lookingforhobi

[lookingforhobi]

look down on me like that - 5 (explicit)

genre: slow burn enemies to lovers hatefucking coworkers au, smut (w some eventual angst)

pairing: yoongi x reader

summary: your asshole coworker min yoongi has made it his personal mission to ruin your life.

word count: 11.4k (you're welcome 😌)

contains: ~explicit sexual content~ !! *deep breath in* YES THERE IS ACTUAL FUCKING HAPPENING - EVERYONE REMAIN CALM. also i promise this is the most unhinged reader gets lmao. alright let's go: one night stand/stranger sex, semi-public sex (bathroom of a bar), fingering, spanking, a truly gratuitous blowjob, orgasm denial, a smidge of dirty talk/namecalling, finger sucking?, protected sex, semi-awkward sex lmao, the hatefucking is HERE 🙌🏻 plenty of alcohol mentions as always,, so much alcohol. this chapter also features a couple fun cameos - kihyun of monsta x and wonho 💜

A/N: hope y'all enjoy this absolute CHAOS!! i have so many lovely friends who cheered me on while i was writing this, far too many to name, but i fucking adore you all 🥺🥺 and i do want to specifically shoutout @kiestrokes because the ~spicy twist~ in this chapter would not be HALF as good if it wasn't for her and her big beautiful brain. srsly she took a half-baked idea i had and made it insane. god i love that woman. ALRIGHT ENOUGH BABBLING - ENJOY!!!!!

read on AO3!

chapter four | masterlist | chapter six

~*~

“Try this.” Jimin yanks an emerald green dress off the hanger and chucks it over his shoulder, nearly hitting you.

“Ugh, I hate this one,” you groan as you hold the offending item up for inspection, pinched between index finger and thumb. “The fabric is so itchy.” 

Your best friend whips around, hands on hips, when you question his taste. “I’m sorry, did I just hear you going back on our agreement? Is that what this is?”

You groan, flopping over onto your bedspread, doing your best not to mess up your hair. Jimin had, understandably, been pissed when you’d called him immediately upon leaving the office last night, hands still shaking as you cradled the phone against your cheek. You think you have permanent hearing damage from the anguished wails your best friend made as you finally admitted everything you hadn’t told him. And you certainly could have done without the appreciative noises he made after he forced you to describe Suga’s dick in explicit detail. 

It’s not like you aren’t constantly thinking about it, anyway.

Especially now that Yoongi has specifically told you everything, everything he wants to do to you. The words swim back to you in pieces whenever you aren’t actively trying to suppress the memory. Finger that tight little pussy. Spank you until you bruise. Fuck you like the slut you so clearly are.

God. You’ve been horny for 24 hours straight. This can’t be good for your health.

Jimin had nearly disowned you for letting secrecy infiltrate your friendship for the first time in over a decade, but then he’d realized how truly distraught you were as you just kept babbling into the phone about Suga, too far gone to make any sense.

“Jesus fucking christ, it’s not the end of the world!” He’d finally interrupted with a frustrated groan. “You really think Suga is the only man in the world who can fuck you senseless? He was probably overselling it anyway. Having a pretty dick doesn’t guarantee he knows what to do with it.”

At this point you’d stumbled onto the bus home, and you remember smacking your forehead against the cold glass of the window with a whine at the words pretty dick, your mind already departing on another Yoongi spiral.

Jimin’s peal of laughter rang in your ears. “I’ve never heard you down this bad in my life, good god girl! We just need to get you laid so your fucking brain can work right again.”

“Please,” you’d grunted.

“Alright, I’m coming over tomorrow, and we’re going out.” He’d paused then, and you knew there was more even before he continued. It was like you could hear his evil smile. “And I get to pick your outfit.”

You’re snapped out of the memory as a second dress is tossed your way, this one hitting you square in the face.

“Either the green or this one. You’re still in the doghouse, ma’am,” Jimin reminds you.

You pull the second option up to examine it, already grateful for the softer feel of the material. Jimin loves to put you in shit that you’d never wear— usually dresses that he bought for you, or bullied you into buying. You think you already dress pretty racy when you go out, but Jimin likes to take it to another level, always encouraging you to show more skin, more tits, more ass. He’s definitely responsible for this number even being in your closet: dark burgundy in color, it’s tight, short, and the cutouts leave very little to the imagination.

You whine softly despite yourself. “Do I have to? I’m going to freeze to death.”

Jimin has already moved to sit at your desk, examining his hair in the mirror you use to do your makeup. He’s in one of his favorite going-out shirts, one he claims “makes even the straight boys look twice”, a blue and white striped button down with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. He doesn’t even bother making eye contact with you as he peers at his reflection, fiddling with the silver hoops in his ears. “I dunno. Depends on whether or not you value my friendship.”

You roll your eyes at his dramatics. “I can’t stand you.”

“Will you shut up and put your damn freakum dress on already?” He rummages through your makeup bag without asking until he finds what he’s looking for, a tube of Fenty gloss that he dabs in the center of his bottom lip.

“That is not what freakum dress means,” you say with a laugh as you stand to strip out of your sweats, but he’s already reaching for his phone that’s connected to your Bluetooth speaker, another requirement for the evening in order to keep your friendship intact. Beyoncé starts to blast as you pull your shirt over your head and suck in for dear life.

“So, what exactly is the plan?” You ask as soon as you swallow down another shot, nearly shouting to be heard over the noise of the bar. Jimin made you do a couple in your kitchen before you left, and though you haven’t even been out for an hour, you’re already straddling the line between tipsy and drunk.

He shoots you a look. “Don’t act so innocent, like I haven’t personally seen you go home with random dudes.”

Your gaze flits over the mass of bodies out on the dance floor. “I mean, yeah, but…” You shrug, grimacing slightly. “I don’t know, it’s been a while. And we’re not in college anymore.”

“What about him?” You look back at Jimin and he nods his head behind you. You do your best to be subtle as you glance over your shoulder to see two guys a couple of tables away.

“Which one?”

Jimin makes a face like it’s obvious. “Are you kidding me? The absolutely built daddy with the red hair?”

You examine them more closely, scrunching your nose up a little. He’s cute, big as hell, and you certainly notice his bubble butt in those tight pants. But it just doesn’t feel right. “I don’t know that he’s my type.” When your gaze lands on his friend, dressed in all black, dark hair skimming over his eyes as he leans in to say something, your heart flips in your chest. Now that could work.

Turning back to Jimin to say as much, you realize that he’s already brushing past you. “Well I’m not stupid,” he scoffs, and you scramble to follow after him as he stalks confidently across the room.

He’s already talking to them when you catch up. “Hi boys. Care for some company?”

They glance at each other, and you can tell Jimin’s presence is clearly unexpected but not unwelcome. He wasn’t wrong: nobody can resist him in that damn shirt.

“Sure,” red-haired daddy says with a shy giggle, and you have to bite back a smile. You were not expecting a guy that built to react so softly, and you already know your best friend is going feral on the inside. There is nothing Jimin loves more than a man he can fluster. Especially one who can make him pay for it.

His friend flags down a server and orders a round of shots for the table, then gives you a small wave as Jimin takes the liberty of giving his name and yours. “I’m Kihyun.”

“Hoseok,” Jimin's target is clearly squirming under his intense gaze. “But my friends call me Wonho.”

“Can I be your friend?” Jimin purrs. You’re nearly laughing at how quickly he lost the plot of trying to get you laid, but he’s also such an intense flirt that it nearly works as a wingman maneuver, in its own weird way.

You scoot a little closer to Kihyun as Jimin and Wonho disappear into their own conversation. Up close you can really admire how attractive he is, full lips and a wickedly sharp jawline.

“Hi,” you say with a smile, surprised to find yourself slightly nervous despite the alcohol coursing through your system.

“Hi,” he says back, and he looks like he’s about to say more when the server reappears with a tray of four shots.

“Thanks again for these,” you say as you reach for one, and he waves it off. You glance over at Jimin and Wonho, assuming they might want to toast as a group, but Jimin is already hooking his elbow around Wonho’s ridiculous bicep and making a not-at-all-subtle comment about how big he is, intertwining their arms before they each throw the shot back.

You look at Kihyun again, who is biting his lip nervously, and you can feel your face heat up. You’re no Jimin, so you settle for gently tapping your shot glass against his. “Cheers.”

He echoes the sentiment and you down your drinks simultaneously. You shiver a little as you swallow, but you’ve had enough that you don’t even feel the burn of the alcohol.

“So,” Kihyun’s eyes flit over to Jimin, then return to you. “Do you two come here a lot?”

You shrug. “We rotate. Jimin likes this place more than I do. You?”

He laughs softly. “Not really. Honestly, we’re both homebodies, but we try to get out every so often. Always nice to meet new people.” It’s so quick you nearly miss it, but you swear his eyes jump down your figure and back up again.

You try to ignore the little voice in your head reminding you of another pair of eyes; dark, calculating, wandering over your body. Not now.

“I couldn’t agree more,” you say, because it’s true: a new person is definitely what you need in this moment.

Before you can ask a follow-up question, you hear Jimin, talking loudly so that he’s audible over the music. “Your thighs look so good in those pants!” You have to resist the urge to smack your head against the table when you look over to see him attempting— and absolutely failing— to wrap his small hands around the circumference of Wonho’s leg, who is giggling like a schoolgirl.

You glance back at Kihyun, who is equally enraptured. “I’m so sorry,” you say quietly. “He is unfortunately always like this.”

“You know where else those thighs would look good?” Jimin’s voice lowers as he asks the question, and you watch Kihyun’s eyes go wide.

“Do you want to dance?” You say quickly, and he nods so fast you think his head might fall off. You start to break away from the group, his hand slipping to your waist, when Jimin smacks the table so loud that it makes you jump.

“Hey!” He yells, and you turn back, but he’s pointing at Kihyun, who instantly looks terrified. He leans in, as if to divulge confidential information, and Kihyun takes a tentative step towards him.

“Just so you’re aware,” Jimin starts, and you know it’s going to be bad. “She needs to get dicked down. Severely. Hope you’re ready.”

You close your hand around Kihyun’s wrist and drag him towards the dance floor, eager for a distraction to keep you from murdering your best friend.

Now that you’re actually in motion, you can feel the last couple of shots quickly catching up to you, the room blurring slightly at the edges. At the center of the dance floor, the thudding bass is loud enough to make it hard to think, which is exactly what you need right now.

You’re grateful not to have to force any more conversation, both of Kihyun’s hands slipping to your hips as you start to move in time to the music. It gives you free reign to admire him up close, and damn, he really is gorgeous. He’s only a little taller than you in your heels— probably about the same height as Yoongi, though his frame is slighter, smaller. You watch as his dark hair falls into his eyes again and he reaches up to sweep it off his forehead— Yoongi’s hair is a little longer, and he certainly has much better hands, but other than that—

You have to squeeze your eyes shut when you realize what the fuck you're doing. The whole point of this encounter is to stop thinking about Yoongi. Not pick apart this absolute stranger in comparison to him.

You desperately wish you could get another drink, but you know that would push you all the way into “drunk” territory. As much as you hate admitting it, Jimin was right: you really need to be able to consent to sex tonight. You’re gonna have to get through this the old-fashioned way, with sheer fucking willpower.

“Are you okay?”

Your eyes flutter open to meet Kihyun’s concerned gaze. “Yeah, yeah, sorry. Just, uh. Thinking about work.” Not a complete lie.

“Well, don’t,” he says with a soft laugh. “It’s the weekend. You should enjoy it.” His hands press a little tighter, pulling you close until your body is flush with his. His breath ghosts over your neck as you hear his voice in your ear. “That dress looks really good on you.”

A different voice echoes in your mind before you can stop it. Spread your legs for me. Show me what’s under that dress. You can’t help but wonder if this is what it feels like to literally go insane, and then you grab Kihyun’s face with both hands and kiss him in a desperate attempt to not think anymore.

You can feel him freeze, clearly not expecting it, but after a second his mouth starts to move against yours. His hands slip further down towards your ass, and fuck, it occurs to you that you are still incredibly horny. You need this to happen as soon as possible.

Pulling away and sliding your hands to Kihyun’s shoulders, you tilt up to speak into his ear. “Do you live near here?”

His eyes go wide for at least the third time tonight. “Y-yeah, not far.” You see his tongue dart out to lick his lips.

“I don’t know how to say this politely,” you admit with an embarrassed smile. “But my friend wasn’t wrong. About… what I need.”

He pauses for a moment, and your stomach twists as you prepare for rejection, the reasonable reaction considering you basically jumped this man like a crazy person. But then he smiles, leaning into you so he can keep his tone soft. “Come on, then.”

You follow Kihyun as he guides you towards the exit, keeping one hand pressed to the small of your back. It’s hard to miss the other half of your group making their way through the crowd— Wonho is large enough that people quickly shrink to get out of his way, but his gaze is entirely transfixed on Jimin’s ass in front of him. You nod in their direction and Kihyun follows as you push past bodies to reunite.

“Are you leaving?!” Jimin asks, and you can only nod. His eyes jump to Kihyun. “I told you, you better give it to her!” He shouts it so loudly that people standing behind him glance over their shoulders, but he is fully unfazed, now brandishing his cellphone. “And I always have her location on, so if you murder her, I will come find you!”

With a roll of your eyes, you lean across the circle so that Wonho can hear you. “Take good care of him, okay?” When you pull away, you swear he’s blushing as red as his hair, and he nods sheepishly.

You turn back to Kihyun. “Ready?”

The door to Kihyun’s apartment barely has time to close behind you before you find his lips with yours again. He presses you up against the wall of the entryway, and you waste no time in moving your hands over his body. His shirt and pants hit the floor in quick succession.

When he reaches for the hem of your dress, you cover his hands with yours to stop him. “Do you— is it okay if I keep it on?”

“Yeah,” he murmurs, breathless. “Yeah, okay.”

He kisses you again and you let him guide you backwards through an open door into his bedroom until you feel the mattress hit the backs of your knees. You perch on the edge of the bed and glance around the room, taking it in. It’s clean, if minimally furnished, and your stomach flips when you see a nondescript work desk tucked into one corner.

You look at Kihyun when you feel his hand gently rub your thigh, encouraging you to spread your legs.

“Kihyun?”

“Yeah?”

Your gaze jumps to his desk, then back to him. “Do— uh… Do you think you could bend me over your desk?”

He seems a little dumbfounded, and takes a second to find words. “Wh— I— yeah, yes, I can do that. I just—” he clears his throat. “Do you need, like, foreplay, or…?”

You stand up again, knees shaking slightly. “I’ll tell you what to do, does that work?”

It must, because he kisses you, eventually starting to move towards the desk. When you’ve gotten far enough, you feel him tug at your hips, encouraging you to spin around so your back is flush with his chest. His hand slides up to your shoulders to gently press you forward, and you brace your forearms on the desk, already breathless.

“P-pull my dress up,” you manage to instruct. His hands caress over your thighs, then move to the hem of your dress, pushing up until your ass is fully exposed for him.

Get a good look at that ass you were tempting me with, the voice in your head finishes for you. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to focus on this moment, this man. Not any others.

You look back at Kihyun over your shoulder in an attempt to stay present, spreading your legs a little wider. “Touch me.”

He slowly moves a hand from your thigh up towards your core, and you feel his fingers just barely brush over the fabric of your underwear. The rush of contact after so much anticipation is enough to make you shiver slightly, but his touch is so light, so gentle.

Gentle is not what you need right now.

Keeping yourself held up on one arm, you reach the other behind you to forcefully tug your panties to the side. “Your fingers, Kihyun,” you hiss.

You tip your head forward and swallow down a whine of relief as he presses a digit into you and starts to rub circles. “How’s that?” His voice purrs in your ear, and you whimper as you nod.

It feels good, especially when he adds a second finger, but it’s not enough. He’s too soft, too tentative.

You look back at him again. “Can you spank me?”

You’ve officially lost count of the number of times you’ve surprised this man tonight. “I— what?”

“Like, smack my ass?”

“Like this?” He asks, but you barely feel it when he brings his hand down over your ass.

“Harder,” you say almost instantly, realizing after the fact that you could probably stand to be a little nicer to this random stranger. “Please.”

Kihyun’s second attempt is better, enough to make you groan softly as the sensation of the sting mixes with the movements of his fingers pressing against your front wall. He does it again, harder still, and you wiggle your ass back towards him— you need more, more than his hands can give.

“Kihyun,” you gasp, “want you to fuck me.”

“Yeah? I’ll fuck you right here,” he grunts. At least he seems to be genuinely into it, you think to yourself gratefully. He smacks your ass a final time and you bite down on your lip as he withdraws his fingers. “One second.”

You hear the sound of him opening a drawer somewhere in his room and retrieving a condom, and you let your eyes flutter closed until his hands brush over your hips again.

“Ready?”

“Yes, Kihyun, please,” you beg, your head dropping down onto your forearms. “Please fuck me.” Desire is wound up so tight inside you that you can’t think about anything else; you need this so fucking badly.

He makes a strangled whine as he presses into you, and you move your hips back onto him, gasping slightly at the stretch. “Fuck.”

“God, you feel so fucking good,��� Kihyun groans, and he starts to roll into you with steady thrusts that brush the head of his cock right over your g-spot. You push backwards, matching his rhythm, and he’s not wrong: it feels good.

But it’s not enough.

“Harder,” you groan, your voice muffled in the crook of your elbow, and you hear Kihyun grunt as he picks up the pace, hips snapping against your ass. Better, but somehow still not what you need.

“Please, Kihyun,” you encourage again. “Fuck me like a slut.”

“Jesus,” he breathes, and for a second, you wonder if you’ve finally broken him. But then his hand cracks over your ass, hard enough to take you by surprise, and he starts to thrust even faster.

“Is this what you want?” He asks, and his voice is tense, almost angry; something about it makes your walls start to flutter. Your orgasm is so frustratingly close, yet somehow beyond your grasp.

And then you hear that all-too familiar voice in your head. I want to make you come so hard that your legs shake. Before you can help it, you moan a little at the memory. The way Yoongi leveled his gaze on you as he spoke so calmly, in a way that had you believing every single word. You can feel your core starting to tighten at the very thought, and once your brain realizes that’s what will get you there, it’s like the fucking floodgates open.

“Oh fuck,” you groan, and you can hear him grunt in agreement, like he’s close, too.

You’re helpless to stop it now, too desperate to come. Yoongi’s voice, his face, his tongue, his hands, his cock. It’s all you can think of. You gasp as everything inside you tightens and starts to pulse.

“Shit, shit, I’m gonna come,” you whine. So hard that you have no choice but to scream my name as I wreck you, the voice in your head finishes, and you dig your nails into the desk beneath you as you reach your climax.

Your back arches, pleasure washing over you, and you cry out. “Yes, Yoongi, yes!”

There’s a moment where his hips stutter, and then he pushes all the way into you one last time with a grunt of effort as he comes, too. Your heartbeat starts to slow.

And then it occurs to you that the man fucking you is absolutely not named Yoongi, and you smack a hand over your mouth.

“Oh my god,” you say softly, voice muffled, and you remove your hand as you start to straighten up. You can hear Kihyun still breathing heavily behind you, but he’s otherwise silent as he releases his grip on your hips and slides out of you.

“Kihyun,” you turn to watch him cross the room to the en-suite bathroom, where he briefly disappears to dispose of the condom. Face burning with embarrassment, you awkwardly maneuver to readjust your underwear and pull your dress back down over your ass.

When he reappears in the doorway, you try again. “Kihyun, I am so sorry. I—I don’t—” you fumble for what to say, knowing full well you don’t have a good explanation. At least not one that doesn’t make you sound insane.

“It’s cool,” he says, but he’s clearly uncomfortable. “I mean, you know. Shit happens.”

You glance around nervously for your phone before realizing it’s back on the table in the entryway where you tossed it in the throes of passion. You shoot Kihyun a weak smile. “I should— let me call Jimin. I can get a ride home.”

Kihyun laughs dryly. “Yeah, I’m gonna take a wild guess that he might be a little busy. I can take you home. It’s not a big deal.”

As much as your pride wants to refuse, you don’t exactly have a backup plan. “I would really appreciate that,” you murmur.

The drive is silent and painfully awkward, Kihyun turning up the music just loud enough that you get the indication that he doesn’t want to talk. As the lights of the city stream by, you can’t help but wonder how everything got so fucked up.

When Kihyun pulls up to your apartment complex, you indicate where he can drop you off, and he reaches over you as the car slows to a stop to politely open the door.

“Have a good night,” he says firmly, and you can barely manage a word of thanks before you slip out of his car and head up the stairs to die of embarrassment.

Jimin shows up at your door late Sunday afternoon, a takeout bag of haejangguk tucked under one arm, gushing incessantly about the various ways Wonho threw him around all night. It feels like he babbles for an hour, until he finally takes a break to sip from his own container of soup, and prompts you with a raise of his eyebrows.

“Your turn. Was your mission successful?”

You keep your gaze firmly planted on the floor as you recount what happened.

“Oh, you’ve got to be fucking kidding me.”

~*~

Jimin decides that you’ll try again next weekend, promising he’ll be less distracted. You’re not positive you’ll survive that long. You preemptively text Jungkook asking to take the week off from boxing class - your stomach is such a fucking bundle of nerves that you barely sleep at all Sunday night, and you know the next five days spent in constant fear of running into Yoongi is only going to make it worse.

Those same nerves creep up into your throat when you unlock the doors Monday morning, Jungkook waiting patiently behind you with his hands wrapped around the straps of his backpack.

Dread blooms inside of you as you move to place your purse on your desk, and then you make a split-second decision, spinning back to face Jungkook.

“Hey, JK?” The nickname is unplanned, just sort of comes out, but you see him visibly brighten. “Are there any open desks on your side of the office? I think I need a change of scenery.”

He nods, eyes wide. “Yeah! I’m actually all by myself right now. Sunye is on maternity leave for the rest of the month. You can use her desk.”

You gesture for him to lead the way and he does, heading past the break room and walking backwards down the hallway to keep talking to you. “Is there something wrong with your normal desk? We can always put in a work order.”

“Uh, no,” you scramble, trying to find a good excuse. “It can just be a little distracting, you know. People coming in and out all day. I’ve got a lot of stuff I need to be heads-down on this week.”

The excuse sounds flimsy and false to you, but he seems to buy it. “Yeah, makes sense! I’ll try not to distract you too much.”

He does a full 360-degree spin on his heels as you turn the corner at the end of the hall, and it’s enough to make you laugh softly despite yourself. There’s a small alcove with a desk pressed against either wall, and you don’t even have to ask which one is Jungkook’s. The standing desk is dotted with tell-tale signs of Baby Star Candy: an empty shaker cup, a mini tub of protein powder, several fidget toys tucked beneath his monitor. A small collage of polaroids is taped to the wall where you see him smiling with friends, throwing up a peace sign in nearly every single one.

Sunye’s desk is mostly empty, save for a few framed photos of her with her husband and two young kids. You drop your purse down and take a seat as Jungkook chucks his backpack under his desk, both of you reaching to retrieve your laptops.

Outlook hasn’t even loaded before he’s turned around and talking to you again. “So how was your weekend?”

You grimace reflexively at memories you’d rather forget, and Jungkook misinterprets the look. “Oh, sorry, no distractions. I’ll be quiet.”

“No, no,” you shake your head. “It’s not you. My weekend was fine. What about yours?”

He laughs, looking a little embarrassed. “I mean, honestly? I’m super addicted to this new mobile game that just came out. I feel like I blinked and lost two days.” He’s already reaching for his cellphone. “Want to see?” You roll your chair across to his side of the room as Jungkook leans over to show you the little island world he’s nearly 500 levels into. After a few minutes, he seems to remember himself.

“Shit, you specifically said you came here to focus. I’m sorry, I really will leave you alone now.”

You bite down on your bottom lip. “No, it’s okay, JK. I— honestly, I wasn’t being entirely truthful when I said that. I don’t mind the distraction at all, actually. It’s kind of complicated, but… it would be nice if I could hide out here for the foreseeable future.”

He looks at you, clearly surprised. “Of course. Whatever you need. Is everything okay?”

You wince a little, with no idea how to answer that question.

His voice drops. “Is it Suga?”

“It’s complicated.” You repeat with a sigh.

An unfamiliar emotion flashes in Jungkook’s eyes. You’ve never seen him angry before, but you’d guess this is what it looks like. “Hey, seriously, if he’s being aggressive with you, we should do something about it. Report it or something.”

You have to suppress the urge to laugh in his face. Like Yoongi being aggressive with you isn’t exactly what you’ve been fantasizing about for days.

“No, it’s not like that,” you reassure him. “I think we’re just two people who are better off kept apart from each other. That’s all.”

Jungkook nods slowly, and it’s clear from his expression that he wants to pry more, but is forcing himself not to. “Okay.”

There’s a heaviness of unasked and unanswered questions in the air, but the two of you manage to lapse into corporate smalltalk as you roll back over to your desk and dive into your workday.

Jungkook eventually has to peel off for a few virtual meetings, and watching him work is its own source of entertainment. If it’s a meeting that requires his focus, you can tell because he leans in close to his monitor, staring at spreadsheets or data visualizations with a look on his face like he’s using every single brain cell he owns. 

You can also tell when he’s put on calls where he clearly isn’t needed, because he’ll spin in a full circle at his desk with a glazed over look in his eye. There are even a few times where you glance up to see him silently doing what you vaguely recognize as TikTok dances, and you have to clap a hand over your mouth to keep from outright laughing.

The day rolls on, and you’re neck deep in drafting a communication when Jungkook’s voice breaks your concentration. “Do you like ramyeon?”

Your head snaps up to see him lean down under his desk to grab his backpack. He unzips it to retrieve two containers of instant noodles, and when he offers one to you, you give an approving nod. “I usually bring two in case I get extra hungry. I’ll make it, come meet me in the break room when you finish what you’re doing.”

You genuinely believe him on the first day, but when he just so happens to bring a second lunch on Tuesday, Wednesday, and Thursday, you start to get a little suspicious.

Friday has you stuck on a working session straight through your usual lunch hour, and Jungkook disappears without a word, returning as you’re pulling your headset off with two to-go salads in a plastic bag.

“I ordered one, and they gave me two. Crazy, right?”

You quirk an eyebrow at him to signal that you don’t believe a damn word, but you still thank him as you follow him down the hall to the break room.

“You’re coming out tonight, right?” He asks over lunch, and it takes you a second to remember the planned happy hour your boss has scheduled for the office. You’re torn between never wanting to see the inside of a bar again, and the overwhelming desire to drink as much as you can on the company’s dime. Ideally enough to obliterate the brain cells that store your memories of last weekend.

In the end, your cheapness wins out. Plus, given that it’s a social work event, you’d bet your entire salary that Yoongi will be nowhere to be found. You figure it might actually prove to be a good distraction. “Sure, yeah. At least for a couple drinks.”

“Cool,” Jungkook smiles a little as he spears a piece of chicken on his plastic fork. “Let me know when you’re done for the day, we can head over together.”

As much as you’d like to blow off early, a phone call that was supposed to take fifteen minutes ends up lasting over an hour. You mute your headset briefly to give a loud sigh, and shoot Jungkook a silent pout in apology when he meets your gaze, but he just flips his phone around to show you the progress he’s making on his island. At least he’s good at keeping himself entertained, you think with a smile.

Finally the person leading the call seems to come to the extremely delayed realization that no one is going to make any more progress on the issue after 5 PM on a Friday, and things wrap up pretty quickly after that. You and Jungkook gather your things and head for the front, and the office is a ghost town.

Your eyes drift down the opposite hallway towards the Genius Lab, your pulse quickening a little. You’ve checked the lab every evening this week and have luckily only found it empty, but you’re nearly an hour ahead of schedule today. And you don’t exactly have a great track record with Yoongi when it comes to Fridays.

“I should probably…”

“I can do it,” Jungkook cuts in softly. You’re hit with the automatic urge to say no, to shield him from this chaos in any way you can. But it would be really nice to not have to deal with Yoongi for one fucking day.

“I would appreciate that,” you reply, and Jungkook is already striding down the hall. You pretend to busy yourself on your phone as you hear a knock, then the electronic beeps of him punching the code into the door lock. When you glance up, you see him push the door open and stick his head inside, then promptly close it again.

“He’s gone. Let’s get out of here.”

The bar your boss has chosen is only a few blocks away from the office, and Jungkook holds the door open for you to enter first when you arrive. You don’t see your group right when you first walk in, and you have to round a bend in the layout of the building before you spot the long table of familiar faces.

You move to take a step forward, but Jungkook nearly imperceptibly brings a hand to your elbow to stop you. He says nothing, which is unlike him, and you start to ask a question.

“Wh—” the words die in your mouth when you see Yoongi smiling politely into a glass of whiskey, seated at the table next to your boss. His gaze flickers up to meet yours. Your stomach twists as you watch the smile immediately drop off his face. 

“We can go,” Jungkook says quickly, but you know you can’t give him the satisfaction.

“It’s fine,” you say, and it comes out a little more harsh than you mean it to. “We don’t have to sit near him.” Jungkook follows your lead to the opposite end of the table. When you take your seats, he almost immediately gets sucked into a conversation with some of the audio engineers. You do your best to at least act like you’re following along, but it feels like the room is spinning despite the fact that you’re entirely sober.

That absolutely needs to change, you quickly determine. You’re sitting at the corner of the table, so it’s easy enough to slip out and get to your feet. Jungkook glances up when you do.

“I’ll be right back,” you say, and your tone must be direct enough that he doesn’t ask any follow-up questions or offer his company. Which is fine, you think to yourself as you cross the room. You’re perfectly capable of walking to the bar and ordering a drink on your own.

At least it feels that way until you sweep your gaze across the room, waiting on a bartender to acknowledge your presence, and realize Yoongi is headed straight towards you, empty glass in hand.

Fuck fuck fuck.

You set your jaw, determined not to let him smell your fear, and renew your conviction to flag someone down and get a drink as fast as possible. When Yoongi takes a seat at the barstool next to you, you will your face not to react. But you’re not quite fast enough to remember to tell your mouth to stay shut, too.

“What are you doing here?” You snap, refusing to look him in the eye.

“I wanted to talk to you,” he says, voice even, and you blink hard. You don’t know what you were expecting, but it wasn’t that. “I figured an event with free alcohol was a good place to start. Let’s hope no one wore their good shoes tonight.”

Setting your jaw has turned into fully gritting your teeth, and you’ve never been more grateful to see a bartender when one approaches. You order quickly, and see Yoongi silently lift his empty glass as a request in your periphery.

“What do you want, Yoongi?”

When he hums and doesn’t respond right away, you glance over to see him running a finger around the rim of his finished drink. Just his fucking hand is enough to send a shiver up your spine, and you tear your gaze away.

“Well, for one, I honestly have to say I was surprised when HR didn’t personally escort me out of the building Monday morning.”

Your head snaps up to look at him again as you parse out his meaning. “Really?”

Yoongi’s gaze meets yours, his brows slightly pinching together as if he’s surprised that you’re surprised. “Uh, yeah.”

You’re so shocked it takes you a minute to form words. “I— I mean, it’s not like it was unprovoked.”

He makes a face as if he’s considering it, shrugging a little. “I suppose.”

As you drop your gaze to the wood grain of the bar, you can’t help but wonder if that was meant to be an apology. You barely have time to process that thought before the bartender returns, setting your drinks down, and you reach for yours like a woman dehydrated. When you take a sip, it’s strong— exactly what you need in this moment.

You’re already halfway off the barstool, very ready to get back to your seat at the table, when Yoongi speaks up again.

“Do you want to hear a funny story?” Something in his tone makes you pause, and he keeps going.

“I heard from an old friend a few days ago. We used to be really close, but lately I don’t think we’ve talked in…” He shakes his head in disbelief, like he’s trying to think. “God, probably years. I’ve been so focused on work. You know how I get.”

You physically recoil at his strange candor, how comfortable he suddenly is with implying that you know him. Your stomach is already starting to turn, though you can’t put a finger on why. It just feels like he’s playing with you.

Yoongi rolls his glass between his palms as he continues. “So you know, we catch up, ask how life is going, all the usual shit. And then my friend— Kihyun, that’s his name— Kih starts telling me about this crazy hookup he had last weekend.”

You nearly drop your drink as your blood runs cold. Yoongi continues the charade, pretending like he’s telling you something you don’t already know first-hand.

“He said he got approached by this super hot girl out of nowhere, and that she was fucking desperate for it. Barely said two words to him before she was asking him to take her home. And once he did, he said the sex was wild. I mean, it definitely sounded great to me when he gave me the play-by-play.” He pauses for a moment, and when he speaks again, there’s a new tone to his voice, almost aggressive. “Straight out of one of my own fantasies, really.”

You take a nervous gulp of your drink in hopes that it might help cool down your burning face— whether it’s from shame or rage, you can’t tell.

“And get this.” Yoongi’s voice is grave now, all pretense of telling a funny story gone as he turns to fully face you. “You’re never gonna believe whose name she cried out when she came. Because it sure wasn’t Kih’s.”

The shock of his words, at the fact that he knows this, is enough to freeze you where you stand. You’re nearly shaking with the chaotic storm of emotions swirling in your brain, and it takes every ounce of willpower you can muster to keep your voice steady as you fix him in your gaze. “I don’t see that it’s any of your business who or how I fuck, Yoongi.”

“Oh, I think it’s absolutely my business when you’re calling them my fucking name. And I don’t understand why you’d settle for imitation when you could have the real thing.” Despite how livid you are, you don’t miss the way your pussy flutters at the smug look on his face.

“Maybe it’s because your friend doesn’t come with all the strings attached that you do.”

“Strings?” He quirks an eyebrow. “I wasn’t planning on dating you, sweetheart.”

You can’t believe how dense he is, and you slam your drink down on the bar. “No, Yoongi, but you’re my fucking coworker. Have you ever heard the phrase, ‘don’t shit where you eat’?” He chuckles dryly into the rim of his glass. “It’s a bad fucking idea.”

He examines you as he takes a sip of whiskey, then finally speaks again. “Here’s the way I see it. We are both sane, consenting adults, very capable of being rational about this.” You scoff in disbelief at how calmly he can say such a thing as you take another long pull from your drink. “There’s obviously a lot of pent-up feelings going on. I’m not saying we have to be friends. Hell, we don’t even have to like each other. Sometimes it’s more fun when you don’t.”

Not expecting that commentary, you nearly choke on the ice in your glass. Yoongi gives you a moment to recover before continuing.

“It seems to me like we could establish something that would be mutually beneficial. Get some of that energy out. If anything, I think it might help both of us actually focus on our work, and that would in turn benefit everyone. It’d certainly be a lot better than the two of us running around like a couple of horny teenagers the way we have been lately. It’s not a purely selfish thing.”

You hate that his stupid logical argument makes sense to you. You hate it so much that you finish your drink in one swallow.

“Look, I’ll make it easy for you,” he says, eyes locked on you, his voice dropping into a lower register. The tone immediately takes you back to the last time you were in his lab. The things he said to you. The things he wanted to do to you. Heat pools in your belly before you can tell it not to.

“I’m going to head back to the group. You get yourself another drink, come join us, and take some time to think about it.”

He leans in to speak the next part directly into your ear, his voice quiet. Every nerve ending in your body lights up at the feeling of his breath against your neck. “Then I’m going to get up and go to the restroom. I’ll give you three minutes to discreetly excuse yourself and join me. If you don’t show, I’ll drop all of this and leave you alone. Promise.”

Yoongi pulls away, shooting you that trademark smirk, knowing full well that he doesn’t have to explain what will happen if you do decide to join him. He already has. Then he slips off the barstool, glass of whiskey in hand, and strides back towards the table.

When you order the next round, you ask for a double.

You do your best to act like the world isn’t ending as you return to your seat at the table. The conversation continues around you, without you; you can only stare dumbly at the empty space between two of your coworkers as you take a long swig of your drink. You’re vaguely aware of discussions of upcoming mixtapes and the Grammy’s, but your brain can’t process anything over the roaring in your ears, the pounding of your heartbeat in your gut— and a little lower.

You feel insane, enraged, and deliriously aroused.

You have no concept of how quickly time is passing, no clue if it’s been an instant or an hour when you see movement from the other end of the table out of the corner of your eye. There’s no self-control left in your system to keep your jaw from going slack, to keep you from unabashedly watching as Yoongi gets up from the table and strides confidently across the bar toward the restroom. He doesn’t so much as glance in your direction.

“Are you alright?”

You whip around at Jungkook’s voice, having completely forgotten there was anyone else in the room. It takes a second for you to snap your mouth shut, and then you realize you have to open it to answer his question.

“I— uh—” You can barely string a sentence together. “My drink is really strong.”

“Do you need some water?”

When you nod, he’s up in a flash, heading towards the bar, and you realize as you watch him disappear that it might have been a bad idea to let yourself be left alone. Because now you have no distraction from the way every cell in your body is screaming at you.

It’s obvious that there is a right choice and a wrong choice here. And you’ve tried so hard, for so long, to be smart. To deny the truth, to say no and go home, to channel the energy out in any other way. But none of it has worked. You still want this terrible man to do terrible things to you, maybe now more than ever. And you’re so fucking tired of making the right choice.

So tonight, you resolve with a final sip of your drink, you’ll make the wrong one. Fuck it.

You slip away from the table before Jungkook returns, following the same path Yoongi did towards the back of the bar. When you reach for the handle of the restroom door, your pulse is racing, enough that you nearly jump out of your skin when the door swings open before you can even touch it. You glance up to find yourself face-to-face with an equally shocked looking Yoongi.

“Your three minutes are up,” he says dryly. Rather than bother with a response, you bring your hand to his chest and firmly shove him back inside the single stall room. You hear him laugh a little as you follow after, pulling the knob and turning the lock into place behind you.

When he takes a step toward you, there’s nowhere for you to go except flush against the door. You watch his eyes drop down your body and back up, taking his time, shameless. His gaze lingers on your mouth.

“Didn’t think you’d really do it,” he murmurs, eyes glinting.

“Call it a lapse in judgment.”

There’s something about the situation that makes you feel like Yoongi has the upper hand— like he expects every part of this to go according to his plan. That, you decide, simply will not do. And then you drop to your knees in front of him.

“Oh my god,” Yoongi breathes, taking a small step back to give you room. “You’re a whore.”

You do your best to shoot a death glare up at him. “I don’t have to do this.”

He smirks. “I meant it as a compliment, honestly. Respectfully.”

That’s it. You’re determined to suck that smug fucking look off his face. “Hands to yourself,” you say firmly. “If you touch me, this all ends.”

Yoongi’s eyes widen, as if he wasn’t expecting you to be giving any orders. But then he nods, raising both hands in the air as if to indicate compliance. You lower your gaze and realize he’s already straining against the fabric of his joggers, which do nothing to hide how hard he is, the thin material clinging to every inch.

In one swift motion, you tug both his pants and boxers down his hips, and you have to actively suppress a soft sigh of appreciation. Yoongi’s ego doesn’t need any more feeding, but damn, his dick is even better up close: long, pale, and pretty.

Glancing back up at him, you maintain eye contact as you lean forward to teasingly trace your tongue along one of the prominent veins that runs the length of his shaft. His eyes are dark with lust as he watches you. Despite being on your knees, a thrill of sheer power runs through you when you see him swallow hard, his Adam’s apple jerking in his throat.

It occurs to you that you are extremely ready to torture this man.

When you reach the tip, you just barely slide your lips over it in an open-mouthed kiss to the head of his cock, your tongue swirling in sloppy circles. You can hear Yoongi breathing now, clearly trying and failing to suppress his shaky exhales at your work.

Tilting your head to find the right angle, you take more of him into your mouth, then bring a hand to his shaft to guide the head of his dick to one side. You don’t miss the quiet groan you elicit from him as you let him press against the soft wall of your cheek to create a bulge. He makes the same sound again, louder, when you rub your tongue firmly along the underside of his shaft while you do it.

His hips jerk under your touch as you start to move the hand wrapped around him in slow, deliberate strokes. You recenter him in your mouth and bob your head along his length in time, now sucking firmly. Yoongi’s breath catches on a moan as you keep your tongue pressed tight to his shaft and match the movement of your head to the deliciously slow pace of your hand.

The sound only encourages you, and you lean forward to take even more of him until his cock briefly brushes against the back of your throat. You hold him there for a second, then swallow.

“Fuck,” Yoongi hisses. You can feel him twitch a little in your mouth, taste it as he leaks precum onto your tongue. You tip back for a few more shallow thrusts, just tormenting him, then repeat the action, humming this time as he hits your throat. His knees nearly buckle.

You glance up at Yoongi as you pull back again, lashes fluttering, and you have to keep yourself from laughing around his cock at the look of pure distress on his face. Now that you’re watching him, you realize his hands are flexing desperately at his sides— it’s clearly taking everything in his power to follow your no touching policy.

Good, you think, and then you lean forward to swallow him down and keep him there, taking as much as you can until your nose is nearly flush with his pelvis. You bob your head, guiding him up and down your throat, choking slightly but too determined to stop even as your eyes start to water.

“Oh my god,” you hear him groan, and your eyebrows raise at the sound of a loud smack. When you look up, still working him in your throat, you realize that he’s helplessly banged a fist on the bathroom door and is now bracing himself against it. You watch as he rakes his other hand through his hair, his head tipping back with a gasp as you increase your pace in response. His hips shudder as he starts to buck softly into your mouth. “Y-yeah, keep doing that, oh fuck, fuck—”

At what feels like the last possible second, you pull off his cock with a soft, wet pop, swallowing down the precum in your mouth. You wipe at the corners of your lips before getting to your feet, legs shaking a little more than you’d like from how long you’ve been on your knees. As you meet his gaze, now at eye-level, it seems you’ve certainly achieved your mission: Yoongi’s usual smug appearance has been replaced with a look of frustrated desperation, courtesy of one denied orgasm.

“Why should I let you get off that easy?” You ask simply, and he makes a noise low in his throat, something between a groan and a laugh.

“Fuck, you are such a bitch.” He advances towards you, and you find yourself backing up, this time until your ass is pressed against the countertop of the bathroom sink. He’s staring at your mouth again, looking at it with what seems to be a little more reverence now that he knows what it’s capable of.

“Am I allowed to touch you yet?” His voice is so low, his mouth so close to yours, that it makes your core ache. The noises you sucked out of him have unfortunately only turned you on even more. “Or are you going to make me beg?”

As much as you’d love to see that, the desperate throb that’s been steadily building between your legs has now overtaken your desire to tease. “Yes, Yoongi, you can touch me.”

The words have barely left your mouth and his hands are already on your hips, firmly spinning you around. You have to clutch the edge of the countertop just to stay upright, but you only feel yourself getting that much wetter at the rough way he handles you. You shiver as he shoves the hem of your dress up to expose your ass, and you can’t help yourself, leaning forward to give him the best possible angle, too desperate for anything less.

“Fuck,” Yoongi breathes, and you’d swear he almost sounds appreciative.

You don’t even have time to process that thought before his hand cracks down over your ass, so hard that it nearly knocks all the breath out of your lungs. You inhale a shaky gasp, your mind reeling in its attempt to catch up, but Yoongi is already pulling your panties to the side, perfect fingers sliding between your folds. There’s no hiding how drenched you are; your upper thighs are starting to stick together with arousal.

Without warning, he presses two fingers firmly into you, and it’s enough to make your jaw go slack. You outright moan when they find purchase against your g-spot, rubbing in tight, expert circles. He could make you come right now if he wanted to.

“You’re so wet for me,” Yoongi’s voice is low and smug, and you don’t need to see his expression to know that cocky smirk has returned to his face. “Been ready for it all night, huh?” You whimper a noise that isn’t disagreement.

“Good,” he says firmly, pairing the word with another smack to your ass. You’re too far gone to try and hold it back now, not with the way his fingers are working inside you, and you moan again. “Because we can’t take too long,” Yoongi continues. “Don’t want anyone getting suspicious. Which is really a damn shame, because there’s so much I want to do to you.”

When he smacks your ass one more time, even harder, and couples it with an insistent press of his fingers against your front wall, you have to grip the edge of the sink for dear life. Your cunt squeezes around him; the noise you make is practically a sob.

He huffs a laugh as he withdraws his fingers, and you glance up to see him retrieving a condom from his pocket and tearing it open. “Wrecked already? And I haven’t even fucked you yet.”

You try to compose yourself, but just watching the way his hands work as he rolls the condom over his leaking cock has you aching, clenching around nothing. You really are fucking wrecked— nothing has ever come close to this.

Yoongi’s hands come to your hips, pads of his fingers digging into your skin, and you feel the head of his cock against your entrance, sliding lazily through your folds but purposefully not pressing into you.

“Yoongi,” you whine. You’re too far gone for this teasing.

“You have to tell me what you want,” he says, his voice dark.

You can barely even think a sentence, and you try to push back on him instead, but he keeps you held firmly in place, hands squeezing into the flesh of your hips. “Tell me,” he insists.

“I want you to fuck me,” you manage, and you look up to meet his gaze in the bathroom mirror.

He licks his lips, and you realize that he’s having just as hard a time restraining himself. “That much is obvious,” he says, and you can hear the unsteadiness in his voice now. “How would you like to get fucked?”

You’ve had enough alcohol to brazenly tell the truth. “Like you hate me.”

It may be the first genuine smile of his you’ve ever seen.

“Gladly,” he replies, and then he thrusts all of himself into you at once. You collapse forward on the countertop, crying out at the feeling.

“Yeah,” Yoongi grunts, a little breathless. “You like that?” He pulls nearly all the way out and slams into you one more time, pressing his hips flush with your ass until you feel overwhelmingly full. Then he starts to properly thrust, moving at a pace that can only be described as ruthless.

“Oh, fuck,” you gasp, your head dropping down as you scramble to brace yourself against the counter. You practically yelp when his hand cracks over your ass again.

He leans forward; you can feel his chest graze over your back, his hips still snapping into you as he grabs your jaw with one hand and forces your gaze up to look at him in the mirror again. You watch as he runs two fingers along your bottom lip in an unasked question. You let your jaw go slack to allow him to slip into your mouth.

When your lips close around his fingers, you find yourself a little grateful to have something to keep you grounded to reality. Your eyes flit up to Yoongi’s face, and his gaze is piercing, eyes totally fixed on you.

“You look so good like this.” His voice is hoarse, strained from effort, and he continues to drive into you, never slowing. Your own hip bones dig into the bathroom counter, shocks of pleasure-pain rippling through you with each thrust. Little moans and whimpers spill out from your mouth around his fingers at the sensation, and you can feel your climax starting to build.

Yoongi withdraws from your mouth, that same hand moving down your body to slip into your panties and circle your clit, earning a gasp from you. His other hand keeps a death grip on your hip as he thrusts, and he straightens up again, the head of his cock now rubbing so perfectly over your g-spot that you hiss.

“Did Kihyun fuck you like this?”

The question catches you off-guard. “N-no,” you gasp, and the hot coil of your arousal tightens in your core. Yoongi’s cock stroking into you, his hand working your clit, the feeling is overwhelming, dizzying. “Oh, god.” Your head presses into your forearm as you give yourself over to the pleasure. You can only distantly hear Yoongi’s voice continue, somewhere between coaxing and demanding.

“I didn’t fucking think so. So why don’t you say it? Tell me who fucks you right. Tell me who you fucking hate.”

The fingers on your clit are unrelenting now, and your edge approaches fast and hard.

“Y-Yoongi,” you breathe, and it feels too good to say his name and mean it. “Yoongi, fuck, Yoongi.” A loud moan rips through you as your legs start to shake. “Oh fuck,” you gasp, “I’m coming, fuck, yes—” You nearly sob as your climax hits you hard, and your walls flutter around Yoongi’s cock over and over in what feels like an endless orgasm.

The pleasure rolls through you, and you look up in the mirror to see Yoongi grit his teeth as he picks up the pace of his hips. A look of desperation paints his face, not unlike the way he looked when you were blowing him, and you know he must be close.

“God fucking damnit,” he grunts, each word punctuated with a thrust, and then he tips his head back and pushes all the way into you with a moan as he comes.

For a moment he pauses like that, gazing up at the ceiling, chest heaving with effort as his dick twitches inside of you. “Holy shit,” he breathes, and then he starts to laugh softly in what appears to be disbelief. “Fuuuuck.”

You haven’t fully recovered, so you can only watch, still gripping the countertop for dear life, as he slips the condom off, chucks it into the trash can, and pulls his boxers and pants up. He gives his reflection a once-over in the mirror, running a hand through his hair, and you’re amazed at how quickly he’s put himself back together. The only indication that he was literally just railing you is the way he’s breathing heavily.

Yoongi notices you watching him and gives your ass one more firm slap, hard enough that you flinch a little.

“Wait a minute or two before you head out,” he instructs, and you nod dumbly. He crosses the room, opens the door, and slips out, all before you can even so much as think a coherent thought.

It takes several more minutes for you to get your shit together, but you eventually manage to readjust your underwear and smooth your dress down, though your legs are certainly still unsteady when you make your way back to the table. You can’t help but shoot a glance over at Yoongi as you pass, and you’re shocked to see him laughing and chatting it up with the group of coworkers seated around him. You see clear expressions of surprise on their faces, too— because he’s never like this. Except, apparently, mere minutes after fucking you.

You don’t even bother to sit down, instead grabbing your purse off the table and slinging the straps over your shoulder.

“Wow, there you are,” Jungkook’s voice drags you out of your thoughts, and the look of concern on his face just makes your stomach turn. You genuinely have no idea how long you were gone for. “Are you okay? Your face looks flushed.”

You don’t know how to answer his question, so you don't. “I think I’m gonna go home.”

“Do you need a ride?”

You shake your head quickly. “I’ll call a friend.”

Perched on the curb outside, you clutch your phone for dear life as you pull up Jimin’s contact to call him. The line rings and you realize you’re shivering; you don’t think it has anything to do with the weather.

You don’t even give him a chance to say hello when the call connects. “Can you come get me?”

He groans on the other end of the line. “Why? I already took my pants off for the night.”

“Baby mochi, please.” You whine, but you know only the full explanation will get him out of bed. You drop your voice a little. “I just hatefucked Suga in the bathroom at the company happy hour. I need you to come pick me up immediately.”

Jimin’s apartment is a ten minute drive away, but you swear he makes it in five.

“Well, well, well,” Your best friend’s voice is smug as you slide into his passenger seat. “If it isn’t the company whore.”

“Shut the fuck up, Jimin.”

~*~

Come Monday morning, you’re racing down the hallway to the conference room, quietly cursing yourself for being late. You’d seen the email from your boss moving the usual Tuesday pull-up to first-thing Monday, but then you’d gotten so tied up with other projects you’d forgotten about it entirely. It was only once you were in the break room, trying to get your caffeine fix in, that you’d glanced up at the wall clock and realized it was already ten after.

Focused as you are on getting to the meeting quickly— and just as importantly, not spilling any of your coffee— you’re completely unaware of your surroundings until it’s too late. You nearly smack directly into Yoongi as you approach the conference room simultaneously.

He smirks as you jump back in surprise. “We have got to stop meeting like this.”

It’s the first time you’ve seen him since Friday; you’ve been hiding out in Baby Star Candy’s corner all morning. “We’re late,” you say, flustered enough to state the obvious, and he shrugs like he can’t disagree.

“I got distracted.”

Yoongi must notice the way your eyes start to widen. “With work,” he clarifies quickly. He reaches around you to place a hand on the conference room door, and you hear his voice low in your ear. “Amazing how much easier it is to focus today, huh?”

Straightening up to put some space between you, he pushes the door open and gestures for you to go first. You swallow hard and try to keep your composure as you enter the room, briefly apologizing for being late. Yoongi follows behind you silently, slumping into the open seat across the table. You take a sip of your coffee to settle your nerves, which turns out to be a horrible idea when your boss speaks.

“There they are, perfect timing. You’re the very two people my next announcement concerns.”

You just barely manage to keep your drink in your mouth. When your gaze flits to Yoongi across from you, he looks similarly shell-shocked. You can’t help but wonder if you’re about to get fired in front of the entire team.

“We’ve managed to secure funding for the Grammy’s at the end of the month,” your boss says brightly. “We’ll be flying Suga out to do a press circuit as well as attend the award show and surrounding events in-person. We think it will be a great opportunity to network with American artists, try to get his name out there and work on our international appeal.”

“And of course,” your boss’ gaze lands on you, “we all know that our Suga isn’t the most extroverted, or good with schedules, for that matter. We figured he needs a wrangler, and who better than our very own admin?”

You swear your heart stops beating. Your boss keeps going, reminding the team to connect with you about temporarily taking back any deliverables you’ve been handling while you’ll be out of pocket for Grammy’s weekend and subsequent travel time, but you barely process a word. This can’t be happening.

An entire weekend of forced professionalism, in Los Angeles, with the man you just hatefucked in a bathroom. What could possibly go wrong?

chapter four | masterlist | chapter six

[lookingforhobi]

Title: Suck It Part 2

Pairing: Reader/Jung Hoseok

Summary: What starts as lingering glances and offhand touches turns into something neither of you can ignore. You're not supposed to fall for someone on tour, especially not him. But between stolen moments and rising tension, it's only a matter of time before everything changes.

Word Count: 18.7k

Part 1

 You leave the next morning and fly straight to San Antonio. You link up with the rest of the dancers at the hotel, and Yunjin is as bubbly as ever, telling you about her friend’s dog and the late-night tacos they found near their place.

It’s almost comforting, how normal everything seems.

Until show day.

You spot Hoseok again in the chaos of the arena. His hair is done, outfit already set for act one. He’s standing across the room when you walk in, adjusting an earpiece. For a second, you think maybe, just maybe, he’ll say something.

But he doesn’t. He doesn’t even look at you.

Backstage buzzes with pre-show energy, and no one seems to notice the space between you. You smile when you’re supposed to. Laugh when someone tells a dumb joke, but your stomach churns every time he walks by without a word.

And when it’s time for your duet, the difference is impossible to ignore.

Your bodies move in perfect sync, like they always have, but something’s shifted. There's no eye contact. No spark. Just precise movement and silence. It’s technically flawless, maybe even breathtaking, but it feels hollow. Like a beautiful shell with the soul scooped out.

The crowd doesn’t notice. They scream just the same. But you do, and when the lights go down and the applause echoes, it’s not adrenaline you’re feeling.

It’s heartbreak.

You’re backstage, towel pressed to your neck, still catching your breath from the final number. Everyone around you is glowing with cheeks flushed, laughing, buzzing from the high of another successful show.

But you feel…muted.

You walk through the corridors of the arena with your head down, avoiding the spot where you and Hoseok usually high-five after the duet. He’s not there anyway. You’re not sure he even waited. Maybe he slipped away as soon as the curtain closed.

In the dressing room, you sit on the floor near your bag, trying to convince yourself that you're being dramatic. It was just a kiss. One kiss. People kiss all the time. People make mistakes all the time. It shouldn’t be this heavy. But the problem is, it didn’t feel like a mistake. Not when it was happening.

You close your eyes, forehead pressing against your knees, and you can still feel the warmth of his hand on your back. The way he tilted your chin. The breath you both shared just before everything tilted into something electric.

It was real. You know it was real.

His hand had trembled. Just slightly. You hadn’t imagined that.

And the things he said, you're so pretty, and funny, and smart, those hadn’t felt like some throwaway excuse. They’d felt honest. Emotional. Like they’d been building up in him for a while and just finally cracked the surface.

You sigh. Hard. Maybe it’s stupid. Maybe you are just another dancer to him. Maybe he panicked and backpedaled because he realized he’d crossed a line. But then why look at you like that? Why kiss you like he didn’t want it to end?

You blink quickly, throat tightening as you hear laughter echo down the hallway from the others.

You’re not new to crushes. You’ve had your share of infatuations. But this…this is different. It feels different. It felt like something blooming, and now it's just silence.

You whisper to yourself, “God, I’m so stupid.”

But deep down, a voice you can't silence murmurs, No. You’re not. Because that kiss meant something.

A security guard appears in the hallway just as you're zipping up your warmup jacket. You're still reeling from the performance which was technically solid, but emotionally dull. Something’s missing, or rather, someone.

“Come with me,” the guard says, voice low.

You frown, confused, especially when the rest of the dancers glance your way with subtle side-eyes. You feel the heat of their curiosity even after you fall into step behind the guard. You open your mouth to ask where you're going, but he doesn’t answer until you’re a good distance away from the others.

“Hoseok’s dressing room,” he finally says under his breath.

Your heart trips over itself. You don’t say anything, just nod and try to keep your face neutral, though your thoughts are anything but. Is he going to pretend the kiss never happened again? Is this damage control?

The security guard knocks twice and then opens the door, gesturing you in. Hoseok is already inside. He’s alone, sitting on a couch, bent over with his elbows on his knees and his hands tangled in his hair. He looks up when you enter, eyes bloodshot and heavy, like he hasn’t slept.

He stands quickly. “Thanks,” he mutters to the guard, who nods once and pulls the door shut behind you.

Silence stretches, tense and uncertain. You stand there awkwardly, trying to read his expression. He’s not smiling. He’s not even looking directly at you.

“I’m sorry,” he says finally, voice rough. “For kissing you.”

You flinch. That stings more than it should.

But then he adds, “Kissing you was not a mistake. But it was inappropriate.”

You blink at him, mouth slightly open.

He runs a hand through his hair again. “I wanted to kiss you. God, I wanted to—but I shouldn’t have. Not with the power dynamics. Not when we were both a little buzzed. I’m your boss, and that was out of line. Especially in the middle of a tour.”

You stare at him, stunned. Not just by the words, but by how much it seems to be tearing him up.

“That’s it?” you say softly. “You wanted to kiss me, but now it’s just…what, buried?”

“I don’t want this to affect the rest of the tour,” he says, voice gentle now, almost pleading. His eyebrows are knitted together. “You’ve worked too hard. I’ve worked too hard. We can’t let a kiss throw all of that off course.”

Your chest tightens. “But it wasn’t just a kiss. It meant something. At least…it did to me.”

His face twists like that hurts him, and you keep going before you lose your nerve.

“I wanted to kiss you too, Hoseok. That wasn’t just you getting carried away. That kiss…it made me feel something I haven’t felt in a really long time. It made me feel good. Alive.” You step forward. “And I want to do it again.”

He looks like he’s caught between wanting to bolt and wanting to reach for you.

And then you add, voice a whisper, “Do you?”

His lips part like he’s about to argue again. “That doesn’t make it right. Just because we both wanted it doesn’t mean—” He stops short when you slowly cross the room and sit beside him on the couch.

Close, but not quite touching.

He turns his head toward you, and you see the war in his eyes. The way his jaw tightens like he’s trying to hold the boundary in place with sheer willpower. But you also see the hesitation crack under the weight of how much he wants to just give in.

He tries again, quieter this time, like he’s trying to convince himself as much as you. “I’m supposed to set an example. There’s a line—”

You tilt your head and meet his gaze. “I think you’ve been setting one. You’ve been kind. You’ve been professional. You’ve taken care to make sure I’m comfortable. Even when I was bleeding under my costume.”

He swallows hard at that.

“I’m not asking for anything dramatic,” you say. “I’m just saying…you kissed me, I kissed you back, and neither of us regretted it. That doesn’t have to ruin everything.”

Hoseok exhales shakily and looks down at his hands, like he’s trying to anchor himself.

“I’m terrified,” he murmurs.

You blink. “Of what?”

He finally looks up again, voice barely above a whisper. “That I already care more than I should.”

Your breath catches.

There’s silence for a moment as your heart thuds so loudly you’re sure he can hear it. Then, slowly, gently, you reach over and cover his hand with yours. Neither of you speaks. He doesn't pull away, and you can feel the exact second he stops resisting the pull between you.

He turns his hand over and threads his fingers through yours.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

The green room is buzzing with the usual pre-show energy, laughter, final stretches, a couple dancers running counts in the mirror. You’re finishing your warmup near the benches, tying the last lace on your sneakers when it happens.

Mina walks by, just close enough to catch your foot with hers. You stumble forward with a sharp gasp and catch yourself on your hands, the thud of your body hitting the floor cutting through the noise in the room.

Everything goes quiet for a beat. People freeze mid-stretch, mid-laugh.

Then Mina has the audacity to scoff. “God, you’re such a klutz,” she says, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Still not sure how you ended up on this team.”

You push yourself up slowly, heart pounding. Not from the fall, but from the humiliation blooming hot and fast under your skin, but before you can say anything, a low voice cuts through the room like a blade.

“Mina,” Hoseok says.

Everyone turns.

He’s standing by the door with a water bottle in one hand, his jaw locked tight, eyes burning. There’s a tense silence as he walks into the room, the shift in energy is immediately charged.

“I’ve overlooked your attitude for weeks because I wanted to believe you could rise to the occasion,” he says, his tone cool, measured, but unmistakably angry. “But this?” He gestures slightly toward where you’re still crouched on the floor. “I saw you. You tripped her on purpose. Just like I know you’re the one who dug your nails into her during the Mexico City show.���

Mina opens her mouth, probably to deny it, but he doesn’t give her the chance.

“I’m not interested in excuses,” he says, now fully standing between the two of you, shielding you without even touching you. “This isn’t just unprofessional. It’s dangerous. You could’ve seriously injured another member of this team.”

There’s a sharp inhale from someone nearby, and Mina’s face drains of color.

“If you think getting her out of the way would earn you the duet, you’re wrong,” Hoseok continues, voice hard. “Even if she were gone, you wouldn’t be next. You are not talented enough to be acting like this.”

The silence is deafening.

“Please leave,” he says. “And pack your things.”

Mina stares at him, stunned, her face flashing through disbelief, anger, then something that almost looks like embarrassment. She waits for someone, anyone, to step in on her behalf.

No one does. Finally, she huffs and storms out, slamming the door behind her. The green room stays quiet for a long beat. You don’t realize you’re holding your breath until Hoseok looks down at you, expression softening instantly. He crouches beside you, voice much quieter now.

“You okay?” he asks, gently.

You nod, slowly. Still stunned. Still reeling. But okay.

And maybe, for the first time in a long time, you feel safe.

The show that night feels like flight.

From the second the lights dim and the roar of the crowd rolls through the arena like a wave, something inside you unknots. You aren’t looking over your shoulder. You’re not bracing yourself for a stray elbow or a bruising grip disguised as part of the routine. You don’t have to shrink yourself to avoid drama, you just get to dance.

The stage is yours.

Every movement flows smoother than it ever has, like your body finally trusts the space it occupies. The dancers move together in tight synchronicity, and for once, no one’s energy is off. No side-eyes. No petty tension dragging things down. Just pure rhythm and trust.

When the crowd screams during your first formation, your pulse spikes with something electric, not anxiety, not dread, joy. You smile without thinking, and when you glance at Yunjin, she grins back like hell yeah. You feed off that, let it power you.

By the time you hit the duet, you're flying.

The opening notes cue in, and Hoseok appears beside you in the wings. Just his presence is enough to ground you and set your blood humming. He gives you the briefest glance, not quite a smile, but something almost more intimate. Like a promise.

You take the stage together, and it’s magic.

No missed beats. No second-guessing. Every touch, every shift in weight, every perfectly-timed breath is effortless. When he spins you and catches you again, his hand rests just below your ribs, close to where the wounds once were but not close enough to hurt. Just enough to feel. The crowd eats it up. The screams swell louder with every pass and lift, the flashing lights painting the moment in glittering gold. It’s not just that the show is good, it’s that you feel alive. Untethered and whole.

When the final pose hits and the lights cut to black, you’re breathing hard, grinning through the sweat, your chest heaving. Hoseok’s palm is still pressed against your back, steadying you. You don’t even look at him, but the warmth of his hand is enough.

The crowd roars.

And for the first time since the tour began, you know exactly who you are up there, you, not someone tiptoeing around someone else’s bitterness. Just a dancer. Just you.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

The hotel room is quiet except for the soft shuffle of Yunjin rifling through her suitcase. She’s dressed to the nines in heels, leather pants, glitter along her cheekbones. She looks incredible and she knows it.

"You’re seriously not coming?" she asks, turning to face you with one hand on her hip. "We just got rid of the drama queen. You’re telling me you don’t want to celebrate a little?”

You laugh, flopping back onto the bed with an exaggerated groan. “Yunjin, my feet are screaming. I just want to sit in silence, drink water, and maybe cry about how good that show felt.”

She sighs dramatically. “Fine. But you owe me tomorrow night. I expect glitter, heels, and tequila.”

“I promise,” you say, holding up a tired pinky. “Have fun tonight, though. Be chaotic in my honor.”

She grabs her purse, gives you an air kiss, and heads out the door, calling, “Don’t fall asleep in your makeup again!”

You're halfway through digging through your bag, looking for your charger, maybe a snack, who knows, when you see it: a folded square of paper tucked between your spare hair ties and a travel-sized lint roller.

It’s his handwriting. You’d recognize it anywhere after seeing him scribble choreography notes a hundred times.

Text me sometime. - H. xxx-xxx-xxxx

Your heart skips like a scratched CD.

For a few seconds, you just stare at it. Then, with a deep breath and fingers that don't feel entirely your own, you type out a message.

you: hey. it’s me, yn.

The read receipt pops up immediately. Then the typing bubble. Then—

hoseok: hey you wanna come over?

You blink. Your stomach flips.

Your thumbs hover over your screen as you glance toward the door, waiting to make sure Yunjin is really gone. You give it a few minutes just in case she forgot something.

Only after the silence stretches long and certain do you type out:

you: yeah. give me 15

Fifteen minutes of chaos ensue. You brush your hair, freshen up your face, change into something casual but…strategic. A thin tank top that hugs your curves and soft short shorts that ride just a little higher than necessary. You swap out your regular underwear for the nice pair. Not lingerie, but close enough. You glance in the mirror. Presentable. Chill. Not trying too hard.

Totally trying hard.

Your heart pounds the entire walk to his room. When you knock, there’s a beat of silence, and then the door swings open. Hoseok stands there in nothing but a hotel robe, collarbone still glistening. His eyes widen slightly when he sees you, flicking down your frame and back up again.

"Hey," he says, soft and slightly breathless, like maybe he wasn’t expecting you to actually show.

Your breath catches.

“Hey,” you say back, trying not to stare.

Then he steps aside, holding the door open a little wider. “Come in.”

You step inside and let the door shut softly behind you, the click oddly loud in the quiet. Hoseok’s room is warm, quiet, and carries the faint scent of his cologne and whatever fabric softener the hotel uses. 

He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, the hotel robe tied loosely at his waist, revealing a smooth stretch of his collarbone and just a hint of his chest. His hair is damp, like he’s recently showered, and it curls slightly at the ends. The lighting is soft, gold and low, the bedside lamp casting gentle shadows over his features.

You step inside and let the door shut softly behind you, the click oddly loud in the quiet. Hoseok’s room is warm, quiet, and carries the faint scent of his cologne and whatever fabric softener the hotel uses. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, the hotel robe tied loosely at his waist, revealing a smooth stretch of his collarbone and just a hint of his chest. His hair is damp, like he’s recently showered, and it curls slightly at the ends. The lighting is soft, gold and low, the bedside lamp casting gentle shadows over his features.

“I wasn’t sure you’d find the note,” he says, his voice barely above a murmur, like he's not sure if this moment is real. “I felt silly writing it. Kept rewriting the same line, over and over.”

You smile, stepping forward with the easy confidence of someone who’s nervous but determined not to show it. “Of course I found it. You have very recognizable handwriting.” You pause, giving him a once-over, your gaze deliberately slow and teasing. “And I mean…I couldn’t just ignore a personal invitation from someone who looks this good in a bathrobe.”

That earns a soft laugh from him, his eyes crinkling a little at the corners. But then his expression softens, the amusement fading into something a little more vulnerable. “You’re beautiful,” he says, and it feels like more than just a compliment. It lands somewhere deeper. “I’ve been trying not to say that all tour.”

He reaches out and takes your hand, his fingers warm against yours. When you let him guide you, he pulls you gently between his legs, his knees parting so you’re standing right in front of him. The height difference is stark like this, and he tilts his head slightly to look up at you, his eyes tracing your face, your lips, the line of your neck.

For a moment, he just rests his hands on your waist, thumbs brushing along the hem of your tank top, like he’s grounding himself. Then slowly, with almost reverent intent, he leans in and presses his lips to yours.

The kiss is soft at first, exploratory. His mouth moves against yours like a question, like he’s giving you every chance to pull away, but you don’t. Instead, your hands settle on his shoulders, and you press in closer.

He exhales through his nose, deepening the kiss, one of his hands sliding up your spine and the other resting at the small of your back, fingers splayed wide. He pulls you in until your hips are flush against his legs, and the robe parts slightly where your thighs meet his knees. His hand trails down from your spine, skimming the soft fabric of your shorts before curving around to rest again at your waist.

Your body responds instinctively. Melting into him, craving the warmth of his skin, the way his lips shift between gentle and hungry. His other hand leaves your back to tuck a few strands of your hair behind your ear, fingertips brushing your cheek in a way that makes your stomach tighten.

He breaks the kiss only to mouth along your jaw, then down to your neck, and the soft sounds you let out seem to spur him on. But still, it’s unhurried like he’s taking his time, like he wants to memorize you.

“God, you feel so good,” he breathes against your collarbone, his voice hoarse and low. “I’ve wanted this for longer than I should admit.”

Your fingers curl into the loose fabric of his robe, pulling him closer, and he responds immediately, one arm wrapping firmly around your waist, the other sliding under your tank top, his hand warm against your skin, splayed out over your back like he’s trying to hold you in place. You feel him press a kiss just below your ear, then rests his forehead against yours.

When he kisses you again his lips move against yours with slow, deliberate care, but there's a quiet urgency beneath it, too like he’s been holding back for too long and now that he has you here, he doesn’t want to waste a second. You melt into the kiss, fingers curling loosely around the collar of his robe, and when your bodies touch more fully, there’s an electric awareness that crackles just beneath your skin.

His hands trace the curve of your waist, a path he’s followed before on stage, adjusting you during a lift, steadying you mid-turn. But here in the hush of the room, without choreography or lights or a thousand watching eyes, the same touch feels charged. Possessive, even. There’s no need to act like it means nothing anymore.

You gasp softly when his thumb brushes the edge of your shorts, his hand skimming the bare skin of your hip. That’s where he’s held you in rehearsals before, fingers firm, guiding your body into alignment. But this? This is slower. Softer. His fingertips dip beneath the fabric like he’s searching for something sacred there. “Familiar,” he murmurs against your jaw, his lips grazing your skin with each word, “but…different.”

You nod without thinking, breath stuttering as he kisses a line down your throat. “I was just thinking the same thing.”

He hums against your skin, his mouth curving into a smile. “Of course you were. We’re always in sync, huh?”

You laugh, but it’s breathless and unsteady because his hands are already moving again, sliding up your sides, fingers brushing the swell of your chest through the thin fabric of your tank top. He’s careful, almost reverent, but every touch burns. Your whole body aches with the difference between the person who’s caught you mid-air, who’s held you through complex choreography, and the man touching you now with such quiet desire.

“You’ve had your hands on me a hundred times,” you whisper, eyes locking with his, “but it’s never felt like this.”

His lips return to yours, firmer now, more certain. You can feel the moment something shifts in him. The way he deepens the kiss, the way his fingers tighten just a little on your waist, pulling you closer so you’re flush against him. The fabric of his robe parts slightly, and your hands slide beneath it, finding the bare skin of his chest.

You trace the lines of muscle you’ve seen only in glimpses before, during rehearsals, and backstage costume changes, but now, you touch without hesitation, without boundaries. His breath hitches at your touch, and when you glance up at him, his pupils are blown wide, dark and wanting.

He leans his forehead against yours, voice husky. “You drive me crazy, you know that?”

You smile, fingers drifting lower down his stomach. “Good.”

He laughs, a soft, husky sound, and kisses you again, deeper this time, his hands wandering, retracing the paths of muscle and memory. The tension between you winds tighter with every slow, deliberate brush of skin. It’s not hurried. It’s not messy. It’s two people who’ve touched a thousand times under the guise of professionalism, finally learning what it means to really touch.

And it’s the most alive you’ve ever felt. 

His robe slips lower on his shoulders as you tug gently, palms flat against the warm, bare skin of his chest. The tension hums low and hot between you, and Hoseok’s breath brushes your lips as he breaks the kiss just enough to look at you.

“Still feels a little like a dream,” he murmurs, fingertips ghosting along your spine beneath your tank top, sending shivers through you.

You smile, a little breathless, running your hand slowly down his arm. “Then don’t wake up yet.”

That earns you a crooked smile, boyish and beautiful in a way that makes your stomach flutter. He kisses you again, slow and deep, but his hands move with more confidence now, like he’s no longer asking permission with every pass of his fingers, just learning and memorizing. When he skims the edge of your shorts again, this time it’s with the intention of pulling you closer, pressing you fully between his knees. Your thighs bracket his as his hands slip under your top, feeling the skin he’s only ever glimpsed when costuming ran late or rehearsal left you in a sweat.

He exhales softly, forehead resting against your chest for a moment, his voice muffled as he says, “You’re so soft. So warm. I don’t know how I kept my hands to myself for this long.”

You tilt his chin up, forcing him to meet your eyes. “You were professional,” you whisper, brushing your thumb along his jaw. “But you don’t have to be right now.”

His gaze darkens, hands tightening slightly on your waist. “Don’t tempt me.”

“I think I already have.”

He kisses you again, more eagerly this time, like your words gave him permission to let go, just a little. His hands explore with purpose now, sliding under your top fully, dragging upward along your ribs. The sensation is dizzying. His palms rough from years of dancing, his touch familiar and brand new all at once.

You gasp softly when his thumbs skim just under the swell of your breasts, not quite touching , just teasing. “Hobi,” you breathe, and he lets out a shaky exhale like the sound of his name from your lips does something to him he wasn’t ready for.

“This okay?” he asks, voice thick, lips brushing the corner of your mouth.

You nod, fingers tangling in the open edges of his robe. “Yes. Please.”

That’s all it takes and his mouth is back on yours, hungry now, and you match his pace, letting him tip you back slightly as he shifts higher on the bed, your bodies aligned and pressed close in all the right places. His hands finally cup your chest, drawing a soft whimper from you, and he kisses the sound from your lips, swallowing every sigh like a promise.

Every touch is a contrast. Where he used to be precise and calculated, here he’s bold and greedy. Where his hands used to steady your center of gravity in a spin, now they explore like he wants to find your edges, and where his body used to move with yours in perfect timing for the audience, now it moves for you and only you.

It’s messy. It’s sweet. It’s slow but burning.

And when he finally pulls back for air, eyes half-lidded and lips swollen from kissing, he whispers, “You’ve always been art. I just never thought I’d get to trace the lines this way.”

Your heart stutters. You press your forehead to his and whisper back, “Then don’t stop.”

His breath hitches at your words, not just from the way you say them, soft and sure, but from the way your hands frame his face like he’s something precious. He swallows hard, his eyes flickering over yours like he’s searching for doubt and finding none.

“I won’t,” he murmurs, and then he kisses you again. Deeper this time, not in a rush, but with that same aching certainty that you both feel thrumming beneath your skin.

The kiss grows, building slowly, like a rhythm only the two of you know. His hands trace every dip and curve of your body, familiar landmarks from choreography but now explored with reverence and curiosity. Where his grip once corrected your alignment or steadied your turns, now it’s a slow slide down your back, the press of his palm on the small of your waist drawing you in closer, until there’s no space left at all.

You shift slightly, knees pressing into the mattress on either side of his legs, straddling him with ease, your fingers slipping beneath the robe to rest on his bare shoulders. He’s warm beneath your touch, and you lean into it, noses brushing, foreheads nearly touching again.

“This feels… different,” you say quietly, heart pounding.

His thumb brushes over the skin just above the waistband of your shorts. “Because it is.”

He doesn’t say more, but he doesn’t have to. You can feel it in the way he holds you, like he’s afraid this might slip through his fingers if he rushes it. You tilt his face up again, kissing the corner of his mouth, then just below his jaw, and when he exhales, it comes out shaky, his hands fisting lightly in the fabric of your tank top like he’s grounding himself in the moment.

Your lips find him again, slower this time, testing, tasting, and he responds with equal care. Like he’s learning you, not just touching you. His hands roam again, but never in a way that feels rushed or impatient. They settle on your hips, tugging you gently into a deeper kiss that leaves you gasping, flush with want and warmth.

“You’re driving me crazy,” he murmurs into your mouth, words barely there. Are you leaving him so speechless that’s all he can say? Hoseok the incredible lyricist? 

You smile against his lips, catching his bottom one gently between your teeth before letting go. “Good.”

He laughs under his breath, soft, breathy, a little disbelieving. “You’ve been driving me crazy since rehearsal one.”

You tilt your head, amusement flickering in your eyes. “Since the first rehearsal, huh?”

He nods, eyes dropping to your lips again. “You walked in like you weren’t even trying to impress anyone. And then you danced like you had nothing to prove. That confidence?” He presses a kiss just beneath your ear. “It wrecked me.”

Your breath catches, and you lean into him, fingers threading through his hair. “You hid it really well.”

He chuckles, hands gripping your hips a little tighter. “Did I? Because I was struggling.”

You can’t help the laugh that escapes you, full and warm and he kisses you again like he wants to capture that sound, that spark between you. It's intimate in a way that makes your pulse race, not just because of the nearness or the tension. But because for the first time, you're seeing Hoseok not just as the dancer, the choreographer, the professional, but as a man who wants you. Who sees you.

Your fingers drift down, slipping beneath the edge of his robe as your mouth trails after them. You press a kiss to the hollow of his throat, then another just above his collarbone. His breathing deepens, one hand sliding to your thigh, the other threading lightly into your hair.

You pull the robe apart a little more, exposing the smooth plane of his chest, the curve of muscle beneath warm, flushed skin. You kiss along his collar, slow and teasing, until you reach the center of his chest. You feel his heart racing beneath your lips.

His hand tightens gently in your hair, not pulling, just holding, grounding himself as your mouth moves lower. You shift slightly in his lap, your tongue flicking against the skin just below his sternum. His head tips back a little, jaw tense, a low sound catching in his throat.

“This okay?” you murmur against his skin, voice breathy but sure.

He nods without hesitation, his voice rough when he says, “Yeah. Yeah, it’s more than okay.”

You continue, slow and unhurried, kissing your way down the defined lines of his torso. Your lips trail lower, slow and deliberate. His skin is warm beneath your mouth, smooth and slightly tense like he’s holding himself back. You smile against him, exhaling softly as you kiss just above the line where his robe parts. 

He shifts beneath you, his breath hitching when your fingers ghost along the edges of the fabric, following the trail of faint hair that disappears beneath the soft tie at his waist. Your lips press to that line, just below his navel, feeling the way he twitches at the contact, the way his hand tightens lightly in the bedsheets beside him.

You glance up, catching the dazed look in his eyes. “Still okay?” you ask, your voice a whisper.

He nods, his voice low and rough. “Yeah. You’re…driving me crazy.”

With slow fingers, you untie the knot of his robe, easing it open. He lets you, lifting slightly so you can slip it off completely. Beneath it he is wearing…nothing.

The robe pools at his sides and your eyes take him in, heart hammering at the sight of him laid out for you like this so open, so bare. You kiss along the line of his happy trail, teasing, not rushing, letting him feel the heat of your breath and the care in your touch.

You let your hands explore him with slow confidence, tracing the lines of his hips and the curve of his thighs as if you’re memorizing him by touch alone. He leans back on his elbows, eyes heavy-lidded, watching you with a look that’s equal parts wonder and heat. ​​You’ve danced with him, felt his body move against yours night after night, but this is different. This isn’t choreography, it’s instinct. It’s want.

The gasp that leaves his mouth when you finally wrap your fingers around his cock is truly music to your ears. Your lips follow your hands, pressing soft kisses across his skin, taking your time. The way he breathes, shallow, and uneven, lets you know just how much he’s feeling every light stroke. You test the waters trailing your fingers across his thigh while you add slight pressure to your grip on his girthy length. You’re attentive, learning what makes him gasp, and what makes him whisper your name like it’s a secret too sacred to speak too loud. 

You sink to your knees between his legs. He is beautiful like this, unguarded and flushed, his lips slightly parted, and his eyes burning with something that feels like awe. You meet his gaze as you lean in, letting your lips ghost over the sensitive skin of his lower stomach, closer, lower, until you hear the smallest hitch in his breath. 

When your mouth finally wraps around him, his whole body jerks despite his effort to relax. His hands fly out gripping the sheets. You take your time, slow and attentive, letting every flick of your tongue, every hollow of your cheeks, every soft hum say what you can’t out loud: that you want him to feel good, to feel cared for, to feel wanted. 

One of his hands finds your hair and he doesn’t push, just holds on grounding himself. With ease, despite his size, you take his entire length in your mouth. Hoseok throws his head back against the bed when his tip touches the back of your throat. You sink down further swallowing around his tip until you can feel he’s nearing his peak. 

With quick movements you work your mouth up and down his length, his fingers tightening in your hair. His hips lift off the mattress accompanied by a slew of grunts and breathy moans. 

“YN, I’m so close. Suck it, please!” He whines, as you continue sucking his cock.

Hoseok tenses as his high approaches and it only takes one more expert hollow of your cheeks before he’s spilling into your mouth. You swallow every drop without a thought making sure he’s looking into your eyes as you do so. 

After everything settles, the room feels warmer, quieter. The hum of the city outside is muffled, and the only sounds are the soft breaths you both take. Hoseok’s hand is resting gently on your side, his fingers tracing light, absent patterns on your skin. You both lie there, side by side, the weight of everything that’s passed hanging in the air but not needing to be said.

You feel the heat of his body beside yours, the closeness, the tenderness of the moment. Hoseok shifts a little, pulling you closer, his arm wrapping around you protectively as he tucks you against his chest. It feels easy, natural, like this is where you both are meant to be, even if the world outside might be a little more complicated.

“I wasn’t sure how to do this,” he admits softly, his voice still thick with emotion. “I wasn’t sure if it was the right time, or if you’d even want to...but I couldn’t help it. Being around you, it just feels different.”

You smile gently, resting your head against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heart against your ear making everything feel so much more real. “I get it,” you whisper back, your fingers lightly tracing the outline of his hand on your skin. “Sometimes, it’s hard to know when the right moment is. But this…this feels right.”

His breath hitches slightly, and he squeezes you just a little tighter. The way he holds you, it’s not just out of physical desire. It’s soft, like he wants to protect you, keep you safe in this quiet bubble of understanding.

“I’m glad,” he murmurs. “I don’t want to mess things up. I don’t want to make things weird between us.”

“You haven’t,” you say quickly, lifting your head to meet his eyes. The vulnerability in them makes your heart flutter. “We’re good, Hobi. Whatever this is, it’s good.”

His lips curl into a smile, the relief obvious in his eyes. “You’re something else, you know that?” His voice is light now, teasing but with an underlying affection that’s impossible to ignore.

You chuckle softly, resting your hand on his chest. “I’m just being honest,” you reply with a playful smile, tracing a small patch of skin near his collarbone. “But...I’m glad you feel the same way. We don’t have to rush anything.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, his thumb brushing gently over your arm. “No rush.”

The two of you stay like that for a while, the intimacy between you speaking volumes in the silence. There’s no pressure, no expectation, just the warmth of the moment and the comfort of being together. 

Hoseok tilts his head, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “I’m happy you’re here,” he whispers.

You smile, your heart feeling fuller than it has in a long time. “Me too, Hobi. Me too.”

The quiet stretches on, peaceful and warm, until the soft glow of the TV catches your eye.

“Is that…Run BTS?” you ask with a laugh, glancing at the paused screen. Hoseok grins sheepishly.

“I was watching it before you came over. Helps me unwind.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Watching yourself unwind helps you unwind?”

“Yeah,” he chuckles, reaching for the remote. “It’s not like that. I like the chaos, and the editing always surprises me. Want to watch?”

You nod, shifting so your head rests more comfortably on his chest, legs tangled beneath the blankets. He presses play, and the familiar jingle rings out, drawing an immediate smile from both of you. It’s one of the older episodes—something chaotic involving fruit, blindfolds, and Seokjin’s scream echoing in the background.

You’re both laughing within minutes.

Hoseok pauses the show every so often to add commentary, who was actually terrified, what didn’t make the cut, the ridiculous inside jokes that carried on for weeks afterward. You soak up each detail, loving the way he lights up with every memory. 

At one point, you’re laughing so hard you have to cover your face with the blanket, and Hoseok just watches you, totally enchanted. He doesn’t even try to hide it. When the episode ends and the screen fades to black, the room softens again, quiet and intimate.

You’re lying face-to-face now, close enough to share breath. The way he looks at you, soft, unguarded, pulls the air from your lungs.

“I was thinking…” he begins, voice quiet. He hesitates, then exhales, brushing his fingers along your wrist.

“What?”

“Come to Oakland early. With me.”

You blink. “Early?”

“Yeah. The others aren’t flying in for a few days, but I have a window. I know a house we can rent, somewhere quiet. Just us. We don’t have to hide or explain anything to anyone for a little while.”

You stare at him, stunned, but not in a bad way. Just trying to catch up with how fast your heart is racing.

“Just us?” you ask softly.

He nods, the corner of his mouth pulling into a hopeful smile. “Just us.”

The idea settles in your chest like sunlight through a window, warm, daring, and unfamiliar in the best kind of way.

You nod. “Okay. Let’s go.”

He lets out a breath you didn’t realize he was holding and threads your fingers together. His thumb brushes over your knuckles, over and over again, like he can’t believe you’re really saying yes.

“Okay,” he echoes, quieter this time. “Then it’s a plan.”

You fall asleep like that, wrapped in each other and something that feels dangerously close to hope. The TV glows quietly in the background, but you’re already dreaming of something more.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

You slip quietly into your hotel room in San Antonio, trying not to make any noise, but Yunjin’s already wide awake, sitting cross-legged on the bed in her pajamas, arms crossed.

“Where the hell have you been?” she asks, her tone a perfect mix of concern and suspicion.

You freeze, a bit caught off guard, but keep your cool. “I ran into an old friend,” you lie smoothly, setting your bag down by your suitcase. “They realized I was in San Antonio, so we met up.”

Yunjin narrows her eyes, skeptical. “An old friend?”

You nod too quickly. “Yep.”

She stares at you, her brow arching higher when she spots you opening your suitcase and starting to pack. “Okay, and why are you packing? We’re not leaving for like, three more days.”

“I am,” you say, tossing a few shirts in. “I’m flying out early. Gonna spend a couple days with my cousin Soobin in the Bay before we hit Oakland.”

Yunjin’s eyes light up. “Wait—hot cousin Soobin?”

You groan out loud. “Why does everyone call him that?”

“Because he’s hot,” she says plainly, flopping back into the pillows. “Also tall. Didn’t he model for that skincare brand one time?”

“Briefly,” you mutter, trying to keep a straight face while stuffing a pair of jeans into your duffel.

She props herself up on one elbow and watches you for a beat. “You’re being weird.”

“I’m not.”

“You so are, and don’t think I didn’t notice how you didn’t answer any of my texts last night.”

“I was catching up. Lost track of time.”

Yunjin doesn’t press, but her knowing smile lingers. “Fine. Go see Hot Soobin, but if you fall in love with your cousin, I’m not helping you sort through that emotional damage.”

You throw a sock at her.

She cackles and waves you off. “Have fun, don’t get sunburned, and text me if you’re coming back with a whole secret boyfriend.”

You just smile, a little too tight, and zip up your bag. “I’ll let you know.”

As you walk out the door, heart hammering, all you can think about is Hoseok, Oakland, and how you’re suddenly living a secret in plain sight.

You take separate cars to the airport, just like he asked, low-key, no attention, no reason for anyone to suspect anything. The sun is barely up, the horizon still soft with the color of sleep as your rides pull up on opposite ends of a small private terminal just outside of San Antonio.

You clutch your overnight bag a little tighter as you step onto the tarmac. Then you see him. Hoseok, standing just outside the sleek jet with sunglasses on and a coffee in hand, looking like he’s walked straight out of a daydream. The wind tousles his hair a little, and he grins when he sees you, flashing a dimple like a secret meant just for you.

Your steps slow as you take it all in, the shine of the jet, the gentle hum of the engines, the flight crew giving polite nods and treating you like you belong here. You’ve never flown like this before. You’re not sure you’ll ever get used to it.

Hoseok meets you halfway, offering his hand to help you up the stairs. “Good timing,” he says. “We’ll be in the air before the rest of the city’s even awake.”

You glance back over your shoulder at the runway stretching out behind you, still trying to ground yourself in the moment. “This is...wow.”

He squeezes your fingers. “It’s just a plane.”

You shoot him a look. “You say that like it’s a taxi.”

He chuckles and leads you up into the jet, stepping aside so you can get the full view.

It’s pristine. Minimalist luxury. Soft cream leather seats, dark wood paneling, warm lights dimmed to a golden glow. Everything feels quiet. Private. Safe.

There’s no one else aboard, just you, Hoseok, and the pilots, tucked away behind a closed door with frosted windows. It hits you then: this is intentional. This is his way of giving you space, time, and privacy.

You turn slowly, drinking it all in, and when you meet his eyes again, he’s watching you like he’s trying to memorize this moment too.

“Just us?” you ask.

“Just us,” he confirms softly, voice low, warm.

You walk to the plush bench-style seating along the side, setting your bag down and sitting. He follows, sliding in beside you, his knee brushing yours. There’s no press, no rush, just the slow awareness settling in your chest that for the next few hours, it’s only you and him in the sky.

You look out the small oval window, then back at him. “Is it always this quiet?”

“Not always,” he says. “But I wanted this one to be.”

You smile, heart thudding in your throat. “I like it.”

His fingers brush over yours again, gentle, unspoken, and your pulse spikes all over again.

The plane begins to taxi, a soft rumble underfoot as the engines build to a quiet roar. You feel the subtle shift of momentum as it lifts off the runway, climbing into the sky. Hoseok reaches for your hand as the pressure kicks in, fingers intertwining with yours naturally, like they’ve done it a hundred times before.

You glance over and catch him looking at you, his eyes dipping briefly to your neckline before flicking up again with a soft, guilty smile. The air between you grows warmer despite the cool hum of the cabin’s climate control. You settle in beside him on the wide bench, legs curling beneath you slightly, and his arm comes to rest along the back, fingers brushing the top of your shoulder.

“Comfy?” he asks, voice low and full of a private sort of amusement.

You smirk. “Very.”

It’s quiet for a beat. The low hum of the jet, the occasional ding from the cockpit, the softest sound of your breathing.

Then Hoseok shifts a little closer, his thigh pressed to yours now, warm and solid through your skirt. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this relaxed on a flight,” he murmurs, turning toward you more fully. His fingers move to your shoulder, tracing down your arm in a light touch that leaves goosebumps in its wake.

Your breath hitches slightly. “Guess I have that effect.”

He laughs quietly, a rich sound, and then his hand stills just above your knee. “You really do.”

The touch is familiar and new all at once, like the memory of his hands on your waist during rehearsals, guiding your movements with careful precision, except now it’s different. Now there’s no audience. No choreography. Just curiosity and want.

You look at him, caught in the warmth of his gaze and the gentle pull between you. “This isn’t like rehearsal,” you say, voice soft.

“No,” he agrees, his thumb brushing slow circles against your bare thigh. “It’s not.”

He leans in, just slightly, close enough for you to feel the breath of his words on your skin. You tilt your head and your noses nearly brush, the tension stretching and coiling sweetly between you. When his lips finally touch yours, it’s soft and lingering, a slow exploration that deepens by degrees.

The kiss is unhurried but full of promise. His hand slips behind your neck, anchoring you gently as your fingers slide up the front of his shirt, feeling the warmth of his chest beneath. Every inch you touch earns you a quiet, contented sigh that rumbles low in his throat.

You shift a little closer, fitting against him as his other hand traces the outside of your thigh, slow and reverent, like he’s still memorizing the shape of you. When you part again, barely, your foreheads rest together as you catch your breath.

“I could get used to this,” he whispers.

You smile. “We’ve got a few hours.”

You curl in a bit closer to him, your legs draped gently across his lap now, and his arm loops behind your waist like it’s meant to be there. The plane hums steadily around you, but up here, everything feels suspended, like time has slowed just for the two of you.

Hoseok brushes his lips against your forehead and then rests his chin atop your head for a beat. “I don’t think I’ve ever done anything like this before,” he admits quietly.

You glance up at him, curious. “You mean flying a girl out?”

He chuckles softly. “I mean…this. Being this impulsive. Letting myself have something I want.”

Your heart trips a little. “Sooo you wanted this?”

He turns his head slightly so your eyes meet again, and the answer is all over his face before he even speaks. “I’ve wanted you for a while,” he says, voice low and sincere. “But I didn’t know if I was allowed to.”

There’s a slight ache in your chest, something tender and fluttery. You lift a hand to brush your fingers through the hair at his temple. “And now?”

His smile is slow, but sure. “Now I’m trying not to think about rules. Just…what feels right.”

You nod, letting his words settle between you, your fingers tracing lazy patterns across his collarbone. “I’ve never done anything like this either,” you admit softly. “Running off with someone. Especially someone like you.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Someone like me?”

You smirk. “Charming. Famous. A little too good at body rolls.”

That earns a bright laugh from him, full and warm, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I swear I wasn’t body rolling to seduce you.”

“Mmm, I beg to differ.”

He shakes his head, smiling. “You’re dangerous.”

You lean up, brushing your lips against his again, slow and teasing. “Takes one to know one.”

His hand tightens a little at your hip, grounding you. There’s something unspoken in the air, something bigger than desire. You both feel it. For a long moment, you just sit there like that, tangled up in each other, the outside world forgotten. No stylists. No tour. No rehearsals. Just skin and breath and softness.

Then he murmurs, almost absently, “What do you want this to be?”

You pull back just enough to really look at him, surprised by the question.

“I mean,” he continues, his thumb brushing soothingly against your side, “we don’t have to define it now. I just..want to know how to show up for you.”

Your chest feels tight again, but in a good way this time. Full. Warm.

“I don’t know yet,” you admit honestly. “But I want to find out.”

His smile is quiet but bright. “Yeah. Me too.”

And with that, he pulls you in again, your laughter muffled by another kiss, his hands skimming your back like he’s trying to memorize every curve, every breath. His other hand moves to your thigh, tracing slowly, reverently, until he reaches the edge of your skirt.

You pull back just enough to meet his eyes, your own gaze, a quiet answer, a soft yes. You take his hand and guide it gently beneath the hem of your skirt, skin warming everywhere he touches. Then, with a whisper of a smile, you kiss him again. Deeper this time, needier.

His fingers slide higher, finding the lacy edge of your panties. A sharp exhale leaves his lips against yours when he feels how soft you are. He squeezes the curve of your hip, then your ass, drawing you forward until your chest is flush against his, the heat between you undeniable.

You gasp softly at the pressure, your arms wrapping tighter around his neck, your lips never quite leaving his. Hoseok slips a hand between you quickly dipping his hand into your panties. You grasp his shoulder, sighing against his neck, as his fingers find where you so desperately want him to touch.

He takes his time shifting his touch, not rushed, but exploratory, learning you by feeling alone. Every breath you take turns heavier, every quiet sound you make draws him in further, like he’s intoxicated by the way your body responds to him. Hoseok’s name escapes your lips in a whisper, as he slips long fingers inside of you. His free hand finds the back of your head, stroking your hair, all while continuing to kiss you.

Your breath stutters when at the same moment his lips trail down your jaw, his thumb finds your clit drawing soft, slow circles. You bury your face in his shoulder, and he leans in closer, his hot breath against your ear. 

“So beautiful,” he whispers, his voice rough. “You feel like a dream.”

His fingers continue to trace delicate circles that make your body arch instinctively toward him, and his hand slides down to your shoulder blade gripping you just slightly tighter. 

“You’re driving me crazy,” he murmurs between soft kisses to your temple, your cheek, your neck. “Every time you look at me like that, every time you move with me onstage, I swear I almost forget the choreography.”

You can’t help the soft laugh that escapes you, your heart clenching at the mix of heat and sweetness in his voice. He grips your hip encouraging you to ride his fingers. Of course, you would do anything for him. You roll your hips forward and he makes an appreciative sound. 

“I’ve wanted this,” he admits, almost like a confession. “You. Just like this. For longer than I’ll ever admit out loud.”

Your eyes meet, breathless and warm. You lean in to kiss him again and he hums against your lips, deep and content. Losing yourself in the feeling of his fingers deep inside you is easy. You can’t help the soft noises that fall from your lips encouraging him to keep going. The pleasure is building much quicker than you thought it would. It usually takes your partners quiet some time but with him even looking in his direction makes you feel as if you could— 

“God, you’re incredible,” he breathes.

Hoseok lifts your shirt exposing your breasts so he can lay soft kisses on them. He continues this in tandem with his never relenting fingers building and building and building your pleasure. After several minutes he sucks a dark purple mark low on your breast and the absolutely delicious feeling sends you over the edge. Shaking, and whimpering from just how good he feels, Hoseok holds you against his chest. He pats your head and whispers how beautiful you are and that you are so good. 

The cabin is quiet except for the low hum of the plane and the muffled sound of your heartbeat still echoing in your ears. You press one last kiss to Hoseok’s jaw before slipping off his lap, smoothing your skirt down with shaky hands. He watches you with a soft, contented smile, one that lingers even as you murmur something about needing the bathroom and disappear behind the narrow door.

Inside, the overhead light is too bright. You stare at your reflection for a long moment, cheeks flushed, hair slightly mussed, lips kiss-bitten. You look…different. Like you’ve crossed some invisible line you can’t uncross. You turn on the faucet, cupping cool water in your palms, pressing it gently to your face. The cold sting helps, but only a little. It doesn’t stop the thoughts from creeping in.

Why you?

It’s not the first time you’ve wondered. Hoseok is well, Hoseok. World-famous. Charismatic. Effortlessly talented. Gorgeous in that infuriating, unfair way. Yet he kisses you like you are the only person who has ever mattered. Touches you like you are something rare.

But the doubt digs in anyway.

Maybe it is just a moment. Maybe it didn’t mean what you want it to mean. Maybe he is just caught up in the tension of the tour, the thrill of secrecy. Maybe this is just another city, another stop—and you’re just part of the scenery.

You grip the edge of the small sink tighter.

No, you think, forcing yourself to breathe. He looked at you like he meant it. He asked what you wanted this to be. He brought you here.

But still…the questions simmer beneath the surface.

What if you get hurt? What if this is temporary for him? What if you're just the distraction?

You dry your hands slowly, your heartbeat steadier now but your chest still heavy. When you finally open the bathroom door, you find Hoseok waiting, already looking up.

“Hey,” he says softly, and there’s something in his voice that makes your pulse trip again. “You okay?”

You nod, a little too quickly. “Yeah. Just…needed a second.”

His brow furrows, just slightly. “You sure?”

You hesitate.

Do you tell him? Or do you keep pretending it’s nothing?

You manage a small smile and nod again, this time more gently. “Yeah. I’m good.”

Hoseok doesn’t press. He just reaches out a hand and tugs you back toward the plush couch, guiding you to sit beside him again. You curl into his side, your cheek resting against the familiar warmth of his chest. His arm wraps around your shoulders, easy and natural, like he was always meant to hold you like this.

For a while, neither of you speaks.

The low rumble of the plane is steady, rhythmic, almost like a heartbeat in the background. You feel his fingers stroke absently along your arm, tracing lazy shapes that make your skin hum. He smells like something faintly spicy and clean, and you wonder if you’ll ever be able to smell it again without thinking of this exact moment.

Still, your thoughts won’t quiet down.

His thumb grazes your shoulder, and you think, Why me?

You’ve been asking yourself since the moment his mouth first met yours. Since the moment he looked at you like he was seeing something precious.

He could have anyone. Absolutely anyone. People throw themselves at him. Beautiful, glamorous, famous people. And yet…here you are. On his private plane. Wrapped in his arms. Feeling like the luckiest person in the world and the most uncertain one at the same time.

You close your eyes, trying to memorize the weight of his arm around you, the steadiness of his breath against your temple. Part of you wants to sink into it completely, to let yourself believe this could be real, that it could mean something. But another part stays curled up inside your chest, tight with the fear that maybe you’re just temporary.

He doesn’t say anything and just holds you closer, brushing his lips against the top of your head so softly it feels like a question. You don’t answer. Not yet. You just breathe him in and try not to get too lost in what it feels like to be chosen…and wonder why it’s so hard to believe you deserve it.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

The car pulls up to a small house nestled in a quiet neighborhood just outside Oakland, the kind of place with winding roads and wildflowers sprouting through the cracks in the pavement. It’s unassuming, painted in soft earth tones with a wide front porch and ivy curling along the railings, but there’s something comforting about it. Hidden. Safe. Like the world can’t touch you here.

As soon as the driver opens the trunk, you’re reaching for your suitcase when suddenly—

“Hey!” you squeal, laughing as Hoseok sweeps you into his arms.

He’s already halfway up the steps by the time you protest. “Hobi, seriously! Put me down.”

“Nope,” he grins. “I’m making a memory.”

“You’re being dramatic!”

“I’m being romantic,” he corrects with a wink, nudging open the front door with his hip before stepping inside. “There’s a difference.”

The inside is just as cozy as the outside promised, light wood floors, soft neutral walls, and wide windows that let the golden late-afternoon light spill through. The air smells faintly like lavender and something clean, like freshly laundered sheets.

Hoseok carries you straight to the couch and lowers you gently onto the cushions with a little flourish. “Your chariot has arrived, my lady.”

You laugh again, breathless, as he dashes back out to grab your bags. While he’s gone, you kick off your shoes, pull a throw blanket over your lap, and flip through the streaming options until you land on a movie that’s easy and warm, something nostalgic. By the time he returns, lugging both your suitcase and his into the primary bedroom, you’ve already curled up with a pillow and settled in.

He reappears a few minutes later, a little tousled from the effort, his hoodie slouchy and his hair flopping into his eyes. There’s no makeup, no stylist, no flash or stage lighting—just him. And somehow, it makes your breath catch a little. This is a version of Hoseok the world rarely gets to see. Softer. Gentler.

He drops onto the couch beside you, then shifts so his head lands easily in your lap, one hand reaching for the blanket to tug it over both of you.

“Comfy?” you ask, threading your fingers through his hair.

He hums, low and content. “Mmhmm. You make it comfy.”

You roll your eyes, but your chest warms anyway. His eyes are half-lidded as he watches the screen, but every now and then, you catch him glancing up at you instead. Just watching. Like he still can’t believe you’re really here.

And even with all the noise still stirring in the back of your mind, wondering what this means, you let yourself smile and run your fingers gently through his hair again.

Later you are in the kitchen, which is small but charming, with terracotta tile floors and wooden shelves lined with mismatched mugs and little jar of herbs. You both settle easily into the rhythm of cooking, moving around each other, bumping hips in the narrow space, laughing when Hoseok fumbles with the garlic press like it’s a foreign object.

“You don’t cook much, do you?” you tease, nudging his elbow as he squints down at a recipe on his phone.

“I cook!” he defends, brandishing a wooden spoon. “I just…delegate garlic duty.”

You giggle and reach for the cloves, brushing your fingers against his in the process. He doesn’t pull away. In fact, he lets his hand linger just a second too long. You feel the smile tugging at the corner of your mouth again. He’s not subtle about the way his eyes slide down your neck when you lean forward to stir the pasta, or how he rests a hand on your waist as he steps around you to reach for the olive oil.

It’s warm. Easy. Intimate.

Dinner turns out surprisingly good, cacio e pepe with a simple salad, and you carry your plates to the small round table by the window. There’s soft music playing from his phone, and the sky outside has dimmed into that dusky shade of blue that always feels a little like magic.

You’re halfway through your plate when the lightness starts to unravel inside you. That nagging thread of doubt that’s been tugging at your chest ever since the plane.

Hoseok looks up when you go quiet, chewing slowly. “What’s wrong?”

You shake your head. “Nothing. It’s fine.”

“Hey,” he says gently, setting his fork down. “You’re not fine.”

You sit there a moment, twisting your napkin in your lap. Then, before you can stop yourself—

“I just…” Your voice falters. “I don’t know what this is. I don’t know what I am to you. I know you said we’d figure it out but…”

He doesn’t speak right away, and that makes your stomach twist harder.

You press on, needing to let it out. “I can’t keep pretending everything’s perfect when part of me is scared you’re just…using me. That I’m some tour fling. That you’ve done this a million times before and I’m just…convenient.”

Silence.

Then, softly, he stands and moves around the table, pulling his chair closer until his knees touch yours. He takes your hands in his, eyes steady and open.

“If all I wanted was sex,” he says slowly, “I could’ve had that in Mexico City. You were right there. We were alone. No one would’ve known.”

Your breath catches, but he squeezes your fingers gently.

“But when I kissed you that night…” He exhales a quiet laugh, almost disbelieving. “I swear to god, it took my breath away. I didn’t expect it to feel like that. And right after I knew, one kiss wasn’t going to be enough. Not with you.”

Your throat tightens.

He leans forward, brushing your knuckles with his thumb. “I didn’t fly you out here so we could hook up in a rental house. I did it because I wanted time with you. Away from everything. I care about you. Really care about you. I admire how passionate you are, how hard you work, how you move when you dance. I see how everyone on tour looks at you, how they light up because you’re around.”

You blink fast, trying not to cry.

“I haven’t done this a million times,” he adds, voice softer now. “I’ve never done this before.”

The words hit you like a weight and a balm all at once. He could’ve gotten upset at what you suggested but instead he wiped away any worry plaguing your brain. 

Slowly, you reach for his face, cradling his jaw as you lean in. He closes his eyes at your touch, like he’s savoring it.

“I don’t want to be scared anymore,” you whisper.

“Then don’t,” he says. “We’ll figure it out together.”

He pulls you into a hug. It’s tight, grounding, real, and in his arms, the knot in your chest finally begins to loosen.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

After dinner, the kitchen is left in a charming disarray, plates in the sink, a few pasta shells on the counter, and a bottle of wine half-finished beside the stove. You both say you’ll clean up later, but neither of you moves.

Instead, you wander into the living room together, where the couch is still warm from earlier and the movie you put on before dinner is paused on the title screen. Hoseok grabs a blanket from the back of the couch, tossing it over the two of you as you settle in.

He lets you curl up beside him first, and then gently shifts so his head rests in your lap again, just like before. You run your fingers lightly through his hair as the movie begins to play, but your attention never really settles on the screen.

It’s on him. On the way his lashes fan against his cheeks. On the way he hums in contentment when you scratch lightly behind his ear. On the way he looks up at you like you’ve hung the stars.

“You’re staring,” he says eventually, cracking one eye open with a teasing smile.

You smile back. “So are you.”

He grins, then shifts to sit upright, sliding an arm around your waist to bring you closer. You both sit there, curled into each other, the quiet hum of the film in the background and the soft rhythm of your breathing syncing up.

You talk about small things. Favorite comfort foods. Embarrassing stories from rehearsals. The time he almost face-planted during a dance break and saved it with a dramatic spin. You laugh so hard your stomach hurts.

Later now tangled up on the couch, legs across his lap, your fingers absentmindedly thread through his hair as a soft song plays low from his phone speaker. The world feels far away.

He shifts beneath you, one hand gliding along the bare skin of your thigh, just beneath the hem of your oversized sleep shirt. His thumb moves in slow, teasing circles.

“You’ve been quiet,” he says, voice low, gaze on your face like he’s reading every thought.

You hesitate. “Just thinking.”

He waits. Doesn’t press. Just touches you, light as air, patient.

“I guess…” You draw in a breath. “I’m wondering, why me? I mean—” your voice falters as his fingers skim a little higher, “—you could have anyone.”

Hoseok's brows knit together. He shifts so you’re facing him more directly, his hand settling at your waist. “Don’t say that.”

“No,” he says firmly, leaning in, his nose brushing yours. “If I just wanted sex, I wouldn’t have waited. I wouldn’t have brought you here.”

His hand slips under your shirt, splaying warm over your lower back.

“When I kissed you in Mexico City…” His voice drops, almost reverent. “It did something to me. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. About you.”

Your breath catches, your body already reacting to his words, to the heat in his eyes.

“I flew you here because I wanted you, not a moment. Not a fling. Just…you.” he reassures you. 

He kisses you then. It is slow, deliberate, claiming. His mouth moves with aching sweetness against yours, and it makes you dizzy. You shift in his lap instinctively, needing more of him, and his hands tighten on your hips.

Your shirt rides up as he pulls you closer, his lips finding the curve of your jaw, then down your neck. He murmurs against your skin, “You’re beautiful. You’re everything.”

You whimper as he mouths over your collarbone, one of his hands sliding higher beneath your shirt, fingers tracing the edge of your bra, teasing but not rushing. 

“You’re not just anyone,” he says, voice rough. “You’re the one I can’t stop wanting.”

And in the way he touches you, slow and reverent, in the way his breath hitches when your hips roll into his, it feels true. Real. Like something neither of you expected but are both terrified to lose.

Your fingers curl into Hoseok’s shirt as his mouth returns to yours, this time more urgent, more intent. The kind of kiss that says I’ve wanted this all day. His hands roam with purpose now, one tracing your thigh while the other cradles the back of your neck, pulling you even closer.

He stands, lifting you with him like it’s nothing, and you gasp against his lips. “Hobi—”

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, voice thick with desire. “Come here.”

You wrap your legs around his waist instinctively, clinging to him as he carries you toward the bedroom. You’re breathless, laughing softly against his neck until—

You both freeze in the doorway.

Dangling from one side of the headboard are fuzzy pink handcuffs.

You blink. “Um…do your rental people always provide accessories?”

Hoseok sets you down gently on your feet, eyes wide with mock offense. “Absolutely not. I did not tell them to put those there.”

You smirk, reaching out to give one a little tug. “Mmhmm. Sure you didn’t.”

His hands find your waist again. “I didn’t!”

You glance over your shoulder, giving him a playful smile. “Well…I wouldn’t mind using them.”

His eyes darken instantly, hands tightening on your hips. “Is that so?”

You turn back, wiggling your brows, but before you can say another word, he smacks your ass, firm, fast, and just sharp enough to make you gasp.

“Hey!” you laugh, spinning to face him again.

He just grins. “Keep teasing me like that and you’ll find out exactly how serious I am.”

Your heart skips a beat. The air between you goes molten.

You back toward the bed slowly, never breaking eye contact. “Then maybe you should come show me.”

His mouth twitches, trying not to smile, but it’s hopeless. He steps closer, backing you until your knees hit the mattress and you fall back onto it with a little bounce. You pull him down with you, and the next kiss is nothing like the ones before.

It’s heat and hunger and hands everywhere, his fingers tugging your shirt over your head, your hands sliding beneath the hem of his. You’re both stripping off layers, skin meeting skin, the weight of him pressing into you as he settles between your legs. He leaves momentarily to put on protection then returns. 

You gasp into his mouth as his hips settle fully between yours, the heat of him radiating through every place your bodies touch. Seeing him before is nothing compared to the feeling of him against you. His hand slips under the curve of your back, pulling you even closer until there’s not an inch of space left. Kissing him alone has turned you on so much that he slips inside of you easily.

“You feel so good,” he groans against your neck. “So perfect.”

You arch into him, nails dragging along his back. “Don’t stop…”

“I won’t,” he promises, kissing you again—slow and deep, like he’s trying to write it into your bones. “Not tonight.”

The world has narrowed to this bed, this moment and his breath hot against your neck, the rasp of his voice sending shivers down your spine.

“You’re perfect,” he murmurs, his lips brushing your collarbone. The motion of his hips is slow, he is letting you feel every inch without needing to rush. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve been thinking about this? About you?”

Your fingers tangle in his hair as his lips trail down your chest, pausing to look up at you, his eyes darker now, pupils blown wide with heat. He looks down watching himself push in and out of you before he tilts his head back closing his eyes as he relishes in the feel of you. You bite your bottom lip, already hot from the tension strung tight between you. 

“I think about you all the time,” he says, voice low and rough. “The way you laugh. The way you move. That little smirk when you know you’re getting under my skin…”

He thrusts harder and you arch against him involuntarily, and he groans, mouth dragging back up to yours like he can’t stand to be apart for even a second. He feels so good. 

“Hobi,” you whisper, trembling under the weight of everything he’s making you feel. “I want this. I want you.”

His hand slides up your thigh again, slowly, memorizing the way your skin feels under his touch. 

“You have me,” he says simply. “You’ve had me since the first time you looked at me like you saw something more.”

Hoseok sits up gripping your thighs as he quickens the pace of his strokes pulling sweet moans from your lips. His face is full of expressions you’ve never seen before. Facial expressions that are just for you. His hands wander exploring the beautiful curves of your body. 

After several minutes you speak up knowing if you don’t you might not get all that you want. You grip his biceps until he looks into your eyes, halting his motion.

“Please handcuff me to the bed.” 

His expression shifts in an instant. His eyes lock on yours, his jaw tightening a bit.

“Are you sure?” he murmurs, squeezing your thigh absentmindedly. 

You nod, your voice steady. “Please. I trust you.”

His lips curve into something wicked and sweet all at once. Hoseok slips out of you, leaving you with an empty feeling. “Lie back, baby.”

You lie back slowly, heart pounding with anticipation as Hoseok rises from the bed to unclip the handcuffs from the bedpost. The sound of the metal clinking lightly in his hands sends a thrill through your chest. He arranges the pillow around you for support.

He returns to your side, eyes locked on yours with a seriousness that makes your breath catch.

“If anything feels off, you tell me. Right away,” he says, voice low but firm, his fingers brushing your cheek in a way that makes you melt.

You nod, unable to speak just yet, so overwhelmed by the moment, by him. “I will.”

His expression softens just a little. “Good.”

Then his hands are guiding your wrists above your head, the fur-lined cuffs cool against your skin. He fastens them with care, double-checking the fit, and kisses the inside of each wrist as he does.

“You look so good like this,” he murmurs, running a hand down your side, slow and deliberate. “Completely mine.”

You gasp softly, your body arching toward him on instinct, craving more of his touch, his weight, his warmth.

His mouth finds your neck, your collarbone, teeth grazing lightly, followed by a trail of kisses. One hand strokes your hip, the other braced near your shoulder like he’s anchoring you both.

Every look, every movement, is full of reverence but there’s fire in it too, restrained only by his iron self-control. And even though you’re the one restrained, you don’t feel powerless. You feel wanted and craved, adored, devoured by his gaze alone. He ducks between your thighs pushing them against the side of his head for a moment before he licks a bold strip along your folds. Your thighs involuntarily squeeze and he moans against your pussy. 

His tongue flicks your most sensitive area and he holds you down, stopping you from arching off the bed. You tug against the cuff wanting to pull his hair but having no way to do so. Being completely at his will is lighting a fire deep inside you. Hoseok licks, kisses and sucks you like it’s his favorite thing he’s ever done. 

You shift beneath him, trying to get closer, but your arms don’t budge, caught in the gentle hold of the cuffs. The sensation only heightens your need, every touch, every breath shared between you feeling more intense, more intimate.

He slides back up, settling his weight over you, forearms braced on either side of your head. His nose brushes yours as he whispers, “Tell me what you want.”

You part your lips to answer, but he steals the breath from you with another kiss, deep and slow and consuming, leaving you gasping when he finally pulls back.

“Say it,” he urges, voice rough, “and it’s yours.”

“Make me cum with your mouth, please.”

He smiles, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before doing as you so nicely asked. He comes back with a new vigor, letting you arch off the bed into his face. Hoseok lets you rub your pussy across his tongue bringing you to new levels of pleasure that sends a shiver up your spine. He hooks your legs over his shoulders, squeezing your soft ass as he brings you to the brink of an orgasm. Then he chuckles looking up at you. 

“Hoseok! Please, don’t stop!” You beg, batting your eyelashes at him as you struggle against your restraint. Somehow not being able to touch him is making this far more exhilarating. 

He dives back in, lapping his tongue across you until you are shaking and overwhelmed. Once again, he laughs, kissing your thighs before moving beside you. His fingers graze your breasts playing with your nipple for a moment before he sits back against the headboard and unlocks your hands. 

Immediately you grab his face pulling him in for a heated kiss as you straddle him, sinking down onto his waiting cock. You don’t give him a second to get acclimated rolling your hips until you earn the sounds you are so desperate to hear. Hoseok grabs your ass after a few seconds holding on while he finds the right rhythm to fuck into you. 

“You feel so good.” Hoseok mumbles against your chest. 

His lips skim over your chest, slow and deliberate, every kiss sending a jolt of heat spiraling through your core. The steady rhythm of your bodies moving together has you spiraling, the pleasure climbing higher than you ever expected. You’d imagined what it would feel like to be with him, late at night, alone, tangled in sheets, but nothing prepared you for this.

Every movement is purposeful. He reads your body like a language only he understands, every roll of your hips met with a low groan that rumbles in his throat. You use his shoulders for balance, adjusting your angle until you hit that perfect spot that makes your whole body hum. He notices immediately and his breath stutters, his hands tightening on your waist as he murmurs a quiet, “That’s it, just like that.”

Hoseok buries his face against your chest, arms wrapping around you to hold you close. You feel the full strength of him in every motion, every flex of muscle as he drives into you, deep and slow at first, then faster, more urgent. Your hands slide into his hair, desperate to anchor yourself to something, someone, as your breath quickens and your moans fill the air.

“That’s right, baby,” he says between heavy breaths. “You can be as loud as you want here. No one’s around. Just me. Just us.”

When he lifts you slightly, you whimper at the loss, but his eyes are locked on yours, dark and serious in a way that sends your pulse racing. “Turn around.”

You do, your body moving on instinct. Knees sinking into the mattress, you rest your head against the sheets and arch your back, presenting yourself for him without hesitation. It’s bold, it’s vulnerable, but it feels right.

His hands trail down your spine, a gentle graze that makes your breath hitch. Then his fingers slide inside you again, slow, rhythmic strokes that draw soft gasps from your lips, building you up all over again. When he finally presses into you, deeper than before, a shiver runs through your entire body.

The sensation is overwhelming in the best way. This angle hits different. Fuller. More consuming.

“God, you feel…” he doesn’t even finish the sentence, just lets out a deep, unrestrained groan that sets you alight.

“Hoseok,” you moan into the blankets, unable to hold it in. “You feel so good.”

He grips your hips tighter, his rhythm picking up, bodies crashing together in a storm of need and connection. Your breath stutters, your thoughts scatter and in that moment, there’s only this. The heat. The rhythm. The overwhelming sense that something inside you is coming undone, only to be rebuilt by his hands.

The rhythm builds, fast and relentless, until every part of you is burning. Hoseok’s grip on your hips tightens, guiding you back into every deep thrust, your bodies colliding in perfect sync. Your moans mix with his ragged breathing, the sounds echoing in the room like a shared song, raw and unfiltered.

He groans, leaning over you, his chest pressed to your back. His hand slides up your spine, slow and possessive, until he’s got a firm grip in your hair. Not pulling, just holding, grounding you both.

You arch back into him, chasing every spark he’s setting off inside you. “Don’t stop,” you gasp. “Please don’t stop.”

He doesn’t. He buries himself deeper, hips snapping against yours, his mouth finding your shoulder to press kisses between quiet curses. 

Then his hand slides down your stomach, between your thighs, and the way he touches you there, gentle but purposeful, pulls a strangled cry from your lips. “That’s it,” he murmurs in your ear, lips brushing your skin. “Just like that. Let me take care of you.”

The heat coils tighter, pleasure building at a blinding pace. Your whole body trembles as you near the edge, and Hoseok knows, of course he does. He can feel it in the way you tighten around him, in the way your cries get sharper, breathless.

“Come for me,” he whispers. “I’ve got you.”

That’s all it takes.

Your whole body seizes with pleasure, white-hot and all-consuming. You fall apart around him, and he follows, hips faltering as he groans your name against your shoulder, holding you like he never wants to let go.

When it’s over, he wraps his arms around you and pulls you into his chest, both of you still breathless, skin slick with sweat, hearts racing in unison.

Neither of you speaks at first. There’s no need. The silence between you is soft, full, peaceful in a way that makes your chest ache.

Eventually, he presses a lazy kiss to your shoulder and murmurs, “Still think this is just about sex?”

You laugh, quiet and warm, and turn your head to look at him. “Maybe just really amazing sex.”

He grins. “I’ll take it.”

You rest your forehead against his. “And maybe…something more.”

His thumb brushes your cheek, and the way he looks at you then—like you’re the only thing he wants to see—says it all.

The world feels quieter now.

Your bodies are still tangled together, limbs draped without care, his arm a heavy and comforting weight across your waist. Hoseok’s breathing evens out slowly, his chest rising and falling against your back as he presses a lazy kiss to your shoulder, then nestles in closer, like he can’t quite get enough.

“Are you okay?” he murmurs, voice soft and a little hoarse.

You nod, still catching your breath. “More than okay.”

He hums, pleased, and nudges his nose into the curve of your neck. “Good.”

You lie there like that for a while, just existing in the same space, letting the buzz in your veins quiet into something calm. Your fingers trace idle patterns along his forearm, and his thumb strokes your hip under the sheet in a lazy rhythm, like he’s drawing invisible circles of reassurance.

Eventually, you roll onto your side to face him, and he shifts to accommodate you, tucking a hand beneath your cheek and brushing a strand of hair off your forehead. He looks different like this, softer in the warm lamplight, eyes heavy-lidded but shining, a little smile tugging at his lips.

“You always this cuddly after?” you tease, voice light.

He chuckles, nudging your nose with his. “Only with you.”

That makes your heart flutter. You glance down at your fingers curled against his chest, at the way his hand rests so easily on your hip. It feels like something sacred, like maybe this isn’t just a fling or a few stolen nights. It feels like something you might be able to hold onto.

“I like this,” you say quietly. “Just…us.”

His smile grows, slow and tender. “Me too.”

You nuzzle into his chest, his heartbeat steady beneath your ear. He pulls the blanket up around you both and hooks a leg around yours like he’s trying to cocoon you in. It’s safe here. It’s simple.

And as your eyes begin to flutter shut, you feel his lips press one last kiss to your temple. “Sleep, baby. I’ve got you.”

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

You wake slowly, the golden morning light spilling in through the curtains. Everything smells faintly of sunshine and sleep, warm skin, fresh sheets, and something delicious drifting in from the kitchen.

You stretch, a little sore in the best way, and sit up just as the bedroom door nudges open. Hoseok walks in with a tray balanced in his hands, wearing nothing but a pair of soft grey sweats that hang low on his hips and a boyish grin.

“Morning, beautiful,” he says, setting the tray on the bed. “I didn’t know your exact coffee order, so I made three different kinds just in case.”

You blink at the mugs, the little stack of pancakes, and the cut-up fruit that looks suspiciously like he arranged it by color. “You’re insane.”

He just laughs and leans over to kiss your forehead. “I’m thorough.”

You giggle and pull him onto the bed beside you, letting your legs tangle beneath the sheets again. He feeds you a strawberry with a dramatic flourish, and you nearly snort your coffee laughing when he pretends to swoon from how cute you are.

“Berry, berry, strawberry.”

You shift the tray so it’s balanced more securely between you and Hoseok, legs tucked beneath the blankets, his thigh pressed warm against yours. He hands you a fork with a little flourish and a wink, like he's your personal chef instead of the global superstar you watched dance under stadium lights just days ago.

“Try that one,” he says, gesturing to the fluffiest stack of pancakes you’ve ever seen. “I added cinnamon and a little nutmeg. Might’ve gone a bit wild.”

You take a bite, still a little dazed by how natural this all feels. “It’s actually insane how good you are at this.”

He raises an eyebrow, grinning. “Cooking?”

“Being perfect,” you mutter around a mouthful of syrupy heaven, cheeks heating slightly.

That makes him laugh, low and warm, and he leans in to kiss the corner of your lips, syrup and all. It’s sweet in every sense. You melt into him a little, like butter under sunlight, your body still buzzing from last night but your heart stealing the show.

Hoseok’s hand slides under the blanket to find your thigh, fingers drawing gentle circles as he rests his head back against the headboard. He closes his eyes, smiling like he’s finally at peace.

“This,” he murmurs, “feels dangerous.”

You glance at him, startled. “Dangerous?”

He opens one eye and looks at you. “Yeah. Like...if I let myself want this too much, I won’t ever want to let it go.”

Your breath catches. The fork stills in your hand.

“Hobi…”

He turns toward you fully now, sitting cross-legged on the bed. The tray gets pushed aside, forgotten for the moment. His eyes are soft but steady, locked on yours.

“I know this started fast. Intense,” he says. “But I don’t want it to be temporary. Not if you don’t.”

The room goes still except for the birds outside and the hum of your own heartbeat.

“I don’t either,” you admit, voice barely a whisper. “I don’t know what it looks like, but…I want more mornings like this. More of you.”

Hoseok reaches up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, the backs of his fingers brushing your cheek. “Then we’ll make it happen. One quiet, messy, beautiful morning at a time.”

Later you're curled into Hoseok’s side on the couch, your legs tangled together beneath the throw blanket, the quiet hum of the movie long forgotten. At some point, you remember your phone’s been face-down on the coffee table since you arrived and curiosity wins. You reach for it and unlock the screen.

Three missed messages from Yunjin.

Yunjin: how’s everything with your “cousin” soobin 👀 did you guys go hiking? or were you too “tired” from traveling 🤭 also, me rn (attached is a selfie—she’s glowing, with a flirty pout and a peace sign, captioned: “bored and pretty”)

You stifle a laugh, nudging your phone closer to your chest so Hoseok can’t see. “Yunjin thinks I’m visiting my cousin Soobin.”

Hoseok smirks. “Oh, right. Soobin. What a cool guy. Bet he doesn't kiss you like I do.”

You elbow him lightly, trying not to smile too wide. “Gross.”

“I’m just saying.” He leans in to press a kiss just below your ear. “You’re not fooling anyone. You look way too happy to be hanging with your cousin.”

Before you can tease him back, his phone buzzes on the table. It’s lighting up with an incoming video call: Jungkook.

Hoseok’s whole face brightens as he reaches for it. “Jungkookie!”

He answers immediately, barely giving you time to sit up a little straighter.

Jungkook’s face fills the screen with short hair, a bit flushed, military uniform visible. “HYUNG!” he yells. “Did you tell that dancer you have a crush on that you like her?”

The sound is loud enough for you to hear it crystal clear.

You freeze, mouth slightly open, and slowly turn to look at Hoseok.

He pauses for a beat, then, very calmly, tips the phone so Jungkook can see you sitting beside him.

Jungkook blinks.

Then he grins. “OOOOOH. NO WAY.”

Hoseok groans and scrubs a hand over his face. “Jungkook, why are you like this?”

“I’m just saying!” Jungkook’s practically bouncing in the frame. “You wouldn’t shut up about her after Mexico City. I was starting to think you were gonna write a love letter like it’s 2010 or something.”

You cover your mouth, giggling behind your hand. “This is kind of adorable.”

Jungkook gasps, beaming. “SHE’S COOL TOO?! Hyung, marry her.”

“Bye,” Hoseok says flatly, and hangs up with one dramatic tap.

You both burst out laughing, the tension melting away in an instant.

“So,” you say, poking at him with a smirk. “You have a crush on me?”

He turns to you, eyes soft but playful. “I think that part’s pretty obvious now.”

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

The rest of your time at the rental house slips by like a dream, lazy mornings tangled in warm sheets, late nights filled with laughter, movies you barely finish, and takeout eaten cross-legged on the couch. You cook a few meals together, make a mess in the kitchen, steal kisses between stirring and seasoning, and somehow everything tastes better just because it’s shared.

There are countless kisses, some slow and sleepy, others heated and desperate, and sex that leaves you both breathless and grinning, limbs aching in the best way. But it’s not just the physical closeness. It’s the way Hoseok watches you when you talk, the way he pulls you into his chest during quiet moments, the way you catch yourselves smiling for no reason.

It’s comfort. It’s connection. It’s something neither of you say aloud, but it pulses between you like a secret song.

When it’s finally time to pack up and head to the hotel in Oakland, the mood shifts. You don’t want to let go of this version of yourselves. The one that exists only here, in this quiet, hidden place.

As the car pulls away, Hoseok reaches for your hand and holds it tightly, even though you both know that once you step into the hotel, the rest of the world comes rushing back in. And for now, neither of you says a word about it. You just sit there, fingers intertwined, pretending you can stretch the moment a little longer.

By the time the car pulls up to the hotel, the weight of reality settles in. Hoseok gives your hand one final squeeze before letting go, and you both wordlessly fall into your roles again.

To avoid suspicion, you head out first, slipping through the lobby with your hoodie up and sunglasses on, acting like you just got back from a walk or an errand. Hoseok stays behind to give it some time, knowing he’ll follow later through a different entrance. The shift back into secrecy is jarring. It feels colder somehow, even though the air hasn’t changed.

When you reach your room and push open the door, Yunjin is already inside, sprawled across your bed with a big bottle of iced tea and her phone in hand. The second she sees you, she bolts upright.

“There you are! Oh my god, I’ve been texting you! I thought you got kidnapped or something,” she blurts. “So? How’s Soobin?” She puts extra emphasis on the name, waggling her brows. “And what do you mean you ‘might be off-grid for a bit’? Spill!”

You force a laugh, heading toward your suitcase like you’re just tired. “It was fine,” you say casually. “I’m just exhausted, that’s all.”

But Yunjin is sharp, and you know she won’t be satisfied with vague answers for long.

You start changing into something more comfortable, peeling off your top facing her, and that’s when it happens.

“Hold up.” Her voice cuts through the air like a blade. “What is that?”

You freeze.

“What?” you ask, like you don’t know exactly what she’s talking about.

“That,” she repeats, hopping off the bed and pointing toward your chest. “On your boob! Is that a—ew, is that a hickey?!”

Your eyes widen, and you instinctively cover the mark with your hand, spinning back around. “Yunjin—”

“Wait, wait, wait,” she says, holding up her hands dramatically. “You said you were with Soobin. Your cousin. So how the hell did you end up with a love bite there?!” She squints, then fake-gags. “Oh my god, please tell me you’re not—”

“I wasn’t with Soobin,” you cut in, laughing awkwardly. “Okay? I wasn’t.”

She pauses, staring at you like she’s trying to read the truth straight off your skin. “Then where were you? And who the hell gave you that?”

You hesitate, mouth opening, then closing again.

Yunjin sighs dramatically. “Oh my god, this is so juicy and you’re not telling me anything! You’re killing me!”

You flop onto the bed with a groan, covering your face with a pillow. “I can’t tell you right now.”

She flops beside you, grinning like a cat who just caught a bird. “So you are going to tell me. Just not now.”

“Maybe.” You peek at her from under the pillow, giving her a weak smile. “I’ll let you know when I can.” 

She squeals, kicking her feet. “This is so much better than your cousin. I knew something was up. I can’t believe I missed it. But whoever it is…that hickey? Respect.”

You groan again, but you're smiling. Just a little.

Because even with all the chaos, it feels good to be back and to know someone’s still in your corner, even if she doesn’t know the whole truth yet.

Rehearsal at Oakland Arena is intense, but in a good way.

The crew is buzzing with energy, eager to polish every step before showtime. Everyone’s focused, and for the first time in a while, it feels like the entire cast is moving in sync. No drama. No tension. Just the music and the movement.

Well…mostly.

Because Hoseok is different.

Not just in his dancing, which is, as always, razor-sharp and fluid, but in the way he carries himself. There’s a new lightness in him, a softened edge, as though something inside has clicked into place. He’s smiling more. Laughing more. Cracking inside jokes with backup dancers and playfully ribbing the choreographer like he’s got a secret no one else knows.

Everyone notices. You notice most of all.

And it’s torture.

You’re back to being professional, back to pretending your skin doesn’t burn every time he brushes past you. There’s no more lounging on couches or sneaking kisses in the kitchen. You can’t reach for his hand or fall asleep tangled together anymore. Now it’s just side glances and stolen seconds.

During your duet, his hand lingers at your waist just a heartbeat longer than necessary, just long enough to make your breath catch. No one comments on it, but you swear the moment is loaded with all the things you’re not allowed to say anymore.

You catch Hoseok watching you a few times throughout the run-through, his eyes soft and full of something that looks an awful lot like longing. But every time, he looks away before it becomes too obvious.

It doesn’t help that Yunjin’s watching you like a hawk either.

You don’t think she suspects the full truth, but she’s putting pieces together, closer with each passing hour. 

Still, not everything is hard. Surprisingly, the mood backstage has shifted since Mina’s departure. There’s a lot less walking on eggshells, and the clique that used to trail after her now floats around with a different energy. It’s more open. Warmer.

After a water break, two of the girls, Eunchae and Yoonchae, pull you aside near the back hallway.

“Hey,” Eunchae says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “We, uh…wanted to say something.”

You raise an eyebrow, unsure where this is going.

“We were kind of—” Yoonchae starts, then sighs. “No, we were total jerks before and it wasn’t cool.”

Eunchae nods. “Mina had a way of…influencing people. But that’s not an excuse.”

You’re too stunned to speak at first.

“We just wanted to say sorry,” Yoonchae finishes. “You didn’t deserve that. And honestly…we’re glad you stayed. You’re killing it out there.”

You blink, caught off guard by the sincerity in their voices. “Thanks,” you say slowly. “That means a lot.”

The two girls smile and retreat back to their spots, leaving you standing there with a mix of surprise and cautious relief blooming in your chest.

You glance across the stage where Hoseok’s already looking at you. He smiles softly, and for just a second, it feels like you’re both back in that rental house again. Untouched by the outside world.

After the rehearsal wraps up, Hoseok pulls you aside, his hand brushing lightly against your arm as he leans in with a quiet urgency. "Meet me in my room after Yunjin falls asleep," he murmurs, his voice low enough that only you can hear. There's an unmistakable intensity in his eyes, a silent promise that makes your pulse quicken. "I’ll wait for you."

You nod, your mind racing as you try to focus on the rest of the night. You’ve always had a knack for keeping things under control, but right now, everything feels a little more thrilling. The quiet anticipation in the air is enough to make your heart race in your chest. You can’t deny the pull between you two, even if it’s something neither of you has fully explored yet.

Once rehearsal is over, you head out with the rest of the dancers, keeping it casual as you chat and laugh with them. Dinner is fun, the laughter light, but your thoughts are always drifting back to Hoseok. You eat your fill, savoring the food, but it’s hard to ignore the excitement bubbling under your skin.

Later, after you've said your goodbyes and made your way back to the hotel, you slip into the bathroom for a long, calming shower. The warm water helps soothe the tension that’s built up in your muscles, but it’s not enough to wash away the anticipation. As the steam fills the bathroom, you quickly dry off, then slip into your cutest pajamas, something comfy but still just a little bit sexy.

Feeling a playful thrill, you send Hoseok a cheeky picture of yourself in your pajamas, sending a playful wink his way. It’s a small gesture, but it feels like a promise, a silent communication between the two of you.

His reply comes quickly: "Can't wait to see you."

Hoseok answers the door in a plush white robe, the soft fabric framing his collarbones and falling open just enough to tease bare skin underneath. His eyes light up the second he sees you, and before you can say a word, he pulls you inside, shutting and locking the door behind you in one swift motion.

The second the latch clicks into place, you’re against the door with his hands on your waist, his mouth finding yours like he’s been holding his breath all day just waiting for this moment. The kiss is hungry, messy, full of days of restraint unraveling all at once. His hands slide under your shirt as his lips move with purpose, like he’s trying to make up for every second he has to pretend like you are just another dancer on stage.

“I missed you,” he whispers when he finally pulls back for air, his voice husky and low against your lips.

Your breath catches, heart thudding in your chest. “We were just together this morning,” you say with a laugh, fingers curling into the collar of his robe.

He smirks, brushing his nose against yours. “Doesn’t matter. The second you walked away, I missed you. It’s pathetic.”

You’re about to tell him it’s not that you feel the same way, but he keeps going, his words tumbling out like he can’t stop them now.

“You have no idea how hard it was, watching you today and not being able to touch you. Not being able to kiss you or pull you into my lap between rehearsals. I can be professional, yeah,” he says, sliding a hand up your spine, “but that doesn’t mean I wasn’t thinking about you the entire time.”

The intensity in his gaze makes your knees weak. “What were you thinking about?” you ask, voice quiet, teasing.

A groan rumbles in his chest as he presses you harder into the door. “The way you looked in rehearsal. The way you moved with me. That moment during the duet when you smiled at me like you forgot the whole world existed. I wanted to kiss you right then and there.”

His hands grip your hips, guiding you back toward the bed, step by step, never breaking eye contact. “But I didn’t. Because I know how to behave,” he adds with a grin, leaning in to kiss along your jaw. “Even if every part of me was screaming not to.”

Your heart races as you reach for the belt of his robe, tugging gently. “What about now?”

“Now?” he repeats, voice low and rough. “Now, I don’t have to behave at all.”

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Every night, without fail, the two of you find your way back to each other. Whether it's slipping out after lights-out or sneaking past quiet hallways, you always end up wrapped in one another—sharing beautiful, sensual moments that leave you breathless. But it's not just physical. You talk for hours, learning the little things that make each other tick, the stories that shaped you, the hopes you’re almost too shy to say out loud.

During the day, it’s all professionalism and poise, but backstage and in quiet corners, you find ways to talk more, flirty words exchanged in passing, small touches behind curtains, kisses stolen in locked rooms when no one’s looking. It’s fun, it’s thrilling, and it’s yours. And through it all, you and Hoseok are happier than you’ve been in a long time.

After the final tour stop in LA, everyone celebrates together, the energy electric and hearts full. The night stretches into the early hours of the morning, laughter spilling out of rooms and echoing down hallways. When it’s finally just the two of you again, you end up in his hotel room, tipsy and glowing.

You dance around the room, music low and lights soft, your movements loose and joyful. Hoseok twirls you clumsily, both of you laughing until you fall into each other’s arms, dizzy with wine and everything you feel. 

His arms wrap tightly around you as you stumble into him, your laughter caught between your lips as Hoseok’s mouth finds yours. The kiss is deep and unhurried, a slow burn that says everything words can’t. He kisses you like he’s memorizing the way you taste, like he doesn’t want the night to end.

Your hands wander instinctively, fingers weaving into his hair, tugging him even closer. The music hums in the background, something mellow and dreamy, but all you can hear is the sound of your breath mingling with his, the low rumble of his voice when he whispers your name between kisses.

“God, I missed this,” he murmurs against your lips. “Even when you’re right there…I miss having you like this.”

Your heart flips at the confession, raw and real. You press your forehead to his, nodding, too caught up in the heat between you to form a proper reply. Your hands slide beneath the hem of his shirt, warm skin meeting yours. He helps you pull it over his head in one smooth motion before lifting you off the floor, carrying you toward the bed with ease.

You giggle against his neck, pressing playful kisses along his jaw until he lays you down gently, hovering above you, eyes dark with adoration. His fingers trace slow patterns down your sides, lingering where your skin is most sensitive. Every touch is intentional, teasing, like he’s savoring every second.

“I really care about you,” he says softly, cupping your cheek. “So much.”

You bite your lip, warmth blooming in your chest as you look up at him. “I care about you too,” you whisper back, letting your hands roam down his back, grounding yourself in the moment.

He kisses you again, slower this time, like the words you just exchanged have shifted something between you. There's nothing rushed about the way his lips move against yours, the way his hand cradles your face like you're something precious.

Your legs wrap around his waist instinctively, your bodies aligning with practiced ease. The air between you thickens, charged with everything you’ve both been holding back in public, all those moments stolen behind locked doors. His skin is warm beneath your fingertips, his breath hitching when your nails lightly trail along his spine.

“You drive me crazy,” he breathes, voice low and wrecked, brushing his nose against yours. “In rehearsals, on stage, backstage, every time I see you and can’t touch you, it makes me want you even more.”

His words light you up from the inside out. You arch up to meet him, lips brushing the shell of his ear as you whisper, “Then touch me now.”

He doesn’t hesitate.

His hands move over you slowly, like he’s trying to map every curve, every sigh. He slips your pajama top over your head, tossing it aside before pausing, eyes roving over you with quiet reverence. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, and it sends a rush of heat straight through you.

The next kiss is all heat, more urgent, more needy, teeth grazing lips and breath mingling in shared gasps. You lose yourselves in each other, in the slow grind of hips and the friction that makes you both tremble. Every touch stokes the fire between you, building the tension higher and higher.

But even in the heat of it all, there’s a tenderness underneath, fingers tangled, foreheads pressed together, eyes locked as though nothing else exists. He slows, pressing a kiss just beneath your jaw, then to your collarbone, then your shoulder. His voice is barely above a whisper when he finally says, “I think I’m falling in love with you.”

The world quiets.

You blink up at him, heart thudding. Your hand finds his cheek, thumb brushing over his skin as you whisper, “I think I already have.”

He exhales a shaky laugh, full of disbelief and something like wonder. And then he kisses you like he’s saying it again with his mouth, his hands, his whole body.

For a long moment, the only sound is the soft flutter of your combined breaths, as if the world outside has faded into a distant memory. Then, as if drawn by an unspoken promise, you both smile a soft, soulful smile filled with the secret of this precious night.

Slowly, you shift closer, your arms wrapping around him as he holds you even tighter. The heat between you transforms into a quiet, radiant glow that neither time nor distance can dim. There are no promises made aloud, no declarations to the rest of the world just the two of you, sharing a sacred space where passion meets tenderness.

In that moment, everything becomes clear: despite the miles, the rehearsals, and even the challenges of living two lives on stage and off, this connection is real. Unspoken yet undeniable, it’s the start of a love that feels both unexpected and perfectly meant to be.

[lookingforhobi]

Title: Suck It Part 2

Pairing: Reader/Jung Hoseok

Summary: What starts as lingering glances and offhand touches turns into something neither of you can ignore. You're not supposed to fall for someone on tour, especially not him. But between stolen moments and rising tension, it's only a matter of time before everything changes.

Word Count: 18.7k

Part 1

 You leave the next morning and fly straight to San Antonio. You link up with the rest of the dancers at the hotel, and Yunjin is as bubbly as ever, telling you about her friend’s dog and the late-night tacos they found near their place.

It’s almost comforting, how normal everything seems.

Until show day.

You spot Hoseok again in the chaos of the arena. His hair is done, outfit already set for act one. He’s standing across the room when you walk in, adjusting an earpiece. For a second, you think maybe, just maybe, he’ll say something.

But he doesn’t. He doesn’t even look at you.

Backstage buzzes with pre-show energy, and no one seems to notice the space between you. You smile when you’re supposed to. Laugh when someone tells a dumb joke, but your stomach churns every time he walks by without a word.

And when it’s time for your duet, the difference is impossible to ignore.

Your bodies move in perfect sync, like they always have, but something’s shifted. There's no eye contact. No spark. Just precise movement and silence. It’s technically flawless, maybe even breathtaking, but it feels hollow. Like a beautiful shell with the soul scooped out.

The crowd doesn’t notice. They scream just the same. But you do, and when the lights go down and the applause echoes, it’s not adrenaline you’re feeling.

It’s heartbreak.

You’re backstage, towel pressed to your neck, still catching your breath from the final number. Everyone around you is glowing with cheeks flushed, laughing, buzzing from the high of another successful show.

But you feel…muted.

You walk through the corridors of the arena with your head down, avoiding the spot where you and Hoseok usually high-five after the duet. He’s not there anyway. You’re not sure he even waited. Maybe he slipped away as soon as the curtain closed.

In the dressing room, you sit on the floor near your bag, trying to convince yourself that you're being dramatic. It was just a kiss. One kiss. People kiss all the time. People make mistakes all the time. It shouldn’t be this heavy. But the problem is, it didn’t feel like a mistake. Not when it was happening.

You close your eyes, forehead pressing against your knees, and you can still feel the warmth of his hand on your back. The way he tilted your chin. The breath you both shared just before everything tilted into something electric.

It was real. You know it was real.

His hand had trembled. Just slightly. You hadn’t imagined that.

And the things he said, you're so pretty, and funny, and smart, those hadn’t felt like some throwaway excuse. They’d felt honest. Emotional. Like they’d been building up in him for a while and just finally cracked the surface.

You sigh. Hard. Maybe it’s stupid. Maybe you are just another dancer to him. Maybe he panicked and backpedaled because he realized he’d crossed a line. But then why look at you like that? Why kiss you like he didn’t want it to end?

You blink quickly, throat tightening as you hear laughter echo down the hallway from the others.

You’re not new to crushes. You’ve had your share of infatuations. But this…this is different. It feels different. It felt like something blooming, and now it's just silence.

You whisper to yourself, “God, I’m so stupid.”

But deep down, a voice you can't silence murmurs, No. You’re not. Because that kiss meant something.

A security guard appears in the hallway just as you're zipping up your warmup jacket. You're still reeling from the performance which was technically solid, but emotionally dull. Something’s missing, or rather, someone.

“Come with me,” the guard says, voice low.

You frown, confused, especially when the rest of the dancers glance your way with subtle side-eyes. You feel the heat of their curiosity even after you fall into step behind the guard. You open your mouth to ask where you're going, but he doesn’t answer until you’re a good distance away from the others.

“Hoseok’s dressing room,” he finally says under his breath.

Your heart trips over itself. You don’t say anything, just nod and try to keep your face neutral, though your thoughts are anything but. Is he going to pretend the kiss never happened again? Is this damage control?

The security guard knocks twice and then opens the door, gesturing you in. Hoseok is already inside. He’s alone, sitting on a couch, bent over with his elbows on his knees and his hands tangled in his hair. He looks up when you enter, eyes bloodshot and heavy, like he hasn’t slept.

He stands quickly. “Thanks,” he mutters to the guard, who nods once and pulls the door shut behind you.

Silence stretches, tense and uncertain. You stand there awkwardly, trying to read his expression. He’s not smiling. He’s not even looking directly at you.

“I’m sorry,” he says finally, voice rough. “For kissing you.”

You flinch. That stings more than it should.

But then he adds, “Kissing you was not a mistake. But it was inappropriate.”

You blink at him, mouth slightly open.

He runs a hand through his hair again. “I wanted to kiss you. God, I wanted to—but I shouldn’t have. Not with the power dynamics. Not when we were both a little buzzed. I’m your boss, and that was out of line. Especially in the middle of a tour.”

You stare at him, stunned. Not just by the words, but by how much it seems to be tearing him up.

“That’s it?” you say softly. “You wanted to kiss me, but now it’s just…what, buried?”

“I don’t want this to affect the rest of the tour,” he says, voice gentle now, almost pleading. His eyebrows are knitted together. “You’ve worked too hard. I’ve worked too hard. We can’t let a kiss throw all of that off course.”

Your chest tightens. “But it wasn’t just a kiss. It meant something. At least…it did to me.”

His face twists like that hurts him, and you keep going before you lose your nerve.

“I wanted to kiss you too, Hoseok. That wasn’t just you getting carried away. That kiss…it made me feel something I haven’t felt in a really long time. It made me feel good. Alive.” You step forward. “And I want to do it again.”

He looks like he’s caught between wanting to bolt and wanting to reach for you.

And then you add, voice a whisper, “Do you?”

His lips part like he’s about to argue again. “That doesn’t make it right. Just because we both wanted it doesn’t mean—” He stops short when you slowly cross the room and sit beside him on the couch.

Close, but not quite touching.

He turns his head toward you, and you see the war in his eyes. The way his jaw tightens like he’s trying to hold the boundary in place with sheer willpower. But you also see the hesitation crack under the weight of how much he wants to just give in.

He tries again, quieter this time, like he’s trying to convince himself as much as you. “I’m supposed to set an example. There’s a line—”

You tilt your head and meet his gaze. “I think you’ve been setting one. You’ve been kind. You’ve been professional. You’ve taken care to make sure I’m comfortable. Even when I was bleeding under my costume.”

He swallows hard at that.

“I’m not asking for anything dramatic,” you say. “I’m just saying…you kissed me, I kissed you back, and neither of us regretted it. That doesn’t have to ruin everything.”

Hoseok exhales shakily and looks down at his hands, like he’s trying to anchor himself.

“I’m terrified,” he murmurs.

You blink. “Of what?”

He finally looks up again, voice barely above a whisper. “That I already care more than I should.”

Your breath catches.

There’s silence for a moment as your heart thuds so loudly you’re sure he can hear it. Then, slowly, gently, you reach over and cover his hand with yours. Neither of you speaks. He doesn't pull away, and you can feel the exact second he stops resisting the pull between you.

He turns his hand over and threads his fingers through yours.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

The green room is buzzing with the usual pre-show energy, laughter, final stretches, a couple dancers running counts in the mirror. You’re finishing your warmup near the benches, tying the last lace on your sneakers when it happens.

Mina walks by, just close enough to catch your foot with hers. You stumble forward with a sharp gasp and catch yourself on your hands, the thud of your body hitting the floor cutting through the noise in the room.

Everything goes quiet for a beat. People freeze mid-stretch, mid-laugh.

Then Mina has the audacity to scoff. “God, you’re such a klutz,” she says, loud enough for everyone to hear. “Still not sure how you ended up on this team.”

You push yourself up slowly, heart pounding. Not from the fall, but from the humiliation blooming hot and fast under your skin, but before you can say anything, a low voice cuts through the room like a blade.

“Mina,” Hoseok says.

Everyone turns.

He’s standing by the door with a water bottle in one hand, his jaw locked tight, eyes burning. There’s a tense silence as he walks into the room, the shift in energy is immediately charged.

“I’ve overlooked your attitude for weeks because I wanted to believe you could rise to the occasion,” he says, his tone cool, measured, but unmistakably angry. “But this?” He gestures slightly toward where you’re still crouched on the floor. “I saw you. You tripped her on purpose. Just like I know you’re the one who dug your nails into her during the Mexico City show.”

Mina opens her mouth, probably to deny it, but he doesn’t give her the chance.

“I’m not interested in excuses,” he says, now fully standing between the two of you, shielding you without even touching you. “This isn’t just unprofessional. It’s dangerous. You could’ve seriously injured another member of this team.”

There’s a sharp inhale from someone nearby, and Mina’s face drains of color.

“If you think getting her out of the way would earn you the duet, you’re wrong,” Hoseok continues, voice hard. “Even if she were gone, you wouldn’t be next. You are not talented enough to be acting like this.”

The silence is deafening.

“Please leave,” he says. “And pack your things.”

Mina stares at him, stunned, her face flashing through disbelief, anger, then something that almost looks like embarrassment. She waits for someone, anyone, to step in on her behalf.

No one does. Finally, she huffs and storms out, slamming the door behind her. The green room stays quiet for a long beat. You don’t realize you’re holding your breath until Hoseok looks down at you, expression softening instantly. He crouches beside you, voice much quieter now.

“You okay?” he asks, gently.

You nod, slowly. Still stunned. Still reeling. But okay.

And maybe, for the first time in a long time, you feel safe.

The show that night feels like flight.

From the second the lights dim and the roar of the crowd rolls through the arena like a wave, something inside you unknots. You aren’t looking over your shoulder. You’re not bracing yourself for a stray elbow or a bruising grip disguised as part of the routine. You don’t have to shrink yourself to avoid drama, you just get to dance.

The stage is yours.

Every movement flows smoother than it ever has, like your body finally trusts the space it occupies. The dancers move together in tight synchronicity, and for once, no one’s energy is off. No side-eyes. No petty tension dragging things down. Just pure rhythm and trust.

When the crowd screams during your first formation, your pulse spikes with something electric, not anxiety, not dread, joy. You smile without thinking, and when you glance at Yunjin, she grins back like hell yeah. You feed off that, let it power you.

By the time you hit the duet, you're flying.

The opening notes cue in, and Hoseok appears beside you in the wings. Just his presence is enough to ground you and set your blood humming. He gives you the briefest glance, not quite a smile, but something almost more intimate. Like a promise.

You take the stage together, and it’s magic.

No missed beats. No second-guessing. Every touch, every shift in weight, every perfectly-timed breath is effortless. When he spins you and catches you again, his hand rests just below your ribs, close to where the wounds once were but not close enough to hurt. Just enough to feel. The crowd eats it up. The screams swell louder with every pass and lift, the flashing lights painting the moment in glittering gold. It’s not just that the show is good, it’s that you feel alive. Untethered and whole.

When the final pose hits and the lights cut to black, you’re breathing hard, grinning through the sweat, your chest heaving. Hoseok’s palm is still pressed against your back, steadying you. You don’t even look at him, but the warmth of his hand is enough.

The crowd roars.

And for the first time since the tour began, you know exactly who you are up there, you, not someone tiptoeing around someone else’s bitterness. Just a dancer. Just you.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

The hotel room is quiet except for the soft shuffle of Yunjin rifling through her suitcase. She’s dressed to the nines in heels, leather pants, glitter along her cheekbones. She looks incredible and she knows it.

"You’re seriously not coming?" she asks, turning to face you with one hand on her hip. "We just got rid of the drama queen. You’re telling me you don’t want to celebrate a little?”

You laugh, flopping back onto the bed with an exaggerated groan. “Yunjin, my feet are screaming. I just want to sit in silence, drink water, and maybe cry about how good that show felt.”

She sighs dramatically. “Fine. But you owe me tomorrow night. I expect glitter, heels, and tequila.”

“I promise,” you say, holding up a tired pinky. “Have fun tonight, though. Be chaotic in my honor.”

She grabs her purse, gives you an air kiss, and heads out the door, calling, “Don’t fall asleep in your makeup again!”

You're halfway through digging through your bag, looking for your charger, maybe a snack, who knows, when you see it: a folded square of paper tucked between your spare hair ties and a travel-sized lint roller.

It’s his handwriting. You’d recognize it anywhere after seeing him scribble choreography notes a hundred times.

Text me sometime. - H. xxx-xxx-xxxx

Your heart skips like a scratched CD.

For a few seconds, you just stare at it. Then, with a deep breath and fingers that don't feel entirely your own, you type out a message.

you: hey. it’s me, yn.

The read receipt pops up immediately. Then the typing bubble. Then—

hoseok: hey you wanna come over?

You blink. Your stomach flips.

Your thumbs hover over your screen as you glance toward the door, waiting to make sure Yunjin is really gone. You give it a few minutes just in case she forgot something.

Only after the silence stretches long and certain do you type out:

you: yeah. give me 15

Fifteen minutes of chaos ensue. You brush your hair, freshen up your face, change into something casual but…strategic. A thin tank top that hugs your curves and soft short shorts that ride just a little higher than necessary. You swap out your regular underwear for the nice pair. Not lingerie, but close enough. You glance in the mirror. Presentable. Chill. Not trying too hard.

Totally trying hard.

Your heart pounds the entire walk to his room. When you knock, there’s a beat of silence, and then the door swings open. Hoseok stands there in nothing but a hotel robe, collarbone still glistening. His eyes widen slightly when he sees you, flicking down your frame and back up again.

"Hey," he says, soft and slightly breathless, like maybe he wasn’t expecting you to actually show.

Your breath catches.

“Hey,” you say back, trying not to stare.

Then he steps aside, holding the door open a little wider. “Come in.”

You step inside and let the door shut softly behind you, the click oddly loud in the quiet. Hoseok’s room is warm, quiet, and carries the faint scent of his cologne and whatever fabric softener the hotel uses. 

He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, the hotel robe tied loosely at his waist, revealing a smooth stretch of his collarbone and just a hint of his chest. His hair is damp, like he’s recently showered, and it curls slightly at the ends. The lighting is soft, gold and low, the bedside lamp casting gentle shadows over his features.

You step inside and let the door shut softly behind you, the click oddly loud in the quiet. Hoseok’s room is warm, quiet, and carries the faint scent of his cologne and whatever fabric softener the hotel uses. He’s sitting on the edge of the bed, the hotel robe tied loosely at his waist, revealing a smooth stretch of his collarbone and just a hint of his chest. His hair is damp, like he’s recently showered, and it curls slightly at the ends. The lighting is soft, gold and low, the bedside lamp casting gentle shadows over his features.

“I wasn’t sure you’d find the note,” he says, his voice barely above a murmur, like he's not sure if this moment is real. “I felt silly writing it. Kept rewriting the same line, over and over.”

You smile, stepping forward with the easy confidence of someone who’s nervous but determined not to show it. “Of course I found it. You have very recognizable handwriting.” You pause, giving him a once-over, your gaze deliberately slow and teasing. “And I mean…I couldn’t just ignore a personal invitation from someone who looks this good in a bathrobe.”

That earns a soft laugh from him, his eyes crinkling a little at the corners. But then his expression softens, the amusement fading into something a little more vulnerable. “You’re beautiful,” he says, and it feels like more than just a compliment. It lands somewhere deeper. “I’ve been trying not to say that all tour.”

He reaches out and takes your hand, his fingers warm against yours. When you let him guide you, he pulls you gently between his legs, his knees parting so you’re standing right in front of him. The height difference is stark like this, and he tilts his head slightly to look up at you, his eyes tracing your face, your lips, the line of your neck.

For a moment, he just rests his hands on your waist, thumbs brushing along the hem of your tank top, like he’s grounding himself. Then slowly, with almost reverent intent, he leans in and presses his lips to yours.

The kiss is soft at first, exploratory. His mouth moves against yours like a question, like he’s giving you every chance to pull away, but you don’t. Instead, your hands settle on his shoulders, and you press in closer.

He exhales through his nose, deepening the kiss, one of his hands sliding up your spine and the other resting at the small of your back, fingers splayed wide. He pulls you in until your hips are flush against his legs, and the robe parts slightly where your thighs meet his knees. His hand trails down from your spine, skimming the soft fabric of your shorts before curving around to rest again at your waist.

Your body responds instinctively. Melting into him, craving the warmth of his skin, the way his lips shift between gentle and hungry. His other hand leaves your back to tuck a few strands of your hair behind your ear, fingertips brushing your cheek in a way that makes your stomach tighten.

He breaks the kiss only to mouth along your jaw, then down to your neck, and the soft sounds you let out seem to spur him on. But still, it’s unhurried like he’s taking his time, like he wants to memorize you.

“God, you feel so good,” he breathes against your collarbone, his voice hoarse and low. “I’ve wanted this for longer than I should admit.”

Your fingers curl into the loose fabric of his robe, pulling him closer, and he responds immediately, one arm wrapping firmly around your waist, the other sliding under your tank top, his hand warm against your skin, splayed out over your back like he’s trying to hold you in place. You feel him press a kiss just below your ear, then rests his forehead against yours.

When he kisses you again his lips move against yours with slow, deliberate care, but there's a quiet urgency beneath it, too like he’s been holding back for too long and now that he has you here, he doesn’t want to waste a second. You melt into the kiss, fingers curling loosely around the collar of his robe, and when your bodies touch more fully, there’s an electric awareness that crackles just beneath your skin.

His hands trace the curve of your waist, a path he’s followed before on stage, adjusting you during a lift, steadying you mid-turn. But here in the hush of the room, without choreography or lights or a thousand watching eyes, the same touch feels charged. Possessive, even. There’s no need to act like it means nothing anymore.

You gasp softly when his thumb brushes the edge of your shorts, his hand skimming the bare skin of your hip. That’s where he’s held you in rehearsals before, fingers firm, guiding your body into alignment. But this? This is slower. Softer. His fingertips dip beneath the fabric like he’s searching for something sacred there. “Familiar,” he murmurs against your jaw, his lips grazing your skin with each word, “but…different.”

You nod without thinking, breath stuttering as he kisses a line down your throat. “I was just thinking the same thing.”

He hums against your skin, his mouth curving into a smile. “Of course you were. We’re always in sync, huh?”

You laugh, but it’s breathless and unsteady because his hands are already moving again, sliding up your sides, fingers brushing the swell of your chest through the thin fabric of your tank top. He’s careful, almost reverent, but every touch burns. Your whole body aches with the difference between the person who’s caught you mid-air, who’s held you through complex choreography, and the man touching you now with such quiet desire.

“You’ve had your hands on me a hundred times,” you whisper, eyes locking with his, “but it’s never felt like this.”

His lips return to yours, firmer now, more certain. You can feel the moment something shifts in him. The way he deepens the kiss, the way his fingers tighten just a little on your waist, pulling you closer so you’re flush against him. The fabric of his robe parts slightly, and your hands slide beneath it, finding the bare skin of his chest.

You trace the lines of muscle you’ve seen only in glimpses before, during rehearsals, and backstage costume changes, but now, you touch without hesitation, without boundaries. His breath hitches at your touch, and when you glance up at him, his pupils are blown wide, dark and wanting.

He leans his forehead against yours, voice husky. “You drive me crazy, you know that?”

You smile, fingers drifting lower down his stomach. “Good.”

He laughs, a soft, husky sound, and kisses you again, deeper this time, his hands wandering, retracing the paths of muscle and memory. The tension between you winds tighter with every slow, deliberate brush of skin. It’s not hurried. It’s not messy. It’s two people who’ve touched a thousand times under the guise of professionalism, finally learning what it means to really touch.

And it’s the most alive you’ve ever felt. 

His robe slips lower on his shoulders as you tug gently, palms flat against the warm, bare skin of his chest. The tension hums low and hot between you, and Hoseok’s breath brushes your lips as he breaks the kiss just enough to look at you.

“Still feels a little like a dream,” he murmurs, fingertips ghosting along your spine beneath your tank top, sending shivers through you.

You smile, a little breathless, running your hand slowly down his arm. “Then don’t wake up yet.”

That earns you a crooked smile, boyish and beautiful in a way that makes your stomach flutter. He kisses you again, slow and deep, but his hands move with more confidence now, like he’s no longer asking permission with every pass of his fingers, just learning and memorizing. When he skims the edge of your shorts again, this time it’s with the intention of pulling you closer, pressing you fully between his knees. Your thighs bracket his as his hands slip under your top, feeling the skin he’s only ever glimpsed when costuming ran late or rehearsal left you in a sweat.

He exhales softly, forehead resting against your chest for a moment, his voice muffled as he says, “You’re so soft. So warm. I don’t know how I kept my hands to myself for this long.”

You tilt his chin up, forcing him to meet your eyes. “You were professional,” you whisper, brushing your thumb along his jaw. “But you don’t have to be right now.”

His gaze darkens, hands tightening slightly on your waist. “Don’t tempt me.”

“I think I already have.”

He kisses you again, more eagerly this time, like your words gave him permission to let go, just a little. His hands explore with purpose now, sliding under your top fully, dragging upward along your ribs. The sensation is dizzying. His palms rough from years of dancing, his touch familiar and brand new all at once.

You gasp softly when his thumbs skim just under the swell of your breasts, not quite touching , just teasing. “Hobi,” you breathe, and he lets out a shaky exhale like the sound of his name from your lips does something to him he wasn’t ready for.

“This okay?” he asks, voice thick, lips brushing the corner of your mouth.

You nod, fingers tangling in the open edges of his robe. “Yes. Please.”

That’s all it takes and his mouth is back on yours, hungry now, and you match his pace, letting him tip you back slightly as he shifts higher on the bed, your bodies aligned and pressed close in all the right places. His hands finally cup your chest, drawing a soft whimper from you, and he kisses the sound from your lips, swallowing every sigh like a promise.

Every touch is a contrast. Where he used to be precise and calculated, here he’s bold and greedy. Where his hands used to steady your center of gravity in a spin, now they explore like he wants to find your edges, and where his body used to move with yours in perfect timing for the audience, now it moves for you and only you.

It’s messy. It’s sweet. It’s slow but burning.

And when he finally pulls back for air, eyes half-lidded and lips swollen from kissing, he whispers, “You’ve always been art. I just never thought I’d get to trace the lines this way.”

Your heart stutters. You press your forehead to his and whisper back, “Then don’t stop.”

His breath hitches at your words, not just from the way you say them, soft and sure, but from the way your hands frame his face like he’s something precious. He swallows hard, his eyes flickering over yours like he’s searching for doubt and finding none.

“I won’t,” he murmurs, and then he kisses you again. Deeper this time, not in a rush, but with that same aching certainty that you both feel thrumming beneath your skin.

The kiss grows, building slowly, like a rhythm only the two of you know. His hands trace every dip and curve of your body, familiar landmarks from choreography but now explored with reverence and curiosity. Where his grip once corrected your alignment or steadied your turns, now it’s a slow slide down your back, the press of his palm on the small of your waist drawing you in closer, until there’s no space left at all.

You shift slightly, knees pressing into the mattress on either side of his legs, straddling him with ease, your fingers slipping beneath the robe to rest on his bare shoulders. He’s warm beneath your touch, and you lean into it, noses brushing, foreheads nearly touching again.

“This feels… different,” you say quietly, heart pounding.

His thumb brushes over the skin just above the waistband of your shorts. “Because it is.”

He doesn’t say more, but he doesn’t have to. You can feel it in the way he holds you, like he’s afraid this might slip through his fingers if he rushes it. You tilt his face up again, kissing the corner of his mouth, then just below his jaw, and when he exhales, it comes out shaky, his hands fisting lightly in the fabric of your tank top like he’s grounding himself in the moment.

Your lips find him again, slower this time, testing, tasting, and he responds with equal care. Like he’s learning you, not just touching you. His hands roam again, but never in a way that feels rushed or impatient. They settle on your hips, tugging you gently into a deeper kiss that leaves you gasping, flush with want and warmth.

“You’re driving me crazy,” he murmurs into your mouth, words barely there. Are you leaving him so speechless that’s all he can say? Hoseok the incredible lyricist? 

You smile against his lips, catching his bottom one gently between your teeth before letting go. “Good.”

He laughs under his breath, soft, breathy, a little disbelieving. “You’ve been driving me crazy since rehearsal one.”

You tilt your head, amusement flickering in your eyes. “Since the first rehearsal, huh?”

He nods, eyes dropping to your lips again. “You walked in like you weren’t even trying to impress anyone. And then you danced like you had nothing to prove. That confidence?” He presses a kiss just beneath your ear. “It wrecked me.”

Your breath catches, and you lean into him, fingers threading through his hair. “You hid it really well.”

He chuckles, hands gripping your hips a little tighter. “Did I? Because I was struggling.”

You can’t help the laugh that escapes you, full and warm and he kisses you again like he wants to capture that sound, that spark between you. It's intimate in a way that makes your pulse race, not just because of the nearness or the tension. But because for the first time, you're seeing Hoseok not just as the dancer, the choreographer, the professional, but as a man who wants you. Who sees you.

Your fingers drift down, slipping beneath the edge of his robe as your mouth trails after them. You press a kiss to the hollow of his throat, then another just above his collarbone. His breathing deepens, one hand sliding to your thigh, the other threading lightly into your hair.

You pull the robe apart a little more, exposing the smooth plane of his chest, the curve of muscle beneath warm, flushed skin. You kiss along his collar, slow and teasing, until you reach the center of his chest. You feel his heart racing beneath your lips.

His hand tightens gently in your hair, not pulling, just holding, grounding himself as your mouth moves lower. You shift slightly in his lap, your tongue flicking against the skin just below his sternum. His head tips back a little, jaw tense, a low sound catching in his throat.

“This okay?” you murmur against his skin, voice breathy but sure.

He nods without hesitation, his voice rough when he says, “Yeah. Yeah, it’s more than okay.”

You continue, slow and unhurried, kissing your way down the defined lines of his torso. Your lips trail lower, slow and deliberate. His skin is warm beneath your mouth, smooth and slightly tense like he’s holding himself back. You smile against him, exhaling softly as you kiss just above the line where his robe parts. 

He shifts beneath you, his breath hitching when your fingers ghost along the edges of the fabric, following the trail of faint hair that disappears beneath the soft tie at his waist. Your lips press to that line, just below his navel, feeling the way he twitches at the contact, the way his hand tightens lightly in the bedsheets beside him.

You glance up, catching the dazed look in his eyes. “Still okay?” you ask, your voice a whisper.

He nods, his voice low and rough. “Yeah. You’re…driving me crazy.”

With slow fingers, you untie the knot of his robe, easing it open. He lets you, lifting slightly so you can slip it off completely. Beneath it he is wearing…nothing.

The robe pools at his sides and your eyes take him in, heart hammering at the sight of him laid out for you like this so open, so bare. You kiss along the line of his happy trail, teasing, not rushing, letting him feel the heat of your breath and the care in your touch.

You let your hands explore him with slow confidence, tracing the lines of his hips and the curve of his thighs as if you’re memorizing him by touch alone. He leans back on his elbows, eyes heavy-lidded, watching you with a look that’s equal parts wonder and heat. ​​You’ve danced with him, felt his body move against yours night after night, but this is different. This isn’t choreography, it’s instinct. It’s want.

The gasp that leaves his mouth when you finally wrap your fingers around his cock is truly music to your ears. Your lips follow your hands, pressing soft kisses across his skin, taking your time. The way he breathes, shallow, and uneven, lets you know just how much he’s feeling every light stroke. You test the waters trailing your fingers across his thigh while you add slight pressure to your grip on his girthy length. You’re attentive, learning what makes him gasp, and what makes him whisper your name like it’s a secret too sacred to speak too loud. 

You sink to your knees between his legs. He is beautiful like this, unguarded and flushed, his lips slightly parted, and his eyes burning with something that feels like awe. You meet his gaze as you lean in, letting your lips ghost over the sensitive skin of his lower stomach, closer, lower, until you hear the smallest hitch in his breath. 

When your mouth finally wraps around him, his whole body jerks despite his effort to relax. His hands fly out gripping the sheets. You take your time, slow and attentive, letting every flick of your tongue, every hollow of your cheeks, every soft hum say what you can’t out loud: that you want him to feel good, to feel cared for, to feel wanted. 

One of his hands finds your hair and he doesn’t push, just holds on grounding himself. With ease, despite his size, you take his entire length in your mouth. Hoseok throws his head back against the bed when his tip touches the back of your throat. You sink down further swallowing around his tip until you can feel he’s nearing his peak. 

With quick movements you work your mouth up and down his length, his fingers tightening in your hair. His hips lift off the mattress accompanied by a slew of grunts and breathy moans. 

“YN, I’m so close. Suck it, please!” He whines, as you continue sucking his cock.

Hoseok tenses as his high approaches and it only takes one more expert hollow of your cheeks before he’s spilling into your mouth. You swallow every drop without a thought making sure he’s looking into your eyes as you do so. 

After everything settles, the room feels warmer, quieter. The hum of the city outside is muffled, and the only sounds are the soft breaths you both take. Hoseok’s hand is resting gently on your side, his fingers tracing light, absent patterns on your skin. You both lie there, side by side, the weight of everything that’s passed hanging in the air but not needing to be said.

You feel the heat of his body beside yours, the closeness, the tenderness of the moment. Hoseok shifts a little, pulling you closer, his arm wrapping around you protectively as he tucks you against his chest. It feels easy, natural, like this is where you both are meant to be, even if the world outside might be a little more complicated.

“I wasn’t sure how to do this,” he admits softly, his voice still thick with emotion. “I wasn’t sure if it was the right time, or if you’d even want to...but I couldn’t help it. Being around you, it just feels different.”

You smile gently, resting your head against his chest, the steady rhythm of his heart against your ear making everything feel so much more real. “I get it,” you whisper back, your fingers lightly tracing the outline of his hand on your skin. “Sometimes, it’s hard to know when the right moment is. But this…this feels right.”

His breath hitches slightly, and he squeezes you just a little tighter. The way he holds you, it’s not just out of physical desire. It’s soft, like he wants to protect you, keep you safe in this quiet bubble of understanding.

“I’m glad,” he murmurs. “I don’t want to mess things up. I don’t want to make things weird between us.”

“You haven’t,” you say quickly, lifting your head to meet his eyes. The vulnerability in them makes your heart flutter. “We’re good, Hobi. Whatever this is, it’s good.”

His lips curl into a smile, the relief obvious in his eyes. “You’re something else, you know that?” His voice is light now, teasing but with an underlying affection that’s impossible to ignore.

You chuckle softly, resting your hand on his chest. “I’m just being honest,” you reply with a playful smile, tracing a small patch of skin near his collarbone. “But...I’m glad you feel the same way. We don’t have to rush anything.”

“Yeah,” he agrees, his thumb brushing gently over your arm. “No rush.”

The two of you stay like that for a while, the intimacy between you speaking volumes in the silence. There’s no pressure, no expectation, just the warmth of the moment and the comfort of being together. 

Hoseok tilts his head, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead. “I’m happy you’re here,” he whispers.

You smile, your heart feeling fuller than it has in a long time. “Me too, Hobi. Me too.”

The quiet stretches on, peaceful and warm, until the soft glow of the TV catches your eye.

“Is that…Run BTS?” you ask with a laugh, glancing at the paused screen. Hoseok grins sheepishly.

“I was watching it before you came over. Helps me unwind.”

You raise an eyebrow. “Watching yourself unwind helps you unwind?”

“Yeah,” he chuckles, reaching for the remote. “It’s not like that. I like the chaos, and the editing always surprises me. Want to watch?”

You nod, shifting so your head rests more comfortably on his chest, legs tangled beneath the blankets. He presses play, and the familiar jingle rings out, drawing an immediate smile from both of you. It’s one of the older episodes—something chaotic involving fruit, blindfolds, and Seokjin’s scream echoing in the background.

You’re both laughing within minutes.

Hoseok pauses the show every so often to add commentary, who was actually terrified, what didn’t make the cut, the ridiculous inside jokes that carried on for weeks afterward. You soak up each detail, loving the way he lights up with every memory. 

At one point, you’re laughing so hard you have to cover your face with the blanket, and Hoseok just watches you, totally enchanted. He doesn’t even try to hide it. When the episode ends and the screen fades to black, the room softens again, quiet and intimate.

You’re lying face-to-face now, close enough to share breath. The way he looks at you, soft, unguarded, pulls the air from your lungs.

“I was thinking…” he begins, voice quiet. He hesitates, then exhales, brushing his fingers along your wrist.

“What?”

“Come to Oakland early. With me.”

You blink. “Early?”

“Yeah. The others aren’t flying in for a few days, but I have a window. I know a house we can rent, somewhere quiet. Just us. We don’t have to hide or explain anything to anyone for a little while.”

You stare at him, stunned, but not in a bad way. Just trying to catch up with how fast your heart is racing.

“Just us?” you ask softly.

He nods, the corner of his mouth pulling into a hopeful smile. “Just us.”

The idea settles in your chest like sunlight through a window, warm, daring, and unfamiliar in the best kind of way.

You nod. “Okay. Let’s go.”

He lets out a breath you didn’t realize he was holding and threads your fingers together. His thumb brushes over your knuckles, over and over again, like he can’t believe you’re really saying yes.

“Okay,” he echoes, quieter this time. “Then it’s a plan.”

You fall asleep like that, wrapped in each other and something that feels dangerously close to hope. The TV glows quietly in the background, but you’re already dreaming of something more.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

You slip quietly into your hotel room in San Antonio, trying not to make any noise, but Yunjin’s already wide awake, sitting cross-legged on the bed in her pajamas, arms crossed.

“Where the hell have you been?” she asks, her tone a perfect mix of concern and suspicion.

You freeze, a bit caught off guard, but keep your cool. “I ran into an old friend,” you lie smoothly, setting your bag down by your suitcase. “They realized I was in San Antonio, so we met up.”

Yunjin narrows her eyes, skeptical. “An old friend?”

You nod too quickly. “Yep.”

She stares at you, her brow arching higher when she spots you opening your suitcase and starting to pack. “Okay, and why are you packing? We’re not leaving for like, three more days.”

“I am,” you say, tossing a few shirts in. “I’m flying out early. Gonna spend a couple days with my cousin Soobin in the Bay before we hit Oakland.”

Yunjin’s eyes light up. “Wait—hot cousin Soobin?”

You groan out loud. “Why does everyone call him that?”

“Because he’s hot,” she says plainly, flopping back into the pillows. “Also tall. Didn’t he model for that skincare brand one time?”

“Briefly,” you mutter, trying to keep a straight face while stuffing a pair of jeans into your duffel.

She props herself up on one elbow and watches you for a beat. “You’re being weird.”

“I’m not.”

“You so are, and don’t think I didn’t notice how you didn’t answer any of my texts last night.”

“I was catching up. Lost track of time.”

Yunjin doesn’t press, but her knowing smile lingers. “Fine. Go see Hot Soobin, but if you fall in love with your cousin, I’m not helping you sort through that emotional damage.”

You throw a sock at her.

She cackles and waves you off. “Have fun, don’t get sunburned, and text me if you’re coming back with a whole secret boyfriend.”

You just smile, a little too tight, and zip up your bag. “I’ll let you know.”

As you walk out the door, heart hammering, all you can think about is Hoseok, Oakland, and how you’re suddenly living a secret in plain sight.

You take separate cars to the airport, just like he asked, low-key, no attention, no reason for anyone to suspect anything. The sun is barely up, the horizon still soft with the color of sleep as your rides pull up on opposite ends of a small private terminal just outside of San Antonio.

You clutch your overnight bag a little tighter as you step onto the tarmac. Then you see him. Hoseok, standing just outside the sleek jet with sunglasses on and a coffee in hand, looking like he’s walked straight out of a daydream. The wind tousles his hair a little, and he grins when he sees you, flashing a dimple like a secret meant just for you.

Your steps slow as you take it all in, the shine of the jet, the gentle hum of the engines, the flight crew giving polite nods and treating you like you belong here. You’ve never flown like this before. You’re not sure you’ll ever get used to it.

Hoseok meets you halfway, offering his hand to help you up the stairs. “Good timing,” he says. “We’ll be in the air before the rest of the city’s even awake.”

You glance back over your shoulder at the runway stretching out behind you, still trying to ground yourself in the moment. “This is...wow.”

He squeezes your fingers. “It’s just a plane.”

You shoot him a look. “You say that like it’s a taxi.”

He chuckles and leads you up into the jet, stepping aside so you can get the full view.

It’s pristine. Minimalist luxury. Soft cream leather seats, dark wood paneling, warm lights dimmed to a golden glow. Everything feels quiet. Private. Safe.

There’s no one else aboard, just you, Hoseok, and the pilots, tucked away behind a closed door with frosted windows. It hits you then: this is intentional. This is his way of giving you space, time, and privacy.

You turn slowly, drinking it all in, and when you meet his eyes again, he’s watching you like he’s trying to memorize this moment too.

“Just us?” you ask.

“Just us,” he confirms softly, voice low, warm.

You walk to the plush bench-style seating along the side, setting your bag down and sitting. He follows, sliding in beside you, his knee brushing yours. There’s no press, no rush, just the slow awareness settling in your chest that for the next few hours, it’s only you and him in the sky.

You look out the small oval window, then back at him. “Is it always this quiet?”

“Not always,” he says. “But I wanted this one to be.”

You smile, heart thudding in your throat. “I like it.”

His fingers brush over yours again, gentle, unspoken, and your pulse spikes all over again.

The plane begins to taxi, a soft rumble underfoot as the engines build to a quiet roar. You feel the subtle shift of momentum as it lifts off the runway, climbing into the sky. Hoseok reaches for your hand as the pressure kicks in, fingers intertwining with yours naturally, like they’ve done it a hundred times before.

You glance over and catch him looking at you, his eyes dipping briefly to your neckline before flicking up again with a soft, guilty smile. The air between you grows warmer despite the cool hum of the cabin’s climate control. You settle in beside him on the wide bench, legs curling beneath you slightly, and his arm comes to rest along the back, fingers brushing the top of your shoulder.

“Comfy?” he asks, voice low and full of a private sort of amusement.

You smirk. “Very.”

It’s quiet for a beat. The low hum of the jet, the occasional ding from the cockpit, the softest sound of your breathing.

Then Hoseok shifts a little closer, his thigh pressed to yours now, warm and solid through your skirt. “I don’t think I’ve ever been this relaxed on a flight,” he murmurs, turning toward you more fully. His fingers move to your shoulder, tracing down your arm in a light touch that leaves goosebumps in its wake.

Your breath hitches slightly. “Guess I have that effect.”

He laughs quietly, a rich sound, and then his hand stills just above your knee. “You really do.”

The touch is familiar and new all at once, like the memory of his hands on your waist during rehearsals, guiding your movements with careful precision, except now it’s different. Now there’s no audience. No choreography. Just curiosity and want.

You look at him, caught in the warmth of his gaze and the gentle pull between you. “This isn’t like rehearsal,” you say, voice soft.

“No,” he agrees, his thumb brushing slow circles against your bare thigh. “It’s not.”

He leans in, just slightly, close enough for you to feel the breath of his words on your skin. You tilt your head and your noses nearly brush, the tension stretching and coiling sweetly between you. When his lips finally touch yours, it’s soft and lingering, a slow exploration that deepens by degrees.

The kiss is unhurried but full of promise. His hand slips behind your neck, anchoring you gently as your fingers slide up the front of his shirt, feeling the warmth of his chest beneath. Every inch you touch earns you a quiet, contented sigh that rumbles low in his throat.

You shift a little closer, fitting against him as his other hand traces the outside of your thigh, slow and reverent, like he’s still memorizing the shape of you. When you part again, barely, your foreheads rest together as you catch your breath.

“I could get used to this,” he whispers.

You smile. “We’ve got a few hours.”

You curl in a bit closer to him, your legs draped gently across his lap now, and his arm loops behind your waist like it’s meant to be there. The plane hums steadily around you, but up here, everything feels suspended, like time has slowed just for the two of you.

Hoseok brushes his lips against your forehead and then rests his chin atop your head for a beat. “I don’t think I’ve ever done anything like this before,” he admits quietly.

You glance up at him, curious. “You mean flying a girl out?”

He chuckles softly. “I mean…this. Being this impulsive. Letting myself have something I want.”

Your heart trips a little. “Sooo you wanted this?”

He turns his head slightly so your eyes meet again, and the answer is all over his face before he even speaks. “I’ve wanted you for a while,” he says, voice low and sincere. “But I didn’t know if I was allowed to.”

There’s a slight ache in your chest, something tender and fluttery. You lift a hand to brush your fingers through the hair at his temple. “And now?”

His smile is slow, but sure. “Now I’m trying not to think about rules. Just…what feels right.”

You nod, letting his words settle between you, your fingers tracing lazy patterns across his collarbone. “I’ve never done anything like this either,” you admit softly. “Running off with someone. Especially someone like you.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Someone like me?”

You smirk. “Charming. Famous. A little too good at body rolls.”

That earns a bright laugh from him, full and warm, his eyes crinkling at the corners. “I swear I wasn’t body rolling to seduce you.”

“Mmm, I beg to differ.”

He shakes his head, smiling. “You’re dangerous.”

You lean up, brushing your lips against his again, slow and teasing. “Takes one to know one.”

His hand tightens a little at your hip, grounding you. There’s something unspoken in the air, something bigger than desire. You both feel it. For a long moment, you just sit there like that, tangled up in each other, the outside world forgotten. No stylists. No tour. No rehearsals. Just skin and breath and softness.

Then he murmurs, almost absently, “What do you want this to be?”

You pull back just enough to really look at him, surprised by the question.

“I mean,” he continues, his thumb brushing soothingly against your side, “we don’t have to define it now. I just..want to know how to show up for you.”

Your chest feels tight again, but in a good way this time. Full. Warm.

“I don’t know yet,” you admit honestly. “But I want to find out.”

His smile is quiet but bright. “Yeah. Me too.”

And with that, he pulls you in again, your laughter muffled by another kiss, his hands skimming your back like he’s trying to memorize every curve, every breath. His other hand moves to your thigh, tracing slowly, reverently, until he reaches the edge of your skirt.

You pull back just enough to meet his eyes, your own gaze, a quiet answer, a soft yes. You take his hand and guide it gently beneath the hem of your skirt, skin warming everywhere he touches. Then, with a whisper of a smile, you kiss him again. Deeper this time, needier.

His fingers slide higher, finding the lacy edge of your panties. A sharp exhale leaves his lips against yours when he feels how soft you are. He squeezes the curve of your hip, then your ass, drawing you forward until your chest is flush against his, the heat between you undeniable.

You gasp softly at the pressure, your arms wrapping tighter around his neck, your lips never quite leaving his. Hoseok slips a hand between you quickly dipping his hand into your panties. You grasp his shoulder, sighing against his neck, as his fingers find where you so desperately want him to touch.

He takes his time shifting his touch, not rushed, but exploratory, learning you by feeling alone. Every breath you take turns heavier, every quiet sound you make draws him in further, like he’s intoxicated by the way your body responds to him. Hoseok’s name escapes your lips in a whisper, as he slips long fingers inside of you. His free hand finds the back of your head, stroking your hair, all while continuing to kiss you.

Your breath stutters when at the same moment his lips trail down your jaw, his thumb finds your clit drawing soft, slow circles. You bury your face in his shoulder, and he leans in closer, his hot breath against your ear. 

“So beautiful,” he whispers, his voice rough. “You feel like a dream.”

His fingers continue to trace delicate circles that make your body arch instinctively toward him, and his hand slides down to your shoulder blade gripping you just slightly tighter. 

“You’re driving me crazy,” he murmurs between soft kisses to your temple, your cheek, your neck. “Every time you look at me like that, every time you move with me onstage, I swear I almost forget the choreography.”

You can’t help the soft laugh that escapes you, your heart clenching at the mix of heat and sweetness in his voice. He grips your hip encouraging you to ride his fingers. Of course, you would do anything for him. You roll your hips forward and he makes an appreciative sound. 

“I’ve wanted this,” he admits, almost like a confession. “You. Just like this. For longer than I’ll ever admit out loud.”

Your eyes meet, breathless and warm. You lean in to kiss him again and he hums against your lips, deep and content. Losing yourself in the feeling of his fingers deep inside you is easy. You can’t help the soft noises that fall from your lips encouraging him to keep going. The pleasure is building much quicker than you thought it would. It usually takes your partners quiet some time but with him even looking in his direction makes you feel as if you could— 

“God, you’re incredible,” he breathes.

Hoseok lifts your shirt exposing your breasts so he can lay soft kisses on them. He continues this in tandem with his never relenting fingers building and building and building your pleasure. After several minutes he sucks a dark purple mark low on your breast and the absolutely delicious feeling sends you over the edge. Shaking, and whimpering from just how good he feels, Hoseok holds you against his chest. He pats your head and whispers how beautiful you are and that you are so good. 

The cabin is quiet except for the low hum of the plane and the muffled sound of your heartbeat still echoing in your ears. You press one last kiss to Hoseok’s jaw before slipping off his lap, smoothing your skirt down with shaky hands. He watches you with a soft, contented smile, one that lingers even as you murmur something about needing the bathroom and disappear behind the narrow door.

Inside, the overhead light is too bright. You stare at your reflection for a long moment, cheeks flushed, hair slightly mussed, lips kiss-bitten. You look…different. Like you’ve crossed some invisible line you can’t uncross. You turn on the faucet, cupping cool water in your palms, pressing it gently to your face. The cold sting helps, but only a little. It doesn’t stop the thoughts from creeping in.

Why you?

It’s not the first time you’ve wondered. Hoseok is well, Hoseok. World-famous. Charismatic. Effortlessly talented. Gorgeous in that infuriating, unfair way. Yet he kisses you like you are the only person who has ever mattered. Touches you like you are something rare.

But the doubt digs in anyway.

Maybe it is just a moment. Maybe it didn’t mean what you want it to mean. Maybe he is just caught up in the tension of the tour, the thrill of secrecy. Maybe this is just another city, another stop—and you’re just part of the scenery.

You grip the edge of the small sink tighter.

No, you think, forcing yourself to breathe. He looked at you like he meant it. He asked what you wanted this to be. He brought you here.

But still…the questions simmer beneath the surface.

What if you get hurt? What if this is temporary for him? What if you're just the distraction?

You dry your hands slowly, your heartbeat steadier now but your chest still heavy. When you finally open the bathroom door, you find Hoseok waiting, already looking up.

“Hey,” he says softly, and there’s something in his voice that makes your pulse trip again. “You okay?”

You nod, a little too quickly. “Yeah. Just…needed a second.”

His brow furrows, just slightly. “You sure?”

You hesitate.

Do you tell him? Or do you keep pretending it’s nothing?

You manage a small smile and nod again, this time more gently. “Yeah. I’m good.”

Hoseok doesn’t press. He just reaches out a hand and tugs you back toward the plush couch, guiding you to sit beside him again. You curl into his side, your cheek resting against the familiar warmth of his chest. His arm wraps around your shoulders, easy and natural, like he was always meant to hold you like this.

For a while, neither of you speaks.

The low rumble of the plane is steady, rhythmic, almost like a heartbeat in the background. You feel his fingers stroke absently along your arm, tracing lazy shapes that make your skin hum. He smells like something faintly spicy and clean, and you wonder if you’ll ever be able to smell it again without thinking of this exact moment.

Still, your thoughts won’t quiet down.

His thumb grazes your shoulder, and you think, Why me?

You’ve been asking yourself since the moment his mouth first met yours. Since the moment he looked at you like he was seeing something precious.

He could have anyone. Absolutely anyone. People throw themselves at him. Beautiful, glamorous, famous people. And yet…here you are. On his private plane. Wrapped in his arms. Feeling like the luckiest person in the world and the most uncertain one at the same time.

You close your eyes, trying to memorize the weight of his arm around you, the steadiness of his breath against your temple. Part of you wants to sink into it completely, to let yourself believe this could be real, that it could mean something. But another part stays curled up inside your chest, tight with the fear that maybe you’re just temporary.

He doesn’t say anything and just holds you closer, brushing his lips against the top of your head so softly it feels like a question. You don’t answer. Not yet. You just breathe him in and try not to get too lost in what it feels like to be chosen…and wonder why it’s so hard to believe you deserve it.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

The car pulls up to a small house nestled in a quiet neighborhood just outside Oakland, the kind of place with winding roads and wildflowers sprouting through the cracks in the pavement. It’s unassuming, painted in soft earth tones with a wide front porch and ivy curling along the railings, but there’s something comforting about it. Hidden. Safe. Like the world can’t touch you here.

As soon as the driver opens the trunk, you’re reaching for your suitcase when suddenly—

“Hey!” you squeal, laughing as Hoseok sweeps you into his arms.

He’s already halfway up the steps by the time you protest. “Hobi, seriously! Put me down.”

“Nope,” he grins. “I’m making a memory.”

“You’re being dramatic!”

“I’m being romantic,” he corrects with a wink, nudging open the front door with his hip before stepping inside. “There’s a difference.”

The inside is just as cozy as the outside promised, light wood floors, soft neutral walls, and wide windows that let the golden late-afternoon light spill through. The air smells faintly like lavender and something clean, like freshly laundered sheets.

Hoseok carries you straight to the couch and lowers you gently onto the cushions with a little flourish. “Your chariot has arrived, my lady.”

You laugh again, breathless, as he dashes back out to grab your bags. While he’s gone, you kick off your shoes, pull a throw blanket over your lap, and flip through the streaming options until you land on a movie that’s easy and warm, something nostalgic. By the time he returns, lugging both your suitcase and his into the primary bedroom, you’ve already curled up with a pillow and settled in.

He reappears a few minutes later, a little tousled from the effort, his hoodie slouchy and his hair flopping into his eyes. There’s no makeup, no stylist, no flash or stage lighting—just him. And somehow, it makes your breath catch a little. This is a version of Hoseok the world rarely gets to see. Softer. Gentler.

He drops onto the couch beside you, then shifts so his head lands easily in your lap, one hand reaching for the blanket to tug it over both of you.

“Comfy?” you ask, threading your fingers through his hair.

He hums, low and content. “Mmhmm. You make it comfy.”

You roll your eyes, but your chest warms anyway. His eyes are half-lidded as he watches the screen, but every now and then, you catch him glancing up at you instead. Just watching. Like he still can’t believe you’re really here.

And even with all the noise still stirring in the back of your mind, wondering what this means, you let yourself smile and run your fingers gently through his hair again.

Later you are in the kitchen, which is small but charming, with terracotta tile floors and wooden shelves lined with mismatched mugs and little jar of herbs. You both settle easily into the rhythm of cooking, moving around each other, bumping hips in the narrow space, laughing when Hoseok fumbles with the garlic press like it’s a foreign object.

“You don’t cook much, do you?” you tease, nudging his elbow as he squints down at a recipe on his phone.

“I cook!” he defends, brandishing a wooden spoon. “I just…delegate garlic duty.”

You giggle and reach for the cloves, brushing your fingers against his in the process. He doesn’t pull away. In fact, he lets his hand linger just a second too long. You feel the smile tugging at the corner of your mouth again. He’s not subtle about the way his eyes slide down your neck when you lean forward to stir the pasta, or how he rests a hand on your waist as he steps around you to reach for the olive oil.

It’s warm. Easy. Intimate.

Dinner turns out surprisingly good, cacio e pepe with a simple salad, and you carry your plates to the small round table by the window. There’s soft music playing from his phone, and the sky outside has dimmed into that dusky shade of blue that always feels a little like magic.

You’re halfway through your plate when the lightness starts to unravel inside you. That nagging thread of doubt that’s been tugging at your chest ever since the plane.

Hoseok looks up when you go quiet, chewing slowly. “What’s wrong?”

You shake your head. “Nothing. It’s fine.”

“Hey,” he says gently, setting his fork down. “You’re not fine.”

You sit there a moment, twisting your napkin in your lap. Then, before you can stop yourself—

“I just…” Your voice falters. “I don’t know what this is. I don’t know what I am to you. I know you said we’d figure it out but…”

He doesn’t speak right away, and that makes your stomach twist harder.

You press on, needing to let it out. “I can’t keep pretending everything’s perfect when part of me is scared you’re just…using me. That I’m some tour fling. That you’ve done this a million times before and I’m just…convenient.”

Silence.

Then, softly, he stands and moves around the table, pulling his chair closer until his knees touch yours. He takes your hands in his, eyes steady and open.

“If all I wanted was sex,” he says slowly, “I could’ve had that in Mexico City. You were right there. We were alone. No one would’ve known.”

Your breath catches, but he squeezes your fingers gently.

“But when I kissed you that night…” He exhales a quiet laugh, almost disbelieving. “I swear to god, it took my breath away. I didn’t expect it to feel like that. And right after I knew, one kiss wasn’t going to be enough. Not with you.”

Your throat tightens.

He leans forward, brushing your knuckles with his thumb. “I didn’t fly you out here so we could hook up in a rental house. I did it because I wanted time with you. Away from everything. I care about you. Really care about you. I admire how passionate you are, how hard you work, how you move when you dance. I see how everyone on tour looks at you, how they light up because you’re around.”

You blink fast, trying not to cry.

“I haven’t done this a million times,” he adds, voice softer now. “I’ve never done this before.”

The words hit you like a weight and a balm all at once. He could’ve gotten upset at what you suggested but instead he wiped away any worry plaguing your brain. 

Slowly, you reach for his face, cradling his jaw as you lean in. He closes his eyes at your touch, like he’s savoring it.

“I don’t want to be scared anymore,” you whisper.

“Then don’t,” he says. “We’ll figure it out together.”

He pulls you into a hug. It’s tight, grounding, real, and in his arms, the knot in your chest finally begins to loosen.

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

After dinner, the kitchen is left in a charming disarray, plates in the sink, a few pasta shells on the counter, and a bottle of wine half-finished beside the stove. You both say you’ll clean up later, but neither of you moves.

Instead, you wander into the living room together, where the couch is still warm from earlier and the movie you put on before dinner is paused on the title screen. Hoseok grabs a blanket from the back of the couch, tossing it over the two of you as you settle in.

He lets you curl up beside him first, and then gently shifts so his head rests in your lap again, just like before. You run your fingers lightly through his hair as the movie begins to play, but your attention never really settles on the screen.

It’s on him. On the way his lashes fan against his cheeks. On the way he hums in contentment when you scratch lightly behind his ear. On the way he looks up at you like you’ve hung the stars.

“You’re staring,” he says eventually, cracking one eye open with a teasing smile.

You smile back. “So are you.”

He grins, then shifts to sit upright, sliding an arm around your waist to bring you closer. You both sit there, curled into each other, the quiet hum of the film in the background and the soft rhythm of your breathing syncing up.

You talk about small things. Favorite comfort foods. Embarrassing stories from rehearsals. The time he almost face-planted during a dance break and saved it with a dramatic spin. You laugh so hard your stomach hurts.

Later now tangled up on the couch, legs across his lap, your fingers absentmindedly thread through his hair as a soft song plays low from his phone speaker. The world feels far away.

He shifts beneath you, one hand gliding along the bare skin of your thigh, just beneath the hem of your oversized sleep shirt. His thumb moves in slow, teasing circles.

“You’ve been quiet,” he says, voice low, gaze on your face like he’s reading every thought.

You hesitate. “Just thinking.”

He waits. Doesn’t press. Just touches you, light as air, patient.

“I guess…” You draw in a breath. “I’m wondering, why me? I mean—” your voice falters as his fingers skim a little higher, “—you could have anyone.”

Hoseok's brows knit together. He shifts so you’re facing him more directly, his hand settling at your waist. “Don’t say that.”

“No,” he says firmly, leaning in, his nose brushing yours. “If I just wanted sex, I wouldn’t have waited. I wouldn’t have brought you here.”

His hand slips under your shirt, splaying warm over your lower back.

“When I kissed you in Mexico City…” His voice drops, almost reverent. “It did something to me. I couldn’t stop thinking about it. About you.”

Your breath catches, your body already reacting to his words, to the heat in his eyes.

“I flew you here because I wanted you, not a moment. Not a fling. Just…you.” he reassures you. 

He kisses you then. It is slow, deliberate, claiming. His mouth moves with aching sweetness against yours, and it makes you dizzy. You shift in his lap instinctively, needing more of him, and his hands tighten on your hips.

Your shirt rides up as he pulls you closer, his lips finding the curve of your jaw, then down your neck. He murmurs against your skin, “You’re beautiful. You’re everything.”

You whimper as he mouths over your collarbone, one of his hands sliding higher beneath your shirt, fingers tracing the edge of your bra, teasing but not rushing. 

“You’re not just anyone,” he says, voice rough. “You’re the one I can’t stop wanting.”

And in the way he touches you, slow and reverent, in the way his breath hitches when your hips roll into his, it feels true. Real. Like something neither of you expected but are both terrified to lose.

Your fingers curl into Hoseok’s shirt as his mouth returns to yours, this time more urgent, more intent. The kind of kiss that says I’ve wanted this all day. His hands roam with purpose now, one tracing your thigh while the other cradles the back of your neck, pulling you even closer.

He stands, lifting you with him like it’s nothing, and you gasp against his lips. “Hobi—”

“I’ve got you,” he murmurs, voice thick with desire. “Come here.”

You wrap your legs around his waist instinctively, clinging to him as he carries you toward the bedroom. You’re breathless, laughing softly against his neck until—

You both freeze in the doorway.

Dangling from one side of the headboard are fuzzy pink handcuffs.

You blink. “Um…do your rental people always provide accessories?”

Hoseok sets you down gently on your feet, eyes wide with mock offense. “Absolutely not. I did not tell them to put those there.”

You smirk, reaching out to give one a little tug. “Mmhmm. Sure you didn’t.”

His hands find your waist again. “I didn’t!”

You glance over your shoulder, giving him a playful smile. “Well…I wouldn’t mind using them.”

His eyes darken instantly, hands tightening on your hips. “Is that so?”

You turn back, wiggling your brows, but before you can say another word, he smacks your ass, firm, fast, and just sharp enough to make you gasp.

“Hey!” you laugh, spinning to face him again.

He just grins. “Keep teasing me like that and you’ll find out exactly how serious I am.”

Your heart skips a beat. The air between you goes molten.

You back toward the bed slowly, never breaking eye contact. “Then maybe you should come show me.”

His mouth twitches, trying not to smile, but it’s hopeless. He steps closer, backing you until your knees hit the mattress and you fall back onto it with a little bounce. You pull him down with you, and the next kiss is nothing like the ones before.

It’s heat and hunger and hands everywhere, his fingers tugging your shirt over your head, your hands sliding beneath the hem of his. You’re both stripping off layers, skin meeting skin, the weight of him pressing into you as he settles between your legs. He leaves momentarily to put on protection then returns. 

You gasp into his mouth as his hips settle fully between yours, the heat of him radiating through every place your bodies touch. Seeing him before is nothing compared to the feeling of him against you. His hand slips under the curve of your back, pulling you even closer until there’s not an inch of space left. Kissing him alone has turned you on so much that he slips inside of you easily.

“You feel so good,” he groans against your neck. “So perfect.”

You arch into him, nails dragging along his back. “Don’t stop…”

“I won’t,” he promises, kissing you again—slow and deep, like he’s trying to write it into your bones. “Not tonight.”

The world has narrowed to this bed, this moment and his breath hot against your neck, the rasp of his voice sending shivers down your spine.

“You’re perfect,” he murmurs, his lips brushing your collarbone. The motion of his hips is slow, he is letting you feel every inch without needing to rush. “Do you have any idea how long I’ve been thinking about this? About you?”

Your fingers tangle in his hair as his lips trail down your chest, pausing to look up at you, his eyes darker now, pupils blown wide with heat. He looks down watching himself push in and out of you before he tilts his head back closing his eyes as he relishes in the feel of you. You bite your bottom lip, already hot from the tension strung tight between you. 

“I think about you all the time,” he says, voice low and rough. “The way you laugh. The way you move. That little smirk when you know you’re getting under my skin…”

He thrusts harder and you arch against him involuntarily, and he groans, mouth dragging back up to yours like he can’t stand to be apart for even a second. He feels so good. 

“Hobi,” you whisper, trembling under the weight of everything he’s making you feel. “I want this. I want you.”

His hand slides up your thigh again, slowly, memorizing the way your skin feels under his touch. 

“You have me,” he says simply. “You’ve had me since the first time you looked at me like you saw something more.”

Hoseok sits up gripping your thighs as he quickens the pace of his strokes pulling sweet moans from your lips. His face is full of expressions you’ve never seen before. Facial expressions that are just for you. His hands wander exploring the beautiful curves of your body. 

After several minutes you speak up knowing if you don’t you might not get all that you want. You grip his biceps until he looks into your eyes, halting his motion.

“Please handcuff me to the bed.” 

His expression shifts in an instant. His eyes lock on yours, his jaw tightening a bit.

“Are you sure?” he murmurs, squeezing your thigh absentmindedly. 

You nod, your voice steady. “Please. I trust you.”

His lips curve into something wicked and sweet all at once. Hoseok slips out of you, leaving you with an empty feeling. “Lie back, baby.”

You lie back slowly, heart pounding with anticipation as Hoseok rises from the bed to unclip the handcuffs from the bedpost. The sound of the metal clinking lightly in his hands sends a thrill through your chest. He arranges the pillow around you for support.

He returns to your side, eyes locked on yours with a seriousness that makes your breath catch.

“If anything feels off, you tell me. Right away,” he says, voice low but firm, his fingers brushing your cheek in a way that makes you melt.

You nod, unable to speak just yet, so overwhelmed by the moment, by him. “I will.”

His expression softens just a little. “Good.”

Then his hands are guiding your wrists above your head, the fur-lined cuffs cool against your skin. He fastens them with care, double-checking the fit, and kisses the inside of each wrist as he does.

“You look so good like this,” he murmurs, running a hand down your side, slow and deliberate. “Completely mine.”

You gasp softly, your body arching toward him on instinct, craving more of his touch, his weight, his warmth.

His mouth finds your neck, your collarbone, teeth grazing lightly, followed by a trail of kisses. One hand strokes your hip, the other braced near your shoulder like he’s anchoring you both.

Every look, every movement, is full of reverence but there’s fire in it too, restrained only by his iron self-control. And even though you’re the one restrained, you don’t feel powerless. You feel wanted and craved, adored, devoured by his gaze alone. He ducks between your thighs pushing them against the side of his head for a moment before he licks a bold strip along your folds. Your thighs involuntarily squeeze and he moans against your pussy. 

His tongue flicks your most sensitive area and he holds you down, stopping you from arching off the bed. You tug against the cuff wanting to pull his hair but having no way to do so. Being completely at his will is lighting a fire deep inside you. Hoseok licks, kisses and sucks you like it’s his favorite thing he’s ever done. 

You shift beneath him, trying to get closer, but your arms don’t budge, caught in the gentle hold of the cuffs. The sensation only heightens your need, every touch, every breath shared between you feeling more intense, more intimate.

He slides back up, settling his weight over you, forearms braced on either side of your head. His nose brushes yours as he whispers, “Tell me what you want.”

You part your lips to answer, but he steals the breath from you with another kiss, deep and slow and consuming, leaving you gasping when he finally pulls back.

“Say it,” he urges, voice rough, “and it’s yours.”

“Make me cum with your mouth, please.”

He smiles, pressing a soft kiss to your forehead before doing as you so nicely asked. He comes back with a new vigor, letting you arch off the bed into his face. Hoseok lets you rub your pussy across his tongue bringing you to new levels of pleasure that sends a shiver up your spine. He hooks your legs over his shoulders, squeezing your soft ass as he brings you to the brink of an orgasm. Then he chuckles looking up at you. 

“Hoseok! Please, don’t stop!” You beg, batting your eyelashes at him as you struggle against your restraint. Somehow not being able to touch him is making this far more exhilarating. 

He dives back in, lapping his tongue across you until you are shaking and overwhelmed. Once again, he laughs, kissing your thighs before moving beside you. His fingers graze your breasts playing with your nipple for a moment before he sits back against the headboard and unlocks your hands. 

Immediately you grab his face pulling him in for a heated kiss as you straddle him, sinking down onto his waiting cock. You don’t give him a second to get acclimated rolling your hips until you earn the sounds you are so desperate to hear. Hoseok grabs your ass after a few seconds holding on while he finds the right rhythm to fuck into you. 

“You feel so good.” Hoseok mumbles against your chest. 

His lips skim over your chest, slow and deliberate, every kiss sending a jolt of heat spiraling through your core. The steady rhythm of your bodies moving together has you spiraling, the pleasure climbing higher than you ever expected. You’d imagined what it would feel like to be with him, late at night, alone, tangled in sheets, but nothing prepared you for this.

Every movement is purposeful. He reads your body like a language only he understands, every roll of your hips met with a low groan that rumbles in his throat. You use his shoulders for balance, adjusting your angle until you hit that perfect spot that makes your whole body hum. He notices immediately and his breath stutters, his hands tightening on your waist as he murmurs a quiet, “That’s it, just like that.”

Hoseok buries his face against your chest, arms wrapping around you to hold you close. You feel the full strength of him in every motion, every flex of muscle as he drives into you, deep and slow at first, then faster, more urgent. Your hands slide into his hair, desperate to anchor yourself to something, someone, as your breath quickens and your moans fill the air.

“That’s right, baby,” he says between heavy breaths. “You can be as loud as you want here. No one’s around. Just me. Just us.”

When he lifts you slightly, you whimper at the loss, but his eyes are locked on yours, dark and serious in a way that sends your pulse racing. “Turn around.”

You do, your body moving on instinct. Knees sinking into the mattress, you rest your head against the sheets and arch your back, presenting yourself for him without hesitation. It’s bold, it’s vulnerable, but it feels right.

His hands trail down your spine, a gentle graze that makes your breath hitch. Then his fingers slide inside you again, slow, rhythmic strokes that draw soft gasps from your lips, building you up all over again. When he finally presses into you, deeper than before, a shiver runs through your entire body.

The sensation is overwhelming in the best way. This angle hits different. Fuller. More consuming.

“God, you feel…” he doesn’t even finish the sentence, just lets out a deep, unrestrained groan that sets you alight.

“Hoseok,” you moan into the blankets, unable to hold it in. “You feel so good.”

He grips your hips tighter, his rhythm picking up, bodies crashing together in a storm of need and connection. Your breath stutters, your thoughts scatter and in that moment, there’s only this. The heat. The rhythm. The overwhelming sense that something inside you is coming undone, only to be rebuilt by his hands.

The rhythm builds, fast and relentless, until every part of you is burning. Hoseok’s grip on your hips tightens, guiding you back into every deep thrust, your bodies colliding in perfect sync. Your moans mix with his ragged breathing, the sounds echoing in the room like a shared song, raw and unfiltered.

He groans, leaning over you, his chest pressed to your back. His hand slides up your spine, slow and possessive, until he’s got a firm grip in your hair. Not pulling, just holding, grounding you both.

You arch back into him, chasing every spark he’s setting off inside you. “Don’t stop,” you gasp. “Please don’t stop.”

He doesn’t. He buries himself deeper, hips snapping against yours, his mouth finding your shoulder to press kisses between quiet curses. 

Then his hand slides down your stomach, between your thighs, and the way he touches you there, gentle but purposeful, pulls a strangled cry from your lips. “That’s it,” he murmurs in your ear, lips brushing your skin. “Just like that. Let me take care of you.”

The heat coils tighter, pleasure building at a blinding pace. Your whole body trembles as you near the edge, and Hoseok knows, of course he does. He can feel it in the way you tighten around him, in the way your cries get sharper, breathless.

“Come for me,” he whispers. “I’ve got you.”

That’s all it takes.

Your whole body seizes with pleasure, white-hot and all-consuming. You fall apart around him, and he follows, hips faltering as he groans your name against your shoulder, holding you like he never wants to let go.

When it’s over, he wraps his arms around you and pulls you into his chest, both of you still breathless, skin slick with sweat, hearts racing in unison.

Neither of you speaks at first. There’s no need. The silence between you is soft, full, peaceful in a way that makes your chest ache.

Eventually, he presses a lazy kiss to your shoulder and murmurs, “Still think this is just about sex?”

You laugh, quiet and warm, and turn your head to look at him. “Maybe just really amazing sex.”

He grins. “I’ll take it.”

You rest your forehead against his. “And maybe…something more.”

His thumb brushes your cheek, and the way he looks at you then—like you’re the only thing he wants to see—says it all.

The world feels quieter now.

Your bodies are still tangled together, limbs draped without care, his arm a heavy and comforting weight across your waist. Hoseok’s breathing evens out slowly, his chest rising and falling against your back as he presses a lazy kiss to your shoulder, then nestles in closer, like he can’t quite get enough.

“Are you okay?” he murmurs, voice soft and a little hoarse.

You nod, still catching your breath. “More than okay.”

He hums, pleased, and nudges his nose into the curve of your neck. “Good.”

You lie there like that for a while, just existing in the same space, letting the buzz in your veins quiet into something calm. Your fingers trace idle patterns along his forearm, and his thumb strokes your hip under the sheet in a lazy rhythm, like he’s drawing invisible circles of reassurance.

Eventually, you roll onto your side to face him, and he shifts to accommodate you, tucking a hand beneath your cheek and brushing a strand of hair off your forehead. He looks different like this, softer in the warm lamplight, eyes heavy-lidded but shining, a little smile tugging at his lips.

“You always this cuddly after?” you tease, voice light.

He chuckles, nudging your nose with his. “Only with you.”

That makes your heart flutter. You glance down at your fingers curled against his chest, at the way his hand rests so easily on your hip. It feels like something sacred, like maybe this isn’t just a fling or a few stolen nights. It feels like something you might be able to hold onto.

“I like this,” you say quietly. “Just…us.”

His smile grows, slow and tender. “Me too.”

You nuzzle into his chest, his heartbeat steady beneath your ear. He pulls the blanket up around you both and hooks a leg around yours like he’s trying to cocoon you in. It’s safe here. It’s simple.

And as your eyes begin to flutter shut, you feel his lips press one last kiss to your temple. “Sleep, baby. I’ve got you.”

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

You wake slowly, the golden morning light spilling in through the curtains. Everything smells faintly of sunshine and sleep, warm skin, fresh sheets, and something delicious drifting in from the kitchen.

You stretch, a little sore in the best way, and sit up just as the bedroom door nudges open. Hoseok walks in with a tray balanced in his hands, wearing nothing but a pair of soft grey sweats that hang low on his hips and a boyish grin.

“Morning, beautiful,” he says, setting the tray on the bed. “I didn’t know your exact coffee order, so I made three different kinds just in case.”

You blink at the mugs, the little stack of pancakes, and the cut-up fruit that looks suspiciously like he arranged it by color. “You’re insane.”

He just laughs and leans over to kiss your forehead. “I’m thorough.”

You giggle and pull him onto the bed beside you, letting your legs tangle beneath the sheets again. He feeds you a strawberry with a dramatic flourish, and you nearly snort your coffee laughing when he pretends to swoon from how cute you are.

“Berry, berry, strawberry.”

You shift the tray so it’s balanced more securely between you and Hoseok, legs tucked beneath the blankets, his thigh pressed warm against yours. He hands you a fork with a little flourish and a wink, like he's your personal chef instead of the global superstar you watched dance under stadium lights just days ago.

“Try that one,” he says, gesturing to the fluffiest stack of pancakes you’ve ever seen. “I added cinnamon and a little nutmeg. Might’ve gone a bit wild.”

You take a bite, still a little dazed by how natural this all feels. “It’s actually insane how good you are at this.”

He raises an eyebrow, grinning. “Cooking?”

“Being perfect,” you mutter around a mouthful of syrupy heaven, cheeks heating slightly.

That makes him laugh, low and warm, and he leans in to kiss the corner of your lips, syrup and all. It’s sweet in every sense. You melt into him a little, like butter under sunlight, your body still buzzing from last night but your heart stealing the show.

Hoseok’s hand slides under the blanket to find your thigh, fingers drawing gentle circles as he rests his head back against the headboard. He closes his eyes, smiling like he’s finally at peace.

“This,” he murmurs, “feels dangerous.”

You glance at him, startled. “Dangerous?”

He opens one eye and looks at you. “Yeah. Like...if I let myself want this too much, I won’t ever want to let it go.”

Your breath catches. The fork stills in your hand.

“Hobi…”

He turns toward you fully now, sitting cross-legged on the bed. The tray gets pushed aside, forgotten for the moment. His eyes are soft but steady, locked on yours.

“I know this started fast. Intense,” he says. “But I don’t want it to be temporary. Not if you don’t.”

The room goes still except for the birds outside and the hum of your own heartbeat.

“I don’t either,” you admit, voice barely a whisper. “I don’t know what it looks like, but…I want more mornings like this. More of you.”

Hoseok reaches up to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear, the backs of his fingers brushing your cheek. “Then we’ll make it happen. One quiet, messy, beautiful morning at a time.”

Later you're curled into Hoseok’s side on the couch, your legs tangled together beneath the throw blanket, the quiet hum of the movie long forgotten. At some point, you remember your phone’s been face-down on the coffee table since you arrived and curiosity wins. You reach for it and unlock the screen.

Three missed messages from Yunjin.

Yunjin: how’s everything with your “cousin” soobin 👀 did you guys go hiking? or were you too “tired” from traveling 🤭 also, me rn (attached is a selfie—she’s glowing, with a flirty pout and a peace sign, captioned: “bored and pretty”)

You stifle a laugh, nudging your phone closer to your chest so Hoseok can’t see. “Yunjin thinks I’m visiting my cousin Soobin.”

Hoseok smirks. “Oh, right. Soobin. What a cool guy. Bet he doesn't kiss you like I do.”

You elbow him lightly, trying not to smile too wide. “Gross.”

“I’m just saying.” He leans in to press a kiss just below your ear. “You’re not fooling anyone. You look way too happy to be hanging with your cousin.”

Before you can tease him back, his phone buzzes on the table. It’s lighting up with an incoming video call: Jungkook.

Hoseok’s whole face brightens as he reaches for it. “Jungkookie!”

He answers immediately, barely giving you time to sit up a little straighter.

Jungkook’s face fills the screen with short hair, a bit flushed, military uniform visible. “HYUNG!” he yells. “Did you tell that dancer you have a crush on that you like her?”

The sound is loud enough for you to hear it crystal clear.

You freeze, mouth slightly open, and slowly turn to look at Hoseok.

He pauses for a beat, then, very calmly, tips the phone so Jungkook can see you sitting beside him.

Jungkook blinks.

Then he grins. “OOOOOH. NO WAY.”

Hoseok groans and scrubs a hand over his face. “Jungkook, why are you like this?”

“I’m just saying!” Jungkook’s practically bouncing in the frame. “You wouldn’t shut up about her after Mexico City. I was starting to think you were gonna write a love letter like it’s 2010 or something.”

You cover your mouth, giggling behind your hand. “This is kind of adorable.”

Jungkook gasps, beaming. “SHE’S COOL TOO?! Hyung, marry her.”

“Bye,” Hoseok says flatly, and hangs up with one dramatic tap.

You both burst out laughing, the tension melting away in an instant.

“So,” you say, poking at him with a smirk. “You have a crush on me?”

He turns to you, eyes soft but playful. “I think that part’s pretty obvious now.”

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

The rest of your time at the rental house slips by like a dream, lazy mornings tangled in warm sheets, late nights filled with laughter, movies you barely finish, and takeout eaten cross-legged on the couch. You cook a few meals together, make a mess in the kitchen, steal kisses between stirring and seasoning, and somehow everything tastes better just because it’s shared.

There are countless kisses, some slow and sleepy, others heated and desperate, and sex that leaves you both breathless and grinning, limbs aching in the best way. But it’s not just the physical closeness. It’s the way Hoseok watches you when you talk, the way he pulls you into his chest during quiet moments, the way you catch yourselves smiling for no reason.

It’s comfort. It’s connection. It’s something neither of you say aloud, but it pulses between you like a secret song.

When it’s finally time to pack up and head to the hotel in Oakland, the mood shifts. You don’t want to let go of this version of yourselves. The one that exists only here, in this quiet, hidden place.

As the car pulls away, Hoseok reaches for your hand and holds it tightly, even though you both know that once you step into the hotel, the rest of the world comes rushing back in. And for now, neither of you says a word about it. You just sit there, fingers intertwined, pretending you can stretch the moment a little longer.

By the time the car pulls up to the hotel, the weight of reality settles in. Hoseok gives your hand one final squeeze before letting go, and you both wordlessly fall into your roles again.

To avoid suspicion, you head out first, slipping through the lobby with your hoodie up and sunglasses on, acting like you just got back from a walk or an errand. Hoseok stays behind to give it some time, knowing he’ll follow later through a different entrance. The shift back into secrecy is jarring. It feels colder somehow, even though the air hasn’t changed.

When you reach your room and push open the door, Yunjin is already inside, sprawled across your bed with a big bottle of iced tea and her phone in hand. The second she sees you, she bolts upright.

“There you are! Oh my god, I’ve been texting you! I thought you got kidnapped or something,” she blurts. “So? How’s Soobin?” She puts extra emphasis on the name, waggling her brows. “And what do you mean you ‘might be off-grid for a bit’? Spill!”

You force a laugh, heading toward your suitcase like you’re just tired. “It was fine,” you say casually. “I’m just exhausted, that’s all.”

But Yunjin is sharp, and you know she won’t be satisfied with vague answers for long.

You start changing into something more comfortable, peeling off your top facing her, and that’s when it happens.

“Hold up.” Her voice cuts through the air like a blade. “What is that?”

You freeze.

“What?” you ask, like you don’t know exactly what she’s talking about.

“That,” she repeats, hopping off the bed and pointing toward your chest. “On your boob! Is that a—ew, is that a hickey?!”

Your eyes widen, and you instinctively cover the mark with your hand, spinning back around. “Yunjin—”

“Wait, wait, wait,” she says, holding up her hands dramatically. “You said you were with Soobin. Your cousin. So how the hell did you end up with a love bite there?!” She squints, then fake-gags. “Oh my god, please tell me you’re not—”

“I wasn’t with Soobin,” you cut in, laughing awkwardly. “Okay? I wasn’t.”

She pauses, staring at you like she’s trying to read the truth straight off your skin. “Then where were you? And who the hell gave you that?”

You hesitate, mouth opening, then closing again.

Yunjin sighs dramatically. “Oh my god, this is so juicy and you’re not telling me anything! You’re killing me!”

You flop onto the bed with a groan, covering your face with a pillow. “I can’t tell you right now.”

She flops beside you, grinning like a cat who just caught a bird. “So you are going to tell me. Just not now.”

“Maybe.” You peek at her from under the pillow, giving her a weak smile. “I’ll let you know when I can.” 

She squeals, kicking her feet. “This is so much better than your cousin. I knew something was up. I can’t believe I missed it. But whoever it is…that hickey? Respect.”

You groan again, but you're smiling. Just a little.

Because even with all the chaos, it feels good to be back and to know someone’s still in your corner, even if she doesn’t know the whole truth yet.

Rehearsal at Oakland Arena is intense, but in a good way.

The crew is buzzing with energy, eager to polish every step before showtime. Everyone’s focused, and for the first time in a while, it feels like the entire cast is moving in sync. No drama. No tension. Just the music and the movement.

Well…mostly.

Because Hoseok is different.

Not just in his dancing, which is, as always, razor-sharp and fluid, but in the way he carries himself. There’s a new lightness in him, a softened edge, as though something inside has clicked into place. He’s smiling more. Laughing more. Cracking inside jokes with backup dancers and playfully ribbing the choreographer like he’s got a secret no one else knows.

Everyone notices. You notice most of all.

And it’s torture.

You’re back to being professional, back to pretending your skin doesn’t burn every time he brushes past you. There’s no more lounging on couches or sneaking kisses in the kitchen. You can’t reach for his hand or fall asleep tangled together anymore. Now it’s just side glances and stolen seconds.

During your duet, his hand lingers at your waist just a heartbeat longer than necessary, just long enough to make your breath catch. No one comments on it, but you swear the moment is loaded with all the things you’re not allowed to say anymore.

You catch Hoseok watching you a few times throughout the run-through, his eyes soft and full of something that looks an awful lot like longing. But every time, he looks away before it becomes too obvious.

It doesn’t help that Yunjin’s watching you like a hawk either.

You don’t think she suspects the full truth, but she’s putting pieces together, closer with each passing hour. 

Still, not everything is hard. Surprisingly, the mood backstage has shifted since Mina’s departure. There’s a lot less walking on eggshells, and the clique that used to trail after her now floats around with a different energy. It’s more open. Warmer.

After a water break, two of the girls, Eunchae and Yoonchae, pull you aside near the back hallway.

“Hey,” Eunchae says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear. “We, uh…wanted to say something.”

You raise an eyebrow, unsure where this is going.

“We were kind of—” Yoonchae starts, then sighs. “No, we were total jerks before and it wasn’t cool.”

Eunchae nods. “Mina had a way of…influencing people. But that’s not an excuse.”

You’re too stunned to speak at first.

“We just wanted to say sorry,” Yoonchae finishes. “You didn’t deserve that. And honestly…we’re glad you stayed. You’re killing it out there.”

You blink, caught off guard by the sincerity in their voices. “Thanks,” you say slowly. “That means a lot.”

The two girls smile and retreat back to their spots, leaving you standing there with a mix of surprise and cautious relief blooming in your chest.

You glance across the stage where Hoseok’s already looking at you. He smiles softly, and for just a second, it feels like you’re both back in that rental house again. Untouched by the outside world.

After the rehearsal wraps up, Hoseok pulls you aside, his hand brushing lightly against your arm as he leans in with a quiet urgency. "Meet me in my room after Yunjin falls asleep," he murmurs, his voice low enough that only you can hear. There's an unmistakable intensity in his eyes, a silent promise that makes your pulse quicken. "I’ll wait for you."

You nod, your mind racing as you try to focus on the rest of the night. You’ve always had a knack for keeping things under control, but right now, everything feels a little more thrilling. The quiet anticipation in the air is enough to make your heart race in your chest. You can’t deny the pull between you two, even if it’s something neither of you has fully explored yet.

Once rehearsal is over, you head out with the rest of the dancers, keeping it casual as you chat and laugh with them. Dinner is fun, the laughter light, but your thoughts are always drifting back to Hoseok. You eat your fill, savoring the food, but it’s hard to ignore the excitement bubbling under your skin.

Later, after you've said your goodbyes and made your way back to the hotel, you slip into the bathroom for a long, calming shower. The warm water helps soothe the tension that’s built up in your muscles, but it’s not enough to wash away the anticipation. As the steam fills the bathroom, you quickly dry off, then slip into your cutest pajamas, something comfy but still just a little bit sexy.

Feeling a playful thrill, you send Hoseok a cheeky picture of yourself in your pajamas, sending a playful wink his way. It’s a small gesture, but it feels like a promise, a silent communication between the two of you.

His reply comes quickly: "Can't wait to see you."

Hoseok answers the door in a plush white robe, the soft fabric framing his collarbones and falling open just enough to tease bare skin underneath. His eyes light up the second he sees you, and before you can say a word, he pulls you inside, shutting and locking the door behind you in one swift motion.

The second the latch clicks into place, you’re against the door with his hands on your waist, his mouth finding yours like he’s been holding his breath all day just waiting for this moment. The kiss is hungry, messy, full of days of restraint unraveling all at once. His hands slide under your shirt as his lips move with purpose, like he’s trying to make up for every second he has to pretend like you are just another dancer on stage.

“I missed you,” he whispers when he finally pulls back for air, his voice husky and low against your lips.

Your breath catches, heart thudding in your chest. “We were just together this morning,” you say with a laugh, fingers curling into the collar of his robe.

He smirks, brushing his nose against yours. “Doesn’t matter. The second you walked away, I missed you. It’s pathetic.”

You’re about to tell him it’s not that you feel the same way, but he keeps going, his words tumbling out like he can’t stop them now.

“You have no idea how hard it was, watching you today and not being able to touch you. Not being able to kiss you or pull you into my lap between rehearsals. I can be professional, yeah,” he says, sliding a hand up your spine, “but that doesn’t mean I wasn’t thinking about you the entire time.”

The intensity in his gaze makes your knees weak. “What were you thinking about?” you ask, voice quiet, teasing.

A groan rumbles in his chest as he presses you harder into the door. “The way you looked in rehearsal. The way you moved with me. That moment during the duet when you smiled at me like you forgot the whole world existed. I wanted to kiss you right then and there.”

His hands grip your hips, guiding you back toward the bed, step by step, never breaking eye contact. “But I didn’t. Because I know how to behave,” he adds with a grin, leaning in to kiss along your jaw. “Even if every part of me was screaming not to.”

Your heart races as you reach for the belt of his robe, tugging gently. “What about now?”

“Now?” he repeats, voice low and rough. “Now, I don’t have to behave at all.”

✦•······················•✦•······················•✦

Every night, without fail, the two of you find your way back to each other. Whether it's slipping out after lights-out or sneaking past quiet hallways, you always end up wrapped in one another—sharing beautiful, sensual moments that leave you breathless. But it's not just physical. You talk for hours, learning the little things that make each other tick, the stories that shaped you, the hopes you’re almost too shy to say out loud.

During the day, it’s all professionalism and poise, but backstage and in quiet corners, you find ways to talk more, flirty words exchanged in passing, small touches behind curtains, kisses stolen in locked rooms when no one’s looking. It’s fun, it’s thrilling, and it’s yours. And through it all, you and Hoseok are happier than you’ve been in a long time.

After the final tour stop in LA, everyone celebrates together, the energy electric and hearts full. The night stretches into the early hours of the morning, laughter spilling out of rooms and echoing down hallways. When it’s finally just the two of you again, you end up in his hotel room, tipsy and glowing.

You dance around the room, music low and lights soft, your movements loose and joyful. Hoseok twirls you clumsily, both of you laughing until you fall into each other’s arms, dizzy with wine and everything you feel. 

His arms wrap tightly around you as you stumble into him, your laughter caught between your lips as Hoseok’s mouth finds yours. The kiss is deep and unhurried, a slow burn that says everything words can’t. He kisses you like he’s memorizing the way you taste, like he doesn’t want the night to end.

Your hands wander instinctively, fingers weaving into his hair, tugging him even closer. The music hums in the background, something mellow and dreamy, but all you can hear is the sound of your breath mingling with his, the low rumble of his voice when he whispers your name between kisses.

“God, I missed this,” he murmurs against your lips. “Even when you’re right there…I miss having you like this.”

Your heart flips at the confession, raw and real. You press your forehead to his, nodding, too caught up in the heat between you to form a proper reply. Your hands slide beneath the hem of his shirt, warm skin meeting yours. He helps you pull it over his head in one smooth motion before lifting you off the floor, carrying you toward the bed with ease.

You giggle against his neck, pressing playful kisses along his jaw until he lays you down gently, hovering above you, eyes dark with adoration. His fingers trace slow patterns down your sides, lingering where your skin is most sensitive. Every touch is intentional, teasing, like he’s savoring every second.

“I really care about you,” he says softly, cupping your cheek. “So much.”

You bite your lip, warmth blooming in your chest as you look up at him. “I care about you too,” you whisper back, letting your hands roam down his back, grounding yourself in the moment.

He kisses you again, slower this time, like the words you just exchanged have shifted something between you. There's nothing rushed about the way his lips move against yours, the way his hand cradles your face like you're something precious.

Your legs wrap around his waist instinctively, your bodies aligning with practiced ease. The air between you thickens, charged with everything you’ve both been holding back in public, all those moments stolen behind locked doors. His skin is warm beneath your fingertips, his breath hitching when your nails lightly trail along his spine.

“You drive me crazy,” he breathes, voice low and wrecked, brushing his nose against yours. “In rehearsals, on stage, backstage, every time I see you and can’t touch you, it makes me want you even more.”

His words light you up from the inside out. You arch up to meet him, lips brushing the shell of his ear as you whisper, “Then touch me now.”

He doesn’t hesitate.

His hands move over you slowly, like he’s trying to map every curve, every sigh. He slips your pajama top over your head, tossing it aside before pausing, eyes roving over you with quiet reverence. “You’re so beautiful,” he murmurs, and it sends a rush of heat straight through you.

The next kiss is all heat, more urgent, more needy, teeth grazing lips and breath mingling in shared gasps. You lose yourselves in each other, in the slow grind of hips and the friction that makes you both tremble. Every touch stokes the fire between you, building the tension higher and higher.

But even in the heat of it all, there’s a tenderness underneath, fingers tangled, foreheads pressed together, eyes locked as though nothing else exists. He slows, pressing a kiss just beneath your jaw, then to your collarbone, then your shoulder. His voice is barely above a whisper when he finally says, “I think I’m falling in love with you.”

The world quiets.

You blink up at him, heart thudding. Your hand finds his cheek, thumb brushing over his skin as you whisper, “I think I already have.”

He exhales a shaky laugh, full of disbelief and something like wonder. And then he kisses you like he’s saying it again with his mouth, his hands, his whole body.

For a long moment, the only sound is the soft flutter of your combined breaths, as if the world outside has faded into a distant memory. Then, as if drawn by an unspoken promise, you both smile a soft, soulful smile filled with the secret of this precious night.

Slowly, you shift closer, your arms wrapping around him as he holds you even tighter. The heat between you transforms into a quiet, radiant glow that neither time nor distance can dim. There are no promises made aloud, no declarations to the rest of the world just the two of you, sharing a sacred space where passion meets tenderness.

In that moment, everything becomes clear: despite the miles, the rehearsals, and even the challenges of living two lives on stage and off, this connection is real. Unspoken yet undeniable, it’s the start of a love that feels both unexpected and perfectly meant to be.

[lookingforhobi]

jhope audio pls? No female voice, a lot of moaning and skin slapping sounds?

•Hoseok's Needy Reunition - Smut Audio

[lookingforhobi]

♡ Jung Hoseok gallery ♡

➯ The rest of the members here!

➯ As always, thank you to all the lovely authors ♡

Smut - ❦ | Fluff - ☽ | Angst - ❆ | Yandere - ✦

Delta disorder Dom Hoseok | ❦

➯ Sleep paralysis demon Hoseok, horror, supernatural au.

Midnight confessions Dom Hoseok | ❦ ☽ ❆

➯ show host Y/N, coworkers / best friends to lovers.

Change of plans Dom Hoseok | ❦ ☽

➯ Best friends to lovers, rich girl reader, Dior Hobi.

Bound Dom Hoseok | ❦

➯ Friends to lovers, hard bdsm.

Incompetency Dom Hoseok | ❦

➯ Coworkers au, roommates au, mostly smut.

Party on you Dom Hoseok | ❦ ☽

➯ Idol au, friends to lovers.

Upbeat ☽, mild smut?

➯ Underground rapper Hoseok, friends to lovers, two idiots in love, Yoongi is there and I luv him.

Let’s put on a show Mostly sub Hoseok | ❦ ☽

➯ Camboy Hoseok, established relationship.

An uninvited guest Dom Hoseok | ❦ ✦

➯ Psychopath Hoseok, stalking, obsessive behavior, etc. (Please check all the warnings listed in the fanfic before reading)

[lookingforhobi]

caught me. | jjk (m)

(edit done by my love, @httpjeon)

↣ 𝐩𝐚𝐢𝐫𝐢𝐧𝐠 | jungkook x reader

↣ 𝐰𝐨𝐫𝐝 𝐜𝐨𝐮𝐧𝐭 | 13.5k

↣ 𝐠𝐞𝐧𝐫𝐞 | roommate au. slight e2l au. smut. porn with very little plot.

↣ 𝐢𝐧𝐝𝐞𝐱 | explicit language and sexual content. mentions of vaping. mutual masturbation, sex toy usage, oral sex (f + m receiving), gagging, fingering, squirting, dirty talk, some wall fucking, riding, unprotected sex (you know the drill, wrap it up), multiple orgasms, overstimulation, creampie, jungkook has tattoos, long wavy hair and a giant schlong.

↣ 𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐦𝐚𝐫𝐲 | you hate your temporary roommate, jungkook and it doesn’t help that he’s been catching you at the most inconvenient of times.

“Seokjin, how could you do this to me?” You whine from the kitchen island, reflexively stabbing at the bowl of cereal in front of you. You can’t believe your roommate is just now telling you, a day before he leaves for vacation, that his “friend” will be temporarily moving in while he’s away. Of course, Seokjin pays no mind to your tantrum. Instead, he continues packing the last of his luggage in the living space, across the room. Simply rolling his eyes and heaving a sigh in response, he’s far more acquainted with your antics than he’d like to be. He could almost call you the younger sibling he most certainly never wanted, a nuisance wrapped in feigned misery. The arrangement between the two of you seemed nothing more than the result of a last-ditch Craigslist roommate search.

He should have known the consequences, he supposes.

Keep reading

[lookingforhobi]

A Holly, Jolly Crisis (M)

Author: @kpopfanfictrash as part of the Once Upon a Holiday… collaboration with @underthejoon , @fantasybangtan​ , @lamourche​ , @hobidreams​ , @suga-kookiemonster​ , @junghelioseok​  [ LINK TO BE ADDED LATER ]

Creative Contributor: @baebae-goodnight made this ridiculously gorgeous moodboard TT

Pairing: Hoseok / Reader (female)

Genre: Ex-Best Friends to Lovers / Rom-Com / Angst (?) / Holiday

Word Count: 36,243

Rating/Warnings: 18+ for sexual content. Fingering, Hoseok has a dirty mouth, Y/N semi-jokingly offers to slap him & he’s into it, condom-less sex, squirting, multiple orgasms, rough sex. Multiple friends/family members mention the reader has lost weight, but the reader’s exact weight isn’t specified. Seokjin uses a spatula as a microphone.

Summary:   At this time last year, you thought you had it all. A kick-ass screenwriting job for the hottest TV show in LA, an actor boyfriend whose career was taking off and an affordable apartment with not one, but two bathrooms. Fast-forward to now and you’re single, soon-to-be jobless and searching for a way to scrape together January rent. Everything seems to be falling apart, which was why you told your family you weren’t coming home for the holidays. Enter your little sister, Sara, who recently became engaged to her boyfriend, Yoongi and needs you home to celebrate. The biggest problem? Returning home means you’ll be forced to face everything and everyone you left behind, including Yoongi’s best man – and your ex-best friend, Hoseok.

Keep reading

[lookingforhobi]

Holy fck!!!! This.is.intense!

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~ ♡

[lookingforhobi]

We Shouldn’t | One-Shot (Hobi)

Rating/genre: M (18+), best friends to ???; smut 💖 Pairings: Hoseok x Reader(f) feat. Jimin (present but not involved in the smut) Warnings: Explicit smut, unprotected vaginal penetration, sort of public sex (non-consenting friend in the same room but setting is not public), secret/hidden sex, creampie, thigh fucking, mostly-clothed sex, borderline somnophilia (it’s not quite because it’s accidental while anyone is still asleep), a bit of internal angst, just smut really guys - that’s it lol Word Count: 3.5k Summary: That porn trope where you have sex next to someone else sleeping and just hope they don’t wake up. Yeah, that’s what this is. But in a way that I found hot and doable without it being cringe. 

You weren’t sure who’d fallen asleep first but you were apparently the first one to wake, eyes fluttering open to find the room lit up only by the light coming in from the kitchen and the Netflix home screen on the TV, the film having ended at some point while you were passed out. 

Without moving, you could make out Jimin on the other couch, though not very well since he was now tucked into the cushions as well, wrapped up in a blanket, seeming fast asleep from the steady rise and fall of his back. 

Keep reading

[lookingforhobi]

Oh, Darling! | MYG | One

Pair: Professor!Yoongi  x Student!Reader 

Summary: Starting your second semester at one of South Korea’s most prestigious universities should be stressful enough. Between juggling classes, good grades and a social life, your plate was full. Hoping to spice up your academic career, you thought it was a good idea to enroll as an assistant for your literature professor, whom you've held a very secret and very forbidden crush on for the past several months. What will happen now that you’re forced to work closely together? And what if your crush isn’t as one sided as you thought?

Genre: Series, fluff, angst, smut, non idol au, university au.

Chapter Warnings: Professor Min, long hair Yoongi (both are good warnings okay?). Smut. 

WC: 9k 

[Membership]

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MARCH 12TH | 21:17

Enrolling on a tutoring program seemed like a simple idea at the time. 

All you had to do was come into class a few days a month, for a subject you had already taken last semester, and help newer students in exchange of extra credit and a hefty recommendation letter that would spruce up your resume. You have done really well in Modern Korean Literature in the past, so you shouldn’t have any trouble helping others learn. 

Every now and then, however, the professor would need your help outside of the classroom; for grading papers, helping format and fact-check exams, plan activities and so on. 

And it was at those times that you really struggled. 

Professor Min was different from the other teachers at your university. 

For starters, he was in his early thirties; unlike most of the school board that were already pushing their mid fifties. And he was gorgeous. The level of handsomeness that made girls fail his class for not paying attention to what he was teaching and some guys would do a double take when he walked past in the Seoul National University corridors. 

Min Yoongi was also a brilliant man. 

With titles and impressive degrees, the man was nothing short of a genius. On top of teaching classes at SNU –ones that had a waiting list for enrolment– he was also a very talented author with best sellers under his belt. 

All that paired up with his gentle nature, sharp tongue and his overall presence did not do well for your ever growing crush on the man. 

And as much as you knew nothing could ever happen between you –the few years apart in age and the risk of losing your spot in the university and his job making it impossible for you to even harbor any hope– you did catch him looking at you every now and then, and you were sure he did flirt with you at least once or twice before. 

“I can’t believe you’re ditching us for this.” Jungkook, your twin flame, cousin, and dorm-mate was saying as he parked his car in the university parking lot. 

“I need the extra credit, Kook.” 

To that, the man sitting behind you in the backseat scoffed. “We both know that’s not true. Just admit you’re in love with your professor and go.” 

“I’m not!” you groaned, turning around to squint your eyes at Taehyung. “You guys are just upset because you won’t get free drinks without me, but you won’t even miss me.”

“Excuse you, we’re perfectly capable of getting free drinks on our own, but it helps when you’re friends with the bartender.” Tae threw back, but Jungkook was still pouting. 

“Just tell Minie I sent you and he’ll hook you up.” 

The noise Jungkook let out at the mention of your bartender best friend was a perfect mix between a screech and a grunt. You most definitely weren’t the only one with an unrequited crush. 

“Alright, see you guys tomorrow. Thanks for the ride, Kook.” 

“Yeah, yeah, goodbye, traitor.” 

You were laughing at his pout as you got out of the car, feeling the cold winds of March kissing your bare legs. 

It was past ten at night as you made it to campus, walking into the building of Languages and Literature to find it deserted. It wasn’t your first time between these walls so late at night, but it was definitely a first for you on a Saturday. 

You should be annoyed, really, since you were really looking forward to the night out with your friends. But Professor Min seemed so desperate when he texted you an hour ago that you had no choice but to ask Jungkook to turn around and drop you off at university instead. 

Your knock on the professor’s private office was soft, but you knew he caught it as you heard steps from the inside. A second later and he was opening the heavy doors with a swish. 

“You’re here, good.” the man offered you a tight lipped smile as he pushed the door open for you to come inside. “I’m really sorry to text you at such short notice, I wouldn’t have if it wasn’t important–” 

“It’s okay, professor.” you assured as you walked deeper into the office, dropping your small purse on the corner of the brown leather couch. “What can I help you with?” 

You turned back around to catch him staring at your legs. It was just for a second, and you were sure it meant nothing, but it still sent a funny feeling up your spine. He also didn’t answer you right away, making you wonder if he paid attention to your words at all. It gave you some time to pay attention to him. 

Professor Min had a style that bordered the fine line between casual and formal. His black pants were tailored, and his open blazer didn’t have a single crease. But the white t-shirt underneath and the same color sneakers broke the formality of it all. His hair was so long it started to touch his shoulders, the fringe pushed back and away from his forehead; a little messy from running his hands through. 

“Were you heading somewhere?” 

His question was clearly aimed at your dress, much shorter than you would ever wear on a normal day at university. It was also lathered with guilt, so you shook your head in a lie that you knew wouldn’t stick. 

“So that’s all for me?” Professor Min asked with a raised eyebrow and tilt of his head, catching your lie, pressing for the truth. If only he knew the effect his words had on you. 

“Don’t people say to dress for the job you want?” 

That made him laugh; a scratchy sound deep from his throat as he walked past you and towards his desk at the back of the room. 

“And what is it you want?” 

Not to burst into flames with the way the man rolled the stiff sleeves of his blazer up to his elbows, revealing pale arms, lean muscles and veins.

“To help you.” you finally said after what felt like a too long staring session. “You seemed a little rushed through the text, Professor Min.” 

“Just Yoongi is fine.” the man said, rounding the table to fiddle with a stack of papers he was clearly working on before your arrival. You were about to protest, and he sensed it when he said: “I clearly messed up your Saturday night plans, the least I can do is let you off from being so formal.” 

“Yoongi.” you repeated with a small nod, wanting to test how it sounded on your tongue. 

The man had been your professor last semester, on the subject you were now helping him with, and you were one of his monitors ever since the start of this term. But you had never called him by name, too scared of what it might do to your poor delusional self.

"I really need to finish this chapter by Monday, and I also need to grade these exams by Monday." the man said with a tired sigh, feeling the need to explain himself: "I'm usually more organized than this… My editor, however, apparently not. He didn't tell me the deadline was cutting close– and you don't care about that, I'm stalling." 

Yoongi’s new sigh made your heart clench for the man. He was clearly stressed and you had noticed the two empty coffee cups by his trash and the half full one sitting on a coaster on his dark wood desk. You knew he was working on a new book, even if he was very tight lipped about what it was. 

Authors and their secret projects, you supposed. 

“I was under the impression that tutors weren’t supposed to grade the exams of other students?” you asked sheepishly, standing in front of his desk. 

“I trust you to not give your friends higher grades than what they deserve.” 

“I wouldn’t.” you assured him, eyes widening a fraction. 

“It will be our little secret, then.” 

Professor Min gave you the stack of papers you were supposed to grade, as well as the cheat-sheet with his own answers so you could base your revision off of them. He let you borrow a few pens, since you weren’t exactly prepared with your backpack and pencil case when coming over tonight, and you moved back to the couch. 

Sharing his desk was out of question, since he had way too many things on its surface and you guessed he needed that kind of organized mess to work. You settled on the floor, between the leather couch and the low coffee table, using it as a makeshift desk. The plush rug felt nice against your legs, stopping the cold of the tiles to get to you. 

Sitting down was a bit of a struggle, since you had to try and keep your modesty, but there was no way you could stop your dress from riding up your thighs at least a little bit. This was your Second Date dress, the one you felt the best in and the one that had guaranteed you getting fucked at the end of the night in every ocasion you wore it. 

You didn’t intend on wearing it for your professor and breaking the lucky cycle, but you didn’t exactly have time to go home and change before swooping in to his rescue. 

MARCH 12TH | 22:21

The first time it happened, you chucked it off to your own wishful thinking. 

You were distracted with the tenth exam, words starting to jumble together as you tried to make sense of Kim Sora’s chicken scratch, huffing to yourself in frustration when you looked up and to the side. Yoongi had his eyes on you, over the screen of his laptop, averting his gaze way too quickly for someone who had nothing to hide. 

It was still enough to bring a flush to your cheeks, but you ignored it in favor of believing it to be a moment of distraction from his hard work. 

The second time it happened, you had just adjusted yourself on the rug, stretching your legs in front of you and under the table, crossing your heels on top of the other. It was pure curiosity that made you look up at Yoongi again. This time, his eyes stayed on your legs a bit longer, flitting to your face and holding your stare for all of two seconds. 

Two seconds that felt like minutes and made you want to squirm on your makeshift seat. 

The third time it happened, it was your own fault. 

You were about to start grading Jungkook’s exam, holding back the want to text him about it and tease him, when Yoongi groaned. It was a groan of frustration, paired with his knobby fingers running through his already messy, dark hair. But it still made you look up and wonder just what other sounds he might make. 

Like a magnet, the beautiful man kept your eyes stuck to him. More specifically, on the way his pink bottom lip looked a little swollen from all the bitting he was doing on his focus. The noise of his rushed typing on his keyboard helped your entranced state and you couldn’t look away. Not even when his tongue poked out of his mouth to lick between his lips. 

Your heart was trying to beat out of your chest, completely freezing as your gaze traveled up his cute button nose and stopped at his feline-like eyes. Professor Min was looking at you, having caught your stare. And he held it again, but you didn’t run from it. Not when you had caught him twice before. 

Your lips moved of their own accord, as if you wanted to say something, anything. The movement dragged his dark eyes down your face, completely choking you up. Your mouth closed and you knew your face looked as red as it felt. Yoongi let out a small hum, something you could only interpret as satisfaction, and got back to working on his task. 

The buzzing on your lap stopped you from being mortified and you looked down to see a string of text messages from your friend’s group chat. 

Joonie [22:50]: whts this I hear about u ditching us to sit on a professor’s dick? 

You [22:51]: tell @tae to stfu there will be none of that! I’m working 

Tae [22:51]: I take offense to that, how do you know it wasn’t kook??

You [22:51]: bc I’m sure he’s either wasted by now or making heart eyes at Jimin by the bar 

Your confirmation came in the form of a video. The content was blurry and dark, no doubt taken in the bar they were in, and you could slightly see Jungkook’s broad frame and half of his face. Turning the volume of your phone down enough so only you could hear it, you pressed play. 

“Babyyyy, we miss youuuu.” you could hear Jimin’s voice yelling at the phone. 

“No we don’t!” Jungkook was clearly drunk, with the way he got in front of Tae’s phone and blocking your views of the blonde man behind the bar. A second later, your roommate was whispering: “Yes we do, but don’t tell her–”

Your giggle was easy and light hearted as you blocked your screen again without answering. As much as you didn’t regret coming over to take some of the weight off your professor’s shoulder, you did feel a little fomo. 

“That your boyfriend?” Yoongi’s raspy voice pulled you out of your own thoughts, making you jolt a tiny bit. 

“Uh, no.” you pretended not to understand your need to clarify: “I don’t have a boyfriend.” 

“Mm.” 

His little hum told you absolutely nothing. Was he relieved? Disinterested? Only asked to be polite? Before he could close himself inside his bubble again, you asked:

“Do you like jjapaguri?”

“Yeah.” 

“With pork or steak?” you pulled your phone again, opening the food delivery app. 

“Pork– wait, why?” 

His attention was on you again and you lifted yourself from the floor, shoes getting lost a while ago, to sit on the couch. 

“I know a good restaurant nearby and they deliver until pretty late.” you explained, scrolling for the menu items you just mentioned. 

“Miss Yn–”

“I thought we didn’t need to be so formal tonight, Yoongi.” you stopped his denying with a crooked smile. “Besides, you messed up my Saturday night plans, the least you could do is have dinner with me.” 

You knew you were pushing a bit, didn’t know if he’d take your small tease as petulance or as a joke. You’d never talk like this to any of your other professors; but then again, you never stayed past midnight on a now-sunday with any of them. 

Yoongi regarded you for a moment, stretching his legs in front of him and making his chair creak when he leaned back against the backrest. 

“I could use a break, I guess.” his agreement made you smile and resume your ordering. “But at least let me pay.” 

“It’s fine.” 

You did live on a budget, and had to pay more to have a room for yourself in the co-ed dormitory you resided in. But you could still afford to buy two bowls of noodles from a restaurant down the street. 

Feeling pretty bold, and hoping Yoongi might catch the implications behind your words, you said:

“You can pay for dinner next time.” 

“Okay.” 

Not even twenty minutes later you were already making it back to Yoongi’s office after picking up the food from the delivery guy at the front door. The string-bean like man told you he thought it was a prank order, since no one had ever ordered food this late to be delivered at the university and that he was thankful you weren’t a ghost. 

You were still laughing about it as you pushed the heavy doors to the office with your hip, almost stilling in place when you watched your professor ridding himself of his blazer. 

“I got the drinks.” the man said as he pointed to the two cans of soda on top of the center table that had been ridden of all the papers you were grading before. 

“Good, thanks.” 

You sat on the couch, leaning over the small table to place the take-out bags and pull out the plastic bowls of greasy noodles. Yoongi sat next to you, only half a cushion between the two of you. 

“It’s just from the vending machine down the hall.” he said nonchalantly, as if it wasn’t a big deal. “I remember seeing you drinking Sprite, and I didn’t know what else you liked, so.” 

“Sprite is perfect, Yoongi.” you said with a smile that you tried to contain. “It’s my favorite, actually.” 

“My best friend loves it too.” he said with a small scoff and a roll of his eyes. “I like coke better.” 

“At least one of you has good taste.” your scoff slipped out as you handed the man his bowl. “Diet coke?”

“When you get to a certain age, you have to start looking after your figure.” 

You had to bite your tongue to stop the comment that was about to jump from it. With the way the white t-shirt fell over Yoongi’s thick shoulders, straining against his arms, and resting over a clearly toned chest, you doubted he had much trouble staying fit. 

You ate in silence at first, savoring the noodles and munching on the pork meat. Albeit greasy, it was surprisingly tender and practically melted on your mouth. Yoongi seemed to be enjoying himself too, with the little hums he kept letting out, eyebrows kissing high on his smooth forehead. 

“I didn’t realize I was this hungry.” he commented while pausing his chewing in order to drink from his can.

“When was the last time you ate?” you wanted to know. 

His forehead creased as if deep in thought, until he said: “I honestly don’t remember. Does coffee count?” 

“Absolutely not.” you reprimanded. 

“Time flies when you’re hating absolutely everything you write.” he mused, almost bitterly. 

“Is your new book giving you trouble?” you asked before pushing a chunky piece of meat past your lips. 

“Hm. Yeah.” Yoongi seemed to ponder his answer for a while, finally admitting: “Trying to write my first novel is going a little harder than I expected.” 

“A novel?!” 

You couldn’t stop your excitement at the news. You read three of Yoongi’s previous books; one of them was on the reading list for the class you took with him, and the other two were purely for selfish reasons. They were all textbooks talking about Korean literature, modern and classic, and it still hooked you up on every word. Surely having seen the man behind the words helped a lot, but you still enjoyed them. 

But to know he was working on a novel? That absolutely interested you, not to mention how curious you were to ask about the plot and genre. 

“Don’t get so excited, it might never see the light of day.” his scratchy laugh made you squirm a little and you had no reasonable explanation as to why. 

“I don’t believe you’re having that much trouble.” you said as you opened your can of Sprite, holding it away from you and from him to avoid any spilling; never one to trust a vending machine can. 

Yoongi chewed for a while, forehead still creasing from the taste, before saying: “I wasn’t struggling at first, but my editor had me rewrite the whole thing. Well, the whole five chapters I had so far.” 

“I can see why that would stress you out…” 

“It’s a mystery book. Hoseok wants me to add romance to it.” it sounded like a complaint more than sharing, but you guessed he was holding onto those feelings of frustration for too long, so you let him talk. “But I guess sex sells. And I know he has a point, I just wish I wasn’t struggling so much.” 

“I could… Take a look at it for you?” you offered, bracing yourself for the rejection that was clearly coming when he didn’t answer right away. “I mean, I am a literature major and I took a course in creative writing–”

“Okay.” 

“–but if you don’t– wait, really?” you blinked and he almost looked… endeared? 

“There’s a reason I picked you over the dozens of applicants for this spot, Yn.” Yoongi admitted, finishing the last scoop of noodles. “You can read a bit of it and I’ll finish grading the papers.” 

You nodded, closing the lid on your half finished bowl of noodles. “I already finished it, but wrote the scores with a pencil so all you have to do is cover it with a pen. I thought people might notice if they got them back with another handwriting that wasn’t yours.”

“Smart.” 

“Didn’t wanna get you in trouble.” 

Yoongi smiled softly and went back to his table, leaning over his computer and clicking a few things here and there while you cleaned up the coffee table of any trash and leftovers. 

When you joined him on the other side of the desk, Yoongi looked like he was ready to bolt. 

“I won’t be too mean about it.” you said in what you hoped would be taken as a joke. “I’m sure you have nothing to worry about anyway.” 

“Hold that thought.” 

The man let you sit at his desk as he took your place on the couch. He had his back to you as he picked up the exams, most likely scared to see your reactions to what he wrote. And as much as his back muscles called to you, straining against the fabric of his shirt, you wanted to read the first chapters of the novel. 

Focusing on it was a tricky task at first, when you were surrounded by so many of Yoongi’s things. If you took anything other than a shallow breath, you were engulfed by the smell of musk, grapefruit and something woody that was just so Yoongi it made you a little dizzy. 

You weren’t a particularly slow reader in the first place, having read the fifth Harry Potter book in less than forty eight hours, but you were whooshing through this. Yoongi had a way with words that really captured you, that put you inside his pages and that really painted a picture. There were cliffhangers and parts that made you chuckle and others that made you gasp. 

In fact, you let out so many noises that made Yoongi turn around and stare at you again. 

“Oh, it’s over already?” you pouted when you got to the last page of the document, wanting more. “Okay, I see what you mean.” 

“It’s shit, innit?” 

“No, Yoongi.” you chuckled at his dejected face, getting up from his chair and immediately missing his scent. “But I can tell that you added the love interest as a second thought. It’s not so… Natural for the reader.” 

“I know.” 

He groaned in frustration for the tenth time tonight, hiding his face on his hands, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees. You sat next to him, nibbling on your bottom lip. 

“I think it would help if you added subtle hints that they are attracted to each other. It would make it easier for the romance to blossom down the line.” 

“Subtle hints?” 

You nodded while you wanted to laugh. Clearly Yoongi didn’t read enough romance novels to know what you were talking about. It didn’t seem like his style either, but if he wanted to write about romance, he had to read about it. Or he had to experience it. 

“Yeah. Like furtive looks when someone thinks the other doesn’t notice it.” you stated and his cheeks gained a slight pink hue you didn’t miss. “And small touches.” 

Yoongi sat against the back of the couch again, hands resting on his thighs, fingers twitching. He still looked utterly confused. You didn’t really blame him, having a theory that when your professor wanted something, he went after it. You could read him like a man that didn’t waste any time beating about the bush, he was honest and sometimes brutally so. Why would he be any different when it came to his love life? 

Biting the bullet, and before you could really think about how much of a bad idea this was, your said: 

“I think it’s getting a little late and I should go.” contradicting your words, you placed a soft hand on his forearm. It was only there for a moment, but you made a point of dragging your thumb over his heating skin. “Let me know if you need anything else, okay?” 

Yoongi seemed dumbfounded, you had never touched him like this. Or in any other way for that matter. This whole night passed as a blur to him. 

From the moment you were knocking on his door wearing this damn dress, to the way you didn’t mind how much shorter it got as you moved about his space, to your gentleness and care when ordering dinner for the both of you. Everything was too much, while simultaneously not enough. 

Yoongi wasn’t blind, much less dumb. He knew the effect he had on students, and he knew the effect he had on you. From the way your face and neck gained a cute pink shade whenever he complimented you for a job well done after one of his classes, or how shy you seemed to be when you first started working together on the monitoring program. 

But he didn’t expect you to make the first move like this. To touch him like this. It was fleeting and it was barely there, a touch so subtle that he barely missed it. Still, it was enough to set his nerve endings on fire, send his brain into overdrive and a rush straight to his–

Hold on. 

Subtle hints. Small touches. 

Oh. 

Ohh.

You got up from the couch, your bare legs brushing his knees as you passed by him and Yoongi didn’t know if he should feel relief or disappointment that you were only showing him what you meant when it came to your advice about his book. 

It most definitely wasn’t the first option. 

But he wished for it to be, because the alternative was much too dangerous for him to even entertain the idea of. You were his student. He was in a position of power over you in so many ways, he didn’t want to force you into anything you didn’t want. 

He couldn’t find out if you wanted the same thing as he did. 

And Yoongi actually appreciated how much you helped him, and he really appreciated this job. While getting involved with you wouldn’t be illegal –you weren’t a minor for a few years now– it was imperative that he didn’t think of you in any way other than his best student. 

“See what I did there?” you turned around to face him, dropping whatever act you had put on to show him the subtle touches you were on about. 

But you looked so happy while at it that he didn’t hold back his own smile. One that would give him a lot of shit for if Hoseok was there to witness it. 

“Yeah, I think it’ll help.” he nodded, wiping his sweaty palms on his pants. “But you’re right, it is quite late.” 

“Oh, yeah, I didn’t really notice it.” you looked around to check the digital clock on the cream wall, the blue LED light marking 00:37. “Guess I can call a cab, it’s still too early for my friends to be leaving the bar.”

“So you were going somewhere.”

You smiled sheepishly, offering him a little shrug as he got up from the couch to close up his notebook and gather his things so he could leave too. 

“Don’t you want to go meet them?” Yoongi wondered while placing a fountain pen on the breast pocket of his discarded jacket. 

“Nah, at this point they are mostly too drunk to be fun when I’m this sober.” you chuckled, fixing your shoes on your feet. 

“I’ll just drive you home, then?” 

Your breath got caught on your throat. It wasn’t a question, Yoongi was doing what he wanted and he was driving you home. The assertiveness made the butterflies go a little haywire on your stomach, and you had no option but to nod. 

MARCH 13TH | 01:09

The Languages and Literature department wasn’t that far from your dorm building, especially not at this hour of the night, when streets were empty and students were either already sleeping or out enjoying the city nightlife. 

Yoongi’s car was clean and comfortable, nothing flashy or ostentatious, but he did have a built-in GPS and a very modern sound system. He kept a mellow R&B playlist low on the background as he drove and you couldn’t help but stare at the veins in his arm as he held the steering wheel with one hand. 

In such a small space everything seemed heightened. From the sound of your own heavy breathing, to the rustle of the plastic bag with your leftover dinner resting by your feet. But it was Yoongi’s soft hums when he liked a song and the amplified scent oozing off of him that was making you go a little crazy. 

When the car came to a halt a few stops away from your building, slightly hidden behind a large tree and away from the nearest street lamp, you wanted to find an excuse, anything to stay there and prolong your goodbyes. You wouldn’t have another class with Yoongi for a few days, since he liked to rotate his two assistants, and you didn’t know when you’d have a one on one session with him again. 

The professor didn’t seem eager to let you go either, when he turned the engines off and cut the lights. 

“I hope your wife won’t mind you staying out so late.” you heard yourself saying, heart beating quickly on your chest at the prospects of a confirmation you didn’t want. 

Yoongi let out a breathy laugh, pushing his hair away from his forehead again. “Don’t have one.” 

“Your girlfriend then?” 

“Not that either.” 

If Yoongi thought your questions were invasive or out of line, he didn’t show it. When you removed your seatbelt and let it slide back into place, the man turned slightly to the side. To stare at you. To wait for your next move. When you didn’t make any motion of leaving his car, he clicked his own seatbelt free. 

Was he expecting you to invite him up? You doubted it, since he was careful enough to park so far away from the entrance of your dorm building, where it was safe from prying eyes. 

“Yn.” he said, and you liked the way your name sounded in the solitude of his car. 

“Yes, Professor Min?” 

Whatever question he had seemed to die on his tongue and you basked in the way his gaze grew darker. You licked your lips out of habit, a movement that caught his sharp attention immediately. 

You couldn’t tell when you started leaning into his space. Maybe it was before his warning call to your name, even. Your heart was pumping so much blood through you that your pulse was buzzing in your ears. 

“Told you to not call me that when it’s just the two of us.” his tone was low, teasing almost, and it sent a pool of heat right between your legs. 

“What do you want me to call you?” you were a breath away from whimpering, begging him to close the distance before you leaned all the way over the console of the car, you needed him to give you something. “Sir?”

The grunt that escaped his pretty lips made a new wave of arousal course through you, every cell on your body buzzing from the possibilities. 

Rationally, you knew you shouldn’t be this close. You should have left his car as soon as it parked, wished him good luck with his book and thanked him for the ride. But something was keeping you stuck to this seat, maybe the same thing that made him take off his seatbelt and not ask you to leave. 

It was pretty obvious to the two of you what was happening right now, the tension too thick to pretend it wasn't there, the elephant in the room too obnoxiously colored to ignore. 

“We can’t.” the man said, pale hand resting on your shoulder as if to stop you from coming any closer. 

But his thumb brushed your collarbone, his digits pressed against your skin, his eyes dropped to your lips. You wanted him so much. More than you ever wanted anything in your life. 

“Yoongi–” 

It was erotic, the way his name fell from your lips. A whine, a plea. 

One he didn’t have the strength to ignore. 

The hand on your shoulder slipped to the back of your neck, gentle, yet firm, pulling you closer to him the rest of the way so your lips could clash together at once. It was mind numbing and electrifying. His lips felt so soft against yours, but full of purpose as he slowly moved them over yours. 

Your hand rested on his thigh as you looked for balance, fingers digging into the hard flesh as you heard his groan against your lips. The hand on the back of your neck slipped into your hair, tilting your head to the side and you were gone. 

A soft gasp left your lips, giving Yoongi the perfect opportunity to push his tongue past your lips, licking into your mouth, rolling it over yours with so much want it left you breathless. It took you a few seconds for your brain to catch up; just as Yoongi was starting to pull back, you chased his lips again, taking his bottom one between your teeth. 

Maybe you were blinded by your crush on the man, drunk on desire, intoxicated by the thrill of making out with your professor, but you didn’t think that any other kiss you ever had compared to his. The way he had control over his tongue, how he knew exactly how to flick it, how fast or slow he should go. You didn’t want it to end, but you were losing your already short breath. 

“Tell me what you want.” Yoongi’s request was a low blow and he knew that. 

It was his way to alleviate his guilty conscience, letting you ask him what you wanted, instead of imposing his wants on you. It just so happened that apparently you both wanted the same thing. 

“Want you.” you told him meekly. As if you weren’t just biting on his lip two minutes ago. 

“‘m here.” 

You seemed to think about your options, looking around his car, to his lap, then at the steering wheel. He could almost see the calculations you were making behind your eyes, until you threw a glance to the back seat. Your silent request was understood and Yoongi let go of your neck so he could squeeze his way to the back of his car, falling to the middle seat with a less than attractive thud. 

You started giggling and Yoongi wanted to wipe it off your pretty, tantalizing lips. 

“Come here.” 

Despite your short dress, you maneuvered yourself with a lot more grace than he had, making him wonder just how many times you had done something like this before. It was a thought he quickly shook away. 

“Eager, are we?” you teased, settling over his lap, with a knee on each side of his narrow hips. 

“You’re one to talk.” was his comeback, and he knew he had to do better than that. But it wasn’t really his fault that all the blood seemed to be moving down and settling on his crotch. 

You laughed, all pretty and sweet, sitting your ass on top of his bulge and holding yourself by his shoulders. Yoongi’s hands were on your thighs and he didn’t know legs could feel this smooth and soft. The more his fingers inched up, the more he realized just how much your tiny dress has ridden up and laid bunched on your hips. 

The car was dark and the murky windows made it hard for the outside light to filter in, but he could still see the light material of your small panties. Pink and lacy. Cute. 

“Wanna kiss you again.” you were impatiently asking, slipping one of your hands into his hair. “God, always wanted to do this.” 

“Kiss me?” he asked with a cocked brow. 

“That too, but I mean your hair.” 

His chuckle was nice, all the way from deep in his chest. “You like it?” 

“So much.” 

This should be weird, you thought to yourself. You were sitting on your professor’s lap, about to have his tongue down your throat again. His hands were inching closer and closer to your ass, until he grabbed handfuls of it and pressed you harder against him, tearing a moan from you. 

But it wasn’t weird at all. 

Maybe you had imagined and fantasized about this so many times that it felt natural to you now that it was actually coming true. Surely you pictured Yoongi fucking you on a bed –or in the shower, or bent over his desk–, but the backseat of his car was just as exciting. 

“Still waiting.” 

Yoongi said with a lick to his lips, beaconing you closer and closer until you could feel his breath on your face. As he tried to close the rest of the space and reach for your lips, however, you held onto his long hair. Your pull made it impossible for his head to move any closer and the sting to his scalp made him growl. He liked that.

You giggled at the way his bottom lip pushed out just for a second and he caught himself pouting, rolling his eyes as if that reaction surprised even himself. 

“Yn–” 

The reprimand was interrupted as your lips searched for his tongue, latching onto it so you could suck on it slowly, head bobbing as your hips rocked on top of his lap. One of Yoongi’s hands stayed on your ass as the other continued up your back, testing his luck and moving to your front to rest on your ribs, the tips of his fingers brushing against the underside of your covered breasts. 

“This okay?” he asked breathlessly after retrieving his tongue from your mouth. 

You instantly missed it, but nodded. Pushing back from him, you took it upon yourself to slip the straps of your dress off your shoulders and pulled the top down, allowing your tits to spill and bounce free. 

You were used to boys ogling your chest, had gotten very positive reactions when revealing them. You were proud of what you had. But when it came to Yoongi, you guessed he had seen a lot more tits in his life than the younger men you were used to hooking up with. Thankfully, you didn’t have time to let insecurities get inside your head, not with the way his eyes widened ever so slightly as he cursed:

“Fucking hell.” 

“You like them?” you mirrored his question from before, grabbing your own tits and squeezing them together. 

Yoongi’s hips rutted up into you on pure reflex and you bit your bottom lip to stop a louder moan from escaping you. 

“You’re driving me crazy, you know that?” the man finally acted as you let your tits go to tangle your fingers in his hair again. His swollen lips touched your collarbones and both of his hands held your breasts. “Been teasing me all night with this fucking dress.”

“Yoongi–” 

You moaned his name as his pretty lips wrapped around one of your nipples and you cursed the car for being so dark so you couldn’t really see his face as well as you wanted to. But you could feel his tongue swirling around the bud, the scrape of his teeth, and you could hear the sucking noises mixing with your own pants. 

Both of you froze when another car drove by, his head lifting to look around as your heart sped up incredibly fast. It was enough to break the daze you were both under, the reality of what you were doing and where you were doing it hitting you right across the face. 

For a second you saw something akin to doubt crossing Yoongi’s face and it terrified you that he’d tell you to leave. What he said, though, lit up a whole new fire within you.  

“Wish I had all night to fuck you, but–” 

“I know.” your hand rushed to the buttons and zipper of his pants, lifting your hips from his lap so he could push them down to his knees alongside his underwear. “I don’t mind if it’s quick.” 

Yoongi didn’t want this to be quick, he didn’t want to rush it. He wanted to take you in every position imaginable, over and over again until he ruined you for anybody else. He was going to hell anyway, and he did not want to think about his conscience tomorrow morning –when he was sure reality of what you were doing would hit him like a fucking wrecking ball–, but his future was doomed anyways. 

He just didn’t know how much. 

You didn’t seem to have a problem with rushing, apparently, as you were balancing yourself in one leg, back pressed to the roof of his car as you pushed your underwear down your legs, letting them pool at your ankles. 

“Fuck.” he was cursing again, hand wrapping around his throbbing cock. 

Yoongi felt like a horny teenager all over again, only he was too damn awkward back then to have many experiences like this one. Someone like you would never have looked his way back then either. 

“Oh god, you’re big.” you were saying as you sat next to him on the backseat of the car. 

“Bet you say that to every guy.” Yoongi teased, finding his voice again. He leaned closer to you, lips chasing yours. 

You let him kiss you for a while, a new rush of slick flowing between your thighs with each new flick of his tongue. Even with your eyes closed, your small hand found his thigh, following it up until you found his cock. Yoongi groaned into your mouth as he let you keep the hold of it, palm rubbing at the head and spreading the pre-cum up and down his shaft as you stroke him languidly. 

“Only when I mean it.” you hushed, taking his bottom lip between your teeth and biting lightly. You let it wobble back into place before saying: “Really want to suck you off. And I don’t think I ever meant that before.” 

“Next time, I promise.” 

If you were being honest with yourself, you knew there wouldn’t be a next time. You could hardly even believe this was happening right now, let alone a second chance of fucking the hottest professor of SNU. But you’d take what you could get and if a quickie at the backseat of his car was all you had, you’d make the most of it. 

“Do you have a condom?” you asked him, ignoring the stubborn butterflies in your stomach. 

“If I have a– oh, shit.” Yoongi looked pained enough for you to know he didn’t have any protection on him. 

“Really? Don’t guys carry it with them at all times?” you mused, arching an eyebrow. 

“I wasn’t really planning on fucking anybody tonight.” he scoffed, making you bite your lip. 

“Aww, is that not why you called me over?” 

You fake pouted and his snort was cut off with the way your hand sped up its movements on his cock. Yoongi’s head fell back and you never saw a more delicious neck, or heard a more delicious whine. 

“I have one, hang on.” 

Reluctantly, you let his cock go, leaving it heavy and leaking resting against his lower stomach. You had to lean over the console of the car to reach your bag, ass practically on Yoongi’s face as your hip was stuck between the two front seats. Getting the damn thing was almost impossible with the way Yoongi’s hands went to your thighs and his face leaned in to lick between your folds. 

You had no warning, letting out a cross between a gasp of surprise and a moan of pleasure. 

“Stay like this for a bit.” he asked with a mumble. “Gotta taste you.” 

Yoongi held your hips in place as he lapped slowly, licking your pussy and sucking on your lips. Your position wasn’t the most comfortable, but you balanced yourself as best as you could, wanting to rock on his face to have more of whatever he was willing to give you. 

When his lips wrapped around your clit and really sucked, you bit your lips to stop a cry from being too loud. 

“Yoongi, I need you, please.” you somewhat begged.

“Come here, baby.” 

He gave your ass cheek a kiss and held your hips harder to pull you all the way to the backseat again. It wasn’t fair how your mind was swimming in bliss from that pet name alone. 

“Here.” you handed him the square packet and let him rip it with his teeth as you settled on his lap again. 

“So you were planning on getting fucked tonight?” 

You shrugged, ass on his knees as you watched his deft fingers roll the transparent latex down on his cock. 

“It was a hard week. Professor Hwang was really on my ass.” you said and scooted closer to Yoongi once his job was done. “And not in a fun way.” 

Yoongi laughed heartily, shoulders shaking as he held you up to hover over his cock. 

“Don’t worry, I’ll take good care of you.” his lips touched your chest again, tongue searching for a nipple as his hand brushed the tip of his covered cock between your folds. Yoongi dragged it up and down, flicking your clit to make you tremble. You couldn’t take this teasing anymore, taking him in your own hands and lining him up with your entrance. “Wait, let me prep–”

“No time.” 

Yoongi watched you shake your head and he felt the way his tip breached your little hole. It was a sensory overload; you felt so fucking tight around him, the noise of your cunt swallowing him little by little was obscene, the whole car smelled of sweat and sex. 

He could tell you were putting on a brave face, but his eyes were used to the dark by now and he could see the frown on your forehead, the slight tremble on your thighs as you tried to pace yourself. 

“You’re doing so well.” he praised, soothing you with gentle kisses on your breasts and soft squeezes to your ass. “Just a little more.” 

“Not a little more–” you breathed in sharply. “Too big…”

“Shh, it’s okay, baby.” 

It was your own fault how much the stretch was stinging, Yoongi had offered to prep you. But you were stubborn and impatient, and each minute you stayed there was a minute too long. You didn’t plan on saying anything, but the campus security guard was famous for doing his rounds and making sure students weren’t doing anything illegal. 

And fucking inside a car, in the middle of the street, was definitely illegal. 

You hugged Yoongi by his neck, chest against chest, and bottomed out. Yoongi was thick and long and you knew he must be as pretty as the rest of him. It was a shame you wouldn’t get to see more of him; he still had his shirt on, for fucks sake. 

Resting your head against his shoulder, you took deep breaths, willing your pussy to get used to the stretch quicker. You needed him to move, you wanted him to pound you into next life and you really fucking needed to cum. You didn’t lie when you told him you had a long week; all the pent up stress and the many hours of sexual tension tonight were driving you up a figurative wall. 

“‘m good.” you told him. 

“Don’t lie.” 

“Don’t care.” you lifted your hips and sunk down again, whimpering the discomfort away. “Just fuck me, Yoongi.” 

“Remember that if you can’t walk tomorrow.” 

His warning was a contrast to the way his hands grabbed your ass again, keeping you in place as his hips started moving to fuck his cock into you. He started slow, but hit deep. The noise of skin hitting against skin was a distraction enough from the pain of the stretch and when Yoongi’s fingers slipped between your bodies to roll your clit, you completely forgot all about it.

You were squeezing him, moving in sync with his thrusts, alternating between bouncing up and down and rolling your hips. When you took control of your movements, rocking back and forward, Yoongi’s head fell backwards again, resting on the backrest. His long hair was sticking to his slightly damp skin and you just had to finally kiss his beautiful neck. 

You leaned in with purpose, moans being muffled by his skin as he took control of fucking you again. You covered his neck with open mouthed kisses, licking his salty skin, feeling his pulse under your lips. You kissed your way up to his ear, never having noticed before how he had two earrings dangling from his lobe; usually hidden by his hair. 

Taking them into your mouth, you let your tongue lick around his ear and you sucked on the lobe, pulling on the hoops with your teeth. Yoongi was a whiny mess under you, with deep groans and grunts as his thrusts became sloppy. 

“Not gonna last long–” 

“Please make me cum!” you begged in desperation, which made him laugh. 

“Don’t worry, baby.” his fingers found your clit again, rolling and rubbing it quick enough to make you see stars. “If it was up to me, I’d make you cum twice before I did.” 

“Fuckfuck–” you were holding onto him for dear life, nails sinking in on his shoulders as your open mouth pressed against his neck so your moans wouldn’t alert anybody outside. “So close, please, please–” 

“You’re milking my cock so hard, that’s it… Such a good girl–” Yoongi’s voice was hoarse, words delivered right to your ear as strong arms helped you ride him harder as he abused your bundle of nerves with pinches and flicks.  

His name fell from your lips like a prayer as your orgasm hit you hard. You choked up a sob, hugging the man harder, trembling in his arms as you felt wave after wave washing over you. Your release milked Yoongi’s own and you could feel his hips sputtering as a cacophony of ‘ah ah ah’ and heavy pants barely reached your buzzing ears. His swollen cock seemed to expand and throb inside of you, as he spilled into the condom. 

“That was so good.” you were more than breathless, whining with a high pitch as you moved off his lap and his softening cock slipped from your cunt. 

Yoongi had his eyes closed, head still resting back, not making a single move of getting dressed. You might think he fell asleep if it wasn’t for the slow blinking of his eyes as he fought for his breathing. It was your giggle that brought him back from whatever dimension his orgasm sent him to.

“You okay?” you checked and he nodded. “Want me to throw that out for you?” 

Yoongi blinked, brain taking a while to catch up to what you were offering. Then you nodded towards his dick, the messy and full condom having no trouble staying on with his natural girth. “Ah, no, it’s fine, I got it.” 

“Alright.” 

Your smile was so sweet and free of any guilt and responsibilities that it was easy to pretend you were someone he met at a bar and not someone who could potentially ruin his whole damn life if you told anybody about any of this. 

Stop. 

Not now. 

Yoongi just wanted to bask in the bliss a little more, he wanted you to stay a little more, too. Because he knew the moment he was alone in his car, his world would come crashing down on him. But how could he ask you to stay without giving you the wrong idea? Did you even want to stay? 

Maybe not, with the way you were pulling your dress back up to cover your chest. He watched with a lump in his throat as you looked around his floor to pick up your discarded underwear, not bothering to put it back on. You reached the front of his car again, picking up your purse and the leftover take-out, ass on full display again, making his cock twitch as he finally removed the condom and tied it up in a lazy knot, rushing to pull his pants back on. 

“Good luck with your book.” you were saying as you checked if you had every one of your belongings. “Let me know if you need any help, okay?” 

“Mhm.” 

“Goodnight, Professor Min.” 

Walking out of that car brought a pang to your heart and a coldness to your stomach that you couldn’t really explain, nor did you want to analyze it. Chucking it off to your post-orgasm neediness, you pulled your dress down to make sure it covered your ass, instantly feeling the cold of the night. 

Not only was it really late, but the inside of Yoongi’s car was a lot hotter than the outside, and the abrupt change in temperature made you shiver. 

The walk to your dorm building was a little shameful, but you didn’t see a single soul as you made it to your bedroom on the second floor. Unlocking the door, you left your belongings on the desk parallel to your bed, walking to the windows to close the blinds as you were ready to pass out from how tired you were. 

Yoongi’s car was still there, just as you left it. The only difference is that now the headlights were on. You wondered if he was waiting for something, or just cooling down with the air conditioning. 

Not thinking much of it, you looked for your phone and got back to the window, ignoring the texts from your drunks friends in order to type:

To Professor Min [02:11]: I didn’t get lost on the way up, you can go now. 

He didn’t reply to your text, but you knew he read it. Looking out the window again, you saw his headlights blinking twice. With a small giggle you clicked the light switch twice as a reply. 

A/N: How do we like Professor Yoongi so far? 💜 Let me know.

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[lookingforhobi]

In Good Hands | JHS

Pairing: Hoseok x Reader

Genre: smut, porn with the barest of plots, a tiny bit of hurt/comfort, Ranch!AU

Rating: M (18+)

Warnings: sex work, swearing, drinking, kissing, grinding, marking/love bites, humping, fingering, oral sex (f receiving), hand job, dirty talk, protected sex, riding, lots of orgasm talk, allusions to unsupportive/asshole exes/partners, Hoseok's a fucking pro (in every way)

Word Count: 8.5K

Disclaimers: NSFW, obviously I don’t own BTS - they just inspire me

Summary: Once again, another partner has left you feeling unsatisfied. Maybe it’s time to call in an expert. Don’t worry, Hoseok knows exactly what you need.

A/N: Well, this started out as a PWP and then a little bit of plot crept in there anyway. 🤷‍♀️ Whatcha gonna do? Thank you to @reliablemitten for taking a look at this one for me. 💜 And to the rest of the writers in the Bangtan Ranch collab, for inspiring me with your kindness and talent! 🤠

Please don't be a silent reader! 🥺 I'd love to hear what you think! My inbox is always open 💕

Bangtan Ranch Masterlist

It’s over your second glass of champagne that you tell him. 

Hoseok’s eyebrows shoot up almost comically as he chokes on his drink, wincing when the bubbles tickle his nose. Not exactly the reaction you’d been hoping for, but at least he’s not laughing at you. And to be fair to him, the two of you were in the middle of a conversation about the amazing dinner you had just shared. Clearly, he hadn’t been expecting for you to blurt out, “No one’s ever made me come from sex!” when he’d asked, “Do you like to cook?”

This isn’t how you planned on telling him. It’s because you’re nervous. You’ve been nervous ever since you arrived here this morning. 

All of your friends had been rather surprised when you’d announced you’d planned yourself a little weekend getaway at Bangtan Ranch. You weren’t really an ‘outdoors’ type of person, as more than one friend felt compelled to point out. And it’s true - you much prefer the comforts of home to roughing it in the wilderness. But you shut down their incredulous questioning with one single word - glamping.

So as far as your friends are concerned, you’re here for a weekend of pampering, staying in a modern little yurt instead of a tent or cabin, with running water and electricity and a king sized bed fully furnished with plush faux fur blankets. The tiny space includes other luxurious amenities, such as a fully stocked bar and a hot tub on the deck around the back. It’s a true oasis, a place where you can unwind away from the stress of everyday life.

A self-care weekend. That is what your friends believe you’re on, because that is what you’ve convinced them. But the truth is far more complicated. And embarrassing. Because you’ve chosen to stay at Bangtan Ranch for one specific reason. Which you’ve just shared with Hoseok, accidentally, tongue loosened by the alcohol coursing through your veins, letting your anxiousness override your filter.

The day has been fairly relaxing so far. After checking in, you went on a little tour of the grounds, taking in the sights you recognized from online, like the corral where the horses roam, and the lake where fly fishermen launch their lures into the shimmering crystal waters. 

In the late afternoon, you’d scheduled yourself a massage, thinking it might help you loosen up a little. Your masseuse brought their portable table out to the yurt and did their best to put you at ease, but somehow you retained the tension you’d brought to the ranch with you, muscles stubbornly remaining tightly drawn, like you were shielding yourself, trying to keep your secret as long as you could. 

After the masseuse packed up and left, you took a shower, then dressed for your date. There was a knock at the door not long after that as Hoseok arrived, followed quickly by your dinner. The kitchen staff at the main house provided a sumptuous catered meal of steak and roasted veggies, with fresh strawberries and cream for dessert. And lots of champagne. After such a feast, you should feel content, but you’re still keyed up.

Hence the blurt.

“No one? Not once?” Hoseok has recovered from the drink flooding his lungs. He places his glass carefully on the table between you before running a hand through his chestnut hair. He’s even more handsome in person than his profile on Bangtan’s website suggests. And that’s saying a lot, because you’d literally gasped upon seeing his photo when you’d scrolled through the staff section of the site. 

You shake your head, gaze focusing on the half-empty flute in front of you. “Not once.” Unable to look him in the eye, like you’re divulging a shameful secret. You’re an adult who has had more than a handful of sexual partners in your lifetime, and not a single one of them ever gotten you off during sex. Not. A. One. After the first few left you feeling unsatisfied, you figured it was a run of bad luck. Just some lousy lays. But it kept happening. Over and over. In both relationships and one-night stands.

You learned pretty quickly not to bother bringing it up. That conversation never went well. Instead, you perfected the fake O - you knew exactly how to move, how to moan and yell, make it seem like you were awash in ecstasy. Eventually, though, you got tired of acting. So you stopped altogether. 

It’s been months since your last date. Occasionally, in your loneliest hours, you’ve thought about putting one of those apps back on your phone and swiping through your options, but any time you go down that train of thought, you inevitably arrive at the same question. So before you put yourself out there, you need to know first. Which is why you’ve hired an expert to help you out. 

An expert who is silently observing you now, waiting for you to go on. 

“I feel like I should clarify a few things. Um. I’ve had a lot of partners. Not a crazy amount, but more than a few. And none of them could get me off.” You glance up and find his warm eyes locked on your face. You can feel your neck starting to warm, embarrassment settling itself into your bones. Grabbing your flute, you down the rest of your drink before continuing. “And it’s not that I’ve never had an orgasm. I’ve had plenty, just always by my own hand. So I’m here because… I need to know. If - if it’s me.” 

“If it’s you?”

You nod. “Yeah. Like, if I am the problem.” 

His brows knit together as he stares at you. “You think you are the reason your partners have never brought you to orgasm? When you just said you’ve gotten yourself off plenty of times?” 

Another nod.

He sighs, plucking a strawberry from the bowl and swiping it through the cream. “You’re not the first person I’ve met who has told me something like this. Not by a long shot. Many people have come to me seeking the truth. And I helped them find it.” Bringing the strawberry to his lips, his tongue darts out and licks the cream off before he pops the berry into his mouth. 

You must have a strange expression on your face because he suddenly laughs, shaking his head. “Wow, that sounds pretty conceited, huh? Bragging that I’ve always brought all my partners to orgasm.” He pauses, dark brows furrowing again as he spins his glass in front of him. “Let me try again. I’ve been working at this ranch for a few years now, and I’ve met so many different people. All with their own wants. Their own desires. For me, it’s always been about discovering what the other person needs. That’s the key to making sure they enjoy the experience.” He shrugs. “Maybe that still sounds conceited, I don’t know. All I know is that anyone who has ever come to me with the same question you have has always left here knowing the answer.”

“And you think you can do that for me?” The alcohol has made you blunt.

Hoseok’s silent for a moment, scanning your face. Then he nods. “I know I can. If you’ll let me.” 

There’s a flash of something in his warm eyes that makes you swallow thickly before you reply. “Okay. So… how do we get started?”

“Leave that to me.” He pours the rest of the champagne into your flutes. “All you need to do is relax tonight. That’s your only goal. Does that sound all right?”

It sounds fantastic, but you’re not sure it’s going to happen, given how wound you still are. But you agree anyway, taking another sip. 

“Good. So. Back to my original question - do you like to cook?” 

Hoseok tries his best to engage you in normal conversation, asking you about your hobbies, what you do for a living, what other activities you’re hoping to get to on your vacation. It feels like you’re on a typical date, getting to know one another. But from the way your leg keeps bouncing, fingers drumming on your thigh, you’re sure he can tell it’s not working. 

“It should be starting to cool off outside,” he states as he stands to clear the table, putting the empty dishes back on the cart for the kitchen staff to collect. “How would you feel about moving this conversation outside, to the hot tub? We can take the rest of dessert with us, open another bottle of champagne - or I can make you a cocktail, if you’d prefer?” 

Moving to the hot tub might help. At this point, you’ll try anything. “Hot tub sounds fantastic right now. But, um, I think I’m okay on the alcohol.” You’re at the perfect amount of tipsy right now - there’s no desire to cross over into drunk. 

Hoseok goes outside to prepare the hot tub while you change into your bathing suit. When he returns, you grab a few bottles of water and the remaining strawberries and head around the yurt to the tub while he changes. The trees towering over the back of the yurt are tall enough to blot out the sun, so Hoseok has turned on the string lights hanging over the deck. By the time he joins you, you’re already in, reclining against the side, head tipped back to rest on the ledge, eyes closed.

The water is so warm and soothing. The jets aimed at your lower back feel like reassuring hands kneading your tension away. Maybe you should’ve skipped the massage earlier and just sat in the tub for a few hours, given how quickly your body is starting to unwind. 

“You look comfortable,” Hoseok informs you as he climbs in, water splashing over the edge of the tub. You pop one eye open a crack, noticing the darkened trail of hair on his toned stomach, heading down to the waistband of his shorts. He settles himself against the opposite edge, facing you.

“I am.” 

“Good.” He lets his head fall back. “I’m so glad you picked this yurt.” 

His statement catches you off guard and you open your eyes. “You are?”

“Yeah. It’s always so much nicer staying here than in one of the tents. I'm not really a tent person. Don’t care for sleeping on the ground.”

“Did you do a lot of camping before, um…”

“Before I started working here?” 

“I’m sorry, is it okay if I ask you questions?” Maybe he doesn’t want to talk about work. You shouldn’t just assume that he’s open to any topic.

“Of course.” His warm smile consoles you. “It’s such a cliche to say this, I know, but my life is an open book. You can ask me anything.” 

“Did you do a lot of camping growing up?” 

He laughs. It’s such a delightful sound. “Thankfully, no. My parents weren’t really into being outdoors. So I didn’t spend a lot of time outside as a kid, and definitely not in any tents.” 

Your hand glides through the water, playing with the currents. “We didn’t really go camping when I was a kid, either. I had an ex who liked to go, though, so I’ve slept in a tent a few times. And I’m with you - sleeping on the ground sucks. I don’t care how many futons or air mattresses you bring, it’s never enough.” 

“Right?? I don’t understand anyone who willingly does that. We’re humans! We evolved and invented mattresses! And nice beds to put them on! Why go back?” Shaking his head incredulously, he runs his hands through his hair, pushing it off his forehead. Damp tips drip water down the sharp planes of his jawline. “So other than the tent, did you like going camping?”

You shrug. “Most of it, I guess. I enjoyed going for hikes. And we always brought marshmallows to roast at night. I make a mean s’more.” 

Hoseok grins. “You know, the yurt comes stocked with marshmallows and roasting sticks, if you want to fire up the pit later. And I can get us some chocolate and graham crackers.” 

“Maybe.” Maybe if things don’t go as you hoped, you can cheer yourself up with some melted chocolate and marshmallows. “I guess these trips weren’t terrible, but they were never my first choice. Plus I almost died on one.” 

“What?” Hoseok’s a very animated person, you’ve noticed. When he reacts to something you say, he does so with his whole body. In this case, his jaw hangs loose as his wide eyes gape at you, and he launches himself off of his bench, crossing to sit next to you. “What do you mean, you almost died?!” He grabs your hand, bringing it up from beneath the surface and clutching it tightly. “Are you okay now?”

“Oh, no, Hoseok!” Despite feeling a brief flash of guilt for making him worry, you can’t stop the laughter that bursts from your lips. “I’m sorry, I’m just being overly dramatic. It wasn’t a near-death experience or anything like that.” You squeeze his hand quickly before pulling yours away to point at your other shoulder, twisting in your seat to show Hoseok. “We went hiking after a thunderstorm and I slipped on some rocks and cut my arm bad enough to warrant a trip to a nearby hospital and some stitches. But it put me off camping for a while.” 

He shakes his head, hand automatically reaching out to your shoulder. He stops an inch away. “May I?” 

You nod, and he strokes the scar on your bicep, long fingers drawing the line of the jagged cut like he’s studying the shape. The strokes turn to gentle caresses as he speaks. 

“I'm sorry that happened to you.” He turns so he’s facing you, his calf brushing up against yours. “You can barely see the scar, though.” 

“I know,” you reply, replacing his fingers with your own, rubbing at the mark on your arm. “But I can feel it.” 

He hums, propping his head on his hand, elbow bent on the ledge of the tub. “How did your ex take it when you told them you didn’t want to go camping any more?” 

“Oh, well, we broke up when we got back from that trip, so, uh, it wasn’t really an issue.” 

“Oh. I’m sorry.” 

“It’s okay. We weren’t a good fit, anyway.” 

He hums again, and you wonder if you’re boring him. You hate talking about your exes, the few of them there are. But then he smiles. 

“We don’t have to talk about your past relationships if you don’t want to. Like I said, you should be relaxing tonight. There’s no need to talk about anything stressful or upsetting.” Something skims along your knee and you glance down, finding his hand brushing against you. “Just let me know if you want me to stop. Anything we’re talking about, anything I’m doing. Say the word and I’ll stop immediately. It’s all about making sure you’re comfortable.” 

Your lip tucks itself between your teeth as you nod. His hand skims higher, tracing up your thigh a little. The heat from the hot tub can’t stop the shiver that passes through you. 

“I don’t mind talking about this stuff. There’s just not much to say,” you declare with a wry grin. 

Hoseok laughs, shifting in his seat to reach the strawberries. But instead of eating one, he offers it to you, holding the berry an inch from your lips. You lean forward, teeth biting into the tip. Tart juice splashes onto your chin as you tear the berry in half, and you squeak in surprise.

“Oh, juicy!” 

Your neck flames as you wipe your mouth, cringing at your own awkward reaction. Hoseok merely grins, hand reaching out to swipe at a drop on your jaw. His thumb lingers on your chin a few seconds longer than necessary for such a tiny bead of liquid. 

“Cute,” he declares, and the tub could be filled with icy cold water and you’d still be burning up. But now it’s not due to embarrassment.

Hoseok still holds the rest of the berry. Carefully, you wrap your fingers around his wrist and tug, bringing his hand back to your lips. This time, your bite is slow, eyes locked on his as you close your lips around the fruit. Even though you’re the one eating, he’s the one swallowing loudly as you finish the berry, tongue slipping out to lick your lips lewdly. Your chest swells with pride, knowing that you’ve had an effect on him with your actions. 

“Still cute?” Somehow, you manage to smoothly purr the question despite how shaky you feel under Hoseok’s gaze. He’s peering at you like you’re one of the berries and he’s holding himself back from just eating you whole. 

Hoseok barks out a surprised laugh, and you join him with an equally shocked gasp as he clasps his hands around your waist, yanking you into his lap. Your legs fall open into a straddle as he holds you in place with one hand gripping each thigh. 

“Yes. Still cute.” There’s no waver in his words. He looks up at you with hooded eyes, tilting his neck until his nose bumps yours. “Cute and sweet. The perfect combination, like strawberries and cream.”

“Mmm, am I sweet?” you wonder out loud. It’s not something anyone’s ever really called you before.

“I’m sure you are, but I’d love to find out,” he whispers, and surges up to catch your mouth with his. He kisses away your giggles, and you tangle your fingers in his silky locks as his hands on your legs slide you closer to him. 

“What a fucking line,” you exhale as he trails kisses along your jaw, back towards your ear. His tongue flicks out to trace the curve, making you shudder.

“Well, I am a pro,” he replies, grin evident in his tone. 

You laugh, head tipping back, and he immediately dives towards your neck, to suck at the sensitive skin there. Groaning, you curl your fingers into his hair more, keeping his head in place, urging him to mark you up. He understands your silent command and leaves a trail of bites down to your collarbones. 

Hoseok’s hot mouth is driving you crazy, and you rock forward, trying to find some friction, dragging your core against his groin. He’s hard, rutting his heavy cock against you, and you moan in tandem. A jolt of desire shoots through you, but there’s something else gnawing at your gut, something that makes your stomach flip. A voice whispers that tonight is going to end like so many others, the words striking you like a bolt of electricity. 

Lost in your anxiety, you go still in Hoseok’s arms, and he lifts his head before he straightens up. Dark eyes examine your face for a moment. “Too fast?” 

You start to shake your head no, stop, then nod, glancing down at his chest. His hands relax their hold on your thighs, pushing you back onto his legs a little. 

“Let’s slow it down a little. We’ve got all night to do whatever we want - we don’t have to rush into anything.” He ducks his head until he meets your eye line. “And we don’t have to do anything you don’t want.” 

“You keep saying that.” 

“Because it’s true. There’s no pressure from me for you to do anything at all. I’m perfectly happy to sit here and talk to you all night, if you’d like. Or I can shut up and we can just enjoy the view.” He nods towards the sky, and you look up to see a bright moon rising above the trees, flanked by several twinkling stars. “It’s all about you tonight. Whatever you want.” 

You nod, and then bite your lip. “Can I be honest, then?” 

“Of course! Anything you tell me will be just between us.” 

“The hot tub bench is kind of hurting my knees.” 

He moves so swiftly, diving forward off the bench, grabbing you by the waist again to guide you into a sideways sitting position, your ass pressing into his thighs, that you let out a shocked laugh. 

“That’s better, thanks.” You drape your arms over his shoulders again as he locks his hands behind your back. 

The heat of the moment has dissipated, and the two of you fall back into easy conversation. Hoseok keeps his hands on your back, a light, comforting touch as you try to relax again. He doesn’t try to kiss you or do anything else that you would consider making a move. He seems content just to talk to you, like he said, and you let the warm bubbling waters of the hot tub carry your tension away again. 

It’s tempting to just sit there all night in his arms, but eventually, you have to get out of the hot tub. Hoseok points to the steps leading down from the deck to the back of the yurt. “There’s a shower back here, if you want to rinse off.” 

Back inside the yurt, you find that Hoseok has laid out the two fluffy white bathrobes that had been hanging on the bathroom door. “Here,” he says, handing you one. “I thought this would be comfortable for you to wear after soaking for so long. You have to feel this - it’s so soft.” He rubs a corner of the robe on his face, eyes closing for a second in bliss, before he grins at you. You can’t help but grin back. 

Taking the robe into the bathroom, you peel off your wet swimsuit and hang it over the tub. Hoseok wasn’t kidding about the robe - it feels like you’re being gently hugged by the softest cloud. Before you step out of the small space, you glance at the mirror above the sink. This would be the time when you’d give yourself a pep talk, if you were in a movie. But pep talks aren’t really your thing, and there are no cameras here, just you and the calm face peering back at you. You look relaxed, at least. Maybe no pep talks are needed after all. 

Hoseok is sitting on the bed when you reemerge. He’s already wearing his bathrobe, perched on the edge, hands resting on his lap. He pats the space next to him, but you hesitate, standing in front of him. 

Here it is. The moment for which you planned this entire trip. 

“So…” you say, fingers playing with your belt. “Now what?” 

He laughs. “That’s up to you. What do you want to do?” 

Several scenarios run through your head, including the thought of sending him away for the night and just spending the rest of your mini-vacation alone, lying in bed, eating strawberries and watching movies. It’s not a bad backup plan, honestly. But you’re here for an answer, and that’s not the way you’re gonna get it.  

You climb onto the bed, settling yourself so your back is resting against the headboard. Once you’re comfortable, you crook your finger, inviting Hoseok to join you. He mirrors your pose, but doesn’t say anything, waiting for you to speak. 

Instead, you lean over and press your lips to his. He reacts immediately, one hand cradling the back of your head as the other caresses your cheek. Your own curl into his robe, gripping the plush fabric as you murmur, “Can we just do this for a while? I like kissing you.” 

Hoseok nods, nose bumping yours. “Absolutely.” 

Time seems to slow to a crawl as you and Hoseok make out, reclining against the bed with your arms wrapped around each other. He’s a fantastic kisser, taking your breath away with long, deep kisses that make your thighs twitch. He nips at your bottom lip, and when you gasp, slips his tongue into your mouth to tangle with your own. There’s a need building in you again, and before long, you’re dragging him down with you, sliding along the faux fur blankets to lie on your back. He follows without delay, covering your body with his own. 

Heaven. He feels like heaven, pressed up against you. You’ve missed this feeling so much, the weight of someone else on you, hands roaming your sides, cupping your face, lips trailing down your throat, over your collarbones. It’s been far too long.

Hoseok pauses at the point where the v of your robe lies on your chest and glances up at you with darkened eyes and kiss-swollen lips. His hair is messy due to your inability to keep your fingers out of it. He might feel like heaven, but right now he looks like an absolutely sinful dream. 

“Is it okay if I untie this?” he asks, lithe fingers tugging lightly on your loosely-tied belt. 

You nod, then find your voice. “Yes. Please.” 

Instead of making swift work of the knot, Hoseok pulls on the ends slowly, and your breath hitches in anticipation. Once the material slips free, he brings his hands up, each clutching a side of your robe to peel it back, exposing your breasts to the cool air of the room. Almost immediately, your skin pebbles, a rush of goosebumps rippling down your skin. Hoseok tuts. 

“Sorry, love,” he murmurs, eyes fixed on your hardening nipples. “Let me warm you back up.” 

And then he lowers his mouth to your breast, forming a warm, wet seal. 

“Oh!” you keen, head lolling back as Hoseok’s hands cover your chest, large palms doing their best to massage away your chills. His tongue dances around your nipple, tracing circles that grow larger and larger as he laves at your breast. Once it’s completely coated, he licks his way to the other breast, repeating his actions. 

He spends several minutes this way, going back and forth. The robe is still gathered shut below your navel, but as you writhe beneath his hot mouth, it shifts, granting him more skin to paint with his tongue. He trails down your stomach, kissing your belly button and laughing at your stuttered breath when the sensitive skin there spasms from the tickling brush of his lips. 

Still, even with your robe falling open, he doesn’t make any move towards where you want him most, until you finally moan, “Hoseok. Keep going, please.” 

He glances up at you for a second, and must see the need written on your face, because he smirks. “I’m sorry, love, I was trying to take my time. Am I moving too slowly for you?” 

“A - a little,” you admit, voice shaking as he kisses across your belly, from hip to hip. His pink lips are as plush as the bedding that surrounds you. “But if you’re, um, if you’re enjoying yourself, then you don’t have to… stop.” 

His laugh tickles your stomach, and you tip your head up to look at him where he lies, halfway down the bed, chin resting on your torso. “Oh, I’m definitely enjoying myself. But the question is whether you are enjoying it? Because I don’t wanna sound like a broken record or anything, but this is all about you tonight.” He beams, a bright smile sending a rush of warmth to your cheeks. “So if you want me to move a little faster…” his hand disappears beneath the folds of fabric covering your thighs, “then that is what I shall do.” 

Dropping your head back onto your pillow, you sigh as you feel his fingers grip the soft skin at the apex of your legs, urging them apart. The robe you wear is completely open now, hiding nothing but your arms, still tucked into the sleeves. 

“Can I ask you something? And feel free to say yes but then not answer.” 

You lift your head again. “You can ask me anything.” Hoseok’s earned your trust tonight with his kind words and actions. And besides, he’s right, you don’t have to answer anything that you don’t want to. You’re the one in charge here.

“When you’ve been with someone in the past, have they ever moved this slowly?” As he speaks, he lowers his mouth to your thigh, leaving a tender kiss behind. “Or is it usually just get you naked and then get going? Straight to the sex?” 

“Usually the latter.” None of your exes were much for foreplay. A few minutes of kissing, maybe, a little fingering to open you up, and then right to it. Sometimes, if you were lucky, you’d get a little oral with the fingering, but it never lasted very long. Honestly, sometimes it felt so mechanical, like you were a damn car they were trying to start. Put the key in the ignition, step on the gas, turn the key. Kiss, finger, fuck.  

When you explain all of this to Hoseok, he shakes his head, nose brushing your other thigh. “That’s what I thought you’d say,” he sighs, sounding disappointed. “Look, I don’t mean to disparage someone I’ve never met, but… well, frankly, all those people who had you in their bed and didn’t take the time to savor all this beauty laid out in front of them were complete idiots. Every last one of them.” 

“Ah, well, I don’t know if I’m a ‘beauty’ -”

“No no.” Hoseok cuts you off. “I wasn’t asking for opinions. I was stating a fact.” The protest forming on your lips dies away as he sucks a love bite into your skin, at the junction where your thigh meets your crotch. “You’re breathtaking like this. Not just the way you look lying here, but the way you react to my touch, the sounds you make.” He groans, dropping his forehead onto your leg. “God, you make the most gorgeous sounds. You’re telling me no one ever wanted to take their time with you, make you moan like this again and again?” 

And as he finishes his thought, he finally slides a finger into you, right where you have been dying for him to reach. You moan loudly, back arching slightly, trying to take him in further. 

He hisses as he explores the tight wet heat of your cunt. “That’s it, that’s what I was talking about. That beautiful little cry of yours. Wanna fill the room with it, love.” He adds a second finger, and then his mouth follows, gliding along your slit before he seeks your clit. When he gently latches onto the sensitive nub, you whimper again, fingers flexing in the faux fur. 

For several wonderfully long minutes, the only sounds coming from his mouth are the lewd sucking noises he makes as he eats you out. Meanwhile, there’s an entire symphony falling from your own lips, whines and moans and the occasional “Hoseok” or “oh my God” all floating into the ether. Thankfully, there are no shared walls for this yurt, so you can be as loud as you want, because the man between your legs is devouring you so enthusiastically that there’s no way you could stifle yourself right now. And he’s clearly delighting in the clamor, based on how he keeps groaning into your cunt and rutting his hips into the bed. Which only spurs you on more. To think that you could turn him on like this… it’s a total ego boost. 

Hoseok’s ministrations have you squirming, hips bucking as you feel that familiar band tightening inside you. Squeezing your eyes shut, you chase your high, focusing on what he’s doing and trying to block everything else out. Including the nagging voice in your head that pipes up again, fretting that you’re going to lose it, that it’s not going to happen, that this whole weekend was a waste of time…

“You okay, love?” Hoseok’s gentle voice pulls you out of your head, and you open your eyes to find him watching you with a concerned look. 

“‘M fine,” you say, flashing him a smile, but it’s weak at best. His fingers withdraw and you whine a dissent, but he’s already crawling up the bed to lay beside you, grasping your chin as he kisses you. You lose yourself in the sweet lushness of his lips for a minute before he pulls away. 

“It seemed like you were getting close there,” he informs you. 

“You could tell that?” 

He grins, that cocky lopsided smirk that you’ve only seen a few times tonight but have come to absolutely adore. “If you know what signs to look for. But something happened. You went somewhere. In here.” His fingers brush over your temples. “Where’d you go?” 

With a heavy sigh, you roll onto your side to face him. “I just… I couldn’t drown out the voice. You know. The one that always says exactly what you’re afraid of? That voice. It started talking and I couldn’t shut it out.” 

He rakes his hand through his hair, creating a fluffy brown halo around his head as he huffs out a sigh. “I almost hate to ask but… this voice you hear. Is it telling you what someone else told you?”

Eyes lowered, you give the tiniest of nods. Not just someone. Multiple people, their words blending together, but it’s all the same message: there’s something wrong with you. 

He lays a hand on your arm. You watch his long fingers as they gently stroke your skin. He speaks your name just as delicately. “I know we just met, but I can promise you that those people were lying to you. They blamed you out of their own guilt, rather than admit to themselves and to you that they weren’t able to satisfy you.” 

That’s what you want to believe, more than anything. It’s a bit hard to put it into practice.

“Yeah,” you reply quietly, giving him a brief smile. “I - I know. It’s just… their words are stuck in there.”

“Hmmm.” Hoseok’s gaze flits between your eyes as he contemplates your answer. “Tell me something, love. Before that voice chimed in, were you enjoying the moment?” 

His fingers gently brush your cheek as you nod at him. 

“And how do you feel right now? Is the moment over?” 

That moment is definitely over, but you’re still happy to have Hoseok here with you, and you don’t want to stop. It’s been ages since you’ve been with anyone, and you’ve missed the touch of another so much. 

“I’d like to keep going, actually,” you admit, head lowered shyly, and his fingers slip under your chin to tilt your face up until you lock eyes with him. 

“Say that again, love, a little louder,” he implores you.

“I want to keep going,” you declare, with confidence. And bring your hands up to his face to pull him in for a kiss. Hoseok hums into your mouth, his eyes fluttering shut, and you close yours as well, letting yourself fall back into the sensation of his lips on yours. When the need to breathe becomes overwhelming, you pull away, gasping. “But what about you?”

He frowns. “What about me?” 

“You wanna keep going?”

His laugh is a low purr. “If you’re asking because you’re afraid you killed the mood or something….” He gestures to his robe, where a tent has sprung up over his groin. “It’s not ruined for me.” 

He shuffles closer, pressing you up against his chest as he kisses you again. What lies beneath that tent presses into your thigh, and you marvel at the fact that he still wants you. It’s another ego boost, one you sorely need at this moment, and it’s enough to bolster you to take charge again and pull him on top of you as you roll onto your back.

He moves eagerly, happily rutting into your open thighs, the soft fabric of the robe rubbing against your bare cunt. 

“Hoseok,” you mumble, fingers plucking at the collar of his robe, “take this off. I need to feel you.”

Without hesitation, he tosses the robe onto the floor. As he hovers over you, skin shimmering like amber under the warm lighting of the bedroom, you trace your hands down his chest and stomach, running your fingertips along the dark treasure trail that leads from his belly button to his groin. He shudders, a tiny groan letting you know he’s enjoying the attention. 

He notices the way your eyes keep flicking to his cock. “Do you wanna touch it, love?” 

“Can I?” Your fingers twitch, wanting to wrap themselves around his impressive girth. He’s not the biggest you’ve ever seen, but he’s thick enough that you know you’re in for a stretch. 

“Of course you can. Touch as much as you’d like, I’m at your command tonight.” 

“Well, yeah, I know that but…” You run your hands up his muscular thighs, delighting in the way they jerk under your fingertips. Shifting closer, you cup his cheek and bring his mouth down towards you, barely an inch from your own. “Do you want me to touch you?” 

“Fuck. Yes, please, touch me,” comes Hoseok’s hurried response, as he closes the distance between you with a heated kiss. Just as your lips meet, you curl your hand around the base of his cock, lightly stroking upwards. He’s warm, velvety skin pulsing in your grip as you rub your thumb over the tip. He moans into your mouth, and you swallow it down eagerly. 

As you continue to roll your hand up and down, Hoseok drops his head to your neck, pressing sloppy kisses there. “Feels so good, love,” he whispers, and he drags his fingers down your lower stomach. You instinctively arch into his hand as he cups your heat, palm rubbing small circles against your clit. “Don’t stop.” 

“Ahh, Hoseok,” you sigh as he slips a finger between your sodden folds. He has such lovely fingers, so long and flexible, stretching and stroking inside you. 

“That’s it, love, keep talking. Tell me what you like.”

What you like? He should know that. When you booked his services, you’d filled out a little questionnaire with your likes and dislikes. Your wants and your turn-offs. 

“But I already ahhh fuck - already told you, oh god,” you groan, statement crumbling into babbled exclamations as Hoseok fondles your clit, giving the little pearl a good shining. 

“I know what you’re thinking,” he laughs, “and I did read your list, but I want you to tell me, right now, what you want. I wanna hear it from your sweet mouth instead.” He gently pries your fingers from his length, kissing away your pout. “Sorry, but you were starting to feel a little too good.” 

“But I want to make you cum,” you protest, and he closes his eyes for a second before fixing you with a dark stare. 

“Oh, you will, love, don’t you worry. But I’ll be damned if I’m the first to go tonight.” 

This time, when he kisses you, it’s slow and heavy, his tongue languidly teasing yours, teeth pulling your bottom lip into his mouth so he can suck on it. His fingers slide back inside you with no resistance, your arousal soaking them fully as he scissors you open. You feel his cock pressing into your hip and try to lift your lower half to give him some friction, but he’s holding you down too much for it to work. 

Again his fingers find that soft spot inside you, and your head snaps up. “Fuck, Hoseok!” 

“Ah, you like that? Right there?” He strokes it again, and you nod furiously. 

“Yes, god, I love your fingers!” You’d be embarrassed at your zealous response if you weren’t in the throes of bliss right now, toes curling as Hoseok’s palm caresses your clit again.

“I’m glad to hear that, love, because they can’t get enough of this beautiful pussy of yours,” he murmurs, head bent over your chest, breath ghosting over your breasts. “So warm, so tight. Just begging for them, sucking them in again and again.” His fingers plunge faster, stroke deeper. “Could do this all night if you wanted.”

The stirring in your gut tightens, warmth spreading across your torso, down your thighs. “Please. I need more,” you moan, bucking your hips to try to meet his thrusts. 

Hoseok grunts, propping himself up on his other elbow as he buries his hand inside you. The fierce look of determination on his face creases his brow as sweat beads on his forehead. It’s too much, watching this sex god fingerfuck you wantonly like this, so you close your eyes. 

Almost immediately, the voice speaks again.

And then you feel a hand on your cheek and you open your eyes to find Hoseok looking at you with a softer expression. “Hey, don’t do that. Don’t go away again. Stay with me,” he says, a command and a plea mixed in one. 

You nod, mesmerized by the warmth glowing in his eyes. His fingers find a new rhythm as he holds your gaze. “Are you still liking the way I’m touching you, or do you want something else now? Hmmm? Think you’re ready for my cock now?”

“Oh god,” you groan, “mmm, I think - I think I’m ready.”

Hoseok’s lips curl, dark eyes still studying your face as his thumb applies just the right amount of pressure to your clit to make you gasp. He lowers his mouth to your ear, nibbling on the lobe before he whispers, “Say it like you mean it, love. Tell me exactly what you want. Or do you want to hear what I want to do to you first? How I want to bend you over and fuck you so hard, the only voice you’ll hear is your own, screaming out my name?”

“I want that too, fuck, Hoseok, please fuck me!” The words explode out of you as if they were just waiting on the tip of your tongue the whole time. Which, maybe they have been. You came here intending to be fucked, and that desire has only grown through the evening. 

With a pleased laugh, Hoseok hops off the bed to rummage through his robe until he pulls a condom from one of the pockets. Then he climbs back on the bed, kneeling in front of you, one hand lightly gripping his cock as he looks at you. 

“Lay back and let me make you feel good.” He pauses at the expression on your face. “Unless you have something else in mind?” 

With a grin, you reach out and pluck the condom from Hoseok’s hand. He huffs a breathy laugh as you place a palm on his chest, pushing him back towards the headboard again. Leaning back, he grants you another smirk as he stretches his legs in front of him, erect cock bouncing against his firm stomach.

“Is this where you want me?” he rasps in a low rumble. Biting your lip, you nod, holding yourself back from leaping on him only long enough for you to commit his image to memory. Hoping you never forget the look in his eye as he waits for you to make your move. 

Still clutching the condom packet, you shuffle forward on your knees until you’re between his legs. Before you do anything else, you take his cock in your hands, giving him a few short strokes just to hear him moan again. He’s starting to pant when you finally release him, hands fumbling with the packet for a minute before you manage to rip it open. Your fingers move more nimbly as you sheath him. 

His hands wrap around the backs of your thighs, guiding you to straddle him. As you hover over his lap, hands on his shoulders, you take a moment to breathe. He smiles softly up at you, and with your next inhale, you sink down.

You were right. Hoseok’s thickness stretches you deliciously, hard length parting your tight walls, rubbing over every dripping inch inside. His tongue flicks out to lick his lips as you settle yourself on his thighs, reveling in the feeling of being so fucking full. 

It’s been way too long. 

“Doing okay, love?” he asks after a moment. 

“Fuck yes,” you reply, grinning at his giggle. His thumbs rub encouraging circles into your hips, but he doesn’t do anything else, clearly waiting for you to set the pace. 

“If you just want to sit on my cock for the rest of the night, I’m fine with that. You feel like heaven. Don’t even have to move. We can just stay like this.” 

A lock of his dark hair falls into his face as he beams up at you, and you push it behind his ear, shaking your head.

“Not that I wouldn’t love to cockwarm you all night, but…” Pushing yourself up, you slowly start to ride him. “Isn’t this more fun?” 

His response is a low groan and a squeeze of your ass. Laughing, you roll your hips, head kicking back as his cock brushes against your g-spot. Hoseok leans forward, the angle helping repeat the action, and you lace your hands behind his neck as you pick up the pace. 

“Shit, just like that,” he hisses, encouraging you to ride him faster. “Fucking taking me so good, love. How’s that feel?” 

“Feels, ahhh, feels so amazing, ‘seok.” 

But as good as he feels, it dawns on you that your energy is flagging. There’s no way you can keep this up for very long. 

When your speed starts to falter, and you fall silent again, Hoseok snaps into action. His hands grip your sides as he kisses you, nudging your nose with his own. “Focus on me,” he instructs you gently. Right before he begins to thrust into you like a fucking jackhammer. 

“Hoseok!” you yelp, eyes rolling back into your head. “Oh holy fuck!” 

“That’s it,” he grunts through gritted teeth, thighs smacking off your ass. “Let me take over. You don’t need to do anything now but sit here and enjoy this, okay? I’ve got you.” 

His cock is pumping into you so swiftly that you’re panting too hard to form a coherent sentence, so you don’t even try, nodding at his promise. When his arms wrap around your waist, you go pliant, letting him tip you backwards so he can pound into you at that perfect angle again, hitting your g-spot over and over. It’s so intense that you give up on words completely, just letting your moans communicate your thoughts. Which are currently along the lines of oh fuck oh my god so good so good!

You clutch at him, fingers leaving indentations in his skin as you urge him close enough to capture his mouth with yours. There’s a wild desperation in your kiss, which he must read as he matches you frenzied tongue for tongue, frantic bite for bite.

“I’ve got you, love,” he repeats, leaning forward again until your back hits the mattress. He slips out of you only momentarily to adjust your position, bringing both of your legs up to rest on his strong shoulders. “Don’t take your eyes off me for a second, okay? I’m still here, with you. You feel me?” He plunges back into your waiting warmth. 

You feel him in every inch of you, from your swollen lips to your shaking thighs. He takes your whimper for the answer it is. 

“That’s what I thought.” How the fuck is he able to pound into you like this and still speak? His prowess has your mind reeling. “I need you to know just how fucking good you feel, love. I hope you don’t mind if I fuck you all night, because I don’t want this to end. Any of it. Wanna taste you again, maybe have you sit on my face for a while?”

“Hoseok…” That tension is rising again. 

He shifts slightly, hands flexing in your thighs as he holds them to his chest while he drives into you. “Then I’d love to take you out back and make you bounce on my cock in the hot tub. Have you ever had hot tub sex? The jets on your clit will have you seeing stars. Or so I’ve been told.” He smirks. “Then I gotta hit it from behind, at least once. I need to see this ass dance up close.” His right hand slaps your cheek lightly. 

His filthy mouth is pushing you closer and closer to what you’ve been trying to find all night. It’s here, finally, your answer. Your high. This time, you don’t close your eyes, but keep them focused on the man confessing all the things he wants to do with you.

Hoseok’s control seems to be slipping as he swears loudly. “Goddamn, I want to do this all night, love. Just let me make you feel so good. I know you want it, love, tell me you want it.” 

“Ho-hoseok,” you stutter, your legs falling from his shoulders as you tangle your fingers into his hair, “I want it, I want it, kiss me, kiss m-”

He cuts you off with a passionate kiss, hot skin sliding against yours as he lies on top of you, fucking into you deeply. It’s exactly what you need, exactly what you want, and with a loud whine, you finally come. 

It’s not the same as any of the orgasms you’ve given yourself. It’s more intense, wave after wave of pleasure radiating from your core, spreading throughout your body. Goosebumps ripple down your thighs as you clench around Hoseok, and he groans, still thrusting away until his own euphoria arrives and he joins you in your wailing. 

It’s not until he collapses on top of you that your peak finally subsides. As thoughts start to filter back into your head, you hear that voice again. 

This time, you just laugh, and tell it to fuck off forever.

“What’s so funny?” Hoseok mumbles from between your breasts.

“Nothing,” you reply, running your hand through his sweaty hair to push it off his forehead. “I’m just happy.” 

He just grins, and you can’t stop yourself from kissing away his smile. After a moment, the kiss becomes a series of small pecks, before he rolls onto his side, fixing you with another questioning look. “So how do you feel, now that you have your answer?” 

“I feel fucking fantastic,” you declare, earning more of his musical giggles. “Thank you, Hoseok.” 

He shrugs. “I just helped you get there, you figured it out for yourself.” 

“So… do you have to go now? Or did you mean all of those things you said earlier?” You drum your fingers on his chest. “I believe there was something about the hot tub jets? That sounded pretty interesting.” 

That sexy smirk makes a reappearance. “I’m yours all night, love. What do you want to do now?” 

You tell him. All night long. 

Masterlist 💜 Find me on AO3 💜 

© 2022-23 by sunshinerainbowsbts/minisugakoobies. Crossposted to AO3. Please do not copy or repost.

Taglist 1: @playmetheclassics; @shameless-army; @babycoffeefire; @parkdatjimin; @/reliablemitten; @yuugehn; @ut-dixisti; @hesperantha; @seokjinger-ale; @bangtanintotheroom; ​​@taeshuworld; @nch327; @hannahbee12719ficrecs; @7minsuga96; @dvalitaes; @wonieclub; @thatlongspringnight; @miscelunaaa; @acquiescence804; @itsirisz; @velvetskize; @starbtslove; @ajw05; @bruisedscrewedandtattooed; @minesuga; @greezenini; @aznstoner; @jkkkkkay; @xuxibelle; @soeur-de-ame; @boraborabts; @signmybook; @bbl32; @codeinebelle; @here4btsfics; @itbtoblikethatsometimes; @kookprada; @addictedtohobi; @shatzkrinslinzki; @jaiuneamesolitaiire; @joonjulyagust-d; @highly-functioning-mitochondria; @btsgotjams27; @allamericanuniverse; @pleaseshutupsara; @guvgguk; @goodgollyitslolly; @laylasbunbunny; @goldensugarywaffles; @jadda98; @lovelye79;

If your URL is italicized, tumblr won’t let me tag you! 😤 Check your settings!

[lookingforhobi]

— my ult hobi fic/drabble recommendation list ׂׂૢ

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ this post is for my personal fav jhs fics💗 i’ve been meaning to make a post like this just for myself to organize them and find easily. this is kinda a mess lol but hopefully it’s of use to someone!

i’ll most likely be updating this masterlist with even more fics because i have SO many.

🎀 = smut, ⭐️ = angst, 🍓 = fluff

perfect distraction — 🎀, daddy!hoseok x sub!reader, office sex @pinkcherrybombs

coffee run — 🎀, daddy!hoseok x sub!reader, car sex around the boys 0_0 @jjungkookislife

<3333 — 🎀, some of my FAVORITE drabbles on this app come from this masterlist (their acc really inspires my writing style) ty for everything @lavishedinjimin

retribution — 🎀, smut, thighfuck, dom!hoseok x bratty!sub reader @kpopfanfictrash

dinner & dessert 🎀, dom!hoseok x sub!reader, sex at his parents house lmao @xjoonchildx

oh, angel! 🎀⭐️🍓, daddydom!hoseok x sub reader, heavy ddlg themes <333 @yoongiofmine

melatonin 🎀, dom!hoseok x brattysub!reader, hobi puts oc to sleep @taeinparis

your body is an artwork 🎀⭐️, softdom!hoseok x sub!reader, body worship & angst @borathae

house rules 🎀, roughdom!hoseok x sub!reader, hobi kills a spider for the first time in his life @noteguk

horny hobi hot takes 🎀🍓, softdom!hoseokie x sub!reader, just some hot takes @kookieswan

checkmate 🎀⭐️, daddyrockstar!hoseok x sub!reader, angst & rough sex @pixieknj

need me 🎀⭐️, sub!reader x yandere!hoseok yummmm, dubcon & triggering themes!!! @borahaerhy

liar, liar 🎀, fuckbuddy!hoseok x sub!reader, cocky mean hoseok @eoieopda

body worshipping 🎀🍓, kinda subby? softdom!hoseok x sub!reader, happy tears @borathae

oiled 🎀🍓, sub!hoseok x dom!reader, puppy play!!! @borathae

fingers 🎀, dom!hoseok x sub reader, hand kink hand kink hand kink @ppersonna

so… i did a thing 🎀, dom!hoseok x sub reader, handcuffs and humiliation <33 @missbickerbocker

anticipation 🎀, daddy!hoseok x sub!reader, ddlg, rich daddy hobi ahhhhhhhh @kookiecrumb

anything 🎀, pleasuredom!hoseok x sub!reader, controlling ocs vibrating panties 😵‍💫 @sailoryooons

snowed in 🎀🍓, dom!hoseok x sub!reader, big impregnation kink and creampie @untaemedqueen

ask and you shall receive 🎀⭐️, slow burn series, sugar daddy!hoseok x sub reader @floralseokjin

[lookingforhobi]

BTS Fic Recs / To Read

purely because i am trying to keep track of what i have read and want to read in the future lol.

‼️18+ minors DNI, if you choose to anyways, PLEASE be careful. try to heed our warnings, we have them for a reason‼️

key/guide at the bottom of the post :)

ive come to the realisation it is ALL smut.. my bad

i will also be making a part 2 as i can only tag 50 ppl per post

set me free chap 7 YG to read

on with the show RM to read

haunted house JHOPE to read

mine JK to read

our beloved summer JK to read

borathae kinktober to read

neon sign YG to read

until i found you JK to read

9 months to fall in love SJ to read

believe it JM to read

sticks and stones YG to read

diving chapter 15 JK to read

epitaph KT to read

you who never arrived YG to read

turn back time SJ to read

undone business JK to read

not even a mouse YG to read

sonic rain JHOPE to read

business proposal RM to read

fake love JK to read

AAOLAASOF chap 14 JK to read

on tilt RM to read

nonsense JM to read

room for rent to read

work hard play harder YG to read

under the blankets JK to read

sweet dreams JK to read

not my fault JK to read

all i want JK to read

recommend:

[not in any particular order] [if any users would like me to remove their post from this list please let me know and i will do so immediately!]

turbulence YG @/fallencairns (AO3)

soulmate!au, fluff, angst, series, 212.1k

blackout JK @jjungxkook

roommate!jungkook smut, angst, 3 part series 49.9k

as we were JK/YG @archivedkookie

ex husband!jungkook, smut, angst, series (ongoing), 105.6k

three tangerines YG @kithtaehyung

brothers bestfriend!au, SMUT, fluufff :), anggsst :(, series (ongoing) 151.5k

just practice JHOPE @/lamourche (AO3)

college!au, fluff, smut, one shot, 12.5k words

lilium YG @hijoonie

f2l, smut, angst, fluff(??), one shot, 11.9k

maybe i do KT @chateautae

arranged marriage!au, smut, angst, fluff, series, 409k

only yesterday YG @borathae

s2l, angst, fluff, smut, small town, series, 78.6k

lowkey JK @xpeachesncream

fake dating college! au, smut, fluff, angst

fmttp RM @trbld-writer

phone sex operator! au, smut, crack, one shot,3.3k

one time thing JM @personasintro

best friends boyfriend! au, smut, angst, series (ongoing)

making him jealous JM @parkmuse

roommate! au, F2L, smut, angst, one shot 9.2k

campus affairs JK @kooktrash

college!au, F2L, angst, smut, fluff, one shot, 11.9k

trip no further YG @matchstick6812

soulmate!au, smut, fluff, angst, series, 178k

castaways RM @rmnamjoons

smut, angst, fluff(?), one shot, 25.5k

one year my love JK @hayjeon

royal!au, S2L, fluff, lil smut, lil angst, 31k

dickless KT @monimonimoon

E2L, angst (infidelity), SMUT! one shot, 11.1k

happy birthday loser JK @jungk0oksthighs

Idiots2L, smut, one shot, 8k

party on you JHOPE @here2bbtstrash

idol!au, f2l, SMUT, lil fluff, one shot, 9.8k

man-eater hunting JK @httpjungkookcom

F2L(?), smut, angst, fluff (?), one shot, 46k

helping hands YG @euphoricfilter

coworkers2L, fluff!!!, smut, 13.3k

dating advice YG @taleasnewastime

S2L, angst, fluff, smut, series, 54k

what if i love you too much JK @taleasnewastime

single mum!au, S2L, fluff, angst, smut, one shot, 20.6k

practice JK @chryblossomjjk

FWB, smut, fluff, angst, one shot, 29k

cybersex YG @gimmethatagustd

brothers best friend!au, smut, fluff, one shot, 14.6k

mixtape YG @haliiimede

F2L/BBF!au, smut, angst, fluff?, mini series

look down on me like that YG @here2bbtstrash

E2L, smut! angst, series (ongoing), 79.3k

white lies JK @noteguk

smut, fluff, very little angst, one shot, 13.3k

stuttering RM @moonlightchildz

fluff!! smut! lil bit of angst, one shot

cherry muffins and lavender tea RM @roses-ruby

college!au, fluff! smut! very very little angst, one shot

trip KT @daechwitatamic

F2L, fluff, angst, the tiniest smut, one shot, 22k

a human touch KT @snackhobi

robot!tae, fluff, smut, mini series, 37.7k

sweet addiction JM @jiminmellow

husband!au, fluff, angst, smut, one shot, 6k

rule #5 JK @taestefully-in-luv

FWB/F2L, fluff, smut, 2 part series

intersect RM @shina913

E2L/coworkers2L, fluff, angst, smut, series, 70.3k

hammer it home RM @gukslut

smut, fluff, lil angst, one shot, 22.7k

stretch you out RM/JK @chateautae

S2F2L, smut, fluff, one shot, 24k

the lucky one JK @babystrcandy

sports!au E2L, fluff(?), angst! smut, series (ongoing) 48.1k

unexpected lovers YG @jjkeverlast

fake dating/S2L, smut, fluff, angst, 2 part series, 19.8k

new tricks KT @geniuslab

F2L, fluff! smut, one shot, 10.1k

only here to sin KT @gimmethatagustd

E2L, smut, angst, 39.8k

(right) hook line and sinker JK @blog-name-idk

non-idol au!, s2l, angst(? reader gets scared lol), fluff, smut, one shot, 12.3k

keep me warm JHOPE @ppersonna

brothers best friend!au, fluff (the tiniest bit) smut! one shot, 3.9k

the shape of your body JM @here2bbtstrash

college au!, s2l, lil smut, fluff <3, one shot, 24k

tangsuyuk love JK @full-of-jams

college!au, lil smut, lil angst, fluff, one shot, 11.5k

the damsel & her knight JK @jimilter

CEO!au, e2l, smut, miniseries (ongoing)

deep blue JM @purplewhalewrites

college!au, f2l, smut, fluff!! mostly smut but be wary as MC is self conscious and puts herself down a lot, one shot, 20.5k

hot boy bummer JK @jungkxook

FWB!au, smut, fluffy angst, one shot, 14.6k 

all in JHOPE @dreamescapeswriting

masseuse!au, s2f2l, angsty smut, lil fluff, one shot 15.6k

stood up YG @parkdatjimin

CEO!Yoongi, s2l, mostly angst, lil smut, fluff, one shot, 26.7k

fall back in love JK @bukguhope

college!au, bff2l, SO MUCH FLUFF, the tiniest of angst, one shot, 17.6k

darkroom JK @yoon-kooks

college!au, vampire!au, s2l, smut 😏, one shot, 10.2k

if you have any recs for me 🤭🤭🤭 pls send them through 🤭🤭🤭🤭🤭🤭🤭🤭

just in case people weren’t sure

RM = Namjoon

YG = Yoongi/Suga

JK = Jungkook

SJ = Seokjin

KT = Taehyung/V

JM = Jimin

JHOPE = Hoseok

FWB = Friends with Benefits

e2l = Enemies to Lovers

f2l = Friends to Lovers

s2l = Strangers to Lovers

s2f2l = Strangers to Friends to Lovers

BBF = Brothers Best Friend

smau = Social Media au

au = Alternate Universe

[lookingforhobi]

Hyung Line | Daddy Collection 🔞

Welcome to the Daddy!HyungLine masterlist because I cannot help myself. In this collection you will find the stories where the members of Hyung Line are daddies in one way or another. Sugar daddies, dilf, daddy/bbg, or daddy material in general. From series to oneshots! Gather your daddy issues and have a good read!

Each story might have its own warnings, but all of them include: Heavy smut, Dom!BTS, power play, age gap (always legal and not weird).

Main Masterlist

Membership

Oh, Baby!

Dilf!Seokjin x BabySitter!Reader

Status: Work in progress.

Oh, Darling!

Professor!Yoongi x Student!Reader

Status: Coming soon!

Oh, Angel!

Daddy!Hoseok x BabyGirl!Reader

Summary: Ever since he met you, Hoseok just couldn't resist you. Even though you were off limits -many years younger than him and an intern on his sister's company-, he just had to make you his. You were the perfect baby for him, docile and pliant. What happens when you decide to be a little brat instead?

Status: Finished!

Oh, Honey!

SugarDaddy!Namjoon x SugarBaby!Reader

Summary: Namjoon never wanted a Sugar Baby, no matter what Yoongi and Hoseok said. You never wanted a Sugar Daddy, despite the insistence from Jimin. Until your life takes a turn and you really need the money, fast. What was supposed to be a one night thing, a birthday present for a big time rapper and producer, turns into so much more when you find in each other what you never thought you had been looking for.

Status: Finished!

[lookingforhobi]

All it takes | JHS

Part I

Pairing: Jung Hoseok x f!reader 

Summary: After months of quietly pinning after Jung Hoseok, your friends decide to give you a little push. Sometimes a New Years Eve party and a round of Seven Minutes in Heaven is all it takes. 

Genre: Sexual content, minors keep out!

Warnings: Non idol au; tattooed!Hobi, tattoo artist Hobi; Jimin is a mess; Jungkook is a menace.

Word count: 4k. 

Series Masterlist Next

“For fucks sake, just go talk to him!” Sohee huffed, grabbing your elbow as if to push you in his direction. 

Keep reading

[lookingforhobi]

Change of Plans (jhs)

Summary- “You never thought a change in wardrobe could have this effect on you. Was it possible that Dior was now dealing with the occults and had somehow bewitched this piece of clothing?” 

Or, alternatively, your best friend tries on the latest Dior harness and you simply cannot help but jump his bones..

word count- 9.6k (this was supposed to be a drabble… stares at the camera)

pairing- nonidol!Hoseok x richgirl!Reader

rating- R

genre- smut, slight angst, pwp, childhood friends to lovers

warnings- DIOR!HOBI, mean dom!Hobi, sub!Reader, public sex, spanking, oral (f and m receiving), degradation (use of slut, whore, crawling), sir kink, face fucking, fingering, pussy slapping, edging (a little), overstimulation, protected penetration, aftercare, hints of dom drop. OOF I think that’s all. SEE YOU IN MY PENTHOUSE IN HELL.

a.n- This is probably the filthiest thing I have ever written. I truly hope Hoseok never sees this because… you know what I don’t want to think about that. This is a part of @houseofddaeng‘s Happy Hobiuary event with my favourite iconic Hobi look. Please proceed to grab your hobi water and enjoy!

This was written to torture Bella @hobisbeautifulass​ as revenge for writing the whipped Daddy Joon of my dreams (go check out Retaliation here! ). So a huge thank you to my girl for not only beta reading this for me, but motivating me endlessly! You my hype woman and I love you! 🥺 Also, thank you to Anna @oftenderweapons for being excited for this and beta reading as well. Honestly, I love you both so much, imma cry!

As always feedback appreciated, a reblog and a like goes a far way. Send me an ask! 💌

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“Let’s go, bitch! I need new clothes!” You announced as you walked into your best friend’s apartment, sipping an iced americano with another in hand for him. Hoseok just shook his head and rolled his eyes from where he laid on his couch, still dressed in a black t-shirt and sweats, despite your twelve texts asking him to be ready for your arrival. Although you were sure that outfit was high end, you wanted the Hoseok that could turn the women in stores to mush with one glance, and that could only be accomplished when he donned his too skinny jeans and tailored shirts. At least in your opinion, that was. His attire seemed the complete opposite to the white Gucci blouse and red Chanel skirt you wore, your hair perfectly curled and lips painted a bright scarlet to match.

“You spent six million won last week and you told me to stop you if you wanted to shop again,” he stated matter-of-factly, reaching for his drink. You refused to hand it to him, causing him to whine the more you held it out of reach.

“Come on Hobi! I had a bad day yesterday. Please?” You pouted at him in an attempt to persuade him, but instead of relenting to you he just gave you a pout right back. Damn it, why was his puppy face infinitely better than yours?

Keep reading

[lookingforhobi]

worth all your while (knj x f!reader 18+) masterlist

fic summary

you know kim namjoon from your work, but running into him outside of seoul tips your relationship into new territory and your world upside down. eventually, you wonder how there can be a million ways to say "i love you," and namjoon, a literal genius, can't manage a single one when it comes to you. or: 5 times namjoon can't make himself say "i love you" but thinks you understand him anyway (you do not), and then the one time he gets it right

chapter one

word count: 5.5k ⚘ rating: explicit ⚘ warnings: smut, swearing, alcohol, here are the specific smut tags for this chapter: kissing, penetrative sex, fingering, spanking, sex in an airport bathroom (do not recommend, fwiw)

chapter two

word count: 6.9k ⚘ rating: explicit ⚘ warnings: smut, way too much texting, swearing, alcohol, mutual masturbation, phone sex, namjoon calls you baby because ofc he does, discussion of cunnilingus

chapter three

word count: 5.8k ⚘ rating: explicit ⚘ warnings: smut, swearing, alcohol, masturbation, oral sex (f!receiving), come eating

chapter four: coming soon

chapter five

chapter six