made you laugh. How he insisted on constantly touching some part of your body.

Cupping your mug of coffee, you take another sip and sink into the sadness.

“Far be it from me to dole out advice.” Seokjin interrupts your tiny pity party. “But I think you’re going about this the wrong way.”

Too exhausted to argue, you merely exhale. “What’s the right way, then?”

His head tilts. “I don’t know. But I find it weird your block appeared around the same time you started dating Jungkook. You’ve…” Seokjin hesitates, and you recognize his how-do-I-put-this-delicately face. “You’ve given up a lot over the years, Y/N. Maybe this time, you gave up more of yourself than you realized.”

Silently, you wonder whether he’s right. For too long, you’ve gone through the motions of life without really living. Too scared of letting people in, scaring them off, of being yourself. Perhaps giving up Jungkook will be the final straw. The thought doesn’t comfort you, and you have no response.

After a moment, Seokjin turns on the TV. The morning slips by, though you can’t help but think about his earlier comments – could you control your magic if you tried harder? The moment you think this, you instantly banish the thought. You’ve been attempting for months, and nothing has worked.

With this cheery thought, you allow yourself to sink further into melancholy. Only this time, the water rushing overheard isn’t your friend. You aren’t sure it ever was.

Wednesday morning, you leave the apartment in a haze. You thought that by today, things would be better but if anything, the situation seems to be worse.

Missing Jungkook is painful.

It hurts more than you thought, which might sound stupid, but that doesn’t make it any less true. When you and Elliot broke up, it was sad, but you knew it was for the best and that lessened some of the pain. Now though, each beat of your heart prevents the wound from closing. A tentative scab in one second, only to be torn open the next.

Jungkook always sent you good morning texts. Not because he was up before you, but because he went to bed so late, it was only an hour or two before you awoke. His words were the first thing you read in the morning, smiling sleepily at his rambling. Sometimes, Jungkook would include a late-night snack recipe. Always, he’d end with something he liked about you.

His silence is deafening. Something not even your favorite coffee shop can fix, although you try. Standing in line, you aimlessly flip through songs on your phone. Today, you promised Seokjin you’d attend at least two interviews. The first one is in an hour at a sushi restaurant. Before then, you plan to load up on caffeine and organize your thoughts.

When the line moves forward, you flip to your messages. No new texts. Unsurprising, but it rends the scab in your heart anew.

Facing forward, you remove an earbud to order. “Hi,” you say, mustering a smile. “I’ll have an iced americano with rose syrup.”

“Got it.” The barista barely looks up. “That all?”

“Uh-huh.”

“Want a receipt?”

“Nope.”

“Cool.” She nods. “That’ll be ready soon at the end of the counter.”

Nodding your thanks, you replace the ear pod. Cranking your music louder, you wait for your coffee and lean against the counter. The coffee shop is tiny, empty for a weekday after the morning rush. Aimless, you glance over the clustered tables.

Your thoughts are on Jungkook before they can be stopped. You wonder what he's doing, what he’s wearing, whether he’s blocked your number yet from his phone.

A talented graphic designer, Jungkook works mostly on commission and on his own time. He does well for himself – enough to afford rent on his own place. Your mutual creative streak was something you had in common. Not your sleeping hours, that’s for sure.

Jungkook usually slept until nine or ten, then went to the gym before he made breakfast. You used to tease him about that, saying he couldn’t call it breakfast if –

Your heart falters. Jungkook must be on your mind since you seem to have hallucinated him here, at the coffee shop. You blink once, and then twice, but the mirage doesn’t fade, and you’re forced to conclude Jungkook is actually here.

Unfolding himself from a chair, he heads in your direction. Panicked, you glance at the counter, then back up. Your coffee hasn’t finished, which means that you’re trapped. Straightening, you do your best to seem natural and are certain you fail. Jungkook doesn’t just look natural, he is so as he approaches. At least, until you notice his hands in his pockets.

Jungkook does this when he’s nervous. Likely, he’s playing with the inside pocket lining. It hurts, knowing him so well, and not being his. When Jungkook comes to a stop, you stand mere inches apart.

“Jungkook,” you say, his name punched from your diaphragm.

He nods. “Hey.”

Uncertain, you glance down at the counter to check for your drink. Still nothing and, looking back, you tilt your head. “What are you doing here?”

Jungkook’s hands go deeper, if possible. “Getting coffee. Is that allowed?”

Your lips press together. “Sure. Theoretically, you can get coffee. What I’m asking though, is why you chose this coffee shop, five blocks away from your place. Usually, you’re not awake before noon.”

His expression is inscrutable. “Couldn’t sleep.”

“Ah.”

The silence between you lengthens, and not in a good way. You know why you’re quiet but can’t tell what Jungkook is thinking. You suppose that it’s possible he woke up early, forgot this was your favorite shop and went on a long walk for coffee – it’s possible, but unlikely.

At last, Jungkook exhales. “Alright, fine. I wanted to see you.”

“Y/N?”

Both of you turn at the sound of your name. Glancing between the two of you, the barista seems to pick up a weird vibe, dropping the cup to hurry away. Grateful for the interruption, you reach for your coffee and attempt to reset.

It’s not fair of Jungkook, corning you like this. You were already forced to end this once – unfair, making you do so again. Breaking up with him once was barely possible; twice is unthinkable.

“Don’t you have anything else to say?”

His voice interrupts your train of thought and, gripping your drink tightly, you turn.

“Like what?” you ask.

“Like, I don’t know.” His brow furrows, frustration obvious. “Anything, Y/N.”

Behind the counter, the barista fills a tea kettle to set this on the stove. You watch it instead of Jungkook, unsure how you’re going to do this again. The pressure of the water boiling is near tangible, mimicking the internal state of your mind.

Biting your tongue, you decide a safe exit is best. Jungkook will get the hint without you being forced to break his heart. Counting backwards from ten, you exhale and attempt to walk past.

“I’m sorry you came all this way,” you say in a murmur.

You’re nearly past Jungkook when you hear a soft swear. Only one more step happens before his hand grips your elbow.

“Y/N, please,” Jungkook breathes, turning you towards him.

Your gaze lifts and you start at his obvious pain. Staring back, Jungkook searches your face for something unspoken. Whatever he seeks, he must find it, since determination enters his.

You tear your gaze away. “I don’t know what you want me to say, Jungkook.”

“I want to know if you were serious about breaking up.”

He’s still holding your elbow.

You must notice this at the same time, but neither of you move. Your gaze returns to his, drawn like a magnet and you realize your mistake when you can’t look away. Romeo’s line about Julie being the sun comes to mind, making sudden sense. You orbit around Jungkook, whether you like it or not.

In the background, a tea kettle whistles. “I meant what I said, Jungkook,” you say, forcing yourself to speak first. “I’m not good for you.”

A muscle in his jaw feathers. “But why,” he demands, frustration seeping through. You can hear in his voice the long nights of desperation, of little sleep in your absence. “I don’t understand what went wrong, Y/N. What did I do?”

A chasm in your chest opens, hating how easily he jumps to self-doubt. Before you can think better of it, you move closer.

“Nothing,” you say, one hand on his arm. “You did nothing wrong, Jungkook. I’m just not in a place where I can be in a relationship.”

“But why not?” His gaze sharpens. “Everything was fine between us until Sunday.”

“Everything was not fine.”

Jungkook pauses, then barrels on. “When you say you can’t be in a relationship… what you’re really saying is you can’t be in a relationship with me.”

“With anyone,” you correct, although you aren’t sure that’s the truth.

Your magic has never been this temperamental. Possibly because this is the first time you’ve fallen in love. Dating someone not Jungkook would be safer, but the thought is abhorrent.

If you can’t have Jungkook, you don’t want anyone. That will be your punishment. Jungkook will move on, fall in love, and be happy with another person. Not you. No one else will compare, and if you can’t now, you doubt you’ll move past this crippling fear.

“You keep telling me that,” Jungkook says, growing heated. “But I’m the one you’re breaking up with, so it’s a little bit about me. You need to give me something, Y/N. Is this about your past? I know you don’t like to talk about your childhood, but I want to know.”

A loud buzzing fills your ears, gaze darting around. You haven’t told Jungkook much about your family, not wanting to invite questions about being an Elemental. The thought of him guessing sparks panic again, and the tea kettle on the stove whistles louder.

“People in my past hurt me,” you say in a rush. Magic itches beneath your skin, begging for escape. “That’s part of it, but not all.”

“What’s all, then?”

Frustration seeps past the wall, and several things happen. Your magic lashes out, a loud noise makes you jump, and the tea kettle shatters while hitting the floor. Water sloshes across the tile, steam hissing as the barista jumps back with a yelp.

Startled, you whirl around. One barista turns off the stove, another grabs a towel while a third finds a broom. Luckily, none of them seem injured – the tea kettle missed their skin. Taking a half-step towards them, you force yourself to stop. Although you want to help, that might make you seem guilty.

Already, the guilt within you is rising. You felt your magic overpowering you and chose to stay. If a barista had been hurt, it would’ve been your fault.

Turning back, you find Jungkook staring at the mess. He looks similarly shocked, twisting the knife in your gut. If he knew you caused this, he’d look at you that differently.

“You see?” you blurt, and he glances in your direction. “Everyone around me gets hurt. I can’t hurt you, too, Jungkook.”

Shoving open the door, you’re halfway outside when his words reach your ears.

“That’s the thing, Y/N,” he says softly. “You already have.”

The door shuts behind you, and you almost make it home before starting to cry. The skies open again above the city.

“This can’t be a coincidence,” you mutter, staring through the window.

The slightly dilapidated Ramen-rama tables stare back at you until the owner walks past. Catching you standing there, he motions you on.

Somewhat chagrined, you trudge down the sidewalk. Reaching a playground two blocks away, you collapse on a bench and attempt to be rational. Four different interviews. Spread across two different days. Each one ending the exact same.

One crappy interview, even two, and you’d understand. But four crappy interviews in the same way? Something weird is happening. Each interview, you arrived, greeted the owner, answered a few questions, and were thus informed the position was filled.

It wasn’t that you hadn’t gotten a job. It was that your interviewers seemed nervous, staring hard at your resume and never your face. They seemed relieved when you left, as though you were liable to break something for fun.

“Hey. Did you interview this morning at Ramen-rama?”

Startled, you turn and find a stranger beside you.

You don’t recognize him; certainly you’d remember if you met before. Dressed in a Ramen-rama t-shirt, his dark hair is gathered in a bun on his head. His hair makes your chest ache, since Jungkook used to wear his like that.

“Um, yeah,” you say, yanking yourself from your daydreams.

He smiles and nods. “I thought that was you. Listen – I overheard the manager talking this morning on the phone while I was unloading the truck. I think he was talking about you, so I thought I should tell you what I overheard.”

Concerned, you straighten. “Uh, okay. What was he saying?”

“He was talking to your old boss – Pierre? Apparently, he’s calling around and warning people not to hire you. Said that you stole from him, or something. Not sure if it’s the same story for everyone, or if he’s making up shit up in the moment.”

Your jaw nearly drops. “Are you serious?”

“Yeah.” The guy’s smile turns wry. “I’m assuming none of it’s true. You don’t look like the thieving type, but the boss is running a business, I guess. Can’t be too careful.”

“Right.” You pause, then shake your head. “I didn’t steal, just so you know. A guest was an ass to me, so I dumped water on him – on accident,” you add.

Laughing loudly, the guy clutches his bicycle. “Wow, I’d love to hear that story. Especially the part about it being an accident,” he adds with a wink, sticking out his hand. “I’m Wooyoung.”

“Y/N,” you say as you shake. “So. Pierre is calling people?”

Brow furrowed, Wooyoung pulls back. “Yeah. Sorry I had to tell you like this. Wasn’t sure whether you’d want to know, but figured I should.”

You push yourself to stand. “I do appreciate it. Thanks for telling me.”

“No problem.” Sheepish, he glances down the road. “I should actually get back if I don’t want to lose my job. Delivery,” he explains, nodding towards his bike. “Need the extra income.”

“Makes sense,” you say, forcing a smile. “Good luck.”

Wooyoung nods, then pauses in a way that feels familiar. He’s checking you out, you realize after a moment. Although flattering, it’s instantly followed by a rush of guilt. Wooyoung is cute and in another life, you’d say yes, but in every life, it’s hard not to want Jungkook.

Waving goodbye, Wooyoung climbs onto his bike and takes off. You head in the opposite direction, needing to put distance between you and Ramen-rama. If Pierre is shit-talking you across town, you’ll be hard-pressed to find another job at a restaurant. Owners are notoriously clicky and for how many restaurants there are, there are surprisingly few out of the loop.

Maybe you can ask the coffee shop if they’re hiring. Although you should probably avoid work with water for a bit. This drops your mood, your thoughts turning desperate. You’re so deep in an anxiety spiral, you nearly run into an open door on the sidewalk.

Jerking upright, you stare at faded, golden letters. Creative Courage is spelled in looping cursive over a frosted window. Art supplies fill a display case, while the other is clustered with art of all kinds. You spot sculpture, pottery, painting, and sketches before losing count.

Before you can chicken out, you push open the door.

Stepping in, tiny bells chime to announce your arrival. Soft, ambient light fills the space – a shop that’s two-fold, you realize now that you’re inside. The front sells art supplies while in the back stands a classroom. There’s a class in session now, several artists seated on stools before easels.

“Can I help you?” someone asks, stepping into your path.

Blinking, you focus. “Um, no – thank you! I was just looking.”

“Of course!” The woman beams, reaching up to arrange a clip in magenta hair. “That’s what we’re here for. If you do change your mind, let me know – we’ve got art supplies out front, and classes are held daily in back.”

“Classes?”

“Mhm.” Crossing her arms, the woman nods. “Mostly still life and figure drawing, but we’re hoping to add some more soon. Are you an artist?” she asks, sounding hopeful.

Immediately, you stiffen. “No. At least, not right now.”

Her lips twitch. “Not sure it works like that, unfortunately. Who you are can’t come on and off like a jacket. I like that, though,” she admits with a laugh. “Might borrow it the next time the muses aren’t singing.”

You can’t help but grin. “Exactly.”

Her head tilts, surveying you with unnerving intensity. “My name is Taryn. I co-own this place with my partner, Micah. They’re the one teaching right now.”

“Oh,” you say, somewhat wistful. “That’s nice.”

“Thanks.” Her smile widens. “So, what was your preferred medium? You know, ‘back when’ you were an artist.”

You can’t help but laugh when Taryn lifts her hands to use air quotes. Some people have a way of making you feel included in their jokes, and Taryn is one of them. She teases you in a conspiratorial way, letting you know she understands. People often call art a labor of love, which can be true but more often, it’s a complicated tangle of love, pain and frustration.

“Watercolors,” you admit. “And my name is Y/N.”

Her eyes brighten. “We’ve been meaning to add a watercolor class for ages. Some of our regulars have asked, but Micah and I are both hopeless. Potter,” she explains, gesturing at herself. “And Micah prefers charcoal. Sometimes sculpture.”

“Wow,” you say. “Those are very different.”

“You don’t say.” Taryn laughs. “Micah likes to keep things fresh. What about you? Have you ever taught be– hang on,” she blurts, her eyes going wide. “Did you say that your name is Y/N? As in Y/N Y/L/N?”

Your cheeks heat. “Yeah, that’s me.”

Whirling, Taryn hustles through the front room to duck behind a counter. Digging through several drawers, she pulls out a print to hurry back.

“Is this you?” she demands, thrusting this in your face.

Even cross-eyed and close, you recognize your most popular work. A watercolor series on the majesty and destruction of sea storms. Looking at this makes you feel raw, and so you look up.

“Yep,” you admit. “That’s me.”

Pulling back, Taryn looks at the print reverently. “You’re amazing. Micah was trying to do something similar but couldn’t capture the right feeling.”

Shuffling awkwardly, you shrug. You’ve never felt as though your work deserved acclaim, although it’s nice to know the series resonated with others. One of your favorite aspects of art is how it can be intensely personal but once shared, takes on a universal quality. You find it constantly surprising; how many people seem to share the same burdens.

“Seriously.” Taryn shakes her head wryly. “If you ever wanted to teach a class, let me know. We’d be lucky to have you here.”

“Thank you,” you say, stuffing both hands in your pockets.

You hadn’t realized your desperation was obvious. Or possibly Taryn is just incredibly good at reading others. Truthfully, it’s been a while since you stepped foot in the art world. Even before dating Jungkook, you felt your passion lagging. It’s been a long time since you wanted to connect with your inner voice, although merely the act of being here calls the tide in your blood.

Dangerous.

Recognizing this, you reinforce an inner wall. “I’m sorry,” you repeat. “I’m not really looking for something right now.”

Taryn nods. “Sure. If things change though, just let me know – before next week,” she adds. “We try to publish our class schedule on the first of each month.”

“Will do. Thanks, again.”

“Anytime!” Beaming, Taryn spins to restock the next shelf.

Realizing your conversation is finished, you continue down the next aisle. The shop’s materials are superb, and your fingers are itching to reach out and touch. Reaching the front, you notice a quote painted over the register: Creativity takes courage – Henry Matisse.

You stare at this for a while, unsure why it hurts. Courage isn’t something you’ve thought about in a long time. When you were younger, you pushed people away because it was safe, but now you find yourself wondering who was that for – others? Or yourself?

Maybe the reason you keep yourself separate is because you are afraid people might leave you. Like Katrina. Or Elliot. Or even your dad.

Suppressing magic was hard at the start. Everything about it felt counter-intuitive but you reasoned doing the right thing often took effort. This is what you told yourself, anyways. It made said effort more bearable.

When you first began painting, the relief you felt was immense. After so long spent ignoring your emotions, you found a space to be free. Your series about the sea was oddly therapeutic, working through complicated emotions; your love for the ocean, coupled with fear of its wild beauty. Similar clashes within yourself about magic. And always, always, the desire for more.

For a few hours though, those feelings could be a part of you. Magic could be a part of you, so long as you remained in control – and with brush in hand, you were.

Only now does it occur to you that maybe, this wasn’t healthy. Maybe you shouldn’t feel the need to compartmentalize, as though certain pieces of yourself can only exist in certain spaces.

Tearing your gaze from the words, you exit the shop and gently shut the door. Pulling your jacket tighter, you head down the sidewalk and let your thoughts drift. Jungkook only saw you paint once, but the memory is hard to forget.

You had just started dating, barely past the stage of calling him ‘boyfriend.’ The constant influx of emotion was difficult to manage, and after a few weeks, you were exhausted. Most of your time spent without Jungkook was seated before your canvas. After one particularly frustrating session, you set down your paint to stubbornly stare at the canvas.

A throat cleared from behind.

Startled, you spun and found Jungkook standing there. His gaze moved quickly to yours, but you realized he’d been staring at your half-finished work. Normally, you felt panic at the thought of someone seeing a work in progress. That night though, the look on Jungkook’s face eased your concerns. Awe; pure and clear.

Yanking down giant, over-ear headphones, you hastily stood.

Jungkook lurched forward. “No!” he blurted, only to halt. “I mean – you don’t have to cover the painting. I liked it.”

He seemed flustered, which made you slightly flustered, but you took a slow step sideways. Eager, Jungkook’s gaze traversed the canvas.

Eventually, he looked back. “Sorry about that,” Jungkook said and walked closer. Warm hands found your waist. “I didn’t mean to startle you.”

“How did you get in?” you laughed, burying your face in his chest.

“Seokjin.” He paused. “Did he not say I was here? I texted you a half hour ago, but you didn’t respond. I figured I’d stop by, and Seokjin said to come up.”

Softening, you made a mental note to chastise Seokjin later. Tightening your arms, you lifted your head and smiled.

“So.” Jungkook glanced over your shoulder. “This is you.”

This sent a thrill down your spine. He spoke as though he’d known you before, but only on a surface level and now, he understood. Jungkook knew your art was part of you, as much as your heart or your soul. You had often felt the same, but never said so out loud.

Magic swelled, and you pushed it back down, but it was difficult. When Jungkook bent his head, you forgot to be scared and let yourself feel. The brush of his lips. The tightening of his hands. The current within you, swelling against your highest walls.

Loudly, someone knocked on the door. Breathless, you jerked backwards and found Seokjin in the door.

“Hey.” He jerked a thumb over one shoulder. “Wanted to let you know our dishwasher broke. Flooded the kitchen.” Pointed, Seokjin looked at you. “Everything is all good, but I’m calling a plumber tomorrow. Carry on.”

In a flurry of embarrassment, you abruptly ended the evening and sent Jungkook home.

Remembering how the night ended, you stifle a groan and walk faster. Once more, you couldn’t control your magic and put Jungkook in danger. Hardly the creative courage Henry Matisse imagined.

You always assumed suppressing your magic was the best choice. But the best choice for who? Certainly not for you, who lives isolated, inert and in fear of yourself. Your dad used to call your magic a gift, but it’s been a long time since you felt that way.

This memory brings with it a sharp stab of pain. Since your dad passed, fear has replaced any joy your magic brought. Fear of falling victim to the same fate he did. Of others’ rejection. Of failing to live up to your father’s example.

You have little doubt that if your dad could see you now, he’d be confused by your actions.

You push others away in the name of saving them. Again, you think of Jungkook and for once you allow it. The entire way home, you wish that he’d call.

He doesn’t though and eventually, you stop hoping.

By Friday, the threads keeping your feelings at bay are nearly worn through. Intrusive thoughts push against fragile bonds, threatening the haven you’ve carefully crafted.

With more force than needed, you toss clothing into the washer. Your usual laundromat was closed, forcing you to walk five blocks to the next one. Sweaty from suddenly sweltering temperatures, your arms sore from the hamper, the situation does nothing to improve an already crappy mood.

Wiping your forehead with one arm, you slam the door and press start. The machine whirs to life, laundry tumbling in a way reminiscent of your inner turmoil. Up, you did the right thing by ending it with Jungkook. He’ll swiftly move on and find someone else. Down – but you don’t want him to find someone else. You want him to find you.

Teeth gritted, you turn and grab your hamper from the floor. Placing this on the washer, you wearily tug your cell phone from your pocket. By the time you walked home, you’d have to come back, leaving you with forty minutes to kill. You could read more of the book you just started. Or submit your resume to a couple of restaurants.

After yesterday’s disaster at Ramen-rama though, the interview process has stalled. Instead, you’ve found yourself thinking more about Creative Courage. For a brief moment, you even walked into the third bedroom to paint.

You immediately walked back out again, but merely the act was more than you’ve done in months. The thought of creation brought mostly panic, since it’d involve you being honest. Something you haven’t been with yourself in a while.

Because if you were honest, you know what you’d find. You would regret breaking up with Jungkook. Maybe even find that, deep down, you want to be selfish. You want to keep dating him, even if Jungkook gets hurt in the end.

After all, you saw what loving an Elemental did to your mom.

Putting down your phone, you scan the laundromat and find your gaze catching on the person in the next aisle.

No. No, no, no – absolutely not.

The universe – or whoever’s writing your story – must be cruel and unusual, since standing beside you is Jungkook. You’d recognize his head anywhere. Straightening from his hamper, Jungkook turns to face you and goes still.

Eyes wide, he seems stunned until someone slams shut their dryer. Both of you jump, breaking eye contact and time seems to reset. Pressing start on his machine, Jungkook grabs his gym bag and hoists it over one shoulder. He strides towards the exit, halfway there when you spring into action.

Dashing towards him, you cut him off at the dryers. Footsteps slowing, Jungkook meets your gaze with visible confusion.

“Sorry,” he says, tugging his gym bag behind him. The thick, grey strap of it cuts across his hoodie. “I was just leaving. I can come back later if you want to finish your load.”

Again, he tries to move past you, but something inside of you snaps. You aren’t sure what possesses you, but somehow, find your hand gripping his sleeve.

Startled, Jungkook stares.

Equally swift, you withdraw. “I, uh…”

Head spinning, all your words seem to fly out the window. Nothing about this was planned. You have no idea what to tell Jungkook besides I’m sorry, and even this would be woefully inadequate without explanation. Which you can’t give.

“You don’t have to leave on my account,” you say at last.

A singular brow lifts. “No? You didn’t seem to think that way on Wednesday.”

You suppress a wince, although you try your best to hide it. “I know,” you admit. “It’s just… this is your usual laundromat. I don’t want you to leave because of me. I wouldn’t even be here, expect the one near me is broken and –”

“Got it,” he interrupts, the words tight. “You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t have to be.”

Swallowing hard, you stare down at your shoes. You know you deserve this, but it’s just so hard to see Jungkook hurting. He deserves to be happy, not wasting his energy on hating you.

“Okay,” you whisper.

Your eyes start to burn, and you squeeze them shut to prevent a reaction. You absolutely cannot cry in front of Jungkook. Not when you’re the one who started this; the very last thing you want him to feel for you is pity.

“Hey.” Something in his tone shifts, and you hear Jungkook step closer. When you open your eyes, he watches you intently. “What’s wrong?”

A tiny fissure within your chest splinters.

Anyone else could have asked those words, and you would have been able to answer. For Jungkook to do so is unthinkable. You’re the one who ruined this. The one who hurt him, who ended this and still, Jungkook is concerned about your well-being.

“I was fired on Sunday,” you say in a rush. “Before I came to see you.”

He blinks only once before his face hardens. “Before you broke up with me, you mean.”

“Yeah,” you whisper.

Running his tongue over the back of his teeth, Jungkook glances away. His expression is taut, and you feel a sharp pang of envy. It’s so easy to read Jungkook. You’ve spent so long hiding your emotions, it strikes you as luxurious how easily he feels.

A muscle in his jaw tics. “Y/N,” Jungkook says, turning back. “What are you doing?”

“What… do you mean?”

Fear spikes your heart, wondering if Jungkook has finally pieced the facts together. Maybe he saw more than you realized at the coffee shop. Maybe he finally knows what you are.

“Why are you… torturing me?” he clarifies, a slight rasp to his voice. “I don’t know what you want me to say. You were fired? That sucks, but it doesn’t make this okay. It doesn’t make us okay,” he adds, gesturing to the air between you.

“I – I know,” you stammer, nearly blurting out something you’ll regret.

Like that you’re an Elemental teetering close to the edge. One who can feel every pipe, every spin cycle within the walls of this laundromat. All of them churning, pulsing, begging for your magic to release the water inside.

“You know?” Jungkook stares at you, incredulous. “Again, Y/N – what do you want from me?”

Since you started talking, you’ve moved several steps closer. Another breath, another reach and you’d be in his arms. Glancing down, you notice how quickly Jungkook’s chest rises and falls.

He’s afraid, you realize. Jungkook’s fear isn’t the same one as yours, though. He isn’t afraid that you’ll see him, but rather that you’ll destroy him.

Realizing this, a barrier within you crumbles. “It doesn’t matter what I want,” you say, somewhat desperate.

“You keep saying that.” Determined, he steps closer and somehow, your hand entwines with his to press against his chest. “You keep saying you don’t want this, but you won’t tell me why. Won’t tell me anything, Y/N – you were fired, and this is the first time I’m hearing it.”

“I couldn’t tell you!” you blurt. “I can’t explain it, Jungkook, but I couldn’t tell you when it happened.”

His gaze sharpens. “Then, yeah, maybe you’re right. Maybe we are better off broken up.”

Releasing you, Jungkook brushes past you and heads for the exit. You stare blankly at the wall before you, your whole world caving in as your head starts to spin. Magic seeps beyond your fractured walls, flooding your veins in desperate search for an exit.

“That’s not true,” you protest, spinning around. “I’ve told you more than anyone else in my life, Jungkook. I’ve let you in in ways no one else has.”

Jungkook stiffens at the door, his entire body taut. For a single, long moment, it seems as though he might reconsider but the longer you stand there, the more you watch the fight drain from the lines of his shoulders.

“I don’t doubt that’s true,” he says, hand hovering above the doorknob. “But that’s not the same as letting me in.”

He starts to go.

Everything around you becomes white noise.

When you were ten, you passed a famous dam on one of your cross-country moves. Your mom took you to see it, swinging your hand while entering the viewing platform.

The moment you saw it, you went wholly still. Trillions of gallons of water, trapped behind concrete, constantly pushing but unable to break. It felt like your magic. Raw, untamed power contained by a solid wall. You stared for longer than any other visitor, until your mom pulled your arm and said you should leave.

The entire way to the car, your mom was silent and once you were buckled in, she twisted around to see you. “Listen to me, Y/N,” she said, her voice serious. “That dam will only work if the wall holds. If the wall breaks, do you know what happens?”

Silent, you shook your head.

“The water will flood the whole valley. Everyone in its path, all the forest – they’d be gone. The wall can’t break, or bad things happen. Do you understand me?”

Solemn, you nodded because even then, you understood. Although your magical dam was intangible, it held equal importance. You had to hold in the magic, otherwise bad things would happen. So long as the wall was in place, you were safe.

Now though, you squeeze your eyes tightly as the wall starts to crumble.

Emotions break with the force of a tidal wave, racing ahead and drowning all in its path. Memories you thought were long buried continue to rise, crushing you further. Your walls are destroyed in a matter of seconds.

You remember your dad, kissing you on the head before leaving the house. Katrina’s stricken expression when the door shut in her face. Jungkook, asking you what he’d done wrong again.

Each memory drags you under, and you shudder against the onslaught. It takes everything you have to remain standing while your restraint dissolves.

Hands grip your arms.

Surprised, your eyes fly open to find Jungkook before you. His neck muscles strain, yelling to be heard over thundering water. You try your best to focus, to rein your magic back in – only to realize with horror, it might be too late.

The laundromat around you is in chaos. Several ceiling pipes have burst, water crashing down in torrents of water. Already, waves lap at your ankles. Noise filters back in, flickering before solidifying to something substantial.

People are screaming, abandoning their hampers in an attempt to get out. The door has stuck though, unable to open under the onslaught of water. Jungkook yells again, and this time you hear him.

“Are you okay?” he bellows, close to your face.

You stare upward, stupefied. Another pipe bursts, and you think that was you, but it’s hard to be sure. Hard to understand which parts are in control and which parts are not. What particular emotion is holding the reins at any moment.

Determination replaces fear in his face, and Jungkook bends before you have time to blink. In an instant, you’re tossed over his shoulder. A yelp escapes, upside-down but he’s already wading through the aisle of washers.

Jungkook shouts at people to move, but no one is listening. After a moment, you feel him exhale and surge forward. Although you can’t see, the people seem to be moving, so Jungkook must appear confident.

Grasping the door, he pulls on it, hard. Nothing happens. Exhaling, Jungkook grips your waist tighter and mutters, “Hold on.”

You don’t have time to ask why, since he yanks harder and the entire frame shudders. Jungkook does this again and another pipe bursts, drawing your gaze. By the time you look back, the door has budged an inch and water is pouring out. With a final wrench, Jungkook yanks open the door.

People shove past him, rushing into the street with the tide of water. Spinning around, Jungkook shields you with his frame from the wet crush of bodies. His grip never wavers, feet anchored to the ground as though they’ve rocks themselves.

With each breath, your pulse slows until finally, you locate the faint threads of magic. Before, you felt too much at once. The crush was overwhelming but now, you manage to breach the surface. For the first time, you see your panic influencing the tide.

Realizing this, you reach inward and try to – turn. With great effort, you identify the source of your power and disconnect. Water in the ceiling slows to a trickle, and then, nothing.

Exhaling against your neck, Jungkook’s hand moves lower.

You can’t help but shiver. “Jungkook?” you murmur into his shoulder.

“Yeah?”

“Could you… you know, set me down?”

“Oh.”

Somewhat sheepish, Jungkook lowers you to face him. He doesn’t step away, and neither do you. If this is the last time you see him, you want to be selfish and make it as long as possible.

He stares back at you, waterdrops caught between his lashes. In the background, water continues to drip from a pipe. The soft plink-plink echoes the thud of your heart.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

Jungkook’s hands remain on your waist, his touch scrambling all semblance of sanity. You aren’t sure how to answer without being honest.

Truthfully, you’re not okay.

An okay person wouldn’t break up with their boyfriend and then, six days later throw themselves in their path. An okay person wouldn’t be hiding their magic, they wouldn’t be lying to the person they love and most of all, wouldn’t continue to place that same person in danger.

Silent, you survey the aftermath of your outburst. Deep down, your magic itches in response to your panic. Seeping outward, it seeks to mold to the fear, but you manage to stop it. Something about the wall being gone makes your power less alien. No longer an unknown variable, but a constant.

“No,” you exhale. Steeling yourself, you take a step backwards. “No, Jungkook, I’m not okay. I… this is exactly why you should stay away from me. Bad things happen, and I can’t control them. I’m so sorry.”

Again, you brace yourself for his anger, but it never comes. Jungkook is unusually quiet, head cocked to one side. He sees right through you, a sensation unnerving enough that you drop your gaze.

“I should go,” you repeat, stepping around him. Reaching your washer, you hastily unload your soggy clothing. “I have to go.”

Jungkook says nothing, although you feel his gaze on the back of your head. Hefting your hamper, you slam the door shut, and turn. The water level at your ankles has dropped, no more than a centimeter remaining in the room.

Sirens wail in the distance, likely on their way to investigate. Your stomach lurches, recognizing the cost of your magic. As soon as possible, you should reach out to Seokjin. His company might be able to cover the damage if the laundromat can’t.

Nearing the exit, you look anywhere but at Jungkook’s face. “I’m sorry,” you repeat, unsure what else to say. “Really, I am.”

Again, he lets you move past. Water rushes out when you open the door, seeking the street, then the gutter. Hurrying past, you can’t shake the feeling something has changed.

Not only with you and Jungkook, but with you and your magic. Silent, you prod the place deep within from which your magic stems. You’re used to a wall, feeling closed off but now, it seems your mom was right.

Once shattered, the dam can’t be rebuilt.

A weightlessness accompanies this that you didn’t anticipate. Despite the terror of your outburst, there was a moment near the end when you stopped it. When you felt what was wrong and controlled your outburst of magic. You haven’t done that before.

The thought is followed by regret, remembering Jungkook. When you broke up, it was supposed to save him. Instead, you’ve only put him – and yourself – in greater danger. Maybe because you’ve continued to see him. Everything would be fine if you moved or kept your distance.

But then, another part of you wonders if you were wrong from the start. Maybe instead of providing distance, you should have come closer. Should have allowed Jungkook to decide whether he wanted to stay. After all, today, he experienced the worst of your powers, and he didn’t run. If anything, he moved closer.

Suddenly exhausted, you hail a cab. The driver grumbles at your wet clothes but allows you inside, and you tip him extra upon reaching your place. What you should do is find another laundromat and finish your load, but there’s an itch in your fingers you haven’t felt in some time.

Dropping your hamper at the door, you shutter yourself within the third bedroom. Not allowing yourself to second-guess, you sit down at your easel and pick up a brush.

For the first time in a long time, you allow the magic to flow. You paint.

 © kpopfanfictrash, 2023. Do not copy or repost without permission.

Author’s Note: thank you for reading so far! Continued in Part II, here.

[jungkookincalvins]

ugh finished this the other day but i got busy and now im here

im gonna keep coming back to this for months and then im gonna let it breathe and then ill come back again and die once more because this was just absolutely great

i LOVED this in many ways, it gave me butterflies in the tummy

yes yes, a thousand times yes, I CRIED WITH THE DRAWING BTW "teacher" PLS and like cheol with a baby girl ??????????? that looks like HIM? im serious i was bursting with giggles it made me so happy lol!

i was so sad when the didnt really talk after the trip that was heartbreaking oh my god

its just weird how i dont even have experience with kids and im sure im not even good with them its scary lol, but the moment i read these dad aus im done, im on my knees and they own me, call me stepmom, whatever its just wonderful

and the ending is too cute, stop it! TT, MORE TINY MINGYUS PLEASE, hes adorable, teacher is adorable, marco is adorable i love this

In Soft Hands | Part 2 (Mingyu)

Rating/Genre: M18+, strangers to friends (idiots) to lovers, rom-com vibes; fluff, smut 💖, angst Pairings: SingleDad!Mingyu x DaycareTeacher!Reader(f), mentions of Joshua, Seungcheol, Jeonghan, Vernon, Wonwoo, Soonyoung, Seokmin, and Seungkwan Warnings: Explicit smut, oral sex (m receiving), unprotected vaginal penetration, size kink, hugedick!Mingyu bc i literally cannot help myself, Mingyu is slightly dom and reader is slightly subby, nipple play, fingering, choking, reader isn’t bratty (maybe just a tiny bit), kind of bulge kink (could be read as such), too much talk about how big he is but idc i love it, creampie, hints of an impreg/breeding kink, a bit of discussion about protection, pet name ‘baby’, minor injuries (no blood) and a visit to urgent care, some tears, a little bit of trauma from past relationships but nothing intense, sex while there’s a kid in the house (i don’t imagine that’s a trigger bc people do that all the time with their own kids but figured i’d mention it to be safe, the kid does NOT walk in on them) same warnings as previously about kids/parenting/having a family, even more cuteness with a 4-year-old kid, reader is shorter/overall smaller than Mingyu Word Count: 17.5k Summary: What happened probably shouldn't have happened. But that doesn't mean you regret it...

PART ONE

A/N: Second + final part! You need to read part one first. I literally can NOT believe the notes on the first part after only three days - but damn is it nice to know that longer fics can be well-received!! Anywayyy fun stuff in here - if you're just here for the smut you gotta scroll down a while :)

Mingyu doesn’t kiss you when he walks you to the door that night, opting instead to simply give you a shy yet knowing smile, his hand high up on the door frame as he hangs against it to once again give you a tiny view of something that is sure to damage your health.

You don’t talk about what happened. 

When Mingyu comes to pick up Marco the next day, things feel incredibly normal, which you suppose is a relief. You still think about kissing him again the entire time he’s in front of you – but you don’t! So, that’s a win, surely.

It doesn’t help that every time you so much as look at Marco, you’re reminded of Mingyu’s existence. And not just being on that couch with him. No, you think about him laughing and joking around with his friends while they play their two-on-two games. Or the way he looks at you with the most careful anticipation as you take the first bite of a new recipe he’s having you try out. Or that scrunched up smile, proud eyes crinkling, when his son does something particularly silly.

It’s Saturday, two days after you were at his house, when he texts you. 

MG: Busy this afternoon? I told him I’d take him to the port to go on the carousel and get ice cream and he might have asked if you were coming 😁 MG: But I completely get it if you can’t or aren’t up for it YN: Ah that sounds fun! Hmmm YN: I actually have some things I need to get done today YN: I won’t have a chance tomorrow bc my friend is having a bridal shower and I’m helping to set up YN: 🙁 sorry it’s just a busy weekend! MG: Can I help? MG: I mean like is there something I can take off your hands? YN: Haha no it’s ok. It’s just like house stuff YN: Groceries for the week, swap out my annoying leaky shower head etc YN: I've been putting it off for too long... MG: Lol that is the exact kind of thing I can take off your hands YN: Lol right YN: Nah it’s ok you don’t have to do that. I have time today MG: Sure but if I help you then you’ll also have time to ride a carousel with a little boy that asked for you MG: By name YN: Don’t guilt me mister MG: Guilt you into letting me help you? Lol MG: I can install a new shower head in no time and then you can buy us our ice cream and we’ll call it even

It feels much more cruel to say no to Marco. Or at least that’s what you tell yourself to feel better upon sending your next message – just one word:

Deal. 

-

While you pick up some quick groceries, Mingyu and Marco have the run of your place. (You made sure to hide anything even mildly embarrassing before they arrived). After the quickest weekly shop you could manage, you make your way back inside, dropping the heavy bags on the counter and being met with silence. 

“Gyu?” 

“Your bedroom door was squeaking. Did you know that?” he asks as he comes down the hallway, Marco following behind, hand dragging against the wall. “Anyway, it’s fixed.” Then he shoots you with a dazzling smile.

“You fixed my door?” You don’t want to seem too pleased. He shouldn’t be doing all that stuff for you anyway. But it is… kind of nice. And, frankly, convenient.

“Your door, your showerhead. The light in your fridge.”

“What were you doing looking in my fridge?” you tease, pulling it open to put a few things away to find it lit up for the first time in weeks. You just haven’t made it a priority to go out and get the right bulbs yet. 

“Don’t complain,” Mingyu teases as Marco climbs onto one of your island stools and makes himself right at home. “Now, you can actually see what you have in there. Which, frankly, isn’t a lot.”

“Hey–! What do you think I was doing today?” you frown stubbornly, shaking the grocery bag you're currently unloading for emphasis. “And I-I’m not complaining… I just– you don’t need to do all that stuff for me.”

“It’s a friend thing, Y/N. Friends do things for each other. It’s fine,” he replies. 

“I helped too,” Marco informs, reaching for a banana from the bunch that you haven’t put away yet. 

“Thank you, kiddo,” you say warmly, ripping one open for him and handing it over. “How does it look in there?”

“Good,” he says through a squishy mouthful.

“I can also finish that door trim that’s missing in the hallway if you want,” Mingyu offers, catching your eye once more. Then he lifts his hands in defense. “Only if you want.”

You hold back your smile, hiding by putting some stuff away in your cupboard. “I don’t even know where to get… what we would need…”

“I have it,” he replies simply. “It’s basic. Could do it for you this week if you want.”

You watch him a moment, trying to tell what this means, what he means by all this. It’s actually hard to be around him knowing that what you felt the other night has to stay there. “Ok,” you say softly after another second, knowing you’re too weak to say no. As hard as it is, you still do want to be around him. 

It’s a friend thing. That’s what he said. 

You’re friends.

-

It’s a gorgeous day – not too hot like August can tend to be. Especially with the breeze coming up off the lake, just strong enough to ruffle Marco’s hair. 

It’s been so long since you’ve been to the portside carousel; you grew up close enough that it’s a nostalgic summer activity you used to do with your family. But that’s mostly loose memories – you definitely haven’t ridden it in the last decade. 

“Which one are you going for?” Mingyu asks, leaning into your arm while he has a hand on top of each of Marco’s shoulders to keep him close in line. 

“Gotta go for one of the moving ones, right?”

“Well, obviously.”

“I think there’s three together riiight…” You watch closely, pointing with your hand as the ones you’re referring to come back around. “There.”

The line starts moving, the carousel filling up once more with humans far tinier than you and far far tinier than Mingyu, but you don’t care. The three of you hightail for the horses you marked as yours, Marco giggling as you hurry him, weaving through all the far more boring ponies.

“You want the middle?” you ask, patting the seat of the white horse then helping him climb up once he agrees though he doesn’t really need the assistance. 

He clings tight to the pole for a moment, watching his dad get on, then giggling at the fact that Mingyu’s feet are still firmly planted on the ground, even once he’s seated atop the pink-maned horse.

As soon as the ride starts, he’s bouncing in his seat, cheesing at the way the horse begins to rise up and down, taking him with it. 

You pretty much watch him and his sparkly eyes the whole time. Well, except for when his horse goes down and Mingyu’s goes up and you’re left staring at the cutest smile you can imagine, pointy canines and all. 

After the third time riding it in a row, your cheeks are starting to hurt, and the two of you are able to steer him away with the promise of an ice cream cone. As you eat, chocolate accumulating around the corners of the boy’s mouth, sure to find its way onto his t-shirt as well, the three of you walk slowly down the sand-trekked pathway along the beach, surrounded by a sky of solid blue. You try not to linger on the desire to hold Mingyu’s hand, slotting your fingers between his bigger ones.

You certainly don’t need to be doing that.

When the ice cream cones are finished, and you reach the end of the little stretch of beach, you walk ahead with Marco, closer to the water at his request, making side-by-side divots in the wet sand as you go. He’s pretty amused by it, jumping harder to watch the flat of sand crack under the weight. 

“Is it cold?” he asks when his eyes settle back on the water, the sun starting to glint off of it in bright sparkles now that it’s started to come down a bit. 

“Pretty cold, yeah,” you say through a chuckle. “You wanna feel?”

“I don’t have my swimsuit,” he says, pouting up at you. 

“We’ll just put our feet in,” you offer, slipping off your shoes to step onto the crust of cool sand then watching as he plops onto his bum. He rips at the velcro on his sandals then kicks them off, springing up until his toes are being licked by the waves.

“Ahh! It’s cold!” he shrieks, a loud uninhibited laugh flying out of him as he runs back to you, arms wrapping around your thigh. But just a second later, he’s grabbing your hand instead to pull you with his full weight towards the water. “Feel it!”

You let out a tiny sound when a fresh wave washes up, immersing both of you up to your ankles. But even though he squeals again with you, he’s quickly stomping in the water, splashing it up onto your legs in amusement. 

“Daddy!” he calls out, head whipping around to find Mingyu who is standing a few metres back with his hands in his pockets, watching diligently through his sunglasses. “Daddy! The water is so cold!”

“Is it?” he calls back with a smile, taking a couple steps closer but not fully joining the two of you as you wade in the water, feeling the squish of sand between your toes. 

Marco walks farther, watching the water rise up his shins until it’s just under his knees.

“That’s far enough. I don’t have dry clothes for you,” you hear from behind.

The boy looks up at you, his eyes shining, every tooth on display, as you follow a step closer. He’s so adorable you want to squeeze him. “I want to go in more,” he says lower, like he’s telling you a secret. 

“Marco…” you warn through a little smile in a similarly quiet voice. 

The two of you watch each other, and then you can clearly see the mischief bubbling up in his eyes and you reach to grab him just as he goes to lunge forward into the deeper water. You swing him up, spinning around, pulling musical laughter out of him, until he’s propped up on your hip, secured tightly in your arms, wet feet cold where they brush against your thighs. 

“You little monkey!” you scold in jest, jostling him around a little as you jog your way back to the sand with him clinging to your neck.

“I saw that,” Mingyu says once you're close, smirking at his son and pointing at him accusingly which just makes him cackle more.

A second later, he’s drying off Marco’s feet with the bottom of his shirt, slipping his sandals back on while you hold him, enjoying the brief cuddle as his head relaxes onto your shoulder. 

It feels too nice. All of it.

- 

Basketball night comes around again. While the others bounce a ball back and forth with Marco, Joshua comes to sit with you, pouring some water into his mouth as he walks.

He plops down beside you with a huff, then glances over. “You can play with us, you know.”

You tear your eyes away from Mingyu (his ass just looks hypnotizingly round in those shorts, ok?) and laugh, instantly intimidated by the thought due to your lack of coordination. “Ah, I spend enough time running around with that kid throughout the day.”

“Oh, true, true.” He smiles then takes another sip of his water. “Wild, isn’t he? Endless energy.”

You nod, back to watching as they run around, Marco chasing, trying to ‘defend’ against Mingyu – whose one step is worth three of Marco’s. “Kind of like someone else we know.”

He chuckles. “Gyu’s actually toned down quite a bit, would you believe?”

You raise your eyebrows. 

“He’s taken the dad thing pretty seriously.”

“Hm, he’s good at it,” you say, nodding as you lean back against the fence behind the bench.

“Gotta be good at something, I guess,” he jokes through a dramatic sigh. 

You let out a little breath of amusement. It’s interesting – you’ve yet to find a single thing Mingyu’s not good at. “You don’t have kids yet, do you?”

“Nope, not yet. He was a bit ahead of the rest of us. They were highschool sweethearts, him and Elena.”

Elena. Huh. Funny how you’ve managed to go all these months without even knowing his ex-wife’s name. Or that they got together so young.

“Mm, I didn’t know that.” Hopefully you’re succeeding at being as casual as you think you are. “How long have you guys been friends?”

“Uh, like eight years?” He thinks for a minute. “Yeah, most of us met just after high school so…”

“Aw. That’s sweet that all of you have stayed close since then.”

“Yeah. Actually! Not sure if he mentioned but my family has this cottage an hour north. We all try to go together at the end of summer every year.”

“Oh, that's fun."

“Are you free next weekend? If you’re not busy, you should come. I’m sure Marco would love to have you there. Well, and Mingyu.” 

You smile a little. “Really?” you say, looking over at him. You’re not sure if you’re exactly at the annual-friend-trip level of friendship yet but you certainly like the feeling of him thinking so.

“Yeah, of course,” he says, narrowing his eyes at you like the question is ridiculous.

“You have room for me?”

“Definitely. It’s a big place. And my family won’t be there for those few days so…”

“Oh, cool. I mean… yeah, maybe,” you reply, uncertain but there’s a hopefulness in your voice. It’s not exactly clear if Mingyu wants you there, considering he hasn’t mentioned it to you. 

“Let Gyu know,” he says softly as he stands, tossing his bottle on top of his bag and starting to walk backwards with a smile. “You’re definitely invited.”

“Will do,” you agree with a nod then watch as he goes off to join the others.

-

An hour later, once Marco is buckled into the car, Mingyu asks you himself.

“It’ll be… the guys… their partners… Seungcheol has a really cute ten-month old that'll be there if that holds any interest for you,” he says cheekily, resting a hand against his car. “No pressure though. I know you don’t know any of them too well.” 

Seeing the baby is tempting. The idea of being around his friends, who all seem genuinely lovely, sounds fun too. And, of course, you seem to never be able to get enough time with Marco. But you know that’s not why you want to agree so badly. 

You shouldn’t say yes. Not with the way he looks at you. Or the other way around.

“Your friends… and their partners…” you repeat, wondering if it’s just your mind jumping to how that makes the invite sound. 

He smirks a tiny bit but pushes it away, tilting his head. “You’re my friend too.”

You nod. Ok. Fair.

“Mm. It does sound kind of fun…” you say, still in waffling territory as you try to convince yourself to tell him you can’t. That it’s not a good idea.

Or just say you’re busy. Lie! Anything.

“Might be nice to get away…?” he offers, pursing his lips, raising his eyebrows, looking so innocently adorable in his attempt at coercion. 

Your smile breaks. 

Fuck, you literally cannot say no to him. 

-

The drive to the Hongs’ cottage is barely over an hour but somehow it’s still a struggle. Primarily because there’s a cranky four-year-old in the car who is somehow perpetually hungry and constantly needs to pee, even though he went right before you left. 

It’s literally only once you arrive, the car pulling up to a large cottage surrounded by lush greenery, that Marco is suddenly happy as a clam, jumping around as soon as his feet hit the dirt then running up to the open door where a pretty woman is awaiting him for a hug. 

Mingyu scoffs out a laugh, shaking his head as he rounds to the trunk, popping it and pulling out the bags. “Unbelievable.”

You suppress your own grin, taking your bag from him with a soft thank you and a hand brush that feels nicer than you want to admit. When you glance over again, more people have come to the door, welcoming the child like he's the star of the show. “He’s probably just tired.” Apparently, he’d been excited, not wanting to go down easily the night before. 

“Could’ve slept in the car,” Mingyu mutters but still smiles when you meet his eyes. The two of you start to walk over.

“At least it wasn’t a long drive.”

“Thank god.”

“Welcome, friends!” you hear, head shooting up to find Joshua in the doorway with a huge smile, his arms held up wide. It’s corny and it makes you giggle as you climb the stairs, finally catching a glimpse inside at all the wood and cozy decoration, and most beautifully, the huge windows looking out the back onto the water. Like, right onto the water. 

“This place is… stunning,” you say as you take it all in, stepping inside and kicking off your shoes following Mingyu’s lead. “Holy crap.”

Joshua lets out an airy chuckle. “Thank you. I’m lucky we get to take advantage of it,” he replies in his host-like manner, reaching out for your bag.

“Is everyone here already?”

“You’re the stragglers.”

“It’s not even late,” Mingyu dismisses, trailing after him on squeaky wood floors. 

“Late enough that dinner’s almost ready. You’re in here, Y/N,” Joshua says as he steps into one of the bedrooms, his tone immediately getting sweeter once his words are directed at you. 

You get your bags settled away, Mingyu and Marco set up in the room next to yours, which are both decked out with super comfy double beds and well-crafted dark wooden furniture that just feels so right in a cottage like this one. 

By the time you’re making your way into the kitchen, which has a view as equally stunning as the living room next to it, you can see Marco already in his bathing suit down by the dock, about to jump in to join a few other swimmers bobbing in the water. 

You find Mingyu’s side in all the hustle of the kitchen, realizing there’s more people here than you thought, and look up at him a little shyly. “You have to introduce me to everyone.”

“Yes!” he says as though it'd slipped his mind in all the social excitement. “Yes, of course. So… you know Josh. And this,” he says, pausing a moment to bring you the few steps to a woman scooping pasta onto plates. “This is Shay, his girlfriend.” She looks up, giving you a bright smile, as she continues her task. 

Quickly, you say your name and smile back, but Mingyu is already moving on, pivoting his body to the next few people, excitedly introducing you to Seungkwan, Soonyoung, and Wonwoo who are all sat at the large table, just chilling as they chat. 

Next, you’re brought to Vernon, his partner, Sam, and Haewon, who's with Seokmin. Jeonghan too is around here somewhere, you’re told. Finally, he brings you to Seungcheol who’s looking out the big living room windows with an absolutely precious baby in his arms. You say the shortest hello to Seungcheol before you’re cooing at the baby, saying hi, getting a smile as you instinctively reach out for her hand and let tiny fingers wrap around yours. 

“Oh my god, Cheol, she’s so sweet,” you breathe, coming closer, and you can feel Mingyu press to your side so he can look over your shoulder with you. “What’s her name?”

“Nari,” he tells you in the gentlest voice, looking up at you for the briefest moment. 

“Aw, hi Nari. You are so beautiful.”

“Cute, isn’t she?” Mingyu says, before leaning a bit closer to your ear to whisper: “She loves me.”

“Oh, yeah?” you tease, turning your head slightly to see him. But then his face is so close to yours. 

“Favourite uncle for sure.”

“Here, favourite uncle,” Cheol scoffs, shifting Nari with the clear intention to pass her over. “I’m gonna go find Hana.”

With that, he’s gone, and Mingyu’s holding a baby that somehow looks even tinier now in front of his giant frame. His smile is wider too, which always makes him look so soft. 

Your lips press together as you try not to burst. But he’s looking at you like he knows exactly what you’re thinking. Like he can hear your ovaries exploding. 

He bounces just a little, like a seasoned pro, looking down at her. “Always dreamed of having a daughter, actually.”

“Really? Hm…” You ponder on that thought for a moment, scraping your mind for visions of having your own family back when it was much more within reach. “I always thought that I’d have boys for some reason.”

“Multiple?”

“Yeah, I don’t know.” You shrug, stepping closer to reach once again for her pudgy hand.

“Wanna hold her?”

You let out a playful sigh. “Obviously.”

Giggling, he passes her over, carefully making sure you’ve got her weight before letting go. 

Your next sound is more like a groan but it’s of pure satisfaction. Babies are just so warm and cuddly, and this one looks like a mini-Cheol but with squishier cheeks and poutier lips and even thicker eyelashes. “Ok. I’m gonna steal her. Don’t tell anyone,” you whisper to him, looking over your shoulder suspiciously. 

He giggles again before pressing a palm lightly against your back. “Come on, let’s go back with everyone.”

-

You hold onto her for a while, slowly meeting the rest of the crew as everyone convenes on the back deck to have some dinner. You meet Hana as well, who you find out is Hana when she exclaims: “Oh, this is my baby!” as she comes over to introduce herself.

Through a laugh, you ask if she wants Nari back but she just shrugs and shakes her head. “Unless you’re done with her. Doesn’t matter to me.”

You just cuddle the baby closer, letting your chin brush the top of her head for a moment. “Nah, I’m good. I work with the older kids so I don’t ever get the baby snuggles.”

Her face lights up. “Oh, the daycare teacher, right! Mingyu talks about you so much.”

You can’t help the warmth that spreads through your body, this time not from the bundle of heat in your arms. “Does he?”

“Oh, should I not say that?” she jokes, lowering her voice and leaning in a bit. 

Both of you settle your gaze on Mingyu who’s just a few feet away, leaning leisurely on the railing of the deck with a beer in his hand as he chats with Seungcheol and Wonwoo, handsome as ever. 

“Good things, obviously,” she adds, turning back to you then absentmindedly bringing a hand up to brush a few of Nari’s fine baby hairs back off her forehead. “I’m glad you could make it.”

“Me too. It’s so calming here. And you guys have such a nice, like… welcoming vibe.”

“Aw, you think so? Yeah, we’re alright, I guess,” she jokes through a shrug. “If you met Gyu first then it really does just go up from there.”

You chuckle, already obsessed with her. “Damn, you guys really all do rag on him, huh? I thought it would just be the boys.”

“Nah, they can’t have all the fun. Please tell me you’re not too nice to him. We do it for his own good, really,” she plays, taking a sip of her own drink. 

“'For his own good',” you repeat through a laugh, sneaking another glance at him just as he does the same to you. You look away probably a little too fast, meeting Hana’s eyes once again.

“Anyway, let me know if you need anything. I know we can be overwhelming,” she says gesturing to the sheer amount of people milling about. With everyone now in the same vicinity, there must be at least fifteen of you. “Or, y’know, if you just want to smell a baby.”

-

You’re on the deck until the sun goes down, talking, playing board games, eating snacks as they’re passed around the table to you. Curled up in your chair, bare feet not even cold in the evening summer air, you look over to find Mingyu speaking into Marco’s ear. The boy is pouting, face scrunching up a little more until he’s turning around in Mingyu’s lap to place his hands very seriously on his dad’s shoulders. 

You can’t hear what they’re saying, just that Marco is asking for something, and that Mingyu is trying to respond firmly, giving his head a slow shake and repeating his instruction. Marco’s voice changes to a slight whine, and Mingyu’s eyes flick over to you for just a moment. He says something else to his son, a little defeated, then helps the boy climb off him so he can run around the table to your side.

“Y/N?” Marco asks, a little hand finding your forearm. 

“What’s up?”

“Can you… can you read with me?” He looks so serious. So hopeful. 

“Sure, cutie pie,” you say, breathing into your smile. 

“Ok,” he says, smiling widely back before turning his head to his dad and saying, much more loudly, “She said yes!”

Mingyu chuckles, subtly rolling his eyes. “Ok, buddy.”

“Is it time?” you ask across the table, starting to push your chair back as you try to withhold your laughter at his reaction. 

“It’s time. Let’s go, big man,” Mingyu groans, standing up from his own chair. 

“No, just Teacher,” Marco whines, frowning at his dad, who immediately holds up his hands. 

“Geez. Ok,” he says dramatically, dropping back into his seat.

A few of the others around laugh, and Hana turns to Mingyu with a mischievous grin. “He has a new favourite, huh?”

“That’s what I’m sayin’,” he scoffs, his smile getting wider as he shoots you a look. 

You click your teeth just loud enough for him to hear, mouthing ‘pushover’ teasingly at him as you walk past with Marco in tow. 

Inside, he goes down pretty well, following his typical routine until he’s tucked under the blanket on one side of the big bed, looking up at you through heavy eyes.

You brush over his head softly, whispering one last goodnight to him, before tip-toeing out of the room as quietly as possible, sure to close the door tight behind you. You’re sure he’s probably passed out by the time you reach the sliding door to rejoin everyone on the deck. 

“Teacher, Teacher, sit by me,” Mingyu teases in a kid voice upon seeing you come out, reaching for you playfully until you’re laughing and making your way over to the empty seat next to him to join in on the board game they’ve started to set up. 

-

Even though the cottage is only just north of where you live, it really does feel like an escape. You spend the whole of Saturday outdoors, swimming in the lake, pushing Marco on the – somewhat questionable – tire swing (apparently Mingyu is the one that strung it up so it’s his fault if anything goes wrong, you've been told), and sitting out on the colourful dock chairs in the sunshine with different configurations of people, slowly getting to know them better. 

Mingyu keeps his glasses on throughout the day, cooks up lunch for everyone, and continues to grow more attractive with each passing hour even though you know that’s not possible.

You offer to do the washing up after – he fights you on it but you don’t give in – and so you wash, and he dries, and you can see the way his friends smirk at the two of you. 

But even so, even if you try to, you can’t help the way Mingyu makes you flush and laugh. You splash water at him at every bad joke until he’s swatting you playfully with the drying towel and you’re threatening to knock him out, kicking in his direction from your post at the sink while he giggles and jumps just out of reach. 

In the afternoon, while you, Shay, and Haewon settle onto the deck, Mingyu and Seokmin are down on the grass with Marco, getting tackled by him and then tackled again as soon as they get back up.

It's impossible to ignore the trio of goofballs; Mingyu and Seokmin keep groaning and shouting, lamenting their defeat, each time they hit the ground, making Marco laugh wildly while launching himself at one of them again.

You look over and watch them a little, unable to help your own smile at the way Mingyu dramatically pulls himself up with much huffing and puffing, beginning to 'run' from Marco, letting out little screams of 'fear'.

"This is my future, huh?" Haewon says playfully, leaning closer to you to look down at them as well.

"Good luck with that," Shay teases, beginning to shuffle the cards you're playing with once more. "Your kid's going to be even weirder than Marco."

"Hey, it'll still be half-me."

"And half-Seok."

"At least they all entertain each other," you say through a fond smirk, finally peeling your eyes away to pick up your cards, spreading them apart to see what you have.

"You should get on that," Shay says, and you look up, your brows raising in surprise at what you can't help hearing. But, thankfully, she's not actually speaking to you.

"I'm sure he'd wanna try tonight if I let him," Haewon replies amusedly.

"Oh, is this something you guys have talked about a lot?" you ask, trying to get caught up.

"Only every time we all get together. Ever since Hana gave birth."

"I mean, Nari is cute enough to give anyone baby fever," Shay says casually, sorting her cards in her hand.

"Ugh, true." Haewon turns her head back to you. "Does working at a daycare have the opposite effect? I feel like it's gotta be nice to just be able to give 'em back at the end of the day."

"Yeah..." You nod slowly before shrugging just a little. "With most of them anyways."

-

In the evening, Marco lets Mingyu be the one to put him down this time, and you curl up as the last bits of sunlight dissipate, this time in one of the campfire chairs that surround the flickering fire. Marco ate practically his weight in toasted marshmallows so you anticipate that bedtime routine might not run as smoothly tonight, with sticky hands to clean and a sugar high to come down from.

You chat with Sam in the chair next to you, getting the details of what she does for work, how she met Vernon, all the basics you haven’t had a chance to get to yet. Similarly, she asks about your job, about how your friendship with Mingyu started.

Just as you're in the middle of trying not to sound like a goner for him, Mingyu is making his way down from the deck to join the group of you, capturing your attention when he says your name.

He passes you a cold drink which you accept before suddenly he’s lowering himself onto your lap, like a giant puppy who doesn’t realize he’s not a lap dog.

“What are you doing?” you say through your laugh, barely getting the words out clearly. Even so, your free arm naturally wraps around his waist, able to feel the muscles of his torso through his t-shirt. 

“There’s no free chairs,” he says simply, twisting a little so that he can still see you if he turns his head away from the fire. 

You huff out a laugh, tearing your eyes away from the way the glow from fire is painting the side of his face so nicely in orange-y gold. Realizing you can’t exactly open the can in your hand, you hold it up to him, smiling in thanks when he cracks it, then letting out another sarcastic laugh when he takes it from you to claim the first sip. 

“You’re kind of heavy, you know.”

He just swallows the liquid and pouts at you, bottom lip jutting out exaggeratedly. 

“Ok, fine,” you say right away, taking the drink from him and taking a swig. 

He smiles at you so giddily, wiggling in place, even more sweetly childlike than he usually is. “No one ever holds me like this.”

You giggle in disbelief at his cuteness. “I wonder why.”

Getting comfortable, he leans his head against the back of the chair, gazing at you a little, and whispers, “Should I move?”

“You don’t have to,” you say back as nonchalantly as you can, looking away from him because you just need to not be looking into his eyes right now. Something very strong is compelling you. It’s like there’s a magnet between his lips and yours. It just feels like you should kiss him. Like it would be right somehow. 

So, you stare at the fire instead, trying to tune into the conversations around you so you can stop being hypersensitive on every part of your body that is touching him, and how the heat from him is warming up your skin more than the fire is. You wonder if he can feel it, the way your heart is pumping harder behind your ribs. 

After a couple seconds, you glance at him just as his gaze drifts up to the dark sky, a halo of trees above giving way to tiny stars. The way his head is tilted back a little just makes him look hotter, showing off his jawline, extra defined by the direction of the light. “Did, uh… did he go down ok?” you try, only stuttering slightly. 

“Yeah, not too bad actually,” he says, letting out a little sigh, then he’s looking at you again. “Thank you, by the way.” He chuckles very slightly. “Feel like I should still be paying you for how helpful you are with him.”

Right away, you’re shaking your head, dismissing it. “I told you. I like it. Honestly, he listens pretty well for me, so.” You shrug a little, taking a sip from your can.

“That’s crazy... I actually can’t believe how well he listens to you.” He gives you a little look, as if he’s a bit aggrieved by it. “He’s usually too hyper.”

“Well, he’s still super hyper at school. Don’t get me wrong,” you remind, pulling a smile from him. 

“I just mean, like… he must feel comfortable with you. He trusts what you say to him.”

You're a little surprised by his words, or maybe just grateful. “Seems like it,” you say lightly. 

“I can see why.” He looks away a bit as he says the words quietly, still intended for you to hear but just maybe a little shy. 

The pounding behind your ribs is coming back. “‘Why’…?”

“Why he likes you so much.” He looks at you, eyes sweet and wide as he smiles just a touch. 

Fuck, you want to kiss him so badly. You don’t know what to say.

Dropping your gaze, you take a little breath, letting the smile that so badly wants to come out press onto your lips. “Gyu,” you say so quietly, almost like you’re scolding but you’re clearly not. He’s just making this… hard. 

“Y/N,” he whispers back, but it’s warmer, the letters fitting perfectly in his mouth. 

“Your friends are all here,” you say sheepishly, as if that means anything. You’re not sure if it will to him. Don’t flirt with me in front of them? Hell, the two of you have been doing that all day. Don’t make me—

Fuck.

He smiles, a little breath of amusement coming out, then he’s reaching for the drink, taking another swig and settling his attention on the animated conversation happening between Haewon and Seokmin in the next chair over. 

-

“Holy shit– look at the moon,” you say, pausing right where the pathway splits between going down to the docks and back up to the cottage, to stare up at the sky. Mingyu stops with you, immediately following your gaze. “It’s so clear tonight,” you continue in awe, barely even looking where you’re stepping as you start downwards, wanting to get past the few tall trees on the property so that you can really see the way the moon’s white reflects off the water in such a clear stroke. 

You hear a chuckle behind you then his louder footsteps on the dock as he trails after you. When you reach the end, perched out as far as possible so that you can get the full effect, he’s suddenly beside you.

He whistles quietly, head turned up at the stars. “Damn, look how bright that is.” He points straight up, finding the sparkliest one right above you. 

“Wow,” comes out of you, barely audible, then you’re lowering yourself onto the dock, leaning back on your palms. It’s very quiet, some of the sound from those still at the fire pit traversing all the way to you but it’s barely noticeable now. The water’s really still too, large pools of it so smooth that they look like glass. 

He slowly sits and leans back as well, crossing his arm over yours a bit to fit on the dock beside you, his head resting back. 

You eyes scan the dark silhouette on cottages and trees on the other side of the lake then trail back up. “Is it always this pretty here?”

After a few seconds, he takes in a long breath. “I don’t remember it being this pretty.” It’s quiet, and dreamy, and you realize that Mingyu is really not good at hiding things. Or maybe he’s not trying to hide anything at all. 

You look over at him, compelled once again. He’s somehow even more beautiful in the moonlight than he was by the fire. For once, you’re not even surprised. This whole painting in front of you, hundreds of stars, a shining full moon, the expanse of lake literally shimmering for you. 

But you want to look at him. 

He turns his head to you, his lips pressing together a little. Then his shoulders twist a little too, adjusting so he’s only leaned on one hand, his torso facing you. “Hi.” 

“Hi,” you whisper back, not nearly as nervous as you feel. 

He’s close, enough for you to see the tiny mole on the tip of his nose, even in the low light. Still, he waits, gaze jumping between your eyes, trying to figure out what they’re telling him. You don’t even fully know yourself. 

You turn a little too, then watch your hand as it lifts to rest tentatively on his chest. His really nice chest. For a moment there, you forgot just how badly you want him. But the feel of him under your palm brings it right back, your whole body buzzing with your nerves and attraction for him. 

He leans in just an inch, his eyes dropping to your lips, and you can feel the question mark. But your hand’s already slipping up, raising goosebumps along his neck where your fingers graze his skin, sinking into the back of his hair. 

“Agh, I’m trying to be good,” he says quietly, letting his forehead press against yours, his eyes falling shut. “But I want to kiss you so fucking badly.”

A chill passes over you this time, along your shoulders, down your spine. “Fuck…” you breathe out so so quietly. Why does he have to be this hot?

His hand finds your waist, slipping around, fingers bunching delicately in the thin material of your top. You can’t help the way your breathing gets heavier, the way you pull your bottom lip into your mouth, wetting it with your tongue. 

“We’ve been so good,” you say. But you’re not sure whether you’re presenting it as a disincentive or an excuse. 

He groans a little, and you can feel your body react to the low grit of it. You want that, again and again, preferably with him a lot closer and a lot more naked. “So good,” he whispers but it’s almost a moan, and you feel yourself fold.

Before you can think, you’re tilting your head up, finding his mouth with yours, holding the back of his neck. He presses into it right away, breathing in. Your noses squish together, and your lips separate a little more until you're tasting him, hot and a bit boozy from the drink you shared. 

When you hum a soft moan, his whole body comes in, his arm wrapping around your waist more as his chest meets yours. Your hold on him gets a little harder – an unconscious don’t leave. He kisses you deeper, you kiss him deeper, his tongue feels amazing, everything feels amazing. You’re getting ahead of yourself but it doesn’t matter. Something better than ecstasy is rushing through your veins. 

There’s talking and footsteps. Getting louder.

Shit– You pull back, bringing your hand to your wetted lips as you look straight ahead, remembering the moon, and the stars, the whole reason you came down to the dock in the first place. Your heart is absolutely racing. 

“Heeey, guys,” Mingyu says over his shoulder, and you can picture the sheepish smile on his lips even though you refuse to look. 

“Someone’s looking for you,” you hear Seokmin say cutely.

“Oh, is he awake?”

“Needs another snuggle, he says.” It’s Jeonghan’s voice this time. 

“He did say Daddy or Y/N so… up to you guys,” Seokmin adds with a teasing chuckle. 

At that, you turn too, enough light from the moon casting on them to be able to see both their smirks from a few metres away. “He did not,” you say through a little laugh.

“He did, I swear.”

“I heard him,” Jeonghan confirms with a nod. 

You look at Mingyu, hoping he doesn’t see the way you visibly swallow, still recovering. “You wanna go? Or should I?”

He smiles, so genuinely, then shakes his head. “I’ll go.” He rolls away from you, pulling himself to his feet, and you watch as he and Seokmin walk back towards the house shoulder-to-shoulder. You suppose you should go in as well. It’s late. 

Or maybe you’ll just disappear into the lake out of embarrassment instead. 

After a moment, you lift yourself with a groan, dusting off your ass as you take a few wobbly steps back towards the grass where Jeonghan still stands with his hands in his pockets. When you finally look at him, he has a grin on his face.

“What?”

“Nothin’.”

Your eyes fall shut as you reach him. “Don’t.”

He just chuckles and turns with you to walk back up. 

-

There’s an incredibly quiet knock at the door – so quiet that you stare at it for a minute, unsure whether you actually heard something. You’re in your pajamas, mid-climb into your bed, ready to turn your brain off if it’ll let you, but then you hear it again. A little tap tap of a knuckle against the wood. 

You approach, the floor creaking under you.

His low voice comes through: “Y/N?” 

You crack the door open, and Mingyu’s right there, pressed up close, almost huddled in the doorway, looking at you with round eyes. “I– what are you doing?” you whisper, glancing down the dark hallway.

“Uh.” He smiles a little, and so softly asks: “Can I… come in?”

You nod, letting him in. As soon as you do, he’s turning, pressing you between himself and the door – still controlled, smooth, keeping quiet, but it makes you suck in a breath, his arms wrapping around your waist. 

“I want to kiss you. But I also– need it to, like, mean something so, you gotta help me out here.”

You’re biting your lip again, a buzz coursing through you as you skim your hands up over thick shoulders. The stars inside you are pulling apart. “Gyu…”

He tugs you slightly, his face dipping into your neck, nose tickling along your jaw. “I’ve tried so hard to just be patient. And let you figure out... how you feel? If you feel the way I think you do? God, I need to know, Y/N." He pulls back just enough to give you the most knee-buckling look. "Please tell me you feel it too.”

Even in his disorienting vulnerability, it feels like seduction. So much of him touching you, smelling so good. Intoxicating. Your body feels like it’s melting under him, and with him. 

“I…– It’s not…” This is too hard. How can you really get across how much fear you have bottled up inside of you? Especially when it’s for someone you could fall so hard for. 

He kisses you. You melt into that too. 

“I’m just scared,” you say quietly when he breaks the deep kiss. 

His brows pinch. “Scared of what?”

In the stillness, you try to get your body to calm. “Getting hurt.” It feels like a too-simplistic answer. But you don’t know how else to express it. You hate that you feel shame for someone else’s careless actions.

“I don’t want to hurt you,” he says with a gentle shake of his head, letting one hand come up to brush a thumb over your jaw. 

“Doesn’t mean that you won’t,” you respond, wincing at your own words. Again, it’s not exactly what you mean to say. You have no reason to believe he’ll hurt you. But you had no reason to believe your ex who told you he loved you for three years would either. “I’m sorry. I just–” Your eyes scrunch shut for a moment. “It’s my own shit, and you deserve way better than having to deal with it.”

“Deal with what? Y/N, I’m so fucking crazy about you,” he says, letting out a little breath of amusement like he can’t quite believe it himself. 

Closing your eyes once more, you turn your head towards his hand, your cheek resting in his slightly rough palm, breathing in. Then you sigh. “My ex and I were going to get engaged. We had looked at rings… The whole thing. Then, out of nowhere, he ended it.” It still makes you feel a little sick, remembering how happy you’d felt. How excited you’d been for your future.

He blinks, cuteness taking over as his brows push down and his lips part slightly. 

“I’m terrified of being blindsided.” You take a breath, lifting to look him right in the eyes. “I… I don’t want to love someone that much and have it ripped away from me again,” you say, feeling a lump in your throat form, your words getting a bit distorted with the slightest hint of a break. “And there’s Marco…–” you start, your lip trembling just a little. The thought of hurting him, not being able to be what he needs, is just ten times worse. “And I adore him. But–.. that’s still a huge thing to take into account.”

He’s listening so closely, his thumb brushing delicately over your cheek. But he doesn’t say anything. Just watches you for a few seconds. Finally, he says, “Look, I can’t promise that… everything will be perfect. But I can promise that I would never blindside you like that. And with Marco–”

“I’m just not ready to put myself in that position. I’m– I’m so sorry,” you say, feeling your body tense. Fuck, this is so shitty. You wouldn’t recover from Mingyu breaking your heart; you just know it. “I really am. I’m sorry.” The lump is back, a bit of wetness threatening at the corners of your eyes, seeping into your lashes. 

His lips push together, his brows contorting above sad eyes. A moment. He pulls away slowly, leaving the front of you surprisingly cold. Both hands come up to brush back over his hair, resting finally around his neck as he steps back and looks away, his jaw twitching a little as though he has something to say but he keeps second-guessing. Finally, he says a quiet: “Ok.”

You let out a long breath, shifting over out of the way when he takes a step back towards the bedroom door. Your chest feels unbearably tight. 

“Goodnight,” he whispers softly. Sweetly. Like he means it. 

That just makes it worse.

-

The drive back the next day is quiet. You don’t feel good. Marco sleeps the whole way. The two of you don’t talk, mutually depending on the radio to fill the space. You don’t know what you could say. You’ve already said sorry. But all that springs to mind beyond that are thoughts of wanting things you can’t have.

When he comes to pick Marco up on Monday afternoon, he keeps it very brief and cordial. Understandable. Still makes you feel sick though. 

Marco is his same adorable self. In fact, you find yourself clinging to the time spent with him at the daycare even more knowing that you won’t be seeing him outside of it anymore.

You go through the motions. A little numb. Tuesday passes, Wednesday passes, Thursday passes, and you realize that the friendship really is over. It has to be – obviously – but wrapping your head around it is astonishingly difficult. 

On Friday, Marco falls. It scares the shit out of you. His head slams back against the floor, and you’re the one who witnesses it, running over to him, holding him as he curls up in your arms, crying, wrapping fully around you.

After a minute of consoling, you manage to peel him back enough to have a look. By then, Ashley is over your shoulder, looking as well, gently feeling the back of his head which took the brunt of the force. 

He’s not bleeding. It wasn’t super hard. But certainly enough to scare him and to really hurt. And enough to warrant further inspection due to it being a head injury. 

“We should take him in. To be sure,” Ashley says as he curls back into your shoulder, arms holding tight around your neck, legs around your hips. You rub a hand soothingly over his back, trying to just breathe, trying not to panic at the sounds of his little sobs against you. He’s ok. You’re sure he’ll be ok. Right?

“I’ll take him,” you say, knowing you’ll be too distracted all day being here and knowing he’s there. 

“Ok, I’ll tell Suzanne. Be right back, Jen,” she says to the other teacher, before heading out the classroom door to the office. 

“Are you ok to call Mr. Kim?” Jen asks from the other side of the room where she’s gathering the rest of the kids for circle time. 

Oh. As if your stomach wasn’t already in a tight enough knot at the feeling of his tears soaking into the collar of your shirt. But you’re trying to be solid. “Yep, got it.” 

You dial his number, swaying with Marco absentmindedly as you hold the phone to your ear and listen to the long rings.

“Hello?”

“I can talk to him,” Ashley says, appearing at your side. “You go.”

“O-oh, ok,” you stutter into the phone, hearing another confused “Hello?” come from the other end just before you pass it over to your coworker. She starts to explain, calm and collected, as you grab Marco’s backpack and sweater from the hooks and head out the door.  

You take the daycare’s car, talking to Marco the whole way in the rearview mirror, distracting him the best you can, seeing if you can get a smile or even a laugh out of him. By the time the ten-minute drive to the urgent care centre is over, you’ve thankfully managed both. 

He’s not crying anymore but he’s still a bit of a sore sight as you unbuckle him from the carseat, seeing the mostly-dried tears on his cheeks and wiping them a little before you take his hand and head inside. 

When you sit, post-check-in, Marco slumps against you, holding tight to your arm. He’s quiet and has completely calmed down, and finally, you have a moment to let out a long shaky breath of tension. You press a hand over his and look down at him just as he looks up at you with big sad eyes. 

Gosh. 

“Come here,” you whisper, tilting your head. He climbs into your lap, head resting against your shoulder, face turning towards your chest. Letting your fingers stroke slowly through the front of his soft hair, you rock a little with him, even though it’s awkward and a bit uncomfortable, his legs long enough that they span onto the next waiting room chair. 

“Y/N?” he says in a tiny voice, prompting you to look down at him curled up in your arms. 

“Mm?”

“I love you,” he mumbles.

You still for just a moment, your heart skipping a beat, then you recover, continuing to gently rock. Suddenly, your eyes are blurry. You lift your head, trying to blink the hot tears away to refocus on the tv screen in your section of the waiting room, but it doesn’t really work. “I, uh…” It comes out frustratingly shaky. You suck in a breath. “Love you too, kiddo.”

And you do. 

You, like, really do. 

-

Mingyu shows up barely fifteen minutes later, barrelling through the automatic doors and scanning the room frantically until he spots you and practically jogs over, skirting around people to get to where you’re standing. 

The nurse has just called for you, giving you a room number to go into to wait for the doctor. 

“Hi,” he greets you quickly, out of breath, before kneeling down in front of Marco, one hand gently reaching for his chin while the other brushes back his hair, feeling along the round of his head. “Where–?”

“The back,” you say quickly, placing your own fingers gently where he’d collided with the floor, finding the bump for yourself before letting Mingyu feel. 

“Hey buddy. How do you feel?” he asks, softer and more high-pitched.

“Head hurts,” Marco says with a little pout. He’s tired, sad, not himself. But you haven’t noticed anything else, nothing that would tell you there’s significant injury. You're definitely less worried now that you've had a bit of time to calm yourself too.

“He’ll be alright, Gyu. A little shaken up but...” you say, every instinct inside of you screaming for you to comfort him.

He looks up at you with eyes full of worry, but doesn’t say anything. Just refocuses on Marco, pulls him in, swiftly stands up with the boy still in his arms.

“Here, they just called his name.” You lead them to room 2 as you explain further, “It’s the daycare’s protocol for us to bring them in for head injuries. But we think it'll be fine.”

“It wasn’t that bad?” Mingyu asks once the three of you are inside, door closed. He turns to look at you, still holding Marco tightly against him, whose cheek rests comfortably onto his dad’s shoulder.

“Other than being in pain and a little upset, he's been totally normal," you offer. “Ashley and I both agreed that it’s probably just a hard bump but best to bring him in just to be sure.”

You want to pull Mingyu into a hug very much. Hold him even. Something comforting. Something loving. But you stop yourself. It’s not the time to confuse you both even more. 

The doctor comes within a few minutes, and after an initial chat and examination, the three of you are left alone again. The doctor too doesn’t seem very worried, putting both of you significantly more at ease, but she agrees that it's best to make sure everything is good when it comes to such a young child. 

You feel stuck. You want to stay. However, you don’t want to intrude or overstay.

After a minute of debating internally then another minute of watching Marco and his dad talk, you stand from your chair, leaving his sweater and little backpack in the seat. “Um, I should probably get back,” you say, stepping a little closer.

They both look up at you. Twins. 

“Oh, right, ok. Um– … Well, thank you.” He gives you the smallest smile, one that’s weighed down with all his concern and all the complication between the two of you. 

You return it as best you can. “Can you… Do you mind texting me when you guys leave? Let me know how it goes?” you ask, hopeful that he won’t think it’s too much. As much as you’re confident Marco is ok, you feel it necessary to know for sure once they have more information. 

Mingyu nods, seemingly a little surprised by the request. “Yeah– yeah, of course.”

“Thanks,” you say, smiling a little more, then you switch your attention to Marco, bending down to be closer to his level and giving his calf a squeeze. Scrunching up your face, you tell him, “I have to go back to the daycare. But your dad’s here and he’s got you now, ok?” He nods. Your hand moves to the top of his head, giving the slightest ruffle to his strands. “I’ll see you soon, bud.”

You stand and turn to go, and Mingyu catches your wrist.  

“Seriously. Thank you,” he emphasizes with a little nod before releasing you.

“Of course.”

-

By the time you get back, there’s only an hour left of the school day. You’re putting up the morning’s artwork on one of the art walls, lost in your mind, when Ashley comes over.

“Once one more goes, you can leave. We’re already down to nine.”

“Me? It’s ok, Ash. You can go.”

“You’ve had a long day. I don’t mind,” she says casually, opening up the attendance binder next to you to write in the time of departure for the kid that just got picked up. 

“Aw.” You look over at her and smile. “Thanks.”

“Did you see Marco’s?” she asks, pointing her pen at the pile of artwork you’ve yet to hang up.

You examine the wall, looking at the names of the ones already up. “Mm, not yet.”

“Look at it.”

You sort through the pile, pulling out the one with his name. The theme for the week is family. A stick figure for Marco. A stick figure for Daddy. A stick figure for Mommy. Grandma. Grandpa. Auntie. 

And on the other side of Daddy: Teacher.

You stare at it.

“I’m guessing that’s you because it doesn’t look like me or Jen,” Ashley says through a chuckle.

The pricking in your eyes comes back. You breathe out a laugh in disbelief. “He told you to write ‘Teacher’?” you confirm, trying to keep your voice steady, neutral. 

“Yeah. It’s so cute,” she says fondly, not even looking over from where she’s watching the kids that are still there as they play. 

You look at it again, feeling all light and floaty underneath the desire to cry once more, because you can’t even process how you feel.

God, you love him so much. You just want to protect him, and take care of him, and be around him all the time. 

You kind of wish he was yours. 

The thought of not being around him anymore when he goes off to kindergarten in two weeks fucking hurts. And the thought of not seeing Mingyu anymore…

Holy shit – what are you doing? 

You love him. You love them. Both of them. Already. 

You’re already doing it! All the stuff you’re terrified of! There’s no point in trying to stop this because you are already way way too far gone. 

You stare at the drawing – until you’re smiling like an idiot, heart racing away once more – before setting it aside from the pile.

You need to see Mingyu.

-

MG: He’s all good! They did a scan to make sure and everything looks fine MG: Thank you for being with him YN: Oh good! Are you guys home now? MG: Yep, just got home

You don’t reply. You don’t want to say anything over text. No, you wait a little bit, just until you’re sure Mingyu has put Marco down to bed. Then you get in your car.

You’re practically shaking as you step onto the driveway, plastic bag with two pints of ice cream in hand. As much as you’ve had time to think about what you might want to say, your brain is still the biggest jumble ever. 

It’s not that you’re not scared now. You are. But Mingyu feels about as safe as anyone could feel. If there’s anyone’s intentions you can trust, it’s him. If there’s anyone who wants something as solid and unabating as you, it's him. 

So, you’re incredibly nervous – and it’s not because you think he’s going to react badly. No, it’s because you feel like he’s going to react well. And you’re not sure you’re totally prepared for what comes after that. You just want it to be perfect. 

It takes him a minute to answer the door after you knock, pulling it open slowly until you have the blessed view of half a naked chest, just a silver chain around his neck, and a grey sweatpant-covered leg. And his beautiful face, of course, which is looking at you now in heavy confusion and surprise. “Y/N?”

“Hi,” you say, suddenly shy, feeling like you’ve had the wind knocked out of you by how extremely gorgeous he looks. “Um…” You hum, feeling yourself flushing as words escape you completely. “Sorry… I wasn’t… No, I–”

He smiles a little, his eyebrows bunching together. 

“I have ice cream?” is what you manage, holding the bag up a little to show him.

“Uh, ok,” he says, letting out an awkward little laugh.

“Was hoping I could come in and…” You gulp. “Have a chat maybe?”

He blinks a few times, mouth opening to speak but it takes a second for anything to come out. “I don’t…” A breath. “Y/N, please don’t make this any harder for me than it already is,” he says, letting his head droop and his voice deflate a bit. 

“No–” you say quietly, stepping closer to the door. “I’m not trying to…”

“I feel like space is probably best,” he tells you, so clearly trying to be gentle.

“Hold on, I… I need to show you something,” you say, reaching into the plastic bag to pull out Marco’s artwork and pass it to him. “He drew this today.”

He’s still watching you, hesitant, for a moment before he looks down at the sheet of construction paper in his hands. His eyes scan the page, then he looks up at you with even rounder eyes. 

“I want this,” you admit with a little hopeful nod. Your heart is hammering as soon as you say it out loud.

His eyes dart down to the picture and back up to your face, the corners of his mouth twitching up. “What?”

“You and me and him.” 

He breathes into a tiny smile, still looking a little stunned. “Are you serious? Like for real?”

“Yeah,” you giggle, unable to handle his cuteness. “If you want it.”

“‘If I want it’?” he echoes in amusement. “The fuck are you talking about ‘if I want it’?” he teases, shooting you a look. He pulls the door open farther, reaching for your wrist, giving you a delicious smile. “Are you coming in or not?”

You laugh, and practically bounce inside. You’ve barely kicked off your shoes, the ice cream and drawing safe on the entrance table, before he’s pulling you to him, wrapping around you, a hand on the back of your head to guide your mouth to his.

"Oh my god," he hums against your lips, not bothering to stop kissing you to express his elation.

He’s so hot and smooth, naked from the waist up, your hands trailing over the bare skin of his broad back. You go into sensory overload immediately, unable to think straight with the way his lips are moving against yours, tireless, needy. 

He groans and, very quickly, you’re against the front door, his body pressing to yours much more forcefully than the last time. He’s so fucking big and heavy, a solid thigh pinning hard between your legs, placing pressure on your core. 

You moan his name into his mouth. For months, you have wanted him like this, day-dreamed about him an embarrassing amount. Now, he’s grinding languidly against you, in sync with the swell and fall of the kiss, making your stomach tighten.

“Shh–shh,” he sounds through a sexy little chuckle, pulling back just far enough to rest his forehead against yours. Then he whispers, “Gotta be quiet.”

You let out a tiny noise of frustration, your thighs tightening around his. “Ah, I just…” you breathe, feeling too dazed to think properly. Of course; Marco is upstairs. You guys can’t just go crazy down here. 

“God, you’re so fucking perfect.”

The words, his voice, the way he’s grazing over your body, back to waist to hips, holding you tighter. It all makes you tingle. “You feel so good,” you tell him, immediately embarrassed by how fucking gone you sound. You’ve barely done anything and you’re already soaked and desperate for him. 

“Can make you feel a lot better than this,” he plays, rolling his hips again. 

You try to muffle your sounds, selfishly using his lips, but it’s not enough when you can now so clearly feel his cock, hard under his sweats, pressing between your legs. 

He breaks the kiss, breathing heavily. “If you want to. Don’t want to rush you.”

You shake your head emphatically, hands gripping hard to his huge arms. “Can we?” You’re genuinely asking. You’ve never been in this position before, with a kid just upstairs. 

He pulls his head back a bit, smiling, a brightness in his eyes. “Why are you so fucking cute?” 

A different kind of heat surges through you, and you smile, looking away, bashful. “Stop,” you whisper.

“I don’t want to stop. You’re so fucking adorable, getting all flustered for me,” he teases, tilting his head to try and capture your gaze. “You gonna be this cute when I’m fucking you?”

The words drop straight to your core, your walls clenching, wetness seeping into your panties. You blink at him, tongue-tied, swallowing down the embarrassing amount of saliva that keeps accumulating. Your heart is still pumping so loud. “Maybe,” you say quietly, mesmerized by the way he bites his lip, the way his eyebrow quirks up a bit.

“Come,” he says, starting to walk backwards, catching both your hands in his until you’re following after him down the hall away from the stairs, eyes still locked on his pretty brown ones. 

“Down here?” you ask shyly as he brings you into the living area, backing up until his calves are meeting the familiar couch.

“Just wanna cuddle,” he says with a teasing smile. “Got a problem?” 

Wait, are you having sex or not? You shake your head, suddenly so nervous. But that’s quickly squashed when he sits, pulling you down on top of him by your hips until you're straddling his thick thighs. Right away, you’re grinding down on him, your hands on either side of his pretty neck as he kisses you deeply. 

“Mm, these are… nice cuddles,” you joke against his lips, feeling the way they turn up into a smile. 

“I’m a good cuddler.”

Your hips swirl over his groin, and you wish you could make your pants disappear. His too. It’s not enough like this, even though you can feel how hard he is – there’s too much in the way. And his hands… They’re skimming over you, your thighs and hips, up to your waist, circling it. But that’s it. Not even dipping under your shirt. Fuck, you need more.

You pull back from his lips, finding them reddened, his hair dishevelled, eyes lust-drunk. “You’re teasing me.”

“I’m not.”

“You are.”

“I’m waiting until I’m sure Marco’s fully passed out,” he admits with a smile, head tilted back all sexy against the back of the couch. “I only just put him down right before you came knocking on my door. Saying the best things.”

“Oh,” you say, breathing into a little laugh. 

He blinks at you, expression softening into something so sweet, his hands squeezing your sides gently. “So, can you wait just a little longer? For me?”

You nod, suddenly all giddy, butterflies erupting in your stomach at how gorgeous he is, and how kindly he looks at you, and how unbelievably obsessed you are with him. Your fingers dance over his shoulders, his collarbones, admiring how pretty he is, his gorgeous tan skin, the curves of his solid muscles, the broad thickness of his entire upper body. 

“Like what you see?” he teases, low and breathy. 

“Mhm,” you hum as you find his lips again, letting your tongue brush against his, your fingers curling in his hair as your body, once again, starts to move all on its own. There’s a slippery mess under your layers that’s only getting worse with each low sound he lets out. You would literally pay money to keep hearing him. 

You would certainly get on your knees for him. 

“What if–” you ask between kisses. “I sucked you off?” His grip tightens around your waist, his jaw going a little slack as you suck a little on his bottom lip. “Would that be quiet enough?”

He lets out a little whimper-y groan, head pushing back with his eyes closed. “Y/N,” he whines, nearly all traces of his smugness from a minute ago now gone. Fuck, you like how needy he sounds.

Your hands slip down the front of him, scratching lightly over his chest to his tummy where faint abs become a little more distinct as he contracts them. “Hm?”

“You want to?” he asks, like he actually needs clarification from you, but you just wet your lips and nod. “Fuck,” he sighs out quietly, bringing a hand up to your face so he can brush his thumb over where you just licked, pulling a little at your bottom lip.

After a few seconds, you tilt your head forward slightly, catching the tip of his thumb between your teeth and lightly biting down, keeping your eyes on his gorgeous face. He winces, but it’s evidently not in pain.

Finally, he acquiesces with a nod, adjusting his jaw. He pulls his hand away as you shift backwards, slipping off of him onto the floor between his legs as he spreads them a little wider for you. 

You’ve felt him under you, but until now, you haven’t seen him, so the long thick outline of his cock under his sweatpants makes your breath literally catch in your throat. Your heartbeat pounds from your chest down into your stomach. Shit, he looks really big. 

He spans his arms along the back of the couch, able to reach across so much of it. Oh, right – all of him is big. And like this, he kind of looks like an asshole. Like a fuckboy, ready to have you do all the work. Except he’s not an asshole, not at all, and the way he’s watching you, with desperate eyes, and parted lips… It’s easy to see that you have all the power in this moment. Which is pretty fun. 

You lean over him, ignoring his pants and what’s in them for right now, to reach his tummy, peppering kisses over his abs and his faint treasure trail until you reach his waistband. All you can hear is the quiet humming of the house and his breath as it picks up or catches. 

“Gyu,” you whisper as you tug them down, getting an even better view of what you’re working with once he’s only hidden by his boxers. “This is kind of terrifying.”

He lets out a faint laugh, tinged with his desperation and anticipation. “Don’t say that.”

“Just being honest,” you mumble cutely as you reach for the band of his boxers next, pulling them down and over his cock until they’re also at his ankles. You just look up at him, tilting your head and pressing your lips together in a tiny smirk. 

He smiles wide, but you can see how jittery he is and how his chest is still rising and falling clearly with each breath. 

Keeping your smirk, you lean in, shaking your head a little to tease before you press a kiss to his inner thigh. 

“Y/N,” he breathes. “You’re teasing me now.”

As you glide your palms up his warm thighs, you press another, a little higher, your nose almost grazing the underside of his shaft. “Just trying to figure out how the fuck I’m supposed to fit this in my mouth. Or anywhere,” you say quietly, softly, even with how dirty your words are. 

“Stop being cute,” he sighs, and you glance up to see his head tilted back.

“I’m not being cute,” you contend, unsure where he could possibly be getting that from, and place another kiss, letting your tongue flick out. 

“A little.” He whimpers again, his cock jumping where it stands, pointing up towards his abdomen. 

You’re already literally drooling, perfect for when you finally press a wet open-mouthed kiss at the thick base of his cock. 

A breath rushes out of him, and you flip your gaze up to meet his eyes just as you lick along his length, taking it gingerly in your hand to hold it in place for when you wrap your lips around the tip. You can taste the pre-cum, more of it having beaded out since you pulled down his boxers. 

His eyelids flutter, his arms tense and relax, but he keeps watching you, lips parted, as you make your way along his shaft, leaving it all shiny with spit, quiet hums and groans spilling from him whenever you brush your tongue over the right spot or suck a little harder. 

He’s right though – you are teasing a bit. He just sounds so good, looks so fucking sexy when his face contorts in slight frustration when you don’t yet take him fully into your mouth. You’re kind of curious how long it’ll take for him to guide you onto it. Or beg a little. 

Either way, he’s not getting very far down your throat; you’re pretty sure about that. As much as you wish you could manage it for him.

“Baby,” he breathes, and you seem to notice at the same time as him that that’s the first time he’s called you that, his eyes widening just a little. It makes you warm and fuzzy, a little smile pressing onto your face. 

“Uh-huh?” Moving to suck gently at his balls, you pump your hand over him, using all that drool to your advantage. 

His back arches a little, arm moving so he can thread his fingers into your hair. “Shit, I’m gonna come too soon if you keep doing that.”

That’s not what you were expecting to hear. From a handjob? Fuck, he’s so hot. 

“You can come,” you permiss softly, leaving out any air of authority. 

“But I wanna feel you,” he moans but he’s still gripping into your hair, eyes scrunching closed. 

“Which… do you want more?” you ask through a tiny smirk before opening your mouth a little wider, flicking your tongue a little harder.

“Fuck, I– …” He chokes out a breathy little laugh, pulling your head back an inch, trying to compose himself for a moment. You bite your lip, slowing your hand. “Wh– what do you like? Do you want me to tell you what you’re gonna do?”

You’ve never been asked so outright before, and it’s really cute. “If you want to boss me around, be my guest.”

His free hand catches your wrist to still you, and he smiles, still catching his breath. “Up.”

-

“Not worried anymore?” you ask him in whisper as you trail behind him, your hand in his, towards his bedroom. A room you’ve never even seen inside before. 

“I think we’re good,” Mingyu says distractedly, slipping inside with you and shutting the door quietly behind him. He pulls you to him by the back of the neck, not that you’re resisting in any way, shape or form, immediately meshing against him at the tiniest use of force. “On the bed,” he purrs, letting go of you to shuffle his bottoms back down, stepping fully out of them. 

You listen, reaching for the buttons of your pants as you step back from him, then letting them drop to the floor. Your top comes off just as easily, and then you're climbing onto the large bed, immediately being flipped around by strong arms until you’re caged under him, his lips latching onto your neck. 

He kisses down you slowly, his hands expertly popping your bra open and slinking it off before slipping down your panties until they’re abandoned god knows where as well. Every kiss feels so hot and sumptuous, almost ticklish, like you're extra sensitive to his touch that you’ve only been able to fantasize about. 

It has you squirming, breath catching and shaky, even when he’s just kissing your tummy or nipping at your shoulder. “Fuck, you feel so good,” you moan so quietly, full body arching into his mouth as it ghosts over one of your breasts teasingly, warm breath making you ache.

Just as he places a toe-curling suctioned kiss to your nipple, he dips a hand between your legs. 

“Oh… my… god,” he groans, abandoning his previous focus on your chest to look up at you completely drunkenly.

“What?” you whine, already knowing what he’s about to say because you can feel yourself soaking his fingers as he traces them over your folds. You’re as close to dripping as one can be. 

“All this for me?”

You whap his shoulder and groan, squeezing your eyes shut in mild embarrassment, earning a sexy little chuckle. 

“Shh… You were all worried about taking me. Don’t think you have to be that worried,” he says smugly, returning his wet lips to your nipple. 

“Oh, shut up,” you breathe as your hips roll against his hand, little jolts running through you each time his fingertips brush over your clit or he sucks harder with those perfect pink lips.

“Mmm. So cute, baby,” he teases. But then he sounds a little more serious – hopeful too – when he lifts enough to look into your eyes and asks for real: “Are you my baby?”

You smile softly and nod, pulling him into a hot kiss – enthusiastically returned – before speaking it against his mouth: “I am.”

There’s something else you want to say. It keeps playing in your mind. But you’re not sure you can be the first one to say it. It doesn’t matter though because he’s kissing you deeper, pressing you into the pillow as his fingers explore a little more, teasing at your entrance, finding even more wetness that just makes him groan and grind unconsciously against your thigh. 

He’s so needy too, so hard, a bit of pre-cum dripping off the tip – you can feel the wetness of it getting smeared on your hip. So at least, you know you’re not the only one past gone right now. 

Slowly, he sinks a thick finger in, crooking it just right. Your walls grip him but you’re so turned on that he slides it out and back in so easily, moaning something unintelligible into your mouth. 

You pull him back by his hair, wanting to hear him, and smile when the tug just makes him groan and curse some more. Your lips move to his jaw, your hips lifting as if to get more of him. You barely get the word out in a quiet plea before he’s pushing in with a second finger, stretching you open. 

It’s been a fucking while since you’ve been with anyone. But you literally cannot remember it feeling this good. “Fuck,” you sigh, letting the pleasure ripple over you. His fingers are slow, caressing against your front wall with a ridiculous little squelch every time he pushes all the way in. 

“Goddamn, I can’t wait to feel you. Been thinking about it for too long,” he mutters as he presses his palm against your clit, grinding it against you perfectly with each thrust of his fingers. 

“Oh my god, me too,” you breathe, any filter you once had long gone. “Can you fuck me please? Please, please, please,” you whisper, clenching around his fingers as if to add to your begging. 

“You sure? I don’t want you to be uncomfortable,” he whispers back after a gratuitous moan.

“Yes, I’m sure,” you say with a nod. You’re so insanely sure. You need him in you now. “Please.”

“It’s really hard to say no to you. Do you know that?” He presses up on a palm to hover over you, giving you the full delicious view of his built arms, wide shoulders, filled out chest, chain dangling down. Fuuuuck. You want to lick him everywhere. 

You nod, biting your lip through a smile. 

He thrusts his fingers in a little harder, a little faster, making you gasp, head tipping back, fingers crumpling the sheets. 

“God,” you whine, arched up to him. 

He takes advantage, dipping his head down to suck a nipple into his mouth, teasing it with his tongue. 

“Gyu–”

“Sure you don’t want to come first?”

It’s tempting. Very tempting. But something inside of you is yearning for him. It might be that word you’re scared to say. You breathe hard, trying to formulate a sentence as his fingers hit so good. “Want you inside. Please,” you finally gasp out, only able to relax your body when he slows and slips his fingers out of your pussy straight into his mouth. 

“Mmm, fuck. Taste so fucking good, baby,” he groans, finally finding his place between your legs, which immediately part for him, your hand reaching down to loosely take hold of his cock and guide it to your entrance. You’re impatient now, desperate to be filled by him. 

He traps your lips, tasting mildly of you, a gentle hand cupping your jaw, brushing over your cheek. “I should, uh, probably put on a condom right?” he pants when he pulls away, holding his hips back enough even as you lift yours, trying to connect your bodies. 

“Oh, uh…” Protection had not crossed your mind for even a second. Wow, you really are losing your mind over him. “I mean, I’m, like, clean–” you clarify, staring up at him. 

Is that too much? Is that too far? Suggesting that the two of you just fuck raw from the get-go? You’re a little too horny; you want him a little too much. All of him. 

“I mean… me too–” He frowns a little but it’s still one of pleasure and you realize you're still touching him, absentmindedly running your hand along his dripping shaft, but you don’t really want to stop. He goes to say something then visibly swallows instead.

“A-and on birth control,” you get out a second later, realizing that also needs clarification. It’s not like he’d already know that about you, even though you’ve been on it for years. 

He lets out a nervous little chuckle. “R-right,” he breathes. “That’s… important.”

“Yeah,” you chuckle with him, worried that you’ve freaked him out or something.

But then he says: “You almost had me there.”

“Huh?”

“Nothing. Just me being stupid,” he says bashfully, shifting his weight back onto his heels, and letting his hands drift down your body to your thighs. 

You’re torn between asking what he means and dissolving into a puddle because he’s replaced your grip on his cock with his own and is teasing the dark head over your folds, flicking it over your slippery clit to make your hips twitch. 

He dips in just barely, enough for you to feel how girthy he is against your walls. 

You can’t help the mewl that comes out of you, your legs closing a little at the thick intrusion. But it’s just an automatic response because the size isn’t bothering you yet. Rather, the stretch feels overwhelming in the best way, filling you up little by little as he carefully sinks in.

When he pulls back a bit, cursing, you can see the sheen of your arousal coating the end of his cock. “You feel… so… fucking… good,” he moans, taking a second to watch for himself as he pushes back in before leaning forward to be able to kiss the soft skin between your breasts. 

“Mmh, so do you—” You wrap your arms around him, feeling the heat radiating off of him. “More, Gyu. Please, I can take it,” you whisper, nails raking up his back before settling in his hair.

“You can take it?” he huffs, looking up at you and giving your hard nipple another flick of his tongue. “Fuck, baby.” With that he’s pushing in more, pulling a gasped moan from you. His hand finds its way to your neck but he doesn’t hold any tension in it, just rests it there like a necklace. “You can take it, goddamn…”

“Ah– ahh– I like it. It’s so good, so good–” you babble, now really starting to feel your walls pulsing around him, the first glimmer of an orgasm already starting just at how full you are of him. “Fuck, I love your cock.”

“And I love your dirty mouth, oh my god,” he groans, giving you another slow thrust until he’s sunk all the way, your tight wetness moulding to him.

“Shit, it’s so much.”

Immediately, he pulls back an inch, watching you closely, thumb grazing soothingly back and forth on the side of your neck. “Ok?”

You moan and wrap your legs around him, pulling him back down until you can feel his tip pressing against your cervix. It’s mildly uncomfortable at first but, for some reason, you don’t mind. You just want all of him. You just want to be able to take every inch and let him feel it and be so good for him. 

He grunts as his groin presses flat to you, clearly not having expected the assistance, then you’re pulling him into a kiss, hips waving a little so you can feel his cock shift inside you while you keep him as deep as possible, just grinding him into you. “God, fuck,” he chokes, breaking the kiss as if he’s totally run out of air. “Being so fucking good for me. Taking me so well…”

You look at him with heavy-lidded eyes, moaning again when he tightens his hand a little around your throat. 

“You like being filled up, baby? I’ll fill you up whenever you want, ok?”

Oh shit, you absolutely cannot handle him talking like that, all breathless and confident. 

“I do,” you sigh, your eyes rolling back into your head as he finally starts to move a couple inches, fucking into you deeply with short thrusts.

“Yeah? You like it nice and deep? Feeling me all the way up here?” As he says it, he switches his weight, slipping a hand down to flatten on your lower tummy. 

All of it makes you gasp and squirm. He is so deep, when you tighten around him, you can feel him all the way up – so full. And the grip he has on you is just sinking you farther into submission, ready to receive, ready to do whatever he wants. 

“Want me to come for you nice and deep too?” he asks, voice so low and soft, it’s like he can barely get it out, like the words make him as crazy as they make you. 

The sound you make isn’t words but it is obvious confirmation of how much you want it. The sensation, the slick drag inside you, is so much, you can feel your high floating within reach. 

“Fuck, you’re so good,” he whispers, pulling out a little more before sinking back in, nudging that soft spot inside of you as he goes. The hand on your tummy slides down further to brush over your clit.

“Mmh!” Your head is tilting back, the rest of your body moving unconsciously with his touches. It’s so much. It’s so so much. You wanna die, it feels so good. 

He rubs harder, fingertips moving in slippery circles. “So fucking tight around me, Jesus–”

“Gyu–” you moan but it barely comes out because he’s fucking you faster, all the build-up paying off as the sudden intensity sends you crashing into your orgasm, back arching almost painfully as you cry out. “Fuck! Fuck, fuck–” 

He carries you through it, loosening the hold on your throat but maintaining his consistent thrusts until your balling in on yourself, thighs closing around him, hands reaching for his neck to pull him down to you. 

Your messy muffled moans slow, lips turning up when he pulls from the kiss and smiles affectionately down at you. So damn gorgeous that you still can’t believe that he’s the one that just made you come. 

His chest is heaving too, his gaze trailing from your face to your neck where he’s caressing much more lightly now, letting his fingers slowly trace down over your collarbone. 

You tug him closer again, prompting him to switch onto his elbows, nice and close as you wrap around him with your whole body.

“I’m so fucking happy right now,” he says into your ear before kissing right next to it. 

A quiet giggle bubbles out of you. “You haven’t even come yet.”

“Oh, I’m not worried,” he plays back, still focused on the kisses he’s placing down your jaw.

Turning your head away, you let out a sighed little moan, feeling your body still throbbing around him juxtaposed against the soft sensual brushes of his lips. They don’t stay soft for very long, turning to hot licks and sucks once he reaches your neck, making you whine and shiver, fingers lacing in his hair.

“Fuck, you’re insane,” you breathe.

“Why?” he asks curiously, licking at your nipple before he takes as much of your breast in his mouth as he can and hums a moan at the way you clench around him. 

“Just– ahhh… Just feel so good. Touch me so good.”

“Mm, good, baby,” he says, looking mighty pleased with himself as he squeezes your breasts in his huge hands, giving the nipple a little pinch. “Can I keep going?”

You clench again unconsciously; he’s rock hard, still raring to go. And you can see it now when he looks at you, the desperation, the neediness in the question.

“Please do,” you say with a nod. 

“Can I flip you over?”

You let out a soft little laugh, holding his face in your hands, feeling the desire to squish his cheeks with how damn sweet he is. “So polite.”

“You said I could boss you around,” he reminds, planting a quick kiss on you before he’s lifting away and sitting back on his knees. “Didn’t say I could throw you around.”

“Well, consider this permission,” you say as you roll carefully to one side so you can switch onto your elbows and knees. 

As soon as you do, he’s maneuvering you, closing your legs and flattening you down on the mattress so he can straddle you. 

“Oh,” you breathe, intrigued by the feeling of his thick thighs hugging the back of yours. “This where you want me?”

“It’s where I put you, isn’t it?” 

“So sassy now,” you tease through a grin, trying your best to look up at him over your shoulder. He’s got his bottom lip pulled between his teeth, and you can feel his cock resting heavy against your ass, wetting your cheeks with your own arousal as he rolls his hips forward a few slow times. 

“Just a little,” he murmurs, focused more on teasing the head of his cock at your entrance every time it dips down between your legs. But really, he’s teasing himself at this point, letting out a quiet groan every time it breaches. 

You try to push your hips up a bit – the angle currently seems impossible. How is he going to get all of that in you with your legs nearly closed? 

Finally, he presses in, shifting so he’s suspended on palms placed by your waist, fucking his cock down into you, spreading your walls. He feels fucking massive. 

“Oh my god,” you groan, pressing your forehead into the bed, hands fisting into sheets.

He doesn’t go as slow now, sinking into you a little harder, a little faster each time, slick sounds of wet skin against skin all you can hear over his breaths and pretty moans. “Feels good like that?”

“So fucking good,” you manage to get out with a nod. “Fuck, unhh–”

When he moans again, it’s more like a whimper, his words coming out shaky: “Baby, you’re squeezing me so tight…” He’s hitting into you harder, the pounding reverberating into your clit from inside. 

You’re so full of him, it’s overwhelming, your body tensing more, lower tummy tingling – you couldn’t stop your climax if you tried. 

He doesn’t let up even a bit, pounding down into you.

“Gyu, I’m–”

“Shit, I’m gonna come.” One hand finds your shoulder for leverage, his hips moving faster. “Can I–”

“Yes, fuck–” is the last thing that comes out of your mouth before you’re clamping down on him and sailing over the edge, face buried into the sheets to try and contain your euphoric moans. 

Mingyu tries to hold on but within a few more seconds, he’s letting out a strained groan as he releases, following through on his promise to come nice and deep by pushing in all the way, stuffing you full of him as you writhe, trapped underneath. He’s moaning more, muffling it with the back of your shoulder as he leans down, lazier thrusts helping both of you ride out your highs. 

“Mmm,” you hum, voice cracking a little as you finally go limp. A hand is placed over yours, fingers interlocking, then the other one too, more kisses being pressed against your back. 

“So fucking good,” he mumbles against your skin before slowly lifting up, shifting his weight around so he can gently withdraw from you. “Don’t wanna crush you.”

You let out the softest giggle before sighing. “Holy shit…”

Instead of rolling off you, he hovers over top, kissing down your spine, apparently completely unfazed by the slight dewiness of your skin. You just relax as your body comes down from the rush, enjoying the treatment, praying you won’t open your eyes to find this all a dream. 

His chest brushes over your ass then he lets out a little groan of satisfaction and lightly bites one of your cheeks. 

“What are you doing?” you breathe into a laugh.

“Appreciating.” He kisses where he bit then does the same on the other side, using his hands to give them a little wiggle and squeeze. 

“Mm, ok,” you say sleepily, smiling as you close your eyes and nuzzle into the bed. “I’ll just be here. Taking a nap.”

Another good squeeze and then he’s moving to lay beside you, shifting the mattress as he goes. You peek an eye open, seeing him facing you.

“Are you gonna… sleep over?” he asks with a surprising amount of innocence.

“Do you want me to?”

“So so so much.”

You lift up to kiss him, warm and slow and sweet. “What about, um… Marco though?” you ask quietly, remembering there’ll be someone else up early. 

“Hm,” he sounds, biting at his lip a little, then he looks right in your eyes. “I think he already understands that you’re special to me.”

Your smile is wide, heart skipping. You’re somehow still never expecting him to be as adorable as he is. “So, it’s ok… If he sees me here in the morning?”

“It’s ok, yeah,” he chuckles before immediately starting to shake his head. “I already know how excited he’s going to be. He was talking about you today after you left, asking why you had to go. Granted, I wasn’t really in the best place to be hearing about how much he loves you at that point, but…” 

You give him a little sympathetic look, but it’s still hard to hide your fond smile at the way he rolls his eyes the slightest bit. “I’m sorry.”

“Not necessary,” he says, scooting closer, wrapping a big warm arm around you so you’re squished to him. “Everything is good in the world now.”

“Oh really?” you tease, rolling a bit so you can kiss his shoulder, finally able to do so just because you want to.

“Don’t you think?”

You nod, smiling against his skin.

-

“Fuck, you’re cute.”

You laugh in disbelief at how long his t-shirt and sweats are on you. “They’re a little big.”

He chuckles with you, stepping closer, tilting his head like you would at the most adorable puppy. “Sure… a little,” he agrees amusedly. “How tired are you?”

“I’m tired. But I don’t want to sleep.”

“Let’s go down. Have a snack,” he offers right away, slipping a hand into yours. 

He leads you downstairs, where the two of you quickly notice the plastic bag by the door, housing the ice cream that you had brought then forgotten about. Still, it doesn’t stop you; a minute later you’re curled up on the couch together with two spoons and a pint of half-melted mess being shared between you. 

“I’m sorry but you are not close enough.”

You laugh, hopping over onto his cushion until your leg is literally rested over his, your arm pressed against him. “Better?”

“Good enough for now.”

“Is this how it’s going to be?” you joke, raising your eyebrows at him.

“I’ll be better behaved around other people, I promise.”

“Ah, good call,” you say with a nod before scooping another bite into your mouth. 

“Do you even understand how hard it was not to cuddle you all the times you’ve been on this couch?” he asks. 

Your eyes widen at him, hurrying to swallow the cold in your throat before you say: “Uh, yes. What – you think I was just immune?”

He giggles, shaking his head. “I don’t think it was killing you like it was killing me.”

“Hey, I was ready to fully jump on you that night you kissed me.”

He smiles over at you as if remembering it vividly. “But you didn’t.”

You watch him for a moment, licking the sweetness off your lips. “I was trying to be good.”

He frowns a little. “You’re always good.”

“Yeah, well, I fell in love with you anyway so…” you say a bit flippantly, not really realizing what just came out of your mouth until you see his face brighten, his smile widening until his canines are poking out. You feel yourself flush, smiling nervously. “Uh…”

He leans in, abandoning his spoon in the ice cream container you’re holding so that he can catch your face in soft hands and guide your mouth to his. “I love you,” he says quietly, before correcting: “I’ve been loving you.”

“Yeah?” you say before kissing him again – you might be shaking a little. You had thought maybe you could see it in his eyes. Hearing it is way way better. 

“Mhm,” he hums into the kiss. “Since the beach.”

“The beach?” You pull back to look at him.

He nods, getting all cute, taking the ice cream from who, though he doesn’t actually eat any. “I mean, that’s when I, like… actually realized.”

Almost a month ago.

“This is gonna sound kind of silly but… Seeing you with him. Like, excited to talk to him and play with him… I don’t know how to explain it but it means a lot to me.”

You listen, letting your head rest against the back of the couch, unable to help your soft smile and that good good feeling in your chest.

“Like, someone loving my kid, the most important thing in my life, so genuinely. Without any… pressure or need to.” He shakes his head, clearly feeling a little silly, not even meeting your eyes. “I don’t know, something about that is kind of healing for me, I guess.”

By the time he’s finished his eyes are shiny. You see it even though he’s trying to blink it away, looking down with an embarrassed smile. 

“Ah, sorry, I don’t– I don’t know why this is happening,” he says through a chuckle, still blinking rapidly. He smiles wider, clearly trying to offset the tears and the slight quiver in his voice that the both of you heard.

You smile too, caressing his cheek gently before kissing him. 

Maybe he too needs his heart held softly.

-

“Hey, I have a question,” you say as you climb back onto the bed, still cozy in the huge clothes that smell like Mingyu.

“And what would that be?” He’s laying on his stomach, focused on his phone as he sets an alarm. 

Propped up on one elbow, you let a hand glide down his back side, settling on his ass. Mm. “What did you mean when… you said you were ‘just being stupid’?” There’s only really one thing that you can guess, and it feels entirely necessary to tease him about it. 

“Hm? … What do you mean?”

“You said something about being stupid.” You give his cheek a little squeeze, enjoying how round and squishy it is. Peach, indeed. “Right before we…”

He looks up from his phone, less distracted, but doesn’t answer. 

“We were talking about protection…?”

“Oh.” He lets out an awkward laugh. “Uh, I don’t know.” It’s light, like he’s trying to lie but not that hard. 

You lean into him, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “What were you being stupid about?”

He stays quiet for a few seconds.

“Okaay, never mind,” you say through a little chuckle, shifting to lie down fully on the pillow. “You don’t have to tell me.”

He drops his phone onto the nightstand and rolls towards you, giving you a disgruntled pout. 

You kiss it, letting your fingers tangle together with his under the covers. “It’s fine, I’m just bugging.”

“It made me think about having a baby with you, ok?” he admits begrudgingly.

You smirk just a little, both happy with your teasing and giddy at the admission. 

“But I’m trying not to say shit like that so I don’t scare you away. I literally just got you.”

“You realize that’s not the scary part for me, right? The scary part is us not getting there. This falling apart. You… leaving.”

“Right,” he says softly, looking at you much more earnestly now. “Ok.” He slides a leg over yours, hauling you closer to him, sliding a thick arm under your neck to become your pillow. “Well, that’s not going to happen, so. On a scale of one to ten… how much does that idea freak you out?”

“Us having a baby together?”

“Yeah.”

“Like… one?” you say, smiling shyly at his surprised reaction, his eyes widening cartoonishly. “Don’t look at me like that! I want to be a mom… I always have!” you defend, shoving him slightly though he doesn’t even sway an inch. 

“Damn, one out of ten?” he continues to tease. “We literally just got together, Y/N.”

“Stop!” you shush him through your annoyed laughter, unable to help the embarrassment flooding you. You quickly let go of his hand to cover his mouth semi-aggressively with your palm, shutting him up. 

He just giggles, fighting to get your hand back in his and easily winning. Then he presses a warm kiss to your mouth instead, pacifying you almost instantaneously, both of you humming in satisfaction. 

“Ok.” He cuddles you back into him, head on his pillow-y chest and everything. You can hear the big smile in his voice as he says, “Very good to know.”

A/N: i truly did not expect the response to this that the first part got so i really hope this lives up to the hopes and expectations lol. as always, please let me know your thoughts! i think some of you love this couple as much as i do haha. thank you for reading!! :D

Tag List: @theharrowing @here4kpopfics @the-boy-meets-evil

-

Please reblog my work if you enjoyed it ❤️ Thank you!

Masterlist

[jungkookincalvins]

mami ft. hoseok is the cherry on top i didnt know i wanted for my delulu rap line biased ass

OH MY GOD

this is gonna be so wild oh my god, oh my -GOD!

good GOD

i need to find my religion again pls

mami (m) | myg/knj

title: mami (m) pairing: myg x reader(f) , knj x reader(f) , slight jhs x reader(f)😛 rating/genre: m (18+) ; smut ; battle rap au , roommates au summary: you somehow have a conversation with yoongi, and you tell your roommate about a date date. note: heavy 00s vibes, this is just the beginning of a collection of parts instead of just a oneshot let’s fucking goooo🦋 note 2: this is pretty unedited lolll if there are mistakes i’m so so sorry! warnings for this part: language, choking, joon in sweats, bathroom s*x, b*ckshots, friendly sp*nks from your roomie🤪, it uhhh starts right out the gate lmfao, hobi in silk and a robe, yoongi is a warning in his own right, light sl*pping, you get called mamiii😗 so if that’s not ur thing i’d skip this series !!, joon is too smooth, a secret fourth guy lmfaoooo, battle rap scenarios! drop date: september 26th, 2023, 10:07pm est word count: 3.7k  mood: here 

Keep reading

[jungkookincalvins]

IM DYING, i found this i think in the "for you" tumblr tab and im like YES TUMBLR THIS IS SO FOR ME THANK YOU

this was the perfect amount of sweetness and sexyness and everything i was looking for, i feel like i woke up today to read this and im gonna go to sleep thinking about this and im gonna wake up thinking about this again forever

i love single dad aus, aaaaaaaaah im so excited to read part 2

mr mingyu as a chef?? i could die, i could die so happy tho oh my GOD, and excuse me CARPENTER?????? talk about my turn ons i am already dead,

yes i would like to order a pair of soft carpenter hands please

this made me genuinely happy,

In Soft Hands | Part 1 (Mingyu)

Rating/Genre: M18+, strangers to friends (idiots) to lovers, rom-com vibes; fluff, smut (in part two), angst Pairings: SingleDad!Mingyu x DaycareTeacher!Reader(f), mentions of Joshua, Seungcheol, and Jeonghan Warnings: Mentions of having/raising kids, parenting, having a family/wanting to be a parent, that sort of stuff, like he’s SUCH a family man, so much fucking cuteness with a 4-year-old kid, kid tears from another kid hitting, SLOW burn!!!, Mingyu is called Daddy but it’s because he’s literally a father (not used during sexy times), reader is shorter/overall smaller than Mingyu, reader is called ‘ma’am’ playfully/teasingly, ugh this Mingyu is such a dilf in like the most wholesome way!!, future explicit smut (size kink, choking, etc)! Word Count: 16.5k Summary: You've sworn off dating. But your favourite kid at your work has the hottest dad in the entire world. A bit of harmless flirting never hurt anyone, right?

A/N: Part one of two (both are up!)! There's no smut in this part but please stick with me here, ok? It'll be worth it!! If you don't like kids, you probably won't like this - so I'd recommend skipping it!

You aren’t supposed to have favourites. But it’s hard not to when Marco comes over, holding up his indiscernible lego creation proudly to show you, his sweet toothy smile and bright eyes making you melt as they do every single day you come into work.

It doesn’t make sense. There is no reason for you to feel so connected to this kid, this four-year-old with big, brown almond-shaped eyes and the cutest little nose.

But on the first day you’d set foot into the daycare, he’d given you the brightest smiles, calling for you to watch what he was doing – whether it be running or jumping or climbing up the slide – and looking over at you to make sure the new teacher was watching, making you feel welcome even in all your anxieties. Already, you felt like his favourite. 

So, having him wiggle his way inside your heart doesn’t feel all that weird. Not really. How could it when he seems so happy to have you there each day to play with?

Running up to you to get you to growl and reach out for him like any good monster would, him squealing and running away just to come back again five seconds later. Sending you a goofy face from across the classroom when he randomly looks up from the toys he’s playing with among his friends. 

Laying, eyes closed, totally still, when you go around to tuck each of them in at naptime but breaking into a wide smile when you gently poke his side and tease him for pretending to be asleep already.

It’s halfway through your third week of work when Marco comes over to you with tears welled up in his eyes. There’d been some pushing and occasionally a kid falls while running and needs some comforting. But seeing his normally happy face all crumpled is completely heart-breaking. 

“What happened?” you say gently, opening your arms quickly for him to run into and immediately wrapping soothingly around him, a hand rubbing gently over his back. 

“M–M– Mila hit me!” he gets out between sobs, pulling back slightly to point in the direction he’d come from.

You look over his shoulder where a few kids are standing a couple metres away, Mila being one of them. You call her over and she comes, expression solemn, while you continue to hold Marco, asking him where it hurts, taking a look at his head where he points, caressing softly over it with your thumb. 

“Mila, did you hit Marco?”

“No, I punched him!” she responds, tiny fist flying through the air for emphasis, the hard plastic toy still in her hand. It’s almost funny, the way she says it so fervently, but she’s absolutely old enough and smart enough to know better.

Not to mention that Marco’s not a hitter. He’s rambunctious and full of energy, a goofball, sometimes an excitable mess, but you haven’t seen him hurt anyone in all the hours you’ve spent with these kids.

It’s not a big enough thing to write a report on – that’s reserved for real injuries or accidents. But the behaviour needs to be addressed with Mila’s parents and it’s also important to let Marco’s parents know as well. 

And because you were the one to deal with it on the playground, the other teachers decide to let you try handling it.

So, you stay a bit later that day. By 4:30pm, there’s no more than ten kids left and by 5:00pm, Marco is one of four.

Soaking in the gorgeous weather, you wait with one of the other class teachers and the last few kids on the fake grass next to the playground, close to the gate where the parents come for pick up. 

While two of the them play with a ball back and forth and the one girl braids and unbraids Ashley’s hair over and over, Marco and you are play-fighting, him giggling away as he tries to knock you onto your back on the grass, only to screech when you easily toss him off or roll him to the side and scoot away as if trying to escape. You make a show of it, anything you can do to make him laugh harder, make his smile wider as he comes back, launching himself at you with a growl.

He finally relaxes – both of you giggling as you breathe heavily from the exertion – and he just lays on you for a second. Then he lifts his head to look at you, cracking up when you do the same simultaneously, shooting him a silly face. And that’s when you hear Ashley’s voice.

“Marco, look who’s here!”

You both turn your heads to the gate, but you can’t yet see who’s approaching on the other side. “Go get your water bottle,” you tell him.

The boy scurries off you, heading to do just that, then waits at the gate, eyes focused on the parent who has come to pick him up. 

You pull yourself off the ground too, attempting to fix your dishevelled shirt and the way your hair is now surely tangled and crazy at the back of your head. You always leave work somewhat of a mess after running around with them all day. 

But as you approach the gate and see Marco’s dad… Well, you sort of wish that wasn’t the case. You can’t doubt for a second that the young man standing in front of you is the child’s father. Perhaps uncle but even then, they look so much alike that those would need to be some strong genes. 

“Hi!” you say quickly, praying you don’t appear as blown away by how gorgeous he is as you are. “Marco had a great day.”

“Oh, good,” the man says warmly, smiling down at the boy as he reaches to touch his hand where it grabs onto the fence.

You usher Marco back so you can unlatch it and let him out then you lean against the pole so there’s no space between you and the open gate for any other kids to squeeze through. “I do want to let you know though that there was a little incident today.”

He steps closer, a bit concerned, a large hand gently pressed to the top of Marco’s head, making sure he stays nearby. 

“One of the other children got a bit rough with him and hit him on the head, so you might notice…” You bend down, Marco’s big eyes following you as you reach for his head and push back the soft brown strands on his forehead to reveal a little bump. “There’s a bit of a bump. We just put some ice on it and he calmed down quickly but wanted to let you know,” you explain.

“Ok, ok…” he says, nodding as well as he looks at the mark and then down at Marco’s face that was now smiling up at him. “He certainly seems ok now,” he says with a little chuckle, mirroring Marco’s smile, and just proving their relation in how similar it is. Oh god, they are so adorable. 

“Yeah, no, we had a lot of fun the rest of the day. I just didn’t want you to worry if we didn’t point it out to you.”

“Yeah, of course. Thanks,” he says, meeting your eyes again and making you vibrate a little with how kindly he’s looking at you. “You’re the new teacher?”

“That’s me, yeah,” you reply quickly, a little embarrassed though you don’t know why. You just feel a little flustered, and you can only blame it on the fact that this man is terribly good-looking, tall and broad with a devastatingly attractive face. And somehow with all that, he also just has the softest energy to him. In how he looks at Marco, in how he looks at you, completely friendly and at ease. 

“Teacher Y/N, right? Marco’s mentioned you,” he says before turning to the boy and bending to pull him swiftly up into his arms, his legs easily finding their place on either side of his dad’s torso. “Haven’t you, buddy? You have fun playing with Teacher today?”

“Yeaaah,” he replies, playing with the collar of his dad’s shirt and nodding his head. 

“I had fun too, kiddo. I’ll see you tomorrow and we’ll play some more, ok?”

With that, the man adjusts the boy on his hip, taking a small step back. “Ok, thank you. We’ll see you tomorrow. Say bye!” he ushers to Marco, waving his hand, having his mini-me quickly follow suit. 

You keep your eyes on them as you step back, still smiling, and close the gate, beginning to wave as well as you call out another goodbye to Marco. It‘s only once you turn that you let your face show what you were really feeling, eyes widening at Ashley, your mouth dropping slightly open.

“What?” she asks, almost concerned, one child behind her and the other two now in front of her playing with the toy trucks in a pleasantly subdued manner for once. 

“Oh, nothing,” you quickly recover, though you can’t help the way you begin to laugh at yourself.

“Oh, Mingyu,” she says, her voice dropping lower in understanding. “Yep, I feel you on that.” She chuckles when you nod a little too aggressively as you come closer. 

“You weren’t going to warn me about that one or…?” you tease as you plop down next to them, giving the tiniest bit of sass to your colleague.

She laughs again. “Honestly, I didn’t think about it. I forgot that you haven’t met some of the parents yet.”

“Yeah, yeah,” you brush off. 

“Shall I switch you to the later shift permanently?” She’s joking. You know she is. But also, you don’t hate the idea. 

When you look at her in a way that gives your thoughts away, she laughs for a third time. 

“I can if you want! I wouldn’t mind having the 8:30am shift instead.”

“Are you serious? We can’t switch just so I can talk to the hot dad,” you say with an embarrassed chuckle before immediately covering your mouth, remembering you’re still in the vicinity of children. With ears.

“It’s fine,” she plays off, glancing down at them. “They’re not listening. And yes, we absolutely can. You know they’re not together anymore?”

“What?”

“Marco’s parents.”

The thought should not make you happy. Not at all. Someone's divorce is not something to be happy about. But that man – that man – is single?

“Seriously?” you reply, a little quietly, a little awkwardly. Probably overcompensating for how much you don’t want to seem excited about the information. 

“Yup,” she says smugly before beginning to pull herself up. “Ok, Olivia. Mommy’s here, go get your water.”

You stare at the grass for a moment, feeling the delayed butterflies that you hadn’t let yourself feel five minutes earlier when he’d been standing in front of you. It’s a ridiculous thought either way – you spoke for all of one minute. But damn, he just seemed so nice? You could use more nice in your life.

-

Starting the following week, you're on the later shift, the one responsible for staying until the last pick-up and making sure things are in order for the next day before heading home. You’re actually impressed with yourself for how much you have not thought about Marco’s dad all day – you don’t feel right calling him Mingyu, not even in your mind, seeing as he hasn’t actually introduced himself to you. 

Much like every other day, Marco comes flying over to you when you arrive, showing you his new shoes that light up and asking if you like them. Of course, you do. What could be cuter than a giggling, stomping 4-year-old peering up at you, waiting for your approval? 

At lunch time, he says thank you when you give him more pasta. The kids barely ever say thank you. You thank him back for using his manners. 

It’s another beautiful day so you take the kids outside to play the whole afternoon. Marco asks you to play hide and seek, his innocent little pouty face looking around to the other kids when you tell him to go find some others who want to play it too. 

He hurries off, cutely asking each friend if they want to play then coming back to you when he’s corralled a handful of them. You count. He always wants you to count. So he and the other kids can squeal when you “find” them in one of the six mildly decent hiding spots around the playground, cackling with laughter when you thrust your hand into their hiding spot and find an arm or a leg to grab and wiggle.

The same four kids are still there at 5:00pm. But it isn’t Marco who is picked up next. Then there are three. Then two. 

Then it’s almost 5:30pm and Marco’s still there. It’s actually a little awkward. 5:30pm is the pick-up deadline and anyone picking up after that has to pay a late fee for going over. And you aren’t exactly wanting to be the one to remind Mingyu of this if he does come late. 

You don’t mind, however, hanging out with just Marco. You’re tossing a huge inflatable ball back and forth, making him laugh each time you intentionally bop him on the forehead, his arms too slow to register to catch it before it hits him. You figure he’s going to get the hang of it one of these times but when it keeps playing out the same way, you decide he must just find it funnier this way. 

You don’t even notice his dad walking up. And when you do see him, one arm up, casually leaning against the fence as he watches over top of it, you feel wholly embarrassed again. You should’ve been watching for his arrival. 

“Sorry, I’m late!” he calls over through a broad smile once he sees you’ve noticed him. 

“Oh,” you sound before glancing down at your watch. 5:30pm on the dot. “You actually just scratched by,” you say, almost teasingly as you move to stand, keeping your hands out in front of you knowing the little goof is still going to throw the ball back at you despite the fact that you aren’t looking. You catch it and toss it away. “Look who’s here,” you say excitedly to him, much like you would a puppy, pointing then trailing after him as he runs to the gate. 

“Water,” you remind him, approaching the fence yourself and chuckling when he whizzes over to the picnic table where the kids know to keep their water bottles when the group is outside. 

As you look at the man who’s now standing fully (damn, how tall is he?), your chuckling ends but your smile stays, even when you try to hide it, bringing your lips together. “It was a good day,” you tell him easily as you click the lock on the gate open and swing it slightly so there is no longer fence between you, allowing Marco to come around. 

“Great. I’m glad to hear it.”

His voice is nice. Quite low and warm. It’s hard to imagine him disciplining a child. 

“I’m Mingyu, by the way. I realized I didn’t actually introduce myself properly yesterday,” he tosses out, bringing up his hand, prompting you to shake it with as much confidence as you can muster. You aren’t a particularly shy person but this man has some weird fucking spell cast on you. 

“Well, nice to officially meet you. It’s such a pleasure having Marco in the class,” you tell him, knowing that you can at least sound sure and genuine in a comment like that. 

“Yeah, he’s pretty sweet,” Mingyu replies, his fond gaze falling down to the boy as he ruffles his hair. “Thank you for playing with him so much. He tells me – god – every day about it. It’s always Teacher Y/N this and Teacher Y/N that…”

That makes you laugh. It also sort of makes your heart crack open a little bit too. “Aw, well…” you begin, letting out a bashful little laugh. “I enjoy playing with him too. He’s, uh… pretty special,” you finally admit, as casually as you can, trying not to sound too weirdly obsessed with this kid you’ve only known less than a month. You really don’t understand why you feel so connected to him. 

The way Mingyu looks at you confirms that he doesn’t think you are weirdly obsessed at all. In fact, he looks at you with what you could only call happiness mixed with a pinch of awe. Like maybe he can understand that Marco actually is special to you, even if it doesn’t make a lot of sense. 

It’s a disarming look, one that almost feels too sweet, too vulnerable for someone who has only met you twice. But then again, you feel strangely drawn to him after only having met him twice. Ok, who are you kidding – even after just the first time. 

So, is it that wild to assume he feels – dare you even consider it – drawn to you too? 

“He is,” he says softly, eyes sparkling with the love he has for his son. Then he clears his throat, breaking whatever trance he has you under to look down at Marco again. “Well, I won’t keep you any later than I already have. Sorry again. Got held up at work.”

“That’s alright, you made it,” you tell him – easy breezy. “Honestly, if you’re ever later, it’s not that much of a bother to watch him.” With that, you smile down at Marco, catching his eye and his cheesy grin, before looking back up. “I know the centre has the late policy and stuff, but I… yeah, I don’t mind.”

His eyes widen slightly before he chuckles. “I mean, of course, I would pay you. I’m not going to expect free childcare–”

“No, no, I know. I didn’t mean–”

He laughs again as he says: “No, I get it, I get it.”

“I just meant that I enjoy watching your son… so,” you shrug, a little smile on your lips as your face tries to cool down from all the flushing it’s doing. “If you need someone to watch him at any point, I can.” Another shrug. Yes. Good. Still easy breezy. 

“That’s… a really nice offer,” he says, seeming actually touched by it. “Thank you.”

“Yeah, of course.” It isn’t really ‘of course’. You wouldn’t offer for any of the other kids. Just for your favourite. 

“Well, if I wanted to take you up on that… how could I…reach you?” he asks with a tilt of his head, glancing down at Marco to check on him before meeting your eyes again. 

“Right. I guess… I guess you’d need my number for that,” you reply with another chuckle. Damn, you’re letting out a lot of shy flirty laughs. Ugh. 

“Here,” he says as he reaches into his back pocket, pulling out his phone and quickly swiping to open up a blank contact for you. 

You put in your number, deciding at the last minute to put your name in as “Y/N 🍎”, hoping he’ll think it’s cute and not weird. 

“Ok, cool,” he says when his phone is safely back in his hand, locking it shut then meeting your eyes once more. “Well, then, I hope you have a good rest of your evening.”

“You too. Have a good night, Marco! See you tomorrow.”

They both smile widely at you as they head to their car, Marco letting out a long drawn out goodbye to you, stumbling over himself as he tries to look back to wave. 

You just laugh, waving back before closing the gate and locking it. 

And then, there are those damn butterflies again. 

-

The best part of your day is officially the end of the day. It would be regardless – getting rid of each little bugger one by one just makes your job easier late in the day. But now, every pick-up time includes a tall drink of water leaning over the fence, watching you play with the kids until you notice. You never know how long he’s standing there before your eyes meet, a beaming smile already plastered on his face every time, without fail. 

Sometimes the kids will notice a car pulling in or someone walking up. Other times, he might be standing there for a full five minutes, and you are none the wiser. The tendency to get wrapped up in playing with the kids, giving them your full attention, is definitely one of your strong suits as a teacher, but your awareness of other people could use some improvement. 

The little chats are always brief, a few sentences back and forth as you pass over supervision of Marco to his dad. It is nice, the fact that he is always one of the last kids to get picked up, if not the last. Nice that you guys can be a bit playful, give his son an extra compliment that really no other kid or parent should be hearing. 

It’s always very much friendly though. Not that you are expecting this mature, grown man to flirt with his child’s teacher. You aren’t at all. But the fact that the conversations stay really light, really surface-level definitely makes you consider the very real possibility that your crush is one-sided. 

Maybe it is. Maybe it is and that’s ok. Getting wrapped up with a student’s parent is a bad idea anyway. 

Still, erasing your attraction to him is out of the question. You just know that is out of your hands. The man is too lovely. 

When it’s been a couple weeks and he hasn’t texted you, you resign yourself to the child’s-teacher zone. Is that worse than the friend zone? Probably. Have you made a move yourself? No. Do you feel like you can without completely embarrassing yourself and putting yourself in a super awkward position if he rejects you? Also, no. 

Not to mention the fact that you don’t actually want something serious with someone. The end of your last relationship was painful to say the least, and ‘casual’ is the only thing you have the capacity for right now anyway. How would you explain that to him? That his kid’s teacher is just DTF? Yikes. 

-

It’s a whole three weeks of short pick-up time chats before you hear from him outside of the daycare, your phone ding-ing at 9:00am on a Saturday. 

Unknown: So what fruit do I get beside my name? 🤔 YN: Haha don’t think I know you well enough to be properly assigning fruits MG: Ah it has to be more natural huh? YN: Exactly YN: You just get Mingyu for now MG: Awww that’s so boring YN: lol MG: Ok fine MG: But for real… I need to ask a favour of you MG: You can absolutely say no. I don’t even know how serious you were about your offer but… MG: Are you busy this evening? I need someone to watch Marco for a couple hours and I know he would just be so excited if it was you MG: I know it’s so last minute

You really weren’t expecting this. As serious as you were about your offer, you didn’t think he’d actually take you up on it. Especially since it’s been a little while. But of course, your stomach is bubbling from just getting to text him. It feels wrong somehow. Inappropriate. But there is no rule about texting a kid’s parent. 

YN: Oh! I actually don’t have any plans today at all so I can definitely do that YN: Do you live in the area? MG: Ah that’s so great! Ok thank you so much MG: Yeah we’re only a few minutes away from the daycare actually YN: Ok cool :) MG: I’ll send you the address. Could you be here for like 6:30? Does that work ok? YN: For sure

He sends it. You recognize the street. And then, at 6:25pm, you’re pulling up to the house, driving around the cul-de-sac once before finding the right number. It’s cute – small, simple, nice. 

You feel nervous. You spent too long getting ready. To not spend time with him. You’re literally going to see him for one minute before spending the rest of the time with a four-year-old. A four-year-old that does not give a crap about what you look like. 

Even now, you spend a minute too long in the car before pulling yourself from the driver’s seat, up to the door, giving it a good solid knock. When he whips it open, button-up pulling across his chest, a pair of navy slacks covering long legs, you’re only slightly taken aback.

Why does he look like that? Damn, he looks hot all dressed up. But also, he’s… all dressed up. You can’t help where your mind goes. And you can’t help the sinking feeling it gives you.

“Hi! Come in, come in. Thank you so much for doing this,” he greets so happily, waving you in with his hand as he steps back, swinging the door open further to welcome you into the home. 

“Teacher?” a little voice chirps from another room before you hear little footsteps scurrying, getting louder by the second. 

Mingyu is already laughing, shutting the door behind you as he points to the little welcome mat where pairs of very big and very small shoes have been haphazardly kicked off. 

“Teacher! You’re at my house?”

“I’m at your house,” you confirm with a bright smile, slipping off your sandals, still holding the little stack of colouring books and pencil crayons you brought along with you to your chest. You definitely do think Mingyu has things for his son – obviously – but you still felt compelled to bring something. Just in case. And kids love shiny new stuff. Part of you just wants to see his face light up when he notices one of the colouring books is full of dinosaurs. 

“We made pasta… for you!”

So that’s what that delicious smell is. Your eyes widen a touch before flicking over to Mingyu who gives you a bashful smile and a shrug. 

“Here, come on in. I’ll show you around quickly, and then… yeah, I made some food. I wasn’t sure if you’d have eaten before so you and Marco can have some for dinner,” he rambles as he walks down the hallway, hand finding the top of Marco’s head to usher him forward as you follow along. “I have no idea what you like so I apologize if you’re not a fan,” he explains, coming to settle by the stove, giving the finished pasta dish one more stir in its pan. 

“It smells great. I’m sure it’ll be perfect,” you dismiss his concerns quickly as you drop your goodies on the island, before glancing around the main floor, taking in the open plan of his kitchen and living area. The house is really cute, even homier inside. Not at all what you might expect from a guy in his (mid?) twenties. The kitchen’s decked out with a host of appliances, the living room cozy with blankets and pillows – and plenty of kids toys. 

“If you just want to pop whatever’s left in here, put it in the fridge. That’d be great,” he tells you, tapping the lid of a tupperware container, leaving it next to the stove. 

“Of course.”

“Thanks. And seriously, thank you so much for this. You’re really saving me here,” he repeats as he wanders closer before bending down to Marco’s height and focusing on the boy. “I gotta go, buddy. You listen to Y/N, ok? Be good, please.”

“We’ll be great,” you assure him warmly, leaning back against the counter as you watch him pull his son into a hug. “Right, kiddo? What should we do? You hungry now or do you want to play a bit first?”

“Play! Play!” he says excitedly, rushing over to you, completely forgetting about the dad who’s trying to say goodbye, to grab your hand and pull you into the living room, beginning to excitedly show you his various toys. 

You glance up, wide smile plastered on your face as you plop down next to Marco on the rug.

Mingyu just chuckles, shrugging as though he’s given up on trying. “You two have fun! I’ll be back before 10pm.”

“Sounds good,” you call back to him, lifting a hand in goodbye. And then he’s grabbing his phone off the counter and slipping back down the hall and out the door. 

The two hours before you put Marco down fly by. It’s very easy to be distracted by a hyperactive toddler, especially this one that just loves playing, chatting away with you. You have to tell him five times that, no, you can’t wrestle in the house, sometimes needing to actually hold him still so he’ll stop launching himself at you on the couch.

You can’t believe it when he actually goes down, thinking he’d be too revved up but you suppose all the excitement has worn him out. There’s not a peep from his room after you leave it, quietly closing the door behind you after tucking his sweet face in, then tip-toeing to the stairs, trying to keep totally quiet as you make your way back down to the living room.

It’s now, in the silence of Mingyu’s house, that you feel a wave of thoughts rush over you. Unfortunately, the primary one is the sucky feeling that he’s on a date. The man looks like a god and has the whole adorable dad thing to boot. And apparently, he can really cook? Of course he’s on a date. And from the sounds of things, perhaps he’s been trying to go out with this girl for a while. 

You don’t love it, the thought of his eyes lighting up as he looks at a pretty woman across the table from him. But you can’t really blame her, whoever she is. 

What happened between him and his ex-wife? Maybe your glasses are a little rose-tinted at this point (no doubt they are) but you have a hard time understanding someone breaking up with him. 

But what do you know? Your exposure to him has been extremely limited until tonight. Maybe he is actually awful. Maybe he’s a horrifically toxic partner. You don’t have the best track record for being able to see someone’s true colours. 

Part of you sort of wishes to find something wrong with him so you can stop being a love-sick puppy dog. And then again, part of you is just enjoying the excitement of a crush, the giddy feeling of being around someone you find really really attractive. Because it’s been a very long time. 

You clean up the living room, putting away the few toys and games that you didn’t get around to having Marco tidy before it had been time to bring him upstairs. Trying your best not to snoop, once everything is away, you settle into the corner of the couch with your phone, scrolling on various apps for a while until you figure that it’s perfectly reasonable to turn on the TV while you continue to wait for him to get home.

Marvel movies, K-dramas… It’s in the middle of judging his ‘Recommended For You’ on Netflix that you hear the door open and lift your head towards the hallway following the sound of the floor creaking under foot. A few seconds later, he’s poking his head around the corner and letting out a soft ‘hey’ in his gentle voice. 

“Hi,” you whisper back, not really sure how much the sound carries up. 

“How’d it go?” he asks as he opens the fridge, placing what seems like his leftovers inside. 

“Good. Really good,” you tell him, waving a hand to show what a breeze it was. “He went down at about 8:30pm.” It was a bit strange, putting him down in a real bed instead of the little cot at the daycare, but it was also sweetly familiar in a way, tucking him in, gently wishing him a good sleep as you always did.

“Ok, perfect,” he replies with the easiest smile as he comes over to lean his hand on the back of the couch. “You messing up my Netflix?”

“Messing up?” you counter, looking back over to the selections on the ‘Favourites’ carousel. “I don’t know about that. I was actually thinking that I was half-impressed by your taste. But maybe I’ll withhold that comment.”

“Oh, really?” He seems to enjoy that, nodding as he shifts to sit on the arm, bringing one socked-foot up to rest on the couch cushion. You have to try extra hard not to look at the way his pants pull over his thighs and groin. But putting his hips at eye-level like that? That’s just unfair. 

“Well, yeah. Interstellar’s the first thing that pops up. Kingsman, Spiderman… Tenet.” You continue to read off titles, letting the tone of your voice convey your opinion, though, for the most part, it’s positive. “Inception, too. You’re a Nolan guy,” you piece together, looking over at him, seeing his now pushed up eyebrows. 

“I am.”

“Ok, fine. You get the compliment then. These are a few of my favourites,” you admit.

“Seriously?”

“Yeah,” you agree with a chuckle. “Interstellar is so good. But… actually, now that I’m looking.” You continue to click over further. “I’m disappointed to see The Prestige missing.”

He smiles wide before bringing a hand up to run through his hair. “I, uh, I actually haven’t seen that one. Or maybe I did a long time ago but I can’t really remember.”

“What?” you emphasize, personally offended that he’s a Nolan fan but hasn’t seen your all-time favourite. “Mingyu… you’ve got to be kidding.”

He’s laughing now. Sure, you’re playing up your offense a bit. But that is just wrong.

“The Prestige is… perfect. It’s masterfully-crafted in every way. Like, I know people talk about it somewhat but it is seriously underrated in comparison to his other films.”

“Ok, ok,” he replies defensively, his voice raising slightly in pitch as he lifts his hands. “I believe you, I do. I guess I’ll just need to watch it then. See if I trust your judgement.”

Why is everything he’s saying sounding a bit… flirty? Even though he’s not flirting. Surely, that’s just how he is.

“You do. That’s your homework assignment. Watch it and let me know what you think,” you tell him with a little laugh as you begin to stand up, flipping the remote around in your hand to pass it to him.

He receives it but keeps his eyes on you, smirking in a ridiculously adorable way. “Oh, a homework assignment, huh? Didn’t realize you were my teacher too.” 

Damn, so fucking flirty. 

You let out a bigger laugh, feeling a little embarrassed at how you’ve gotten yourself into this line of conversation as you walk back to the kitchen, finding your bag on the counter. “Can’t stop, I guess. Force of habit,” you explain sheepishly. 

He chuckles too as he follows you, both of you walking in step back down the hallway towards the front door. “So, what do I owe you?”

In your periphery, you can see him reaching into his pocket, pulling out his wallet. It feels kind of weird, the idea of accepting money from him. You really had just enjoyed playing with Marco for a few hours. Something about that kid is so wonderful; you even find yourself missing him on weekends.

“Oh, honestly– it was only like a couple hours. It’s… it’s fine,” you get out, a bit awkwardly, a bit unsure whether refusing the money would just make it weird. 

“Y/N… I’m gonna pay you for your time,” he says with a sure nod, his voice lowering as if to say ‘come on’. “Especially if you don’t mind watching him again in the future, I really need you to take my money,” he says, beginning to laugh as he pulls out a couple twenty-dollar bills and thrusts them towards you. 

You look at his hand, then up at him, then back to his hand, tilting your head slightly as you sigh. “Fine. I guess you’re right,” you concede, gently taking the bills from him and sliding them into your wallet. “Thank you.”

“No, thank you. I’m sure Marco loved it.”

“He seemed pretty happy.”

“Makes sense,” he returns as you go to bend down, pulling your shoes back on your feet. “I appreciate it,” he adds before you have a chance to linger on what he just said. “Is it ok if I text you when I need a sitter again?”

“Absolutely. I mean it – it’s not a chore for me at all.”

“Ok,” he replies, his lips pressing into a warm smile as he pulls open the door and leans against it. 

“Ok, well, have a good night.” You step out onto his porch, turning around one more time to smile at him briefly before heading to your car. 

“You too! Get home safe.”

“I will!” you call to him before sliding into your front seat. You can see him still at his front door where he stays until you’ve backed out, sending you another wave as you pull away. 

-

“You won’t be happy with me.”

“Oh?” you ask, getting up from his couch to meet him at the island.

“I haven’t done my homework yet.” He sends you a teasing smile as he shrugs off his suit jacket, laying it neatly on one of the bar stools. It’s been almost two weeks since the last time you were at his house. This time he asked if you could watch Marco straight from the end of daycare. You agreed, quickly meeting them at the house once you finished up. The things you would do just at the thought of getting into Mingyu’s pants… 

Ridiculous.

You huff out a chuckle, bringing your arms to cross over your chest. “You’ve had plenty of time. What’s your excuse?”

“Would you believe me if I said I have a hard time getting into movies on my own?” He still holds that flirtatious smile but you think you can see a glimmer of shyness in how he’s looking away as he says it. How dare he look so sweet while dressed up looking like the most handsome date in the world. Not your date though. 

“Oh yeah? Started it and couldn’t get into it?” you ask, leaning forward onto the counter, bringing yourself just a little closer to him.

“Didn’t even start it honestly. I’m a terrible student.”

You shake your head in amusement. “Yeah, apparently.”

“Would you… want to watch it with me? It is only 9pm,” he suggests, glancing at his watch, his cool confidence suddenly back in place. 

God, this is a bad idea. There is no way you’re going to be able to hold yourself together for the next two hours – you seem to always become a blushy flirty mess around the 15-minute mark, which thankfully is around the time most of your past interactions have ended. 

But, obviously, you’re going to say yes. 

“You want to watch it tonight?”

“Only if you want to,” he says simply before turning to the freezer and pulling out a small carton of ice cream. “Can I bribe you with snacks?”

Yes. You love ice cream. But unfortunately, that’s not the thing you most want to be eating in this kitchen. 

“What kind you got?” you attempt to play it somewhat cool, nodding your chin towards the container. 

“Ben and Jerry’s? Half baked?”

You click your teeth then sigh through your smile. “Fine, I’m in.” As if it’s a big concession.

He laughs, scrunching up his nose way too cutely as he grabs two spoons from the drawer and the two of you settle onto his couch to watch, close enough to pass the ice cream back and forth.

“Ok, I must warn you though. I’m really annoying about this movie. Like if I’m talking too much, just tell me to shut up,” you say just as it’s starting. 

“I’m always the one talking too much during movies, so I really don’t think it’ll be a problem–”

Your hand grasps his thick forearm, interrupting. “The hats. Ok?” You look over at him, finger pointing to the TV. “You have to watch closely. There’s so many good little details.” Your head turns back to the TV, only vaguely registering that he’s still smirking at you for a moment longer before following your gaze.

“You weren’t kidding, eh?”

You start to giggle but then the narration is starting and he has to hear it. Whispering now: “Everything's a clue, ok? Don’t pay attention to me. Watch.”

He snorts another laugh, taking the ice cream out of your hand but keeping his eyes on the film. “Yes, ma’am.”

Your flush at the teasing name catches you off guard. Ma'am?

Then again, Mingyu could probably call you anything and you’ll be ok with it at this point. He could probably do anything and you’ll be ok with it at this point. That is how stupidly attracted you are to him. 

To your surprise, your unceasing commentary throughout, punctuated with satisfied groans at all the good reveal moments, doesn’t seem to deter him too much. He doesn’t even tell you to shut up once. Though you have to tell yourself to a few times – using spoonfuls of ice cream to keep your mouth full. It doesn’t really work. 

If anything, he may find it slightly endearing? It’s hard to tell when you’re too distracted finding all his reactions endearing, the way his eyes widen all innocently, his mouth dropping open slightly at the best part of the movie, when everything starts to click together like gears into place. 

Then he’s tapping your thigh repeatedly. “Holy shit. So, that’s…? And then he’s…?”

“Uh-huh,” you confirm with a nod as your gaze falls on him, enjoying watching him experience your favourite movie way too much. He looks just like Marco right then as his mouth begins to turn up into the biggest awestruck smile. 

“Pretty fucking good, huh?” is the first thing you said as the credits began. Finally, you could prove your point. And, you have to admit: this is much more fun than him just telling you he liked it.

“Oh my god,” he says with a little laugh, bringing his hand up to his forehead. “Ok, yeah. Fair enough. It’s definitely up there with his other ones.”

“Right? I told you. Underrated.” You collapse back into the couch.

“Well, thank you very much for introducing me,” he leans back too, motioning towards the scrolling white font on the screen. 

“Proud of you for getting your homework done. Even if it did take… a little bit of tutoring,” you joke.

“I had a very helpful tutor,” he replies with a shrug. “I owe it all to her.”

Then you’re both chuckling, gazes falling down, both maybe a little embarrassed at how lame you’re being. But, hey, he’s playing along. It’s cute. 

“I suppose I should head out,” you tell him, only half-able to mask the hesitancy in your voice. 

“Yeah– yeah…” he agrees quickly as if being shaken out of his thoughts by your movement. And then you’re both walking together to the door again, him pulling out his wallet and popping the few bills into your open purse, completely skipping any resistance to it. 

You let it happen, just smiling a little at him for a moment before shaking your head and bending to put on your shoes. 

“Thank you. Can’t wait to hear all about how Teacher Y/N is his favourite person to play with in the morning.”

Aww – as if that isn’t supposed to melt your heart? “Oh, stop it. You’re his hero,” you assure as you pull your bag over your shoulder. 

“I swear I’m being replaced.”

“Not my fault that I make a really good dinosaur.”

That must not be what he’s expecting from the chuckle he lets out. “Are you saying I’m not a good dinosaur? You know, I resent that.”

Now you’re giggling, unable to help it when he pouts like that. With a shrug, you open the door, stepping down carefully before turning back to him. “Thanks for the ice cream.”

“You’re very welcome. Better that I don’t eat the whole thing alone honestly.”

“You have a four-year-old.”

“Yeah, but some things need to just be for the adults, ok?” he rationalizes, coming to lean against the door frame, his long limbs allowing him to span across the whole thing. 

“Very true,” you agree with a firm point towards him. “Well, I’m always down for adult ice cream.” About a millisecond after you say it, you regret it, your eyes falling closed as your cheeks push up into an awkward winced smile. “That… sounded weird.”

He giggles cutely, looking down at his feet. “I gotcha.”

“Ok,” you say softly, laughing once more before heading down his steps, looking over your shoulder at him once more. “Goodnight.”

“Drive safe.”

“Always do!” 

Another gorgeous smile from him is imprinted on your mind, leaving you thinking about him the whole way home. 

-

“You going to the fair?”

“There’s a fair?”

“A fruit festival. And it looks like you have no excuse to not come along,” he says, glancing to the empty playground. 

“Hm… you got me,” you reply, your voice dropping lower as you nod with a little smile.

“Come with us.”

“Ok. Just let me take out the garbage and I’ll come to meet you.”

As soon as you arrive, it’s not hard to spot them; Mingyu is 6’2 and, well, him. Marco already has cotton candy stuck in and around his mouth as you approach, catching both their eyes and earning two perfect smiles. 

“Didn’t waste any time, huh?” you ask, obviously referencing the way Marco is stuffing another huge bite of cotton candy into his mouth.

Mingyu leans in a bit, one hand still lightly touching the top of his son’s head to keep tabs. “Don’t tell anyone, ok? But… I’m kind of a pushover.”

You feign your surprise, the only shocking part about the revelation actually being the fact that he’s outright telling you as much. “Noo,” you let out in a sarcastic little gasp, which has him lightly bumping into you with his elbow, a pouty little smirk making its way across his face.

“Hey, I’m not too bad,” he clarifies but it’s still a bit whiny and you literally have to refocus your eyes on Marco because you’re sure that it’s written all over your face just how cute you find him. 

“What’s the plan, kiddo? What are we riding first?”

He doesn’t answer for a second, seemingly ignoring you as he looks around the fair, taking in the slowly growing crowd of people as everyone gets off work. But then he’s grabbing your hand in his and pulling you in the direction of the kiddy rollercoaster, looking back at you for a moment to give you a big purple-toothed grin. 

“I guess we’re going this way,” you say over your shoulder, checking to make sure Mingyu is following. And he is, chuckling and shaking his head at the way Marco’s about to rip your arm off. 

-

“Want some peach?” you ask, spearing a slice onto your fork, making sure to get a bit of the crust and whipped cream all together.

“Who’s peach?” he asks, turning his head from watching Marco bouncing literally off the walls of the bouncy castle. After a mere second, there’s that pleased little smirk as he looks over, taking in your slightly surprised expression.

All you can do is roll your eyes and try not to show your fluster as you hold out your fork. “Still vying for that fruit emoji, huh?” you tease, pushing the bite into his open mouth just a tiny bit more forcefully that you normally would.

He chuckles as he chews, beginning to shake his head before any words can come out. “I didn’t even think about that, honestly.”

Just as you’re about to express your doubt, you hear Marco excitedly shrieking, a sound all too familiar. “Teacher! Teacher! Watch me. Watch this!”

Unable to ignore him, you step closer, taking your own bite and watching through the netting as he does what can only be considered a belly flop onto the inflatable floor, immediately beginning to get jostled around by the other kids jumping. 

“Wow… Look at you,” you sound out as best you can. Your pretend fascination with kids’ skills is well-trained but a little overused; you decide to offload. “Mingyu. Come look at your son,” you say, turning with a cheeky grin, finding his close-lipped smile, tan arms crossed sinfully across his chest, before he drops the pose and comes a little closer to watch Marco do the same jump for the sixth time. 

He laughs. “Wow, buddy. Don’t hurt yourself though. Don’t want you to get stepped on,” he urges gently, his hands gripping onto the netting as he leans closer to look in. 

Your gaze jumps between them, too endeared by the giant man softly cooing caring words to the four-year-old.

His gentleness with his child is quickly becoming the most attractive thing about him. And, considering everything, that is very dangerous. 

-

MG: Is there any chance that you’re free tomorrow night? YN: There’s a chance YN: What’s up? You need my services?

Why? Why did you say that? Can you not play it cool for two freaking messages?

MG: Haha not exactly MG: Wanted your opinion on some recipes MG: My toddler’s palette isn’t the most refined lol

You stare at your screen for a whole minute, unsure what he’s talking about, unsure what you might be agreeing to. But you know there’s no chance of you saying no, even as you sit there, knee bouncing anxiously, trying to decide what to reply with.

YN: I could do that YN: Though I can’t promise a very refined palette either lol YN: I’ll do my best MG: Ok perfect MG: Want to come here around like 7? YN: Sure! MG: Come hungry :) 

Oh, you will. 

-

It’s only when you’re driving over that it sinks in that Marco might not be there. Mingyu is not hiring you as a sitter. No, he’s inviting you over to actually spend time with him. Which is enough to process on its own. But it’s only once the question of Marco springs up in your mind that you start to stress – is it a date? Are you an idiot for not realizing it? Or are you an idiot now for even considering that that’s what he was intending?

You still have no idea if he’s seeing someone. You saw him off on those two evenings, looking too incredibly fine to be doing anything but trying to impress. But also, you’re convinced he’s being flirty with you, even though your brain tries to psych you out every time, telling you it's not true. 

“Hi – come on in.” He answers the door in a t-shirt tucked into some nice fitting denim and a smile. While it isn’t at the level of things he’s gone out in, it does make you breathe a sigh of relief at your quite casual outfit, even if it does mean you’ll have to stare at his arms and thick thighs all night. 

As you step inside, he stays close, making small talk with you as you remove your shoes and follow him in, finding the house seemingly empty apart from him. 

“I may have taken your instructions too seriously. I’m starving,” you say playfully as you slide onto the closest island stool, watching him return to the stove where it looks like he’s been practically preparing a feast. It smells wonderful. Especially with your incredibly basic cooking skills leaving you with lazy meals most nights when you get home. 

“That’s what I like to hear,” he replies and even facing away, you can hear his smile.

“It’s a good thing too, it looks like. How many people are coming tonight?” you tease.

He chuckles as he whips over to the fridge, grabbing a last-needed ingredient. “Well… I hope you don’t mind if it’s just us two. Marco’s with his mom this weekend.”

The way your heart rate speeds up tells you that it’s exactly what you want to hear. But does that make it a date? 

“Oh. I didn’t even realize that you… shared custody.”

“Yeah, every other weekend he’s over there. Comes back Sunday evening.”

You hum a little, nodding your head, wanting to ask more but not being sure if you should. Being curious would be normal though, for anyone. “Is she nearby?”

“Yeah, only like a 25-minute drive so… Not too bad,” he says casually, glancing over his shoulder at you before returning his gaze to finish plating up what seems to be an appetizer. 

“That’s good,” you say breezily, leaning back as he comes closer to slide a dish in front of you. “That he gets to see her.”

“Yeah, it seems to work well for all of us. … Dig in,” he urges, looking back at you to nod to your plate.

“Are you not joining me?”

“So needy,” he teases gently, surprising you a little, then he’s shooting you another too-pretty smile. “This needs just another minute.”

You shake your head, training your eyes on the delicious-looking food, probably failing miserably at keeping your cool. As he finishes up, you take your first bite, even more impressed than the last time he fed you. “Oh my god. So, wait, you actually, like, cook? For real?”

“What – you thought I was just a hot dad?” he smirks, cleaning up the edge of the plate with a napkin like a damn professional.

You snort in an attempt to cover up your fluster. “I mean, now you’re just a hot dad that cooks so…” you trail off, unsure how to get out of this terribly flirtatious area. “Pretty sure that’s even worse.”

He chuckles as he comes around the island, slipping in next to you, and bringing his feet up onto the footrest immediately despite the way his legs are too long to bunch up properly under the overhang. “I, um… I actually just got hired at a new restaurant that’s opening in the fall. As a chef. Hence, me wanting to try out new recipes on you.” He’s suddenly shyer, less cheeky as he motions to the counter full of food. 

You can feel your face brighten at the words and especially at how he seems genuinely happy to share the information, underneath the bashfulness. “Oh, wow. Congrats. That’s so cool! … And makes a lot more sense as to why you’re so damn good at this,” you say, pointing down at the dish with your empty fork.

“You like it?” he asks hopefully, gentle eyes studying your face as you take another bite and nod enthusiastically. “Good, good.”

“How did I not know you’re a chef?”

“Because I’m a carpenter,” he says, words tumbling out with a laugh. “The food thing is more like a long-standing dream…”

You blink at him, a little more surprised, a little more impressed, smile pressing onto your lips. 

“What?” he asks, swallowing down a bite. 

“Nothing. That’s just– so exciting for you. … I’m excited for you.”

He gives you a warm smile. “Thank you.”

-

The problem with Mingyu is that he is so much more than hot. And as much as you should’ve known that from the beginning, it didn’t sink in soon enough. And now, it’s entirely too easy to see him as more than a guy you want in your bed. 

Even as you make your way over to the couch, curling up in one corner while he finishes putting away a few things into the fridge, you find yourself dreading when it’ll be time for you to go. He makes you feel all warm and fuzzy in a way that you haven’t felt in…years. 

“What are we watchin’?” he asks, nestling in one cushion over from you, legs coming up under him as he grabs a blanket and tosses it over the two of you. 

“You’re letting me pick?”

“I’m nice like that.”

“Pushover,” you mutter teasingly as you grab the remote, beginning to flick through.

He clicks his teeth, letting his head drop back against the couch in exasperation. 

“Anything I want?”

“Not if you’re going to be mean to me,” he plays back, letting his head fall to the side to look at you. The sudden urge to lean over and kiss him is strong. And terrifying. Why does he have to look at you like that?

“How much are you going to hate it if I choose this?” you ask, trying to refocus on your task at hand. 

He lifts his head, finding “The Holiday” thumbnail outlined by the cursor, then smirks a little before glancing at you with raised eyebrows. 

“Isn’t that a Christmas movie? It’s the middle of summer.”

“Oh, I don’t think so. And it’s not like there’s some rule anyway.”

He just motions his hand towards the TV as if to say ‘go ahead’, plopping back into his cushion. 

You giggle before giving in: “Ok… we can find something else–”

“Put it on, Y/N,” he prompts, making you smile widely as you click into it. Most rom-coms are not exactly cinematic masterpieces but something about The Holiday gets you every single time. 

As soon as the narration starts, Kate Winslet’s lovely voice going on about love, you wonder if you’ve made a terrible mistake. Why would you choose to watch a love story with a man that makes you this giddy? Rookie mistake. 

You wiggle down into your corner, tugging the blanket closer around you as a protective barrier. At least when Jude Law’s handsome face is on the screen, it provides a form of distraction. 

“That’s why you wanted to watch this?” he asks, making you realize only then that you’re smiling at the screen.

Your eyes fall closed, defence on the tip of your tongue, but after a moment you just shush him, refocusing on the TV with a grin. 

“Is that what you’re into?” he continues to bug you.

“What? Charming? Sweet? Sexy?”

“Oh, wow,” he scoffs, face lighting up into a smile as he turns a little more in his seat to face you. 

You shove at his shoulder in return, attempting to direct him back to the TV. “Stop it. Come on, you cannot tell me that that isn’t a dreamy man.” When you raise your hand, he finally looks back over with you just as the two on the screen are leaning into a soft kiss. 

He watches for a moment then you can see in your periphery as he turns his head back towards you. “Not exactly my type,” he admits with a little laugh. “But I’ll give it to you.”

You shake your head once more, a habit you can’t stop every time he’s playful with you. Which seems to be every other second. 

For a minute, you think you’re past it but then the kiss just grows more sensual, his hands pushing back into Cameron Diaz’s hair, and you can feel yourself flushing hot – twice as much too, knowing that he’s watching your reaction. 

Mingyu lets out a laugh but when you turn your head to glare at him, he presses his lips together as if trying his best to suppress it, shaking his head ‘no’ and motioning you back to the TV.

“You’re the worst,” you mutter through your uncontainable smile, refusing to look at him anymore. “Pay attention.”

“I am paying attention!”

Through a good chunk of the movie, he does seem to be paying attention… right up until it’s revealed that the love interest is actually a single dad, and you can feel his eyes land on you again. 

You lift your head from where it’s resting to peer at him curiously. Oh, he looks too pleased with himself. 

“Single dads, huh?”

Your jaw drops open first but then your eyes are quickly rolling as you pull the pillow from beside you to whap him with it. 

“Ok, ok–” he gets out through battered chuckles, his arms shooting up to attempt to block your hits. “I’ll stop. I promise.”

“You better. You invite me over here just to tease me the whole time,” you complain.

“Seriously, I’ll stop, I’m sorry. I’m just being a shit,” he says, continuing to shake his head then turning to stare back at the screen.

You side-eye him for another moment before looking back to the cute giggling children on the TV.

“Are you a hopeless romantic?” he asks, garnering your gaze once again. “Is that why you chose this?”

A little breath of amusement comes out of you. “Not exactly. Actually… kind of the opposite now.”

“Really?”

“Yeah… I guess I’m just a little jaded from… past stuff,” you explain nonchalantly, unsure how much he is open to hearing, and especially unsure how much you are comfortable sharing. But then again, if you’re going to continue to flirt mercilessly with each other then you suppose he deserves to know a bit more.

“Ah, ok. That’s fair,” he says gently. “I suppose we’re all a little messed up from our pasts.” 

“Yeah. So, love isn’t really in the cards for right now.”

“Not at all?” he asks, his brows lifting slightly though you’re trying not to look at him too closely, using the ongoing movie as an excuse.

“I don’t think so. … What about you? You dating anyone?” you flip it around, having the courage to do so considering the direction the conversation has taken. 

“Me? No. … Not exactly easy to do. With Marco, and then with all the work going into changing jobs... I’ve been so focused on that. Dating hasn’t really been on my radar.”

Hm. He’s not dating anyone. 

“Oh. The self-proclaimed ‘hot dad’ isn’t even taking advantage of the single life, huh?” you chide. When he grins wide at that, seemingly blushing as he looks down to his lap, it’s somehow even cuter than the teasing smile he’s been giving you throughout the night. 

“I mean, not everyone wants to date someone with a kid anyway. ... They see that I’ve already done all that stuff...” He tilts his head, looking as though he might go on. “They want it to be my first time like it’s their first time, you know?…Engagement, pregnancy announcement, whatever. But it’s just not. There’s nothing I can do about that now.” He shrugs a little, making the words seem simpler than what they actually are.

“So, you’ve dated? Since you and his mom…?”

“Just one person really. But yeah, that’s what got in the way. And once she realized it was a problem for her… well, that was it. ... It’s kind of hard for me to think about introducing anyone to Marco now.” He pauses for a moment then looks away from you, scrunching up his nose in a little wince as he says: “He got kind of used to having her around so…” 

You nod but can’t help the way your stomach feels like it’s swirling. “Right. That makes sense; you don’t want things to be confusing for him.”

“Exactly, yeah. So, I guess I have to be a bit more careful,” he continues, letting himself break into a light-hearted little chuckle. “I’m trying to be better at that. For both our sakes.”

“Mm, good idea,” you say through a little smile. “You still have hope then? After everything?” The question comes out before you can really stop it.

“Of course. You don’t?” It surprises you how quick, how confidently he answers – even after his marriage didn’t work out.

You hum a little, regretting the question now that it’s being reflected back. “I’m not sure I can. It kind of just seems like everything falls apart no matter what, doesn’t it?”

“How can we know? If we don’t try?” he says so simply, the smile in his eyes making you all soft and warm in all the ways you’re scared of. 

“Well, I think we found the hopeless romantic in the room,” you tease, breaking away from his gaze in an attempt for self-preservation. 

He chuckles cutely. “Yeah, yeah. I guess you got me.”

-

It feels right and wrong at the same time, the way you keep your distance a little more after the chat. He walks you to the door and stands back as you put your shoes on, finding your purse to hand it to you once you've straightened up again. Then he just looks at you for a second, letting his hands sink into the front pockets of his denim. 

“Thank you for feeding me. It was the best meal I’ve had in a long time,” you say then watch as he eases in front of you, smiling at the floor before peering up at you through thick lashes. You aren’t sure where the confident, unswayable man that you first met has gone but he is somehow getting cuter with each side he shows you, this shyer, even softer-spoken Mingyu being no exception. 

“It was my pleasure, honestly. I love cooking for people. And actual feedback beyond a ‘yeahhh’ when I ask if something’s good.”

You laugh, able to picture it clearly, the kid so wrapped up in his meal that he’d barely answer you if you asked him a question. “Oh, Marco,” you say fondly, smiling as you turn and reach for the door handle. 

“Does he drive you nuts? And you’re just being nice about it?” he jokes, finding his place against the door frame as you spin on the front step to face him, now having to look up even more at him thanks to the level difference. 

“No, no… Not at all,” you answer quickly, amused by the assumption. “I honestly think he’s the best. Even though I’m absolutely not supposed to say that.”

“Ah, you probably say that to all the parents.”

“I do not!” you defend, crossing your arms over your chest for show. Or maybe just to keep you from reaching out and flirtily shoving him for the tenth time that night. “Nah, I know it sounds silly but I… I don’t know. I liked Marco from, like, the day I started. He shot me one of those big smiles… That was it,” you say, popping your shoulder in a little shrug. 

He chuckles a little, gaze falling down as he lets his head drop to the side. “I’m glad.” 

You watch him for a second in comfortable silence, meeting his eyes when they peer up at you once more. You want to kiss him. You’re also crazy enough to think he might want the same thing. 

But it’s obvious to you – and probably just as much to him – that after tonight, that can’t happen. No matter how much you would absolutely die to have his body on yours, you just know you can’t do that. Not if it means signing up for something that you are in no way ready for. 

-

Between that night and the next time he reaches out to you a few days later, you have all but convinced yourself that you would no longer spend time alone with Mingyu. You can’t be trusted. You’re sexually-deprived, and he’s beyond perfect, and it’s an absolute recipe for disaster. If he had so much as leaned in an inch that night, you would’ve closed the gap, smashing your lips to his. 

You’re still holding onto this resolve strongly when you check your phone during nap time…

MG: Hey 🙂 MG: It’s totally fine if you’re busy but if you’re not MG: A few friends want me to join them to shoot hoops tonight and thought it might be more fun for you and Marco to hang out at the park instead of trying to find someone to watch him at home MG: (Secretly hoping he’ll want to watch for a bit too but who knows)

The image of Mingyu playing basketball is far too good to say ‘no’ to, despite that being exactly what you should be saying. It’s not you and Mingyu spending time together alone at least. You look across the room, seeing Marco asleep on his cot, mixed in with the rest of the napping kids. 

MG: There’s a playground there for him in case that wasn’t clear! YN: He’s going to get sick of me haha MG: I don’t think that’s possible lol YN: 😊 YN: It works for me yeah YN: Are you still picking him up? MG: It’s actually the park beside where the festival was 🍑🍑 MG: If you want to walk over with him MG: Or I can come get him YN: Lol fine you can be Mingyu 🍑 YN: Since you want it so bad MG: 😃 YN: We’ll walk to you YN: I gotta go. Your child is awake and making animal noises MG: Haha I’m sorry

At 5:30pm, you lead Marco down the street to the park, bumbling along together hand-in-hand. Thankfully he listens well – he always seems to when he’s the only kid and you could put your focus completely on him. It’s only once you’re close enough, and he can clearly see his dad standing inside the basketball courts, that you let go so he can run to him, yelling “Daddyyyyyy!” the whole way. 

Mingyu’s head flies to the side, face lighting up at his toddler barrelling towards him like lightning with those long legs. He jogs over, bending down just as Marco runs into the fence, fingers wrapping around the metal grid. 

Trailing behind, you can’t hear them clearly yet but you watch, probably a little too dreamily, as the two talk animatedly with each other, Mingyu motioning to his friends who’ve started to make their way closer, one of them dribbling a basketball casually as he goes. 

Then Mingyu gestures for Marco to come around, pointing to the opening at the corner so he can run in and jump into his arms, the child gripping comfortably around his dad’s neck as he settles him on his hip to talk to the other men, wide smiles on all of them. 

You follow, stopping at the corner of the courts to lean against the pole, letting them have their little moment, and shooting them all a little smile and wave when Marco loudly exclaims that ‘Teacher’ brought him and whips his head around to find you and point. 

After a minute, Mingyu walks Marco over, still holding him. He looks way too good in basketball shorts and a cut-off t-shirt, way more casual than you’ve seen him. Until now, you haven’t been blessed with a full view of his biceps and shoulders. Now, you really wish you could have remained in blissful ignorance. You don’t need any more fuel for this fire if you are to actually be friends.

“Thank you for this,” he leads with, looking at Marco with a warm smile before bringing it over to you.

“No problem,” you reply, getting a bit bashful despite yourself. “It’s really nice out anyways.”

“It’s been a while since I’ve had the chance to throw a ball around so, if you guys watch at all… Just know that I’m better than this, alright?” he warns as he bends, letting Marco’s feet find the ground. 

“Sure, sure,” you say with a sarcastic little nod. 

He just smirks back before resting a hand on Marco’s shoulder, looking down to meet the big brown eyes looking up at him. “Are you going to watch Daddy play?”

“I-I want to go on the slide!” he says, his head turning to settle his gaze on the red spiral not too far from you. 

Damn, you kind of want to watch Daddy play.

But instead of making that obvious, you just chuckle and shrug at Mingyu.

“Ah. Can’t say I’m surprised,” he sighs through a smile then starts to take a few steps backwards. “Just come get me if you need me.”

“Will do! … Ok, let’s go, kiddo.” You trail after Marco, watching him closely as he runs for the playset, instantly becoming distracted by the spinning discs and the pirate wheel and the wobbly bridge. The playground is far more exciting then the little hill and slide you have at the daycare, you have to admit. Eventually, he’ll notice the spiral slide once more.

Over the next forty-five minutes, your glances towards the courts are few, partly because Marco is so fast that you could lose him in a second if you aren’t careful, but also partly because you do not want Mingyu to see you looking. Not when he is with his friends, running around, all flushed and sweaty, shirt sticking to his back and chest…

Ok, you do look a little. But you keep it brief, training your gaze back on Marco quickly and following him around to the other side of the playground when he decides it’s time for the swings.

A few minutes of swinging, him squealing then cackling every time you push him borderline too high, and then he’s coming to you and reaching for your hand. 

“Can we go to Daddy?”

“Oh. Yeah, sure. I think he’s still playing…” you start to explain as you lead him in the right direction, making sure to stop and pour the pebbles out that have gotten stuck in his light-up shoes. “Are you going to try basketball like your dad someday?” you ask casually, noticing the way he focuses on the ball soaring around the court as the two of you get close.

“Me?”

“Yeah, you could play if you want. You’re already pretty tall which is a good thing.”

“I want to play basketball!”

“Right now, you want to play?”

He doesn’t respond, just looks back at the pick-up game, finding his dad.

“Uh, maybe. We can see. I think your dad might love that actually.” You take him over to the opening for the court, not sure whether you should interrupt, but just then Mingyu notices you and immediately calls for a little pause before jogging your way. 

“Hi.”

“Hi!” he replies, a bit out of breath, forehead shimmery with sweat. “Everything ok? We were only going to do another twenty or so.”

“No, that’s ok. I was just bringing him over because he asked. He says he wants to play with you,” you relay, breaking into a little chuckle. When you look down at Marco, still diligently holding your hand, his eyes are focused on the ball being dribbled back and forth by one of his dad’s friends. 

“He wants to play with me??” he repeats, exaggerating the excitement and surprise in his voice for Marco’s amusement as he kneels down to the boy’s level. “You want to try, buddy?”

“Yeah!” he says, letting go of you to walk into his dad, hands pressing to his shoulders familiarly, though he continues to watch the ball. 

“Ok, let’s go!” He scoops Marco up, giving him a little bounce. “Um… if you want to go you can. Or, if you want to, like, stick around for a bit, we could go to that cafe after. Get him a snack?” he suggests, pointing his free hand at the cute spot on the corner.

You should go. 

“Uh, yeah, sure. I don’t mind watching for a bit.”

Whoops.

“Ok,” he says, all soft and smiley, before turning to walk back to the group.

Shit, he really gives you butterflies, especially when he looks at you like that. 

As you step in, finding the bench along the edge and plopping down, you have to tell yourself sternly not to just stare at him the whole time. Which is really hard with how gorgeous he looks, not to mention the fact that he’s very patiently yet goofily trying to teach Marco how to dribble with a ball that is clearly too large and heavy for a small child. 

When Marco finally bounces it a couple times by himself, he giggles loudly, messing himself up until the ball is running away from him and he has to go after it. “Teacher! … Teacher, did you see that?”

“I did!” you call back through a big smile, giving him a few silent claps of your hands before crossing them back over your chest.

-

The cafe is nice. You both talk with Marco the whole time, going back and forth between relaying daycare happenings to Mingyu then asking Marco various questions. He doesn’t have the clearest diction but he gets excited when asked about his favourite things, adorably rambling on in a way that somewhat makes sense, helped by his dad’s input. 

After that, it becomes a bit of a routine: Mingyu playing basketball with his buddies each Thursday, you bringing Marco over to watch, then the three of you spending a little extra time together until dinner time. He ends up introducing his friends, Joshua, Seungcheol, and Jeonghan, who all seem super nice, likely helped by the fact that you’re the one making it possible for them to hang out with Mingyu again each week. 

Against your better judgement, it’s absolutely your favourite day of the week. Not only because you get to spend more time with him, getting little additional glimpses into his life, but… those damn cut-off shirts, making his arms look massive. Those would get you every time. 

He doesn’t invite you over to his house though, opting for different spots in the area. Well, until the fourth time.

“I seriously made too much. He and I will never get through it all,” he tells you as you walk with them towards their car. “Plus, I need your expert opinion anyways.”

“You know I don’t say no to free food,” you say with a laugh. “You don’t need to butter me up.”

“I know, I know. I just… I feel like I take up so much of your time,” he says, a little bashful as he pulls the door open, looking to you as he waits for Marco to climb up into his seat. 

“You do realize we’re actually friends, right?” you tease. “You stopped paying me to watch Marco a long time ago.”

He laughs from inside the car, nearly hitting his head when he stands back up after buckling him in. “Which I still feel bad about.”

“Oh my god,” you whine, taking the passenger seat once he pulls it open for you. “Don’t start.”

You’re still smiling when he climbs in on his side, easily popping the car into reverse and backing out smoothly. That’s attractive when anyone does it, right? Not just because it’s him?

“Besides, you pay me in food. Pretty sure I’ve eaten enough of your i-c-e-c-r-e-a-m to make up for the free childcare.”

“It is shockingly impressive how quickly you can put away a pint.”

“Hey, you eat it just as fast.”

“And I’m twice your height.”

“Shut up,” you gawk, smacking into his arm with the back of your hand, making him whinge dramatically, reaching over to rub it. “He can probably do it too,” you say, twisting in your seat to see Marco, who looks over at you with big eyes and a smile when he notices you. 

“Teacher… are you coming to my house?”

“Uh-huh, I’m gonna have dinner with you. Is that ok?”

“Yeahhh,” he says softly before focusing his eyes back on the trees flying by outside. 

When you turn back around, Mingyu smiles at you too for a moment before retraining his gaze on the road ahead. 

-

After dinner, you insist on doing the dishes, keeping an eye on Marco playing, while Mingyu takes a quick shower. Then the three of you watch a movie.

You haven’t been to their house in weeks but you feel as welcome as ever when Marco cuddles up into your side and actually stays still for longer than a minute, body slumped against your arm, eyes fixed on the TV. 

It feels nice in a way that is hard for you to grasp because as much as you love all the kids you’ve met and taught and cared for, you don't felt quite like this about any of the others. 

Maybe if you don’t move at all, he’ll stay right there, totally relaxed against you, for a while. Marco barely ever stays still but now, thanks to Toy Story, he hasn’t moved for a full twenty minutes and counting. 

From the other side, Mingyu looks at you just as you look over at him, his eyes dipping down to his son then back up to you as a close-lipped smile presses onto his lips. Then he mouths: “Cute.”

You glance down and your lip juts out, eager to express just how adorable you find the boy, even if you can only see him from above, his squishy cheek pressed against your arm. 

When you look back up, he’s still watching you. “Do you need anything?” he asks quietly. 

You think for a second before giving him a cheeky hinting smile. 

He just rolls his eyes and gets up, returning a minute later with ice cream. But instead of handing you a pint or a spoon, he simply scoops out a spoonful and holds it out for you, being totally quiet so as to not distract the little one. 

You shake your head just barely before opening your mouth, receiving the bite, and mouthing a little “Thank you” back to him. He gives you a sure little nod in return before serving himself a bite. 

-

“Ok, Marco. Time to go up. Say goodnight to Y/N,” Mingyu says gently, giving Marco a tap on the butt. He’s lying on your lap now but lifts his head quickly, as if coming out of a trance, at his dad’s words. 

“Nooo, it’s not time,” he whines, clearly past tired as he rubs at his eye with a small fist. 

Mingyu gets up slowly, coming to stand over the two of you with his towering height. “Remember? I said after the movie, we’re going to get into our pajamas and brush our teeth and get into bed. Come on, bud.” 

“Wanna stay with Teacher.”

That makes the both of you chuckle although you both try to stifle it.

“Y/N’s going too. She has to go to sleep. She’s tired too. Aren’t you?”

“Oh, yeah,” you play along, turning a little in your seat to gently help him off you and steer him towards getting up. “I think it’s almost my bedtime too. Come on.”

He gets up slowly, letting out another whine, but stays close to you, even once you stand up as well. 

“Let’s go, Marco,” Mingyu says a bit more sternly as he starts down the hallway, stopping in the archway to turn and give him a little look. 

“Are you leaving?” Marco asks you through tired eyes, rubbing them once again until strands of his bangs are hanging in front of them. Carefully, you brush them out of the way, heart pinching at the sound of his little voice. 

“I’m going to go in a little bit, yeah. Do you want me to walk you upstairs?”

He just lifts his arms up, a clear request to be carried. 

You glance up at Mingyu. You don’t carry the kids at your job often, usually only if they get hurt or need extra comfort for a few minutes. Marco, you’ve probably only carried once in the few months you’ve been working there. But you do love carrying them – that damn nurturing instinct in you just sings at the feeling of a kid clinging onto you. 

Mingyu shrugs in response. “Up to you.”

After a quick second, you’re bending down to haul him onto your hip. He’s pretty heavy – he’s so tall for four and especially in his sleepy state, he’s just a warm cozy dead weight wrapped around you, his arms locking behind your neck, long legs swaying with your movements as you walk to join Mingyu. 

“You don’t have to,” he whispers through a little smile once you’re close.

“I don’t mind,” you whisper back, holding Marco tightly as you follow him up the stairs into the red and blue decorated bedroom. 

At each step of the bedtime routine, Mingyu tries to get Marco to say goodnight to you and move onto the next thing. And at each step, he asks you to stay. Apparently he needs to show you his dinosaur pajamas. Then he needs to show you his new tooth brush and how great he is at brushing his tongue. 

Of course, he then has to show you his current favourite book to be read, of which he has memorized all the words anyway. Mingyu would say the first half of the sentence then Marco would say the rest in his adorable way, making Mingyu smile widely each time. Sometimes he even would scrunch up his nose and eyes while listening. You aren’t sure which one of them is cuter.

It’s only once the book is done and the light is off, and Mingyu is somehow curled up in the tiny bed beside his son that you’re able to leave, saying a hushed, “Goodnight, kiddo,” before you slip out the door, leaving it open just a crack.

You tip-toe down the stairs then hover in the kitchen, unsure whether you are actually supposed to leave or not. What if he expects you to? What if you leave and he’s not expecting you to? Which one is less awkward?

Instead of deciding, you take a few minutes to bring the empty ice cream container back to the kitchen, rinsing it and the spoon in the sink, searching for the recycling bin, figuring it’s fair for you to take the few minutes to clean up while he puts Marco to bed. 

Not to mention, that you don’t really want to leave. As much as you’ve been good about not flirting with him too heavily, you still love being around Mingyu. You crave it. Which maybe is not a totally normal feeling about a friend.

It’s difficult for you to make the right decision every time, considering the perpetual pull you feel towards him. You know the right decision doesn’t include you putting his son to bed with him. The right decision definitely doesn’t include hanging around after Marco has gone to bed, cleaning up the kitchen as if you belonged here. Because the last time you were alone together, you wanted to kiss him. 

But here you are again.

He comes down after five minutes, walking as lightly as possible on the hallway floorboards before peeking around the corner into the kitchen and living room, looking for you.  

“Oh, ok,” he breathes out before chuckling quietly. “I wasn’t sure if you’d actually left.”

“I wasn’t sure if I was supposed to,” you joke, relieved that he had questioned it in the same way, while you dry your hands on the towel hanging on the front of his oven. 

“You don’t actually have to go to bed,” he admits cutely. 

“No? You’re not sending me to bed?” you tease, unable to help it. He’s just so very teasable. 

Closer to you now, he plays back, “Would you have listened?” 

Gaze falling to the floor, you sneer out the tiniest laugh – a defence mechanism because you can’t stop your brain from going the absolute wrong way with this. “Depends how convincing you are, I suppose.”

“I can be…” His palms find the counter behind him, his body leaning back and stretching slightly. “...pretty convincing.”

You try with all your might not to look – but alas, your eyes flick to the smooth bronze sliver of lower stomach that becomes visible above the waistband of his pants, before jumping back up to his face awkwardly, your face immediately getting hot. He has to know what he’s doing; that has to be on purpose. 

“I, uh… washed up those few things,” you say, starting to smile nervously in your embarrassment as you toss a thumb in the direction of the sink. 

“You really don’t have to do that,” he replies softly as his eyes settle back on you. 

“It was very delicious,” you carry on, ignoring him for your own safety, and walking by to pick up your phone, checking it out of habit. 

8:52pm.

“See, you’ve already eaten all my ice cream so I guess I need to get creative if I want you to stay longer, huh?” he says as he comes up beside you, sighing a little for effect. But when you look up at him, he’s all charming smile. You aren’t often speechless, but really, what are you supposed to do with that? 

Your nod is tiny, cute even, but also certain, your eyes locked on his, even as you bite nervously at the inside of your lip. 

“Ok, then, what’s the next film I need to be educated on?”

-

The Prestige? You weren’t able to shut up.

Bad Times at the El Royale? Totally silent as the first scene plays out. And it’s not because you aren’t as enthusiastic about the filmmaking.

To be fair, you are practically notorious at this point for telling him he has to focus, he can’t miss a single thing, so maybe he isn’t aware of the difference. But you are aware of it. Aware of him, quite close to you, his thigh resting lightly against your knee thanks to how you are curled up on your cushion, body facing him a bit. 

“What the fuck is happening?” he asks at the four-minute mark, making you chuckle. 

“You just have to watch and see.”

He sends you a look.

“I can’t tell you. That’s the whole point.”

“But what was he doing?”

“Mingyu,” you scold through your breath.

“Is this the same hotel?”

This time you shoot him a look, bringing a finger up to his pretty lips a second later when he opens his mouth again.

He just smirks, cheeks pushing up, trying but failing to hide how fucking amused he is at your slight annoyance. 

“Just. Watch,” you whisper. But then you’re breaking your own rule, your eyes stuck on him as he slowly relaxes his face, his gaze darting down to the finger you had raised then back to you. You bring your hand down slowly, once again a little embarrassed. “You’re… not watching,” you say quietly. 

“Neither are you.” His gaze dips down slightly, to what you can only imagine are your lips. Just for a moment. 

Your heart rate speeds up, letting your own vision fixate on his full bottom lip for a moment. Just a moment. 

Wow, wow, wow, this is absolutely what a crush is supposed to feel like. Oh no.

“I…” he says, so quiet, just as he leans towards you a little, his eyebrow pinching together slightly in that adorably innocent way. 

You let yourself mirror him, going twenty to his eighty, then your lips are meeting. So very gently. Are you both just terrified of scaring the other off? When have you ever been this timid with someone? 

Well, when have you ever been this into someone? 

Your hand floats up to gingerly find his jaw, barely touching him, just fingertips, the sounds of the movie completely washed out in the background. But when the chaste kiss ends naturally, you find yourself pulling him back to you, not letting him go farther than a inch before you’re kissing him again, your palm brushing over his cheek. 

Slowly, he makes it a real kiss, seemingly encouraged: letting his hand find your knee, letting his lips caress and pull a little at yours, letting the smallest sound of satisfaction slip from his throat. 

Shit, he feels so good to kiss. Like everything you imagined but even better, all big and warm and soft. But also, invigorating.

You let him in, shuffling a tiny bit closer on your knees when his arm comes up to rest on the back of the couch and his body turns more towards you, big hand sliding up your thigh just a tad. He’s being so careful, tongue barely teasing at your lip, then subsequently doing the same to your tongue when you kiss him more deeply; but you can feel the eagerness in both of you. You want to climb on top of him, and wrap every part of you around him. 

Taking in a deep breath, your other hand comes up, both of them sliding back into his hair, enjoying the softness between your fingers. How does everything about him feel so perfect? He feels good, smells good, tastes good. 

After the most wonderful minute, your lips part just as gently as they came together, hesitant and slow. You don’t want to stop but you also really want to look at him.

He’s harder to read now – not smiling but certainly not unhappy. Just watching you openly, taking you in, as he lightly rubs his lips together. 

Your hands have slid down his neck but now you slide them further, not really thinking, just letting them skim over his chest. Overwhelmed, you tip your head to the side, letting it rest against his arm where it lay, and close your eyes, your shyness in the face of him making the corners of your mouth turn up a little. After a moment, you turn into the warmth of his skin, hiding your face in his bicep.

From just the sound of his breath, you can tell he’s smiling. Then he’s wrapping his other arm around you, scooting closer as he pulls you to him with a little groan of effort, ending up with you fully curled up in his chest. His face comes to the side of your head as he cuddles you, your body fitting so incredibly well in his embrace. 

“I didn’t fuck up, did I?” he asks close to your ear. And even that makes your heart speed up more. All low and sexy. But also all caring and sweet. 

You shake your head right away, something he probably feels more than he sees. “No, no… I just…” you breathe out, trying to remember how to play it cool for a second even though there is probably no point anymore. “Wasn’t sure if that would happen. Or should happen. So, I'm just… trying to process.”

Really, you know the answer. It shouldn’t happen. But you need to make light of it so you won’t start to panic. You can’t see him, your head still tucked into his shoulder, but you’re kind of glad for it when he lets out a little unreliable: “Mm.”

“I just don’t think I’m in a place to,” you pause, not wanting to say it, not wanting to ruin how fucking perfect this feels. But he’s complicated in a way that you aren’t prepared for. “To be in something serious with someone? Just… casual?” It’s a question only in that you wonder if he can understand. 

“Right,” he says, a little stilted, but he doesn’t change his hold on you, still cuddling you against him, a heavy arm wrapped around your back. 

As sure as you have been all night that he knows his effect on you, you feel suddenly concerned. “This feels really good though. Like… Like fucking nice,” you say, trying to make it clear in your voice and the way you let your fingers bunch up in his t-shirt that you really don’t want him to let go. 

He lets out a breath, as if he hasn’t breathed since he pulled you in, and you feel his forehead press against the top of your shoulder. “Fuck, Y/N…” he sighs through a little disbelieving laugh. 

“I’m sorry,” you whisper, joining him in the disappointment-tinged chuckle. As you nuzzle into his neck a little more, letting his mix of deodorant and shampoo and skin cloud your mind for the moment. 

“I…” He groans, but it’s so fucking cute, hearing the frustration even while he’s trying to play it off. “I don’t think I can do ‘casual’.”

Your face scrunches up a bit. That is definitely not what you want to hear. He needs so much more than you can give. Someone who’s not so scared to leap. “I… don’t think I can do anything other than casual.”

“Mmm,” he groans again, raspier, before taking in a deep breath. You’re so close to him, his throat, his chest, that every noise is just magnified, the grit in the rumble of his voice and the tightness in the sigh he releases.

It’s dumb – his stupid sounds are just making you feel even more drunk on him, thinking dirty thoughts that you can’t control. Even as the two of you are clearly unearthing the neon sign that reads: This can’t happen. 

You shift your hold on him, sliding your arm around his waist a little more.

“You’re killing me,” he murmurs suddenly. The press of his head leaves your shoulder and then his arm is moving, hand coming to your hair to gently prompt your head to lift it so that you could look at him. 

Goddamnit, still so damn sexy. You look at his lips again. Then back to his pretty eyes. Caught once again – because you really shouldn’t be looking and thinking about feeling him some more. 

He kisses you harder this time, bracing his hand on the back of your head as his mouth envelops yours. With a sharp intake of breath, you’re kissing him back, immediately pulling him closer to you even though it’s practically impossible in the position. His fist closes in your hair, not forceful, but just enough to feel the tension in him, letting it seep through the strands into your skin. 

His tongue moves slowly, the right pace for indulgence, for melting into someone. Does he really need to be an incredible kisser too? Does he not have enough boxes ticked already?

You part again after another minute, becoming too aware of the rush in your veins. Still, you hover close, lips grazing once or twice as you both catch your breath. “Should I go…? Or… are we watching?” you whisper. “Because I think this is dangerous.”

He pulls back a little more, seemingly in thought before answering: “Will you stay?” Then he lets a little smile poke through. “I promise I’ll pay attention.”

“You better,” you reciprocate, extricating your hands from him despite their unwillingness, letting yourself settle against his side instead.

He watches you for another moment before he presses his lips together and gives a little nod – more to himself or to you, you aren’t sure – then looks back at the screen. “I’ll, uh…” With a little performative cough and a smirk, he reaches for the remote. “Rewind.”

A/N: this Mingyu is my perfect man ok?? everything about this fic is personal to me including my love for The Prestige. i purposely left out any spoilers bc if you haven’t seen it you need to go watch it unspoiled lol. thank you so much for reading :D part 2 linked below

Tag List: @theharrowing @here4kpopfics @the-boy-meets-evil

PART TWO

-

Please reblog my work if you enjoyed it ❤️ Thank you!

Masterlist

[jungkookincalvins]

RM / KIM NAMJOON Fic Recs (I)

M - Mature (minors DNI) / F - Fluff / A - Angst / HpE - Happy Ending

None of these works are mine, I tagged all the authors, make sure to go to the authors page, like and reblog their works

new guy - one-shot, 5.5K - by @kithtaehyung - full Masterlist -> M / A / F / HpE

Solace - one-shot, 13.5K - by @m-yg93 - full Masterlist -> M / minor A / F / HpE

the interpretation of dreams - one-shot, 13.8K - by @ppersonna - full Masterlist -> M / F / HpE

out of my league mini Series by @ppersonna (go through their masterlist, trust) -> M / A / F / HpE

lost in the funhouse - one-shot, 9.7K - by @dovechim - full Masterlist -> M / A / F / HpE?

The Body Through Time - one-shot, 10.9K - by @yeoldontknow - full Masterlist -> M / A / F / HpE

False awakening - one-shot, 6.8K - by @taleasnewastime - full Masterlist -> M / F / HpE

Between the pages - one-shot, 4.5K - by @hwanghyunjinenthusiast - full Masterlist -> M / F / HpE

you, after all - one-shot, 6.8K - by @effortandmore - full Masterlist -> M / A / F / HpE

the sleeping hours - one-shot, 12K - by @effortandmore again because their writing is beautiful -> M / A / F / HpE

tuesday moon - one-shot, 7.7K - by @effortandmore again. Just read all of their Masterlist, please, you won't regret it -> M / F / HpE

worth all your while Series by @effortandmore (just leave here and go to their page) -> M / minor A / F / HpE

promises - one-shot, 18K - by @jeonbunnie - full Masterlist -> M / major A / F / You can choose your ending

lacuna - one-shot, 7K - by @eoieopda - full Masterlist - this one has a prequel and a sequel, do yourself a favor and read all of them -> M / A / F / HpE

The Making of: Love - one-shot, 12.7K - by @inkjam-moon - full Masterlist -> M / F / HpE

Not Another Holiday Romance - one-shot, 32.3K - by @kpopfanfictrash - full Masterlist - this one is one of my absolute favorites, they never disappoint -> M / A / F / HpE

The Rich Man's Crochet Club - one-shot, 32.4K - by the incredible @kpopfanfictrash again -> M / A / F / HpE

My Feet to Follow, and My Heart to Hold Series by @daechwitatamic - full Masterlist -> M / A / F / HpE

give and take - one-shot, 10.5K - by @ddaenggtan - full Masterlist -> M / F / HpE

midnight wishes - one-shot, 10.3K - by @ddaenggtan again because they write Namjoon beautifully -> M / A / F / HpE

Moon Child - one-shot, 16K - by @adonis-koo - full Masterlist -> M / A / F / HpE

Scent of a Woman - one-shot, 10K - by @sahmfanficbts - full Masterlist -> M / A / F / HpE

The Take-Home Test - one-shot, 11.3K - by @versigny - full Masterlist -> M / F / HpE

keep in step - one-shot, 2.6K - by @jjkeverlast - full Masterlist -> M / A / F / HpE

On With The Show - one-shot, 33.9K - by @joheunsaram - full Masterlist -> M / A / F / HpE

reflection - one-shot, 18.6K - by @jimilter - full Masterlist -> M / A / F / HpE

A Fine Line Series by @moni-logues - full Masterlist -> M / A / F / HpE

All Night - one-shot, 12K - by @luaspersona - full Masterlist -> M / F / HpE

real magic - one-shot, 16.7K - @here2bbtstrash - full Masterlist -> M / minor A / F / HpE

deep end - one-shot, 4.2K - by @here2bbtstrash again because their writing is incredible -> M / F / HpE

The Stand-In - one-shot, 13.5K - by @yoonia - full Masterlist -> M / A / F / HpE

doom boy - one-shot, 4.2K - by @soft4gguk - full Masterlist -> M / HpE

s u g a r - one-shot, 10.8K - by @joonberriess - full Masterlist -> M / F / HpE

rivals academia - one-shot, 4.2K - by @aseaofyoongi - full Masterlist -> M / minor A / HpE

Love Language - one-shot, 14K - by @rmnamjoons - full Masterlist -> M / A / F / HpE

Castaways - one-shot, 25.5K - by @rmnamjoons - this one is absolute GOLD -> M / A / F / HpE

all aboard! (the passion express) - one-shot, 10.8K - by @ve1vetyoongi - full Masterlist -> M / F / HpE

Inside My Mind - one-shot, 19.2K - by @jimlingss - full Masterlist -> M / F / HpE

His Majesty - one-shot, 9.6K - by @yoonieper - full Masterlist -> M / A / minor F / HpE

Dragonfire - one-shot, 7.3K - by @hamsterclaw - full Masterlist -> M / F / HpE

obsessed - one-shot, 13.8K - by @namjuicyy - full Masterlist - really read the trigger warnings for this one please, it's not for everyone (it's brilliant tho) -> M / A / F / HpE

Untitled - one-shot, 16K - by @ahundredtimesover - full Masterlist -> M / F / HpE

Dino-Mite - one-shot, 34.7K - by @chimcess - full Masterlist -> M / A / F / HpE

Cherry Muffins and Lavender Tea - one-shot, 8.1K - by @roses-ruby - full Masterlist -> M / minor A / F / HpE

English literature - one-shot, 7.6K - by @tayegi - full Masterlist - this one also has a sequel, be sure to check it out as well -> M / F / HpE

glasses-clad boy - one-shot, 10K - by @jeongi - full Masterlist -> M / F / HpE

Love Borrowed - one-shot, 7K - by @goldenkookietae - full Masterlist -> M / A / F / HpE

Love is Blind - one-shot, 7.4K - by @helenazbmrskai - full Masterlist -> M / A / F / HpE

the snow globe effect - one-shot, 10K - by @gukyi - full Masterlist -> M / F / HpE

there was a bug - one-shot, 7K - by @kimnjss - full Masterlist -> M / A / F / HpE

[jungkookincalvins]

i read this yesterday and then today i heard a disney world commercial on the radio and i had war flashbacks

Jess' B-Day Hobi request:

Hobi x Reader - Amusement park date. Maybe cute and sexy, like reader feels bad for making him go on a particularly scary ride, so she blows him?

HAPPY BDAY JESS!! 🎉🎉🎉💜💜💜

this is so dfljlgdlkjgf. everyone please pray for hobi he really needs it.

swallow your pride

pairing: hoseok x reader genre: est. relationship au, pwp; smut warnings: this is mostly just porn, so — a handjob, oral sex (m. receiving which i'm sure you could've guessed), come swallowing, very slight overstimulation. use of pet names. i apologize for the extremely on-the-nose title but it had to be done. no pronouns used for reader. unedited. rating: explicit. minors do not interact. wordcount: 1k

You’ve barely crossed the threshold into your hotel room.

Perhaps naively, you’d thought it’d be fun. Thought you’d go on and laugh and grab on to one another and buy the mortifyingly ugly photo at the end. Add it to the stack of all the other mortifyingly ugly photos you’ve collected after years of dragging Hoseok on roller coasters he otherwise wouldn’t go within two-hundred feet of.

Clearly you’d thought wrong.

“I almost died—”

You sigh, pushing Hoseok far enough into the room to close the door. “It was Space Mountain, babe.”

He scoffs. Looks really affronted, offended that you think it so impossible that he could’ve died on Space Mountain. Which just isn’t true. He very well could’ve died—it was very dark and had a lot of sharp turns, not to mention he was a previously undiscovered shade of green by the time it was over.

Not to mention the photo.

Hoseok knew it’d be bad. Knew he hadn’t ridden a second of that roller coaster without the ugliest, most fear-stricken look on his face, and all he could do was try to cash in whatever good karma he had left that it wouldn’t be that bad.

And you—you’d waited for it to pop up on the monitor with the most wicked grin he’s ever seen you wear. So sinister it’d rapidly diminished any hope he’d managed to conjure up. Stuck out your credit card to buy it before he even had a chance to beg.

“That’s not—w-what are you doing?”

What you’re doing is planting both of your hands on his chest to push him onto the bed, rolling your lips to keep from laughing when his knees hit the edge and he tips backwards, overpriced Mickey ears falling off and bouncing to the floor.

What you’re doing is dropping to your knees in front of him, nudging his legs apart to kneel between them. Hoseok’s breath catches in his throat when you start to undo his belt, and it’s instinct, the way he sinks into the mattress, busies his hands in the sheets. Knows to keep them to himself.

What you’re doing is—“Blowing you,” you answer. “That alright?”

“Uh-huh,” comes his automatic response. “Yup. Per-perfectly fine.”

What you’re doing is unbuttoning his jeans and dragging the zipper down, sly smile on your face, tongue pressing into the fat of your cheek, as it strains over his erection. What you’re doing is pushing the denim down to his knees, ghosting your nails along the sensitive skin of his inner thighs, delighting in every small gasp that makes it past his lips.

There’s a way Hoseok likes to get sucked off, and it’s almost never like this. Hoseok has never shied away from his neuroticism, and that innate need of his to be in control bleeds into every aspect of his life, including here, so maybe you shouldn’t be, but you’re surprised at how pliant he is beneath you. How subdued. Surprised that his hands are still gripping the sheets and not the back of your head. Surprised that his hips are staying level to the mattress, that his mouth isn’t running a mile a minute.

“You’re being awfully behaved,” you note, eyebrow quirking in question.

He blinks, head lolling forward to ask, “You gonna try to dom me?”

“Wouldn’t dream of it, darling,” you retort, taking his cock in your hand. He’s already so, so hard, flushed and leaking precum. “I’m simply assuaging my guilt.”

Hoseok snorts at that. “Because I almost died?”

You spit in your hand, stroking him once, twice. There’s something about the way he shudders in your grasp. Makes you feel powerful, has a quiet whimper of your own slipping through your parted lips. All of it just serves to rile him up even more, his hips rolling in time with your wrist.

“God, you’re so fucking hot,” you say, unable to help yourself; unable to keep the awe out of your voice.

And Hoseok, the cheeky fucker, preens. Closes his eyes and smiles up at the ceiling, not a hint of shame to be found. “What are the od—fuck—odds of you apologizing with your m-mouth?”

You pretend to think it over. “Hmm.” Lean in closer, your breath ghosting along all that sensitive skin. “Pretty high, I’d say.”

There’s another tart comment on the tip of Hoseok’s tongue, practically visible in the stale air of this hotel room, but it dissolves into nothing but a guttural groan once your lips are finally wrapped around him. Tapers into staccato whimpers as your throat constricts and you swallow. He’s still rolling his hips, fucking into your mouth, squeezing his eyes shut and gripping the sheets tighter every time he hits the back of your throat.

Hoseok has never once denied himself of anything. This included.

Spit pools in the corners of your mouth, drips down your chin. Messy, just how he likes it, and there’s nothing more dizzying than Hoseok in the throes of pleasure. Nothing that drags you to the edge faster than watching him go mindless from the indulgence of it. Makes it nearly impossible to focus, but you want to unravel him all the way, want to be responsible for it, want to push him to the brink of overstimulation.

On you go.

It’s so much—your hollowed cheeks, the way you’re fisting at what doesn’t fit, the sounds both of you are making. Has his balls tightening, has him stuttering out your name in a pathetic little whine. Has him so disoriented that the first drop of cum hits your tongue before he can warn you.

“Fuck, fuck—baby I’m gonna, shit—”

He spills into your mouth with a cry, hands finally moving to the contours of your cheeks. And normally you’d take it easy on him, swallow and move up the bed to kiss him just as sloppy, sit on his face, but something about Hoseok in this moment has you feeling undone. Has you wanting to ruin him entirely.

So you keep going.

Hoseok’s eyes go wide. He panics, tries to pull you off, but you know him. Know he wouldn’t let you if he really didn’t want to, just needs a minute to push past the discomfort. You also know you’ll be paying for this later, after he’s come back down to earth, but you’re finding it hard to care.

After all, he almost died. You’ve got a lot to apologize for.

[jungkookincalvins]

vernon as a warning himself is a yes from me and i knew it right at the “I don’t need a sales pitch. You will never — ever —  have to convince me to fuck you.” that was so dangerous that was so rude! oh my god!

oh its that time of the day when i ignore my job and scroll tumblr without a care in the world until i stumble on some jade's work and ignore everything else to read :) you know.. my self love time

Bye

tidal.

but vernon has a point to make, so that’s precisely what he does: “i don’t need a sales pitch. you will never — ever — have to convince me to fuck you.” 

pairing: vernon x afab!reader type: one-shot (fluff n’ smut) au: est. relationship wc: 4.8k rating: 18+ a/n: i didn’t plan this whatsoever, but i felt so weirdly compelled to write it that i avoided eye-contact with all of my wips, and now… here we are, lol. cw: pov switch, reader is afab + on their period, gender identity + pronouns aren’t designated, blood mention (obvi), unprotected p in v penetration (ill-advised!!), wee bit of dry-humping (ig?), a lil massage, pet names (baby, sweetheart), self-indulgent ref to a favorite docu of mine, and lastly — vernon (yes, this is a warning 🧍🏻) 🔞 MINORS WHO INTERACT WITH ME AND/OR MY CONTENT WILL BE BLOCKED, WHETHER OR NOT THE CONTENT IS NSFW. I’M AN ADULT WRITING EXCLUSIVELY FOR OTHER ADULTS.

Vernon isn’t blind. 

He can see you out of the corner of his eye, laying flat on your back, several unexplained centimeters away from his side. With the duvet clenched in your fists, you stare intensely up at the ceiling, like you’re waiting for it to move — or trying to move it yourself, telekinetically. You keep your bottom lip pinched between your teeth, as if you expect it to make a run for it.

So, yes, Vernon can see you. 

He just can’t figure out what’s wrong with you.

For a few minutes, he attempts to pay attention to the documentary lighting up the screen on the wall ahead. You were the one that picked it — some wild tale about mother-daughter recluses in New York — and he finds it hard to give a shit about it without your usual commentary. Your hot takes are his favorite part of any movie night, after all.

He’ll be the first to admit that he’s never been good at keeping his eyes off you. Try as he might, he can’t glue his gaze to the television; each glance in your direction sticks longer than the one before it, testing the waters. Minutes slip away just like this until he completely caves, turns his head fully, and stares at you outright. 

You still don’t seem to notice.

His brow scrunches up as he watches you, caught in the middle between concerned, confused, and amused by how absolutely ridiculous you look right now. When he speaks, he tries to sound stern, like he isn’t fighting the urge to laugh.

“Baby?”

“Hmm?” is all he gets in response. 

You don’t even look his way. If anything, you tense harder now that his attention is on you. 

None of it makes sense. Not the weird gap you’ve left between your body and his, your total refusal to look him in the eye, or the fact that there wasn’t an argument to precipitate any of this distance. It’s a symptom with no apparent cause, and it’s totally baffling. Brain-breaking, even.

Frowning, Vernon scoots himself across the bed to get closer to you. 

You don’t reciprocate. 

He tugs gently at the hem of your sweatshirt in a silent plea for your attention and receives radio silence in response; unless he counts the way you swallow thickly.

Which, for the record, he does not.

This close, Vernon can feel the anxious energy pulsing out of your tensed-up body in waves, so he leans away and props himself up on his elbow. Desperate to know what broke you and how to fix it, he mutters, “What is happening right now?”

Ope. 

It comes out harsher than it was supposed to, reading more like annoyance than worry, so he immediately clears his throat. Gently and with a brush of his knuckles against your hip bone, he tries again: “Are you okay? Did I do something to make you mad at me?”

A fly on the wall might get the wrong impression and think he stroked you with a live wire instead.

“Oh, my god. No!” You sputter with a jolt, shifting gears quickly from vaguely on-edge to horrified. You shake your head so frantically that Vernon fears you’ll detach it. “No, you haven’t done anything. I’m fine, I just —”

He interjects with a laugh, “— I don’t necessarily believe that —”

Visibly cringing with every muscle in your body, you cover your face with your hands. Not long after you take a deep breath does a meek voice slip out through your fingers, sounding beyond embarrassed.

“I’m so incomprehensibly horny right now that I can’t even look at you.”

For a second, it’s dead silent because he can’t quite process how much of a weirdo you are, or how completely and hopelessly enamored he is with you. But then the dam breaks. His laugh comes out so forcefully that you pull your hands away from your face, eyes wide.

“Is that so?” He smirks, nodding his head towards the television. “Grey Gardens really gets your motor running, huh?”

Absolutely aghast, you swat at his bicep. Then, you sling your arm over your eyes and groan, “I got my period. It has turned me into a sex-crazed monster, I fear.”

Vernon nods in understanding, even though you can’t see it, and hums, “Ahh.”

And he leaves it at that, only because you seem to have more that you want to say. Something you want to ask, maybe, or a reason you may want to give for not jumping his bones at the first opportunity. He’s down, he thinks without hesitation, so long as you are.

But you don’t say anything.

Maybe you aren’t actually down after all, and that’s why you won’t look at him. Shit, are you embarrassed? Should I say something? Silence falls overtop like a weighted blanket, smothering the two idiots who can’t tell whose turn it is to talk. 

Do you or do you not want this right now?

You mumble something that he can’t catch, so he nudges your side gently with his knuckles to encourage you. Just as nervous, you repeat yourself without looking at him, “Period sex is supposed to help with cramps, I think.”

He thinks he’s read the exact same article you have. More than that, he wishes you’d look over at him and see for yourself how completely unbothered he is by this concept.

“If you think about it, it’s kind of like a natural lubricant,” you add in a voice that’s even smaller than before.

Your shyness really might kill him, so he reaches over to grab your hand and gently pull your arm away from your eyes. It’s the first time you’ve looked at him since you laid down — since you put your self-imposed no-contact order in place — and he feels his stupid heart swell.

For what it’s worth, he feels his dick twitch, too.

You open your mouth to speak again, likely to continue your unnecessary campaigning; Vernon is having none of it. He tugs your wrist just enough to tilt you inward, then he kisses you hard enough to shut you up. A tiny whimper slips out of your lips when he pulls away, and it almost makes him regret his decision to do so. 

But Vernon has a point to make, so that’s precisely what he does: “I don’t need a sales pitch. You will never — ever —  have to convince me to fuck you.” 

Your eyes crinkle at the corners, like this is somehow news to you. It shouldn’t be. He’s told you a thousand times in as many different ways how thoroughly crazy you drive him just by existing so closely to him, but maybe you didn’t take him seriously then.

To emphasize his point, he slips his hand under the hem of your sweatshirt and finds your bare waist with the pad of his thumb. It spirals slowly against your warm skin, making both of you dizzy. Then, sick of the distance, Vernon dips his head down to press a kiss to your temple. 

“Like, ever,” he murmurs, lips following the curve of your jaw. 

Soft, slow kisses trail behind him as he travels down to your lips. Your head tilts further backwards with every single one, providing him with more and more access. 

He states it matter-of-factly because, to him, it is. “I’m down so bad for you that it might be terminal.”

“Oh?” 

You try to laugh but turn to putty when his palm rests fully on the curve of your waist and pulls you flush against him. The surprised gasp you let loose confirms his suspicion: You can feel how serious he is, affirmation throbbing against your abdomen in time with his heartbeat. 

Vernon smirks to himself, relishing your reaction, and bypasses your mouth entirely. A moan escapes from you, soft like an exhale, as his lips move slowly down the length of your neck. Every so often — just to feel you shiver — he flicks the tip of his tongue along the delicate skin he finds there.

“It might be messy…” 

The rest of your needless warning gets lost in a dreamy sigh as he suckles at the spot where your neck meets your shoulder. Shifting even closer, your desperate fingers reach out and cling to his t-shirt.

Vernon licks a stripe over the galaxy blooming on your skin. He hums, hand traveling upwards from your waist, “Don’t care about a mess.”

And he means it. 

Mindful of any soreness, he smooths his hand over your left breast and massages it tenderly, swearing to himself that he’ll throw the whole fucking mattress out if that’s what it comes down to. For you, he’ll race across town on foot to buy another one, and — fuck it — if the store is closed, he might just break in.

You’re growing impatient; your fingers let go of his shirt and tangle themselves in his hair.

“So needy,” he chuckles low in his chest, teasing. “You know, I think you’re lying. I think it is this bat-shit insane documentary that’s driving you wild, and you’re too embarrassed to admit it.”

“Stop,” you whine, dragging out the vowel sound. 

You don’t, though; you throw your left leg over his right thigh and shimmy forward until your cunt grazes his dick. Involuntarily, he groans at the warmth radiating off your core. Every part of you drives him just the slightest bit insane. You seem to know it, he thinks as he watches your pupils dilate in real time.

But he can play games, too, so he rolls his hips forward and grinds against you. He pushes you further, “Don’t get me wrong, baby. I’m not kink-shaming you —”

“Hansol Vernon Chwe!”

Oh, shit. Government name?

“— I’m just a little surprised, I guess.” He sighs with a shrug. “Think you know somebody…”

Your impatience is scribbled all across your scrunched up face. It seeps into your voice when you crash back against the pillows and huff, “Can you please stop fucking with me and start fucking me?”

“Sex-crazed monster, huh?” Leaning over, Vernon punctuates his question with a quick press of his lips to yours.

You whimper, “I’m so serious. I might explode.”

“Then go take care of whatever you need to take care of.” He kisses you again, smiling so fondly that his eyes may even be twinkling. “And I’ll go get a towel.”

You wait until Vernon clears the threshold before launching yourself out of bed at breakneck speed. Stumbling all the while, you race off to the adjoining bathroom and shut the door forcefully behind you. When it clatters against the frame, you finally admit to yourself that you might be a little bit eager.

Maybe.

Opting to keep your baggy, bleach-stained sweatshirt on, you wiggle out of your shorts and — what he refers to as — your crisis diaper. The high-waisted, frumpy, beige panties are utilized exclusively during your period, and to your surprise, they’ve remained spotless. It’s only ever the pretty and expensive pairs that wind up as collateral damage, isn’t it?

As they pool around your ankles, you can’t help but think that Vernon’s nickname for them is pretty spot on. That’s partly why you figured he might need to be talked into this. Unsated arousal aside, you feel as far from sexy as you can possibly get.

You shake your head to clear your thoughts, kick what you’ve discarded into a pile near the hamper, and let your sweatshirt shift down to cover as much of your ass as it’s capable of managing. You grab a square of toilet paper; then, you go to work excavating the wad of cotton that separates you from everything you want in this life. 

It is within the realm of possibility that you’re a little bit eager and a little bit dramatic. 

Perhaps.

After discarding the evidence in the small trash can under the sink, you wash your hands as if you’re about to step into an operating theater and not the bedroom you spend half your life in. When you finally feel sterile, you lift your head and catch your reflection in the mirror. Instantly, you make eye contact with the painful, hormonal pimple on your chin — the one you’ve been waging a retinoid war against for days.

“Bitch,” you mutter, like calling it names will be the one thing that finally gets it to shrink. Of course, your plan doesn’t work, but you feel a little less powerless. That’s good enough, you think. At least, as good as it’s going to get.

Now half-naked and certifiably unobstructed, you tiptoe back to your bedroom much more carefully than you left it. Vernon enters from the opposite doorway at the same time, jumping slightly the second he notices you. You ignore his frightened eyes and glance down at the crisp, white towel he’s clutching.

You open your mouth to suggest anything otherwise, but he beats you to it. His eyebrows shoot up his forehead as his mouth widens outwards, a self-aware rectangle. Otherwise expressionless, he lets go of an atonal, “Aaaaaaah”, that tells you he’s caught on.

He says nothing else before turning around and walking back the way he came. You have to bite down on your lips to keep from cackling.

That one’s mine, you think, still as infatuated as you were at the start. I chose that one.

While he’s gone, you try not to move, not to breathe too heavily. Vernon said he didn’t care about a mess, but when he said it, he was speaking theoretically with his hand on your tit. It wouldn’t be the first time he’d spoken recklessly with your body melting under his touch.

As far as you know, he hasn’t had any experience with this mess in practice. He could wind up finding you about as sexy as you currently feel — to wit: not at all. So, erring on the side of caution, you turn yourself into a statue and wait for the boy and his towel to find you again.

When he comes back, he plants a drive-by kiss on your unsuspecting mouth before skirting right around you. With shocking finesse, he grabs the corners of the — thankfully — black towel, which unfurls in the seconds before he flicks it upwards. It lands perfectly in the center of the bed, flat without needing to be fussed with.

“Wow,” he mutters to himself, taking in his clean work with raised eyebrows.

The impressed look is still on his face when he turns around, but you don’t have time to comment on his feat because he laughs as soon as he sees you.

“Kinda look like Donald Duck with the whole top-on, bottom-off situation.”

I chose this one?

You pout with an indignant gasp, crossing your arms over your chest. “I’m not wearing a sailor hat, so…. bad analogy. Rude, even.”

“I’m sorry,” he murmurs as he snakes his arms around your waist and pulls you in close. You stumble a little on your way into him; the jury’s still out about whether it’s his hushed tone or the sudden movement that trips you up.

Between his thumb and index finger, he gently captures your chin. You follow along with his unspoken direction, tilt your face up to meet his. This close, you can see your own reflection in his pupils, black dilating against the warmest shade of brown you’ve ever seen.

Vernon takes a moment of silence as he takes in your features, and he studies them so intently that his eyebrows crinkle on their own. He sighs, sounding so completely serious. “You might get prettier every time I look at you.”

It’s unclear if you’re melting, or gushing; and if it’s the latter, you can’t say which biological process is at fault. Thankfully, the hand at the small of your back keeps your weak knees from buckling when his lips brush over yours.

“Even if you’re dressed like Winnie the Pooh.” 

You feel him smirk even before you hear him laugh at his own joke. Then, you feel his hand slide down to cup your bare cheek, squeezing affectionately. You want to tell him that this analogy is still inaccurate because you’re not wearing a crop-top; but he gently instructs you to ditch the sweatshirt and get on the bed, and your body moves automatically. No questions asked.

Carefully, you crawl up onto the mattress, then you center yourself on the towel. Still on your knees, you tilt your head curiously and ask, “Where do you want me?”

“Anywhere,” he breezes, pulling his shirt off and tossing it onto the dresser nearby. He amends, “Everywhere. All the time, and then some.”

“Better be careful,” you tease. “Talking like that might have consequences. You may never be able to get rid of me.”

His joggers are the next to go. Your sanity follows shortly thereafter, hungry eyes lingering on the imprint of his cock underneath his boxer briefs. You have to clamp your mouth shut to keep from drooling.

Brown eyes sparkling, he steps closer to you, kicking his pants aside as he goes. “Be careful,” he echoes, not a hint of cockiness to be found — just softness. “Saying it like a threat doesn’t make me wish it’s not a promise.”

I choose this one.

Crossing all the way to you, Vernon reaches the bed and climbs up with significantly more grace than you did. The mattress dips under his weight as he kneels right in front of you, mirroring your posture and causing your stomach to flip with anticipation.

You can’t help yourself; you lick your lips and look up at him with half-lidded eyes. “Naked, please. Like, right now.”

“Damn, I gotta do this myself?” Incredulous, he holds his hands up while glancing pointedly down at his underwear, then back at you. 

You arch an eyebrow, unfazed. 

“Depends.” You shrug. “Do you want to keep them? Because I really will rip them off of you.”

He concedes quickly; he always does. Sighing, he shakes his head and tuts, “Sex-crazed monster,” before pushing his briefs down his thighs. His length hangs heavy between you, but you swear you can feel its perfect ache inside you already.

You have a one-track mind, so you don’t hesitate to reach out and wrap your hand around him. A groan crawls up from the bottom of your chest when you feel the weighted warmth of his cock in your palm. You don’t hold that back, either.

“Fuck,” he sighs, head tilting as far backwards as it’ll go. Unexpectedly, he laughs. He doesn’t catch the quizzical look you shoot him, though he explains himself anyway, “Your hands are so fucking cold, but it feels so good.”

Swiping your thumb over his tip, you spread the pre-cum you find there down his shaft and stroke him slowly. He grows harder with every gentle squeeze, every pass of your fist. 

“We’re learning a lot of new shit about each other today.” You lean forward to pepper kisses across his collarbones. The hum of your mouth against his skin when you talk makes his cock twitch in your hand. “You might have a temperature kink and a thing for Winnie the Pooh.”

He snorts, nowhere near serious, “Shut the fuck up.”

“Make me,” you counter smugly, and you do mean it.

Vernon tilts his head forward to stare back at you. You’re already turning into a puddle, but if the look he gives you says anything, it’s that your melting isn’t enough for him. His voice is low and velvet-lined when he responds, “How about I just make you cum instead?”

“That could work, yeah.” You shrug.

He runs the pads of his fingers down each side of your waist to your hips, then back again; and each time he does it, you shiver. Reflexively, your back arches, chest pressing against his.

At this, he smirks, “It could? Maybe?”

“We can workshop it.”

“Or,” Vernon so generously offers, “You can turn around and lay down on your stomach. You know, if that’s sufficient.”

It’s not until you whip around and flop down onto the towel that you realize you never responded with words. Oh well. You figure he gets the point, judging by the quiet laughter you hear as he settles with his knees on either side of your upper thighs.

You don’t know what his next move will be — you don’t care, either, as long as he moves in your direction — so you don’t anticipate his palms flattening against your bare back, applying perfect pressure with his thumbs while he rubs away the soreness at the very base of your torso.

“Oh, shit,” you moan, eyes fluttering shut as the heels of his hands work out the tension in your muscles. “Have you always been good at this?”

You feel his chest brush against your shoulder blades when he hovers over you. Against the nape of your neck, he murmurs, “Nope.”

He kisses down your spine, mouth trailing after his hands as they work their way back down your body.

“Lemme guess — you read an article? Studied up?”

You get a snicker, then an affirmative hum, then another kiss. This time, it’s at the curve of your spine, just above your ass. Seconds later, he’s kneading the doughy flesh of your cheeks until your whole fucking body tingles.

That’s when it hits you:

Under normal circumstances, Vernon would be face-first in your pussy by now. Devouring you in earnest, like he’s starving. He can’t do that now — and you don’t blame him — so he’s making up for what you both view as a loss.

God, you want him.

One hand disappears from you, but you don’t have to guess where it went. You can hear the barely-there hiss of breath through his teeth when he takes his cock in that hand; as well as the very faint shift of his palm while he pumps himself.

“You’re gonna have to navigate, baby. I dunno how sensitive you are like this, what’s too much — any of that, so you need to tell me how you want me to move.”

Suddenly dizzy over how badly you need him, all you can muster is a nod. Vernon must want a verbal acknowledgment, though, because he leans back over you with one hand bearing his weight beside your head.

He kisses your shoulder and urges you, “Please say so if you need to stop or switch it up. Don’t wanna hurt you, sweetheart.”

“I will,” you breathe. “But I can’t even articulate how much I need you inside of me right now, so please — pretty please — fuck me.”

The tip of his nose bumps your temple affectionately. Right beside your ear, he teases, “With a cherry on top?” And it vibrates down your whole goddamn spine.

“Vernon!” You whine, burying your face in the comforter. It’s muffled, but you warn him nonetheless, “Don’t make me come back there.”

“Aish. Calm down, sex monster.”

The instinct to twist around and glare at him over your shoulder is strong, but every feral urge you feel is stronger. So, when he tells you to spread yourself open for him and tilt your hips back, you do so without even a hint of complaining.

With the crown of his cock slipping through your folds, inching towards your entrance, you hear him curse under his breath. Suddenly self-conscious, you finally crane your neck to the side and glance back at him. 

“We don’t have to,” you whisper. “If it’s gross and you don’t want to anymore, I get it —”

He balks at your suggestion without letting so much as a beat pass. “None of that, sweetheart; no spiraling. I’m just trying to figure out the logistics of, like… how to survive how good this already feels.”

Struck dumb, all you can muster is a peep, “Oh?”

“Shit, yeah.” His response comes in a low groan. “Can you take a deep breath for me?”

It’s a good call on his part, a suggestion you’re glad to have taken, because the pressure of him entering you is intense enough to knock the wind out of you. Empty lungs likely would’ve led to your untimely demise.

You whimper, already overwhelmed with the combination of pain and pleasure; the best kind of ache. The little, breathy moans must freak him out, however, because his fingertips caress your waist as he checks in: “This okay?”

Your limp arm lifts off the mattress, which you’ve melted fully into, and you form a circle with your index finger and thumb to indicate that you’re okay. The light is bright fucking green; you’ve just maxed out your capacity for speech.

Vernon continues his slow thrust forward, giving you ample time to adjust to his size.

“Oh my god,” he grunts, “This is — shit, I can’t believe we haven’t done this before. If I knew how good you’d feel like this, I wouldn’t have waited around for you to ask me.”

That hits like a truck.

He was waiting on you. 

You spent months convincing yourself that he’d need to be convinced, and chickening out before you could raise the idea. Months, and months, and months, of craving him during your werewolf transformation; wasting away over a shitty assumption that Vernon is anything like the people you’ve been with before. 

Christ. 

His credit for putting up with you is long overdue.

Too tongue-tied to speak any of that out loud, you settle for a summary that you hope conveys the message: “I love you so fucking much.”

Mindful of how deep it will push him into your cunt, he leans down over you carefully. Weight balanced on his knees and forearms, he envelopes you in his body heat, trails kisses across your shoulder, and echoes your words back at you between each one.

“Is this too much?” He whispers, rolling his hips slowly.

You feel him everywhere, with every drag of his cock along your walls; and you can’t tell where that throbbing sensation is coming from, him or you. 

You shake your head and sigh, “‘s perfect. You’re perfect.”

Like he knows it’ll unravel you, his large hand comes to rest over the back of yours. His fingers slip through the spaces between and squeeze you much more gently than the vice grip you hold on the bedding below you. He keeps holding you — just like this — through every movement.

The sensation of being this surrounded, this loved, this whole crashes over you like a wave and knocks you off balance.

“I’m so close,” you pant, voice as ragged as your breathing. There’s nothing that he isn’t already giving you with every deep, deliberate thrust into your heat; but you beg nonetheless, “Please, please, please —”

His speed doesn’t increase, but the intensity does. The smack of his hips colliding with your ass does, too, and you feel it reverberating in your bones. Buried as far inside of you as he can be, cock tip kissing your cervix with every high tide, length rolling across your g-spot with every low.

You cum so hard — so completely, invoking every single muscle you have — that you forget how to breathe. With a choked-out gasp, you squeeze your eyes shut and let your orgasm devastate you. 

“Fuck!”

Vernon gets caught up in the current, too, grinding desperately against you until he’s swept up in your wake. You feel him twitch inside you as his release floods, leaving you so lost in his warmth that you feel boneless underneath him.

His face winds up hidden in the crook of your neck, somewhere amidst the baby hairs that cling to the sheen of your sweat. You feel his lips fluttering against your skin when he laughs, “Oh…my god.”

“Mmphf.” You nod weakly in agreement. Beyond blissed, your body still tingles too much to move.

Slurring, you add, “‘s good. ‘s really…”

The rest of that thought dissolves into something between a moan and a yawn.

Just as tired, Vernon pats your ass cheek affectionately and mumbles, “Well said. No notes.”

You tilt your head far enough to free your face from the sheets. When you do, you find your boyfriend fighting a losing battle to keep his eyes open. In the rare seconds he can, he looks back at you in a daze that seems even more adoring than it does fuck-drunk.

“I think I need to hibernate now,” you announce. “Think you just fucked me so well that I need to take a sabbatical.”

He counter-offers, “Shower first, then sabbatical?”

You wiggle so that you can pull your joint hands to your mouth. You can’t kiss him properly while he’s laid out on top of you, but you can press your lips to the back of his hand and hope he feels how much of you that you pour into it.

“Okay, but, like…. who’s carrying who?”