maryseesthings

[maryseesthings]

for tonight and forever - choi seungcheol imagine

honestly i started writing this after watching a clip of cheol being sporty and my mind went yep i need it. i want this. so here we are😅 was listening to handlebars on repeat while writing this, I dont know but it kinda got that feels for it.

Also, if anyone's wondering like how i name/pick the other characters for my fics. Usually I just search who's the same age as them or a familiar name to me. Okayyy so thats all, enjoy!

you can follow me on x i usually rant there, niniramyeonie 😊🌻

for my other svt fics, check them here

All works are copyrighted ©scarletwinterxx 2025 . Do not repost, re-write without the permission of author.

(pics not mine, credits to rightful owner)

You don’t plan to pick a fight with Choi Seungcheol every Monday, Wednesday, and Friday. He just seems to bring out the absolute worst in you. Or the best. Depends on who’s watching.

“Did you write another hit piece about the soccer team?” Seungcheol demands, jogging up beside you as you make your way across campus, his duffle bag slung over one shoulder like he’s in some kinda Nike ad.

You don’t even look up from your iced americano. “I wouldn’t call it a hit piece. I’d call it... journalism. Ever heard of it?”

He scoffs. “Right, because calling us ‘a glorified pack of sweaty golden retrievers’ is definitely objective reporting.”

“That’s not what I wrote,” you correct him calmly. “I called you a sweaty golden retriever. Singular.”

He stops walking. “Oh my god. I was the retriever?”

You glance over your shoulder and grin. “Obviously.”

It’s always like this. Snarky comments, stolen pens during class, endless bickering about your article deadlines versus his training schedules. 

It’s become so routine that your friends don’t even bat an eye anymore when they see you two “arguing” in the cafeteria. Or library. Or literally anywhere with oxygen.

But last week, when some overconfident guy from the economics department tried to get handsy with you at the freshmen welcome party, it was Seungcheol who appeared out of nowhere, expression dark, stepping in with all the intensity of a final championship match.

“She said no,” he growled, standing in front of you like a damn shield.

You didn’t even have to say anything. just blinked at the guy slinking away while Seungcheol turned around and gently handed you your phone, which had dropped during the whole mess.

And then, as if nothing had happened: “You owe me chicken for that, by the way.”

Now, a week later, he’s still hovering. Annoyingly. Warmly. Protectively.

You pretend you don’t notice the way he always walks you home after late-night publication meetings. You pretend not to care that he saves the extra strawberry milk from team snacks for you. You pretend a lot.

You make your way across the quad, weaving through a sea of students and the occasional electric scooter, when someone bumps your shoulder and you look up to see Exy walking beside you, sipping on her banana milk like she’s been waiting for this moment all day.

"Okay," she says, dragging the word out suspiciously, "are you sure nothing's going on between you and Seungcheol?"

You nearly choke on your breath.

“What—no. Ew. Why would you—absolutely not.”

Exy raises an eyebrow. “Right. So him showing up to your department’s booth last week with snacks ‘for the team’ but only handing you your favorite is coincidence?”

“He was probably just—being annoying,” you mutter, tugging at the strap of your backpack as your ears warm. “He does that.”

“Uh huh. And I suppose he was just ‘annoying’ when he waited outside in the rain for you after your night class because he ‘happened to be nearby’?”

“He did happen to be nearby!” you protest, eyes wide. “The gym is like two buildings away—he probably just finished practice—why are you smiling like that?”

Exy leans in, smug. “Because I’ve never seen you this defensive unless someone messes up the Oxford comma.”

You stop walking to glare at her. “You’re delusional.”

“And you,” she says, poking your arm, “are clearly in denial.”

You start walking again, faster this time. “He’s a varsity jock with too much hair gel and a hero complex. We’re oil and vinegar. Cats and cucumbers.”

Exy laughs. “Says the girl who let him carry her publication banner to the main hall ‘because his arms are already huge anyway.’”

You spin around, horrified. “You were eavesdropping?!”

“Please,” she snorts, “you were practically shouting.”

You groan and cover your face with your hands. “There’s nothing going on.”

“Whatever you say,” she sings, skipping ahead as your classroom building comes into view.

You glance up at the sky, as if the universe might send a sign to back you up. All it sends is a familiar voice yelling from behind you.

“Yah, you forgot your charger again!”

You turn around. Seungcheol jogs up, holding out the charger you left in the library. Again.

You blink. “How did you—?”

“Someone posted in the group chat asking if anyone lefit. Figured it was yours. You always have it wrapped around your planner like a weirdo.”

Exy coughs something suspiciously like domestic behind you. You shoot her a murderous look.

Seungcheol, oblivious or pretending to be, grins and tousles your hair like you’re a child. “Don’t fry your laptop this time.”

You swat his hand away. “Stop doing that!”

He smirks. “You love it.”

You glance sideways at Exy. She doesn’t say a word but her eyes say everything.

You hate everyone. Except maybe… not really.

=

The next morning Seungcheol slides into his usual seat near the back of the lecture hall, pulling his hoodie over his head as if it’ll make him invisible. He spots Exy a row down, already seated, legs crossed, notebook open, pen twirling between her fingers like a threat.

He stiffens.

If he’s being truly honest, Exy kind of scares the crap out of him. She’s all sharp eyes and sharper comebacks, like she was born knowing where to hit where it’ll bruise. No nonsense, no hesitation. Still, he respects the hell out of her.

You’re friends with her, after all. And if he can’t be there every second someone looks at you the wrong way, it’s good to know Exy would probably throw a chair at their head without blinking.

The professor hasn’t shown up yet, and the room is loud with casual chatter, laptops opening, chairs scraping. He’s halfway through unlocking his iPad when Exy turns around in her seat, pins him with a look.

“Okay. So what’s the deal with you and her?”

“What?”

“You heard me. Are you guys a thing, or are you just really committed to the whole ‘enemies but not really’ bit?”

Seungcheol scoffs. “We're not—there’s nothing going on.”

Exy raises one brow.

“I’m serious,” he adds quickly. “We just… bicker. It’s a thing.”

“A thing,” she echoes. “Like a romantic comedy trope kind of thing?”

He rolls his eyes. “No.” Then, quieter, “Maybe. No. Definitely not.”

She narrows her eyes. “You literally showed up to her department meeting with hotteok last week.”

“I was in the area.”

“Uh huh. And the three extra packets of brown sugar filling were also just… coincidentally for her?”

“She likes them,” he mutters.

Exy smiles, but it’s more amused than friendly. “You’re really bad at this whole ‘denial’ thing, you know that?”

He frowns, but it lacks real bite. “Look, even if—hypothetically—there was something, it’s not like she’d be into me.”

“She calls you a golden retriever.”

“Exactly.”

“She also let you walk her home three nights last week. You think she lets just anyone do that?”

He opens his mouth. Closes it.

Exy leans back in her chair, satisfied. “I’m just saying. If you’re not gonna do anything about it, don’t come crying to me when someone else does.”

The professor walks in before Seungcheol can reply, but her words sit heavy in his chest.

Because the truth is, yeah, maybe he is a little gone for you. Maybe a lot. But he’s not exactly sure what to do with all of it. So instead, he flips open his notebook and pretends he doesn’t keep glancing at the empty seat you usually take in the front row.

His day ends with another practice. He kicks off his cleats by the bench, the grass still clinging to his socks and sweat drying cold on his back. Practice ran longer than usual, Coach yelling something about footwork and finals being no excuse to slack off. 

But even with his body aching and the floodlights dimming one by one behind him, it’s not the drills or the scores that keep repeating in his head.

It’s Exy’s voice.

“If you’re not gonna do anything about it, don’t come crying to me when someone else does.”

He scoffs under his breath, ruffling a towel through his hair like he can shake the thought loose. He’s fine. You’re fine. Everything’s fine.

He’s just heading toward the front gate when he spots you.

You’re walking just a few steps ahead, cradling your laptop bag against your side like always. Head tilted, hair catching the orange glow of the street lamps, laughing.

His heart stutters for a second, because—God. He knows that laugh. Knows the way your shoulders shake when it’s something really funny. Knows that dimple you hate but can’t ever hide.

But it’s not the laugh that gets him. It’s who’s next to you.

Minhyun. Tall, clean-cut, business-major-Minhyun. The guy who spoke at orientation with the kind of voice professors wish they had. Charming, polite, good grades, good future.

Good with you.

Seungcheol stops walking without even realizing it. Just stands there half-hidden behind the practice fence.

You’re smiling at Minhyun. Like, really smiling. he hadn’t expected this. Hadn’t prepared for the twist in his chest seeing you like that with someone else.

Minhyun says something and you lightly nudge his arm, head thrown back, carefree.

Seungcheol swallows hard. He doesn't move. Doesn’t call out. Doesn’t let himself get closer. He just watches as you and Minhyun walk down the street, steps in sync, laughter echoing behind you.

And when he finally turns away, it’s with a bitter taste on his tongue and Exy’s voice louder than ever in his head.

The next day. The moment Seungcheol walks into the lecture hall, he doesn’t bother with his usual routine of slouching into his chair and pretending to scroll through notes.

Instead, he spots Exy, takes the seat next to her, and turns to her with the kind of urgency usually reserved for last-minute exam cramming.

“What’s going on with her and Minhyun?”

Exy doesn’t even look up from her notes. “Hello to you too, Seungcheol.”

“Yeah, hi, morning, what’s up with her and Minhyun?”

Exy finally looks up, pen still in hand, unimpressed. “Why?”

“No reason,” he says way too fast. “I’m just…curious.”

“Curious,” she repeats, in a tone that suggests she’s heard better lies from toddlers.

“Yeah. I mean—he walked her home last night, I saw it. They were laughing and all. It looked like they were, you know... close.”

“You were watching them?”

“I happened to be nearby,” he mutters. “They were loud.”

Exy hums like she’s already solved the entire situation and is now just watching him fumble. “You don’t have to worry, you know.”

“I’m not worried,” he says, almost offended. “I’m just making sure she’s not—like, getting her hopes up with the wrong guy. Minhyun’s… smooth.”

“You mean polite?”

Seungcheol frowns. “No, I mean, like, too polite. No one’s that nice without a reason.”

Exy snorts. “Well, lucky for you, there’s nothing going on.”

“What?”

“She’s not into him. She said he reminds her of a quiz app. Looks nice, says the right things, but kind of boring once you tap through the first few questions.”

Seungcheol stares at her. “That’s… oddly specific.”

“Her words, not mine.”

Exy eyes him. “Still just curious?”

“Completely,” he lies.

She leans back in her chair, smirking. “Uh huh.”

And Seungcheol tells himself he’s not smiling. Not really. Exy watches him for a beat, then leans in with the casual menace of someone about to enjoy herself way too much.

“Although,” she says slowly, drawing the word out like it’s bait, “if there’s someone you should be worried about…”

Seungcheol stiffens. “What?”

She rests her chin on her hand, all innocent curiosity. “Seo Youngho.”

He stares. “Who?”

“Youngho. From the music department. Plays guitar, super chill, kind of a walking Tumblr post. Ringing any bells?”

Seungcheol blinks. “The guy with the weird beanie? That’s who I should be worried about?”

Exy grins. “She helped him with one of his interviews last week. Apparently, they’ve been messaging back and forth for edits.”

“Messaging?”

She shrugs. “You know how it starts. A casual thank you turns into a compliment. A compliment turns into, ‘Hey, wanna grab coffee and talk about your creative process?’ Next thing you know, he’s writing her a song with metaphors that don’t make sense but sound romantic.”

Seungcheol’s mouth opens, then closes.

“That’s not even—he wears socks with pineapples on them,” he mutters.

Exy raises an eyebrow. “You say that like it’s a crime.”

“I’m just saying,” he grumbles, arms crossed, “she doesn’t even like acoustic guys. She said so. Once.”

“Oh?” she asks sweetly. “So you remember what kind of guys she likes?”

“I remember everything she says,” he snaps before he can stop himself.

Exy’s face does not help.

“…Just as friends,” he tacks on, immediately regretting every choice that led him to this moment.

She pats his shoulder like he’s a very dumb, very loyal golden retriever. “Sure, Cheol. Totally just friendly concern.”

He slumps in his chair and mutters something that sounds suspiciously like pineapple socks my ass.

Exy is still grinning when the professor starts the lecture.

Seungcheol spots you near the fountain, earbuds in, head buried in your phone, your steps a little bouncy like you’re walking to the beat of something catchy. Totally oblivious. Totally… you.

He doesn’t think before calling out, “Hey!”

You look up, surprised, but smile when you see him.

“Hey,” you echo, tugging one earbud out. “Aren’t you supposed to be in the gym or something? Yelling at cones?”

“Rest day,” he says, catching up to walk beside you. “Coach said we looked like overcooked ramen last practice.”

You laugh. “That’s gross.”

“He’s not wrong.”

There’s a small beat of silence, not awkward, just familiar. Then he casually drops it in. Smooth. Natural.

“So… you and Youngho?”

You blink. “Huh?”

“You’ve been texting? I heard you helped him with something?”

You squint like he just asked you to solve a math problem. “Youngho? I haven’t talked to him since like, the first week of classes? Why?”

Seungcheol falters for half a step. “Oh. I just—heard you were helping him with an interview or something?”

You tilt your head. “That was last semester. Wait, do you need his number or something?”

“What? No!” he says, way too fast, then clears his throat. “I just… Exy said you were talking. Thought it was a thing.”

You stare at him for a second before realization dawns. You smirk.

“Ohhh,” you say slowly, voice lilting. “She got you, didn’t she?”

He narrows his eyes. “What?”

“She totally messed with you.”

“I wasn’t—she didn’t—”

“You thought I was flirting with Youngho?”

“I didn’t,” he lies, every word defensive. “I was just… curious.”

You laugh, and it’s worse than any insult, because it’s light and teasing and just so smug.

“You’re so easy to mess with,” you say, shaking your head.

He glares at the pavement like it personally betrayed him.

You nudge him with your elbow, still grinning. “For the record, I don’t go for guys who write songs with moon metaphors and own six different scarves.”

Seungcheol tries not to smile. Fails. “So what do you go for?”

You look at him sideways, eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Wouldn’t you like to know.”

And you keep walking, earbuds back in, leaving him there on the path with his heart doing things it absolutely should not be doing.

=

Another day, another café.

You’re both hunched over your laptops, the small table between you a chaotic blend of charger cables, two half-finished drinks, your highlighters, his untouched notebook, and the occasional shared snack. 

He’s scrolling through something on his iPad that might be soccer strategies or might be memes you stopped asking. You’re typing furiously, earbuds in but not actually playing anything, more for mental defense than music.

the bell above the café door jingles. You glance up and spot Minhyun just stepping in, scarf around his neck, a familiar tote bag slung over his shoulder. He hasn’t seen you yet.

“Oh, that’s Minhyun,” you say casually, pulling your earbuds out.

Seungcheol doesn’t look up, just hums like it doesn’t mean anything. Which is a lie, because you see the way he pauses in the middle of scrolling, hand hovering just a second too long.

You wave, catching Minhyun’s attention.

“Minhyun! We’re over here!”

Seungcheol finally looks up, but he keeps his face impressively neutral, like he doesn’t care even a little. Which you don’t buy for a second.

Minhyun smiles as he approaches. “Hey, small world. I didn’t know you came here.”

“I practically live here,” you say. “You want to join us?”

Seungcheol opens his mouth—probably to protest, you can feel it coming off him in waves—but Minhyun’s already pulling out the third chair.

“Sure, if it’s okay.” He glances at Seungcheol politely. “Hey, man.”

“Hey,” Seungcheol replies with a nod that sounds like it costs him everything.

Minhyun settles in beside you, pulling out a book and a sleek little tablet. “What are you working on?”

“Publication layouts,” you say, already pulling one tab over to show him. “We’re redesigning the culture section.”

He leans in to take a look, and Seungcheol can hear the way your tone softens when you talk to Minhyun. friendly, focused, but soft. Not that it means anything. Probably.

He takes a slow sip of his lukewarm coffee, eyes flicking from you to Minhyun and back again.

He’s not jealous. He’s not. He’s just suddenly very aware of how close Minhyun’s chair is to yours. How you’re leaning in. How you laugh once, quietly, and nudge his arm with your pen.

Totally normal. Totally fine.

He pretends to look back at his iPad but spends more time glaring at his reflection in the dark screen.

You glance at him then, like you just remembered he’s there.

“You okay?” you ask, brows slightly knit.

He smiles, a little too tightly. “Perfect.”

You stare for a beat longer something flickering behind your eyes like you’re catching o n but Minhyun says something else and your attention shifts again.

Seungcheol exhales through his nose and taps his screen to life.

Perfect, his ass.

Minhyun stays for about an hour maybe less, but to Seungcheol, it feels like a whole semester’s worth of third-wheeling compressed into sixty suffocating minutes.

He doesn’t say much. Just watches. Watches how your voice dips into that soft, almost melodic tone when you explain things to Minhyun. Watches how you tilt your head, eyes crinkling just a little more when you laugh at one of his lame puns. 

Mostly, he watches how different you sound when you're talking to Minhyun.

It’s not that you’re fake. No, it’s worse. You’re genuine. Sweet. Thoughtful. Almost… gentle.

Nothing like the way you talk to him.

With him, it’s sarcasm, banter, eye-rolls and elbow jabs. It’s you calling him “musclehead” with your chin in your hand and the tiniest grin on your lips. It’s insults that somehow feel like compliments and arguments that stretch out longer than necessary just because neither of you wants to stop.

With Minhyun, it’s all warm tones and quiet understanding.

Seungcheol’s practically chewing through his own tongue by the time Minhyun checks his phone, apologizes with that polite smile, and stands to leave.

“I’ve got a meeting,” Minhyun says, slinging his bag over one shoulder. “I’ll see you around?”

“Yeah, sure,” you say, smiling.

Minhyun nods at Seungcheol, who manages a grunt and what might be a nod or might be a twitch.

Then it’s just you and him again.

You sip your drink like nothing’s changed, like the air isn’t thick with tension across the table. He’s silent. Half sulking. Half glaring at the innocent sugar packet in front of him like it personally offended him.

You glance up. “What?”

“Nothing.”

“Right.” You go back to typing, but you can feel his mood hanging in the air like storm clouds. “You sure?”

He finally looks up, brow furrowed. “Just wondering.”

“About?”

He shrugs, but it’s tight. Forced. “It’s impressive.”

“What is?”

“The way your entire voice changes when Minhyun shows up,” he mutters, eyes pointedly on his iPad. “It’s like I’m watching a romcom where the lead suddenly discovers she has range.”

You blink. “Are you seriously—?”

“Not that it’s any of my business,” he adds quickly, still not looking at you. “You can sound however you want. I just didn’t know you had that tone in your arsenal.”

You stare at him, amused and mildly annoyed. “You mean a normal tone? You want me to start cooing at you too?”

He glares. “No. Gross.”

“Then what, exactly, is your problem?”

He opens his mouth. Closes it. Crosses his arms. “…Nothing,” he mutters again.

You lean back, arms crossed to mirror him. “Wow. Someone’s sulky.”

“I’m not sulky,” he grumbles, sulkily.

You watch him for a moment, a smile creeping at the corners of your lips. “You’re totally jealous.”

He scoffs, eyes wide. “I am not—”

You raise an eyebrow.

“—jealous,” he finishes weakly, shoulders sinking.

You hum, satisfied. “Sure, Cheol.”

And you go back to typing, smirk hidden behind your cup, while he sits there, stewing in the mess he doesn't want to admit he's already in.

=

It’s game day. The campus field is packed. students gathered on the bleachers, the buzz of excitement in the air, banners fluttering in the breeze.

You're by the sidelines, bundled up in your oversized varsity jacket, press tag clipped to the hem, camera hanging from your neck. You've already snapped a few wide shots for the publication but you're really here for one thing. Or well… one person.

You spot Seungcheol jogging over, all athletic swagger and sweat-damp hair, pulling off his warm-up jacket with the kind of ease that makes the girls in the stands sigh a little too loudly. 

He’s scanning the sideline like he always does—and his eyes land on you immediately.

“Don’t get in the way,” he says, coming to a stop in front of you, chest rising and falling just a little faster than normal. “And don’t drop that camera again. Last time was—”

“Cheollie,” you coo, cutting him off in that voice, syrupy and infuriating. “You look so strong today. Are you gonna score a goal just for me?”

He freezes.

Right there on the turf, hands on his hips, mouth parting like the words got caught somewhere between his lungs and his brain.

“…Why,” he mutters, “why are you like this.”

You don’t answer. Just smile sweetly and lift your camera to get a shot of his stunned expression.

That’s when Yuta jogs by, slowing just long enough to glance between the two of you, brows furrowing.

“You good, bro?” he asks Seungcheol, wary.

Seungcheol doesn’t look at him. “No.”

Yuta looks at you. You give him a cheerful wave.

Yuta looks back at Seungcheol. “Okay, cool. Not my problem.” And he jogs off without waiting for a response. You stifle a laugh.

Seungcheol glares at you like he’s trying to burn a hole through your smile. “You’re not gonna let this go, are you?”

You lift your camera. “Say cheese, baby boy.”

He groans, dragging his hand down his face. “I hate you.”

“No you don’t,” you chirp, snapping the shutter.

And as he jogs back onto the field, you catch it. that tiny twitch of his lips that betrays the fact that maybe, just maybe, he really doesn’t.

They win, of course.

Final whistle blows, and the field erupts. The crowd’s on its feet, cheers echoing across the bleachers as Seungcheol gets swarmed by his teammates, arms thrown over shoulders, shouts of victory mixing with the sound of cleats thudding against the grass.

You’ve already got the shot—the moment he scored, that raw burst of power and focus in his eyes. Pure, stupid perfection. You’re checking the image in your viewfinder when you hear your name being called.

Loud. Familiar.

You look up just in time to see him jogging toward you, grin wide, sweat-slicked hair falling into his eyes, jersey clinging to him like a second skin.

“Don’t even start,” he says, breathless, still high on adrenaline.

You don’t miss a beat. “My strong baby boy scored a goal just for me, huh?”

He freezes again, hands on his hips, jaw clenching like he’s trying so hard not to rise to the bait but his eyes are already dancing with fire.

And then—he lifts a hand.

“One…”

You blink. “Huh?”

“Two—”

It takes you half a second too long.

Your eyes widen. “Wait—”

You barely turn when he lunges.

You shriek, half laughing, half panicking, and bolt, camera bouncing against your chest as you take off down the sideline like your life depends on it—which, in this case, it kind of does.

Behind you, you hear him shouting your name between bouts of laughter.

“I swear—when I catch you—!”

You don’t dare look back. “You’ll what? Hug me? Thank me for the moral support?”

“Moral support?! You called me baby boy in front of my entire team!”

“You loved it!”

“YOU’RE DEAD!”

And that’s how you end up sprinting across campus, laughing your lungs out, camera swaying, heart hammering—not just from the chase, but from the way his voice sounded when he said your name.

You barely close the door behind you when Exy’s voice rings out from the kitchen.

“So,” she says, in that sing-song tone that always means she knows something, “how does it feel to be publicly chased down the sideline by Choi Seungcheol in front of, oh I don’t know, half the campus?”

You groan, dropping your camera bag to the floor with a dramatic thud. “Exy. No.”

“Oh, yes.” She leans against the counter, mug in hand, eyebrows up. “Do you know how fast my phone blew up? My friend from engineering said it looked like a scene out of a teen drama. One minute he’s scoring the winning goal, next minute he’s full-on sprinting after you like he’s ready to propose or commit murder.”

“He wasn’t—” you start, but she’s already smirking.

“You called him baby boy.”

“That was his fault!” you point accusingly, peeling off your jacket. “He was being all sulky and—whatever—I was just messing with him.”

“Oh, and then he chased you. Full speed. Zero hesitation. Definitely just bro things, right?”

You make a strangled noise and cover your face with both hands. “Exy, please. I’m going to melt into the floor.”

She sips from her mug. “So when are you two making it official?”

You drop your hands and glare at her. “There’s nothing going on.”

She snorts. “Sure. And I only like himbos with abs and no brain cells—oh wait, that’s true.”

You narrow your eyes. “You’re so annoying.”

“I am,” she agrees cheerfully. “But I’m also right.”

You dodge past her into your room, slamming the door shut with a dramatic groan, but even through the wood, you hear her yell:

“CALL HIM BABY BOY FOR ME NEXT TIME!”

=

You’re curled up in one of the worn-out lounge chairs, legs tucked under you, laptop balanced on your knees as you edit photos from yesterday’s game. The student lounge is half-empty, low buzz of conversation around you, the occasional clink of coffee cups from the vending machine nearby.

You hear footsteps and don’t bother looking up until a shadow falls over your screen.

Seungcheol’s standing there, hands in the pockets of his hoodie. “You’re not gonna call me that again, are you?” he says, eyes narrowing slightly like he’s bracing for impact.

You don’t even blink.

“No more baby talk for you,” you reply flatly, scrolling through the thumbnails. “I’ve decided to retire that version of myself.”

“Oh yeah?”

“Yup.” You shoot him a quick glance. “Clearly you couldn’t handle it. Almost tackled me on school property.”

He slides into the chair beside you, sprawling with way too much comfort, his leg knocking gently against yours. “You ran. Like a criminal.”

“Because you counted down like a threat!”

“I was threatening you.”

You shrug. “Wasn’t very effective.”

He scoffs. “You screamed and ran. That’s literally textbook effectiveness.”

You glance at him, then back at your screen, lips twitching. “Still. No more soft talk. You’ve been cut off.”

He leans in, just enough that you can feel the warmth of his shoulder. “That sounds like a challenge.”

You raise a brow, not looking at him. “It’s a warning.”

He hums, and you can feel the smirk without even seeing it.

“Good,” he mutters. “Didn’t like you calling me that anyway.”

You side-eye him, slowly. “Then why’d your ears turn red?”

His jaw tightens. “They didn’t.”

“Okay, baby boy.”

“Yah—!”

You’re already laughing again as he flails for your laptop in mock betrayal, and the girl across the lounge glances over at the two of you, then whispers something to her friend.

Yeah. The rumors are probably already flying and somehow, that doesn’t bother you one bit.

“You get sulky when I talk soft with other guys,” you say, biting your grin, “but then when I do it to you, you hate it.”

He stares at you, deadpan. “That’s ‘cause you do it with spite when it’s me.”

You gasp, dramatically clutching your chest. “Spite? Cheol, I poured honey into my voice for you.”

“It was poisoned honey.”

“You’re so dramatic.”

He scoffs, leaning back like the weight of your crimes is too much to bear. “You didn’t say it to be nice. You said it to get in my head.”

“…And it worked,” you mutter under your breath.

“I heard that.”

You shoot him an innocent smile, and he groans, dragging his hands down his face before tossing his head back against the chair. “I’m never living this down.”

You tilt your head. “If it makes you feel better, I won’t call you baby boy anymore.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Thank God.”

You grin wider. “I’ll think of something worse.”

He whips his head toward you, eyes wide. “Don’t you dare—”

But you're already back to editing, humming like the angel of mischief you are, while beside you, Choi Seungcheol quietly braces himself for whatever fresh torment you’re cooking up next.

=

The music’s too loud, the lights are too dim, and the smell of cheap beer mixed with overpriced cologne is already giving you a headache.

You glance around the packed rooftop bar, surrounded by a sea of familiar-enough faces classmates, clubmates, the occasional TA trying to look younger than they are. 

You sigh into your cup, swirling whatever vaguely citrusy drink you’ve been nursing for the past twenty minutes. All you know is that it’s 10PM, your feet already hurt from standing too long in boots that looked better than they feel, and you’re three whole messages deep into debating if it’s too early to fake an emergency and leave.

You’re tucked off to the side of the open terrace, leaning on the railing, the city lights flickering in the distance. Your phone’s out, thumb hovering over your texts when—

“Didn’t think I’d see you here.”

You don’t need to turn around to know who it is. That voice, equal parts smug and teasing, is practically branded into your brain at this point.

“You sound surprised,” you say, glancing up with a dry look as Seungcheol steps into view. He’s ditched his usual hoodie for a black button-up, sleeves rolled, hair swept just slightly back like someone definitely dragged him into looking decent for this.

He shrugs. “I am. I figured you’d be hiding in your room with tea and a face mask.”

“How do you know I do face masks on Fridays?”

He doesn’t miss a beat. “Exy talks. I listen.”

“You spy.”

You roll your eyes and go back to your drink, but you don’t move away when he leans next to you against the railing. Neither of you says anything for a moment.

The party rages on behind you But here, in this sliver of quiet under the glow of the terrace lights, it almost feels like you’ve stepped out of it.

“Seriously though,” Seungcheol says, voice a bit softer now, “what are you doing here?”

“Thought I’d try being normal for once.”

He chuckles. “And how’s that working out for you?”

You shoot him a look. “Horribly. I want to leave.”

He grins, bumping your shoulder gently. “Give it twenty more minutes. If it still sucks, I’ll make up a fake emergency for both of us.”

You raise an eyebrow. “You’d do that?”

“What are friends for, baby girl?”

Your jaw drops.

“No. Absolutely not. You do not get to turn this around on me—”

But he’s already walking away, that stupid smug grin plastered across his face as you fume behind him, drink in hand, fully forgetting how much you wanted to leave just a minute ago.

Seungcheol’s gone for two minutes. Three, tops.

He’d left you leaning against the terrace wall, muttering something about grabbing real drinks this time—“not whatever watered-down lemonade that was”—and you’d waved him off, rolling your eyes but letting him go.

He doesn’t expect anything to happen in those few minutes. It’s a mixer, not a crime scene.

You’re still where he left you. Only now, there’s some guy standing way too close. One hand braced against the wall next to your head like a goddamn cliché, the other mid-gesture like he’s trying to impress you with whatever he’s slurring through his tequila breath.

But what sets Seungcheol off isn’t just the guy—it’s you.

Your arms are crossed tight, jaw clenched, your glare sharp enough to cut. It’s the look you give right before a verbal takedown. Or a physical one. And Seungcheol knows that look. He knows the way your shoulders tense when you're holding back.

He's by your side in an instant, slipping between you and the guy like it’s muscle memory.

“Hey,” he says, voice calm, low but there’s a warning threaded through it like steel. “You got a problem?”

The guy blinks, thrown off. “Huh?”

“She’s not interested.” Seungcheol doesn’t look away, doesn’t raise his voice but something about the way he stands, the way his eyes have gone cold and unreadable, makes it feel louder than a shout.

“Woah, man, chill,” the guy says, backing up a half-step. “Didn’t realize she was taken.”

You don’t say anything, but your eyes flick sideways to Seungcheol, and for once, there’s no smart remark waiting on your tongue. The guy mutters something under his breath and stumbles off, finally disappearing into the crowd.

Seungcheol turns to you then, brows drawn in concern. “You okay?”

You nod, a little slower than usual. “I was about to knee him in the groin.”

“Yeah. I figured.”

“Thanks.”

He exhales, finally relaxing, and hands you your drink. “Next time just deck him. I’ll vouch for you.”

You snort. “Thought you said you didn’t want to get kicked out of school for assault.”

“I said me. You can get away with anything.”

“Even calling you baby boy in public?”

He groans. “Don’t push your luck.”

You spot her before she spots you which is exactly three seconds of peace before her eyes lock in and her grin goes full shark mode. Exy, armed with a drink in one hand and chaos in the other, pushes her way through the crowd like a woman on a mission. 

“Let’s dance,” she announces the second she’s close enough, already reaching for your wrist.

You jerk back instinctively, eyes wide. “No.”

“Oh, yes,” she counters, looping her fingers through yours. “You’ve been standing like a moody wallflower all night. Come on, I’ve got the perfect song.”

You shoot a panicked look at Seungcheol, who’s beside you sipping from his drink with all the calm in the world. Your eyes practically scream: Help me.

He doesn’t even blink. One second you’re getting tugged forward, and the next you’re yanked right back, a firm arm locking around your waist like a seatbelt.

You barely register the movement before your back hits Seungcheol’s chest, his drink still in one hand, his other arm cinched around you like he does this all the time.

“Sorry,” he says, voice casual, cheek resting near yours as he stares Exy down. “She’s busy.”

You blink, stunned, heat crawling up your neck as the crowd seems to muffle around you.

Exy raises both brows, lips twitching. “Busy?”

“She’s got a prior commitment,” Seungcheol says smoothly, sipping his drink. “With me.”

Exy smirks, shaking her head slowly. “Wow. Okay. Fine. I’ll find someone else to humiliate on the dance floor.”

“You do that,” Seungcheol says, not letting go.

She gives you one last teasing glance before disappearing into the crowd. And still he doesn’t let go.

“Nice save,” you say quietly.

“Anytime,” he murmurs, chin brushing the side of your head. “My reflexes are scary good.”

You roll your eyes, trying to ignore how loud your heart’s gotten. You stay there, tucked against him, the bass of the music rumbling through your bones but somehow, with Seungcheol’s arm still around you, the chaos of the party feels… muted.

Comfortable, even.

“Are you gonna let go?” you ask, only half teasing.

He shrugs behind you, arm unmoving. “You looked like you were in danger. Can’t be too careful.”

You tilt your head slightly, cheek brushing his collarbone. “Of Exy? She’s five-two and dances like she’s summoning demons.”

“That’s exactly why I stepped in.”

You laugh quietly, your fingers curling slightly around the hem of his sleeve. Neither of you moves to create space. Not even a little.

After a beat, he says, voice lower now, more honest, “You sure you’re okay here?”

You glance up at him, caught off guard. “What do you mean?”

“Just…” he pauses, eyes scanning your face. “You looked like you wanted to bolt earlier. Thought maybe the crowd was too much.”

You blink. It’s not the question itself. It’s the way he says it—like he noticed. Like he always does.

Your voice is soft when you answer. “Yeah. It was a lot. But... this helps.”

He watches you for a moment longer, then nods once, like that’s all he needed to hear.

“Okay. Then I won’t move,” he says simply.

And he doesn’t. You stay like that standing there in the middle of a rooftop party you never wanted to be at. with Seungcheol wrapped around you like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like there’s nowhere else you’re supposed to be.

And maybe, just maybe, he’s thinking the same thing.

=

It’s late afternoon,  you're in the library seated across from Minhyun, half your things spread out. Supposedly working. Mostly talking.

“Well, someone has high standards,” Minhyun says, leaning back in his chair with a smirk, arms crossed like he’s cracked some great mystery.

You raise a brow. “I’m sorry?”

He shrugs, clearly enjoying this. “Just saying. You always complain about guys being boring, or messy, or not knowing what a double space after a period is.”

“Okay, that last one is basic formatting decency,” you argue, sitting up straighter. “I shouldn’t have to date someone who thinks microsoft word automatically fixes their laziness.”

He snorts. “See what I mean? High standards.”

You wave a hand. “It’s called not settling. I have taste.”

“Oh, you definitely have taste,” he agrees, mock-thoughtful. “Just not anyone specific in mind?”

“Nope,” you say quickly. Too quickly. You’re back to flipping through your notebook like it suddenly got interesting.

He narrows his eyes, amused. “Uh-huh. Sure.”

You glance up, expression innocent. “What?”

“You’ve got that look,” he says, pointing at you like he’s found a clue on a crime show. “The guilty one. You’re hiding someone.”

“There is no one,” you insist, biting back a laugh. “I would know. I live in my own head, unfortunately.”

Minhyun leans forward, elbows on the table now. “So you’re telling me not a single guy has caught your attention lately? Not even, I don’t know, a certain varsity soccer player with the world’s most punchable smirk?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Oh, you definitely do.”

You’re halfway through forming your next liesomething about how you barely talk to Seungcheol anyway when Minhyun just grins and goes back to his notes like he hasn’t just lobbed a truth bomb across the table.

And despite your best effort, your brain is now helpfully supplying you with a memory: Seungcheol’s arm around your waist, the solid press of his chest behind you.

You clear your throat, suddenly hyper-aware of the heat in your cheeks.Minhyun doesn’t say anything more but the look on his face says everything.

“You’re thinking about it, aren’t you?”

You freeze, mid-sip of your drink, caught red-handed by absolutely nothing.

“I’m not thinking about anything,” you say way too defensively, setting your cup down a little harder than necessary. “I’m thinking about this—this paragraph on media ethics. Because that’s what we’re here for. Academics.”

You kick him under the table. Lightly. Mostly.

He grins, rubbing at his shin. “Ow. Abuse. I’m telling Exy.”

“You’re impossible,” you mutter, burying your face in your notebook.

“And you’re blushing.”

“I’m not.”

“You are. It’s cute.”

You groan. “Minhyun, I swear—”

“I’m just saying,” he cuts in, leaning forward again, his voice more teasing now, “I don’t think it’s nothing.”

You don’t answer right away. You’re too busy pretending to reread the same line over and over. But inside, your brain is spinning. Because maybe he’s right. Maybe it’s not nothing.

But saying it out loud? That feels like something big. Something you’re not ready to hand over just yet.

So instead, you glance up and deadpan, “I hope you spill your coffee on your notes.”

Minhyun laughs again, loud enough to get a side-eye from the librarian but he doesn’t push.

What you didn’t know is that a few rows down in the same library, someone else caught the whole scene.

Kim Mingyu, long-limbed and tragically loud even when he’s trying to be quiet, had been on a solo mission to actually study for once in his life. He’d just settled into a corner with his econ notes and a banana milk when his gaze drifted, purely by accident, toward one of the study tables across the floor.

And there you were. With Minhyun. Laughing. Smiling.

Leaning in just close enough that if someone didn’t know you, they’d absolutely mistake that for flirting. Honestly, even if they did know you, they might still mistake it. Because there’s something about the way you kicked him under the table, the way Minhyun grinned like he won something, the way you laughed afterward that.

Mingyu blinked. Watched for another beat. Then slowly pulled out his phone.

Mingyu: yo. ur girl’s flirting with someone at the library rn lol Seungcheol: who Mingyu: The girl? Seungcheol: The guy, you idiot Mingyu:Oh Mingyu: Minhyun. They look cute, close too. Seungcheol: k

Mingyu stared at the typing bubble for a moment. It blinked in. Blinked out and that was it.

Meanwhile, on the other side of campus, Seungcheol stared down at his phone, jaw ticking just slightly. He told himself it didn’t matter. That it wasn’t his business. That you weren’t his.

But that didn’t stop the quiet, unwelcome twist in his chest. Didn’t stop him from wondering just how close “close” meant.

He gives it a few seconds maybe ten. Just enough time for the screen to go dark, for his reflection to stare back at him in the glossy black glass. His jaw’s tight, thumb hovering over the keyboard. Mingyu’s message sits there like it’s daring him to react.

He tries to ignore it but fails. before he knows it, he's swiping up, hitting your name in his contacts, thumb moving like muscle memory.

“What?” your voice comes through, casual and distracted, like you didn’t just launch yourself into the back of his mind and set up camp there. “I’m in the library.”

“I know,” he says, and it comes out sharper than he means. He clears his throat, tries again. “I just… what are you doing?”

There’s a beat. Then a quiet, “Homework?”

“With Minhyun?”

“...Do you have a problem with that?”

He exhales, rubbing a hand over his face. “No. I mean—no. Just asking.”

“You sound weird,” you say, more amused than anything. “Wait—did something happen?”

He wants to say no, because this is ridiculous. He has no right to be calling. No claim. No excuse.

But instead, what comes out is, “Were you flirting with him?”

Dead silence. Then a laugh “What?”

“I’m just asking,” he snaps, defensive now. “Mingyu saw you two. Said you looked... close.”

“Oh my god,” you mutter, half-laughing. “Did you really just call me because of something Mingyu said?”

“I didn’t call because of him,” he says quickly. “I called because—”

He cuts himself off. Because what? Because he didn’t like the idea of someone else making you laugh like that? Because the thought of Minhyun sitting across from you, pulling that easy smile out of you, made something coil tight in his stomach?

You’re still waiting on the other end.

“Because I wanted to hear your voice,” he finishes, quieter now. Honest.

You go silent. He hears the distant rustle of papers, a soft sigh.

Then, you say, “You’re ridiculous.”

He almost smiles. “Yeah.”

“And needy.”

“Only a little.”

“I’m hanging up now,” you say, but you don’t.

He leans back in his chair, eyes fixed on nothing. “Okay.”

Your phone buzzes again barely five seconds later. You glance at Minhyun, who raises an eyebrow, clearly seeing the caller ID flash across your screen. You mouth one sec and pick up, standing up from your seat

“You better not be talking to him with that baby voice shit you do.”

You laugh a full, startled laugh that earns you a glare from a nearby student and a very entertained look from Minhyun.

“Oh my god,” you say, still grinning. “Are you actually spiraling right now?”

“I'm not spiraling,” Seungcheol grumbles, voice low and half-muttered. “I’m just saying. You do that thing—your tone gets all soft and sugarcoated and—ugh. I don’t want to hear that being used on anyone but me.”

“First of all, you hated it when I used that voice on you.”

“That’s different.”

“How?”

“Because when you do it with me, it’s annoying. When you do it with other guys, it’s... threatening.”

You snort. “Threatening?”

“To my sanity, yeah.”

You shake your head, amused and maybe a little flattered in the most chaotic way. “So what, you want me to reserve the baby voice exclusively for you now?”

He’s quiet for a beat too long. Then—

“...Maybe.”

You nearly drop your phone from how fast your hand flies up to your face.

“You are unreal, Choi Seungcheol.”

“I just know what’s mine,” he says, all confidence now, like he didn’t just blurt that out by accident. Your smile softens, just a touch.

“I’m still in the library,” you murmur.

“So?” he replies. “Not like I can kiss you through the phone.”

You pause. That was... not a joke. Not fully. And your heart? Oh, it flips.

You swallow. “Then maybe stop calling unless you're ready to make that kind of statement.”

There’s a long, loaded silence.

Then, low and smug, he says, “Good. So you were thinking about kissing me.”

You hang up and across campus, Seungcheol laughs to himself like he’s just won the lottery.

Practice is the last thing on his mind. The sky is bleeding orange over the field, the kind of late afternoon glow that usually helps him lock in, focus up. 

But Seungcheol’s head is somewhere else half on your voice in his ear earlier, half on the way you hung up on him like you were flustered out of your mind, and maybe a little on how good that felt.

He’s tying his cleats on the sidelines when Mingyu drops onto the bench beside him, kicking his legs out like a golden retriever who just learned how to stretch.

“You know what’s funny?” Mingyu says, not even pretending to ease into it.

“No,” Seungcheol replies flatly, not looking up. “But I have a feeling you’re gonna tell me anyway.”

“I texted ‘your girl’s flirting at the library’ and you didn’t even ask who I was talking about,” Mingyu says, all grin. “Just went straight into panic mode.”

Seungcheol freezes for half a second before continuing to tighten the laces. “I wasn’t panicking.”

“Oh no, not at all,” Mingyu drawls. “You were calmly accusing her of using her baby voice on other men within seconds.”

“I was just—checking.”

“Sure,” Mingyu says. “Checking. Out of concern for her academic productivity.”

Seungcheol glares at him. “Do you need to be like this?”

Mingyu slaps a hand over his chest dramatically. “I’m just being a supportive friend.”

“Supportive friends don’t act like tabloid reporters.”

“Supportive friends call it like they see it, and what I see is a man deep in denial about being down horrifically bad.”

Seungcheol grabs a water bottle and takes a long sip just so he doesn’t say something that proves Mingyu exactly right.

Mingyu leans in, eyes twinkling. “You like her.”

“She’s annoying.”

“You like her.”

“She talks to me like I’m a five-year-old.”

“You’d let her step on you if she asked.”

Seungcheol gives him a deadpan look. “You good?”

Mingyu shrugs. “You’re not denying it.”

Seungcheol exhales, tipping his head back, letting the fading sun hit his face. Mingyu, satisfied with the tension in the air but not quite done poking the fire, stretches his arms overhead, lets out a content sigh, and adds, far too casually:

“But, like... they do kinda look cute together, don’t they? Minhyun and her.”

Seungcheol’s head snaps up so fast Mingyu almost flinches.

“What did you just say?”

Mingyu fights back a grin, trying to keep his tone innocent. “I mean, he’s got that polite, nice guy thing going on. She’s sharp, a little mean—classic opposites attract. Balance, y’know?”

Seungcheol’s jaw ticks.

“They don’t balance,” he says, too quickly. “Minhyun’s too bland for her.”

Mingyu raises a brow, delight practically radiating off him. “Bland?”

“Yeah. She’d eat him alive. He’d fold at the first sign of an argument.”

“And you wouldn’t?”

“I fight back,” Seungcheol snaps, and then immediately realizes how that sounds.

Mingyu full-on cackles.

“There it is! There’s the alpha wolf! Jesus, dude, chill before you end up headbutting someone.”

Seungcheol scowls and tosses the ball at Mingyu’s gut lightly, but with just enough force to make it a statement.

Mingyu catches it with a grunt, still laughing. “So defensive. You sure she’s not your girl?”

Seungcheol doesn’t answer this time. Just turns toward the field, jaw set, hands on his hips, trying and failing not to think about how close you and Minhyun had been sitting.

=

The following day you barely make it five seconds into sitting across from him at the student lounge before you're hit with the weight of his mood.

Seungcheol’s already there when you arrive hood up, arms crossed, textbook open but clearly untouched. His eyes flick up when you slide into the seat across from him, but he doesn’t say anything. 

You squint at him. “Okay. What’s this vibe?”

“What vibe.”

“The one where you’re one exhale away from challenging someone to a duel.”

“Dramatic.”

You tilt your head, resting your chin on your palm. “Did Mingyu say something again? Did he beat you at something? Or is it because of—” you pause, catching the flicker of something in his eyes, “—Minhyun?”

Nothing but that nothing is so loud, it may as well be a full confession.

You grin. “Oh my god. You’re sulking again.”

“I’m not sulking,” he mutters, refusing to meet your eyes

“You have sulking energy. Your entire aura is sulk.”

He slams the book shut “Why him?”

“What?”

Seungcheol looks at you then, eyebrows slightly furrowed, like he’s genuinely annoyed but underneath, there's something else. A little unspoken frustration. Maybe even jealousy, thinly veiled.

“Minhyun,” he says. “Why do you laugh like that when you’re with him?”

You stare at him, lips parting, unsure if you’re hearing him right.

“Are you seriously asking me why I laugh at jokes?”

“I’m asking why you laugh differently.”

You lean back in your seat, slowly crossing your arms, lips tugging into a smug smile. “Choi Seungcheol... are you jealous?”

He narrows his eyes. “No.”

“You’re so jealous.”

“I’m just observant,” he grumbles.

You lean in, resting your elbows on the table. “You know, if you wanted me to laugh like that with you, maybe try not scowling at me the minute I sit down.”

He snorts, finally just barely  “Then stop using your baby voice on other guys.”

“Oh my god,” you groan, laughing. “You’re never letting that go, huh?”

He leans back, smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth. “Not until you start using it where it counts.”

And just like that, the mood shifts. The sulk might still be there but so is the smirk. 

Then he says it. Just like that, out of nowhere. No warning. No buildup.

“And don’t think I forgot.”

“Forgot what?”

No break. No pause. Not even a breath.

“You thinking about kissing me.”

Your brain screeches to a halt. “What—”

“I heard you,” he says, leaning in, smug etched all over his stupidly handsome face. “You said it yourself. ‘Then maybe stop calling unless you’re ready to make that kind of statement.’ Which means you were thinking it. Which means—”

“That is not what I said,” you argue, pointing at him like that’ll physically push the words back into his mouth. “You twisted it. You butchered it.”

“Oh? So you weren’t thinking about it?”

“I was—hypothetically speaking. There’s a difference.”

Seungcheol raises an eyebrow. “So you admit you thought about it.”

You gape at him. “That’s not—no! I was talking about you! You were the one flirting over the phone—”

“I was flirting?”

“‘I wanted to hear your voice,’” you mimic, dropping your voice into a painfully off-key version of his deeper tone. “That’s you! That’s textbook flirt!”

He shrugs, completely unfazed. “Did it work?”

You glare. “I hung up on you.”

He grins. “Exactly. You panicked.”

You stare at him for a full three seconds. “You are insufferable.”

“And yet,” he says, like he’s delivering some grand conclusion, “you’re still here.”

You want to throw your pen at him. But more than that, you want to wipe that smug look off his face.

Unfortunately, kissing him would do exactly that. Which is why you don’t. Not yet.

You just mutter, “Don’t flatter yourself, Choi,” and flip open your notebook, pretending to focus.

But from the way you can feel his eyes on you, you know this isn’t over. Not even close. He doesn't let up. In fact, he leans in.

Elbows on the table, eyes locked on yours with that sly smile that should be illegal on campus grounds. Close enough that you can smell the faint traces of his cologne, like pine and trouble.

“And yet,” he murmurs, smug and slow, “you’re blushing, babygirl.”

You freeze. Eyes wide. Brain empty. Heart somewhere doing backflips against your ribs.

Your jaw drops. “Excuse me—”

His smile deepens, utterly pleased with himself. “Hit a nerve, did I?”

“I am not blushing—”

“You are.” He points lazily, like he’s stating the weather. “Right there. Your cheeks. Like strawberries.”

You slap both palms against your face. “Stop looking at me—” He laughs, leaning back like he just won a championship match.

You glare at him through your fingers. “You think this is funny?”

“Hilarious.”

“You’re impossible.”

“You’re adorable.”

“I hate you.”

“Sure, babygirl.”

You grab your pen like a weapon. He raises his hands in surrender, still grinning like the devil in a varsity hoodie. But Seungcheol? He’s already forgotten the rest of the world exists. Because all he sees is you. Flustered, indignant, glowing red and still sitting right there across from him.

And he’s never felt more victorious in his life.

=

It’s been a few days, but nothing’s changed.

If anything, he’s gotten worse.

Now Seungcheol’s teasing comes armed less banter, more ambush. One second, he’s making fun of how you chew your pen when you’re focused, the next he’s casually dropping something like, “Careful, keep doing that and I’m gonna think you’re trying to distract me, sweetheart.”

Which, of course, earns him a full-on attack with your highlighter. Or your notebook. Or, once, your water bottle though to be fair, that was more of a warning toss.

He just dodges, laughs, and runs off like the menace he is, usually calling a smug “You’re obsessed with me!” over his shoulder while you try not to chase him down and tackle him in the middle of campus.

It’s a game now, and he plays to win.

Which brings you to now. another game day, your camera bag slung over your shoulder as you take your usual spot on the sidelines. The stadium is buzzing, the sky starting to dip into dusk, and you’re setting up your lens when something drops over your head.

You flinch, camera instinctively cradled to your chest, and yank the thing off only to find yep. A varsity jacket.

Not just any jacket. His jacket.

You turn around instantly, already knowing who it is.

Seungcheol stands a few feet away, casually stretching like he didn’t just try to blindfold you. He’s grinning, loose and cocky, in that way that says he knows exactly what he’s doing.

“Sun’s setting,” he says innocently. “Didn’t want you to catch a chill.”

You hold up the jacket like it’s evidence at a crime scene. “This almost took me out, Choi.”

He shrugs. “Worth it. You look cute in it.”

Then you narrow your eyes, lips twitching. “You just wanted me to wear your jacket”

Seungcheol raises a brow. “Wouldn’t complain.”

“You are—so—insufferable.”

He starts backing away toward his team, still grinning. “Still wearing it though.”

You glance down at the jacket in your arms. And yeah, you do pull it on but only because it’s cold and definitely not because it smells like pine and trouble and home.

The game starts, the first half going like the usual but then it happens. It happens fast, too fast to process. One second, the ball’s moving upfield in a blur, and the next, a player slams into Seungcheol. Hard.

You hear the collective oof ripple through the crowd as his body hits the turf, legs folding awkwardly beneath him before he rolls over, clutching his side.

Your heart lurches to your throat.

The ref’s whistle blows sharp and loud, halting the game. A few players drop to a knee. Others stand, tense and quiet. You grip your camera like a lifeline, frozen on the sideline as medics rush the field.

You lift the lens with trembling fingers, trying to keep it steady as they kneel beside him, talking quickly, checking something near his ribs. 

They help him to his feet slowly, his arm slung around one of the staff, weight uneven. He’s limping, favoring his side, jaw clenched. But even from here, even under the stadium lights, you can see him trying to brush it off, like he’s fine.

He’s not fine.

They help him off the field, and the game resumes minutes later but without him. You keep scanning the benches. The sidelines. The crowd.

He’s gone.

And you can’t move. You want to, but your job—your literal responsibility—keeps you stuck at the sideline. Camera still in hand. Fingers still numb.

Every few minutes, you steal glances again, just to be sure you didn’t miss him coming back. But his spot on the bench stays empty and your chest feels a little like it’s folding in on itself.

Meanwhile Seungcheol is in the locker room, the small medic room too quiet. 

He’s pissed. Not the kind of pissed where he’s throwing things or yelling. no, this is the quiet kind. The boiling-under-the-surface, jaw-locked, muscles-tense kind. 

The kind where he has too much adrenaline and nowhere to put it.

The medic room is too white. Too still. And he hates how sterile everything feels, how he’s being told to rest when all he wants to do is get back out there and finish the damn game.

He leans back against the padded table, an ice pack strapped to his ribs, shirt halfway off. His phone’s on the bench across the room, untouched. He hasn’t looked at it once.

The door creaks open and Yuta steps in, still in his cleats, jersey grass-stained, hair damp from sweat.

Seungcheol sits up straighter. “What’s the score?”

“We won,” Yuta says, casually. “2-1.”

Cheol exhales, but there’s no relief in it. Just more frustration. “Should’ve been out there.”

“Yeah, well,” Yuta shrugs, peeling off his gloves. “Not much you could do with half your ribs probably cracked.”

“Not cracked.”

“Probably,” Yuta repeats.

Seungcheol glares at the floor.

There’s a pause before Yuta jerks a thumb toward the hallway. “By the way. Your girl’s outside.”

Cheol’s head snaps up. “What?”

“Yeah. Pacing like she’s about to wear out the floorboards,” Yuta smirks. “Muttering something about rules and how you’re stupid and reckless and honestly, she sounds more pissed than you.”

Seungcheol’s already sliding off the table.

“You’re not cleared to leave, bro,” Yuta calls after him.

“Then tell the medic I’m stretching my legs.”

Yuta raises both brows. “Stretching your legs or going to get yelled at?”

Cheol throws his shirt over his shoulder, heading for the door. “Probably both.”

The second he steps out, he sees you. Right there across the hallway, arms crossed, pacing a tight little loop like you’ve got fire under your feet. 

You don’t even notice him at first too busy muttering to yourself like you’re rehearsing a speech that ends in murder. Then you hear the door shut.

You whip around.

“Choi Seungcheol—”

Oh, yeah. He’s definitely about to get yelled at.

“You absolute idiot,” you start, marching up to him. “What part of take care of yourself did you not understand? You got wrecked, Cheol—rammed, like you were nothing but a traffic cone—”

“I’m fine,” he says, calm but slightly amused. “See? Walking. Breathing. All parts attached.”

“Don’t you dare try to joke your way out of this—”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

You narrow your eyes. “Then why the hell did you try to get up like you were fine? You were obviously in pain—”

“I was fine.”

“You couldn’t even walk straight.”

“Okay,” he admits, “mostly fine.”

You throw your hands in the air. “Unbelievable.”

He just watches you, eyes softening, lips quirking at the corners. “You were worried.”

“Of course I was worried. You're—” You stop. Catch yourself. Almost let the words slip.

He steps closer.

“Say it.”

You glance away. “No.”

“Say it.”

“No, because you’ll get that smug look like you’re about to win something—”

“I already feel like I did.”

You roll your eyes, but your heart’s thudding too loud to ignore. “You’re so full of yourself.”

“And yet,” he says, his voice dropping just a little, “you’re still here. Still yelling. Still wearing my jacket.”

You look back up, intending to retort—but he’s already looking at you like that.

Like that. Warm. Steady. Quietly proud. And maybe a little in love.

You glare at him “You’re impossibl and you’re stubborn.”

He replies back, smiling as if he isn’t nursing a few bruised ribs“You look good when you’re mad.”

“I’m gonna throw your cleats at you.”

“Sure, babygirl.”

You lunge. He laughs then winces.

You freeze instantly. “Wait—are you okay?”

“Still sore,” he admits. “But worth it.”

Your voice is quieter when you say it this time, like the wind got knocked out of your chest but you still needed to say it anyway.

“You scared me.”

Seungcheol’s smile falters just a little.

“I know.”

You shake your head, staring at him, hard. “No. I mean it, Cheol. I—I couldn’t even see where you went after they helped you off the field. You weren’t on the bench. No update. No text. Nothing. I just had to stand there, holding a damn camera, wondering if you—”

“I’m sorry,” he says, voice gentler now. “I didn’t mean to—”

“You never do,” you cut in. “But you keep getting in these stupid plays like you have to carry the whole team on your back or something. You don’t always have to be the one who takes the hit, Cheol. You're not invincible.”

He watches you for a long beat. Then takes one step closer. Then another.

“You done?”

You blink. “No.”

He’s close now. Arms open, head tilted down to look at you fully like he always does. “Good. Get it all out.”

“Don’t patronize me.”

“I’m not.”

“You’re literally smiling—”

“Yeah,” he says, grinning openly now. “Because you’re here. And yelling. Which means you care.”

You glare “Of course I care. You big dumb idiot—”

“Babygirl ”

“Don’t babygirl me right now—”

“I’m gonna.” He grins wider. “Because I like the way it makes you flustered.”

“Seungcheol—”

“I promise,” he says suddenly, cutting through your spiral. His tone drops. Softens. Steadies. “No more of that. I’ll be more careful. I won’t disappear on you. I’m okay. I’m really okay.”

You narrow your eyes, watching him like you’re still deciding if you can believe him. “I swear, if you ever scare me like that again, I will end you.”

He holds up a pinky. “Scout’s honor.”

“How many times do I have to remind you, you were never a scout.”

He smiles that boyish handsome smile, showing the dimples on his cheeks

“Still counts.”

You’re about to shoot bac another sarcastic comment, another dramatic eye roll but he doesn’t wait. He just opens his arms and tugs you in like it’s the most natural thing in the world. Like he’s done it a thousand times before.

Your face presses against his chest, and you can feel the rise and fall of his breathing. Slower now. Calmer. Warm.

“I need a hug,” he says softly, chin resting against your hair. “So shut up for like five seconds.”

You sigh, but you don’t move. Don’t push him away. Your arms loop around his waist, fingers curling into the soft fabric of his jersey. He’s warm. Solid. Here.

“I still hate you,” you mumble.

He chuckles. “You’re obsessed with me.”

“You’re an idiot.”

“I’m your idiot.”

You swat at his ribs.

He flinches and tightens his arms around you. “Hey! Injury!”

“You’re lucky I don’t aim lower”

He hums, a low sound in his chest. “Still not letting go.”

“Don’t,” you whisper.

He doesn’t.

=

He’s halfway through zoning out when it happens.

Sitting near the back of the lecture hall, earbuds in, one arm slung over the back of the empty chair beside him, pretending to review his notes but really just rereading the same sentence for the fifth time. 

His brain’s still somewhere else. Specifically that night a few nights ago when he got pulled out of the game. If he’s being honest, it was worth it. He might not have been there for the winning goal but it felt like he was the MVP that night.

Then the chair next to him creaks. He doesn’t need to look to know who it is.

Exy’s presence is impossible to miss. She’s got that smirk today, too, the one that makes him instinctively brace for something. She doesn’t say hi.

Just, “So.”

Seungcheol glances at her warily. “So…?”

She tilts her head, pretending to think. “What are we calling it now? Friends who hug like their lives depend on it? Friends who give each other heart attacks on the field?”

He sighs, already exhausted. “You really don’t have anything better to do?”

“Nope,” she says cheerfully. “Just here to make sure you’re emotionally stable before you inevitably do something stupid.”

“I haven’t done anything.”

“Yet.” Exy leans back, one leg crossed over the other, arms folded. “But you will, because you’re both stubborn idiots who think prolonged eye contact and light bullying is a form of communication.”

“You’re very dramatic for someone who wasn’t even there.”

“Didn’t need to, I have eyes everywhere” she says

“What do you want, Exy?”

She shrugs “Just making sure you know what you’re doing.”

“I do.”

“Do you?”

Exy leans in, not unkind, but unrelenting. “Look. You like her. Obviously. And she likes you back. Also obvious. But if you’re gonna keep doing this—whatever this is—just make sure you’re not playing tug-of-war with her heart. She’s a lot of things, but stupid isn’t one of them.”

He doesn’t say anything. Doesn’t have to. She sees it anyway, in the way his shoulders tense, the way his hands curl into fists on his thighs. The quiet kind of protective that never quite fades, even when he’s sitting still.

Exy softens, just a little. “She really does care, you know.”

He nods. “I know.”

Exy watches him a moment longer, like she’s trying to decide if she should keep going or let him sit with his own thoughts.

Spoiler: she keeps going.

“You know what she likes, right?” she says, drumming her fingers against the desk. “The reason she messes with you so much? It’s because you never say what you mean unless it’s wrapped in sarcasm or some post-goal adrenaline.”

Seungcheol scoffs. “And you’re suddenly her spokesperson?”

“Please,” Exy says, rolling her eyes. “I’ve known her longer than you. She’s my roommate, my soul sister, sometimes the voice of reason. You get what I mean”

He shoots her a glare. She ignores it.

“She likes straightforward guys,” she continues, voice a little more serious now. “Not the ones who get jealous in the corner and stew in silence, not the ones who pretend like they don’t care. She wants someone who shows it. Not in a weird ‘mine mine mine’ way, but like… make it clear.”

Seungcheol leans back in his chair, rubbing a hand across his mouth. “I don’t want to come off—”

“Possessive?” Exy finishes. “Yeah, you already are but neither of you acknowledges it. But you know what she likes more? Feeling chosen. Loudly. Publicly. Like, no room for guessing.”

He’s quiet again. Processing. Thinking.

She nudges his leg under the table. “You don’t have to post her on Instagram with a cheesy ass caption. But you do have to stop pretending like you’re just ‘hanging out’ when the whole campus already knows you’d deck someone for even looking at her sideways.”

He lets out a breath, more exhale than sigh. “…You think she really likes me back?”

Exy looks at him like he’s said the dumbest thing she’s ever heard. Which, in fairness, he might’ve.

“Seungcheol. She ran to the locker room after you got benched. She paced like a worried girlfriend. She lets you hug her in front of people. She calls you baby boy.”

His ears go red instantly. “That was—she was teasing—”

“She blushed,” Exy says, shaking her head. “That’s like her version of a declaration.”

He’s quiet for a beat. Then another. Then, “So what do I do?”

Exy shrugs, getting up as the professor finally walks in. “You stop being a coward. And you start making it obvious or atleast more obvious than you already are”

She pauses, smirking down at him. “Starting now would be ideal.”

Later after his last class, he waits for. Like he always does, you never asked why you’re just used to it now. 

You’re already mid-rant about your journalism group,voice going a mile a minute. Something about missed deadlines, broken printers, and the absolute disaster that is your publication’s group chat.

He’s barely said a word, just walking beside you with that small smile tugging at his lips, watching the way your face scrunches when you get fired up, the way you skip a step when you’re being dramatic on purpose. 

The sun catches your hair, and he wonders again how he got so gone. Maybe it slipped between the banters, the teasing, the walks after class. Just like this one. 

He can’t even recall what campus life was, or his life, was before you. You’ve become that one constant in his everyday routine. From countless morning coffee runs, to late lunch hall trips to late night convenient store runs. He doesn’t know just when he became your first call, but he doesn’t mind. You’re his first person he’d call too, if he’s having a great day or a bad day or he just needed a break from all the madness.

 You don’t even notice when he slows down, steps dragging just a bit more than usual.

Too busy talking, you reach back with one hand and grab his, tugging without even looking at him. Intertwining your fingers with his like you’ve done it before. 

“Anyway, I told him, if you turn in your draft the day after deadline again, I’m going to start publicly shaming you—”

But he doesn’t budge.

You stop mid-step, turning. “What—?”

He’s looking at your joined hands. Not in shock or hesitation. Just… lingering.

You follow his gaze and blink down, like just realizing you were holding his hand. Then back up at him, one brow raised. “What?”

He doesn’t answer right away. Just looks at you, your hands and then at your face like he’s trying to memorize something.

“What,” you say again, a little more cautious this time.

“You always do that?” he asks, voice low, just a little amused. “Grab my hand like it’s nothing?”

“You were walking like a grandpa. I didn’t want to miss the bus.”

He laughs softly. “Right.”

You tilt your head. “What’s going on with you?”

He shrugs, but doesn’t let go of your hand. In fact he holds it firmer “Just thinking.”

“Dangerous,” you tease.

But he’s not smiling now. Not fully. He takes a step closer, just enough to make your hand drop between you. 

His voice is quieter when he says, “You really don’t know what you do to me, do you?”

Your heart skips. “What are you talking about?”

His eyes meet yours, all steady, no teasing this time. “You hold my hand like it’s nothing. You call me baby boy in front of my teammates. You yell at me when I get hurt”

You open your mouth to say something anything but he cuts in, voice soft but serious.

“I’m making it clear now. I like you. Not just for the banter. Not just when it’s easy.”

He squeezes your hand, not hard. Just enough.

“I want to make it obvious.”

Your heart is thudding in your chest now, and for the first time in a while, you’re the one struggling for words. But your hand tightens back around his, and your mouth twitches like you’re fighting a smile.

“You’ve always been obvious, you growl at other guys if they so much so look my way” you joke

He scowls at you, “Here I was being genuine and sweet”

You smile small at first, a little shy, but then it breaks wider, soft and warm and so you.

But since you’re you and he’s him, you reply back

“I guess I just never said anything because you didn’t either. But we both knew, we both know what this really is. Good to know you finally got your big boy pants on and say it loud and proud”

He lets outs chuckle, looking down at you. He tucks in the few strands of hair blown by the late afternoon wind, his other hand still holding yours.

And like it’s the most natural thing in the world, you just pick up where you left off. “Anyway, as I was saying—this guy? He sends in drafts written like a text message. Like, full-on ‘LOL’ and emoji placeholders. I wish I was joking, Cheol.”

He lets out a quiet laugh, not because of the story but because of you. The way you bounce back so easily, how nothing ever feels awkward with you for long. One minute you’re standing still while he’s basically confessing on a quiet campus path, and the next you’re dragging him toward the bus stop with your fingers still looped with his.

He glances down at your hands. Intertwined. And you’re not letting go.

You’re still talking, still dramatically reciting the tragedies of group projects and typos that somehow made it to print, but your thumb brushes against his like it’s always been meant to be there. And he’s just… listening.

Not saying much. Not needing to.

Because this? This moment your voice in his ear, your hand in his, your familiar little eye-roll when you notice him smiling too long is everything.

And there's nowhere else he’d rather be. This right here has been the ultimate goal all along.

=

A FEW MONTHS LATER.

The first thing he hears when he opens his eyes?

Your voice. Of course.

Not soft, not dreamy, not the gentle cooing kind of morning wake-up call some people probably expect from their girlfriends. 

No. yours is sharp, brisk, and deeply exasperated.

“Choi Seungcheol, I swear, if you forget your cap, I’m not turning around this time. We’re not missing line-up just because you take three business days to get ready—”

He groans, arm flopping across his eyes as he cracks a smile. “Good morning to you too, jagi”

“You’re impossible in the mornings,” you mutter, rifling through a bag near the foot of the bed. “I don’t know why I agreed to be the responsible one in this relationship.”

He peeks at you through his lashes, hair still a mess from the night before, lips pressed in that familiar line that says you’re trying not to smile even as you’re scolding him. 

Still you. Unmistakably, unapologetically you.

And for some reason, he feels full just watching you.

Because today’s the day. Graduation. The end of all-nighters and library corners and half-serious bickering in cafes. The end of walking across campus as “friends” with a mile of tension between you and the start of something else.

“Are you even listening to me?” you ask, exasperated, already halfway to the mirror to fix your hair. “The trip, Seungcheol. We leave next week. And you have that early training thing right after we get back, so if we don’t get everything packed—”

He pushes himself up slowly, stretching, watching you spin through your checklist with military precision.

“—and your mom said she wanted photos after the ceremony, so don’t disappear with the team, okay? And please don’t forget to eat before we leave, I’m not dealing with you fainting in full gown and—”

You’re cut off with a kiss. Firm, quick, not giving you a chance to back away or dodge it like you do sometimes just to be difficult.

You blink at him. “What was that for?”

He grins, thumb brushing your chin. “You’re cute when you’re bossy.”

You swat at him, cheeks flushed. “Shut up.”

He tugs you back gently, arms looping around your waist, resting his chin on your shoulder from behind. “You know, when we first met, I thought I’d lose my mind if I had to listen to you nag me every day.”

You snort. “Charming.”

“But now?” He kisses your temple, voice soft. “Wouldn’t want it any other way.”

You roll your eyes, but your hands come up to rest over his anyway.

“Better not,” you murmur, the edge in your tone barely there. “You’re stuck with me now.”

He smiles against your skin, eyes slipping shut for one more second.

You. Still you. Still loud. Still quick to argue. Still calling him out when he needs it but now he can shut you up with a kiss. Now, you’re his. Officially. Publicly.

Somehow he managed to distract you enough to pull you back in bed but you’re still talking.

Even now, knees planted on either side of his hips, straddling him in the middle of your shared chaos of a room. gown half-steamed and a to-do list longer than your patience. You’re going off about last-minute logistics.

“You didn’t charge your camera last night, did you? You said you would, and if it dies while my parents are taking photos, I swear to God, Seungcheol—”

He’s not even trying to keep up anymore. Not with your words, at least.

Just… watching you. The way your brows furrow when you’re pretending to be mad. The way you keep adjusting your hair like it’s not already perfect. The way you’re sitting on top of him like it’s the most casual thing in the world.

And your voice filling every inch of his morning like it always does.

He thinks, Yeah. This is it. This is what he wants every morning to be like. Even if you’re nagging him. Especially if you’re nagging him.

You lean forward a little, pressing your hand to his chest like you’re trying to make a point. “Seriously, if we’re late, Exy is going to murder us both. Don’t give me that look—”

“Babe,” he says, laughing softly.

“No, you always do this—you smile and nod and then forget everything I said—”

“Babe,” he says again, pulling you down gently, your face just inches from his now. “I love you.”

You blink. Mouth still parted mid-rant. Eyes just a little wider. And that second of silence? It might be his favorite part of the whole morning.

He grins. “Like, really, really whipped for you.”

Your expression twists somewhere between smug and flustered. “You’re ridiculous.”

“I know.”

“Hopeless.”

“Absolutely.”

You huff and try to sit back, but he doesn’t let you, arms locking around your waist.

“I’m serious,” he murmurs, voice lower now. “Call me whipped. Call me down bad. I don’t care.”

He presses a kiss just below your jaw, and your fingers twitch slightly where they rest against his shoulders.

“I’ll take all of it,” he adds. “If it means waking up to you. Every single day. Nagging and all.”

You try to look unimpressed, but your lips betray you with the softest curve of a smile.

“You’re such a sap.”

“You love it.”

And you do. Maybe a little more than you’d ever admit out loud.

So you lean down, brushing your nose against his, and mutter against his lips, “Only if you remember the damn cap this time.”

You kiss him, once. Twice. “And I love you, too”

He laughs again head thrown back like you’ve just handed him the world.

There’s nowhere else he’d rather be.

The door swings open, the morning sun spilling across the hallway as you bolt out in full momentum. heels clicking against the tile, hair slightly tousled from your last-minute panic fix, your phone clenched in one hand and a rolled-up copy of the graduation itinerary in the other.

“—and I told you,Cheol, if we don’t get to the hall before they start locking seat assignments, I am not begging some underpaid volunteer to let us in. And no, don’t give me that look, you were the one who decided to iron your shirt twenty minutes before we had to leave—”

He follows behind you, grinning so wide his cheeks hurt. His cap is still crooked, tassel flipping wildly in the breeze, and he doesn’t seem to care in the slightest. 

Not when you’re out here looking like that radiant and already halfway to combusting because of a scuffed shoe or a forgotten pin or God knows what else.

You keep going, barely glancing back. “—and I can’t believe you tried to bribe Exy with iced coffee so she wouldn’t tell me you forgot to RSVP to the post-grad dinner. You know she’s lactose intolerant—”

“Babe.”

“—and then there’s still the trip itinerary we haven’t finished, your mom’s gift still needs wrapping, and I told you at least four times to print out your boarding pass just in case—”

“Baby,” he says again, stepping closer now, his hand brushing your wrist.

You spin toward him, full of momentum and indignation, your mouth already open to launch into another paragraph of minor disasters and contingency plans.

But he just cups your face in both hands, warm and sure, and pulls you in.

Kisses you. Firm and fast. You freeze, lips caught mid-word. Your eyes flutter open in surprise, brows drawing together.

He pulls back a half second later, grinning. “Hi.”

You blink, processing.

And then, just like that, “Anyway, as I was saying—if we don’t get to the photo op on time, your sister will murder us both, and you still haven’t replied to the family group chat—”

He kisses you again.

You make a muffled noise into his mouth, both hands lifting in frustration that he can never let you finish a proper thought.

He pulls back again, looking far too pleased with himself. “Sorry. What were you saying?”

You glare. “I swear—”

Another kiss. This one longer.

This time, when he pulls back, you're breathless. But still stubborn.

“I hate you.”

“You’re smiling.”

“I’m smiling because I’m two seconds from kicking your ass in front of your entire graduating class.”

He grins, nose brushing yours. “Still worth it.”

You push lightly at his chest, trying to turn away. “We’re going to be late—”

He kisses you again before you can take a step. And again. And again.

It becomes a pattern. every time you open your mouth to talk, he just silences you with a kiss. They’re quick at first, just small interruptions. But the more you fight him, the longer they stretch. The slower they get. Until you’re not even trying to speak anymore—just giggling helplessly against his mouth as he pecks you one more time, then another, and then another.

“You’re ridiculous,” you mumble into his shoulder, finally giving up, forehead resting there while he loops an arm around your waist.

“You love it.”

“Debatable.”

“You love me.”

You groan dramatically. “God, don’t remind me.”

He laughs, light and easy, kissing the top of your head as you both start walking again, fingers intertwined, the rush of the morning finally slowing down.

And somewhere between the bickering and the kisses, the nagging and the laughter, it settles in:

You’re still you. He’s still him.

But now… it’s official.

Caps and gowns, travel plans and futures ahead. Whatever comes next—training camps or late deadlines or burnt breakfasts—he’ll have you. And you’ll have him.

Even if he’s five minutes late. Even if you never stop nagging.

Even if the only way to shut you up is kissing you breathless at the door every single morning.

[maryseesthings]

LOVE AGAIN | kth

—  pairing: taehyung x female reader 

—  genre: established relationship, fluff, and smut 

— rating: 18+ 

—  summary: your boyfriend, taehyung—or captain clumpsy, as you like to call him—is finally home after eighteen long months of military service. when he left, your relationship was new, but the distance only strengthened your bond. with every call, every stolen weekend, the craving slowly and deeply built. now that he’s back, everything you’ve held in finally comes to the surface, and neither of you holds back.

—  words: 5,415

—  warnings: mention of crying, mention of sex, oc is desperate, nervousness, strong language, swearing, some teasing, face riding, oral sex (f. receiving), penetrative sex, unprotected sex, rough sex, good old missionary, multiple orgasms, and creampie

—  author’s note: hiii angels ✨ i hope you’re all doing great!! sooo the boys’ discharges have been driving me wild & i had to write something 🫠 so here you have a pure filthy fic with our beloved taehyung because that man has gone wild!! hope you enjoy it loves ❤️

MASTERLIST

Falling in love wasn’t in your plans. Not until a certain Kim Taehyung appeared in your life. He came into your life in the most surprising and also very embarrassing way.

It was on a rainy friday. It was the kind of day when you felt like the universe was plotting against you to make everything harsh. On that day, work was incredibly intense, to say the least. You’d even cry in the bathroom out of nervousness. It was honestly horrible.

Due to that, you decided to order instead of cooking. There was that cute italian restaurant you especially loved—its food was your go-to comfort when you were feeling down.

You were distracted by your phone, venting about your horrible day to your best friend. And then suddenly, bam! Pasta all over your white shirt and bolognese sauce on his shirt. For a moment, none of you spoke; you were only eyeing each other with pure surprise before you laughed. It wasn’t a forced or polite one. It was a real, ridiculous, and oddly warm laugh.

Taehyung apologized a million times while offering napkins, although his shirt looked far more ruined than yours. He offered to buy you tiramisu to apologize for his clumsiness, but you politely declined because it was also your fault. You weren’t looking where you were going, too focused on your phone.

You ended up sharing a table, paying for each other’s food as an apology for the mess, and somehow, talking to him felt natural. It felt like you knew this man for an eternity. Everything just felt right with him.  

Kim Taehyung had a smile that softened everything and a very contagious laugh. That night was a wonderful one, and it closed what was supposed to be the worst day of your life.

Before you could even understand it, you were meeting him again in that restaurant. Then, met again over coffee at a coffee shop he liked. Then, went for late-night walks where your hands found each other without thinking.

Slowly, that man made you believe in love again, made you see that there was still magic in it. His arms became your safe place, and there wasn’t a day when you didn’t want to find comfort in his hugs.

But life had other plans. It tore him away from you when he was sent to the army for his military service. The man who had just become your lover was suddenly gone for eighteen long months. How were you supposed to live without him?

Well, turns out that it was hard. Obviously, he had some days off and had his phone, but everything was limited. In eighteen months, you barely saw him and talked to him. Whenever he was out, you were always encouraging him to spend it with his family, but he would always find time for you.

During that time, you got to meet his family. Apparently, he wouldn’t stop talking about you to his parents, his mom even begged him to introduce you. After that, he started inviting you over now and then, so he could spend time with you and his family. It made it easier for him.

However, you were more than impatient to see him again, because damn, he was getting bigger and bigger. And it was getting harder and harder to remain composed around him and his family. You’d always get wet, and man, your mind was dirty. And the worst of all was the fact that you never had sex with him. 

Your best friend never understood how on earth you never got that man between your legs. The answer was simple. You got together only a few weeks before he was called to serve in the army. Neither of you was really into having sex early on in the relationship, so nothing happened. But as time passed, you couldn’t help but regret that decision, especially with the way he was getting buffer and broader every time you saw him.

Honestly, you couldn’t wait for his discharge day.

And that day is today.

Well, he has already left, but he’s with his parents and siblings right now. You couldn’t join them because of work, but you promised to spend the night together. Your first night in eighteen months.

Even though you adore this man with your entire soul, you’re nervous. Actually, you’re terrified. And you can’t quite explain why, at least not in a way that makes sense.

Why? Because everything is different now.

When he left, you had only known each other for three months. You were still figuring each other out, still caught in that golden haze of newness. Back then, every touch felt like a discovery. Now? It’s been nearly two years.

So much has changed, and above anything else, he has changed. Although you got to see him here and there when he was off and through a screen during your video calls made on his free time, you noticed how much he was different. He’s been through things you can’t quite picture.

And now, you’re about to spend the night with him like you used to. Tonight, you won’t be hoping this could last because you know the army won’t be waiting for him the next morning. Tonight, Taehyung will stay and will still be here tomorrow morning. 

You stare at your reflection, adjusting your hair for the fifth time already. You quickly check the mirror before looking down at the phone in your hand. It’s a matter of minutes before he opens the door. Your stomach tightens, and your heart pounds like it used to before a first date, but heavier, because this isn’t new love.

You take a deep breath, trying to calm yourself. You know there’s no reason to be this nervous, but you’re too scared of what will happen from now on. You’re too scared that he won’t love you anymore. You’re too scared of everything.

Suddenly, your apartment’s door is cracked open, revealing your boyfriend’s face. He’s still wearing his army uniform, making him look hot as hell. You literally run to the door to jump into his arms. He catches you before you both fall, and the brightest and biggest smile grows on his face.

“I missed you, pasta girl,” he murmurs while holding you tight in his embrace.

“I missed you even more, captain clumsy.”

After your accidental encounter in the italian restaurant, he started to call you pasta girl. In an attempt to tease him back, you started calling him captain clumsy. Those nicknames became your everything during these eighteen long months. They were comforting. They were tiny reminders of where it all began.

For a moment, you both look at each other almost as if you’re trying to realize that you’re finally together after all this time. It actually looks unreal.

“Thanks for your service, Mr. Kim Taehyung,” you decide to tease him as you take a step back. “It was very much appreciated.”  

“You’re welcome,” he instantly replies. “I accept payments with kisses, by the way.”

“Well, not sure if you deserve it,” you clap back. “You left me here alone for eighteen months like I didn’t matter.”

“Eeeh, it’s quite not true, pasta girl,” he begins. “My country got my service, but you always had my heart,” he pauses for a moment. “And I was always running to you whenever I could.”

A smile creeps onto your face. You love teasing him. It helps to calm your nerves, especially when you’re around this ridiculously handsome man. He’s far too good-looking for his own good.

You still remember how nervous you were on your first date. You couldn’t stop thinking about how attractive he was, and for a moment, you even wondered how someone like him could be interested in someone like you. But you quickly pushed that thought away.

“Well, just for that,” you begin, “you deserve your kisses.”

The man doesn’t waste a second before crashing his lips on yours. It starts with tenderness, and you basically melt while kissing him. His hands find your waist, pulling you closer as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear, and your fingers curl into the fabric of his white shirt.

However, the kiss quickly turns into an urgent, almost desperate one. It’s as if he has been holding back for far too long. There’s nothing careful about the kiss. It’s messy, a little breathless, and full of all the months you spent apart and all the words you didn’t say.

When you pull back, he presses his forehead against yours, his fingers brushing your cheeks. For a moment, neither of you speaks. It’s like you’re both afraid to ruin this moment if you dare to speak.  

“God, I missed you,” his voice is low and rough. “Like really miss you.”

“Me too,” you whisper.

It was such a weird feeling to see your boyfriend knowing that in a couple of hours he’ll be leaving for weeks. You hated the time he was in the army.

“Sometimes I wish we had met a lot earlier,” you confess.

Taehyung is fully aware of your feelings. You told him like a hundred times, and he feels the same, but he fully believes this was meant to be. It was hard for him, too, to spend so little time with you for the past eighteen months, but those were the memories he cherished the most.

“Especially because it was torture to see you changing so much and holding back every wild thought that would cross my mind,” you continue.

Now that he’s finally here, you feel like you can say out loud what has been going through your mind for the past months.

“Oh,” he says with obvious surprise. “You’ve been having wild thoughts,” he repeats while a smirk arises on his face. “What kind of thoughts?”

Honestly, you don’t feel shy at all. You’ve been wanting to have his magic stick in you for months, and you deeply hope you’ll be having it soon. If it’s tonight, even better!  

“Well, at first, it would be thoughts of you naked,” you begin. “Your hands on my thighs, inching higher, just brushing where I wanted you most. And eventually, it was you inside me. Again and again.”

Taehyung is caught off guard by your boldness, but he’s absolutely liking it because damn, he has needs too. His mind has been driving him way too crazy. He’s been thinking about all the possible ways of having you while he was serving his country.   

His eyes darken, his jaw tightens, and you can practically feel the heat rolling off him. His lips get closer to your ear, his breathing caressing the skin of your neck. You feel goosebumps appearing all over your body. It’s crazy how this man makes you weak.

“You have no idea how badly I’ve desperately wanted to feel your pussy around my cock.”

He lets his hand rest at your waist, fingers tightening, and you almost moan with how tightly he’s holding you.

“I’ve imagined every part of your body, every sound you’d make. It’s driven me crazy.”

His breath is warm, his body taut with restraint, but barely.

“I need to have sex with you tonight or I’ll die,” he finishes.

You’ve dreamed of this reunion with him, but you never pictured it this way. You never imagined him being as desperate as you. And fuck, you want to have sex with him.

You grab his hand before guiding him to your bedroom. There’s no more time to waste. Not after eighteen months of late-night calls, quick visits, and longing that never quite went away. Taehyung follows without question, his fingers tightening around yours. You can feel the tension radiating off him. It’s the kind that has been simmering beneath the surface for far too long.

The moment your bedroom door closes behind you, the air shifts. His eyes roam over you like he’s trying to memorize every detail. You pause near the bed, turning to face him. Neither of you speaks, but everything is being said. In your breathing. In your gaze. In the heat of your skin.

You take a step closer. He meets you halfway.

“Are you sure?” he murmurs, voice husky and uneven, as if he’s giving you one last out.

You just reach for him, pulling him closer until there’s no space left between your bodies, until he can feel just how sure you are. You waited long enough. Now, it’s time to feel.

“Absolutely.”

“Okay,” he says instantly. “Then, remove your pants and underwear and sit on my face.”

Your boyfriend lies in bed, and without thinking, you follow his orders. As your eyes scan the man lying on your bed, you lick your lips before placing yourself over his head. Taehyung looks ethereal even with his army uniform.

Your heart starts pounding fast because you’re about to have sex for the first time with him, and honestly, by the looks of it, it doesn’t seem like a first time.

Neither of you is a virgin. It’s a fact that you shared quite early on, but you’ve never done it together, which can make you a bit nervous. You know nothing about his preferences or if you’re even compatible. All you know right now is how desperate you are to have him inside you. All you want is for him to calm the fire inside you.

“I hope I’m not going to suffocate you,” you teasingly say as you slowly bring your core closer to his face.

“I absolutely don’t care about that,” he honestly replies. “Suffocate me as much as you want, I’ll be happy.”  

His hands move to your hips, guiding you down to get closer to his face. The sweet scent of your arousal makes him hungry, like really hungry. He wants to suck and lap all your juices until his lips are only covered with your arousal. 

“Your cunt smells so good, pasta girl,” he whispers against your core. 

His nose brushes against your core, a small moan leaving your lips at the sensation. As he hears the barely audible moan, he deliberately breathes against your throbbing core, the cool air sending shivers down your spine. There’s absolutely no doubt that this man knows how to pleasure a woman.

“You’re already so fucking wet,” he mumbles with a growing smirk on his face.  

Well, being around this man always gets you wet, and if on top of that he’s wearing his military uniform, then, you’re soaking wet.

“Not my fault if you’re so damn sexy,” you reply.

Before you can even process what is happening, he wraps his lips around your clit, sucking at it. The man doesn’t even give you the time to breathe or to realize what’s going on. His nose tingles your core, sending goosebumps throughout your entire body. You bite your lower lip to suppress any moan from falling out of your mouth.

With your previous partners, being loud in bed was apparently not a good thing. That’s what they told you, and moaning during the act also felt almost wrong. The only thought that others could hear you was uncomfortable.

Automatically, you bury your hand in Taehyung’s hair, pulling it as he laps your sensitive clit with his tongue. A groan rumbles from his chest, the sound vibrating against your skin, which sends shivers down your spine. You close your eyes to savor having him under you with his nose in your core.  

This right here with him feels quite special, especially since he’s giving you quite a lot of pleasure with his mouth and nose alone. What would it be once he’s going to be buried deep inside you?

After a little while, he buries his tongue in your hole, causing fireworks inside you. The man laps at your arousal as if his life were at stake. In some way, it feels like he’s trying to make up for the time when you weren’t together. Today is all about taking care of you. 

His eyes glance up at you, enjoying the way your body is contorting with pleasure. An evil smirk appears on his face while he keeps lapping at your juices. Your back arches, causing you to push your pussy closer to his mouth. He instantly notices the way you’re holding back your moans.

“Don’t hold back, babe,” he mumbles against your core. “Scream as loud as you desire.”

“No,” you shake your head while completely lost in your pleasure.

He pushes his face away from your pussy, and his eyebrows furrow. He’s not understanding why you’re holding back. It’s a first time for him. His previous partners were loud as fuck, and it was also an indicator for him to know if he’s doing well or not.

“Why?” he asks.

“It makes me uncomfortable,” you admit. “And my exes made me understand they didn’t like it.”

Taehyung rolls his eyes. He’s heard your stories about your exes, and he hates them all. They were all assholes; he always feels sorry that you had to deal with guys like them.

“They were wrong, my love,” he says softly. “If it makes you uncomfortable, I’ll never push. But just so you know, I don’t mind it. Not at all,” his voice gets deeper and lower. “Actually, I’d love to hear you moan.”

His words make you blush. You never thought that a man would ever say that because you always believed that men hated a vocal woman. But Taehyung is proving you completely wrong.

“Okay,” you nod.

He offers you the prettiest smile before settling back to his previous position, which is his face pressed against your pussy. He’s lapping at you like there’s no tomorrow, and his words echo in your mind so you don’t bite your lower lip anymore. You try as well not to hold back any moan.  

“You’re so pretty,” Taehyung mutters against your core. 

Slowly, you start rolling your hips over his head, your hand running through your hair to push it back so it doesn’t stick to your face as you start to sweat. The moans start to leave your lips as the wave of pleasure begins to build strongly in your lower stomach. A smile grows on his face when he hears the sweet sounds you’re making.

His eyes glance down with marvel at your core. Everything about you is extremely wonderful. This man loves you with his entire soul, and most of the time, he wonders how he survived all this time without you by his side. You’re so fucking beautiful, and it was hard to keep his hands to himself.  

Taehyung senses the orgasm building stronger inside you at an extremely fast pace. Your body is moving more and more, your walls are clenching way too much, and your moans are also getting high-pitched. The man starts to suck harder on your core to make you come all over his face. That’s all he wishes for right now.  

Your free hand goes to the headboard of the bed to hold yourself onto something. The man below you is sucking and lapping every single drop of your arousal, bringing you closer and closer to the edge. It’s a matter of seconds before you come undone all over his face. But that’s what you both want.

“Fuck, Taehyung,” you mutter as your hips slowly roll desperately over his face. 

Your boyfriend detaches his mouth when your legs start shaking, indicating that your orgasm is finally hitting you intensely. His name leaves your mouth when the wave of pleasure explodes inside you, your back arching even more, and you close your eyes to enjoy every second of it. 

Your arousal leaks over his pretty lips while he watches with marvel the way you come over his face. Nothing makes him prouder than giving you such an intense orgasm for the first time. And man, the way you look when you’re on cloud nine is honestly the prettiest thing he has ever seen.

Taehyung moves under you, your core now pressed against his covered chest. It takes you a moment to come down from your high, and he can even feel your wall clenching against his toned chest. His hands caress your hips, trying to bring you comfort as you come down. His eyes never leave your pretty face. 

“Would you like to keep going?” 

He wants to be sure that you really want to have sex with him. Of course, it’s pretty obvious you want more, but who knows, maybe you’d like to stop here. He’s not going to force you to do anything; he has never been like that. 

Your eyes open to look at the man under you. His lips are all wet with your arousal, which honestly looks pretty good on him. Anything looks good on him.

“Yes, I want it,” you bend down, your face getting closer to his ear, “captain clumsy,” you whisper with a smile on your face. 

Taehyung bites his lower lip, goosebumps appearing all over his body with the way you just whispered “captain clumsy”.

“You’re such a tease,” he says before pressing his lips against yours.

When your lips meet, you instantly taste yourself. Again, this is new to you. Your exes weren’t the type to go down on you. They’d prefer to go straight to the penetration as they preferred it, but damn, being eaten out is way more worthy than any dick inside you.

“Let me undress, my love,” he says while tapping your tights.

You move aside to let him stand up. In seconds, he strips off all the pieces of clothing from his body, leaving no room for imagination anymore. The man standing in front of you isn’t just the charming guy you met in that italian restaurant anymore. He’s transformed.

His body is sculpted and more powerful. His chest is broader, his arms thicker, every muscle defined and glistening, and veins trail down his forearms, rising slightly beneath his skin in a way that makes your breath catch.

Then, your eyes slowly look down, and you freeze. There it is. The beast he’s been hiding from you for nearly two years. And it’s a lot. You’re not even sure how he managed to tuck that away in his military uniform.

“That’s huge,” you mumble.

“Yeah,” he replies with a grin. “That’s what people usually say.”

You raise an eyebrow, your eyes now moving up to meet his gaze.

“Oh? So people just casually admire your dick like it’s no big deal?” you ask in a teasing tone.

Your boyfriend rolls his eyes while shaking his head.

“Totally. I made it a habit to walk around naked during my military training.”  

“I’m sure they were all grateful for that,” you chuckle.

“Obviously,” he smirks.

Taehyung gets closer, like dangerously close, before his body hovers over yours. You fall backwards, your back pressed against your mattress. The smirk on his face turns into the softest smile.

“I wish I could have been there,” you smile at him as your hands cup his cute cheeks.

His hand gently caresses your face. It’s weird to think you’re about to share a very wild moment while he’s simply adorable right now.

“If you were there, I would have never been able to serve my country,” he admits. “I would constantly have had my hands all over you.”

You chuckle, but honestly, you know you would have never let him do his job because you’d always be around him. Most probably, he’d be tired of seeing you all the time, and probably would find you too clingy.  

Your boyfriend presses a sweet kiss on your lips, but it quickly takes a steamy turn. His fingers visit your wet core while still kissing you, and the cold sensation of his fingers makes you moan. A moan that he instantly swallows.

“Fuck, you’re so wet,” he mumbles.

“It’s always the case around you,” you admit.

“Naughty girl,” he teases.      

Before you can say anything else, he slides his length along your folds, teasing you and covering it with your arousal. As he does so, a soft whimper leaves your lips, your body aching for more. His eyes drop to where your bodies are meeting, watching the way your wetness clings to him.

Damn, you’re both barely holding it together. The anticipation is thick, and the thought of finally having him inside you makes your walls clench around nothing.

After a few seconds that feel like an eternity, his gaze lifts to meet yours again. His eyes are dark and filled with lust; he’s definitely desperate to push himself deep inside you. And there’s no doubt in either of your minds. He’s seconds away from giving in to the need to bury himself deep inside you.

“Ready?” he asks.

You simply nod. You’re actually more than ready for this. You’ve been craving this moment for months now.

With his hand still on his thick cock, he guides it to your soaked pussy before burying it inside you, stretching your velvety walls. His large hands find their way to your waist, caressing your soft skin while his eyes filled with lust look into yours. Both of you groan as he slowly pushes his long and thick cock inside you.  

“Fuck,” you mumble as your eyes roll back. 

The monster between his legs looked big before, but now, as he slowly pushes himself inside you, he feels even bigger. It’s overwhelming, but definitely in a good way. And above anything else, it feels simply right to have him inside you.

He pushes his dick as far as possible inside you, filling you up to the brim. This is definitely quite something. None of the guys you previously dated were this huge, but damn, this is incredible. Your pleasure is reaching levels you never knew existed, and he has only pushed his length inside you.

“Oh fuck,” he swears. “This feels so fucking good.”    

As you hear his words, your walls clench around his cock, causing him to moan. 

“Don’t torture me, pasta girl,” he groans, his voice rough around the edges. “If you keep going, I’ll come and completely embarrass myself.”

“I wouldn’t judge you,” you murmur, hand gently trailing over his chest.

“Yeah, but…” he leans in, brushing a kiss against your cheek, “I kind of want to impress you. First time and all.”

The wink he throws you makes your heart flutter.

Before you can add or say anything more, Taehyung slowly pushes back, leaving only the tip of his cock inside you. His eyes never leave your figure, watching you with delight.

He brutally pushes his cock fully inside you, a loud moan leaving your lips. For a little while, he doesn't move, hovering over you before his lips meet yours again for a sloppy kiss. Slowly, his lips move down to your collarbone, leaving sweet kisses all along. 

“Are we going to stay like this all night long?” you raise an eyebrow.

“Looks like someone is desperate,” he chuckles.

“I’ve waited so so long for this, Taehyung,” you confess with some desperation in your voice. “I can’t wait any longer.”

For a second, his eyes get lost on your body, groaning as he watches himself buried deep inside you. This is a sight he has desperately craved over the last months. His mind was going absolutely crazy, knowing that it wasn’t going to happen before his discharge.

“Let’s go then,” he says.  

He instantly pulls back brutally before slamming himself back into you. He leans closer again before licking the spot just under your ear. His hands slowly travel down your body to rest on your waist while his hips slowly thrust into you. The slick sound of your pussy soaking his cock as well as your moans quickly fill the bedroom. 

The feeling of his cock filling you up, his hips hitting against yours with every thrust he makes causes sparks of pleasure to shoot throughout your body, your arousal dripping from your core and creaming his cock. He licks his lips as he notices the sticky mess you’re causing. 

His cock is buried deep inside you, brushing against your walls which only causes you to moan even louder. You grip the sheets as hard as possible to steady yourself from Taehyung’s hard thrusts. 

This first time with your boyfriend tastes like heaven. It was an absolute torture to wait all this time, but god, it was worth it.

His hands press harder into your skin when he feels your walls tighten around him. Every time he pushes his hips back, he watches with delight the way his cock is completely covered with your arousal. It’s driving him so crazy.

Gradually, Taehyung thrusts into you harsher and harder. Even though you’re not holding back any moan, it feels so weird to be moaning louder and louder.  

Your walls suck his cock as he slams his hips into you harshly. His hands can feel the way your body quivers with each thrust, the way you’re losing yourself further into pleasure. 

“Fuck,” he groans when he feels the warmth of your walls wrapping tighter around him. “Your cunt is clenching so hard, my love.” 

As you glance up at him, you can’t help but find him extremely attractive. His eyes stare down at you with so much passion and desire as his tongue licks his lower lips. He keeps growling your name, thrusting into you with more urgency. Quickly enough, you feel the orgasm building within you.

“I’m gonna come so hard, captain,” you tell him.

His fingers move along your body before pinching your nipples while his cock twitches inside of you at your words, a low groan rumbling in his chest.  

“Don’t hold back, pasta girl.”

Since he wants to torture you more and more as you get closer to your orgasm, one of his hands slowly goes down on your body, landing on your throbbing clit. His fingers start to rub your sensitive spot as his cock keeps slamming roughly inside you. 

His fingers on your clit cause your orgasm explode intensely, making you come hard around him. Your walls squeeze him over and over again while you come all over him. 

Taehyung doesn’t stop at all. Actually, he speeds up the pace of his hips, chasing his own orgasm. The coil in his lower stomach tightens inside of him, completely clouding his thoughts.

The second his eyes look at the mess your orgasm is doing, breathy whines leave his pretty lips. He groans when his orgasm hits him hard, your name rolling off his tongue. His eyes roll back with pleasure as his body tenses up and paints your walls white. The feeling of his semen being released inside you almost makes you come all over again.

Taehyung collapses next to you, both your bodies covered in sweat. This was definitely intense, but honestly, a perfect first time with him. You both look at the ceiling while catching your breaths.

“The wait was definitely worth it,” you whisper while turning your face to look at him.

“It was,” he agrees with you.  

He turns his head too, eyes meeting yours with a softness that makes your chest ache. This man looks cute after being absolutely wild and dangerous.  

“You were worth it.”

You smile, your fingers instinctively reaching for his. He laces them with his own, still slightly trembling from the intensity of what just happened. You don’t understand how you got so lucky to have him. This restaurant incident will forever be the best moment of your life. No matter what.

“I still can’t believe you’re here,” you say, voice barely above a whisper. “I kept replaying this moment in my head so many times, and now it’s finally real.”

He lifts your joined hands to his lips, pressing a kiss to your knuckles.

“It’s real,” he whispers before pressing another kiss. “I’m home.”

You both fall into silence again, but it’s not awkward at all. It’s just a moment where you take the time to process what just happened. After eighteen months of waiting for his return, you still need some time to fully understand that he’s here. He’s all yours now.

“So,” he lets out a breathy laugh. “Do I get a second chance to impress you?”

You grin, heart fluttering all over again.

“Only if you think you can top that.”

[maryseesthings]

upcoming… | (m)

Summary: Jungkook once planted a garden in your chest that he watered when he smiled and you killed when he left. But flowers withering isn't enough; that doesn't mend the ache. No – you want this entire story to die.

➵ pairing: Jungkook x female reader ➵ rating: 18+ ➵ genre: exes to ?, college!au; angst, fluff, smut; oneshot ➵ warnings: heartache, past breakup, flashbacks, memories, memory erasure (eternal sunshine of the spotless mind vibe), tears, angst angst angstttt, fights but also such tender moments, college sweethearts 🥺, smut (details to be added when the fic drops)… the ending 👁 ➵ est. word count: around 25k ➵ a/n: another angsty taegularities special :D coming next, so stay tuned!! 👁

–

"I do fear… what if one day, it's just me and my thoughts, and you're nowhere to be found?"

Jungkook laughed; not at your worries, but about how improbable the words sounded. It flooded a sense of relief through you when he promised, "To leave… I'd have to un-meet and forget about you entirely, you know?"

Summary: Somewhere out there, a sinister castle roams the hills behind the dense fog. And somewhere hidden inside, there is a man you need to find; to charm; to wreck. Provided… he doesn't destroy you first.

➵ pairing: Taehyung x female reader ➵ rating: 18+ ➵ genre: howl's moving castle au, fantasy au, s2l / e2l; angst, fluff, smut; oneshot ➵ warnings: magic and stuff, spy stuff, frenemies?, bickering and initial dislike, fights, sexual tension, based on the movie version of HMC, multiple (2) smut scenes (details to be added but expect… quite smth :p) ➵ est. word count: 20k ➵ a/n: this has been a wip for literal years now, and i think it's time i sent it out into the world :') since i'm rereading the book (but the fic is based on the ghibli movie!), i've been feeling some sort of way, soooo… howl oneshot soon?

–

“Do you feel anything?”

You can't. There is no heartbeat, no steady rhythm, nothing. Yet he breathes, walks, smiles as if he's missing nothing.

You shake your head, and he chuckles, a crooked smirk that confuses you in the best way possible. He loosens his firm grip around your hand, but you still leave your touch right there, rubbing over his chest until he adds,

“A heart's a heavy burden.” The warmth of your fingers sprawls across his torso, his eyes closing. “Especially if you’re me.”

Summary: Jungkook and you try something very, very new.

➵ pairing: Jungkook x female reader ➵ rating: 18+ ➵ genre: fwb/fake dating/established relationship; fluff, smut; series ➵ warnings: smut smut smut (everything else is redacted bc that'd just spoil the whole thing ha ha :D) ➵ est. word count: 10-12k ➵ a/n: this is part of my colour me in series – for those who don't know! the series is still paused, but i might continue it sometime this year if things work out. this drabble would come next <3

–

"I've been promising it for so long now," he whispers, fingertips wandering along your bare sides, beneath your crop top. "Haven't I?"

Summary: Jeon Jungkook barges into your unproblematic life unexpectedly. He's supposed to stay for the summer; but it doesn't take long for the bright days to turn grey, stirring, bittersweet; a trigger for bleak memories and a reminder that sometimes, closeness shatters more than it heals.

➵ pairing: Jungkook x female reader ➵ rating: 18+ ➵ genre: s2l, summer/college au, dancer!jk; angst, fluff, smut; oneshot ➵ warnings: love triangle!!, yearning, thin walls lol, tears, fighting, old memories/childhood stuff, (mention of) drugs, abandonment, camping, multiple smut scenes (details will be added when the fic drops), plot twists, heartbreak, THE ENDING PLS ➵ est. word count: 40k lol; might split it in 2-3 parts if it gets too long ➵ a/n: i am most excited for this oneshot (?), and i have been for so long. it's a scary amount to write and i don't know when it'll be done. if i could, i'd write and post it rn… it's hella intimidating, but i love this story and i'm also hella excited, so… stay tuned and bring tissues <3

–

“Maybe… I don't know,” he pauses, blinking, and then starts anew, “maybe I'm this much with her, so I don't end up knocking at your door.”

A sting of guilt pierces your heart; you ask, “You… you guys hook up all the time. Doesn’t she feel… that way for you?”

“She doesn't.”

“And you? Do you feel anything for her?”

“I don't.” He hesitates again, shrugging a shoulder. “Well, friendship.”

“...Don't end up breaking hearts, Jungkook.”

Summary: In a world fractured by hatred, Yoongi seems your quiet salvation. But when a boy from your past returns, cloaked in secrets and unfinished memories, battle lines blur and you find yourself faced with a choice between the peace you built and the fire you never truly forgot.

➵ pairing: Yoongi x female reader, Jungkook x female reader ➵ rating: 18+ ➵ genre: royal au, s2l, childhood bf2l, love triangle; angst, fluff, smut; series ➵ warnings: there's a battle/war thing going on, love triangleeeee of the best sort, tender yoongi and fierce jungkook, some scenes are extremely tense – again in the best way possible, sexual tension, heartbreak, hate, betrayal (and nope, no cheating), multiple sex scenes (with both yoongi and jk (but not with both of them together lol)), falling in love hard, jealousy; the… the ending…… ➵ est. word count: 150-200k (around 10 chapters) ➵ a/n: THIS WILL LITERALLY RUIN US LMAO no seriously, i'm going to pour my everything into this. it's a story with quite some angst and heavy tension that even gave me trouble breathing when i was just outlining it :') yoongi in this is achingly sweet and jk is absolutely delicious. i think it'll be a piece i'm most proud of… and someday, i want to turn it into a novel. i hope you all love this 🤍

–

"I am in love with you," Yoongi whispers; your eyes water. "Even if you aren’t only in love with me. I know how this might go. And I am not saying we should make this official because – I am scared you might realise you need him more."

"It’s not about needing anybody…"

"But it’s about who sits in your heart so deeply that it feels like you need him to survive. I don’t know if I am that for you. But you’re that for me."

–

"Why are you still here, Jungkook? Why are you always around me? It’s not me you came back for."

"Sweetheart–"

"Would you have? If not for this?"

"If not for this… I would have come sooner."

Summary: A casual hook up morphs into a fierce fever dream when roommates slash best friends Min Yoongi and Jeon Jungkook bring heaven and hell to you – all at once, in one single night.

➵ pairing: Yoongi x female reader x Jungkook ➵ rating: 18+ ➵ genre: kind of fwb, threesome, college au; fluff, hella smut ➵ warnings: yoongi and oc are fwb, teasing, flirting, kissing booth stuff, jk wears glasses and has long hair (manbun beloved), sexual tension, mid-sex convos, threesome, smut (e.g., double penetration, degradation, spit stuff, manhandling,.. (will expand on this once the full thing drops), aftercare, valentino yoongi and ck jk!! ➵ est. word count: 12-15k ➵ a/n: back to the ruin you days, i guess. am super excited for this to finally drop. gonna give y'all the best version of it possible, love you <3

–

“I’m just saying. Tonight might be a little too much for you with the two of us, you know? I’m not as easy to handle as you think.”

“I don’t think you are,” you confess. “But I don’t want to handle you. I want the opposite.”

There’s a glimmer in his eyes. A hint of desire, hunger growing in the predator’s big gaze. If he wants to reject you now, you’ll walk away.

But you don’t think he will.

And once more, courageous, you say, “Handle me, Jeon Jungkook.”

full teaser that i once posted!

Summary: You carve your name into Jungkook's mind with constant affection and care, and he keeps hoping that both your hearts beat in unison, synchronised and wild. But in reality, it’s only ever him who falls – you're as still as time... until, you're not.

➵ pairing: Jungkook x female reader ➵ rating: 18+ ➵ genre: singer!jungkook, bf2l but also brother's best friend; angst, fluff, smut; trilogy ➵ warnings: jealousy, another love triangle lmao, namjoon is her brother and his best friend, oc playing wingwoman, confessions, pain, tears, moving away, yearning, idiots to lovers too tbh, smut <3 ➵ est. word count: around 60-70k in total ➵ a/n: this is part of my evermore series which was supposed to have a oneshot/twoshot/trilogy per member with unrelated stories; but since life has gotten so crazy, i might not be able to write all of them. but i still have tae's fic 'cotton candy' written and want to work on timbre; so these will drop at least and i am so thrilled to share them. especially this lil mini series 🤍

–

Jeon Jungkook has been in love with you since the very first time he met you.

At least that's what he'd tell you if you ever asked.

He won’t tell you that whatever respect he housed for you since you were teenagers evolved into something far more advanced along the way.

That it was over time that your friendship started blooming like the tiger lillies he liked so much. You must have been sixteen then.

Now, around eight years have passed, and the thriving musician and your best friend Jeon Jungkook is still in love with you. Boundlessly, irreversibly.

–

a/n: hey hey!! this is a small overview of all the things i shall start preparing very, very soon. i will work on these wips whenever i can, and i am excited about every single one of them. i will ofc also drop longer teasers to each story when we reach that point!

i do also think you guys will love each story! so i can't wait to drop them one by one :') this post is also sort of to motivate and inspire me, so if you want to talk about any of these or hype them up… let's talk :p

[maryseesthings]

Terms of Surrender

pairing: yoongi x reader

genre: idol au, established relationship, pfp (kinda)

summary: he always left a piece of himself behind when he went away. now he’s trying to remember where he put it. a slow burning love letter to quiet homes, messy reunions, half eaten cake, and the way someone’s touch can make a tired soul feel whole again.

warnings: military discharge, emotional vulnerability, fingering, oral f!receiving, light edging, praise kink, yoongi calls you a good girl 🫠, swearing, teeth rottingly tender intimacy, clingy yoongi, post service identity crisis, minor angst with comfort, domestic fluff, one deeply judgmental dog named holly

word count: 4,907

a word from our sponsors 💁🏽‍♀️: i know these drabbles have been pretty much pfp but i got a little emotional with yoongi because we made it!! they’re all finally home & whole. how could i not get emotional?! ughhhh it feels so surreal to know ot7 is back 🥹 anyway, enough of me blabbering..hope you enjoy!

Yoongi slouched deeper into the backseat of the cab, his head tipped against the cool glass of the window as the late June sun painted long shadows over the city. Seoul hadn’t changed much. Same humming traffic. Same old buildings with half lit signs.

But somehow it all felt a little different today, like the world had edged forward a few paces without him and now he was just catching up.

The driver didn’t say much, which he appreciated. He wasn’t in the mood to talk.

His shoulder ached, an old reminder stitched into the muscle. He rolled it slowly, grateful it hadn’t flared up during the last few months. He’d been careful, pacing himself. Desk work had its own kind of strain, though. Different from physical labor. More like being filed down from the inside out, every second smoothed into the next until time itself lost its sharpness.

Twenty one months. It was a long time to be out of the rhythm of everything.

But he was going home now.

The cab pulled into the underground lot beneath his apartment complex. Yoongi paid, murmured a soft thank you, and stepped out, adjusting the strap of his bag on his shoulder. His fingers tapped over the security pad and the door buzzed open, welcoming him into silence.

The elevator ride was short.

He input the house code into the door, and the smell hit him first.

Takeout. Sweet and salty. Something you knew he liked.

Then your voice.

“~Congratulations, our beloved Yoongi~”

You sang in an absurdly high pitched voice, standing in the middle of the dining room in fuzzy socks, his old sweatshirt, and some too tiny shorts that clung to your ass like a second skin. A small cake sat on the table beside a bottle of Glenfiddich and a cluster of takeout boxes.

Yoongi blinked.

You ran over to him, grabbing his hand before he could even take off his shoes, dragging him into the middle of the room.

“Dance with me,” you demanded, swaying your hips in exaggerated circles, clearly trying to make him laugh.

“I literally just got discharged—”

“Exactly. So you don’t have any excuses.”

He rolled his eyes but let you spin him around once. Then twice. You clapped like it was the best performance of his career and leaned in to kiss his cheek with a loud, theatrical mwah.

Yoongi’s mouth twitched into a ghost of a smile.

You cut the cake and plated a slice. Soft, homemade lilac frosting smudged along the edge. You were beaming as you scooped up a bite for him with your fork.

“Open.”

“I’m not a dog, aegi.”

You tilted your head and arched a brow. “Wanna bet?”

Still, he opened his mouth and let you feed him. The cake was good. Moist and sweet, but not too sweet.

He was tired. Fucking exhausted, actually.

But his heart, his heart had never felt this full.

You nudged his side gently. “You look more dead now than you did on your last day of basic.”

Yoongi groaned, head tipping back. “Because basic was body hell. This was soul death. There’s a difference.”

You giggled. “So… filing paperwork was harder than running ten kilometers with a loaded pack?”

“Absolutely. You ever been stuck with a malfunctioning printer and an angry office ajumma on your ass for six straight hours?”

You leaned into him, resting your head on his chest. “Guess I’ll just have to nurse you back to health.”

“You’re already doing a pretty good job,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your hair.

Later that night, the cake was half eaten, the whiskey two fingers lower, and the takeout boxes stacked haphazardly on the counter. The lights were dimmed, the room washed in the soft glow of the TV as the drama played on the screen.

You sat curled against Yoongi on the couch, legs tangled with his, one of your hands absently tracing the inside seam of his sweatpants. Holly was nestled comfortably by Yoongi’s feet, occasionally twitching in his sleep as if chasing something.

Yoongi’s arm rested around your shoulders, fingers playing with the end of your sleeve.

The silence had long settled into something easy. He hadn’t said much since dinner, but you didn’t mind. That was just him. He was always more of a slow pour—thoughts aged like wine, shared only when ready.

The main couple on screen kissed under a lamppost. The music swelled dramatically and you snorted.

“They’ve known each other for like four episodes.”

Yoongi gave a soft, amused breath through his nose. “That’s two more than some people get.”

A comfortable beat passed. Then he spoke again, quieter this time.

“I missed this.”

You turned your head slightly against his chest, your ear catching the soft thump of his heart beneath his shirt.

“Missed what?”

He didn’t answer right away. His fingers stilled against your sleeve.

“This,” he repeated, gaze fixed somewhere past the TV. “Normal things. You. Even Holly’s stubborn little attitude.”

You smiled, glancing down at the tiny dog in question. “He’s been moodier than usual with you being so regimented lately.”

“Yeah, well,” Yoongi exhaled slowly, “I’ve been moodier than usual without you.”

You lifted your head to look at him fully, but his eyes were still on the screen, though it was obvious he wasn’t really seeing it. There was a distant kind of sheen in his expression. Like he was still partially somewhere else.

He finally glanced at you, the corners of his mouth tugging faintly. “I think I forgot how to sit still for a while. Everything about that place… the rhythm, the silence, it’s different. Not bad, just…” He rubbed a hand over the back of his neck. “Sterile. Like life paused and I was watching it through a window. The days bled together. Same halls. Same faces. Same tired conversations.”

You reached up, brushing your fingers along the edge of his jaw. He leaned into it a little.

“But now it’s over,” you said gently.

“Almost,” he replied. “Still doesn’t feel real. I’ve been fantasizing about laying on this couch for months without forcing myself to stick to a bedtime. About your cheesy dramas. About Holly hogging all the foot space.” He nudged the dog lightly with his toe. “But the moment I stepped through the door, it felt like no time had passed and also like a lifetime had gone by.”

He paused. His voice dropped just slightly.

“I’m nervous.”

That surprised you a little. You sat up straighter.

“About?”

“Coming back.” He didn’t mean the apartment. “About being with the guys again. Being BTS again. It’s stupid—I’ve done this my whole adult life. But it’s like… what if the music feels different? What if I feel different?”

You softened, brushing his hair back from his forehead. “You are different. That doesn’t mean it’s a bad thing.”

“I know.” His eyes flicked down. “I just—there’s pressure. Expectations. We’re all gonna be different now. Older. We’ve lived outside of that world for so long, it’s not going to be the same. And I’m scared I won’t love it the way I used to. Or that I’ll want it too much and burn out again.”

Your thumb softly traced beneath his eye.

“You don’t have to have all the answers yet,” you murmured. “Just take the next step. One at a time.”

Yoongi let out a breath. Not quite relief, but close.

“You always know what to say.”

“No,” you said with a small smile. “I just know you.”

He looked at you again, really looked this time, and that quiet, aching fondness was back in full force. The kind that never demanded attention but still managed to take up all the space in the room.

“I want you there,” he said, voice soft and sure. “When it all starts again. Not hidden. Not on the sidelines. Just… with me.”

You nodded, brushing your nose against his before whispering, “Always.”

Yoongi didn’t kiss you right away.

He held your face like it was the last fragile thing in a world made of sharp edges, and then, he kissed you.

You didn’t know who started it, but the kiss deepened before either of you thought to stop it. A soft press of lips became something hungrier, something hot and slow and aching with everything unsaid.

Yoongi’s hand cradled the back of your head, his thumb brushing just behind your ear. The other slid to your hip, pulling you closer until you were practically on top of him. You shifted, straddling his lap fully, thighs settling on either side of his, and the sound he made sent a sharp pulse straight through the apex of your thighs.

His tongue traced the seam of your mouth, and you opened for him. The taste of whiskey lingered faintly on his breath, but more than that, it was him.

Warm and addicting.

You rocked forward just slightly, enough to feel the stiff press of him beneath you.

Yoongi tensed, groaning into your mouth as your hips moved again. The pressure, the friction, had you squirming before you could stop yourself. His hands gripped your hips harder, guiding the movement just a little, just enough.

“Shit,” he muttered, his voice ragged against your lips. “You trying to kill me?”

You smiled against his mouth, breath catching. “Maybe.”

Another roll of your hips and he swore again, this time dragging his mouth to your jaw, then your neck, where he pressed a kiss just below your ear.

And then, a wet snort.

You both froze.

Then came a soft shuffle and another sneeze like exhale. Yoongi turned his head just enough to see Holly sprawled on his side by the couch, staring up at you both like he had just woken up to a live drama finale he definitely shouldn’t be watching.

You burst out laughing.

Yoongi let his head fall back against the couch with a dramatic groan. “This fucking dog…”

“I think he’s judging us.”

“I know he’s judging us.”

Still laughing, you moved to slide off his lap, but Yoongi caught you before you could. In one smooth motion, he stood, lifting you with him. You wrapped your arms around his shoulders automatically, heart thudding.

“Yoongi—”

“We’re taking this somewhere Holly can’t emotionally imprint on the trauma.”

You laughed even harder, your nose bumping against his cheek as he carried you toward the bedroom, his grip firm and certain.

“And what exactly do you plan to do to me in there?”

Yoongi glanced down at you, eyes dark and glittering with intent, lips brushing the shell of your ear as he murmured, “things you definitely shouldn’t do in front of your children.”

You shrieked and hit his chest, breathless from laughter, head tipping back as he kicked open the bedroom door with his foot.

Behind you, Holly let out one last disgruntled little puff of air and curled back into a loaf.

Yoongi didn’t rush.

He was finally done with his service. There was no need to. And true to himself, Yoongi planned to take his time with you.

Even with weeks of want pressed into the heat between you, even with the taste of your mouth still lingering on his tongue and the shape of your thighs burned into his palms, he didn’t rush.

He laid you down gently, your back sinking into the mattress, the light from the hallway casting warm shadows across your skin. His eyes took you in like he was starving, like he’d been starving for months.

He peeled you out of his sweatshirt with a few gentle tugs. No shirt underneath, no bra.

“Fuck,” he muttered under his breath. “You are trying to kill me.”

You smiled, breathless and hazy, but it faltered when he leaned down and dragged his mouth over your breasts. His tongue was slow, tracing lazy circles around a nipple until it hardened beneath the drag of his lips. Then he sucked, just enough to make your fingers curl in his hair.

Your breath hitched. Yoongi hummed, tongue flicking once more before trailing lower, over your side, your stomach, your hips.

He whispered things as he went, words too quiet to make out. You only caught pieces. So good… missed this… fuck, you’re soft… Like a prayer, or a lullaby meant only for his own ears. There was admiration in every press of his lips. Admiration and hunger and something even more dangerous.

By the time he slipped your shorts down your legs, your thighs were already trembling.

His palm dragged up the inside of your knee, thumb brushing softly over sensitive skin. “Open for me, sweetheart,” he said, low and hoarse, like it cost him to keep still.

You did, thighs falling apart with no hesitation.

The air kissed the wet heat of you, and Yoongi’s gaze sharpened, but still, he didn’t dive in. No frantic desperation. No rush.

Just his lips brushing along the crease of your thigh.

Then again.

Then the other side.

Over and over.

Getting closer.

And then pulling away.

You squirmed. Your hips lifted instinctively toward him, only for his hand to pin you down gently, thumb stroking circles just beneath your hip bone.

“Yoongi…” you whimpered, voice threadbare with need.

He looked up at you, chin tucked between your thighs, hair messy, lips slightly parted—but his eyes glittered all dark and mischievous.

“I’ve been waiting twenty one months to take my time with you,” he said, all soft spoken sin. “Don’t think I’m gonna rush it now.”

Then finally, he licked one long deliberate stripe up your folds.

You gasped, back arching clean off the mattress, but Yoongi only hummed like he was tasting something divine. He didn’t stop there. His tongue moved with devastating precision, every flick calculated, every slow swirl around your clit designed to bring you just close enough.

And then retreat.

And then build again.

He latched his mouth around you, sucking just enough to make your breath stutter, hips rising for more. His grip tightened.

But then, he stopped.

You let out a strangled sound, hips jerking in confusion, in desperate disbelief.

He looked up again, mouth slick, eyes too wide and too innocent to be sincere. “What’s wrong, sweetheart?”

Your chest rose and fell in sharp bursts. “You—you stopped.”

He tilted his head, mock concern twisting his features into a mask of gentle confusion. “I did?”

“Yoongi—”

“Shh,” he whispered, as two fingers slid deep into you before you could protest.

Your body seized, a cry breaking from your lips as he curled them just right, his thumb pressing lightly to your clit.

“You sound so fucking pretty like this,” he murmured, eyes locked on yours.

He found that spot inside you again, massaging it with slow, steady strokes until you felt it build. All hot, overwhelming, and dizzying.

And then, he pulled away.

Again.

You choked on a sob, hands flying up to clutch at his arms. Your eyes were glossy now, cheeks damp, your whole body trembling from the tension he’d so artfully crafted.

“Yoongi—please,” you whispered, voice broken, barely holding together. “Please, I can’t—”

He kissed the inside of your thigh, lips soft against your skin.

“Yes, you can. You can for me, right?”

His voice was sweet, gentle. But it wasn’t kindness. It was torture.

Another round. Another climb. This time he used everything—his tongue, his fingers, his mouth—driving you to the edge until your body couldn’t tell if it wanted to cum or cry. You were gasping, breath breaking with every stroke, every flick of his tongue, thighs clamped tight around his head in desperation.

Tears slipped from the corners of your eyes, your body pulsing on the edge of release, so close it hurt.

And Yoongi, he looked up at you with that same soft smile, that same faux innocence, like he wasn’t the one breaking you down piece by piece with every touch.

Like this wasn’t exactly what he wanted.

And just when you thought you’d reached your limit, thought you were about to break, he gave in.

Yoongi sat back on his heels for a moment, the soft light casting shadows across his jawline. His lips were still slick from you and swollen, a flush faintly blooming on his cheeks.

Then, without a word, he reached for the hem of his shirt and pulled it over his head. Exposing the lean muscle and sharp lines of his body inch by inch. He tossed it to the side, not breaking eye contact. His hands moved to the waistband of his sweats next, dragging them down with a roll of his hips.

You propped yourself up slightly, breath catching as he stood to push them all the way off.

“Are you putting on a show for me, Min?” you teased, your voice soft but playful, cheeks still flushed from the cruel bliss of everything he’d just done to you.

He smirked, his cock heavy and flushed, bobbing slightly as he stepped back between your legs. “Don’t act like you’re not the one begging for an encore.”

You laughed, but it slipped into a gasp when he leaned over you, bracing one hand beside your head while the other lined himself up. The blunt head of his cock nudging at your entrance, hot, hard and achingly thick.

His eyes met yours.

“You’re so beautiful,” he whispered, the words barely audible over your pounding heart.

Then he slid inside.

Your cry was half sob, half surrender as he pushed inside slowly in a long, unhurried thrust. Inch by inch, filling you until his hips were flush against yours and you felt impossibly full, stretched wide and warm around him.

Yoongi dropped his head to your shoulder, breath shuddering against your skin. “Fuck,” he groaned, voice cracking on your name like he’d been starving for this moment. Like this was his first breath of air in months.

He didn’t move.

Just stayed there, pressed so deep it felt like he could feel the beat of your heart from the inside. You clung to him, dazed and overwhelmed, trying to process the way he filled you so completely it almost hurt.

And then, he moved.

Slowly.

So slow.

Each roll of his hips deep and devastating. He fucked you like he had all the time in the world, like he was making up for every lost second. His lips trailed kisses across your cheek, your temple, the corner of your mouth. His hands gripped your thighs and then your hips, grounding you as your body molded to his.

Your legs wrapped around his waist, drawing him deeper, your nails scraping down his back as the pressure built again.

“Yoongi,” you whispered, voice trembling.

He kissed you softly. “I know.”

Your moans grew louder, breathier, every thrust coaxing more from you, unraveling you thread by thread. The steady rhythm turned hungrier, hips snapping a little harder, a little sharper, but never losing that deliberate care, that tether of control wrapped tightly around both of you.

You broke with a sob, your body clenching tight around him, your back arching as the pleasure finally tore through you. It rolled in waves, raw and overwhelming, your fingers clawing at his shoulders as if you could anchor yourself to him.

He didn’t stop.

“Good girl,” Yoongi rasped, the words gritted out through clenched teeth. “That’s it. Let me feel you.”

He thrust through it, riding the high, until your body began to tremble under his and your cries gave way to quiet, broken whimpers. He kissed your throat, your chest, lips suckling and biting your nipples as he fucked you. His hands soothed over your hips as if to apologize for the ruin he was leaving in his wake.

Then he finally let go.

He thrust deep one last time, a full bodied groan tearing from his lips as he came. His whole body shuddered against yours, mouth finding the hollow of your throat as he moaned your name into your skin, like it was the only thing he wanted to say.

When it was over, he didn’t pull away.

Yoongi cradled you against his chest, his heartbeat still pounding as your legs slowly slid down from around his waist. He kissed your temple, the corner of your eye where a tear still clung, then ran his fingers gently through your hair.

Your body still twitched in the aftermath. His touch was slow, soothing, grounding you as if he couldn’t bear to let you drift even an inch.

“I’m home,” he whispered.

And this time, it wasn’t a metaphor.

It was a vow.

No drills. No deadlines. No long hours and coming home too mentally exhausted to do anything.

Just this—his skin on yours, your name on his lips, and the silence finally filled by the sound of peace.

You lay tangled together in the low, amber warmth of the bedroom, skin to skin, legs lazily woven through his. The room had gone quiet again, save for the hum of the city beyond the window and the low, steady sound of your breath returning to normal.

Your skin was cooling but still slick with sweat in places. Every inhale brought the scent of sex and warmth and him. Something earthy, grounding, and entirely Yoongi.

Your head rested on his chest, ear pressed to the steady drum of his heart. The beat was slower now, steady again, but the weight of it beneath your cheek made you feel safe in a way that nothing else ever had.

Yoongi’s fingers drifted along your spine, light and slow and without direction, like his body needed the constant contact to believe you were still there. Every now and then his thumb would pause at your lower back, or brush along your side.

He wasn’t ready to sleep.

Not yet.

Neither were you.

You lifted your head after a while, your cheek creasing against his chest as you shifted just enough to look at him. His eyes were open, soft and dark in the low light, already watching you.

There was something in his expression that made your chest ache.

Something unspoken passed between you. That quiet pulse that always beat strongest when there was nothing left to perform, no ego, no masks. Just you. Just him. Just the knowing.

Then you shifted and climbed over him.

Yoongi’s hands found your hips instinctively, his breath catching slightly as you reached down and guided his still hardening cock inside you again. He was still sensitive, and so were you, but the stretch felt like being wrapped in silk.

You sank down slowly, breath trembling as your body molded to his. No urgency now, or easing. Just the soft, burning ache of connection that ran deeper than anything physical.

He stared up at you like he couldn’t quite believe you were real. Hair tousled. Skin flushed. Lips parted as he exhaled a shaky breath that ghosted over your throat.

“You’re gonna ruin me,” he whispered, voice hoarse and low.

You smiled, leaning down to kiss him.

And then you moved.

You rolled your hips in gentle circles, every glide and shift dragging him deeper, tighter, making both of you gasp. Your hands framed his face, thumbs brushing over the curve of his cheekbones. His eyes fluttered shut, overwhelmed by the intimacy, by the heat, by the way your body gripped him like it knew him.

His hands gripped your waist, fingers digging in just slightly, anchoring himself.

“You feel so fucking good,” he whispered. “Every time, but—fuck—like this…”

You could feel him trembling beneath you, trying to hold still, trying not to lose himself too fast.

“You’re perfect.”

You kissed him again. Softer now. Like a promise.

“I love you,” he said, the words so quiet they nearly disappeared into your skin.

You paused, not from doubt, but from the weight of it. From how much it meant to hear it like that. Bare. Honest. Unprovoked.

He tucked your hair behind your ear, his thumb brushing over your temple.

“I do. I love you. And I’m so fucking happy you gave me a chance.”

“Yoongi—”

“I was scared,” he confessed, voice breaking a little. “Not of you—never of you. Just… of being seen. Of being known like this. You looked at me and didn’t flinch. You didn’t run. You stayed.”

You rolled your hips down again and his breath caught hard in his throat. His head tipped back, jaw slack with pleasure.

“You stayed.”

You kissed him again, this time slow and deep, like you were pouring every ounce of yourself into the space between you. Your hips moved with aching tenderness, each motion drawing you closer to the edge again.

“I think about the sounds you make,” he murmured against your throat. “When you cum. When you break. They’re so fucking beautiful, baby.”

Your breath hitched. The tension building again, coiling low and tight as his hands guided you in that same slow rhythm.

“I’m gonna record them one day,” he whispered, brushing his lips against your ear. “Sneak them into a track. Hide them in the layers so only I know they’re there.”

Your heart thudded hard.

“The breath you take right before you fall apart. That little gasp. The way you cry out my name. I’ll keep it buried in the beat like a secret.”

You clenched around him involuntarily, the pleasure building so high, so fast, your whole body quaked. Your hands gripped his shoulders, face tucked into the crook of his neck.

“Let go,” he whispered. “Let me hear it, sweetheart.”

And you did.

You came with a soft sob, your entire body locking down around him, thighs shaking, chest pressed to his. You shook with it, clung to him like you’d fall apart if you let go.

Yoongi followed soon after, holding you tightly as he spilled inside you, voice catching in your ear as he whispered your name like it was the only word that still mattered.

The practice room was just how you remembered it.

Long wall of mirrors. Scuffed floors. The faint scent of sweat and long hours spent rehearsing lingering in the corners. And yet today, it didn’t feel like a space for work. Not really. It felt like something awakened. A quiet celebration carved out between return and rebirth.

You stood near the back wall, tucked between two Hybe staffers holding sparklers that wouldn’t light, watching as Yoongi was gently bullied into the center of the room.

He stood awkwardly, barefoot on the polished floor, sweatpants slung low on his hips, a bouquet of white peonies and hydrangeas cradled in one arm and a cake in the other. His ears were red, and he was already muttering protests.

And then they started to sing.

Namjoon sang the loudest. Jin the most off key. Hoseok was filming the whole thing on his phone while simultaneously trying to shove a party hat onto Yoongi’s head. Jungkook laughed so hard he dropped his sparkler, and Taehyung had thrown confetti prematurely and was now trying to brush it out of Yoongi’s hair with no real success.

Yoongi stood in the eye of the storm with Jimin’s arms wrapped tightly around him, expression caught somewhere between exasperated and shy amusement. His fingers curled tighter around the cake as he tried to will down the smile pulling at his lips.

He wasn’t successful in the slightest.

After the last line of the song was shouted more than sung, the room burst into laughter and clapping. Staff members cheered. One of the managers brought out a cooler of drinks. Jin wrapped his arm around Yoongi’s shoulder and gave him a firm shake.

“Welcome back, hyung. You’re officially free.”

Yoongi rolled his eyes, but the look he gave Jin was full of something warm and deep. “Don’t remind me.”

The others gathered around him, pulling him into a loose huddle. There were back pats, too tight hugs, soft words exchanged that only they could hear.

They had all made it back.

Every last one.

For the first time in over two years, BTS stood whole again. Not just in title, but in body and soul. Hair a little shorter. Faces a little sharper. But hearts still tethered together by something that hadn’t faded with time.

“We did it,” Namjoon said, voice thick, gaze sweeping over them all. “All of us.”

Yoongi smiled faintly. “Now we make music.”

They stood there for a long moment. Just the seven of them, the silence stretching wide and comfortable. Like standing at the edge of something new, but not uncertain, familiar.

Yoongi’s eyes drifted across the room.

They found you instantly.

You weren’t even trying to hide, just leaning against the mirror with arms crossed lightly over your chest, watching him like you always did. With that quiet kind of pride that didn’t shout. The kind that just saw him.

For a moment, neither of you moved.

He smiled, just for you. Just a flicker. A promise.

Then Jungkook shouted his name and Yoongi was pulled back into the huddle, laughter erupting again as someone tried to smear frosting on his face.

You stayed where you were.

Watching as he laughed. Watching as he stood surrounded by his brothers. Whole and healed and home.

And when he looked back at you one last time over someone’s shoulder, you nodded.

Go on.

This was always where he was meant to be.

masterlist

dividers courtesy of @uzmacchiato

[maryseesthings]

Puppy Eyes vs. Thirsty Thighs

Paring: Teasing Wife!Reader x Himbo Husband!Jimin Genre: Chaotic Newlywed Rom-Com | Smut | Ovulation-Induced Rage | Misunderstandings | Scooter Fights | Revenge Seduction Rating: Explicit (18+), NSFW Word Count: ~5k Warnings: Explicit sexual content (spanking, oral sex, penetrative sex, dirty talk, light dominance, teasing, hair-pulling), bickering, ovulation-driven horniness, fluff, angst, intense emotions, brief public misunderstanding (chaotic), language.

You stare at your phone, jaw clenched, eyes burning holes into the screen. Your fingers hover over the keyboard, itching to unleash a storm of emojis—skulls, knives, maybe a middle finger or two. But no. You’re a queen. A petty queen. And petty queens don’t lose their cool. They plot.

Four days. It’s been four days since you and your husband, Park Jimin, last tangled in the sheets. Four days since he had you gasping his name, clawing at his back, begging for more. And now?

Now you’re in the middle of your ovulation phase, your body a hormonal wildfire, every nerve screaming for his touch. You’ve shaved. Spritzed perfume in places that make you blush. Practiced your sultry moans in the mirror like a damn pop star. And what does your sinfully gorgeous husband do?

He talks about the fucking weather.

Your text, sent ten minutes ago in a moment of desperate thirst, glares back at you:

You: Baby, I’m wet 🥺

His reply, which arrived with the speed of a man who clearly doesn’t get it, is pure torture:

Jimin: Told you to bring an umbrella 🌂. It’s rainy season. You’ll catch cold 😤

You blink. Once. Twice. Your soul briefly exits your body, does a lap around the apartment, and returns to find you still staring at this blasphemy. An umbrella? A COLD? This man, who looks like he stepped out of a wet dream in his tight gray sweatpants and fitted black tee, thinks you’re talking about rain?

You fling your phone onto the couch, pacing the living room like a caged lioness. The apartment smells like the lavender candle you lit to “set the mood,” but the only mood now is rage. Ovulation rage. The kind that makes you want to climb him like a tree or throttle him with his own fluffy hoodie. Maybe both.

The front door clicks open, and there he is—Park Jimin, your husband of three months, the human equivalent of a cinnamon roll dipped in sin. His dark hair is damp from the drizzle outside, clinging to his forehead in that unfairly sexy way. His lips, plump and pink, curve into a soft smile as he kicks off his sneakers, holding a grocery bag in one hand.

“Jagi, I’m back!” he calls, voice like honey. “Got you some ginger tea for your cramps. Your period’s coming soon, right? You’ve been so moody lately.”

You freeze mid-pace. Moody? MOODY? Oh, this man is begging for war. You’re not PMSing. You’re P.M.S-ing—Please Mount Soon. And he’s out here diagnosing you like WebMD?

“Jimin,” you say, voice dangerously calm, “I’m not moody because of my period.”

He tilts his head, confused, looking like a lost puppy. “Then why’re you pouting? You didn’t answer my text about the umbrella.”

Your eye twitches. “I didn’t answer because I wasn’t talking about the rain, Park Jimin.”

He blinks, processing. You see the gears turning in his pretty head, but they’re stuck in cinnamon-roll mode. “Then… what were you talking about?”

You scream internally. This man. This beautiful, sculpted, clueless man. You march over, snatch the grocery bag from his hand, and slam it onto the counter. “Forget it. Just—go shower or something.”

He pouts, stepping closer, his cologne hitting you like a punch to the ovaries. “Jagi, don’t be mad. You’re so cute when you pout like that.”

You glare up at him, his face too close, his eyes too sparkly. “Cute? You think this is cute? I’m about to set this apartment on fire.”

He chuckles, ruffling your hair. “So dramatic. Drink the tea, okay? I’ll make dinner.”

You swat his hand away, stomping to the bedroom. Oh, it’s on. If he wants to play oblivious, you’ll play dirty. You’ll make him beg for mercy.

The next morning, it's saturday, you’re still simmering. Jimin, blissfully unaware, hums a tune while flipping pancakes in the kitchen, his back muscles flexing under his shirt. You sip your coffee, plotting. You’ve decided to give him the silent treatment, partly because you’re still mad, partly because watching him squirm is delicious.

“Jagi, we need groceries,” he says, sliding a plate of pancakes in front of you. “Wanna come with me? We can take the scooter.”

You stab a pancake, not looking at him. “Fine.”

He beams, oblivious to the storm brewing. “Yay! It’ll be fun. Like a little date.”

You roll your eyes but follow him out, slipping on your sneakers. Outside, the air is humid, the sky gray with the threat of rain. Jimin hands you a helmet, his fingers brushing yours, sending an unwanted spark through your traitorous body.

He climbs onto the scooter, patting the seat behind him. “Hop on, jagi~”

You cross your arms, standing your ground. “Why do I have to sit behind you? Maybe I wanna drive.”

He laughs, chewing gum like he’s in a drama. “You? Drive? Last time you tried, we almost ended up in a ditch.”

“That was one time,” you snap. “And you were distracting me!”

“By breathing?” he teases, smirking. “Come on, don’t be moody. Sit. I’ll buy you ice cream later.”

Your blood boils. Moody. There’s that word again. You’re about to unleash hell when a traffic cop strolls by, eyeing you both. Jimin doesn’t notice, still patting the seat like an idiot.

The cop stops, frowning. “Ma’am, is this man bothering you?”

Jimin laughs, waving a hand. “Haha, no, officer. We’re husband and wife. Right, jagi?”

You turn to the cop, a wicked smirk curling your lips. Jimin’s smile falters. He knows that look. You’re up to something, and he’s about to regret every life choice that led to this moment.

“Officer,” you say, voice dripping with fake distress, “I’ve never seen this man in my life.”

Jimin’s jaw drops. “JAGI?!”

The cop narrows his eyes, stepping toward Jimin. “Sir, step away from the lady.”

Jimin’s hands fly up, panic setting in. “Wait, wait, wait! Officer, she’s my wife! We’re married three months ago! She’s just—she’s joking!”

You fold your arms, watching him flounder. “I don’t know him,” you repeat, biting back a laugh. Jimin’s face is a masterpiece of betrayal—eyes wide, mouth open, like you just told him you’re divorcing him for a toaster.

“Ma’am,” the cop says, “if he’s harassing you, we can take him to the station.”

Jimin turns to you, pleading. “Jagi, tell him the truth! What if I get arrested? You’re gonna bail me out, right?”

You tilt your head, pretending to think. “Hmm… maybe. If I feel like it.”

The cop grabs Jimin’s arm, and that’s when you crack. You burst out laughing, clutching your stomach. “Okay, okay, officer! I’m kidding. He’s my husband. He’s just… annoying.”

The cop sighs, muttering, “You kids are immature,” before walking away. Jimin slumps against the scooter, clutching his chest like he’s survived a war.

“What,” he wheezes, “was that?”

You shrug, climbing onto the scooter behind him. “Revenge. For the umbrella text.”

He turns, eyes wild. “REVENGE? I COULD’VE BEEN IN JAIL!”

You pat his cheek. “Maybe then you’d learn what I meant.”

He groans, starting the scooter. “You’re evil.”

You wrap your arms around his waist, smirking into his back. “And you love it.”

You ditch him at the grocery store, claiming you need “fresh air” and taking an Uber home like the dramatic queen you are. The driver gives you a knowing look as you sulk in the backseat, muttering about “stupid hot husband” and “umbrella betrayal.” You’re not sure if he’s judging or impressed, but you tip him generously anyway.

Back home, you storm into the apartment, kicking off your shoes, and flop onto the couch. Your body’s still buzzing with frustration—ovulation hormones raging, skin hypersensitive, every thought circling back to Jimin’s lips, his hands, those damn sweatpants. You grab a pillow and scream into it, muffling your existential crisis.

An hour later, the door opens. Jimin shuffles in, looking like a kicked puppy, holding the grocery bag. His hair’s damp from the rain, and his hoodie’s damp, clinging to his shoulders in a way that makes your mouth water. He sets the bag down and sighs.

“Jagi,” he says softly, “I got you the chocolate you like. The one with the caramel.”

You ignore him, hugging your pillow tighter. He frowns, sitting on the coffee table in front of you.

“Are you still mad about the scooter thing? Or… is it something else?”

You glare. “You’re so clueless, Jimin.”

He pouts, leaning closer. “Then tell me! I hate when you’re upset. I don’t know what I did wrong.”

You sit up, tossing the pillow aside. “You didn’t do anything wrong. That’s the problem! You’re too sweet, too cute, too perfect. And you don’t even realize I’ve been throwing myself at you for days because I’m ovulating and you think I’m talking about the rain!”

His eyes widen, and for a moment, he just stares. Then, slowly, a slow, dangerous grin spreads across his face. “Oh… that’s what this is about?”

You huff, crossing your arms. “Yes, Park Jimin. I texted you I was wet, and you told me to bring an umbrella. An UMBRELLA, Jimin!”

He bites his lip, trying not to laugh. “Jagi, I thought you were literally wet from the rain! You know I’m bad at reading between the lines.”

You grab another pillow and throw it at him. He catches it, laughing. “You’re such an idiot!”

He crawls onto the couch, hovering over you, his grin turning playful. “An idiot who loves you. And who’s about to make it up to you.”

You narrow your eyes. “Oh, you think it’s that easy? You’re on probation, mister.”

He leans down, lips brushing your ear. “Probation, huh? Guess I’ll have to work extra hard to get out of it.”

Your breath hitches, but you push him away, standing up. “Not yet. I’m not done being mad.”

You storm to the bedroom, slamming the door for effect. But really? You’re already plotting phase two of your revenge: seduction. If he wants to play clueless, you’ll make him see.

You take your time in the bedroom, shedding your clothes and slipping into Jimin’s oversized T-shirt—the one he loves seeing you in. It’s soft, black, and smells like his cologne, hitting you mid-thigh and leaving your legs bare. No panties. No bra. Just pure, unfiltered chaos.

You check your reflection in the mirror. Hair tousled, lips glossy, eyes smoldering with intent. You’re a weapon, and Jimin’s about to be your target.

You saunter back to the living room, where Jimin’s sprawled on the couch, scrolling through his phone. He’s changed into those gray sweatpants—curse him—and a loose white tank top that shows off his toned arms. He doesn’t look up as you approach, which only fuels your fire.

You clear your throat dramatically. He glances up, and his phone nearly slips from his hand.

“Jagi…” he says, voice low, eyes raking over you. “What’s… that?”

You shrug, casual as hell, and crawl into his lap, straddling him. His hands instinctively settle on your hips, but he’s still confused, like a puppy trying to solve quantum physics.

“Aren’t you still mad?” he asks, brow furrowing.

You lean in, lips brushing his ear. “Oh, I’m furious. But I’m also ovulating. And you’ve been starving me.”

His grip tightens, and you feel him tense beneath you. “Starving?” he repeats, voice husky now.

You nod, trailing a finger down his chest. “I lied earlier. I’m not PMSing. I’m desperate. And you’ve been ignoring me.”

His eyes darken, finally catching up. “Ignoring you? Baby, I didn’t know—”

You cut him off with a kiss, slow and teasing, pulling back just as he leans in for more. “You’re gonna make it up to me. Right?”

He nods, dazed. “Anything you want.”

You smirk, grinding your hips against him, feeling him harden beneath you. “Good. Because I want everything.”

The air in the living room crackles with tension, thick as the humid summer night outside. Jimin’s hands are on your hips, fingers digging into your bare skin where his T-shirt has ridden up.

You’re straddling him, feeling the hard length of him pressing against you through those cursed gray sweatpants. His eyes, usually soft and sparkly, are dark now, pupils blown wide with a hunger that makes your thighs clench.

The switch has flipped. The sweet, confused puppy you married is gone, replaced by a man who looks like he’s about to devour you whole. His lips curl into a dangerous smirk, and his voice drops an octave, sending shivers down your spine.

“You’ve been playing with me,” he murmurs, lips grazing the sensitive skin of your throat. His breath is hot, teasing, as he nips lightly at your pulse point. “Texting me at work, knowing I was in a meeting. Teasing me with that cop stunt. And now—” his hands slide up your thighs, squeezing possessively, “—wearing my shirt like this, no panties, dripping all over me.”

You shiver, loving the edge in his voice, the way he’s unraveling. “You deserved it,” you whisper, voice breathy but defiant. “For ignoring me. For that stupid umbrella text.”

He chuckles, low and dangerous, the sound vibrating through your chest. “Oh, jagi. I’m so sorry for that.” His lips brush your ear, and you feel the sincerity in his apology, but it’s laced with a promise of retribution. “Let me make it up to you. No mercy tonight.”

In one swift motion, he yanks the T-shirt over your head, tossing it across the room. It lands somewhere near the coffee table, but you don’t care. You’re bare now, exposed under his ravenous gaze, your skin prickling as he drinks you in—flushed cheeks, hardened nipples, the slick sheen between your thighs. He groans, low and guttural, like he’s barely holding himself together.

“Fuck,” he mutters, hands roaming your body, tracing the curve of your waist, the dip of your hips. “You’re so perfect it hurts.”

He manhandles you with ease, flipping you onto your stomach in a move so smooth it steals your breath. You’re face-down on the couch now, ass up, knees pressed into the cushions, completely at his mercy.

The cool leather against your heated skin makes you gasp, and you clutch the armrest, bracing yourself. His hands are everywhere—gripping your hips, squeezing your thighs, spreading you open. You’re dripping, the evidence of your arousal slick and undeniable, and you hear his sharp intake of breath.

“Baby,” he growls, voice rough with need, “you’re this wet for me? Even though I didn’t catch your hint?”

You nod, cheek pressed against the couch, unable to form words. Your body’s screaming for him, every nerve alight. Then you feel it—a sharp slap to your ass, the sting blooming hot and delicious. You moan, arching back, craving more.

“That’s for making me panic with that cop,” he says, his hand rubbing the spot he just spanked, soothing the burn before delivering another slap. “For thinking you could get away with it.”

Another spank, harder this time, and you whimper, thighs trembling. “And that’s for texting me during my meeting, knowing I couldn’t do anything about it.”

He grips your hair gently, pulling your head back just enough to meet his eyes. They’re molten, filled with a mix of lust and adoration that makes your heart stutter. “And this—” spank, the hardest yet, making you cry out, “—is for making me think you were mad when you were just needy for me.”

“Jimin,” you gasp, voice wrecked, “please…”

He pauses, kneeling behind you, his hands spreading you open. You’re exposed, vulnerable, and the way he groans—low, primal, like he’s starving—sends a fresh wave of arousal through you. “Fuck, baby,” he murmurs. “You’re dripping. All for me.”

You nod, desperate, and then his tongue is on you—flat, slow, dragging from your entrance to your clit in one long, deliberate lick. You cry out, legs shaking, as he dives in, eating you out like it’s his life’s mission.

His lips are soft but relentless, sucking your clit with just enough pressure to make you see stars. His tongue dips inside you, teasing, then circles back to your clit, flicking with maddening precision. The wet sounds of his mouth against you are obscene, mingling with your moans and the creak of the couch.

“You taste so fucking good,” he growls against your skin, the vibration sending shocks through your core. His hands grip your thighs, keeping you pinned as you squirm, overwhelmed by the intensity. He’s thorough, licking every inch, sucking gently, then harder, alternating between slow, torturous drags and quick, precise flicks that have you teetering on the edge.

“Jimin… oh god…” you whimper, nails digging into the couch.

He pauses, lips glistening, his breath hot against your thigh. “Not yet, baby. I made you wait four days. You can wait a little longer.”

You whine, pushing back against him, desperate for release. “You’re evil.”

He chuckles, nipping your thigh. “Says the woman who almost got me arrested.” He dives back in, doubling down on your clit, his tongue relentless. Your moans turn into sobs, your body trembling as he brings you to the brink again, only to pull back, kissing your inner thigh instead.

“Jimin!” you wail, tears pricking your eyes from the denied release. “Please, I need it.”

He smirks, looking up at you with those sinful eyes. “Say it. Say you’re sorry for making me panic in front of cop.”

You laugh, breathless, defiant. “No way. You’re the one who needs to apologize for the umbrella text.”

He raises a brow, amused but unyielding. “Oh, jagi. Wrong answer.” He spanks you again, the sting sharp and perfect, then dives back in, his tongue working you over until you’re screaming, right on the edge. He stops again, and you nearly sob from frustration.

“Okay, okay!” you gasp. “I’m sorry for teasing you!”

He grins, triumphant. “Good girl.” His lips wrap around your clit, sucking hard, and you shatter. Your orgasm crashes through you, white-hot and blinding, your body convulsing as you scream his name. He doesn’t stop, licking you through every wave, drawing it out until you’re a trembling, oversensitive mess.

You collapse, panting, but he’s not done. He lifts you effortlessly, pulling you back into his lap, straddling him. You’re still buzzing, sensitive, but the sight of him—sweaty, flushed, rock-hard beneath those sweatpants—reignites your fire. You reach down, slipping your hand inside, wrapping your fingers around his length. He’s thick, hot, pulsing in your hand, and he hisses, hips bucking.

“Fuck, baby,” he groans. “You’re gonna kill me.”

You smirk, stroking him slowly, teasing. “You said you’d make it up to me. So do it.”

He growls, pulling down his sweatpants in one swift motion, freeing himself. You line him up, sinking down slowly, savoring every inch as he fills you. His groans are loud, head falling back, hands gripping your waist like a lifeline. “So tight,” he gasps. “So perfect.”

You start slow, grinding, circling your hips to tease him, making him growl. Your nails rake down his chest, leaving faint red lines, and he shudders, thrusting up into you, taking control. “Where’s that attitude now?” he taunts, lips brushing yours. “All that fire, and now you’re just melting for me.”

You moan, nails digging into his shoulders. “Still… here.”

He laughs, flipping you onto your back, the couch creaking beneath you. He’s above you now, one leg hooked over his shoulder, the other wrapped around his waist. He’s deep, relentless, the angle hitting spots that make your vision blur. His lips find your neck, kissing, biting, whispering filth between thrusts.

“Wanted me to lose control?” he growls, his thumb circling your clit. “You got it, baby. I’m gonna ruin you.”

You’re a mess, moaning, clawing at his back, the couch shifting with every thrust. He’s relentless, each stroke deliberate, his thumb working your clit in time with his hips. You’re spiraling, the pleasure overwhelming, building toward another peak.

“Cum for me,” he whispers, voice rough, desperate. “Show me how much you needed this.”

You shatter again, your orgasm ripping through you, your walls clenching around him. He groans, thrusting through your release, chasing his own. His strokes grow erratic, desperate, and he cums with a deep, guttural moan, forehead pressed to yours, your name spilling from his lips like a prayer.

You’re both panting, sweaty, tangled together. He doesn’t pull away, staying inside you, his arms wrapping around you as he shifts to lie beside you on the couch.

The aftercare begins immediately—his lips brush your forehead, your cheeks, your lips, soft and reverent. He pulls a throw blanket from the back of the couch, draping it over you both, tucking it around your shoulders.

“You okay, jagi?” he murmurs, voice soft now, all traces of the dominant edge gone. He strokes your hair, fingers gentle, and presses a kiss to your temple. “Was that too much?”

You shake your head, nuzzling into his chest. “Perfect. You’re perfect.”

He chuckles, pulling you closer, his hand rubbing slow circles on your back. “I’m sorry about the umbrella thing. I’m such an idiot.”

You smile, kissing his collarbone. “My idiot.”

He grabs a water bottle from the coffee table, making you sip first, then takes a drink himself. He tucks you against him, ensuring you’re warm, comfortable, his fingers tracing lazy patterns on your skin. “I love you,” he whispers, voice thick with emotion. “Even when you’re trying to get me arrested.”

You laugh, the sound muffled against his chest. “I love you too. Even when you’re clueless.”

The living room is a mess—throw pillows scattered, the couch slightly askew, the lavender candle flickering weakly on the coffee table. But you don’t care. You’re curled in Jimin’s arms, still wrapped in the throw blanket, your bodies pressed together like you’re trying to merge into one. His heartbeat is steady under your cheek, his warmth seeping into you, grounding you after the storm of emotions and pleasure.

He’s playing with your fingers now, intertwining them with his, his thumb brushing over your wedding ring. His lips are pressed to your forehead, and every few seconds, he plants a soft kiss there, like he’s reminding himself you’re real. The air smells like him—cologne, sweat, and something uniquely Jimin, sweet and comforting.

“Jagi,” he murmurs, voice soft as a lullaby, “you’re glowing. Look at you.”

You tilt your head up, meeting his eyes. They’re back to their usual sparkly, puppy-like state, filled with so much love it makes your chest ache. “That’s just sweat,” you tease, poking his side.

He gasps dramatically, clutching his heart. “Sweat? My wife, glowing like an angel, and she calls it sweat? I’m wounded.”

You giggle, swatting his chest. “You’re so dramatic.”

He catches your hand, kissing your knuckles one by one, his lips lingering on each finger. “Only for you,” he says, winking, but there’s a sincerity behind it that makes your heart flutter. He shifts, pulling you closer so you’re practically in his lap again, the blanket slipping slightly. He adjusts it immediately, tucking it around you like you’re a precious burrito.

“Seriously, though,” he says, his voice softening, “I’m sorry I didn’t catch on sooner. I hate thinking I made you feel ignored.” His fingers trace your jaw, gentle, reverent. “You’re my world, you know that?”

You melt, leaning into his touch. “I know. And I’m sorry for the cop thing. That was… a little unhinged.”

He laughs, the sound bright and boyish, filling the room with warmth. “A little? Jagi, I saw my life flash before my eyes. I was planning my prison breakout!”

You snort, burying your face in his neck. “You’d be the worst jailbird. You’d charm the guards with your puppy eyes and be out in a day.”

He grins, tilting your chin up to kiss you softly. It’s slow, sweet, the kind of kiss that makes your toes curl and your heart sigh. When he pulls back, his eyes are twinkling. “You’re probably right. But only because I’d have to get back to you.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling so hard your cheeks hurt. “Cheesy.”

“Only for you,” he repeats, poking your nose. He reaches for the grocery bag he brought home, pulling out the caramel-filled chocolate bar you love. “Here. Peace offering.”

You gasp, snatching it from his hands. “You’re forgiven. For now.”

He laughs, watching as you tear open the wrapper and take a bite, moaning dramatically at the taste. He shakes his head, amused. “You’re so easy to please.”

“Only when there’s chocolate,” you say, offering him a piece. He takes it, but instead of eating it, he sets it aside, pulling you into another kiss. This one’s deeper, a little hungrier, and you taste the faintest hint of caramel on his lips when he pulls away.

“So,” he says, voice low, a playful glint in his eyes, “you said you’re ovulating. Does that mean we just…?”

You smirk, loving how his cheeks flush slightly, even after everything you just did. “Guess we’ll find out in a few weeks, huh?”

His eyes widen, and for a second, he looks genuinely panicked, like he’s mentally calculating baby names and diaper budgets. Then he sees your mischievous grin and groans, pulling you into a bear hug. “You’re gonna be the death of me, jagi.”

You laugh, squirming in his arms, but he holds you tighter, peppering your face with kisses—cheeks, nose, eyelids, everywhere. “Jimin!” you squeal, giggling uncontrollably. “Stop, you’re gonna smother me!”

“Never,” he declares, but he relents, settling for nuzzling his face into your neck. “I’m gonna love you forever. Even when you’re driving me crazy.”

You soften, running your fingers through his hair, still damp from the rain earlier. “I love you too,” you whisper, meaning it with every fiber of your being. “Even when you’re a clueless himbo.”

He pulls back, grinning. “Clueless? Me? I just made you scream my name like three times.”

You blush, swatting him again. “Shut up!”

He laughs, pulling you into his chest, and you both settle into the couch, tangled together, the chocolate forgotten. The rain patters softly against the windows, and the lavender candle casts a warm glow over the room. You’re home, in every sense of the word, with your chaotic, perfect husband.

“Tomorrow,” you murmur, half-asleep in his arms, “I’m texting ‘I’m dripping.’ Let’s see if you get it this time.”

He chuckles, kissing the top of your head. “Oh, jagi. I won’t even let you finish the sentence.”

A/N: This sweet, chaotic ride is for my readers craving Jimin’s charm and unhinged newlywed spice. Hope it left you giggling and swooning! 😘💖

Taglist: @army-geniuslab . @jeonjamiekim . @moonjinniecafe  . @minpdrecs . @bontensbabygirl . @this-most-assuredly-counts . @taolucha . @mytaegiheart . @dear-mono . @lilyficrec . @janeluvwonuuuu . @k-fan-fics . @iztrouble . @pikajooni . @namluvili . @alonahh . @paradise172 . @stay-tiny-things . @micdropitlikeitshot . @softhaes . @littlebluhellfire . @niqueesthings . @nocturnalsingularity . @syudoeslove . @namjoonbaby17-blog . @mar-lo-pap . @naesarang07 . @diame93 . @themwordsblog . @crizoosblog . @syudoeslove . @bts-fic-recs-mess . @nocturnalsingularity . @ninisficrecs . @lovingkoalaface . @afgbbf . @hiilovetata . @namjooniverse

[maryseesthings]

I really did my best in every concert I had. Each and every moment. I did it like it was life or death.

[maryseesthings]

look at how my tears ricochet — lewis hamilton

( misc. masterlist \ main masterlist \ drop a request )

★ : pairing :: lewis hamilton x reader ★ : genre :: text au; angst; slow-burn; enemies to lovers(?); arranged marriage you and your husband are nothing more than strangers tied together by a contract neither of you wanted. stuck between cold silences and biting words, you manage to keep the world fooled, but behind the scenes, your walls are crumbling, your carefully guarded defenses cracking. desperate to leave but nowhere to stay. your home was not a place but a person now. ★ : a/n :: this masterlist is mainly being put up to spread the taglist form for now and obviously, to share the plot of the series. thanks for voting on the poll if you did lol!!

SERIES ARCHIVE SCENE 1 :: FAST TIMES AND FAST NIGHTS SCENE 2 :: YOU ONLY LISTEN WHEN I'M UNDRESSED TBR...

if you love me right, then who knows?

taglist form

©maxtermind // do not copy, rewrite or translate any of my work on any platforms.

[maryseesthings]

After Hours - Kim Mingyu ⌛

MINORS AND AGELESS BLOGS, DO NOT INTERACT. UNEDITED.

When the rain doesn’t stop pouring and the world seems harsher than usual, you can always find shelter in someone. For you? That’s Kim Mingyu.

⌛ mingyu x gn!reader

⌛word count: 1.7k

⌛genre: short one-shot, comfort, fluff, bf!mingyu, talent recruiter! reader, mingyu is really sweet :(

⌛ warnings: cursing, mentions of the hospital, mentions of a really shitty day, slightly heavy ig, not that much warnings honestly-

⌛ notes: hello! this will be a quick read for you guys! it's more of a short story but i've had a lot in my mind lately so i kinda just- thought dumped in it. i hope you guys find comfort in this :) thank your stopping by and reading this smol story :) my asks, messages. and requests are open! so feel free to drop by anytime! <3

Inhale. Exhale.

The weight on your shoulders is heavier today. 

Inhale. Exhale.

A 9 to 5 job was not really the plan after graduation. You think, what’s the use of your music degree if you’re not practicing it by the end? You assume you’d be working for a film post-production company after college or maybe freelance doing film scoring and songwriting. Maybe be an artist yourself, release your own music— your art, your soul.

You always had big dreams.

But here you are, working an almost 12-hour-shift for an entertainment company that barely pays you. Your salary can hardly cover your rent and you don’t even get to rest properly— Ending your day at 9pm and then having to go to work at 6:30 in the morning just so you won’t encounter the rush of people in the morning train. 

You were lucky enough that your family agreed on helping you pay for your own place while you pay your bills.

Inhale. Exhale.

Today was longer than usual.

You missed your alarm this morning, making you leave your place later than usual, and by the time you arrived at the train station, it was already almost 8.

Before you got to work, you had a university student, who was in a rush, accidentally spill their coffee on you. You couldn’t even be mad when you saw the poor girl’s disheveled look, so you just let it pass as she continued apologizing to you.

You went to the company with your cream sleeves stained brown, having to ignore the judging looks you got from other employees as you clocked in by a nose.

Inhale. Exhale.

You were in charge of your companies’ artists— having to do their paperwork and PR every time they release new music or a new comeback.

You’re good with deadlines and emails, you really are.

But today, you got falsely accused of not sending an important email that had something to do with a release for the next week. You got an earful from your superior just before lunch— your colleagues watching from the glass window as you got scolded alone in the meeting room.

When your superior saw that you did email them the documents they needed, they offered no apology whatsoever for their haughty behavior— only scoffing and glaring at you as they walked out of the meeting room.

Inhale. Exhale.

You ran around the building today.

After lunch, you tended to what your artists needed.

Your artists’ managers were demanding a lot— from scheduling the practice rooms, having more studio time, to fixing comeback schedules and tour dates. In addition to that, since some of your colleagues were on leave, you were the one handling their artists while they’re gone.

You know you’re good at your job, but it feels a little more taxing today.

Every “congratulations” and pat on the shoulder from the managers felt like it added to the weight of it all.

A little reminder of what you’ve been through the whole day.

It’s not that you didn’t appreciate them, it’s just you wanted to rest.

Inhale. Exhale.

You were still in the building when your mother just called, telling you that your grandmother needs to be operated on.

You feel the twinge on your chest as you listen to her tell you her troubles. You’d rather have her tell you these things rather than keep it to herself. You’re aware that it’s not your responsibility, but as the eldest child, you feel like you had to do something. 

You hate having to think that your mom would bear it all alone.

You talk about her day, your siblings, and solutions for covering the hospital bill over the phone call. When your mom tells you that your aunts were willing to pay for the hospital bill and the additional costs, you let out a sigh of relief— that was one thorn off the stem. 

With slight resignation, you slump over your seat, looking out the office window.

Only an hour until work ends. You can finally rest, right?

Breathe in, breathe out.

It always helps.

Inhale. Exhale.

You forgot your umbrella.

The dark clouds that loom over the city cover the moon, while the heavy downpour of the rain pitter-patter across the concrete pavement.

“Shit,” you utter under your breath.

You can’t possibly go home in this weather.

You check your phone, debating whether or not to call your boyfriend to pick you up. But you remembered that he was busy and decided not to bother him anymore. 

While lost in thought, a bunch of college students pass by you, laughing under the rain and pushing each other out of their umbrellas.

Oh, how you miss that time.

You feel the migraine creeping in and your throat slowly closing up.

A shaky breath is all you can let out.

Inhale. Exhale.

Here you are, in front of the company building. The rain was falling harder and your phone was slowly blowing up with notifications from friends talking about a high school reunion.

You don’t have the heart to look at these messages anymore.

Your friends were nurses, software engineers, and university assistants who get paid full and can travel around when they can. They graduated a year or two before you could while you were stuck with this one minor subject in uni because you can barely pass it.

You’re proud of them. You’re happy for them. But you can’t help but compare yourself to them.

What do you even say to them? You didn’t reach your dreams of becoming the artist you can be? That you’re just a mere corporate slave to the entertainment industry that you were supposed to excel on?

These thoughts didn’t help at all.

Each weight from today kept stacking one after another.

You struggle to swallow down the lump forming in your throat as your eyes fog, and the sound of your surroundings slowly drowns itself out. 

Inhale. Exhale.

Breathe in, breathe out.

But it doesn’t help you. 

Inhale. Exhale.

With your head hung low, you nibble on your lower lip, picking on the bag that you were holding on to.

Pathetic, you think. 

Tears slowly fall while you stand outside the company building. The hustle and bustle of the city covers the small sob you let out.

“Y/N?” a familiar voice slowly calls. You know who it is, but you couldn’t even look up to them.

But you didn’t have to.

He cups your face, gently pulling you to look up at him.

Your eyes meet.

Kim Mingyu.

Inhale Exhale.

Seeing your dreary eyes and melancholy look, he immediately held you close to him, his arms wrapping around your shaking form as you sobbed on his chest.

Inhale. Exhale.

“My poor baby,” he coos, his palm slowly stroking your head as you sob your heart out, not caring if passersby stare at the two of you.

He pulls away slightly, wiping the tears still falling from your cheeks.

“Tired?”

You can only nod at him, pulling him back in a desperate embrace.

Inhale. Exhale.

Mingyu hums as he places his cheek on the top of your head, rubbing the small of your back. “I got worried once it started raining. I saw your umbrella on the kitchen top this morning,” he says.

You inhaled his scent, burying your face on his chest once again. 

Despite the scent of this polluted city and rain, his was the only one pervading your senses. 

“You didn’t have to come here,” you muttered.

“I wanted to,” he replies, movements not faltering even when you look up at him. “I’ve finished my projects and meetings earlier, you don’t have to worry.”

Calm and warm. 

These are what you feel when your eyes meet once again.

Mingyu is your partner, your lover, and your best friend. You didn’t have to pretend to be strong in front of him.

He knows you like the back of his hand and you can’t fool him even if you tried.

“I didn’t want to bother you,” you say.

“You will never be a bother to me.”

“But—”

“No ‘buts’,” he shuts you down before you can complain.

“Y/N, we’ve been together for five years. I know when you’re tired, I know when you’re anxious. I know I have my own weight to carry, but it will never be too heavy for me to not be able to carry some of yours as well. I love you, so please let me do this for you?”

Inhale. Exhale.

“You’re going to make me cry again,” you reply, a small smile forming on your face.

The warmth on your chest slowly spreads.

It’s always easy with him. You didn’t have to try too hard nor did you have to be someone you’re not.

You’re just you when you’re with him.

He smiles when he sees you smile, “Tell me everything in the car, okay? Let’s just get out of this fucky weather and let me make you dinner at home. How’s that sound?”

The small nod you gave him was enough for him to bring out his umbrella, covering the both of you, as the two of you walk to the car.

Sure enough, on the way back home, you tell him about what happened with your superior and your artists’ managers, you tell him about your mom and your friends, you tell him everything that has happened since this morning.

He listens quietly, replying with small hums as the radio plays soft music in the background.

True to his word, he made you dinner and while eating, he lets you complain more— sometimes making jokes about how your superior looks like that one Five Nights at Freddy's animatronic. 

Once you guys have cleaned up the kitchen and have showered, the both of you lay in bed with your arms wrapped around one another and legs entangled to each other. You feel his skin against yours and his warm breath tickling your neck. 

All the troubles that were clouding your head earlier seem to vanish.

Inhale. Exhale.

“I love you, Gyu,” you say, eyes closed.

Mingyu places a soft kiss on your shoulder, “I love you too, you can always find rest in me.”

NOTE: This story is purely fictional. Any traits or decisions of the story's characters do not reflect those of their real life counterparts. This is a work of fiction and is not real. Please separate fiction from reality.

[maryseesthings]

jungkook fanfic reccs (pt. 2)

i’m back with moreee, i just have so many in my likes so i decided to do a pt 2 sooner than later lol

oneshots/twoshots

second chances by @parkhabits (angst, fluff, smut, exes to lovers au)

blazes of deceit by @periminkle (angst, fluff, tangled au)

fortuity by @yoontopia (fluff, angst, childhood friends to lovers, detective au)

in this paradise by @ressjeon (fluff, angst, smut, tropical island au, survivor!jk, strangers to lovers)

make you mine by @mercurygguk (smut, fluff, angst, college au, friends to lovers, jock!jk)

rocket to the moon @roseok (fluff, smut, roommates au)

damn the delivery boy @deerguk (fluff, non-explicit smut, expecting parents au)

a lover’s bond by @latetaektalk (fluff, lots of angst, implied smut, greek mythology au, orpheus and eurydice au)

opposable by @aquagustd (fluff, smut, angst, zookeeper!jk, rich!reader, childhood friends to lovers, fake dating au)

the viscount who loved me by @girlatmirror (fluff, smut, angst, viscount!jk, enemies to lovers, historical au)

series

as the world burns around us by @today-we-will-survive (angst, thriller, apocalypse au, survival au) - completed

out of the egg by @happy-meo (fluff, angst, war au, rebellion au) - completed

into the woods by @junqkook (fluff, angst, smut, goblin au, enemies to lovers) - completed

a place called sanctuary by @evangelene (lots of angst, fluff, apocalypse au, sunshine!reader, cold!jk) - completed

angel in the darkness by @icyhobi (smut, angst, mafia au, prostitution au) - completed

[maryseesthings]

Worship Me Softly

Pairing: Hoseok x Reader Genre: Friends to Lovers, Brother’s Best Friend, Smut, Fluff, Angst Rating: Explicit (18+) | Minors DNI Word Count: ~4k words Warnings: Explicit sexual content, oral sex (f and m receiving), fingering, penetrative sex, multiple orgasms, dirty talk, praise kink, body worship, mild exhibitionism, unprotected sex (practice safe sex!), intense emotions, public humiliation, alcohol consumption, swearing, and lots of fluffy chaos.

The frat house pulses with chaotic energy—thumping bass, spilled drinks, and bodies crammed together. You stand by the kitchen counter, clutching a Solo cup of bitter liquid, feeling like an outsider in the tight black dress Mina forced you into. It clings to your curves, but you tug at the hem, wishing you could vanish. Your friends promised an “epic” night, but now they’re gone, leaving you to navigate the sweaty crowd alone.

Your eyes drift to Minho, your crush for months, leaning against the wall with effortless charm—sharp jawline, lazy smirk, surrounded by admirers. Your heart flutters, but approaching him feels like walking into a lion’s den.

Mina stumbles back, cheeks flushed, shoving another drink at you. “Y/N, loosen up! You look like you’re at a funeral.”

“I’m fine,” you mutter, forcing a smile. “Just… not my scene.”

She rolls her eyes. “You’re never gonna get Minho’s attention hiding here. Go talk to him!”

Your stomach twists. “I can’t just… walk up to him.”

“Yes, you can!” She spins you toward him, pushing you forward. “You’re hot, you’re sweet, and you’ve been pining forever. Tell him how you feel. What’s the worst that could happen?”

Her enthusiasm and the alcohol dull your nerves just enough. You weave through the crowd, heart pounding, until you’re in front of Minho. His eyes flicker to you, and for a moment, you think maybe this could work.

“Hey, Minho,” you say, voice barely audible over the music. You clear your throat, trying again. “Can I… talk to you for a sec?”

He raises an eyebrow, smirking. “Sure, what’s up?”

The crowd quiets, their eyes on you, and you feel exposed. You take a deep breath, words spilling out. “I… I really like you. I have for a while. I just thought you should know.”

The air shifts. Minho’s smirk turns cruel, and he laughs—a sharp, cutting sound. “You like me? That’s cute.” He leans closer, voice loud enough for everyone. “But I don’t waste time on virgins.”

The words hit like a punch. Laughter erupts around you, his friends howling, strangers snickering. Your face burns, humiliation swallowing you whole. Minho’s eyes glint with amusement, and you realize he’s enjoying this—your pain is his entertainment.

You turn and run, shoving through the crowd, their laughter chasing you. The cold night air hits you as you stumble outside, and the sky opens, rain pouring down in heavy sheets. You don’t care. You keep walking, sobs mixing with the rain, until you’re soaked and shivering in the middle of the street, your heart in pieces.

Headlights pierce the rain, and you barely hear the car engine until it’s beside you. A door slams, and someone shouts your name.

“Y/N? What the hell—are you okay?”

You turn, blinking through the downpour, and see Hoseok running toward you, his jacket already off, his face etched with worry. He’s your brother’s best friend, a constant in your life since childhood—always teasing, always there with a warm smile. But now, there’s no smile, just raw concern in his dark eyes.

“I’m fine,” you choke out, but your voice breaks, and the lie is pathetic.

“You’re not fine,” he says softly, stepping closer. He drapes his jacket over your shoulders, shielding you from the rain, and pulls you into his arms. His warmth is immediate, grounding, and you collapse against his chest, sobbing harder. His arms tighten, one hand stroking your wet hair, his voice a soothing murmur. “Shh, I’ve got you, sweetheart. You’re okay now.”

He doesn’t push for answers, just holds you there in the street, letting you cry until your sobs quiet. “Come on,” he says gently, guiding you to his car. “Let’s get you warm.”

The passenger seat is a haven, the heater blasting, and Hoseok slides in beside you, his eyes never leaving your face. “You’re soaked,” he says, his voice soft as he reaches into the backseat for a fluffy blanket. He wraps it around you, tucking it under your chin like you’re something precious, then grabs a towel and starts drying your hair, his touch careful and tender.

“You don’t have to do this,” you mumble, but he shakes his head, smiling softly.

“I want to. Let me take care of you, okay?”

He drives to his apartment, one hand on the wheel, the other resting on your knee, a quiet reassurance. When you get inside, he leads you to the couch, wrapping you in another blanket before disappearing to grab one of his hoodies. It’s soft, oversized, and smells like him—warm, like cedar and sunshine.

“Put this on,” he says, handing it to you. “You’ll feel better.”

You change in the bathroom, the hoodie swallowing your frame, and when you return, he’s waiting with a mug of chamomile tea, steam curling from the surface. “Here,” he says, pressing it into your hands. “Drink.”

You curl up on the couch, the warmth of the mug seeping into your palms, and he sits beside you, close enough that his thigh brushes yours. The silence is comfortable, but he’s watching you, waiting, and finally, you tell him everything—Minho’s words, the laughter, the humiliation. Your voice cracks, and Hoseok’s jaw clenches, his hands tightening into fists.

“He had no right to say that to you,” he says, his voice low, controlled, but you can hear the anger simmering. “He’s a fucking asshole.”

You shrug, staring into your tea. “Maybe he’s right. Maybe I’m just… not enough.”

Hoseok’s head snaps up, his eyes blazing. “Don’t you dare say that. You’re more than enough. You’re fucking incredible, Y/N, and he’s too stupid to see it.”

You blink at him, tears welling up, but they’re different now—less about pain and more about the way he’s looking at you, like you’re the most precious thing he’s ever seen. You set the mug down, scooting closer, and before you can overthink it, you whisper, “Then teach me. Please.”

He freezes, his breath catching. “Y/N…”

“I mean it,” you say, your voice trembling but determined. “I’m tired of feeling like this—like I’m not good enough. Teach me how to be… wanted.”

His eyes search yours, torn between desire and guilt. “You’re my best friend’s little sister,” he says, almost to himself, like he’s trying to talk himself out of it.

But you lean closer, your hand resting on his chest, feeling his heart race. “Please, Hobi. I trust you.”

He groans, running a hand through his hair. “Fuck, Y/N, you’re killing me.” But then he’s cupping your face, his thumb brushing your cheek, and he nods. “Okay. But we go slow. You tell me to stop, and I stop. Got it?”

You nod, your heart pounding, and he leans in, his lips brushing yours in a kiss so soft it feels like a promise.

Hoseok’s kiss is a revelation—slow, sweet, and so tender it makes your chest ache. His hand cups your jaw, his thumb stroking your cheek as he deepens the kiss, his tongue teasing your lips until you open for him. You whimper softly, and he hums, pleased, his warmth flooding your senses.

“So soft,” he murmurs against your lips, pulling back just enough to meet your eyes. “You taste so sweet, baby.”

Your face heats, but you’re too lost in him to care. He kisses you again, slower, his free hand sliding to your waist, resting lightly, like he’s savoring every touch. “Relax,” he whispers, his lips brushing your jaw, then your neck, leaving a trail of warmth. “Just let me take care of you.”

His touches are gentle, reverent, his fingers tracing the curve of your hip over the hoodie, then slipping just under the hem to graze your skin. You shiver, your breath hitching, and he pulls back, his eyes searching yours. “Okay?” he asks, his voice low, and you nod, clutching his shirt tighter.

He smiles, kissing you again, and his hand slides higher, brushing the underside of your breast through your bra. You gasp, arching into him, and he pauses, watching your face. “Still okay?”

“Yes,” you breathe, and he groans softly, his thumb brushing your nipple through the fabric, sending sparks through you. “That’s it,” he murmurs, his voice rough with desire. “You’re doing so good, baby.”

He keeps his touches light, teasing, until you’re trembling, your body aching for more. Then he pulls back, resting his forehead against yours, both of you breathing hard. “I want to see you,” he says softly, his hands tugging at the hoodie. “Can I?”

You nod, nervous but trusting, and he helps you pull it off, leaving you in your bra and leggings. His eyes darken, but his touch remains gentle, his fingers tracing your collarbone, then down your arms. “You’re so beautiful,” he says, his voice almost a whisper, and you feel it in your bones—he means it.

He kisses you again, deeper this time, and guides you to lie back on the couch, his body hovering over yours. His lips trail down your neck, your chest, kissing the swell of your breasts above your bra. “Can I take this off?” he asks, his fingers at the clasp, and you nod, your heart racing.

He unhooks it with care, sliding the straps down your arms, and when you’re bare beneath him, he just stares for a moment, his eyes soft. “Fuck, Y/N,” he murmurs, leaning down to kiss your skin, his lips warm and reverent. He takes one nipple into his mouth, his tongue swirling, and you moan, your hands gripping his hair.

“Hoseok,” you whimper, and he groans, the vibration sending shivers through you. He moves to the other side, his hands cupping your breasts, worshipping every inch of you. “You’re perfect,” he whispers, and you believe him.

His hands slide to your leggings, pausing at the waistband. “Still okay?” he asks, and you nod, lifting your hips to help him slide them off, along with your underwear. You’re completely exposed now, but there’s no fear—only trust, only want.

He kneels between your thighs, his eyes locked on yours, and his fingers brush your inner thighs, teasing the edge of your core. “Tell me if it’s too much,” he says, and you nod, too overwhelmed to speak.

His fingers slide through your folds, slow and deliberate, and you moan, your hips bucking. He’s gentle but precise, circling your clit with just the right pressure, his eyes never leaving your face. “Look at me, baby,” he says, and you force your eyes open, meeting his gaze. “That’s it. Such a good girl.”

He slides a finger inside you, slow and careful, and you gasp, the stretch new but not painful. He adds another, curling them just right, and you’re trembling, your hands gripping the couch. “Hoseok,” you whimper, and he groans, his forehead resting against yours.

“You’re so tight,” he mutters, his voice strained. “Fuck, you feel so good.”

He keeps going, his fingers working you expertly, his thumb brushing your clit until the pleasure builds to a peak. “You’re doing so well,” he praises, his voice a constant stream of adoration. “You’re perfect.”

When you come, it’s sudden and intense, your body shaking as you cry out his name. He holds you through it, his lips on your temple, whispering, “Good girl. You’re so beautiful like this.”

But he’s not done. He kisses his way down your body, his lips lingering on your stomach, your thighs, until he’s settled between them. “Can I taste you?” he asks, his voice rough, and you nod, your body buzzing with need.

His tongue flicks against your clit, and you moan, your hands gripping his hair. He’s relentless, licking and sucking, his hands holding your thighs apart as he worships you. “You taste so fucking like heaven,” he groans, and the vibration sends you spiraling. He makes you come again, your body trembling under him, and when he pulls back, his lips glistening, he looks at you like you’re his entire world.

He climbs back up, kissing you deeply, and you taste yourself on his lips. “You’re everything,” he murmurs, and you feel it—the shift from worship to need, the line between you blurring.

“I want you,” you whisper, your hands tugging at his shirt. “Please, Hobi.”

He groans, kissing you hard, and pulls back to strip off his clothes. His body is lean, muscled, and when he’s naked, you can’t help but stare—he’s gorgeous, hard and ready for you. He grabs a condom from his wallet, rolling it on, and settles between your thighs, his eyes locked on yours.

“Tell me if it hurts,” he says, his voice strained, and you nod, gripping his shoulders. He pushes in slowly, just the tip, and you gasp, the stretch intense but bearable. “Okay?” he asks, and you nod, urging him on.

He goes deeper, inch by inch, pausing when he’s fully inside to let you adjust. “Fuck, you’re so tight,” he groans, his forehead against yours. “You feel so good.”

You’re trembling, but you move your hips, testing it. “Move,” you whisper, and he does, starting slow, each thrust careful and deliberate. It feels good—better than you ever imagined—and when you moan his name, he loses control, his thrusts growing harder, faster.

“Such a good girl,” he groans, his hands gripping your hips. “Taking me so well.”

The pleasure builds, and when he angles his hips just right, hitting that spot inside you, you cry out, your nails digging into his back. “Hoseok, I’m—”

“Come for me, baby,” he growls, and you do, your orgasm crashing over you, your vision white-hot. He follows, his thrusts erratic, and when he comes, he buries his face in your neck, groaning your name.

You’re both panting, sweaty and spent, and Hoseok collapses beside you, pulling you into his arms. “You okay?” he asks, his voice soft, and you nod, snuggling closer.

“More than okay,” you whisper, and he smiles, kissing your forehead.

He gets up, grabbing a warm washcloth from the bathroom, and cleans you gently, his touch reverent. Then he helps you into the bath he’s run, the water soothing your sore muscles. He sits on the edge, washing your back, his lips brushing your shoulder.

When you’re done, he wraps you in a towel, handing you another of his oversized shirts. “You look better in this than I do,” he grins, and you laugh, pulling it on.

In the kitchen, he makes you a plate of snacks—crackers, cheese, fruit—and you sit on the counter, eating while he stands between your legs, stealing bites and kissing you between them. Later, you’re curled up in his bed, his arms around you, his lips brushing your hair. “No one gets to make you feel small,” he murmurs. “You’re mine now.”

You smile, your heart full, and fall asleep to his heartbeat.

It’s been three days since that night, and you can’t stop thinking about Hoseok—his touch, his voice, the way he made you feel like you were the only thing that mattered. You’re at your apartment, trying to read, but your mind keeps drifting to his hands on your skin, his lips whispering praise. The ache between your thighs is unbearable, and you know you need him again.

You text him, fingers trembling: Can I come over?

His reply is instant: Get here now, baby.

You’re at his door in twenty minutes, heart racing. He opens it, wearing a loose t-shirt and sweatpants, hair messy, and the sight of him makes your mouth dry. “Hey,” he says, his smile soft but his eyes dark with want.

“Hey,” you whisper, and then you’re kissing him, desperate and hungry, your hands tugging at his shirt. He groans, pulling you inside, and kicks the door shut.

“Missed me?” he teases, his lips brushing your ear, and you nod, breathless.

“So much.”

He lifts you, your legs wrapping around his waist, and carries you to his bedroom, laying you down gently. “I’ve been thinking about you too,” he murmurs, stripping off his shirt. “Couldn’t stop.”

He kisses you, slow and deep, his hands sliding under your shirt, pushing it up and off. His lips trail down your neck, your chest, worshipping every inch of you. “You’re so fucking perfect,” he says, his voice rough, and you shiver, arching into him.

He takes his time, kissing your breasts, your stomach, your thighs, until you’re trembling with need. “Hoseok, please,” you whimper, and he groans, pulling off your jeans and underwear in one motion.

He settles between your thighs, his tongue flicking against your clit, and you moan, your hands gripping his hair. He’s relentless, licking and sucking, his fingers sliding inside you, curling just right. The pleasure builds fast, and you come hard, your body shaking as you cry out his name. “Fuck, you taste so good,” he groans, but he doesn’t stop, his tongue working you through the aftershocks until you’re trembling again.

“Hoseok,” you gasp, oversensitive but craving more, and he smirks, kissing his way back up your body. His fingers replace his tongue, circling your clit with expert precision, and you’re spiraling again, your second orgasm hitting before you can catch your breath. You’re shaking, moaning his name, and he’s whispering praise, his voice a low growl. “That’s it, baby. You’re so beautiful when you come for me.”

He’s not done. He slides two fingers inside you, pumping slowly, his thumb brushing your clit, and you’re so sensitive it’s almost too much, but you don’t want him to stop. “One more,” he murmurs, kissing your neck. “Give me one more, baby.” His fingers curl, hitting that spot, and you’re gone, your third orgasm crashing over you, your vision blurring as you scream his name.

You’re panting, trembling, but he’s still touching you, his lips on your skin, his fingers teasing you gently. “You okay?” he asks, his voice soft, and you nod, pulling him closer.

“I want you,” you whisper, your voice hoarse. “Please, Hobi.”

He groans, kicking off his sweatpants, and grabs a condom, rolling it on. He settles over you, his eyes locked on yours. “Sure?” he asks, and you nod, pulling him closer.

“Please, Hobi.”

He pushes in slowly, and you gasp, the stretch familiar but intense. “God, Y/N,” he groans, pausing when he’s fully inside. “You’re everything.”

He moves, slow at first, each thrust deep and deliberate, and you’re moaning, your nails digging into his back. The sensitivity from your orgasms makes every movement electric, and when he angles his hips just right, hitting that spot inside you, you’re trembling again. “Hoseok, I’m—”

“Come for me, baby,” he growls, his thrusts harder, faster, and you do, your fourth orgasm hitting like a tidal wave, your body shaking uncontrollably. He’s relentless, fucking you through it, and you’re gasping, your body so sensitive you’re not sure you can take more.

But he keeps going, his hands gripping your hips, his lips on your neck. “One more,” he murmurs, his voice rough. “You can do it, baby.” His fingers find your clit, circling gently, and you’re crying out, your fifth orgasm building impossibly fast. It’s overwhelming, your body trembling as you come again, your vision white-hot, your voice hoarse from moaning his name.

He follows, his thrusts erratic, and collapses beside you, pulling you into his arms. “Fuck, Y/N,” he pants, kissing your forehead. “You’re unreal.”

You’re both panting, and he holds you close, his voice soft. “You’re mine, you know that?”

You smile, snuggling closer. “Yeah. And you’re mine.”

You wake to Hoseok’s fingers tracing patterns over your bare back, the morning light streaming through his window, golden and soft. You’re tangled in his sheets, one leg hooked over his, your cheek against his chest, his heartbeat steady beneath you.

He’s awake, propped on one elbow, watching you with a sleepy smile. “Hey,” he whispers, his voice rough. “Good morning, pretty girl.”

Your face heats, and you bury it against his skin, mumbling, “Morning…”

He chuckles, kissing the top of your head. “How do you feel?”

“Warm. Sore. Embarrassed?” you admit, and he laughs, the sound warm and bright.

“Embarrassed? After last night?” He tilts your chin up, his eyes sparkling. “Don’t be. Last night was… everything.”

You bite your lip, your heart thudding. “It was.”

There’s a quiet moment, the kind that makes your stomach flutter with possibility. You shift, propping yourself up, and ask, “You don’t regret it, right?”

His eyes widen, and he sits up, pulling you with him. “Never,” he says firmly. “I just don’t want this to be a one-time or two-time thing only.”

Your heart stutters, hope blooming. “Me either.”

His smile is blinding, relief washing over his face. “Good.” He leans in, brushing his lips over yours, slow and sweet. “Let me take you on a proper date,” he murmurs. “Breakfast first. Somewhere nice. And later… we’ll talk about telling your brother.”

You blink, pulling back. “Wait—you actually want to tell him?”

He laughs, nuzzling your cheek. “Eventually. Not today. Let’s enjoy this part first.”

You grin, your heart lighter than it’s been in days. “Okay.”

Weeks later, you and Hoseok are a mess of giggles and stolen kisses, your relationship a secret bubble of joy. You’re at his apartment, sprawled on his couch, fighting over the last slice of pizza like it’s a matter of life and death.

“It’s mine!” you declare, holding the slice above your head, out of his reach.

Hoseok grins, tackling you gently, his hands tickling your sides. “Oh, you think you can win this, baby? Think again!”

You’re laughing so hard you can’t breathe, the pizza forgotten as he pins you to the couch, his face hovering over yours. “Surrender,” he teases, his nose brushing yours.

“Never!” you gasp, but then he’s kissing you, slow and silly, and you melt, wrapping your arms around his neck.

“Fine,” you mumble against his lips. “You can have the pizza.”

He pulls back, grinning. “Knew you’d see reason.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling, your heart so full it hurts. Later, you’re curled up under a blanket, watching a cheesy rom-com, his arm around you, when your phone buzzes. It’s a text from your brother, Jae.

Jae: You and Hoseok are disgustingly cute. When were you gonna tell me?

You freeze, showing Hoseok the screen. He reads it, then bursts out laughing, pulling you closer. “Guess we are caught already,” he says, his eyes twinkling.

“You’re not freaked out?” you ask, surprised.

“Nah,” he says, kissing your temple. “Jae’ll get over it. Besides, I’m too busy being obsessed with you.”

You blush, hiding your face in his chest, but he tilts your chin up, kissing you softly. “You’re stuck with me now, you know,” he murmurs.

“Good,” you whisper, and as he pulls you closer, you know you’re exactly where you belong—wrapped in his warmth, his chaos, his love.

A/n: I want Hobi too... 😭😭 Thanks for reading. Like, comment, reblog. 💜💜

Taglist: @army-geniuslab . @jeonjamiekim . @moonjinniecafe  . @minpdrecs . @bontensbabygirl . @this-most-assuredly-counts . @taolucha . @mytaegiheart . @dear-mono . @lilyficrec . @janeluvwonuuuu . @k-fan-fics . @iztrouble . @pikajooni . @namluvili . @alonahh . @paradise172 . @stay-tiny-things . @micdropitlikeitshot . @softhaes . @littlebluhellfire . @niqueesthings . @nocturnalsingularity . @syudoeslove . @namjoonbaby17-blog . @mar-lo-pap . @naesarang07 . @diame93 . @themwordsblog . @crizoosblog

[maryseesthings]

soft love || jjk 18+

pairing : jungkook x reader

genre : soft love ( koo is whipped for oc )

synopsis : he praises her insecurities while making love to her, he loves her so so much

oneshot —

Letting your body fall onto the soft mattress beneath you, you let your eyes close feeling your boyfriend hover above you

his soft and gentle kisses travel from your neck to the spot right behind your ear

"you're so beautiful, have I ever told you that?" he whispers into your ear, chuckling to himself

"You... tell me everyday" you barely make out a sentence, feeling his hands caressing your waist

"Hmm, you deserve to know" he whispers quickly, before letting his kisses work up your cheek, before smothering kisses all over your face

"If only you saw yourself the way I see you, you wouldn't be able to look away from yourself" he whispers, hands roaming all over you

He kisses his way down your shoulders, and stops at your waist

"Youre perfect, your body, your eyes, your lips, your everything baby" he whispers, lightly peppering kisses on your stomach

"Koo..." You whimper out, hands making its way to his hair, lightly pulling onto it, earning a soft groan to slip out from his mouth

"I hate when you look in the mirror and start comparing yourself to other girls" he's already made his way back up, hands slipping into your shirt and his mouth smashed on yours

"Wish I could make love to you everyday so you can finally see how beautiful you are" he whispers in between his kisses

Your legs wrap around his waist, pulling him closer, your hands around his neck doing the same

"You make me feel so pretty" you whisper out, both of you locking eyes with each other

"Wanna make you feel prettier everyday, my pretty girl" He coo'es

He brings his hands to intertwine with yours, pushing into you slowly

"So so pretty" "My pretty girl" "Shit you're gorgeous baby"

His mouth never leaving the sweet spot behind your ear, whispering things in between his pushes, making him smile whenever you whisper his name out loud

"Let go, l've got you" He whispers, pressing a kiss onto your lips ever so gently, as if you'd break if he pressed any harder

His name slips out your mouth one last time before the both of you practically lean onto each other, catching your breath

The both of you lay next to each other, before he takes you into his arms

"Bet you feel prettier already" he teases, causing you to playfully hit his shoulder

"I feel like the prettiest girl in the world" you whisper, kissing his cheek, earning a big smile from him

"Yeah? Guess we'd have to do this everyday for the next couple of weeks so you'd feel like the prettiest girl in the universe" he whispers, hiding his face in the crook of your neck, pulling you close

"And what happens once i do? We stop?" You tease back, feeling him smile against your shoulder

"Never baby, I'll never stop making you feel like you're the most beautiful girl in my eyes"

ugh I miss koo, comment and reblog babies 🥹

[maryseesthings]

take care of me | jhs

You’d never trade quiet, sleepless nights with your boyfriend for anything in the world, even when sometimes it feels like the world is falling apart around you.

Pairing: Hoseok x Reader

Rating: Explicit

Genre/Trope: Established relationship, smut, fluff

Word Count: 3,066

Content Warning: Cunnilingus, vaginal fingering, handjob, multiple orgasms, overstimulation, vaginal sex

A/N: Repost in honor of Jay-Slut.

Soundtrack: Sabrina Claudio - Belong To You (ft. 6lack) [Remix]

Gentle. Always gentle. A long time ago, you used to hate being treated gently. The vulnerability that came with someone taking care of you, being soft with you, knowing every little detail about you enough to shape their world around you… it was hard. Scary. Gross, even. You wanted to be tougher than that because one day that gentleness would end and how would that leave you? 

Empty. 

That is, until you met him. 

You felt Hoseok wrap his arms around your waist, pulling you snug against his chest so he could tuck his face into the crook of your neck. His warm breath tickled goosebumps across your shoulders and arms, but his grip kept you grounded. His hands pressed into your sides to hold you in place. Like a weighted blanket, you felt secure with him on his side behind you, the rise of his chest comforting as he breathed against your back. 

His warmth and the pattern of his breathing was almost enough to lull you back to sleep. You couldn’t tell what time it was. The storm raging outside knocked the power out just before the two of you climbed into bed, but you assumed only an hour or so had passed. 

“Hey,” Hoseok whispered in your ear. You let out a small ‘mmm’ in response and nestled backwards into his arms even more deeply. “Are you having trouble sleeping?” 

You nodded, eyes still closed. A crack of lightning briefly lit up your dark bedroom with white light bright enough to penetrate your eyelids. 

“Want me to make you some tea?” 

Forcing your eyes open, you twisted around to face him. Hoseok’s hair was messy, wavy strands flopped in every direction. You reached up to brush his bangs away from his eyes. He’d been growing out his hair and you quite liked being able to ruffle the strands around, watching them fluff up and flop to the side. Especially the hair at the back of his neck that was now longer than you’d ever seen it. You liked the way it made him look rugged and slightly unkempt; the exact opposite of your responsible, well-organized Hobi. 

At this point, you were just barely able to make out the details of his features in the dark. But you felt the way he leaned into you and you knew to meet him halfway so he could give you a light peck on the forehead. Gentle. Always gentle. 

“No, it’s okay,” you insisted. You gave him a tap on the nose. “You’re too considerate sometimes.” 

“Never.” 

“Yes you are.” 

“Only a little bit.” 

“A lotta bit.” 

A pout was his next rebuttal. You reached out to press your fingers against his lips as though you were trying to smooth them out. When you moved to pull away, Hoseok caught your hand and pressed it against his mouth again. He kissed your palm, then each fingertip. The softness of his touch sent shivers down your arm. 

“It’s because I love you so much,” he murmured, his voice tired and thick. 

Before you could respond, he cupped your face and pulled you towards him. His lips moved against yours softly, guiding you into a slow dance you’d only dance with him. A smooth hand ran down your side to stop at your hip, squeezing it lightly. Your fingers found Hoseok’s hair, tangling in the loose waves at the back of his head and tugging just enough to make him sigh against your mouth. You captured his bottom lip between your teeth when he slightly parted his lips, taking advantage of the opportunity to nibble and suck on it. 

“You’re gonna start something,” Hoseok spoke gruffly when he pulled away. You tugged at his hair again and got the quietest of moans out of him. “I’m serious.” 

Even if he hadn’t said anything, his growing erection pressed against your body said enough. 

“Maybe I want to start something.”

The room stood still, shadows from the swaying tree branches outside the only movements. Eventually, Hoseok shifted, pressing his chest against yours with enough force to roll you onto your back. Wordlessly, he shifted beneath the blankets to hover above you. His forearms rested on either side of your head while you felt him spread your legs apart with his knee. Slotting himself between your thighs, he lazily rolled his hips into yours. You whimpered from the pressure and the heat radiating off of him. Soon you felt that heat on your neck as Hoseok sucked hickeys onto you, swirling his tongue against your skin. In the past, you thought making love was boring, that you needed to be treated roughly in order for sex to be fun. You were accustomed to being used. Sex with Hoseok, though? It was heated and weightless. 

He left wet kisses along your throat while his hands gripped the hem of your t-shirt. Well, his t-shirt, an old baggy one he never wore anymore. He cradled the back of your head as he pulled it off, careful to rest you back onto your pillow. 

“It’s so cold,” you whispered. 

“Mhm.” 

Hoseok pulled the blanket up, making himself disappear beneath it in the process. With him out of sight, you lifted up the blanket slightly to peek at him, only to drop it in favor of squeezing the bed sheets beneath you as you felt him drag your underwear down your legs. He grabbed the back of your thighs and pushed forward so your legs were lifted up, feet against his shoulders and pussy on display. The inability to see what he was doing under the blanket only heightened your desire and you felt your arousal drip down. 

One hand pressed hot into your hip where your thigh creased from the angle Hoseok had your legs pushed up. The other slipped between your thighs. 

“Hobiii,” you moaned, head slightly lifting off the bed when you felt his fingers swipe at your wetness gathering around your entrance. 

He coated his fingertips before sliding his fingers upwards, parting your lips until he got to your clit and began circling it. You clenched, though the way he had you folded into yourself made it difficult for you to get any friction to provide relief. Instead he kept you raised and spread open, fingers slippery and sticky. It was easy for him to slip two fingers inside of you, even easier to hit that sweet spot on your front wall to have you lifting off the bed again. The way he pumped into you was sleepy and slow, but you hadn’t expected anything faster. Hoseok shouldn’t have even been doing this; you knew how exhausted he was. He should have been sleeping. 

Instead, you felt him shift, his shoulders dropping down slightly. And then you felt the tip of his tongue flick against your clit. 

“Fuck, babyy, oh fuck.” You immediately let go of the bed sheets and slipped your arms beneath the blanket, fingers digging into Hoseok’s hair. 

“Mmhmm, uhh huhh,” Hoseok moaned into your pussy, his lips closing around your clit. He suckled it softly, applying such light pressure while his tongue licked at you that you felt like you were going to explode. 

“More, baby,” you whined. “Faster.” 

He shook his head, smearing his lips with your arousal, and you weren’t sure if that was an answer to your requests or just him enjoying his late night snack. Likely the former since he returned to gently sucking your clit and taking his sweet time pumping his fingers in and out of you. 

“Please, Hobi.” 

Begging usually got you what you wanted, especially when you used the breathy, high-pitched, pornographic whine that you knew drove him crazy. To add to your plea, you tugged a bit harder on his hair, dragging your fingers through his bangs to pull the strands out of his face. 

Suddenly, his mouth left your pussy and your next whine was that of disappointment. When his tongue returned it was to lick along your lips, and he occasionally pressed kisses everywhere but your clit. 

“It’s bedtime,” you heard him speak from the darkness. “I’m going slow to lull my baby to sleep, okay?” Then his lips were burning into you once again. 

Your build up was gradual, a growing throb as your clit became even hotter and more swollen with every lap of Hoseok’s tongue and curl of his fingers. You squirmed and arched your back beneath him, cursing him for taking his time with you even when you both knew you loved it. The fact that your sheets were already soaked through was a testament to that. Who the fuck cared if you were tired and supposed to be sleeping? Every drag of Hoseok’s hot tongue across your clit, every drip of his saliva coating your pussy had him practically exorcizing your soul from your body. 

But when Hoseok unexpectedly slipped a third finger inside of you and sucked your clit with a tiny bit more force, he finally got you unraveling in a flash of white light that you weren’t sure was you cumming or the lightning outside. 

Your legs twitched uncontrollably where they’d flopped over Hoseok’s shoulders and down his back. Exhaustion made them heavy, and you struggled to move them while Hoseok wouldn’t let go of you. He’d removed his fingers from you and had both his hands on the backs of your thighs, keeping you spread open as he continued sucking your clit. 

“Hobi, oh my god, please, I came already,” you whimpered, pulling his hair to get his attention. He moaned a response into your skin and began lapping against you, flicking your clit from side to side. Your body jerked forward, but Hoseok’s grip on your thighs kept you pushed down. 

“Jung Hoseok.” 

Rather than sound threatening, your voice cracked and Hoseok had the audacity to laugh. 

Tears welled up in your eyes and your body jerked again when you felt his teeth gently graze the top of your clit. A guttural moan was torn from your throat as you came a second time, squeezing Hoseok’s hair so tightly you were sure you’d ripped a few strands out accidentally. 

Finally, finally, Hoseok emerged from beneath the blanket. He crawled up to hover over you once again, chest heaving and arms caging you in. 

“It was hard to breathe under there,” he laughed again. 

You opened your mouth to speak but all you could do was whimper once again. 

“What was that, baby?” Hoseok drawled. He dipped his head down to nip at your earlobe and your eyes fluttered. 

“Felt good,” you finally found your voice. 

“Better than tea?” 

“Much better.” 

Hoseok chuckled, sleepy eyes meeting yours through his bangs that fell forward, slightly obscuring his face. The storm outside wasn’t raging as loudly against the windows, but the occasional lightning bolt still lit up your bedroom, allowing you to see more flickers of his face. You brought your fingers to his throat, running them along his Adam’s apple until you reached the dip where his collarbones met, before venturing down his bare chest. When your fingers dragged down his abdomen, you felt Hoseok suck in his stomach and heard him hiss lightly. 

“What about you?” you whispered. You reached the waistband of his briefs, but you didn’t move any lower. Still, you could feel Hoseok’s cock twitch against you. 

“I’m okay, baby. Don’t worry about me. I want you to sleep.” 

He nuzzled his face into the crook of your neck for a moment before he began to pull away from you. There he was, being too considerate again. How many times had he insisted he didn’t need anything from you? You’d never met someone more selfless. It wasn’t fair. 

You quickly slipped your hand into his underwear and squeezed his cock, rolling your palm around the tip where precum already started to drip out. 

“Shit, babe…” Hoseok stayed nuzzled in the crook of your neck and bucked into your hand with languid thrusts. There wasn’t a desire to chase a high, but more so a desire to relish in the warmth of your hand, the firmness of your grip, the comforting smell of your body wash. 

“Is it embarrassing,” he took a deep breath and pulled away from your neck to look you in the eyes as he thrusted again, “that I could cum right now, just from this?” 

“Maybe a little bit.” 

Your honesty and the giggle that followed brought a frown to Hoseok’s face. You had no intention of letting him cum in your hands. Wrapping your arms around his neck, you smoothed out his frown when you pulled him into a kiss. Your hands traveled the lean muscles of his back, reaching down to squeeze his ass. 

“Feisty.” You felt him smirk against your lips. Hooking your fingers beneath the waistband of his underwear, you pulled the clothing down his thighs and waited for him to sit back to completely remove them. 

“Come up here,” you ordered him, but Hoseok shook his head. 

“I’m too tired to fuck your mouth. Let me put my energy into fucking you the right way.” 

You felt a shiver down your spine and nodded silently as you spread your legs wider to accommodate him. 

Hoseok ran his hands down your legs until he could reach around to the back of your thighs. Pushing them up, he folded you nearly in half as he had when he ate you out, keeping you slightly elevated and wide open for him. Since his hands were occupied, you reached between your bodies to guide him. Hoseok’s breath hitched when you lined his cock up with your entrance. 

He sunk into you slowly, taking his time slipping inch by inch to allow you to adjust and to savor the high that came with that initial thrust. Your mind was still foggy from two orgasms and a lack of sleep, so you appreciated his thoughtfulness as he eased into you. 

“Mmmm,” he sighed once he bottomed out and your bodies were flush against each other. Leaning forward slightly, Hoseok rested both of your legs on his shoulders. 

“Yeah baby?” Your voice trembled as you watched him brush his lips along your calf, planting a soft kiss at your ankle. His hands fell to your waist to hold your hips down as he drew back. He pulled out of you as far as he could just to slowly ease into you once again. Each thrust was thoughtful, intentional. His strokes were slow, but long and deep. 

“You know you leave me speechless,” Hoseok groaned, pushing a bit deeper in his next thrust. Your whimpers got louder when you felt him brush your cervix, his fingers pushing you hard into the bed. 

Hoseok was definitely the biggest you’d ever been with, but even more importantly, he was the most fluid in his movements. He knew how to move his body with flexibility and grace, which for you was the most satisfying aspect of sleeping with him. You never had to put in work to get yourself off; every roll of Hoseok’s hips made his cock glide against your g-spot and his pelvis stimulate your clit. You weren’t an object for Hoseok to use to get off. No, Hoseok put your pleasure in the center of everything he did. 

Although sometimes that wasn’t necessary. He brought his fingers to your clit, but you swatted him away. 

“I’m tapped out,” you sighed. You really didn’t need him to try to make you cum three times. What was this, porn?? Two orgasms was plenty. 

“Are you really?” he smiled, a hand creeping back towards your clit. You swatted at him again. “Alright, alright. I’ll cum without you like an asshole.”

“Stop being so dramatic.” You clenched your muscles around his cock and Hoseok let out a low moan. If he was ready to bust from a simple handjob, you were sure he was having to work hard to keep it together now that he was inside you. 

“Do that again for me, baby,” he said in a shaky breath that confirmed your suspicions. Another moan rumbled from him when you did as you were told, tightening around him and pressing your thighs against his abdomen. “Fuck, fuck,” he hissed through clenched teeth. 

You loved to watch Hoseok fall apart. The tip of his tongue poked out of his mouth when he bit down on the muscle as he was concentrating on each gentle snap of his hips against yours. His strong hands squeezed your waist to ground himself once his thrusts became a bit erratic. His messy hair fell into his eyes when he leaned his head slightly forward to watch your bodies collide. 

“Hobi,” you moaned, reaching up to pull him into a kiss. “Cum for me, baby. You’ve been so good for me.” 

“You,” he took a deep breath, “You are so fucking sexy.” 

Your legs fell down to wrap around Hoseok’s waist as he leaned into your kiss. One hand stayed at your waist while another slid down to grip your thigh against his hip as Hoseok picked up his pace. His breathing came out ragged against your cheek, his lips sucking little kisses along your jaw until he was back to marking up your neck. 

He squeezed you hard when he came, whimpering and moaning your name into your neck like the sweetest lullaby. When he slowly eased his body on top of yours you welcomed the pressure of his weight, even though it was difficult to breathe. 

“Better than tea?” 

Hoseok snorted, but you saw his eyes sparkle in the moonlight as he gently pulled out of you and found his spot beside you once again. “Much better.” 

His long arms dragged you backwards so you were pressed against each other with chests still heaving. 

“Thank you,” you said after a moment. You were beginning to crash from your orgasmic high. Darkness eased your eyelids lower and lower until you couldn’t bear to open them again. 

“You know I’ll always take care of you.” Hoseok nuzzled your neck and squeezed you against his chest. “I hope you sleep well, baby.” 

You murmured a “you, too” and fell asleep to the steady pattern of Hoseok’s breathing and the knowledge that there was no one else who could care for you the way he did.

@rkiveslibrary @mar-lo-pap @likecrazy22 @iadelicacy

[maryseesthings]

LOVE ME, EVEN IF I DON’T DESERVE IT

☽ ݂ ໋Summary: He didn’t believe in love. You wasn’t looking for a one-night stand. But sex became a trap. Feelings a mistake. Jungkook thought he could keep you, even when he kept disappearing whenever he wanted. You stayed, until got tired of waiting. And when you left — he finally understood what losing truly means. He wants you back. Not just your body — your heart. This is a story about passion, pain, and a second chance…

☽ ݂ ໋Couple: Jeon Jungkook/ The Reader, Jungkook/Y/N

☽ ݂ ໋Age restrictions: 18+

☽ ݂ ໋Size: one shot

☽ ݂ ໋Tags: established relationship, toxic relationship, breakup, from ex to…lover?, makeup sex, possessive jungkook, emotional smut, second chance romance, nsfw, smut, heartbreak, angst with a happy ending, hurt/comfort, soft moments, he falls first, he falls harder, dom jungkook, passionate sex, emotional reunion

☽ ݂ ໋From author: The note to this fic was too big 🤭 So read it below after the story 👇🏻💜

☽ ݂ ໋Dedication: To every of my subscribers 💜 You are my strength, inspiration and priceless love 💜

☽ ݂ ໋Permanent tag list: @kelsyx33, @curse-of-art, @someoneelse0109, @kooklovee, @kookiesncreamri, @kooko009, @bhonbhon, @smokinghotstargirl, @mskookie, @minimoninini, @medstudentlifestyle, @bhonbhon, @indigomoonchild09, @goldenboysmuse, @hisdecalcomania17, @ggingerismm, @tranquilreign, @asyr97, @mar-lo-pap, @diame93

☽ ݂ ໋Warning: This fanfic contains strong language, explicit sexual content, emotional manipulation, jealousy, toxic dynamics, and angst. Please read with caution if you’re sensitive to themes of heartbreak, regret, and complicated relationships. English is not my first language, so you may find some grammar mistakes or oddly structured sentences. Thank you for your understanding and kindness. 💜

Jungkook was not a fan of serious relationships. He saw sex as a game, as a way to release tension, as entertainment. So when he met you for the first time, you were supposed to be just another girl for the night.

It was his usual evening, with hookah smoke drifting across the tables and music playing too loud to hear his own thoughts. He was sitting with his friends, relaxed. His appearance was a magnet for girls and he knew that his tattoos and piercings were a kind of beacon. After drinking enough alcohol, he decided to find himself the one for the night. His eyes scanned the room looking for the most attractive one. He spent almost the whole hall with his eyes until he saw you.

You weren't laughing out loud, or dancing defiantly like the others. You were just sitting with your friend, holding a glass of tequila and looking out into the hall, as if you were familiar with everything here, and at the same time, as if you were above it.

He was impressed by this.

And then you met his eyes - briefly, coldly, sharply looking away. And he realized everything: you're not one whom interested in cheap tricks.

He came over ten minutes later.

"You look so bored."

You shrugged your shoulders without looking at him:

"Find yourself another victim. I'm not looking connected for a one-night stand."

Jungkook smiled. He liked complicated girls. But not for their emotional depth, no. It was the excitement. Because of the desire to prove that even those who are not "looking" will eventually end up in his bed.

And you did. He managed to get you to engage in a dialog, and at some point he was even interested in listening to you, he ordered you a few more cocktails, and you became softer. Finally, in the morning, he offered to take you home. Just to take you home, but in same time hoping to kiss you in the hoping for more. And when he got you to your house, he kissed you at the door, as if to save you from falling, and he realized that you had worked exactly according to his plan.

It was only supposed to be one time. He thought he was going to fuck you like everyone else-fast, vivid, and the next day he would forget your name.

But sex with you was different.

It was like you knew his every limit. As if you weren't afraid of its dark, wild side. On the contrary, it seemed to excite you.

After that night, he wrote to you himself. A few days later. And when you agreed to meet him, Jungkook was secretly happy. He knew he could enjoy great, wild sex with you again.

Then he came again. And then again.

You had a temper, you had character, you challenged him, and he loved it. And one day it happened. You started dating. No agreements, no serious words. He just didn't sleep with other woman anymore-at least not at first. You just became his girlfriend. By default. Even though he didn't see himself as a boyfriend.

Especially not a serious one.

He didn't promise love. And he didn't plan to. Only sex that could be obtained anytime, anywhere. You were the kind of girl who liked to experiment, wasn't boring in sex, and could make Jungkook want you all the time.

But then, as with everything that made him quickly catch fire, he lost his passion for your sex, the euphoria wore off, and he demanded something new. And he started cheating. He justified himself by saying that "it happens". That it doesn't mean anything. That he was just a man.

Jungkook started responding to your messages late. He would not show up for days. And every time you had a fight, he followed the usual scenario: he silenced you through kisses, through sex, through his ability to undress you, kiss you, break you into sweet oblivion.

Because he knew you liked having sex with him. Because it had never been like that with anyone else. Jungkook liked your body. Your wet eyes after a fight. Your supple skin. You were different from the others. But he was sure that you, like everyone else, would stay.

And you did. Until in one day something changed.

After another fight and your typical reconciliation, Jungkook agreed to go to Busan with his friends to the ‘Busan Rock Festiva’, which he attended every year. Why didn't he invite you to go along, because it wouldn't have been a vacation for him then. If you were there, he would have to restrain himself, and that's not a place where you need to restrain yourself.

So when he was already there, having a good time with his friends, when the new girls joined them, he got the first call from you that day.

Jungkook didn't answer the first one. When you called him again a few minutes later, he decided to answer you, saying that he there only for a day. Jungkook assumed that you would be angry, but he knew how to calm you down when he returned from Busan.

So Jungkook stepped away from his company and pressed the green button.

"Hey, my babygirl," he said, his voice soft.

"Hey," you said into the phone. Jungkook smiled lightly.

"What's wrong? Are you tired?" he asked, sensing the fatigue in your voice. You exhaled heavily into the phone.

"The day at work sucks," you said. "That's why I desperately need my boyfriend," your voice standing more playfully, but not without a trace of fatigue.

Jungkook is about to say that he's not in Seoul, but he doesn't hear Taehyung appear behind him and unceremoniously shout in his ear.

"Jungkook-ah! Come back to us. There are more girls to come. Why are you stuck here?"

Jungkook knocked Taehyung's arm away with the one he had managed to hug he and quietly showed him that he was talking to you with an angry face. Taehyung put his hand over his mouth and cursed silently.

"I'll be right over," Jungkook said and pushed Taehyung in the back. He apologized quietly, but Jungkook waved his hand and moved on. You were silent into the phone the whole time. "Babygirl, I would love to come to you. But I left for Busan this morning. Didn't I tell you?" the lie came out of Jungkook's mouth as easily as ever.

"No," you answered shortly and calmly. "You didn't tell me you were going to Busan."

Jungkook exhaled theatrically into the phone.

"Didn't I tell you? I told you yesterday when we were together that today is the ‘Busan Rock Festiva’, which my friends and I go to every year," Jungkook convinced you.

"We didn't being together yesterday," you said, still calmly, "We last seen on Monday, and today is Friday."

Jungkook didn't even panic. He knew that if you started to get angry now, he would accept it, and when he returned to Seoul, you would immediately make up.

"Really? Oh fuck, I was so wrapped up in this damn job that a week seemed like one day. Then I told it you on Monday."

"No, and you didn't mention it even on Monday," you insist. Jungkook notices that you are not angry. Your tone is even and calm. Perhaps because you are tired, you don't have the energy to be angry with him? Or have you finally accepted his constant pranks and disappearances?

"Oh sorry doll, I was planning to tell you, and seems to I forgot. It's only for a day, I'll be back tomorrow night. Damn it, we haven't seen each other for a week, I missed you like hell. As soon as I get back to Seoul tomorrow, I'll come see you first," Jungkook said, lowering his voice and moving further away from his group of friends. There was loud music and shouting from the festival participants around him, so he walked to a place where the sounds would be less loud.

"Okay. I'll be waiting for you," you said in the same tone, "Have a fun, Kook," you wished.

"Thank you, babygirl. See you tomorrow?" he asked, and he already caught himself thinking that he didn't like the fact that you didn't react to the fact that he went to Busan. You didn't even ask about the girls Taehyung mentioned.

"I'll see you tomorrow," you replied, and you were the first to hang up.

Jungkook stood there looking at his iPhone screen until it went off. He was really impressed by your reaction. Normally, you would have been interrogating, angry. But your calm reaction was not typical, and for some reason, it touched him. Jungkook put his phone in his pocket and returned to his friends thinking about you and your conversation.

Taehyung apologized to Jungkook that he was going to get in trouble with a girl because of him, but Jungkook brushed it off and continued drinking. The girls in the company were pretty, but for some reason none of them made Jungkook feel like having someone tonight.

One pretty blonde, even knowing that Jungkook had a girlfriend, did not hesitate to flirt with him with obvious hints of sex. She spent the rest of the evening and night hanging around Jungkook, but he didn't respond. He didn't want to have sex. But the girl did not lose hope, and when she asked Jungkook to take her to her camping tent because she could barely stand, she offered to give him a blowjob on the way. He refused even that, even though at any other time he would have shoved his cock deep down this whore's throat.

The next day, Jungkook returned to Seoul late at night. It was eleven o'clock in the evening, and he drove up to your house and texted you that he was there. You repeatedly made many times Jungkook to memorize the password to your house, but he wouldn't even try. He didn't want to bother with the password to your house. Usually when he was here, it was enough that you were with he and you would enter the password yourself.

The answer from you came almost immediately, as if you were waiting. You wrote that you were in the park near your house, sitting by the fountain, waiting for him. Jungkook raised his eyebrows wondering why you were in the park so late instead of at home. He didn't wear his helmet, because the park was close, so he started the bike and rode off.

While he was riding to you, he caught himself thinking that he really missed you. Especially your body and your hospitable pussy. The thought of fucking you tonight made his cock in jeans hard.

He got there in less than five minutes. Jungkook parked his bike in the parking lot near the park entrance and walked to the fountain.

It was almost deserted. You sat on a bench by the fountain, cross-legged and wrapped in a light cardigan. The lanterns cast a soft light on your face. You noticed him and he smiled at you. But in return, he saw coldness in your eyes. Not resentment - no. That would have been easier. Not anger, because he knew how to calm it down. It was the coldness of distance.

He approached to you slowly, confidently, as if he didn't feel anxious. But something inside him was shrinking. He stopped a few steps away, looked at you, and tilted his head slightly to the side:

"My babygirl looks like she didn't miss me," he said with a soft smile, but you didn't smile back. "Hey..." Jungkook sat down next to you, very close, "But I missed you," his voice lowered and his hand dropped to your knee. He put his other arm around you, pulling you closer. Jungkook touched his nose to your jaw and ran it all the way up to your ear, inhaling your scent. He really missed you, even your scent, which had always seemed ordinary to him. Pleasant, but not as evocative as it was now.

"I really missed you," he whispered in your ear. Then Jungkook grabbed your chin with his fingers and turned you to kiss you. You immediately, by inertia, let his tongue into your mouth, touching it timidly with your own.

Jungkook deepened the kiss, feeling a wave of excitement. He didn't understand how, but you rekindled the passion and desire he had at the beginning of your relationship. And just as he was about to pick you up by the waist and carry you to his lap, you gently but firmly pulled away.

"No," you said without raising your voice. You simply stopped his touch, as if it were not Jungkook but someone else. His eyes narrowed. He licked his lips, as if trying to collect himself.

"What's wrong, baby?" he asked quietly.

"We're in the park," you said just as quietly, turning away. Jungkook leaned down to your ear.

"We haven't had sex in this park yet. I wouldn't mind fucking you right here," he whispered. You were frozen, unresponsive. Jungkook kissed your earlobe, and when he realized that you weren't responding to his actions at all, he concluded that you were upset about his trip. "Hey," he called out, "What's wrong? Are you mad at me for going to Busan without you?" Jungkook asked bluntly. You looked in front of you, and then looked down at your lap, at his hand, which was at a dangerous distance from your fly.

"I want to break up," you said firmly. Jungkook felt a twinge inside, but he didn't show it in any way. He pulled away slightly and looked at your face.

"What did you say?" he asked again, unsure. You turned your head to him and looked him in the eye and said clearly and distinctly.

"I want to end our relationship. Let's break up," you said, barely keeping your voice steady. Jungkook held you for a few more seconds and then let go.

"Why?" he asked. He was curious to know the reason. Because your relationship had been going on for six months, the longest Jungkook had ever been in, and you had put up with everything until now. Jungkook thought you didn't mind the relationship like this, and he didn't promise to marry you, but you had great sex and it seemed like that should be enough. Right?

"What's the point, Kook?" you asked instead of answering him right away.

"What do you mean, what's the point?" Jungkook didn't understand, raising his eyebrows. You laughed hysterically but quietly.

"You only come to me when you want to fuck. And I'm not sure it was ever anything special to you. So I'm letting you go, that you were free to do it all you wanted and not hide."

Jungkook exhaled an exasperated breath. You've fought many times, you've asked him to leave, you've suspected him of cheating, but you've never asked him to end the relationship. Something unpleasant stirred inside him. You're asking for an end to the relationship, and it's a good opportunity to finally get rid of your boyfriend's responsibilities.

But why doesn't he want to? Is he used to you being around all the time? That he can come to you at any time and you always accept him? Or is he angry that you asked for a divorce first? He was always the one who left girls first, not the other way around.

Jungkook was silent. His jaw was tense, and there was something dangerous in his eyes-not anger, but that deep, aching annoyance that comes through when you don't expect to be defeated. He stared at you for several long seconds, as if trying to read if that was really all. But you didn't look away.

"Do you really want this?" he asked slowly. His voice was low, dull, and he was trying to hold back his emotions and his pride that you had managed to hurt.

"Yes," you answered simply. Not in a trembling voice, not through tears. And that was worse. It was convincing. Jungkook smiled, and he reached out to hug you. He convinced himself that you were just mad at him as usual.

"Come on, babygirl, you love me. How can we part?" he says confidently, and he wants to kiss you so that you succumb to his charms, but you turn your head away and Jungkook barely manages to avoid kissing the back of your head. He freezes and then pulls away. Jungkook waits silently for you to turn around. You slowly turn your head straight and don't look at him.

"Yes. I loved you. But does that bother you? You've never cared about my feelings!"

It was true. Your feelings didn't mean anything to him. But now he felt his chest tighten. Why? You're just a girl. For whom he can easily find a replacement. But will those girls be like you?

"I'm tired of everything. I'm tired of you." you said honestly.

Jungkook felt as if something sharp was slowly scratching him from the inside. His gaze dropped down to your fingers curled into a fist in his lap, and suddenly he thought he was seeing you for the first time. Without the pink haze of sexual fantasies. Without a convenient role. Just a living, tired girl who loved him and was tired of waiting for a response. But it made him angry. Angry that you take everything so radically now, but not the way you used to.

"What are you tired of?!" he asked, somewhat irritated. You continued to ignore him with your eyes.

"Of your silence, your betrayals, your apologies with your body. I'm not sure if that sex ever brought me anything other than the feeling that you only wanted me when I was naked." A silence fell between you and it was painful for both of you. You were the first to break it. "Pretend like I never existed," you asked, "You're a master at this. You've been doing it our whole relationship."

Jungkook let go of you. He exhaled heavily and ran his hand through his hair. He turned to you and saw that you were sitting there with an indifferent expression.

He slowly stood up from the bench, something inexplicable still pulsating in his chest - it was not anger, not resentment. It was that rare feeling that comes only when you lose something... that you've had for a long time.

He looked down at you for a few seconds, as if trying to find a gap, a crack, a chance to bring you back. But there was none. You sat with your back straight and your fingers slightly trembling, but your eyes were no longer thirsty for him. And in that certainty was your strength.

"Okay," he said dryly, and the word seemed to crunch in the air. He gave you one last glance, trying to look as indifferent as you were, but you didn't even look at him to appreciate it.

Jungkook turned around and walked toward his bike. His figure disappeared among the night lights, and you remained seated, trying not to let the tears break through.

When he was almost out of sight, something stopped him. He looked over his shoulder. You didn't look back at him. And it was this indifference - not fake, not tortured, but real - that made him take a confused breath.

"I didn't cheat on you, this time," he threw into the darkness. "I didn't even touch her."

You couldn't hear him. And those words were empty, because Jungkook had done this many times before, without noticing how each time he left deep cuts in your soul.

He got on his bike without starting the engine, just looking at the empty park. And again he caught himself thinking: why the hell does it hurt?

It was the first night he came back from his trip, when he didn't stay in your bed.

Jungkook did not go home that night. He didn't want to see the walls of his apartment or the mirror where he could look himself in the eye. He drove around the city without a goal. He smoked one cigarette after another. He stopped on a bridge and looked at the black water of the river, which reflected the streetlights.

It was only then that his phone screen lit up with a message from another girl who wrote: "Are you coming to see me tonight?" he realized for the first time that he didn't want to. No. He didn't want to see any of them at all.

A few weeks have passed. No news or messages from you. For some reason, Jungkook was hoping you'd write. That you had made an impulsive decision and would still come back.

When a week passed without you, he was still holding on. He was trying to get back to his normal life, but everything irritated him. He wanted to know another girl to get over you, but none of them evoked any emotion in him. When he talked to some girl, he compared her to you: what would you say? And how did you behave? She didn't have the same hair, didn't have the same intoxicating scent, didn't have the same laugh. There was nothing in any of them that caught his eye.

Jungkook started drinking more, staying out in clubs until the wee hours of the morning just to avoid coming home sober and remembering how he fucked you in his bed, on the kitchen table, in the bathtub. Everything in his apartment reminded him of you. And when he found your things one day, he was completely torn. He shoved his pride up his ass and realized that he feels something for you. And he desperately needs you. Not your body. But your whole self.

He opened his phone and found your number. You signed yourself in his phone as "My babygirl". He typed a message, a simple one: "Hi. Let's meet?" and sent it. But the message was not delivered. He tried a few more times and realized you had blocked him.

Jungkook laughed. Did you really do that? He dialed your number, but the call kept dropping. It made him completely angry. With all this tension and anger, he threw the phone at the wall without controlling his emotions, smashing it to pieces.

Another week passed and Jungkook tried not to think about you again. He immersed himself in work, went on business trips for a few days, and whatever he did, you were always on his mind. And it was starting to drive him crazy.

When he returned to Seoul after a business trip, he went into his apartment and got tired. He went to the shower and stood under the stream of water. His thoughts were chaotic, and his chest felt like it was tearing him apart. Jungkook laughed hysterically. He touched with his hand the wall of the shower stall, his head down. The water hit his back, and he continued to laugh hysterically.

"Fuck..." he gasped out loud. "I'm an asshole," he called himself. "Did I really fucking fall in love with her?"

Jungkook couldn't believe it, but his state and his desire to see you, to at least touch your hand, spoke louder than he did.

Jungkook got out of the shower. He quickly dressed in a black T-shirt, similar black cargo pants, and threw on a jacket. He walked into the garage, passing his car, and got on his bike. Jungkook pulled on his helmet and rode purposefully to your house.

He turned off the engine and walked to the fence. Jungkook was tall and could easily see over it. You lived on a quiet street in a rented house. Jungkook found your bedroom windows without fail. The lights were off. Your whole house was in darkness. You must have been asleep because it was almost midnight.

Jungkook rang the bell several times, but you never showed up at the door. He cursed and went to his bike, which was parked in the shade of a streetlight. He sat down and smoked a cigarette out of nerves.

Jungkook had managed to take a few pulls when a car parked a few houses away. Jungkook's eyebrows furrowed, straining his eyesight. And when he noticed you in the front seat, something broke inside. You were smiling and saying something to the man behind the wheel. Your conversation didn't last long. After a few minutes, you got out of the car and waved goodbye to your friend, or maybe your new boyfriend.

Rage and jealousy clenched his throat as the car disappeared before his eyes, and you waited for it to drive away, headed for your house. You were so beautiful, so calm - Jungkook felt horror. Because someone else had already been in your life.

You had no sooner touched the combination lock than you heard a voice from the outside.

"You found a replacement for me quickly."

You froze when you heard Jungkook's voice. You turned your head and saw him sitting on his bike. He finished his cigarette and threw it on the asphalt, crushing it with his sneaker.

Jungkook smiled and slowly stepped out of the shadows, approaching you. He stopped a step away from you and couldn't help but think that you seemed to have become even more beautiful. Jungkook looked at you without shying. You were dressed in a white blouse, a long skirt with a small slit at the hip and a jacket because it was cool outside. You were wearing high-heeled shoes, which made you a little taller than he was used to looking at you.

"What are you doing here?" you said coldly, not commenting on his previous words.

Jungkook smiled his usual seductive, cocky smile. But inside him was a real hurricane.

"I've come to see you," he said as if it were a completely normal thing. Your eyes darkened. You gave him every indication that you weren't happy to see him, but Jungkook knew you weren't. He could see how nervous you were and how your breathing was quickening.

"I'm not asking why you're here. I'm asking what are you doing here?" you spoke sharply and Jungkook felt his patience to stay away from you and not kiss you was getting shorter.

"Was that your new boyfriend?" Jungkook ignores your question. You click your tongue, but answer the question.

"I'm not that one who’s successful at finding someone to fuck right after a breakup. Or even during a relationship," you pause and then continue, "This is my coworker. We're working on a project together," and you quickly trailed off, obviously catching justifying yourself to Jungkook. And he liked your answer and your justifying.

Jungkook smiled even wider. He took half a step closer to you, forcing you to take the same half step back. Now there was only half an arm's length distance between you. Your back was almost against the fence door, but you tried to keep your composure. Unlike Jungkook, who had already lost his patience with being away from you.

"Did you miss me?" his voice was velvety and low.

"What do you want?" you asked coldly, but not so confidently. And Jungkook heard it. He caught the way your lower lip trembled, the way your hands clung to your jacket to keep it from shaking.

"I don't know if I want anything... except you," he admitted honestly. His eyes, normally dark and deep, as if pulling you in, were now burning. Your eyes darted between his, and he bet you were struck by these words, but you suddenly laughed. Mockingly, quietly.

"And when did you understand that? After another girl? Or when I blocked you everywhere?"

"When I imagined you with someone else. And I couldn't stand it," he didn't look away. You huffed and turned away.

"That sounds nice. But it seems too late for such words. It's over between us," you said without any emotion in your voice.

Jungkook's face did not flinch, but something changed in it. In his eyes. In the chewing of his jaw. For a split second, Jungkook felt like he was breaking down-but he immediately pulled himself together again.

"It can't be too late," he argued. "You love me. Your feelings couldn't have disappeared in two weeks." Jungkook moved a little closer.

You angrily turned your head toward him, not realizing that he was closer than you wanted him to be.

"Shut up," you said threateningly. "Don't you dare say I love you. You don't deserve these feelings!" Jungkook pushed you against the door, and only now you realized how close he was. "Let me go, get out," you protested. Jungkook put one hand on the door and held you close with the other. He breathed in your scent, the same scent he missed so much, the same scent that intoxicated him.

"I don't want to leave. And I don't want you to hate me. I want you to love me, even if I don't deserve it," he said against your lips. You froze, looking at his lips. You were breathing fast and hard, and these sounds excited Jungkook. He leaned down and kissed you. He couldn't hold back any longer.

Your mouth was warm and sweet, and your hand clutched the fabric on his chest. He kissed you greedily, emotionally, without any self-control - as if these two weeks without you were an eternity for him. As if every second without you caused physical pain.

"I was an asshole," he whispered through the kiss. "But... please, let's try again. Start from the beginning."

You trembled in his arms. Your heart was beating so hard that it seemed like it was about to jump out of your chest.

"I'm afraid..." you confessed quietly. "I'm afraid you're going to hurt me again..."

"I won't," Jungkook interrupted you, cupping your face in his hands. "And if I do anything to hurt you again, I'll disappear. I'll be gone forever. Just... give me a chance. Just one. I'll make it right."

You looked away, full of tears, but Jungkook touched your lips again. His kiss was gentle, almost pleading, as if it contained his entire vow. And you gave in. When your lips parted, you whispered:

"Jungkook... make it right."

That was enough. He dug into your lips again, with more hunger. You entered the house. As soon as the door closed behind you, Jungkook pounced on you without another word. His hands were everywhere: he pulled off your jacket, unbuttoned your blouse, whispered in your ear that he missed you, not giving you a second to think.

His kisses were bold, deep, and with every second, all the pain and longing that had accumulated over the weeks came out of him. He undressed you right in the hallway, as if he couldn't wait any longer... Because he really couldn't.

When your skirt fell to the floor, you were left in nothing but your underwear. He pushed you against the wall, kissing you without stopping. Jungkook pulled away from your lips for a moment to look at you. He looked at your body with greed. His hands reflexively reached for your breasts, and without taking off your bra, he pulled one of them out and smiled. He couldn't help but rejoice in the moment that you his again.

Jungkook looked up at you, and he kept looking at you with a winning smile as he reached for your nipple.

When his wet tongue touched your aroused nipple, he was ready to moan. He adored the taste of your skin. Jungkook played around, licking your nipple, making your heavy breathing turn into moans. Your other nipple got plenty of attention, too. And when Jungkook wanted to kiss you again, his hand went down between your legs at the same time.

He easily slipped his palm under the fabric of your lace thong and touched the sensitive center, pushing apart your folds. You gasped and closed your lips as he pressed on your clit. Jungkook ran his finger up and down it, with gentle, blissful movements. A few more strokes and his finger plunged into your passage, feeling the tightness and wetness he had missed like crazy.

Jungkook froze for a second, two. He could feel your flesh clenching around his finger, and this contact made him lose the last vestiges of self-control.

His gaze slid down your face, stopped at your half-open lips, from which a soft moan escaped-sweet, intoxicating, just as he remembered. His heart was beating wildly.

"You don't know how much I missed this... you," he whispered, slowly removing his finger and gently running it along your thigh, leaving a wet trail. "Every night I imagined touching you again. In my dreams. In the shower. During meetings. Even when I was working."

His fingers dove under your panties again, this time along with his kisses. And when he'd had enough of your plump lips, Jungkook knelt down, never taking his eyes off you. He slowly pulled off your underwear, letting it fall to your ankles. He took off your shoes and kicked them to the side.

"Do you know what was killing me?" he looked up, holding his breath. "That I didn't know if I'd ever be able to kneel before you like this again."

You held your breath at his words. Those words affected you, and Jungkook could see it. And he was really afraid that you would never let him touch you again.

His tongue touched your most tender part - gently at first, stretching out the moment, as if enjoying every second of it. Then harder, wider, more rhythmic. You screamed and leaned back against the wall, clutching his hair as if you were holding on to your last bit of sanity.

Jungkook worked his tongue with such precision, as if it were his only meaning in life. His fingers penetrated you again-synchronized with the movements of his tongue-slowly, deeply, each thrust like a confession.

"You're mine." His voice was muffled but confident. "And you can't leave me anymore."

Your body shook. Your hair fell over your shoulders. Your chest rose in an accelerated rhythm. And as the orgasm grew, as your every cell screamed for pleasure, Jungkook stopped. Just for a moment. To look at you. To feel it with you - with all the depth. You were breathing heavily, looking up at him.

"I want to be inside you," he said, standing up, kissing you on the lips, leaving a trace of your own taste on them. "Now."

And you couldn't say no. Because your whole body was screaming yes.

Your hands unbuckled his belt, your fingers shaking, and when his cock came free-hot, hard, full-you ran your palm over it. He closed his eyes and moaned your name.

"Y/N... fuck... I want you," he leaned his hand on the wall, enjoying your movements. "Mine," he moaned in your hair somewhere near your ear, "Only fucking mine."

He lifted you up and you wrapped your legs around his waist. He carried you over to the couch, which was the closest comfortable place to fuck you.

Jungkook laid you down. He quickly freed himself from all the clothes he was wearing and approaching you without taking his eyes off you, he spread your legs. He pressed the head of his cock against your entrance and entered you with one deep, slightly sharp, impatient thrust, and the moment seemed timeless. You both froze.

Your nails dug into his strong shoulders, and your breaths intertwined in the darkness.

"God..." he whispered. "You were always meant for me."

He thrust his hips, feeling the instant pleasure of the tightness of your pussy.

Jungkook started moving slowly, pulling each thrust with sweet pleasure, as if he wanted this moment to last forever. His gaze never left your face - you looked as if you had just returned home after a long, painful journey. Your eyes sparkled, your lips were slightly open, and with each new penetration you dug your fingers deeper into his back.

"You're so... tight," he whispered, squeezing your hips. "For me, it's all for me, baby..."

His movements became deeper. Sharper. And everything in him was screaming - not just about desire, but about the need to restore the connection that seemed to have been lost.

You responded to his every thrust. Your hips arched to meet him, your neck opened for his kisses. He kissed it greedily, leaving wet marks and light bites. You felt your body tremble again - this orgasm was coming like a storm, and Jungkook knew it. He felt your every shudder, your every breath.

"Tell me..." he mumbled, not stopping, "Do you still love me?" he wanted to hear it. He needed to know that you hadn't lost those feelings. Your behavior and the fact that you had forgiven him so quickly had already answered that question, but he wanted... he wanted to hear it again.

"I love you," you breathe out. "I love you, Kook." you said, no doubt in your voice. Jungkook was happy. He wanted to confess too. But he didn't know if he really did. He didn't know if he knew the feeling the way you knew it. He stopped and came closer to your face. Inches separated your lips.

"I think I do, too," he said in a trembling voice. "I love you too."

Your eyes instantly filled with tears and they flowed down your face. It was the first time in six months of relationship that Jungkook told you that he loved you. And he only realized that he loved you when you left. He realized that only your warmth was the one he always wanted to return to and stay in forever.

He made a deep thrust with his hips that made you scream. He continued to move sharply, bringing you deeply to the edge.

"I'm sorry," he said as he fucked you, "I'm sorry baby. I've been an asshole. I've caused you so much pain. I'll make it all right… I'll make it right," he promised again. He spoke as sincerely as he could. He wanted you to believe him. That these were not empty words, but a promise he was going to keep.

Jungkook changed his angle - he lifted your legs higher, placing them on his shoulders, and he thrust deeper, right to the point that made you moan with a force he hadn't heard before. You bit your lip, but he grabbed your jaw, forcing you to look at him.

"Don't be silent, I want to hear you," he wheezed. His voice sounded like thunder, low and raspy. "I want to hear you cum for me."

And you couldn't hold back. Your walls clenched around his cock, and you arched in orgasm, losing control. He caught your every breath as he continued to move, taking you through wave after wave.

But Jungkook didn't want to stop. Not yet. He hadn't had enough. His cock was still hard, aroused to the point of excitement. He flipped you over onto your stomach, gently but firmly. And before you knew it, he was entering you from behind again. His hands gripped your hips and then slid down to your breasts, squeezing them tightly in time with his thrusts.

"Fuck... it feels so good inside you, my love. I could live here forever," he growled behind you. You moaned as you felt his big cock from a new angle. It felt like he was penetrating you deeper than before.

You could feel your body coming to the limit again, even though you had just felt the discharge. His moans merged with yours. His pace increased. Jungkook wanted to mark you. To prove that he had a right to you, as he always had. He stopped, halfway out, and leaned down to whisper in your ear:

"I'm going to come inside you."

You didn't object. You couldn't. You didn't have the strength. Only the desire. And Jungkook was glad you didn't object. And when he entered you again, quickly and ruthlessly, you felt his hands tremble and his body tense. You came first. Jungkook felt it well. Your loud and long moan and the walls as if they wanted to strangle him.

"Y/N... I..." he groaned, and with one last deep thrust, he spilled inside you, leaving you both completely exhausted.

He didn't pull back immediately after that. He stayed inside you, trembling, breathing into your neck. His body was still covered in a light sweat, and his heart was pounding in unison with yours.

After a few minutes, when his breathing became calm, he came out of you. Jungkook didn't let you get up, he lay down next to you, hugging you. The couch was narrow, and in order for both of you to fit on it, you had to almost lie down on top of Jungkook. He put his arm around you, and you laid your head on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. Your leg touched his thigh without touching his crotch. You both lay there naked and exhausted, and incredibly content.

His hand gently slid down your back, as if trying to calm the residual tremors. He didn't say anything, just breathed with you, as if he was afraid to disturb this fragile harmony. Jungkook leaned down and kissed you on the forehead, gently, not at all like he had just made love to you. His lips lingered, and you felt him sigh, heavily, like a man who had just let go of something very heavy.

"I've never had anything like this," he whispered. "I didn't even think I could feel this."

You looked up at him, and he looked back.

"I was really afraid I'd lost you," he said quietly. He had never spoken so sincerely before. He had always given the impression of strength, dominance, control-but now he was just a guy who had just allowed himself to be loved for the first time.

"I'm not leaving anymore," you whispered, touching his cheek. "Not unless you destroy everything we have."

He hugged you tighter.

"I won't do it again," Jungkook said firmly. "I promise. Even if I have to change everything in the whole damn world."

Silence fell over the room again. Only your breaths and the warmth of your bodies remained. His hand rested on your stomach. An unconscious gesture. But you noticed it. And your heart sank.

"What?" he asked when you tensed a little.

"Nothing," you smiled, closing your eyes. "It's just... if we can keep this together, nothing else will matter."

Jungkook kissed you again. Gently, softly, like a seal, he sealed the promise. A new beginning awaited you, and you both hoped for a happy ending.

📝 Author's note:

Hello my dear Army. It's been a while since I posted my work here. I wrote to you that I am going through a difficult time in my life. And it's really hard for me mentally (especially mentally) and physically. I don't want to deepen you into my problems, the only thing I will say is that I will feel better very soon because I will visit a psychologist who will help me unwind the tangle of thoughts and nerves that I have wrapped up 🧶🤭

I promised all of you the story to the thousand followers on my blog. I even announced the cover with the title "Control Me". But as you can see, this is not the story I promised you 🥺

I'll try to explain it briefly. I wanted to write "Control Me" for you, but I didn't like it the whole time I was writing it. I gave it read to my sister Marichka, who is also a good writer, I consider her the best writer for me, and she evaluated it objectively. And she told me that such a story has a strong plot and it cannot be contained even in 15 thousand words for one story. She advised me to focus on "One Night..." and "No Mercy" and to write "Control Me" after these two stories.

Why wrote this fanfic like a series, because for CM I came up with a plot where Y/N will be a psychologist who specializes in sexual disorders. Jungkook will seek her help because he suffers from a phobia of emotional and physical intimacy. That is, in short, it will not get aroused from women (although physiologically everything will be fine). That's why it can't be summed up in one story. Because the process of his treatment is going to be long. That's why the story has to be unfolded. By the way, let me know if you like this idea? And should I write it?

And as for story which I wrote for you now 💗 It appeared in my head literally in a moment when I was listening to The Rose's song "Back to me" ❤️‍🔥 This story is about a love that was originally a default. It's about a guy who thought she would always be waiting for him and a girl who finally learned to let go, even though her heart screams otherwise.

It's about the gloomy, unattainable Jungkook, who didn't know what love was until he was left without it. It's about a deep sexual chemistry that becomes a language they use to tell each other: I'm still here, I still want you, I still love you. And at the same time, it's a story about correcting mistakes when it seems too late. And you know, even if this story is very "bookish", I believe that there are boys who have a many women, and when they meet the one they are ready to change for her 🥰 I am such a hopeless romantic and dreamer 🤭 But no one forbids it 💗

I will add at the end that I still feel bad and I don't know if I will have the inspiration and time to update "One Night..." and "No Mercy" in the near future, but I will try to do my best 🙏🏻 I really ask for your patience 💜 It is important for me that you stay with me 😣😭

Dear Army, thank you again for the thousand subscribers, thank you for your love and attention to me. I bow to you for every kind word you say, it is important and valuable to me 🤭❤️‍🔥 So let's be together forever 💜 Borahe each of you 🙏🏻💘

[maryseesthings]

⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀ ⠀ ⠀⠀⠀⠀pretty little mess Ꮺ bangtan

summary in which you ride their thigh and they watch you come undone ⠀/⠀nsfw, tension relief, body worship, desperation, established relationship or fwb (up to interpretation). minors do not interact !!!

masterlist⠀ | ⠀taglist⠀ | ⠀more to read

⠀◖ ⠀◟⠀namjoon⠀◝⠀៹⠀ he’s not even touching her. not really. just sitting back against the headboard, shirtless and patient, watching her rock against the thick muscle of his thigh like it’s the only thing keeping her sane. her fingers clutch his shoulders, knuckles white, while her hips grind down in slow, sloppy circles. her breath catches every time the friction hits just right, and namjoon just watches. eyes dark, lips parted, chest rising and falling like he’s the one unraveling. “go on,” he whispers, voice low and reverent. “use me, baby.” she whimpers — broken and soft — and his hands move only to steady her waist, not to help, not to rush. “you’re so close,” he murmurs, head tilting as he kisses her temple. “come for me like this.” and she does — thighs trembling, a strangled moan caught in her throat as she soaks his skin. he doesn’t flinch. just holds her through it, proud and wrecked and in love.

⠀◖⠀ ◟⠀seokjin⠀◝⠀៹⠀ he hadn’t meant for it to get this far. it started as a tease, his thigh offered half-jokingly while he leaned back on the couch, shirt bunched around his elbows, eyes glinting. “if you’re that needy, then show me,” he’d said, expecting a pout. instead, she climbed onto his lap, kissed him hard, and now— her panties are soaked through, leaving a wet patch on his sweats as she grinds over and over, chasing friction like a drug. “fuck,” he mutters under his breath, the humor long gone. her fingers grip his shoulders, breath stuttering, head bowed against his neck. “jin—” she gasps, voice all tremble and urgency. and he snaps — one arm wrapped tight around her waist, the other sliding between them to press against her clit, just once. she breaks apart in his arms, moaning against his skin. “so impatient,” he murmurs, but his voice is wrecked. he’s hard as hell, and he’s already thinking about round two.

⠀◖⠀ ◟⠀yoongi⠀◝⠀៹⠀ he told her to take what she needed. that’s all. no instructions, no teasing — just a quiet, “come here, baby” as he spread his legs and let her settle into his lap, the denim of his jeans rough and perfect against her core. now she’s moving, slow and rhythmic, grinding herself down until she’s shaking, her forehead pressed against his shoulder, lips parted in breathless little gasps. yoongi’s hands are on her hips, not guiding, just steady. like a grounding wire, keeping her together while she comes apart. “just like that,” he murmurs, lips brushing the shell of her ear. “you’re doing so good.” he can feel how wet she is, how much she wants it. and he wants to give her more — his cock, his mouth, his everything — but for now, this is enough. watching her ruin herself on him, all flushed cheeks and desperate whines, he knows: she was made for this kind of pleasure. made to be worshipped.

⠀◖ ⠀◟⠀hoseok⠀◝⠀៹⠀ he’s losing his mind. she’s in nothing but a t-shirt, thighs spread over one of his, panties long gone, slick coating his skin every time she moves. he’s leaned back, hands behind him on the mattress, eyes locked on her face as she grinds down harder, her body chasing friction like a prayer. “fuck, hobi,” she gasps, and his name sounds like salvation. he nods, breath caught in his throat, pupils blown wide. “that’s it, baby—ride it. show me how bad you need it.” he wants to touch her so bad it hurts. wants to flip her over and sink into her until she forgets her own name. but he doesn’t. he lets her lead. watches her fall apart, crying out as her orgasm hits, trembling so hard she nearly collapses. he catches her, of course. kisses her shoulder. presses a hand to her heart. “you’re incredible,” he says like it’s the truth (because it is), and he means it with every breath.

⠀◖⠀ ◟⠀jimin⠀◝⠀៹⠀ he’s underneath her, shirtless and smug, watching her grind on his thigh like it’s a game he’s already won. her face is flushed, lips swollen from all the biting, her movements stuttery and desperate. “baby…” he breathes, voice dripping with sweetness and sin, “you’re really gonna come like this?” she nods — barely — too far gone to speak. and jimin groans, low and filthy, his hand coming up to cup her cheek. “you’re so pretty when you’re messy.” he kisses her like she’s falling apart, like he can taste her pleasure on his tongue, and her hands clutch at his shoulders as her body tenses. when she finally comes, he watches every second — eyes locked on her expression like it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen. “god, you’re everything,” he whispers, and then flips her underneath him, already grinning. “now let me take care of the rest.”

⠀◖⠀ ◟⠀taehyung⠀◝⠀៹ ⠀ he doesn’t even blink. just sits back in the velvet armchair like a king, legs spread, letting her work herself against the solid press of his thigh while his hands rest lazily on the arms of the chair. the only giveaway is his jaw — tense, tight — and the flicker of his tongue across his bottom lip. she’s panting already, body trembling as she drags her soaked pussy along the muscle of his thigh, clinging to his shirt like it’s the only thing keeping her from slipping under. “look at you,” he murmurs, voice so low it vibrates through the floor. “fuckin’ yourself on me like you were made for it.” he leans forward just enough to catch her chin, tilt her face up. “you wanna come, baby?” her nod is immediate, breathless. “then come for me,” he says. and she does, with a broken cry, body convulsing in his lap. he kisses her forehead. “good girl.”

⠀◖⠀ ◟⠀jungkook⠀◝⠀៹⠀he’s trying so hard to stay still, but fuck—she’s not making it easy. straddling his thigh, panties soaked through, her hips moving in frantic little circles as she chases the high like it’s her last breath. his hands are on her ass, gripping tight, grounding her. his eyes don’t leave her face — wide, dazed, mouth open with a soft chant of his name. “kook… please…” she whines, and he groans, low and ruined. “you can do it,” he rasps. “come on, baby, make a mess on me.” and she does — hard, shaking, grinding through it while he holds her steady and kisses her shoulder through every wave. when she finally collapses against his chest, trembling and boneless, he whispers against her hair, “fuck, that was so hot… you feel what you did to me?” and yeah, he’s hard as hell — but he doesn’t even care. her pleasure’s already wrecked him.

quietly always, cigarettesuga.

[maryseesthings]

⤷ summary : Your flower shop wasn’t supposed to mean anything. Then a tattoo artist with deadpan eyes and sleeves full of stories moved in across the street—and got smacked in the face with your peonies. Now there are window waves, petty bouquets from his ex, shared coffees, sketchbooks, flower meanings, and silences that feel louder than words.You swore it was nothing. He never said it was anything. But something’s blooming anyway.

⤷ pairing: Jungkook x fem!reader. ⤷ rating: 18+ ⤷ genre: flufffff, humor, angst, yearning, opposite attracts, a little suggestive? ⤷ warnings: mentions of food, cursing, mentions of needle, tons of mention about flowers, grief, death of parents, overwhelmed. ⤷ word count: around 12k heheh

a/n : this has been in works for sooooo long and now its finally here I hope you guys like it! please do like and reblog if you liked it <3

playlist: ditto by nwj

The morning had already taken one look at you and decided, “Yeah, let’s ruin her.”

Sunlight spilled into the cramped storage room like it had beef with your eyes, spotlighting the exact thing you couldn’t find: the cartwheel.

“Where is that rolling piece of metal trash—” you hissed, yanking aside boxes of seed packets and one very suspicious sack of lavender labeled “For External Use Only,” courtesy of drunk-Jihyo’s midnight labeling spree.

The shop smelled like fresh soil, eucalyptus, and regret. Mostly because you’d forgotten to water the basil wall again, and it was starting to look like the botanical version of a hangover.

your foot caught on a bag of fertilizer, and you nearly faceplanted into a tray of thorny succulents.

“Jesus Christ’s left nipple, if I die impaled on a cactus I hope someone makes it a tribute piece.”

“You good back there or are you finally being sacrificed to the plant gods?” Jihyo called from the front, her voice sharp and amused like always.

“I’m wrestling with a demon cartwheel that’s actively hiding from me,” you yelled, popping up with wild hair and a very personal vendetta. “Either that or it grew sentience and fled this capitalist hellscape.”

A snort. A thud. Jihyo casually leaned against the doorway in her signature oversized overalls, one strap off her shoulder and a flower clip in her hair that somehow made her look both terrifying and cute.

“Did you check behind the dead hydrangea?” Jihyo asked, sipping her iced matcha like this wasn’t a crisis.

“That hydrangea is not dead. It’s dramatic. Like you.” You bent down and sure enough—there was the cartwheel, wedged behind a fallen bag of soil and a busted watering can.

“Oh my god, you were right.” you grunted, dragging it out and nearly dislocating her hip in the process.

“Say it louder. Maybe the roses will hear it and finally start respecting me.”

“I’d rather die by begonia.”

With a final heave and a string of whispered curses that would make a nun combust, you yanked the cartwheel free. Dust flew. A spider the size of anxiety scurried off. you coughed, wheezed, and dramatically wiped your forehead with the back of your hand like you were starring in a tragic indie film.

Jihyo watched, unimpressed. “You’re literally a psycho.”

“You chose this best friend life,” hissed you, grabbing a bucket of peonies and flinging it into the cart. “You could’ve ditched me in high school when I made you that floral condom bouquet for your birthday.”

“You hot glued a magnum onto a sunflower.”

“And you cried.”

“I cried because my mom saw it first.”

A loud cackle echoed through the greenhouse ceiling. This was the rhythm of them. Chaos, sarcasm, and a whole lot of weird affection they never really had to explain.

Then you loaded the last of the blooms onto the cart and smacked palms together like you’d just won a war. “Alright. I’m heading out. Gotta replace the window pots with the new batch before the city sends another passive-aggressive letter about ‘noncompliant aesthetic violations.’”

“Grab coffee on the way back?”

“Obviously. Therapy in a cup, courtesy of our mutual emotionally stable barista.”

“Tell Namjoon I miss his arms.”

“I will. But also, no. Because that man has seen me sob into a croissant and I can’t give him more emotional leverage.”

You shoved the cart forward with a dramatic push and strutted to the front, calling, “Back in ten! Unless the peonies mutiny. In which case, I die a martyr.”

“Tell them to take you out quickly. I don’t want blood on the shop floor again.”

The door chimed as you stepped outside, sunlight blinding for a split second before your eyes adjusted to the bright city sidewalk.

The hands moved on instinct as you began unplugging flowers from the mini garden racks lining the store’s outer wall. Petunias, daisies, and snapdragons—each bloom whispered their own little stories, their own scent memories.

As you worked, a silence pressed in. Not uncomfortable—just familiar. Like the kind you settle into after a long day.

you remembered mornings like this with your parents. your dad humming off-tune while arranging seed trays, mom pretending to hate the sound. you missed them like a phantom limb. Not always visible. Always there.

And Jihyo—your soulmate. your anchor. you both have been inseparable since sophomore year when you punched a guy in the hallway for making fun of Jihyo’s laugh. Jihyo bought you a coffee the next day and said, “You’re mine now.”

She never left.

Tugging a particularly stubborn dahlia loose from its crate and groaning, you said “You better not be this dramatic when I re-pot you, you spicy little diva.”

You smiled at the thought of Namjoon waiting at the café a few doors down. Soft-spoken, cardigan-wrapped wisdom with biceps sent by angels. Barista by day, therapist on Tuesdays, secret emotional support system always.

“I’ll need a double-shot existential crisis blend by noon,” you muttered to yourself.

Just as you wheeled the cart around the corner, something snapped.

A horrible, clunky CLANK.

The front wheel of the cart locked into a sewer grate with the force of a divine punishment.

“Oh, no. No. Not today, Satan.” you backed up. Tugged. Nothing.

Then planted one boot against the edge and yanked with both hands.

CRACK. WHOOSH.

Half the flowers flung forward like floral missiles. you barely registered the sound of someone’s startled grunt.

you looked up.

Right into the very confused, very sharp-boned face of a man now covered in flamingo lilies and crushed peonies. He stood stock-still, long black sleeves, dark eyes, and exactly zero expression. And hot.

He blinked. Dead serious.

“Guess I finally got my flowers,” he said.

“Who died?”

you blinked back.

Then narrowed your eyes. “Depends. Do you count as emotionally deceased?”

The corner of his mouth twitched. “I prefer emotionally hibernating.”

Both of you stared at each other. Then you realized that you had no idea who he was—but hated how unfairly hot he looked in this stupid lighting.

Also? One of your daisies was in his hair.

⸻

The bell above the shop door screamed as it slammed shut behind you, announcing your return like it was reporting a crime.

stormed inside, hair half out of its bun, one boot untied, and flower petals stuck in places flower petals were never meant to be. Your hands flew up as you muttered an impressively creative string of curses under your breath—something about lilies, sewer grates, and how God clearly had a sense of humor.

Jihyo didn’t even flinch. She looked up from behind the counter, one eyebrow raised, iced matcha still perfectly still in her hand.

“You look like you’ve seen a ghost,” she said casually.

“No.” your voice dry, eyes wide. “Worse.”

“Worse than a ghost?” Jihyo set down her drink and stared harder. “Did the snapdragons finally talk back?”

You dragged the cart to a stop and slapped the leftover flowers on the counter like they’d betrayed you.

“No. I hit a man in the face with lilies.”

Jihyo blinked. “Lilies?”

“Yes. Launched them. Airborne. Full-on floral assault.”

“…What?”

You held up your hands, exasperated. “My cart wheel got stuck. I yanked it, lost control, and the flowers literally flew. Hit this guy square in the jaw. And he just stood there. Didn’t even flinch. Like it happens to him every Tuesday.”

Jihyo was already grinning. “Wait. Was he hot?”

You narrowed your eyes. “Irrelevant.”

“That’s a yes.”

“It is not.”

“You’re deflecting.”

“I’m traumatized.”

“Tomato, tomahto.”

Groaning, collapsed onto the little stool behind the counter. “He had the face of a Greek god and the personality of a haunted spreadsheet.”

“So… mysterious and emotionally constipated?”

“Yes. And deadpan. When I asked if he was emotionally deceased, he said he preferred emotionally hibernating.”

Jihyo let out a wheeze. “Who says that?”

“Apparently the man I assaulted with my peonies.”

There was a pause.

Then Jihyo said, very slowly, “Wait. Wait, wait, wait. Tell me this didn’t happen right outside the tattoo shop.”

You looked up. “Why would you say that like you know something?”

“Because if it’s the same guy I think it is… that would be Jeon Jungkook.”

Then your eyebrows shot up. “Who?”

“Tattoo artist. Quiet. Tall. Hot. Looks like he eats cigarettes for breakfast and has never emotionally recovered from middle school.”

“That was the vibe,” you muttered.

Jihyo leaned forward. “Did he have a mole under his lip?”

“I didn’t count his pores, Jihyo.”

“But you noticed the jawline.”

“Shut up.”

Jihyo grinned, and then her expression shifted into something half-serious. “You should probably stay away from him.”

Blinking, you asked. “What? Why?”

Jihyo shrugged like it wasn’t a big deal. “Because he’s intense. And weird. And broody. And… tattoo artists are always dangerous.”

“That’s literally your type.”

“I know. Which is why I’m warning you.”

You frowned. “This is the first time I’ve seen him. How do you even know him already?”

Jihyo sipped her matcha, eyes glinting. “I have my ways.”

“Jihyo.”

“I once followed his Pinterest board by accident and ended up in a group chat with three men named Namjoon.”

“…What?”

“Don’t ask questions you don’t want the answers to.”

You stared at her best friend. “Sometimes I think you’re just collecting NPCs in real life.”

“And sometimes I think you’re one caffeine crash away from full villain origin story, so we’re even.”

⸻

Jungkook stood in the backroom of the studio, glaring at the mirror like it had done something personal.

He plucked the last of the crushed lily petals from his hoodie and held it up with two fingers like it was radioactive. “This was a mistake.”

The shop. The move. The entire city block. All of it.

He tossed the petal into the trash, only for another to fall out of his hair like nature was mocking him.

He muttered under his breath, voice low and biting. “Who gets hit in the face with flowers at nine in the fucking morning?”

And yet here he was. Still smelling faintly of florals. Still trying to forget the look on your face—equal parts shock, sarcasm, and something dangerously curious.

The worst part? He couldn’t even be mad. It was… funny. annoyingly funny. Now that if he thinks about it.

He picked another petal off his shoulder and cursed.

From behind the divider wall, there was a squeaky swivel.

Taehyung’s chair spun around like he was some sort of a James Bond villain.

He leaned back, smirking like a villain in socks. “You look like you just lost a custody battle to a florist.”

“I got ambushed,” Jungkook muttered.

Taehyung blinked. “By who? Garden gnomes?”

“No. A flower cart. And a woman.”

“A woman flower cart?”

Jungkook gave him a dead look. “She flung lilies at my face.”

Taehyung gasped. “Flung? On purpose?”

“No. It was… an accident. I think.”

Taehyung spun his chair again, slowly, thoughtfully. “Was she cute?”

Jungkook glared. “Why does that matter?”

“Because you’re growling, and that’s your ‘I’ve just met someone who might be at my level’ growl.”

“I don’t growl.”

“You definitely growled.”

Jungkook ignored him. “She said something about being emotionally deceased.”

Taehyung chuckled. “Sounds like your soulmate.”

“She insulted my tattoos.”

“Definitely your soulmate.”

There was a beat.

Then Jungkook turned, squinting. “Wait. How do you know what she looks like?”

Taehyung blinked, all innocent.

Jungkook stepped forward. “Taehyung.”

Taehyung lifted something from his lap—a flower. One of her flowers.

Jungkook stared at it like it was a bomb.

“You went to the shop?” he asked, eyes wide.

Taehyung shrugged. “It’s literally right across the street. You expect me to just ignore it?”

“You bought it?”

“I took it.”

Jungkook looked personally offended. “You stole a flower?”

“I left a ten,” Taehyung said. “Under the cactus. It counts.”

“That’s not how capitalism works.”

“It’s exactly how capitalism works.”

Jungkook rubbed his temple. “You’re unbelievable.”

Taehyung grinned, twirling the flower between his fingers. “You know, this place isn’t that bad. You’re already making enemies. That’s how you know a neighborhood is worth staying in.”

“I didn’t make an enemy.”

“Oh? So when are you asking her out?”

Jungkook threw the lily petal at him.

Taehyung ducked.

It hit the chair.

⸻

The new order came in just as you were dragging a bag of potting mix across the floor and losing a mild argument with a rogue fern. The bell dinged from the laptop. You wiped your hands on your already-dirty apron and walked over to check.

One custom bouquet.

Delivery included.

Okay. Nothing weird so far.

You clicked the order open and read through the notes.

“Color preference: white, yellow, pink. No red. He doesn’t deserve red.”

That made you blink.

Then came the request for the note card.

‘Hope your tattoos age better than your personality. You used to be hot, now you’re just annoying. Love, Somin.’

Then blinked again.

Then you read it aloud, slowly. “Hope your tattoos age better than your personality… You used to be hot, now you’re just annoying…”

You stared at the screen, expression blank.

“Damn.”

From across the shop, Jihyo looked up from her sketchpad. “What?”

“Got a breakup bouquet.”

“Oh? What’s the message?”

You turned the laptop toward her.

Jihyo squinted. Read. Let out a low whistle. “Yikes.”

“Right?” you muttered, grabbing a tray of carnations. “This one’s bitter as hell.”

“What’s the name?”

“Somin.” you scrolled down. “And it’s going to… Jeon Jungkook.”

shit.

Jihyo looked up again, fast. “What?”

You turned back to your best friend, slowly. “Jihyo.”

“Don’t say it.”

“It’s the guy.”

“What guy?”

“The one I hit in the face with flowers this morning.”

Jihyo blinked. “No way.”

“I’m not joking. It’s him.”

“That’s insane.”

“I know.”

You both stared at each other for a second.

Then Jihyo said, “Okay, but also. Of course.”

She started pulling the requested flowers into her arms. Daisies, pink carnations, yellow tulips. Pretty, harmless-looking things. Which only made it worse.

“No red?” Jihyo asked.

“Apparently red is too respectful.”

“Sounds like she wants him to feel ugly while surrounded by beauty.”

“She literally wrote ‘you used to be hot’ in the note. Like, that’s so rude.”

“But also funny.”

She wrapped the stems quickly, tying them together in a white paper cone with yellow tissue inside. Neutral, warm tones. Nothing romantic. Nothing angry. Just soft enough to sting.

“Honestly,” you said while curling the ribbon, “he didn’t look like a guy who dates.”

“You said he was hot.”

“He is hot, but not in a healthy way.”

Jihyo made a face. “What’s unhealthy-hot?”

“The kind of hot that looks like he listens to ambient noise playlists and ruins birthdays.”

“Oh. Brooding hot.”

“Exactly.”

Then you clipped the note card on the front and stepped back.

The bouquet looked great. Perfect even. But something about the whole thing rubbed at you. The name. The face from this morning. The way he hadn’t flinched. And now this?

Who was this man?

Who dated someone like that, and then broke up so badly they needed to be dragged through bouquet?

He really didn’t look like the dating type. He looked like the type who said “we’ll see” and meant “you’ll never hear from me again.”

The more you thought about it, the less surprised it was that it ended messy.

“Want me to deliver it?” Jihyo offered.

“No. If I’m going to be part of this weird post-breakup ritual, I want to see it through.”

“You’re weirdly invested.”

“I just want to see if he looks shocked.”

“Why would he? He probably gets hate mail in his smoothie orders.”

You picked up the bouquet carefully and grabbed the shop keys. “Be back in ten.”

“Take your time. Text me if he cries.”

“I won’t. But you’ll sense it.”

—

The inside of the studio was quiet. Too quiet.

As you stepped past the glass door, the contrast hit her. Where your shop was all warm wood and green life and things that needed care, this place felt still. Dark walls. Exposed metal shelves. Glass cases. Ink bottles lined up like a science lab.

There was art, too—framed sketches pinned on the walls. Mostly black and grey. Some flowers, some birds, one full back piece of a koi fish mid-motion. But everything was… controlled. Clean. Balanced.

It was almost too perfect.

Minimalist. Precise. Like whoever ran this place had a deep need for order, even if the tattoos themselves were full of movement and mess.

You took a step further in, bouquet still in hand.

The smell was different here. Ink. Alcohol wipes. Metal. Nothing soft. Nothing sentimental.

It made you wonder, again, how someone like that got involved with someone like Somin.

The buzzing of the tattoo machine cut out.

And a second later, he appeared—Jeon Jungkook, in the same black sweatshirt, sleeves pushed up, hair slightly damp like he’d just washed off whatever was left of this morning’s disaster.

You held the bouquet out before he could say anything. “Delivery. From someone named Somin.”

His face didn’t move, but something flickered in his eyes. A recognition. And maybe a sigh too quiet to hear.

He looked at the bouquet like it was a trap.

You waited.

He took it.

Then added, because you were still curious, still wondering what kind of guy stood in a place like this and dated a woman who wrote that kind of message:

“So… who is she?”

He looked at you. Eyes steady. Voice flat.

“None of your business.”

Well. That was that.

You were about to turn and leave when another voice called from the back.

“Ex,” Taehyung said, popping his head out from behind the corner like he’d been waiting for the moment. “They dated for a bit. She’s a stylist. Wanted to start a brand together. It didn’t work out.”

You glanced over at him.

He was dressed in a button-up that looked like it hadn’t been ironed once in its life, half-unbuttoned like he lived in an indie movie. Long hair, open smile. Something about him screamed “I paint at 2am and text you memes while shitting.”

“She was a bit much,” Taehyung added, casually. “He was worse.”

Jungkook sighed and dropped onto the low stool by the counter.

You looked at the two of them again—Jungkook with his blank expression and hands that looked like they were made for detail work, and Taehyung who was very clearly the opposite of all that.

“So,” you said, breaking the silence. “This is your studio?”

Jungkook nodded without looking at you.

Letting your eyes wander again, you looked at The shelves. The organized mess. The monochrome everything.

It didn’t feel cold, exactly. Just guarded. Like it was built to keep things separate. Clean.

“He doesn’t like color,” Taehyung said, watching you look around.

“I can tell.”

“He says it’s distracting.”

“It is,” Jungkook muttered, flicking the note card back and forth between his fingers.

“But he still draws in color sometimes,” Taehyung added, grinning. “He just doesn’t let anyone see it.”

That made you glance back at Jungkook.

He met your gaze briefly, then looked away.

“I should go,” you said, stepping back. “Good luck with the… flowers.”

He didn’t answer, but he didn’t have to. His silence was louder than most people’s reactions.

And as you pushed open the glass door, bouquet-less now, you thought—not about the breakup, or the drama, or even Somin’s perfect insult.

You just thought about how someone who surrounded himself with sharp lines and cool tones still had lilies in his hair this morning.

⸻

By the time you got back to the shop, your shoulders were tight and thoughts were on loop.

You pushed open the door and let it fall shut behind harder than you meant to. The bell gave a half-hearted jingle like even it was too tired to care.

Jihyo didn’t look up right away. She was perched on the stool behind the counter, sipping the same iced matcha she’d been nursing for the past hour like it held ancient wisdom. Her phone was in her other hand, fingers scrolling lazily.

But her eyes flicked up the moment she heard the door click.

She studied your face for maybe three seconds.

Then she raised one eyebrow and said, “You look like someone just told you your plants are fake.”

Blinking you ran a hand through your hair. “Worse.”

“That bad?”

“Worse.”

Jihyo leaned forward, setting her cup down. “Okay. Who died?”

You dropped her tote bag on the floor and walked over to the stool across from her, sitting down like your bones had turned to dust.

Jihyo waited, eyes fixed on you, already halfway smiling.

“You’re enjoying this, aren’t you?” you asked.

“Absolutely. Now spill.”

You leaned back and crossed her arms. “His studio is… weird.”

“Weird how?”

“Not bad weird. Just… different. It’s really clean. Black walls. Metal shelves. Everything is organized to the point of it being almost clinical. But the artwork is insane. It’s beautiful, like detailed and emotional, but the place itself doesn’t match it. It feels like someone trying really hard not to feel anything.”

Jihyo stared. “You were only in there for two minutes.”

“I absorb energy fast.”

“You’re not a sponge.”

“No, but he might be. A dense one.”

Jihyo snorted.

You kept talking, like you needed to get it all out before it sat too long in your head. “And when I walked in, he didn’t even look surprised. Just took the bouquet and read the note like it was a lunch menu. Like, ‘oh, here’s my side of emotional damage today.’

“He really didn’t react?”

“Barely. When I asked who Somin was, he told me it was none of my business.”

Jihyo sat up straighter. “He said that?”

“Yep.”

“And you didn’t slap him?”

“Didn’t seem worth it.”

“Huh.” Jihyo tilted her head. “Okay but… he’s not wrong. You did kind of ask a personal question.”

“I was delivering a breakup bouquet with the emotional weight of a concrete block. I think I earned the right to ask.”

“Fair.”

You paused. “Then Taehyung chimed in.”

Jihyo gasped. “Taehyung?”

“His studio partner. Has long hair. Probably owns at least three mesh shirts.”

“God I love mesh-shirt men.”

“He said Jungkook and Somin dated. Said it ended messy. Said Jungkook was worse.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah.”

Jihyo looked almost smug. “I could’ve told you that.”

You tilted your head. “How?”

“Because I’ve seen him.”

“But you said you didn’t know him personally.”

“I don’t. But he walks past the shop sometimes. Goes to Namjoon’s cafe. He’s the kind of guy who always wears headphones and looks like he’s calculating the emotional ROI of saying hello to people.”

“That is… specific.”

“I have a gift.”

You stretched your arms above your head and let them fall dramatically. “I don’t even know why this is bothering me. I’ve delivered worse messages than that.”

Jihyo leaned forward again. “It’s bothering you because the guy you slapped with lilies now has a face and a story.”

“It’s not bothering me. I’m just… confused.”

“Sure.”

“I’m serious.”

“Of course you are.”

you sighed.

Jihyo smirked and stood up, walking over to the mini fridge. “Want iced tea?”

“Please.”

She grabbed two cans, handed one over, and plopped back down.

After a sip, you spoke again, quieter this time. “You know, it’s weird. When I walked into his studio, I was expecting something grungy. Messy. Chaotic artist vibes. But it wasn’t like that. It was… careful. Almost empty. Except for the art. And even that was tucked away like he didn’t want people to notice it.”

Jihyo looked at you with something softer now. Not teasing. Just curious. “You think he’s lonely?”

you shrugged. “Maybe. Or maybe he just likes things quiet.”

There was a pause. Then Jihyo asked, “Did he say anything else?”

Looking at the ceiling, you sighed and continued, “He asked if Somin used pink carnations. And when I said yes, he said that tracked. Then he said she spelled something wrong.”

‘’And?”

“I told him I fixed it.”

Jihyo grinned. “You’re such a menace.”

“I didn’t want my shop associated with grammatical errors.”

“You should embroider that on an apron.”

There was a moment of silence again. The kind that settled between both of you easily. Like this was just another normal day. Another weird customer story. Another coffee run waiting to happen.

Except it wasn’t quite normal.

You couldn’t shake the feeling from earlier. That glance. The smell of ink and metal. The way he didn’t ask who you were, or why you were there, or what you thought of the bouquet. He just existed in the silence like he was used to being left alone in it.

And maybe that was the part you couldn’t stop thinking about.

⸻

The days passed the way late summer always did—slow, a little sticky, quiet in that not-quite-comfortable way. The flower shop settled into its usual rhythm: morning arrangements, weird online orders, walk-ins asking for “whatever looks like forgiveness.”

And once in a while, you saw him.

Not in a movie way. Just… glimpses.

Sometimes Jungkook would walk past the shop without looking in, headphones in, hood up even though it wasn’t cold.

Once, he was standing at the corner by the bus stop, arms folded, waiting.

Another time, he was unlocking his studio door across the street, early in the morning, before the rest of the world had stretched its arms and pretended to care.

Both of you didn’t speak.

Didn’t nod or wave or even make eye contact.

He was just there. Occasionally. Like a streetlight you didn’t think about unless it flickered.

You didn’t talk about him either. Not to Jihyo. Not even to yourself.

But you noticed. Quietly. Stupidly. Like your brain was filing away sightings you hadn’t asked for.

⸻

It was one of those thick, grey-cloud afternoons when the air felt like it might rain but hadn’t decided yet. The kind of weather that demanded caffeine and gossip.

You and Jihyo pushed open the front door of Namjoon’s café and were immediately hit with that warm, toasted smell that always felt like a hug.

Common Grounds, as the chalkboard sign called it, looked the same as always. Cozy lighting. A rotating display of weird local art on the walls. A single speaker near the counter playing a low, lo-fi playlist that sounded like it belonged in a coming-of-age film.

Namjoon was behind the counter, wiping it down like it had personally wronged him.

When he saw them walk in, he smiled like they were regulars at a bar and he was secretly keeping all their trauma tabs.

“Afternoon,” he said, setting the cloth aside. “You both look like you’ve survived something.”

Jihyo stepped up first. “We survived four back-to-back customers asking for ‘boho neutral’ wedding florals.”

“Which means beige,” you added, “but they won’t admit it.”

Namjoon raised an eyebrow. “You want sympathy or sugar?”

“Both,” Jihyo said. “Iced matcha for me. Extra syrup.”

Then you stepped up next. “Can I get an iced americano with oat milk?”

“Sweetener?”

“Surprise me. But not in a ‘give me diabetes’ way.”

He chuckled. “So nothing with lavender.”

You pointed at him. “Exactly.”

As he moved to prep their drinks, you rested her elbows on the counter and watched him work. Everything Namjoon did was calm. Measured. Like his brain had already made peace with the chaos of the world and decided to just keep brewing coffee until it stopped spinning.

Jihyo leaned against your shoulder. “If he wasn’t a barista, he’d definitely be a monk.”

Namjoon looked over his shoulder. “I heard that.”

“Good.”

He slid the iced matcha across first, then reached for the espresso machine.

“Things still slow at the shop?” he asked you.

You shrugged. “Busy enough to keep me from overthinking. Not busy enough to keep Jihyo from reorganizing the entire stockroom.”

“I color-coded the succulents,” Jihyo said proudly.

Namjoon didn’t even blink. “You’re terrifying.”

“I’ve accepted that.”

Her drink arrived next, and they thanked him in unison before heading to their usual table by the window. It was small, slightly uneven, and always had one chair that squeaked—but it was theirs.

Jihyo and you sat down, the quiet buzz of the café settling around you like background music. Outside, the wind pushed gently at the shop signs, and somewhere, a dog barked exactly once.

It was a good moment.

Then Jihyo froze mid-sip.

She set her cup down slowly and leaned in.

“Don’t turn around.”

You blinked. “That’s never a good start.”

“No, seriously. Pretend I said something interesting and make a face.”

You stared. “You have never said anything interesting in your life.”

“Just do it,” Jihyo hissed. “Okay now. Very casually. Turn around.”

You turned your head like you were just adjusting the loose strand of hair.

And there he was.

Jungkook.

Ordering at the counter. Shoulders squared, head slightly tilted as he scanned the menu like he hadn’t been here before.

Taehyung was next to him, chatting with Namjoon like they were old friends. He leaned on the counter, grinning at something Namjoon said, while Jungkook looked… still.

Not tense. Just—quiet. Like always.

You blinked and turned back to Jihyo, expression unreadable.

Jihyo raised both eyebrows. “Well?”

You took a sip of your coffee. “Weird seeing him here.”

“He comes sometimes. I’ve seen him twice before.”

“You’ve never mentioned it.”

“You never asked.”

You rolled your eyes and looked down at the cup between your hands. “He looks… normal.”

Jihyo shrugged. “He is, probably. Just the moody, internal kind of normal.”

You sat there for a few more seconds, sipping their drinks, neither saying much. The conversation had stalled, but not in an uncomfortable way. Just enough to make you glance up one more time.

Jungkook was still there.

You both hardly just returned to the comfortable silence between two people pretending not to think too hard about someone behind them, when a voice interrupted them. Loud. Bright. Familiar in a way she hadn’t expected.

“Wait—wait, wait, wait.”

Taehyung.

You didn’t even need to turn around. His energy had that unmistakable stamp of disruption ahead.

“Oh god,” you muttered under your breath, reaching for your drink like you might need it as a shield.

Taehyung’s voice kept going. “Are you serious?”

Then he was standing at the side of your table, blinking between the two of you with the wide-eyed awe of someone who just found a childhood friend in a cereal aisle.

“I knew I recognized you,” he said, pointing at Jihyo. “You’re the one who posted that video about the bouquet arrangement that looked like a roast chicken. That was you.”

Jihyo blinked. “It was a turkey.”

“I knew it.”

Then—like it was the most natural thing in the world—he turned around and grabbed Jungkook by the wrist, who was halfway through picking up his coffee.

“Come here,” Taehyung said. “Come here right now. Look at this.”

Jungkook looked like he’d rather evaporate. “I just want to sit—”

“Look at this,” Taehyung repeated, ignoring him. “This is the florist’s best friend.”

Jungkook glanced at you. Then at Jihyo. Then back at Taehyung, visibly unimpressed.

“I’m so glad you dragged me for this,” he said flatly.

“Shut up. You love it.”

“Deeply.”

Taehyung pulled a chair and dropped into it without asking. Jihyo, looking only mildly stunned now, laughed softly and scooted over to give him space. Jungkook followed slower, reluctantly, settling into the chair across from you like he’d been given a seating assignment at a wedding he didn’t want to attend.

There was a long pause.

You looked at Jungkook.

He looked at you.

No one said anything.

Then Jihyo turned to Taehyung, eyebrows raised. “So. What made you watch the bouquet video?”

Taehyung shrugged. “I was high and thought it was a cooking tutorial.”

Jihyo let out a small laugh. “It was a turkey.”

“I’ll take that as a compliment,” Taehyung said.

“You should. I cried.”

The two of them were off after that, bouncing off each other like old friends even though they’d just met. Somewhere in the middle of trading flower shop horror stories and dramatic customer encounters, Taehyung gasped.

“No. No way.”

“What?” Jihyo asked.

“You posted that chart of flower colors and what they say emotionally, right?”

“Yeah…” she replied slowly.

“I printed that and taped it to Jungkook’s drawer.”

Jihyo stared. “The one that said ‘red = lust, pink = you might care but don’t want to admit it’?”

“That one.”

Jungkook sighed, lifting his coffee like it was the only thing tethering him to sanity.

“Is that why he glared at my tulip sketch last week?” Jihyo asked, smirking.

“Probably.”

“Unreal.”

Without warning, Taehyung jumped up. “No, you have to see what he did with the petals last week. You’ll die. Come on.”

He grabbed Jihyo’s sleeve without hesitation.

“What?” she blinked, caught off guard.

“Come. It’s two doors down. It’s insane. You’ll love it.”

“I haven’t even finished—” she started.

“You can bring the cup.”

Jihyo gave you one last amused look as she stood up. “Pray for me.”

“Not likely,” you muttered.

And just like that, the two of them disappeared through the café door, mid-sentence, mid-laugh, like they’d been doing this forever.

You blinked at the space they left behind.

Then turned your head slowly to Jungkook, who hadn’t moved.

You sat in silence for another moment.

And then finally spoke. “Are they always like that?”

Jungkook exhaled. “Only on days that end in Y.”

That cracked something. Not a full smile, not quite. But a tiny shift in the quiet.

You looked over at him again. He was still dressed the same—black sweatshirt, simple jeans, hair tucked behind one ear now. But there was something softer in the way he leaned back, eyes not quite as guarded as usual.

“You work with him every day?” you asked.

He nodded. “Unfortunately.”

“That sounds exhausting.”

“It is,” he said, then added after a pause, “but he’s good. Keeps things from going still.”

You traced the rim of her cup with her thumb. “I get that.”

They fell quiet again, but it didn’t feel awkward. It just felt like two people sitting next to each other in a city that kept moving around them.

Jungkook was the one to speak next. “So… the flower shop. That’s yours?”

“Yeah.”

“You always run it alone?”

You shook her head. “Jihyo helps. It was mine and my mom’s originally. We started small, just arrangements and houseplants. Then she got sick. I took it over.”

He didn’t say anything, and you didn’t expect him to. The silence was enough.

“I kept it because it felt like something alive,” you said. “Something that needed hands. It made the grief quieter.”

He was still for a long moment. Then he said, quietly, “That makes sense.”

You looked up at him.

“I get that,” he added, voice calm. Sincere.

You didn’t answer right away. There was no need to fill the quiet with anything more.

After a while, you asked, “What about your shop?”

“I started out doing graphic design,” he said. “Did a few illustrations. Got bored. Tattooing felt closer to the skin. Like it meant something.”

“And now?”

“Now I do a lot of cover-ups. Custom work. Things people don’t want to explain.”

“Why?”

He shrugged. “Some things are easier to wear than say.”

You nodded slowly, letting the thought sit.

“What about your tattoos?” you asked. “Any of them have stories?”

“A few.”

He didn’t elaborate. you didn’t push.

Both sat together for a while after that. Not talking. Not planning to.

And you realized you didn’t mind the silence this time. Not here. Not with him.

Jungkook looked over once more. “I didn’t say thanks earlier. For the flowers.”

You tilted your head. “You mean the breakup bouquet?”

“Yeah. That one.”

“You’re welcome. It was petty. But it looked good.”

“Most things that hurt do.”

You looked at him, really looked this time.

And after a moment, you said softly, “That’s true.”

Neither of you got up. Neither of you rushed it.

For the first time since that ridiculous cart wheel got stuck in the street, it felt like you weren’t on opposite sides of something.

Just two people.

Sitting still, together.

⸻

It was close to midnight when you gave up trying to sleep.

The room was dark, warm from the day’s leftover heat, one window cracked open to let the wind in. Your sheets were half-tangled around your legs. The pillow was slightly too warm on one side, and flipping it didn’t help.

You turned again, then sighed. Pulled the covers up. Kicked them off.

And still—your mind stayed awake.

It wasn’t even a big deal. That’s what you kept telling yourself.

You’d run into each other. Talked a little. Shared a few quiet minutes at the café while Jihyo and Taehyung acted like they’d known each other since birth. That was it.

People do that all the time. Talk. Sit. Share space.

It didn’t mean anything.

Except maybe it did. Just a little.

Not because of what he said.

But because of how it felt.

Still. Settled. Real.

You stared at the ceiling.

He hadn’t said much. But what he did say had landed. Soft and steady. Like he meant every word, even the short ones.

And the way he listened…

You noticed that. The way he wasn’t looking for a reaction. Just listening like it mattered. Like it was something rare.

You turned again and stared out the window.

He looked different in that space—Jungkook. Not like he did in the shop doorway or walking past your window. At the café, he looked like a version of himself he didn’t show often. Less guarded. More human.

And when he asked about your mom, he didn’t ask to be polite. He asked like he knew what kind of ache that was.

You sighed again and rolled onto your side.

What did it mean? Probably nothing.

But your brain—always louder at night—kept going back to that quiet.

To him sitting across from you.

To the way he didn’t try to fill the silence.

He was just there.

And maybe that was the part that stayed with you.

Not the words.

Not the tattoos.

Just… him.

There.

⸻

The next morning started like any other.

The shutters creaked when you opened them. The basil wall looked vaguely offended at being watered late. The playlist on your phone shuffled into something soft and wordless.

And the city outside felt… the same. Rushed and restless, like it always did.

You tied her apron without thinking about it. Labeled the first few orders. Rearranged the sunflowers by height. It was the kind of quiet morning that usually felt routine. Automatic. No thinking required.

Except today, you couldn’t stop thinking.

The café. Last night. The silence with Jungkook. Not heavy, not tense. Just… quiet in a way that felt shared.

You didn’t know what to make of that.

Didn’t know what it meant, if anything. You were not the type to read too much into moments. But something about the way he’d listened—really listened—had lingered.

Not that you expected to see him again.

You dusted off a shelf and stood back to look at the placement. Something about it felt crooked. you adjusted it again.

The bell over the door chimed.

You didn’t look up at first.

“Be right there,” you called, brushing your hands off on a apron. “Give me two seconds.”

When you turned, you almost didn’t recognize him.

Not because he looked different. He didn’t.

Same all-black hoodie. Same quiet posture. Same unreadable expression.

But he looked… out of place. In your shop. In this space.

You blinked.

Jungkook stood near the entrance, one hand still on the door handle, like he wasn’t sure whether to stay or turn back around.

He looked at you.

You looked back.

Neither of you said anything for a moment.

Then you asked, carefully, “Need something?”

He opened his mouth. Then closed it.

He let go of the door and stepped in a little further. His eyes moved across the shelves—slowly, like he was taking in everything at once.

“I was just… walking,” he said finally. “And I ended up here.”

You watched him. “Okay.”

“I didn’t plan to.”

“Also okay.”

Jungkook looked at a small pot of white daisies near the front table. Picked one up, then set it down again. His hands looked a little unsure, like they weren’t used to being surrounded by things that could bruise or bend too easily.

He looked back at you. “Is this always how it smells in here?”

You raised an eyebrow. “You mean like eucalyptus and wet soil?”

He nodded once.

“Yeah. Why?”

“No reason.”

Another beat passed.

He didn’t leave.

You leaned on the counter. “You want tea or something?”

His eyebrows pulled together slightly, like the question confused him.

‘’I have ginger and mint” you added.

He gave a slow blink. “Mint’s fine.”

You moved behind the small kitchenette, dropping a tea bag into a chipped mug with a leaf painted on the side. Jungkook stayed where he was, still quiet, still glancing at everything like he wasn’t sure what to do with himself.

You handed him the mug.

He nodded his thanks.

You leaned against the counter beside him. “So… you ended up here.”

“Yeah.”

He sipped the tea. Didn’t react. “This is good.”

“I stole it from Namjoon’s shelf.”

That got a small exhale of air. Maybe a laugh. Maybe not. You didn’t press it.

Both of you stood like that for a while. Not speaking.

Then he turned slightly. “It’s peaceful here.”

You looked at him. “It usually is. Mornings are calm. Sometimes too calm.”

He nodded.

You watched him for a moment. “You don’t seem like someone who just walks around.”

“I’m not.”

“Then why today?”

He looked down at the tea, like the answer might be floating at the bottom of the cup.

“I don’t know,” he said finally. “I just… felt like coming.”

You didn’t say anything. Let the quiet settle around them again.

He looked back up. “This shop. It was your mom’s?”

“Yeah.”

“What was she like?”

You hesitated, but just for a second. “Kind. Smart. A little dramatic. She liked doing things with her hands. Hated mess, though. Always had to clean as she worked.”

Jungkook smiled, small and brief. “Opposite of me.”

“I can tell.”

You reached for a nearby watering can and slowly started checking the smaller potted herbs. Jungkook didn’t move to leave. Just stood there, watching you work like he hadn’t been around this kind of stillness in a while.

“You ever wish you’d done something else?” he asked suddenly.

You paused. “You mean besides the shop?”

“Yeah.”

You thought about it for a moment. “Maybe. I used to like writing. Poetry. But after she passed, I couldn’t focus on anything else. The shop needed me.”

He nodded. “I get that.”

You looked up. “What about you?”

He hesitated, then said, “I started tattooing because I didn’t like how quiet my head got when I stopped drawing.”

You didn’t answer, but your hands slowed.

He continued, voice lower now. “It gave me a way to fill the silence. Something about putting something permanent on someone else—it felt like I could leave proof. Even if it was just lines.”

You looked at him. “That’s a good reason.”

“Not always. Sometimes I think I just needed somewhere to put the mess.”

There was a quiet between you then, deeper than the ones before. Not uncomfortable. Just heavy enough to feel real.

You finally said, “I think we all do. That’s why I kept the shop. It gave me something to carry that wasn’t just grief.”

He nodded slowly, like he understood that on a level he didn’t talk about out loud.

Glancing over, you whispered. “You want to see something?”

He looked at you. “Sure.”

You led him toward the back, where the tiny greenhouse window was cracked open, letting in light. A hanging pot of morning glory vines stretched toward the sun, stubborn and wild.

“My mom hated these,” you said. “Said they were too clingy. Always reaching. But I liked them. They don’t know how not to try.”

He didn’t say anything. Just looked at the flowers. Then at again at you.

You turned back around, pulling your hair away from your face with one hand. “You don’t have to explain why you came. Just—if you ever feel like showing up again, it’s fine.”

He watched you for a moment longer.

Then said, “Okay.”

You smiled. Just a little.

He didn’t stay long after that. Didn’t try to. Just finished the tea, set the mug on the counter, and walked out quietly, like he was part of the space now.

But after the door shut and the bell rang out behind him, you stood in the middle of the shop for a minute longer, your hand still curled around the watering can.

He’d come in for no reason.

And for some reason, that meant more than you could say.

⸻

Time didn’t shift all at once. It wasn’t sudden.

It moved the way seasons did. Softly. Slowly. In pieces you didn’t notice until everything felt different, and you couldn’t remember exactly when it changed.

You and Jungkook didn’t become friends overnight.

Not even close.

But you stopped being strangers.

There were days when you glanced up from rearranging a shelf and caught him walking past the shop, a takeaway coffee in one hand, hoodie sleeves pushed up to his elbows. Sometimes he looked in. Sometimes he didn’t.

And then one day, he did.

He gave you a small nod through the glass. Nothing dramatic. Just a quiet acknowledgment.

You nodded back.

That became the new thing.

Some mornings, when your window was open and the breeze carried in the smell of soil and jasmine, you saw him across the street, unlocking the studio door. If he noticed you, he lifted a hand in a silent wave. You waved back without thinking.

Neither of you mentioned it.

It just became part of the day.

⸻

Sometimes he stopped by the shop without warning.

Once, he leaned against the counter and watched while you trimmed a bundle of delphiniums for a bouquet.

“What do those mean?” he asked, pointing.

You looked up. “Delphiniums?”

He nodded.

“Positivity,” you said. “And dignity.”

“Why dignity?”

“They stand tall.”

Jungkook looked at the flowers again. “Huh.”

You expected him to walk off, but he stayed. That day, you taught him more.

Snapdragons for strength. Sweet peas for goodbye. Camellias for admiration. Yellow roses for friendship, white for new beginnings, red for love.

He didn’t say much. But he listened. Every word.

When you stopped to grab a new bundle of stems, you glanced back and saw him still looking at the flowers like they were trying to tell him something.

⸻

He returned the favor in his own way.

One afternoon, when the sun dipped low and the shop was closed for the day, you locked up and turned to find him across the street, arms folded outside his studio.

“Got something to show you,” he said.

You hesitated. “Right now?”

“Yeah.”

You followed him inside. The shop looked the same as always—quiet, neat, controlled. But in the back, he pulled out a flat drawer from one of the cabinets and set a large sketchbook down.

He opened it.

And you forgot what you were supposed to say.

The drawings weren’t what you expected. Not sharp or aggressive. Not cold.

They were detailed. Intricate. Precise. But full of movement. Like they had breath. Life.

Florals. Wings. Symbols. One snake wrapped around a peony stem. A koi fish with trailing petals in its scales. A human heart, stitched with vines.

You turned one page. Then another. Then another.

“These are all yours?” you asked.

He nodded.

You looked up at him. “You’ve tattooed these?”

“Most of them.”

You went quiet again, flipping to a design of two hands reaching toward each other, one inked in fine lines of roses, the other in thorns.

“I didn’t expect this,” you said softly.

He leaned against the workbench. “What did you expect?”

You thought for a second. “Something colder. Something sharper. I don’t know.”

He didn’t look offended. Just thoughtful.

“People assume that a lot,” he said.

“They’re wrong.”

He gave a short nod. “So were you.”

You didn’t disagree.

He showed you the machine next. Nothing flashy. Just what he worked with. How it ran. He told you about technique. Needle depth. Line work. Shading. Color saturation.

You watched his hands. How careful they were. How steady.

When he handed you the machine—not on, just to hold—you took it like it was something fragile.

“You’re really good,” you said after a while.

Jungkook didn’t respond right away.

But there was something in the way he looked at you then. A quiet kind of acceptance.

“Thanks,” he said finally.

⸻

Another time, it was your turn again.

You had been growing something rare for weeks. A small climbing vine in the back greenhouse window that had only just begun to bloom. The petals were pale blue, nearly translucent, curling at the edges like frost.

You texted him : It bloomed.

He didn’t ask what you meant. Just showed up ten minutes later.

You led him to the back and pointed to the plant without saying a word.

He crouched down to look closer.

“Blue passionflower,” you said. “Almost impossible to get to bloom this time of year.”

He glanced up at you. “How’d you manage it?”

“Patience,” you said.

“Lots of water?”

“No. Patience,” you repeated. “It needs time. Quiet. Not too much attention.”

He looked at the flower again.

You both sat down on the steps just outside the greenhouse. You didn’t talk for a while. The kind of silence that didn’t stretch too far or weigh too heavy.

Eventually, you did talk. About small things. About music. About why you used to write but didn’t anymore. About the first tattoo he ever gave. How he messed it up slightly, and the guy still said it was perfect.

You told him how the shop still didn’t feel fully yours, some days.

He told you he sometimes drew things he’d never ink on anyone, just to keep them for himself.

You asked if he had any regrets.

He didn’t answer.

But he didn’t leave either.

⸻

You never labeled it. Whatever was happening.

You didn’t meet up on purpose.

You didn’t text much.

You didn’t make plans.

But you noticed when he wasn’t around.

And he started pausing outside your window a little longer each day.

Some things didn’t need to be said.

Some things just grew. Quietly. Steadily. Without asking permission.

⸻

It wasn’t a decision, not really.

There was no moment of staring across a candlelit room, no grand realization, no whispered confessions or accidental kisses that tipped everything over.

It just…..happened.

You and Jungkook started seeing more of each other.

Not just by accident or out of convenience. You started showing up on purpose.

Jihyo noticed it first.

She didn’t say anything right away. She just started watching you a little differently when you talked about your day or when you instinctively wiped your hands on your apron before stepping out for a break across the street.

She gave you looks. The kind that said she knew more than she let on.

Taehyung wasn’t any more subtle.

The second time Jungkook stopped by the shop with a coffee for you and didn’t even explain why, Taehyung popped his head in five minutes later with a grin so wide it looked painful.

“Anything blooming in here?” he asked loudly.

You had almost thrown the watering can at him.

⸻

You started going to the café together.

Sometimes you walked in separately and ended up sitting together.

Sometimes he’d already have a drink waiting for you, and you’d pretend not to be flustered.

Sometimes he’d order last, mutter your usual to Namjoon without asking you, and you’d wonder how he’d remembered.

It was easy.

Easier than you expected.

There were still silences, but they weren’t empty anymore. They were full of little things. Shared glances. Amused smirks. The occasional brush of his knee against yours beneath the small café table.

He didn’t pull away.

Neither did you.

⸻

Jihyo was worse now.

She stared at your phone when it buzzed and raised an eyebrow when Jungkook’s name appeared.

She started asking loaded questions like, “You seeing each other again?”

And then, “Do you like him?”

You shrugged. “I don’t know.”

Which wasn’t true.

You did know.

You liked the way he listened.

You liked the way he noticed things without needing to say them out loud.

The way he always stood close but never crowded. The way he leaned in when you talked like your words were the only ones in the room.

You liked his hands. His sketches. The quiet focus in his eyes.

You liked him.

That was it.

There were moments.

Little ones.

Like the time you reached across the table to grab a napkin and your fingers grazed his.

Neither of you moved for a second. Then he turned his hand slightly and let your fingers stay.

Or the time you sat outside the shop on the steps after closing and he reached over, casually brushing a smudge of soil from your cheek with the back of his knuckle. He didn’t say anything. Just looked at you, then looked away like he hadn’t just made your pulse skip.

There was flirting, too.

Not the loud, obvious kind. Just something softer. Quieter. A certain tilt to his voice when he said your name.

The way you rolled your eyes when he teased you, only to glance back and find him already watching you.

And when you caught him doing it, he didn’t look away.

⸻

One evening, the four of you ended up at the café together. You, Jungkook, Taehyung, and Jihyo.

It wasn’t planned. Just one of those things that happened.

The sun had dipped low, and the light outside was golden and drowsy.

You were all laughing at something Taehyung had said—something ridiculous and probably untrue—when you turned to Jungkook.

He was already looking at you.

He didn’t smile, not really. Just something smaller. More real. A look that said he was glad to be there, in that moment, with you.

And without thinking, your hand rested lightly over his on the table.

He didn’t flinch.

He turned his hand over and linked your fingers with his.

Just for a second.

Then Jihyo fake-gagged, Taehyung whooped dramatically, and you pulled your hand back while trying not to smile like an idiot.

But the air between you had shifted. You could feel it.

He felt it too.

⸻

You didn’t talk about it.

Not yet.

You didn’t need to.

Because sometimes, it was enough to just sit next to him.

Sometimes, it was enough to walk beside him in silence and know that he’d glance over every now and then.

That he’d wait for you to catch up.

That he’d never rush you to say anything you weren’t ready to.

You didn’t know where it was going, not exactly.

But for the first time in a long time, you didn’t feel the need to control it.

It felt like something living.

Something growing.

And you were okay with that.

It was late. Later than either of you planned to stay.

The shop was closed. The café lights had gone out an hour ago. The street had quieted to a hush, and the moon was sitting fat and low above the rooftops.

You were sitting on the steps outside your shop again, the same ones you’d sat on weeks ago when you showed him the blue passionflower. Except this time, he was already there, leaning back with his arms propped behind him, long legs stretched out, gaze half on the sky and half on you.

“You always sit like that?” you asked, nudging his boot with yours.

“Like what?”

“Like the ground personally offended you.”

He tilted his head toward you, deadpan. “It did.”

You laughed—soft, the kind that curled in your chest and didn’t bother hiding.

He looked at you for a second longer, then turned away again, but not before you saw the edge of a smile tugging at his mouth.

There was music playing faintly from someone’s window above. Old jazz, maybe. Soft horns and low piano. It filled the space between you the way your conversations used to. Easy. Slow. Something unspoken that didn’t need to be named.

“You’ve been quieter lately,” he said after a while.

You raised an eyebrow. “That a complaint?”

“No,” he said, and then he looked at you again. Really looked. “I like it. It’s… you. But softer.”

You didn’t say anything to that. Just let it settle somewhere in your chest, warm and slow.

A breeze slipped past, and you shivered slightly.

He noticed.

Without saying a word, he shrugged out of his hoodie and offered it to you.

You took it.

Slipped it on.

It was soft, worn, and it smelled like his studio—ink, clean wood, something like bergamot. It hung off your frame, sleeves way too long, and you tugged them over your hands.

He watched you do it, eyes trailing across your fingers.

“You’re doing that thing again,” you said.

“What thing?”

“Staring like you’re thinking too hard.”

He paused. Then—“I do think too hard.”

You didn’t expect that answer. It made your throat tighten, just slightly.

You shifted, turning toward him.

Your knees touched.

He didn’t move.

So you didn’t either.

“I like that you listen,” you said suddenly.

He looked over.

“You don’t just hear things,” you continued. “You remember them. Even the things I say by accident.”

There was a beat.

Then he spoke. Quiet. Measured.

“You know what I remember most?”

You raised your chin. “What?”

“The first time you smiled at me.”

Your breath caught.

“It was real,” he added, like that mattered. Like that made it.

You blinked once. Twice.

And then, before you could think it through, you reached over—hand grazing his wrist first, then resting gently on top of it.

He looked down at your hand.

Then back at you.

And when he leaned in, it wasn’t dramatic. It wasn’t sudden.

It was slow.

Measured.

Like he’d waited long enough.

Like you had, too.

His hand came up to your face, fingers brushing along your jaw before slipping behind your neck. His touch was steady. No rush. Like he was giving you time to pull away if you wanted.

You didn’t.

So he kissed you.

It wasn’t perfect. A little tentative. A little breathless.

But it was warm. Honest.

Real.

You exhaled against his mouth. His thumb moved along your cheekbone. You kissed him again, softer. Surer. And this time, he smiled into it.

When you finally pulled back, neither of you said anything for a long time.

He just looked at you.

You looked right back.

Then, almost lazily, he said, “You’re still wearing my hoodie.”

You smirked. “Yeah?”

“Keep it.”

“Why?”

“So you have to come back and return it.”

You rolled your eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

“Only about you.”

Your heart thudded. Loud. Loud enough to feel in your throat.

So you kissed him again.

Because finally—

you could.

©️TEASTEEPER 2025. please do not translate, steal or copy any of my works.

[maryseesthings]

Phantom Heartbeat (teaser)

Summary: Can we go back to the garden and be kids again? I’ll chase you if you chase me. Life hurts. I don’t want to be an adult. I need a friend. I miss you. You are not here.

Pairing: Wang Yibo x femlatina!reader

Content/Warnings: ex-childhood best friends, almost lovers to strangers to ?, friends to enemies, major character death, mentions of depression, anxiety, losing a loved one and suicidal thoughts, no happy ending.

Word count: .

Autor note: Hi! So, this is me trying to write again after many years, please be kind. Also, English is not my firs language.

March, 2026

X: Can we go back to the garden and be kids again? I’ll chase you if you chase me. Life hurts. I don’t want to be an adult. I need a friend. I miss you. You are not here and that is so unfair.

[Location], [Country], November 2024

You swore the tea used to taste different. Sweeter. Warmer. Better. But maybe that’s the melancholy speaking. And also you swore the summer was different, more joyful, more bright, more happy. But maybe you mean summer 10 years ago, when life was easier, when your worries were simpler, and heartbreak hadn’t robbed you of your innocence. 

And yet, here you are, back in the town you once loved and now… well, you feel something. Nostalgia, maybe? It was a feeling you didn’t want to pay much attention to, after all, you were there to do your job and that’s it. You haven’t unpacked completely in hopes of finishing your duties as fast as possible, take the next flight that take you out of here and going back to  putting Luoyang in the back of your mind, nothing but a distant memory that sometimes aches, like when you break a bone and once in a while the pain comes back to remind you of the injury, that you are no longer complete, that something broke. 

Shooting the campaign for the announcement of the new LOEWE global ambassador shouldn’t be difficult, you have worked with the brand before, and knew most of the team, the only person you didn’t knew was the ambassador. The head of the campaign wanted full secrecy to avoid any leaks, so she was the only one that knew who has been chosen, but still, it wasn’t something that bothers you, after all, you are a professional, so you can work with anyone.

The first day of shooting comes around, you are in the set before anyone else, being the director it was common occurrence, after all, everything had to be perfect and in place so the rest of the work goes smoothly. After checking all the equipment, going around the location and check the itinerary for the day, you sat to enjoy your coffee and the few minutes of silence and solitude that you will have for the day… that was until you heard a voice, one that seemed familiar but also not. 

“Is there someone here?” A male voice asks. 

You groaned internally. Why was he so early? Shooting didn’t start for another 45 minutes, and you really needed those minutes in silence to recharge and prepare mentally for the busy day ahead. 

“I’m here!” You answered. And then heard footsteps in your direction. You took a deep breath and put your fake smile that all those years working in customer service helped you achieve. The door opens. And then… silence. You turn around to confirm that you aren’t hearing things. And then you see him. With his mouth open. His eyes wide. Frozen on the door. You freeze too. This can’t be happening, life was cruel, but not this cruel, right? You try to be a decent person, opening the door for old ladies, giving money to homeless people, you even learn to mince your words so you don’t hurt people! So, yeah, this was a dream, you have lost your mind and are probably hospitalized in a mental health institution, yep, that’s exactly what’s happening. 

“I-I can’t believe it, it’s you. It’s really you.” He says. And smiles. He has the AUDACITY to smile and look, happy? But you can’t answer him, after all these years imagining how your reunion could be, what you were going to say, you just froze. You close and open your mouth a few times but nothing comes out. And then the moment was gone, you hear cars in the distance,  the crew is going to arrive at any moment to start the day.

You move on autopilot the rest of the day, everything was ready so the shooting goes smoothly, first a couple of short ads for social media, some reels, wardrobe changes, photoshoots, change of locations. The model is amazing, he knows his good angles, exactly how to pose, and he even makes a couple of suggestions that are useful. But of course, how can anyone expect the opposite from the one and only Wang Yibo? The face of China, the man that has as ambassadorships as he has talents. 

You try not to be bitter, you really, really try. After all, the one in front of you is a man, with sharp features and steel eyes, confident and with an aura that makes heads turn wherever he goes. To you it’s difficult see that teenage boy with rounder cheeks, eyes full of anxiety and trembling hands. Your first kiss, love confession, scolding for sneaking around, hand holding under the table, first time having sex, and also first heartbreak, first disappointment. 

[maryseesthings]

Pairing: Yoongi/F!Reader

Summary: After six amazing months of dating, things simply couldn’t be better with Yoongi. Even with all the ups and downs that can oftentimes come with a relationship, there hardly seemed to be a single thing you’d readily change about him or being with him and the sentiment appears to be very much mirrored by your significant other.

However, you’ve always been very quiet in bed and while Yoongi has never made any complaint about it, his roommates appear all too keen to use your general lack of noise behind closed doors to tease your more than proficient lover about his supposed lack of prowess. 

No, Yoongi has never minded that you’re more the type to whimper and sigh than moan and scream. But, as a man who takes great joy in treating his girl right, Yoongi becomes determined to prove his friends wrong.

Associated fics: Tongue-Tied (prequel), Taste (prequel drabble), Safe With Me (Namjoon series in the same universe)

Features/warnings: fluff, Jimin and Tae being little shits yet still wholly lovable, Yoongi being not so secretly soft and cuddly, Yoongi also being wholly determined to rock the reader’s world harder than he has thus far, dirty talk (again the sweetest kind), slight sexting, fingering, f!receiving oral, squirting, multiple orgasms, thigh fucking, protected sex

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